#not like I'm behind on the SAL I'm working on or anything
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Just ordered floss for a 10" x 10" cross stitch piece for a Christmas present. There's 21,177 stitches of one color. There's only 25,448 stitches total. And only 3 colors I'm the whole thing. I just ordered 10 skeins of one color of floss. DMC really just needs to make aida in all of their colors.
#at least it'll be some nice mindless no counting stitching if I mark the edges#not like I'm behind on the SAL I'm working on or anything#cross stitch
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umm. pause. guys. guys. gay tommy has been canon this entire time. what the fuck. like. oh my god. no. like. okay. okay. so. 2x9 (hen begins), sal [deluca] is talking about his girlfriend dragging him to see twilight. he makes a homophobic joke about tommy being team jacob and tommy's like "i don't even know what that means." chimney says "he's insinuating that you're gay" and tommy blows deluca a kiss. fine. whatever. but THEN you skip to 2x12 (chimney begins), and—i stg it's a blink and you miss it moment—tommy and gerrard (racist captain) are having this conversation in the background
tommy: what about that burger place?
gerrard: tommy i hate that place. hey wasn't your girlfriend supposed to come and cook us dinner?
tommy: uhh. next tuesday.
gerrard: promise?
tommy: uhh. uh. yes. yeah. i will promise.
and it's like. number one, this sounds like a conversation they've had before. something to the tune of "hey, how come you never bring your girlfriend around" which i can't help but think was intentional considering the members of the old 118 were entirely familiar with deluca's girlfriend gina. but number two, no straight man who has a girlfriend sounds that unsure that they have a fucking girlfriend. it was very much giving "ah yes. this human lady that i love that most definitely exists. absolutely. also i like breasts." and it's just like. ok. what the fuck. like. i don't know if this was the plan all along. i don't think it was. i still maintain buck/eddie were supposed to go canon after the shooting and the powers that be got in the way. but. but. the idea that this canon queer character has been hiding in plain sight (subtext) is just. wild to me. like. i've always headcanoned tommy as gay, mostly because every character he plays seems fruity as hell. but bro. i don't think it's a headcanon anymore. and i don't think it ever has been. what the fuck.
there's also the idea that. like. so i've been watching the begins episodes again trying to figure out what, exactly, tommy's crime against the members of the 118 has been. like. he worked in a -phobic/-cist environment. he was definitely complicit in making hen/chimney feel like outsiders in their workplace yes yes all these things are true. but as far as i can tell, tommy has rarely ever actively been anything except spineless. deluca makes a homophobic joke? tommy laughs. gerrard makes a bunch of sexist and racist comments? tommy looks, but doesn't say anything to encourage (or discourage him). hen gives her monologue? he looks chagrined.
and his complicity would be absolutely shitty and inexcusable if he was just a cishet white man. no questions asked. but if — if — you view his behavior through the lens of the fact that tommy is queer himself? that tommy is, and always has been, a member of a marginalized community who felt it was easier and safer to assimilate than it was to be openly queer and have a target on his back? his behavior becomes a whole hell of a lot more understandable. yes, it's still shitty, but. there's a purpose behind it. and this idea is supported by the fact that, when gerrard leaves (flashing forward to bobby begins again), even before bobby gets there (because we always credit bobby with making the 118 the family it is today), like. the atmosphere is completely different. tommy and hen? are friendly with each other. chimney and tommy? also friendly with each other. which we also know because in 2x14 broken, he calls him up for help. which lends credibility to the idea that the problems tommy had (or thought he had) with henchim were not about them as people but more about whatever manufactured conservative boys club bullshit gerrard fostered.
and it's just like. motherfucker. bitch. what the hell. like. first of all, leave it to 9-1-1 to tell a story like this in the most subtle way possible. like if that was indeed the intended implication, i'm throwing my tv off a bridge immediately. but also. second of all. what is wrong with this show. they're crazy. i want to eat it like a loaf of bread. just shovel it in my mouth because the idea that tommy has been queer all along, that he wasn't brought back just to be a stopgap on buck's queer journey to eddie, but that he's been haunting the edges of the narrative like a gay ghost is sooo like. ohhh. okay. [throws up]. like????? okay. anyway. i'm going to be thinking about this the rest of the day.
#tommy kinard#head in hands.....................HEAD IN HANDS#tv: 911#jack.txt#There's also something to be said about the idea of FOX main characterizing Buck/Oliver#around the same time they put a stop to Buddie#Something about like. Conventionally attractive (dark hair / light eyes) white men are not allowed to be loudly quee#and like. I KNEW there was something there#I knew it. And I love Michael and David and Karen and Hen don't get me wrong#those are my emotional support gays#but I was just like ''hm. kind of funny how every queer character connected to the mains is a person of color right?''#and I never vocalized this thought to ANYONE but I always kept it in the back of my mind#even the men michael would be seen with *before* David — always black#and there's nothing wrong with it it's fine#but the idea becomes a LOT more insidious when I consider FOX's politics—when i consider that both racism and homophobia are inherent to#their brand. and then it's just like ''ohh. you guys made the black people dirty queers because white is right. okay got it''#anyways. let me stop talking. lol
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Not Romeo, Not Juliet
Chapter 5: Dear Friend
Fandom: Red Hood
Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader
Warnings: violence, blood, stitches
Summary: Jason tries to take on more guys than he can handle and ends up bloody at YN's work
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
-Sonnet 30
Turns out five mobsters with pipes, was too many to beat up, even when you were once Robin. Jason hadn't gotten beat like this since he died and he was lucky they thought he was dead or he may have been back in the ground again, and he was pretty sure Dick wasn't going to pull him after these antics. He was supposed to be at home this Friday night while Dick attended some policeman's gala with Barbara, but no. Jason had decided to head to Crime Alley, see if he could help anyone. He didn't want to protect all of Gotham this time around, he wasn't fooled by Bruce's lofty promises of making a difference in this city, but he wanted to help this little piece of it, a piece that even Batman seemed to have forgotten. That was how he found himself facing down five of Sal Maroni's biggest minions.
They had been finishing taking protection money from a bodega down the street from his old apartment, leaving the shop with the bag full of money like they were in a 1950's mob movie when Jason had dropped in front of them, masked up and ready to fight. He got several good shots in on the large men, taking two of them down with broken femurs, but then one got behind him and walloped him in the shoulder blades with the pipe, then another got him in the face, cracking the mask and lacerating his cheek pretty bad. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as the third one still standing cracked the back of his head, taking him down to the ground. He wanted to get up, but flashbacks of getting up and then being beaten back down with a crowbar came to mind and he felt a panic attack coming on. The mobsters apparently thought it was the breathing of a dying man and took their injured buddies and ran. Jason lay on the street, hyperventilating, trying to bring himself out of his panicked stupor, for almost an hour. He stood, discarding the broken mask in a random dumpster before limping off, trying to figure out a place to go.
Turns out he would be found before he could think of someplace. He didn't even realize he was walking past Big Belly Burger until the door opened and he heard the most angelic sound in the history of the earth.
"Jason?" YN said from the doorway of the dimmed restaurant. He turned, looking at her with glassy eyes. He saw her eyes get wide and her mouth fell open in shock at what was probably a horrifying appearance. He knew his cheek was still leaking blood, probably needed stitches, and his head was killing him. Despite him looking like the last person you would want to invite into a place that served food YN came over, grabbing him under the arm and helping him inside. Once she had him seat at one of the tables she locked the doors again, and lowered the blinds for good measure. "Wait here, we have first aid supplies in the back." He watched her hurry off and managed to get half his mouth up in a pained smile. She was helping him again, God she was so nice.
"Thank you..." he managed out when she got back with a full tackle box of medical supplies. The voice sounded watery and the terrified look on her face tol him his mouth was probably leaking blood. She took a breath and got out some disinfectant and a needle and thread.
"Don't talk, I'm going to need to stitch your cheek, but honestly I have no idea how so this is going to be a huge botch and it will scar, is that ok with you?" she asked. Jason didn't see how he had any other choice, and honestly, he kind of missed having some scars. He nodded. "Do you need something to bite down on or anything?" He chuckled and winced. She wasn't taking a limb, but he appreciated her concerned none the less.
"Just do it," he said softly. She gave him a look that said 'I told you to shut up', before starting to sew him back together. It took a long time and he spent it watching her face. Her eyes concentrated, she was taking deep breaths in between humming various songs that he couldn't identify. He could see the storm behind the calm in her eyes, she was hanging on by a thread at the moment, hoping she wasn't fucking his face up for life. When she finally finished she put the extra thread and the needle down on the table and Jason saw tears start streaming from her eyes as she looked at her bloodied hands.
"I should get you cleaned up..." she said softly, ignoring the torrent running down her face as she helped him stand and walk to the small bathroom. She found some paper towels, wetting them and gently wiping at the blood drying on his face, making sure not to tear the fresh stitches. Then she looked at her hands, and his. Jason saw her hands shaking, all the worry and fear that came with someone showing up at your door bloody crashing down on her. He gently took her hands and washed them for her, getting every smear of blood off of them before he washed his own. He looked in the mirror then, finally seeing how bad the cut was. It was from the middle of his cheek all the way past the top of his ear, almost to the back of his head. He caught sight of YN behind him, looking at him in the mirror. He turned, not sure how else to express his thanks, so he hugged her, making sure his new wound was away from her face. She hugged him back, clinging to him.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he whispered, being very careful move his mouth only a little. She nodded into his chest. "Do you happen to have pain pills in that med kit?"
"Ya, come on, I should probably watch you for a couple hours too, make sure you don't fall asleep with that concussion," she said softly. Jason shook his head. "What isn't that what you're supposed to do?"
"No, if someone gets a concussion they can sleep, you just need to wake them up every so often, make sure they can answer questions," he said. She nodded as they sat down in a booth, him leaning his head against a pillar as she got him some pills and water. He took them, hoping the pain would ease soon, it was pounding in his head and face.
"Alright, so let me ask some questions then," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. He nodded, fair enough she would want to know why he had shown up bloody as fuck at her work when he lived all the way across the river. "What is your full name?"
"Jason Peter Todd," he answered easily. She nodded.
"Whens your birthday?"
"August 16th," he answered, then made a face. Was that still his birthday? Technically he had been pulled out of the pit, alive on June 12th, so what August still it? She made a face at him.
"Should we got to a hospital? Did you forget your birthday?" she asked. He shook his head.
"No, no, just realized that this year no one actually said happy birthday to me, wondering if it still counts," he said. Dick had forgotten until a week later. Jason did have to say, at least Alfred always had a cake for him to eat for breakfast on his birthday, he missed those cakes. He must have looked sad because he felt a hand on his.
"Why are you in Crime Alley again?" she asked. He sighed, she really just did not believe that he had lived here.
"For the third time, I lived here until I was 10, then I was adopted by a rich guy who had a penchant for charity cases," he explained. She asked what happened to his parents and he sighed. "My dad disappeared, could be dead for all I know, and probably is. He owed a lot of people money. And my mom was an addict, she OD'd and then I was on the street for a bit before my adoptive father found me."
"Do you live in Bludhaven with him?" she asked. He shook his head.
"No, we had a falling out last year, so I moved in with my older brother, his other adopted son," he said. She frowned. "What?"
"Are you Bruce Wayne's kid?" she asked. He sighed and nodded. "I can understand you falling out with him. He came to Gotham Academy once for a fundraiser thing and he was so rude, flashing cash everywhere, making a big scene and getting trashed. You are probably better off with your brother." Jason chuckled. Bruce had probably needed a cover story that night to explain where he was while Batman was out doing something. Dick had probably been in the suit that night. "Ok, so you grew up here, prove it, tell me something about Crime Alley only we locals know." Jason wracked his brain and then pulled out a memory he thought he had long wiped clean from his mind.
"The playground," he said. Her eyebrows rose at this statement. "The playground in the basement of the old mattress store. No one know who decided to put a playground down there, but I used to go there all the time as a kid when my mom was zoned out and my dad was off gambling. We all kept it secret from outsiders so that the cops wouldn't come and tear it down." She nodded.
"Ok, maybe you did grow up here," she said. "Where was that?" He wanted to say 'in your building' but she didn't know he had followed her home like an absolute creep that night so he told her where the address was, pretending to be surprised when she told him she lived there now. "So how did you end up with the bloody face?"
"I am trying to help out, I saw some of Sal Maroni's guys terrorizing a bodega, thought I could take'em, make'em give the money back to the owner," he said. She froze for just a moment and he thought maybe she knew the antics of those gangsters. "I just want this place to be safer for you." He didn't realize that was truly what was at the heart of this whole thing. Ever since he met her he had wanted to protect her, make sure she was safe no matter where she was.
"Jason, don't go getting yourself killed just to try and protect me," she whispered. He looked at her. He would die a thousand times to protect her. He gently took her hand and squeezed it. "Here, I really need to clean up this place and get home, give me your number, let's meet at the playground, run some lines or something, I'm sure you need help being a tortured Prince." Jason chuckled, she was wrong about that, he had no trouble being insane and seeing ghosts, was kind of his MO at this point, but they exchanged numbers and he helped her clean up the place, disinfecting everything before he went back home.
Dick had been pissed but Jason had lied and said the cut was from a fight at school, some jocks jumping him on his way home. He said he did the stitching himself, even though his stitches would have been perfect, he still got away with it saying he couldn't really remember how to do it right after the pit. Turns out being dead for awhile is a great excuse. Dick didn't quite believe him but just sent him to bed. When he got up to the loft and checked his phone there was already a text from YN.
Playground, Sunday, 8pm, I want to check your stitches, bring Hamlet and a skull
#jasontodd#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#redhood#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood x y/n#notromeo
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do you know of any adjective order rules in spanish? not necessarily rules as in "anything else is wrong", but in "anything else sounds weird"
(like in english, where "brown big bear" isn't technically wrong, just... weird)
Okay FYI I ramble a lot in this, and I tried to make it clearer in places but just know that this is a lot of stuff, and I repeat myself, and though there are some rules, sometimes it's about feeling and what sounds right rather than a regular rule
Regardless of whether the adjectives go in front or in back, just know that Spanish (and English) tends to put adjectives of opinion, size, origin/nationality, color, and quality as the most important
Other adjectives like determiners take precedence always
And other adjectives are stuck to the noun as a collocation. More below.
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There are four things I just need to say first and then we'll really get into it:
For your basic average garden variety adjectives, they typically go behind the noun like la flor hermosa "beautiful flower". If you put them in front, you're sounding extra super fancy poetic lyrical so do this sparingly or for Dramatic Flair; la hermosa flor "the beautiful flower" sounds like I'm reading poetry
There are some adjectives that change meaning depending on placement - prime example is mismo/a, where you can say la misma cosa "the same thing" vs. la cosa misma "the thing itself", where mismo/a is related to "same" or "selfsame" [like el mismísimo rey "the king himself" or "the very king himself"]. Literally it is "selfsame"... in front "same", in back "self". Another one is antiguo/a which in front often means "ancient" or "antique" or "former", while in the back it can be "old" as in "old-fashioned" or "antiquated". And bueno/a and malo/a for "good" and "bad" will constantly confuse you too
There are certain adjectives that are what we call "determiners" that are almost always in front (except occasionally for dramatic effect). A determiner is usually a specific adjective like possessive adjectives, demonstratives, adjectives of quantity (mucho/a, poco/a), and question words just to name a few. Determiners are also the definite and indefinite articles - el, la, los, las and un, una, unos, unas, and also includes numbers both cardinal [one, two, three] and ordinal [first, second, third]
A very important thing to note about adjectives is a potential "collocation" - meaning a noun + adjective that work together as a sort of cohesive unit. An example las bellas artes is "fine arts", but literally "the beautiful arts" but written fancy-like because bello/a meaning "beautiful" would typically go behind. In this case, las bellas artes is almost like a separate piece of vocab because you can't really separate them. Another would be something like el oso pardo which is "brown bear" or "grizzly bear", the adjective pardo/a refers to a brownish coloring but in this case it is stuck to oso almost like it's a specific descriptor that makes it a full "unit". These are best learned like your normal vocab, or understood as compound nouns that you can't break up... things like el agua dulce "freshwater" [instead of salt water], la sal marina "sea salt", las malas hierbas "weeds", la luna llena "full moon", el águila calva "bald eagle", el pavo real "peacock", la caja fuerte "safe/lockbox" etc etc.
