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dbphantom · 4 years

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[inhales] fuck it junpai-7 time

I feel apathetic instead of anxious so here’s a ~bit~ from the H2O AU. It’s a good scene with Clay and Zane (and Quietfoot). Personally, I like the bar scene too (takes place 2 scenes before this one) but the intro to that one is kinda self-indulgent and I am not a brave enough boy for that yet. Listen, I’ll be honest, I picked this scene a) because there’s like no H2O content outside a few throwaway lines and you solely borderlands folk can enjoy it without needing to understand the Deep Merfolk Lore and b) I never write fight scenes and I’m proud of it. I know how can a person write borderlands fanfics and not be comfortable writing fight scenes, I’m such a heathen.

Anyway. Context? Uhhh, this is in the past. Meant to elaborate on that one line about Clay and Zane crossing paths on a smuggling job on Junpai-7 (a water planet). I thought it’d be funny if it turned out they were on opposite sides of the job. I’m also a big fan of a one Cutlord Karuu being the resident pirate queen. Because pirates are cool and her name is kickass.

“Where the..?”

Clay blinked open his eyes at the whisper, tried to move his hands to his throbbing head, and realized he was tied up. Yup, if he wasn’t awake before, he was definitely awake now. And, apparently, sitting on the deck of his ship, tied up against the mast, with nothing but the wide expanse of Junpai’s ocean surrounding it.

Well, damn. That wasn’t good.

He pulled against the binds, but they didn’t give- weren’t even in a position to grab so he could untie them. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.

“The hell’s going on?” He snapped at the disembodied muttering, shaking his head to get the exhaustion out. He’d been drugged, and he always hated that. “Domino, you there?”

The same whirring as earlier returned and Clay finally got to see the source- a small drone hovered before him, chirping merrily and spinning in circles.

“Zoomer? Oh! He’s up!”

A figure moved into view and Clay blinked, because he recognized him. The stranger from the bar a week ago. He was still around?

“Hello again! So sorry about this, didn’t think you’d be the one I had to target. But, hey, remember, I promised- no killing!” He showed his hands, free of any weapon, and grinned.

“What the hell, man, I bought you a drink. Where’s Domino?”

“Domino? Oh, the one on the dock? He’s still there, I think. I took us out to sea so the other two couldn’t come back yet. Don’t worry, I’ll be gone soon!”

“What are you here for? It part of that contract?” Clay had a pretty good idea. The one thing every spot of trouble they’d encountered lately was after.

Zane nodded, opening the lid on a crate next to the cabin door and poking around inside. “Yeah, yeah. From a one Cutlord Karuu. Sure you’ve heard of her.”

Clay groaned, leaning his head back against the mast. “Yeah. Pirate queen. She’s been keeping an eye on our ring for ages. Whatever she wants, we don’t have it.” He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced to look at what it could be.

Quietfoot was perched up on the sails, crouched and following the man below. He held up the alien compass they were supposed to be dropping off in Mariejois and put a finger to his lips.

Clay returned his sight back to the intruder. “So, what are you looking for?”

Zane sighed. “Ah, you know, a small, little, bobbly alien thing. Points north. What’s the word?” He paused in his searching, putting the lid on the crate down and leaning on it. “Actually, it doesn’t point north. Supposed to point to a Vault Key. You know, one of those things everyone’s losing their minds over these days? I don’t get it. But the actual ones point north.”

The hitman frowned and scowled at the drone as it bobbed around the ship, mouthing something to himself.

Clay watched, confused and slightly worried he had noticed Quietfoot above them.

“COMPASS!”

Clay jumped and whispered a quiet curse. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sorry. Remembered-”

Thump.

The two stopped and looked over to see what the noise was. The Eridian compass was spiraling in a small circle, and the two watched it fall without saying a thing.

“… Huh,” Zane finally managed, and looked up at the sky. “Didn’t think I had that pow-”

Quietfoot landed on top of him, sending him to the floor, and snatched the compass back, stashing it in his digistruct pack.

“Holy-! Where did you come from?” Zane asked after he got his breath back, pushing himself up off the deck with a cough.

Quietfoot had already pulled out his shotgun, and he fired it in response.

Zane’s shield took the brunt of it, a few pellets hitting the wall behind him, and he smirked despite the breath being taken away from him again. “You don’t talk much? That’s fine, I can cover for both of us!”

He tossed out a small disc that landed at Clay’s feet, which then projected another, flashier shield.

“What the hell?” Clay demanded, struggling to get out of his binds in order to help his partner.

“Get it?” Said Zane, hands on his knees as he laughed. “’Cover’? Ah, you guys are a tough crowd.”

Quietfoot pulled the trigger again and the barrier absorbed the blast, burning pellets falling around Clay. He felt lucky he was wearing his leathers today.

Zane grabbed the barrier from midair with a button press and bolted towards the rogue, bashing him with it while the man reloaded. He dropped his shotgun and Zane kicked it away, letting it bounce off the railing of the ship and skid across the deck.

“Come on, just give it up! Don’t make me hurt you!” He got a look at the man’s bloodied nose as Quietfoot steadied himself. “Uh, more. Don’t make me hurt you more! … So sorry about that- you seem like a cool fella.”

Clay glanced down at the electronic disc at his feet, then the flashy light shield, and had an idea. He lifted up his left boot and smashed it down on the thing, watching the sparks fly. The barrier Zane held fizzled out of existence for a split second. The hitman seemed surprised, turning his head to see what was going on with his tech.

“I- hey, I just got that fixed! Quit it!”

Clay grinned. He did it again, just as Quietfoot reared back for a sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The barrier vanished moments before his fist reached Zane’s face. He staggered back from the blow, blinking rapidly and touching the blood now dripping from his split lip. “Ow! What was that for? I’m trying not to kill you!”

Quietfoot lunged for his shotgun while Zane was distracted, finishing the reload from his crouched position on the deck.

“Shite,” Zane muttered when he finally looked up, as his barrier still hadn’t returned after Clay reacquainted his foot with the projector. He pulled out another device and pressed the button on its side, and then there were two of him standing side-by-side.

Clay blinked.

Quietfoot blinked.

One of the Zanes grinned and the other one waved.

“What the…” Clay managed. “How many tricks do you have?”

“Enough,” said one, and Quietfoot pulled the trigger on him.

The deck behind him gained a nice fourteen hole pattern, with splinters to boot.

“You know,” said the other, “we don’t have to do it like this. You can just give me the compass and we’ll all go on our merry ways! I’ll even untie you, Clay,” he said, turning his head to grin at him.

Quietfoot whirled around, pointing the barrel of his gun at the talking one and keeping an eye on the other, who was studying him, just in case.

The other opened their mouth to speak and Quietfoot took no chances, quickly firing off his gun. That one stumbled back, shield audibly breaking from the hit. “… Ow!” He wheezed, doubled over from the blow to his stomach. “That’s gonna bruise tomorrow.”

Quietfoot had reloaded while Zane was lamenting over his new injury, and lifted his gun to shoot once more. The hitman looked up and suddenly- instantly- he was standing straight, glaring at the other man.

No, Clay realized. That was the clone- the dude could switch places with it. Oh, now, that was just unfair. And also explained a lot.

“That’s the double!” He warned Quietfoot, who nodded, quickly removing his finger from the trigger, and turned to face the real one. But the original was gone, having dashed off somewhere while his attacker was distracted.

“So,” came a whisper from next to Clay, taking cover behind the mast from Quietfoot’s shotgun. “What do you see in this guy? I mean, not to be rude, but he’s not very hospitable, is he? Or did I do somethin’? ‘Cause, honest, no hard feelings here- just work.”

Clay’s head whipped around to see Zane standing with his back against the mast, peering out from behind it. “What in the- how did you-? Damn it, man, if you’re going to scare me, at least let me fight back first!”

“Oh,” he sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. “No can do. I’m trying to not kill you guys, remember?” He snapped his fingers and his drone buzzed down from its place above them, settling on his shoulder with a small wiggle. “You can play dead, though! It’s like a game!”

Quietfoot had advanced on them while they were talking and Zane grinned at Clay when the man rounded the mast. “Gotta go!”

“Quit running!” Clay yelled, struggling against his binds and kicking his feet as Zane darted out onto the deck again.

“Hell no! He’s got a gun!” The Hitman laughed.

Quietfoot sighed and re-rounded the mast, entirely done with the intruder and stopping first to assess Clay’s whole situation. At the moment, Zane was no threat, just a nuisance.

“You want help?” He asked.

“Holy shite,” Zane said, popping up next to them. “He can talk? For real?”

Quietfoot shot him, but it didn’t do much since the man simply teleported away and popped back up behind him seconds later, leaning over his shoulder.

“Wow! I can’t believe you can actually talk,” Zane rambled with a grin as Quietfoot undid Clay’s binds. “Do you just not like to, or is it something I said? Because I was asking Clay earlier if it was something I said and I’m just not sure. This whole thing we’ve got going on right now is only work, you get that, right? When I’m done with my contract, we should all get a drink together. You all seem like a pretty cool group of fellas. Like your friend, Domino! I remembered. Haven’t met the other two, but they seem neat. I like your shapeshifter- I know what that’s like. Must be cool to do it on command.” He paused momentarily, brain seeming to catch up with his mouth as he blinked. “Uh, I know what the tricking people’s like. Not the- not the other thing. So, what do you say?”

Clay pulled his hands loose and rubbed his wrists with a quiet mutter of thanks, then pulled his pistol from his digistruct pack as he stood. Quietfoot readied his shotgun and the two turned to face Zane, who looked particularly dumbfounded.

“Is that a ‘no’ to the drinks?”

“Listen, man,” Clay said, pulling the hammer down on his pistol and pointing it at him as he backed up towards the railing. “You’ve got three seconds to sit down and shut up, or else things are going to get really, really bad for you. I like your style, don’t get me wrong,” he admitted, “but nobody messes with my crew. And, here’s the thing: I think I don’t want to see your brains lying on my deck, so sit the hell down while we get this ship back to port.”

“Alright,” Zane said, raising his hands above his head with a grin. He held his clone’s device in one hand, and his silver digistruct pack in the other. “You got me.”

Clay glanced down at the man’s hip, because he could have sworn his digistruct pack was black.

… It was.

That wasn’t his.

Quietfoot cursed from beside him and began reloading his shotgun, pack blatantly missing from his belt. Clay understood, then, why the man didn’t stop Quietfoot from untying him and instead decided to talk nonsense. He went to take the shot for his partner, but the stupid drone flew over and latched onto his arm, throwing off his aim.

“Kidding. I was kidding!” Zane tossed his digiclone device into his own pack and saluted them with two fingers and a grin, hopping backwards onto the railing and balancing there for a moment. “This was fun! Seriously, let’s get together later!”

“What the hell are you doing? Get off that!” Clay yelled, still struggling to get the robot off of him. “Don’t be an idiot!”

