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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

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call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter one

summary: phoenix has always wanted to set up her two best friends in the navy -- ones that have, for whatever reason, still never crossed paths. that's all about to change when you get called back to TOPGUN for a special mission.

warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of death, strong possibility of military inaccuracies, second person pov, no use of y/n,

wc: 4.2k

a/n: not me having the audacity to take a crack at a top gun: maverick fic. this is what happens when i watch tgm 7x in one week. a fic is born. and in my defense, this cast has so much damn chemistry how could i not?! this is a oneshot idea that turned into a series that's turned into a series and a sequel? oops. 10/10 recommend listening to the song tennessee whiskey by chris stapleton.

masterlist | the playlist | chapter two

She’s shocked but she knows better than to be surprised.

At least that’s what Phoenix reminds herself as she watches the heated interaction between Rooster and Hangman at the pool table. It can’t have been more than five minutes since Rooster’s arrival for the two of them to get into it. And the way he looked at her just a moment ago? With his smug, annoyingly handsome, overconfident face right before taking another dig at Rooster?

She hates it.

And she hates that it made her feel something.

She can’t put her finger on it: disgust, unadulterated rage, whatever the hell else would make you want to kiss and kill someone at the same time.

She exchanges unamused glances with Rooster once again, shaking her head in the beyond cocky fighter pilot.

“Well, he sure hasn’t changed,” she scoffs, watching as Hangman makes his way back to the jukebox to select another song.

“Nope. Sure hasn’t,” Rooster agrees with dismay.

“Check it out. More badges,” Payback says, turning his attention to the way of the new arrivals. “That’s Harvard, Yale, Omaha… shit that’s Fritz.”

“What kind of mission is this?” Fanboy asks, taking note as the best of the best continue to arrive at the Hard Deck tonight.

As Phoenix asks the question everyone is wondering – who the hell the US Navy plans to teach the top 1% of fighter pilots – she notices Rooster’s disappeared from the conversation around the pool table. It doesn’t take long before someone’s cut the power to the jukebox causing a collective groan to ring out within the four walls of the Hard Deck.

A smile creeps across Phoenix’s face as she knows exactly where Rooster’s gone. The sound of a few riffs on the piano being played catch her attention, and she excuses herself from the pool table. She joins her good friend she met at flight school, in all of his Hawaiin shirt-clad glory.

“You missed me, Trace?” Rooster says, stealing a glance from the side of his old friend.

“Not even a little bit,” she teases him in return.

But Rooster understands.

What she means is ‘yes I have,’ and ‘you could’ve called.’

The commotion of Maverick being thrown out of the bar interrupts their brief reunion, and while Phoenix watches, Rooster occupies himself with the task at hand. His large aviators that cover his eyes make it easier to ignore the fact that the closest thing he’d ever had to a father figure had been called back to North Island too. His long fingers run over the keys of the barely-in-tune piano of the Hard Deck, unwilling to acknowledge the presence of the man. Instead, he charges forward, noticing how easy it is to slip into the familiar rhythm of being back at TOPGUN.

Outside of the bar, Jake’s having a little too much fun throwing the old aviator overboard with Payback and Coyote. As he heads back inside, he doesn’t join Payback and Fanboy at the piano with the rest of them, instead choosing to head to the bar for another round of beers. He leans back against the bar, watching as the whole bar seems wrapped in singing along to Rooster’s personal anthem. Hangman takes another swig of his beer amused by the sight.

He’s not sure why he’s so hesitant to join in on the fun but he doesn’t move – can’t let Rooster have this one. Hangman lets his gaze linger on Phoenix from a distance as she dances (in his opinion) a little too closely for his liking to Rooster.

He’ll never admit it, but he’s always been entranced by the woman he met at TOPGUN all those years ago at his graduation. She was a part of the incoming class, the one right behind his, and he’s not sure how, in the same damn khaki uniform as everyone else, she’s always looked this good.

Her eyes light up as someone or something across the room catches her attention, and she’s practically jumping up, sprinting across the Hard Deck and into the arms of another naval aviator.

And for the first time tonight, a genuine smile spreads across his lips.

He wondered when you’d show.

As soon as he got the call, you’d texted him immediately asking if he’d gotten the same request for this mysterious special op. Earlier, when he’d watched Harvard and Yale roll in with Halo, your WSO he knew your arrival was almost moments away. But you’d never been the most punctual when it came to your personal life, so he wasn’t surprised that you were running behind. Jake chuckles to himself thinking about all the trouble you used to get into at the academy for not being on time. Almost got you kicked out a few times too, if he recalls correctly.

It'd been too long since he’d seen you last, now that you were stationed at Lemoore. He loved teasing you about what a Californian you’d turned into, now that you’d been out of Texas.

“Gonna start callin’ you Phoenix if you spend any more time in California, kid,” he’d teased you during your last phone call, referencing the LA native you both admired.

But Jake’s almost forgotten about how close you are with Natasha – the three of you always circling around each other, never quite in the same place at the same time. He’s definitely forgotten (or at least tried to) the time you called him a lovesick idiot after he wouldn’t shut up about a certain fighter pilot he’d met during a certain deployment.

