#but. do you really need it to heat up that fast. i think even induction stoves are just a bit too much even if they're convenient as hell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iphoenixrising · 4 years

Note

If it's not a problem I would like to see what happens when omega Tim safe words out?

I just so in love with how you wrote him and I know you've a thing with Dr Tim and safe words but I would really appreciate if you'll give me this with omega Tim

Have a great day/night

Babe asked for O!Tim safe wording out. Taking into account how much he’s been able to take so far in my fics, then it’s apparently going to be truly something for him to safe word, right?

….or is this just another excuse to have AAANNNNNGGGGGGSSSSSSSTTTTTT.

(I regret nothing, but, well, you might, babe :D :D)

It was just supposed to be Pack support. Just the Bats realizing they had an Omega in their ranks, an Omega who had been more on the outskirts than part of the inner circle, an Omega who had been walking a long road alone. Just the Dick and Jay trying to be good Alphas and take care of him. Just giving in to those crazy instincts.

It was never supposed to hurt. It was never supposed to break him. Not like the first time when he was essentially kicked out of the Pack, when his cape was pulled out from under him, and his place became a question mark instead of a given. (Falling from Wayne Towers because Ra’s is such a douce canoe, he’d been beaten to fuck, blood loss and a real concussion to blame when he wondered if they’d bother putting up a case with his suit, if he even mattered that much to Dick, if he ever really did…)

When he presented, when he didn’t have a hint of a Pack scent, It had taken an embarrassingly long time to feel like he could get anywhere near the city. Long after he’d sent Bruce back home, telling him everything with sparse details, why there wasn’t an R on his shoulder, why he couldn’t be Batman’s sidekick anymore. He’d left all the pain locked in his chest, keeping himself as impartial as possible to deliver the hard facts, ignoring the whimpering, cowering Omega in the depths of him crying out for someone, anyone to want him, need him, keep him.

Working his way back in hadn’t been easy. Keeping his presentation under wraps with scent blockers and suppressants hadn’t been either, but there was no way in hell he was going to let something like the fact he was an Omega be the reason they wanted him back. Fuck, no.

But it happened anyway. Slowly but surely, O called him more often about cases, wanted to know if he had any helpful intel. B dropped by the Tower, more than once, to seek him out, told him how buggy the Batcomputer must be this point, but he wouldn’t really know, Tim, because you always handled that, didn’t you? Dick tentatively showed up in one of his safe houses while he riding an undercover stint, pizza and terrible B sci-fi flicks, looked crushed when Tim closed the door on him by sheer self-preservation instinct. Jason Todd showed up to fish him out of the middle of the Atlantic when a case of crimefighting gone hilariously awry ended up with a thwarted world-domination plot and his ass landed in the middle of, you know, the ocean and shit. Damian of all people demanded his presence in Gotham for the upcoming anniversary of Batcow’s induction into the family.

(When he’d blurted out, “why would you want me back? Aren’t you the one that wanted me gone in the first place? Well, I mean, got what you asked for, right? How about we pretend this conversation never happened.”

He had been in no way prepared for the demon himself to come hunt him down with a vengeance. Robin seeking him out no matter where he hopped next on the fight crime, kick ass, and take names train.)

(That kid? Seriously.)

And as much as Dick had apologized after he finally made his way back to Gotham, had said no Omega in his Pack should have been alone, without a Bat safety net (reads as: mother hen), he had seemed genuinely upset Tim had presented outside of Gotham, on his own.

Worse, he hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t come back.

(Like he thought that was an option at the time.)

It wasn’t until later, after they found out he presented, and were…upset he’d been on his own for so long afterwards, that he’d laughed at Dick’s angry expression, shaking his head.

“Come back? Why? To what? I didn’t have any Pack scent by then, and I sure as fuck wasn’t welcome, so why bother? I did what I had to do. We got Bruce back, didn’t we?”

He hadn’t been prepared for how strongly Dick’s musk flared, how the Alpha went deadly serious, had stepped back and palmed some pellets on instinct when facing something potentially dangerous – like a pissed off, feral Alpha male.

It had taken visible effort for Dick to get a hold of his Alpha instincts, which had absolutely perplexed him at the time because really? They hadn’t been partners, allies, friends for almost two years by then.

“It was…I tried to….Tim –“

He’d just waved off the helpless sputtering because by then, it hadn’t really mattered.

“It all worked out in the end. Don’t think about it all too hard, Dick. I don’t.” Which had been an obvious lie, but had at least appeased the Alpha enough not to viciously scent him or use the dreaded octopus hold until he was cuddled within an inch of his life.

So coming back was…different. Unexpected.

Being the official Pack Omega came with Bats all over his everything. Bats coming out of the woodwork when he was starting to run down, when his Heat was approaching, when he’d been out of the city for too long.

(It was all for nothing in the end. Because they’re only after the Omega now, not the boy that used to wear the R…)

“Heat’s easier with an A, Timmers,” Jay had started that ball rolling. “Ya ever gotta need fer the real thing, betcha I know a few Alphas what might help ya out.”

“I can call some Alphas I trust if that becomes the case.” Had been off-handed in his mind, but it had been something else to see Jason’s expression smooth out, to catch the soft noise of leather when the Red Hood’s hands had clenched into fists.

But against his better judgement, he’d let them into his Heat safehouse. At first just to let them deliver Alfred goodies. Later because they wanted to stay, to spend his Heat together.

It was fine as long as they would just leave afterwards. It was fine as long as it stayed just instincts, just Alphas and an Omega. It was fine because they still treated him like Red Robin on the streets and left him alone when he went blackout on cases outside the city.

It was fine until it suddenly wasn’t.

“Gawd, sweetheart,” Jay moans against the nape of his neck, noses against the base, “ya feel s’ good. My sweet lil’ ‘Mega. My purty ‘Mega, lettin’ me in, givin’ it up ta yer Alpha. Gonna lemme be good ta ya, yeah? That’s right. Perfect fer me, ain’t cha?”

It’s his second day, so he’s with it enough to realize what Jason said.

“Yeah he is,” Dick’s fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “He’s such a good Omega for us, isn’t he Jay? He fits so nicely between us. Our cute O–“

“Red.” Tim croaks out from under Jay’s bigger body, the wet sounds of skin slapping fast and furious. He bucks up against Jay with real strength, his eyes already getting ridiculously hot and full.

“Red, dammit! Get the hell off me!”

He yells loud enough to make Jay flinch and jerk up abruptly from where he’d been laying over Tim’s back.

Dick’s hand pauses before untangling from his hair.

And even if the Heat is still burning, his body desperate for the knot that was just seconds ago opening him up for it, Tim pulls off Jason’s Alpha cock wetly, doing it himself while both Alphas seem frozen in their spots, not sure why he would safe word out at all. He seemed to be enjoying them!

Tim’s already clawing and scrambling off the bed, careful not to touch either of them, legs wobbly, messy ass and thighs on display, feeling open and raw and needy, but his chest too tight, his lungs seemingly unable to get enough air.

The bathroom door has a lock. Not that it was much of a deterrent if the Alphas really wanted to get to him, but there’s always the window big enough for him to fit through, too small for Dick or Jay. It would give him enough of a head start anyway.

At one point, he’d pulled a towel off the rack, wrapping it around himself, sitting against the bathroom door to literally block it with his body without being consciously aware of it.

He didn’t move, stayed bare ass on the cold tile floor, concentrated on getting enough air back in his lungs, biting down on his lower lip until his eyes stop spilling over, hot and full, until his chest stops stuttering with half-sobs. Until the Omega in him calms it the utter fuck down.

Soft tapping filters through when the door vibrates against his back.

Dick’s voice filters in while the inside of his head is an utter mess. “… got some pajamas for you, and-and a sandwich. Jay made coffee. Can you let me in, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that,” is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I’m not your fucking Omega. I wasn’t enough to be your partner, your brother, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be your bitch either.”

“What the fuck didja just say ta ‘im?” Jay barks from outside the door.

“It’s just instincts,” he tries to snarl but his voice is hoarse, “that’s all this is. You think I don’t know that?” The laugh is scarily unhinged, “it’s not like anyone chose me, right?”

Because honestly, that hasn’t happened his whole vigilante career.

There’s silence outside the door. Stillness. The Omega writhes inside him, still needs a knot, still wants the Alphas even though Tim knows better than to think they want anything other than a warm hole, another vigilante to share the burden, an Omega’s influence in the Pack.

(He fucking gets it.)

“Apparently, we should talk.” Dick’s voice is flat, something like anger or disappointment.

“Get out,” is what Tim says instead. “Get dressed and get the fuck out. I’ll take care of myself.”

Like I’ve always done. Even back when I wore the tunic.

“Tim, we shouldn’t–“

“No,” and his own scent had changed from candy sweet to alarmingly bitter to his own nose. “You are going to get your clothes on and leave. You two don’t see me through anymore Heats. I find someone else or take care of it myself.”

“What?!” Jay sounds floored, “what the shit is this alla sudden? Ya can’t be serious right now.”

“I’m not fucking around, Jason. You leave, or I will.”

“You can’t go out smelling like Heat!”

“I dunno what the hell’s goin’ on wit’ ya but–“

He stands up on wobbly legs, moves to push the window open, knows they’ll hear the squealing because he’s not trying to be quiet about it.

“Whoa, whoa! All right, all right, fer fuck’s sake!”

“We’re getting dressed and leaving,” Dick is right up against the door. “Don’t go out the window, Tim. We’re…we’re going to go, okay?”

“Then go. Now.” He says from the window without turning around. He can’t chance his inner Omega will push him to whine at the door, to smell like open for business, take me, love me, make me yours because that is not at all where any of them are right now.

He hears them talking, their voices getting more muted as they go back to the bedroom to apparently do as he asked.

Tim climbs out of the tub, window still up, and turns on the shower without getting in, just using the noise as a deterrent.

“Don’t like it, Dickie,” he vaguely catches as the Alphas pass by the door again. “We try ta take care a’ ‘im and that’s what the fuck he says?”

“He safe worded, Jay. What does that mean to you?”

And Tim’s throat gets tight when he thinks about the implications Dick is suggesting.

“Dunno. How ‘bout ya gimme yer theories, Detective.”

“Later. I want to make sure there’s water and Alfred meals left in the feezer.”

“Fine, them let ‘im take care of his own ass. I ain’t never took advantage of a ‘Mega in my fucking life.”

Tim doesn’t leave the bathroom until he hears the front door slam closed. He darts out long enough to reconfigure the security system, makes sure no Bats are getting in without a hell of a shock.

The rest of his Heat is utterly fucking miserable, natch.

He feels wrung out and hurt by the time it’s done and he’s ready to put on the suit again.

He doesn’t put in the Batcomm, for the first time in months, and it goes back in a drawer before he takes off out the window.

#winter rambles #don't blame me #babe is the one that asked #i'm not sorry #omega!tim #alpha!dick #alpha!jay #aob #tagged for anon #aaaangst #angst and smut #natch #dickjaytim #hurt no comfort #get your feels ready #my fic #My writing

147 notes · View notes

xaphrin · 4 years

Text

“You’re not wearing that… are you?”

Raven looked down at herself in confusion. She was wearing what she always did for a Saturday night, leggings and an oversized Gotham University sweatshirt she got at some welcome event freshman year. Her lips twisted in annoyance and she lifted an eyebrow, knowing where Donna was going to take this conversation. “Is there something wrong?”

“You’re going on a date!” Donna slammed the heel of her hand into her forehead and groaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “A date. With Damian Wayne, the richest college student in the entire country, and you’re wearing a free sweatshirt, three year-old leggings, and boots you’ve repaired with Gorilla Glue. You cannot be serious.”

Raven rolled her eyes and began hunting through their living room to find her purse. She wasn’t sure why Donna cared so much, it’s not like Damian actually liked Raven. He tolerated her at best, and despised her at worst. “I highly doubt he’s going to give a fuck about what I’m wearing. He doesn’t even like me, remember? The only reason he’s taking me on this stupid date is because of contractual obligation. In fact he’s probably going to stop and get fast food and then kick my ass out two blocks away from our house so he doesn’t have to deal with the shame of being seen with me.”

Outside a car door slammed and Karen offered a low whistle as she stood by the front window. “Uh… Rae?”

Raven picked up her head, feeling a pen slide out of her messy bun and clatter to the floor. “What?”

“You… might want to rethink your clothing choices because… hoo boy.”

Raven walked to the window and pulled the curtain back. Her heart fell into her stomach and she was pretty sure she stopped breathing. Eyes fluttering, she took a long few seconds to admire the man walking up the pathway to their house. Damian Wayne was coming to get her for their date, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine and onto her sidewalk. He was wearing gray trousers and black button-down, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the muscles in his forearm bulged as he walked - how was that possible? She knew he was built, but damn… she didn’t realize she could find forearms sexy.

His impossibly verdant eyes flicked up to the window and locked gazes with her, his lips pulling down into a frown. Raven stumbled back from the window, the curtain falling over the glass. Panic flooding her system, she turned to Donna and stumbled through a series of confused noises, before she managed to finally speak.

“Dress. I need a dress.”

“On it.” Donna grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs to her room. “Bee, keep Lover Boy busy while I fix…” She looked Raven up and down for a moment before shaking her head. “... this.”

Karen gave her a salute, a bright grin filling her face. “You got it, chief.”

Raven didn’t even have the energy to be insulted at Donna’s choice of words. All she could think about was how Damian Wayne was standing on her front porch, looking like a fashion model with the full intention of taking her out on a date. She stumbled along the upstairs hallway until Donna pulled her into her room, setting Raven on the bed.

“We’ve got about seven minutes to get you looking like you are going on a real date.”

Downstairs Raven could hear the door open and Karen invited Damian inside. Their voices were muffled, but Karen was obviously talking about the business ethics class they had together. Raven’s heart leapt into her throat and she stared at Donna as she pulled a dress out of the back of her closet, setting it on the bed with a pair of low-heeled shoes.

“Why is he dressed like that? Why?” She pitched forward and buried her head in her hands, groaning. “This was supposed to be a stupid joke. He wasn’t supposed to actually take me out on a date… and dress up for it.”

“Maybe…” Donna said with a sigh as she grabbed her make-up bag from her vanity. “And hear me out on this, Rae. Maybe he likes you.” She patted a little cover up under Raven’s eyes, trying to hide the evidence of her late-night study sessions. “Maybe he’s liked you for years, but you two are so dimwitted and emotionally constipated that you can’t even admit that you like each other, so you’ve got this ridiculous, over-the-top rivalry going on when what you should really be doing is just fucking each other senseless.” Donna swiped mascara on Raven’s eyes, grimacing. “Just maybe.”

“First of all.” Raven glared at her, her lips pulling down in a frown. “He doesn’t like me. He tolerates me, and just barely.” She pulled off her sweatshirt and leggings, reaching for the dress Donna had pulled out. “Secondly, I am not emotionally constipated.”

Donna wrinkled her nose and stared down at her. “Are those the underwear you’re wearing?”

Raven looked down at her plain, faded cotton underwear with a hole near the waistband. She wrinkled her nose. “Yes. They’re my favorite. And if I have to sit through the most uncomfortable dinner of my life, then at least my crotch is going to be comfortable.”

“I can’t believe I have to tell you how wrong it is that you’re wearing that underwear.” Donna’s face fell into her hand and she went to her dresser, handing her something black and lacy. “I have a new pair I just bought. Never been worn.”

“It’s not like he’s going to see my underwear, Donna.” Raven rolled her eyes and pushed the underwear away. “I’m not wearing those.”

“Raven.” Donna pitched her voice dangerously low and bent down to stare into her eyes, a darkness swirling there. “You are going to wear the damn underwear, or so help me god, I will throw you down on this bed and change you like a baby.” She shoved the lacy underwear into Raven’s hands. “Now shut up and wear the fucking panties.”

Raven flushed and quickly changed her underwear before pulling the dress on over her head. She shoved her feet into Donna’s shoes, noting they were a size too big. Oh well. She had no choice to make it work, it wasn’t like Raven had any kind of dress clothing of her own. The last time she wore something even remotely formal was to her induction into the English department’s honor society two years ago.

Donna pinned back her hair into a fancy messy bun, and stepped back to look at her. Her lips twitched and she tugged at the loose fabric around Raven’s breasts. “Mm… I can’t believe you don’t have a push-up bra.”

Raven gave her a flat stare, trying not to be jealous of her best friend’s curves. “Shut up.”

She glanced down at her small cleavage, barely filling out Donna’s dress. Suddenly she felt weird, like she wasn’t quite herself in a borrowed outfit and borrowed make up. Part of her wished she had just stayed in her leggings and sweatshirt, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself either. Damian would never let her live it down if she went out on a date with him looking like she did when she crawled out of bed and went to class on a Monday morning.

With a defeated sigh, she stared at herself in the full-length mirror. “I look… fine. Better than before, so… it’s something.”

“Mm.” Donna eyes her carefully for a moment before going to her vanity and handing Raven a tinted lip balm and a few condoms. “Here. Tuck these in your purse.”

“Donna! I am not sleeping with Damian Wayne.” Raven glared at her, taking the lip balm, but ignoring the condoms. “I would rather choke at dinner.”

“Your wandering eyes at the auction say otherwise. It wasn’t exactly like he was able to hide the massive python between his legs, and I definitely noticed some appreciation there.” Donna shoved the condoms into her hand and walked to the door, motioning Raven out. “But what do I know? I’ve just been your friend for the past four years.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug as Raven walked past, smirking. “And if your date goes horribly awry, then you can use them as water balloons and chuck them at his pristine, foreign car.”

Raven snorted, a small smile pulling at her lips. Whatever tension had been growing between them dissolved and Raven took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. What had she been thinking? Agreeing to a date with Damian Wayne? It would have been easier to sign her own death warrant.

Donna nudged her shoulder and gave her a small, teasing smile. “It’s gonna be fine. If it goes sideways, call me and Karen and I will be there in seconds to pick you up.”

That was comforting. At least she always had her friends to back her up. Raven nodded slowly and walked downstairs. Damian turned and looked at her, and for one brief moment he said nothing. His eyes roamed her face before glancing down the rest of her body. With a low hum, he leaned back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something snide, and Raven was already hunting for a quick comeback. She refused to let him have the upper hand in any of their conversations.