Going overboard on Junpai-7 was a death sentence- everybody who lived and worked here knew that. But the hitman? He was just some stranger from Pandora. He’d have no idea the consequences. And Clay did, admittedly, have a soft spot for the guy, despite his thievery and overly talkative personality; he wanted to make him pay a little, maybe even recruit him into the rogues when all was said and done, not watch him get brutally ripped apart by sea kings and flash whirlpools.

But Zane didn’t seem to care about what Clay said. He looked him in the eye, did a dramatic, sweeping bow, and dropped backwards with a grin and a whistle.

The bot relinquished its death grip on Clay’s arm and flung itself over the railing of their ship with reckless abandon. The clone, too, vanished after a second, as did the broken barrier disc lying forgotten on the deck beside a smattering of bullet holes.

The two rogues were left staring at the place the man was standing, until Clay broke their stupor by rushing to the railing and leaning over.

There was nothing in the black waves.

Clay had half expected them to be pink with blood, or at least see the hitman struggling to stay afloat in the brutal current, but it was like he had vanished into thin air. What, was this another one of his tricks?

“Stay alert,” Clay told Quietfoot, who nodded. “Don’t know where he went.”

“That’s just great. He better not still be on the ship- I’ll blow his damn head open. Now we’re out twenty mil and all my guns. Sorry, Clay, I should’ve untied you sooner. Might’ve been able to get the bastard at the start if we were both up and at ‘em.”

Clay shook his head. “He was a real crafty son of a bitch, don’t feel bad. ‘Sides, one of those Vault Hunting bastards was bound to be strong enough to get what they wanted eventually.” He sighed, putting his pistol away. “Domino was right, it’s probably for the best we don’t get involved in all this alien stuff. Maybe twenty mil is a small price to pay to learn that.”

“Maybe,” said Quietfoot, looking out at the water. “May-be.”

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sonofirishseas · 5 years

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Big Bad Handsome Man

A few sleepy hours later as the clock eased towards two o’clock, the city stretched out before them, it’s dirty streets of East Chicago dusted with lingering clumps of snow and a bitter chill in the air, despite the bright sunshine. As they drove, Johnnie set his eyes upon the building that loomed at the end of the street corner; The First National Bank. It was a slow day it seemed, few people in and out and even the streets seemed subdued. He made a pass, turned around and looped back again, the whole time remaining silent, giving no clue of forming plan in his mind. John pulled along the curb and threw the car into park, staring thoughtfully across the street, running his thumb across his lower lip pensively. “Something wrong, Johnnie?” Red Hamilton, John’s partner asked, roused by the sudden lack of movement. He leaned curiously across the front seat, trying to figure out what the unscheduled stop was about. Johnnie looked over at him. “Let’s hit it.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but his eyes were wide and excited. It was an impetuous decision.

“What now?” Red blinked, turning his pale blue eyes on his friend and fellow former inmate. “I’ll go in, you stay here in the car. Watch the door, look for cops.” John answered in the same soft but certain and collected voice. The smooth rumble with which Dillinger had talked himself out of far too many hopeless situations already. That voice could convince tides to turn against the moon.

Dillinger’s eyes slid to Hamilton. “Well, what do you say?” “I say I’m going in with ya,” the big man nodded resolutely, reaching under the seat and bringing up their tommy guns. They climbed out of the black car, adjusting his fedora and tucking the submachine gun beneath his trench coat as Red did like wise.

The pair trotted across the street, looking both ways for slow moving traffic, Dillinger smiling jovially, holding the door open for an elderly couple as they left the bank like a regular couple of boy scouts.

“Laying it on a little thick aren’t you?” Red muttered to him. “Me? Never.” Dillinger grinned. “Christ, you’re in some kind of mood today.” his partner chuckled as they stepped inside. “What’s got you so keyed up?”

Dillinger didn’t reply, but Red thought he could guess. Tt’d been over two months since they had done a proper bank job, and while this was far from “proper” it was a chance for Johnnie to work his own special kind of talent in front of people. And no one loved a crowd if not Dillinger, he was really a ham at heart, always out to impress. Shame he couldn’t have been an actor. He would have given Clark Gable a run for his money.

There were fewer than a dozen patrons inside the bank that afternoon, and only two tellers. The odds were good. Hamilton began to relax, moving into position, keeping his hat low and his eyes on the prize.

John grinned brightly and popped a piece of chewing gum in his mouth. He tipped his hat at Red, giving him the signal for him to head towards the vault and wait for the next move. It was a well rehearsed ballet the two were performing, so synchronized they barely needed a word between them to know what the other was thinking.

He brightly made his way towards the open teller cage, chewing and grinning as easily as any man who wasn’t about to take his life into his hands. Another man stood at the teller window beside him, and Johnnie’s eyes slipped over him. Dark haired, lean build, with sharp features. Probably a little younger than Dillinger by a few years. Tanned like he might have been a field hand but dressed better than any farmer he knew. The two catch each other’s gaze a moment and John’s smile only broadened and he tipped his hat to the man as he waited for the teller before him to finish. “Nice day,” he said, even though it was quite the opposite outside.

The teller behind the divider smiled politely then, drawing his attention away from the stranger, “Hello sir, what can I do for you today?”

“You can put your hands up, son.” the man in the trench coat and fedora replied. He was so friendly about it that the teller thought it was some kind of joke.

He chuckled awkwardly. “That’s a good one, son. Anyone ever tell you you’re a dead wringer for that Dillinger fella?”

Johnnie snorted a little, glancing to Hamilton. “Hey Red! This guy thinks I look like Dillinger!”

Hamilton leaned against the counter, fingering the trigger and smiled lazily back at his companion. “That so?”

Johnnie chuckled and turned back to the teller, who seemed confused. “That could be because I am Dillinger.” He thrust his gun out from under his coat, tapping the barrel of it lightly against the cage. “This is a stick up son, so why don’t you oblige me and my friend here and put your hands in the air.”

The man behind the counter did just so, his face going the color of cream. A woman behind them let out a little shriek of surprise and Hamilton also revealed his gun. The man next to Johnnie at the other cage left his money sitting on the counter as he backed away, looking scared stiff.

John, keeping his gun on the teller, looked at him. “You go ahead and take your money,” he said gently, “We don’t want your money, just the bank’s.”

#@alwaysxinxtrouble #muse: John Dillinger #gangster AU #starters #new threads #ship: Johnnie/Kili #because it's inevitable #I mean come on

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hysterialevi · 6 years

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When the Devil Cries pt. 4

Author’s note: I know I’ve said this already, but thank you so much for reading this story. I wasn’t really sure how this fanfic would go at first, but you guys have been very supportive since part one, and I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy this part as well :)

From Arthur’s POV

OUTSIDE LEMOYNE NATIONAL BANK

Pacing to the other end of town, Dutch and I slithered our way through the groups of lawmen patrolling around Saint Denis as we hurried to find Hosea at the bank, keeping a low profile and eager to get back to camp.

At this point, the city was entirely awake, and all around us, we could see both men and women calling out to passersby as they advertised their merchandise, campaigns, charities, and more. It was quite the sight. Sure weren’t like anythin’ I’d ever seen.

We had already come across some rich fool by the side of the road who was hollerin’ at people to buy his book that would apparently lead folks to instant success, as well as some waste of space claimin’ that the white race was the only “correct” one, and that the blacks and Indians were nothing but animals. It was science, he said.

Well, last time I checked, “science” was the same thing trying to turn cannons and bicycles with balloons into forms of transportation. So that didn’t exactly count for much in my book.

On a more pleasant note though, I did also see a woman standing outside City Hall advocating for women’s right to vote. It wasn’t something I could see happening anytime soon, and her ideas of a female president within the next ten years seemed a bit far off, but there weren’t no shame in searching for a better world. I only hoped she had some sort of protection out there in the open. Not everyone was taking her proposals kindly.

As for Dutch -- well, ever since the man found me about an hour ago, he had been chewing my ear off about his plan to pick Saint Denis clean of its money before packin’ our bags and heading off to Tahiti or some place.

I wasn’t quite sure how that would work exactly, and if I was being perfectly honest, the west sounded like a much better area to lie low, but...I wasn’t really thinkin’ about any of that anyway.

The only thing on my mind at the moment...was Edward.

I couldn’t get that melody he played out of my head, and the man himself wasn’t easy to forget either.

I didn’t know why, but somethin’ about that boy just stuck with me. His words, his personality, his music...it preoccupied me completely. It almost felt like I was still sittin’ there by his piano.

Despite my pleasant thoughts about him though, I couldn’t deny I was a bit concerned about Dutch’s plans to rob the theater. I mean, I knew there was probably hundreds of dollars sittin’ in there and Edward and I were barely acquaintances, but it still seemed...I dunno, wrong to go behind his back like that. Especially right after doing a favor for him.

But I supposed that was the life of an outlaw. I could never truly befriend honest folk, or get along with them. I could only lie to ‘em.

“Hosea, old man!” Dutch called out suddenly, bringing my attention back to reality.

Hosea was sitting on a bench not too far away from the bank with a newspaper in his hands -- more as a mask than actual reading material -- and waved at us as we approached him, keeping our voices low.

“Ah, Dutch, Arthur,” he greeted, folding the newspaper. “There you are. How did you fellas get along?”

Dutch leaned against a nearby street lamp and crossed his arms. “Arthur here thinks he might be onto somethin’ about an upcoming gala. Heard some woman in the Bastille rambling on about it...and I’ve got a few ideas of my own on that theater as well. What about you? How’s the bank looking?”

Hosea rose to his feet. “Pretty much what you’d expect. Lots of money, and even more security to protect it. It also happens to be in the middle of the city. So if we’re gonna hit it, Dutch, we’ll need every gun we have. But if we can pull it off right, I guarantee it’ll be worth it. The vault’s got thousands of bucks just waitin’ in it. Enough to get us out of here.”

The other man nodded in contemplation. “Alright, then. Well, let’s head back to camp...and I’ll tell you all about this theater once we get there. I really think this could be quite the opportunity for us, but we don’t have too long to plan for it, so we need to move fast. C’mon.”

SHADY BELLE

DUTCH’S OFFICE

“Okay, gentlemen,” Dutch said eagerly, gathering us outside his room. “I have a plan. And this is a good one.”

Hosea and I exchanged looks, feeling both a little nervous and excited at the same time as we took a seat on the ornate couch.

“Well, what’ve you got in mind?” Hosea asked.

Dutch grinned, holding a finger up. “I did some investigating, and apparently there’s gonna be a show at the Râleur in two days. Lots of tourists are gonna come pilin’ in, and all the money will be sitting right at the front door while everyone else inside is distracted by the show. It’s the perfect time for us to slip in and swipe the cash. Which means the best way for us to do this is by makin’ as little noise as possible...”

