#since he lived in Vegas I think that maybe he was a gambler and after a discussion with some players they burned his house | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nicomrade · 8 months

Note

I don't think my original message was sent (or maybe I'm getting confused, haha). My question is, how do you interpret the gap between chapter 538 and 539? What is your perspective on the ending? And most of all, how do you think Baku is still alive? Some believe that Baku really died and lives symbolically in Souichi (I recommend you read Waty's review of Usogui to better understand this point, you can find it on AniList) and others that he faked his death.

As a personal theory, I think the one who says the words "Welcome back, Madarame Baku" in chapter 537 is not Gonen, but Anoma (in fact, on the last page of that chapter we can see Anoma + Gonen + the welcome phrase, which is curious, since Anoma has no relation to the scene). I think Sako has been misleading us with the timeline, making us think that Abi Khan and Anoma's conversation happens in parallel with Baku's "death", but what if that's in the past? And Anoma (for whatever reason, I still can't tell you why he decided to do that) revives Baku with a defibrillator device like Marco did with Hal and hence his words of "Welcome back, Madarame Baku". Baku returned from a death that seemed final. It should also be added that the phrase he uses refers to Baku in a formal way, but not in a close or hierarchical relationship (he does not call him Leader or Baku-san, for example).

Another good point would be that Sako may have planned from the beginning that Baku would survive, since in chapter 147 (epilogue of the Labyrinth arc) we see a flashforward in which Baku is visiting an awakened Yukiide (he woke up during STL) in spring (hence the cherry trees), so it's been a few months since he became the Leader of Kakerou. So, this scene could take place after Baku's "death", close to leaving for Las Vegas to meet Kaji, Marco and Hal. Also, we never see his right hand (he has it in his pocket) so Sako doesn't show us his missing finger.

i couldnt find the anilist review, if you have a link to it i will hapilly read through!

the ending is very fast paced and (purposefully) doesnt give us a lot of answers, i dont think much about it because im personally not interested in speculating on what happens after/in between the gaps BUT i will try my best to answer everything you brought up!

im not OPPOSED to highly symbolic readings (god knows i love symbolism myself) but i do like the much more literal interpretation better. baku is alive with kaji & marco at the end because he is literally alive, and survived somehow, the same way he "survived somehow" the first STL, because baku always finds a way to live. but also- while i DO think the epilogue is trying to make us think baku dies after gonen pulls out the joker, i dont see how the dialogue actually supports this idea that baku was also betting his life here? gonen is asked to bet his OWN life so hes allowed to join in the gamble and flip the card but i dont see a confirmation that bakus own life is ever in the balance in that particular bet with gonen specifically. it IS the moment where gonen (literally) beats baku and (symbolically) takes his place (as the bigger evil and as the gambler who keeps on winning- also his spot as the one fighting against kakerou and souichi, and bakus "heart", etc.) but to me it at best maybe implies another gamble between them that isnt shown instead? like i dont think the joker was flipped and they shot baku here & there lol (and i highly doubt it was a STL game). theres a whole aftermarth to this we are not shown. what i wanna get to here is just asking, am i the one missing something? where does it say/imply baku is also betting his life VS gonen? i could just be silly & missing something i definitely dont notice everything going on in usogui its very dense lol the only thing i get is the prince bee narration saying he "never got up again"?

i love your theory about anoma being the one talking, like i dont think gonen would welcome baku back ever? not in this context anyway? and again, the epilogue is so vague on purpose there are probably a 100 hints with no pay-off/reveals. misdirections and foreshadowing are usoguis bread and butter and i think its very fitting for the epilogue to give us SO MUCH while actually saying SO LITTLE. it could 100% be anoma talking here i agree, and hinting at some involvement he had that we dont see.

i also love what you said about chapter 147 i didnt catch that (i straight up forgot this happened at all cause i never finished my minotaur labyrinth reread its the arc i like the least for some reason?) thank you for telling me about it, especially the cherry tree that serves as a season indication is 100% true but i wouldnt have caught it myself cause i always forget about this kind of time indication. i wonder if it happens before or after the gonen gamble indeed? this is very interesting to me because i have a whole thing about the parallels between souichi and yukiide (sorry yukiide for only liking you for the role you can fill for me.... i swear i also like him as a character but im always looking at his plot beats in the context of him being a mirror character for souichi)

last thing is ill try to answer this bit: "how do you interpret the gap between chapter 538 and 539? What is your perspective on the ending?" so i think we can think of the gap between 538 and 539 similarly to the gap between, like, the 2001 STL and the start of the story. baku has done this before, he will lay low and hide in the shadows before being ready to put his big plan in motion. in hangman he says he planned to stay in the shadow for longer but seeing souichi face to face he had to change his plans- i think this gap is something similar to this. theres a wrestling poster thats visible in the las vegas shots too, right? i think we can know what year the las vegas stuff happens in that way, and that will give a lot of information on what that gap looked like. i wish i had more of a big analysis about this but filling the gaps in the epilogue has never been my priority. what i DO care about in the epilogue is the uhm heart transplant stuff lol. under the cut cause its my own personal rant where i argue for why a part of the epilogue shouldnt be considered canon (which is a pretty heretical position to defend, im aware)

so uhm, the heart transplant stuff, uh? i kind of have hated that reveal/retcon ever since i read it and its always sat weirdly with me but i didnt think about it much, like blocking it out of my mind, except for during my 2nd read through (and the times id reread the epilogue like some morbid curiosity- maybe this time itll go differently? maybe this time they wont try to lie to me?) not that i think its BAD i like the epilogue as a WHOLE but the heart transplant thing ugh i always just skim over unconsciously i dont wanna engage with it too much because so heres the thing

that line about how its totally real cause "baku shouldve been taking medication quite frequently" and its like. well he HASNT? been doing that? and its drawn super similarly to how baku eats his kariume. are you trying to tell me that his kariume was heart medication all along? what about his obsession with plums in general, and on protoporos when he imports kariume for himself? about protoporos actually- how did a man with a diseased heart who has to take medication survive 24 days on an island with no access to said meds. including a couple days of running outside in the rain chased by a literal angry mob? and then drowning?. baku, as written in the story, DEMONSTRABLY DOES NOT! have a diseased heart. when did this transplant happen???????

baku literally already struggles with sprinting when he first meets hal in 1998- souichi EASILY follows after him and is barely tired when baku is on the floor shaking for his life. are you telling me the heart transplant happened BEFORE this????????? or he already had poor stamina even before and then it cant be appropriate foreshadowing for this. so you were just lying to me about the hints and it really does come out of nowhere. ok.

i dont even mind when/if usogui does retcon stuff (/have reveals that were very much not planned from chapter 1) it is OKAY to write new stuff in your story and about your characters as you go along. it is foolish to try to argue only stuff planned from even before you ever started writing is canon and true. this is not my point. my point is that this reveal CONTRADICTS the actual text that came BEFORE. it has retroactive impact that is nonsensical and downright absurd. this is the exact kind of writing i criticize in stuff like one outs or liar game, but praise usogui in comparison. usogui does lie to you about stuff sometimes, but that misdirection, those lies, ADD meaning to the text. (im always talking about this on twitter i can pull up threads if i need to explain this stuff more) the heart transplant reveal REMOVES meaning. so what meaning does it remove exactly?

one of Usogui's (manga) thesis statements is that to be human is to be FLAWED. this is why hangman ends the way it does (and why its kind of bad they changed it in the movie- though i do get it) its what kyara's arc in protoporos is about, and its what souichis entire character journey shows. i dislike calling souichi "the ultimate human being" because his character arc is about accepting that he ISNT, actually, perfect. that he, too, is flawed and can lose and is scared of dying and is HUMAN. souichi loses drop the handkerchief because he had this weakness (chronic memory loss) that usogui exploited. and for all he tried to make up for it, or make it into a weapon instead, it was still a flaw. and its what made him human. and for him to believe himself capable of not being human anymore, of transcending it, is a lie. and usogui ate that lie. and he reminded souichi that hes human- and loved. and loved. and so so loved. and that he has the potential to become so much greater still- BECAUSE hes human and BECAUSE he tasted defeat and is flawed. thats the basic gist behind drop the handkerchief.

and this weakness of souichi, his chronic memory loss, is inherent to him. theres no reason it happened. textually theres no reason to it. its, yeah, the pressure of having to be Perfect, and being the Leader of kakerou, but we know from the doctor's email that medically they couldnt find a reason for it- yes there are reasons for it, but theyre so inherent to him, to his bloodline, that he couldnt be souichi and NOT have this flaw. there is no version of souichi (or hachina, or hal) that does NOT struggle with memory loss. he has this weakness simply because hes alive.

bakus one core flaw is his weak constitution. baku cant run up stairs (see the abandonned building arc) anything that COULD be life-threatening becomes a death sentence for him (see the minotaur labyrinth arc) he CANNOT defend himself (marco & kyaras roles as bodyguards + all the times someone threatened him with violence) his body is WEAK. it just is. what the heart transplant does is take all of this and make it the result of losing a gamble once, years ago. is this inherent to him? was this always fated to happen? we dont even SEE the gamble this happened in! it CANNOT be this important! but if we forget about the heart transplant for a second, his weak body becomes just a part of his character, with no visible cause. maybe its a side effect of how he grew up on his own without anyone to play with so he never exercised, and possibly malnourished & homeless half of the time. but either way its a cause thats so at the core of who he is that for that not to have happened he wouldnt be usogui (or madarame baku) anymore. there is no version of him who had a happy, safe childhood and is still usogui. sounds familiar? and for souichis weakness to be mental and bakus weakness to be physical.. isnt it meaningful to have their fates mirrored and tied in that way?

baku & souichi(/hal) fates being tied together is also another CORE aspect of usogui's story! not just with the ship glasses on its literally just... the emotional core of the story is their relationship (whether romantic or platonic or whatever). if your reveal in chapter 538 out of 539 (i repeat, its in the second to LAST chapter) is contradicted by its own "foreshadowing", does not stand on its own, and weakens TWO very important aspects of your story, then i think im allowed to consider it not canon or true. uhm, "youre a big liar, arent you?" if you will.

#usogui meta #ask #lkingyoya #you dont have to read the whole tangent about the heart transplant if ure not interested i just need to like #exorcise it out of my brain 😭i think its half of why i dont engage w the epilogue much i really dislike it so much

1 note · View note

coffeecakefanfics · 3 years

Text

Rocky Mountain Skies

So I live in the 719 (CO) and I have been DYING to write about it so here’s this hot ass mess Also it’s my first multipart story on tumblr so bear with me (I’ll do a part two because omg)

Christmas is a magical time of year where families get together and revisit the political opinions of the past month but turn around and gift each other things. For the (L/N) family it was no different.

(Y/n) waltzed through the bullpen, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.

“Yes mom I’ll be home for Christmas,” she set her things down and sat at her desk, “No mom I already requested the two weeks off, I’ll be fine,” her sigh caught a few peoples attentions.

“Mom seriously, I get into Denver Sunday at 11, papa already said he’d come pick me up. . . yes mom I know how old he is but you don’t have time remember, besides it’ll be nice to see him. . . Mom I gotta go I have a meet- yes mom I’ll let you know when I get to the airport. . . Mom I have to go byeee” She clicked her phone and leaned back, letting out a long groan.

“Mom troubles?” Derek smirked.

“You have NO idea, I love her but she needs to chill,” she smiled.

“Well I think it’s sweet,” he toys.

“Of course you do, go to work,” she shook her head teasingly.

“All right, all right,” he laughed and walked off. (Y/n) stayed seated at her desk for a majority of the day, skipping lunch to finish files. People stopped by to make small talk while she worked, which she happily sat through. As the day continued on people started packing up their things to head home. It was quiet, the only people left were (Y/n), Spencer, JJ, and Hotch.

(Y/n) Stretched, popping her back, before getting up and walking around the desks. She set her hand on a chair and spun it so the messy haired man was facing her. She smiled at him brightly.

“Hey Spence”

“Hi, uh, is something wrong?”

“No I just wanted to talk to you is all,” she sat on his desk.

“About?” he looked at her curiously. He watched the way her hair set on her shoulders and framed her face, the way her waist dipped and hips bulged slightly, the way her thighs squished when she sat. He forced his eyes beack up to her and felt his face go a little warm.

“You know in the past three years I’ve been here I don’t think I’ve seen you take a vacation, and it’s none of my business if you save it or whatever but I was curious, why?” her face twisted in thought. He sat for a second and thought.

“Well I mean I go “home” occasionally, but I guess I’ve just never had a desire to go anywhere,” he shrugged, “I mean all we do is travel for work so I guess it never really crossed my mind” he smiled at her.

“Well, I uh, look I have an extra plane ticket back home. My ex was supposed to go with me but we broke things off a few months ago. So I guess I’m trying to say if you want to, you could come with me. I mean you totally dont have to and I mean-”

“To Colorado?” he quirked his eyebrow.

“I mean, yes? but only if you want to, I mean you’re my best friend, and closest one so I figured I’d ask before getting a refund,” she twisted her foot into the ground.

“Do I get a cowboy hat?”

She looked up surprised and laughed, “Duh”

“Then I’ll go”

The two weaved through the airport traffic. The building was loud and crowded and both were getting antsy. (Y/n) clutched her bag tight as they maneuvered through the crowds of people. Finally making it outside, the cold mountain air bit at their skin. A old man stood at the end of a row of cars holding a huge sign

‘(Y/N) (L/N)’ written in huge letters decorated the sign.

“Papa!” she cried and dropped her bags, getting swallowed into a hug that itself felt like home. Spencer stood awkwardly by watching the two.

“Where are my manners, My Name is Jim (L/N) but you can call me Papa. You must be Spencer?” The man, Jim introduced himself. He was only about 5′10″ and was clad in a red and white pearl snap with stained coveralls over top. His face was covered mostly by a long Beard and Mustache and he had a pair of glasses perched on top of his head.

“Oh, uh yes sir I’m Spencer,” He smiled at the man who held his hand out. Spencer shook it gladly.

“Well we need to get you kids home. Granny is making soup for dinner,” he bent down and picked up (Y/n)’s bag and rolled it to a old pick up truck, may be ten years old Spencer guessed. He stared at the backseat for a second, his stomach turned, maybe this wasn’t the best idea, maybe he shouldn’t have came, I mean I’m being so awkward an-

“Spence what are you waiting for?, hop in,” (Y/n) called from the back seat. He blinked a few times at her before jumping in and closing the door. She leaned over to him, “I didn’t want you to be alone back here,” she pulled back and smiled.

“Thank you,” he breathed a sigh of relief. As close as they were he had never met her family. He had spent countless nights sitting on her couch easting Chinese food while they finished files or watched bad movies but he still felt nervous being around her like this.

“So Spencer, where are you from?”

“I’m from Vegas,” he replied meekly.

“A gambler huh?” The old man grinned at him in the rear view, “you any good?”

Spencer laughed and shook his head, “I guess we’ll have to see,” he teased back. Jim laughed and smiled at his granddaughter.

“i like this one”

“You like him just because you’re bad at Texas Hold em” she playfully rolled her eyes.

“Hey whatever gets the money,” he laughed again. It was a laugh that filled you with joy. Spencer finally understood where (Y/n) got hers from.

“So Spencer, I know a feller like you can’t be single, so do you have a lady back in D.C.?”

“PAPA!” (Y/n) shrieked, “Don’t go running him off already, good god” she shook her head.

“What I’m curious, he’s a handsome man,” Jim grinned. Spencer was full on burning at this point.

“No sir, I’m single,” He almost mumbled out.

“You know who else is single. (Y/n),” Jim wiggled his eyebrows. (Y/n) glowed the same red that the poor man next to her did.

“Papa oh good god. Stick to breaking horses not my love life, and besides you’re gonna make him regret coming here before he even sees the ranch,” she rolled her eyes. Spencer actually laughed. The two of them were obviously close, it was . . . nice. It was a nice break from what they deal with every day.

The rest of the car ride went by semi fast, (Y/n) explained all of her plans for the two of them while they were here. She was almost glowing with excitement. The wooden fence that stretched along the property line came into view as the truck began up the drive. A gorgeous two story log cabin came into view behind a row of evergreens. The wood was a beautiful light brown, and towered over the yard. A old lady was standing on the porch dressed in a fleece nightgown and brown slippers. She waved as the truck stopped. The group jumped out and began grabbing bags.

“There’s my baby girl,” the woman hugged (Y/n) tightly. She had her same eyes. The woman stood maybe 5′2′ and had a pink and white fleeced nightgown on. Her grey hair fell in neat curls down her back. Her face was wrinkled and warm, the kind that you know showed so much joy in her younger years.

“And this must be Spencer, You’re even more handsome in person,” she cood at him.

“grandma!”

“It’s alright. Yes ma’am I’m Spencer,” he smiled at her, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he grinned.

“Oh where are my manners, lets get you babies inside and warm,” she ushered everyone in. “(Y/n) baby your room is all set up, but um there’s been a change of plans,” The lady frowned.

“What Dawn is trying to say is that your mom and your stepdad are staying in the last guest room, and your cousin Rita is in the other”

“WHAT!” (Y/n) yelled. “Mom said her the Stepdouch were staying home for Christmas! I was promised to get you two to myself. And Rita!” she was fuming. Spencer set his hand on her shoulder, trying to bring her back to earth.

“We know baby but she insisted that you wouldn’t go see her if she stayed,”

“Of course not, not after what she did!”

“And Rita is your cousin, at least try to play nice,” Jim begged.

“No, Not after what they did!” (Y/n) was breathing ragged, anger radiating off of her body.

“Hey, uh why don’t you help me to my room?” Spencer forced her to look at him. She sighed and grabbed her bag.

“Okay” she grabbed his hand and began through the living room up the stairs. Spencer admired the “family” room on the balcony overlooking the living room. (Y/n) led him around the bend and over to the room. She popped the door open and let him inside. She followed and closed the door after her.

“So since my cousin Rita took the guest room we’ll have to share this one, I’m really sorry. I have an air mattress that I can sleep on and you can have the bed. This isn’t how I wanted this to go, I’m sorry,” she spoke almost in tears.

“Hey you didn’t know and I’m kicking you out of your bed, I’ll sleep on the air mattress, besides we can always still do everything you planned. We’ll be okay,” he smiled and held her face. She let a tear fall.

“I know but this was supposed to be a fun trip for you,”

“It will be, what’s more fun than two weeks without work,” he smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear.

“It’s only like one, so would you show me the property?” he smiled.

“Sure, but we need to get you a new wardrobe,” she laughed.

“Hey what’s wrong with my clothes?” he spun for her.

“Well for starters you’re in loafers and there’s snow on the ground, and second I do owe you a cowboy hat,” she grinned. “Come on lets play dress up”

The two of them sat in the attic surrounded by boxes of old clothes. She held up a nice quilt lined coat, identical to the light brown one she had on.

“That should fit, he was about your size,” she smiled and handed him the coat.

“Who?” he asked and examined the inside of the coat when it stared him right in the face.

‘Merry christmas daddy, (Y/n)’ stitched on the tag. his heart stopped.

“(Y/n) I can’t accept these, these meant the world to you I-”

“Spencer please, I’d rather you have daddy’s stuff than any of those other brats,” she sneered. “It’s the only other thing I got from him when he passed. He would’ve liked you,” she smiled and pulled a bunch of pearl snaps out. Spencer's heart leapt. We slid the Carhart on, it sat nicely against his body. She looked up from the boxes.

“Whoa” she gasped. “Spencer you look, just wow” she grinned.

“Wait I have one more thing,” she rushed off to the back of the attic. She returned with a box wrapped in red wrapping paper she smiled and handed it to him. He pulled the top of the box off. Inside sat a nice dark brown felt hat with a brown leather strap around it. It was adorned with a small gun charm on the leather strap.

“(Y/n) this is, this is way too much,” he looked up at her.

“I bought it for you last year, I remember you saying you wanted to be a cowboy so I figured I’d buy it but I forgot it last time so there,” she beamed at him.

“Well, try it on,” she ushered He set the hat on his head, a perfect fit.

“Well?” he spun

“You look like a true cowboy Spence,”

They walked the property talking for hours. The air grew cold and bit at their cheeks.

“Hey do you want to see my favorite spot?” she asked

“Of course,” he grinned. They walked out into the woods behind the house before coming to a clearing. The sun was beginning to set. The mountains had a purple haze but the sky was bright blue. Golden streaks danced across the clouds. The clearing was full of dry grass and thistles that would become tumbleweeds when it got windy.

“(Y/n) this is amazing,” he breathed the fresh mountain air.

“This is my favorite part of being home, the Rocky Mountain Skies. They seem to dance with color. I forget how pretty they are when I leave,” she smiled and watched the clouds float by.

“Why did you leave?” Spencer asked. He turned to look at the girl next to him. She looked small in her coat and her hair was messy from the light wind.

“After my dad died. My mom got with my Stepdouch a month later, the will had been “lost” the will that would have granted my this ranch. The only reason I got it was Papa and grandma claimed they needed a place to live so I mean it’s theirs. My mom got mad because she wanted to sell it. and my cousin Rita wanted all of my dads horses, thousands of dollars worth of horses that she and my mom fought over and split the money on. That wasn’t dads vision, they never cared about this place. Mom moved us into town, So when I turned 18 I left,” she shrugged.

“I’m so sorry (Y/n)” he hugged her.

“It’s okay. So why did you want to be a cowboy?” She teased.

“Well I mean every little boy wants to be a cowboy, I wanted to catch the outlaws, or maybe be them I’m not sure,” he laughed.

“(Y/N), SPENCER, DINNER!” Dawn yelled to them.

“Race you there” she smacked his chest and took off.

“No fair!” he called after her.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds

106 notes · View notes

itwillbeall-dwight · 4 years

Note

hi king,,, i saw u take drabble requests and i humbly ask for some fluff ft. the grandpas (overconti) if that's something u feel like doing. there's not enough ace fluff out there ;w;

me staring at this ask since last night like surprised pikachu.. tumblr user dweetwise give me ur autograph-

you are absolutely right, and it’s a crime that I haven’t made any content yet. this was more hurt/comfort than fluff, but there’s some cute in there, just for you <3 i rlly hope u enjoy this, it was a lot of fun to write!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

lovesick - ace visconti/bill overbeck; canon typical violence; tiny emeto tw; 2908 words

Preview: The two of them walked out of the basement side by side, Ace taking the lead to make sure the coast was clear before they left, taking the exit closest to them through the hole in the wall, heading towards a corner where a generator remained half-power, mechanisms slowly chugging from the inside. The soldier nodded to him, quickly taking over the lead and taking the long side over and leaving Ace to take one of the shorter sides, with the wires exposed. "Hey, Ace?" “Hm?” Ace looked up at the sound of his own name, odd coming from Bill, even now. “...Thanks.” “What for?” “Wh- what do you think?” “Oh, I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.” Bill scowled, though only momentarily, the shit-eating grin on the gambler’s face was enough to make him crack into a brief chuckle, even if it did make him a little (read: a lot) more punchable, before resuming work on the generator.

Ace was not the overtly romantic type.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had the charisma to back him up, a backlog of dirty euphemisms and sultry compliments for him to cruise off of when spoken in a low whisper at the poker table, but that was only enough to get him one night of fun, maybe two if he pushed his luck (which he did, quite often). He was plastic flowers and Las Vegas weddings - the fake kind of love that you could easily replace once it got broken. And for a while, he was fine with that. At the craps table, you couldn’t count on a forever, so going from lover to lover was a fate he’d more than settled with. Hell, even if his engagement only lasted a few months (the man had some sense, at least - the last Ace heard he’d gotten hitched with another man much richer and happier up in Illinois), it made for one hell of a lie to cover his bluff for a losing hand.