“I have to stop at the animal shelter before they close to drop off the money we raised.” He kept his voice surprisingly even, but there was a tension at the corner of his mouth. He was obviously just as annoyed as she was at having to take her out on a date.

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to ignore Donna sneaking behind Damian and stuffing more condoms in her purse. Just how much sex did Donna think Raven was going to have? And none of it was going to be with Damian.

“And then I made reservations for us at that new Italian place by the bay.”

Raven blinked, her eyebrows knitting together. “I thought they were booked up for three months?”

Damian lifted an eyebrow, and suddenly felt very silly. “Ah. Right. Wayne. I’m sure your clout could get you into Fort Knox on a moment’s notice.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She felt oddly jittery, like she was about to sizzle under the weight and heat of Damian’s unyielding stare. His lips twitched and his stare darted down her again. Raven pushed her feelings into the pit of her stomach and took a step forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so enthused. You’re the one that paid a thousand dollars for this.”

“I didn’t pay a thousand dollars for you.” Yes she did, she just didn’t want to admit it. “I did it to save the kittens.”

“Of course you did. And I’m sure making my life a living hell for one evening is just a nice, extra bonus.” He grabbed her hand and headed for the door, looking back over his shoulder as he dragged her along. “We’ll be back by eleven.”

“Or until I kill him.” Raven snorted. “Whichever is sooner.”

Donna just crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. “Don’t forget your purse.”

Raven glared and snatched it off a nearby chair. Oh she was going to use the condoms tonight, to pelt Damian’s car with water balloons like he deserved.

#damirae #demonbirds #college au #I PROMISE I'm working on requests and other things #I just... gotta get this out of my system first #I GOTTA #I'M SORRY

258 notes · View notes

miceenscene · 3 years

Text

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 2.3k / 9.8k (so far)

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings: canon-typical violence, lol does pining need a warning??

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Four: The Difference

It was as the hull door was slowly shutting behind them that Din realized he'd invited someone to join him on a semi-permanent basis.

It was as the hull door was slowly shutting behind them that Din realized he’d invited someone to join him on a semi-permanent basis.

He’d never done that before.

Ever.

Sometimes people were more passengers than quarry, but they never stayed before.

They always left.

Nia stayed.

It took some getting used to, having another person around.

Old habits had to be adjusted. His helmet now only came off in bed or the fresher.

Though once he did forget it till he was halfway across the hull, half-awake and scrounging through the ration bars to find the good ones. It took a boot scrape on the floor above him to remind him that there was another living thing aboard.

There was an undignified scramble back to the bed cubby, but the helmet was firmly in place before Nia appeared down the ladder.

Other habits were completely abandoned.

“Heading out?” Nia asked, looking up from her flight manual as the hull door dropped slowly open.

Din pulled a few hand grenades out of the armory and tucked them into his belt. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I’m coming with you.” She picked up her bo staff and the pistol that she’d taken from the Sergeant.

“There’s no need–”

“I’m not going to sit here and babysit an empty ship.”

“I work alone,” he hedged.

“You offered to help me. And since the only thing my mind seems to bother recalling is fighting, I’m sure as hell not going to let that slip out of my grasp too.” She crossed her arms and gave him a very obstinate look.

Out of habit, she got the usual treatment he gave people when they argued: silence.

It was laughably ineffective.

They just wound up staring at each other for several minutes in stubborn silence.

She’d stand there till the sun went down, he could feel it in his bones.

Call it a Match hunch, which did not technically exist but might as well have.

“Fine. But wherever I go, you go, understood?”

“Loud and clear.”

Her stubbornness didn’t stop once they were off the ship either.

A quarry got away from them for a full two days because they kept arguing about battlefield tactics.

They got the clawdite in the end. But only once they’d both apologized and made a new plan together.

And there was also the time she flew the ship without him.

Granted, he’d been knocked unconscious. And they did need to outrun the X-wings.

And for a woman who couldn’t remember where she was two moon cycles ago, she was a fair pilot.

If he didn’t care to use the ship ever again.

That dent in the hull wouldn’t come out no matter how many mechanics tried.

Even still, it seemed to take very little time at all before Nia’s presence was thoroughly expected and normal.

She seemed to… enjoy herself at times. And he did too, if he was honest.

Not that she wasn’t still deeply odd.

She spoke fluent mando’a, but fought like no Mandalorian he’d ever seen.

She could meditate for hours, and always seemed keenly aware of his exact location nearby when she did.

And then one evening, he came down from the flight deck, ready to climb into bed for some rest when he found her… contorted in the middle of the hull.

Her body was bent and stretched in ways he wasn’t previously aware that bodies could move.

Or at least move and still survive.

He watched as, without any hurry at all, she moved from one impossible pose to another; her breath and muscles in perfect control.

She could have made any of his old trainers proud with her self-mastery.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking his way.

His face heated under the helmet. He should have guessed this would be like her meditation.

“What are you doing?” he asked, moving to sit on a crate and pull off his boots.

She ended her routine by standing and bringing her hands pressed together in front of her chest and letting out one last long breath.

“I don’t know exactly. All I know is I feel restless if I don’t,” she said, turning around to face him. She patted his shoulder as she passed. “Sleep well.”

That happened often. Her touching him.

Even in the covert, even in his years of training back on Mandalore, no one had touched him so often.

And so casually too.

Like it was nothing at all for her to rest her arm on his shoulders as he demonstrated how to properly land the ship.

Or to sit so close to him when eating that her arm brushed his with every movement.

Maybe it was nothing at all to her.

But it was much more than nothing to him.

Her hands were all over him as she trained him in polearms, adjusting his grip, shifting the angle of his arms, urging him to relax the tension between his shoulder blades.

She held his hips to guide him through the weight transfer he kept overshooting, his face hot enough to melt his helmet clean off the entire time.

She quickly noticed how stiff he was around her. To his detriment.

He’d just been stepping around her in the flight deck.

Then suddenly a hand jabbed his rib cage.

He jumped, a strange noise cutting out of him as he did.

Nia broke immediately into a resounding laugh, pressing a hand to cover her mouth, doing a poor job of dampening the sound.

“I’m sorry!” she managed after a moment. “I–I didn’t know you’d… oh I’m s-sorry, Din.”

That was the first time he heard her laugh. It softened her blow considerably.

The second time he heard her laugh was when he retaliated two days later.

She leapt to the other side of the hull and was in a full fighting stance before she realized that he’d poked her.

Then she laughed again, making him laugh too, a smile beaming from under his helmet.

It happened somewhere when he wasn’t paying attention.

Somewhere between debating infiltration tactics and sparring, between knowing glances while Karga attempted to short-change them and long warm afternoons spent up in sniper’s nests, waiting for their quarry to return home…

She became his friend.

“I figured it out,” Nia said as she sat at the bar of a crowded cantina. She’d been sent in alone, semi-undercover as she was far less conspicuous than he was, to find their quarry. “An emergency induction tube. Then you can drink in bars with me and keep the helmet on.”

Outside in the alley, Din scoffed and spoke over the commlink in his helmet. “An emergency induction tube?”

“I have one now.”

He looked through the window to see her sip her drink through a straw. He chuckled then answered, “Still won’t work.”

She grunted, feigning annoyance. “‘Wherever you go, I go’ always seems to stop counting when it's time to relax.”

Under the helmet, he smiled.

“Do you have friends, Din?”

“What?” he asked over the commlink. Had he heard her right?

“I said, do you have friends? Been flying with you for a few months now, and I’m still waiting to meet them.”

“You met Ran and his crew.”

“You think Ranzar Malk and the rest of those criminals are your friends?” she asked, a little incredulously. “Didn’t Qin try to stab you during the last job?”

Technically, it was Xi’an who tried to stab him. “They’re… contacts.”

“So that’s a no on friends.”

He paused then said, “You’re my friend.”

Through the small vantage he had, he could see her smile down at her drink, eyes glancing just his way. His chest warmed.

“So one woman with a head like Corellian cheese. That’s… pretty good for a bounty hunter.”

“Same number you have right now.”

Her chuckle was low, sparking a single star burst high in his chest. “You have me there. Ah, found him. Target’s at the sabacc tables. I’ll flush him out into the alley.”

They had a good partnership. And he was happy to share most everything with her, what little amenities he could offer aboard The Razor Crest.

He didn’t realize she hadn’t been sleeping in the bed for weeks. Not until he came down from the flight deck early and found her curled in a corner of the hull, still using his cape as a blanket.

She didn’t seem to know where it had come from. And he certainly wasn’t going to inform her or take it back.

When he asked why she wasn’t using the bed, she said that it was his.

“It belongs to whoever’s sleeping,” he replied, firmly meaning it.

She took him at his word.

He hadn’t really been prepared, however, to crawl into the cubby after a long day and find that the whole space smelled like her soap.

She’d bought it in the first city they arrived in weeks back. Now it was all over his blankets.

Sea air. And wildflowers.

With the door to the cubby firmly shut, he slept with the helmet off that night…

And every night after, an unstoppable glow building in his chest.

Her memories, unfortunately, did not return. Or certainly not as fast as the droid made it seem like it would.

In several months, very little arrived.

Early childhood memories of Mandalore before the Great Purge. But no explanation of the control chip, or her skills.

She kept up a strong aloof appearance of her defect, but every so often, Din caught a glimpse of her despair hiding behind it.

They were in hyperspace, both working on small projects during the journey. He was outfitting one of his guns with a new scope, and Nia had taken to carving designs on her bo staff. It was turning into quite the fine weapon in her steady hands.

They’d been quietly working for a while when she started humming a low, slow tune. She didn’t even seem to be aware she was doing it.

Din looked up at her as her quiet song continued. Her curly dark hair twisted high on her head, back bowed over her staff in her lap as she deepend the etchings she’d done.

Her song wound back on itself and only then did she seem to realize what she’d been doing.

She looked up and sucked in a shaky gasp.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently.

She nodded, bottom lip quivering and eyes turning glassy. “My father used to sing that song,” she finally explained with a watery smile.

Though she couldn’t see, he smiled back, a tightness clenching high in his chest.

A bright fullness so wide it pushed out all the air in his lungs to make room.

He’d been feeling that a lot lately.

It wasn’t unpleasant, though it was annoying at times.

Especially when it showed up in the middle of a fight after Nia did something particularly skilled against her opponent.

It seemed to have no rhythm or source… besides her.

The galaxy was just different with her around.

It didn’t seem so soulless.

Perhaps because she noticed the small ignorable things.

Grabbing his arm to stop and watch street performers in a market he would have otherwise just passed through.

Pointing out the broad purple sweep of the planet’s rings through the night sky as they walked the quarry back to the ship.

Or perhaps because it was just simply nice to have someone around. Someone he enjoyed spending time with, someone who would have his back in danger, someone he trusted.

He knew what the star bursts high in his chest meant.

He wasn’t obtuse.

But there was a large difference between understanding and ready to admit, even just to himself.

Much less to her.

As for Nia, it took her several months to ask the inevitable.

He could feel her gearing up to ask something. Must be something pointed with how long her wind up was, nearly a full ration bar.

“Can I ask about your helmet?”

“No, you can’t wear it,” he answered, not looking up from the gun he was cleaning. He got a small smack on his arm for the answer, making him grin.

“I know that. I meant… your oath is to not show your face to another living being ever. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Not even your clan?”

He looked up now. “I don’t have a clan. I was a foundling.”

“But you could have one someday–unless that’s also part of the oath.”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not part of it.”

Nia leaned forward, deadly serious. “So… say you have a spouse, or children, they’d never know your face?”

She sounded… sad, he realized after a moment.

He’d had plenty of questions about his helmet; it came with being a Mandalorian. But none before had ever looked at his helmet and seen tragedy.

Not even him.

“When I took the creed, I gave up my old life. The helmet is my face. That’s what it means to be Mandalorian.”

“But I knew my parents’ faces… and they were Mandalorian.”

No they weren’t, a voice not his own hissed in the back of his mind, nasty and cruel and he didn’t know where it had come from.

He shook his head. “I don’t know… but this is what I was taught. This Is The Way.”

She didn’t press it any further, but the quiet disagreement in her eyes stuck with him as he drifted to sleep, alone and helmetless in sea air and wildflowers.

Chapter 5: The Discovery

taglist: @loversandantiheroes ; @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @sarahjkl82-blog ; @thirstworldproblemss ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @i-belong-in-fandoms

to join my tag list, click the link in my bio!

#The Mandalorian #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #Din Djarin x ofc #the mandalorian #mando x you #Din Djarin fanfic #soulmate au #Star Crossed #my writing

41 notes · View notes

aizawaskittenwhore · 3 years

Text

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

pairing: cartel!shota aizawa x fem!reader

words: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, this will be a cartel!au, so mentions of c*ke and distribution...yeah lol, suggestive content towards the end of the chapter (vague description of a bj), angst, cheating, aizawa just ain’t shit in this story LMFAOOO

a/n: this is the third fucking time i’ve tried to post this so if it doesn’t work i’m gonna cry. but I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE and i can’t wait for you all to see what i’ve got planned. so uh...strap yourselves in it’s about to get crazy. sorry ms joke </3

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐚’ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

The salty, warm breeze from the ocean whipped its way through Shota’s onyx locks, tossing them around with a gentle force. Miami was gorgeous from the water, skyscrapers alight with the buzzing energy of the city, streets crawling with good food and even better looking women. Gorgeous full lips wrapped around martini glasses, criminally short dresses clinging to any skin it was given. He didn’t care much for the nightlife, opting to observe the partygoers from a distance.

He wasn’t here to socialize.

He was here to work.

His wrists draped over the edge of the rail that separated him and the water, a small portion of his weight against the cool metal. When Hizashi suggested that he get a yacht he nearly spat out his whiskey, face contorted in an expression of annoyance and disdain. Shota didn’t understand why someone would need such a flashy boat, it was merely a watercraft meant for travel and or fishing. This wasn’t the 1400’s where one’s worth was tied to the size of a man’s ship. Just another glorified pissing contest for rich people with too much money, and not enough couple’s therapy in the world that could keep them home for days at a time.

It’s not as if he was in any position to judge though, his pinky coming to rest just below the silver band that rarely inhabited his ring finger these days. He doesn’t entirely know what possessed him to wear it, whether it be the ever-crushing guilt from lying to his wife, or the text he’d received from Emi this morning that read:

“Make sure to bring me back a mojito! Don’t work yourself too hard, and remember how much I love you!💕”

If only she knew that these tri-monthly “Inter-Departmental Hero Conferences” were just fronts for selling a literal boat-load of cocaine.

Turns out, yachts were really good for that.

In the span of just five years, superhuman society was nearing it’s peak. Upon the graduation of all the students in the 1-A Hero Course, and Izuku Midoriya’s induction as the new Symbol of Peace; the world began to see an astronomical shift. Crime rates were the lowest they’d ever been, with Japan and the States sitting at 2 and 4.5 percent, respectively. Newly minted Pro Heroes roamed the streets, bringing security to those who needed it and striking fear into the hearts of those who were on the wrong side of the law.

But this utopia came at a price. With the sudden influx of fresh and talented pros, crime decreased exponentially, leaving little villain-based work for Heroes to get paid for. Hostage situations and evacuation efforts took backseat to helping older women across the street and assisting young children with their schoolwork. Soon enough, peace became a burden for those whose careers surrounded chaos.

Aizawa was no exception to this dilemma. Once Midoriya and his classmates graduated and obtained their Hero Licenses, he’d ended his tenure as an instructor at UA. He felt that he’d done his civic duty as a teacher and a Pro, and produced some of the finest Heroes the world would come to see. So he began to settle down. Surprisingly, he’d begun to tolerate Joke’s incessant laughter and boisterous personality, and soon fell in love with the eccentric woman. Between patrols and giving advice to aspiring Heroes at the community center, he and Emi explored all the the world had to offer; swapping out steel-toed combat boots for soft plush flip flops against hot sand. After three years he’d proposed, much to Emi’s delight (and Ashido’s upon hearing that Mr. Aizawa could actually tolerate another human being). The ceremony was small, and intimate. Shinsou serving as the ring bearer, and Eri as the flower girl. Mic even shed a few tears during the toast, though he’ll deny it if Kayama ever brings it up.

For a while, things were good. Life was good. Emi was glowing with the energy of a new life blossoming inside her, and Shota fantasized about meeting his little girl, counting all of her dainty fingers and toes, and doting on her for all to see.

Or at least it was, before agencies began to close. Paychecks got smaller and smaller. Heroes were struggling to find work and their pockets began to struggle along with them. With Emi on maternity leave, and Hero society coming to a standstill, things were looking grim. He needed to provide for his family, his wife, his children.

He needed a plan, and fast.

Luckily, Hizashi always did have good standing with everyone’s favorite Bird Boy. So he called in a few favors.

“Just for a couple months man! We stir up a little bit of noise, make a couple ripples and bam! Crime rate’s back up, and we get back to makin’ money. It’s temporary. Nobody will ever know, I’ll make sure of it. I got you.” Hizashi pleaded, an arm slung across Aizawa’s shoulders as he pensively gazed into his glass of amber liquid. He’d done some vigilante work here and there in his twenties but this....this was outright criminal. But what choice did he have?

Just a few months, he’d said. If only it’d worked out that way.

“I was getting worried you wouldn’t show, Eraser!” Zhu thundered, hands clapping joyously at the other man’s timeliness. “That’s some boat you got there, let me guess...the wife’s idea?” He queried, eyebrows waggling emphatically as Aizawa descended from the metal ladder and onto the wooden pier; eyes rolling into the back of his head at Zhu’s...excitable personality. The two had known each other for about two years or so, having gotten acquainted over the course of Shota’s many trips between Japan and the States, and sometimes South America. Zhu Kanaka was a man of the lower ranks, opting to use his easygoing disposition to negotiate deals for Takami “Lord of The Skies” Keigo, better known as Hawks. Standing at a solid 6 foot 4, with thick black locks that spiked into a point reminiscent of an onion, thick bushy brows and a set jaw, you’d think he wouldn’t hesitate to punt anyone like a football.