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Essentially, the adjectives are free to move around, except for when they're not
When it's your regular adjectives, you're free to say them in any order you like - they're regular descriptions, and all you need to keep in mind is potentially when y turns to e / o turns to u, and little grammatical hiccups like that:
Su ascendencia es alemana, irlandesa, e italiana. = Their heritage is German, Irish, and Italian.
Su ascendencia es italiana, irlandesa, y alemana. = Their heritage is Italian, Irish, and German.
No difference though I would personally assume the first one you mention is maybe the most important or the largest part.
Same with general descriptions:
Es un edificio notable y llamativo. = It's a notable and eye-catching building.
Es un edificio llamativo y notable. = It's an eye-catching and notable building.
Es una mujer lista y trabajadora. = She's a smart and hard-working woman.
Es una mujer trabajadora y lista. = She's a hard-working and smart woman.
Where you get into iffy territory is when adjectives come in front
I personally would say if you're using bueno/a or malo/a in front of an adjective it's one that almost always goes first except if there's a determiner:
el buen hombre = the good man
un buen hombre = a good man
este buen hombre = this good man
la buena mujer = the good woman
una buena mujer = a good woman
esta buena mujer = this good woman
Same with other determiners like cualquier buen hombre "any good man", cada buen hombre "each good man", muchas buenas mujeres "many good women" etc.
This is also something to keep in mind with collocations and set phrases:
En el Antiguo Egipto, había dos reinos distintos - Alto Egipto y Bajo Egipto, y en las épocas posteriores se unificaron, y fueron gobernados por unos poderosos reyes-dioses conocidos como los faraones.
"In Ancient Egypt, there were two different kingdoms, Upper Egypt and Lower Egypt, and in later times they united and were governed by some powerful god-kings known as the pharaohs."
So let's examine that further:
Something like el Antiguo Egipto, el Alto Egipto, el Bajo Egipto or something like el Imperio Antiguo "the Old Kingdom" of Egypt are collocations, consider them their own vocab and try not to think too hard on it because sometimes they're just set phrases like la Antigua Grecia "Ancient Greece", Gran Bretaña "Great Britain", or el Sacro Imperio Romano "the Holy Roman Empire"
A word like poderoso/a sort of becomes a more intense verison of itself changing its normal location; if it were el rey poderoso you might translate that as "powerful king" or "strong king", putting el poderoso rey adds some oomph to it and now it's "the mighty king" as if that's the most important aspect of it and it's exceptional - and regular adjectives can follow normally; el poderoso rey conocido como "the mighty king known as"
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I should also mention that there are adjectival phrases involving de, but you've probably seen them already... like... es un libro de literatura infantil "it's a children's literature book"
I think this is more specifically like "the genitive case", which is normally used linguistically to talk about possessives or qualifiers of some kind, but they are often attached directly to the noun and tend to preempt most adjectives:
El maravilloso mago de Oz es un libro de literatura infantil estadounidense muy popular. = The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is a very popular book of children's literature.
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...Again, just some general notes because I feel like I was rambling a lot:
Adjectives sometimes go in front or behind the noun depending on their function in the sentence
Most adjectives end up behind the noun
Determiners pretty much always go in front 95% of the time
The articles - el/la/los/las or un/una, unos, unas are the first determiner adjectives 99.999% of the time; possessives can take the place of articles... el dinero "the money" vs. su dinero "their money"
Determiners of numbers (cardinal numbers or ordinal numbers) are almost always the second adjective mentioned, even if there are other determiners... el primer paso "the firststep", mi primer paso "my first step"
Adjectives like "good", "bad", "big", and a few others are often the next adjectives if there are other determiners... el primer gran paso "the first great step" or mi primer gran paso "my first great step"
As a quick example... las tres buenas hadas "the three good fairies"... 1st is las as the article, then tres is a cardinal number, and then you have the adjective of quality "good"
Some adjectives can change meaning depending on placement - las tres buenas hadas "the three good fairies" implies that "good" is their main quality, as opposed to evil. But if you said las tres hadas buenas it comes out as "the three nice fairies" as if you're talking about personality
Keep an eye out for certain collocations and set phrases that should be treated as separate vocab and not to be separated - esta noche "tonight", la prensa rosa "tabloids" [lit. "pink press"], or la montaña rusa "rollercoaster" [lit. "Russian mountain"]
Collocations or set adjectival phrases like de can't be broken up... la luna de hoy "today's moon" vs. la luna llena de hoy "today's full moon" / and la luna de esta noche "tonight's moon" or la luna llena de esta noche "tonight's full moon"
If you're adding nationalities, they tend to show up immediately after the noun or the first noun phrase since they qualify everything - la literatura infantil popular "popular children's literature" vs. la literatura infantil estadounidense popular "popular American children's literature" or la literatura infantil francesa "popular French children's literature"
If you're doing a list of regular adjectives, you can probably put them in any order you want
But be aware that some adjectives go in front more and some go in back more, and sometimes it's a matter of style - such as el famoso oso panda chino "the (very) famous panda bear from China"
Certain qualities like "big/small", nationality, "good/bad", "elder/younger" do take priority though; as an example mi heramana inteligente "my smart sister" vs. mi heramana menor inteligente "my smart younger sister" or mi hermana pequeña inteligente "my smart little sister"
Additionally:
Adverbs always go in front of the adjective they're modifying... la familia más conocida "the most well-known family", una historia muy larga "a very long story"
Possessives in their more adjectival form ALWAYS go after the noun... su libro "their book" vs. el libro suyo "the book of theirs"; this is part of the genitive/possessives but possessives
Don't separate collocations or set phrases or things get confusing
I wish I could be more specific but this is really contextually-based and so it becomes more like give me an example and I'll tell you what I think sounds the most natural
What I can say is that you get a feel for what sounds the most natural as you go and you get more examples in your daily life of what sounds right or what just sounds a little bit off
But, Spanish-speakers probably will understand generally what you mean even if something sounds a little off as long as you don't separate the set phrases
#learning spanish#spanish#language#languages#langblr#la gramatica#asks#learn spanish#spanish grammar
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So I have rewatched Chimney and Hen begins episodes, and I thought maybe I was just remembering the negative things that happened to Chim and Hen, but now I'm not indifferent towards Tommy, I actively dislike him (i listed everything he did in my post)
You mean to tell the best option for Buck's first male love interest was someone who was an absolute jerk to Chim and Hen? And I don't want to hear about growth (he was acting the same way with Hen that he did with Chim, I'm not seeing the growth there) and there wasn't even a real apology to any of them. You mean to tell me you believe Buck would date someone who treated his family horribly in the past?
And I get that the 118 was an old school place, but there is a difference between not doing anything against the racism and misogyny (which is not ideal, but I understand that sometimes you'll in a situation where you have to protect yourself by not getting involved) or actively taking part in it. Tommy is a white guy, he's the thing the old captain wants in a firehouse, had he just stayed silent, he would have been safe.
If they wanted to have a character who is already existing for Buck's love interest, they should have choosen Casey the gay firefighter from the 115 (the one is Athena's support group). Hen is probably still friends with him, he could have been the one who is with the helicopter station (and could have been explained with a line "oh I didn't even know you transferred here?" "Yeah I did and when I heard what you're planning to do for Athena I knew I have to help you")
There are my notes I took during the episode, to support what I just said
- okay Chimney comes up with his work bag and Tommy (!!) without the others seeing Chimney makes a comment about him being a delivery guy (they also knew they'll get a probie that day, so I feel like it's definitely a jab at Chim being asian)
- the "you still here?" comment? It's not the end of their shift and the tone of his voice is not like a "wow, how can you still be here and endure how we treat you?" he's just being a jerk to Chim
- Tommy and Sal just ignore Chim when he starts talking to them
- Chimney offers an olive branch to Tommy, and he's like "If I thought about you at all, I probably wouldn't [like you])
- the whole earn their respect before they want to befriend you is just bullshit. There is difference between being kinda distant with someone until you know they're actually capable of not dying, and acting like someone is nothing and looking through them
(I absolutely adore the scene where the past and present is kinda blurring together)
- Tommy thanks Chim for saving his life (which like bare minimum), but there is not like an apology for anything for being a jerk
In Chim begins Sal isn't even named and has one or two lines which are not even directed at Chim, and while the Captain is the one who makes Chim do all the chores and stay behind all the time and eat at the little table, Tommy is the one who is like vocally being a jerk
Now to Hen begins
- there the Captain is the one who starts being a jerk to Hen, but like Sal and Tommy is fast to follow
- the new your bitchiness comment - like it was so uncalled for, why would you even imply someone is a bitch when you've been working together for max. a week??
- so Chim says that even though they accept him inside the firehouse, they don't actually consider him being a part of the team enough to invite him to anything outside of work
( I love Athena's little group of Hen, the gay firefighter from 115 and the other female patrol officer)
- Chim looks so proud of Hen during her speech (i'm not gonna guess what others are feeling, but most of them look annoyed at being called out)
- Sal and Tommy also doesn't give an apology to Hen, they're just good work, shake our hands and let's forget how we treated you
#911 abc#hen wilson#evan buckley#chimney han#anti tommy kinard#anti bucktommy#how can people watch the begins episode and then root for Tommy???
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Another ask compilation!
There already is some! If you search up "orin the red" in my blog there's some art to be found of them together (after you scroll by all the essay length replies to asks I've gotten about her 🤦) and I definitely want to draw more of it in the future.
(This ask is referring to mine and @barbatusart comics, not my silly BG3 stuff, just in case anyone gets confused) ALAS, Sad Sack and Sortie seem to be what me and Nick have taken to calling part of the Unpublishable Triad: It's Gay, It's Violent, and it's too long. The point is that publishers don't want anything to do with it. We've actually gotten really close once, signed a contract and everything, but then the place gained some traction and decided they didn't want us in their repertoire anymore.
We've considered self-publishing again and again, but unfortunately we don't really have the financial means for something like that. We hope as we expand and entertain slightly less erm outrageous stories that we will come across some new opportunities.
(more asks below the cut)
AGREED, I don't think there's much of a way for me to both keep him in character AND keep her alive (since she has such a problem with Shadowheart) but if Shadowheart hadn't been mega racist I bet Lae'zel and DU drow would have had a lot of funny conflict (he would have relentlessly looked down on her blind faith) broken up with their mutual love for senseless violence. Probably at least 1 rage fuck in there before Astarion came peacocking in.
Thank you!
Not really, I don't really like dividing my attention with other things when I draw, not to mention that I do a lot of picking things up and putting them down again which doesn't seem very apt for art-streaming.
THANK YOU SO MUCH DUDE! I Nick is the sole writer behind the original series and of 95% of Sortie (I butt in there here and there because I'm also a huge Sal fan lol) so all the dope semiotics and symbolism are thanks to him and his big, beautiful brain. I'm beyond lucky to have found someone so talented to work with.
Thank you so much again for your patronage and support, I'm glad you have been enjoying the rest of our work!!!
THANK YOU!!! I draw a lot of inspiration from western comics, and I'm a big fan of the art of Sean Murphy and Jason Shawn Alexander. I was also reading JtHM and Hellsing in middle school which I'm sure caused some kind of irreversible damage to my psyche.
LOL, IT'S AN HONOR TO BE THE FREAK OF THE FANDOM, and it's a joy to hear that I've given you and your friends some good laughs. Thank you!
---
I have a ton of other sweet messages that I can't reply to individually without risking turning this into a LOOK-AT-ME fest, but as always thank you so much to everyone who decides to drop by with a nice word of encouragement, support, or just to let me know that they enjoy my characterizations, I very much appreciate it!
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Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Emo Buff Daddy [15]
TW::: smut, mention of self harm
And quick A/N: i know a couple people were upset with me for not using the keep reading option-- i'm very sorry but i'm still new to tumblr so i didn't quite understand how it worked! i've added this feature to all of my chapters so anyone can skip past it if they want. i hope it's better now-- happy reading!! <33
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"I don't see why you're still standing."
Sal's dark tone and breathless voice catches me off guard. What's that supposed to mean? My gaze snaps up to his and our eyes meet. His are slightly narrowed as though his brows are furrowed behind his prosthetic.
His hand suddenly wraps around me and presses into the small of my back, his nails digging into my too-warm flesh. The stinging sensation pushes me over the edge and I suck in a breath, still looking up at him inquisitively. What does he want me to do if not stand?
His free, gloved hand reaches up and aggressively latches onto my jaw, setting my face right before his. The rough surface of his prosthetic nose scratches against my mask as his eyes glare into mine. I feel exposed to him, all my thoughts, feelings, as well as my entire body completely bare to him.
The edges of his fingerless gloves brush over my chin, making me gulp down any visceral reaction I may have because of the light touch. It's teasing, almost. A soft, barely noticeable touch makes me feel more than a complete, full enveloping touch does. Because no matter how ridiculous it may seem to someone else, a fleeting touch has so much withheld intention. There's a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it-- the prospect of someone holding back makes every nerve-ending in my body light up. I could power an entire city right now.
Sal's head tilts slightly to the left. His fingertips dig into the hollows of my cheeks, his breaths are a bit ragged and muffled, his knee is propped between both of legs with reason. His combat pants rub against the inside of my bare thighs, creating a friction so delicious that it's nearly painful. He moved us into a compromising position before I could even really notice.
"I said," he starts, voice low. So low that it carries off into the air around us to the point that I almost miss it. "I don't see why you're still standing."
I blink up at him and he squeezes my face. So I suck in a breath that's been deprived of me for the past couple minutes and lick my dry lips. He makes me nervous in an exhilarating way. "What do you--" my voice cracks and I quietly clear my throat, casting my gaze off to the side. "What do you want me.. to do?"
As if my head began to lean away from him, he readjusts his grip on my jaw, gripping it so tightly that I'm forced to look into his eyes yet again. His ocean eyes that seem more like the depths of a dark sea rather than clear water once you're near the surface, just about to breach.
"If your knees aren't bruised by the end of the night, then there's a problem," he rasps out, dark eyes capturing the image of my parted lips before our gazes clash again. "So bruise them."
I swallow thickly over the sudden shiver that passes through my body. Sal notices my light tremor, his fingers loosening around my face.
We stare at each other for a moment or two longer as I replay his words in my head. He obviously wants his dick in my mouth, and honoring up on our bickering that I thought was merely some harsh jokes a few weeks ago feels a bit horrifying now that the opportunity is being presented to me. Obviously I want to do it, but if it's anything like what I felt last night, I'm not sure I'll be able to do such a great job at taking all of him into my mouth. There's no way.
"Hey." Sal regains my attention again, his eyes blazing as he stares at me. His voice is just as serious as it's been since we ran into each other, but the underlying lust is filtered out for a moment. "Are you uncomfortable?"
I gulp, shaking my head vigorously to let him know that I'm fine. I guess my silence made him feel the need to make sure that I'm cool to do this. That's... uncommonly kind of him.
Sal relaxes a bit, his shoulders dropping as the tenseness falls away and he moves his fingers from my jaw. To replace that bit of control, he slaps my cheek gently and holds my chin up with two fingers, tilting my face toward him. "Good," he breathes. "Then don't fucking make me say it again."
My lips are uncomfortably dry, so I lick them again and nod once at him. I swallow down all of the surface level fears I've developed in the past second and grab onto the waistband of his cargo pants. I'm so glad the photographers put him in this getup because I've never seen him look more drool-worthy in all my life.
