#Bail was an acrobat and performer
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Put A Little Love on Me - Sam Wilson x OC
warnings: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, air force friends, soft smut, 18+
word count: 8.4k
WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1437355323-put-a-little-love-on-me-lane
vibe: "That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.
Sam shook his head and stepped closer to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "No it's not, but it's all I had. We promised we'd always have each other no matter what happened. After everything you helped me through when Riley -" his words cut off and her let out a breath, keeping his dark eyes on hers, "I just wanted to be able to help you the way you helped me," he finished
Masterlist
A few raps sounded at his bedroom door as he changed his tie once more.
“Mr. Wilson, sir?” Sam smiled at Peter’s voice coming from the other side. “I don’t mean to rush you but Barnes-”
“Completely means to!”
Bucky’s exasperated voice boomed through the first floor of the compound interrupting him causing Sam to snort out a laugh as he tightened his tie and looked over himself quickly in the mirror. The soft pink tie he had finally landed on looked great against the crisp navy suit he had chosen for tonight.
They had been invited to a spring gala in honor of the Armed Forces tonight and they’d asked him, as Captain America and former Air Force, to say a few words.
“Looking good Wilson, looking good.” He winked at himself before pocketing his phone and wallet to head out the door.
Sam made his way over to where Bucky was sitting alongside Peter in the common room, looking like he was going to burst into flames as the youngest showed him something on his phone excitedly.
“Don’t scare him off Parker, he might bail on us.”
His partner rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before standing and running a hand through his hair.
Sam whistled, “You know for a person who didn’t wanna go you clean up real nice Buckaroo.”
“Don’t push your luck Sam,” he replied pointedly.
“But where’s the fun in that?” Sam grinned as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Are you guys coming?” He asked innocently, just catching the way Bucky glowered, unimpressed, as he followed with a heavy trudge.
The car waited outside, tinted windows and a security detail that felt entirely unnecessary and did little to ease Sam’s nerves. It’s not that he hated public speaking, it was a given now, but the cause for tonight was important. It sat close to his heart, in both pride and heartbreak, and he just hoped the small speech he had prepared did it justice.
As the cavalcade approached the Plaza, Bucky looked through the tinted glass and whistled. "Very fancy Sammy boy." The car pulled up in front of the huge double doors, the red carpet lined with press and reporters. "And they're all here for you." As the door opened Bucky held his arm out, "After you, I insist," he smirked to Sam, "Me and the boy will just hang here until the heat dies down."
"So much for moral support, " Sam complained, over his shoulder as he stepped out of the car. The camera flashes and the cacophony of voices that greeted him confirmed that Bucky had the right idea.
He took a breath and transformed his face into the friendly, all-American grin that he knew the public loved and stepped forward. He held his arms out slightly, as if he were about to give the crowd a hug, and then waved. Here, there, up to the right, wherever he heard his name called as he slowly but resolutely made his way towards the doors of the building.
His right hand went to the watch on his left wrist and he surreptitiously fingered the tiny control panel. Gasps of delight came from the crowd as Redwing swooped down and performed some aerial acrobatics, guiding Sam the rest of the way to the doors through a chorus of cheers and applause.
Once inside, he took a moment to steel himself with a breath as everyone in attendance bustled around the room; taking pictures, grabbing glasses of champagne from trays. He took his phone out quickly typing out a text to Bucky and Peter letting them know he’d find their table. As soon as Bucky responded, he pocketed his phone and made sure his speech paper was still safely tucked inside his jacket pocket before making his way through the crowd of attendees.
He scanned the room until he found the seating chart by the bar — open, he hoped — and found their names under table number one, right front and centre.
The table was still empty when he arrived, eight exquisitely laid places and a beautifully crafted centrepiece. Sam wandered around the table, searching out his name and slid into his seat, just taking a moment of calm before he would inevitably be thrown into the fray.
Bucky and Peter’s voices mingled with the music as they bustled over behind him.
“I was waiting for a text so we could sneak in, Wilson. Do you know how many hands I had to shake tryin’ to find you?” Bucky grumbled, slumping into the chair beside him.
Sam cocked an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, "Poor little super soldier, having to mingle and get appreciated"
The small stifled laugh from Peter caused a chuckle to bubble from his lips as Bucky rolled his eyes. Sam knew the spotlight was something Bucky was still getting used to and for the most part he always supported his friend's decision to hide in the shadows but with their recent successes and their new team growing, he'd have to accept the supportive attention, even if it was just for one night.
"To be fair Bucky, you were the one who insisted every man for himself," Peter started to explain, before seeing the look Bucky was sending him and pulling himself short. "I know, shut up kid, " he finished, pushing his chair backwards, he stood and suggested, "should I to go see if they have any Asgardian Mead?"
"Good idea, kid," Bucky replied, "I've a feeling I'm going to need it."
"You need to go easy tonight Buck," Sam advised.
"I know how to behave in polite society," Bucky shook his head at Sam, "I was brought up by a lady and know how to treat the dames."
“Rule number one,” Sam countered, “don’t call ‘em dames. They don’t like that anymore.”
“Aw, shucks! That’s why I can’t get a date.”
Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was probably time to get this show on the road, be the man of the people and shake some hands.
“I’m gonna go mingle, hold down the fort and don’t let Parker drink.” He pointed a finger at Bucky as he stood. Brushing his hands down his suit, he took a deep breath and headed towards Rhodey, the first face he’d recognised since he walked in.
Clapping his friend on the back, Sam grinned his signature grin and extended his hand to the two council members that Rhodey was talking too, "Gentleman, I hope my friend here isn't boring you with his tank story, again,"
"That story is a classic and always kills," Rhodey defended as the men with him laughed, shaking their heads.
"Only to people who haven't heard it ten times," one of them retorted with a booming laugh.
Sam nudged his shoulder into his friends with a smirk as the conversation moved on to the recent PR that was needed for their growing team and how it was going to be handled. They wanted Kate and Yelena to make appearance's at schools and Peter needed to do tech presentations, stepping into the shoes that Tony had left for him. But something caught Sam's attention, and the councilman's words drifted out to a dull whisper.
A girl with soft brunette waves stood by the bar in a navy blue satin gown, her deep chocolate brown eyes trained on his with a soft smile playing on her lips as she took a sip from her wine glass. Sam's chest squeezed as his mind jolted to the last time he'd laid eyes on the girl in front of him. The soft goodbye she'd whispered into his ear, and the press of her lips to his cheek before she'd walked out for her last mission. The day she'd walked out the door, taking his heart with her.
"Yeah, yeah that sounds good, we'll talk about it Monday," Sam mumbled, squeezing Rhodey's shoulder, "Will you excuse me?" He didn't wait for an answer before he walked away, his tunnel vision setting in as the rest of the room faded.
His heart rate picked up with each step he took towards her. Sam slowed to a stop in front of her, those eyes he'd fallen into time and time again trail up and down the navy suit he wore. "Lanie?" Sam breathed out her name like an unanswered prayer and her smile only grew.
"I'm a little disappointed you didn't wear the wings." She quipped, taking a sip of her drink.
He was too busy admiring just how much more beautiful she had gotten since the last time he saw her for her words to register and when they did he couldn't help but chuckle. "Shoot, I left them in the car."
Lane laughed and the sound hit deep in his core. The feelings he had bottled up and tucked away started to bubble in his chest as her laughter slowed and it was just the two of them.
"You look good, Sam," Lane said softly.
"This old thing," he gulped, trying to get his racing heart under control.
Lane had always had this effect on him, even before the feeling was mutual. Just a look from her in his direction or a parting of her lips sent his pulse through the roof. Lane had been so weary of the guys in their squadron, conscious that they were a bunch of entitled A-holes, who made a female pilot work twice as hard for the privilege of wearing the wings.
She'd finished in the top 5% of their class, proving herself and nabbing a commission most of the other flyers could only dream of. When Sam had transferred to Dulles Air Force base a year after graduating he'd been delighted to discover not only was Lane still there but had blossomed into a confident, pack up your shit and take a hike, no-nonsense lady. Well-liked and respected by her squad, she had remembered Sam fondly and had been happy to show him the ropes and eventually allowed him to take her out for a drink.
“You, uh… you look good too, Lanie,” Sam murmured softly, taking her in properly. She’d always been beautiful, even with her hair in the regulation bun, slicked back and shining with gel and a fresh face. Now though, he wasn’t sure he could be in her vicinity much longer without a drink in his hand.
“Thanks, big shot,” she smiled, that heart-stopping, flirty thing that always sent his heart a flutter. “How is that going? Being Cap?”
Sam sucked in a breath. “Big shoes to fill,” he chuckled as Lane caught his elbow gently, leading him towards the bar.
“And yet they fit you so well, Sam,” she replied, “I certainly had no doubt they would.”
A familiar fluttering filled his chest as Sam felt a blush creeping up his neck, “Thanks Lanie, that uh, means a lot coming from you”
She smiled again, that smile that was seared into his brain from the first moment they met at training camp. A smile that brightened the room and dulled away all the worries that plagued his heart since taking up the mantle.
“And you,” Sam cleared his throat, as his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, “I hear you’re basically running the program now, but not flying anymore what’s that about?”
A flash of a pained expression crossed her face, before she covered it with a soft smirk and shook her head, “you keeping tabs on me, Wilson?” She questioned, teasingly.
His heart flipped at the question. He had been keeping tabs on her, a small obsession and mainly just to make sure she was still kicking. "You know how airmen and women are."
Lane raised a brow, "and what about you? Any new aliens I should know about."
Sam chuckled and shook his head thankful for the change of subject. If she knew just how much he had been following her career on his own it would open that can of worms they decided to close a long time ago. "Androids maybe, aliens..." he shook his head, "not as of late."
"Good to know the world's in safe hands." She turned to the bartender. "Can I get an Old Fashioned and...?"
"Just a beer for me," Sam ordered. The area around the bar was getting crazy busy, with other attendees pressing against them trying to get served.
Lane passed him his beer and stepped away from the bar, taking a gulp of her drink, she then motioned her glass towards the balcony doors. "I need to get some air, it's a little warm in here." She turned away from him and took another couple of steps. "It really is lovely to see you Sam," she smiled, a shy smile which reminded him so much of their first time together. "Maybe we don't leave it so long next time."
He wanted to say something else, to follow after her. To continue the conversation that he craved so desperately but he could see she needed out. She had never quite fit in events like these. She was beautiful and good at pretending she was social but Sam could see the obligatory scowl flicker to her face when the important people weren't looking. Same old Lane. Wanted to be anywhere else than where she had to be.
Sam spent the night fielding questions from politicians, and making sure his overgrown, chaotic dates, Bucky and Peter, stayed out of the mead. It wasn't until he was sitting alone with his third beer in the wind and the band started to play the after dinner music that he realized his mind had been on Lane all night. She floated around the room, avoiding the big crowds and speaking directly to a few important people but it never lasted long and she disappeared as quickly as she appeared.
"Why don't you ask her to dance?" Peter slumped down into the chair beside Sam. "I've been watching you, watching her all night."
"I haven't been watching no-one, Squirt." Sam brushed him off but his eyes found her again, slender curves and bright, fake smile as she awkwardly shook hands with another man.
"She looks like she needs saving," Peter shrugged.
But Lane had never needed saving, not really.
"Chicken," Peter resorted to name calling and as soon as he turned on him the squawking stopped.
“I will put you on mission laundry duty,” Sam threatened, “and I know for a fact Barnes leaves his go-bag far longer than he should between washes. Every. Single. Time.”
Peter shuddered and Sam cackled as the younger man scurried away to the bar.
“No mead!” Sam called after him before his gaze fell back to Lane. She was holding her own against the man, a Sergeant in full dress who was pushing his luck with how close he was standing. It wasn’t until his hand skimmed across the small of Lane’s back and she stepped out of his reach that Sam chugged back the rest of his beer and heaved himself up.
“Not saving her, just deterring the creep,” he muttered to himself as he headed in their direction.
"Sergeant, I think it's important to remember we are in the company of many of our superiors." Lane reminded the man with that sickly sweet smile that to others seemed just polite, but Sam knew the venom around it.
The man was just about to part his lips to counter when Sam stepped to her side, "Sir I believe Rhodey was looking for you."
He frowned and shook his head walking away from them.
"I didn't need saving Cap." Lane said after a moment when the man was out of earshot.
"No you didn't, but he did. I remember when you almost roundhoused a guy who thought touching you was a god given right." Sam responded, "And as you say, we're surrounded by superiors."
"That was a lifetime ago Sam, the new me doesn't get violent, I just get even. Unfinished business and all that." She bit her lower lip and looked like she wanted to say more, but took another sip of her drink instead.
Sam watched as another uniform approached her from behind and instead of leaving her to the dogs like she so clearly wanted to be Sam extended his hand.
"How about a dance?" He asked.
Lane eyed his hand, thoughts swirled around behind those pretty eyes and then she downed her drink and set it aside and slid her hand into his.
"You still step on toes?" She teased and Sam huffed. "I'll take that as a yes."
“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Sam quipped, leading her onto the dance floor and Lane laughed lightly.
“I’m a risk taker, Wilson. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
The music grew louder the closer they got to the band, big brass swelling around the crooning of the singer they’d hired. Sam pulled Lane closer, holding her slender frame against his body as they began to sway gently.
“Now, I don’t know about that, Lanie. You’ve never hidden yourself from me.”
"That you know of." Lane smirked up at him, her long hair cascading down her back as her chin lifted to look up at him. Those dark eyes finding his, "I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."
Sam raised a brow, "you can't keep a secret for the life of you."
She grinned up at him again, a mischievous look behind her eyes, "that you know of."
Sam led Lane around the dance floor, the two of them in comfortable silence, but he was sure she could see the words brewing in his eyes, something he had been dying to offload ever since they parted ways.
He cleared his throat, pulling her closer to him so that their cheeks met, entwining their fingers so that there was no escaping his nearness. "Before, when you mentioned unfinished business, did you mean us? Is that what we are?"
"What do you think, Sam?" she asked softly, "Are we unfinished or was this over a long time ago?"
Sam felt his breath catch in his throat before speaking, "You tell me, Lane. I wasn't the one who took a mission and didn't come home."
"That's unfair Sam," She said, "you know what it's like on those missions..." She trailed off. Her hands tight in Sam's as they spun in a lazy circle.
"Out there, sure," Sam answered, "but you came home, all I expected was a phone call."
"Phone calls can still be hard when you don't know what to say," She hummed and let him spin her out and away from him, before gently bringing her back against his chest. Her back molded to his front as their cheeks pressed together as they silently worked through all those hard unspoken emotions.
"We were never very good at talking anyways, Lanie."
Sam felt the reverberation of her hum through his chest and he turned his head, letting his lips graze lightly over her jaw.
“Sam,” she said softly, her breath hitching.
“Tell me you didn’t want it to be over,” he whispered lowly, “because I know I didn’t.”
Lane tensed in his arms and Sam sighed. He should have known.
“Sam, you have a speech to make soon. Let’s not do this now, please? Just dance with me a little longer.”
"Give me something, Lane," he was battling to keep his voice neutral. He was sure that once he left her to make his speech, she'd take off again.
"I can't do this here, tonight Sam. Just for now let's pretend that we're a couple," she rested her head against his shoulder and Sam tightened his hold on her slightly as she turned her face and rubbed her nose up and down his neck. If Sam closed her eyes, he could imagine that he was her wingman, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, making her shudder with want.
When she spun away this time, her fingers slipped from his and just like before she slipped into the crowd and away from him.
He made to go after her when the crowd parted and the mic screeched over the heads of everyone, "everyone please welcome to the stage our very own Captain America, Sam Wilson!"
Sam nodded, turning on his heal and painting a smile on his face and raised his hand in the air making his way to the stage to do his speech but his mind wandered to his Lanie, where she would have run off to and how far he'd have to go to chase her down this time.
Jogging up the steps to the microphone, Sam squinted against the lights and gathered his wit, feeling a little out of sorts now.
Under the attention of literally everyone in the room, he cleared his throat and patted down his pocket for his speech as his eyes settled on Bucky and Peter, the two of them lounging at their table with tumblers that were definitely filled with the Agardian mead he told them to steer clear of. Bucky grinned up at him and flashed two over-enthusiastic thumbs up and Peter cupped his hands around his mouth, whooping and cheering far too loudly for such a dignified gala.
Still, it settled something within him and he dragged his eyes across the room, telling himself he wasn’t searching for her as he unfolded the piece of paper in his hand.
His entire speech felt distant, like he was on autopilot as he said the words and the crowd laughed from time to time. When the applause started and he folded the paper back up his heart raced with one last scan of the crowd. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of navy satin disappearing out onto one of the balconies that he finally took a breath and followed her outside.