At least until he opened his mouth.

“As it turns out, Emi hates the damn thing. Makes her seasick. Hizashi talked me into getting the fuckin’ eyesore.” He intoned. His left hand palmed his slacks for the emergency pack of cigarettes he kept in his back pocket for when he was stressed during a deal, although he never really needed them anymore after Eri said she wanted him to quit. He still held on to them though, just in case. “The hell you waiting for? You know the deal man. Let’s see it.” He muttered, silently willing for Zhu to get on with it so he could get in a bed. Three and a half hours on a goddamned boat (that you didn’t even want to begin with) will do that to you.

“Someone looks like he needs a nap. Alright, I got ya. Count it, make sure it’s all there. I had Thing 1 and Thing 2 back there pack it, so you might wanna double check.” Zhu quipped, jerking a thumb towards the two young men currently engaged in a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors; the pair of them flushing upon receiving one of Aizawa’s infamous stares. Two thick black duffles were handed to his two bodyguards, the men immediately unzipping and checking the stacks, a mental tally steadily climbing higher and higher as they sifted through the cash.

“He’s good. Four hundred thousand in each bag. It’s all there, Eraser.” Sato affirmed, Toru nodding alongside the man. “Good. Go ahead and call Jamie, tell him to bring the car around. Zhu, I’ll send Sato and Toru to help your men unload our shipment. It’s a hefty one, so you’ll need the assistance.” Shota offered, shoulders visibly relaxing at the thought of getting some alone time in an empty hotel room.

“Yeah that’d be great, thanks! How long you in town for?”

“Until about 3pm tomorrow. I’ll be on my flight back to Kyushu then.” He states, right arm extending to clasp the other man’s hand in a firm grip. “You’re goin to that meeting the Big Man’s holding in a few days right?” Zhu queries. “Unfortunately, yes. Gonna miss my little girl’s first doctor’s appointment for this shit.”

“No way! She had the baby?!?!? Congratulations man! How’s it feel?” Zhu exclaims, eyes alight with joy for his friend’s new addition to the family. “Feels good. She had a smooth pregnancy, everything worked out fine. Hana’s beautiful, and healthy. I couldn’t be more proud.” Shota brags slightly, heart swelling at the thought of his little girl and how proud he was to know he’d helped in making someone so...ethereal. “Wow. Raising another kid, you flying out all the damn time, along with whatever else you got goin on?? No wonder you look like shit.”

Red eyes and floating hair caused Zhu to immediately retract his former statement.

“Aw I’m just joshin’ Eraser! But I hear ya. It’s a lotta’ sacrifices that go into this, but they’re who we do it for. All of it. Ya know?” Zhu amends, eyes shimmering with the reflection of the city lights off of the water.

Did he even know who... or what he was doing this for anymore?

Shota found himself asking that question more and more often as of late.

“...Right.”

“Anyway, you’re probably spent, so I’ll leave you to it. It was good seeing you man, send Emi my love!” Zhu shouted as he slowly walked towards the men unloading his boat. “Likewise. Tell Macie and the kids I said hello.” Aizawa responded dryly, body screaming for some kind of relief from this exhaustion.

“Will do! Oh, by the way! You might wanna bring some cooler clothes and sunscreen with your pale ass, I hear Guadalajara’s pretty sunny around this time of year! See you in a few days man!” The male laughed, throwing him a wave as he slowly disappeared into the darkness of the port. Massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation, Aizawa nodded in acknowledgement as Jamie pulled up alongside him; his hand reaching for the handle and dragging his siphoned body into the backseat.

Jamie could sense his employer’s weary expression, and didn’t make any attempts at conversation, merely opting to start making his way to the hotel while smooth jazz floated through the car. Forehead against the door of the towncar, Shota typed out a quick message to his wife:

“Alcohol is the last thing you need sweetheart, and I love you too. Got another meeting in a few days, mandatory. I’ll in be in Mexico, so I’ll miss Hana’s appointment. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to the two of you.”

Sent.

The message sat for a few seconds before Emi read and typed out a response:

“Aw, bummer! </3 Dont worry, work is much more important right now. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures!”

“You don’t have to make it up to us, you caring is enough. Get some sleep old man, me and the girls love you. xoxo, Wifey 😘 ”

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve any of them.

This he knew. And yet, it didn’t stop him from responding to the unknown number that texted his phone every time he happened to be in town.

“Same time and place? Desperately in the mood to play....My toys just aren’t as good as yours, Eraser. ;)”

His heart sank. A beat passes. Then two.

Calloused thumbs move fluidly across the screen. He’s done this far too many times.

“Be there in 10. You know the routine.”

And in retrospect...he would’ve been way better off just blowing off Guadalajara and going to Hana’s appointment.

Because while he wrapped her slick ponytail around his hand, as a head that wasn’t his wife’s dipped between his legs, he didn’t think this would be his last moment of peace. Shoved down the throat of a woman who’s name he had long forgotten, settling for calling her whatever pet name he felt like adorning her with, her hands clawing at the soft and sleek cotton of his trousers.

Aizawa never anticipated that this would be the last time he would be in a room without immediate reinforcements, and be content.

The last time someone he didn’t trust with his life knew his location, and he wasn’t terrified.

The last moments of peace in his world before it all went to hell.

Temecula, California;

1:36am

The office floor was barren. Dark, coffee stained carpet congealed with the bacteria of old and new; giving it a sad beige color from the creamy foam-like white it was when the building was built. Cubicles cluttered with miscellaneous paperwork from separate departments, all of it raining down from desk to desk like a fresh layer of snow on the first day of winter. Tired, weary hands typed at a computer with precision and accuracy, the warm glow from the screen illuminating the buttons on her blouse as she plowed through each document. Her body raged for a moment of rest, but she couldn’t give in. Not when so much was at stake, not when so much needed to be done in so little time.

After a few minutes, and approximately twelve sips of bittersweet lukewarm coffee, the fingers came to a halt. A sigh of relief was freed from her body as she pushed the enter button on the dusty, tan keyboard and began to pack up for the night. Since the computers were set on an activity timer, there was no need for her to physically shut it down. After 30 seconds of no visible movement, the screen flashed a message declaring that the activity would be suspended within the next 2 minutes if no motion was detected. Content with her work, she slung her work bag over her shoulder, and trudged towards the elevator, mentally clocking out for the night.

As the elevator slowly carried its passenger down, the computer continued its countdown before discontinuing its power, leaving the following words for nobody but its future recipient to read:

Drug Enforcement Agency Operative Travel Request:

Agent: L/N, F/N

Current Operation: Potential formation of a rising cartel under the leadership and or affiliation of Pro Heroes Hawks, Endeavor, and Eraserhead. Agent has been undercover for eight months and twenty-seven days.

Investigation Status: Active

Location of Travel: Guadalajara, Mexico

Reason for Request: Possible gathering of multiple Hero-Run plazas to discuss further movement. Will gather more intel and gain trust of suspects involved/acquire more resources for investigation.

Travel Request Status: Accepted.

#shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x female reader #aizawa x you #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #nyafterhours

66 notes · View notes

darkarfs · 3 years

Text

my favorite WWE matches of 1997

Though I officially started watching wrestling in 1995 (my family famously first bought SummerSlam that year, which would be my first wrestling show ever, because it was $25.00. 1995 was a bad year for wrestling), I became a regular watcher of both WWE and WCW Raw and Nitro, and was able to buy my own PPVs, around summer of 1996, when Hogan turned. The first show I bought with my own money was In Your House: Buried Alive, though I kept up with weekly TV. And, for better or worse, I've been a fan ever since.

1997 was a REAL rollercoaster year for wrestling. The NWO was becoming a bloated mess in no time at all, Bret Hart was riding high, while he and Shawn Michaels publicly hated one another, a young Rocky Maivia was slowly transforming into the most charismatic wrestler of maybe all time, a young Steve Austin has broken his neck and can only work 5 minute matches but is somehow the most OVER wrestler in the company, and by the end of the year, the Screwjob happens, Bret's in WCW, Shawn's on handfuls of SOMAs (yet main-eventing). In a lot of ways, I'm grateful, because I side-stepped all of Hogan's WWF and WCW run. But it was a tornado of a year for a business always on precarious footing, as it ever has been.

And it gave us some CRACKING matches! - The 1997 Royal Rumble I love me a Rumble, and it's REALLY hard (but not impossible) to find a bad one (1993, 1995, 1999). And I personally love one with a storyline that runs throughout, and in this case, it's the ultimate heeling of Stone Cold Steve Austin. He visibly dominates the match until he hears Bret Hart's music, and then goes into panic mode. And it furthers the characterization of Bret's hand-spun narrative as being rightfully pissed that he's being taken advantage of by the roster, screwed by the company, and booed by the fans. Fun bonus: this is also the only Rumble appearance of lucha legend Mil Mascaras, who was so full of old-school carny spirit he famously refused to let anyone else eliminate him, so he eliminated himself, pissed Vince off, and was not spoken of again on WWE TV until the 2012 Hall of Fame ceremony, where he was inducted by his huge prick nephew, Alberto del Rio. - Bret Hart vs. Stone Cold Steve Austin, WrestleMania 13 This match is considered legendary, and for good reason. The greatest technical wrestler in the company vs. the best brawler, months of build, the world's most iconic (and off-the-cuff) blade-job (so much so that the visual of Austin bleeding in the Sharpshooter going "DAAAHHHH!" became the cover for his first VHS) and the wrestling world's most exquisite double-turn. It's fun, it's thrilling, it feels at once timeless and modern. Fun fact: there's a fun version of this match you can watch with just Austin doing commentary over it, and it's entertaining as hell. A true classic, and one of the greatest 'Mania matches of all time. - Ken Shamrock vs. Vader, No Holds Barred match, In Your House: a Cold Day In Hell Vader, famously, while a big teddy bear and a for-all-accounts lovely guy outside of the ring, had a reputation of being a bit "snug" with other wrestlers. Meaning he hit a little too hard, had little self-control, and took liberties with people, especially rookies and younger guys. It's supposedly why Shawn Michaels didn't want to work a world title program with him from summer to fall of 1996, because he was "too rough." But what never occurred to Vader is that trying that with a guy who's had 2 matches but has almost 5 years of MMA experience might not be the smartest or most prudent idea. Shamrock gives Vader as much as Vader gives him in this match, and there are moments where you can tell the guys are going into business for themselves. There's a moment where Shamrock is clubbing Vader with punches, and you can hear Vader, as he's turtling up and putting his arms up to block, yell "SLOW DOWN!" and then he rolls out of the ring to catch a breather. Vader, by the end of this match, is bleeding through his mask, a product of a broken nose, which is why I assume he gives Shamrock the stiffest short-arm clothesline I've ever seen. It's brutal, it's stupid, it weaves in and out of the script SO many times like a drunk man trying to stand up straight on a canoe, and I'm fascinated by each and every instance. - Owen Hart vs. the British Bulldog, European Championship Tournament Finals, Monday Night Raw, March 3rd Somehow, a workrate classic is stuck on a rinky-dink episode of Raw from Berlin, Germany. Smith and Hart blended some of their acquired WWE-style of work with classic junior heavyweight wrestling, complete with intricate reversals and fast-paced offense that was unlike either man's designed ethos of the time. Hart's shift toward his underhanded instincts as the match wore on provided enough story to balance the beautiful grappling from two men with impressive resumes. You can feel that these two knew one another, grew up together, and most importantly, wrestled together. An honest-to-God sleeper hit, but everyone who knows this match calls it a classic. - Shawn Michaels vs. Stone Cold Steve Austin, King of the Ring It's a concept that would be beaten into the ground in short order: Tag Team Champions that hate each other's guts. John Cena, seriously, has only been tag champions with people he's feuding with. That's

not even a joke. Austin and Michaels won the belts out of mutual dislike for the Hart Foundation, and then were programmed together for a wild match at the King of the Ring, one without a winner. Early on, the two actually pieced together a tremendous wrestling match full of nifty counters (prior to Austin changing his style after August for obvious reasons), before it degenerated into chaos after both men assaulted referees in the heat of the moment. Granted, neither man could really lose this one, so the screwy finish did serve its purpose. Until that point, it's a different type of incredible Austin match. You're never so happy to see a double-DQ finish. - Owen Hart & the British Bulldog vs. Shawn Michaels & Stone Cold Steve Austin, Monday Night Raw, May 26th And now we have a match set! The previous 4 participants in a brilliant and brutal tag team match. The Tag Team championship switch marked Austin's first piece of recognized gold in WWE, in a match on free television no less. That's not to insult the match any, as it was a pay-per-view quality fracas that barely slowed down. It is a mere 14 minutes long WITH entrances, but it moves at a clip, and everyone has their working boots on. It was a harbinger of days to come for this new period in WWE's history, and the crowd ate it up.

- Taka Michinoku vs. the Great Sasuke, In Your House: Canadian Stampede What happened here? Just when you think WCW had the cruiserweights cornered, WWE pulls this shit...and then kind of ignores it for a few months. But not before importing two of Michinoku Pro's finest to have a TakeOver-length exhibition. At first, the crowd in Calgary wasn't sure what to make of the undersized performers, but it wouldn't take long to win them over. From Michinoku's hands-free springboard dive to Sasuke's beautiful Thunder Fire Powerbomb, the expansive crowd was positively hooked on the daredevils with each passing minute. Although Sasuke wouldn't be long for the company, and Michinoku's run as Light Heavyweight Champion faded as 1998 wore on, the display at Canadian Stampede was a wondrous experience. This wouldn't have looked out of place in a Chikara King of Trios tournament. - The Hart Foundation (Bret Hart, Owen Hart, Jim Neidhart, Brian Pillman, the British Bulldog) vs. Team Austin (Stone Cold Steve Austin, the Legion of Doom, Ken Shamrock and Goldust), In Your House: Canadian Stampede I would have put this match on the list for the entrances and the finish alone. The crowd is at fever static for the entire match, seriously at the level of Punk/Cena at MITB 2011. And even though the Harts are the heels, they're in Calgary, and they get rock-star level ovations for merely existing. Everyone plays it mad and delighted, and you can tell they're all having a ball. Especially Pillman, who is just magically unhinged, a template for a young Dean Ambrose during their feud with the Wyatt Family. It is a magical, unreal main event, one of the best B-ppv main events maybe of all time. Well...other than MAYBE... - Shawn Michaels vs. the Undertaker, Hell in a Cell, In Your House: Badd Blood The very first Hell in a Cell match may very well double as the greatest of its kind. What stands out to me (other than how the match ends) is just how GREAT Michaels' selling is. When he's running away, he's constantly looking around for an exit, like a scared rat. When he finally gets caught and struck, he sells almost to the level he did for Hogan at SummerSlam 2005. But while he was doing that to make Hogan's offense look stupid, he's doing it here to make Taker's offense and anger look legit, and it somehow WORKS. But as fabulous as the match and the psychology is, it somehow takes a backseat to the debut of the Undertaker's monstrous little brother Kane, finally confronting his older brother in perhaps the greatest character debut in WWE history. - Mankind vs. Kane, Survivor Series I dunno what it is about this match that does it for me. Mankind's emotional lead-up to the match, where he's sad that Uncle Paul (Bearer) left him. Maybe the fact that Kane sells like Michael Myers, not so much that he's in pain, but as if he's never been hit in the face with a steel chair, a DDT or a piledriver. Maybe it's because Mick takes more horrific bumps than he needs to to make sure Kane looks like a legit monster. Maybe it's the broken Virtua Boy lighting. But it's genuinely unlike any other Mankind, Kane or ANY match I've seen before or since. It's a perfect somehow sympathetic serial killer vs. bigger, scarier serial killer that feels nothing story in a wrestling match. I didn't even know you could DO that.

5 notes · View notes

domme-by-starlight · 4 years

Text

Induction: Clouds

Induction centered around cloud imagery, involving a great deal of fractionation and gentle obedience (specified to me, but explicitly restricted to this trance). Some safeties - remember you can always come out of the clouds easily if you need. Includes an awakener as always. Not necessarily advisable for those who dislike heights. Enjoy!

We’ve all dreamt about flying, haven’t we? To take to the skies in elated freedom, leaving behind all our worries to just fly.

I can’t, unfortunately, actually give you the power to fly. But that’s what imagination is for, right? To let us experience those things which are impossible in reality?

Come with me, then. Visit the world in my words for a while. Let me show you how to fly.

So, imagine it’s a beautiful spring afternoon, a few white clouds dotting the deep blue sky above, the sun bright and warm and welcoming. Perfect.

We’re standing on the side of a mountain together, above a beautiful expanse of land - but we’re not looking at that, no. Our goal is the sky.

Will you let me lead you there? Not forever: just for a while. Just for an afternoon in the sky.

See, I won’t deny there’s power in obedience, but I don’t always want to just take. I want to ask, want you to choose it freely, to tell me yes - I’ll follow you, of your own free will. That is a gift, and one that I never take lightly.

And if you choose to give it, if you’re still reading... well. Let’s fly, shall we? Feel the brisk mountain wind on your face, take my hand... and feel yourself float upwards, easier than a breath. Let me pull you away from the mountainside, and feel how all of your cares and worries stay back there: not lost or gone, just put aside for a while to enjoy this moment.

You don’t need to be holding my hand to fly, by the way. You can do it on your own anytime you want - I can’t take that away from you now. Your body knows how to fly. I’m just holding your hand because it feels nice, to have one point of contact with something else. We don’t think about it, but usually we’re always touching something, always connected to the ground. Now? We’re loose, free, adrift in the sky.

So let my hand be your anchor point, alright? As long as you need it. And feel as your cares just keep falling further and further behind, and you’re feeling lighter and lighter and so very happy. You’re flying.

That happiness just floats us up and up, until the mountain is a distant memory and the land below is so different and small. It’s beautiful up here, crisp and clear and surrounded by so much blue. Feel your elation bubble up and up, brighter and brighter until you’re smiling, almost grinning with happiness. Take a few deep breaths, let the joy of it all fill your lungs... and let that joy soften into wonder.