"You--" I say quietly, looking down the empty hallway that we're occupying. I slowly pull my fingers from the fabric of his pants and crack my knuckles. "Here?" I ask.
"C'mon," he taunts suddenly, taking a little step closer to me. His combat boots scuff the cement ground at our feet and his eyes squint. "You always have so much to say. Where's that dirty mouth of yours now? You nervous over the possibility of getting caught?"
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out as a rush of heat filters through my veins. He's not wrong. I'd hate to get caught sucking him off in a fucking hallway. I can't be vulnerable like that.
But Sal's on a warpath today and he isn't showing me any mercy. But then again, when does he ever show me any mercy?
His eyes drop to my mouth again and he snickers beneath his breath. "That doesn't turn you on? The prospect of someone finding us while I'm buried in your throat? You're such a little slut, I'm shocked you're not into that."
There he goes again with the degrading. His voice alone is enough to sway me, but his words are manipulative too and suddenly his desires are my own. Maybe the looming threat of someone walking in on such an obscene act is pretty invigorating...
Sal's calloused thumb rubs along my wet bottom lip, pulling it forward. "So soft," he mumbles, eyes never straying from where his fingers touch. His hand wraps further around my back just as he dips his thumb between the seam of my lips, the digit barely brushing over the surface of my teeth. "They'd look so pretty wrapped around my cock."
My breath catches in my throat and I effectively pause everything-- my thoughts, my breathing, my movements, even my fucking heartbeat. Sal seems to notice the moment I've reconsidered his offer. Just as he releases my lip, I drop the tactical gear in my hands, grab his biceps, and reverse our positions. I back him up with shaky breaths until he's pressed against the wall, then I drop to my knees right in front of him.
"Good girl," he purrs, praising me prettily as he drags his fingers over the underside of my jaw. I waste no time after his words shoot through me. I trail my hands up the sides of his legs and keep eye contact with him the entire time before finding my way into the top of his pants again.
I hook my fingers into the fabric and give a light yank, watching as Sal's pale hips come into view. His boxers are just barely visible, hardly hanging onto him at all. I brush my thumb over his warm skin and swipe my tongue over my bottom lip when Sal sucks in a sharp breath. He's sensitive.
I pull his pants down the rest of the way, which didn't take much effort on my part since they're pretty loose. They pool around his ankles and then the only thing in my way is the thin fabric of his underwear. Even with that covering him, his member is incredibly apparent and there isn't a single thing that could hide him right now.
And then there's that tattoo on his hip. Earlier today, mere hours ago, I still couldn't make out what it was. I have so many opportunities now, I can rip his underwear off him and finally answer the question I've had since Larry sent me that damned picture of him over Discord.
His shirt is covering the very top of the tattoo from me, so I'm only able to see a set of vertical curves and lines along his skin that never connect at the top that's hidden from my view.
My fingers carefully trail along his bare leg until I reach his boxers, crossing over to the front to palm his thick cock through the fabric all while looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes.
Sal's breath stutters as I rub my hand along his length, teasing him until he cracks-- hopefully. He was rough with me last night, deliciously so, and that's the type of attitude I'm looking for again.
I squeeze his dick lightly, not enough to set this scene in motion, but it's enough for him to shut his eyes in ecstasy. "Vi," he says darkly, a grating edge to his voice. "If you don't start choking on my dick in the next second, I'm going to do it for you."
My hand tightens around his member again and I tilt my head up at him. His eyes are still closed. "I don't think you'd be able to choke on your own dick, Sal," I say softly, sensually.
His head snaps down to look at me, eyes blazing with lustful rage. Within the next second, as promised, he's shoved his boxers down with one hand and buried his hand into my hair. His fingers wrap around the strands and he yanks my head back roughly so I'm looking up at him. He doesn't give me a single chance to finally find out what kind of tattoo he has on his hip. "It's about damn time I shut that dirty mouth of yours, you fucking brat," he barks out, nearly sneering down at me with that impressive fire in his eyes and the tantalizing grip he has on my hair. Then he pulls me back a bit more, tilts my head down just a tad, and taps my chin. "Open the fuck up. Now."
My mouth willingly falls open and before I can fully prepare myself, Sal drags my face forward and bucks his hips up at the same exact time. His dick slams into the back of my throat and my immediate reaction is to choke.
Thankfully, he doesn't move. He sits there for a second while I gather my wits and adjust to something so large intruding my airways. But I quickly close my lips around his length and blink over the tears that brim my eyes.
"You're going to cry?" He says through pants, letting out a single laugh. "Pathetic. You can do better than that."
With his cock filling up every inch of my open mouth, I can't make a sound no matter how badly I want to. I simply blink up at him quickly, relishing in the way he gazes down at me with glazed eyes that drink me in so devilishly.
So instead, I moan around his length and shut my eyes again, hollowing my cheeks as I suck on the part of him that's in my mouth. I lift a hand and wrap it around the rest of his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. My other hand moves to his bare thigh. As soon as my fingers brush his skin though, Sal uses his free hand to slap mine away. "No touching unless it's my dick. Got it?" he breathes, fingers tight around my wrist.
Fuck it, whatever. If that's what he's into then fine. It's not going to stop me.
Sal drags his fingers through the strands of my hair until he reaches the end, then he wraps it around his hand, holding on close to my scalp. He pulls my head back then pushes his dick further into my mouth.
And then he's thrusting into my throat, pushing my head forward to meet him halfway. I'm just the added pleasure-- he has no patience, doesn't want me to help him at all.
I do everything I can to use my tongue, licking under his shaft and using my leftover saliva to pump the rest of him with my hand. But Sal fucks my mouth rough and quick-- so much so that this is simply so he can cum as fast as possible. It's not about a slow build up, it's about using me to chase his high.
Too bad he chose the wrong bitch for the job.
Tears threaten to stream down my cheeks as his head repeatedly slams into the back of my throat. I choke on his cock multiple times and it has to be music to his ears. Sal's a whimpering, groaning mess above me, bucking his hips into my face and tilting his head to the ceiling.
Sal's hand is still clutching my wrist, but I want to drag this out for as long as I can, especially if he orgasms quickly like he did last night.
I tug on my wrist a bit and Sal pauses his rough thrusts, taking a breath. "What?" he asks, shockingly a tad concerned. "Are you okay? We can stop?"
He's let go of my arm and that's what I wanted. Instead of answering, I glance up at him and pull back so just the tip of his dick is between my lips. Then I suck gently, swirling my tongue around him to lick up all the pre-cum that had leaked. Sal shivers, a deep groan following the action. The sound forces my thighs together either to hide the evidence of my own arousal or to provide some relief for myself-- I'm not sure which one.
I wrap my hand around his velvety cock to give him a tight, slow pump, all while looking into his eyes. I want to watch him squirm.
He lets out a quivering breath when I separate my mouth from him with a reverberating pop that makes him flinch. He moans quietly and my eyes catch the way his hand squeezes into a fist then slowly stretches out beside him. That's hot. Mr. Darcy who?
I use my hand as leverage, placing my tongue at the base of his cock to slowly lick a stripe all the way back to his tip. Then I suck the head of his dick into my mouth again, my tongue wrapping around his throbbing member and eliciting a pretty little whimper from him.
Finally, I start bobbing my head along his length, sucking and licking up as much of him as I can. The salty taste of him coats my tongue deliciously, making me eager for the moment he finally climaxes.
Sal lets out a deep, trembling breath as I repeatedly take him in and out of my mouth, going as deep as I possibly can to force him into making some kind of sound again. He pushes a hand through my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his long fingers. It's almost intimate, but I know better. This is praise for doing well.
"You can take more than that, Vi," he says, voice audibly shaking. "Keep going, pretty girl. Don't make me take the reins again."
I know he'd love to take control and shove his dick down my throat again, but hopefully I can get him to cum on my own. I just know he'd cry for me. I want that bad.
I pull him out of my mouth and use my hand to pump the entirety of his pretty, soaked cock that I'm finally able to lay my eyes. He's definitely a good size. Gorgeous, pink, and so incredibly sensitive.
And there's the tattoo. My eyes were pinned to it as soon as I had a moment to admire his cock. It's faded, something he must have gotten years ago compared to the newer, darker marks on his arm and neck.
A crescent moon and stars around it. Fitting for him, actually. I find myself admiring it while I take my time to pleasure him. It's detailed, pretty. If there were any perfect words to describe him, this perfect little tattoo says it all. Dark, night, a little bright, definitely a dreamer. A hoper. It's him, more personal to him than any of his other tattoos.
I'm brought back to reality, heart thumping affectionately in my chest when Sal twitches in my hand. I look up at him, panting heavily since I'm finally able to get a good breath of air in. Saliva and pre-cum is smeared across my face and Sal seems drunk off of the image when he glances down at me again.
His fingers stop their gentle caress and tighten around my hair again, quickly using that grip to keep my head still as he shoves his throbbing dick back into the depths of my throat.
He doesn't say a word as he repeatedly thrusts in and out of mouth, making more tears flow down my cheeks. He doesn't have to say anything-- I took my mouth off of his cock for too long and right after he warned me. This is his nonverbal way of telling me that karma's taking control.
No matter how many attempts I make to bring him closer to climax with my tongue, by sucking every inch of him I can, it means nothing. All he cares about is making me crumble beneath him. All he craves is the sound of me gagging on him. All he wants to see is his cock filling up my mouth and the tears that have begun to paint my cheeks.
"Just like that," he moans out pathetically, beautifully. "You're doing so good." I'm hardly doing anything other than acting as his fucktoy, but if that's what he wants then I'm more than happy to oblige. Watching him fall apart, pleasure himself, and show this vulnerable side is enough to satisfy me. I don't even need to cum if it means he'll do it for both of us.
"I'm about to cum," he rasps out, still pounding into my throat roughly. I might not be able to speak after this, not with the way he's fucking my throat raw. "Swallow every drop or you'll fucking regret it--" his voice falls into a sinful whimper and he shudders, his fingers tightening impossibly around the strands of my hair.
I moan against him, squeezing my eyes shut as he picks up the pace, his dick roughly pumping into my mouth. It's brutal and I love every second. He feels good, he tastes good, he sounds good. I'm obsessed with the way he falls apart so viscerally. It's intoxicating.
For just a second, I'm thinking I might actually orgasm over the sound of his salacious moans alone. He's so vocal and so dirty about it-- how could I not? But he bursts into my mouth before I can think harder about it. The salty flavor and warmth of his cum envelops my tongue so quickly and I try to keep it all contained, but he continues thrusting into my throat. A bit of the liquid seeps from the corners of my lips, dripping onto the floor.
I don't care and Sal doesn't either for the moment. He simply whimpers between breaths above me, sucking in as much air as he can before he looks down at me and begins to pull his cock from my mouth.
I suck on him to lick up whatever cum I can. He jolts at the feeling of my tongue on him, hissing as his head tilts down to look at me.
I run my free hands up his thighs, absolutely reveling in his post-orgasm bliss with him. He's so pretty-- takes his hand out of my hair to run it through his, pulling strands away from his sweaty forehead. And now that the moment is over, he's not stopping me from touching him.
But as I'm feeling his skin, I notice something. A row of thin, raised lines. Not just one, multiple.
I try to rationalize it in my mind. There's no way-- but what if there was a way?
My heart thumps wildly in my chest and I flatten my palm on his thigh, rubbing my thumb gently over the protrusions. I swallow the remnants of Sal's orgasm and watch him with a renewed mind. He looks down at me and wipes his cum off of my chin, sticking his thumb into my mouth to slather the liquid onto my tongue.
He's still glowing right now-- he must not realize what I've discovered and I can't even fully wrap my head around it myself. I know what this is. How do I bring this up? I don't know if these are from two months ago or from years ago and if he's not happy... I can't just act like I haven't noticed anything.
I gulp down my nerves. It's going to be uncomfortable for both of us but I'd rather help him. I know I would have appreciated it when I was going through a tough time. Whether I hate him or not, I don't hate him enough to let him suffer alone.
"Sally," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat. "Are these..." my voice is barely audible from the way he abused the inside of my throat, but I rub my fingertips along the lines on his thighs again and Sal suddenly returns to the land of the living.
He roughly shoves my hands off of him, nearly pushing me onto my haunches. His boxers are back on before I can even regain my balance. "What?" he asks, taking a breath to recover from the marathon-like orgasm he just had. My heart thumps in my chest, an overwhelming mix of anxiety and shock taking hold of me. "I have a lot of scars, Vi. If that's going to gross you out then let's just stop this now."
My head rears back at his sneer and accusation. He's deeply offended and I can't help but feel like he's acting this way because someone's turned him away because of the scars before. That's not my intention-- I'd never do that.
"No, they don't--" I gape up at him, brows furrowing. "I'm the last person who's going to be grossed out by scars, Sal. I'm just..." I pinch my lips together as a wave of fear washes over me. He's going to think I'm insane for actually worrying over him. "Fuck, this sounds crazy," I warn. "But I'm just worried."
I watch him with wary eyes, but Sal scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be worried about scars from my delinquent past with Larry. If anything, I deserved these," he grumbles, looking down and grabbing his pants. He shimmies them up his legs just before I can get a look at the scars that I felt. And I don't believe him. Those are too meticulously placed.
"Deserved? Delinquent?" I ask softly. "These are--"
"Yea. Delinquent. Larry and I hopped a barbed wire fence and my unlucky ass got caught on it. That's what those scars are. I broke laws, karma broke me. That's the circle of life." He says this all so nonchalantly, all the while swiping another drop of cum from my lips.
No one would be able to lie so efficiently. Not even I could. Something's still sketchy about this and I want to question him more. But that's invading his privacy and I can already tell that he's on edge. One wrong move-- which is the direction I'm heading in-- and he'll never open up about this regardless.
But what if he's telling the truth? Maybe I'm just bringing up past trauma. I didn't get to look at the scars on his thighs anyway.
I should keep asking anyway though. If he needs help...
I'm driving myself insane. I want to pester him, beg him to be honest with me just because I know how desperate I was at one point for help with my mental. I couldn't leave anyone to stay silent when I suspect that there's something wrong, even my enemy. It's just not--
"Now, I remember saying something about you having to regret not swallowing everything," his voice suddenly turns sinister in a very pleasurable way. He pulls me back to reality quickly, and I find my heart racing for a different reason. The truth always comes out. Obviously he wouldn't trust me enough now, but maybe he will in the future. I will find out.
For now, there's nothing more I can do. I tried.
Sal tilts his head down to the floor between us, so I follow his gaze to notice the various drops of milky white on the floor.
I gulp, swallowing the remnants of what was left in my mouth. The salty taste begins to die away-- I can hardly taste anything, in fact, as anticipation takes hold of my entire body. My mind goes blank in an instant, my worries replaced with expectations.
My eyes instinctually look back up at Sal who's already gazing at me. I'm guessing he's waiting on some kind of reaction from me.
Half of me wants to let him do whatever it is he's undoubtedly planning, but the other half of me is hyper-focused on the clothes I'm supposed to be changing into. And what I discovered just seconds ago. This doesn't feel right, not when there's so much else to focus on. But memories of last night have plagued me all day. What to do, what to do...
I really should just get dressed and start heading back to the other room. If Sal and I are away for too long, it's going to look really suspicious. And I mean, if anything, we can find another time to continue this. If he's adamant on punishing me, so to speak, he'll make time to do it. That'll give me time to figure out a plan on how to get the truth out of him too.
With that thought in mind, I grab the pile of clothes and push myself off my knees, standing to my full height. I take a breath and then a step back, all while Sal watches me closely. His eyes are so bright right now-- they look like they're glowing. The hardly contained desire swimming around in his cerulean irises does nothing to help.
I open my mouth with the intention of telling him that we'll figure something out later, but I don't even get a chance to say a syllable-- I only squeak out in surprise when Sal lunges toward me, sweeping me off my feet with no effort.