He glanced at me. “...Arthur.”

I sighed in annoyance. “...Jesus, I get it.”

Dutch let out a hearty laugh. “That is the last time I’ll mention it. I promise. Anyway, I’m thinkin’ we bring in a small group. Go in quick and quiet. We don’t wanna barge into the theater, armed to the teeth. Remember, the goal here is to cause as little alarm as we can. We’ll probably disguise some of you as employees, too -- that way, you can keep watch while the others focus on the robbing.”

Hosea nodded. “And who’s doing what?”

“Hmm. Well, we don’t want anyone too tough looking to dress as the employees,” Dutch explained. “I think I’ll get Kieran to be one of them. You too, Hosea.”

“What ‘bout me?” I questioned.

“You...are gonna be doing the robbing. My plan is for you and Mary-Beth to enter the theater together. Pretend you’re a couple out to see a show. But don’t walk up to the ticket booth until it’s empty. That way, no one will be around to see what you’re really doing.”

I raised a brow. “Me and Mary-Beth?”

Hosea chuckled. “That poor girl has her eyes on you, Arthur. Everyone in camp can see that. Least it’ll make this job easier for her.”

I shrugged. “So, what, we just walk up to the ticket booth and take the money while everyone’s watchin’ the show?”

“That’s the idea for now,” Dutch confirmed. “But I’m still working out the details. In the meantime: Hosea, you keep focusing on that bank. And Arthur, see what else you can learn about the gala -- where it’s located, how we get in...things like that.”

“On it.”

The man smirked. “Good. Saint Denis will be our ticket outta this country, boys. I can feel it. We just need one, last score...and we’re gone for good. But it won’t help anything if you lose your faith. So stay with me. Both of you. The gang may be strong, but we’re nothing if we don’t work together.”

Hosea and I gave Dutch a firm, honest look.

“We ain’t goin’ nowhere, Dutch,” I said. “We got your back.”

Dutch began making his way out of the room, glancing at us over his shoulder before he headed out the door.

“I know.”

A FEW HOURS LATER

THAT NIGHT

Sitting on my bed, I mindlessly doodled in my journal while the rest of the gang chatted at the campfire outside, sketching the night away as I waited for another long day of work tomorrow.

Normally I drew things like horses, plants, landscapes...just stuff I came across while wandering around. But today, I found myself scratching down wobbly images of pianos, random music notes, and of course...Edward.

By now, it was honestly frustratin’ me that I couldn’t tear my mind away from him. Why the hell was I so captivated by that man? I mean, I had met much more prominent people in the past.

I had seen people who were retired gunslingers, civil war veterans, slave catchers, dinosaur bone hunters -- hell, I’d even come across a couple who were brother and sister.

Why was one pianist so interesting to me? Ain’t like he was the first musician I’d ever met.

I guessed...I guessed it was because he was so different from everyone else.

Most people I talked to always hid behind some kind of pretense. Acted polite and well-mannered on the outside, and danced around saying what they was really thinking...but Edward, he already seemed to know me better than I even knew myself. Within just a few minutes of talking with the boy, he had already come to the conclusion that I was a better man than I thought.

And based on what? Ramming into him? Makin’ a mess of his notes? Covering his clothes in mud?

Mister Ryan definitely had a unique idea of “good,” that was certain. I just hoped I could live up to it.

“Um, Arthur?”

Flicking my eyes upward at the sudden intrusion, I paused mid-action when I realized Mary-Beth was standing just outside the doorway, her head poking inside with a puzzled expression as she stared at me. I put my journal down.

“Oh, Mary-Beth. Did you...need something?”

The woman walked into the room. “No. I was just...walkin’ by when I overheard you singing. I was curious, is all. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I froze in confusion. “Singing? What you mean?”

She giggled. “You were humming, Arthur. You didn’t notice? I guess that’s good. When you hum, it means you’re in a good mood.”

I bashfully looked away from the young woman instantly, admittedly a tad embarrassed.

When did I even start humming? Who else had heard me, if anyone? Christ, I hoped Uncle wasn’t sleepin’ on the floor downstairs again. Otherwise I’d never hear the end of this. That, and his goddamned lumbago.

“I, ah...” my voice faltered sheepishly, “...I didn’t notice. Sorry to disturb you.”

Mary-Beth waved a dismissive hand. “You weren’t disturbin’ me, you silly man. It was a pretty tune. Where’d you hear it?”

I pretended it was nothing. “Ah, just some song I must’ve heard somewhere or the other.”

She smiled in a way that said she knew I was lying, but dropped the subject anyway.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re feelin’ alright. This gang needs you to stay strong, Arthur. Dutch needs you. More than you may think.”

I stood up from the bed, placing my journal on the nightstand.

“Oh, I’m sure Dutch would manage just fine without me, but...that’s kind of you, Mary-Beth.”

She began to take her leave. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Stay safe out there, Arthur. Things is gettin’ pretty crazy -- both inside and outside of camp -- so be careful, okay?”

I escorted Mary-Beth out into the corridor, saying a quick goodbye to her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The woman slid a hand along the staircase’s railing, looking up at me before stepping down.

“Good. I know our situation’s been tough recently, and I can’t deny that I’m scared too...but I know you and Dutch will pull us through. You always do.”

I nodded confidently. “And we will again.”

Mary-Beth descended the stairs, leaving me alone in the hallway.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” she was quiet for a second. “Good night, Arthur. These moments of peace that bore us now, are what we’re gonna be wishin’ for in a bit. Take care of yourself. We ain’t losin’ anybody else.”

I waved her goodbye.

“...No. We ain’t.”

THE NEXT MORNING

Waking up to the sound of Karen and Grimshaw yelling -- again -- I fluttered my eyes open to a slit, only to be blinded by a strong beam of sunlight that was seeping through the broken window.

I was facedown in my pillow, and judging by the brazen snoring I heard comin’ from downstairs, I weren’t the only one still dreaming. Despite wanting to sleep more though, I decided to head out for Saint Denis now, while the streets were still quiet.

The sun had barely warmed up the sky yet, but all this arguing and fretting at camp right now was makin’ me want to be just about anywhere else. I understood that folks were afraid, and I woulda been lyin’ if I said I wasn’t -- but there was only so much worrying one man could take.

Retrieving my hat, I strapped my belt on and threw my satchel over my shoulder, making sure everything was in place and stretching a bit before striding out of the room.

Fortunately, there weren’t really anyone awake yet to distract me or hold me back from leaving, and the weather seemed clear enough today.

The clouds were thin and the morning sun was just beginning to float above the purple horizon, painting the world around us with a nice, red tint.

It was the perfect time to ride out.

SAINT DENIS

Urging my horse to slow down, I began trotting into the city ahead of me as I was forced to adjust to civilized life, keeping a mental note that it actually mattered what the hell you was wearin’ out here.

Usually, I just wore a simple, loose shirt and a roughed-up pair of pants, but for the sake of blending in, I had stuffed myself into some itchy vest this morning along with a nicer set of trousers I didn’t even remember purchasing.

For a minute I felt like a walking joke on display for everyone to laugh at, but then I remembered the people around me looked even weirder. Women with gowns wider than the streets, and men with hats that made them an entire foot taller...big cities were definitely not the place for me. I didn’t mind the money, though.

Steadily trotting through the roads, I glanced to my side when I noticed the Râleur coming up on the left, the brightly-lit building immediately catching my attention.

It was indeed quite a view, just like Edward said. Through the tall, glass doors, I could see a luxurious chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, giving the lobby an intense, golden glow as its light reflected off the decorated walls and waxed floors. And browsing through the posters plastered outside the theater, it looked like he weren’t kidding about those fire-breathing people.

Apparently, they had some lady from Bavaria who was stronger than a bull, a duo consisting of a tiny magician and child giant, a man called Benjamin Lazarus who could escape death, and a group of dancers from France who...oh, my.

Well, I didn’t know if it was really my kind of entertainment, but I was definitely considering seeing that show with Edward in it. If the song he performed for me was anythin’ to go by, then his show would be something to remember. I just wished I had the time to stop by.

“Well, hello there, Mister ‘Not a Cowboy!”

Whipping around towards the sound of the voice, I felt a smile sneak its way onto my face when I saw none other than the pianist himself strolling up to me as if on queue...alongside another man whom I hadn’t met yet. I hopped off my mount.

“I see my terrible sarcasm rubs off on people fast,” I greeted Edward with a chuckle, closing the distance between us. “How you doing, Mister Ryan?”

The musician scoffed. “I’m from England, mate. If anything, it was my sarcasm that rubbed off on you. But...I’m doing as well as one can in this city. And what about you, Mister Morgan? I hope Saint Denis is treating you okay.”

I shrugged. “I’m about the same as the last time you saw me.”

Edward seemed pleased. “That’s good to hear.” He turned to the man beside him.

“Err, Mister Middleton, this is the man I told you about earlier. He’s a traveler I ran into yesterday. Quite literally, actually. He’s the one who helped me out with my new composition.”

I brought my focus to Middleton, admittedly feeling somewhat out of place compared to their suits and ties.

“Arthur Morgan.” I introduced casually. The man gave me a stern glare.

I couldn’t quite pinpoint it just yet, considering I’d only met him, but something about Edward’s companion just...put me off.

Not only did he have a permanently sour expression hiding behind his groomed mustache, there was also a certain...glint in his dead, gray eyes that reminded me of Strauss. And everyone knew how I felt about that creep. Only difference was, this man actually looked like he was capable of giving out a beating himself.

The man held out a stiff hand.

“...Thatcher Middleton,” he replied bluntly. He had the same accent as Edward. “Pleasure to meet you.”

I reluctantly grabbed his hand, gesturing to the hardened frown on his face. “Try not to smile too hard there, partner. You, uh...another pianist?”

He shook his head, completely ignoring my remark. “No. I have nothing to do with that business. I’m merely a...” there was an odd pause, “...friend of Mister Ryan’s.”

I glanced side to side, not quite sure what to make of that.

“...I see.”

Picking up on the tension between us, Edward quickly jumped in, changing the subject.

“I noticed you were checking out the theater, Mister Morgan. Are you thinking about watching one of the shows?”

I gladly took my attention off Middleton, shifting my feet awkwardly. “I am, actually. I was considerin’ that show you mentioned to me. The one tomorrow?”

The pianist’s face radiated with excitement. “Oh, yes. Well, like I said, I’d love to see you there. I won’t be the only act tomorrow night, but it will be the first time I’m performing on my own. I confess I’m a tad nervous.”

I chuckled. “I ain’t heard much of your work, but if that song you showed me is anythin’ like your others...you’ll be fine.”

Edward didn’t appear any less anxious, but hid it nonetheless. “Thank you. You’re too kind, Mister Morgan.”

I laughed at that. “If you say so.”