But the air’s getting a bit thin up here, so we start gliding down - not to the ground, just a slow downward glide. Look at the land passing by below, the greens and golds and sparkling blues, and feel total contentment.

We’re starting to approach a cloud now - not big, just a nice puffy wisp of white. As we enter it, everything gets foggy and hard to make out. The land below seems faded, and it’s even hard to make out more than my form. But my hand is there. I’ve got you.

And back into bright sunlight again, only to see another cloud in front of us, already close enough that it’s hard to tell how big this one is.

Then we enter it, and the world is shrouded in bright twilight again. It’s kind of nice, isn’t it, to have a bit of coolness after the sun’s heat? Nice to have a break from the wind, in the soft stillness of the cloud. Nice to just follow me and not worry about anything else.

We’re in this one for a while longer, and you feel your mind start to drift. There’s nothing to look at in here, except swirling eddies of fog. And those swirls just make it so easy to watch them and let go of thoughts, just follow me and drift in fog... It’s almost dreamlike, surreal in its calm beauty.

And sudden sunlight. You blink at the brightness, feeling as if you’re waking from a dream, and I pull you up, up, into the waking world and the ground below and things seem real and solid again. You try to collect your thoughts for a moment, so you can appreciate the sight below, and you’re so absorbed in focusing on it that you don’t notice the next cloud until you’re inside it.

You drift into trance faster this time - and it is trance, you realise, or something near enough. Fog swirls around us, me only a vague presence just ahead of you, stillness and silence and serenity.

My voice doesn’t seem to break the silence when I speak, quiet and calm.

“You can fly up anytime you want,” I say. “The sunlight is never far if you need to wake. But... until and unless you need to wake, stay here for a while? Just follow me, and let me guide you deeper.”

It’s okay to let your mind drift away. You can feel my hand, solid and real and grounding. That’s enough of an anchor that you can feel your thoughts just spreading out, drifting apart, as insubstantial as the wisps of cloud around us. Thoughts losing shape in this lovely, formless place.

And sun! Bright, awakening, pulling you up and out into the brilliance of day again. You blink, trying to gather your thoughts, understand the surroundings that are suddenly so different and sharp.

This time, you realise, I’ve pulled us above a cloud - it’s still below us, just the work of a moment for me to pull you back down as soon as I want to. And you’d like to go back there, wouldn’t you? Back to softness and swirls of grey?

Then down we go, back into the cloud, and you drop so very easily into sleep for me. It’s so lovely and cool in here, as we drift through the dreamlike surroundings. So you just relax, rest, let me pull you along deeper and deeper into the grey.

Thoughts, scattering like they’re as insubstantial as the cloud around us. It’s not exactly that your mind stops altogether: it just stops trying to understand, judge, think. You just watch the swirls and take it all in.

Then I bring you back up again, just slow enough that you have time to notice the brightening before we burst out into the clear, sharp sky. Your mind can’t help but follow, trying so very hard to judge and think and understand again - and back down we go, now.

Getting a little fuzzy, hmm? Because every time you come up it’s harder to properly wake, and every time we come back here to the comfort of the clouds it’s so, so easy to sleep for me. Thinking for yourself is hard, isn’t? That’s alright. You don’t need to, right now.

And up. Into the light, trying so hard to wake, blinking at the brightness of the sun.

You want to go back down, don’t you? I pull us into the very lightest dip below the surface of the cloud, and then out again in a moment. And then again. Dip down, and up, and a little deeper, and up, and you just want more because it’s not enough, is it? Dip, and up. Never long enough to properly drop again, just a moment of trance and then taken away.

And down, deeper and deeper into the heart of the cloud, and you’re falling so fast for me, aren’t you? Like all those little dips made you want this so much that when you got it, you fell into trance automatically, unthinkingly.

Up! Sunshine, brightness, trying to wake. It’s so hard this time, isn’t it? Like trying to swim up through molasses. Your mind wants to stay deep so badly, but it can’t. The sun wakes you, as much as you struggle against it.

Good. Now, I bring us down just to the edge of the cloud, floating in that space that’s so bright white and yet inside the cloud, barely. Barely. Halfway between waking and sleeping, not sure what to think, not sure if you can think. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

You want to go deeper, hmm? I bring us back out into the sunlight - and down, falling so fast that it almost feels like gravity has taken over for a moment, until we’re so very deep in the cloud that it’s almost dark. You can’t really even see my form ahead of yours, just feel my hand, and besides you’re focused on the sensation inside. It’s so, so good to just float in this deep trance, deepening with every moment we stay down here, mind wisping away into mist. Isn’t that right? So, so deep in trance for me.

Then I pull you not up but forward, and you’re suddenly back in bright light, a gap in the clouds, the sun shining, and you try so hard to wake but I pull you past into the cloud on the other side and you’re instantly entranced again. You’re not even sure if you were waking properly, not sure what waking properly would actually feel like.

So I pull you backwards, back into that gap, and float there for a moment with the sun above us yet cloud on every side, only an arm’s length away. And you want it, so badly, but I keep you here. Keep you trying to wake, trying to make sense of what’s happening, trying to think for yourself. Until you think you’re awake properly, think you can think again, think you’re free - and I pull you back into the clouds, and you sleep so quickly that you couldn’t really have been awake at all.

Out of the clouds. Back in. Out, and in. Up inside the cloud, then darting out to that gap, then flying down but still in sunlight, then into the other cloud, around and around. Until the feeling of trying to wake melds itself with the feeling of falling, so inextricably that when you start waking - up into sunlight - that just automatically leads back into falling - down into the cloud - no matter where you are.

Waking makes you mine, and sleeping makes you mine. Every moment of sunlight, every struggle to wake, just emphasises how little control you have over your mind right now. Which makes you want to fall into trance, and yet you continue trying because you’re obeying. Deeper and up and deeper and down. Sleep.

Feel me let go of your hand. “I’m still here,” I say. “I’m just adding the final piece. Fly upwards - try to get back to the sun, without me pulling you there.”

And you try, but you’re so fuzzy that you can’t think. Is the sun up, or is it in a gap somewhere? Which way is up? You look around dazedly, but everywhere is the same swirling grey that makes it so hard to think.

You don’t know which way is up, or down. You don’t know how to wake anymore, do you? Because waking pulls you down, and every time you fall it’s harder to wake, which just pulls you down further...

“Good.” I hold your hand again, and then take the other one, too. “You’re doing so well for me, obeying so beautifully.” And you want that. Maybe not for always, but just for the moment, because it feels so good to just give up control for a while. No need to worry, or choose, or think. Obedience is so much easier, isn’t it? Just sink, and relax into my control. Just like that.

Feel a warm, soft happiness growing in your chest. You’re being so good for me, you know that? Just drift in the cloud, in my control. Drift through the sky with me.

This feels good, and right, and real. This is what obedience means: you follow my lead, you drift for me, and in return I hold you and keep you safe. You please me through your obedience, and in turn I fulfill your fantasies. It’s a contract, a bond that goes two ways. Something that, despite appearances, either can leave whenever they’d like - you stay, ultimately not because I command it, but because I fulfill my promise to you.

I am not perfect. I will make mistakes. But I will do my very, very best to keep you safe, and happy, and fulfilled by my control, whenever you choose to enter it with me. That is my oath to you, dear reader.

You can relax here as long as you like, held and drifty in the grey. There’s an awakener just below this, but you don’t have to read it until you’re ready to. It’s just fine to float and watch the swirls around you, dreamlike and deepening, as long as you like.

This cloud we’re in now is back over that mountain we started on: so whenever you’re ready, you can just drift a little bit forward and down, and you’ll be back on solid ground again.

And if you’re ready: feel me guiding us forward, until we touch down on solid ground again. Gravity reasserts itself, and its pull grounds you enough that you start coming back to your senses.

The clouds are beginning to clear, now. Take a deep breath and smile, feeling the warmth of the sunlight waking you into a lovely contentedness.

1. Thoughts stirring as the fog fades around us.

2. The brightness of the sun making your surroundings visible again.

3. The deadening silence of the cloud lifts, and you can hear the wind and feel it on your face.

4. I let go, letting you regain your self-control.

5. And fully, happily awake.

I hope you enjoyed your afternoon in the sky.

Hope you enjoyed! As always, feedback is loved more than my firstborn child, so please send it my way if you’re so inclined. Please note that the above promise does not mean I’ll be happy if you drop yourself in our chat without my consent hoping I’ll trance you. If you’re interested in a private trance, you’re free to let me know, and I’ll let you know if I’m ever interested and have the time.

See you all next time! Hopefully sooner, and definitely a more intense one. Till then, have fun trancing!

#induction #mine #hypnosis #hypnokink #clouds #not sure if that oath should've been while you were under?#to be clear.#promises are not always kept #if I ever break this for you #PLEASE do not continue submitting to me #either leave #or if you're comfortable talk to me #but like #be careful friends!!#gentle #watch this space for succubi #probably

44 notes · View notes

chershare · 4 years

Text

Snippet from Discord 19

Hissing as he pulled burnt silk down his shoulders, Wen Xu clenched his teeth together.

Taking on his father in a full-on duel was nearly suicidal even after years of study to do that the first time around, even after death. While he was well acquainted with burns and the way they killed nerves and inflamed them at the same time, normally he had healers to help him treat them. Sparring as a Wen cultivator growing up had him building up something of a tolerance for this pain, but as it was now, he couldn’t quite trust the healers yet.

He vaguely wished that his Wen Qing was around to berate him, but while these were his blood, this wasn’t his family.

Despite all this time in the past, living when he’d been dead, Wen Xu still felt startlingly alone.

Burnt cloth in melted skin pulled agonizingly and Wen Xu strangled off a cry and slammed a fist weakly into the wall next to him. He was half dressed and feeble with fire fever, his lungs striving for fuel so that his cultivation could keep him from falling into shock.

Footsteps echoed in ears full of heavy heartbeats and he twitched painfully towards the sound, setting his teeth into his lip as too bright eyes caught sight of Nie Qiuheng entering the room. Relief hit him suddenly and Wen Xu felt his feet fumble as he stretched out a trembling hand to support himself against the wall he’d just hit.

“Ah, Nie Qiuheng,” voice shaking more than he’d like, he managed to speak. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

The tall man ignored the admittedly weak attempt to distract the Nie Sect Leader and stepped up to the disheveled new Wen Sect Leader.

While he hadn’t been inducted by tradition yet, Wen Xu did not fear walking through the Ancestral Fire to be accepted by his family as their Sect Leader. Any of Wen blood could be accepted as long as they knew the Wen cultivation techniques.

He’d prefer to heal a bit more from his wounds first, but he needed to do it within the next three days or there would be challengers. So many challengers.

“Where are your healers?” the warrior asked, large hands gentle in ways Wen Xu was beginning to expect. “Why do they not attend to you?”

Callused palms were cool against his skin and Xu couldn’t help the soft noise of relief he released as he leaned into the touch against his throat and collarbone. Normally it was Wen Xu who was circulating his Qi through the riotous chaos of Nie Qiuheng, soothing the rage that coiled through his meridians. Now, the solid presence was an anchor that absorbed the heat pouring off of him, sinking it deep so that the fever receded enough that his mind cleared.

“We’re moving a little fast, don’t you think?” those gentle, careful hands slid Wen Xu’s outer robe off slowly. His inner robes were pressed into wounds and would likely need to be cut off and then slowly plucked from his flesh to prevent infection. “This isn’t quite how I imagined you taking my clothes off.”

“Wen Xu,” was the quiet fondly exasperated exhalation, and if he weren’t already flushed he would turn red. “Please be serious.”

“Never!”

Giving in, he leaned his forehead against the broad chest in front of him and let the other man take his weight and slowly remove what could be removed. How he’d learned to trust Nie Qiuheng he really didn’t know, but it was perhaps the easiest thing to do in this time.

He had no one else, hadn’t expected support when he’d let Wen Qing shove him into the past. And yet.

And yet.

“Your healers,” Qiuheng’s voice rumbled in a rather lovely way through his chest, and Wen Xu let his tired eyes fall shut, basking in gentle hands and steady Qi. “Why do they not attend you, Wen Xu?”

“Conflict of interest,” was the mumbled rasp that fell from numb lips. “Can’t treat the usurper as Sect until I officially take the seat. They’d be honor bound to take revenge for Ruohan, and they don’t want that.”

A cool hand paused in the middle of Xu’s back, and the once dead couldn’t help but shiver slightly as a cheek was rested against the crown of his head. It made him remember that he’d taken out his hairpiece first thing, more than a little relieved that that hadn’t been melted in the fight for Wen Ruohan’s life. Qiuheng’s other hand slid from the hollow of his throat back to cup his skull and wind through his mussed hair.

If he’d been less exhausted and in pain, Wen Xu would have commented on how scandalous it was, but mostly he was simply glad to be held.

“I will call for Nie healers. Will this suffice?”

Eyes closed, Wen Xu smiled and nodded against his chest, silk shushing with the movement.

“As long as they don’t have a hidden desire to murder me, Nie healers would be fine.”

It would be a relief, not to worry about a needle in his spine from someone who’d rather not but had to, or they’d be torn apart by the Sect. Wen traditions might be ridiculously cutthroat and make little sense, but they were stringently followed, as one of the few things they did respect.

“Wen Xu will not be in danger.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Nie Qiuheng.”

Honestly, Wen Xu wouldn’t have him any other way.

#MDZS snippets #the untamed #mdzs #Wen Xu #Nie Dad #Wen Xu/Nie Qiuheng #time travel #Cold Fire

8 notes · View notes

randomguywithwords · 4 years

Text

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 5 (Dabiten Slowburn)

The southern section of Deika City was the last part to be repaired. While the north was the region immediately tended to, given a memorial and paved with grey concrete, the south received little to no attention. It was still a wasteland.

As Geten walked through the broken streets, coated with a layer of ash, she recalled that this was where the fight started, where the celebrants poured out from everywhere, where the Resurrection Festival had began. The curtains had parted here.

Yet it was a tragic end that befell the Liberation Army, the curtains closing mercifully upon the final scene. Where there was zeal and hope to light the fire of liberation of meta abilities, it had been snuffed out by their enemies-turned-leaders.

It made her angry. Still, she refused to believe it at first. But after spending a few days walking amongst these heathens, the ceasefire still in effect, she began to realise that: No, it was no ceasefire, but a total surrender. Seeing her Grand Commander in the hospital, reeking of defeat – the word was poisonous to think – only confirmed her fears. Still, her beliefs persisted.

No, it was not the end. I have yet to hear him speak, hear him retake control over us.

That was what she thought, until just now, when he announced the transformation of the Meta Liberation Army to the Paranormal Liberation Front. And he would be transferring his leadership to that boy.

“Idiot! He did not give it up. That boy forced Re-destro to abdicate his throne. That must be it! It must be…” She muttered to herself, fists clenching as she her pace quickened. Her legs shivered.

Weakling. The coward surrendered the throne, Another voice in her head snarled.

How Re-destro acted towards the boy disgusted her. She could recall it clearly. Re-destro offering the boy a drink, like a common servant. He was smiling with placation, not unlike the polite expressions the bellhops wore in hotels. The Re-destro she knew since her induction into the Liberation Army was dead.

She sneered, but she did not know if it was her rage against that boy for bringing Re-destro to his knees, or her pity towards Re-destro’s lowliness. She could not bear to watch further, and hence left the celebrations early.

Which brought her here, kicking stones aside and letting the fire in her stomach burn. Images burnt like film into her mind, forever frozen in her memories, the ones that hurt her. Part of her was angry, a raging inferno, while the other was scared, shivering, at her thoughts of treachery.

She sat down on a fallen pillar, her breaths growing faster. These two sides of her collided, and she did not know what to do. Her fists were shaking, the ice in her pocket thrashing around, responding to her distraught mind.

Her hands grasped her parka, pulling it tightly over her head. She was his weapon, his will incarnate.

What did she have, if she was no longer Re-destro’s weapon?

The answer came to her after a pause of breath. She exhaled slowly. The fire and ice within her embraced now.

She stood up; her arms fell to her sides.

I execute the will of the Liberation Army. Re-destro is not fit to lead and guide our principles, but the principles are unchanged. Strength is survival. I will ensure that.

Her mind was clear. She brought her right hand up. A pillar of ice erupted from the ground, obeying her commands. Clenching her fist, the pillar compressed into a giant sphere, and at the thrust of her arm, it flew forward into a brick wall, smashing it into smithereens.

Then she felt a surge in temperature from her side. A wall of ice rose to block the torrent of flame on her right, melting the wall and allowing her an unwanted view of the man who had unleashed the fire.

“You.” She faced him.

“I try to get away from this...party,” Dabi said, the last word dripping with disdain, “and I find you here. This is really beginning to annoy me.”

His head was tilted to the side, staring at her with those cold eyes of his. She realised his true intentions behind his words and actions: an invitation to fight to fulfil their mutual promise.

For the first time that night, Geten’s face twisted into a smile.

“You were a pathetic nuisance the minute you showed at our doorstep.” With that, Geten raised icicles and sent them flying towards the fire-user in all directions, like targeted missiles.

What followed was something Geten grudgingly admired. Dabi seemed to note every shard’s position. He rolled to dodge one, blasting fire at two to melt them while resuming his standing position. He swept his right arm, creating a barrier of flames that stopped the few coming from the front. The last shard, about to stab him in the back, was used as a platform to backflip off of, sending the shard into the ground shattered. The man landed unscathed, and judging by his indifferent expression, unimpressed.

Geten allowed herself a smile, but Dabi couldn’t see it from her parka covering her face. “Shame you didn’t present such versatility when we last battled. It would have made for a more interesting fight, if you hadn’t stood still the entire time and fired,” She called out.

“I don’t bother exerting myself for weak trash,” He replied.

“That’s a compliment, then.”

Dabi’s face morphed into anger. He rushed at her, his hands igniting.

Geten performed another ‘raising’ gesture, with an ice spike forming underground and about to pierce her opponent, when Dabi did something that stunned her.

Dabi, without shifting his glare away from her, aimed his palm at the ground and fired, melting the oncoming ice, which never reached his feet.

What the hell? He predicted that? Geten thought as she raised a thin wall of ice to separate the two. Waving her arms, ice carried her upwards, evading Dabi’s violent flames that punched through the wall and where she was a split second ago.