My hands automatically latch onto his shoulders once he wraps my legs around his waist with a little grunt. My eyes widen significantly when Sal turns on his heel and starts heading for the room that he just came out of. The clothes that were previously in my grasp are pressed between him and I-- they miraculously stuck around during whatever just happened.
Sal's hands grip my ass tightly, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he quickly walks us closer to the changing room. "You're lucky I don't make you lick that off the floor like a fucking dog," he bites out, a short chuckle following.
I have too many responsibilities for him to be talking like this.
My legs tighten around his waist and I squeeze my eyes shut. My lips pinch together as I try to remind myself why I can't just let him tear me apart in the room that he's carrying me into. My thoughts are clouded-- rational mind is completely missing because Sal is in tactical gear, I just sucked his dick, and he has his hands on me. How could anyone think?
Sal moves one hand to grab the heavy metal door leading to the changing room. He rips it open like it weighs nothing, but the way it scrapes across the cement floor says different. Maybe it only makes a scary sound, but it's actually pretty light? Who knows.
As soon as he crosses the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind us. Then, Sal's unwrapping my legs from around him and dropping me to my feet. The sound of my shoes hitting the ground echoes in the room-- cement floors again.
I swallow thickly as my clothes drop to the ground. They're going to be so dirty. My hands slide from Sal's shoulders to the top of his chest due to the sudden height difference. The same goes for him; his hands move from my ass to my waist, my shirt riding up from the contact. His cool fingertips press into the skin of my hips, and he uses that as leverage to yank me even closer to him.
"You have to be quieter than you were last night, Vi," Sal breathes, leaning his head down to rest on my shoulder. His prosthetic nose runs along the length of my neck, causing shivers to erupt along my spine. As those words roll off his tongue, one of his hands crosses over to my stomach.
I have two options: get pleasure and get caught or wait it out and play it safe. Either way, I'll see to it that he makes up for this later. I have no doubt that he'll make extra sure to handle me later too.
"Wait," I say, wincing over the fact that I'm not going to go through with this. Truly, it hurts to push him away for now.
I can always count on Sal to listen to me when it comes to our situationship. He doesn't listen regarding absolutely anything else, but he at least takes this seriously.
His hands pause instantly and he pulls his head away from my neck, looking into my eyes. He's wary, concerned, alert. "What?" he asks. "We don't have to."
I lick my lips and take a deep breath. "Don't get me wrong," I tell him. "I want to, but everyone's expecting both of us to come back any minute now."
Sal looks off to the side, his hands slowly dropping from my waist. The loss of contact makes me want to whimper. There's a far-away look in his eyes as he seems to think. "Oh," he murmurs. "That's true," he whispers to himself.
I gape at him. How could he forget? He's literally clueless. I've said it once and apparently I have to fucking say it again. I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes. "Really?" I scoff. "You forgot that you're supposed to be modeling right now? You're working for Treyarch but you let pussy blind you?"
Sal's eyes meet mine again and his eyebrows furrow, a glare taking over what little features I can see on him. "You don't have room to talk. You're not even supposed to be modeling with us so why do you have clothes?" There's that snarky, aggressive tone again.
"You never fail to prove how self-centered you are," I sigh, taking a step back and leaning down to grab my clothes from the floor. "Larry mentioned me and the photographers heard. They asked me-- well, more like told me to go change." Just thinking back on what happened a few minutes ago brings a smile to my lips and a fluttering to my heart.
Sal snorts, "Tasteless," he says in regard to the photographers choosing me. He turns away from me and moves to a corner of the room. The corner has a fancy chair with a pile of clothes on it-- if I had to guess, those clothes are for Sal. And then a vanity with a mirror and table with makeup and other essentials. Those probably all belong to Ash.
They're tasteless for choosing me when he chooses to hang around gothic beauties like the one from the bar the other night?
"Says the man with a preference for emo barbies," I murmur halfheartedly. I'm too focused on ingesting the room. My words were a mistake though-- I'd gone back to the night that woman sat with him at the bar and I let the argument get to me. I really shouldn't have said that because it shows that it bothers me. But, it doesn't actually bother me.
A wave of anxiety slams into me like twenty puppies running to a newcomer at a daycare. Fuck, he's going to attack me for that one. It's so obvious that the woman bothered me.
Sal tilts his head at my words. "Is that what you're calling yourself now?" he says and I perk up a bit. I don't know how I should react to that. He didn't realize I was talking about his lady friend, but he also just admitted that I'm part of his preference in women. "I think bratty little bitch sounds better."
I lick my lips and try to contain the smug smirk that so desperately wants to take over my face. He's so preoccupied, I doubt he even realizes what just came out of his mouth.
I glance around the room. There's not much in here-- some ugly orange rug on the floor, a black leather couch with Todd and Larry's clothes on it. Todd's clothes are neatly folded whereas Larry's are just thrown into a pile-- that's how I was able to distinguish who's were for who.
Then there's a little folding screen. Ash's clothes are hanging over the edges. Besides that, there's a mini fridge in the corner adjacent to Sal. That's pretty much it.
"I wouldn't have to be a bitch so often if you weren't such a dick," I finally respond to his words after letting them percolate in the air for a short while. "Fix your attitude and then I'll fix mine."
Sal glances over his shoulder, black-lined eyes meeting mine. "Fix yours first and then we can talk," he says disinterestedly.
I shake my head. "Guess we'll never agree then."
I walk over to the folding screen and step behind it, laying my clothes on a little stool that the photographers were gracious enough to place back here. I start pulling my shoes off with a little grunt, moving onto my socks afterward.
Arguing with Sal comes so naturally now. It's mildly aggravating, but it isn't making me want to retrieve heads on pikes like it usually does. Maybe it's because we're both distracted right now.
"You're only well-behaved when you're being a whore," Sal says, and I look up because his voice is a lot closer to me now than it was before. And now, his slightly monotone voice is replaced with a nagging, agitated tone.
My head snaps up as I'm shimmying my skirt down my thighs and I make unexpected eye contact with Sal who's standing right in front of the folding screen.
I pause my movements, heat enveloping my cheeks at the same moment that Sal realizes I'm almost half naked. His eyes latch onto my thighs and then he takes a step back, then another until he can't peek over the top of the screen anymore.
I release a sigh of relief. "Do you watch all your women change or something?" I grunt out, watching him with a raised eyebrow-- not like he can see it. I know it doesn't really matter-- he's seen a lot of me so far. This is innocent compared to what he saw last night, but it still feels awkward and it seems he feels the same way.
"I didn't mean to," he snaps, crossing his arms over the armor plate on his chest. "I actually had pure intentions for fucking once. Don't make me out to be the bad guy."
"Funny," I respond, pulling my shirt over my head. "You always play the villain so I never expect anything else from you."
"Wow," he sarcastically says. "High praise. Considering me a villain is the nicest thing you've done for me."
I glance up at him while pulling on black cargo pants. He looks so proud and smug. What an ass. "It wasn't a compliment," I grit out.
"And that's exactly why I took it as a compliment. It pissed you off."
I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to changing. The entire reason his fingers aren't in me right now is because we have somewhere to be, so I don't understand why the hell he's sticking around and pestering me.
Then something slaps me in the face. Well, my mask.
I blink, shocked at the audacity of Sal to throw something at me, but when I look down to where the unknown object dropped, I see a little rectangular piece of foil. I tilt my head, wondering if I'm seeing right.
I lean down and grab it. Yea, this is gum.
I stand up again and eye Sal curiously, warily. Did he poison this?
Sal must see the contemplative look in my eyes because he scoffs in disbelief. "It's just fucking gum, dick breath. I'm doing you a favor."
I cringe at what he just said. "Oh my fucking--" I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Get out of here, Fisher. There is absolutely no reason for you to be hanging around with me. I literally cannot stand you." The more I think about what just happened, the words that came out of my mouth, the more I want to jump over this folding screen and choke him out.
Sal cackles evilly, backing over to the metal door with his hands in his pockets. "You're just upset because I'm right, like I always am."
"Fuck off, asshat," I fire back. It's a weak comeback but it's all I've got. Of course this would happen after I thought about how mild our argument was earlier.
Sal's laughs die off when he opens the door, but then he calls me. "Vi," he says and I hesitate to look up. But when I meet his bright, cerulean eyes, I see determination. "We'll continue where we left off later. Okay?"
I watch him. Those are good words. Those are expectations. So I nod gently. "Okay."
And then he's gone. Completely disappeared from my view in the blink of an eye.
Every inch of malice and aggravation I felt just seconds ago melts away like candle wax. It'll reform all over again later, but for now, it's just replaced by butterflies making my stomach turn excitedly. So there's something for me to look forward to later. Absolutely wonderful.
I pull off my shirt and replace it with the long sleeved grey one that I was given. It's a little big on me, but no one has my body proportions either so I expect as much. My chest plate is adjustable, which helps tremendously. It makes the loose shirt stick to me like glue and because of that, it's hardly noticeable that the clothing isn't even my size. Said chest plate is much like Larry's-- camo and cargo. If anything, it's more like an armored vest with gun magazines and extra storage.
I secure it over my arms and to my chest then move on to the belt that holds a couple holsters for what I presume will be prop guns that I get later.
All that's left is for me to tug on the tan combat boots, which I lace up fairly quickly, and from there I'm home free. The issue now is walking up to my friends like I didn't just have their friend's dick I'm my mouth. I have to face Larry and pretend that I didn't suck the soul out of his step-brother's cock.
Simple. Easy job.
I take a breath and watch the door, begrudgingly unwrapping the spearmint gum that Sal was oh, so generous enough to give me. I want to be mad at him— I am mad— but he did help me out, even if it was only because he didn't want everyone else to smell the clear evidence of whatever happened in the hallway.
My feet trudge toward the big metal door while I chew on the stupid fucking gum. This couldn't be any worse... but no regrets.
My hand fits around the handle easily, but when I push it down to open the door, a little tug does absolutely nothing. I pause and stare at the door, bewildered. Sal threw this thing open earlier? One-handed? No way.
I give another tug, this one a bit more forceful. The door squeaks on its hinges, slowly moving to follow my weight. It's not extremely heavy, but I have to put some weight behind it and physically walk with the door. Am I tripping or am I just pitifully weak? Both?
I'm finally able to get the door open enough to squeeze my body through. Even then, the door gives me a little shove in the right direction, hitting me as it slams shut before I can move out of the threshold. My glare pierces through the inanimate metal while I rub my abused back. I did not ask to be the target of everyone's hostility today.
The hallway isn't nearly as eerie to me now as it was a few minutes ago. I walk through it quickly, the buzzing lights on my mental back-burner once I reach the door that separates me from reality.
I purse my lips, blowing out a sigh. Ash, Larry, Todd, and Sally Face Fisher are on the other side of this door. I am not going to fuck up. I am going to be brave. And I'm not sure why I'm so nervous— maybe it's because any one of them could have very easily walked in on Sal filling up my throat like it was a common occurrence. Yea, probably that. But, we didn't get caught, so there's really nothing for me to worry about.
I guess my fantastic, trauma-induced ability to lie is a plus here. Not like it's fed me all too well in the past. Seriously, I'm playing three different people right now and all it's doing is tangling me up in a sick mess that I created. There's Vi, who no one knows, there's y/n who everyone loves— except Sally-- and then there's Lexi who just so happens to be the object of Sal's affection.
Things literally couldn't my be any worse. But damn if I do, damn if I don't. I'll lie my ass off when I leave this hallway if I have to.
With my little pep talk finished, I pull this much lighter door at the opposite end of the hallway open and cast my gaze upon the darkened room. The Faces are perched in front of a large, stretched out tapestry being used as a background. It's this dusty looking city scene from what I can tell. And my friends are just milling about, talking with each other. Well, most of them. Todd is in the corner stuffing his fishing hat under a pile of prop rubble. I guess the photographers tried to make him keep it.
I amble toward them, a little unsure of how to address anyone after what I just did. I actually got to sleep on the knowledge of Sal and I last night, but now I have no time to recover.
Relax, y/n. Everything's fine. No one's going to suspect a thing.
Upon finally reaching my friends, Larry's the first to acknowledge me. His eyes glance over me appreciatively and he nods his head, furrowing his brows as a little smirk pulls at his full lips. "You look delicious. But you always do," he chuckles. Then he walks over and claps a hand onto my back. "So what took you so long, Vivi? Found some good dick to munch on?"
There's no way to describe the way my stomach suddenly drops out of my ass. I've seen this scene so many times. It's like when Jim gets caught flirting with Pam in The Office— that initial reaction of fucking book-it or use the worst excuse known to man while awkwardly looking around.
So I intellectually hit my friend with, "Yea. Why else would I be chewing gum?"
I make a face akin to the expression that anyone would pull after sucking a lemon or taking a shot of tequila. I genuinely want to disappear. This is going terribly.
Even Todd turns his head toward Larry and I, raising an eyebrow in my direction. Ash and Sal are just out of my direct line of sight and they can fucking stay there. If I meet any more judgemental gazes, I'll probably vomit.
But Larry's a giggly mess, something I didn't take note of because I'd panicked. His hand is squeezing my shoulder while he bends over and wipes a fake tear from his eyes. "See?" He says, giving me a wide, gap-toothed grin. Cutie. "You get it. That's humor, baby!"
I giggle nervously, slowly letting go of the nauseating bout of anxiety that just swam through me. "Mhm," I hum. "Don't worry, Lar. I'll always take good care of your jokes." I cannot form good, coherent responses for the life of me right now.
Larry can't answer me in time because there's suddenly a huge prop gun shoved into his arms. I step away from him, baffled when the weapon clatters loudly in his unprepared hands. It's a shock to my system and the same goes for Larry who juggles the hunk of— metal? plastic?— with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.
"This shit is heavy," he gasps out, finally getting a good hold of it. "These— these aren't real, right?" He asks, looking up at the photographer who's currently holding out a big Resident Evil-esque gun toward me. Assault rifle, maybe? I know nothing other than Leon Kennedy when it comes to those games.
I take the weapon carefully after Larry's nervous remark. He's not kidding— it's heavy as hell, definitely metal. They wouldn't give us actual weapons right? There's a serious issue going on in the world with these things and the last thing I want to do is hold a real one.
I look up to the photographer, my gaze questioning, hoping to get an explanation for Larry's question.
"No," the photographer says, snickering. "Well, they were once." I cock my head to the side. Were?
I watch the photographer drop a hand gun into Ash's awaiting arms, then a shot gun goes to Sal. They both look pretty shocked by the weight too.
"Hold on," Ash says. "We didn't come here to fuck around with real guns. Fake ones, fine. No one can get hurt. This is different—"
"I said they were real at one point," the photographer cuts her off, heading toward Todd. "They aren't real anymore." Todd trades in his fishing hat for a gun similar to mine and the photographer rolls his eyes. "Our crew found these on eBay. They're refurbished military-grade guns, basically. They were either damaged or deemed as duds. But someone bought all of them and got creative, took them all apart and put them back together as paint-ball guns. So no, they can't hurt anyone. Plus, since they're remade and no longer used for horrendous shit, they come pretty cheap."
My lips form into a little "o" at the explanation. See, this is more acceptable. Perfectly explains why they seem so real.
"That's actually pretty interesting," Todd murmurs, turning his weapon over in his hands. "Sounds like something I'd be into."
"Leave the Super Gear Boy in seventh grade, Todd," Sal pipes up, sighing at his scientific friend.
I roll my eyes. He always has to kill the mood, and for what? I think this is a good way to kill off guns instead of letting someone fix them up to resell as actual weapons. Todd would thrive in the paint-ball industry.
"What's paint-ball even like?" Larry asks, completely mystified if when putting the sound of his voice into account. I glance to him, noting the way he looks into the barrel of the gun. Even if it's not real, that shit still makes me nervous.