As he tried to make his way through the crowd, people clapped him on the back and stepped in front of him to comment on his speech. His eyes stayed trained on the balcony door, politely and professionally stepping around everyone who got in his way. He'd fight his way through an alien battlefield if it meant Lane was waiting for him on the other side. The glimmer of hope that clung to his chest drew him forward, through everything.
Stepping out into the fresh spring breeze, Sam felt his breath catch in his throat once more as the moonlight shimmered on across her gown and illuminated her eyes, "Leaving me again so soon, Lanie?" he commented.
"That's not fair, Sam," she whispered, hugging her arms around her middle, her fingers gripping into the fabric of her dress.
Sam shook his head and stepped closer to her, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "No it's not, but it's all I had. We promised we'd always have each other no matter what happened. After everything you helped me through when Riley -" his words cut off and her let out a breath, keeping his dark eyes on hers, "I just wanted to be able to help you the way you helped me," he finished.
She stood there, throat bobbing.
"Listen, I don't want to spend anymore time here and I don't think you do either. I did my speech, I paid my dues," Sam stepped forward, "why don't we go home?"
Sam watched as her whole body tensed at his use of the word. He knew what he was doing, they had never lived together but home was less of a place for the two of them, more of a feeling. "You can talk," Sam said quietly but firmly as he reached out to her, "I can listen."
He watched the tears pool in her eyes as they darted softly across his face, almost like she was looking for the man he was all those years ago. Trying so hard to ground herself before putting her hand in his. Lane never did like showing her feelings, she always felt like she couldn’t and he could only hope to make her feel as safe as she did for him.
"Damn you, Sam Wilson," she muttered, but there was a soft, tentative smile on her face as she threaded her fingers with his. "If we're gonna do this, I need the greasiest, cheesiest burger you can get around here."
"I'll do you one better. You come back to the compound with me and I'll cook you up somethin' special, maybe somethin' from my Mama's secret recipe stash."
"You mean Sarah finally shared them with you?" Lane chuckled, her eyes still glistening. "God, I used to love going home with you for that cooking."
"Just for the cooking?" Sam replied, flashing her his best smile as Lane rolled her eyes. "What do you say, Lanie? We're both here, now, and if this is the only chance we get..."
"Take me home, bird boy," Lane smirked playfully, squeezing his hand gently.
Another swarm of butterflies fluttered against Sam's rib cage at the familiar nickname he'd earned from his friends back on base. He let out a loud laugh, throwing his head back, "Oh that's what we're doing now?"
Smiling brightly, Lane hummed and nodded once, bumping her shoulder into his as she dragged him back towards the door. Sam shook his head once more as he followed, tucking the two of them close to the wall as they snuck through the crowded room. Only a few people tried to catch his attention but there was nothing that was going to take him away from escaping with his girl.
The car was waiting out front and when he finally had her in the back seat it was like a tidal wave of relief had washed over him. He always knew how much he missed her, but seeing her here, ready and finally willing to just talk to him. It was different. He couldn't explain how real it all felt. So he kept his hand tucked in hers, craving the sensation of her skin until he could get her alone.
Lane was nervous, he could feel it in her touch when she squeezed his hand with worry. He couldn't even remember the last time she had gone home with him.
God he had missed her. "We're almost there," he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.
Lane smiled, small and tight, when the car pulled in through the security gate and she peered out the window at the sprawling compound. Once parked up, Sam helped her out, tucking her under his arm as they headed through the front door and through to the common room.
The place was in relative darkness, the soft lighting usually set for night time, and Sam caught the way Lane’s shoulders fell, tension physically oozing out of her.
“Take a seat,” he murmured softly, “I’ll open a bottle of red.”
He wandered over to the small wine storage, searching for the bottle of Lane’s favourite he knew he kept for memory’s sake, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Sliding it out, he was met with a selfie of Bucky the idiot took when Sam wasn’t looking — Peter’s doing really, he’s sure — and he brushed his thumb across the screen to quickly take the call.
“Are you allowed to bail on your own gala?”Bucky asked immediately, “at least tell me you’re alive.”
Sam breathed out a short laugh, "Alive and well, Buck. Just something I need to take care of," he smiled softly, grabbing the wine bottle off the shelf and turning it over in his hands.
"Something or someone?" Bucky pressed, the hint of a joke in his grumpy voice, "If I have to stay here, I don't think it's fair that you got to leave, even the kid is leaving with Kate and Yelena, something about playing Kings" he grumbled, "but there's no royalty visiting the city,"
With a shake of his head, Sam couldn't help the roll of his eyes, "It's just a game Buck and you can leave too, just give the kitchen and common floor some space, I'll talk to you later"
Letting out another laugh as he hung up his phone, Sam sauntered back into the living room presenting the wine bottle to Lane, with a proud smile, "Rippon Pinot Noir, just the way you like it,"
"Almost like you kept that sitting around in case I showed up," Lane teased but her voice was tight.
"Better to be prepared than empty handed," Sam uncorked the wine.
"Don't," Lane covered her glass with her hand, "straight out of the bottle or not at all," she smiled.
"Just like the good old days?" Sam nodded.
"I wouldn't call them good, but they were days, and there was wine." Lane added, "and you."
"Then we got all we need," Sam replied softly as he took a seat beside her on the couch. Lane had kicked off her heels and made herself comfortable, and something about that made him smile. That she could be so comfortable in his space again after so long apart.
"So," she started, making grabby hands for the bottle and sipping it delicately. "Are you ready to listen?"
"I'm all ears, sweetheart," he breathed, pressing his body against hers as offered him both the bottle of wine and her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently as Lane took a deep breath.
Lane turned her eyes down to their intertwined hands and swiped her tongue over her lips. Using two of his fingers, Sam lifted her gaze back up to meet his with a soft nod of his head, ensuring she knew that he was right there, whatever happened, he was with her. With a gentle smile ghosting her lips as her dark eyes skated over his face, Lane cleared her throat and began the story of her last mission. The amount of people they'd lost, and how she did everything to save as many as she could, but even the ones who came home didn't really. The emotion in her voice as she talked about her troops, the soft voice cracks and the small tear that escaped down her cheek made Sam's whole body ache. It was supposed to be a track and report mission, but it turned into a search and rescue. He'd been on difficult missions himself but this was something else all together.
Sam wanted to gather her up in his arms and never let her go. To remind her that she was home and safe back in his arms. To tell her that he was never going to let anything bad happen to her again.
"... I was shot out of the sky, just like Riley," she whispered, taking a small sip from the wine bottle in front of her, "My wings wrapped the wrong way and I just... fell. Shrapnel from the shot was lodged in my back with bits from my pack, if I hadn't been over water, I would've -" her voice broke again and Sam traced his thumb over her cheek, catching another tear.
"There's a reason I didn't wear an open back dress tonight," Lane tried to joke, "The scars from surgery after surgery, it's not pretty Sam... and the - mental scars that I carry, it was too much to put on you. You were working with Steve Rogers when I got back, I wasn't about to swoop in and take that away just because I'm broken."
The words caught in Sam's throat, broken. He'd never once thought of Lane as anything but strong and fierce. Like a tidal wave. To hear her talk about herself in a way that was anything less than that, it broke down a wall inside of him.
"Show me, Lanie," He urged, knowing the chances of her saying no were high but he also knew that telling her that she was beautiful, unmarked and flawless. Those words would mean nothing to her, he needed to show her. "I'll show you mine," he added with a soft smile.
"I've seen all your scars, Sam." She whispered, her fingers tighter around the bottle now.
"I have some new ones," he returned the tease, trying to make her comfortable enough to give in and trust him just one more time.
"I don't know, Sam." Her voice was hushed, a quiet murmur in their little corner of the common room.
"How about I go first?" He responded, and with the slight nod of Lane's head, Sam hopped to his feet and shrugged off his jacket, chucking it across the arm of the couch. She looked up then, her sad eyes fixed on his fingers as he worked quickly to undo his tie. Sam flashed her a grin, wiggling his eyebrows as if he were undressing for any other reason but to show off the jagged lines and mottled skin he carried with him now. And he'd do it a million times over if it meant Lane could see the beauty in the scars she carried herself.
Once he reached the last button of his shirt, he let it hang open before he moved onto his belt, ridding himself of his clothes until he stood in nothing but his boxers and his socks and he began to point out his most recent scar, a long, freshly pink line that was a deep slit in his thigh just a few months ago.
"Sam," Lane breathed, her breath hitching.
"One for one?" Sam replied as he held his hand out, waiting patiently for her to take it, to trust him with her hurt like he had with her all those years ago.
Hesitantly, Lane placed her hand in his and stood, leaving a few inches between them as she spun slowly and paused with her back to him, looking over her shoulder, "could you help me?" She whispered.
Sam trailed his fingers softly up her back until he reached the zipper of her dress, pulling it down agonizingly slowly. A long line of raised, discolored flesh ran along her spine, growing the lower he got. He stopped his fingers when he reached the end and Sam swallowed thickly, tracing his thumb over the scar that ran the entire length between her shoulder blades.
"Surgery number one," Lane breathed, leaning into his touch and meeting his gaze once more.
His breath caught in his throat as she let the dress slip from her hips and stepped out of it, turning around to face him. Her face was tight and every agonizing motion she felt was on display as she arched her neck and closed her eyes. "Number two," she whispered, showing him a fleshy twisted scar that spiraled over her bicep and cut into her shoulder. Sam couldn't believe the pain she must have endured from the fall. Not knowing if she was going to survive it, even worse the agony she must have felt waking up alone, completely transformed by the accident.
The strength she must have held, still held, to get through that. Sam would never know what it was like to come out the other side of something as intense as what Lane had been through, but he knew a little something about grief, about the loss of something and the heaviness you live with after as you rebuild your life.
"I think you might be the strongest woman I know," he murmured, taking a small step closer. "but then, you always have been."
Lane's mouth curved into a soft smile, not quite meeting her eyes as she reached for Sam's hand and brought his fingers to her stomach and around to the side of her waist.
"Scar number three," she murmured, as she pressed the pads of Sam's fingers along the thick, raised line that stretched around to her back. "This one's from a piece of my pack that decided to embed itself in my side on impact."
"Lanie," her name came out as a breath as his fingers traced over her skin.
Scar after scar, each and every little one a small reminder of everything she'd been through. Every moment he wasn't by her side to remind her how amazing she was to him. He didn't see the ugliness that she did, all Sam saw was a strong, incredible woman who had been through hell and stood taller because of it. He saw her.
He used his free hand to place two fingers under her chin and bring her eyes up to meet his, "You're beautiful, Lane. Every piece of you. Inside and out. And I will show you that as many times as you need me too and more, if you'll let me," he spoke quietly, drawing her closer, pressing their bodies together.
Sam felt her tremble when he dipped his head and his lips pressed to the scar on her shoulder. Her entire body giving into the soft, slow praises in the form of kisses. A tiny moan slipped from her tired lips as Sam began to show her just how beautiful each scar was.
"I missed you," he said, so quietly it might have been missed over the sound of their breathing but it was out there and it was true. "More than anything."
"I missed you too, Sam," she breathed, as she tilted her head back and to the side as Sam's lips trailed up her neck to her earlobe.
His fingertips dug gently into her skin as he moved up and pressed his forehead to hers. He needed her. He needed her to understand just how much he missed her. Just how beautiful she was in his eyes. Sam swooped down, and lifted Lane into his arms, pulling a giggled from her perfect lips as she pulled back a little to look at him.
Sam shook his head once, and rounded the couch, heading straight down the hallway to his bedroom. There was no way his first time with her was going to be on a couch or the floor of the living room. Those pesky butterflies tickled his chest once more the closer they got and he let the feeling of them wash over him just like her warm citrus scent.
"Sam," Lane practically whined as she dipped her head and kissed a small scar he had on his collarbone.
Electricity shot down from his head to his toes as her lips touched his skin. He’d been waiting, dreaming of her back in his arms for so long and here she was, finally. His Lanie.
He held her tighter reaching a hand out to open his door as quickly as possible, once inside he kicked the door shut and walked them over to his bed. Lane kissed a line up his neck as she ran her fingers delicately through his scalp. A shiver ran up his spine as she reached his jaw and pulled back to meet his eyes. He propped his knee on the mattress before softly laying Lanie against it. He stared at her, looking just like the angel she was to him with her hair spread out along the mattress. Her throat bobbed under his gaze, and her breaths picked up, Sam smiled at her soft and full of all the love he’d been holding onto for her.
He pushed her legs open a bit with his leg before he settled into a hover atop her body, holding onto his weight he dipped his head and touched his nose to hers eliciting a gasp from her lips.
“Can I kiss you Lanie, please?” He whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.
“If you don’t I’m definitely gonna kiss you,” she said with a soft chuckle.
Sam didn't hesitate, dipping into her soft laughter and consuming it whole. He wanted everything. Her lips felt like heaven dancing against his as he cupped her face and tangled his fingers into her hair. He missed her so much that nothing else mattered, he barely remembered to breathe. Her mouth parted and he swiped his tongue against hers, deepening their connection as her hands roamed his chest and back.
Her fingers dragged over his shoulder blades, tickling his skin and drawing a throaty laugh from him as he broke away.
"I'm glad we haven't forgotten everything," he winked at her as he pulled away and started to work down her throat with his teeth and lips.
Her soft laugh turned into a breathy moan as he moved over her skin, paying attention to the little scars that littered it like a story of everything she'd overcome. "My strong," he dragged his lips across her collarbone, "incredible," a soft kiss to the scar on her shoulder, "beautiful, girl" he moved down to press his lips to the large scar on her side.
Her breath picked up pace as her fingers trailed, "Baby please," Lane whispered, as her eyes followed him down her body, "Come back to me,"
Sam obeyed, stretching his body back up and capturing her lips with his with more passion than he knew what to do with. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was laying beneath him and it was his new mission to make her understand how much she meant to him.
Sam pulled his lips from hers with a soft tug of her bottom lip, pulling a whine from her with the action. He kissed along her jaw and down her neck the soft mewls coming from her pushing him forward. He reached the curve of her breasts and breathed in her scent, smiling against her skin.
“Sam please,” Lane whispered.
He pressed wet kisses along her clothed breasts, flicking his tongue lightly along her pebbled nipples. He pulled back, smiling at her and moved a hand under her lifting her gently, pressing her chest flush against his.
“I’m taking this off now, yes?”
Lane nodded and took his lips in his in a feverish kiss.
Sam smiled against her skin as his fingers worked deftly at her bra, unhooking it with ease and tossing it aside. He palmed her breast and brought her exposed nipple between his lips, sucking gently until her hips arched into his touch. Her hands raked over his scalp as he massaged her chest.
"What do you want?" He asked her, not knowing where to start himself. His touch was fuzzy against her warm skin and all he wanted to do was kiss her until she begged him to stop.
"You... just you," Lane breathed, moving her hips up into his, "touch me, baby, please"
Sam groaned into her skin at her words, kissing his way down her body and stopping at the edge of her panties, "Can I take these off, beautiful?" he hummed.
It still felt surreal to him that she was here, allowing him to explore her body and take in each and every sound she made for him. He wanted to savour the moment, remember every movement but his own body betrayed him. It ached to touch her and drink her in, to keep her skin pressed against his and make her whine his name over and over.
With a nod of her head, Sam hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down her legs, pressing soft kisses along the way until he flung her panties across his room, landing them over a picture of him and Steve, making Lane giggle softly.
He sat back and admired her taking his time to commit every single inch of her body to memory. He wrapped his fingers delicately around her ankle lifting her leg up and pressing his lips to her calf with a teasing smile as she writhed under his touch.
“Really, all this time and you wanna tease me now?”
Sam breathed a laugh against her skin, pressing more kisses along her leg, inching closer to her center painfully slow even for himself.
“I’m savoring you,” he hummed. “Two very different things, your cute little scowl is just a bonus.”
"This cute little scowl is impatient," Lane cooed at him but her words were swallowed by a sharp gasp.
Sam's tongue flickered out over Lane, already so wet and sweet. He couldn't stop himself as his hand roamed over her hip and pressed against her stomach. He peered up at her, drinking in how euphoric she had become under his touch. He worked in slow circles that drew the sweetest sounds from her lips as he quickened in pace, chasing the sounds of her pleasure.
Lane’s hands ground him in place, soft but firm as her hips moved in sync with his tongue. Her moans filling the room as she whispered his name over and over like a prayer as she chased her high. Sam felt her tense up beneath him before he fingers reached for his cheek, calling his attention to her.
“Sam please, I need to feel you,” She panted and he smiled pressing a kiss to her thigh, “Come here handsome.”
Despite wanting to please her, Sam took his time, kissing his way back up her body, paying specific attention to each scar that littered her torso. A soft whine escaped her lips and her soft hands found his cheeks as she gently tried to pull him back to her.