Once she was twice his height, the ice beneath her reformed and flowed towards her arms. She let herself fall headfirst onto Dabi, who had just noticed the shadow blanketing him.

She slammed onto the ground, gauntlets of ice cracking the pavement like glass. She scowled, seeing as Dabi had managed to leap away in the nick of time.

A stream of azure fire was sent her way, which she raised her fists to block.

Need more ice, she thought. She felt for the melting ice around her; the molecules were beginning to vibrate more vigorously but still under melting point. With a thought, their temperature plummeted like an uncontrolled elevator down a shaft. The water molecules slowed, the effect spreading fast. Soon she had more ice at her disposal.

Just in time for her to coalesce them into shards and shoot at Dabi.

Dabi growled and fired another blast to nullify the attack. He clutched at his smoky right arm.

“Getting tired yet? Painful, isn’t it?” Geten taunted, grinning at her imminent victory. All other thoughts faded away, leaving only one in her mind: I’m going to kill him.

“What about you? You’re shaking.” Dabi pointed a finger at her hands. Immediately, she shoved them into her pockets.

He smirked at her reaction. “Let me guess. Decreasing the temperature of the ice requires you to absorb their energy. And it has to go somewhere, right? You.”

Damn it. I’m overheating. How could she have let this happen? She was usually mindful about her limits. What changed?

She stood her ground, willing her body to cool down, but she could not attack. Any ice she summoned would melt too fast, thereby removing her control over it.

“Can’t move, can’t attack…” Dabi mused, keeping his gaze on her. “How about we call it even?”

“Never.” She spat.

Dabi blinked, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He ran at her, his eyes alit with malice.

Come on. She willed any ice to move, but she felt the water slip out of her control as soon as she commanded it. Her heart raced.

He wasn’t stopping. His hands were burning. The azure flames were blinding her. Perhaps it would be the last light she ever saw.

The ice in her pockets? She felt a cold wetness against her stomach. Her heart skipped a beat. I’ve lost control.

Dabi’s arm was raised, beginning to blaze with uncontrolled power. She closed her eyes, her body heat nothing compared to the flames that stung her face.

I’m weak.

Yet it was not flaming agony that scorched her face, but cooling nighttime wind caressing her cheeks. She opened her eyes to see the well-dressed villain with that top hat and mask looking at her curiously. In his hand was a blue pearl.

“Thought you two were having a practice match, so I stayed far away,” Mr Compress said, “But then things seemed to heat up, so to speak. Had to step in.”

He tossed the pearl containing Dabi into the air a few times. Geten just stared at him as best as she could with the spots dancing in her eyes, her mind in a whirl. She blinked a few times.

“Normally I wouldn’t intervene. I love a good show, and you two were excellent performers.” He pocketed the pearl. “However, Shigaraki wants you alive. He knows you’re powerful, so I can’t have Dabi take you out so fast. I’m not saying I care about you, but…” He shrugged.

“Don’t die just yet. You’re needed in this army.” He bowed and left, swinging his cane carelessly.

Geten stood there for a while. She knew she had cooled down, but strangely she found herself quaking from her head to her toes. Finally, she dropped down onto the floor. She felt something wet flow down her cheeks and plop onto her parka.

Burying her face in her gloved hands, she allowed a sob to ripple through her throat.

Her own voice roared at her. A failure! You wanted to be a weapon, but you lost against him. Weakling.

You’re needed in this army, Compress had told her. Needed as a weapon, but for the new army, not the one where her loyalties lie.

She should have been happy. Maybe I am. Are these tears of joy? She couldn’t explain it. The fact that he had acknowledged her purpose was validation of her skills. The fact that Shigaraki was keeping her alive was proof that she was a powerful asset.

Then why did she feel so empty and cold?

Something bit at her.

Him and I, fire and ice, day and night. What is it about him, about the League, that’s so different from the Army? So different from me?

Perhaps it was just the cold.

------

“What the fuck was that?” Dabi pushed Compress against the walls of the hotel room.

“Watch it,” The entertainer warned, the threat making Dabi take a step back. “As for what I was doing, you were about to kill her! The hell were you thinking? We might not be chums with the Liberation Army, but we aren’t enemies anymore. How would you have explained yourself to Shigaraki?”

Dabi sat down on his bed. “I wasn’t going to kill her. I couldn’t have.”

Compress, massaging his back, raised an eyebrow. He stated after a pause, “You were drained, weren’t you.”

“You’re a showman, you should have known it was all fake. I barely could have choked out enough flames to cook her. I just wanted to see her lose.” Dabi said.

The other snorted, “Well excuse me, it looked pretty real, and I was being cautious. And you did win. Whatever rivalry you two have.”

Dabi rubbed his pain-wracked arms. “I’m going to shower.” He stood up.

He was at the door when Compress spoke. “Y’know, I can’t honestly tell whether you two want to kill each other or show off who’s better.”

“Both.” He answered as left the room.

------

This chapter might be the first in which I’m somewhat satisfied with the characterisations of both main characters. I think I have a sense of where this story is going, but I’m already scaffolding a minor rewrite of the previous few chapters to fit in with my vision for the story.

Previous Chapters: 4, 3, 2, 1

#bnha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #dabi x geten #geten x dabi #dabiten #bnha dabi #bnha geten #slowburn #dabixgeten #dabi #geten #bnha villains #bnha #mha #ATDS

27 notes · View notes

do-i-love-jaal-today · 5 years

Note

Got on your blog as I'm starting to get back into Andromeda. Actually felt tears in my eyes as I gazed on Jaal's sweet face. How dare I neglect my husband? If you're still doing headcanons/imagines, is it alright to ask Jaal with a fem s/o going through a rough spot? Missing/Mourning family, depression making it hard to do stuff, the Fun Stuff. As always, love you and the blog

And I still look upon your stuff with great joy~! I don’t think I’ve ever told you my main and, at this point, I think I’ll let it remain a mystery. :P But I know EXACTLY how you feel… I miss Jaal so much! Sunshine of my life!!! ….But fighting that piece of shit Architect on Voeld again… I don’t want to. (And my dad’s XBOX has my file, sldkfgjfkd.)

Anywho! I’d love to fulfill this request! Let’s get a nice fic going in this house tonight…

At first, it wasn’t too bad. New place, new stars, a new race to meet… It all blew the Milky Way out of the water. The drell and quarians felt so far away now, Earth even farther as you got inducted into the new life that Andromeda provided. Still felt shaky, still felt uncertain at times…but the future truly was now.

Then again, that was before the shock wore off. Before you sat down, realized your situation, and spiraled.

Holy shit, your family is gone. The Milky Way was hundreds- no, billions- of light years away and with it, so many familiar things you might not ever see again…especially not in the same way. You knew it was bad when you burst into tears over never having your favorite chips or fast food place or favorite dessert… Yet it was still just the tip of the iceburg that was the mounting panic and depression that had begun to overtake you.

No, that relentless panic didn’t stop until your eyes burned from tears you could no longer shed, chest aching, muscles aching in your hands where you clenched your fists, and the ever-present ache of feeling so, so alone despite being surrounded by people you’ve known. People you could know, with a little more bravery.

You ended up falling asleep that way, napping off the exhaustion.

It was a few hours later when you awoke, unsure why and rather dazed until you heard a muffled “I’m coming in,” and your door sliding open. The voice should’ve alerted you, but fresh from sleep, it took not the near-silent padding of his feet, but the view of Jaal Ama Darav stepping into your room for your heart to jolt into a panic, suddenly wide awake and very aware you’d passed out from a crying fit. Stars, please ensure you look decent enough for company…!

“Jaal…?”

“Taoshay, Darling One,” he hums gently, hesitating a moment- likely out of politeness from learned human customs (odd as they are, he’s admitted before)- before going right back to what he knows best: walking over to your bed, taking a seat near your legs, and studying your face. “Are you alright? Lunch and dinner were called, but you didn’t show.”

“O-Oh… Has it been that long?” Not surprising, but all the same… Your stomach did kinda hurt. “Sorry. I guess time got awa-”

“You missed breakfast, too,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Instantly, you faltered in your attempts for flimsy excuses. “And dinner the night before, as well. I heard reports that you’ve been having…snacks instead of your meals. Darling one… If something is the matter, you can tell me.”

He says it with no hesitation, staring intently at you a moment before reaching his hands out, taking one of your hands in his and cupping it. Once again, you’re reminded of how big he is… It’s somehow so easy to forget, around lanky salarians and human-esque drell, that angara are…rather big.

You’re at a loss. Jaal’s patiently waiting. For a moment, you consider trying to dodge the topic- Jaal wouldn’t like it, but he’d accept that you don’t wish to talk about what troubles you, if it’s that bad- but remembering what’s been getting at you just a few hours earlier gets your face hot and newfound tears bubbling up in your eyes.

“…Darling One?” He sounds so lost for once and you don’t resist; moving forward to slump into his chest. When he lets go of your hand, you hold onto him like he’s your anchor…and he seems to understand. The weight of his arms around you, heavy, and yet as soft and warm as ever, breaks down more of the ache you didn’t know you had, crying even harder than before.

He hums a song you’ve never heard before- an angaran lullaby, maybe- and strokes your head as you cry.

“…I see,” he hums later, having told him everything that had been on your mind. Jaal takes it as easily as anyone would expect from him, quiet and thoughtful, listening until the end. “Darling One… You are so strong, you know that?”

“Huh?” You look up as he laughs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. A delightful sound with a pleasant look on his face… Your heart aches with affection and it’s almost hard to remember what you were upset about.

“It’s not easy to part from family… Yet you did. Though in parting them, you realize you have a new family?”

“I…wouldn’t really consider the other people on the Nexus my-” Your voice gets cut off by his laughter and despite your initial indignation for him laughing, it’s such a boisterous, happy sound that…you suppose you don’t mind it any.

“The Nexus, yes… No, my dear, I mean my family. One does not have to be a mother to be one of the mothers, you understand?” …oh. It’s awkward and your cheeks heat up a little in embarrassment, but at least Jaal’s still getting a kick out of it, chest shaking gently with laughter. “But yes, there’s that…and despite your depression, you do so much. You fight against yourself every day and you win. Even if it’s just because you made it out of bed or as bold as saying hi to someone new… That’s the greatest fight of all, Darling One.”

Jaal shifted, sitting up more and dragging up his hands to cup your cheeks, tilting your head back a little as he smiled. “There’s no greater fight than ones with ourselves. I heard that, recently. We angara are very open… You humans? Not so much. You fight so much already, physically, emotionally, and mentally… To have more to deal with is no….how do you say it?” He paused, tilting his head a moment, eyes flicking away a moment… “Ah, walk in the park. It’s no walk in the park to fight with your own mind like that…and win.

“Darling One, if things ever become too much for you… If you need help, I am here.” Now he was gently tugging you up, pressing foreheads together before tilting his head into a gentle, loving kiss. “Remember what I say, Darling One…

“Stay strong and clear.” You said it with him, perhaps not as strongly or as confidently as he did, but enough for that smile to brighten.

“Very good.” With that, he readjusted his grip and stood up with his arms holding onto you, gently setting you to the floor…and hands hovering in case you weren’t ready to stand yet. (You quickly grabbed onto them, head reeling from the hours-long-nap and the lack of food.) “Now, where shall we begin? Food? Do you need to wash up?”

“Food…and plenty of drinks,” you whined, stepping forward to rest your head on his chest. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Not enough liquids or food,” he sighed, shaking his head. “If only you lot were adjusted to nutrient paste… Easier to have on hand, you know. Come along then, Darling One. Let’s get you a meal.”

#itsthesinbin #Imagine Jaal Ama Darav #Jaal Ama Darav #mass effect andromeda #angara #me andromeda #mass effect #AkiMod answers #Fanfic #[I wrote this RIGHT AWAY for you]#[I hope you like it~]

78 notes · View notes

floggingink · 6 years

Text

Riverdale, “Chapter Thirty-Eight: As Above, So Below”

Day At Least Seven Solitary Coif: struggling

Alice’s thigh: stunning

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: FP’s jellybean tattoo: incredibly, tenderly sad

Certified pedigree: “I’m glad the Farm opened you up to the possibility of us”: either Alice thought about this to herself, or she (absolutely) asked the rest of her cult what they thought. what they THOUGHT about her sleeping with FP again. “What d’you think, girls?” Alice wine clubbed FP Jones’s dick!

who has more game, FP or Jughead? FP a) is a grown man, b) is oftentimes gainfully employed (I’ve forgotten if he’s employed right now), c) is strong enough to carry a high school boy out of the woods, d) was VERY smooth with his seemingly instinctual “Then don’t. Tell him,” e) did that thing where he took the gum out of his mouth when Alice came to his trailer, and f) looked pretty good in his crisp Pop’s uniform when he was employed at Pop’s. however FP also a) tends to drink when not employed and b) is fucking obsessed with Toledo, a town I will burn to the ground if I ever set foot in it. meanwhile, Jughead a) climbed up a fucking ladder to Betty’s bedroom, b) ABSOLUTELY KILLED IT when he and Betty almost fucked each other in the kitchen, c) KILLED IT AND BURIED IT in the moments before fucking her on the couch when he was all, “Or you could stay,” and fucking touched her dress like she was an angel of the Lord and he was just a humble shepherd boy whose eyes were not worthy to gaze upon her countenance, d) only strategically removes his hat, and e) rides a motorcycle. the hat is not a con, necessarily, and being a writer in high school is a cross some of us simply have to bear, but he is like, kind of a pain sometimes and a little squirrelly, but w/r/t the love of his life, he has tailored himself to her every need almost perfectly

OH AND I FORGOT WHEN HE KISSED HER SCABBY BLOOD KNUCKLES! OH SHIT!

Veronica has the most game on the entire show

I like when they have Jughead use words like “modicum”

“Ben’s death haunts me, Jug. He didn’t scream. Why not, I wonder?”: writing credits this episode go to Daphne de Maurier

YYEEEAAAAAHHH THE BLUE & GOLD CRIME BOARD BABY

I would almost expect something more from the warden’s tie, except that I know plain clothing is, in and of itself, a warning sign

anything that gets Veronica in her reading glasses is okay by me, and this includes Pop’s hemorrhaging money

Jughead can wear just a T-shirt sans jacket or flannel any old time he wants, I’m just putting that vibe out there

“Of course we’re calling it a speakeasy.”

Jug’s suspender game is strong, so really Betty should know she has nothing to worry about

his stupid dumb round face looking at her when she pulls him aside is pretty. remember when he kissed her hands? fucking Jughead sometimes, dude

“Evelyn...creeps me out.”

I like Betty’s overalls and Evelyn’s romper thing

what I expected when Kevin dialed the phone was for the whole booth to sink into the basement like a surprise elevator

Kander and Ebb wrote the music to, among much else, Cabaret and Chicago, those being some of their most gay

I LOVE VERONICA’S WHITE SHIRT. IT’S JUST A FUCKING PLAIN WHITE SHIRT, SHE IS SO BEAUTIFUL

Every triangle has three corners, every triangle has three sides: is there some heat between Veronica and Reggie? am I crazy?

the foursome of Reg, Ronnie, Josie, and Kev is basically just as strong as the cour four strictly in terms of hair

I don’t know that I like Penny’s sleeveless Ghoulies vest more than her leather Serpents jacket but I do know I like it at least the same amount (oodles)

Fwoopy hair is the best hair: Day One Lifted Bag Off Head Hair: GREAT

OH MY GOD, JOAQUIN!!!! WHEN WILL JOAQUIN REST. DOES EVERY TERRIBLE THING HAVE TO HAPPEN TO JOAQUIN BEFORE IT HAPPENS TO SOMEONE ELSE. IS JOAQUIN IN THE FARM

does Archie have a scar on his head? is it KJ’s? have I lost track of something?

Gay?!: BABY TEETH is an absolute twink and he was tapped to save his life

I’m suspicious of Peter because his name is, simply, “Peter”

Gay.: Cheryl and Toni are just like lounging in a single chair together and that’s the bisexual agenda

Veronica was rich: Veronica’s heavy card stock IS very nice

Ethel’s cute yellow cardigan is back, which matches her thermos and lunchbox

I enjoyed when Betty sits down and you think she’s going to apologize for being there at Ben’s death but instead she just fucking grills Ethel some more

“...G&G.”

OOOOOOHHHHHHH JUGHEAD’S TURNING IT ON WITH THAT PRINCESS SHIT

Please protect Betty: Betty’s entire expression at being told she’s “not worthy,” God bless her

The female gaze: I don’t know why Reggie’s shirt is off. probably Reggie doesn’t even know

Reggie’s panicked JJ face is one of the top five panicked faces of all time. he’s tied at least with the girl in Jurassic Park when she sees the raptor shadow and her hand holding that green Jell-O starts shaking

Minetta doesn’t even pretend he’s looking for something other than whatever was in those boxes. cold, Minetta

REGGIE’S SALUTE

Reg simply being aware that Minetta and the Ghoulies work for Hiram almost brings me to tears. not only is he a walking sculpture with a pair of lips that would make Sarah Steller throw herself off the Hoover Dam, but he is also a genius

VERONICA IS SO BEAUTIFUL. “Not until I’m properly armed.” just look at her!

Ethel didn’t even come to the first meeting of the Farm Club? cold, Ethel

Evelyn offering Betty a pizza slice comes off as her genuinely wanting Betty to have a piece of pizza if she wants, which is the first non-creepy thing she’s done (Jughead would take the pizza)

she of course follows this up with “that darn medication”

Archie looks like a corpse in the blue light

tell me “wakey, wakey” is a Kill Bill reference. TELL ME IT IS

the guy they have fighting Archie looks just enough like Khabib Nurmagomedov that I was like, is this an unconscious wish on someone’s part to do a rematch of red-haired McGregor vs. Khabib except it’s on Riverdale so it’s in something called “the Pit” which is a drained swimming pool and they’re in juvie? (it’d have to be a fantasy in that Conor McGregor would get his ass beaten by Khabib Nurmagomedov in any rematch in any universe, in the universe)

dude does his best but, as Sweet Pea and Vintage Reggie can tell you, you cannot let Archie land a) a right hook or b) an uppercut or he will end this fight

who’re the rando white women watching? their fucking wives? goddammit, white women

I think Baby Teeth could take Reggie jawline-to-jawline

Veronica’s kittenish heels sinking into the dirt as opposed to her striding effortlessly as Moses parting the Red Sea

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: “THAT VIPER BITCH”

Antoinette Topaz is fluent in many languages, including Veronica’s

God bless jingle-jangle: the fucking cat burglar sequence set to “Jingle Jangle” just about fucking did it

Ethel’s candle game is reaching midnight mass-levels of mastery

so did Betty and Jughead get their ad hoc sex den (good band name) out of the bunker before Ethel got there? or was it there the whole time but for Ben and Ethel?