Romance hadn’t been something he’d thought about a lot, in the fog. There were more important things to think about, weren’t there - whether it was those cocky kids from the Legion wanting to go for a swipe or the bony form of the Hag slashing at his heels, his main focus was on escaping first, and testing his luck second. That didn’t change, for a while. Or at least, didn’t change enough for him to notice, until, like an unstable cliffside, everything caved in and he realised just how much shit he was in. It was a gradual process, not like how he’d rush things from the casino floor to the bedroom day in and day out for years at a time, knowing that it was likely to be his only chance before they moved onto someone new and better.

Ace didn’t know why it was him. Bill was a hardass, a stickler for the rules, a self-sacrificing hardass who could just say was way too high up on his horse and leave it at that. And normally, he would. But this time… he didn’t. He watched the old soldier with intrigue, with the way he commanded the room despite them being in the forest, his biting wit and genuine strategy enough to straighten the backs of even Nea and David, and that was a task worse than freezing hell over. He would listen to the words he used, insults peppered in like salt to a cheap takeaway meal, half drunk and lost in the belly of the Californian night, how his brow furrowed and how his eyes flickered with intent between survivors, and how his lips quirked and moved as he talked, or didn’t talk. All these little details finally came to a head when he’d began noticing how his words would bounce off of him like glue to rubber, unfazed mostly - though one time, he got a laugh out of him, while making a joke about David’s recklessness as the two offered their assistance in patching him up behind a rock (“takes an idiot to know one, Visconti”, he’d said). And that small chuckle was all it took for Ace to realise he was in deep, deep shit.

While luck had always been on his side, courage had not. Ace had let his feelings sit for a long time, trial after trial, not sure whether to be grateful that he was finally yearning for attachment or cursing the heavens that it had to happen here, of all places, enough to the point where avoiding Bill had become as natural as breathing air. Wasn’t anywhere to run eventually, though, as a terrible trial in the Autohaven Wreckers, where generators remained powered down and Micheal patrolled in his usual, methodical way, had left the two of them the only ones left alive. Hiding behind a wall, they had been silent for a while, before the old soldier had pressed him about his odd behaviour, calling him out to the very centre of it. And for the first time in a long time, Ace didn’t have a retort - there was no shitty movie quote, no stupid joke he could bounce off of - leaving him stumbling and hanging slack-jawed as his face grew hot and he rubbed the back of his neck, enough to make Bill growl and start to stand to his feet, ready to take the fall as he’d done so many times. But as if on instinct, Ace had grabbed his wrist and pulled himself to his feet, asking him to take a chance, just this once. Bill had chastised him as he normally did, pulling his arm away as he did so. And Ace had swallowed hard and looked him head-on, letting his eyes fall on every feature of his face, before grabbing the old fool by the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for a long-overdue kiss that seemed to last too long but not long enough, hoping that that was enough of a message to say that he’d trade his life for Bill’s in a heartbeat. He did, evidently, meeting his end at the hand of a knife in his lungs, but behind tinted glasses where he quickly lost vision, he’d seen Bill running for the hatch, glaring daggers at him as Ace could only smile, and die. Words were said at the campfire when he got back, but the message had been sent, loud and clear, earning him another kiss back when the two were, pinned against a tree with the glow of the campfire on his back, an answer to the silent question that he had posed for if it was really okay to do this. And it was.

It had been a good while since that moment, though Ace played it in his head over and over as if it was some crazy dream that he was getting to live in. Things hadn’t really changed between them - he was still just as stupid, if not more so, trying to impress the man who made the mistake of liking him back, and Bill was still as much of a hardass - but there were moments now that made every injury, every lost chase and terrible mistake, and every death, so much more worth it. The soldier shared with him small smiles, laughs and jokes and tales of old friends, his doubts and his anguish, but most of all, showed him a side of himself that wasn’t as harsh, a side of himself that was vulnerable, and kind - a bleeding heart, as it were, and that was the side where their hands interlocked walking back from the campfire, where they’d joke and slow dance and laugh like normal lovers did, out on the edge of the campfire. They had each other’s back, and out here, that’s what they needed most.

Another trial was underway now, as one always was, and the forest of the Macmillan Estate was cold as it always had been, especially around the old ironworks. The atmosphere in the old factory giving off ice cold vibes of unhappiness and solitude. Ace felt a shiver run its icy fingers up his spine from under his shirt, pulling his hands away from the generator for a moment as his head twitched a little from the moment, recovering quickly with a quiet sigh before he got back to work. The trial had been rather relaxed, as of now; one generator was already powered (he’d watched Dwight and Nea work on that together, which was like seeing snow in July, as far as he was concerned) and he’d only heard a few yells of pain after that as he was searching around the factory through chests for a key (no luck this time) before hoping down again. Over the sound of the mechanisms powering up like a beating heart, the fountain behind him flowed, the sound of pure water almost calming, if not for the sign that the Plague was roaming around.

Two wires he was holding sparked together, and that was enough to get the generator to flicker on. Perfect. Ace stood to his feet and took off his hat for a moment, scratching the top of his head before he put it back on again, as if it would help him figure out his next move. As if just going for a stroll (the poor priestess was making this trial seem like a cakewalk, after all), he slid his hands into his pockets, beginning to head out of the factory-

Running towards him made him step back inside, pinning his back against the wall near the door, his heart lurching into his mouth. From out of the corner of the doorway, he saw Bill sprinting past, the tall form of the Plague not too far behind. Ace smiled despite himself, though that soon faded as he heard the gagging coming from the woman, before she swallowed down her own vomit as the soldier turned a corner, and then subsequently hit her with a palette as she tried to follow after him.

With the threat gone, though that wasn’t as reassuring as it ought to have been, knowing it wasn’t far behind the man he loved - Bill was capable enough, though, so there wasn’t much to worry about, was there? Right? - Ace moved away from the wall and sighed. Better to head in the opposite direction of the scary lady with the sacrificial censor and the terrible disease. But as he started to make his way towards the hole in the wall under the stairs, his eyes fell onto another set of stairs that were all too familiar. The whispers of the basement were calling for him. Ace swallowed, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. ...Bill had this, right? And if not, Nea and Dwight would have his back, surely. It was fine for him to dig around for another key, right? He looked around. No one was here to tell him not to, so the only other choice…

He descended the basement stairs carefully, a hand running along the rotting and misshapen planks of the old wooden wall the didn’t fit with the rest of the factory at all, as if it had been stolen and shifted from another building entirely. Those whispers of death were louder now, as he turned a corner and saw it, the chest at the back. Ace rubbed his hands together, hoping to channel some sort of magic to get this thing to open up. The gambler got down on one knee, picking at the lock of the chest while grumbling and talking to himself, praying for a key, or a flashlight to toss to the feisty young Swede if he saw her again. It didn’t take long to open, though nothing was waiting for him inside but a crusty old medkit. Ace stood up again with a frown, cursing Lady Luck for turning her back on him-

Heavy hands hitting the wall of the killer shack startled him, heart in his mouth. The Plague was probably already mad enough with how things had been going, he didn’t need to be spotted hiding out in the basement to make matters worse. Scrambling to his feet, the gambler lept for the locker just behind him, and clambered inside, hoping not to alert the tall, diseased woman that he was an easy target. But instead of sickly breaths and the sound of bare feet on concrete, the stumbling, heavy footsteps down the stairs and strained, pained breathing were enough to get him to poke his head out-

“Oh, shit- Bill!”

The panicked whisper made the soldier look up, watching as Ace climbed out of the locker, leaving the doors to close on their own as he jogged over. Bill gritted his teeth, knuckles white as he clung to the edge of the wall beside the stairs with one hand, the other clutching his stomach. “Dammit, Visconti, what’re you doin’-”

“Don’t matter. C’mere.”

“No- get off me, dammit.” He tried to swat the gambler away, but lost his balance as he did and slipped from under his feet, yelling quietly as Ace rushed to grab him and help him stand, his hand grabbing hard at the side Bill was holding.

“Ah, shit- sorry, babe. Come on, there’s a medkit over here-”

“Oh, of course you were fuckin’ around in here-”

“You want the help or not?”

Bill paused, about to open his mouth again before catching the look on Ace’s face, an oddly solemn frown that seemed out of place, before sighing in resignation, if only to see the small smirk that overtook the other man as he led him over to the chest, letting him lean against the locker and slide down to sit.

“You’ll thank me later, trust me.”

“Just get it done.”

Ace nodded, taking the medkit out of the chest and opening it up, fishing through what little supplies were in there to try and help, hands shaking ever so slightly. For as long as the two of them had been here, you’d think he’d be used to this by now - but he was as cowardly at heart as always, it seemed.

He wasn’t an expert medic, but in the fog, you had to adapt fast, so Ace had picked up a few things from watching Claudette patch people up (and watch Nea complain about how wrong it was, but even he would doubt her judgement in that department), enough that he thought he was doing a pretty good job as he slowly wrapped the gauze around Bill’s torso, watching at the heavy bruising was slowly covered, and listening for a wince of pain every so often to tell him he was doing it a little too tight. Ace glanced up to him as his glasses fell down his face from looking down, just catching the soft expression he was giving before he grumbled and look away, making the gambler chuckle to himself as he finished tying off the gauze, moving his hand to gently hold his shoulder.

“She get you up there?”

Bill looked back again, an eyebrow raised.

“Vomit Queen up there. You caught anythin’?”

“Oh, hell no. Saw Karlsson instead, went after her ass. Considerin’ the run around she’s been givin’ her, ain’t surprised.” He paused, trying to push himself up now. “I gotta help her-”

“Aht, aht. Down, boy.” Ace put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down to sit. “C’mon, Bill, she’ll look at you funny and you’ll go down if you go up there again, ‘Sides, Nea ain’t a damsel. A few more minutes, yeah?”

“And Dwight?”

“He’s no idiot either. He’s our leader for a reason.”

He stared, before looking away again.

“We’ve talked about this, Bill. I know you gotta stick your neck out for everyone else, but you can only go so far.”

He didn’t say anything else, but from the way he tapped his fingers against the concrete floor, he wasn’t happy about it.

“There… no worries, you old coot, I got you.” Ace laughed as he got a punch to the chest, moving to hold a hand where the impact had been made, expression going soft as Bill laughed too, albeit it was quieter. He stood to his feet and wiped the dust and blood off of his knees where he’d been kneeling before offering the soldier a hand, which he took, helping him stand to his feet with only minor wobbling. "You good?"

"Yeah... yeah. Just... give me a second."

"Take all the time you need."

The soldier kept his grip tight in Ace's hand, sighing to himself before he went to move his hand away.

Though Ace kept his grip, if only to bring the hand up to his lips and gently kissed Bill’s knuckles, skin old and weathered on his lips, before pulling away and running his thumb across them. “Now come on. We've got a trial to finish."

The two of them walked out of the basement side by side, Ace taking the lead to make sure the coast was clear before they left, taking the exit closest to them through the hole in the wall, heading towards a corner where a generator remained half-power, mechanisms slowly chugging from the inside. The soldier nodded to him, quickly taking over the lead and taking the long side over and leaving Ace to take one of the shorter sides, with the wires exposed.

"Hey, Ace?"

“Hm?” Ace looked up at the sound of his own name, odd coming from Bill, even now.

“...Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Wh- what do you think?”

“Oh, I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Bill scowled, though only momentarily, the shit-eating grin on the gambler’s face was enough to make him crack into a brief chuckle, even if it did make him a little (read: a lot) more punchable, before resuming work on the generator.

They got out of that game alive, thankfully, Bill saving Dwight from a last-minute hook and the two of them shielding him on their way out. As the two younger survivors rushed on ahead to give their friends the good news, Ace and Bill hung behind, strolling back hand in hand. It wasn’t an ideal world, but it was theirs, and having each other was a hell of a lot better than not.

#dead by daylight #overconti #ace visconti #bill overbeck #head on #off the record #dweetwise

25 notes · View notes

dewitty1 · 4 years

Text

Fic Recs Wrap Up - April 2020

(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*⁺˚. * ･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ

All Bets Are Off by dualwieldteacup @dualwieldteacup

Harry Potter's latest security assignment brings him to Las Vegas for the International Wizarding Casino World Series. At a magic underwater hotel, he is tasked with guarding the legendary and mysterious gambler known as Snake Eyes.

The stakes are high when both Galleons and emotions are involved. Not to mention peacock pool floats, secret pizza, and most importantly of all, second chances. Rec post

Just a Matter of Time by gracerene @gracerene09

Draco's in a bit of a rut. He's nearing forty, divorced, and he still can't figure out how to make his Time Turner reconstruction work. He's bored, he can admit it, so he's not nearly as concerned as he should be when his pet project malfunctions and sends him twenty years into the past. That is, until he ends up relying on a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter for help and starts developing some very inconvenient—and possibly reciprocated—feelings. Rec post

Lockdown by Vorabiza (Biza)

Four Gryffindors and four Slytherins under a forced lockdown in the potions classroom for two days. Rec post

The Pirate and the Prince by Maniacani @maniacani-arts, & PalenDrome (nerdherderette) @nerdherderette

Draco can't believe that fate and circumstance have made him a stowaway on the Master of Death's ship. He doesn't know what's worse: the dread pirate's legendary vendetta against the aristocracy, or the fact that his captor is the most infuriating yet irrefutably fascinating man Draco has ever met. Rec post

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography. An invitation to the Hogwarts class of 1998's 15th reunion isn't welcomed by either of them, but neither could predict how the night, and their reunion, will upend their lives. Rec post

Thunder by keyflight790 @keyflight790

The storm will disappear; the rain will subside; but what's left in its wake will last forever. A story of love and loss, redemption and thunder. Rec post

That Which Divides Us by oldenuf2nb

Three years after what would have been their seventh year at Hogwarts, the war between the forces of light and Voldemort's minions grinds on. But even within the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix there are vast disagreements over what is good for 'the Chosen One' and his volatile relationship with Draco Malfoy has many on edge. Sometimes even the best intentions can reap disaster. Rec post

Leaving Scars by Constance1

Draco Malfoy returns after disappearing without a trace for eighteen months, only to find that Harry has taken drastic measures to try to forget him. Rec post

Princes in Exile by LiteraryBeauty

After the war, Harry Potter is left with no one to save, no one to fight, and one extra wand. Draco Malfoy escapes punishment by leaving the country... or so he thinks. Seven years pass before they see each other again. Draco is no longer the master of his wand and a battle of talent and wills ensues. A story of a wand without a true master, and two men who fight to master each other... and themselves. Rec post

Love Always, Draco by Newshound

Even though it’s been four years since Harry and Draco parted ways, when Harry’s career takes a nosedive, he turns to his past for help. Harry and Draco join forces on a project both hope will reinvigorate their lives, and a journey into the secret world of Quidditch, becomes the path to renewed love. Rec post

(⁎⁍̴̛͂▿⁍̴̛͂⁎)*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡♡

Here are some other great fics you might enjoy! (๑╹ڡ╹)╭ ～ ♡

A Father's Pride by OTPshipper98 @rockmarina

“Hi there,” his dad said gently. Then, when Scorpius didn’t reply, “Is everything okay?”

“Y...Yeah. I just—I need to talk to you about something.”

Upon hitting puberty, Scorpius finds out his body isn't quite developing as expected. Testosterone potions will help mitigate some of the symptoms, they say. This doesn't make him any less of a boy, they say. But Scorpius doesn't feel reassured; doesn't feel like he wants to be a boy anymore.

Now he just needs to tell his dad.

Or: Draco Malfoy loves badges and dad jokes. But, above all else, Draco Malfoy loves his kid. HP Trans Fest 2020

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren

Not even his own fame and power are enough to get the Wizengamot to pass laws protecting Muggleborn and orphaned children, so Harry swallows his pride and goes to Draco Malfoy, who can teach him how to convince the prejudiced old bastards to listen to him. And Malfoy hasn’t even named a price. Which…concerns Harry, but he’s found a cause worth living for. And maybe someone, too. Draco tops Harry 2020

Open For Repairs by FeelsForBreakfast @drarrytrash

After the war, Draco works at a tv repair shop and Harry breaks things.

feat. sad boys in jumpers and more ABBA than is probably necessary.

Solntse by lumosinlove @lumosinlove

Sirius, a young Russian billionaire hires Remus, who is working part time as a call boy to make ends meet. Things happen, feelings occur.

I tried a few different things this month, I reblogged some recs that I had already done just to see if a different format or something might work better but I’m not sure if they worked out. IDK. I’m still experimenting a little. Usually smut seems to work, but the recs that had smut ( I Am Not Who I Became, Thunder) didn’t move. Any opinions you have on the recs from this month would be helpful, or from past recs that you’ve liked and reblogged.

As always, thank you for following, reading and everything! Love to you all!

xo Carey ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

#April fic recs wrap up #fic recs #drarry fic recs #drarry #drarry squad #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Drarry Fanfiction #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #My recs #hp trans fest 2020 #Draco tops harry 2020 #Carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's personal Bookmarks #Old Fic rec rebloggle #Drarry Smut

82 notes · View notes

spyvstailor · 4 years

Photo

GRAVEYARD DIRT & SALT

CHAPTER FIVE: BENNY

“South Carolina abouts they have this critter called a 'Boo Hag', said to be a skinless sort of vampire and they like to ride you to death and steal your breath. If they like you, they keep you alive, sucking your air, sustaining themselves. But if they don't, if you struggle or make them angry, they skin you and wear your skin. Just walk around like they wear pants or such. But they can't stay riding you forever, they gotta be home and in their skin before sunrise or they become trapped forever without skin.”

Please support me, I’m still out of work because of COVID, so anything you can toss my way can really help. I’m going to need to feed my kitties soon! Reblog this if you can’t donate to please support a nearly starving author!

Read the newest chapter here below the cut if you want, since ko-fi can be unreliable!

Chapter Five: Benny

When everything went to hell, Benny had been at the top.

Maybe he still was? He had no idea how Vegas handled the swarms of the dead.

Probably no better than Atlanta.

God, what a fucking hole in the ground to be caught undead in. Why had he even agreed to come here to the middle of Satan's nutsack to make a deal?

By the time he waded through the packed streets, filled with fleeing idiots, days had passed and the wave of infection had spread.

When he made it to the edge of the city, it was almost completely overrun.

And his private helicopter, that last hope he had of leaving Georgia, was useless, no pilot. So, he was wading his way through the land of good ol' boys and peaches, heading home.

Because what else did he do? Just stay stuck in Georgia with the undead on his ass? Forever? The idea seemed to tickle him. It was divine retribution for all his sins. This was hell. He was in hell. Well, thanks but no thanks. He'd take his chances back in Vegas with his well-stocked warehouse and his penthouse in The Golden Rose.

God, he missed The Golden Rose. Melody's pretty little voice chirping 'Hello, welcome to The Golden Rose', every time he passed through the lobby, or the weird night gamblers bellying up at the bar around two in the morning, sipping on complimentary Flash-bang's, the signature drink created by Bruce behind the bar. Sure he had more employees than Melody and Bruce, the others, the late-night workers who always were just a little bit off, but friendly enough. The kids fresh out of school, old enough to work at the casino, who tried too hard to impress the boss. Sven in the kitchen, who never seemed to leave, always yelling at him for coming down and making those 'nasty little sandwiches' as he called them, the open-faced ones made with peanut butter and sliced bananas on plain white bread, the sandwiches Valerie had gotten him hooked on when they were first dating. They were her favourite midnight snack and they had fast become Benny's too.

Valerie.

Ten years. Holy fuck had it been ten years?

Plucking at a stretchy beaded bracelet he wore, Benny snapped it hard and shook off his thoughts of Valerie. They didn't do him any good in this new society.

From where he sat. Perched on the railing of the bell tower, looking down across a darkened Georgia, barely peeking over treetops that surrounded the convent, Benny exhaled.

Annie had given him the stink-eye at their new spot, full of bird shit and leaves and any kind of crap that the winds blew into the little tower, but Benny had sat her down gently onto the bearskin rug and the sleeping bag on top of it and promised her they would clean it up in the morning.

He didn't tell her what he was thinking, he didn't tell a lot of people what he thought, no one wanted to hear his bullshit. His old man used to say 'if I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you' and he meant it.

The truth was, the trouble on the wall, the nun dying, had reminded him how dangerous it was. He had become too soft and spoiled lately, the dead were thinning out and he had forgotten what it was like when the outbreak first happened when it was really bad.

They were safer in the tower, should anything happen to the gate, there was a heavy church door to open and a narrow ladder to climb before anything could get at them.

And, sitting on the trapdoor that led to the ladder, Benny knew Annie was safer here than anywhere else.

It had been a long, long time since anyone had relied on Benny and he took his job seriously. Nothing would happen to Annie as long as he was alive and kicking.

During his flight from Atlanta, he had somehow wound up arm in arm with Annie and her mother Laila. They had sort of run across each other and just kept running in the same direction.

Benny had immediately liked Laila, she was tough as hell and he had to admire that about her. Not that he knew much about her or the kid, they weren't real big on talking and he also had to admit he liked it that way.

But Laila had his back and he had hers and they made a good team, but when she went out one morning to scrounge for breakfast and never came back he didn't think for a second the dead had gotten her. He knew her, she was a survivor.

Something else happened.

So he stuck around the area, hoping he'd find something which would let him know where Laila had gotten off too. And somehow, sticking around the small town, he wound up running into that marine and that Grayson kid, and when the kid started talking about men taking his sister, Benny started thinking. He wasn't a gambler by nature, despite him living in a casino in Las Vegas, but he would bet everything he had that when they found these men, he would find Laila.

And Jesus, if he didn't also kind of like that marine.

Not that he'd ever admitted that out loud. Admitting you liked someone, admitting you wanted to be someone's – what? Drinking buddy? At his age? Embarrassing.

But he liked him just fine. The Cajun was a tall puppy dog, but there was something about his optimism that balanced Benny's nihilism nicely.

On the wall below, three nuns kept vigil over Sister Mary Patrick's body. They couldn't retrieve her until morning, so they kept a quiet, mindful watch.

And just like those nuns, Benny would keep a silent watch over Annie all night long, he would sleep when she was old enough to take care of herself.

Sitting by the nuns' water pump in their convent yard the next morning, he watched Annie as she brushed her teeth, brushing his own with the travel toothbrush he kept in his jacket pocket. He liked to travel as light as possible, gun, bullets, knife, toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, and while he'd never admitted it, reading glasses for emergency reading, because fuck if he wasn't getting old.

He noticed the marine traveled with a goddamn apartment on his back and that was just fine for him. Marines were trained for distance and roughing it, they were pack mules. And just as dumb.

He needed more bullets for his tidy little Springfield, come to think of it.

“She's a good kid,” someone said from his left. It was a male voice and not Grayson's.

Benny ignored the marine for a moment, not wanting to chat about the fucking weather or some bullshit, spitting his toothpaste foam into a bucket of water to be dumped over the wall with the rest of the handwashing and face washing water.

There was a nun's body being buried out behind the church right now and he didn't feel like jibber-jabbing.

“We did our best last night,” the Lieutenant said, easing down beside him on one of the folding chairs the nuns had set up around their water source. For what? Water pump gossip? Maybe.

“Dead nun though,” Benny replied, sipping at some water to rinse his mouth.

The marine was quiet beside him, gazing out across the dewy lawns.

“I didn't mean to put the squeeze to you,” he began. “Yesterday in the church. I know you don't like talking about yourself.”

“Sure you did,” Benny returned.

Withdrawing for a moment to regroup, the marine went on, “fine. I did a little, but...it's hard trusting people nowadays, yeah?”

“Hard to trust people before this bullshit,” Benny shot back.

“Fair.”

There was a tension to the marine that told Benny he was gearing up for something, angling to reach for something during the entire conversation.

“You got something to say, don't pussyfoot,” he said calmly.

“Not that I don't believe you, but I want a reassurance that you're not trying to fuck us on this deal with the copter,” the marine said.

Benny nodded. “Yeah, I thought you'd think that. I wouldn't blame you. But it's real.”

“Well, we go in smart then,” the man stated.

“We go in smart,” Benny agreed, stretching out his legs and resting them on another chair across from him.

Beside him the marine remained seated, quiet in the growing daylight.