What could he say?

His first deployment with Phoenix had left… quite the impression on him… and you knew him well enough to call him out on it.

Of course, Phoenix had wanted nothing to do with him at the time. His usual tricks – that Southern Charm and perfectly symmetrical face – only seemed to repulse her even more and he had to admit that it made him like her even more.

“Whiskey!” she practically shouts, as Jake watches the two of you embrace.

“Sorry I’m late. I would’ve come earlier if I knew there was a singalong,” you smirk, taking in the sigh of the more than jovial crowd huddled around the piano. “But once I hit LA traffic. Shit. That’s what I get for leaving for wanting to take my own damn car.”

“Oh I think he’s just getting started,” she replies, nodding towards Rooster.

Before you can say anything else, before you can take a good look at the man behind the piano, Hangman’s cut your reunion-for-two short.

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he croons, his Texas drawl prominent in the way he says each word.

“Hangman, you son of a bitch!” you squeal, meaning the last part in the most endearing way possible.

“Hey, kid,” he greets you with the biggest smile you’ve seen all day.

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, jumping into his arms. Jake picks you up, spinning you around before setting you back down on the ground as you laugh. Your public display of affection earns a few looks your way, and Phoenix pretends to vomit on the floor in response.

You laugh again, “You think I’d get a free pass after putting up with this one for over ten years.”

“This… is something I’ll never understand,” Natasha replies, gesturing towards the space between the two of you.

“You jealous, Phoenix?” Hangman asks, a confidence behind his words.

Nat sends a snarky look his way before answering, dryly:

“Only in your dreams, Bagman.”

“You’re right about that,” he flirts shamelessly, giving her a wink.

“Oh gross!” you say with an eye roll. You playfully punch Jake in the chest, pushing him away from you and Natasha.

“Get your own friend. Besides, Nat and I have some catching up to do and I’m in need of a drink,” you continue, earning a groan from Jake.

“What? I can’t watch?” he smirks, earning another fake vomit from Phoenix.

“No, Bagman,” you tease, using the callsign you know Nat loves to demean him with. “We’re gonna talk shit about you.”

He shoots you a look, shaking his head at your snarky remark. He knows it’s out of love – at least from you. He concedes, tipping his beer towards you as a form of ‘cheers’ before taking a few steps away.

You and Nat exchange a laugh, before linking arms and heading towards the bar.

“I don’t know how you’ve put up with him for more than five minutes,” she remarks, searching for an available bartender.

“He’s not all that bad once you get past all the bullshit. And there’s a lot of it,” you reply honestly.

“No thanks,” Phoenix dismisses, before flagging down Penny.

You watch as she orders the two of you a round of beers and you can’t help but find it funny how quick she was to dismiss Jake. It’s true: you’ve always thought the two of them were more alike than they were different. Sure, Jake made questionable decisions on the daily. But even after all of these years, he still had more heart than anyone you’d met this side of the Mississippi.

“How was your trip?” you ask Phoenix, making small talk to start.

“It was alright. Came in a few days earlier to see some family in LA first,” she answers with a shrug.

“How’s your mom?” you ask, curiously.

And Phoenix answers, filling you in that her mom is doing much better than the last time you talked, and her brother and his wife are moving back to LA. You tell her that you’re finally getting used to California, while the two of you wonder about this top secret, special mission that you’ve all been called back to TOPGUN for.

“Oh! Speaking of the best of the best. Uh… my best friend is here,” she starts with a smile on her face.

“Excuse me. I thought… I was your best friend… at least in the Navy,” you tease her.

She rolls her eyes playfully, “No, I mean. Rooster. I’ve actually been wanting to introduce the two of you for years...”

Phoenix gestures towards the man behind the piano still going at it, and you move over to get a good look at him. He’s hot. You’ll give her that. And you’re not usually into the whole mustache thing but it somehow seems to make him even more attractive. His oversized aviators are hanging off his face as he pounds away at the keys of the piano and you can’t imagine what grown adult man would wear Hawaiin shirts by choice.

And yet, everything about him you’d normally find cringe-worthy in a man, he seems to pull off.

He knows it too.

There’s a group of girls gathered around the piano that are gossiping as they watch him riff on another instrumental song.

And boy is he eating it up: the attention, the praise, he knows he has the ears of everyone at the Hard Deck tonight.

“The piano player. From flight school?” you question, curiously, as you begin to connect the dots.

“Yeah!” she answers, her eyes lighting up at your immediate recognition. “Yeah that’s where we met. Reminds me of you, actually. Just the way we both clicked instantly… and you’ve both become life-long friends.”

You think back to your first deployment as a naval aviator. You and Phoenix were sent on a mission in Sarajevo and had become fast friends. At first, you wondered if you grew so close so quickly because you were the only women on that deployment, but you’d discovered over the years that your friendship with Nat was unique. While you’d usually expect a fast friendship to fizzle out, your relationship with Nat had only grown stronger over the years.