I feel I want to write down that Ben abandoned Ethel to ascend prematurely with Dilton otherwise I’ll forget and will be tricked by something later on

POLLY’S KNITTED HALTER

closed captioning capitalized the Shady Man, the second strangest Riverdale skull

Alice really just did Betty like that! maybe Betty DOES need to live in a bunker

50 Shades of Betty: “The wig. The webcaming.”

I love how Betty always gets very sarcastically OH, OKAY THEN when she decides to start laying out some truths

Alice stands up and her dress has some sort of insane asymmetrical hemline and she’s also got an ankle bracelet!!!!!!

Dilton Doiley Ethel Muggs is a canonically great dancer the DM: Ethel’s little crush on Jughead circa his birthday party has not abated. even when he was being insane about the Serpents I bet she entertained sweet fantasies of buying a pleather jacket off ModCloth and Jughead “inducting” her. so she found herself a coterie of pliable boys who were also gangly and weird and obsessed with details and pacts and she became their princess. so THERE. you fucking bet she’s gonna get a kiss out of Jughead before she fucking poisons herself

Ethel’s dungeon master voice is giving me a sort of ASMR vibe

I don’t want to veer too wildly but she is wearing a crown, her character has “a crown”

dog, was she about to kill Jughead right then and there? Ethel goes hard. Ethel might go harder than Jughead

“You’re asking me to play Russian roulette!” “I’m asking you to play Gryphons and Gargoyles.” THIS BITCH (in context it’s very smooth and bitchy)

GOD BUT JUGHEAD DID DRINK IT. VERY WELL KNOWINGLY, HE DID IT

Jughead eats: Salud is just the sort of thing I’d expect Jug to say before maybe drinking cyanide (or skol, if he had been watching Ingmar Bergman)

I don’t know if I could drink that much Kool-Aid that fast. Kool-Aid and Sunny D always made my teeth feel filmy. I could definitely down that much Capri Sun, if it were in a pouch the size of my shin

anyway Ethel’s sick move telling Jughead he has to kiss her first got an emotional reaction from me at almost the level of when Cheryl came down to Jason’s wake in that white dress

Jughead and Ethel are almost of a height, which is weirdly lovely

These students are legally children: maybe Ethel put the poison in after Jughead had chosen. I maybe doubt she would’ve just fucking assassinated Jughead

Jughead was reading next to her when she woke up, which is just a specific kind of daydream you have, sometimes

Sixth period is Intro to Film: HEISENBURG

Toni’s pictures are certainly shot with a mind to lighting, depth

is blue light the light of evil? Hiram’s study, the warden’s office?

Archie > Dawson: of course Archie imagines talking to his father and of course he imagines his father telling him to “take one.” I love Self-Sacrificial Lamb Archie (or just momentarily self-sacrificing). better than Fascist Archie!

well, Betty’s room has blue light too. fucking forget it then

although she is SURROUNDED BY EVIL at all times

Mädchen Amick, MÄDCHEN AMICK: “I trust them more than I trust you” is season one-level Alice-shade

Cheryl’s sheaths: I like very much Cheryl’s bosomy sequin thing and Toni’s back jewelry

I also like the RROTC boys in their like WWII uniforms, which may be anachronistic but still hard vintage, and the cigar girls

Jughead doubts it: there’s so much going on when Betty goes all melty and wipes some of the Fresh-Aid off Jug’s lips and Jug, who is not smiling, looks at Sweet Pea helping Veronica

Best costume bit: Veronica is in magenta, because I deserve it

I can’t wholly endorse Reggie’s non-black plaid trousers paired with a solid black blazer but I CAN endorse Reggie as a whole

Cheryl’s Hiram’s pins: I think Hiram has a fucking octopus pin! I think it is!!!!!!!!

the wallpaper behind Hiram downstairs is...interesting. it’s like a cutout from that Disney cartoon for “Winter Wonderland”

we stay on Veronica’s face for sort of an extra beat, so I can confirm a) she’s still beautiful and b) she has a sparkly thing in her hair

The 2001 Josie and the Pussycats movie was a masterpiece: Josie’s got that thing going on where you gem up the part in your hair

God I love a good Riverdale music/mayhem montage. like what were they playing when Jughead ran the gauntlet? fuck sometimes this stuff is just still so good (“Mess Around” when Reggie lunged for Jughead also counts, though not performed live somewhere else in Riverdale at the same moment)

“Anything Goes” is in fact not Kander and Ebb but Cole Porter

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: I love a good bead of bloody spit dangling from someone’s mouth during a slow-mo fight sequence

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: “THAT KID…..IS A STAR.”

that fucking rum, can you believe it? the fucking shade of it all

Fifth period is AP English: OH MY GOD. THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO. OH MY GOD, THE FUCKING HAMMER. THE COUNT OF MONTE MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN YES GOD HOLY BITCH

“Damn good coffee”: the goddamn shot of FP and Alice standing together flanked by the flames of their righteous destruction of the G&G manual

Summer + Blair = Veronica: Veronica is pretty fucking brave to still be living in Hiram Lodge’s HOUSE. and of course that’s what her dressing gown looks like

oh my god, Joaquin is still alive? Joaquin’s STILL HERE?

ARCHIE’S GONNA BREAK OUT OF PRISON AND I MUST CLEANSE MYSELF OF SIN TO BE WORTHY OF ITS GLORY (I trust Riverdale a lot more again at the moment)

so wait, Jughead put the cot BACK? are these two different bunkers? is it the same effing bunker???

“It’s over”: you fucking fool

yes, it’s the same goddamn bunker. the candles are still there! I guess I thought the wicked juju from Ethel’s ~SUICIDE ATTEMPT~ would deter the two of them from FUCKING IN THE EXACT SAME BUNKER but Betty and Jughead literally do not give a single damn where they do it

Jug’s headphones!!!!!!!!!

Cheryl’s expression at reading the G&G manual is appropriately be-Blossomed

The Blossom spawn: she still has a photo of Jason in her locker and I think a sticker that says “Literally no one cares”

What damn high school in America: those manuals have a QR code on the back, so you can play on your phone! GIVE ME THE APP, RAS

who unsheathed Ethel? LORD, WHO LET HER LOOSE?

GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

NEXT WEEK: Camila Mendes wears glasses the entire time

#riverdale #i say #commentary #tropes

118 notes · View notes

galivantingg · 5 years

Text

Behind Those Eyes

Chapter 2

The first few months of school passed mostly uneventfully. Some of our old friends came back to surprise us, but then things started picking up and the few that had stayed in the city became too busy for pleasantries. Soon it became a flurry of portfolios and essays and lots of paper. The few that were left in maths and sciences were slowly losing their minds over concepts I couldn't even pronounce. But let's be honest, what writer doesn't have a little trouble pronouncing words? We can read them, not speak them. I didn't think twice about the peace, too wrapped up in words and paper to worry about the fact that some of the villains like Heathen and Genocide hadn't reared their ugly heads since that fire in the beginning of the year.

"I'm home," I called, walking into the orphanage. I heard little feet charging forwards and the familiar face of little Mason showed from around the corner. I smiled when I saw him and dropped down to one knee, opening my arms wide.

"Neth!" He said, running full force into me. I almost fell backwards, not expecting that much weight behind his little body. I usually stay at the cave during the summers, being First Respondent. It's easier for me, but I miss the little ones too much. Helen, the woman who ran this orphanage, had her son during the summer, and named him Jason. I only got to meet him a couple times, but now that I had officially moved back to the orphanage I'll be able to help out much more. The older ones, me Nellie and Noah helped Helen a lot. She can't afford to pay any staff so we do what we can.

It doesn't help that no couples adopt any of us, and that we got a new kid. His name is Emmett, and he's a year old. He likes Noah especially, and Cassie. Cassie is part of the middle aged kids, she's seven. There's also Oliver, Owen, and the twins, Eden and Elliot. Ophelia and Kimberly, more fondly known as Lia and Lee respectfully, just graduated the middle aged kids and now are officially part of the older kids. They liked the status at first, until they realised all the responsibility that came along with it.

Go figure.

I pick Mason up and walk towards the kitchen, wondering where everyone is. The answer is the kitchen. When I walk in they're all gathered there, standing around a cake. "Surprise!" They yelled, setting off some confetti poppers and tooting small horns. My smile broadened.

"What's all this for?" I put Mason down and he runs to Helen. I put my arms around the twins as the run up and latch onto a leg each.

"We decided today was your random birthday, since you still haven't told us when it is." Helen explained. She turned to the cake and started dividing up the pieces between all of us, and Nell grabbed the ice cream from the freezer, scooping it out. I love this messy family of mine, and I wouldn't trade them in for anything.

That night I thought a lot about my real family. My birth family. Of small eyes, dark curly hair, white teeth, small fingernail. Small clothes, soft mornings with sunlight peeking through the window and giggles. Of pillow fights and strawberries and stargazing and then came the hiding. The fear, the anger. The long game of hide and seek where if we're found we'd be dead. Of hushed whispers and angry looks and fear and fear and fear and hiding. Then, the calm. The calm before the storm. Slight giggles coming out again, strawberries, bright clothing. Then lightning. Pain and hurting and smoke and fire and heat and screaming and dying.

I hadn't realized I had started crying until I felt them dripping down my cheeks and onto my legs. I slowly shifted, body getting smaller, skin getting darker, pink in some areas, patches of hair growing where it could. And no vision. Blackness. Empty. Dark. Afraid.

Nothing.

. . .

School was going well, surprisingly. I was still First Respondent, but the villains weren't doing much. There were a couple incidents with Peculiar, but other than that, it was quiet. It drew suspscions, even the civilians were becoming wary. Everyone was tense and on edge. This prompted a meeting with the Director, which unfortunately occurred during the middle of our Induction Briefing.

The Director has impeccable timing.

He made it a Seniors Only meeting, which of course drew even more questions. "Listen up people," the Director said, sitting in Waya's seat. I refused to sit in my seat, still harboring a deep hatred for the man behind all my pain and suffering, and the others followed my lead. "The villains are too quiet, we need to do something. I want you to arrange a strike team, use whoever you want, I don't care."

I snorted, not surprised. I wasn't quiet either. He looked at me with barely concealed annoyance. We were always butting heads, but never like this. It was always passive aggressive. "Something you'd like to add, Chameleon?" He asked, not expecting me to answer. But he pissed me off this time, with his apathy.

"Yes, actually," I snapped. I heard Waya sigh and ignored him, feeling Aella's wind reassuringly on the back of my neck. "These are people's lives, show some respect. We are not toy soldiers you can throw at a problem and everything will be fixed. Treat us properly, because if you give an order for a strike and one of us gets injured then it's on you." I was breathing heavily and felt Houdini squeeze my shoulder lightly, telling me that they were all behind me. Literally and figuratively.

The Director was now angry, good. He's stupid when he's angry. He stood up, re buttoning his jacket and took a few steps towards us. I stiffened my posture, knowing better than to relax. Our fight was just getting started. "Don't pretend to know better than me, girl." He spat the last word, and my temper flared. How dare he.

"Don't pretend to care more for these people, boy," I retorted. He looked taken aback. He was younger than he looked, and nobody but the two of us knew that. He opened his mouth to yell at me but I held up a hand, effectively shutting him up. "You've never cared for the welfare of those who joined your company. You didn't even want to pay them at first. I had to force you to."

I heard a could gasps behind us and slightly regretted exposing that. Then I was filled with more rage. How dare he still be in charge after all these years? He and his Scientist walk around like they are kings, not caring for the people who do everything for them. "We risk our lives every time we go out there, protecting you, might I add." I jabbed a finger at his chest and watched as his eyes lit up with metaphorical fire.

He lifted his head the the ceiling and said "Computer, erase Chameleon from database." I scoffed, and crossed my arms, waiting for the computer to respond.

"Unable to erase Chameleon. You don't have a high enough security clearance." The Director looked shocked, then angry again.

"Enter Thomas, Ryan K." There was a ding, and the computer waited for the next order. "Erase Chameleon." That still wasn't going to work.

"Unable to erase Chameleon. You don't have a high enough security clearance."

I swooped in, my plan in action. My plan that I came up with three seconds ago. It's a great plan. "Computer," I said loudly and clearly. Everyone looked at me. "Erase Thomas, Ryan K."

"Thomas, Ryan K. AKA the Director, erased." I looked at the Director with an eyebrow raised.

"How dare you-!" he sputtered. His face was slowly turning purple and he finally lost control and charged at me, fists raised.

"Computer, intruder alert!" I called out, scrambling backwards. The alarm went off and a section of the floor opened up and swallowed him whole. The floor resealed itself and the alarm turned off. "Computer, add Thomas, Ryan K. AKA the Director to database." I turned around to face the others and was met by shocked expressions all around. "What?" I asked.

Waya sighed again and Aella started cracking up. "You can't just un-add the Director to prove a point Cammie," Starbright said, dropping her head into her hands. I could see her shoulders shaking and knew I wasn't in too much trouble. Legion snickered and held up his hand for a high five. I looked over at Houdini and she was just standing there shaking slightly from laughter. Geronimo wiped away a few tears then took her seat. We still had a meeting to sort through.

"Okay okay guys," Waya said, taking his rightful place in his seat. "Let's get to business. We do have to do something about the villains." We all sobered up pretty quickly. I didn't want to do this, but I knew they were planning something. At least Waya actually cared about our lives.

. . .

My heart hummed in my chest, beating a tune too fast to hear properly. The meeting was sombre, we knew there were going to be problems. That's why it's a Seniors only mission. Waya, Aella, Houdini, Legion, Me, Starbright and Geronimo. Just the original seven, minus Swallow. Oh god, Swallow. I haven't thought about him in so long. Swallow was one of the first heroes inducted into the Agency. He was actually the first person that realised that I lived in the cave. Swallow was a kind soul, so so kind, and he was stolen away from us too soon. He ended up being one of Genocide's victims, that time it was everyone named Matthew.

It hit Legion the hardest. Poor Kevin, he was best friends with Matthew since they were really little. It was hard on all of us really, us and the outside world. They had built us up like gods, and then when Matthew died they lost a little bit of faith in us. That was two years ago now, when we were on a similar mission. You see why I got so mad now? The Director doesn't care, he never has and he never will.

I make my way to the Training Pit, and settle myself on the edge, my legs dangling over. I leaned back on the palms of my hands, tilting my head up the the ceiling. All I could was think. Think about a lot of things. Like how devastated Kevin was when we found Matthew's body. Genocide's victims don't have any telltale marker. They look like they're sleeping. But all Aella or I could do was stand in horror as Kevin wailed and sobbed into his dead best friend's body.

I never want to see that again. I felt anger well up inside me again. Anger for so many different things. Anger at my friends, for not knowing how lucky they are, angry at the civilians I vowed to protect, for building us up so high and not catching us when we fell, and at the Director. Anger at the Director for taking advantage of young kids, because that's what they are; kids. Legion is barely in his twenties, Geronimo is still in high school. Hell I'm still in high school. Anger at him for wanting us to do this for free, for thinking that we would sacrifice our bodies with no promise of compensation for our families.

Anger for murdering my entire family. Heat and smoke and pain and tears flood my senses. I can't hear, I can't feel, I can't see. I realise I'm having a panic attack and try to slow my breathing. It doesn't work.

Martha finds me however later it is, curled up in a ball violently sobbing into my arms. She says nothing, knowing at this point that I get panic attacks. She gathers me up in her arms, rocking me back and forth, taking long deep breaths. I force myself to match her pace. I feel everything, my toes, my calves, my hip digging into my best friend, my shoulders, my eyebrows slowly relaxing. I feel her hand in my hair, I hear her voice speaking. I couldn't hear the words but I could hear the soft drone and knew she was telling me one of her stories, just filling the silence.

Slowly my breathing evened out and my tears dried. I gently uncurled myself from her and leaned into her side. We sat there, side by side, thinking and hating and wishing and hoping.

#original work #writeblr #writing #finished work #new writeblr #original writing #writeblogging

1 note · View note

mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

Text

#1yrago Touring, complete: what gear survived four months of hard-wearing book-tour?

I had the last official stop of my book tour for my novel Walkaway on Saturday, when I gave a talk and signing at Defcon in Las Vegas. It was the conclusion of four months of near-continuous touring, starting with three weeks of pre-release events; then six weeks of one-city-per-day travel through the US, Canada and the UK, then two months of weekly or twice-weekly events at book fairs, festivals and conferences around the USA.

Now I'm touring complete. There's one more event on Aug 10 -- a kind of victory lap presentation at my local library here in Burbank -- and then a trickle of events over the next six months, but that's more like my normal baseline of public appearances, a very different experience to the kind of thing I did from April until last weekend.

It's been nine years since my first book tour -- the Little Brother tour -- and as always, there were new facts on the ground to adapt to, as well as hard-won wisdom that saw me through.

Here's some new stuff: indie bookstores are doing better than they have in years, and they're expanding into lots of live events, which are better-planned and better organized than ever. In many cities, there is one thriving indie and three or four suburban Barnes & Nobles, and these have changed, too: seeing as they are the only game in town, these B&Ns attract some stellar booksellers who intimately understand marketing and also really, really care about books. Also: all the indie bookstores have devoted substantial floorspace to embroidered socks. I'm calling it: we are at peak funny-sock.