“We done?” Benny inquired.

“You ever hear about the boo hags?”

“The what?”

“And the moral of this story is...?” Benny prompted.

The Lieutenant shrugged, folding his arms. “Nothing really, I just think about the Boo Hags sometimes.”

“My granny used to tell me about this guy she knew from Corpus Christi, used to hate wearing pants. He wasn't crazy or anything, just said they were too hot and itchy, so he'd walk around in his boxer shorts everywhere.”

Around them, the nuns went about their morning routine, chores, and preparing for their morning mass after burying their fellow nun.

“Well,” Benny said. “Maybe he was a little crazy, I guess.”

Annie came to him and climbed into his lap, watching the activity around them quietly. It was a strange sort of calm to the morning, despite the funeral. It felt like the soft morning's Benny had at his grandparents, warms sunlight, peace, and quiet before the hectic activity of the day. It brought him back home to a home he mourned every single day of his life, a home he had only fleetingly as a boy before it was replaced with the boozy smelling mornings of his parents home.

“Mornings like this feel like my Mamere getting ready for church,” the Lieutenant said. “She used to sing when she was getting ready in the mornings, and she'd sing,

There's a land that is fairer than day,

and by faith we can see it afar;

for the Father waits over the way

to prepare us a dwelling place there.”

In his lap Annie rest her head against Benny's chest, listening to the marine as he sang in a fine, deep baritone. Benny knew the song well, it was his grandmother's favourite. When she finally came and took him home, to his real home with her and his grandfather, away from the chaos of his mother and father's lives.

They were the only people who ever really loved him.

The hymn brought back memories of Sunday mornings dressing for church, of Sunday evenings with the smell of roast chicken and his granny's baked apples, sweetened with brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon, sticky and warm.

He didn't live with them long. They were hit by a drunk driver and killed two years after he moved in with them. Benny went back to the chaos and Edna and Merle were buried in Oak Grove.

At the sound of the gentle singing, a few nearby nuns gathered in closer, curious, and quiet. Raised Baptist by his grandparents at least, Benny joined in with the marine, singing only very, very faintly, as though he were doing it for his granny and no one else. He would sing in a voice only barely above a whisper.

It was Annie who joined in the singing, almost eager and happy to do something that wasn't fighting and surviving.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

We shall sing on that beautiful shore

the melodious songs of the blessed;

and our spirits shall sorrow no more,

not a sigh for the blessing of rest.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

To our bountiful Father above

we will offer our tribute of praise

for the glorious gift of his love

and the blessings that hallow our days.

“My granny used to sing that one too,” Benny finally admitted, in the stark silence at the end of the song. “Yours lived with you?” He asked.

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yeah, my grandparents raised me.”

“Where were your parents?” Benny asked.

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, nowhere in sight,” the Lieutenant replied, a grin in his voice. “My ma was hospitalized most of my young life,” he added in a more serious tone. “The man who impregnated her was...not important.”

“Pump and dump?”

“Of sorts, not really given permission for it though,” the Cajun finished tentatively.

Benny felt his blood chill a little. “I get you.” He said, not wanting the marine to have to open up old wounds.

“You?”

“I lived with my grandparents for a while, yeah. My parents were...selfish pricks, they lived in Galveston.”

“I get you,” the marine repeated his own words. Easing back in his chair, the Cajun asked, “where you from? Where'd you grow up? You said you lived in Forth Worth?”

“My grandparents lived in Fort Worth, so I guess I moved between there and Galveston mostly.”

“What happened to the twang? You lose it or hate it?” The Lieutenant inquired.

Benny chuckled. “I haven't lived there for years.”

“Can never really shake the twang though, yeah?” The Lieutenant teased.

“I guess not. You? I know Cajun when I hear it, but where you from in Louisiana?”

“Eunice.”

“Eunice? That's...down south, isn't it? Way down the bayou,” he mocked the Lieutenant's accent, prompting the marine to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“Annie,” he turned to the kid in his lap. “Why don't you head inside the infirmary, okay? I'll be right there to get you set up for the day.”

The girl slipped down to the ground and nodded, heading obediently for the building where Grayson was already getting his shit together.

Sullen, a little pissed that he was forced to face things he had buried long ago in Texas, Benny remained quiet for a good long time. Long enough that eventually the anger dispersed.

Benny sat still and silent so long that eventually, it was just him and the Cajun, who remained, squatted down on his haunches, resting.

“We're running on a very short timeline,” Benny finally said to the man.

The marine nodded. “Yep.”

“That girl, if she is still alive, won't be so young and vibrant if she's with these men, I can tell you that right now. Feel like with no law, men will become animals, women will become prey.”

“What's going on in that tiny bird brain of yours?” The Cajun asked.

“You need to stay here and train up some of these damned nuns, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you could trust me?” Benny asked suddenly, turning away from the middle nothing he was staring at and pining the Cajun with a look.

For a good long while the marine eyed him back, blue-grey eyes hard and scrutinizing. At rest the man's face was regal, but villainous, betraying his genuine kindness, at rest his face was the face of a man you didn't want to fuck with.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You're going to have to know so,” Benny urged.

“Alright, I know I can trust you.”

“It might be riskier, but time is important, isn't it?”

“What's your plan, fancy man?”

“When I was poking around the church earlier, I spied some priest shit, a get up for a proper man of the Lord. Might give me a pretty good shield, might get me close enough to those men if I can find them, to get inside their group.”

“Espionage?”

“Whoa, slow down there Bayou-bred, that's a big word for you.”

The two men hushed up as Grayson began to head over towards them.

“Fuck off, Grayson!” Benny shouted.

“Fuck you, assclown!” Grayson snarled back, veering off in anger towards the wall and the gate.

“That kid is going to murder you in your sleep some night, paon.” The Lieutenant mused.

“Ah well, he's a good kid, needs toughening up. Mouthy little fuck though.”

The two men settled a little again, their ruffled feathers smoothing out in the tranquility that followed the exchange between Benny and Grayson.

“You could get yourself killed ducking in on a group like a priest. If they find out you're not or if they happen to find out what you're up to.”

“I know,” Benny replied. “But I'm good at it.”

“Good at it?” The Lieutenant asked.

Benny smiled. “Getting into places I shouldn't be as someone I'm not.”

The Cajun was quiet, before sighing. “Okay. Cut the shit, what the fuck are you?”

“I'm goddamned good at what I do. You just worry about these nuns. When I head out, you need to do one thing for me. You just need to trust that whatever happens once I leave this convent, I'm not going to fuck you over. Annie will stay here, she'll be my guarantee that I won't let anything happen.”

“Okay.”

“You tell anyone you need that I ran off in the night, just not Annie. You tell her I'll be back. You need to do this for me. Can you do this?”

“I don't like handing the reins over, but...you're right. Time is important and these nuns can't be left alone. Splitting up might be the best bet for everyone. I'll play my part.”

“Pact?” Benny offered, holding out his hand. He knew it was childish, but he wanted God (if there be any) to witness his honesty. For once in his goddamned life of other names, other faces, he wanted some higher power to see his bluffing ass telling a truth.

The Lieutenant leaned back a little, before saying, “brothers. It makes you blood. You don't cross blood.”

“Brothers,” Benny swore, the two men shaking hands firmly.

Releasing hands, the two men sat back a little, trying to look like two men just sharing a conversation, as Mena poked her head out of the convent cloister and started their way.

“We meet up tonight, dead of night when everyone is asleep, in the back room of the church,” Benny said softly, hurrying before Mena could join them.

The Lieutenant nodded.

“Gentlemen,” Mena greeted in the high toned, pretty magnolia blossom voice of hers. Pure sugar, pure south. “Good morning.”

“Why Miss Mena, you're as pretty as a bluebell this morning,” Benny teased, mocking her southern accent.

She offered him a stern, but sparkling warning look, the corners of her mouth lifted a little like a cat. She looked like she was grateful for the teasing distraction, grateful because otherwise, it was pure mourning and fear that remained should she not have anything to distract her from it. “You may mock me all you want, Mr. Malone, but I lost one of my flock last night and I'm not in the mood. Now, we've buried the poor woman, and we were promised training. The sooner the better, I think.”

“Are you thinking of staying? You and Annie are very welcome to.”

They had gotten the nuns started with whatever makeshift weapons they could find and while the Lieutenant gave them a rifle handling and maintenance crash course, Mena had once more sidled up beside Benny as he stood in the shadows of the eastern side of the church, watching the chaos, while idly thumbing through a small bible he had found in the church.

“You're thinking of the wrong man,” he replied, motioning with his head at the marine. “He's probably yours for life though.”

She smiled. “We love having you here, Mr. Malone. All of you.” She hesitated, before adding, “I sort of forgot how boring convent life can be until you all arrived to shake things up. Granted, we suffered a loss, but...I think we're stronger with you and the Lieutenant and even Annie and Grayson. We're no longer cloistered, we're a community center, a...a home.”

He opened his mouth about to say something, before considering it, finally he relented. “I know a nun's faith is sacred to her, but...why did you become a nun? You seem...unhappy with your lot.”

“I wouldn't say unhappy,” she replied. “I'm ungrateful in a small way. I became a nun to help people. Work missions and aid the poor and those most unfortunate. I suppose, I just...never felt like I was helping much here. Feel sort of immured behind these walls.”

“Immured?”

Before Mena could answer his question, the Lieutenant joined them, easing against the church for a rest in the shade.

“So?” Benny asked him.

“Well, they don't like the idea of hitting anyone, seem hesitant, but I think when push comes to shove they know how to do it.”

Scoffing, Benny turned to Mena. “What about you, debutante? Wanna fight with the others?”

Mena laughed. “I'm afraid I don't care much for fighting.”

“You need to learn how,” he went on.

“I know how to throw a punch, Mr. Malone,” Mena argued gently.

Inhaling calmly, Benny scooped the nun up easily in one move and had her stomach perched on his shoulder as she dangled over it in shock, her legs and knees digging into his chest in shock.

“So you're telling me,” Benny began as Mena struggled to be put down, trying to maintain her dignity while being treated like a sack of flour, “you know how to prevent being carted off by someone like this?”

“Mr. Malone, please?!” Mena shouted, panicked. Her ever calm facade breaking into a sort of girlish embarrassment. Shrill and just a little tremulous.

“Don't break the nun,” the Lieutenant warned with a small grin.

Sensing the rest of the nuns' attention and maybe wanting to cheer them up just a little with a distraction from the death of Sister Mary Patrick, Benny perked a little more, hefting the woman on his shoulder as she squirmed.

“Are you kidding me?” He demanded loudly. “I'm two steps away from giving her a noogie. This is fun. I'm going to hold her down and snicker-snag on her if she can't break away.”

“Don't you dare! Put me down!” Mena shouted as the rest of the nuns began to notice the noise and started wandering over towards them curiously.

“Look at how small she is,” Benny laughed. “I could toss her over the wall into a pile of leaves like a little mouse. Hey, give me a hand, I want to try playing keep-away with this shrimp.”

“Are you seriously bullying me right now, Mr. Malone?” Mena demanded, still draped over his shoulder, her veil fluttering to the ground, all dignity lost. “Lieutenant, please?”

“I can't step into another man's training ring,” the Lieutenant lied. “It's not courteous.”

“Courteous?!” The nun hollered.

“Think if I put her down and follow her she'll lead me to her pot of gold?” Benny asked, spinning with the nun.

A stray knee from the poor nun hit Benny in the mouth and he reeled back a little, blood drawn.

“Alright, play time's over, kids,” the Lieutenant stepped in, moving to take Mena from Benny.

As soon as the Cajun set Mena right again, kneeling to get her veil for her, she was puffing up like a little ruffed grouse and twirling around to poke at Benny in the chest.

He was too distracted by the taste of blood on his lip to notice.

Behind them the nuns that had gathered were all trying to conceal their amusement at the scene, a few of them giggling into their veils, some turning their soft laughter into mild coughs.

“Serves you right,” Mena stated. “The indignity!”

Benny, idly licking at his torn lip, grinned and held his hands up. “Hey, okay. Put the guns away, shrimp, you win.”

“Blood has been drawn, no harm done,” the Lieutenant said. At Mena's sharp look, he amended that statement to a soft, “maybe?”

“I am an Abbess,” Mena snarled, whirling on Benny again, her little finger pointed at him like a rifle. “I deserve a modicum of respect.”

“A what?” Benny asked, pocketing his hands. “Hey, don't get mad, country mouse, you said you could handle yourself, and boy, did you sure prove me wrong.”

“I,” Mena began, a little louder than her normal soft-spoken Southern belle coo. She stopped short and seemed to inhale, calming herself. “I...will not let you goad me into a fight, just to prove myself capable, Mr. Malone.”

“One punch,” he pushed. “Just one solid punch and I'll leave you alone.”

Mena was quiet, still trying to smooth her habit and veil back into place after her manhandling.

“It might give you back a bit of that lost dignity,” Benny added in a whisper, leaning towards her.

“Sock him, Mother!” One of the older nuns shouted.

“And just like that the teachings of peace and forgiveness of Christ have been forgotten,” Mena murmured.

“If you punch him then he'll stop being a bully,” another nun suggested.

“I don't think Sister Mary Patrick would approve of this,” another nun pointed out.

“Like it nothing, she'd love to see this cheeky man popped in his cheeky face,” yet another nun added.

“I will not,” Mena declared. “We are not animals and I refuse to hit a man without due cause.”

“He just picked you up like you were a duffle bag, just hit him in his pretty face and get it all over with,” Sister Mary Agnes, one of the few nuns Benny could tell apart suggested. “I would,” she added, before crossing herself quickly in a form of silent absolution.

“Aw,” Benny gushed. “She thinks I'm pretty. Come on, Abbess, just give me one solid punch and prove yourself capable. Come on,” he went on, “I know there's an animal concealed under those robes of yours, let the lioness out.”

“Lieutenant?” Mena asked.

The tall man sort of took a thoughtful step back on one foot and considered it quietly, before he answered with a simple, “hit him.”

Mena was quiet, sizing up Benny for a bit.

He could see her small hands curling into fists at her side and tightened his jaw to take the hit.

Instead, Mena's hands relaxed and she shook her head, turning to Annie who was watching.

“We don't hit people who don't deserve it,” she explained to the child. “A lady must always take the high road.”

“As short as she is, the high road would be the best option,” Benny murmured.

Mena leveled her chin almost indignantly, still looking at Annie.

“Good for you, Mother,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Remember Matthew 5:39. But I say to you, do not resist an evil person; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.”

“If he keeps taunting her I'll show him both cheeks,” one of the older nuns grumbled.

Benny laughed to himself. He didn't know much about each individual nun yet, but he knew he liked the older nun with just that one sentence.

“We are not a boxing club,” Mena went on. “Though we will train to defend ourselves, senseless violence is never the right path. Despite how much a man may want to be hit by a lady.”

“It's always been my dream,” Benny added playfully.

“I'm gonna hit him for you,” the Lieutenant broke in.

Laughing, Benny backed away, hands up. “Okay, I wanted to get hit, not knocked out today.”

This seemed to break up the gathering, nuns moving off, heading back to their training.

Mena, still a little fired up, remained for a moment.

“No hard feelings, Thumbelina,” Benny said. “I just wanted to see your form.”

“I'm sure you felt enough of my form while I was riding high on your shoulder,” she returned a little bitterly, before walking off.

Benny sidled up beside the Lieutenant, still grinning. “She was real mad.”

“Yeah.”

“Has kind of a temper.”

“Yeah.”

“I kind of liked it.”

“Easy now.”

“Don't tell me you've never thought of picking her up,” Benny went on. “She's so fucking small.”

The Lieutenant smiled. “I mean, I could.”

“Hell yeah, you could. You could pick me up, big guy.” As they walked off, heading for the infirmary, Annie following behind, the fancy man added, “but don't ever fucking try, because I will lay you out.”

Chuckling, the Lieutenant opened the infirmary door for the shorter man and said, “you could never, little fancy man.”

Inside the infirmary Grayson sat on his cot, reading a well-thumbed copy of some real crime book, looking bored and still angry.

“Hey kid,” Benny greeted. “You need to learn some fighting too or do you think you'll pull some karate moves out of your ass when the time comes?”

“Could kick your ass,” the kid grumbled.

“Want to give it a try?” Benny offered sincerely. “See what you got?”

“You have, like, thirty years on me, think I'd win, grandpa,” Grayson replied.

“Only one way to find out.”

“You think you'll be ready to head out tomorrow morning?” The Lieutenant asked the kid, playing his part perfectly to Benny's delight. At least the marine had a poker face. “We have to get to that airfield before noon if we want to find proper camp before dark.”

“I was ready two days ago, what have you two been doing?”

“Keeping these nuns safe first and foremost,” Benny said. “You know, about eleven lives versus one? Using our brains.”

Grayson glowered at him.

“Can the shitty attitude, we're trying,” Benny went on firmly.

“Tomorrow,” the Lieutenant said firmly, breaking up the tension, “we will continue on the hunt for these men. Right now, I have to head out to get something for dinner for all of us.”

“Not taking your life partner with you?” Grayson asked.

“Surprisingly progressive, kid,” Benny mused, folding his arms. “I don't even think it's an insult.”

“More observational than insulting,” the Lieutenant added.

“You could do worse than me,” Benny teased.

“Could do better too, paon.” The marine retorted dryly, offering Benny a small grin as he grabbed up his rifle. “Don't kill each other while I'm gone, yeah?”

“Can I hang him from a flag pole again?” Benny asked. “Seems to be the best way to take the bite out of him.”

“Fuck you, Benny,” Grayson growled.

“That is no way to speak to your elders, son!” Benny replied.

“Come on, kid. Let's head out for a hunt.” The Lieutenant said, stepping in calmly.

Grayson jumped up, eager to finally help, but couldn't resist grumbling, “don't call me 'kid', old man.”

“Don't call me old, son,” the Lieutenant murmured, ducking out of the infirmary after the boy.

Alone in the infirmary now with Annie, Benny inhaled and turned to her.

“You like those two?”

She shrugged.

Looking at the child in his care, Benny wanted to say something to her, to emote. But emotions were never his thing, once he opened that pandora's box they wouldn't stop. So he reached out and ruffled her hair, the two puffs on top, at least.

He liked the kid, he really did. Hell, he could almost admit to himself that he loved her and if it wasn't for circumstances and his fucking weak need to be helpful, he wouldn't be leaving her at the convent.

There were mornings, before they ran into the marine, that he would wake up from light, cautious sleep, to find her sitting up and watching him.

She never said much, and he always wondered what was going on in her undeveloped little noodle, she didn't even really speak much even when Laila was with them. Horrors, he assumed, something that kept Laila on edge and wary of their surroundings, haunted the two of them and when Benny found the mother and child, or rather when they had found him, they were almost feral.

He assumed it was something to do with the wedding ring on Laila's finger, of the way it took Annie months to finally take his hand without him telling her to.

She kept close to him now, she had lost her father – as far as Benny knew, and now her mother and the child was wafting on the breeze, drifting around with no moorings. Nothing to tether her to safety and comfort, but for him.

And Benny hated that it had to be him that poor girl relied on. He wasn't reliable, not to people who loved him – at least. He had cut his moorings a long time ago, or...maybe they had rotted with Valerie. Moldering in the grave with his beautiful wife, her cold hands clutching the last strands of the rope that had kept him from drifting.

He didn't mind being tethered by Valerie, he liked it even. Whenever he'd go off and come home, he had a home to come to. She would be there, bright and smiling, her flower garden always in bloom, it seemed, even in the cold Rhode Island winters, when the wind came across the Atlantic frigid and cruel.

She had died in the winter, or the early spring, rather. March. The witches tit of a month, the cold, brown spring.

Valerie wanted to be buried, not cremated, so they had to wait another month before she could be buried.

Benny was gone long before that. He had left the night she died, just walked away.

He liked the poetic idea of their beautiful home and everything in it rotting with his wife, like the idea of her garden drying up and withering. No one deserved her things, or her garden or even dare come near anywhere she had walked.

If he could, he would have built a stone wall, higher than the one that kept them safe at the convent, wider than it needed to be, all around Rhode Island. He would have kept everyone from that state. It would become a shrine to Valerie. His angel. Patient and sweet and everything he didn't fucking deserve.

So with no option to do any of that, he burned Rhode Island from his mind, it didn't exist in his world. It was a crater, with his wife dead in the center.

Everything he owned, everything that remained clinging to him when he walked away, was thrown into the ocean to fucking disappear. Except for his wedding band, wrapped like a napkin ring around a rolled-up photo of her, that he kept in his sock, secured by the knife strap he wore.

When he began to feel too alive, he would torment himself, like a form of self-harm, only instead of cutting his body, he wounded his soul. He would unroll that photo and wear that ring and he would feel every moment of sorrow all over again.

Was that healthy? Was grieving like that right? No. He knew it was sick.

But life was fucking sick, because she was good and he was not, and she died, starving to death because the cancer that had started in her uterus had swept viciously through her body, into her stomach and everything she ate, would be thrown up, black and diseased. And she withered fast, like a rose when the frost touches it.

But she didn't wither fast enough not to suffer.

And even now, with the fucking infected, or the dead, whoever you asked, when they ravaged and tore people apart, he somehow lived. At first, he wanted to live, it was human nature to fight to survive.

Valerie wanted to live too, and she died. So he would live for her if only to eat all the pain he couldn't eat of hers.

And then he had Annie and Laila, and while they were never anything more than people surviving together, Benny had formed an attachment, the first kind of real attachment to the two of them. He had begun to re-weave that tether that had rotted away from Valerie and then one morning, Laila was just gone.

She had left a note, she always did when she went out on her own to scavenge.

But she never came back.

And Benny felt another tether begin to rot.

He was a man struggling to hold on to a handful of sand in a wind storm.

So he held Annie's tether tight because he knew she held his just as tight.

Yes. He did love the child.

He wished the world was better for her, but he thanked the chaos and the randomness of numbers that he had her, and if these men had Laila, if she fell prey to them, he would get her back if she was alive and he would hand over the tether that Annie held that connected to him, back to her mother.

But he was still stunted and fucked up emotionally, so all of this, loving the kid and wanting everything for her, came out in a hand rubbing the top of her head. Because Benny's parents didn't hug and Benny didn't know what to do with a child, he and Valerie had never had one and they never talked about having one. And then she died and he had never been around children except when he was one.

So he tousled her hair and thought to himself that maybe someday he'd be able to express himself to someone else.

Maybe someday Rhode Island would exist on his maps again. Maybe Valerie would finally rest in peace because he could move on and grow and learn to be a human being.

Or maybe he would die trying to get Laila back to her mother and that girl back to her brother and maybe there would be no lesson for him to learn, no more room for him to grow.

Maybe Georgia would become to Annie what Rhode Island was to Benny. Not because of him, he didn't assume the child held any love for him, she was only clinging to him because she was lost, no perhaps she would bury Georgia behind a wall, because of her mother, because of her father, because of the dead and because every day she woke up, she had to see a corpse.

No child should ever have to live in a real nightmare.

Or.

Or maybe someday, Annie would stitch Georgia back together, maybe there could be hope for her future. The dead were thinning out and maybe her mother would return and maybe she'd find happiness, though he knew she would still have nightmares about the dead, he had nightmares about the dead, about Laila and Valerie and Annie, all roaming across the wastelands of his dreams, their eyes cloudy, milky with rot, because the cornea's had no blood flow, their fingertips turning black, their skin waxy and bloated.

Since it had begun, Benny had seen too many children among the dead, small forms, corpses that hungered, but never seemed to eat, only tear and shred and maim.

The thing was, the dead or the infected didn't make very loud sounds. They shuffled and they slogged, their feet dragging, but they didn't moan like the movie zombies, they would give off mewl-like moans. Something almost like the air just rising up from their bloated bellies. It was soft enough to miss if you weren't listening for it. And it wasn't often like they were sleeping and then would moan or when they mimicked and exhale of air. They were near silent forms moving like manifest destiny towards eternity.