Flattening this friendly moment with his grumpy tone, Middleton spoke up once more as he threw an almost threatening gaze in Edward’s direction, his eyes piercing through the shadow cast by his bowler hat.

“Well, I can see you’re busy, Edward. We’ll discuss this more later. In the meantime, I’ll be returning to my house if you need me. I have many matters to attend to.” Middleton barely looked at me, briefly bowing his head as a goodbye. “...Mister Morgan.”

I returned the dull farewell. “Middleton.”

Skulking off into the busy city, the man vanished like a phantom in the thick crowds as Edward and I watched him leave, both of us feeling somewhat unnerved after that chat.

“Charmin’ feller, ain’t he?” I muttered.

Edward crossed his arms. “He wouldn’t know charm if it died in his bed. Though, I suppose it already has.”

I smirked at the pianist. “I take it you weren’t waltzin’ around with him by choice?”

He sighed. “Oh, definitely not. You’ve no idea how grateful I am that I found you. In fact, I’d much rather waltz with you, Mister Morgan.” Edward stuttered after that, as if realizing what he just said. “Erm, i-if that’s alright, of course. Want to grab a drink? We did meet at a saloon, after all.”

I shrugged in a “why not” manner.

“Sure,” I agreed. “Oh, and call me Arthur, would you?”

Edward appeared much more relieved now. “And you can call me Edward. Or Eddie, if you prefer. People call me both.”

I beamed at him, the two of us strolling side-by-side as we diverted our path to the Bastille.

“Eddie it is,” I replied. “Y’know, I think you’re the most sensible Englishman I’ve met so far.”

“You’ve met others, have you?”

I adjusted my hat. “Well, aside from you and Middleton, I’ve only met one out here. And his name was Margaret.”

A brief laugh escaped Eddie. “You sound like you’ve had your fair share of adventures. Perhaps it’s your turn to entertain me with story today.”

We hugged a corner, turning onto a new street.

“Ah, I dunno ‘bout that. I ain’t...I ain’t so good with words.”

Eddie persisted. “You don’t need words to tell a story, Arthur. Words...are overrated. In the end, your actions are what speak for you.”

I grinned at him, the two of us stopping at the edge of a sidewalk as we waited to cross.

“You, sir, possess a wisdom that I have yet to find.”

Eddie remained unconvinced that I was as dumb as I made myself out to be and simply rolled his eyes, beckoning me as we spoke with each other like a pair of old friends.

For some reason, whenever I was around Eddie, I felt like I didn’t have to hide nothing. The boy seemed to be drawn to me no matter how much I talked down about myself, and every time we crossed paths, he acted as if we’d known each other for a lifetime already.

I...enjoyed the time I spent with him.

I was only worried that this upcoming robbery would ruin our friendship. I mean, it was obvious how much this meant to Eddie, and lord knew how long he’d been preparing for this, but it was something I just had to go through with.

Then again, I guessed I always had the option to expose the plan, but...I could never do that. Not with the gang counting on me. Or Dutch. The old man was already paranoid we had a rat within the camp. The last thing I needed was to make him think it was me.

Well, I supposed all I could do was enjoy this relationship while it lasted. Eddie was too good of a man to be with me anyway. It was probably for the best if he kept his distant from an outlaw such as myself.

...Probably.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #eddie ryan #oc #fanfic #story

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countessofsnark · 6 years

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Snarky Recap - Thunderbirds Are Go: ‘Growing Pains’

The One Where EOS Goes On A Field Trip While John And Kayo Get A Familiar Face Out Of A Tight Situation.

And without further ado, this one jumps right into the middle of a gear up. We zoom in Kayo’s beautiful(ly) focused face and her badass motorcycle. Next thing we know, ‘Thunderbird Shadow is go.’ Yes, but where?

Oh. Captain Rigby. It’s a rescue date, now is it, Kayo? *chinhands*

Cue the following exchange:

‘How’s the weather down there?’

‘It’s cold, Kayo.’

‘Well, we are near the North Pole.’

SHOTS FIRED.

‘Now how about you lose that toasty Thunderbird and join me on the ground?’

OOOOoooOOOOooooOOOoooh myyyyyyy. He’s a cheeky one, that fella is.

Quick mission brief: the Chaos crew are up to no good as per usual and this time their target is the Global Seed Vault. No doubt looking to sow chaos. SORRY NOT SORRY.

‘Only one caretaker....’

I think it’s a very close race between François Lemaire and the one and only Ned Tedford (and trusty Gladys) to have earned the title of Most Rescued Person Ever. Not sure if IR uses a collect points get rewards system. Oh Ned. You don’t ever need to go look for trouble. Trouble has a way of finding you.

And today, trouble is called Havoc and she’s wasting no time hacking her way into the compound.

Rigby calling Ned ‘soldier’ - this isn’t Terminator and please don’t encourage the man to get all heroic.

My spider sense is tingling.

Ned manages to lock a Very Important Room containing a Very Top Secret Serum. But a few puny locks ain’t gonna stop Havoc. That would be a very short episode now wouldn’t it.

Decontamination levels: over 9000.

Cue John and EOS to be the anti-hackers to Havoc. EOS actually gets to join John down to Earth for a mission! This is so exciting!

‘Is my programming backed up?’ No it’s not because what could possibly go wrong? Hahaha just kidding. John, please. If this is how you’re gonna make EOS ‘work on your sense of humour’ then except some backfiring one of these days.

An overly confident Ned, when Kayo warns him that help is on the way: ‘This room has three different locks. There’s no way that Havoc can crack them all.’

You were saying?

Meanwhile, the space elevator has brought reinforcements to the seed vault in the shape of Space Trash and his AI Pal.

Is it just me or does John have a slight bounce to his step that makes watching him run feel like watching one of those wildlife documentaries about gazelles in Africa? *squint* Maybe it’s those long lanky legs. *sigh*

EOS effortlessly disables the decontamination hallway but she’s appeared to have caught a virus. EOS SNEEZING IS THE CUTEST THING EVER I’D BE SQUEEING IF I WEREN’T SO WORRIED ABOUT HER.

John’s worried face is all kinds of precious.

Rigby to Kayo: ‘Aren’t you supposed to be an expert at dodging lasers?’

This isn’t Mission Impossible. Actually it is. Dodging those lasers IS impossible.

Seed bots to the rescue! Also, nothing could possibly go wrong as long as you guys stay undetected. Right?

*8 bit game theme intensifies*

Everything appears to be going just fine until... EOS’s sneezing antics blow their cover.

Now how about that game of laser dodging, eh Captain Rigby?

Havoc breaks the final lock’s code and faces off with Ned. Who, surprisingly, puts up quite a fight. It ends with him dangling from the roof and throwing poor Gladys at Havoc’s head... and breaking the serum’s container. What did I say about not encouraging Ned to be a hero? (Though points for trying)

WARNING. BIOHAZARD DETECTED.

Havoc decides to head for the exit. She’s captured important information regarding the serum’s code. Rigby is sent to chase after her while John and Kayo attempt to rescue poor old Ned.

Remember when people tell you that you’ll be in big trouble? This is big trouble. Literally.

Kayo: ‘Something’s blocking our way!’

Ned: ‘It’s Gladys! She’s all grown up.’ And not the adorable kind of grown up.

We welcome our giant flower overlords. All hail.

Rigby revving up Kayo’s motorcycle only to realise it’s got bit more juice under the hood than his GDF motorbike is like your friend in GTA letting you drive his fancy super souped up car. Good luck trying not to crash or wetting yourself or both.

The security control panel announces that the poisonous gas dispersal will proceed in 30 seconds... and then goes a bit wonky. Turns out EOS has proudly passed on the virus to the controls. Good news, right?

John’s face says it all. I guess that besides working on that sense of humour, there’s also a lot of work to be done where EOS’s definition of good news is concerned.

EOS announces that she won't be able to stop the countdown much longer, so John and Kayo start to make their way up to Ned, climbing Giant Gladys with such ease and grace that Cirque du Soleil would probably like to have a chat with them.

And here we have the Thunderbirds Are Go ode to that famous Renaissance painting. Errr.

One awkward balancing on a leaf ballet performance later, Ned is freed and the trio prepare to evacuate. Unfortunately, the main chamber seals just before they can get through. Down the escape hatch they go...

Meanwhile, Rigby is still chasing Havoc. He now has to stay within range to download the source code.

TFW a pesky ad follows you around the Internet. That.

Back inside the seed vault...

Kayo and Ned are properly worried while John’s over the shoulder look is all sassy in the face of certain death. Also those hips don't lie. *fans self*

Fuse is trying to blow Rigby to bits but his rockets miss their target each and every time. Kind reminder that you don’t want to recruit this guy as a bomber during a war...

The tunnel has reached a sealed dead end. If EOS can’t do her thing now, that’ll be a literal dead end for this heroic trio.

‘EOS, this is John. Open the tunnel door now.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that John.’ (Sorry not sorry)

Rigby finishes downloading the source code just in time for EOS to regain control. But once outside, Ned’s new enemy is the cold weather.

Ned: ‘Should’ve worn me extra vest.’

Kayo: ‘Oh yeah. North Pole.’

Thanks for reminding us that your current location is the North Pole, Kayo. Hard to forget what with all the snow out there.

Up on Thunderbird 5, life resumes its course. EOS is back where she belongs. A call from Ned interrupts John’s chat with Rigby and Kayo. But good news, everyone. Gladys has been resurrected. Seed vault, remember? Ah. How convenient indeed. Bet you didn’t see-d that coming. (Sorry not sorry)

John’s smile is the visual equivalent of a soft fluffy blanket or a nice hot chocolate. *fans self* Oh Space Trash. You gotta smile more, my dear boy.

EOS faking a new virus makes John do an angsty double take. Remember what I said about your attempts to make her work on a sense of humour backfiring at some point? Yep.

John, Kayo, and Ned. And EOS on her first ever field trip. What more do you need to put a smile on MY face? Exactly.

#snarky recap #thunderbirds are go #growing pains #tag spoilers

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skateofministry · 3 years

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10 to watch as Olympic Games begin

CARISSA MOORE Age: 28 Event: Surfing Country: United States Olympic Medals: 0

Surfing is amongst the 4 sports making their Olympic debuts in Tokyo – karate, skateboarding and sport climbing are the others – and it’s four-time world champ Carissa Moore who brings the problem of being preferred to become its very first gold medal winner in the females’s occasion.

There’s a little the Simone Biles about Moore thanks to her fondness for carrying out manoeuvres hardly ever – if ever – performed in competitors prior to, like the lofty air-reverse she handled back in April (like we understand what that indicates).

January fourth is currently “Carissa Moore Day” in her native Hawaii, an honour bestowed on her by the Mayor of Honolulu for her accomplishments in browsing so far. If she wins gold in Tokyo, they’ll most likely relabel the island after her.