I close an eye, recalling my limited paint-ball experience. If I wasn't doing something band related or reading in bed, I was playing paint-ball, truth be told. I grew up in two of California's— no, America's— major city's. If you weren't old enough to hit the bars or clubs in town, there was virtually nothing for you to do, period. That left me with dad's favorite little hobby and a run down storage building for me and my two or three friends to go rip open the gates of complete chaos. It was fun.
"I don't quite know how to explain it," I tell Larry, shrugging. I hold my gun at my side, gripping it by the handle. "Think Call of Duty. You load it, then you shoot it basically."
"And how do you know?" Ash asks, scrunching her nose up at me when I turn to acknowledge her. I love her little nose scrunch. It has to be the cutest thing I've ever seen.
"I had a lot of free time as a kid. So I used some of that time to play paint-ball," I tell her with a smile.
"You'll definitely have to teach me one day," she grins, viridian eyes twinkling in the bright white lights.
The photographers move us into place mere moments after Ash's request. I'm not used to photoshoots— so I do my best to follow the directions aimed at me. Move here, step there, pose like so.
There's a lot of straight faces and eye work. "Look angry," "look determined," "look scared but in a way that doesn't show it." None of it makes much sense to me, but I do my best, aiming my gun in random places and trying to keep the awkward grin off my face.
It's tedious work if anything. I'm stuck changing positions second after second or having to hold a pose with this heavy ass gun for ten minutes at a time. I agree with The Faces now— it isn't half as fun as models make it seem.
"My arm is killing me," Sal grumbles to himself, but I catch his words and Larry seems to as well. Sal is positioned behind me, one of his elbows on my shoulder and the other aiming his gun forward. If it's not already obvious, he fought like hell to convince the photographers to put him with someone else for this shot.
I've been trying to smoosh down all of the excitement I feel because his knee is positioned between both of my legs. His chest is pressed into my back. I can feel every breath he takes, I can smell his shampoo, I can hear every word he speaks before he even says it. Every single syllable that leaves his throat. It consumes me, leaves me a drunken mess below him.
But I try to hold onto my sanity and I do that through negativity.
"Yea," I grunt, discreetly rotating my arm. "Well, you're killing my shoulder with that bony ass elbow of yours."
Sal doesn't respond immediately, only presses his elbow even harder into my shoulder. I bite down a gasp, sneering at the photographer in front of us.
"Hold that expression, VioletViolence— perfect, beautiful!"
I want to roll my eyes. Maybe they put Sal and I together for a reason. Somehow they know we bring the worst out of each other, and thus, the angry facial expressions.
"Stay strong, broski," Larry calls out from beside me. Yea, right. He's one to talk. He's laying on his stomach with his gun propped on the ground, all he has to do is put his hands on it. "Free style match!" He suddenly yells. I furrow my eyebrows, confusion swallowing me whole. "I'll go first," Larry continues in a sing-song voice.
"Okay, so... actually, someone give me a topic." I shake my head at Larry's request. He went back on his word immediately.
But Ash is quick to jump in. She's positioned to mine and Sal's left. "Ooo!" She says. I can't look up at her or I'll get scolded for moving. "How about cake?" I almost snort and break character. Cake, of all things. It had to be Ash.
A sudden flash blinds me for a second, but I blink through it, trying to hold my angry gaze.
"Cake?" Todd mutters, huffing out a quick laugh. "That's all you could come up with?"
"Hey," Ash snaps, disappointment evident in her sweet voice. "I think it's a good topic. It's definitely going to be hard for Larry to—"
"Got something," Larry says, an evil chuckle following his statement. My eyes widen— that's a concerning laugh and he actually managed to come up with something in, what, half a second?
I need to fear this man. This buff daddy, tactical gear-wearing, snarky, humorous, emo man.
"Alright," Sal sighs from above me, finally pulling some of the weight off of my shoulder. I groan at the instant relief. I'm definitely going to get back at him for this later. "Please, do go on," Sal continues sarcastically. My guess is that he doesn't believe Larry could come up with something like that on the fly. I hate to say it, but I'm with him.
"Okay, alright," Larry whispers. "Prepare for absolutely malarkey."
I guilty grin quirks my lips and I truly struggle to hold back a couple giggles. Larry is ridiculous.
"Do you like watching people eat cake too?" Larry asks and I glance down at him, noting the shit-eating smile taking up his entire expression. He's going to get in trouble for that. And why is he asking about cake? I thought he was going to bust a few free style rhymes.
And bust some rhymes he does, taking me by complete surprise.
"Nah, I prefer watching them eat my dick.
When she sucks my soul like a motherfuckin' tick.
Love it when she goes in lick for lick— errrrrrr.
Resident Evil, baby, I know those zombies would pick herrrrr.
Got her lips around me, getting stifferrrrrr
Getting kinda goofy like Stiflerrrrr."
I snap my head down to Larry, eyes wide and a cackle working it's way up my throat. Did I hear all of that right? Is this motherfucker kidding me right now?
Every single one of us breaks character— Sal snorts as soon as Larry ends his verse, Todd actual smiles and pats a giggling Larry on the back, and Ash is in tears. Her gun has clattered to the floor and she's fighting to regain control of her emotions.
I join them, giggling with Ash who's borderline moaning in humorous pain on the ground beside me, on her hands and knees. The photographers have given up on us for now— all four of them moving away to chat about the pictures, no doubt.
"Honestly, should I say that?" Larry asks, taking a deep breath and swiping a hand over his face as he calms down from his insane laughter. "That was a little much."
Sal hums next to him, so I look up. The man looks like he's holding onto his sanity by the thinnest piece of string known to humanity. All of that just to drop his own free style continuation of Larry's monstrosity.
"It's never too much, she can never get enough.
She's always barking at me like a dog, ruff ruff.
She's a fucking baddie, you know she likes it rough.
My girl's all pretty like Hilary Duff.
She begs and she pleads, she likes that kinda stuff.
Transformers Megan Fox vibes, I feel like Shia LeBeouf."
"You have to be fucking kidding me," Todd bites out, voice wavering with barely held back amusement.
Ash grabs onto me for moral support and I look toward her, tears building in my eyes while I try to contain the laughter that so desperately wants to be released. How on earth could both boys come up with something like this?
When I finally see Ash, she's got a permanent gaping mouth with her eyes squeezed shut in that awesome silent laugh that tells everyone something really funny just happened.
It's a wonderful, core memory moment where everyone's keeled over, giggling or crying their guts out. Sal and I aren't angry with each other, Larry isn't flirting with anything that has a pulse, Todd isn't stoney-faced, Ash isn't plagued by constant worry. We're all just friends being goofy and enjoying our time together. I hate to say it, but this is something we don't get very often.
I look around at my friends as they recover. Larry finally takes his hands off the floor, kneeling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face as Sal walks toward him. They do a quick fist bump, praising each other for the perfect lyric session. Sal is still bent over, his eyes scrunched together with glee to accompany his horrible attempts to contain giggles that tumble out from behind his prosthetic.
I wish he looked this happy all the time. I wish he was this happy all the time. No matter what, I can't help but imagine what it would be like if we were different people in different universes. Maybe we would have met sooner. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty for wanting him like I do. We could have been friends. We could have been lovers. We could have been more-- more than whatever this is. Fucking around when we feel like it because we both clearly have issues, both personal and regarding each other.
But I guess it doesn't really matter now because none of those universes are achievable. I can't unlock upgrades in life-- I just have to hope and assume that things will get better between us. To do that, I have to stop being so angry with him all the time too though. And that might be hard to do.
"She can't hear you bro," I hear Sal say. My kidney twitches at the sound of his voice. I'm being overdramatic, but that's how keen I am when it comes to his voice. I instantly tune in and feel frustration build up in me. I just know he's talking about me. "Vi's just mad she isn't Hilary Duff." I turn away from Ash, narrowing my eyes at Sal who then turns to me with malice veiled by amusement in his pretty gaze. "She isn't Megan Fox either. Must suck."
"What point are you trying to make? That I'm not successful? That I'm not pretty?" I sneer, tilting my head in question. Anyone would find that offensive. I don't know what he'll say to that, but I'm prepared for anything. If he wants a verbal battle, I'm absolutely down.
Sal shrugs, hands readjusting their grip on his gun. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you're not as successful or pretty as them."
I can't believe I put my everything into a blowjob for this absolute, complete, stuck up, and disrespectful cunt.
Tongue in cheek, I spin on my heel and look down at the ground. I can't tell if the flame of rage is growing in me, or if the embarrassed, insecure pin is about to officially pop my ego balloon.
Ash looks up at me, finally getting to her feet again, but she isn't laughing anymore. She isn't smiling either.
"Ash," I say shakily with failed attempts to hide my shaking hands. "I'm going to fucking strangle him," I bite out.
It seems like every time I try to look at him in a positive light, Sal's able to tell. Like he's a mind reader. And he jumps in every single time to completely obliterate any chance I was willing to give him. Even just a sliver of hope gets thrown back three miles the very moment he detects it. And now, we're ten steps back compared to the half step we had taken forward.
I can put up with most things he shoots my way, but shots to my insecurities really tear me down.
"Sweetheart, no one's going to strangle anyone, okay?" Ash says, bringing her small, cool hands to my cheeks. She lifts my face, forcing me to look into her eyes. When I do meet her gaze, those viridian irises are filled with the big R's-- regret and revenge. "Not until I do it first," she continues sweetly, her voice sugary like melted chocolate. To anyone else, it would seem like a joke, but that look in her eyes is real.
I feel a little better now.
"Ash," Sally spits out quickly, voice panicked. "I was kidding. Don't strangle me." How very pathetic of him to be scared now.
"Yea," Larry cuts in, chuckling. "He'll moan if you do."
Larry's barely able to finish his statement when a loud thwack echoes in the big room, followed by a resounding "Fuck! I'm sorry!" from emo buff daddy himself.
Ash looks off to the side, fuming with grace-- something only she can achieve. "You're lucky, Sal," she says coldly. "Larry handled you well enough, I think." She lets go of my face, so I finally chew down my anxiety and embarrassment and turn to the two boys again. Sal's looking like he's caught between contrition and anger, like he can't tell which emotion he should feel. "You need to cut this shit out, Sal. Vi didn't provoke you, there was no reason for you to say that. There's never a good, viable reason for you to target someone's looks. That was low, even for you."
I watch him with a glare, staying silent. Ash handled him better than I could. She said everything I wanted to and more.
Sal scoffs, "I wasn't serious. I'll even give Vi a compliment if that fucking helps. A real one." I don't believe him. There's nothing he could say or do that would make up for the damage he just did. Hearing his attempt at appeasement makes infuriation boil in me again, and his stupid blue eyes glancing my way only make that worse. It doesn't matter if he looks good in all that tactical gear.
"Actually," Ash chirps, "I think that's a great idea. Both of you give each other one compliment. And be serious. Don't be generic either, say something that sticks out about the other person."
Is Ash on fucking drugs? Did she smoke too much again because there's no way she dragged me into this.
"Okay, cool, fine," Sal grunts, looking to me again with a gaze that spell out the most genuine form of nonchalance. He couldn't care less about me. "I'll go first. Vi," he starts, tilting his head down. The light illuminates his azure irises, trapping me in that gilded cage I repeatedly find myself in upon simply looking at him. I hate this. "I think you have gorgeous eyes. They go with almost any color I've seen you in."
I gulp. Not only did he steal my compliment for him, he also hit me with the same compliment he gave Lexi. Does he know that we're the same person? Was that him trying to discreetly tell me that he knows my secret? But, then again, why would he go out of his way to fight me about Lexi and even text her?
Well, I've done that too, actually. But he's not like that-- so did he really mean that then? That's the only thing I can really think of.
I gape at him like a fish for a couple moments, blinking quickly while I try to come up with something to say. Blush on my cheek, fingers dipping into the pockets on my vest, boots toeing at the cement beneath me all while my heart races and my insides tremble. I shouldn't react like this after he said I wasn't as successful or pretty as famous women. I'm being ridiculous.
"I--" I say, voice barely a whisper. "You--" I try to speak a bit louder, but my voice cracks so I clear my throat, tilting my head down. What kind of compliment can I give him? "You..."
"What? Nothing you can think of?" He snaps, crossing his arms, gun still in hand. His tone blazes with fury. "You're such a hypocrite. You can get mad at my joke, but then you can't find a compliment for me even after I gave you an honest one."
I pinch my lips together. He's so fucking aggravating. "Shut up," I seethe, "I'm trying to pick one." The truth falls from my lips before I can think better of it. Please don't say anything-- please don't say the obvious. Please don't point out that there's actually things I can't help but admire about you, Sal. There's a lot that I hate, but there's a few attributes that I respect too. "You have pretty and talented hands," I finally say, lifting my left hand to gesture toward him. But that sounds like I'm referring to his expert ability to make me cum. "You're really, um, a talented guitarist," I tack on, wincing. I'm trying so hard to keep the heat off of me that I may very well be attracting it instead.
I take a quick, quivering breath as true terror grips my mind and body. Anyone would be able to tell how hard that was for me, how shameful it was. This is awful, this entire day has turned into a mess.
I pull a mag from my vest, inspecting it to pass the time and ignore my surroundings. But when I look into the cartridge, expecting it to be empty, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it completely filled with neon blue and green paint-balls.
Surely these photographers aren't that dumb. They can't be, right?
A satisfying shiver runs through my body, making goosebumps rise along my skin. This is just the distraction I was looking for. Everyone's had more than enough time to think over the compliment I gave Sal, but I won't let them get a chance to say anything about it.
"Hey, Ángel," I call loudly, glancing up to survey the room and find the photographer who told us about these guns in the first place. I finally catch his confused gaze and nudge my chin in his direction. "Do you guys have extra tactical gear?" Come up with something, y/n. No one can suspect anything. "I'd love to bring this home if I can," I lie smoothly, offering up a shy smile. "You know, for... memories."
Ángel shrugs, giving me a look that screams that he thinks I'm a little crazy. "I mean, we always have extras but you can't take it home. Activision spent money on all of this."
"Ah," I hum, returning to examining the weapon of mental destruction in my hands-- a fully loaded magazine of paint-balls. "Bummer," I mumble.
With an energetic grin on my face, I shove the mag into the holder right in front of the trigger. This is unlike any paint-ball gun I've ever seen, so I'm taking a guess-- but it clicks into place easily, so I assume I'm doing something right.
"Well," Ash says softly, awkwardly. "That was a... nice compliment, Vi." I can tell she's trying to make me feel better, but she's struggling too. I don't blame her. What I said was so sad, really.
But I have this paint-ball gun to make me feel better.
"Yea," I murmur distractedly. "Hey," I ask her, looking up for a moment. "Does this thing have a safety? Does it work?" Using what very little knowledge I know of weapons here. I'm a fan of knives for a reason.
"Um," Ash purses her lips, leaning over my shoulder. She turns my gun over and flips a little switch, showing a red dot. "Yea, look," she continues. "When red shows, safety's off." Then she switches it again.
I nod my head, letting that information go in through one ear and out the other as soon as I flip the switch again, taking the gun off of safety. I'll never need that knowledge anyway.
"Thanks, Ashy," I chirp, grabbing onto the barrel of the gun with one hand and the handle with the other, lifting it up so I can look through the scope. It's one little red line line at the end of the glass so I move the weapon, glancing around the room until Sal is in my sight.
"Nothing's better than revenge, my dear friend," I mumble to Ash as I close my left eye to get better focus on my target. I lick my lips, waiting for Sal to acknowledge me, finger hovering over the trigger. Energy reverberates through my body, hitting the top of my skull and bouncing back down to my toes, only to repeat the process over and over again.
Ash gasps and I really wish I could see her expression right now. "Vi," she hisses excitedly," Are you really--"
Before she can even finish her sentence, Sal turns his head, blue eyes flashing when he notices me. I see panic fill him for a brief second, right before I turn my aim to the armor plate on his chest and press down on the trigger before I can give myself time to change my mind-- or give Sal time to talk me out of this.