Beside him, Annie was very much alive and he would make sure she stayed that way. Benny was nothing if resourceful and he could use those resources to the best of his ability.

If brute strength and survival were what the Lieutenant did best, Benny's abilities were subversive action and artful manipulation.

#novel #support an author #Graveyard Dirt & Salt #zombies #sorry it took me a while to post my friends and supporters i had some mental health set backs due to being laid off and jobless #but im back!

6 notes · View notes

quiveringbunny · 5 years

Text

You Can’t Afford Him (Olicity fanfic, rated M) - Chapter 1

Here is chapter 1 of my latest Olicity story. I hope you enjoy it. The first chapter is fluffy fun. Later the story will be M.

Read on Ao3

YOU CAN’T AFFORD HIM

Chapter 1

After the team returned from depositing Slade Wilson in his dismal cell beneath the graceful palm trees of Lian Yu, the atmosphere in the Lair was tense for weeks.

John Diggle was no dummy. Something had happened between Oliver and Felicity around the time they ended the Siege of the Mad Australian and his Mirakuru soldiers. He wasn’t sure what it was, but John figured it had something to do with how Felicity was kidnapped by Slade in order to inject him with the cure. The whole thing had come from out of nowhere, from his perspective, but Oliver didn’t seem surprised. Now, the third, and most stoic, member of Team Arrow wondered what had transpired to set those events in motion, resulting in a very awkward vibe between his partners.

Lyla, his own love, shook her head and clucked “UST” when he confided in her about the situation. So, Diggle stayed away from the Lair a little more often now. He hoped that by giving the two of them some time together, they might work through whatever rough patch they were having and maybe, just maybe, Oliver Queen would pull his damn head out of his ass and ask the girl out. And he certainly didn’t want to walk in on them resolving anything.

That wouldn’t be today. He found them sitting at a table, playing cards strewn haphazardly in front of them. Oliver was scrubbing his face in frustration and Felicity sat opposite him, arms folded across her chest. She looked pissed.

“Hey Guys, what’s going on here?” John tried to sound as light and breezy as he could with his baritone.

“Nothing,” was Oliver’s immediate response, but his colleague was having none of that.

“Oliver asked me to teach him how to count cards. I think he thought it would be easy.”

“People count cards all the time,” Oliver piped up.

“Not really, Oliver. It’s frowned upon and it does take a bit of talent.”

John, finding himself inexplicably drawn in, leaned against a nearby bench. “And why do you want to learn how to count cards?”

Oliver turned to face his other partner while Felicity shuffled multiple decks like a dealer. “There is someone I need to look into in Macau. An associate of Slade’s who owns a casino there. We still don’t know if Slade shared his Mirakuru formula outside of Starling. But this person would know. His casino is a front for an arms operation.”

“So, Oliver has to infiltrate a gambling operation and he thinks being able to have an advantage is necessary,” she added.

Diggle fixed his eyes on his beleaguered colleague. “Why don’t you just let Felicity do it? She’s the most experienced gambler.”

“Thank you!” She sounded both grateful and exasperated. Apparently this was not an unfamiliar suggestion. Unfortunately, it only elicited a grumpy sigh from Oliver “Heart Eyes” Queen.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Why do we keep having this conversation, Oliver? I’ve gone in the field for missions before. Even to a casino.”

“Yes, you did. And when you got made, you were nearly beaten by the guys in the back room. I only got there just in time...”

Felicity rolled her eyes and prepared to rebut.

“I might regret suggesting this,” Diggle interjected, “but why don’t you both go? Oliver, you can look into things while Felicity establishes credibility at the gaming tables?”

Felicity mouthed “thank you” to John and then turned to Oliver with a raised brow. The Arrow huffed back and crossed his arms, obviously not happy with the suggestion.

#######

Felicity enjoyed gambling. When she was a child she liked to play bingo with her maternal grandmother and got a taste for triumph. She enjoyed her casino adventures while living in Las Vegas, making extra money to cover the household bills, before an overzealous pit boss at Harrah’s stopped underestimating the lucky young woman with the glasses. The thrill carried on into adulthood. In some way, her day job and her night job still scratched her itch for numeric probability problems. Truth be told, if she was a risk-averse person, she would never have signed on to Team Arrow for the long term.

Even though the prospect of going undercover in a Macau casino was thrilling to Felicity, she still found her nerves surging during the dreadful flights from Starling to Macau International Airport. Thank god for Benzos. She noticed Oliver watching her like a hawk, undoubtedly concerned she might croak before they arrived, but he had no idea it was his intense gaze that made her anxious in the first place, not the prospect of play-acting in a nest of bad men.

#######

When they were just two hours away from their final destination, Oliver quietly rasped into her ear. It was definitely sobering. He was sitting rightthere. Yes, he was in the seat next to her. But those seats on commercial aircraft were just too damn close.

“Felicity, do we have anything else on Myles Crofton? Anything we might be able to use to find out if he was in touch with Slade? Or leverage him, maybe?”

“You asked me that last night, Oliver. No. That is why we are on this hellish trip right now. I really have to get into his office. I need to check every aspect of his digital life on the scene to find out definitively. And if it works out that he’s got a fridge full of Killer Soldier Juice, you get to smash it all up.”

“And him.”

“Whatever works for you.”

“Do we need to nail down our cover story, Felicity?”

She couldn’t help but loll her head to the side in disbelief, like she did so many times when he was being ridiculous.

“Oh, you mean the cover story where you are a globetrotting playboy from Miami and I am your nerdy personal assistant who happens to be amazingly lucky at the tables? That one?”

Queen’s features morphed to discontent. “Felicity.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “Everything will be fine. Except I changed my name again for this mission. It’s Pandora Fleece.”

“What?!” Oliver schooled his voice after his outburst. “Why is your name Pandora Fleece? It was Ginger something before.”

Felicity grumbled. “Exactly. You could never remember it. You will remember Pandora Fleece.”

“I don’t know if I can call you Pandora with a straight face.”

“Call me Panda, then. It’s shorter and more familiar. I am your right hand, after all.”

“Okay, Panda.” Oliver couldn’t help but remember the panda flats Felicity used to wear. They were charming and quirky. Suddenly, he was warming to the name and a smile was pulling at his lips. Then his mind snapped back at her voice again.

“You are still Archer Middleton. It sounds like money.”

“Archer?”

“I get to have fun sometimes.”

“Sounds like a trust fund douche I went to school with.”

“You were the douche you went to school with,” she smirked. “At least according to TMZ.”

Oliver grimaced at her. “Can it be something else?”

“What, like James Bond?”

At that, Oliver couldn’t help but grin a little. He looked at her expectantly.

“No, you can’t be James Bond.”

Defeat crossed his face and Felicity watched it with some amusement.

“No matter how good you look in a tux,” she added with a faint twinkle in her eye before sitting back in her seat.

Oliver registered the compliment and puffed his chest out, ever so slightly. He knew she liked it when he wore a tux.

Ever since the team had come back from Lian Yu, the sync between him and his Girl Wednesday had felt off. He was worried their relationship would never go back to the way it was before that night in the foyer of Queen Mansion – the night when he admitted that he loved her. He said the words out loud for Slade’s benefit, but they had been true. Then he got scared and took the “out” Felicity had given him on the beach and they hadn’t spoken of it again. Oliver still loved her, but he couldn’t help recalling how she looked with Slade Wilson’s sword pressed to her throat. She was taken because of his feelings for her and Oliver never wanted that to happen again. Keeping her at a distance personally would assure that.

Still, he really enjoyed it when they were in sync, working together and making things happen as a team. He felt the inklings of that connection returning now. Maybe.

#######

Macau was going to be a challenge. As soon as they landed, Felicity discovered that the airline had misdirected their bags, which shouldn’t have been surprising, given the chaos of the airport and their connections. The airline assured her they would find the luggage and forward it to the Metropol Casino and Resort as soon as possible. But Felicity didn’t know how long that actually meant in Macau time.

The check in at the hotel was similarly difficult. They were waiting in line for the front desk several minutes. Felicity couldn’t help but notice how the women around her were dressed. Even in one of her better day dresses, she felt a bit grubby and desperately hoped her suitcase would arrive soon. When they finally got their turn at the desk, they were informed that the two-bedroom suite Felicity had booked was not yet available. There were vociferous apologies for the wait. Oliver suggested they go to the adjacent underground mall to shop in case their bags were not returned in time for their evening at the casino.

#######

It felt good to walk after being cooped up on a plane for most of a day. The two of them trekked the length of the mall before Oliver steered a hesitant Felicity into one of the high-end dress shops.

It was a fairly large boutique with clothing at one end and accessories, primarily shoes, at the other. Still, the offerings were sparse.

“Why is it the expensive places have the fewest clothes on display?” Felicity remarked, making him huff a laugh. It was then that he noticed a striking red gown. Felicity followed his eyes to it. Then she looked at him and he quirked an eyebrow.

“No,” she whispered as he picked up the dress. “That is not an assistant’s dress. It looks too fancy.”

“Just try it.”

As if by magic, an attentive shop attendant appeared to facilitate the process.

“May I help you?” The attendant was clever enough to direct his question to Felicity. If the woman wasn’t keen on purchasing, it was unlikely to happen. But sometimes the husband or boyfriend or lover or “uncle” could be influential, so the lanky man with dark eyes waited.

“Yes. Could you help Ms...Fleece, please?” Oliver asked. “The red.” He directed with his gaze.

“Excellent.” The man smiled widely. “My name is Claude and I am pleased to be able to assist you today.”

Then Claude did a strange thing. He snapped his fingers. Suddenly, a younger man appeared with a black Lucite tray. Perched on it were two glasses of pink sparkling wine and several luscious strawberries.

Felicity was suddenly afraid she would blow their cover before the op had even begun. The alcohol looked very appealing right now, so she took a glass and nodded to Oliver. He did the same and offered his billionaire smile with a quiet toast.

“This way, Ms. Fleece,” Claude bowed before turning. Felicity urged Oliver to take her handbag with a deadly look, then she followed the man toward the stylishly appointed fitting rooms. She looked over her shoulder just once to see Oliver snagging a berry off the tray and biting into it with gusto while clutching the purse to his chest. Claude waved Felicity towards an open cubicle.

“I will be right back with your gown.”

“But don’t you need to know my size?” Felicity volunteered.

“Trust me, Ms. Fleece. I have been doing this for a long time. I already know.”

Claude nodded respectfully and disappeared for three minutes before returning with the dress in exactly the right size. At least in most of the places that mattered. It looked a bit long in the fitting room.

Meanwhile, out on the floor of the shop, Oliver needed to wait. There were places to sit down, comfortable velvet armchairs, but he had been sitting for what felt like days and that seemed like the last thing his body wanted to do. So, he wandered around and looked over the accessories. They made him think of his sister Thea and what a clotheshorse she always was.

Thoughts of his sister left him when Oliver watched Claude lead Felicity out of the fitting room and toward a pedestal in front of a bank of angled mirrors. The sight of her in the dress stole all of his words and much of his sanity. Felicity was beautiful, for sure, whether she was dressed practically for her day job or covered in grime for their night work. But in this dress, she was possibly the loveliest woman he had ever seen. It wasn’t the fabric that floated around her legs or the cut that showcased her feminine curves making her so striking. In truth, it was a fairly conservative dress in terms of its high neckline and long sleeves. It was the way that the dress was obviously affecting her. She looked attractive, sexy, confident - all the things that drew Oliver to her since he met her, all at once.

Oliver watched Claude help her step up onto a pedestal, a momentary flash of leg peeking through the slit that went up above her knee. He also couldn’t help but fixate on her back. The dress was open and revealed the most attractive shoulder blades he had ever seen. Who obsessed over shoulder blades? He was obviously in trouble. When she turned to him with a quizzical look, he hesitated to speak until...

“You need shoes,” he volunteered. In a flash, he moved to the opposite end of the store to get his head screwed on right and find the perfect heels for the dress he had already decided she was getting whether she liked it or not.

*******

Felicity watched Oliver scurry away with confusion. The dress was amazing, yet he hadn’t said a word about it. Truthfully, she really didn’t need his input. She knew the gown was fantastic as soon as she stepped into it. It made her feel incredible, even if the hem was dragging. Felicity enjoyed swishing the fabric back and forth. It was just a tad mature for her, but she liked that about it. It made her feel womanly in the best way.

A few moments later, her partner in justice reappeared beside her wearing an inscrutable look. He couldn’t take his eyes off her in the mirror. But before Felicity could ask him what was on his mind, Oliver produced a pair of sparkling gold sandals. The heels looked high, but not impossible. Felicity grinned and nodded.

What Oliver did next almost sent her toppling off her perch. He put his hand through the break in the dress, the slit, and found her bare foot. Then he moved to push the fabric away so he could place the shoe down. Without a word, he encouraged her to grasp his shoulder while he helped her slip her foot into the sandal. She never once left her place on the pedestal.

It was an overwhelming sequence of events for Felicity - Oliver being so unexpectedly familiar and thoughtful, so physically intimate in a way. With great effort she continued to breathe until the “shoe event” was over and she could stand to admire what the newfound height was adding to the overall look of the dress. But it was a little hard to focus with Oliver standing just behind her, according to the mirror, staring at her like...she always belonged up there.

Claude broke the tension by piping up, “It appears just a minor alteration to make it perfect, Ms. Fleece.”

Oh yes, there was someone else in the room. Felicity made moves to climb down from her perch and Oliver rushed to assist her. Then he directed his attention to their salesman while she reached for her chirping purse that Oliver left sitting on a nearby table.

“You can have it ready for this evening and sent up to our suite?” Oliver replied with a question that was actually a definitive statement.

Claude, accustomed to such requests from high-value clients, responded in the affirmative while Felicity grimaced at her phone screen.

Oliver shifted his attention to his Girl Wednesday. “What?”

“I was going to fight you about buying this dress, but this text says we won’t have our bags until tomorrow morning.”

“Dammit.”

“We’ll need to find you a suit.”

Claude ushered Felicity back to the changing area where an energetic older Asian woman named Margot, who couldn’t have been more that four and a half feet tall, appeared to measure for quick alterations. Margot disappeared while Felicity changed back into her regular clothes, but then appeared outside the changing room door as she was leaving.

“Miss, you will take these.” The lady was wearing a mysterious smile and carefully presented Felicity with a pair of red satin panties.

Felicity couldn’t help blushing and she may have actually sputtered, “I don’t know...” She bit her bottom lip and reached out for the undergarment.

“No charge” Margot continued, her eyes twinkling. “You have a red dress, Miss. Also, there is a long tradition in Macau. The color red is good luck in our culture. But it is considered very fortuitous to wear the red panties when you are gambling. For gentlemen, it is good luck to carry in the pocket.”

“Seriously? Men here have ladies’ panties in their pockets?”

“As I said, Miss. It is a tradition. And here in our shop we think they must be given as a gift in order to have the most luck. You cannot purchase good fortune, after all.”

At that, Felicity shook her head. She recalled how superstitious gamblers were in Vegas. It was nothing to scoff at. Often much was riding on the most inconsequential-seeming details in a game.

“May I have two pairs?”

Margot laughed and nodded. “They will be sent up with your gown, Miss.”

When Felicity emerged from the changing area, she discovered that Oliver had found her a serviceable clutch to match the shoes. He was full of surprises today. She thanked him for his effort and offered an inscrutable smile as she thought about Margot’s offering. It was a naughty secret and she liked that.

Felicity would have offered extended commentary about how proud Thea would be regarding Oliver’s shopping chops, but she got distracted sorting out the particulars of making her purchase with bitcoin. When they planned to come to Macau, she researched currency and learned that many places accepted it and it was a good way to stay under the radar financially and maintain their pseudonyms. Once the transaction was successful, they thanked Claude and headed out to sort out Oliver’s clothing.

############

After a bit of internet searching, Felicity steered Oliver across a covered courtyard toward the Dolce and Gabbana boutique.

“Do I really need to buy? I’m sure there is somewhere here I can rent a tux...Panda?”

Oliver thought he might get points for using Felicity’s alias. Unfortunately, his statement just caused her to stop moving outside the shop entrance, which immediately got his attention. Okay, he might have sounded just a bit whiney.

“Have you seen you, Archer?” She stared into him with consternation and seemed a bit frustrated.

The Arrow’s response was a quirked eyebrow and a huff.

“Sorry, Mister Salmon Ladder, I-like-to-clobber-things-with-a-sledgehammer-for-funsies. While turning yourself into a weapon is probably a satisfying effort, and I’m not complaining about watching you do it, no Sir-ee, the sad fact is that you do not have an off-the-rack body. You need something designed for an athletic build, like a really athletic build, otherwise you will look ridiculous. I just hope they carry something in size Extra Massive.”

At that, Oliver couldn’t stifle a wide grin. “Extra Massive?”

“Shut up,” she huffed.

Oliver opened the glass door for her and gave her a serious look. “You better go ahead. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit through.”

With an exasperated chuckle, because Oliver rarely joked and she actually appreciated the effort, she murmured loud enough for him to hear, “I could also have been referring to your head, Archer.”

###########

There were was one other patron in the exquisitely-styled boutique, a beautiful woman in her late 30’s, dressed expensively and lounging in one of the white wingback chairs placed in the center of the store.

Felicity passed the front counter, nodding to the slim, European sales manager. He was young, but had the slicked black hair and pencil mustache of a silent film star. He also had an impossible to identify accent.

“Madame, I will be with you in just a moment.” He smiled, professionally, gathering some inventory papers for a filing box.

“Of course,” Felicity responded, well, Pandora Fleece did. She needed to practice her character. “You accept bitcoin,” she added with a raised eyebrow. It was a statement.

“Absolutely, Madame,” he responded. He then directed his attention to the lady in the chair. “Do you need anything, Miss Chen?”

“No, thank you,” the woman sighed in a vaguely British accent. “He was detained in a meeting, but he will be down in ten minutes. I’m just going to enjoy some peace and read the news.”

“Of course, Miss Chen.”

Meanwhile, Felicity took charge of the “suit situation.” There was no question about that. It could have been a newfound confidence gained in her own recent purchase experience, a lack of fear borne of jet-lag, or the three glasses of champagne she consumed in lieu of lunch.

Oliver decided it was best to give “Pandora” carte blanche to shop on his behalf. She’d worked up a head of steam and he knew better than to challenge her. In truth, he was tired and hoping sincerely that there might be an opportunity to rest in the suite before the evening’s excitement.

Felicity headed straight for the tuxedo rack and began examining every sample. Her fingers slipped along the fabrics and she hoisted one up for a better view.

Soon, the salesman joined her. Oliver watched from a few paces away, curious to see their interaction. He never really liked shopping for himself. Since he returned from his years away from Starling, he let Thea pick out most of his clothes. He didn’t even go to stores. Clothing just turned up on his bed every few weeks. He tried it on and if it fit and he liked it, he put it in his closet. If he hated it, he made sure Thea returned it after giving her a good headshake.

“We need something for Archer for the casino tonight,” she offered after the sales associate Javier introduced himself. “I understand you have some cuts that might suit his build. He works out. A lot.”

The man directed his attention to Oliver, who blanched uncomfortably. At first, Javier eyed the Arrow as if he was the entire dessert case at the Cheesecake Factory, but he soon schooled his features. He knew his job and the perfect tuxedo for this customer’s exceptional physique.

“Please follow me, Sir. We’ll get you outfitted and then,” Javier said as he turned back to Felicity, “we will show you the look. I think you will be very satisfied, Mrs...”

“Miss Fleece. Pandora Fleece,” she rushed, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment. The man was definitely not her husband. Nope.

Oliver deployed a poker face.

“Miss Fleece.” Javier bowed slightly and signaled for Oliver to follow him to the changing area of the store.

Once the men were out of sight, Felicity felt her energy waning a bit and was delighted to sit in one of the upholstered chairs D&G so conveniently provided for her comfort. She idly studied her phone, checking up on various searches. But, she also prided herself on situational awareness, so she noted the other lady in the shop. This seemed like a good place to try out her persona and the woman looked unthreatening. Plus, her shoes.

“Your shoes are gorgeous,” Felicity announced, gesturing to the woman’s pumps. Because they were beautiful Manolos.

The dark-eyed woman looked up at the blonde woman and smiled genuinely. “Thank you. I know they are plain, but I like the classics.”

“Timeless design,” Felicity offered. This earned her an even more enthusiastic grin.

“Exactly.”

Felicity was feeling a bit more confident now that she had broken the ice. “I’m Pandora. Panda, for short.”

“Charming. I’ve never met someone by that name before.” She spoke in a very refined accent and conveyed an exotic beauty. “Celeste.” The lady moved to a chair closer to Felicity and leaned in.

“Very nice to meet you, Celeste.”

“I couldn’t help hearing you mention bitcoin...”

“Panda,” she reminded her. “Yes, I am fascinated by cryptocurrencies and I’m really enjoying how much flexibility it’s giving me, particularly doing business here in Asia.”

“Panda. My, that’s fun to say. My boyfriend is considered an expert in digital currencies.”

“Yes?”

“To be honest, I have a hard time feigning interest. I’m a Creative. Interior design. All he talks about is KlickEx-this or bitcoin-that these days. Of course, whenever I complain, he just mentions that...”

“It pays for the shopping, sweetheart.” A man’s voice filled the space.

Felicity and Celeste turned their attention to a very tanned man in a crisp white shirt, blue blazer and black jeans. Felicity was confident every piece of his wardrobe, including his socks, cost more than her paycheck at Queen Consolidated. His teeth were perfect. Felicity noted that his hair swooped in a graceful way across his forehead. Everything about him was perfect, even the way he removed his sunglasses, which he had likely worn for a ten-yard cruise across the courtyard.

“Darling,” Celeste got up and met her significant other as he approached. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Celeste, love, I have to be in a meeting with the investors in five minutes. I hope you haven’t bought out the store.”

“No, the last time I tried to buy a shirt without your input you became peevish, which is completely ridiculous considering I am the one who gets paid to choose fabrics every day. Still, I have learned my lesson.”

“Good.” The man and Celeste exchanged playful smiles with each other.

“Darling, this is Panda. She’s apparently a tech wizard. She knows about your bitcoin. We must invite her and her boyfriend to join us for dinner.”

Felicity felt alarm strike. It’s true, she was, but Panda, assistant to a jet-setting douchebag, wasn’t. Or at least, she wasn’t supposed to be five minutes ago.

“Well, I don’t know about being a wizard,” Felicity offered, standing to meet Celeste’s preternaturally successful boyfriend. “I went to MIT, not Hogwarts,” she added.

“Isn’t she fantastic?” Celeste burbled. “Panda, this is my...Myles. Myles Crofton.”

Myles. Crofton. Possible bad guy, Myles Crofton. What were the chances? Oh, no more ridiculous than, say, crossing paths with the Count himself when you were out sleuthing dosed flu vaccines. Those kinds of chances.

The Smoak women were not known for having any sort of theatrical talents. Sure, there was a lot of drama, but none had ever hit the boards in earnest. Felicity’s mother, Donna, had dreamed of being a dancer at one time, but never an actress. And Felicity’s history in drama began and ended with an-ill conceived grade school performance of “Kids Rent” during which Felicity became so violently ill from performance anxiety that she was advised to never take the stage again. But now, faced with an audience of two, she was forced to pull the most effective poker face of her life.

“Hello, Panda,” the man reached out and shook her hand. An arms dealer and casino owner dressed like a cast member from Crazy Rich Asians shook her hand. Wow, her life was weird.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Myles.”

“Your first visit to Macau?”

“Yes, actually.” Felicity felt a pang of worry hit her. Was she already standing out as an interloper? Would their covers be believed?

“Panda is here to get a tuxedo for her young man.”

“Yes. Our luggage seems to have been misplaced. I think it’s in Kathmandu.”

“How terrible.” The woman couldn’t help chuckling at Felicity’s joke. “But when tragedy strikes...”

“The tough go shopping,” Felicity finished with a giggle. “Unfortunately, my Archer is a bit high maintenance in the clothing department, so here we are.”