Sweden’s Armand Duplantis completes in the males’s last pole vault occasion throughout the Diamond League Track and Field conference in Stockholm on July fourth. Photograph: Christine Olsson/TT News Agency/AFP through Getty Images

ARMAND DUPLANTIS Age: 21 Event: Pole Vault Country: Sweden Olympic Medals: 0

The wagering folk are identifying this fella among the most unbackable rivals in these Olympic Games, so particular are they that nobody can touch him in the pole vault occasion. That’s a lot of pressure on the Louisiana-born boy of a Swedish mom, whose nation he represents. But “Mondo”, as he’s understood, has actually barely assisted ease that pressure by very first setting a brand-new indoor world record in 2015 and after that breaking the outside record, embeded in July 1994, of the legend that is Sergey Bubka, taking the mark to 6.15m.

His daddy was likewise a pole vaulter, and his mom a skilled beach ball gamer and heptathlete, so he came over his athletic expertise truthfully. This is his very first Olympic Games, and if the wagering folk are right, it ought to be an unforgettable one.

Sky Brown of Great Britain practices for the Women’s Skateboard Park at the X Games Minneapolis 2019 in Minnesota in August 2019. Photograph: Sean M Haffey/Getty Images

SKY BROWN Age: 13 Event: Skateboarding Country: Britain Olympic Medals: 0

At 13, Brown will end up being Britain’s youngest-ever Olympian when she completes in the park skateboarding occasion in Tokyo in what will be the sport’s Olympic launching. The child of an English daddy and Japanese mom, she turned expert when she was simply 10, and ever since has actually made herself a rewarding agreement with Nike and even had, of all things, a Barbie doll made her in her honour.

Ranked 3rd worldwide, Brown would probably have actually missed out on the Olympics if they had actually occurred in 2015 after she fractured her skull and broke her left hand when she fell from a ramp throughout training. She was, however, back in action simply 2 months later on. However she fares in Tokyo, she’ll be an awesome watch.

Caeleb Dressel of the United States responds after setting an American record in the Men’s 50m freestyle last throughout the 2021 United States Olympic Team Swimming Trials in Omaha, Nebraska, in June. Photograph: Al Bello/Getty Images

CAELEB DRESSEL Age: 24 Event: Swimming Country: United States Olympic Medals: 2 (gold for the 100m freestyle and assortment relays at Rio 2016)

Whatever you do if you bump in to the fella some day, don’t ask him if he’s the brand-new Michael Phelps. The inquiry has actually been put to him so frequently, it most likely brings tears to his eyes. But with the possibility of him winning 7 medals in Tokyo, the contrasts are most likely unavoidable.

His type over the last 4 years has actually been exceptional, the Floridian winning an overall of 13 gold medals at the 2017 and 2019 World Championships, along with breaking 3 world records, consisting of Phelps’s decade-old mark in the 100m butterfly. Little question expectations are high. Sports Illustrated’s heading today? “Caeleb Dressel is the heir to Michael Phelps.” Dressel? Weeping.

Hend Zaza, the 12-year-old table tennis prodigy from Syria, who is the youngest professional athlete to complete in this year’s Games

HEND ZAZA Age: 12 Event: Table Tennis Country: Syria Olympic Medals: 0

She’s extremely not likely to medal in Tokyo, and might even fall at the very first difficulty in her competitors, however the 12-year-old will amass lots of attention since of her amazing story. At simply 11 she beat a 42-year-old challenger in the last of the West Asia Olympic Qualification Tournament in Jordan to seal her location in Tokyo. But since of the war in her nation, that was among the couple of events she has actually had the ability to take a trip to a global occasion.

Barring any other late, late call-ups, Zaza will be the youngest rival in these Games, and the fifth-youngest of perpetuity. She’s targeting a medal in Paris 2024; Tokyo, she hopes, is simply the start of her Olympic journey.

Trayvon Bromell responds after winning the Men’s 100m last of the 2020 United States Olympic Track & Field Team Trials in Eugene, Oregon in June. Photograph: Patrick Smith/Getty Images

TRAYVON BROMELL Age: 26 Event: Athletics (100m) Country: United States Olympic Medals: 0

Few – if any – Olympic occasions will have as high a tv audience as the males’s 100m last, and, disallowing any disasters en path, it’s Trayvon Bromell who will bring the heaviest weight of expectation entering to the race due to him running 2021’s fastest time. That was 9.77 seconds in Florida in June, the seventh fastest 100m of perpetuity.

Usain Bolt, who shares the very same representative (Donegal guy Ricky Simms) as Bromell, has actually tipped him to prosper him as the Olympic 100m champ. Should he do so, it would be some turn-around after an injury-ravaged couple of years, Bromell’s possible well and genuinely stymied having actually ended up being the youngest guy in history, at 18, to break 10 seconds.

United States gymnast Simone Biles practices on the vault throughout a training session at the Ariake Gymnastics Centre in Tokyo on Thursday, on the eve of the start of the 2020 Olympic Games. Photograph: Loic Venance/AFP through Getty Images

SIMONE BILES Age: 24 Event: Gymnastics Country: United States Olympic Medals: 5 (Four gold for group, well-rounded, vault and flooring workout, and one bronze for balance beam, all from Rio 2016)

Remarkably, the glittering star of Rio hasn’t been beaten in a well-rounded competitors considering that her senior launching in 2013, throughout which time she won 19 world champion gold medals. She is anticipated to stand out again in Tokyo, maybe even topping her haul of 4 gold medals in Rio. If she makes it 5 this time around, she’ll match Larisa Latynina’s all-time gymnastics record of 9, a tally the Soviet female reached at the 1964 Olympics.

The Texan talked ahead of these Games about wishing to attempt the “unimaginable” in her sport, so she might well contribute to the 4 distinct gymnastics components currently called after her. Sit and marvel – she’ll be unmissable.

Kenya’s Eliud Kipchoge runs in the elite males’s race of the 2020 London Marathon on October fourth, 2020. Photograph: Richard Heathcote/Pool/AFP through Getty Images

ELIUD KIPCHOGE Age: 36 Event: Marathon Country: Kenya Olympic Medals: 3 (bronze in the 5000m in 2004, silver in the 5000m in 2008, and gold in the marathon in 2016).

Ethiopia’s Abebe Bikila did it in 1960 and 1964, East Germany’s Waldemar Cierpinski accomplished the task in 1976 and 1980, and now Kenya’s Eliud Kipchoge will attempt to include his name to that exalted roll of honour – ie win the males’s marathon in succeeding Olympic Games.

His eighth-place surface in last October’s London Marathon was just the 2nd time considering that 2013 that he was beaten at the range – showing that he was mortal after all. But the world record holder, his 2:01:39 mark embeded in Berlin in 2018, is still highly fancied to maintain his Olympic title. He’s not likely, however, to break that two-hour barrier, as he extremely notoriously (unofficially) carried out in Vienna 2 years earlier.

Allyson Felix completes in the Women’s 200m semi-finals throughout the 2020 United States Olympic Track & Field Team Trials in Eugene, Oregon in June. Photograph: Patrick Smith/Getty Images

ALLYSON FELIX Age: 35 Event: Athletics Country: United States Olympic Medals: 9

The Californian showed to be as powerful off the track as on it over the last couple of years, not least when she openly shamed Nike for threatening to cut her pay when she conceived with her child, requiring the business to pull back and alter its maternity policy.

It was a significant victory for Felix, however she has actually ended up being familiar with prospering. She has actually currently won more Olympic medals than any female United States professional athlete, and if she can include 2 more to her collection in Tokyo – she’ll run in the 400m and perhaps the 400m females’s and mixed-gender relays – she’ll surpass Carl Lewis as the most effective American professional athlete in the history of the Olympic Games.

United States skateboarder Nyjah Huston completes throughout the Street World Championships 2021 street skateboarding occasion in Rome in June. Photograph: Tiziana Fabi/AFP through Getty Images

NYJAH HUSTON Age: 26 Event: Skateboarding Country: United States Olympic Medals: 0

The Californian is the world’s highest-paid skateboarder, with over 20 significant sponsors to his name, consisting of Nike and Doritos, and is the most effective “street” skater in the sport’s history – and now he’s the preferred to win the occasion in its very first look at the Olympics.

While an eyebrow or 2 was raised when skateboarding made it in to the Olympic program, not least from a few of its own followers who didn’t wish to see it decrease the sporting “establishment” path, Huston is welcoming the obstacle. True, he has actually grumbled about the “cardboard” beds in the Olympic town, however he likewise kept in mind that he and his fellow skaters “are not worried about hooking up with chicks – we’re at the f***ing Olympics to focus and beast up”. Skate-speak, that.

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winwangs · 7 years

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Nuke Baby | Part 1

♔ a/n: alrighty hello everyone and welcome to another series! i was thinking for a long time about writing a member x member fic and i finally decided... why the hell not? you guys probably don’t know this but i am a huge yuwin enthusiast! i don’t normally ship members very often, but it’s so hard NOT to ship yuwin! they’re so adorable together! plus, i was playing fallout the other day and thought ‘why not put two of my favorite things together?’ also i feel like this whole fic was rushed so i apologize in advance! anyways, i hope you enjoy! ~ admin nat

♔ pairing: yuta x winwin (ft. jaehyun)

♔ genre: angst (fallout au)

♔ word count: 2,718

“They’ll kill us all! There’s a reason this place is called ‘Vault 666′!”

Sicheng glanced at his watch, which read 17:09. He rolled over in his bed to face the top bunk above him. “Hey.” he called out.

“Yeah?” he heard Yoonoh reply from the top bunk.

“Shouldn’t we be eating right about now?”

He heard Yoonoh let out a weak laugh before answering. “Is that really what you were gonna ask me?”

Sicheng opened his mouth to speak again when all of the sudden, alarms blared through the intercoms outside of their room. Panic settled in his stomach. Was it another war? Were people breaking into the vault, trying to murder everyone? He gulped loudly at the thoughts running through his mind. Yoonoh hopped down from the top bunk, a concerned look painted on his face. “What the hell?” he mumbled, scratching at his head. He looked at Sicheng, only earning a shrug from him. “I don’t know either.”

“Attention all residents! The overseer has called for a mandatory meeting! Please proceed to the canteen within the next 5 minutes!”

Sicheng threw his legs over the side of his bed, hastily pulling his black boots on. What could they possibly want now? he thought, rolling his eyes. Yoonoh cleared his throat, snapping Sicheng out of his thoughts. “Let’s go get the old fella, eh?” Sicheng smiled weakly before nodding.

The second they stepped out of the room, the atmosphere felt different. The long corridors were painted red from the flashing lights lined up on the walls. Sicheng shook it off and continued towards his father’s bunk, Yoonoh following closely behind. 32...33...34. He furrowed his brow as he came up to his father’s room, the door already open. Just to make sure, he poked his head in and scanned the room. Empty.