"So impatient," Sam whispered, ghosting his lips up her throat and capturing her with his before she could say anything, tangling their tongues together and letting her taste her sweetness.
He settled himself between her legs and teased her entrance with the head of his cock, ignoring his own throbbing to take in more of her beautiful pleading sounds. He hoped to any god listening that they would have many more moments like this, just the two of them enjoying each other, but he also knew that life could be reckless and unpredictable, their scars telling that exact story to one another. It just made this moment with his girl all that more important to him.
Lane's hand travelled down and cupped his ass, urging him forward, "Sammy," she breathed against his lips.
Nothing else mattered in that moment as he slipped into her entrance with a soft, silky thrust that melted their bodies together. She was so tight that it took him an moment to adjust, gently rocking his hips back and forth until she was a puddle of breathless moans and tiny huffs. His lips found hers again, needy and hungry for more. He wanted to be closer than ever before and he accomplished that mission with each thrust forward.
"You're so beautiful," he hummed when he parted, cupping her face with his hand and admiring the soft freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose. Her lips partially open and her eyes searching his as they rocked together at a delicious pace chasing their high in unison.
His fingers danced along her skin trailing from her cheek down her side. Her scarred skin was soft and smooth under his touch while he mapped a constellation of scars on her side. Lane wriggled beneath him, her moans bringing a smile to his face. There were so many times that he felt an incredible pang in his chest with every moment he ached for her and now having her so close feeling the way her body molds to his, Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let her go after this.
“Lanie,” he breathed, dipping his head and pressing soft chaste kisses along her collar bone to the spot on her neck that always makes her squirm. His hands traveled down her sides to the outside of her thighs, pulled her even closer and hiked her hips off of the bed in a new angle, one that dragged a delicious moan from her lips.
Lane's head lifted as she pressed a kiss to the scar on his collarbone, gasping into his skin as he thrust forward and hit her sensitive spot. A shiver of pleasure shot down his spine as she gripped his length tighter and fluttered around him, her orgasm growing within her. They're soft sounds echoed through his room as his pace became quick and needy, chasing their highs together.
"Sammy," she whined, moving her hips in tandem with his, craving the same closeness that he was as her head fell back into his pillow and pressed backwards.
The pressure grew deep within his stomach but Sam needed her to reach her climax first. He needed to give that to her, to feel her pleasure erupt around him.
Her nails dug into his skin as her breathing became ragged and her body tensed in his arms. He felt the cord snap within her as his name danced off her lips in a series of breathless moans that made him heavy dizzy with pride.
"That's my girl, keeping going," he praised both verbally and physically as he picked up the pace, his rhythm growing sloppy as he chased her orgasm in search of his own. Her lips on his skin was enough to drive him crazy as her cunt fluttered around him, dragging him inch for inch closer to the edge.
She felt like heaven around him, gripping his length and still fluttering. Warmth spread through his veins and pleasure curled around his lower back the further he pushed himself. Lane’s moans turned into soft whimpers as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, whispering soft praises as his hips snapped against hers, out of rhythm until it was too much. He felt her nails dig into his back, her legs hooked around his waist as he came.
His hips slowed, rocking lazily as he trailed kisses along the inside of her neck.
Her fingers trailed up his spine and scraped into his scalp as she did her best to catch her breath. The overwhelming sense of comfort drifted over Sam as he kept his lips pressing into her skin, relishing in the moment of their bodies together. The sound of a hitch in her breath made him sit up slightly, catching her soft brown eyes with his own as he furrowed his brow.
"Lanie, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He asked, his hand coming up to cup her cheek gently.
She shook her head with a ghost of a smile and placed her hand over his, "I just - I missed you so much, Sam"
With a small breath of relief, Sam returned the smile, leaning his forehead down against hers and brushing their noses together, "I missed you too, Lanie. More than you know"
#sam wilson#sam wilson au#captain america#captain america au#sam wilson oneshot#sam wilson one shot#sam wilson imagine#sam wilson smut#sam wilson x oc#marvel imagine#marvel oneshot#marvel one shot#marvel au#marvelous#fluff#hurt/comfort#friends to lovers#one shot
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Reborn OC: Elise
Age: 17 -> 18
Birthday: November 4th
Gender: Female (She/Her)
Sexuality: Pan
Likes: Attention, Dancing, Sweets
Dislikes: Betrayal, Bad Parenting, Sour stuff
Roster:
Luxray (Spotlight, M)
Mudsdale (Buster, M)
Noivern (Acrobat, M)
Samurott (Bushi, F)
Lopunny (Taiya, F)
Dewgong (Sonata, F)
Beedrill (Samba, M)
Gogoat (Bullseye, M)
Alolan Ninetales (Roren, M)
Zoroark (Lusé, F)
Xatu (Damus, M)
Dusclops (Spectro, M)
Lycanroc-Dusk (Mascot, F)
Snorlax (Sumo, M)
Delphox (Astraya, F)
Postgame Legendaries used:
Entei (Dasher)
Cobalion (Dancer)
Zygarde-10% (Prancer)
Zeraora (Featherweight)
Kartana (Akame)
Lunala (Nightwing)
Rayquaza (Ascendance)
She has apprenticed with the Agate Circus since she was 12 and is an aspiring performer who decides to start her journey as a trainer to bring even greater renown to the institution... only to get rung into Reborn's events, but at least she doesn't have to get bailed off the exploding train. She is optimistic yet also quite stubborn, and is supportive of her buddies.
(TW: Alcoholism + Implications of Abuse below)
Elise grew up for years with a love for the circus, and her parents formed lots of great memories with taking her there. However, her dad died when she was 10 years old, and in grief, her Mom spiraled into alcoholism. With growing hesitancy around her home and fears of getting hurt again, Elise spent more and more time at the circus alone.
Eventually this led her to befriending Alistasia's father, the original ringmaster of Agate's circus, who took a liking to her and taught her much about the performances and attractions of the place. The Circus practically became her home away from home; a home without fear or pain.
However, the shorter times she did spend back home were all the more strenuous, and eventually, she couldn't handle living with her mom anymore, running away.
The old ringmaster learned of her plight, and took her in, at age 12. After being given time to recover, she proceeded to help around the circus (a job she was more than happy to help with) to earn her keep, all while forging strong bonds with Samson, Ciel and Ace in the process. This went on for several years.
A year before the events of the main story, Ace leaves the Circus abruptly, without even a goodbye. As time goes by, in longing for her friend(and wanting to reach stardom while expanding her horizons as well), Elise leaves for Reborn City to enter the League, with her Shinx and two more Pokémon as parting gifts from her dear friends.
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ORV DND Episode 2
The GM tells us five PC that Main Scenario #2 has begun right as the bus we’re in breaks down in the middle of the road.
It’s called The Guide where we have to meet some guide, meaning that now things are going to divert from canon Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint. My GM friend already warned me not to expect the scenarios to be the same but I’m still paranoid to what’s to come because then this sub scenario pops up.
Sub Scenario: Survive Mental Prison.
A fog cloaks our surroundings and we must roll a constitution check. Two PC use their attribute skills to be immune to the fog, while the rest of us roll our dice. I succeed but the other two PC fail and thus describe their selves in a state of panic.
It takes a while for us to drag those two out of the bus as we run to the safety of an abandoned convenient store. Along the way we had to discard half our of equipment to speed up our progress. It took a lot of our braincells to remember that our suitcases can weigh us down.
Anyway we escape the fog and rest in the store. We eat some food, rest up, have our PCs interact and name a cat Sprinkles.
Okay so I forgot to mention this in the last episode post, there was a cat that I thought about killing for the first scenario but in the end I choose to kill a person. As for the cat, well it killed a rat and survived. Does this cat have a constellation sponsor? I don’t know.
We’re still deciding what to do at this point. Our only leads are from an email that brought us all to that bus that was supposed to take us to Disneyland. Our best guess is that Disneyland is where our guide for the second scenario is.
And then busting out of the employee only door is a bunch of hooded people. These new NPCs are clearly in a well organized group, they have gas masks and bags full of food. The NPC with a sword interrogates us, asking how we survived the first scenario. The PCs who only killed insects or a plant are open about it but me and last PC reluctantly share that we killed people.
From an insight roll, the NPCs were not expecting that. My guess was that they also killed people and to hear that there was another way pass that to survive was tough to realize.
The sword NPC then tells us that there are people sheltered in a mall nearby. Their group has it barricaded and their leader sent them out to get more food supply. We get to talking a bit more and with some high charisma rolls we learn something important.
The NPCs shared that they were from different Scenario #1 groups and that their Scenario #2 are also different.
As a reader of ORV, I did not see that coming. Lowkey, I did expect the GM to directly use canon scenarios but the idea of people getting different scenarios and advancing at different paces did not form in my brain.
One PC raises the question of what if these NPCs has a scenario to kill us.
Another PC suggests we have the cat do a vibe check.
Sprinkles the cat looks at the NPCs and meows in approval.
So we go with them. They give us their extra gas masks and we go through the fog and reach a mall. If you’ve ever seen Netflix’ Daybreak, the mall is like that, the shuttered pulled down and barricaded. Inside we meet the leader of all these hoods.
I quickly realize this is like a thuggish version of Inho Cheon and Geumho Station. This leader NPC believes in survival of the fittest and gathers other strong people to follow his lead. The mall has the same division of power, people who have low stats and have to pay a coin fee to the leader’s group of high stat people.
This leader NPC is also okay for any of us to leave the mall, he expects us to die but still, we have the option to leave. Problem is that the Mental Prison fog is still out there so we hatch a plan to steal some gas masks before we bail this place.
Meanwhile, we get a tour of the place. Again it’s kind of like Geumho Station where the scavenger group gets access to the food supply but also the mattresses store, and running water while the large group of low stats people gets none of that. Classic power imbalance, yah know.
But then my entire being stops when the NPC casually points at the movie theater and says, “That’s the theater dungeon.”
The other PCs get confused and poke fun at the dungeon part, thinking this NPC made a sex dungeon until they get the explanation that the theater itself really is a dungeon and people with low stats died in there while his strong group survived.
As for me, out of character I tell my friends, “I’m going into the theater dungeon no matter what.”
“All we do is give our characters pain,” a PC comments.
Anyway, we wander off to talk about how to steal or buy off the gas masks because one, our Scenario #2 is probably not here and two, this place is sketchy as fuck. Sprinkles has been hissing at the leader and we all agree with this cat.
This is where I turn to the GM and ask to roll for my personal skill to predict the future.
So this is how the GM and I hatched out this skill. My PC is not a true prophet like Anna Croft cause that’ll be too overpowered. We decided on using percentile dice and make my skill into an accuracy reading on what routes I pick. If you know about the fortune teller from the Danganronpa series, its like that.
So I ask questions on what would happen if we stay here and if we can leave safely. I roll sort of high and the GM messages me this.
There will be a bloody fight in the future, innocents will die, you may not leave.
Again, the GM reminds me that this is only like a seventy percent accurate. Nonetheless, me and my PC are shocked and scared. I retell my accursed knowledge to the other PCs and things are looking grim.
That’s when a kid NPC approaches us, asking if we’re strong. This kid tells us his friend went into the theater dungeon and hasn’t came out yet.
Before a PC could say ‘you’re friend is probably dead’ a sub scenario pops up.
It’s basically a rescue quest to save the kid’s friend. From the two hour time limit, the friend is still probably alive we guess. What really catches out attention is the reward of having this NPC use a skill to increase our bond or power with our constellation sponsors. We take up the the quest and head off to the theater.
There the sword NPC from earlier is guarding the entrance and warns us that we might die but the rewards are pretty good. Then she asks if we’re really taking our cat with us.
Sprinkles has chosen only one PC to be his designated human so that PC tries to hand off Sprinkles to the care of the NPC.
“Wait just a second,” our GM announces and we hear the roll of a dice.
Sprinkles decides no, jumps out of the arms of the NPC and runs into the theater dungeon.
Things are going great.
We head into the theater, its just the main lobby and two hallways. We see Sprinkles head to the left hallway but we try to investigate the lobby first. We get some clues about the NPC we’re supposed to rescue but not enough to know where he is. Eventually we decide to go left and trust the cat is leading us in the right direction.
The hallway has posters with slash marks, later explained to be done by the sword girl NPC accompanying us. She’s just here for the cat. Sword NPC explains how this dungeon works and like canon, we would get sucked into the movie according to its poster. We make jokes about avoiding Avengers: Infinity War.
Anyway we spy Sprinkles at the end of the hallway in front of a movie poster that has not been slashed out.
GM has us roll perception. Four of us roll low and only get a look at some woodland picture. We all make guesses like Pet Cemetery, Blair Witch, Cabin in the Woods.
The PC who rolled high gets messaged the movie name.
“Guys,” the PC is almost choked up in shock but exclaims, “It’s Bambi!”
We all go ‘oh no’ and think it can’t be that bad right? We go approach the poster and get sucked in.
We appear in cottage in winter, dressed in hunting gear and the GM tells us that we are freezing and starved. Oh and we all have shotguns.
Outside we explore and see a bunch of animals, two of which are deers.
Yeah, we’re in Bambi alright.
Somewhere along the way, we think the way to get out of here is to shoot every other animal but the deers. It takes a while cause some of us rolled low, argued about the ethics of this, pull the trigger, and we make it out with the shotguns as our rewards.
We head off to the other hallway, similarly enough there’s only one unslashed poster for us.
Again we do a perception roll and again only one of us rolls high to be messaged by the GM.
“Wait, is this the reboot or original?”
“Original.”
“Guys, it’s Dumbo.”
At this point, we’re convinced all this Disney stuff really is a clue for us to go to Disneyland. Like, that’s why we were all on the bus right when the first scenario started. It’s all. an elaborate. conspiracy.
So we enter the movie and appear backstage of a circus tent. The ringmaster yells at us to prepare for our acts. We split up into pairs. The clowns are up first.
“Why did the chicken cross the road?” PC says rather dully, evident in their frowny face clown makeup.
I honestly don’t remember the end of that joke because immediately it was a low performance roll and everyone, including us PCs, booed.
Smiley face PC holds up a large peanut bag and asks, “Want some of deetz nutz?”
That gets the crowd roaring with laughter except for the mysterious cloaked figure in the audience.
The clown PCs notice this and tries to do a fire extinguisher prank to hose the NPC out. It doesn’t work that well as they got other audience members and the ringmaster kicks the clowns backstage. They warn the rest of us about the cloaked figure right as me and my PC partner are suddenly up high for our trapeze act.
PC partner unfortunately rolls low for acrobatics and is falling. I roll high to swing on a rope and catch them and we basically recreate the Rewrite the Stars song. During that we notice the cloaked figure is leaving the audience. We both get the brilliant idea of me throwing my partner at the cloak figure.
Yeah, um, PC ends up pile diving on the audience. Nonetheless that PC chases after the cloaked figure as the third act begins. Basically its the fifth PC and the NPC riding horses through rings of fire. They do really well.
Back with the mysterious cloaked figure, PC confronts them but the only response is this NPC throwing smoke bombs into the tent and running away.
Pink smoke spreads out through the circus tent and the GM tells us to roll for a constitution saving throw. The entire audience and half of the party suddenly become drunk and a PC explains in horror that this is the pink elephant scene from Dumbo.
I do not remember much from the movie so my friend explains that this infamous scene is about Dumbo getting drunk on champagne. Wow.
Anyway me and another PC have to watch over our drunk party members. It does not help that they still have the shotguns and they want to shoot at the birds they see in their drunken state.
Meanwhile, the last sober PC runs out to find the mysterious cloaked figure who caused this but no. Instead the GM gives that PC a bunch of angst and describes how this stressing situation is enough to give the PC a panic attack. It’s all about character development, gotta give them conflict in nature to their backstory.
Backstage, I’m trying to pry away the shotguns from another PC. It does not go well and my PC gets fed up, decides fine, shoot the birds.
Low and behold, shooting the birds that’s only seen in this state is what gets us out of the movie. As we’re all relieved that we made it out, the GM points out that the mysterious cloaked NPC has also made it out with us.
We chase after him to the lobby and we manage to tackle him down. The hood is now off and we see that this NPC is the kid we’re supposed to rescue in the first place. But there’s obvious something off, his eyes are glowing.
Classic signs of mind control.
The NPC struggles out of hold and suddenly the lobby starts to slip apart before our very eyes. Our allied sword NPC tells us that this should not be happening, that this is not normal as the theater lobby shifts to become a battle ring.
Next to the mind controlled NPC, two caricatured figures appear, also with glowing eyes. A PC manages to perceive the nametags they’re wearing, one is labeled ‘Dumb.’
We all immediately guess we’re somehow in Wonderland without a movie poster. Right as we’re doing that, the GM rolls a die and the mind controlled NPC shapeshifts to look like one of us PC.