“Hm,” you sound in response, giving Rooster another lookover.

Nat’s other best friend.

Sure.

Nat’s hot other best friend.

“What’s with the porn ‘stache?” you ask, playfully.

She chuckles, “Long story for a different time.”

“C’mon! I’ll introduce you to everyone else,” Phoenix encourages you, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you over to the pool table with her.

“Gentleman,” she says cooly, greeting the uniform-clad men that surround the pool table.

“This is Whiskey,” she announces, introducing you. “Top of her class at TOPGUN and the only person on the planet that can get me to drink the worm at the bottom of a bottle of tequila.”

“Yo, I’ve heard about you,” Payback says, immediately recognizing your callsign.

“I could say the same about you, Payback,” you reply, and he’s surprised to see you already know his callsign. “Coyote, ‘s always a pleasure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods to you.

“Wait. You two already know each other?” Payback asks, looking from you to Coyote.

“Texas,” you both answer at the same time, exchanging a smile.

“Us Texans gotta stick together. Especially at the top,” Coyote clarifies.

“I’m Fanboy. And this here is Harvard and Bob,” Fanboy says, finishing his introduction of at least the aviators engaged in the game at the time.

“It’s nice to meet you two,” you reply, looking from Fanboy to Harvard.

You notice that it seems like Rooster’s little performance has ended and the jukebox has been plugged back in. It doesn’t surprise you that Hangman’s slipped out, probably to cue up his own personal soundtrack for the night. Bob is busy lining up his pool cue, but you already know him from Lemoore. He and Fanboy continue their game, and you wonder where Halo snuck off to.

Bob shoots his shot, missing miserably with a sigh as the rest of the aviators cry out in supportive disappointment for him.

“Bob, ya really can’t do better than that, huh?” you hear the Southern drawl of Jake heading your way.

You and Phoenix exchange a look, knowing just how much Jake is going to enjoy picking on the little guy.

“Let me show you how it’s really done,” Jake smirks, snatching the pool cue out of Fanboy’s hands as he struts towards the pool table.

You decide that someone needs to humble him, and you know just how you’re going to do it.

“Easy there, Seresin,” you say, intercepting his gait. You stand your ground, right between him and the pool table, blocking his way.

Jake stops in his tracks, as you stand toe to toe with him, barely inches apart from each other in a battle of the egos. Coyote lets out a whistle and you can hear Phoenix and Bob snickering in the corner as they watch on.

“You see, I can’t let you do that because… it’s my turn, actually,” you challenge him, a rebellious look on your face. “So you’re just going to have to wait for yours.”

“Damn. You gonna let her talk to you like that, Hangman?” Coyote whistles, always amused by how willing you are to throw yourself in front of the moving bus that is Jake Seresin.

“Don’t let her fool you. Whiskey’s always been sweet on me. Ain't that right, kid?” he coos, his eyes never leaving yours.

“HA!” you hear Nat laugh loudly, as you raise your eyebrows up at Jake.

You don’t dare break eye contact. There’s no way in hell he’s winning this one.

He shoots you a look that says, ‘you really want to do this right now?’ and you shoot him a look that says, ‘you’re being a bully.’

“Bullshit. She’s got you by the balls, lieutenant,” Phoenix hollers.

“And he wouldn’t have it any other way,” you say, winking in her direction. You refocus your attention back on your best friend, pressing your lips together in a thin line “Besides, we all know that Hangman here has a soft spot for women who degrade him.”

You grab the pool cue out of his hand before bringing your opposite hand to tap him twice on the cheek, eliciting another round and whoops and hollers from the group of guys.

“Ain’t that right, Bagman?” you throw in, parroting his condescending phrase from earlier.

Jake shakes his head, knowing that you won this one as he watches you move around the pool table to set up your next shot. Bob watches on, impressed with the way you stood up to Hangman like that, especially in defense of himself.

“If nobody warned you, Bob, the ‘T’ in Texas stands for trouble,” Coyote remarks, nudging Bob as he settles in next to the WSO.

While you’re busy celebrating your win with Bob, Fanboy, and Phoenix, Rooster’s across the room, closing out his tab and grabbing his last beer of the night. He eyes you carefully. He’s never seen someone standup to Hangman like that, nor has he witnessed Hangman take it. He’s heard about you – remembered what Nat’s said over the years: that you were her other best friend, that you were one hell of a pilot, that he should stop making shitty decisions with women and just let her set the two of you up.

And after what he’s seen tonight? He’s intrigued.

You’re electric, and he’s impressed.

What he doesn’t remember is Nat ever mentioning that you knew Hangman – let alone this well. Were you and Hangman a thing? He can see a closeness between the two of you – a kind of intimacy he’s never seen Hangman have with anyone, despite the revolving door of women he seems to keep around whenever they’ve been deployed together. But it doesn’t make sense, because why the hell would Phoenix want to set him up with someone if she were Hangman’s girl?

Rooster makes his way over to the pool table after you and Hangman’s confrontation, his lips pressed to the top of the glass bottle.