Here's some stuff that's still the same: "Never pass up a chance to take water or make water." That is hard-won, important touring advice, passed from serious traveler to serious traveler as gospel. Airports are worse than they've ever been...and it's easier to buy your way out of the hardship, between TSA Precheck and Clear, which require that you give up a ton of personal information (which I'd already given up when I applied for my Green Card, so I went ahead, and it was so, so worth it -- so much so that I presume that anyone who has the wherewithal will buy their way into these programs and cease to do anything to mitigate the traveling woes of the general public -- watch for travel to get waaaay worse for normals who only fly a couple times per year).

I've been changing out my travel gear for years, trying to find the optimal combination of flexibility and comfort. I check a bag, and my suitcase was not lost once on this tour (it's happened before, though, and had to catch up with me a city or two down the road). The suitcase was severely damaged, and more than once (more on that below).

Here's the gear that survived this trip, stuff that will stay with me on upcoming trips.

Coffee

This goes first. Life it too short for shitty coffee.

I use an Aeropress (but you knew that). I've stopped carrying around a hand-grinder. I have only so many duty-cycles left in my wrist tendons and then I will cease to be a writer. I'm not wasting them on a hand-grinder. Now I grind my coffee before I leave and put the coffee in a Ziploc Easy Open Tab quart-sized freezer bag (I keep a stash of these in my suitcase and resupply at coffee shops when I run out, having them grind for me; this means I can't buy Blue Bottle coffee since they, alone among coffee shops, will not grind their retail beans, boo) (I also bring along a handful of gallon-sized bags for various purposes). I've tried a lot of sealing bags, and Ziploc's easy opens are the only ones I can reliably seal well.

I heat water in the remarkably great Useful UH-TP147 Electric Collapsible Travel Kettle, a silicone collapsing kettle that has a thermostat that keeps water at near-boil so long as it's plugged in and on. It's multi-voltage and worked great in the UK, and it collapses down really small. The only downside: it looks weird enough on an X-ray that it is a very reliable predictor of having your bags searched by the TSA after you check them.

I am utterly dependent on the Orikaso folding cup to use with my Aeropress on the road. The majority of hotels supply paper cups, or glasses that are too narrow for the Aeropress. Carrying a rigid cup that decomposes into a thin sheet of plastic the size of a sheet of printer-paper spares me the awkwardness of holding the body of the Aeropress with one hand while pushing down on the plunger with the other to keep from squashing the paper cup.

For emergencies, I carried a stash of GO CUBES Energy Chews, a "neutraceutical" whose manufacturer makes a lot of extravagant claims for them. I think those claims are silly, but these are basically gummy-chews made from cold brew coffee (and stuff) and they work very fast and well, but did give me jitters (which were preferable to caffeine withdrawal).

Toiletries

I carried my favorite shampoo, conditioner, soap and a supply of generic woolite in a set of four Innerneed silicone tubes (which I kept in a ziploc). I've used a lot of different silicone tubes and these are my current favorites -- they have a locking mechanism that keeps the hard plastic lid more firmly in place on the silicone body of the tube, even when it's lubricated with slippery soaps, preventing the kinds of catastrophic breaches you get when the whole lid assembly just pops off the tube and everything comes pouring out.

I swapped out my old generic pharmacy rotary electric toothbrush for the Violife Slim Sonic Toothbrush, which is a AAA-battery-powered equivalent to one of those unwieldy, induction-charged Braun ultrasonic toothbrushes that my dentist wants me to use. It performs just as well as the Braun on my sink at home.

I suffer from really terrible, untreatable chronic pain and can't sleep or sit for any length of time without serious pain. I am absolutely reliant on my hot water bottle, with a knit sleeve. For my money, these are the best comfort items you can travel with -- I get them filled with boiling water by the flight attendants before take off and refill them hourly. At bedtime, I fill them from my collapsible kettle. The only downside: it's really easy to leave these behind in the bedclothes when you depart at 4AM.

I carried all my toiletries in Eagle Creek's Pack-It Wallaby Toiletry Organizer. It came highly recommended and after hard use, I see why: it has the best zippers I've ever had on a toilet bag, stores an incredible amount of stuff and still rolls up tight, and did a great job of containing one tube-of-goo breach that could have wrecked everything else.

Clothes

Before the tour, I did a bunch of reading on the best travel underwear and decided to try Uniqlo's Airism Low Rise Boxer Briefs -- they were so comfortable and so easy to wash out in the sink (and so quick drying!) that I threw away all my other underwear when I got home and ordered a half-dozen more pairs. I traveled with three pairs of these, which crumpled small enough that I could fit them all in a pants pocket (should I have a need to do so?) and I rinsed the day's underwear in the sink every night and hung them to dry, chucking them in the bag in the morning, dry and clean.

You might already know that I love the look of Volante's jackets and coats, so it won't surprise you to learn that I lived in an Augment hoodie for the first half of the tour (when the weather was cool), switching to a lighter-weight Peregrine for the second half, when things warmed up.

I started the tour with three different pairs of pants in my suitcase, but left two behind on a resupply stop at home, because I was only ever wearing my Betabrand Off-the-Grid pants, which have enough stretchiness in them to do some basic yoga in, have huge pockets that somehow don't bulge much even when overfilled, and a neat little discreet mid-thigh side pocket good for keeping boarding passes in. My complaint: these were not colorfast at all: they were basically gray by the time I got home, even though I only ever hand-washed them in hotel sinks with generic woolite.

I always travel with pajamas: when you're on long flights, you can change into them for comfort; they give you a way to interact with hotel staff from your room early in the morning or late at night without having to get dressed or put a towel around your waist. I've been buying deadstock vintage men's pajamas from Etsy all year, because they look awesome and are more comfortable than anything you'll get in stores today.

I've been using REI's Sea to Summit compression sacks as laundry bags for ages: there's no problem with wrinkling your dirty laundry, right? Compression sacks are sorcerous reminders of just how much space there is between molecules.

I lived in Native Jeffersons: basically a kid's croc shoe, but molded to look like a low-rise Converse All-Star. Super comfortable, and I could rinse them in the hotel sink every night and leave them upside-down against the wall and slip into them in the morning.

Comfort items

I traveled with a Stanley Adventure Flask that I filled with Jefferson's Reserve Pritchard Hill Cabernet Cask Finished, 15-year-old bourbon that's finished with a couple years of rest in old cabernet casks. Yum.

I always keep a couple dozen catering-sized sachets of Tabasco in my suitcase and handful in my carry-on. They don't seem to show up as liquids on TSA X-rays so you can keep them in your bag, and I've never had one burst in a bag. They make everything super-delicious (or at least bearable) and they are way more space-efficient than those cute, tiny, single-use Tabasco bottles.

Swimming

Swimming is the only way I can stay sane on tour. It keeps my chronic pain under control and burns some of the empty airplane-peanut and minibar calories.

I swim with an underwater MP3 player. After trying a lot of models, I settled on the Exeze players, which are only available for sale in the UK. However, I've since discovered that virtually the same players are sold under other brand names in the USA: one model I've tried and liked is the Aerb.

The reason I swim with an MP3 player is so that I can listen to audiobooks. I get through a couple novels per month this way. Audible's proprietary DRM format isn't compatible with MP3 players, so forget about getting your swimming audiobooks that way. Instead, try Downpour and Libro.fm, both of whom sell thousands of DRM-free audiobooks. Audiobooks and swimming are a magic combination. I couldn't make it through the tour without them.

Gadgets

I got my Calyx hotspot just over a year ago. It offers anonymous, unfiltered, unshaped, unlimited 4G/LTE wifi through Sprint's network, and supports the nonprofit good works of Calyx, who provide anonymity and privacy services to whistleblowers, journalists and many others. They are the good guys and this is a great product at a stellar price: $100 for the hotspot and $400/year for unlimited mobile broadband.

I continue to use X-series Thinkpads. I'm currently on the X270 and it runs Ubuntu very well. I didn't need any service on this tour, but I have on other tours, and I'm serene in the knowledge that the extended on-site next-day hardware replacement warranty (about $75/year!) guarantees that no matter what, I won't be without my computer for more than a day. My X270 took a lot of hard knocks on this tour and survived unscathed. My sole complaint: they screwed up the keyboards with the X230 (or so) and still haven't made a new chiclet keyboard that's half as good as the original Thinkpad keyboard. Please, Lenovo, bring my beloved keyboard back!

I use a Google Pixel phone and it's...not terrible. Everything about it works fine, but it has unbelievably shitty battery life. That is a killer on tour. The Alclap case solved that problem...for two weeks, and then it stopped working. I ordered two more, both of which were duds out of the box. The Scosche Magic Mount was more awkward to use, but also longer-lasting (it died last weekend, thanks to fraying in the wire that connected it to the phone).

Luggage

You know all those suitcases that come with ten-year warranties? They're all designed to have a ten-year duty-cycle...assuming that you travel once or twice a year. In decades of hard travel, I've yet to buy a suitcase that can live up to the punishment of daily flying.

So now I buy suitcases based on how easy they are to get warranty service on. I had heard great things about Rimowa, and I loved the look of their cases, so I bit the bullet and sprang for one (they're extremely pricey). I quickly discovered that their much-vaunted service was terrible -- in London, anyway. My options were mailing the case to Germany, or taking it to a service center on Euston Road where they were rude, deceptive, and all-around awful. I was ready to swap the case for another manufacturer when I moved from London to LA two years ago.

But in LA, the whole story is different. Rimowa's service here is handled by a place out in Beverley Hills called Coco's Leather and they're pretty good at fixing stuff (there's sometimes a week turnaround, but I've found that if I call them after messengering the busted case out to them, they can often turn it around in a day).

I needed it. My Rimowa case was seriously damaged three times on tour: twice it had wheels ripped off (the whole wheel assembly, including the riveted-on bracket, torn right out of the aluminum!) by Southwest's baggage handlers in San Diego. Another time, AA baggage handlers destroyed the latches.

I'm sticking with Riwoma for now. Every luggage expert I've spoken to says that there's just not anything that will survive the kind of punishment I put my bags through, so I'm buying based on warranties, and between Coco's Leather and Rimowa's long-lasting warranties, I can live with this situation.

I've gone through a lot of luggage tags over the years and have yet to have one last more than a few flights before it's torn off in the hold, caught in some grinding system. Now I use the TUFFTAAG Travel ID Bag Tag, made of hard-wearing aluminum with braided steel cables. Dozens of flights later, the tags are bent and battered, but still intact and still attached to my case -- that's a first.

https://boingboing.net/2017/08/02/hard-won-wisdom.html

33 notes · View notes

alliebruns-blog · 6 years

Text

Mega Blog 4000 - London Marathon, Bad Cow Double, Dorchester Marathon, The Ox Epic and 100 miles across the South Downs Way.

Well I’m doing really well at this blogging malarky aren’t I? I haven’t posted in AGES mainly because i have been too busy doing all the actual running. So grab yourself a beer because this is a LONG one.

My race diary for this year is what some people might call ‘busy’. At the moment I have 27 marathons and ultras booked, but me being a suggestible fool, means this number will only go up. April saw me complete my 5th London Marathon on what was possibly the hottest day of the year ever, plus a little trip to Dorset for the Bad Cow Frolic. Two very different races done in very different ways.

London is my favourite road marathon - it’s home turf and you cannot beat the crowd and the atmosphere along the route. This year I was running solo - in past years I have had a number of first timers running with me, so it’s rarely actually “my” race, but this year I was running alone and so had high hopes of qualifying for Boston, with a sub 3.40. However, that most definitely was NOT to be. It was brutally hot as you all know, so I decided to be sensible and rein it in a bit. Watching people throwing up and falling by the road from mile 10 onwards was proof that I had made the right decision. Weirdly I found the crowds to be a little overwhelming this year. I have spent so much time running on trails that I am now more used to peace and quiet so having thousands of people cheering was lovely but kind of strangely uncomfortable.

Here’s a picture of me NOT in running kit.

The heat meant that I was running without a base layer for the first time in 2018, and around mile 16, I realised that the tops of my flappy little arms were chaffing on my vest, and they were stingy. I wasn’t running with my pack, so I legged it over to St Johns ambulance and asked them if they had any vaseline. They had just run out but offered me some baby oil instead. Sexy scenes follow - I am throw it all over myself, basically basting Bailey up to get mega sunburnt for the rest of the day. I finished in 3.59.40 - classic sub 4 attempt done. Was still pretty pleased - I hadn't broken myself and I felt fine - which was good because the following week saw me trotting up to Dorset for White Star Running’s Bad Cow double.

Hot metal on London marathon day

Bad Cow is based in Burnbake - a beautiful part of the Dorset countryside. The event is run over two days - day one is the 12 hour frolic - as many laps of the 4.5 mile course as you can do in 12 hours and day 2 is the marathon. I was entered for both and was aiming for a marathon a day. There were a lot of Do-Badders signed up for this one, so we all camped together for maximum LOLS. It’s also dog friendly, which meant that we had a total of 3 dogs to help us round the course - BONUS.

Bad Cow Squad - Me, George, Susi, Julius and Toby

Now the thing about having a load of Do-Badders camping together is it is NOT A GOOD IDEA. We like a drink and a chat and managed to control ourselves on the first night - a few beers, nothing extraordinary and a decent bit of sleep meant getting up the next morning wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened. To be quite honest, I was exhausted from Arran and London in the previous 3 weeks plus work had been a nightmare the week before so I decided to trot this one out with my pals and the dogs and trot it out I did. We were taking it in turns to run with dogs, look after kids and drink beers, so all in I managed about 30 miles for the day whilst having the best time ever. That night it all went pear shaped. We stayed up til about 4am yapping and drinking beer and playing with our new fire pit, which would have been fine, had we not had to get up for the Marathon at 6am. No chance of sleeping in when the race director drives up to your tent at 5am, puts a huge speaker outside and starts blasting Cotton Eye Joe at 100DB into the tent. Thanks for that Andy. The funny thing is, I still didn’t wake up.

It shames me to say it but this was the first race that I have ever DNS’d. I was knackered, hungover and sleep deprived - all my own fault and I will make it up at East Farm in August, but I just couldn’t run it. The best thing is that I still had my number on my leg so looking at the results, I actually did it in 4 hours. Because I went too close to the mat when shouting at someone to do press ups. Classic Do-Baddery.

Having a nice time with Toby at Bad Cow BEFORE the booze started

Next up was The Ox Epic at the start of May. Now I bloody love The Ox - I ran and won the 50 last year, so this was a key race for me - I wanted to defend my title, like the competitive tit that I am.

I was signed up to do all 4 races - The Dark Ox on Friday night (6 miles), The Ox Ultra on Saturday (50 miles), the light Ox on Sunday (6 miles) and the Ox Half on Sunday (13 miles). Completing all the races means that you get The Ox Epic medal and are inducted into the WSR hall of fame for being a bad ass. My plan was to take it easy on the dark, smash the ultra and take it easy on the light and half. I had no intention of winning the Epic, I just wanted to win the ultra. And then disaster struck.

A close friend of mine went missing on the Wednesday before the race, and we were desperately worried about him. On the Friday morning it was announced that he had been found dead and my whole world collapsed. I was numb and I was overwhelmed with grief. From the minute I found out I was taken care of with Susi and Julius coming to find me to make sure I was OK. I didn’t know what I was doing from one second to the next and started questioning if I should even be running. I was fine one minute, and in floods of tears the next. I didn’t know, but from the minute they turned up, I was under the care of my running buddies - constantly being watched and monitored.

Susi drove me onto the site on Friday - we were all camping together again and the boys put the tent up. I sat there staring at nothing. I was going to run. I couldn’t think of anything else to do rather than run. I got my number on and followed them all to the start at 9.30pm. I had the wrong number on, I had to go back to the tent and get my proper number. I was such a state. Lee and Susi ran with me - it took us 1.20 to get round a 6 mile course in the dark, but get round I did. I realised that this weekend wasn’t about winning, It was about finding sanctuary through running and just getting round would be good enough.

No. No I didn’t.

After a couple of beers and some crying (yay), we went to bed ready for the 50 mile race on Saturday. The Ox is a looped course that runs across the Rushmore estate. Each loop is around 6 and a bit miles, so 8 laps gives you 50 miles. I am NOT a fan of loops but strangely The Ox doesn’t bother me at all - the route is very beautiful (apart from the long drove of death) and there are hills so walking breaks are made easy. I ran with Julius for the whole day. He was brilliant. Chatting to me when I needed to be chatted to and letting me be silent when I needed to, he fed me, made sure I drank water and kept an eye on me the whole time. We gave parts of the course nicknames to make it more bearable Crisp Mountain (the hill that you can eat crisps walking up - later renamed to Peanut Mountain when we ran out of crisps) the Forest of Joy, The Droves of Death, the Hills of Despair, Lamb Kingdom - I think most of the other people thought that we were mental, but it works for us. We came in for the 50 at around 10 hours 30 mins - over an hour slower than my 2017 time and certainly not a win for me, but again I had got round. My demons had not defeated me and I actually felt better than I had all week. Then came the news that changed the weekend for me. I was told that in the overall results from the two races, I was second lady - with only 1 minute and 14 seconds between me and the current front runner. THANKS ANDY. In a way I wish I hadn’t found out, but now the game was most certainly on. I was going to try and win it.

Sunday morning came - game face was on, and we set out for the start of the 6 mile Light Ox. My pals were trying to find out where the first lady was, I kind of didn’t want to know. Having looked at the results, it was clear she was a fast shorter distance runner - something I am not. I had to really make the effort on this. I started at the front and shot (well, shot for me) round the course with Julius - coming in at just over an hour and five mins. The first lady had not come in yet. The minutes ticked by, 5, 10, 15 - my lead was going up and up, and then about 30 minutes after me she came in, hobbling, and that was the end of her racing weekend. The ultra had broken her and she wasn’t going to take on the half. I was in the lead.