We roll for initiate.
Okay not really, that’s where we called it a night. You all have no idea how excited I was when I learned that the theater dungeon is here. Like I was grinning so much. So what I got so far is that GM is pulling plot devices from canon as resources but yah know, twisting it into their own direction.
Thanks for reading!
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So today I learned what exercise nerds have known forever, that you can wear out your central nervous system.
Specifically, you can be tired cardiovascularly (sweating, breathless), muscularly (sore, can’t lift stuff), or nervously (grumpy, can’t perform complex physical tasks/tend to fall out of acrobatics, can’t sleep well, bad concentration).
For the rest of this, please bear in mind that I am an average person, in no way an expert, do not know what I’m talking about, and am just drawing connections that make sense to me with absolutely no evidence to back them up.
And I went holy crap. So many things clicked together. Specifically, the way I tend to fail at exercise; that autism is a disorder of the central nervous system; and that pandemic trauma has us all tired in weird ways (for me stuff like ‘don’t want to practice language’).
Exercise: For me, a lot of the time when I start... bailing out of exercise, I get to a point where I’ll be in a position and physically forget both how to stand up and how to fall down. So I’m just stuck there until I (or, embarrassingly, someone else) can talk me through what I need to move and how to, say, send signals to my left foot in order to put it in a position such that I can stand up. Or I’ll be practicing something and all of a sudden I can’t do the same things I could do at the start of class. I’m not tired, I say in great frustration, I’m not sweaty or breathless or worn out, I’m just... an emotional wreck who’s incapable of finishing an exercise.
Or, apparently, nervously worn out.
Autism: This one I got a boost on because we have an officially autistic member of our group who, when the CNS was brought up, promptly defined it as Central Nervous System. So I drew that conclusion and went wait a second. Autism tends to result in problems with sensory overload. Senses, in my ignorant understanding, are fed by the nerves. So is what you are doing when you get an autistic/overstimulated breakdown overloading the CNS and resulting in high stress/nervous tiredness?
Again, completely unproven, but basic googling did confirm that autism is a disorder of the CNS. (So are Down syndrome and fragile X syndrome, so y’know... probably a fallacious conclusion! But, per the below, I have a feeling it can help me.)
Pandemic trauma: I’ve read various random stuff about pandemic trauma, being generally tired and unable to motivate, and something about not sleeping well. I’ve experienced a bit at least of the vague tiredness and inability to motivate. It comes and goes. Enough for me to go, hmm, I wonder if trauma is expressed physically in the nervous system?
I have no proof to back this up! I barely know what a nervous system is, much less an autonomous or a paranervous system might do! But I connected a bunch of dots (cue meme) and went, okay, so if all of these things suck, and being worn out in this way screws over your ability to sleep, how are you supposed to fix it?
Resting the Nervous System
The answer? according to Google? take more time off. Let your nervous system grow its little dendrites and its fat coatings for them. (Some stuff about diet that I didn’t bother reading.) Bullshit meditation. In sum: we don’t really know and nobody has a scientific answer for this.
I went through some breathing exercises anyway. They felt good and calming I guess. My brain likes doing those things sometimes. (It’s possible to over-meditate, though difficult to find articles about that, which sucks for those that experience it. I’m not saying I have ever over-meditated; I know someone who has, and I know that my brain likes up to 45 minutes once a week for ~3 months and then it taps out. It also doesn’t like to use the meditation word, which is why I use the phrase “bullshit meditation” - it absolves me of taking myself seriously, and so permits me to do things like ‘sitting quietly not thinking’ or ‘focusing on minute tensions and relaxations of muscle groups like we did at camp that one time’. What was I talking about?) Probably I’ll still have to go through a period of not getting to do fun exercise (and still going to whack at invasive species because I cannot get behind at that).
Them anatomy scientists need to get on actually identifying how to properly optimize relaxation of the CNS.
Oh, ALSO the capoeira folks said that alcohol can relax it as well, but that doing so will erase what you learned by exercising said system, so it’s not really worth it. (Also, y’know, moderation in all things.)
#Nimblermortals Senf#the fourth random wiggling finger is#I know Patrick has autism and difficulty sleeping#I wonder if - if I put this together - I can come up with something that would help?#the answer is no
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Sticky Situation
Previous part here | Next part here
You didn’t really think Floyd was just gonna let you go, did you?
“I’m going to go back to my dorm,” you explain, “Enjoy your night fly!” You tilt to the side as you begin to veer away from Floyd.
“Huh? Don’t wanna,” he replies. Your muscles tense slightly but you continue your course towards the dorms.
“Goodbye senpai!” you call out, hoping that Floyd will catch on or get bored. Unfortunately, late at night, nothing is more entertaining than a lone first year flying around. You think you hear a chant behind you and decide to suddenly swerve right.
You must be cursed, you think while performing mid air acrobatics trying to dodge whatever spell Floyd is casting. You know whatever he does, Azul will bail him out. The same can’t be said for you and Malleus. Part of you just wants to launch a spell back at him but the risk of angering Floyd makes you hesitant. For now, he just seems to be having fun. There’s no telling what will happen if he gets mad.
“Ahhh! Just dodging is boring. I’m going to catch you flying fish!” he calls out. Boring? Only for him! You, on the other hand, think you have the worst luck in the entire school. Well, maybe aside from the Ramshackle prefect. A protective shield? Simultaneously casting spells might be a little tiring, but it couldn’t be any worse than this onslaught. Or perhaps you should fight back? Floyd is from the sea and you flourish in the sky.
The dorm is coming into sight and you speed up. The entrance in in your eyes and you know your room is only a little further. So close, so close. You glance back and Floyd is nowhere in sight. Maybe he finally left you alone?
“Gotcha!” A goopy substance begins to spread on your wings. Your feathers stick together and you start to wobble in the sky. Below you is Floyd with a satisfied grin. You let out a piercing shriek but Floyd just laughs.
What do you do?
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Cont. [x] // @justapeskyninja
At first, he wouldn’t pay no mind to this great deal of effort made in these punches swung his way. As feisty as this princess may be, he’d rather avoid the case and hopefully she would give up meddling with his time off. Wind blows from every swift move he initiates to dodge her, throwing off small pebbles from the ground. He’d assume once he grabs her first, it would be over.
Reno learns the reason for her interest to challenge him, although it earns a frown of disproval until the second his shirt is grabbed on. He’d be making a fuss about this if she didn’t just make the sheer attempt to deprive him off steadiness. And more, to the Turk’s surprise, flinging him over her after gaining impetus to lift him. Normally, he’d have the time to bail but more so hoped she’d fail to pick him up just so he could have something to be amused about. But when that wasn’t the case, while suspended in the air, Reno spares himself the unnecessary bruises via display of acrobatics. Flexibility allows him to arch and turn his body through a somersault before he would hit the ground. He falls to his feet into a squatting position, setting an arm in front to lean on.
“What did ya just— How can a lil’ chick like ya lift like this, yo??” Now, he usually wouldn’t question it but simultaneously wouldn’t have expected Yuffie of all people to be able to carry out his taller form in such way.
“I’d actually give ya your due if you can do this wit' my partner too,” he adds with a smirk across pristine facial features. He’s sure it’ll be impossible for her to perform it with Rude, at least.
“Ya wanna mess wit’ a Turk? Then get some—”
He pushes himself up from the ground, taking advantage of the position he was in for extra boost. Flashy steaks of white and turquoise stream down the path after him, irradiating from lightning reflexes and speed enhancement. Once close enough, the redhead propels a leg ahead. Polished oxfords with their sole are aimed directly at her, awaiting collision.
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Ficlet: Pollyanna
In which Ty Lee speaks her mind and sets some boundaries, but still believes in second chances. AKA: The Feels. All The Feels. I actually felt a bit teary-eyed when I was writing this. All the Discourse going on made me realize that this was a subject that I’d been avoiding.
This takes place after Chapter 29 of my Short Stories, which in turn takes place after my standalone fic “I Smell Fun.”
After Ty Lee’s successful Dehornification Process, Azula had elected to stay over another night. She hadn’t felt quite ready to deal with Zuzu yet.
She woke up at dawn, hoping to steal out of the house without disturbing Ty Lee. To her surprise, the acrobat was already seated at the kitchen table, her brow uncharacteristically furrowed. She had prepared two cups of tea as well; one was at her place, and one was at the seat across from her.
“Can we talk?” she asked. Azula considered just ignoring her and going on her way, but there was a hint of urgency in Ty Lee’s request that gave her pause. So she sat down.
Ty Lee appeared to be struggling to put her thoughts into words.
“So…um…” she began. Azula decided to bail her out.
“You’re breaking up with me,” she stated flatly.
“Well…yeah.”
“What brought this on? I thought things were going rather nicely these past two days,” Azula replied. She took a sip of her tea.
“They were! But I was thinking last night, and…I have some things I need to get off my chest.” She took a breath. “I’ve done all these things for you, and I feel like you never do anything for me in return.”
Azula stiffened.
“I convinced Grandfather to elevate your father to the nobility so you could attend the Royal Fire Academy with me,” she said, knowing that a defensive tone was creeping into her voice but unable to anything about it. “You got to sit at the high table at every court function. I gave you the prestigious position of friend and lover to the second-most important person in the Fire Nation. Tell me how that is me never doing anything for you.”
Ty Lee started stammering again, and Azula waved it away with a terse “Oh, do speak clearly. You have my word that I will not physically harm you.” It would be a nightmare to explain to her brother anyway.
Something in Ty Lee abruptly snapped.
“Fine!” she retorted. “Those nights at the high table were terrifying to me. Every single time, Ozai kept staring at me, and I knew that if he decided he wanted me in his bed, then there was nothing that you or I or my parents could do about it. That Talent Night, when the acrobats performed, I knew that was my only chance to escape. And I was happy with them! I finally found a place where people accepted me for who I was. And then you…you might have had me killed if I didn’t join you! You might have killed Mai when she left you if I hadn’t intervened. All my life, I’ve been pretending that none of those things bother me…but they do.”
Normally, Azula couldn’t care less if people got angry at her. But this was Ty Lee. She readily recalled the mocking words of the…whatever that thing in the Forgetful Valley was.
“She pretended to be your friend and lover because it made her feel special. Then she left when she got bored of you. Oh, how she hated you for making her leave the circus…and she ran off again the first chance she got, didn’t she?”
“So it was all an act,” she said as she looked down at the tea leaf pieces swirling in her cup. “Everything was just you pretending to like me. That first night…you didn’t pleasure me because you wanted to; you were merely trying to get on my good side.”
Ty Lee went quiet. Azula braced herself for the worst, and was surprised at the acrobat’s eventual response.
“That’s…not true.”
“It isn’t?” Azula raised an eyebrow.
“I did care about you. That was the problem. Leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve done in my life…both times. And I still care about you now. I just…it seemed like you never reciprocated. Like you thought of me as a soldier and a bedwarmer, but nothing else.”
“I…tried to tell that to myself, too, that I had no emotional attachment to you,” Azula admitted. If Ty Lee was being honest with her, she should return the favor...to herself too. “But now…I know it was never true. Being in the hospital for three and a half years and constantly having to talk about My Feelings gives one plenty of time to reassess priorities. I’m…”–the next word was barely audible over the sound of her exhaled breath–“sorry.”
Ty Lee’s eyes welled up.
“Oh, don’t you dare go crying on me now,” Azula said. She needed Ty Lee to get under control before she started…
Too late.
Should she give a more detailed apology? “Sorry I potentially put you and Mai in mortal danger” didn’t really seem to ring true.
“When Mai left me, I was enraged,” she said hoarsely. “When you left me, I was destroyed.” She tried to swipe away her stupid fucking tears before the other girl could see them, but Ty Lee shook her head.
“Don’t,” she implored. “I think we could both use a good cry, honestly. Then maybe we can talk some more.”
They ended up huddled on the couch together, one big bawling mass. The cups of tea were entirely forgotten.
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Once the sniffles had died down, Azula found a handkerchief in one of Ty Lee’s massive piles of clothing, and used a clean part of it to blot at her eyes and blow her nose.
“Okay…now what?” she asked as she passed the handkerchief to Ty Lee
“Well…” Ty Lee began after she accepted the square of cloth and found another usable part of it, “How about we just take a break for a little while and give you some more time to adjust to life outside the hospital? I don’t know what I was thinking by taking you to that bar; Zuko reminded me just how vulnerable you are in that area. And then, when you’re ready, maybe we could start over as just friends?”
“You’d still want to do that? Even after all I did?” Azula inquired.
“Of course. Maybe I’m just naïve, but I believe in second chances. And I believe in you.”
Azula had thought that she’d been all cried out, but apparently she had a few tears left over. She took back the much-used handkerchief, drying her eyes with the very corner of it.
Ty Lee patted her shoulder, then said, “However…there would be a few things that would have to change. From now on, when I do something nice for you, I’d like you to show some kind of acknowledgement… no more of those ‘hmph’s’ and silences. No more trying to kill people either…but I guess that goes without saying. Also, there is something I’d actually like you to help me with if you can.”
“And that is?”
“I want to help people…people like you, and all those other girls in the palace. None of them had anyone to talk to. Being in the Kyoshi Warriors is nice, but more and more I’m thinking it’s not my true calling. I want to go to school, and figure out how their brains work differently from the trauma, and hopefully learn how to treat them. I don’t want anyone else having to go through what you went through alone. And I need your input too, so I don’t just make assumptions about how they think.”
“A lofty goal,” Azula commented. “But an achievable one, I should think. I never considered you to be unintelligent. And I will try to assist you to the best of my ability. For now…what would you think about some breakup sex?”
Ty Lee smiled. “I’d be delighted.”
It was almost suppertime before Azula hugged her ex-girlfriend in farewell and arranged to have a palanquin take her back to the palace.