“Well, in my experience, when you look like that, you can be as impossible as you want,” the woman responded. “Not that I was ogling your man,” she added quickly. Still, Myles quirked an eyebrow.

“Do I have some competition, Celeste?”

“You never know, darling. It’s best not to become complacent. No offense, Panda.”

“None taken.” Felicity smiled, carefully, not wanting to escalate any tension between them. Humor was always the best solution. “Looking is free.”

As if on cue, Oliver emerged from the dressing room looking every bit the prized bachelor from the Mystery Date game. Only more dangerous. And much, much hotter.

Felicity’s heart leapt into her mouth and she felt like the ground was moving under her feet as she made eye contact with him. Oliver’s eyes grew bigger in response her curious expression. Then things got even weirder when Felicity turned to the couple.

“I don’t think you can afford him,” she added with a hilarious wink.

Why did she do that? Was she being territorial all of a sudden? Maybe she was. The last thing she needed was for Oliver to “pull a Rochev” (that’s what she called Oliver’s random hotel hookups with strange women, although to be fair, she was not aware there had been any since the woman that inspired the saying). No, she was NOT being jealous. She was only thinking about the mission. And Celeste wasn’t serious and her boyfriend was actually the mission.

There was a moment of silence when Felicity had no idea what might transpire next. She managed a smirk. And then, miracle of miracles, the woman smirked back and her eyes twinkled. Myles laughed, ever so slightly, still not sure if he had anything to worry about.

“I’m sure you are right,” Celeste replied, resolving the tension completely with an easy smile.

Felicity rushed toward Oliver and began touching him. His lapels. His arms. His tie. The studs on his shirt. Oliver had absolutely no clue what had gotten into her, but it was apparent there was something. He knew he should remain quiet and play along, but Felicity basically feeling him up felt like sensory overload.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked her with more than a little trepidation.

“Quite,” Felicity replied, her voice several octaves lower than usual. It was more like a deep groan.

A moment later, Felicity’s hand snaked around his neck and she raised herself up on the balls of her feet to kiss him.

What the hell was going on? It was like the entire world shifted while he was in the Dolce & Gabbana changing room. Oliver wasn’t complaining, of course, because Felicity’s lips were on his and that was something he had told himself he would never get to experience. But now as the desire flickered through his body, he felt himself wanting more of her. He lightly touched her shoulders with curious fingers. Then, just when he moved to envelop her, he was gratefully reminded that his arms were wearing strange clothes and they were in a boutique in a casino in Macau.

Oliver forced himself to gently end the kiss and pulled his face away, but not the rest of his body. After all, they had an audience. He swore internally. They were going to talk about this as soon as they were in the privacy of their hotel suite. Equal parts of anxiety and excitement threatened to take over at the prospect of being near Felicity Smoak and a bed while talking about kissing. Later.

“Maybe I should get two,” Oliver quipped as he stared into her darkened eyes with a knowing look. Then he watched her recover not only physically, but emotionally, from what just happened. Felicity then pressed forward and rubbed her nose against his.

“Go with it,” she whispered first. “Whatever you want, baby,” she stated more loudly for onlookers. “Just make sure you get the suspenders. You know how much I like them.”

Oliver wondered for a moment then stepped back and tipped his head toward the other people in the room.

“Did you make new friends, Pandabear?”

Felicity smiled (okay, it was a grimace because…Pandabear?!), nodded and turned. Oliver placed his arm on her shoulder and brandished his best Ollie Queen trust fund smile, as they addressed the other couple.

“Celeste, Myles, this is my Archer.”

############

To be continued...

#olicity #olicity fanfiction

48 notes · View notes

the-captains-ayebrows · 5 years

Text

Deal With It (2/2)

Rival Poker Players AU. Emma Swan, poker hustler with more than just card tricks up her sleeve, meets Killian Jones, a fellow gambler, at a shady little casino down south. After a memorable first encounter, they seem to keep finding each other, but are they really ready to gamble with their hearts? Emma just doesn’t know if she can deal with it.

Rating: T for swearing and innuendo, Word Count ~2800 (this chapter)

[AO3 link] [Chapter 1]

A/N:This is not where I meant to end the story. I think we can end it here and be ok, but I also have about two more chapters worth of ideas for this AU. So, here's the deal: we'll say this is done for now, and there may be a sequel or bonus material if I ever get around to it.

This chapter is dedicated to @snowbellewells for her beta-ing and encouragement and to @wheres-your-rum for a really great liveblog the other day that made me think maybe I should keep posting things. Thanks guys!

It's not like Emma was looking for Hook. Not really. It's just that it’s kind of hard to avoid someone if you don't know where they are. So, she kept a casual ear open for mentions of his name. Casually. And someone might have casually mentioned in passing that he might be playing in a tournament in Deadwood. Obviously she had to come here and check it out - to make sure her informational sources were accurate. Or something.

It isn't like she's going to let him see her. That would be incredibly counterproductive. She did take the guy for a few grand after all. Not that it didn't kind of serve him right because who the hell keeps that kind of cash on them? But still… better if he never actually sees her. She did the jail thing once. No intentions of going back.

Then again, she has been doing a lot better at the tables since their little encounter. Honestly, at the rate she's winning, she'll have enough money saved up for her entry fee for Vegas a month ahead of time. It's almost like robbing him ( kissing him ) changed her luck for the better. Gamblers are nothing if not superstitious creatures. Maybe, possibly, one more rendezvous and a little bit more good luck will rub off on her. Yep. Luck. That’s what she wants to rub off.

Besides, he was winning last time. That really chaps her ass. Like she told him, she was having an off day. A good run of bad luck. She needs a rematch to settle the score. Take him down a notch. He really is too damn cocky for his own good, all that swagger and smirk. Except that his swaggering, smirking self doesn’t seem to be here.

Emma turns slowly on her bar stool, swirling the teensy plastic sword piercing the olives in her dirty martini and holding in her huff of annoyance as she surveys the gaming tables, once again finding them Hook-free. Hookless? Whatever.

Emma lifts the little sword to her mouth and slides an olive off with her teeth. Maybe her timing is just off. It looks like a few of the tournament tables are on a break between rounds, but she’s getting antsy. Maybe she should down the rest of her drink and head to another casino. She’s wearing her favorite little red dress tonight, the one that hugs every curve. She is here to work after all. It’s not like she wore it for anyone in particular. It’s for the marks. It shouldn’t be hard for her to pick up a few-

“Now be a good girl and play along, because you bloody well owe me.”

Emma nearly chokes on her olive and that’s probably the only thing that keeps her from whirling around and punching Hook in the face. How the fuck did he manage to sneak up on her?

She coughs, clearing the traces of olive from her windpipe, and the hot breath on the shell of her ear turns to a quick peck on the cheek. She’s furious that he got the drop on her, but she doesn’t know what kind of game he’s playing yet, so she reins it in. Hook steps around to face her, a wide, innocent smile curving his lips, though his eyes are deadly serious.

“Darling, so sorry for startling you, but I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I was just telling these nice gentlemen here-” he gestures to the pair of brutes walking up behind him, “that I couldn’t possibly play a hand without my favorite lucky charm.”

Emma gives him a saccharine smile. “Would that be the blue diamonds or purple horseshoes?”

Hook barks out a forced laugh. “Ha! See boys? That’s why I love her. That delightful sense of humor. Now, if you lads will excuse me for a moment, I’ll join you at the table presently.” He claps one of the men on the shoulder and they amble away to take seats at one of the poker tables leaving Emma and Hook alone.

Hook watches them go, making sure they’re settled and not paying attention to him anymore before he turns again to Emma, that familiar smirk back in its rightful place.

Emma's vapid expression falls away, quickly replaced with an annoyed glare. “You’re pretty damn pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

"Careful, sweetheart , they could look our way at any moment," Hook warns with a wicked grin. "And yes, I rather am. Fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Panic flashes through her at the question. Oh, you know, just low-key stalking you so I’d never have to see you again which is completely logical and not at all creepy. She hopes he can’t read the real answer on her face, but thankfully he chooses that moment to reach out with his hook and brush a lock of hair back from her shoulder. The easy familiarity of the gesture irritates her - irritation is much easier to deal with than the way his stupid blue eyes are doing things to her stomach - so she deepens her scowl and does what she does best: deflect and distract.

"Oh, no. No. We're not talking about me right now. What kind of scam are you running on the Big and Scary twins?" She gestures subtly with her almost empty drink to Hook's companions. Tall, broad and with matching ginger hair indicating some kind of familial relationship, each man looks as though he could bench press a horse.

"The Stabbington brothers over there - and yes, so help me that's their true surname - seem to think I owe them the opportunity to win back the considerable sum of money that they lost to me over a game of dice."

"Were said dice loaded?”

He cocks an eyebrow and shrugs. “Not that they know of.”

“And this all has what to do with me?" Emma crosses her arms beneath her breasts and doesn’t miss the flicker of his eyes down to her cleavage.

"Well, first of all, I'd like for them to be thinking about your neckline rather than their cards when you come over and kiss me on the neck in a few minutes."

"And then?" Emma didn’t miss the brightening of his expression that she hadn’t outright refused his scheme.

"And then I'd like an extra set of eyes on them to make sure they don't attempt to live up to their name when I win again."

Emma nods. "So you want me to watch your back while they’re watching my front. Got it. And you couldn't have just asked me without scaring the shit out of me first?"

Hook narrows his eyes. "Given the nature of our last encounter, I didn't wish to give you the chance to get away. You do owe me, Swan, and don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."

Emma fixes him with her most sarcastic smile. "I'd despair if you did." She huffs a sigh. "What if I’m not interested? You don’t really have me in a helping mood right now, pal."

"I suppose I could report you to security and get you banned from every casino in town."

Emma's eyes widen and she lowers her voice to a threatening hiss. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I'm quite daring, love. Don't you doubt that. But…” He pauses, letting his eyes roam over her face, studying her. “I think you are interested, and I'd much rather work with you than against you. I propose a bargain. Simple, really. You help me and I'll give you a cut of whatever I win."

"Half."

"Not a chance. 80-20. My 80, your 20 to be clear."

"Not worth it. 60-40."

Hooks features twist into a tight-lipped grimace of annoyance. "If we stand here arguing, you'll be getting 100% of nothing, as will I. Although I may get the parting gift of a broken limb from our friends over there. I'm already down one appendage, I'd prefer to keep those that remain in top form."

Emma leans back against the bar and slowly sips the last of her cocktail. "Then quit arguing with me and give me 40%."

Hook drops his head in defeat, and Emma beams knowing she’s won. He lifts his eyes to hers again, and she’s sure he’s trying to be all commanding and intense, but she can see a hint of mirth dancing in those baby blues. The bastard is actually looking forward to this.

"Fine. But you'd better earn it, love. I need you to be quite convincing as the adoring girlfriend. Feel free to let your hands wander. Don’t be afraid to, you know, really get into it.”

He says it with a scrunch of his nose that has Emma rolling her eyes, but some traitorous part of her is kind of looking forward to this, too. She’s a gambler for God’s sake, the prospect of a little danger and intrigue fires up her pulse. She hasn’t run a two-person job since…

And just like that the spark fizzles out. Hook seems to notice the change, but doesn’t comment, only cants his head to the side in question. Emma braces herself, her old defenses rising, but he doesn’t ask. He just snaps his own mask back into place, and gives her thigh a squeeze as he leans in close to her. Her heartbeat begins racing again, but this time for a very different reason.

“Now be a good lass buy us another round. My tab’s open, and I’ll have anything with rum."

Emma has to admit to herself (though certainly not to him ) that she really did enjoy their little game. After getting the drinks, she’d gone with his original request and sashayed over the table, bending very deliberately at the waist to set the glasses down. Rather than immediately taking her seat next to Hook, she’d moved behind his chair, leaning down to loosely drape her arms around his neck and letting the fingers of her right hand slide inside the open collar of his shirt. Not too far - just enough so she could feel the increasing thrum of his heartbeat when she nuzzled into his neck and grazed a kiss across the corded muscle of his throat. He’d swallowed hard as she drew back, her nails scratching through the coarse hair on his chest as she retracted her hand. She’d smiled to herself at that, and couldn’t help leaning close one more time to whisper in his ear, “ For luck .”

Watching Hook play without having to be concerned about playing against him was truly educational. His powers of perception impressed her, and the few tells and signals he seemed to miss, she was able to silently communicate to him with a subtle glance, brush of her hand or nudge to his leg. He never ignored her cues, either, trusting her instincts as much as his own. Well, except that one time…

“Why the devil did you make me throw that last hand, Swan? I had them!”

It’s hours later and with several hundred dollar bills tucked into her bra, Emma sits next to Hook at the bar for a celebratory drink.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to fold-”

“After you slid your hand up my leg all the way to my-”

“You said feel free to let my hands wander.”

Hook leans toward her and raises a dark eyebrow in challenge. “And how is a man supposed to concentrate when you’re taking such liberties with him? You knew I would fold.”

Emma leans in as well, propping her elbow on the bar. “I knew you needed to fold. You’d won too many hands. I’d already sweet talked the one with the gold teeth into backing down when he started reaching for the knife in his boot. I didn’t want to have to schmooze the one with the eye-patch, too.”

Hook laughs lightly at that. “You were bloody brilliant, Swan. Those dolts were powerless against you.”

He’s practically beaming at her with something that looks almost like pride, and Emma has no idea what to do with that. She doesn’t know what to do with him at all. He’s her competition, but here they are working together - pretty seamlessly if she’s honest about it. And what’s with all this supportive crap? She’s used to guys wanting something from her, to use her to stroke their ego or their cock. But this guy? She can tell he’s attracted to her, but all this other stuff - the listening to her, the actually seeming impressed with her - it’s confusing and unsettling.

To make matters worse, he’s just as likable, kissable, fuckable, everything- able as she remembered, and lord, has she been remembering. As much as she tries NOT to think about it, their kiss drifts into her mind at the most inopportune times. Like right now.

She takes a sip of her gin and tonic (no more olives for her tonight), and brushes off his compliment. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I saved your ass.”

“Cheers to that.” He raises his glass and she clinks hers against it, but before he drinks, he asks, “How did you know he had a knife in his boot?”

Emma had been waiting for this question and times her answer just as he’s taking his sip of rum. “I was playing footsie with him under the table.”

Hook half chokes on his drink and splutters, “You what?”

Gotcha. Emma shrugs, letting a little of her internal gloating show on her face. “Hey, you told me to keep them distracted. You were no help at all.” She flicks her wrist to backhand him on the shoulder. “You kept antagonizing him! You’re a really shitty damsel in distress, you know that?”

Hook chuckles, rubbing his hook gingerly over the imaginary bruise she’s apparently left on his arm, then leans closer and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Ah, but I make up for it with my many other talents.”

His voice is laden with innuendo, and it’s cheesy as hell, and yet it’s all Emma can do to stop herself from shifting in her seat at the mental images he inspires. She manages to limit her outward physical response to a dramatic eye roll. “Hm. At least you won enough money to make this worthwhile.”

“Aye, that I did. You know, I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma stiffens at the word ‘team’, unwanted memories from her past returning for the second time tonight. “I work alone. This was a-”

“One-time thing? I seem to have heard that before.”

Emma ignores him, trying to change the subject. “What were you doing playing absolutely-not-loaded dice with those guys anyway? I thought you were supposed to be here for the poker tournament.”

She sees the change in his expression the second her words register and clenches her glass until her knuckles turn white, cursing herself internally for the slip.

“And how would you know I was entered in the tourney?”

Emma presses on. “Why loaded dice? I thought you never cheated. All that bullshit about good form?”

His brows furrow in offense, and Emma relaxes a little, thinking she’s successfully diverted him again. “I don’t consider good form to be bullshit, Swan, and I never cheat at cards. But... “ and here he gives her a rather pointed look, “some pickings are a bit too easy to pass up.”

“Touche.”

“And speaking of easy pickings…” Hook looks disdainfully at the half-empty glass in his hand. “This swill is hardly worthy of our celebration, but I did happen to appropriate a very fine bottle of top shelf rum from a storage closet round back that someone had thoughtfully left unlocked.”

“Stealing rum? Loaded dice? You really are a pirate.”

Oh, and there’s the smirk, this time with added smolder. “What do you say, Swan? Fancy a nightcap?”

A little thrill runs through her at the prospect. Nope. No way. Definitely not. Terrible idea. “Yeah.” A small smile tilts the corners of her lips. “I mean, we need to keep up our cover act in case those goons are still around. We should at least be seen going upstairs together.” Dammit.

He answers with a dazzling grin and neatly steps down from his bar stool, extending his hooked arm to help her do the same. She grasps the hook and alights from her stool, but for a split second she sees emotion flash behind his eyes, gone before she can decipher it. He seems frozen in place, his face a blank slate. It takes her giving him a little tug with the hand still holding his hook to get him moving.

“Come on, pirate. Show me to the rum.”

#cs ff #captain swan fan fic #captain swan ff #cs modern au #cs rival poker players au #this has been sitting in my drafts FOR EVER #hope ya like it!

75 notes · View notes

wildwildwasteland · 5 years

Text

xav/chris oc kiss week fic for @kxttyterrific!

He runs into an interesting man, passing through Primm. The both of them travellers, passing through a half-dead town and stopped in front of— what passes as a post office. Mojave Express.

Chatting so casually in front of the mailbox has such an unusual mundanity to it. If not for the less-than-appealing intensity of the desert sun baking into him, Xavier could nearly mistake this for chatting to a neighbor back in Sanctuary, ‘cept back then his neighbors weren’t so much ghouls. Not in the physical sense.

The ghoul shakes his hand, gives his name as Christian Brooks, call him Chris. From Vermont. Makes him laugh a bit, finding someone else from so far away. Something nice about that. Like they’re the only two people in the endless void of the wasteland. Commonwealth, Xavier offers up for himself.

“I’m amazed you made it so far. What made you decide to come all this way?”

“Same thing that makes anybody come here, I s’pose.”

Chris grins at him. “Retirement?”

Xavier chuckles. “Hey maybe, depending on my luck. I’m not much of a gambler, to be honest, but when in Rome.”

Chris folds his arms lightly, and Xavier can’t help but notice how tall he is. A rare trait these days, it seems. “Not much of a gambler and yet you’re headed for Vegas, interesting choice of tourist destination.”

“I’m all about the lights,” he says, excited just thinking about it. “It’s the thing I remember best about it honestly. That and the fancy suits, nice food. Small joys we don’t have so much of in Boston.” He leans back against the wall, enjoying the sliver of shade offered to him by the torn awning overhead.

Chris seems to consider that for a moment, humored. “You make it sound like you’ve been there before,” he says it like it’s a joke.

“Might’ve been, in a different life.” Xavier reaches for his cigarette pack and lights up a smoke, honest just to spite of it and because he likes this stranger. He holds the pack out for Chris to help himself to one.

“A different life huh?” says Chris, he sticks the smoke between his lips and moves to stand beside Xavier in the shade. “Well, maybe I’ll run into you in Vegas. We can both compare notes.”

Before Xavier can offer up his lighter, the stranger digs a match out of his pocket. Strikes it in a single swipe and sparks his cigarette in a practised motion. The light casting little shadows over his grinning features.

“Consider it a date,” says Xavier.

~~~~

Vegas is everything and nothing like he expected it to be.

The sun is barely down and lights shimmer all around him. People chattering among the sidewalks. More people than he’s seen in one place since before the war. Music plays from the open doors to one of the nearby casinos and it’s nearly overwhelming, the familiarity of it.

Xavier can’t bring himself to stop or step inside of any of the establishments yet, soaking up the cool nighttime air, as he gets lost in the joy of wandering. Savoring the little slice of big city commotion, something he never expected to find hidden on the edge of this wasteland. So many people dressed head-to-toe in suits and gowns like the bombs never fell.

“Hey!” Someone calls towards him, and Xavier breaks from his nostalgia to see a familiar face appear above the crowd. The charming ghoul from Primm. Chris. “Looks like you made it here after all. Is it living up to your expectations?”

“And then some. Really wasn’t expecting it to be this close to the original.”

“That’s because it is the original, or at least a good chunk of it. Lovingly preserved.” Chris sways a little. Seems like he must’ve been partying for a while. Even through his patchy skin Xavier could swear he sees the tell-tale flush of it over his cheeks.

“Lovingly preserved,” Xavier hums, “that’s a word for it alright. You gonna give me the grand tour?”

“Why the hell not,” says Chris. Throws an arm over Xavier’s shoulders and saunters down the street with him. “I can show you around the Tops, the better place to be if you don’t want to tangle with those snakes in Gomorrah.”

~~~~

The night blurs by all too quickly, and it seems like no time at all before they’re holed up in a room somewhere over the Tops, playing Poker on the coffee table with a friend of Chris’s. Whose name escapes him.

Poker’s a bad call, on his part. Xavier’s forgotten how long it’s been since he played against anyone good, and Chris has a poker face that borders on unfair. Laughing with his other friend every time Xavier folds only to lose to his nothing-hand. Forking over more caps and prewar bills as the game wears on.

“I know you said you weren’t a gambling man, but at this point I’m gonna go ahead and say that’s something of an understatement,” Chris grins at him over the tops of his cards. “You even have any caps left? Or are we cutting this game short?”

Xavier reaches in his pocket. He’s got plenty of caps, but he’d be an idiot to throw them away with the lousy luck he’s been having.

“How ‘bout we make it interesting?” He tosses a couple of caps on the table. Enough to meet the bid of ten. “Let’s make this our last round. Winner takes all, and if I lose this time, I’ll kiss you on the lips.”

Chris laughs, then exchanges a glance with his friend, like he’s getting a second opinion. “Why not?” He says. “I’m a generous guy, after all.” He tosses his own caps onto the table. “Call.”

Xavier leans back against the sofa, looking at his cards. He’s got two-pair, sixes and nines. A better hand than he’s had so far. He trades off two, keeps his face neutral as it he adds another six and two kings to his hand.

Full house.

They go around the table and Chris ups the bet, leaving his friend folding. The radio hums between the two of them as they lay their cards down on the table.

Three-of-a-kind for Chris, and Xavier can feel himself grinning smugly as he sets down his cards.

“No goddamn way,” says Chris, chuckling to himself. “Tell me you weren’t just putting me on with the bad gambler act this whole time, waiting to take the big pot.”

He pushes the pile of caps towards Xavier, then scoops up the cards and adds them back to the deck. Begins shuffling it expertly.

“Honestly, I’ve never been good. But I figured my luck had to kick in sooner or later.” Xavier pockets a share of the caps. Then slides over on the couch until he’s right up beside Chris. “I’ll still give you that kiss though, if you like.”

Chris tilts his head towards him. “Well, if you’re just giving away prizes…”

“Mm, I’d say it’s earned. You play a good hand.” Xavier’s fingertips trace along the side of Chris’s cheek, and then he leans in. Presses their lips softly together. Blissful and warm for the slightest moment before he pulls away.

“Flatterer,” says Chris. “Well, if you ever feel like losing, maybe we can do this again sometime.”

#this accidentally went longer than i planned sorry!#hope u enjoy!#myfic

6 notes · View notes

livinginlandmarketing · 4 years

Link

A few years ago, Brian Christopher had just moved to Los Angeles from San Francisco to build his acting career and planned his first trip to Las Vegas. When he did a quick search of YouTube for information on what casinos he should visit, Christopher found himself sucked into watching videos of people playing slot machines.

“I thought it was kind of weird that anyone would watch that kind of stuff, but I checked it out and I kept watching it so I said, ‘Oh maybe when I get up to Vegas, I’ll film a couple and put them on my YouTube acting channel just for fun’,” Christopher said. “So I did that for fun and it turned out to be more than that.”

Those videos blossomed into Christopher’s full-time career as an influencer. He’s turned his YouTube channel and various social media accounts into a business where he reaches a vast audience of a niche interest: casinos and slot machines.