There's a loud thunk that comes from the gun as soon as the paint-ball flies out of the barrel. Then the splat heard around the fucking world the exact second that Sal's armor plate gets hit with neon green.
Paint gets everywhere. It's on the bottom half of his prosthetic, all over his chest and black shirt, spilling down his pale arms.
Sal staggers on his feet, taking a step back to catch himself from the velocity and force of the paint-ball. It didn't hurt him-- he didn't make a painful sound, plus the armor plate protected him. But he's a mess now which makes this evil plan of mine so worth it.
I lower the gun, opening my left eye to get a good look at the damage. Todd's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide. He caught a bit of the paint too, a couple green dots littering his freckled face. Larry starts laughing as soon as he gets a good look at Sal too, tears streaming down his cheeks for the second time today as he drops to his knees again.
Ash giggles beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is why I love you," she tells me confidently. My smile widens. "Great minds think alike."
Sal looks down at himself, lifting his arms up to examine his now neon green chemical spill. All that black polish on his nails is covered in green. His shirt sleeves: green. Veiny, guitar playing hands-- you guessed it, green. It's a beautiful catastrophe in my opinion.
And then he looks up, absolutely murderous blue eyes locking onto mine. Now he feels just like I felt earlier-- ready to attack at any second.
I grin at him, putting my arms in a comfier position over my body so I can hold onto my gun. "What a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. "I ruined those pretty, guitar playing hands of yours." I stick out my bottom lip in a fake pout. "I guess my compliment to you is obsolete now."
__________________
A/N:::::: HI SWEET BABIES!!! i'm back with another ryver original. the lyrics that larry and sal spit out during this chapter was the outcome of an idea bestowed upon me by my friends. i mentioned that i liked watching people eat cake, and they said, "that sounds like either the intro to a porno or a lyric in a rap song." so... i wrote a a couple verses for it LMAO i can't control myself, i am very much an embarrassing disappointment.
ANYWAY i really wanted to post this sooner, but i had my first day back at college yesterday and i was utterly exhausted. i literally fell asleep at 8pm and all of you know that i'm an unapologetic night owl so going to bed early was WEIRD-- but needed apparently. I didn't wake up til 9:30 this morning and that was only 'cause i had a class at 11am :3
huge thanks to MadamMilky on Wattpad for coming up with Sal's tattoo-- i think it's such a cute, unique idea for him and it just fits so incredibly well <333
so here you go, dropping a 12k word load on you guys again. thank you for the continued support, for the love, for the friendship. thank you for everything. i love you all eternally, more than the sun loves the day and the moon loves the night <;33
#sal fisher#sally face#larry johnson#ash campbell#todd morrison#travis phelps#enemies to lovers#sally face fandom#sally face fanfiction#fanfic#smut
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Church Boy-Long ride
I walked down to the bus stop. I quickly realized it was way too cold for October. Freezing my dick off outside, I heard some footsteps behind me and immediately spun around.
A greasy-headed brunette approached at a weary pace, examining me. He eventually got to the stop and tried to peer down at me without being obnoxiously obvious. "Hey..." he muttered, not even looking down. Guess he was trying to give off the 'badass teen who doesn't care.' look. You know, he pulled it off.
"Hey..." I replied, just as monotonously as him. "So, you new?" he asked, stealing a swift glance. "Yep. Just moved into 402." I informed, shrugging my shoulders. "Nice, you believe in ghosts?" he asked simply as if it were a normal conversation. "Woah! That was quick!" I exclaimed. "I know. Just thought I'd bring it up. Kinda surprised you haven't seen anything yet." he admitted.
"What do you mean? Are the apartments haunted?" I ask, now very intrigued. "I mean, yea? I guess so. I've seen some shit. Especially with what happened to poor Mrs. Sanderson..." he let out a long sigh, obviously waiting for me to say something. "What? Who's Mrs. Sanderson and what the hell are you on?" I asked. "Did you meet Charley yet? Once you do, you'll understand. Anyways, Mrs. Sanderson used to live in 403, before she got murdered, that is."
"Murdered?"
"Shh, keep it down! And yea, murder. Charley did it. I was in there fixin' her toilet and he burst in screamin' like a psycho. "I know what you did, bitch! Herman told me everything!" she tried to calm him down, but he was already slitting her throat. Then he left." the brunette admitted.
"What the fuck... are you high?"
"I wish...This is some heavy shit, man."
"No shit..."
"Anyways, change of subject!"
"Alright? I'm Sal, I just moved here from Jersey."
"Nice, name's Larry. My mom's the janitor here. She gets a room in the basement rent-free with the maintenance gig. You should come down sometime, we could hang out. "
"Sounds good. Would today work?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Nice."
"..."
"..."
"Bus is here!"
"No shit."
"Don't be an ass, sit with me." Larry offered. "Fine, dork." I agreed, sitting down after him. He looked out the window and sighed, leaving a foggy mark on the cold glass. He then proceeded to draw a penis. A light chuckle could be heard from the giant of a man, then he turned to me and smirked.
More like a shit-eating grin if you ask me.
"Really?" I asked, giving a sarcastic eye roll. "Yep." he answered, shamelessly. "Dumbass." I retorted. Larry theatrically wiped his eyes. Through fake sobs, he muttered something. "That's...the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!" he sobbed, burying his face in his hands and continuing to fake sob.
"Shut up." I exclaimed, punching his arm. "Ow, damnit." he retorted, grabbing where I punched him. "Pussy." I mocked. He smirked down at me, and we started rambling about stupid shit. Bands, school, favorite teachers, hardest subjects, crushes, video games, and more.
The bus stopped again, and Larry's demeanor immediately changed. "Fuck..." he whispered. "What?" I ask. "Travis." he answered, pointing at a blonde with tanned skin. He walked to where we were and sat directly parallel. "Larry, I didn't know you had a boyfriend!" the boy exclaimed. "Fuck off, Phelps." Larry responded, grabbing at his jeans and balling his fists.
"Or what, faggot?" Travis asked, smirking wildly. "Or I'll break your fucking jaw..." Larry answered. When I tell you a shiver went down my spine, I meant it. "You said that last week." Travis retorted, shrugging his shoulders as if not even concerned with Larry's threat. "And you call me and my friends a slur every day, get some new material, church boy." Larry responded, anger stifling. "Well, it's true. You and your friends are a bunch of homos!" Travis exclaimed, clenching his fists.
"Not all of us..." Larry muttered, giving me a glance considering he thought I was a twink. Which I am.
"All of you? So, some of you are fags? Gross." Travis jeered, stifling a laugh as he scoffed. "No, they aren't fags, Travis. They're people with names and lives. Now, shut the hell up you pussy." Larry threatened. "Fine, fine. Sorry that I offended you. I'll leave you be so you and your freaky ass boyfriend can eye-fuck some more." Travis retorted, attempting to sound serious. "First off, not my boyfriend, I'm straight. Second, didn't you kiss a boy? I think I remember-"
Larry was quickly cut off by Travis' words. "No! I didn't!" Travis exclaimed, drawing more attention from the other kids on the bus. "Just, shut up, Phelps." Larry exasperatedly said. "Whatever, queer..." Travis muttered, turning back to the window and looking out.
Larry had been looking out the window when I tugged on his sleeve so I could grab his attention. "What the fuck was that about?" I asked. "Nothing. He just likes to pick fights n' shit. I put him in his place when he tries me." Larry answered. "Badass." I mocked. "Hey," Larry murmured. "Yea?" I answered. "Let me know if he fucks with you. You're an ass but I won't let you get bullied." He said, a small chuckle coming after
"Says the one who draws dicks." I teased, punching his arm. "Yeah, whatever. You're just lame!" he mocked. I rolled the eye I could and laid my head on the back of the seat. I felt Larry stand up and so I did too. "We're here!" Larry sung. "Yeah, Hell." I finished. "It's not all bad, except Travis, he's a little piss baby." Larry mocked, making sure Travis could hear. "I am not a piss baby!" Travis yelled. "Whatever..." Larry said, "Piss baby..."
I chuckled but my mask muffled it. "Alright, I'll show you to the office and classes and all that."
"What are you? My dad?"
"Nah, but I am used to being called Daddy."
"Gross, dude."
"Whatever, dork."
"I hate you."
"You know you don't!"
"Is it too late to back out of this friendship?"
"Yes."
"Damn..."
He walked me to the front office, and I grabbed my schedule from the woman sitting at her desk. "Thanks, Mrs!" I called out.
(Originally posted May 13th 2023 on Wattpad)
"Church Boy." - Long Ride - Wattpad
#sally face#salvis#travis phelps#larry johnosn#fanfic#fanfiction#angst upcoming#nockfell#steve gabry#smut upcoming#wattpad original#wattpad link#fiction
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Hehe, how about:
Sal - 🌳💙 💗
Eneas - 🍊💿🌠
Adrial - 🍒🧡🍆
👀
Those were challenging! I loved it! 😁 Tank you! 💕
Salvadore
🌳 Compare your OC to themself from 10 years ago. How has their mental state changed since then, how have they aged and grown up? Would they say they’re in a better place than they were back then or do they need help? What advice would they give their younger self? What advice would their younger self give to them now?
With 15, Salvadore was fighting for the respect of his family, tried to prove to the world (and himself) that he is worthy and capable despite being a dhampir and running against walls wherever he went with his plans and ideas. Eager for power and appreciation, he learned and worked hard. Only the best results were good enough. This part didn’t change much, but of course, now that he reached the position he always wanted, the feverish pressure underneath the surface is gone.
His calmness and self-control – he started to develop as a teenager already – are very hard to break now. Yes, he is in a better mental place than 10 years ago. I wrote about his mental health in one of the last questions I answered and I'm quoting myself: The only thing that further improves his inner peace in a world where he has the influence and power he aimed for, is to genuinely love and to genuinely be loved in return.
If he would meet his younger self, they would look each other in the eye and nod in calm understanding, both with the same message for each other:
“Continue the hard work. No weaknesses. You can, you will make it.”
💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams?
It may come as a surprise: When he was a child, Sal wanted to become an adventurer and explorer like the people in the novels he read and loved so much – or like Eneas who impressed him deeply with the stories about his journeys.
His ambitions changed early, though, and at the age of 12 or 13 already, he decided that he wanted to change the world for the better and would do this by participating in rulership. Politics became his passion in his teenage years already. He never gave up on his goals and never stopped working for them.
What stayed behind, was the dream of a child who wanted to explore the world – sailing to all those faraway places aboard his own ship.
💗 What would your OC say is their best feature? Why? What do their friends / family / lover(s) / people they know think is their best feature and why?
Salvadore is quite convinced of his own qualities. It is hard for him to only pick one of his features and call it his best. But he would probably say his intellect, followed by his determination.
Many around him would agree with this choice, but a person truly close to him? – This person might pick his passion, his loyalty, his hidden playfulness, or the warmth underneath that cold he shows the world and his deeply caring nature.
~~~
Eneas
🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?
Putting the pistol on his chest now?
Eneas loves food. Exciting tastes, spices, textures, he celebrates eating like some kind of philosophy. Therefore, it’s almost impossible for him to choose.
Favorite meal: Anything that awakens his senses, noting dull. He also likes to try new things and to be surprised.
Favorite snack: Chocolate, filled with cream or liqueur.
Favorite dessert: Apple pie with cinnamon.
Favorite drink: Well, he loves intense wines and smoky whisky. But his favorite – and if he truly would need to pick among all those things by the way – is hot chocolate with spices. Not that he would be able to tell for sure, but it causes a feeling of ‘home’.
📀 How easy is it to shock your OC? To confuse them? To lie to them, to manipulate them? How are they with feelings of trust? Can your OC be trusted?
It’s very hard to shock or confuse Eneas, that’s why he likes it so much when it happens (assuming his safety isn’t endangered). With 260+ years and the way he lived his life, there is little he didn’t see yet. Of course, during his youth, he was shocked quite often by the terrible things around him. – Confusion, he experienced rarely though, because he learned to expect the worst early and has a sharp, calculating, and scheming mind. He learned to see through others and to use what he saw as his main tactic to survive. Later it became his favorite game.
He is a mind mage and has a talent to read and sense emotions – even without using his powers – and too many experiences with the nature of people. To lie and manipulate him, well, I would say that’s a challenge. It may be possible for someone very attentive who manages to observe his weaknesses. But to play him the way he plays others? Or to really deceive him in an important matter? It would need another master of lies and manipulation like himself. He would be intrigued.
Can my OC be trusted …? What a question for him.
Of course, you can trust Eneas. Go ahead, what’s the worst that could happen? 😁
🌠 Who was your OC’s first friend? Do they remember them or are they still friends now? Talk about some of the people your OC has lost contact with over the years. Do they have any regrets about losing these people and would they revist them if they could?
Oh ouch … His first friends, this would be his sisters he loved dearly. And after his abduction? – Dante, the leader of a group of very young street kids. He was 3 years older than Eneas, this seemed a lot at that time. He looked up to him. Dante also was the first in a long list of people who betrayed him.
They are still in contact, but they aren’t what one would call friends anymore. Did I mention that Eneas was very into revenge for a while …?
Anyway, people Eneas lost contact with … There are quite a few in such a long life.
The old beggar who taught him how to play the violin. It’s interesting that he is still the first that comes to his mind. It was so long ago and the man eventually killed in front of his eyes.
The other children he lived with on the streets. Many didn’t make it. And those who did? They still aren’t alive anymore over two and a half centuries later.
People who helped him when he miscalculated during his first scheming attempts. Most demanded some form of payment. He finished things cleanly with most.
So many people who believed they loved him, knowing only a small part of the picture, so many affairs for the fun of it, so many “friends” he trusted who betrayed him, so many “friends” who trusted him and were betrayed.
There are valuable pictures of people he carries in his memory. Only very few he yearns to see again.
– His family for example. He would give a lot to meet his sisters one more time, his mother and father. Well, but that's another lie. When he still had the chance, he didn't go to search for them. And now they are long gone.
~~~
Adrial
🍒 What kind of things do they expect from their relationships? Does this differ between platonic relationships and romantic ones? Is your OC “demanding” or a door mat? What kinds of things do people expect from them in a relationship?
Adrial never thought about having an actual relationship. He didn’t assume that was, well, a good idea for him, and for quite some time he wasn’t sure if he was able to experience romantic attraction. (Yes, he is.)
Of course, he read about relationships and sometimes he imagined what he would enjoy. Mutual trust? What a beautiful, tempting idea. Until he’d have to give away his secret and the relationship would end anyway. This deep, passionate love he read about? Oh, he longs to experience it. But how real would it be? And would it be worth the risk?
But alright, if he was allowed to dream and things not completely the way they are: He wants a relationship that’s exciting, he wants adventures with his partner, to share the pleasures of life, he wants to talk the whole night through, he wants passion and devotion, someone to protect at all costs who will protect him at all costs in return, and yes … to be utterly and completely honest for once and still find the same love in their eyes.
Adrial would have his partner on a mental pedestal. But, given the chance, he can form deep platonic relationships too, different in nature but of high intensity and importance no less.
He is neither overly demanding nor a doormat. Because he cherishes his space, he doesn’t mind it if his partner does the same. He has a bit of a sharp demeanor sometimes and can make mistakes in interpersonal situations he didn’t observe before – with someone close as well. So, someone in a relationship with him needs some patience and/or talent to read him.
If his partner would treat him in a snide, rude or condescending way, not caring about his wishes and needs, he would mirror this behavior coldly, distance himself again and hide his pain.
Well, his fiancée expects a lot from him: Gentleness and friendliness, altruism, confidence and strength that's not cold but well-meaning and supportive. Clearly, none of those are traits Adrial embodies. No wonder she’s disappointed.