#azula#tyzula#ty lee#fanfic#tbh I think they continued to be friends with benefits well into their twenties#short stories about Azula
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Warring Kingdoms: The Battle of the Twenty Five Houses: The Federation of Aehinara:
S rank Rouge Dark Elf Empress Falesh Doomcaller:
A kunochi assassin, bounty hunter, contract killer, hitman, & mercenary:
Falesh Doomcaller as an S rank rouge who has the backgrounds of a female kunochi assassin, bounty hunter, hitman, contract killer, spy, & mercenary) is a determined scholar of all forms of combat including hand to hand, melee combat, & ranged weaponry. A hidden dagger in the night is worth a thousand swords at sunrise. Falesh Doomcaller has already performed many real world applications of her deadly art as a mercenary, hitman, contract killer, thief, bounty hunter, & female kunochi assassin ninja. She is talented in the use of knives, daggers, swords, kunai, & throwing stars. She is also talented in a flintlock pistol, double barrel pistols, quadruple barrel pistols, a flintlock rifle, a hunting rifle, & a scoped ten shot lever action ten gauge repeating rifle. Adventuring cohorts are frequently the type who will need a firm hand and quick intellect to bail them out often. Thankfully she has both to spare. Her skill with disguise makes it easy to insinuate herself into any setting and situation the better to get her target or targets alone. She has created a second, third, fourth, & a fifth identity that includes credentials, reputable connections, and disguises that allow her to assume that character or characters that she portrays. Additionally she can forge and counterfeit papers including official papers and private mail as long as she has seen an example of the kind of article or the calligraphy that she is trying to copy. Falesh Doomcaller is an S rank rogue with the background of being a bounty hunter, shinobi kunoichi ninja assassin, hitman, thief, contract killer, & mercenary. She relies on cunning, expertise, stealth, & covertness to get the advantage in any circumstances. She also relies on her foes’ vulnerabilities, flaws, & weaknesses. She as a mercenary, contract killer, female kunoichi shinobi assassin ninja, bounty hunter, & hitman hunted down her employer’s enemies for gold and coin as a sold sword and a hired gun. A male shinobi ninja or female kunoichi shinobi ninja is one who refines covertness, intelligence gathering, powerful fighting techniques, & mysticism into a lethal discipline and complicated techniques of conflict. When the chances are bad and discredit threatens the ninja can be hired to bring conquest and restore concord of civilization through spying and murder. Life is a continuous and infinite quest for those who live by their wits and cunning ever just one step ahead of peril. Falesh Doomcaller as a rouge gambles on her slyness, charisma, talent, & magnetism to twist fortune and even destiny to her favor. Never knowing what to anticipate she trains for all becoming master of a broad and extensive assortment of abilities. She has trained herself to be a skillful and expert manipulator, nimble acrobat, & ethereal stalker. She is a master of dozens of other occupations and abilities. She is rouge that relies on her intelligence, ability, charm, & fortune. She as a rogue sometimes prefers cities and the countless prospects of society. Other times as a rogue Falesh she welcomes a life on the road exploring far and encountering foreign people and facing unbelievable and extraordinary peril in hunt of similarly incredible treasures. She was happy in this life but was happy to become an adventurer to find her own riches in dungeons. Adventuring to her is just another way of putting food on the table. She holds herself to a strict code of principles and there are missions that she will not take because it conflicts with her code of honor and morals. To her the murmur of steel and the clash of weapons and the sound of silenced gunfire are just as enjoyable as any sum of cold and coin. They always train because training lets them be prepared even in a second of break or disadvantage. She is a master of stealth, infiltration, & deception. She has roamed far lands and traveled vast distances to track down bounties and complete missions. She blends effortlessly into crowds and is hard to look for. She is a master at navigating the world and she is skilled at traversing the environment. Even when she is occupied in another activity such as scavenging, hunting, exploring, fishing, traveling, & tracking while traveling she stays vigilant to danger. She has an aptitude for finding the solution to just about any difficulty indicating an ingenuity and adaptability that is the keystone of any victorious adventuring company. She allocates as much effort to mastering the use of a range of skills as she does to honing her combat skills giving her an extensive knowledge that few other people can equal. She concentrates on covertness and trickery while also cultivating the abilities that help her in a dungeon setting such as mountaineering, finding and neutralizing traps, & lock picking locks. Falesh Doomcaller as a trained fighter, gunslinger, & rouge when it comes to combat do not prioritize slyness over brute strength but use cunning and swiftness being a scalpel if need be. A rogue, assassin, & male shinobi assassin or female kunoichi shinobi assassin would rather make one accurate attack placing it precisely where the attack will hurt the target most than wear an opponent down with a volley of attacks. She has a superhuman or supernatural talent for evading threats and a have learned supernatural tricks to enhance her other skills. She has made a living in secret to the criminal underworld in the secret identity as a contract killer, bounty hunter, hitman, thief, female kunoichi shinobi ninja assassin, & rouge. She will be known for her accomplishments and actions sooner or later. She became an infamous and notorious contract killer, bounty hunter, hitman, thief, female kunoichi shinobi ninja assassin, & rouge. She as rogue that is shadow warrior is different from some rogues since she is one as a shadow warrior uses mysterious and esoteric power to supply her roguish and inquisitive character. She as a shadow warrior acquires an innate link to the territory of shadow and kingdoms of darkness as a dark elf royalty. She was born with this bond as a dark elf so she is never alone in the darkness and shadows. She truly became one with the shadow and is one with the darkness. Who or what the whispers are is theme for argument but the otherworldly and wraithlike creatures and beings that she has befriended have educated and trained her secrets from ancient times and remote places. She carries alien and mysterious weapons. She has learned exceptional fighting styles not seen in generations. She has learned from society and civilizations she has yet to meet. Much like the rogue the shadow warrior finds covertness to be their most important ally. What separates a shadow warrior from a rogue is their preference of slyness. While a rogue would merely rely on evading and sneaking around their enemy a shadow warrior would much rather mystify and play with their adversary’s mind and psyche. Forcing their enemy not to see them but rather see something or someone completely different. Where they correlate is straightforward because she tends to be ferociously dangerous when she gets the drop on her opponent. It is said that if you were to turn your back to a shadow warrior it would often be the last thing you ever do. Little is known of their origin and history but for what has been concluded is they come from a faction that is a tremendously classified and top secret society that is split between many different glove and mask deviations with each being more lethal than the last. There are many different races and species within the association which tells us that any and all races can become a shadow warrior but in order to know more about these shadow warriors one will have to join in and find out for themselves. She is one who hardly ever talks and people she has met before and people she has gotten to know will forget about her over time. Finally until they only remember indistinctly of the shadow of her. This is useful when she plans on going alone or need to escape the authorities. She joined others like her and has joined in a thief’s and an assassin’s guild. She has functioned autonomously but she occasionally conscripts apprentices that she has trained to assist her in their cons, assassinations, & heists. She stopped doing this when she joined the guild party and adventuring party of Lysander Norwood’s guild order. She is not just a killer and rogue. She has also made a law-abiding career in their public identity a as rouge who has the background as a locksmith, detective, & an investigator. As an adventurer she has fallen on both sides of the law. Fallesh Doomcaller she has chosen to search for her fortune in treasure hoards so she has learned her skills and honed her abilities with the clear intention of infiltrating primeval ruins, dark dungeons, & hidden crypts in search of treasure and archeological discoveries. Her relationship to the law is that she has a clandestine criminal past and a covert criminal present. She is a professional female kunoichi shinobi assassin, bounty hunter, mercenary, hitman, & contract killer. Her job maybe even her reason in life was to kill people without getting caught. By fortune and ability she must have been practically triumphant for a legendary assassin is a deceased assassin after all. She purposely took up the dagger and sword. She first worked alone as a clandestine individual. She then worked for an organization and assassin’s guild, organized crime group, & the military as an assassin. She has worked for wealth, personal values, & for her own autonomy. She received expert training as an assassin from other assassins after learning it herself. She did not hang up the hat because she is still accessible for hire. Even for Lysander Norwood’s guild order she is his enforcer as an assassin and she completes missions for his guild order as an operative and agent. She took pleasure in her work. She respected other assassins. She sometimes regretted killing targets but most of the time enjoyed killing them. There were really significant people that she was tasked to kill. There were some missions that were especially hard that she had to do but because she had the guild she belonged to she accomplished it. There were many missions that she had to do that were unforgettable. Like an artisan she belonged to a society but instead of merchants she consorted with killers. She lives a relaxed existence without expense and her guild will grant her security from any crimes that she is charged with. In addition her guild grants her the maintenance of her weapons and repairs of her armor when she is away from the organization. Also the guild pays for her living expenses of costs of food and housing while away she is away from the association. If she is ever convicted of a charge for murder her association will offer her an alibi or cover story as an assassin works best when not known as an assassin. She has left her assassin and thief guild in the hunt of bigger danger and superior plunder. What drives her in her adventures is finding lost treasure and hidden riches and become a celebrated and famous treasure hunter. That is while also finding wealth along the way and keeping her covert criminal past and criminal present secret. The cause that led her away from her previous life was she was lucky. After a successful robbery and assassination gave her the money that she needed to strike off on her own. She later made a new friend that was another member of her adventuring party who showed her the new potential for earning an income and utilizing her specific gift of finding artifacts and treasure.
She is an esoteric sniper who can use any ranged weapon from modern compound bows with scopes that fire metal arrows, to modern crossbows that fire crossbow bolts, & lever action repeating rifles with scopes that fire bullets. She permeates the bullets and arrows with overwhelming and destructive spells. She does not trade any of her spell casting ability for ranged proficiency that is how skilled she is. She as an esoteric sniper outshines at ranged combat and is capable of destroying the enemy with volatile projectiles. She is able to fill her shots to construct cool effects from spells that she can cast. Esoteric snipers are seen as the swashbucklers with a fondness for ranged weapons and lot of magical skills. She as an esoteric sniper works well with fighters, sorcerers, rogues, & bards who appreciate their devious and sly magical and ranged combat application. She can also instead of using druid arcane spells and regular metal arrows can use arcane magic and summon esoteric arrows to fire from their modern compound bows with scopes. She is a fighter who trains continuously to master every use of the alchemy quadruple four barrel flintlock red dot sight pistol or alchemy scoped ten shot lever action 12.7 mm leaver action repeating rifle. She trains her ability with it to flawlessness. There are gunslingers that are born with a gun in their hand and an itchy trigger finger. She as a gunslinger is a wild volatile and impulsive scalawag who has a talent for bringing anarchy with her wherever she goes. She as an esoteric gunslinger is the epitome of magic’s devastating potential wielding a rifle or shotgun to direct esoteric power into blasts, beams, or salvos of lethal power. She as a arcane gunslinger is a spring of heavy magic damage. She as an arcane gunslinger took up the gun in response to the threat of war as mercenaries and later as bandits looking to strike it rich lending them a broad variety of behaviors and enormous potential.
Fallesh Doomcaller as a mercenary is a sell sword or hired gun that fought battles for currency. So she is familiar with risking life and limb for an opportunity at a share of gold. Now she looks forward to fighting enemies and acquiring even superior loot as an adventurer. Her skill makes her familiar with the ins and outs of mercenary life. She has worrying stories of events on the front line when she fought in the Coalition vs Legion War as a mercenary and private soldier. That is how she knows Lysander Norwood. She joined his guild of C class to S rank guild members after the war ended. Given that the war just ended a few years ago there were sufficient chances to utilize her profession. She was a mercenary in service to an aristocrat. She was a bounty hunter in the service of a noble or old house. She was a private soldier in the service of monarchs or kingdoms. She was hired at a local level to offer defense to a metropolis and a courtier. Now she is looking for something else. She is looking for better compensation for the dangers that she takes and the sovereignty to decide her own actions. That is why she joined the guild of Lysander Norwood. She is leaving behind the life of a soldier for hire but her skills are indubitably appropriate for combat so now she fights on in a different way. Money is what makes the world go round because the greater the risk the greater the reward. She knows the mercenary life as only someone who has experienced it can. She is able to recognize mercenary companies by their crests and banners. She knows a lot about any such company counting the names and standing of its commanders and leaders and who has employed them lately. She can find the taverns, saloons, bars, & inns where mercenaries, bounty hunters, spies, smugglers, shinobi or kunoichi assassins congregate in any area. She can find mercenary jobs between quests more than ample to uphold a relaxed way of life. Her bond with the company she traveled with earlier and with some of the mercenary friends she has served with is pleasant. The horrors of war combined with the firm order of military service leave their mark on all soldiers shaping their principles, creating strong relationships, & often leaving them wounded and exposed to horror, embarrassment, and loathing. As a mercenary who was a private soldier her services were for hire to everybody who could afford them. What drove her to be a soldier of fortune was the excitement of battle. Basically that war was all she knew growing up. She favors to work with a mercenary company or with a guild. So she finds company as a merc for her guild party and adventuring party of her guild order.
She is still for hire. She has made many allies and she has made many enemies along the way. She has fought in many wars and battles. The costs were she lost many allies. She was a soldier of fortune. She is a fighter who sold her services to the utmost bidder. She wanders settlements, villages, towns, cities, and metropolises. All in pursuit of a location where her exceptional set of abilities are valuable whether that is working for a lord searching a group of outlaws or a local mayor tired of the horde invasion. In a horde army of the Legion or Horde there are imps, goblins, hobgoblins (that control goblins), ogres, trolls, orcs, cyclops, minotaurs, high trolls, (that control trolls) & high orcs (that control orcs). She can always find some employment if she looks hard enough. The job itself should not matter much for a person like her at least that is what others think. Therefore other less commendable and shunned upon occupations occasionally arrives at her lap giving her the option and the dilemma of figuring a way to concede between her morals and her career. That is why she joined Lysander’s guild order to not face that kind of prejudice and discrimination as a dark elf. However okay and righteous the world might have seemed at first glimpse, once she dug a little deeper under the pretense, a deeper reality exposed itself to her. It was that tension and conflict are the only actual constants in sophisticated lands and for her within lay the chance for income. As a bounty hunter she had worked her occupation well offering questionable if not valuable services and talents to all manner of patrons and costumers for countless goals frivolous or otherwise. Despite of the reason, the validation, or the ethical impunity linked with tracking down her targets. Every mission complete brought the jingle of money between her purse strings at the price of another unfortunate soul preordained to suffer consequences both terrible and dishonorable. Though the time spent in this profession has left her gloomy and jilted her standing for cruelty. Slyness precedes her frequently. She found herself required after and appealed to eliminate or extract a target. She never needs to search for work on her own. Work that ranges from the poor debtor owing the wrong trade guild, to the foolish fugitive child of an insignificant aristocrat, or even the dishonest contract killer escaping the city guard are the kinds of jobs that are assigned to her. Nobody could elude her resolute hunt and many more dared not try once her association was learned. Though many assert the job of a bounty hunter few really stand out at the vocation save those with a perceptive eye for surveillance. Among the skilled she is one of those who are actually talented for having a nearly preternatural aptitude for predicting the actions of her targets. Being among their ranks she has a mysterious and supernatural talent to remember exact information of discussion and names that she eavesdrops or contribute in as it relates to her bounty or see written even if only for a second or two. She can also sketch out faces and remember common places she has seen them in with precision possessing extraordinary memory. Also she frequently easily recognizes evidence when tracking her bounty’s whereabouts and nature that would be otherwise lost on lesser pursuers. As a bounty hunter working for the guild order she has traveled everywhere which has allowed her to have built up a network of associates, informants, shinobi ninjas, & spies that help her track down their targets. When she and her guild party and adventuring party are in a city or metropolis where one of their links or moles lives they can question about information that is related to their mark. That is for the right fee or they have to exchange a favor to achieve the information. Also she has trained herself in creating papers that will permit them to achieve admission into areas they would generally not be permitted to enter in order to detain her target for her guild. She can fabricate credentials plus forge certified documents and personal correspondence. As long as she has seen an example of the kind of manuscript or writing she is trying to duplicate. She is in regular contact with people in the section of society that her chosen target moves through. These people are connected with the criminal underworld, the common people of the streets, imperial royalty, & members of the arisocratic upper classes. This association comes in the form of an associate in any village, city, metropolis that she visits. This contact is a person who offers information about the citizens, places, & the political ranking of the local district. As a bounty hunter her sole purpose is to hunt down people with a price on their heads for grievances varying from the ordinary to the awful. She as a person who follows this life can be both a calm and distant individual as willingly as she can be a hooligan or ruffian living not for the pay but for the excitement of hunt. She as a bounty hunter as a result is frequently as diverse in temperament as her targets. In every town, city, & metropolis there is crime. This crime oozes throughout the darkest parts of the slums and alleys and saturates and persists into every fragment of civilization. She has access to a clandestine network of followers and operatives who can supply support to her, her guild party, & her adventuring party of Lysander’s guild order on their adventures. She knows a set of secret signs and passwords that she can use to recognize such operatives. Agents who can supply them with admission to a secret safe house or black site, free room and board, or help in finding information. These agents risk their lives for them but never risk revealing their true identities.
The infamous and notorious House of Fire Basilisk. It is the most talented, most feared, and most covert elite guild of male shinobi or female kunoichi assassins, hitmen, & contract killers in Aehinara. Though principle among such a society of the House of Fire Basilisk is commonly in doubt they do hold fast to one standard and that is pacts are met and concords are kept. The House of Fire Basilisk is an influential political force in Aehinara. They are frequently employed to assassinate Aehinara aristocracy or even monarchs. The House of Fire Basilisk is a vital division of the Council of the Original Primordial Twenty Five all together. When the assassins of the House of Fire Basilisk called Fangs are hired for a mission normally one Fang handles the agreement. However if the two Fangs are incapable of accomplishing it then other Fangs can be appointed. It is even achievable to rent the entire House of Fire Basilisk however that would be tremendously pricey. Though there are only three known cases where this has occurred such as when the House of Fire Basilisk was hired to assassinate Lysander Norwood. Fallesh Doomcaller was sent on this mission. She was later turned into a double agent when she became a spy or informant, contract killer or hitman, & kunoichi assassin for Lysander Norwood. She doesn’t chiefly like killing. Usually it is her or it is them. Death is a subject that does not bother her anymore. She tries not to think about it. She has caused too many casualties to count. She has hunted people like animals. Her years in the war have left her emotionally drained. Life is momentary but she is the grim reaper and the angel of death. She will try to only slay the bad ones. An honorable man does not deserve death. That is her principle. But often times she has to cross the line as an assassin, hitman, & bounty hunter. There are many people who shares her job. But there is no one who can do it like her. When she was a lone assassin working for an assasssin’s guild her mantra was any job is possible. If the coin of bronze, silver, & gold offered is good enough. She did not mind betraying an ally if the coin is right. Many people can kill. She strives to be at the top of the list. She is scared when people like her. This is because she knows what she is capable of. That was before she met Lysander Norwood and joined his guild order. With her old work with the assassins guild being fairly sociable she finds it easier to work in a team in this guild order when traveling with her guild party and adventuring party. The person who trained her died while she was away. So every target she eliminates and neutralizes is in honor of them. She was nearly killed by a previous target. She plans to return the favor and settle the score. When she was a private soldier she killed an ally when she mistook him as an enemy soldier. That mistake still haunts her to this very day. She was once deceived into working for the wrong side during the war as a private soldier. She plans to track them down and get her vengance. She sometimes has horrifying flashbacks to the war as a survivor of depression, anxiety, & PTSD and she screams erratically.
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I was gonna lead off with this about how hockey fandom only just now rising up to protest the Capitals’ long-proposed White House visit after today’s news but uhhhh… I can’t actually see anyone protesting yet lol. Maybe folks were at school and work? Internet outages? Who knows. It’s awfully quiet. As quiet as it has been since the many hits about this visit started coming immediately following the Caps SC win.