Christopher makes videos of himself playing slot machines, showing off casino amenities and, more recently, talking about safety measures being taken by the casinos during the novel coronavirus pandemic. More than four years since that fateful trip to Las Vegas, he has racked up nearly 300,000 subscribers for his YouTube channel, Brian Christopher Slots, and has three full-time staffers helping him expand his increasingly popular brand.

Now, Christopher not only finds himself stopped by fans on gaming floors but also frequently invited out by the casinos to make videos.

“More and more they’re reaching out to us as they become more familiar with what we do,” he said. “I think when I first started doing this a casino would shy away from a camera being on their slot floor, but now that we have 180 million views on our channel, they realize, ‘Hey wait a minute, he’s onto something here.’ And we can utilize that.”

Sign up for our Casino Insider newsletter and get the week’s best bets for food, entertainment and fun at Southern California’s casinos. Subscribe here.

Building the brand

Before dedicating his YouTube channel to slot play, Christopher might have only visited a casino three or four times a year. Now, he visits casinos weekly, primarily in Southern California and Las Vegas.

Each visit usually spans about three nights. During the day he’s continuously filming content to be edited later and for two of the nights, he’ll stream his live slot play for 90 minutes each.

Christopher uses his own money to gamble with, but does earn free play with his player’s club cards like those any gambler can sign up for at various properties.

At his Palm Springs office, Christopher said, there’s a ton of preparation work. He’s always in meetings with casinos, slot manufacturers and other partners and working with his staff to make sure his videos have catchy titles that will draw the attention of audiences.

Brian Christopher has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots where he pots videos of his slot play. He recorded a recent show at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Brian Christopher has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots, with nearly 300,000 subscribers and more than 180 million views. He is pictured at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020, where he did a recent live show. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Sound

The gallery will resume inseconds

Brian Christopher has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots, with nearly 300,000 subscribers and more than 180 million views. He plays slot machines all over Southern California and is pictured here during a recent live show at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Brian Christopher has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots, with nearly 300,000 subscribers and more than 180 million views. He plays slot machines all over Southern California and in Las Vegas. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Brian Christopher has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots, with nearly 300,000 subscribers and more than 180 million views. He plays slot machines all over Southern California and is pictured here during a recent live show at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa in Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Brian Christopher spins the reels on a slot machine at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. Christopher is an influencer and YouTube star known for his videos of slot play. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Brian Christopher has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots, with nearly 300,000 subscribers and more than 180 million views. He plays slot machines all over Southern California. Pictured is Christopher doing one of his live shows at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

There is a smile behind the mask of Brian Christopher who has his own channel on You Tube, Brian Christopher Slots. On the channel he has videos of his slot play. Christopher is pictured at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa in Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Brian Christopher plays a slot machine at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. Christopher’s YouTube channel, Brian Christopher Slots, has nearly 300,000 subscribers and has had more than 180 million views. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Influencer Brian Christopher is all smiles outside Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. The popular YouTuber has an office not far away in Palm Springs. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Influencer Brian Christopher wears a mask for safety as he spins the reels at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa Rancho Mirage on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Influencer Brian Christopher has his own YouTube channel. What started as some videos that Christopher did of his slot play for fun 4 1/2 years ago has become his career. Christopher did one of his live broadcasts for his YouTube channel, Brian Christopher Slots, at Agua Caliente Resort Casino Spa in Rancho Mirage Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020. (Photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Show Caption

Expand

There’s also a merchandising side to what Christopher does: YouTube views on their own aren’t lucrative, so to support his business he does a mixture of sponsorships, fan clubs and products.

Christopher said his fan shop sells between 1,000 and 2,000 products a month. Merchandise on his website includes T-shirts, face masks, wrist bands, souvenir poker chips and lanyards.

He has also has a very active fan club of about 2,000 people. There are varying membership tiers ranging in cost from $5-$20 monthly. The most basic tier gives fans access to a special private Facebook page where they can see behind-the-scenes posts and special livestreams.

For the highest tier, Christopher will follow fans back on Facebook, Snapchat or Instagram; do monthly private live chats with his fans; and send his fans signed postcards that either feature his photo, or a photo he took, every three months.

YouTubing during the pandemic

Many of Christopher’s recent videos have been dedicated to casino safety measures during the novel coronavirus pandemic.

“Because of what I do people look up to me for advice on things related to the casinos and so I really wanted to make it a point to visit these casinos,” he said.

He estimated he’s visited 25 casinos in different parts of the country so far since casinos reopened after closing due to the coronavirus.

In his videos, Christopher will take his fans through the motions of what it’s like to visit casinos during the pandemic from before you enter to what it looks once you get onto the gaming floor itself.

Christopher said most casinos take the same safety measures, including mandatory masks and requiring social distancing, but some casinos have gone the extra mile. Some measures he thought were particularly interesting were the casinos changing out pens between each customer; putting cards indicating when a machine had just been cleaned in the slots for player’s club cards; and temperature checking guests before they even exited their vehicles.

A personal touch

Christopher said he isn’t afraid to get personal in his videos, telling stories about his life when he’s not spinning the reels. He said he’s frequently stopped by fans who talk to him about the experiences he’s shared as well as his positive energy in videos.

“That means the world to me that we can have that kind of impact by just playing slot machines and having a good time,” he said.

Southern California casinos welcome social media influencers who can bring in a crowd

Pala Casino, Spa & Resort folds on poker during the pandemic — here’s the deal

Fantasy Springs Resort Casino extends Rock Yard tribute series into December

Casino Insider: When will casino entertainment return?

When will big-name stars return to Southern California casinos after coronavirus?

-on November 06, 2020 at 01:26AM by Alex Groves

#riversidenews

0 notes

easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Text

Fast-Food Buffets Are a Thing of the Past. Some Doubt They Ever Even Existed.

A McDonald’s breakfast buffet. An all-you-can-eat Taco Bell. This isn’t the stuff dreams are made of, but a real yet short-lived phenomenon.

When we think of buffets, we tend to think of their 1980s and early ’90s heyday, when commercial jingles for Sizzler might have been confused with our national anthem. We think of Homer Simpson getting dragged out of the Frying Dutchman, “a beast more stomach than man.” I think of my parents going on buffet benders resembling something out of Hunter S. Thompson’s life, determined to get their money’s worth with two picky kids.

What we don’t typically think about, however, is the fast-food buffet, a blip so small on America’s food radar that it’s hard to prove it even existed. But it did. People swear that all-you-can-eat buffets could be found at Taco Bell, KFC, and even under the golden arches of McDonald’s.

That it could have existed isn’t surprising. The fast-food buffet was inevitable, the culmination of an arms race in maximizing caloric intake. It was the physical manifestation of the American id: endless biscuits, popcorn chicken, vats of nacho cheese and sketchy pudding — so much sketchy pudding. Why, then, have so many of us failed to remember it? How did it become a footnote, relegated to the backwoods of myths and legends? There are whispers of McDonald’s locations that have breakfast buffets. Was there, in fact, a Taco Bell buffet, or is it a figment of our collective imaginations? Yes, someone tells me — an all-you-can-eat Taco Bell existed in her dorm cafeteria. Another person suggests maybe we were just remembering the nachos section of the Wendy’s Superbar.

The fast-food buffet was inevitable, the culmination of an arms race in maximizing caloric intake.

The fast-food buffet lives in a strange sort of ether. You can’t get to it through the traditional path of remembering. Was there actually a Pizza Hut buffet in your hometown? Search your subconscious, sifting past the red cups that make the soda taste better, past the spiffy new CD jukebox, which has Garth Brooks’s Ropin’ the Wind and Paul McCartney’s All the Best under the neon lamps. Search deeper, and you might find your father going up for a third plate and something remaining of the “dessert pizzas” lodged in your subconscious. This is where the fast-food buffet exists.

The history of the buffet in America is a story of ingenuity and evolution. Sure, it originated in Europe, where it was a classy affair with artfully arranged salted fish, eggs, breads, and butter. The Swedish dazzled us with their smorgasbords at the 1939 World Fair. We can then trace the evolution of the buffet through Las Vegas, where the one-dollar Buckaroo Buffet kept gamblers in the casino. In the 1960s and 1970s, Chinese immigrant families found loopholes in racist immigration laws by establishing restaurants. They brought Chinese cooking catered to American tastes in endless plates of beef chow fun and egg rolls. By the 1980s, buffets ruled the landscape like family dynasties, with sister chains the Ponderosa and the Bonanza spreading the gospel of sneeze guards and steaks, sundae stations and salad bars along the interstates. From Shoney’s to Sizzler, from sea to shining sea, the buffet was a feast fit for kings, or a family of four.

And of course, fast-food restaurants wanted in on the action. As fast-food historian and author of Drive-Thru Dreams Adam Chandler put it, “every fast food place flirted with buffets at some point or another. McDonald’s absolutely did, as did most of the pizza chains with dine-in service. KFC still has a few stray buffets, as well as an illicit one called Claudia Sanders Dinner House, which was opened by Colonel Sanders’ wife after he was forbidden from opening a competing fried chicken business after selling the company. Wendy’s Super Bar was short-lived, but the salad bar lived on for decades.”

How something can be both gross and glorious is a particular duality of fast food, like the duality of man or something, only with nacho cheese and pasta sauce.

In a 1988 commercial for the Superbar, Dave Thomas says, “I’m an old-fashioned guy. I like it when families eat together.” A Wendy’s executive described the new business model as “taking us out of the fast-food business.” Everyone agrees the Wendy’s Supernar was glorious. And gross, everyone also agrees. How something can be both gross and glorious is a particular duality of fast food, like the duality of man or something, only with nacho cheese and pasta sauce.

“I kind of want to live in a ’90s Wendy’s,” Amy Barnes, a Tennessee-based writer, tells me in between preparing for virtual learning with her teenagers. The Superbar sat in the lobby, with stations lined up like train carts. First, there was the Garden Spot, which “no one cared about,” a traditional salad bar with a tub of chocolate pudding at its helm, “which always had streams of salad dressing and shredded cheese floating on top.” Next up was the Pasta Pasta section, with “noodles, alfredo and tomato sauce…[as well as] garlic bread made from the repurposed hamburger buns with butter and garlic smeared on them.” Obviously, the crown jewel of the Superbar was the Mexican Fiesta, with its “vats of ground beef, nacho cheese, sour cream.” The Fiesta shared custody of additional toppings with the salad bar. It was $2.99 for the dining experience.

Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The McDonald’s Breakfast Buffet.

The marriage of Wendy’s and the Superbar lasted about a decade before it was phased out in all locations by 1998. Like a jilted ex-lover, the official Wendy’s Story on the website makes zero mention of Superbar, despite the countless blogs, YouTube videos, and podcasts devoted to remembering it. At least they kept the salad bar together until the mid-2000s for the sake of the children.

Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The McDonald’s Breakfast Buffet. Googling the existence of such a thing only returns results of people questioning the existence of this McMuffin Mecca on subforums and Reddit. Somebody knows somebody who passed one once on the highway. A stray Yelp review of the Kiss My Grits food truck in Seattle offers a lead: “I have to say, I recall the first time I ever saw grits, they were at a McDonald’s breakfast buffet in Alexandria, Virginia, and they looked as unappetizing as could be.” However, the lead is dead on arrival. Further googling of the McDonald’s buffet with terrible grits in Alexandria turns up nothing.

I ask friends on Facebook. I ask Twitter. I get a lone response. Eden Robins messages me “It was in Decatur, IL,” as though she’s describing the site where aliens abducted her. “I’m a little relieved that I didn’t imagine the breakfast buffet since no one ever knows what the fuck I’m talking about when I bring it up.”

“We had traveled down there for a high school drama competition,” she goes on to say. “And one morning before the competition, we ate at a McDonald’s breakfast buffet. I had never seen anything like it before or since.”

I ask what was in the buffet, although I know the details alone will not sustain me. I want video to pore over so I can pause at specific frames, like a fast-food version of the Patterson–Gimlin Bigfoot footage. Robins says they served “scrambled eggs and pancakes and those hash brown tiles. I was a vegetarian at the time so no sausage or bacon, but those were there, too.”

McDonald’s isn’t the only chain with a buffet whose existence is hazy. Yum Brands, the overlord of fast-food holy trinity Taco Bell, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Pizza Hut, is said to have had buffets at all three restaurants. I confirm nothing, however, when I reach out to the corporate authorities. On the KFC side, a spokesperson offers to look into “some historical information,” but doesn’t get back to me. My contact at Taco Bell tells me, “I’ll look into it. Certainly, nothing in existence today. I’ve never heard of it. Looks like there are a couple threads on Reddit.”

Reddit, of course, speculates a possible Mandela Effect — the phenomenon of a group of unrelated people remembering a different event than what actually occurred — in the existence of Taco Bell buffets. But I have a firmer lead in Payel Patel, a doctor who studied at Johns Hopkins, who tells me there was a Taco Bell Express in her dorm that was included in an all-you-can-eat meal plan option, though it only lasted one fleeting year. “You could order anything, like 15 nachos and 11 bean burritos,” she says, “and they would make it and give it to you, and you walked off without paying a cent.” A Johns Hopkins student newsletter published in 2001 corroborates the existence of the utopian all-you-can-eat Taco Bell, saying, “you can also gorge yourself on some good old Taco Bell tacos and burritos. Don’t forget, it’s all-you-can-eat. Just don’t eat too much; you don’t want to overload the John.”

There are some concrete examples of fast-food buffets that still exist today. When a Krystal Buffet opened in Alabama in 2019, it was met with “excitement and disbelief,” according to the press release. Former New Orleans resident Wilson Koewing told me of a Popeye’s buffet that locals “speak of as if it is a myth.” When I dig deeper, I come across a local paper, NOLA Weekend, which covers “New Orleans Food, things to do, culture, and lifestyle.” It touts the Popeye’s buffet like a carnival barker, as though it is simply too incredible to believe: “The Only Popeye’s Buffet in the World! It’s right next door in Lafayette! Yes, that’s right: a Popeyes buffet. HERE.”

Somehow, the KFC buffet is the most enduring of the fast-food buffets still in existence. And yet everyone I speak with feels compelled to walk me through the paths and roads leading to such an oasis, as if, again, it were the stuff of legends. There are landmarks and there are mirages, and the mirages need maps most of all.

To get to the KFC buffet in Key Largo, Tiffany Aleman must first take us through “a small island town with one traffic light and one major highway that runs through it. There are the seafood buffets and bait shops, which give way to newfangled Starbucks.”

The buffet adds the feel of a hospital cafeteria, the people dining look close to death or knowingly waiting to die.

New Jerseyan D.F. Jester leads us past the local seafood place “that looks like the midnight buffet on a cruise ship has been transported 50 miles inland and plunked inside the dining area of a 1980s Ramada outside of Newark.”

Descriptions of the food are about what I would expect of a KFC buffet. Laura Camerer remembers the food in her college town in Morehead, Kentucky, as “all fried solid as rocks sitting under heat lamps, kind of gray and gristly.” Jester adds, “for all intents and purposes, this is a KFC. It looks like one, but sadder, more clinical. The buffet adds the feel of a hospital cafeteria, the people dining look close to death or knowingly waiting to die.”

Then Jessie Lovett Allen messages me. “There is [a] KFC in my hometown, and it is magical without a hint of sketch.” I must know more. First, she takes me down the winding path: “the closest larger city is Kearney, which is 100 miles away and only has 35K people, and Kearney is where you’ll find the closest Target, Panera, or Taco Bell. But to the North, South, or West, you have to drive hundreds of miles before you find a larger city. I tell you all of this because the extreme isolation is what gives our restaurants, even fast-food ones, an outsized psychological importance to daily life.”

The KFC Jessie mentions is in North Platte, Nebraska, and has nearly five stars on Yelp, an accomplishment worthy of a monument for any fast-food restaurant. On the non-corporate Facebook page for KFC North Platte, one of the hundreds of followers of the page comments, “BEST KFC IN THE COUNTRY.”

Allen describes the place as though she is recounting a corner of heaven. “They have fried apple pies that seem to come through a wormhole from a 1987 McDonalds. Pudding: Hot. Good. Layered cold pudding desserts. This one rotates. It might be chocolate, banana, cookies and cream. It has a graham cracker base, pudding, and whipped topping. Standard Cold Salad bar: Lettuce, salad veggies, macaroni salads, JELL-O salads. Other meats: chicken fried steak patties. Fried chicken gizzards. White Gravy, Chicken Noodle Casserole, Green Bean Casserole, Cornbread, Corn on the Cob, Chicken Pot Pie Casserole. AND most all the standard stuff on the normal KFC menu, which is nice because you can pick out a variety of chicken types or just have a few tablespoons of a side dish.”

In the end, the all-you-can-eat dream didn’t last, if it ever even existed.

Then she adds that the buffet “is also available TO GO, but there are rules. You get a large Styrofoam clamshell, a small Styrofoam clamshell, and a cup. You have to be able to close the Styrofoam. You are instructed that only beverages can go in cups, and when I asked about this, an employee tells me that customers have tried to shove chicken into the drink cups in the past.”

In the end, the all-you-can-eat dream didn’t last, if it ever even existed. The chains folded. The senior citizens keeping Ponderosa in business have died. My own parents reversed course after their buffet bender, trading in sundae stations for cans of SlimFast. Fast-food buffets retreated into an ethereal space. McDonald’s grew up with adult sandwiches like the Arch Deluxe. Wendy’s went on a wild rebound with the Baconator. Pizza Hut ripped out its jukeboxes, changed its logo, went off to the fast-food wars, and ain’t been the same since. Taco Bell is undergoing some kind of midlife crisis, hemorrhaging its entire menu of potatoes, among other beloved items. At least the KFC in North Platte has done good, though the novel coronavirus could change things.

In the age of COVID-19, the fast-food buffet feels like more of a dream than ever. How positively whimsical it would be to stand shoulder to shoulder, hovering over sneeze guards, sharing soup ladles to scoop an odd assortment of pudding, three grapes, a heap of rotini pasta, and a drumstick onto a plate. Maybe we can reach this place again. But to find it, we must follow the landmarks, searching our memory as the map.

MM Carrigan is a Baltimore-area writer and weirdo who enjoys staring directly into the sun. Their work has appeared in Lit Hub, The Rumpus, and PopMatters. They are the editor of Taco Bell Quarterly. Tweets @thesurfingpizza.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/33e4Z8k https://ift.tt/30jEUmf

A McDonald’s breakfast buffet. An all-you-can-eat Taco Bell. This isn’t the stuff dreams are made of, but a real yet short-lived phenomenon.

The fast-food buffet was inevitable, the culmination of an arms race in maximizing caloric intake.

How something can be both gross and glorious is a particular duality of fast food, like the duality of man or something, only with nacho cheese and pasta sauce.

Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The McDonald’s Breakfast Buffet.

The buffet adds the feel of a hospital cafeteria, the people dining look close to death or knowingly waiting to die.

In the end, the all-you-can-eat dream didn’t last, if it ever even existed.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/33e4Z8k via Blogger https://ift.tt/36lO2KT

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

1 note · View note

flynnholt-au-blog · 7 years

Text

What Happens in Vegas

Flynn thought that it was time to give himself a little vacation. He had been working hard in getting his studio up and running, and now that his apprentice (now partner in the business) had completed a masterful amount of hours, he felt comfortable taking some time off. So, he thought about all the places he had ever wanted to go, wrote them on slips of paper and picked one out. Vegas. He was a little anxious about it since he wasn't really a gambler- but Vegas was Vegas so he knew it wouldn't be all about gambling. It took a week or two of planning but before he knew it, he was on a flight to Sin City and eager to enjoy himself. The place was crazy and over the top, so he wasted no time in checking into his hotel, dumping his stuff and then heading out to the casino floor. He made it to the blackjack table and enjoyed playing a few hands, quitting while he was up and going to the bar before he could get greedy and blow it. It was crowded but he managed to spot a bar stool and settled in before ordering a drink.

Rhys had gone to las vega for a friends birthday. After splitting with his partner of six years Rhys a few months before, he was now ready to go out and socialise. By 9pm he was well on his way to being drunk. Being the only gay in the group he decided to head to the casino bar when his friends all left to go to the strip joint. He plonked himself down and ordered a jack Daniels and sighed. Maybe he should have stayed at home

Flynn was quite enjoying himself, people watching really as he sipped his drink. Part of him wished that he was here with someone- a special someone even but it had been a long while since that had been true. Part of him, for a long moment, wondered if he should visit that Bunnyland Ranch or whatever it was but that only made him feel more pathetic. He had just received his next drink when a man settled himself in the last remaining stool. There was no way Flynn could ignore his attractiveness. He bit his lip, heart beating faster as he willed himself to say something, anything to the man, the next words just falling past his lips- "Long night?"

Rhys looked round and saw blue eyes and smiled " my friends birthday. They just headed to the strip joint so I'm here all by myself." He said swirling his whiskey once the barman gave it to him " what about you?"

Flynn's breath caught in his throat when the man's green gaze landed on him- and then that smile. God he hoped that the man next to him liked men. Flynn wasn't normally a one night stand kind of guy...but he was on his way to being drunk and that was what Vegas was about right? "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas". He could let himself go for once. "And you didn't go with them?" He asked slightly surprised. He had never understood the appeal of strip clubs- get all worked up for no pay off? He'd rather watch porn. "Vacation. Finally feel comfortable enough leaving the business in my apprentice's- got she's my partner now- in her hands."

" nah... let's just say they strippers are the wrong sex to turn me on." He said and smiled and blushed as he looked at his glass " I'd be more likely to screw your rather then a stripper." He chuckled and then felt bad and embarrassed " sorry it's the booze." He said softly " I'm Rhys."

Flynn was secretly very pleased that the strippers were the wrong sex. That meant that the other man was into men. God Flynn hoped he didn’t look a mess. His silence allowed the other man to continue his thought and he blushed lightly when he confessed he’s rather screw him. “Good to know.” He said with a sly smile and greeted him in return. “Good to meet you Rhys. I’m Flynn.”

"Nice to meet you Flynn. you waiting for your partner?" He asked with a small smile. "Wife?" He asked. He ordered another whiskey. "You want one?" He asked

"No, she's at the studio, holding down the fort." Flynn answered, not even thinking about his words. "No, she's not my wife, she's my business partner. I think we're both in a place that we trust her to handle things. No, I'm single." He answered, shaking his head when he offered another whiskey. "I will take another vodka and cranberry. I don't want to mix and get sick." He said, nodding to the bartender. "How about you? Partner waiting at home?"

Rhys laughed. "No. he is now on his honeymoon with his new wife." He said with a smirk. That was the last time he would date a bisexual. He ordered the drinks and smiled at him. "So.. what do you do for a living?"

“Oh well that would explain things.” Flynn answered with a little laugh, wondering if that was painful or not. “I’m a photographer. Mostly wedding, maternity and newborns but with my co-worker, we’re branching out more. How about you?” He said, eyeing the other man, thinking it had to be something physical.

"Wow... so have you taken any racy pictures?" He asked with a cheeky wink. "Me? I restore architecture. Big buildings, monuments. You name it ... I have probably done it ." He said and then smiled. "Lucikliy for me Im not scared of heights

“I have done a few boudoir photo shoots but they’re long days- which says something considering I do weddings.” He said rolling his eyes, wondering what he’d have to do to get him to pose for him. He blushed at the thought and smiled at the other man. “That sounds incredibly fascinating. And yeah, I can imagine that would be an issue.” He said, looking at the other man feeling a little bashful but he was going to go for it- “do you want to go somewhere a little more fun?” He said, thinking he would love to get to a club. He wasn’t the club type but it would be an excuse to get close to the other man. Or of course, they could just drink some more and go someplace much more intimate

"Sure." He replied simply. "I'm staying at this hotel. You wanna come up. I have a minibar and we could order food. And if you are lucky I might even let you take my picture." He grinned with a hint of mischief in his eyes

Flynn took a breath internally and asked himself if he wanted this- and found himself agreeing. “I think I’ve been pretty lucky so far.” He murmured, tipping the bartender well and following Rhys up to his room, almost grateful for the full elevator. It gave him a moment to steady himself. People picked people up for sex all the time. He had been working so hard- he deserved to let himself enjoy this without getting into his head too much. He laughed softly when they got off on the tenth floor. “My room is on the other end of the floor.” He murmured, the feeling of alcohol flooding his system, wondering how many he had ended up drinking after all. He kicked off his shoes once the door shut to the other man’s room. “Should’ve asked...” He murmured, feeling silly for a moment.