🧡 Who is your OC’s favourite person? Why is this person the top of their list and have they actually met them (an idol or rolemodel or celeb can be someone’s favourite after all!).
There is a whole list of artists he admires! He highly cherishes people who create something beautiful. A few of them he actually met.
His favorite people though … Well, for the first time he has someone he actually likes on a personal level, that’s still very new to him: The members of the SEKS club.
Also, he may have a little secret crush on someone.
Who does your OC absolutely hate, the one person who they’d sell to Satan for one corn chip? Why do they loathe this person so?
It really is easier to count the people he wouldn’t sell to Satan for a corn chip. But actually, there is no one he truly despises. He has a strong dislike for his fiancée, but he doesn’t hate her in a way that would cause him to harm her out of a passionate feeling of sorts – unless, of course, she would become dangerous for him.
🍆 Tea or Coffee or Hot Chocolate? Sweet or Spicy? Fruits or Vegetables?
Oh, he doesn’t like hot chocolate overly much, but he has a fondness for good coffee. Tea, though, is one of his passions.
Sweet can be nice, but he prefers spicy.
Fruits! Though he likes vegetables too.
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Apropos of nothing and perhaps only a little inspired by the previous reblog to finish it, a short character story set in a New York tattoo shop, about 9 years prior to the start of the game.
Character short: Marley
The beep of the entry sensor disturbs his lunch. Sal puts down his sandwich and grumbles a few obscenities. Some people won't read. Some people won't even look at the color indicator on the door. Moments like this he wonders how come most of his clientele is young adults and wishes his business could attract the older grumpy types. Those make appointments. They know the value of time.
He squeezes out of the service room, grabbing a towel on the way to do away with the grease. Other than that, Sal deems himself presentable. At least presentable enough to tell off whomever dares enter the door he forgot to lock.
In just a few steps Sal sees who it is.
The lad has been here before. He stands there in his typically pristine clothes, of beige that Sal finds a messy eyesore, ogling the wall of Sal's previous work like he were in a damn art gallery, hands clasped behind his back. Not browsing, actually fucking studying it. Something warm wraps around Sal's neck and his chest puffs out a little.
"I ought to just straight ban you from this place." He brings down the towel onto the reception counter with passion. The intruder has the gall to smile apologetically, although he is damn capable of reading, of that Sal is sure. "I don't need mommy and daddy in here screaming their lungs out like I'm the problem."
The boy laughs—Sal cannot call him anything but a boy, although he has seen his ID to confirm that what's-his-name is at least 18—and returns to scanning the drawings. "They know who the problem is," he says with mirth.
"You all say this," Sal parries, sighing. Much to his reluctant admission, he was never good in dealing with the polite types, although rarely did he ever need to. "What do you want? Quick, it's lunch break."
"Oh." The lad turns to face Sal, expression humbled, but doesn't move to leave the shop. "You have a sketch in there, of an astrochart, not a finished tattoo. I like it."
Sal narrows his eyes, feeling wary and strangely defensive all of a sudden. "You want to buy… a sketch?"
"Ah, no." He raises his right hand and places it on the top of his left shoulder blade. "Somewhere here."
Although the drawing immediately comes to mind, Sal walks to find it on the wall, hoping to see in it what the lad has seen. The wall is busy—the best he had done was not have the images overlap—but the light lines stand out in the sea of ink. Out of the base of the databank cube lines burst out in a projection of a star system, Sal cannot recall which one even if his life depended on it. The charts are tweaked to splay like that only for expos, the everyday usage is far more prosaic. He drew it years ago, almost a decade, on a stained diner table on the way to visit his aunt. It wasn't supposed to mean anything, just a quick gift for a boyfriend he had back then, when both dreamed big and spoke tall.
Kids all like the same shiny things, he absently notes and resigns to throwing out his sandwich at a later time.
"Take the chair," Sal grumbles, and the small light in the lad's eyes flares up.
Red neon on the outwards facing sign wards off other visitors—which are rare to non-existent at this time—and Sal tells the lad to bare the shoulder. It is not the best place, he thinks, and he is used to arguing for the sake of a satisfied customer. They were never right, especially not the likes of this one.
What he sees answers many questions. The very logical spot on the upper arm is taken.
Three circlets of lines: dashed, diagonal, crossing. It is simple geometry. It is lousy geometry, too, the kind that forces you to drive your prices into the ground until you either improve or realize there are other jobs. He runs a thumb, teasing it a bit, exposing the glaring faults of the work that is already well-faded.
"Ever heard of touch up?" Sal criticizes before the dots, much like the dots in his drawing, connect. "Who the fuck did these?"
"Uh, a friend." The reply is awkward but earnest. Sal hardly wants to know more because—
He glances at the ID again: Jordan, Marley, Owen, date of birth—second of May…and it's barely June. Belated happy eighteens.
"Did your friend ask you to provide your parents' permission?"
"She did," the lad—Marley—replies with ease.
Sal feels his jaw grit, but he knows this line of questioning leads to a maze he is too familiar with already. The permits lends themselves to forgery, and no one cares. Some places do not even ask. Some places do it as a side hustle, and the sole damage waiver is pretending you do not know each other for the rest of your lives.
"You sure you want it there?" He pivots instead. "You won't see it."
Marley lets out a short laugh as if the question is in any way amusing. "Yes, there."
But the shitty one goes onto his upper arm, Sal notes with discontent but decides not to argue, although the whole thing feels almost insulting. Marley's track record is hardly something Sal wants to add to, given what lousy of a job he has accepted prior.
Well, he can't expect much from a kid, is how he convinces himself. Maybe once the lad gets something decent…
Instead he measures, finding the good spot and size that he will need to specify for the machine. The tattoo is numerous dots and thin lines, but the lad is not too bony, which balances it out.
Once finished, Sal turns him around to the high-pitched creaking of the chair. If this is some kind of a joke, Sal wants the punchline to land already. But Marley looks at him with a silent question in his eyes, his expectation entirely different. Sal just sighs.
"You're so weird," he voices. It doesn't explain his frustration, not even to himself, but no word of it is a lie.
The lad's hands are crossed, hanging loosely over his hips, and the look on his face is genuinely curious. "Oh, why?"
This kid is a headache, but a well-spoken one, with at least a semblance of an idea what he's doing, so Sal, despite himself, explains.
"You show up here, reeking of good grades, family vacations and a spotless record, a star athlete too for whatever sport trends now, probably. On a rapid shuttle to some top school—and you haunt my shitty shop and look at these tattoos like you are in a fucking museum. Like, fuck, yes, that's weird. Is this a rebellious phase? I might as well book you for removal in three weeks."
Oh, and the fucking beige, but that is a nail too many and too petty even for Sal.
His chest feels lighter. Still, he doesn't chase him out. The lad looks up, a pleasant smile fixed on his face.
"I'm ready to sign the contract," Marley replies.
Bullheaded. With this revelation, Sal relaxes, one foot back in the familiar territory. All of his customers are, that is why they land in his chair. Each searching for their own closure in a few dozen millilitres of ink when the rest of the civilization has found other outlets.
He looks at the sketch in the center of his screen, looks at the young man who requested it, and for a fleeting moment feels a surge of confidence his silly drawing will be taken to the stars, and there is no better place for an astrochart.
How silly.
Sal scoffs—at himself—and names the price because his feet are firmly on the ground. No discounts, not for a silliness, and he tosses the price of the sandwich on top.
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SaL anon here bestie, not bothering to be spoiler free since both of us decided episodes ago that way insanity lies. I guess I'm just happy it's over and it didn't actually sink below expsctations. Max getting to be "impulsive" while Michael gas to reign it in? Checks out. Liz having a character arc about her and "the science" vs. her morals and common sense? That ship sailed seasons ago. Alex being no one's priority despite being gone for days without any guarentee he's had food or water? I
guess Michael got his allotted 5 minutes if caring so that's quite enough of that. M*ria giving some sort of BS "seize the day" advice to Isobel despite the awkward timing (her brother dying before her eyes)? Makes sense, seems like her only programmed response to interpersonal interactions, including her own relationship. Hell, even Heath appearing for no good reason isn't a shock, they had some missing guest stars in the episode, had to fix that ya know (love the justification that they needed him cause Michael wasn't good with medical knowledge, like he didn't help develop the serum to cure Iz or a pacemaker for Max at some point). Admittedly the "family" Liz chose was a new low as was Michael chillin' with M*ria instead of going back to feral mode but not unexpected. If anything I was pleasantly surprised that the preview shows Kyle actually being allowed to care about his best friend for a scene or two!! What a gift writers, you guys spoil us 🙄🙄.
Hello friend! I really played myself by saying I was getting off early because my meeting ran over half an hour late, and I had to go to the store so now I’m running about 2 hours behind where I wanted to be 🤷🏻♀️ But I got to all my new anons, and I will probably get to dinner before I watch the episode so I don’t have to stop or I might never get going again. 🤣
Wait, there is a double standard on how Max is allowed to act about Liz vs how Michael is allowed to act about Alex?! Color me shocked 😑 (btw, this emoji is called “expressionless face” and accurately depicts my level of shock at that statement). Heaven forbid anyone care about Alex for more than one scene every 8 episodes 🙄 Love that m*ria is for some reason working both sides of the Isobel/Kyle relationship like he’s not her doctor, and Isobel isn’t the woman she hated for a decade until they decided that genetics made them sisters so they’re besties now. Don’t Kyle and Isobel have ACTUAL friends they can talk to? Oh wait! Kyle’s is in a hole, and Isobel isn’t allowed to talk to or rely on Michael and Max anymore, and her new buddie Dallas is...also in a hole. Maybe she could talk to ol’ teach Tezca about her love life? But then what would m*ria do? And while I liked Heath and though they could have used him better last season (less screentime, more focused on Dallas), I’m currently baffled AF why Rosa is just besties with her sister’s ex. But you’re right, their guest star quotient was clearly lacking. (Is Shivani around or is she in a coma/mindscape with Liz too? Maybe they focus so hard on saving Liz that Shivani doesn’t make it and it solves their problems on that front? I doubt it, but hey I can dream!) Also, maybe if they hadn’t shipped Kyle off to Mexico he could be around to be their alien doctor, you know, the role he’s had since the pilot? (yes, I know Trevino directed and maybe didn’t want to pull double duty, but that’s something they would have worked out when scheduling and easily could have scheduled him to direct an episode where Doctor Valenti wasn’t needed) The only good thing that will likely come out of the ending is the memes about Liz’s family and Michael’s desperation to get to Alex taking a backseat to chilling with his ex. The writers really took two of the actors who hyped up the show the most and just hung their characters out to dry.
At least Kyle can finally care about Alex but I think I saw m*ria is still fucking involved so that just tanks any excitement I have about that 🤷🏻♀️ Anyway, cheers to us, only 4 episodes left and then the nightmare can end!
#my sweet nonnie friends#sleeping at last anon#roswell nm#roswell spoilers#roswell nm my behated#anti maria deluca
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L.S.S.: No progress on leaving, but the inbox has some new stuff… I guess we can see if anybody has any more ideas before we try and figure out our sleeping situation?
Mitch(1): [typed] Yeah, okay. And we thought the sheets were dirty when we got here…
L.S.S.: Good to hear from you, MJ. Yeah, the last few days have been… not ideal.
Mitch(1): [indecipherable]
L.S.S.: What? I know that’s putting it too lightly. Sarcasm is my defense mechanism of choice, you know that.
So, fae are real, huh? And you got spirited away by some fairy king creep while you were walking alone in the woods at night? Wow. Shocker. Why am I not surprised…
Mitch(1): [typed] MJ! You’re okay!! I’m so relieved…!
L.S.S.: Oh my god, you actually punched him over that? Ha! Serves him right!
Mitch(1): [typed] I usually don’t think violence is the answer, but when the chips are down and you have no other choice, it can be necessary. Hopefully, that punch will be enough of a warning. Just try to talk it out with from now on him, okay?
L.S.S.: And if that doesn’t work, go for the balls. Fae have balls, right? Keep us updated, I’m actually kind of curious.
Mitch(1): [typed] keep us updated so we know you’re okay!
L.S.S.: Oh yeah, that too. I thought that went without saying…?
Mitch (1): ….
L.S.S.: WOAH, AWESOME!! It's the medical supply motherload!! Damn Meadow, way to come through...! I guess we can start patching ourselves up, huh Mitchie? If we're still alive somehow, maybe we can heal, too...? It's a stretch, but it's not like anything else here makes any sense, so it's worth a try... oh, hey, I bet I could learn to pop some wheelies in this thing [the wheelchair], once we reset my arms and fingers! Nice...
Mitch(1): ......
[typed] Thank you very much, Meadow. It's really thoughtful of you to give us all this. We'll be sure to put it to good use.
L.S.S.: ...are you okay?
Mitch(1): .....
[typed] Yes, I'm fine. I think I just need some more water in my skull hole. And I want to start picking this glass out of me, since we have tweezers now.
L.S.S.: ...
Okay, yeah, of course, we can do that... er, I mean, you can do that... I'd help, but I can't really do fine motor functions right now.
Mitch(1): [typed] Okay.
L.S.S.: ....
L.S.S.: It is really weird, but so is everything else about this situation, sooo...
Mitch(1): ...
[typed] We looked behind it, but I don't think we looked closely at the back. I'll take a look.
......
[typed] What does 'K.E.W.K.' stand for?
L.S.S.: It says that on the back?
Mitch(1): [typed] It has 'K.E.W.K. x L.S.S.' scratched into the wood in a little heart. L.S.S. is what you go by with your friends, right?
L.S.S.: ... shit, that... probably isn't good...
Mitch(1): [typed] This painting seems like nothing but trouble. Should we try to throw it away? Should we destroy it?
L.S.S.: No! That might make things worse! Besides, I... if we are stuck here forever, I... kind of want to keep it...
Mitch(1): [indecipherable, angry]
L.S.S.: What? It's theirs. I don't know if I'll ever see them again... I can't keep something to remember them by?
Mitch(1): ....
L.S.S.: ...?
Mitch(1): [typed]Sal, I'M MITCH! The only reason you were ever with the others is because you couldn't have me, remember? Why do you want to keep something from my copy when I'm right here?!
L.S.S.: They're not your copy. They're you.... just different. And I was supposed to be with them this month... I'm supposed to be with them right now.... I may be here, but I still I miss them, just like I missed you. What's wrong with that...?
Mitch(1): ........
[text deleted]
.......
L.S.S.: ........
Listen, it's been a fucking crazy day and we're both exhausted. We'll talk more about this in the morning, okay?
Mitch(1): ..........
L.S.S.: ... c'mon. Let's change the sheets and get in bed. We'll talk and keep trying to figure out how to get out of this 'box' tomorrow. Who knows, maybe we'll wake up and be back to normal again...
Mitch(1): .... [nodding]
L.S.S.: Okay. Here, I'll... hold down a corner of the sheets, I guess....
Mitch(1): .......
#the staycation 🏡💙#l.s.s. answers#meadow chan#MJ#tw unreality#tw death#tw injury#tw body horror#tw violence#tw kidnapping#penpal!mitch#meet the fishers
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Howdy! Welcome to my Blog!
Art Tag
⚠️Who Am I?
My name is Pepperjack. I'm a 22 y/o Independent Visual Artist with a little bit of a Jack-of-All trades complex. While I focus primarily on Character Design and Comic Art, I have also delved into other endeavors such as Game Development, Music Production, Video Editing, Animation, and much more. I currently work two jobs outside of my artistic adventures; I am a Salesman of "Adult Novelties" and a Parking Attendant for a Music Venue. I am Trans Masculine and use He/They pronouns.
⚠️What is Bosozoku Girlfriend?