Hangman’s hanging out on the edge of the group, flipping through something on his phone with his right hand and nursing a beer in his left.

He doesn’t want to sound too interested, but curiosity gets the best of him as he asks, “What was that all about?”

“What?” Jake shoots back, looking up from his smartphone.

“You and Whiskey…” Rooster says, trying not to sound too desperate for information.

But Hangman picks up on Rooster’s interest in his best friend immediately. He smirks, knowing that his relationship with you is just another thing he can use to get under Bradshaw’s skin.

“Spent a little time at the naval academy together, that’s all,” Hangman replies vaguely. When he’s met with silence, Jake knows that he’s got something here. He turns to his rival, scanning for a reaction on Rooster’s face.

“What? You interested?”

Instead of answering, Rooster just shakes his head, taking another swig of his beer. It doesn’t take long for Natasha to steal Rooster away so that she can introduce the two of you, her eyes glimmering with excitement and the gears turning in her head.

“Call it a rescue,” she mutters under breath as she drags him away from Hangman’s presence.

Much to Nat’s disappointment, the introduction isn’t much. Just an exchange of hellos, names and callsigns before Halo comes to find you for a catch up.

The rest of the night goes on, accompanied by Hangman’s pick of tunes, and it’s filled with old friends, catch ups, and a few more rounds of pool. It’s good to be back here. In a way it feels nostalgic, and anyone would be lying if they couldn’t admit that being selected to be a part of this mission was a huge boost for the ego. While it’s cool to have some Lemoore buddies with you, it’s good to see your old friends too – the ones you don’t get to see as often – like Jake. Like Phoenix. These are bonds forged in battle, and people you’d trust with your life.

It’s not till the end of the night that you realize that you may have had one too many, so you step out for some air. San Diego is perfect almost year round, you think, as you watch the waves crash against each other.

“You good? I saw you slip out,” you hear a voice say.

You’re surprised to find Rooster standing behind you, just outside of the entrance of the Hard Deck. You hadn’t gotten much time to meet him, despite Nat’s best efforts.

“Yeah, I just think I’ve had a little too much to drink. Wanted to get some air,” you reply with a small laugh. “Thanks though. For checking in.”

“Can’t have you gettin’ into any trouble. Nat would kill me,” he says, taking a few steps toward you.

This time, you fully turn towards him, resting your back against the railing, as he holds out a cup of water.

“Thought you might want a glass of water too.”

“You’re a good friend. At least that’s what Nat’s said about you,” you say with a smile, taking the glass of water he’s offered you.

“She said that?” he asks, only a little surprised.

You nod in response.

Rooster joins you, standing side by side, his back pressed against the railing, mirroring your body language.

There’s a long silence between the two of you as you drink your water. After a big night of friends old and new, it’s nice to have a moment of quiet too – the waves being the only sound between the two of you.

“So… you and Jake?” Rooster asks, interrupting your momentary shared silence.

“Oh!” you gasp, another laugh following.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the question that makes you feel a little warmer as you contemplate how to answer his question. Between your greeting upon arrival and your standoff at the pool table, you can imagine why Rooster would think that. You can’t blame him. The two of you get mistaken as a couple all the time, especially when you’re out and about in your civvies.

“No, there's-, there’s no me and Jake. I mean. We… met at the naval academy. He was two years ahead of me and kinda took me under his wing when he found out that I was a fellow Texan. We’ve been close friends ever since,” you clarify, trying your best to explain your uncommon friendship with Hangman.

Rooster scoffs, a blush running across his cheeks as he mutters an unconvinced yet conceding with, “Okay.”

“What? You don’t believe me,” you ask, turning your head to watch his reaction.

“No, it’s not that! I uh… I’ve just… never seen Hangman let anyone talk to him like that. I just… made some assumptions, I guess. Sorry,” he apologizes, almost embarrassed that he asked in the first place.

“No it’s okay,” you reassure him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder before crossing your arms over your chest. “In your defense, there was one kiss at school back in the day that ended promptly when I laughed him out of my dorm room.”

Rooster laughs, the idea of it completely contradictory to the playboy persona Hangman portrays to the world.

“Now that’s a story I want to hear,” he smirks.

You shake your head, “There’s not much to tell. I promise.”

“He always been this much of an ass?” Rooster asks, stealing another glance your way.

“Oh yeah. And he’s always been this fucking annoying too,” you add playfully.

He agrees and the two of you exchange glances again. You’re starting to see why Phoenix has raved about him all these years and you’ve barely had a real conversation with him.

“Then why do you put up with him?” Rooster asks again, this time a little more seriously. He’s not sure why, but he really wants to hear that you don’t have feelings for Jake.

“Because… there was a time we were both just dumb kids, y'know? Because he may be an annoying, self-centered, overconfident little shit... but he's my annoying, self-centered, overconfident little shit. And I’m stuck with him,” you admit, genuinely.

Your capacity for empathy leaves an impact on him. He’s going to be thinking about this conversation for a few days.

“Fair enough.”

“So what’s the story behind your callsign?” he asks, changing the subject.