Anyway, even if hockey fandom does eventually rise up with equal outrage to the Penguins’ visit I’m sorry to inform you: you’re too late. Your time to begin started a long while ago. I should know because the links I’m about to sprinkle in this post like damning pixie dust are from my long wait for fandom’s political outrage to resurface.
So let’s just run through the usual old acrobatics to try and excuse the utter lack of equal outrage and protest against the Caps that there was toward the Pens. This is also a handy c+p guide for anyone who sees any variation on these excuses.
“Sid and Ovi: different right? Doesn’t that make Ovi better? Come on, help me out I jumped to him and the Caps because I saw he’s super gay with Backstrom and was promised he’s a champion for the gays because Holtby something something!”
Sidney Crosby’s attendance at the WH is no more or less wrong than Alexander Ovechkin’s. It’s way more complex wrt Ovi’s politics, sure. But no, no different in terms of an adult public figure making the decision to do this visit. Also, folks really need to read up on Ovi before calling him their lesbian uncle or whatever the fuck I am forced to see sometimes. Especially when you consider this unneccessarily awful tweet.
“But what if my Liberal White Boy doesn’t go in the end? That means he’s Totally Better, right?”
Nope!
The fandom line taken with the Pens from day one of them being offered an invite to the WH was that by not taking a directly opposing stance from the start, they were to be rightly condemned. Which was correct, and still was correct when some of the Caps said they were excited about a visit and others tried to deflect the topic. And it was still correct when this photo was taken with a Trump holding the Cup (and video).
The Caps already missed their chance at not being condemned, just like hockey fandom has already failed at repeating - what are now shown to be entirely performative - political protest. Devante Smith-Pelly is the only Caps player who deserves credit for protesting this visit. There’s one white Caps player to “join” Smith-Pelly: Brett Connolly who, months later, saw what bad PR it would be to visit suddenly announced he wouldn’t attend, is a flop. No one cares. Every player who towed the “it’s a team decision” or “we’re gonna wait and see how we feel” bullshit - which is all of them barring Smith-Pelly - officially lost their chance at making a valid protest. (And let’s not all play dumb about the fact that Smith-Pelly was put up for trade interest this season, and his situation now.)
I don’t give a crap if Holtby or another “gay icon” still bails last minute. He’s already guilty by demurring the point and refusing to take a stance at all. That’s how morality works, just like y’all decided last year with guys who aren’t your gay icons. If Pens fans had to go through the stages of grief in condemning them even before the visit took place, then so does everyone. I don’t give a damn how much your straight white man dances to your favourite liberal tune for praise and adoration. Current NHL initiatives have a long way to go before they effect real change. I’m not a gay who’s here to divert a single fucking second of my community’s hard work and celebration to allies. If they’re real allies then they won’t need the praise anyway.
And fandom’s choice to fail in addressing or reacting to the many instances of the Caps proving their lack of moral backbone - and their frequent excitement and honour - over this visit, is the definition of performative morality and politics.
“But I want to use black people in other sports to try and further my own wrong opinion like this guy!”
Well, unfortunately you - and he - can’t! Because Trump hasn’t you know, changed? He’s not suddenly pro-kneeling lmao. I know a lot of folks stopped checking in on this topic once the heat of going after the Pens died down, but I’m sorry to inform them that Trump hasn’t suddenly changed or amended his relationship with BLM, anthem protests, or black players who speak out against him. I know that this fact doesn’t help rescue Caps white boys - considering how little some of them they have to do to be considered Liberal Icons, it’s a shock to be denied the chance at praising them - but this avenue of rescue from accountability is as closed now as it was last time!
And um, I’m just gonna hope folks haven’t missed out on the fact that Trump has kind of uhhhh…. quadrupled down on all of his racism, homophobia, and bigotry since those very early days of his in office when the Pens visited it. So yeah, don’t bother with any hand-waving about it being ‘worse’ or ‘better’ to hold audience with him now or then lmao.
“Just because I didn’t protest this year doesn’t change what I said last year!”
Unfortunately, it does. Maybe you were young, maybe your politics were young and uninformed about hockey. Maybe you gave too much trust to fandom and didn’t do your due diligence, or didn’t appropriately withhold your investment and presumed innocence of rich straight cis white men. Who knows why you got it into your head that certain white NHLers wouldn’t align themselves with gross politics in one way or another.
But if you protested the last WH visit and stayed with hockey since then, you don’t have an excuse to keep pretending that there are lovely liberal strongholds anywhere in the NHL. None. Players of color do all their own work, white players get no credit for going along. Franchises doing things that are good PR are just that. This league was never the create-your-own-ideal that - in the almost two decades I’ve watched hockey - it has always tried to present itself as to fans. But the deception never worked on a lot of us, probably in no small part because someone my age started watching hockey before social media went fervently to work in trying to make the league and it’s players seem harmless and friendly in much more effective, albeit just as performative, ways.
Hockey tumblr know this: there are no cinnamon rolls in men’s hockey.
Draw an impermeable line between your fandom-ing of men’s hockey and your real life politics and morals as pertain to the reality of men’s hockey. Fandom is here for fun, but fun is not fun which alters when it performative-action-by-dopey-white-guy finds. I talk about what I find interesting about Sidney Crosby. I talk about what I object to about Sidney Crosby. I fandom wank in silly OTT posts about Sidney Crosby but in ways that doesn’t interact with me holding him accountable for his mistakes and flaws in terms of social responsibility and politics. Replace the name of the NHLer and repeat with your own guys.
The latest controversy that revealed a major flaw in fandom of rushing to exonerate a player rather over addressing the real issue of hurt and upset among LGBTQ+ fans is why this article really did need to get brought back up. There is a very real set of blinders worn by men’s hockey fandom and they need to come off. Even if the decision by most is to in general back off of talking about the gross realities, it needs to stay consistent across the league. No amount of social justice gold stars guarantees you a cinnamon roll franchise, or a cinnamon roll fanbase.
Do not bend and warp reality and accountability of adult men based on your own highly rose-tinted ideals of them.
Oh, and for future interest: should a team or players at some point decide to decline an equally offensive political invitation, that’s also not a “win” for your white boys. It’s proof of nothing more than the league and the franchise or players realising that it’s not worth the knock in publicity anymore.
(Needless to say: anyone attempting to exonerate the Capitals in response to this post gets nothing more out of me than a block. I’ve applied the same politics I’ve always had to the Pens and now to the Caps, as I would any team - and always have over a long time being a hockey fan. If you choose to switch up your politics based on largely white teams then that’s your problem, and not one I’m interested in. I’ve seen all the twisting and turning fans can possible do.)
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Wizards and Lizards - II
Easy as a switch flicked, he starts on in his stage accent, 'That's because I'm not a clown, you afroed goat. I am a seer. I am an oracle to rival Delphi. I choose not my gift, merely I am a mouthpiece, a vessel to amplify the will of the universe. A clever man once said that we, humans, are a way for the cosmos to know itself,' He points to the stars, then with soot-stained hands invites Bozo to look around, 'only some are born to more knowing than others.' He traces a button's circumference with his index finger, then nods glibly to finish.
'Drop it, Shiree. I've heard the shtick. Save it for the horny cowherds.'
The seer flashes a toothless smile. His thin lips, for his sins, were etched in a permanent sneer, two pale pigmentless worms that barely quivered when he talked. 'If what I heard from those sows is true, your knees must be sore. Will we see if I've a tincture for it?'
Bozo spits and stoops to his haunches, oversized strides mudcaked ankle to knee. One foot is unshod, his favoured poulaine lost in the fervour.
Argument was futile. He knew how this went, concede defeat or argue until the seas dry. Shiree never let a thing go, not a borrowed penny, not a stringless favour, let alone an exchange of barbs.
Bozo sighs, 'We'll argue until the cows come home. Forget it. What's your plan anyway, magic man?'
Shiree laughs, all arch and theatrics even in direst straits. 'Strange you'd have to leave when the cows come home, is it date night already?'
'Fuck off.' Bozo exhales a plume of cigarette smoke, the same foundry grey as the steam-laden morning mist. Shiree imagines a dragon vomiting carcinogenic fire, selfsame as those stitched on his breast.
'No spiel, master jester. Merely my tongue and the secrets of the Gods. There are no plans either. The Perfumed Persian makes no plans, he alters the fabric of the universe to suit his desires.'
'Fine, have it your way, sandman. In what manner will you alter the fabric of the universe?' Bozo, growing impatient, taps his foot like a heated beast.
'I appreciate your correction, but I must rudely ask that you rescind your request for information. Shiree discusses not matters of celestial importance with baseborn whelks.'
Bozo poises to sigh again but stops himself mid gasp, realizing his last ten breaths had been sighs, which medically is considered hyperventilation. 'Have it your way, Wizard.'
He stood enormous, a modern titan. Six foot three easy, no mean feat in crueller ages, when only the silkskinned could afford to import the top tiers of the nutritional pyramid. His shoulders were broad, built for tossing bails, although one could not easily tell through his baggy playsuit, a loose fitting one-piece decorated with blue and orange orbs, twinned with yellow stripes. The platforms he wore performing raised him six feet eleven.
A profound stoop resulting from excess spine made him appear glum, eyes always to the ground, though he was of pleasant temperament, if not charismtically challenged.
'If you fancy a jaunt I'm bound for Duffy's. Lecho said he's looking for performing types for the jubilee. Shouldn't take three nights hard going.' With that he leaves, turning at the gate to see if the imp followed which he didn't. The forest's mouth devours him.
Shiree begins to mutter. 'Shiree wanders not in the company of minstrels, lest their airs be praising him.' His child's knees barely buckling to stoop, he leans and picks up Bozo's cigarette still smouldering in the muck. He wipes it clean before bringing it to his lips, whispering the magic words into the moist filter. Smoky tendrils curl animatedly from its charred tip, shifting to form an ethereal bowl suspended in the air, smokelike and strange, at once foggy and clear, diaphanous almost. Shiree stands on his stilts and stares hatefully into the summoned cauldron. Quicksilver bubbles below.
It shifted in the fashion of living thing, a writhing mass of metal worms. Finally settling, the sheen parted in the center to reveal a vignette unfolding, a living dream in thin air. The Magician watched the Fool struggling through the dense foliage, pinecones exploding beneath his heavy tread, darting like a frightened deer trying to gain any sense of direction. He fell crossing a fence, hoist by own enormous shoe. Tumbling backwards he fell some distance, rolling toward the base of the rise, crashing into a patch of briar. He rose from the undergrowth patting the breast pocket of his overalls, desperate for a woodbine. Finally luckless, he cursed, crushing the empty box in his bailed fist before casting it aside. Pushing himself upward he pressed onward with grimfaced determination, displaying a dogged courage Shiree reluctantly respected.
The silver smoke shifts to form a drama. Bozo is far from the circus, dumping pebbles from his shoe in a clearing. Filth encrusted, bramble whipped and generally dishevelled, he had never been closer to the lanky streak of misery the mean kids used to accuse him of being. Shiree smiles. Now whose countenance could freeze time. A fire crackles, sodden overalls dry on a branch. When the mud dried, Bozo would scrape it away with a twig.
Resourceful knave. A keen scout.
Shiree whispers more gutturally into his cup of mist. Hell winds brew in the lungs of the earth mother and she exhales from her cavernous maw a breeze to shake Babel. Howling through the makeshift camp, the wizard's tempest attacks. Bozo holds his wig tight. Stumbling, he seeks shelter in the breast of a hollowed oak. For a moment he sees the flames resist and is emboldened, tongues wildly lashing in every direction, but the gale persists on until the fire gutters, then splutters and dies.
All calms. Leaves dance downward at an owl's flight. Its departure marks the end of Shiree's vision. Before him a viscous liquid rises, filling the sucking void where the projection had appeared. The bowl disappears like smoke in a hurricane.
This is his true gift. Possession of animals. Mostly birds and bugs. Occasionally wolves and larger creatures were employed, when mother necessity called. Transformations require enormous energy. He would require rest before another attempt such-like. Until horizontal, he feels cloudy, his instincts dulled.
This gave a hint as to what went on behind the wizard's curtain, to coin a phrase. Patrons eager for good tidings sat wide-eyed while Shiree asked the birds. Robin, breast inked with Christblood, what is prophesied. Wag tail bouncing by the brook, what whispers the ripples. Crow, sagely corvid, obsidian Prince, permit me thy portents.
Of course the owl, a favourite, offering a circular view of all creation. When the Persian asks, the birds respond. Their caws yield the secrets of creation and knowledge of all men. Never anything less than grizzly; visions of starving farmers prying open the coffins of dead children to pry rings from fingers; wives blood-soaked, trowel in hand. He spares the unwashed masses the true horror of their cosmic destiny.
Shiree is sick of the circus. Sick of howling faces, cackling hyenas. Laughter contorts the face and makes apes of men. He hatee acrobats, envying their sprightliness, making him further loathe his twisted form.
He hates clowns most. Hates being considered among their number. In the ancient world clairvoyants were elevated to high societal positions, close to the ears of pharaohs. To converse with the Gods was to become a God. Present culture did not glorify his gifts.
Following the mummer's trail, Shiree enters the woodland with its churchlike vaulted ceiling. Trees, every length and thickness meet, forming a thick umbrella. Ducking between the sturdy boughs, he emerges at the familiar clearing. Evidently some thought went toward its selection, situated inside a natural ridge formed by mossy stones and thick entanglements of spadelike hogweed. He locates the remnants of Bozo's passing. Inside a stone circle shining with mica, embers glow.
For the site of Bozo's demise, he chose a festering swamp, planning to nestle in the brackish swell, sink beneath the algal covering and bide his time until the moment struck. Where else could Bozo go but through?
He rests a while in the wooden cloister, the heat of its former occupant present still. At last restored to peak wickedness, he follows a trail of single bootprints, as if tracking some unilegged abomination to its marshy abode - the wounded Grendel toward his domain lurches.
Shiree came to the boundary shore between mulch and black mud, marking the forest's domain from that of the festering swampland. Bloated and buzzing, enormous bloodsuckers make homes among the roots. Corklike reeds project from the silty banks across its breadth like tangled crossbeams give the illusion of security. Truly if one fell, a proper tumble necessitating outside agency, any branch grasped would snap like an old man on a rugby pitch.
Amphibious lizards wait, half buried in the silt like filthied statues, snapping should any shoal of lesser denizens dawdle. A menagerie of killers for the wizard to choose from.
Shiree enthrones, planning evilly from his newfound eyrie. He utters incantations blunt and meandering, each to the same fatal design. Feeling the hard surface against his backside, he wants vengeance all the more. That a man such as he should be forced to take counsel on a boulder was insult enough to warrant retribution.
It would be a crime of passion, a passion of crimes. He tosses back his head and met a beautiful sight. However the canopy met, with its various dips, hollows and straightways like avenues on a map, the carved light met him in golden bars.
This will do, he smirks.
#horror#creative writing#wattpad#writing#amwriting#amediting#horror writers#fiction#writeblr#Magic#Wizard#Circus#Clown#Dark fiction#Work in progress#Writing goals#Writing inspiration#Dialogue#Characters#Fantasy#Comic fantasy#Short story#Shorts#Fantasy shorts#Dark fairy tales#Twisted tales#Morbid humour#Transformation#Beastmode#Animality
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I will tear your beloved Noctis limb from limb. I'll make his life a living hell until he begs for death's sweet embrace. (you asked for it)
𝑇𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑀𝑢𝑠𝑒’𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑛.
Aversion evaporated from his gaze. His eyeswere narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. Behind them was something more intense thannormal thought and his clenched jaw wasn’t a good sign. Angry eyes were justthe start, then came the strut, the hand gesture to summon a gun and thewarning words. He could only hold onto the weapon tightly as much as he didNoctis. Seeing the weapon emerging from the crystalline light effect and forming inhis palm made him confident. It meant his best friend was alive and he was hereto protect that matter.
Ironically, he could be looked down upon, stomped on withouthim bailing a word and just sulking but— when it came to Noctis he wascompletely different. Like a whole new person.
“Listen up, you’ll be sorry if you daretouch a hair on Noct’s head.” His voice was sharp, without a stutter,determined and serious. His body was aching to perform some acrobatics due tothe strong response of flight or flight that his brain was currently signaling.He may not be the strongest but for Noctis he could do everything in his ownpotential.
#🐾𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘱𝘶𝘱? - 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴#🐾𝑆𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎. (𝑖𝑐)#I def wanna write Prompto roundhouse kickin someone now lmao#Anonymous
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BASICS
name: splinterfoot
gender/pronouns: cisfemale, she/her
race: wood elf
age: 53
PERSONALITY
traits: i sleep with my back to a wall or tree, with everything i own wrapped in a bundle in my arms / i can stare down a hellhound without flinching
flaw: If there’s a plan, I’ll forget it. If I don’t forget it, I’ll ignore it.
alignment: chaotic neutral
ideal: i am a free spirit – no one tells me what to do.