Now for the final slog - The Ox Half - it had got quite hot and I was physically and mentally exhausted. Plus I had added pressure on me (that I was totally putting on myself) to bring home the Ashtray Trophy of joy. I did NOT enjoy the half. My tiredness meant my brain was doing what Lee calls Vordermaths - numbers and times and numbers and times going over and over that make NO sense, and I was completely terrified that the second lady was somehow going to make up her 40 minute time difference over the half and beat me. That was never going to happen on the half course which was SO hilly and hot. I came in at around 2 and a half hours and took the win for the ladies. I was overwhelmed, exhausted and completely thrilled to be the first lady winner of The Ox Epic. 75 (ish) miles in 3 days on what could have been one of the worst weekends of my life. It taught me that the love and care of the ultra running community knows no bounds. I also just want to do a little shoutout to the 2nd and 3rd ladies - Kirsty and Debbie who were just brilliant, wonderful humans - it was Debbie’s first ultra and she smashed it. Good work team!

YAS QWEEENS! L-R Debbie, Moi, Kirsty. Fucking badass women.

The spoils of The Ox Epic.

A couple of much needed weekends off and it was back to Dorset again for ANOTHER WSR event - their only road race event in the form of Dorchester marathon. This is a very different type of run to the ones I am used to - there are a LOT of people and it’s entirely run on the road - it’s sold in as Britains’ prettiest road race and turns out that is actually true - it’s beautiful.

We arrive at 8 in the morning in the worst rain ever, Thunder, lightning, rain, humidity - all the good ones. It’s raining so much that we are doing 30 mph on the dual carriageway. I am NOT looking forward to this. We park the car and walk towards the start and it’s stopped raining. Usual pants with the usual suspect at the start - I LOVE the White Star Runners so much. The race director is in a cherry picker, which rises towards the sky and, no shit, as it does the clouds part and it’s brilliant sunshine. Now I’m not saying Andy is a God, buuuut….. Oh and guess who is not wearing suntan lotion? (Clue - it’s me)

Yeah, this is better than London

Sweaty medal picture

The atmosphere is slightly different at this race - usually you get all the LOLS at the start but there are some really tasty runners here - aiming for PB’s and aiming to win. I ran most of the race alone which was fine, and spent a great deal of time petting lambs and goats as per usual. I bumped into a few people I knew and some who I didn’t and had some great chats. The route is relatively flat with a few big old hills, and the heat made it difficult. This was never going to be a sub 4 for me - I had SDW100 to deal with in 2 weeks and didn’t want ANYTHING to go wrong for that. I reckon I’ll be back for a better crack at it next year - as far as road races go it is one of the best in the country - would defo recommend it. Fast forward 2 weeks and we are looking down the barrel of the South Downs Way 100.

Looking fresh at the 6am start of the SDW 100

This is only my second attempt at 100 miles on one day. I have done a lot of multi day ultras - I really like them! But only one 100 miler in a day (Autumn 100 back in 2017). This is another one of my key races for 2018, and I was hoping to be able to beat my previous record of 23 hours and 38 mins. One thing I hadn’t taken into consideration was how different SDW100 is from A100.

For a start SDW had 12,700ft of elevation across the course - that’s like climbing Snowdon 3 times. It runs from Winchester to Eastbourne through the beautiful South Downs National Park. It hadn’t rained for a while and the ground was super hard packed chalk with rocks sticking out of it for most of the way - looking back on it, I should have thought about this and worn road shoes - but I didn’t do that because I am an idiot. I had already recce’d half the route with some of the Do Badders a few months earlier - it was the last 50 we had run which was brilliant as this was the part I would be covering in the dark.

Making friends on the SDW100

I was extremely lucky to have 2 great pacers for this race. First up from mile 50, Lorna Spayne - a Do Badder and very tasty marathon runner - my WSR nemesis (always beating me dammit) and very good friend what I made through the internet. Lorna is a very experienced runner, and completed her first 50 on the SDW back in May, so was perfectly placed to help pace and crew me. She is the single most organised person I have ever met in my life. She is kind, patient and fiercely protective of her runner. She crewed me from early on in the race - making sure I had all the delicious food, ice, Calippos (yes really) from very early on, and then joining me at mile 51 to run 30 miles in the middle of the night to drop me off with Lee. You all remember Lee right? Lee who force fed me sandwiches on the A100. Lee who has given me PTSD every time I hear Your The Voice by John Farnham? Yeah - that Lee. Lee was pacing me from mile 83 to the end. A highly inexperienced ultra runner (not my words) Lee knows exactly what he is doing when it comes to pace and hills - and that is exactly what I needed for the death march.

We started the race at 6am. I bumped into a lot of Do Badders at the start which was great - nice you know you have someone to shout FUCK YOU BUDDY at on the way round. I started the race with Tania who I know through WSR and her friend Melanie. It was Tania’s first 100 and I was SO excited for her - the first 10 miles flew but chatting about running and stuff and running and stuff. I knew that we were running to fast - doing around 9.30 min miles when I should have been doing 11. I decided at about 20 miles to pull back and let Tania go on - I couldn’t keep this pace and expect not to start breaking and it was already getting hot. It was very challenging underfoot too - the ground rock solid and a number of splendid long slow ascents. My favourite (Fuck you long, slow ascents). At around mile 25 there is the glorious Lorna and she has got ice cubes and ice lollies and I think I love her. She fills my bottles, gets my rubbish out of my bag, refills the sandwich supplies, checks me over, gives me life and off I trot. There were a lot of VERY jealous people when they saw me fishing my Calipo out of my sports bra.

L-R: Melanie, myself and Tania off to a flying start.

This is my “quick photographer run” face. Mel obvs finds it hilarious.

It was at this point I reached the dead zone. Miles 35-40 were a real challenge - I was on my own and was bored. I wasn’t at half way and I was nowhere near the end. I could feel myself starting to mentally go. Then, as if by magic, Melanie is there behind me. I am SO happy to have a running pal. We trot along laughing at stupid things, hating on cyclists, and encouraging each other for 10 miles until we reach the halfway point. I now know that I am on my way to meet Lorna and my race will get better. I reach 50 mile 45 mins short of my target - it’s hotter and hillier than I thought - but I know if I want to go sub 24 then I need to put some effort in to the 50-80 mile leg.

Lorna is a dream. She chats away to me and makes me run when I don’t want to. She asks me stupid questions and distracts me from the task in hand, asking me if I have drunk enough and eaten enough and generally pushing me on. About 10 miles into this leg another Do badder emerges in the shape of Professor Russell Banks who has bough me a can of beer. NOMS! We run along with Mike - yet ANOTHER Do Badder that we have collected en route, and drink some beer and laugh at stupid stuff. It’s at this point I bump into Tania again - she’s suffering a bit so we scoop her up and run a good few miles with her in tow, leaving her at an aid station to drink coffee. I hope that she will be OK but I have to make up my time.

Hydrating like a proper athlete around mile 55 (L-R Mike, Me, Russell)

A Fuckwittery of Do-Badders (L-R Russell, Me, Lorna, Mike)

Lorna and I trot through the afternoon and into the evening. Head torches come on, and we are running through the darkness to the 83 mile point where I will meet Lee. At some point on this leg, I lose my sense of humour completely, but she deals with it, allowing me space to eat my Peppa Pig pasta and clean my teeth and shout “a new fucking body” when the marshalls ask if I need anything. It would have been a much sadder race without Lorna and I am so grateful for everything she did for me. Everything is hurting, but I am so close to the end now.

Lorna disappears into the night....

At mile 83 we pull into the aid station and there is Lee. Boring the shit out of everyone with his Monarchs Way tales. I grab water and some snacks and give Lorna a hug - 16 miles to go and me and Lee set off up yet ANOTHER hill.

Tea with Lee. 91 miles in.

Lee’s brilliant as always and we chat about stuff, walk up hills, he lends me his cheat sticks and I start talking to him about times. He thinks I can beat my A100 time - I am not so sure. I have been eating really well on this race and it shows. I am hurting all over and my body feels bruised, but I still have petrol in the tank and I run the downs and walk the ups and we listen to Queen and debate what their best song is for about 2 hours (It’s The Show Must Go On BTW).

Day starts to break at about 4am. The beauty of the Downs around this time - when the moon and sun are out at the same time - is astonishing. When day breaks on a 100 mile race, you know it’s over and you know you can do it. It spurred me on and I felt like I was only getting stronger. We stop for a coffee at the aid station at mile 91 and Lee is treated like royalty. I am left to wait in the wings for my coffee and water - the marshals are very apologetic when they realise he is my pacer and I am running the race. Fucking Lee, man.

Having a moment as the sun comes up and moon goes down. Thanks for the photo Lee!

We leave the aid station and trot out the next 9 miles. It starts to become a reality that I can PB this. I can do it in a faster time than A100. I start to get faster. I feel brilliant. Lee is complaining a lot about the hills. I tell him to shut the fuck up. We keep going and eventually come off the hills and down onto the road towards the finish. The road seems to go on forever, but I want to run not walk.

23 hours and 20 mins in the end is on sight. One loop round the athletics track, and I am done. 23 hours, 28 minutes. 9 mins off my previous time with about 7,000ft more elevation.

BOOM.

I am presented with my buckle, I get the beer out of my bag and at 5 am have a delicious beer and a hot dog. I am exhausted and elated. Second time round is not easy, but it’s easier. Thank you to Lee and Lorna for everything they did for me. I won’t ever forget it. Shout out to Melanie who finished in 25 hours - this photo says it all.....

So, what’s next? Well I am back with my Rat Race pals doing The Wall this weekend - just 69 miles along Hadrians Wall , followed by a pretty exciting recce in Snowdon. I will also be attempting to not leave my blog so long. If you’ve got to this bit you’re a stronger person than most - ultra reading.

2 notes · View notes

cookwareview · 6 years

Photo

New Post has been published on http://cookwareview.com/all-clad-e414s6-stainless-steel-pasta-pot-and-insert-cookware-6-quart-silver-2/

All-Clad E414S6 Stainless Steel Pasta Pot and Insert Cookware, 6-Quart, Silver

@ Enjoy versatility at its best with this All-Clad Gourmet Accessories E414S664 6-Quart pasta pot with perforated steel insert. Ideal for preparing pasta, this essential pan may also be used for steaming and blanching a variety of foods, including vegetables and shellfish. Thanks to its perforated insert, making pastas becomes effortless by adding meat, seasoning and other ingredients to the insert which is then simply removed when finished, eliminating the need for straining. Prominent side handles ensure a secure hold when transporting the pot from the sink to the stovetop or when lifting the insert. Combining high-quality craftsmanship and long-lasting performance, All-Clad’s Gourmet Accessories cookware offers a sleek polished exterior,

6-Quart covered pasta pot with perforated insert for easy draining

Single-ply polished stainless-steel construction with thick aluminum warp-resistant base for fast, even heating

Highly polished 18/10 stainless-steel cooking surface offers superior stick resistance and easy maintenance, plus won’t react with food

More durable than traditional pots for a lifetime of use; steel lid; stainless-steel handles permanently secured with stainless-steel rivets

Capacity etched on the pot’s base; oven- and broiler-safe to 600 degrees F; induction compatible; dishwasher-safe; limited lifetime warranty

List Price: $ 149.99

Price: $ 149.99

What do you think about All-Clad E414S6 Stainless Steel Pasta Pot and Insert Cookware, 6-Quart, Silver? Feel free to leave a comment below. All-Clad Cookware

* 1. All-Clad E86199 Stainless Steel Specialty Cookware Tea Kettle, 2-Quart, Silver Click here: http://amzn.to/25FNAz6 . All Clad Stainless Steel Pots.

2. All-Clad 4203 Stainless Steel Tri-Ply Bonded Dishwasher Safe Sauce Pan with Lid / Cookware, 3-Quart, Silver Click here: http://amzn.to/25FNCH8 .

3. All-Clad 4506 Stainless Steel Tri-Ply Bonded Dishwasher Safe Stockpot with Lid / Cookware, 6-Quart, Silver Click here: http://amzn.to/25FNCHg .

4. All-Clad E414S6 Stainless Steel Pasta Pot and Insert Cookware, 6-Quart, Silver Click here: http://amzn.to/25FNCHk .

5. All-Clad 59946 Stainless Steel Lasagna Pan with Lid Specialty Cookware, 14.5 by 11.75 by 2.5-Inch, Silver Click here: http://amzn.to/25FNAPG .

I bought a second to further expand my collection…it was great as always.I am no one special. I’m just your average guy who really likes to cook and eat. I’ve gotten very good at it after a lot of practice. And if I can, anyone can. Good cookware can be a huge component of this, and I am about to urge you to spend more money on a set like All-Clad, which I believe is as good as cooking gets. No one likes having his or her food come out burnt on the outside and undercooked on the inside, or one side being more cooked than the other due to burner `hot spotting’. Good quality cookware with a more even heating transfer is one of the easiest ways to avoid this. But “good quality cookware”…what is that? You can spend under or over ,000 PER-PIECE…there is a ton of variety and so many different materials it gets confusing fast. So here is what I have learned from my humble experience…When friends see I have a very large collection of All-Clad Cookware, they often ask be who these things are made for? Professional chefs? Rich yuppies? Good ole boys who appreciate a good meal? I would say essentially anyone and everyone. Yes, they are stupid expensive…but think of it this way. If you enjoy cooking and you cook better, chances are you are going to cook for yourself more than eating out. It also presents an opportunity to eat healthier food as well. ,000 on a set of standard All-Clads, a few niche pots for your favorite food types with a steamer, and a nice cutlery set (Shun or Mosimoto, for example) is something that will last decades where as spending a day on lunch doesn’t last long at all, but it sure adds up fast. The durability of these over the models costing Â¼ to Â½ the price is also pretty substantial.Read more ›.

All Clad Stainless Steel Pots All-Clad Cookware

All-Clad Cookware

#6Quart #AllClad #Cookware #E414S6 #Insert #Pasta #Silver #Stainless #Steel #All-Clad

2 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 6 years

Text

Answers About Burners

spaci1701 replied to your post “Question about burners”

I'm not a huge fan of induction burners but I'm also weighing in on the danger of a gas countertop. I've never heard of one outside of commercial models and those are required to be under the full, heavy duty extraction hood with an integrated fire system. Unless you can find a reputable brand which states it's safe for indoor use, don't risk it.

I got a bunch of comments about this, the danger of using coleman stoves inside, and thank you all for your concern! I probably should have linked to an example of the burners I’m talking about, because I was at least under the impression that they do make single-burner gas (butane) stoves for indoor use; they’re popular in Japan, apparently, and I found out about them by watching a couple of Japanese cooking shows. But they’re very hard to find in the US so it’s tough to link to an example, since most US single-burner gas stoves are “for camping or emergency indoor use only”. Hence asking about brand names :D

I mean, unless Jun and Chef are both being super unsafe, which I suppose is possible. But Chef’s in particular doesn’t look like it’s even designed for outdoor use.

danimephistopholes replied to your post “Question about burners”

I've lived most of my 40 years with gas stoves and have been a prolific cook for most of it. I spent a year with an induction stove and I stopped cooking because I hated it so much. (It was a large factor in moving TBH). I got a stopgap burner similar to this one, but I had space issues so didn't use it enough

That’s the only one I’ve found that’s rated for indoor use and available in the US. Did yours come with warnings about carbon monoxide &etc?

cameron-mckell replied to your post “Question about burners”

Have used both induction and a gas burner, and in your situation I'd probably go with an induction one, for safety and convenience (those gas canisters don't last as long as you'd hope, in my experience). I seem to recall you checking your pans for induction-ability before, but I can't remember the results. I'd still say induction, even with that. Also lighting the gas can be a pain.

That was one concern I had, those canisters don’t look cheap or like they last very long. And fortunately almost all of my pans are “induction ready”, so there’s that!

mizstorge replied to your post “Question about burners”

Honestly, Home Depot has gas ranges for under $500.

Which I would happily buy if my building had gas hookups, but sadly they do not :D It was one reason I didn’t buy into this building sooner or want to pay more than I did -- no gas and no ensuite washer/dryer, though really I don’t do enough laundry to make an ensuite absolutely necessary when the building has a laundry room.

rofro05 replied to your post “Question about burners”

I have used both, but depending on how much you cook on the stovetop, I feel like induction saves money in the long term. I love my nuwave precision for the control it gives me. You do have to get cookware that works with induction, but the result is really worth it.

panicandstartariot replied to your post “Question about burners”

The dorm I work in just has a few NuWave induction cooktops instead of a stove and they've held up AMAZINGLY well (we let teenagers use them while learning to cook and they take a lot of abuse) but not sure if you're interested in a countertop one

Well, it’s good to know NuWave is a good brand and that they’re durable! They do have a single burner available for a reasonable price, so I’ll keep that in mind as a recommendation, thank you both!

mosquitopru540 replied to your post “Question about burners”

We have a Fagor induction. Love it. Heats up so fast and is very portable. No problems with any of the pans I've tried as long as they have flat bottoms.

Yeah, most of my pans are induction-safe, and Fagor was a brand I was looking at (mum has a Fagor pressure cooker she really likes).

slashaddict13 replied to your post “Question about burners”

I would think it would be annoying to always keep gas canisters around. Many pots and pans already work on induction cooktops so it's worth checking yours. I love how you can set the temperature of your induction cooktop and turn it off immediately when you're done. I have used a Mr. Induction, though I don't know the model number, and really like it.

NOTING IT DOWN :D I have never cooked with induction and while I’d love an entire induction stovetop, a single burner seems like a good way to test it out!

songscloset replied to your post “Question about burners”

OMG!!! IKEA has a GREAT single burner induction range. We got one to test and it's spectacular. My husband uses it every day at work to cook his own lunch (long story, but working in tech is not like other jobs). It can be set to specific temperatures, so you can have it *hold* at just under boiling, or wherever you need it. Really, it's amazing and only $40.

Oh fantastic, my folks love Ikea. I’ll check that out!

coyotegestalt replied to your post “Question about burners”

It took me a moment to register that this wasn't about arts festivals in the desert... but I've been pretty satisfied with my landlord's Tramontina induction cooker. I was dubious at first but it's worked out really well.

LOL I did wonder if I was gonna perk up any Burning Man ears :D Thanks for the Tramontina recc! I have a nice list now.

#cooking #sam bought a home #coyotegestalt #songscloset #slashaddict13 #mosquitopru540 #panicandstartariot #rofro05 #mizstorge #cameron-mckell #danimephistopholes #spaci1701

43 notes · View notes