You raise an eyebrow, “What’s the story behind yours?”

Instead of answering, he just shakes his head and you laugh, knowing he’s not going to tell you. You don’t answer either, taking another sip of the water he’s brought out for you.

“Hooooly shit,” Rooster marvels, watching as you pull of an extremely tricky maneuver in your two-seater F/A-18.

It’s you and Halo paired up with Harvard as your wingman for this round of the dogfight exercise. And while you may be impressive, you’re still no match for Maverick, as he gets you with a killshot just for trying to show off.

“You got to give it to her. That was smooth,” Fanboy admires as the rest of the aviators watch the exercise from inside the watchtower.

Jake chuckles in response. You’ve always been full of surprises and he’s always finds it amusing when someone new discovers it.

“Like Tennessee Whiskey, fellas,” he answers, his Texas drawl a love letter to your shared home state.

He shakes his head watching you fly before adding:

“Some things never change.”

read: chapter two

A/N: HI ITS ME. How're feeling up in this club and why is everyone so hot and have so much sexual tension? Anyways... should I continue this or nah??

#call sign tennessee whiskey #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #hangman x phoenix #hannix #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix top gun #jake hangman seresin #rooster x reader #hangman top gun #jake seresin

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olivia091108 · 2 months

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Farmers daughter

Summary:Johnny goes home and meets his new neighbours daughter

Pairing:Johnny Knoxville x reader

Word count:2.4k

I had just finished filming the last episode of jackass and I’m heading down to see my folks in Tennessee for a few weeks.

My dad pick me up from the airport and drives us home it’s not too long of a drive but I know I’m almost there when the houses are all miles away from eatch other. We pull up and i get out and grab my bag and walk in with dad to see everyone.

I walk into the house and as I set my bags down ma is already pulling me into a hug telling me she hasn’t seen me in so long and telling me that I’ve missed a lot of things.

Johnny I’m so glad your home I hope you don’t mind but we have a visitor here right now but I want you to meet him. She pulls me into the living room and sitting there is a middle aged couple

“Johnny this is Albert and carol they’re our neighbours” she tells me and I shake their hands “this is my son Johnny the one who went to Hollywood”

“That’s exciting what are you doing all the way down there trying to become a movie star”carol asks me excitedly

“Yeah well I’ve actually just finished my show on mtv you might’ve seen it.”

“We don’t have a tv it shows very graphic things we just keep up with the paper” I nod finding it odd they don’t have a tv but carry on talking to them

“So Johnny how old are you?

“Im 27 sir”

“Oh your only a year older than our daughter” she turns to ma and says “she’s sorry she couldn’t make it she’s very busy at the moment”

“Oh it’s alright I’ll see her soon Johnny can you help me in the kitchen for a second”

I follow mum into the kitchen and she talks quietly “Johnny do you think you can go round and help Albert with sone jobs he isn’t strong enough for them and I promise by the time you come back I’ll have your’e favourite dinner all dishes out”

Yeah ok ma she kissed my cheek and I ask Albert if he needs any help and he brings me up on my offer and I follow them on the walk to their house.

As we approach their house it’s not as big as ours but it looks cosy and as Albert leads me round the back of the house towards the barn he begins to mutter.

“Y/n you need to quicken your’e pace and stop daydreaming or you won’t be able to finish your chores in time”

I wonder who he’s taking to as all I see is clothes and a white bedsheet hanging on the line drying. A hand quickly moves the sheet to the side and reveals a gorgeous young lady this must be there daughter.

She’s absolutely breathtaking she has lovely tanned skin wearing a white float top and denim shorts and long hair cascading down her back with small braids dotted around.

Sorry dad I was away with the fairies I’m almost finished then I’ll head to the bar- I so sorry I don’t know where my manners went I’m y/n nice to meet you she shakes my hand and I realise I’ve just been gawking at her and quickly tell her my name with a smile.

“He’s just here to help with a few things he’s Margaret’s son.”

“Of course she has not kept quiet about you saying your’e some big movie star.”

“Y/n finish this and meet us at the barn”

I nod and get back to hanging the washing and as Albert ushers me to follow him I can just about drag my eyes away from her.

Once Albert has explained everything he wants me to do he leaves the barn but I hear him begin talking to y/n who ahs just arrived

“Y/n i dont want any funny business with you and that boy alright young lady”

“Of course not dad”

“Good make sure you finish all your chores or you won’t have any supper”

As y/n walks in I quickly look back at my task and pretend I hadn’t heard their whole conversation. I work on fixing the stable door while y/n does her chores and silence fills the barn other than the occasional noise form the animals.

“Your’e show is really funny” her voice sounds like honey dripping with sweetness

“I thought you didn’t have a tv”

Well we don’t but when I go round and have supper with Margret it’s always on she’s really proud of you yknow.

I smile at her and let the words echo through my head.

Sorry if my mas a little bossy I’m sure you have better things to do tan have dinner with her every week.