BACKGROUND
her people thrive among the trees, but she is strangled by their roots, hidden by their branches. she loves and she hates. when she walks, she loves the bark and the leaves, because they keeps the trees alive; she loves the birds that sing and the foxes that scream; she loves her father, for telling her stories, and her mother for teaching her feet how to whisper, her bow to aim true, her spine to never bend. but she hates the trees, for they block out the sun; she hates the animals, for their deadly games; she hates her parents, for holding her too close.
as she ventures further and further from home, she reaches the edge of their forest. it isn’t immediate; there’s no line where she crosses into a different world, no point where the trees end and roads and buildings and cities begin. but she sees things that aren’t theirs. a path pressed into the dirt, an abandoned camp, discarded clothes and jewelry and trinkets she secrets away. one day, she ventures further out: a hut, in a village, on the outskirts of a city. when her bare feet touch cobbled streets, she never goes back. she hides amongst the outcasts, the orphaned, the unloved; she teaches them how to shoot and they teach her to pick locks. but the children grow up around her. they find their place and they leave her behind. so she stows away in a caravan, to seek her own.
the troupers find her the next morning, tucked away with the instruments. they greet her with open arms, open smiles. in return for a few of her trinkets, they feed her, clothe her, listen to her stories. one, in particular, catches their attention; about a girl who was not so much born as created from the leg of a hunter, who fought beasts which yearned to make her theirs, who turned herself into a star when she was tired of the chase. from then on, they call her splinterfoot, for the miraculous girl, and whatever she’d been called before is lost to the wind, to the trees. she travels with them for years and years and years. she goes out some nights and returns with gold, though she never says how she gets it. she dances when they play, but only for herself. she hunts when food grows scarce. but one morning, she wakes and her legs are anxious; they push her out of bed, into dew soaked grass, and tell her to run. her heart says the same. so she gathers her belongings, few though they are, and leaves before anyone else wakes. on the horizon, she can only see a promise of adventure.
ABILITIES & GEAR
stats: 10 STR / 15 DEX / 8 CON / 12 INT / 11 WIS / 13 CHA
class: thief
skills: deception / sleight of hand / performance / acrobatics
inventory: short sword, short bow and a quiver with 20 arrows, burglar’s pack, 30 tal, leather armor, two daggers, thieves’ tools, a well-loved lute covered in crude carvings of birds and trees and stars
other abilities: elf weapon training, fleet of foot, mask of the wild, sneak attack, thieves’ cant, trance, darkvision, keen sense, fey ancestry
WANTED BONDS
___ gave me food/shelter/protection when I needed it; I am in their debt.
___ is a fool, and when they are in trouble I will refuse to bail them out.
___ is like a broken clock: always right twice a day.
___ has much to teach me about ____________.
I need to prove myself to ___, no matter the cost to myself.
___ has fought by my side before and has my respect.
___ helped me with a dangerous mission, and the two of us made a powerful enemy.
___ owes me for a favor I did them; I won’t let them forget it until the debt is paid.
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Teen!Dean - Part Six: Pick and Roll
Bobby looked up from his spot at the kitchen table and squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re going to a high school basketball game?”
“Yeah, well, what else am I going to do here Bobby? It’s been a month. You won’t let me go find Dad. So, yeah, I’ve gone native. What about it?”
Bobby put his hands up in front of him to forstall more arguments. “I’m not gonna stop you from going to do a little bit of living while you got the chance.”
“This is not my life Bobby. I’m a Hunter, that’s my life - and at this rate I’m gonna have to match a corsage and a cumberbund and I only know what one of those is for.” Dean huffed in frustration and kicked the door frame. “You aren’t worried about him, Bobby?”
“Ain't my job to worry about your old man. He’ll be back when he’s done chasing his tail.” Bobby stood up, and crossed the room to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Boy, there ain’t much in a Hunters life but blood and pain. You get a chance to have a little bit of something else - you gotta grab ahold of that.”
Dean scoffed, and headed for the door. “I guess cheerleaders are a good way to pass the time.”
“Take Sam with you.” Bobby suggested.
“No way!” Sam shouted from the study across the hall at the same time Dean did. Sam lowered the lore book he was reading and grinned over top of it. Dean couldn’t help but grin back at the little nerd surrounded by all the occult books the little egghead could devour.
“I’ll be back late.” Dean said as he bounded down the stairs into the early spring evening. He drove back to school at a leisurely pace. The route was familiar so his mind kept drifting to an image that had been stuck in his head for a solid week now. His mind lingered on the memory of a wisp of blonde hair caught among obscenely thick caramel coloured lashes and those coffee colored eyes. With effort he pulled his mind away from the thought. Again.
Instead he focused on Jenna’s familiar curve of cleavage and the way the sweater of her uniform pulled up from the waist so you could see her tummy peek out easily enough. Although, going to a school game of any sort was a new low, cheerleaders really were the best way to pass the time.
He pulled into the parking lot, surprised to find it nearly full. He parked and walked around to the gym doors, following the crowd of teens and parents. Once inside he found a spot mid-way up the bleachers that was dead center, so he had a good view.
The cheer squad were milling around on the court, some still arriving. Mostly the girls, Jenna among them, stood in a clump chatting and laughing. The last of the three male cheerleaders walked up to the bench where the the other two were sitting and dropped his duffle on the floor. He said his hellos and then brushed a lock of blonde hair out of his eyes. Dean held very still as he watched the gesture lift the bottom edge of his sweater to allow just a glimpse of his tummy. He licked his lips thoughtfully as he remembered the first day he’d come to see Jenna at practice. It had been Brandon that she had been talking to as he walked up that day. Realizing that he was staring he dragged his eyes back to Jenna and the girls and tried his best not to think. At all.
It didn’t work. He’d been thinking about all the books Brandon had suggested, the passion in his voice when he talked about all the subtleties of Shakespeare's lesser known works and had wandered off on a tangent about the Sonnets. It had all seemed like so much chick-flick lovey dovey BS before, but Dean had found himself sat at a corner table in the library yesterday leafing through a ‘Collected Works’ during his free period.
Once the game started and the cheer squad got going it was easier to stay focused on Jenna and the other girls. They were front and center, and very… energetic. Still, he had never before noticed how much work male cheerleaders did, but he found himself impressed. They smiled, kept pace with the girls bouncing, blended into the routines doing occasional acrobatics themselves all while lifting, catching and stabilizing the girls.
He thought he finally understood why a guy would choose to be a cheerleader. There were some perks. Still, the dichotomy of Brandon’s cheerleading and his tutoring activities struck Dean as at odds with one another. The guy read voraciously, was good enough at math to get paid to tutor it, and was a cheerleader; it was an interesting combination.
At half-time Jenna, and two of the other girls, started their routine with an acrobatic set of flips and cartwheels to the center of the court and slid down into the splits when they landed. Dean leaned forward, a smile pulling up the corners of his lips as he remembered how she had shown him just how flexible she was in a different context. The girl was bendy. Brandon stepped close to Jenna and offered her a hand. Taking his hand she got up in a whirlwind spin of legs, and with Brandon’s help continue the momentum, she spun up along the length of his torso until she basically sat on one of his shoulders. Shoulders that were surprisingly broad and well muscled.
Dean simmered with confusion and did his best to keep his attention on Jenna. She was delicious; and he meant that both figuratively and literally. Her barely contained breasts bounced wildly and her short skirt regularly flipped up flashing the audience. Her outfit was designed to tantalize. It should not take this much effort on his part to focus on her. Instead, he kept finding his eyes drifting back to the intriguing triangle that Brandon’s wide shoulders and narrow waist drew. Or the way the muscles in his thighs were outlined through the tight polyester pants when he squatted before going into a lift.
He told himself he was just impressed. Or surprised. Brandon had struck him as scrawny at Jenna’s house but he’d been dressed in loose fitting layers and jeans. He’d just assumed he was gangly and skinny because of the nerdy stuff. And, to be fair… he was skinny; but the shoulders took him by surprise.
As the game ended and the bleachers emptied, Dean dug his book out of his pocket and read in his seat until the crowd started to thin. When there the majority of the crowd was off the bleachers and were clumped around the doors Dean put the book away and headed down to greet Jenna. She was excited to see him, or was still riding the adrenalin from the performance, because she threw herself at him and wrapped her legs around his waist to kiss him. After kissing him she slid down his body and bounced away saying “I need a shower, and then we’re gonna go do something fun. Because I’m totally hyped and we gotta go DO something.”
Dean chuckled “Alright, are you going to be long?”
Jenna laughed “I’ll be quick. I promise, don’t bail.” Jenna took off after the other girls who were headed toward the changing room.
Dean shrugged “Sure.” He glanced at the crowd of people clumped at the doors around the doors. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere as they were moving in a ‘calm and orderly manner’ out the door on their way out to the parking lot. He turned around to head back to the bleachers to wait, until Jenna was done or the people at the doors were gone, which ever was first. He was surprised to see Brandon was sitting on a bench hunched over a book. Dean’s brows furrowed as he realized where he had been hiding those shoulders earlier this week. Brandon slumped his shoulders forward, making them look narrower and himself shorter than he actually was. It was a neat trick.
Dean took a few strides over and plopped unceremoniously down next to him. “What’cha reading today?”
Brandon’s head shot up and he jumped sideways on the bench by almost a foot. He held the book between the two of them like a shield; his breath coming short and fast. There was genuine terror in his eyes.
“Woah, woah, woah…” Dean held his hands up at his sides. “Didn't mean to startle you there.”
Brandon swallowed hard and made a visible effort to calm himself. He set the book slowly down on the bench between them, cover side up; The Cat Who Walks Through Walls. Then, after a moment, he blinked at Dean in confusion “Uh. Sorry… I uhm? What?”
“No problem man. It’s a good book.” Dean flashed a warm smile, feeling bad for having sat down so abruptly. “Seems like you’re into it, though.”
Brandon blinked owlishly, staring at Dean as though he might not be real. Or worse. “What?” He said again, but then, before Dean could answer he continued, his voice shaky and confused. “Oh, the book… it’s one you’ve read?”
“Yeah. Some of it gets a little rambly, but Heinlein can be like that.”
Brandon nodded and his eyes darted to the doors, to all the doors; the exit to the parking lot and the doors to the school and changing rooms. “Uh. Yeah… a little… rambly.”
“Man, are you okay?” Dean asked leaning forward in concern.
Brandon finally took a deep steadying breath and squared his shoulders. “I uh, didn’t realize you were here… and didn’t… uh. I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. What are you doing here?”
“Jenna wanted me to see the routine. She wants to go out.”
Brandon nodded. “Ah. That makes more sense.”
Dean very nearly asked what he meant by ‘more’ sense, but, Brandon was rattled so he let it go. “I didn’t realize you were… er, on the team.”
“Yeah. I’m super manly so I can see how it would be a surprise.”
The sarcasm in Brandon’s voice made Dean laugh. “Well, seems like it’s got it’s perks. Full access.”
“Uh… yeah. Sure.” Brandon was less nervous now, but his eyes kept moving, as though he were on look out for something. It reminded Dean of how he felt when he was on a Hunt, but, there was nothing dangerous in this school. Nothing here at the game either.
Dean wanted to ask about it, but, got the sense that if he did it would only make things worse. He rested his forearms on his thighs and turned his attention away from Brandon to the slowly thinning crowd near the door. “I’ve been reading Catch 22.” He said
“Oh.” Brandon’s voice tried hard for neutrality.
“Yeah. It’s a strange book.” Dean was unsure what he was doing here. When he’d seen Brandon sitting here he’d been excited for the chance to get to talk to him again, but it didn’t seem like Brandon felt the same way. It had been a whole school week since that day at Jenna’s and he hadn’t even seen Brandon since then, but he’d picked up Catch 22, he’d read Shakespeare, and he couldn’t get that little wisp of hair out of his mind.
“... yeah.” Brandon agreed and he seemed to debate what to do next. He chewed on his thumbnail and swallowed nervously.
Dean glanced sideways at him. “Jenna’s got some family thing tomorrow. You want to grab a pizza and talk about weird ass books?”
Brandon stared at Dean for a long moment. Those dark chocolate eyes swam with a torrent of emotions, but eventually he nodded. “Uhm, yeah. Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. There’s this dive of a pizza place I found. All of the tables wobble and the wallpaper is peeling, and I think it might be a mob front, but god love ‘em they can make a pizza. Tony’s.”
Brandon blinked in bewilderment. “On 12th? I know it.”
“Yeah. That’s the place. I have some stuff to do tomorrow morning, but could be there by 1 or so.”
By now the crowds had pretty much cleared out and Jenna came bounding across the Gym with the rest of the girls. They were all showered and preened. Jenna was wearing a short pleated skirt and shirt with a heart shaped cut out over her chest. Her jacket was on, but unbuttoned and her hair was down out of the braid it had been in. Dean grinned at her as she approached. He stood as she got close and she stepped into his arms to give him a short but very wet kiss.
After the kiss she seemed to notice Brandon. “Oh! Thanks for keeping Dean company again B.”
Brandon’s cheeks flushed pink, and those dark eyes fluttered over Dean’s face and then down at the ground. “Sure, Jenna. I was waiting for my dad to pick me up, so it’s no big deal.”
Dean wrapped an arm around Jenna and asked her “Where are we off to?” She told him where ‘the gang’ was planning to go after the game. Before turning to leave Dean looked back to Brandon “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Jenna asked “Is B gonna tutor you, so you can like… pass any of your classes?”
Brandon nodded stiffly, his shoulders were already sagging back into their slump. “Yeah. Tutoring… tomorrow at 1.”
Dean gave Brandon a slight scowl before deciding, once more, not to argue the point. As he left with Jenna he fought the urge to look back over his shoulder at Brandon. Something was off with him, but, now wasn’t the time to push him about it. The after party wasn’t some Hollywood fiction; Sure… pop music blared from the stereo loud enough to wake the dead and the beer was free flowing - in cans, not from a keg - but there was no dance floor. No teen drama. Just… 8 couples who had found a quiet place to make out or have sex.
He was glad that Jenna had drawn a hard line in the sand because by 11 she was so drunk she was barely awake. He poured her into his borrowed junker, drove her back home and helped her unlock the front door before he headed back to Bobby’s.
Bobby was, of course, still up when he returned. His feet were propped on his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand while he paged through a thick old tome. “Midnight is late now?”
“Eat me.” Dean said without malice and went to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. He plopped down on the couch and propped his foot on the stack of books on the floor in front of him.
“Feet off the books boy.” Bobby grumped. “No cheerleader tonight?”
Dean grudgingly dropped his feet to the floor. “We hung out for a while. Then she drank her third beer and pretty much passed out.” Dean took a swig off his beer. “What are you workin on?”
“Hunter in Des Moines is up against what he thought was a vengeful spirit. Little girl keeps popping up, wreaking havoc. She’s killed three people so far, but no one knows who she is and everyone who sees her gives a different description. Something just ain’t sittin’ right with me about it.”
Dean pursed his lips and nodded. No name meant they couldn’t dig up bones, no bones to burn meant the spirit was free to do what spirits did.., so that sucked. He took another pull from his beer and sat in silence as Bobby went back to his reading.
Bobby looked up about 10 minutes later and set his book aside “You got somethin on your mind?”
“Nah.” Dean started.
“Okay, so, you’re just sitting here watching me read hoping your pretty face is gonna inspire me?” Bobby joked.
“Can you take Sam shopping tomorrow? He’s got some project he needs supplies for, and I told him I’d take him, but I got plans tomorrow now.”
“I thought the cheerleader had family stuff to do tomorrow?”
“No, not like that. Jenna’s fine and all, but it’s not like we’ve got a lot to talk about. Gonna grab a pizza and hang with this guy I met.”
“Awww. Did you make a friend?” Bobby smirked and took a swig of his whiskey.
“Shut up.” He took a final swig of beer and set the bottle on the table, before storming out of the room.