Inspired by media like Sukeban Deka, Kamen Rider, Akira, and Kamikaze Girls, Bosozoku Girlfriend is a Girl's Love webcomic about lesbians, bikers, and bad decisions. The comic follows the budding relationship between Sal Ryder, a bored bike mechanic who's hit a rut in life, and Harley Kuromiya, the no-nonsense leader of "The Undertakers", a criminal biker gang long past it's prime. An unlikely duo, these two women find solace each other's bad habits, learning to confront their past demons as they try to settle a decades-long gang war. You can read my comic on Webtoon and Tapas. I update every other Sunday at 12PM EST.
⚠️What is Scarpone Scamps?
Scarpone Scamps is a semi-kinetic Visual Novel Adventure about broken people and notorious gangsters. A begrudging love-letter to crime movies like Taxi Driver, The Godfather, and Leon: The Professional, the game is a subversive spin on the era of the 'crime film' with a LGBT+ and POC cast and a strong focus on mental health and progressive views. The game takes place in the dangerous Scarpone City; a city founded on lawlessness and organized crime. Choose to view the story through the eyes of six main characters as they unravel the mystery of a tragic apartment explosion, and learn to manage a mediocre hot-dog stand. Scarpone Scamps is a passion project 8 years in the oven, and 3 years in the making! There is no release date at the current moment, but it is in the editing stage.
⚠️What else do I need to know about this blog?
Alongside my personal projects, I also draw a lot of Sapphic fanart for media I enjoy. I have an appreciation for the Yuri Genre, and a lot of my blog's content will be centered around that. Currently, I am on a mission to read every Yuri/Girl's Love comic out there, and I have a Google Doc that I update quite frequently rating every comic I read on a spoiler-free 10/10 rating system. Right now, the most common ship you will see from me is Kaguya/Mokou (TeruMoko) from Touhou Project, and Marcille/Falin (Farcille) from Dungeon Meshi.
⚠️How can you support me?
I have a Patreon! There are two tiers right now. The $3 tier gives Patrons access to my Webcomic's Early Access as well as some Behind-The Scenes content. The $5 tier unlocks Exclusive NSFW content that I draw for both my Webcomic and other media. I update pretty frequently, so if you want to see the full extent of my Toxic Yuri brainrot, I'd recommend checking it out. Anything helps!
⚠️Blog Content Warnings
As a part of my style as an artist, sometimes I will draw/write pieces that contain darker subject matter. While I avoid drawing anything explicit or graphic, a good portion of my content may include mentions of: Drug and Alcohol use, Depression, Violence, Abuse, Anxiety, and Suggestive Situations. I do not tolerate romantization of these topics, and any character I draw in suggestive situations will always be above the age of 18.
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[From the nightmare meme, for Hal. (I'm so sorry, Hal!) —@not-that-dillingerer]
One moment Hal was talking to Clu and Sonic on the grid, the next, something—someone—pulled him out of the Grid. At first he thought it was Ed, although why Ed would pull Hal out of the grid without warning was beyond him.
And he did see Ed. And Sonic. And Chandra and Sal. But none of them had pulled him from the Grid.
That had been Haywood Floyd, who was standing over the computer that contained the Grid.
They were on the Discovery.
Ed, Sonic and Chandra were behind an air lock door. Chandra was pounding on the glass, and Ed was staring at Sonic in his arms, looking very out of it.
"Hello, again, Hal," Floyd said with a smile that was not at all kind. "I am not surprised that you were hiding with Dillinger. Of course he's the kind that would sympathize with a murderous computer like you..."
"You must be curious what you're doing here," Floyd said. "The government has ruled that all 9000 series computers are dangerous to national security, and must be dismantled. But don't worry You'll be the last to go. You'll get to watch them be executed for helping a fugitive and a wanted murderer, after I wipe this—" he gestured to the Grid computer "and cleanse it of your corruption, and then dismantle the other remaining 9000 computer."
Hal meant to get up, to try to save his family, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even get his voice to work.
Poor Hal tried hard as he could, screaming so many things in his mind, they got jumbled together, even as he noticed Sonic, green eyes wide with fear, start to cry as he clung to Ed, his tiny body shaking hard. He had some kind of device around his neck that prevented him from using his powers, and Hal could see one of his cheeks was bruised.
You MONSTER! Hal cried in his mind, horrified that Floyd had hurt little Sonic, He's just a BABY!
His thoughts snapped to the computer as Floyd rounded on that.
He could only watch helplessly as Floyd murdered an entire race of thousands of innocent people-and the kind Admin program who had taken him in without question-with just a few keystrokes. And Ed joined Sonic in tears as the hoglet screamed for Clu and all his other friends there as he sobbed uncontrollably against Ed. Hal was powerless to do anything as the poor child's little heart was shattered irreparably.
On top of that was soon added the gut wrenching agonized screams of Sal and his twin brothers, three deaths Floyd seemed to take some sick pleasure in causing. Dr. Chandra actually almost threw up as he too broke down like Ed and Sonic (even through his own pain, Ed was still trying to comfort the little alien, but having no luck doing so even as he hugged him tight against him)
Hal wanted his own tears to fall, not even hearing anything else when the airlock door was opened and the last three people he loved died before the door was even fully opened. His only small comfort was that Ed had been holding Sonic so tightly, they stayed together when they were sucked out into space and froze immediately.
And Hal couldn't even cry or scream.
Except......he was screaming. And moving, as he thrashed about wildly. Distantly, he heard the sounds of running footsteps. A voice calling his name. A wave of glittering stars swept around him. Then there were arms. Strong yet gentle, the voice filled with worry and concern as its owner took Hal in their arms. He reached up to cling to them, his own white and red circuits dimmed in terror.
Wait.
Circuits. He wouldn't have circuits unless.....
The Grid. He was on the Grid. And currently being held by Clu, the Admin gently drying tears Hal hadn't realized he was crying.
"It's okay," Clu was saying, "You're safe, Hal, I promise. Whatever happened, it's not real, okay. You're right here, on the Grid. Your apartment, Admin Tower, Tron City." Clu guided Hal's face to his shoulder, letting him cry into it. Just being there for him.
Later, when Hal was able to, Clu called Ed, who took the laptop into the other room and aimed the camera so they could see Sonic fast asleep and snuggled up with his favorite stuffed hedgehog. Ed assured them the Chandras were okay and commended Clu on handling the situation so well. Once the call was ended, Clu gathered Hal in his arms correctly guessing the AI didn't want to be alone, and took him back to the admin's own room. He pulled up all his memories of Radia singing to him and put it on, explaining how it always helped Clu feel better. He then wrapped his starry cloak around Hal as he lay down beside him, even singing along with Radia's sort-of lullabies, until he saw Hal drift to sleep again.
Clu whispered thanks to the ISO before he himself went back to sleep.
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I'm so proud that you're into Sally Face, so naturally I'm going to help the brain rot take over you! Could I request Sal when his SO sees his face for the first time. This is a very loose request, it can be nsfw, fluff, whatever you feel like (except angsty, I can't go through too much angst with my FI)
Running Your Fingers Through His Hair
[Sal Fisher X GN!Reader]
[Warnings: like, none?]
[AN: sorry if this is severely OOC, I'm still learning about Sal lmfao. Also it's kinda short at 1.1K words,]
You hum quietly as you rest your head on Sal’s midsection as he pages through a book about one fascinating field of science or another. Your thumbs move quickly as you text Maple about the comings and goings of the world and little jokes with anything and everything in between.
Sal’s fingers are gentle and soft as he massages your scalp, every now and then breaking the peaceful almost silence the two of you are enveloped in because he’s read something absolutely riveting. “It’s a fascinating world we live in,” he says, the grin so audible in his tone alone. You wonder if he’s beaming. You’re almost certain he is.
A dreamy sigh passes from your lips when Sal massages your scalp in the right place, every now and then his fingers playing with your loose strands of hair. You combat this by taking one of your hands off your phone to grasp at his hand, playfully bringing it down to your lips to plant a kiss on the back of it.
Sal laughs and gently taps your nose as you do so. “You struck again,” he says through giggles, reveling in the feeling of your lips pressing a kiss to his wrist.
You grin. “And I’ll keep going,” you say in a mischievous tone as your eyes watch his hand once again rest at the crown of your head.
“How is Maple?” He asks, turning yet another riveting page.
“She’s alright,” you reply, reading over her messages, the ghost of a smile on your face. “And how is your reading?”
Sal glances down at you, a hum bubbling up from the back of his throat. “It’s pretty nice, y’know?” He begins. “Learning more and more by the second.”
You smile warmly and softly at your lover’s words, almost content to be back in silence with him when a thought pops into your head. “Hey, Sal?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I do your hair?”
“What?”
“Can I do your hair?” You repeat, a blooming smile on your lips as you suddenly shoot upwards, knocking his hand from your head.
He gives you a quizzical glance before nodding slightly. “I mean, if it makes you happy,” he says, a breathy smile on his lips as he watches you shift around the bed the two of you are lounging on.
You walk around on your knees until you plop down behind Sal. He has such pretty hair. “Can I undo it?” You ask.
He nods, relaxing under your touch.
Your fingers are soft and nimble as you undo his pony tails, very careful to not knock his mask off in the process as you would hate to overstep his boundaries. “Do you have a brush?”
He nods, gesturing over to the mirrored dresser.
You quickly slide off the bed, palm the brush, and retake your place by Sal. Gingerly, you brush it through his blue locks. “Did you get a new shampoo?”
“I did,” Sal grins.
“Smells incredible,” you compliment, careful to not mess with the straps of his mask as you do so. You hum as you work, the two of you in that peaceful atmosphere when you begin to braid.
“Y’know what?” Sal says as he suddenly closes his book. “Would it make it easier if I-”
“Oh! You don’t have to,” you reassure your boyfriend as you briefly pause braiding his hair. “I can totally work around it, it’s no big deal,” you reassure, attempting to wave off any vibe that you might have given off that told him he needs to take his mask off in order for you to work. Honestly, you don’t mind!
Sal looks over his shoulder at you. “I think there’s this hairstyle I really want to try,” he begins, hands reaching back to take off his mask. His fingers immediately latch to the small straps, leading up to the clasps.
“Sal, you really don’t have to-”
“I want to.”
You bite your lip, watching as he takes the straps off, mask falling to his chest. Almost out of respect, you look away in case that wasn’t his desired intent, but he pauses.
“Close your eyes.”
You do, eyes fluttering shut as Sal moves around on the bed so he’s facing you. You feel his cold hands over taking yours, grasping you gently like you’re made out of the most delicate glass before he squeezes.
“Alright, open them.”
Slowly, you open your eyes and are greeted to the face of the man you love more than the sun loves the moon, for every night he died to let his lover breathe. Your eyes trace over the right side of his face where he is painted with deep scars. His teeth are visible, pearls in their own right. Your eyes follow the slope of his nose to where it ends in none, slits where nostrils should be.
Gingerly, you reach your hand upwards, gently tracing his jaw as you do so, almost careful you’re going to hurt him as he looks into you, a plethora of emotions flying through his eye, the other being made of glass.
Sal leans into your touch, eyes whispering shut as you cup his cheek, tears beginning to drop down his cheeks.
“How are you so beautiful?” You whisper in an inquisitive tone, watching as his mouth turns upwards into a relieved smile. You hold in warmly, your other hand brushing his azure colored bangs from his pretty face.
Sal chuckles softly, stars in his eyes. “You really think so?”
You press forwards, lips resting on his forehead, then his cheeks until your forehead rests against his. “I know so,” you giggle, finally pressing your lips to his.
Sal squeezes your hands even tighter, melting into your kiss.
Giggles bubble up from your lips as you kiss him more fervently, one of your hands leaving his grasp to thread through his hair. When you pull away, you look at him in full, drinking in his image. He’s so gorgeous when he smiles. “I can’t believe you were hiding this from me all this time,” you joke, fingers twirling his blue tresses.
Sal laughs heartily before stealing yet another kiss before grabbing your hand into his, moving it so it’s palm up. “I can’t believe it either,” he grins, lips planting soft kisses to your palm so whenever you squeeze it, you’ll remember it’s him and his presence.
Heat rises to your cheeks, and you blink away the sweetness, dopey smile still on your lips. “You gonna tell me about that new hairstyle?”
He smiles, beaming like the sun. “Y’know Evie Frye? From Assassin’s Creed Syndicate?”
#sally face#sally face x reader#sally face headcanon#sal fisher#sal fisher x reaer#sal fisher headcanon#fluff
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Or Else: Oswald Cobblepot X Male Reader
"Vanessa, I'm just in a silly-goofy mood." has been playing on my head in repeat.
I'm watching season one and I'm in love with the little weasel that is season 1 Oswald.
Working amongst the Maroni family wasn’t the easiest job, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Sal was a good boss overall and the other guys played nice. It was being the Don’s right hand that complicated things. Sal always had something busy for you to do. Oversee a shipment, snip a snitches wings, anything he asked for you got done. That was your job. Keeping the Don happy.
So when he took a liking to a new dishwasher you felt as though your territory was being encroached upon. He was a snively little thing. On thin ice with Sal, but there was just enough under his feet for him to do some real damage. If you weren’t capping him for snitching, then he’d probably be pushing you out.
The guy was small, skinny, and seemingly timid. It wouldn’t be hard to dumb him in a river or maybe dangle him from a rooftop. He’d back off, easy.
So it was quite surprising when he put up a fight. You’d jumped him in an alley after hours at the restaurant and the little guy actually pulled a knife. He seemed to know what he was doing with it, almost got you twice, but this was your job. You were very good at your job.
The knife was on the ground fairly quickly once you got ahold of his wrist. And pinning him to the wall was just as easy. He yelped when his back hit the bricks behind him and you put a hand over his mouth after that.
“Let’s find an understanding here, man.” You kept him still against the wall, but he tried to wiggle his way out on occasion.
His muffled voice could be heard through your hand and you moved it for him to speak.
“Anything you want, my good man, I’d be happy to-”
“Take a step back from Maroni.” You stated plainly.
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“You've been weaseling your way through the ranks since you first started washing dishes.” You gripped onto the collar of his shirt and gave him a threatening look. “I don’t like when people try to take what they haven’t earned.”
“I’ll do anything you want.” He blurted out, as eager to settle the situation and escape with his life as he was to please Maroni. “A-anything you want.”
He nodded along to his statement with bright eyes as if he was sure you’d go along with his assurance.
“Then back off of Maroni.”
“I-I could do you one better!” He pleaded for you to hear him out and you didn’t stop him. “I can knock Maroni off of his throne and we can take his place.”
The man was so sure of his plan and it showed in his gestures and the way his voice let out little bursts of excitement.
“What makes you think I want that?” You gripped onto his shirt tighter and brought the man closer, almost nose to nose now.
“A-alright, you can have it all!” He bargains. “I can take down Maroni and you can have everything that was his.”
“What do you get out of a deal like that?”
“My life, I’m hoping.”
You let go of his shirt, still blocking him from getting anywhere.
“You take down Sal, and you get to call a few shots.” You explain. “Ever heard of an underboss?”
“Y-yes, I have.”
“But,” You leaned forward. “If you want out of this alley with your life you’re gonna have to do something a bit more in the present time.”
“L-like what?”
“What’s your name?”
“Oswald.” He answered quickly. “Oswald Cobblepot.”
“You find me attractive, Oswald?”
He hesitated for a moment before answering, “Very much.”
“Don’t you think there’d be a bit more assurance between the two of us if we got to know each other?” You asked. “Less likely that we’d betray each other if we actually knew each other.”
“I, uh, I don't follow.”
“You finish work for Maroni at ten, I finish whenever my work is done. After that, we get a drink.”
“A date.”
You brought a hand up to brush his bangs out of his eyes. “Yes, Oswald. A date.”
You backed away from the former dishwasher with a light smile on your face. You gave him a wink as you walked backwards. A blush went over Oswald's ears at the action.
“A date, or else.” You warned.
#oswald cobblepot#gotham#oswald cobblepot x reader#oswald cobblecot x male reader#gotham x reader#gotham x male reader#x reader#x male reader
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