"Maybe I am." He responded and smirked taking off his jacket and laid on the bed. "So come on lay down and tell me all about yourself. I wont judge as Im too drunk." He laughed and let his shoes fall off onto the floor.

Flynn bit his lip as he shrugged out of his jacket to lay out on the bed, watching the other man spread out. He blushed a little when he invited him to lay out next to him. Flynn shook off his sweatshirt, his shirt catching and pulling up a little before pulling it back down. "So...about me. My parents are still together, I have a younger sister. She's amazing..." He said, trailing off trying not to think about her sister and the clock they had on her. "How about you? Any siblings?"

"Younger brother. He is really cool. Can be a bit of an asshole at times but hey siblings know how to push your buttons." He said rolling onto his side and gazing at him with a smile. "So why vegas?"

Flynn laughed softly. He hadn't had many issues with Ava but then he was a lot older than her, and her being ill...it just didn't see like it was worth it. His heart beat faster when Rhys rolled to him, asking why Vegas. "Luck actually. I made a list of all the places I wanted to go, could afford to go and where it wouldn't be a bad season...put them in a bucket and pulled out Vegas." He said, leaning forward a little. "So were you excited to come to Vegas- since I'm assuming it was your buddies choice."

"Yeah I was. I split with y ex and it was a little messy so I threw myself into work and now I'm here... with you." He murmured and looked away with a small blush. "Do you like it here?"

Flynn wondered who in the hell would ditch the man next to him. He smiled softly as the man said he was here with him, he was glad as well. He reached out to tangle his legs with the other man. "I think I've started liking it a lot more since you sat down with me." He said, leaning forward a little more until he was surely in Rhys' face. He licked his lips and caught Rhys' as well.

Rhys smirked and looked at him. "So you are single huh?" He asked with a smile then tilted his head. "So when was the last time you ....? he asked ad oved a little closer.

Flynn blushed when asked about the last time he had been intimate. "At least a year." He answered, reaching out to drape an arm over the other man's waist. "I was kind of hoping that you might change that..." He said, looking at Rhys' lips and then back up again.

"Its the least I could do after you have waited so long." He breathed and kissed hi lightly and looked at hi with a raised brow as he was waiting for a response on if he should go further

Flynn felt time slow after he said those words, wondering how he had gotten so brave but then he was fairly drunk. The words had barely sunk in when Rhys closed the gap and kissed him. It was light and tentative and he pouted when he pulled away. He leaned forward and kissed him back, adding pressure and using the arm he had draped over the other man to pull him close.

Rhys chuckled and then softly kissed him again holding his face in his hand the kiss became more passionate the longer it lasted and Rhys pulled back and smiled still with his eyes closed " that's.. nice." He mused " I like that."

Flynn breathed in the scent of the other man as he kissed him softly, hands gently cupping is face. They stayed locked together until they were breathless. "I liked it too. How about I fix us both a screwdriver and we can discuss just what we're expecting from this night..."

" I'll have a champagne." He murmured " it's in the mini bar." He smiled at him as he got up and made them drinks giving Rhys perfect opportunity to look as his ass. He was hot. And Rhys wanted him.

Flynn nodded and headed to the mini-bar wanting to clear his head. He wanted to make sure that he and Rhys were on the same page. Feeling his eyes on him though, he had a feeling that they were. He passed over the glass of champagne and settled on the bed close him. "So what do you want of me?"

" the same thing you want from me." He teased not letting up. " a year since you last had sex Huh? You must miss it right? Do you top or bottom?" He asked and took a sip of champagne.

Flynn drank a little deeper, listening as he teased him, feeling better that they were on the same page. "I'm flexible. I like both. I'm more about pleasing the other person. If that means they want to top, I am fine bottoming- or visa versa. How about you?"

" same. I love oral and rimming. I could literally come from just that." He groaned and sighed it had been a while since he last had sex and he was beginning to miss it. " so.. what do you like in bed ?"

Flynn was beginning to wish they hadn't stopped and that they were doing all the things they had talked about instead of just talking. "I...like a lot of things. Rimming and oral are amazing. I love...giving myself over, marks, feeling it- those reminders..." He said, blushing lightly. "I think...maybe we should stop talking and start doing..." He said, downing the rest of the glass.

Rhys watched him and laid out on the bed" I am all yours." He teased and then caught his eye and grabbed his shirt pulling him onto him. He kissed him roughly and moaned

Flynn's breath caught in his chest as the other man laid out on the bed, offering himself to him. He put down his glass and moved closer, letting out a little gasp of surprise when Rhys grabbed his shirt to pull him close. He moaned when their lips collided, burying his fingers into Rhys' hair keeping him there. After a long moment, he let his hand drift down between them to start working the buttons of Rhys' shirt open. He hummed as he felt the warm skin and hard muscles, marveling that he had been lucky enough to have the man agree to leave the bar with him.

Rhys smiled and pulled off his shirt before reaching for flynns. He pulled it off and began to kiss his neck and chest rolling around on the bed till he was breathless and flushed. " you sure you want to?" He breathed as he pressed against him

Flynn felt way out of his league when Rhys pulled off his shirt. The man under him was built and he was...not. He wasn’t fat but it was obvious Rhys had a physical job and he didn’t. That fact didn’t seem to faze Rhys, who had him out of his shirt and under him a moment later. They lost themselves in kisses, rolling around, entangled in each other before Rhys broke the kiss to ask him. “I am. Are you?” He asked, offering him the same curtesy, even as his head was swimming with desire (and booze) and his body starting to react.

" fuck yeah. I'm so hot for you right now." He whispered and palmed him and nipped at his neck. " but you know once we have sex we have to get married." He teased " it's vegas." He murmured and worked his way to nipping his nipple

Flynn moaned softly as the other man gently groped him, softly nipping his neck. He laughed softly when he mentioned marriage. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to get married before the sex...” He teased back, arching up as Rhys’ lips worked over his chest before capturing a nipple. “Fuck...” he whined softly, letting his hands tangle in his hair again. “You like to tease...”

Rhys pulled away " then let's get married." He said grabbing his shirt and shoes " the quicker we marry the quicker I can fuck you into the mattress."

Flynn blinked, the sudden absence of the handsome man over him. “What?” He mumbled, the man’s words finally filtering in. “That’s crazy...” He murmured but even as he did, he found himself climbing off the bed to get dressed, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the elevator. He pressed Rhys against the wall as they entered, kissing him desperately as they rode their way down to the lobby. A small part of him was trying to tell him this was crazy...but he was too drunk and too hazy from lust to realize that part was right.

Rhys kissed Flynn passionately in the elevator in a wild moment before pulling him out to the main floor " ok where's the chapel. " he said and then looked at him " shit you need your passport." He hiccupped

Flynn was breathing heavy when they parted, biting his lip and looking around when Rhys asked about the chapel- shaking his head when he brought up his passport. "N-No, just need my driver's license- license! We need to get the marriage license." He said, looking up the clock. "We've got 30 minutes." He said, heading out, fingers tangled with Rhys to pull him to a cab. "200 S. 3rd St." He ordered the cabbie

Rhys laughed and climbed in the cab with a smirk. he loved adventures and he enjoyed watching Flynn seem nervous but excited. He was getting married. H watched as the Cabbie drove fast through the strip untill they got to where they needed to be. H eclimbed out and smiled at Flynn. "ok now what?"

Flynn was a bundle of nerves but he was excited. This was crazy and impulsive but it wasn't enough to stop him for taking on this adventure. They pulled up in no time flat (or it seemed that way anyway). "Right. Now we go in, fill out the papers, they give us a license and we find a chapel that'll marry us." He answered, blushing lightly following Rhys up the stairs. They managed to get the papers filled out and put in just in time. They left around midnight and Flynn held Rhys' hand. "So, now we need the chapel."

"What about the chapel o love they are drag queen preists." He laughed. "Wait I need to get you a ring." he raced into a tacky jewellery store and found a silver ring with a diamond horeshoe on it. He came back out and in the middle of the street proposed on one knee as people walked past.

"If that's where you want to get married." He said, leaning against Rhys a little, looking up to him. "You've got such Bright Eyes...they shine even in the dark..." He murmured, watching as Rhys took off into a jewelry store, returning a moment later with a ring before he got down on one knee. He blushed and even teared up a bit when Rhys got down on one knee and proposed. "Yes, I will marry you." He said, laughing as they garnered applause, kissing to seal the deal. They walked along, holding onto each other until they found the chapel they were looking for. He felt his heart pounding as they approached but he pulled him up short. "I just realized...I don't know how to say your- our- last name." He murmured, looking at the certificate.

" it's said Cher val ee yay it's French I'm from Paris. What's your surname ?" He asked as he watched him mouth his surname " should I know anything about you ? Crazy exs kids etc."

"Cher-val-ee-yay. Got it. Ooo how exotic..." He said, laughing at his own silly joke. "Holt. Not all that exciting." He said with a shrug when he realized he did ask him the same. "Only relationship that wasn't mutual was a girl who decided she didn't like that I like boys. No kids- and possibly not ever."

" you never know you could have one or two in the future." He said with a soft smile and then waved a cab. " let's go get married." He said taking his hand

"I...who knows." He said softly, not wanting to bring the mood down by talking about his sister and the fear of passing those genes along. Flynn blinked as Rhys hailed a cab, looking up when he realized they weren't at the right place after all. He climbed into the cab behind him looking out as they passed, his heart and stomach meeting as they climbed out again. "Ready?" He said, gazing at the man beside him.

" the game is on." He grinned and told the guy where to go. He squeezed his hand and kissed his head and wrapped his arm around him.

Flynn felt warmth spread through him as the other man kissed his head, arm wrapping around him. He followed after him and they went up to the counter to make arrangements. They picked out wedding bands, which Flynn paid for, and then Rhys paid for the tux rental. They were whisked away and Flynn selected a gray tux, taking his place outside of the chapel, knowing Rhys was would be waiting at the other end for him.

Rhys felt weird in a tux but the blue suit and pink tie suited him. He stood and waited still slightly numb from the alcohol and smiled to himself. He had found a tramp and a stripper to be the witnesses and wondered who Flynn would walk down the isle with.

Flynn fidgeted a little outside the chapel as he waited for his turn. There was a moment, when he sobered for a moment, wistful that his family wasn't there. It didn't matter though, they could celebrate later, have a renewal ceremony. Now, what mattered, was that he made it to the end of the aisle. He took in a breath and let it out a little shakily when he heard the music start. He had selected pachelbel canon in d and the doors opened, his breath caught. He barely knew the man at the end...but he was stunning and the way he was smiling at him. He took his time walking down the short aisle, feeling a little silly but as Rhys' strong hand took his when he reached the end, he settled. This was random and spontaneous but something felt so right about this.

Rhys smiled as Flynn walked down the aisle and then when service began he squeezed his hand and smiled and whispered " relax." He answered and repeated when the drag queen told him to he then looked at Flynn

Flynn was trying not to fidget but it seemed he wasn't doing well as Rhys whispered to relax- and amazingly it worked. The one soft word from the other man settled him. The service started and even though it took him a moment to catch up with what he was meant to say, he made it. He surprised himself when he felt tears slipping down his cheeks as they were pronounced married. He was overjoyed- marrying a stranger and he was happier than he had been in a long while.

Rhys saw tears and stroked them away. " you ok?" He murmured and then posed for the photos. He walked out hand in hand with Flynn. " so did you take my name?" He asked as they headed back to the hotel

Flynn blushed as Rhys reached up to brush away the tears. "Yeah, I'm good...just really happy." He said, smiling at him, posing for photos with his new husband. After a few solo photos, he laughed as the drag queens and everyone jumped in their photo for the group shot. They were given two thumb drives of the photo files and then they headed out to go back to the hotel for their honeymoon. "I think we hyphenated." He said with a laugh, looking at the folder of paperwork again. "We're officially Rhys and Flynn Chevalier-Holt" He said, stepping into the lobby and heading back to the elevator and up to Rhys' room. "Since I walked down the aisle I think that means I'm meant to be carried over the threshold to our honeymoon bed."

" you get all the fun stuff. Although if you are playing the wife role then I guess that means I get to fuck you tonight." He beamed as he picked him up and then carried him into the room and laid him on the bed. He kissed him softly before standing back and stripping to his boxers. " your turn."

"I would've let you walk down the aisle but...I don't know, you seem more like the one to be waiting at the end." He murmured, giving him a smirk when he said he would be fucked if he were the wife. "You won't hear me complain." He said, letting out a laugh as the other man- his husband- swept him off his feet and carried him into the room, laying him out on the bed. He bit his lip as he watched the man strip, before he slipped off the bed to do the same. He was a little shy as Rhys watched him, suddenly worried he wouldn't like what he saw. He smiled shyly and then kicked off his boxers as well. "Your turn..."

Rhys smiled and raised a brow as Flynn dropped his pants. " ok." He grinned and dropped his boxers and looked at him." You like what you see?" He asked and bit his lip with a sexy smile

Flynn bit his lip when Rhys quirked an eyebrow, but he had to let go. He let his gaze drag over his husband, breath catching. "Fuck every inch of you is gorgeous..." He murmured looking at other man before crowding his space to kiss him deeply. He stayed until he couldn't breath and pulled back gasping before crawling onto the bed. "Nothing between us now."

Rhys laughed " I could say the same about you." He said and climbed into bed beside him. " you are so hot." He grinned and kissed him slowly as he wrapped his arms around him. He smiled and stroked his hair " you are so handsome."

Flynn reached out as he settled next to him, relaxing in his arms as Rhys kissed him slowly. He hummed softly as he pet his hair, complimenting him. "Thank you...so are you. You and your bright eyes..." He said gazing at him, getting lost in the deep green and golden flecks. "Do you...have supplies?"

#para: WHIV

1 note · View note

thesportssoundoff · 7 years

Text

So About That Tuesday Night Contenders Series

Joey

June 26th

Watch any UFC event recently and you'll notice the constant pushing and dare I say shilling of Dana White's Tuesday Night Contenders Series. The UFC's attempt to push its own content on its own digital platform (a novel concept!) is slowly creeping towards its air date on July 11th. The concept is a simple enough one even if some aspects of it seem to be ever so slightly and ever so gingerly getting modified before the start. Five fights every week with the winners and losers competing for the opportunity to get into the UFC. It'll be held in front of Dana White and what I'm assuming are an audience of his friends and peers given how there is no live attendance. While the original concept suggested UFC fighters would get the opportunity to rebuild their careers, it seems like the UFC has walked that back somewhat given how not a single current UFC fighter is assigned to a spot on the show.

The concept is a fresh enough approach, essentially taking out Dana White's LFAF antics and bringing us what fight fans really want to see; less of Dana hanging with the BOOOOOOYZ and more of the prospects and overlooked guys with potential getting the opportunity to get a UFC gig. As of this point, much of the format is hidden although the general onus seems to be similar to Looking For A Fight's "Win impressively and depending on how the wind is blowing and the whims of one man are at that time, you might get a deal!" That's all fine and good I guess although leaving the future of athletes up to such a vague concept as an impressive win is always going to lead to some problems. At the very least, a lot of good regional talents are going to get the opportunity they all dream of chasing when they sign up for this wacky gig. The chance to fight in front of Dana White and his friends in Vegas for more than you've ever made up until that point with the allure of a potential UFC gig is all good for the sport I'd argue. Unfortunately quite a few questions remain on how this is all going to work out BUT before we get into that, I just want to poke around a bit on some numbers I've scrounged up.

30.5- The average age of the HWs confirmed for Dana White's Tuesday Night Contender's Series.

The age at light heavyweight and heavyweight will always be a somewhat touchy subject. As has probably been discussed time and time again, MMA's ability to chase elite athletes above 205 lbs is never going to be up there with the bigger sports even though it could/would stand to do a better job at attempting to recruit them. Outside of Stipe Miocic, the UFC's HW division in its current form is a collection of aging but well known guys from the Pride/2008 to 2011 era of the UFC and a small group of guys who rose from the ashes of a broken HW division to carve out niches for themselves. Now to their credit, the UFC HAS been aggressively signing new HWs but the division still lacks depth, prospects and the ability to let guys go on winning streaks before you violently feed them up to somebody at the top. The decision to focus on the HW division is a refreshing approaching and of the six HWs they've roped in thus far, they combine for an average age of about 31 years old (30.5 to be exact). That number is heavily skewed by the 35 year old Greg Rabello. Just for a comparison point, the top 6 in the division (Stipe plus the five contenders under him) come out at about a solid 34.5 years old. So here's my opinion on this one; sign all of them even if they lose. Turn the HW division into the undercard gamblers division and load up FP prelims with big doughy guys. You might luck into one!

10-20- Record for fights either in the UFC or against fighters who have been in the UFC

Yeah, this number isn't too pretty I suppose. Now granted there are guys like Daniel Spohn, Justin Jones and Daniel Jolly who really tip the scales here but as is often the case with TUF seasons, the prospects here haven't faired all too well when they've faced UFC quality competition. People CAN improve of course but going on pure raw data, it's looking rough to start.

0- Women's MMA fights confirmed thus far

This is a concerning number. It's not that I think the UFC is deliberately ignoring the women of mixed martial arts, I just don't know if they're out there to be had. Part of the problem with having an Invicta is that the WMMA community is so small that just about everybody winds up there at some point; most before they're ready. Tuesday Night Contenders becoming ANOTHER Invicta where ladies like Rachel Ostovich are fed to elite talents over and over is probably not good for anybody. What's more with TUF 25 being flyweights, you're not going to send them to Tuesday Night Contenders because you pretty much NEED all of them for that. And of course it's like flyweight or bantamweight TUFs, chances are if you're a good one they're just going to sign you so why bother? The UFC can't keep pilfering talents from Invicta without waiting for the stock to replenish and while a guy like TheAnticool would clearly know more as it pertains to whether it IS being replenished, there needs to be concern about how long it's taking. Ronda's ascension to the top of the MMA landscape was expected to jolt WMMA and in many ways it did---but it's 2017 and we're still waiting to see the fruits of that labor.

7- flyweights

Be it petty posturing or a genuine warning, Dana White coming out and admitting that the last three years have featured them considering the removal of flyweight has to be concerning for all MMA fans. The UFC removing flyweights from the equation would ultimately be a bad thing for MMA (a hell of a boon to 135 tho!) and would further blur the lines between sport of business and the business of sport. Even if you acknowledge that fighters can always make their money overseas, all of the US orgs (since Bellator has shown no interest in flyweights and I'm not even sure the new chain at WSOF know what flyweights are) abandoning the division would do serious damage to the growth of MMA. As such, it's refreshing to see Dana White's Tuesday Night Contender Series has thus far cornered the market on flyweights not in the organization.

4- Fighters coming off a loss

The idea of DWTCS was the best prospects vs the best prospects and old UFC guys trying to regroup and rebound after a series of losses. When names started getting announced and people started to complete the picture, there was some rankling about signing guys to compete who were coming off losses. That, at least so far, is overstated. Just four of the guys on the show are coming off of a loss.

So those are just some things I wanted to dig through and look over. Despite this, questions STILL remain. Such as....

1- How are they going to make money off of this?

Seriously. There's no TV rights deal (here or abroad) and there's no gate because the show is attended by Dana's friends and fam. One would assume that the UFC is paying for crapola even if the UFC owns the venue and etc etc. Right off the bat, you're talking about 50K going out (5K for 10 guys plus 25K on top for the winners). So how ya paying for this? Fight Pass subs?

2- Is it possible to LOSE and get into the UFC?

We see it all of the time. The "win and get in" style of UFC TUF Finale is bent slightly so that guys who put on an amazing fight and lose can still get a chance. Will the UFC keep with that mentality here? Given that so much of this is the whim of one man, is it win and get in only?

3- What will the outfits look like?

It'd be...awkward if Dana White's side league project featured fighters wearing sponsored swag. Is it going to be like 2013 where dudes had big sponsorship lapses and so they had guys wearing UFC trunks? I know that they're treating Dana White's Tuesday Night Contenders where it's like an alternate organization BUT if I'm a fighter and I make it into the UFC off the show, I want this fight to count for my UFC record.

4- Production? Any ideas?

Again with no real way to make money, what will the production look like? I hate to make the comp here but I don't think this product is going to succeed if it feels like a dark match/house show with no video packages, no commentary and no sizzle with their graphics. I'd really like to see what they do with the commentary spot. One thing I'd really like to see is different guys being given the opportunity to try their hand at live commentary. If they're bad, it's not going to be the end of the world and if they're good, as guys like Cruz proved to be, then you can start grooming your next crop of rotating commentators. I bet the UFC would LOVE a day where they can just sandblast the sports world with a show from Asia that starts at 8 on ESPN/FS1, a show from England that starts at 12 on ESPN 2/FS2 and then a big show at 8 PM that goes back onto the main network. To pull that shit off, you need developed competent commentators and MAYBE this can be an attempt to pull that off.

5- Where are the international guys at?

The current crop are 95% Americans with 5% delegated to some Europeans who live and operate within the US. I'd LOVE to see them move in some guys from Asia to get a chance. There's a lot of PXC guys who aren't good enough in theory for the UFC but could benefit from the opportunity to at least compete there.

6- Ringer Fights

Obviously any REALLY REALLY great prospects are getting UFC calls and not wasting their time on this. But let's say you do so decide to go to the UFC through Tuesday Night Contenders. Let's use Jose "Shorty" Torres for a sec, k? Would you take a Jose Torres and give him an obvious squash match set up so he looks super impressive to get the hype going? If so, can they handle the backlash if we see through it?

In the end, this is somewhere between a regional organization and a UFC lite. It's Dana White attempting to create a Looking For A Fight without having to look for it. It's a chance for prospects, veterans who live under the radar and potential organizational filler to get fights. For fighters on the regional circuit, it represents a substantial jump up in pay. There are just too many questions and concerns for this project to get out of the "cautiously optimistic" stage.

#MMA #UFC #Dana White #Contenders #DWTNCS

12 notes · View notes

lightraker · 7 years

Text

Du He Tao

Those of us who went to Eric’s book launch have a head start on this one. Because here he told us that this was written for his girlfriend and the title refers to walnut gambling in China. Identical walnuts (or as similar as possible) are very valuable. They are used, I think, for playing with in your hand to relax you like those balls. I just typed in “relaxing hand balls” into google and apparently those metal ones are Chinese and they’re actually called “baotang balls”. So the more similar the two walnuts are, the more valuable. There is a practice of paying a set price before the walnuts’ green coverings are removed as a kind of gambling on whether you’ll get a matching pair which would be worth more than you’ve paid. We can see that there’s a nice metaphor for dating or starting to go out with someone and taking a chance on whether you’ll fit together. It’s interesting that it comes straight after “Tact” which is kind of about how you shouldn’t be too similar.

Eric runs through an amazing array of metaphors linked to this. So we have sciencey/atomic, DIY, bomb-disposal, safe-cracking, bird-pecking, gambling, computer-language, biological/medical sort of, but not strictly, section by section.

“When I’m all hulled up” - Eric draws out a nice metaphor for the single man being confined in his walnut or way of life or bachelor pad and love makes its way in.

“Husky” - having an outer shell, or having a sexy voice. I hope Anne-Laure doesn’t mind it if I suggest that this may refer to her sexy French voice.

“the heartnut aches” - heart nut is the seed of a Japanese walnut. Also an allusion to the opening of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale “My heart aches”.