“No no that’s not what I mean I love going round your folks are so kind to me”

We keep on chatting with y/n following me round while I do my jobs completely abandoning her own until I have finished and are ready to head home just intime for dinner.

She takes my wrist and looks at my watch seeing it reading 5:40. Oh Christ I’ve gotten so distracted she quickly rushes round the barn trying to complete her chores and I watch her as I’m about to leave I feel guilty especially after what her father said if she doesn’t finish. I dismiss my hunger and offer y/n help

No you should get going I don’t want to keep you you’ve only just gotten back. She says while carrying a bucket of water in one hand and some hay tucked under her arm to the animal penns.

“It’s probably something like meatloaf anyway” I begin to take water and give it to each animal and in 20 minuets we had finished them all and began to walk back to ge house

As we arrive just outside her back door she climbs on her tiptoes and wraps her arms round my neck and thanks me telling me how much trouble she would’ve gotten in if it weren’t for me and she planted a kiss on my cheek and pulled back with a smile before entering the house waving me a goodbye

I smile to myself and walk back home the only thing being on my mind was her.

The next day it’s the hottest It’s been for a while and after hanging round the house I soon become bored when there isn’t anything good on tv there’s only about 20 channels on our tv and half of them are the news. Mum asks me if I can go into town to get a few bits for her.

Ma I’m going to go round to Albert and carols to see if they need anything I’ll be back in and hour I shout upstairs to her and leave the house. While I’m waking all I’m thinking about is y/n she’s honestly like a ray or sunshine everything about her seems to take my breath away.

When I reach their house I knock on the door and carol answers and I ask her if she needs anything from town

That’s very kind I’ll write you a list would you mind taking y/n with you she doesn’t get to go into town much.

Of course ma’m that wouldn’t be a problem I tell her feeling my heart speed up a notch.

She should be down by the lake it’s behind the barn she points out to me and I walk down there and see no sign of her until she rises up to the surface from under the water.

I walk closer and stand on the bank of the lane admiring her even if I can only see the back of her head.

“hey y/n” I call over to her and she turns around and holds up her hand to block the sun not seeing who I am then a smile breaks onto her face

“Hi Johnny what you doing here is my dad trying to get you to do more jobs for him?” she asks me swimming over and it only occurs to me now that she’s not wearing any kind of clothes and I suddenly feel very shy

I turn round giving her some privacy and say. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you were naked I came over to see if you wanted to come into town with me I’d be bored going alone” I say loudly so she can hear me.

“It’s alright I don’t mind it’s natural” she says and I slowly turn my head to see what she’s doing and she’s climbed out the water now and slipped on some knickers and a bra wich immediately gets wet as she hadn’t even dried herself and grabs a small checkered red top and some denim shorts.

“Let me get some money from the house cmon” she says and grabs a hold of my hand and quickly pull me towards the house. She runs upstairs quickly to grab her money and I collect the list from carol only having a few things on it.

“Has a handsome young man like you have a girlfriend yet Johnny?”

“No not yet ma’m”

“You know my y/n is single she hasn’t had a boyfriend in a long time” carol tells me

“Mum stop” she groans as she runs sos. The stairs jumping down the last two and saying a quick goodbye to her mum before we both walk out heading to town.

“Do you like being home or are you missing the movie star life she asks me”

“Nah I like being home seeing my folks and being in my own bed I like that I’ve met you as well” I say staring down at her

“I’m glad I’ve met you too I don’t have many friends we live so far from everyone I’m just stuck on the farm all day but I can complain I love hanging around the animals.” She beams

“Do you think you will ever leave”I ask her knowing I would be crazy if I was living in the middle of nowhere away from everybody

“I want to go travelling one day but I don’t think I’ll be able to”she says kicking stones along as we walk

“Whys that?”

Well dads getting old and he won’t be able to manage the farm for much longer and we really don’t have the money for it anyways.

We carry on talking all the way until we reach the town and I can see how excited she is and she’s wanting to go into every shop and I simply follow after her like some lost dog.

We walk into a candy shop and she buys a pick and mix bags with a few lollipops and we sit on a walk and share them and I notice the cinema. Opposite playing dazed and confused

“I love that film have you seen it” is at pointing to the title that’s in bold letter above the entrance. She shakes her head no way she has some kind of sweet in her mouth and quickly finishes it.

“I haven’t seen many films only when I go round your’e house I catch a few minutes of one. Can we go and watch it?”

“Yeah let’s go”we get off the walk and buy a ticket and I buy us a bucket of popcorn and we find our seats.

She seems to be enjoying the film and as much as I like the film my eyes aren’t in the screen they’re too focused on her. I lol down at her hand resting on the armrest and think about holding her hand but think she will find it weird I brush that idea off and tell myself to go for it and wait for the right moment.