“Well, shit. Old man left us in the dust.” Yoonoh said with a chuckle. Sicheng looked at his watch again before whacking him in the gut. “Fuck! We only have one minute left!”

The duo broke into a sprint, barely making it to the canteen in time. They stopped in the narrow entrance, trying to catch their breath. “Why….the hell...do they have to….make these vaults...so goddamn big?” Yoonoh whined through his heavy breaths. The guards standing outside motioned them to take a seat at the tables with the others. The canteen, which was normally a very spacious room, seemed so small when every resident of the vault was packed into it like sardines. Sicheng squinted, trying to find his father, which is hard to do when everyone is wearing the same dark blue jumpsuit with yellow lining, the number ‘666’ written across their backs. The sounds of conversation died down quickly as the overseer walked into the room, and everyone sat down almost all at once. The overseer paced back and forth, getting a good look at everyone. His face seemed very fresh, compared to his father, who was the previous overseer. Although they were very different when it came to personality, he possessed a lot of his father’s facial features, such as the piercing blue eyes and pointed nose.

“Good evening, residents of Vault 666!” he beamed, showing off a set of perfect teeth. “I have a very important matter to discuss with you all!”

Sicheng and Yoonoh shared a ‘this motherfucker is psychotic’ look before directing their attention back to the overseer. He ran his fingers through his dark brown curls and continued his speech. “As you all might know, things have been different here since the passing of my father. I guess you can say that the rules have been a bit more strict since I took office.”

‘A bit, my ass’ Sicheng thought. ‘You took every little bit of freedom we had left from us!’

“I’m sorry to say that as of today, someone was found constructing a pip-boy, even after I specifically told all of you that they are prohibited! Bring him out!” he demanded. Gasps erupted from the crowd almost immediately. Both Sicheng and Yoonoh looked around, craning their necks to be able to see who walked in. Sicheng’s breath hitched in his throat when he realized his father was being guided in by two guards on either side of him, his hands bound together.

“This, ladies and gentlemen,” the overseer pointed, “is what you don’t do.” Sicheng started to stand up in defense, but Yoonoh quickly reached up to grab his arm, sitting him back down.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Yoonoh snapped in a hushed whisper. “You have to stay down, whether you like it or not! Who knows what they’ll do to us?!”

“What’s your name, sir?” the overseer asked, a forced smile plastered on his face. The old man’s gaze fell to the ground, an aura of shame and guilt forming around him. “Tengfei.”

“Well, Tengfei. Care to explain why you were sneaking around, building a pip-boy in your bunk?” the overseer asked, crossing his arms. Tengfei shifted uncomfortably under the eyes of all 836 residents. “I… wanted to build it for my son, so he could understand the feeling of joy that a pip-boy could bring him. He never got to experience what it was like to have one.”

Sicheng’s eyes watered at the sight of his father. He looked extremely pale in the face and scared to death. His father rarely ever showed fear, so Sicheng knew something was terribly wrong. Tengfei cleared his throat, trying to regain his confidence. “Ever since the Great War, life for human beings has been miserable, especially for the people living in vaults. I just thought it would be a good idea to bring happiness into my son’s life, he deserves so much.”

“Cute story.” the overseer scoffed. “But alas, you broke the law, and a new form of punishment has been made to further enforce these laws. I want everyone to pay attention to what will happen to you from now on if you disobey me.”

BANG.

Sicheng’s eyes went wide as he watched his father’s lifeless body hit the ground, bits of his brain splattered all over the floor. The screams of women and cries of children rang throughout the room. “Shhhhh.” The overseer hushed, a boney finger placed on his thin lips. “Now-”

“No!” Sicheng’s shout was heard throughout the now silent room. He started to charge towards the overseer, pushing through waves of people. Yoonoh gripped the back of his jumpsuit. “No, wait! Stop! He’ll kill you too!”

Sicheng shot a glare at Yoonoh before ripping his hands off of him. “Fuck off!” he growled. He turned to face the overseer again, but failed to move forward as others grabbed at his arms and legs, begging him to stay where he is and to remain calm. The ruckus caught the attention of the overseer, and he made direct eye contact with Sicheng, a psychotic smile spreading across his face.

“You bas-” A sharp pain in Sicheng’s neck stopped him mid-sentence. He slowly turned his head to the dark figure behind him with half-lidded eyes, his vision quickly going blurry. His eyes met Yoonoh’s panicked expression one last time before everything went black.

A groan escaped from the back of his throat, consciousness slowly coming back to him. “Oh, he’s awake.” he heard the overseer whisper. Sicheng’s stomach churned at the sound of his unpleasant voice. He tried to bring a hand to his face, but quickly realized that he was strapped down to a large chair, the overseer letting out a sinister laugh as he watched his numerous attempts to free himself. “Let me out!” he spat, his face heating with anger.

The overseer wandered to the other side of the small office, letting out tut-tuts of disapproval. “I’m afraid that I can’t make that happen. Not yet, at least.” He peered out of the window, which on the other side, was the vault door. ‘So that’s where it is…. The Wasteland.’ Sicheng thought to himself as his eyes wandered back to his arms and legs, which were still tightly secured to the chair. “What do you want from me?!” he barked, his body tensing.

The overseer slowly turned around and leaned against the wall. “What is this vault’s first rule?” he asked, crossing his arms. Sicheng flared his nostrils, refusing to give a reply. “Alright.” he huffed. “I’ll help you on that one. The first rule of Vault 666 is that no one enters, and no one exits. This is where we are born, and this is where we die... But you’re already very aware of that, aren’t you?”

Sicheng furrowed his brow, now getting irritated. “Yeah? What’s your point? What does this have to do with the fact that you killed my father?!”

The overseer sneered. “Aww. You’re still hung up on that? Do you even know what your father did?”

Sicheng rolled his eyes. “Yes! Was building a pip-boy really equivalent to a fucking death sentence?!” The overseer buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god! You really don’t know!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with taunting pity. “Not only did you father illegally construct a pip-boy, but he had made plans to escape the vault! Judging from the surprised look on your face, he was going to do it without you!” he chuckled.

Sicheng’s heart rate picked up as he started to panic. “That’s…. not... true.” he choked out. “He would never do that.” His eyes burned as tears started to spill out. “Oh, but he would.” the overseer explained, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “And he almost did.” He unfolded the paper, revealing sketches of multiple escape routes throughout the vault. Sicheng felt his stomach drop as he mentally confirmed that it was, in fact, his father’s penmanship.

“You see, Sicheng,” he started, “your father was going to die either way. You already know why. The Great War was a national disaster that wiped out the whole country, unfortunately with massive nuclear weapons… and the war only happened 30 years ago, which means that there’s still an astounding amount of radiation in the air. Even if he escaped, he would die fairly quickly from radiation poisoning. That man was willing to open the vault and let that radiation seep in and basically kill every person that resides here.”

He gulped, unable to answer. He knew his father wasn’t that kind of man. The overseer smirked at his lack of response and walked over, stopping in front of Sicheng’s chair. “You really didn’t know anything about this, didn’t you? How sad…”

“But to kill him over it?!” Sicheng snarled. “You couldn’t have just thrown him in jail?!”

The overseer sighed in frustration. “Listen, kid. You have no idea how to run a society. Fear is the only way people will listen.” he retorted. “And here’s a piece of advice- you try anything, I’ll make sure both you and Jung Yoonoh receive the same punishment your rotten father did!”

Sicheng gasped loudly as he woke up in a cold sweat. He sat up, pressing two fingers against his wrist to check his pulse. “That shit happened two years ago. Why the fuck does my brain insist on replaying it almost every night?” he mumbled to himself, walking over to his closet to slip his jumpsuit on. The door to the bunk suddenly burst open, making him jump. He relaxed once he realized Yoonoh was in the doorway. “Why the fuck are you scaring me like that?”

“Sorry, princess. I thought you’d appreciate some coffee I made. Military-style.” he winked as he handed the light blue mug over. Sicheng stared at the goopy substance in the mug, raising his eyebrows as he looked back at Yoonoh. “You mean the coffee from those shitty MREs that were left from the war?” Yoonoh scoffed dramatically. “I’ll have you know that it took me hours of bribing to get that from crusty uncle Murph back there.” he said as he pointed out the door. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just drink the damn coffee.”

Sicheng chuckled, raising a hand in defense. “Fine, fine. Sorry for insulting your shitty coffee-making skills.” He slowly lifted the cup to his dry lips, letting the thick, bitter-tasting coffee run down his throat. He winced as the bitterness lingered in his mouth. “The hell is this, Yoonoh? You trying to kill me?” He set the cup down, wiping at his mouth.

Yoonoh opened his mouth in offense. “Hey! I worked hard on that! I burned my hand twice trying to get the heater bag thingy into my boot!”

A look of disgust came over Sicheng’s face as soon as he heard that. “You made this in your stinky ass boot?! No wonder it tastes like death!” Yoonoh huffed, snatching the mug off of the desk. “Fine. I’ll drink it myself, you ungrateful shit. And by the way…. are we still having our…. ‘seminar’ today?” he asked, lowering his voice. Sicheng nodded, zipping up his suit. “Yes. Usual time.”

“Got it, captain.” Yoonoh smiled, saluting him. “I’ll let the others know.”

“Anything new? Any new recruits?” Yoonoh inquired, picking at his nails. “I got one right here. Says his name’s Mark.” Johnny announced. A young boy slowly revealed himself from behind Johnny’s large frame, nervously looking around the room. His youthful appearance earned a gasp from Jo, one of the senior members. “He’s just a baby! How old are you, dear?” she asked him.

Jo was an older lady, in her mid-seventies. She was the first member to join the organization when her grandson was publicly executed for speaking in a foreign language with a friend, his friend being killed along with him. Heartbroken, she sought out Sicheng to give her advice. When he mentioned that he and Yoonoh had started up an underground rebellion against the overseer, she didn’t hesitate to enlist as the first official member... and the more people were executed, the more people joined.

“I’m seventeen, ma’am.” Mark answered in a timid voice. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and his brown matted hair stuck up in all different directions. He seemed restless as he swayed back and forth, biting his nails. “My baby sister got very sick a few weeks ago. My mother and I weren’t sure what it was, and we still aren’t, since we’re not doctors, but it just got worse over time. We didn’t what to do, so we called the overseer for help, since he has a few doctors that work with him. The man refused to help us, and eventually she died… That’s why I’m here.”

“You poor thing.” Jo murmured, cupping her hands under her face. Yoonoh nodded at her words. “Yes, we’re all very sorry for your loss.”

Sicheng cleared his throat and made his way over to Mark, reaching out to shake his hand. “Look around this room. Everyone in here has gone through the same emotions that you have. They’re ready to fight back, just like you are.” he pointed up to the ceiling. “In this room, you are free to think and say whatever you want. There are no recording devices keeping track. That’s why we’ve claimed this isolated bunk as our own. Whatever you do, don’t talk about this room outside of this area ever. We have a code word- you will refer to these discussions as seminars. Got it, kid?”