“You ground around it lick” - In China, apparently, experts have a better chance of spotting identical pairs. However, I saw nothing about them licking them. I’ve been quite taken aback by how surprised everyone seems to be about my sexual readings of the first two poems. So I’m just going to leave you with the image of the buyer putting their lips around the two walnuts. And say nothing more.

“Give lip… flushed over… quite tight”. Nothing more to say. Nothing at all.

“Fetch Felix… Radical Squad, Trojans.. long walk” - This is about bomb disposal. The first bomb squad (in New York in the earlier 20th Century dealing with mafia since you ask) were called the Radical Squad. Felix means lucky in Latin and is the name of the unofficial mascot of bomb disposal. Trojan is a mine-clearing vehicle. And the long walk is a phrase used about bomb disposal. And we see this metaphor in the verse with “hair-triggers… trip-wire”.

“With ink from crushed walnuts” this is what Da Vinci used in his notebooks.

“a foetus in utero” - Da Vinci did draw one of these. But also in keeping with the walnut image.

“If there is no love, what then?” a quote from Da Vinci in prison (enclosed) for sodomy.

“Ectoderm” - outer skin.

“brain-pan” - skull.

“Passerine” an order of birds. Passer is the latin for sparrow. This section moves more to the image of a bird pecking at a nut.

“A man’s house is his castle and each man’s home, his safest refuge”. This is a quote from Edward Coke, an Elizabethan Lawyer, so right up Eric’s street. I was wondering where the second bit came from, but that’s the whole quote. I think now we move into the idea of your girlfriend moving in with you. If you let someone into your house, they’re going to change things.

T5 to T8 - I’m not sure this can be right, but this seems to refer to a type of lighting strength. Certainly I still have energy efficient lightbulbs in my flat that date back to when I had a more-ecologically minded boyfriend move in with me. So, you know, this bit really spoke to me.

“Pericardium” membrane enclosing the heart.

“Epicardium” - membrane which forms the innermost layer of the pericardium.

“Myocardium” - muscular tissue of heart.

“Endocardium” membrane which lines the chambers of the heart.

“Ventricle” - cavity of the heart. (I think we get what kind of stuff is going on in this section).

“seventy-two times per minute” - heart beat? But why 21,000? STOP PRESS. I cheated and asked Eric. It's the number of nerve receptors in the human epiderm (he thinks)?

Vena Cava - the name of the vein that runs from the heart.

Chordae - tendons in your heart, known as the “Heartstrings”. I’d never really thought that would be an actual thing that was your heartstring. Huh.

“O, O, O” - what is this? I can only think of the Wasteland (O O O O that Shakespeherian rag).

“Peterman” - slang for safe cracker. We get a heist theme in this section like Eric’s walnut is a safe waiting to be cracked.

“Bertha’s Gift and Home Furnishings”. The Hole in the Wall gang were caught breaking into here, it’s a store in Las Vegas, in 1981. They were called the Hole in the Wall gang because… yup.

“Tete de Femme” - Picasso painting stolen from San Francisco Art Gallery in 1965.

“Bourne-shell” - this bit is all about computing. These are different “shells” which are how you access your operating system on your computer. “Korn-shell” is a development of the “Bourne-shell”. And C-shell and Bash are the same kind of thing.

“-sh” is the name of an executable file for Bourne shell (or something like that).

| - this punctuation (?) is used in computing language.

“Heartstone” - is this something to do with Dungeons and Dragons and the kind of person who’s into computers?

“shortcut” - computing.

“Platforms” - more internet speak.

“relational” - a relational operator is a programming language.

“Give me that man and I will wear him at heart’s core in my heart of heart”. - Hamlet says this. It misses out the phrase “that’s not passion’s slave” - so Eric shifts the meaning to make it romantic.

“hus” - this is icelandic for house. (It’s also hungarian for meat!)

“the hot crowd of thermal swarmed electron of eased atomic orbital in gradient still and radiating” - I asked a wise and lovely Science teacher at my school about this and he replied: “It doesn’t seem to mean a specific thing. If it’s meant to be metaphorical” LOL, let’s hope so, “electrons move quicker when heated and can jump up an orbital (they orbit atoms like planets). When they cool, they slide back down (an energy gradient), radiating light energy. Each atom releases a specific colour of light, like an optical fingerprint. Not sure if that metaphor works with my explanation, but that’s the closest thing it could be. Or he’s just bunged some atom based words together.” <crying with laughter emoji>

“Au coeur du corps” - to the heart of the body. Did I mention that Eric’s girlfriend is French?

“red electric” - we’ve done some DIY and got down to the live wire.

“Lin Changzhu” is a walnut farmer with whom there is an interview in some online paper about the exact thing of walnut betting. He makes 2 million yuan a year from his walnuts.

“betting on skin” this is how the thing where buyers pay a fixed price before the green outer covering is removed. It feels to me like there’s a tension here between the fact that the buyers aren’t interested in the actual kernel of the walnut but the shell despite the fact that a lot of this poem is about drilling into the inner part.

“Cupule” - cup shaped.

“English walnut or nux Gallica” - Eric mentioned this at the launch. He’s English, his girlfriend is French. English walnut is a type of walnut. Nux Gallica is Latin for walnut. Gallica means from Gaul (France).

“Mopan-mopan” I wish I could nail this exactly. mopan walnut is I think a type of walnut you use for massage; mopan is the chinese for disc; mopan-mopang are grinding stones found in prehistoric China used for grinding nuts.

“dog-throw” - there are a number of references to the Ancient Roman knucklebone betting game. The dog was the lowest number on the knucklebone. “Vulture” was the lowest roll of all the bones, and the “Venus throw” (appropriately for the Goddess of Love in a love poem) was the highest roll.

“ratscrew” - Egyptian ratscrew is the name of card game like snap.

“slapjack” - I can’t remember what we used call this, but I played it loads, it’s like snap but there’s that thing where you race to slap the pile. Anyway, once again trying to get by luck a match. (Although incidentally if you wanted to score high in knucklebones, apparently, you wanted the bones to all be different, not matching. I’m not sure if we’re meant to worry about that).

“government official’s hat, a chicken’s heart, a lantern” - these are, delightfully, names the Chinese give to different shapes of walnuts.

“front-run vigorish” I almost didn’t bother looking these up, which is kudos to Eric, because it just sounds like in a rush and kind of vigorous. But I did. And so I discovered that “front-running” is when you buy stock because you have some secret knowledge that it’s going to go up and “vigorish” is the percentage deducted from a gambler’s winnings.

“nutshell” - Has it really taken this long for our Hamlet-loving poet to use this word in a poem about nuts? And is this all he’s going to give us? Is it too obvious? Do you think Ian McEwan has ruined it for him?

“acupoint” - acupuncture point - obviously Chinese link.

“kerf” - slit made by cutting with a saw.

“swarf” - filings produced by machining.

“surfy cream curls and open out” - when Eric read this poem aloud, it sounded like it was totally filthy. And I swear I wasn’t the only one to say that. You’ll notice how restrained I’ve been typing here. But aside from the testicles, the whole thing really is about getting into someone’s vagina, right? I guess those of us who know Eric and Anne-Laure can be pleased that it seems to be a poem about Anne-Laure getting into Eric’s vagina.

“sat with a crimped copy of Homer and a lucky cricket”. This is lovely, isn’t it? Little Eric squashed in his nutshell. It feels like this is an actual allusion to something. For example, why Homer? Maybe it’s a personal allusion between him and Anne-Laure. If not, the best I can do is it made me think a bit of Keats’ “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer” with that sense of sudden new discovery etc.

“rolled round, palmed around” - now that someone’s got into Eric’s vagina, they seem to be giving him a good “palming around”. This goes back to the purpose of these walnuts which is to rotate them in your hand and it’s meant to be good for the “circulation”.

“I type up slow happenstance on keywater brightboarding” - This give me an image of the two of them in bed, Eric typing up his poem, but quietly and slowly so as not to wake her, and the glow of the keys being the “brightboarding” as well as a little sense of sailing away, stretching out, freed from the shell.

1 note · View note

citybythebayvisions · 4 years

Text

OC Interview Tag | Lance

Rules: Answer the questions as one of your characters.

1. How are you doing today?

Pretty good!

2. Ready to answer some questions?

Yeah, absolutely. Shoot!

3. How do you feel about your last name?

Never really thought too much about it but I like it. Kel-ley. It’s got a bouncey kind of ring to it.

4. Is there anything you’d like to thank your author for?

Thanks for giving me people who really love me and for showing me who truly cares for me. My wife, my son, my mom, Eric... there’s a lot of rough things I’ve had to endure, but having them there made it worthwhile. I mean, I could’ve been a total slimey, abusive, asshole who terrorized everybody so I’m seriously grateful.

5. You can only eat three foods for the rest of your life, what are they?

Okay, I’m really going to think strategically about this because there’s a lot of things that I’ve claimed that I could eat for the rest of my life and now I’m being put to the test. Thank god this isn’t a real scenario because God, it’d be awful! But I guess I could live off of chicken, potatoes, and some of my mom’s cherry pie for the rest of life. A pretty good balance of protein, filling vegetables, and something sweet to cap it off.

6. Have you ever said or done anything that surprised your author?

Not being a total pushover when I confronted my dad was an unexpected surprise. I think she expected me to cry more than I did and kept getting annoyed that it just wasn’t working like that and I get it, but I have more resilience and willpower that I don’t even give myself credit for. That and not looking like a total loser on my first date with Dee. I totally was, but I guess it was charming enough.

7. You have limitless funds, what kind of party do you have?

Getting a couple of people and going out to Vegas again would be fun. I loved it when I got married there, but I was broke and underage so I barely got to do any of the glamourous things the city is about. I can buy drinks for everyone now, we could all stay in the nicest hotels with the comfiest beds, we could eat at the best restaurants, maybe we could see a show or two since there are more of those around now than there was then. I’m not a gambler, but I’d like to get a little lucky on the casino floor and then buy something nice with it. I know I’d already have limitless funds so it wouldn’t be as special to me as it could’ve been when I was broke, but it still is special because I would’ve earned it in some way. I’d invest it in material things. I’d buy Dee all of the glittery diamonds her heart desires and myself a Rolex. It would kinda kill me to spend that much on a watch but I could give it to Jason and he could profit off of it if he wanted.

8. Tell us a quick story about something that’s happened to you that not even your author knows yet

She’s sorta known about this but I’ll cement it since I’m still thinking about how good diamond earrings would look on Dee. She’s not the biggest fan of long earrings, but I’d love to see her wear some nice expensive diamond ones that dangle. She’d look incredible...anyway, sorry. Where was I going with this? Dee...earrin--oh yeah! My stupid story. I had my ear pierced when I was 15 by Bryan Myers because he had one and I thought it looked really badass. I was also high and super stewed, but not enough to numb how much that shit fucking hurt. I don’t get how women can do through with that in both ears, but then again they get theirs done by professionals and Bryan was absolutely not a professional. Eric, who was also as stupid drunk and high as me, got his done too and wound up with a nasty ear infection that made him have to rip his out after a few days and...as gross as it sounds, I almost wish I would’ve been as lucky to endure it. Walking around with that thing for months after was way worse.

9. Do you have a favorite Hero?

Michael Knight and KITT.

10. What do plan to do after this?

Stretch. Once my back starts cramping up, that’s when I know I’ve rambled too long.

#*lance kelley #interview meme

0 notes

easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Quote

A McDonald’s breakfast buffet. An all-you-can-eat Taco Bell. This isn’t the stuff dreams are made of, but a real yet short-lived phenomenon. When we think of buffets, we tend to think of their 1980s and early ’90s heyday, when commercial jingles for Sizzler might have been confused with our national anthem. We think of Homer Simpson getting dragged out of the Frying Dutchman, “a beast more stomach than man.” I think of my parents going on buffet benders resembling something out of Hunter S. Thompson’s life, determined to get their money’s worth with two picky kids. What we don’t typically think about, however, is the fast-food buffet, a blip so small on America’s food radar that it’s hard to prove it even existed. But it did. People swear that all-you-can-eat buffets could be found at Taco Bell, KFC, and even under the golden arches of McDonald’s. That it could have existed isn’t surprising. The fast-food buffet was inevitable, the culmination of an arms race in maximizing caloric intake. It was the physical manifestation of the American id: endless biscuits, popcorn chicken, vats of nacho cheese and sketchy pudding — so much sketchy pudding. Why, then, have so many of us failed to remember it? How did it become a footnote, relegated to the backwoods of myths and legends? There are whispers of McDonald’s locations that have breakfast buffets. Was there, in fact, a Taco Bell buffet, or is it a figment of our collective imaginations? Yes, someone tells me — an all-you-can-eat Taco Bell existed in her dorm cafeteria. Another person suggests maybe we were just remembering the nachos section of the Wendy’s Superbar. The fast-food buffet was inevitable, the culmination of an arms race in maximizing caloric intake. The fast-food buffet lives in a strange sort of ether. You can’t get to it through the traditional path of remembering. Was there actually a Pizza Hut buffet in your hometown? Search your subconscious, sifting past the red cups that make the soda taste better, past the spiffy new CD jukebox, which has Garth Brooks’s Ropin’ the Wind and Paul McCartney’s All the Best under the neon lamps. Search deeper, and you might find your father going up for a third plate and something remaining of the “dessert pizzas” lodged in your subconscious. This is where the fast-food buffet exists. The history of the buffet in America is a story of ingenuity and evolution. Sure, it originated in Europe, where it was a classy affair with artfully arranged salted fish, eggs, breads, and butter. The Swedish dazzled us with their smorgasbords at the 1939 World Fair. We can then trace the evolution of the buffet through Las Vegas, where the one-dollar Buckaroo Buffet kept gamblers in the casino. In the 1960s and 1970s, Chinese immigrant families found loopholes in racist immigration laws by establishing restaurants. They brought Chinese cooking catered to American tastes in endless plates of beef chow fun and egg rolls. By the 1980s, buffets ruled the landscape like family dynasties, with sister chains the Ponderosa and the Bonanza spreading the gospel of sneeze guards and steaks, sundae stations and salad bars along the interstates. From Shoney’s to Sizzler, from sea to shining sea, the buffet was a feast fit for kings, or a family of four. And of course, fast-food restaurants wanted in on the action. As fast-food historian and author of Drive-Thru Dreams Adam Chandler put it, “every fast food place flirted with buffets at some point or another. McDonald’s absolutely did, as did most of the pizza chains with dine-in service. KFC still has a few stray buffets, as well as an illicit one called Claudia Sanders Dinner House, which was opened by Colonel Sanders’ wife after he was forbidden from opening a competing fried chicken business after selling the company. Wendy’s Super Bar was short-lived, but the salad bar lived on for decades.” How something can be both gross and glorious is a particular duality of fast food, like the duality of man or something, only with nacho cheese and pasta sauce. In a 1988 commercial for the Superbar, Dave Thomas says, “I’m an old-fashioned guy. I like it when families eat together.” A Wendy’s executive described the new business model as “taking us out of the fast-food business.” Everyone agrees the Wendy’s Supernar was glorious. And gross, everyone also agrees. How something can be both gross and glorious is a particular duality of fast food, like the duality of man or something, only with nacho cheese and pasta sauce. “I kind of want to live in a ’90s Wendy’s,” Amy Barnes, a Tennessee-based writer, tells me in between preparing for virtual learning with her teenagers. The Superbar sat in the lobby, with stations lined up like train carts. First, there was the Garden Spot, which “no one cared about,” a traditional salad bar with a tub of chocolate pudding at its helm, “which always had streams of salad dressing and shredded cheese floating on top.” Next up was the Pasta Pasta section, with “noodles, alfredo and tomato sauce…[as well as] garlic bread made from the repurposed hamburger buns with butter and garlic smeared on them.” Obviously, the crown jewel of the Superbar was the Mexican Fiesta, with its “vats of ground beef, nacho cheese, sour cream.” The Fiesta shared custody of additional toppings with the salad bar. It was $2.99 for the dining experience. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The McDonald’s Breakfast Buffet. The marriage of Wendy’s and the Superbar lasted about a decade before it was phased out in all locations by 1998. Like a jilted ex-lover, the official Wendy’s Story on the website makes zero mention of Superbar, despite the countless blogs, YouTube videos, and podcasts devoted to remembering it. At least they kept the salad bar together until the mid-2000s for the sake of the children. Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The McDonald’s Breakfast Buffet. Googling the existence of such a thing only returns results of people questioning the existence of this McMuffin Mecca on subforums and Reddit. Somebody knows somebody who passed one once on the highway. A stray Yelp review of the Kiss My Grits food truck in Seattle offers a lead: “I have to say, I recall the first time I ever saw grits, they were at a McDonald’s breakfast buffet in Alexandria, Virginia, and they looked as unappetizing as could be.” However, the lead is dead on arrival. Further googling of the McDonald’s buffet with terrible grits in Alexandria turns up nothing. I ask friends on Facebook. I ask Twitter. I get a lone response. Eden Robins messages me “It was in Decatur, IL,” as though she’s describing the site where aliens abducted her. “I’m a little relieved that I didn’t imagine the breakfast buffet since no one ever knows what the fuck I’m talking about when I bring it up.” “We had traveled down there for a high school drama competition,” she goes on to say. “And one morning before the competition, we ate at a McDonald’s breakfast buffet. I had never seen anything like it before or since.” I ask what was in the buffet, although I know the details alone will not sustain me. I want video to pore over so I can pause at specific frames, like a fast-food version of the Patterson–Gimlin Bigfoot footage. Robins says they served “scrambled eggs and pancakes and those hash brown tiles. I was a vegetarian at the time so no sausage or bacon, but those were there, too.” McDonald’s isn’t the only chain with a buffet whose existence is hazy. Yum Brands, the overlord of fast-food holy trinity Taco Bell, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Pizza Hut, is said to have had buffets at all three restaurants. I confirm nothing, however, when I reach out to the corporate authorities. On the KFC side, a spokesperson offers to look into “some historical information,” but doesn’t get back to me. My contact at Taco Bell tells me, “I’ll look into it. Certainly, nothing in existence today. I’ve never heard of it. Looks like there are a couple threads on Reddit.” Reddit, of course, speculates a possible Mandela Effect — the phenomenon of a group of unrelated people remembering a different event than what actually occurred — in the existence of Taco Bell buffets. But I have a firmer lead in Payel Patel, a doctor who studied at Johns Hopkins, who tells me there was a Taco Bell Express in her dorm that was included in an all-you-can-eat meal plan option, though it only lasted one fleeting year. “You could order anything, like 15 nachos and 11 bean burritos,” she says, “and they would make it and give it to you, and you walked off without paying a cent.” A Johns Hopkins student newsletter published in 2001 corroborates the existence of the utopian all-you-can-eat Taco Bell, saying, “you can also gorge yourself on some good old Taco Bell tacos and burritos. Don’t forget, it’s all-you-can-eat. Just don’t eat too much; you don’t want to overload the John.” There are some concrete examples of fast-food buffets that still exist today. When a Krystal Buffet opened in Alabama in 2019, it was met with “excitement and disbelief,” according to the press release. Former New Orleans resident Wilson Koewing told me of a Popeye’s buffet that locals “speak of as if it is a myth.” When I dig deeper, I come across a local paper, NOLA Weekend, which covers “New Orleans Food, things to do, culture, and lifestyle.” It touts the Popeye’s buffet like a carnival barker, as though it is simply too incredible to believe: “The Only Popeye’s Buffet in the World! It’s right next door in Lafayette! Yes, that’s right: a Popeyes buffet. HERE.” Somehow, the KFC buffet is the most enduring of the fast-food buffets still in existence. And yet everyone I speak with feels compelled to walk me through the paths and roads leading to such an oasis, as if, again, it were the stuff of legends. There are landmarks and there are mirages, and the mirages need maps most of all. To get to the KFC buffet in Key Largo, Tiffany Aleman must first take us through “a small island town with one traffic light and one major highway that runs through it. There are the seafood buffets and bait shops, which give way to newfangled Starbucks.” The buffet adds the feel of a hospital cafeteria, the people dining look close to death or knowingly waiting to die. New Jerseyan D.F. Jester leads us past the local seafood place “that looks like the midnight buffet on a cruise ship has been transported 50 miles inland and plunked inside the dining area of a 1980s Ramada outside of Newark.” Descriptions of the food are about what I would expect of a KFC buffet. Laura Camerer remembers the food in her college town in Morehead, Kentucky, as “all fried solid as rocks sitting under heat lamps, kind of gray and gristly.” Jester adds, “for all intents and purposes, this is a KFC. It looks like one, but sadder, more clinical. The buffet adds the feel of a hospital cafeteria, the people dining look close to death or knowingly waiting to die.” Then Jessie Lovett Allen messages me. “There is [a] KFC in my hometown, and it is magical without a hint of sketch.” I must know more. First, she takes me down the winding path: “the closest larger city is Kearney, which is 100 miles away and only has 35K people, and Kearney is where you’ll find the closest Target, Panera, or Taco Bell. But to the North, South, or West, you have to drive hundreds of miles before you find a larger city. I tell you all of this because the extreme isolation is what gives our restaurants, even fast-food ones, an outsized psychological importance to daily life.” The KFC Jessie mentions is in North Platte, Nebraska, and has nearly five stars on Yelp, an accomplishment worthy of a monument for any fast-food restaurant. On the non-corporate Facebook page for KFC North Platte, one of the hundreds of followers of the page comments, “BEST KFC IN THE COUNTRY.” Allen describes the place as though she is recounting a corner of heaven. “They have fried apple pies that seem to come through a wormhole from a 1987 McDonalds. Pudding: Hot. Good. Layered cold pudding desserts. This one rotates. It might be chocolate, banana, cookies and cream. It has a graham cracker base, pudding, and whipped topping. Standard Cold Salad bar: Lettuce, salad veggies, macaroni salads, JELL-O salads. Other meats: chicken fried steak patties. Fried chicken gizzards. White Gravy, Chicken Noodle Casserole, Green Bean Casserole, Cornbread, Corn on the Cob, Chicken Pot Pie Casserole. AND most all the standard stuff on the normal KFC menu, which is nice because you can pick out a variety of chicken types or just have a few tablespoons of a side dish.” In the end, the all-you-can-eat dream didn’t last, if it ever even existed. Then she adds that the buffet “is also available TO GO, but there are rules. You get a large Styrofoam clamshell, a small Styrofoam clamshell, and a cup. You have to be able to close the Styrofoam. You are instructed that only beverages can go in cups, and when I asked about this, an employee tells me that customers have tried to shove chicken into the drink cups in the past.” In the end, the all-you-can-eat dream didn’t last, if it ever even existed. The chains folded. The senior citizens keeping Ponderosa in business have died. My own parents reversed course after their buffet bender, trading in sundae stations for cans of SlimFast. Fast-food buffets retreated into an ethereal space. McDonald’s grew up with adult sandwiches like the Arch Deluxe. Wendy’s went on a wild rebound with the Baconator. Pizza Hut ripped out its jukeboxes, changed its logo, went off to the fast-food wars, and ain’t been the same since. Taco Bell is undergoing some kind of midlife crisis, hemorrhaging its entire menu of potatoes, among other beloved items. At least the KFC in North Platte has done good, though the novel coronavirus could change things. In the age of COVID-19, the fast-food buffet feels like more of a dream than ever. How positively whimsical it would be to stand shoulder to shoulder, hovering over sneeze guards, sharing soup ladles to scoop an odd assortment of pudding, three grapes, a heap of rotini pasta, and a drumstick onto a plate. Maybe we can reach this place again. But to find it, we must follow the landmarks, searching our memory as the map. MM Carrigan is a Baltimore-area writer and weirdo who enjoys staring directly into the sun. Their work has appeared in Lit Hub, The Rumpus, and PopMatters. They are the editor of Taco Bell Quarterly. Tweets @thesurfingpizza. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/33e4Z8k

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/09/fast-food-buffets-are-thing-of-past.html

#EasyFoodNetwork #ComfortFoodRecipes #EasyRecipes #GoodFood #BestComfortFoodRecipes #TastyFoodv

0 notes