While trying to watch the film I feel her smaller soft hand slide into mine softly squeezing it and my cheeks blush as red as our seats and look over at her to see what she’s doing but she’s too engrossed in the film to think anything of it she catches me staring at her and offers me the popcorn and I grab some and settle back in my seat and squeeze her hand a bit and savour this moment

Once the film has finished we levee the cinema and see that the sun is setting and we should get going home the whole way home she still hangs let go of my hand as we continue to talk and every word she says and everyone she smiles or laughs it just makes me like her even more

As we’re about to reach her house she says to me “Johnny I’m really glad that your here I was starting to go mad on that farm” she laughs at the last bit

“I’m glad too and maybe soon you can come visit me in LA I think you would really like it there”

“Yeah that seems nice”she says as we reach her house and she says goodbye and goes up her porch stairs now she’s just below my height before turning round and grabbing my face and pulling me in for a kiss.

I immediately kiss back and I can taste the sweetness of her lollipop on her lips and my hands wrap around her waist desperately trying to pull her even closer. As we both pull away I see her lips are pink and a bit swollen and she has a small blush coating her cheeks probably matching mine.

We hear her father shout out for her and we both chuckle a bit before she gives me one last kiss and going inside not before she gives me a small wave.

I don’t know how I’m gonna leave now that I’ve met her I think to myself

Hey guys I litch have been thinking about this since @kunntzsstuff @princessthatcantfuckingsleep and @pjknoxx posted their moodboards

Iike always feel free to request

-Liv

#liv’s writing #jackass x reader #johnny knoxville #jackass imagine #johnny knoxville x reader

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adore-laur · 6 months

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GOLD RUSH: EPILOGUE

— part one | part two | part three

——

Four Months Later

Spectral shadows now haunt the vacant house in Tennessee. They are ones of yourself and Harry appearing as nebulous figures wistfully retracing the steps of every memory played out in each room.

Every wall you were sensually backed into.

Every floor you collapsed onto with heartache.

Every dark corner that sheltered your fears.

The wilted vines of romance that grew under the carpet and ascended toward the roof are surely felt by whoever exists there now, trapping their feet and trying to pull them down into their depths of despair. Their once vibrant color pales from perennial neglect, and they yearn for a single drop of love.

The two lovers are no longer the providers of such an arduous task.

You have broken free from the poison ivy and moved to untethered fields. The deadly nightshade that crawled over your body is no longer lethal, and your stitched heart is now thriving with unburdened lungs. Harry willingly took the needle and delicately sewed each open wound with threads of honeysuckle and lavender, patiently waiting for the crevices to bond back together until they blossomed into feelings of certainty and candor. He never pushed the process, always letting you grow at your own pace and sharing his sunlight when you needed it most.

You adapted nicely to the new soil. You left your dirt behind and pulled up your roots to bury them elsewhere. Somewhere more nurtured with eternal blue skies.

Harry's roots have always been grounded, so the day he left his home pierced thorns in all he's ever known and left him bleeding until you tore off your petals of armor to seal the gash. The cure was in you all along.

You wonder where he is now.

As you sit alone on the late January grass, no snowfall settling across the blades in rural South Carolina this time of year, you miss his warm presence beside you. The knitted cardigan you wear replaces his skin, the breeze finding secret passageways through every petite hole in the fabric. Your arms, terribly sore from moving boxes all day, could use his own wrapped around them.

The lake past the lush, rolling hills is grey from the reflection of the clouds above, and the water looks inviting. No other house can be seen for miles. It's what you've dreamed of — a perfect place to start afresh and continue raising your family away from camera flashes and prying questions. You have privacy at last.

A sudden soft plucking of guitar strings draws you from your thoughts. The acoustic melody plants seeds in your bones, coursing through the marrow until they lovingly consume your soul.

There he is.

Music follows him wherever he goes. Even when an instrument is absent from his versed hands, he still carries a symphony with his words. Either sung or spoken, they slip off his tongue with entrancing ease.

"Look what I found," Harry says in a way that exudes childlike wonder.

You smile and turn your head, finding him treading toward you while wearing your cardigan and holding a green resonator guitar by its neck. The heavy black case is in his other hand.

"What box was that in?" you ask, admiring how his hair blows in the wind. It falls into place perfectly.

"The huge one that I totally didn't have trouble carrying." He smirks at you, narrowing his beautiful green eyes. The light in them is finally back.

Laughing, you watch him set the case down next to you before sitting on it. He then places the guitar on his lap, its curve naturally fitting along his thigh. "Wonder if it's still in tune," he murmurs, twisting the tuning pegs and strumming random chords with his jeweled fingers.

You're waiting for him to mention how you kept it even through the divorce, but it never comes. You should have a little faith in him for not bringing up that withered phase of life, but it was so miserably monumental that it permeates your mind anyway.

"Hi," Harry whispers with a hint of shyness as if he's acknowledging you for the first time. You bask in his natural incandescence.

"Hi. I wanted to talk to you about something."

He inhales and nods, absentmindedly playing a few dissonant chords. "Okay."

"I know this move has been hard on you," you say while looking into his eyes, "and I just want to know how you're feeling."

The fatal flaw in your relationship's early stages was lack of communication. A bit ironic, considering marriage is built on the mere foundation of it. Perhaps that's why it didn't work out the first time.

"I feel good." He lightly slaps his hand on the guitar to stop the strings from vibrating. "Really good, actually."