Mark nodded his head aggressively, a weak smile making its way onto his face. Sicheng softly ruffled his hair. “But before we make it official, we have a few more matters to discuss. Firstly, are you willing to put your life on the line to defend others, including our own?” he asked, earning another nod from Mark. “Good. Now lastly, when the time comes, will you be prepared to overthrow the government?” he added. Mark smiled brightly, letting a chuckle escape his mouth. “Fuck yes.” Upon hearing his answer, the others clapped, congratulating him.

Yoonoh motioned Mark over to where he was, pulling out a white marker. “And now, for the official marking.” he concluded. He lifted up Mark’s legs one at a time, drawing a circle on the bottoms of his boots. Once he finished, he shook his hand. “Welcome, Mark. You are now an official member of Neo Culture Technology.”

Amongst the cheering, a woman’s scream suddenly erupted from the hallway.

#nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct angst #yuwin #yuta nakamoto #winwin #dong sicheng #yuta x winwin #member x member #fallout au #kpop writing #johnny seo #mark lee #nct 127 #nct imagine #nct scenario #nat talks

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manifestationsofawanderings-blog · 6 years

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Remembering my Father, Things I Never Got to Say

Remembering My Father

It has been 12 years since the sudden passing of my father. To say it had a profound impact on my life would be an understatement. It changed me in ways I never even realized, changes in myself I could not see until I began my journey of self-development late last year. The following post is a tribute to my father, the man who moulded me into the individual you see before you today. Remembering the good times and the bad.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been trying to reach back and pluck out my earliest memories of my father. The ones that keep coming back to me are of us doing karate in the kitchen. Well, it was Dad trying to teach us karate and mostly us jumping off of counter tops thinking we were ninja turtles. This memory really got me thinking as to what kind of man my father was, and I can honestly say i now know where my weirdness hails from. Growing up in Balinora, Leaving school early to become a tradesman and winding up being one of the last French Polishers to obtain his papers in Ireland my father was a craftsman through and through. That is still evident to this day within our house. Cabinets all over the house in pristine condition 34 years after being installed, decking towards the back of the house that allows us to host BBQ’s on these wonderful summer evenings (which was completed during a long stretch off work off work thanks to Gout!), Garden furniture etc. His work is also evident throughout the country. Closest to home would be the Bar in Hayfield Manor. Dad constructed and installed the bar for the prestigious 5* hotel which will always hold a special place in my heart having plied my trade there as well. To say my father was a talented tradesman is an understatement. To say he had a wide range of interests would also not do him justice. If the position of Groundskeeper of an estate house, bow and arrow marksman and black belt karate sensei all tied in one were available, he would have been a shoe in. A memory that speaks to the trickster in him brings me back to Halloween circa 1994. We were next door at my uncle’s house and as we were leaving this looking white ghost like figure vaulted the wall with the grace of Shergar and glided towards us! My poor grandmother nearly had her 3rd heart attack on the spot and I dropped my KitKat and bowl of Pringles. Turned out to be dad in a bed sheet! I later evolved this costume to include roller blades to add a better gliding motion but that’s a different story. This is who he was. A prankster.

Many of my fondest memories come from our family holidays. As youngsters we were taken on little trips to Galway and spent many a long weekend camping in Barleycove. These were special times and the arguments over how to put up the tent were always of biblical proportion. We also went on a number of trips across the Irish to Wales. Garth Brooks song “Ireland” was always the first song played on these trips. We stayed in caravan parks, went on trips to Oakwood Theme Park where the only ride Dad would go on would be the Toboggan Rides. We went to slate mines in the mountain and on a trip to see where King Arthur was buried. To us as kids these were days filled with wonderment and joy. For Dad it must have been boring as hell, but he did it all with a smile and joke and created happy memories for us. To some up the man he was and his sense of humour i have one story I love to tell. When holidaying in France we stopped in a small village to get some lunch on the trip south. Mam was driving and was reversing into a parking space. Dad was leaning out the window doing the “you’re alright, you’re alright back away” routine. Suddenly without warning he yelled “Jesus watch out for the child!!!!!” and he slapped the side of the car. Of course Mam thought she was after killing a young Frog and was going to create an international incident (not sure why she was worried about this, the French would surely have surrendered to us in a short space of time) and was freaking out. After realizing there was no dead child the rest of the trip south was frosty to say the least. The silence was only broken by Dad giving directions, another comical exchange as his pronunciation would not have been the best! But it is by far one of my fondest childhood memories. It also explains where I get my warped sense of humour from as it is exactly the kind of prank I would pull!

A lot would change in the 3 years after this French Exchange. Within those 3 years Dad passed on and my life changed on a dime.

The morning my father died will live with me forever. Having come home from work the day before complaining of being sick he spent the entire night in bed. The next morning instead of going to work with my uncle I opted to stay home at mam’s request in case Dad, who was still very sick needed anything. I walked down the lane to tell my uncle I would not be working that day. Little did I know within an hour I would be calling him to tell him Dad had passed. As I was walking back up the lane I had a sudden sense of dread and began to run. To this day I don’t know what prompted me to do so. As I got closer to the house I heard a scream. I ran faster. I got the house to find a scene no young boy should have to face. My mother was administering CPR to my father, also trying to communicate with the ambulance crew en route. Having taken over CPR duties for a few minutes I went outside and waited for the ambulance. They arrived and within seconds were working on Dad. A few minutes my world stopped as they confirmed what I already knew to be true. Dad was gone.

The rest of that is somewhat of a blur but the mornings events will stay with me forever. Word began to filter out and neighbours and family began to flock to the house. We made the extremely tough phone call to my brother to inform him of the news, he was working in Cavan at the time. The respect and admiration I have for his co-workers at that time is unparalleled. Without hesitation and to the detriment of their business they piled Nigel into a truck and bootlegged it home. I am forever grateful to those men for doing such a thing.

The next few days went by very quickly and the situation was overwhelming to say the least. The one comfort I got from the whole thing was seeing how loved the man I called my father was. People I had never even met came from far and wide to pay their respects. All offered anecdotes and shared stories, at the time they seemed insignificant but in the years after became a comfort. Stories like when he went to see the Boss (Bruce Springsteen) in Dublin with his friend Kizzie (RIP) and Kizzie’s father. Something went down and he and Kizzie’s father ended up in fistie cuffs with some young fellas. Through some miracle he managed to sweet talk the security, get the lads thrown out and managed to get into the vip section right up the front. Silver tongued devil. A trait myself and my brother have both inherited.

At the time I was very angry. Angry because I felt I now had to step up. At the age of 17 I felt I had to grow up faster than most and it seemed that overnight I went from being a young care free lad to a man. Bear in mind I still had a leaving Cert to do. I was confused. What do I do now? How do I deal with this? Resentment for the fact he was going to miss so much. I looked around and continue to look around and see friends celebrating events with their fathers. Father’s Day pints, going to matches, celebrating weddings, celebrating graduations, becoming grandfathers. I know I will have any of these things and it hurts. All I have are memories. Memories of him coming from work late, leaving the peas boiling in the pot and falling asleep and coming into the kitchen nearly on fire and the worst smell I have ever encountered. Actually no, the worst smell I have ever encountered was when he gave our dog Paddy some left over curry. Sitting room was uninhabitable for around 3 weeks. Seriously it was Chernobyl.

So I dealt with it the only way I knew how. I buried my feelings. I put on the brave front and became the jester of the group. In recent times we have heard many stories of how comedians mask their pain through comedy. I see a lot of that in myself. I tried to immerse myself in so many things I tried to limit my free time as much as possible. This was easy in the early years. Hurling, Football, Study, Work all helped. Before I knew it i was off to college. Before I knew I was after 2 stints and had completely changed direction on my professional career. All the while I carried this deep resentment with me. Why did he have to go? At the time of my life when I needed him most?

I have had many failures and let many people down in the last number of years. Some part of me has always blamed this on the fact I lost my father. It has only been in the last year or so I have realized that losing my father has made me a stronger person, and he gave me all the tools I needed to succeed in life and be the best version of myself. He instilled a work ethic that is unrivalled. To the day he died the man worked himself to the bone. 14 hour shifts are a regular occurrence for me now. I don’t think I would be able for these if he had not set such an example. He was an extremely generous man, many times to his own detriment, but he was always there to help a lending hand. Whether it be helping a neighbour restore a vintage tractor, taking my Grand Uncle to Whiddy Island to see where he grew up, buying a round of drinks in the bar he was always a very giving and generous person, A trait I hope to carry and utilize every day. He was a comedian, always had a joke. Mostly simple puns but he was so quick off the mark. I see this in myself. I know it annoys people when I always have something to say, but it was bred into me from a young age.

All in all my father was a good man. He tried every day to make the world a better place. Not on a mass scale but in everyday life. Whether it be cracking a joke about taking the horse to France, about a suspected terrorist we saw hanging around the boat club in Kinsale (he loved boats, ironically could not swim), helping a neighbour or leaving work early to drop us to a training or a match, in his own special way he was always there.

In the last year I have made some pretty significant changes in my life. Part of that process of self-discovery has been to let go of my bitterness towards the man who gave me life. Passing on was not his choice, but the brief time he had on this earth he marched to the beat of his own drum. He loved life and took it as it came. He had dreams that went unfulfilled. I plan on fulfilling as many of those dreams as possible. He loved dogs, and always wanted a Husky. This past week we added little Loki to our Family. Dad always wanted to buy a Jaguar, A Jag will be my next car. He always wanted the best for his boys, so i will do my best to live my best life and make you proud. Have a pint of Murphys in heaven and rest easy.

I will play some Garth Brooks in your honour.

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xoxopimpimxoxo · 6 years

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CHAPTER REVEAL: DIRT (BOOK 1) of EVERGREEN SERIES by CASSIA LEO

Title: DIRT

Author: Cassia Leo

Series: Evergreen Series

Release: January 12, 2018

DIRT - CHAPTER 1 LAUREL

I hugged Jack Jr. tightly against my breast, and he molded his soft, warm body to mine. His eyes remained closed as his tiny fingers curled around the fabric of my blouse, his rosy lips puckering as he geared up for more food.

“You sucked me dry, little fella,” I whispered, leaning in to press my nose against the downy-soft, golden hair on the top of his head. I inhaled his scent and my muscles unspooled. “But I’ll be back to feed you soon. I promise.”

Why do babies smell so damn good?

Before I got pregnant with Junior, my favorite smell was orange blossoms. As a teenager, I often got scolded by my mom for picking the flowers off the orange tree in our backyard in Portland. I’d rub the creamy petals between my fingers, bruise them with my fingernails, then sniff my hand for hours until the scent wore off.