Like what you just read? Go back to the beginning:
Part One: Arrival
Part Two: Too Cool For School
Part Three: The More You Know…
Part Four: Ground Rules
Part Five: Puzzle Peices
#teen!dean#dean winchester#bobby singer#dean is bi#teenage dean#sam winchester#cheerleader#basketball
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character name: bruce robert wayne
character age & dob: february 19th 1979 / 42
character faceclaim: jensen ackles
character profession: ceo of wayne entertainment company
character biography:
triggers: parental death, murder
bruce was happy for the first eight years of his life. both his parents were busy, with both of them being actors and his father working in the family company. despite this thomas and martha made as much time for bruce as they possily could. they never wanted him to feel like he wasn't loved by them just because they were busy.
he never doubted that they loved him. both of his parents would go out of their way to do things for him. he spent a lot of time with the family butler and chauffeur alfred pennyworth, forming a strong bond with him.
at eight years old, on their way home from one of his father's movie premieres, a robber targeted them and ended up killing both of his parents, leaving bruce staring at their bodies before the police arrived. after that his life started to get messy.
alfred began raising him full time, though he never tried to replace his father. as bruce got older he started acting out more, getting in fights at school, always claiming that he was just protecting some kid who got bullied. it didn't help that alfred knew bruce was always telling the truth. he had no reason to lie in these matters.
his life had been turned completely upside down by his parents' murders. it became a hollywood fascination, with people always speculating about the man who killed them. joe chill was caught and convicted not longer after their deaths but that wasn't a comfort for bruce. it got harder when some channels started making documentaries about the event without alfred's permission.
bruce got tired of being labelled the wayne orphan. the fighting at school got worse, turning into bruce sneaking into underground clubs to fight, doing anything he could to process the anger he had. it all finally came to a head when alfred eventually had to bail him out when the club got raided by the police. he watched as alfred broke down, convinced he had failed thomas and martha.
after a rough senior year, bruce managed to graduate with more than perfect grades, earning him a full ride to the school of any choice -- which he promptly declined. bruce broke up with his high school girlfriend and disappeared, leaving los angeles for the uk, having secretly decided to attend oxford.
he stays in the uk for three years studying history before spending a year in paris. the following three years he travels through the middle east and asia, meeting the heiress talia al ghul. they have a whirlwind relationship that ends months before bruce finally returns to the united states.
once back he declares that he's taking over as ceo of wayne entertainment, keeping lucius fox as the coo to give him support as he steps into his new role.
the same year he comes back bruce meets selina kyle, a woman that instantly charms him. this is when they start their little game, both of them pursuing each other in increasingly more complicated ways.
three years after his return bruce attends a show at haly's circus los angeles stop. the circus is always something he liked as a kid so he actually lets himself enjoy for the night, only for the performance to end with two of the acrobats dying, leaving their young son up on the platform alone.
within weeks bruce is taking dick in as his ward, wanting to give him some kind of stability. dick didn't adapt well at first, things always hard for him, so bruce, and mostly alfred, did everything they could to make life as normal as possible for him. after dick almost gets expelled, bruce has an intense talk with him that turns into a fight.
dick tells him that he hates normal school and wants to go back to performing. bruce didn't know what to do at first, but after a summer of dick sneaking out and going to auditions, bruce finally agreed to let him go to a performing arts school not far from their home.
five years after taking in dick grayson, bruce encounters jason todd as the 13 year old tries to steal the hubcaps off of his lamborghini. instead of getting mad and trying to report him to the police, bruce decides to take him to the nearest burger joint and feed him.
for months he tries to make sure jason had a stable life until he eventually adopted him. somehow jason managed to have more anger issues than dick did, or at least that's what it seemed like. it was worse with jason when he started getting into fights around the time his young neighbour tim drake started just coming over to visit.
once jason got into music bruce encouraged it, wanting jason to have some kind of healthy outlet. things were okay for a couple years, with jason making music with his friends and dick starring on his show. at 18 things got bad, with jason and bruce getting into a huge fight. jason ended up running away, cutting off contact with bruce.
for the last two years he's been keeping track of jason's career despite not talking to him, going out of his way to support him in ways that jason won't recognise.
mun info
name: smam
age: 26
timezone: pst
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Golden Kamuy – 28 – Big Top, Big Turd
There’s no shortage of deep, dark, horrible stuff in Golden Kamuy (see: last week), but what keeps the audience from descending into despair is its well-integrated, irreverent, and sometimes gross comedy. Yet the comedy almost always serves and propels the more serious and dramatic central story, rather than simply serving as isolated points of relief.
Take Kiroranke introducing Asirpa to a opokay, a fanged deer that was her father’s first kill. He has her smell the musk glad, giving us another wonderful Asirpa Face (Ogata’s face, funnily enough, barely changes upon smelling it). Kiroranke tells the tale of how he and Wilk not just hunted this deer, but were called musk deer due to their wandering.
Our sense of smell is most closely tied to memory, so Asirpa remembers the beaded hohchiri her dad gave her to wear until her first kill (which is typically only for boys). This is how Kiroranke hopes to uncover the mysteries Wilk left in his daughter’s head: by continuing to familiarize her with the man her dad was, and that above all she can trust him, her father’s friend.
Comedy returns to the fore in a big way this week as Team Sugimoto ends up in Toyohara, the cultural capital of Karafuto, and fall victim to a circus acrobat who snatches bags in his spare time. Despite the kid’s speed and agility, Koito is up to the task of chasing him down with the Japanese equivalent of parkour.
When the circus’ ringleader Yamada hears the boy was thieving again, he whips out his sword and appears to cut his face, only for there to be no cut, only blood. Turns out the sword is part of Yamada’s show-stopping fake harakiri act, which was so good in Russia that he was declared dead in the newspapers.
This gives Sugimoto a fresh idea for reuniting with Asirpa: by performing his “Immortal Sugimoto” act in the circus, he’ll be putting himself out there in front of a huge crowd as well as the local media, meaning there’s no way Asirpa will miss him.
The other three soldiers also join the circus temporarily, as they are all united in the goal of finding Asirpa. Koito is an instant hit with Yamada and the girls for his considerable and effortless acrobatic feats. When asked what circus he came up in, he proudly proclaims “The 7th Division of the Imperial Army!”
Tsukishima and Tanigaki, who lack any acrobatic talent, are shunted off to join the dancing girls who perform between acts. Tanigaki reveals how sensitive he is to harsh criticism by the stern battleaxe of a choreographer, but is comforted by one of the older girls, Beniko, who cheers him on as she contemplates her final performance before the circus cuts her loose.
Then Sugimoto is taught the harakiri act by Yamada, who not only reveals what a good showman he is, but how damn big his nipples are! In truth, the sword has a grove containing red dye, and the water splashed on the body to “purify” it is really the liquid the dye turns red upon contact, leading the audience from afar to believe real cuts were made.
The day of the big show arrives, and the soldiers must before to a packed house, only with their natural or acquired artistic skills, not their fists. Koito performs almost perfectly until he finds a photo of his beloved Tsurumi on the tightrope.
Later, Tsukishima confesses he put it there worried Koito’s performance would overshadow Sugimoto’s, and thus their objective to find Asirpa. But Koito’s resulting improvisation ends up bringing the house down anyway. As for Tanigaki, he turns in a performance he can be proud of, and is finally acknowledged by the tough choreographer.
All that remains is the big closer: the Immortal Sugimoto Harakiri Show. His assistant Cikapasi (whom we learned received a hohchiri from Enonoka that he won’t be removing anytime soon) douses him with water in the right places, but Sugimoto soon learns that the sword he has is real—Koito switched out the fake as revenge for trying to sabotage him (before Tsukishima claimed responsibility).
Sugimoto shows he has a bit of a gift for showmanship by drawing the sword close and pulling it back with a chuckle, allowing the audience to let out the collective breath they were holding in. But this only works a couple times; they want to see blood. So after cutting his wrist, he cuts his leg, and prepares to cut his chest in a place where it will bleed a lot but not damage anything vital.
Right then, he’s bailed out from having to cut himself when one of a trio of suspicious Russians pulls a gun on him. He slices the assassin’s hand off then slashes him across the mid-section. He then takes out the other two, all to the rapturous delight of the crowd, who of course think this is all fake.
It’s delcious irony that just as Tsukishima’s attempt to sabotage Koito’s act made his act much better, the same happens when Koito tries to sabotage Sugimoto’s. More than that, if Sugimoto hadn’t had a real sword, he could have been in real trouble against those three Russians.
After the show, which was an undisputed hit, ringleader Yamada reveals that the Russians were likely hired to assassinate him, as he was an Imperial Army spy embedded in Russia before the war and provided intelligence to Japan.
Yamada’s intelligence bonafides also make him an ideal source of intel for their search for Kiroranke and Asirpa, as the newspaper only had two sentences mentioning Sugimoto. Yamada tells them about Alexandrovskaya Prison, where a large group of “eastern minorities” were recently transferred there for plotting a resistance.
As the four soldiers prepare to head further north to the prison, Sugimoto holds out hope Asirpa’s beautiful blue eyes will read those two sentences about him in the Toyohara paper, and learn that he is still indeed alive. Instead, in another irreverent comedy aside, we see that Asirpa is actually, in that moment, looking at poop she mistakes for that of big game, when it is actually the recent leavings of one Shiraishi Yoshitake.
Maybe it’s just as well she’s staring at a turd…what if the paper had erroneously reported Sugimoto’s death? In any case, the ED sequence in which both Sugimoto and Asirpa see the same snowflake glide by gives me hope that one of these days he’s going to finally catch up to her, and with some amazing new stories to tell.
By: braverade
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CANTLON: (SAT) CHECKERS KNOCKED OFF 5-2 BY PACK IN SEASON OPENER
BY: Gerry Cantlon, Howlings
HARTFORD, CT - It was the rookies that were touted, but it was the veterans on the Hartford Wolf Pack roster that provided the balance of the offense while rookie goaltender, Igor Shesterkin, shut the door on the Charlotte Checkers in an opening night 5-2 victory before the lowest home opening night crowd in franchise history, 5,040, at the XL Center Saturday night.
“(We) didn’t look great at the start, but we needed to settle down and we didn’t get rattled. That was important and answered back. When we made mistakes, Shesty was great back there. He made the saves we needed. One thing though, we can’t rely on (the goalie) holding the fort all the time,” Kris Knoblauch said after his first win at the AHL level and as the Pack's new head coach.
The veterans consisting of Danny O’Regan (three assists), Matt Beleskey (two goals), Vinni Lettieri (goal and an assist), and Vincent LoVerde (goal and an assist) were the offensive fulcrum for the Wolf Pack.
The Wolf Pack built a commanding 5-1 lead at 24 seconds into the third period when Beleskey, in a net-front special, on a LoVerde play, tallied his second of the night.
“I was happy for Matt who played so well for us. He overcame his disappointment with Rangers camp and (the veterans) showed their maturity. (They) did the little things, made quality plays all over the ice, from dumping in pucks to making good passes. I’m very happy for all those guys. I hope some of those younger players were watching, not that the young guys played bad, they did good, but, there is a learning curve. You need your leaders to lead, and they did that tonight,” Knoblauch said.
The Checkers made a game of it scoring twice to make it a two-goal game. David Gust put a rocket of a shot over Shesterkin's glove hand at 4:10 to make it 5-2. Julien Gauthier followed when he was all alone in front of Shesterkin and swept in the rebound of ex-Pack, Brian Gibbon’s shot at 10:22 to make it 5-3.
It seemed like that queasy feeling of a season ago where leads would disappear quickly and often felt like it could be making a comeback, but the difference over last season was in the net in the form of Shesterkin.
“We didn’t play bad, but more passive than I would like, and Shesty was the difference,” Knoblauch said so succinctly.
Morgan Geekie, Hunter Shinkaruk, and Gauthier all tested the Russian rookie, but were all denied. Plus the Pack defense, led by Ryan Lindgren, blocked shots either fully or partially to aid their goaltender's efforts.
Hanging in his stall was the Wolf Pack team's “World Heavyweight Championship Belt” for his performance in the game.
“He bailed us out, if he doesn’t make some of those saves, we wouldn’t have the two points,“ Beleskey, who pointed out the belt, said.
In the second period, it was Beleskey who outworked the Checkers defenseman, ex-Ranger, Frederick Claesson, with a forehand sweep as he took the rebound of O’Regan's shot to make it a 3-1 Hartford lead.
“Well, when I’m playing well, that’s the staple of my game. Getting rebounds. Winning battles, taking a few whacks, giving a few whacks back. That’s what makes me effective.”
Shesterkin had a quiet first period, but showed the dazzling form that had the Rangers salivating at the prospect of him being on Broadway midway through the second period.
He turned a series of shots over a three-or-four-minute period from the Checkers as they peppered him with four quality shots and owned the puck inside the Wolf Pack zone.
Eutu Luostarinen, then Gauthier from the right-wing circle, a deflection by Gibbons, and then defenseman Jake Bean's drive, all acrobatically turned aside.
The Pack made it a three-goal advantage late in the second period.
Newly-minted captain, Steven Fogarty, beat two Checkers, Bean and his defensive partner, Ross McKeown, to the puck behind the goal line and flipped a backhand pass to Lettieri just coming into the right-wing circle. He wasted little time unleashing his shot and the puck was in the back of the net at 17:05 and the Wolf Pack had a three-goal lead.
The Wolf Pack earned their way to an early two-goal advantage
The second period saw the other part of the Russian connection, Vitali Kravtsov, pinned to the bench by the head coach after a listless first period of play. A little early-season tutorial for the prized prospect, a first in Pack history, or likely anywhere else in hockey that a player, no less than a prized first-rounder was parked on his keyster in Game 1.
Knoblauch addressed it head-on.
“It's tough for players to adapt because they are so close to playing in the National Hockey League, and getting sent down here can be disappointing. A lot of players think its gonna be easy.
"I experienced it a lot in juniors. A kid is so close to making the NHL team and he comes back and they're terrible for a couple of weeks. If you don’t work, and you wait for the puck to come to you, you won’t have much success. Vitali is a good player, and he will be a very good player. He just has to fight through the disappointment.”
The Checkers started where they left off from last season scoring early on the Wolf Pack.
Just 1:28 in, off a two-on-one off the right-wing, Janne Kaukonen, whose season last year was cut short by injury, banked his shot off the inside of Shesterkin’s left pad and gave the Checkers a 1-0 lead.
To the Wolf Pack’s credit, they answered back quickly.
Joey Keane came off the right point in the faceoff circle received a perfect cross-ice pass from O’Regan, who exercised great patience with the puck, and Keane beat goalie Alex Nedejlkovic to the far side for his first professional goal at 4:03.
Boo Nieves started the whole sequence off with some strong forechecking.
“We had a pretty balanced attack I thought. We have a lot of talent up front and the veterans kind of led the way,” said O’Regan.” I had the puck a little longer than I wanted, but he was pretty wide open, and Boo made a great first play on that and I was happy for him (Keane) getting his first pro goal. We did good job getting the puck and getting shots off.
"It was a strong start to the season. We have a good team playing hard, playing the right way. He (Shersterkin) played a great game. Good teams, have good goalies and he stood strong.”
The Wolf Pack gained their first lead as the veteran, right-handed shooting LoVerde, took a cross-ice pass from rookie Patrick Newell and beat Nedejlkovic from the lower part of the faceoff circle to the far side at 12:06.
NOTES:
The Pack record low attendance beat the previous mark by a 1,000 set in 2017-18.
Pack Scratches:
Jeff Taylor
Brandon Crawley
Ryan Gropp
Ville Meskanen
Lines:
Fogarty-Lettieri-Di Giuseppe
Fontaine-Chytil-Kravtsov
Gettinger-Jones-Newell
O’Regan-Nieves-Beleskey
The Checkers lineup included Gibbons (Salisbury Prep) whose one season in Hartford was an exercise in futility. The other local products were Chase Priskie (Quinnipiac University) and ex-Sound Tiger Colin Markison.
Friday night the AHL’s first action of season 84 featured eight games, six were decided by two goals or less and there were two shutouts Ontario 5-0 over San Jose and Tucson 2-0 over Texas.
Last Wolf Pack off the ice was Kravtsov. He was preceded by Lettieri, Gabriel Fontaine, and Di Giuseppe.
Fan Wolf Pack hockey jersey of the night; #44 Mike Ouellette, #41 Stu Bickel, and #17 Ryan McDonagh.
Other jerseys of note; Beast of New Haven #24 Steve Washburn, and a favorite player and jersey #16 Michel Goulet, of the Quebec Nordiques.
A very nice tribute to the late Bob Guarente, the long-time Chief of Off-Ice Officials who passed away over the summer after his second battle with throat cancer. He served from 1975 till last February when he retired.
Now the longest-serving off-ice official is Frank Camera of Bridgeport who served with six different teams in New Haven including the last three AHL teams in the Elm City, the Nighthawks, Senators, and Beast of New Haven.
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#AHL#BeastofNewHaven#BooNieves#BrandonCrawley#CharlotteCheckers#DannyO’Regan#GabrielFontaine#GerryCantlon#HartfordWolfPack#JulienGauthier#MattBeleskey#NationalHockeyLeague#NHL#QuebecNordiques#QuinnipiacUniversity#RyanGropp#RyanLindgren#RyanMcDonagh#StevenFogarty#StuBickel#VilleMeskanen#VinniLettieri#VitaliKravtsov#XLCenter
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