When I was pregnant with Junior, my favorite scent became the rich aroma of the forbidden coffee I could no longer drink.

After Junior was born, and my decaf days came to a glorious end, I realized how wrong I’d been. There was absolutely no scent as sweet and soul-quieting as the smell of the top of a baby’s head. Bonus points if the baby was lying peacefully on your chest sound asleep.

“Are you ever going to put him down?”

I flicked my head sideways, startled by Jack’s clear, baritone voice.

He stood in the doorway of Junior’s nursery, the silhouette of his six-foot-three athletic body framed by the warm light in the hallway. His head was tilted to the side. He’d probably been standing there admiring us for a while. After six years together, I knew Jack’s body language and facial expressions better than I knew my own face.

I stood from the rocking chair and stole one more sniff of Junior’s head before I placed him gently on his back in the center of the crib. I adjusted the left sleeve of his pajamas, pulling it down to make sure it covered his entire chubby arm. I didn’t want to imagine him waking up cold and alone in here.

Jack appeared at my side as I switched on the video baby monitor. “He’s going to be fine,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke the soft patch of hair on Junior’s head. “In fact, he’ll probably enjoy some time alone. After all, he is just like his daddy; sometimes, we need a break from the constant attention from the ladies.”

I rolled my eyes and headed for the door. “Making jokes only makes leaving him slightly less scary, you know,” I said as we stepped into the hallway of our five-bedroom home in Hood River, Oregon. I couldn’t wait to fill up every one of these bedrooms with brothers and sisters for Jack Jr.

Jack chuckled as he followed closely behind me. “Less scary is an improvement,” he replied, grabbing my hand to stop me in the middle of the corridor. “You promised Junior you’d be back soon. Can you also make me a promise?”

The hallway lights made his brown hair look glaringly shiny, but I couldn’t help but notice how weary his blue eyes looked tonight. Since Junior arrived three months ago, I’d been so focused on my baby boy’s vulnerability, his scent, his beauty, I hadn’t slowed down enough to appreciate how those were the same qualities that made me fall in love with Jack.

Suddenly, my worries about leaving Junior with my mother for the evening evaporated. All I wanted to do was kiss Jack, grab hold of that dark hair and make love to him for hours. I wanted to replace the weariness in his eyes with dark hunger, or maybe a glint of mischief.

I squeezed his hand and smiled at the thought of possibly having sex with him in public tonight. We hadn’t done that in a while.

“What kind of promise?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nope, you’re not allowed to ask. Just promise me you’ll say yes.”

My stomach vaulted at the sound of those words. They were the same words Jack spoke when he asked me to marry him. I wondered what he would ask this time.

The phrase “just promise me you’ll say yes” had become like an inside joke, our own private, unspoken promise to each other that we would always do whatever it took to stay together. The last time he had uttered this phrase, he asked me to stop taking my birth control pills. With Junior here, it was easy to trust that whatever Jack asked me for this time would turn out to be exactly what I needed.

I tilted my head back so I could look up and into his crystal-blue eyes. “Yes, I can make you a promise.”

His expression became sober. “Promise me you’ll be present tonight.” He fixed me with a piercing gaze as his large hand cupped my face. “It’s just you and me for the next three hours. Promise me.”

I smiled. “I promise. Just you and me. And I’ll even put my cell phone on vibrate.” As I said the words, a sharp finger of fear prodded my subconscious, telling me it was a bad idea to risk missing a phone call tonight.

The weariness in Jack’s eyes melted away as he smiled. “I can deal with that, but you have to promise me one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

His smile turned almost menacing as he looped his arm around my waist and drew me close. “Promise me you’ll lemme smash that blonde bombshell booty,” he said, landing a light swat on my ass.

I shook my head as I recalled how we often had sex in public during our first year together, in our senior year at Oregon State University, Cascades. For some reason, once we graduated and moved in together, having sex in public seemed like something we couldn’t get away with so easily. We decided public throw downs — throw down was our nickname for sex — would be reserved for special occasions like anniversaries or vacations.

Truthfully, Jack and I kicked off our relationship by having sex on the first date. He was always a very difficult man to resist. When he showed up at my apartment to pick me up that night, I couldn’t resist his suggestion that we should stay in and make paper masks of ourselves, then put them on and ask each other first date questions as if we were the other person. I had never laughed so much on any date. Ever. But when he asked — while pretending to be me — if I’d ever had sex with someone on the first date, I couldn’t help but respond with, “I’m Jack-fucking-Stratton. I’ve fucked a lot of girls on the first date. But none as gorgeous as you.”

Jack always knew how to keep things fresh and alarmingly sexy. Six years in and my body still craved him almost every second of every day.

Today was our three-year wedding anniversary. We’d only had sex twice since I gave birth to Junior three months ago, and both of those times were truly awkward.

The first time was painful. My C-section incision hadn’t fully healed yet, and even trying to have sex with him behind me was uncomfortable. The second time we tried, Jack was so afraid of hurting me, he stopped midway through. There’d been a lot of oral sex happening in this house since then.

Luckily, a few weeks had passed since our last attempt, and I had repeatedly assured him I was fully healed up now. I was certain that even if the sex did hurt a little, it would still be worth it. I couldn’t understand couples that didn’t consider sex an important part of a relationship. I never felt more complete, more present, more alive than when my body and mind were entwined with Jack’s.

I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I think I know just the place for a proper throw down.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooh. Tell me more.”

As he leaned in to kiss me, my mother’s voice interrupted us.

“Are you two making out again?” she said, standing at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips as she gawped at us. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Jack laughed and I shook my head as we moved toward her.

“We’re just trying to keep you entertained while you’re on vacation, Beth,” Jack said.

My mother cocked an eyebrow. “If I wanted to watch porn, I’d open up your laptop and have a look at your internet history.”

“Mom, don’t be gross,” I protested, trying not to laugh.

Jack smiled as he held out his elbow for my mom to grab hold as they descended the stairs in front of me. “I made a special collection of links for you. They’re in a folder labeled Tantric Geriatric. You’ll love it.”

I rolled my eyes. Jack and my mother exchanged jabs like this all day.

My mother was staying with us for a few days, so Jack and I could have some time to ourselves and get some much-needed uninterrupted sleep. She was leaving tomorrow to go back to the house where I grew up in Portland. Though she pretended as if she was desperate to get home to her Craftsman cottage in the city, and I even teased her about how she was dying to get back so she could see the handsome new neighbor she’d been going on about, I knew she was going to miss Jack’s pretend insults as much as she would miss Junior and me.

My mother practically shoved me toward the front door. “I order you to go have fun,” she said, smiling as Jack opened the door and stepped outside. “And don’t come home until you’re too drunk to walk.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, Mom. Please call if you need anything. And don’t answer the door for anyone. There’s a house that got broken into a few streets away.”

She waved off my paranoia. “Stop worrying so much. We’ll be fine. See you later, babe.”

I blew her a kiss, then I closed the door behind me.

* * *

“I have to admit, having sex on the waterfront was one of my favorite public throw downs ever,” Jack said, pulling his Tesla into the long driveway of our four-acre dream home. “But do we really have to wait until our fourth anniversary to do it again?”

I tugged the silky fabric of my skirt straight as I pressed my thighs together. Though my body was still raw with the evidence of the dirty deed we’d just committed, I couldn’t wait to get Jack inside and pounce on him again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sensation of him moving inside me, and how good he was at making me feel beautiful.

“We can do that anytime we can snag a babysitter,” I replied as he turned the car off.

He made no move to exit the Tesla. “Well, babycakes, you’d better get ready to interview a fuck-ton of babysitters.”

I laughed. “Babycakes? That’s a new one.”

Jack rarely used the same term of endearment twice in a row. He liked to keep me guessing.

He scrunched up his nose. “Yeah, that one was kind of creepy. Now that I’ve tried it out, I think I can bury that one in the nickname graveyard.”

“Try the incinerator,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

“Duly noted,” he replied, exiting the vehicle.

Jack and I glided unhurriedly along the flagstone walkway, which was lined with sparkling pathway lights. As we made our way toward the steps leading up to the covered porch, I stopped in the middle of the path and closed my eyes as I inhaled the sweet scent of the lavender and honeysuckle I’d planted with my mom’s help.

That was when I made a wish, a corny wish, but I didn’t care.

I wished that every person could find someone they loved as much as I loved Jack. I wished every child could feel as loved as Junior was. And I wished every anniversary could be as perfect as this one.

“No… No, no, no!” Jack’s voice grew louder with each no.

They say mother’s intuition is scientifically proven to exist. I knew by the tone of Jack’s voice, without even opening my eyes, that my world would never be the same. I knew in that instant, I would regret leaving Jack Jr. tonight for the rest of my life.

Though I knew something was wrong, I wasn’t prepared for what we found.

At some point, while we were lost in our blissful celebration, the front door of our home had been forced open. This discovery was what had made Jack cry out in disbelief. Father’s intuition must also be a thing, because he told me later that, even though the door was still closed, the moment he saw the gouges in the wood near the handle, he had felt that same sense of dread. That feeling that the universe had suddenly tilted on its side, discarding us into black nothingness.

The house was ransacked.

Furniture upended, paintings and flatscreen televisions torn off the walls, shards of shattered vases littered the floors. Complete and utter chaos.

The master bathroom doorknob looked as if it had been shot off. We found my mother’s lifeless form huddled against the bathtub, my baby boy’s dead body clutched tightly in her arms.

** END OF EXCERPT **

DIRT Synopsis:

A hard-hitting, emotional new series from New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo.

Jack and I had everything. Then, in one brutal instant, the universe tilted on its side, discarding us into black nothingness. Now, I have a cocky a**hole for a husband. The only way we communicate anymore is when we’re fighting or f**king. With nothing left to lose, I write Jack a goodbye letter and head for Portland, where I quickly meet a neighbor who helps me find a job. My new neighbor—broody, tattooed ex-soldier Isaac Evans—is complicated. Nevertheless, we form a fast friendship, bonding over our mutual desire to create something beautiful from the wreckage of our lives. But despite the distance between us, Jack and I are still trying to make things work—fighting and f**king dirtier than ever. And he doesn’t appreciate my new friendship with Isaac. Not one f**king bit.

Links:

iBooks: http://bit.ly/dirtibooks

Release Alert: https://cassialeo.com/dirt-alert/

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/EvergreenGR

Dirt Playlist Direct Link: https://open.spotify.com/user/cassialeo/playlist/7dUHV27ZCwfC5sAT4gtbP4

Dirt Trailer Direct Link:https://youtu.be/TuibAMY4QNM

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Facebook Giveaway: http://bit.ly/2pDvr9l

About Cassia Leo:

New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time re-watching Game of Thrones and Sex and the City. When she’s not binge watching, she’s usually enjoying the Oregon rain with a hot cup of coffee and a book.

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Website: http://cassialeo.com

♥

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