You could cry from relief. "Yeah?"

His lips quirk up. "Yeah. I obviously miss Nashville, but I'm starting to love it here."

You nod understandingly. "It's quiet, you know? So different from the city."

"I think this move is exactly what we needed. To leave all those bad memories behind."

Leave your dirt behind. Bloom somewhere new.

"Can I say something I don't tell you enough?" you ask, tucking strands of windswept hair behind your ears.

Harry lays the guitar down and begins picking at the dead grass by his feet. "Will it make me cry?"

"It'll probably make me cry."

He looks at you for a moment before patting his lap twice. "C'mere. I don't like it when you're far away."

You stand and then settle sideways on his thighs, his arms instantly circling around your waist. His touch is something that took you a while to allow yourself to accept. It started with longer hugs and holding hands, then soft and lingering kisses on the cheek. They all led to bigger things like kissing his heart-shaped lips and letting his hands rest on your hips or neck. Making out like teenagers on the couch to make up for lost time felt more purposeful than ever. It felt different this time around, more significant. His touch was a telltale sign the petals could still be saved from wilting and falling to the frozen ground.

It was a slow blossoming of sprouts, but he was understanding. That's all you could've asked for.

"What's on your mind, baby?" Harry quietly asks.

Unwarranted tears form in your eyes as you look at the man you almost entirely let go of. When your gaze traces the features of his face, you wonder how you would have lived without him. How does someone possibly keep from loving him? You're glad you didn't fall victim to that.

"I just... I'm so proud of you," you shakily whisper, a teardrop sliding down your cheek.

Harry's chest deflates. He breaks eye contact, visibly swallowing and rolling his lips in before responding, "I know you are. You've never made me doubt it."

"But it's not just with your job. Even when we weren't together, I was proud of who you were."

"You shouldn't have been. I was a mess."

You shake your head. "The way you still tried to mend things while grieving is something to be proud of, Harry. You should be proud of yourself."

"I did it because I love you," he says with shimmering eyes. "I did it for her."

Her, meaning your daughter. She's away with your grandparents for the day while you and Harry unpack and set up the necessary furniture. He does everything for her, and you firmly believe she was the single ray of light in his phases of deep depression.

"I know, but I was worried about you. No matter how angry I tried to be, I still cared about you so much." You take a deep breath before continuing, "When you would come over during the first few months," — you pause and let out a weak sob — "you scared me. You didn't look like yourself, and it fucking terrified me. I remember your cheeks were so... so hollowed."

Harry looks out at the lake, almost ashamed. His thumbs rub soothing circles on your hips, and you've never been more grateful to see the supple apples of his cheeks today.

"We never really know grief until it happens to us," he says, laying his head on your shoulder. "I didn't eat for days. Didn't shower. Barely left my bed. I lost myself completely."

You know you shouldn't apologize, but you do anyway. "I'm sor—"

"Don't," he interrupts. "Please don't."

"It killed me. I had never seen you so sick."

"But it led me back to you, didn't it?" He softly kisses your arm and smiles against it. "All that pain led me to this moment, love."

You rest your hand on his stomach. "That's not the point, though."

"I think it is," he remarks. "Everyone goes through shit, and everyone learns something from it."

You sniffle as Harry takes one of your hands and blows warm air onto it. "What did you learn?"

He stares at you while pecking kisses onto your wrist. "That your love was worth the fight. That I don't regret fighting my goddamn life for it."

His love-laced words rush through you like liquid gold and heal every stitch on your heart, only scars left behind.

You don't regret diving into his waters anymore.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #gold rush series

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eowyntheavenger · 3 months

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By Emily Strasser | August 9, 2023

At the theater where I saw Oppenheimer on opening night, there was a handmade photo booth featuring a pink backdrop, “Barbenheimer” in black letters, and a “bomb” made of an exercise ball wrapped in hoses. I want to tell you that I flinched, but I laughed and snapped a photo. It took a beat before I became horrified—by myself and the prop. Today is the 78th anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki, which killed up to 70,000 people and came only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima that killed as many as 140,000 people. Yet still we make jokes of these weapons of genocide.

Oppenheimer does not make a joke of nuclear weapons, but by erasing the specific victims of the bombings, it repeats a sanitized treatment of the bomb that enables a lighthearted attitude and limits the power of the film’s message. I know this sanitized version intimately, because my grandfather spent his career building nuclear weapons in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, the site of uranium enrichment for the Hiroshima bomb. My grandfather died before I was born, and though there were photographs of mushroom clouds from nuclear tests hanging on my grandmother’s walls, we never discussed Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or the fact that Oak Ridge, still an active nuclear weapons production site, is also a 35,000-acre Superfund site. At the Catholic church in town, a pious Mary stands atop an orb bearing the overlapping ovals symbolizing the atom, and until it closed a few years ago, a local restaurant displayed a sign with a mushroom cloud bursting out of a mug of beer.

Oppenheimer does not show a single image of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Instead, it recreates the horror through Oppenheimer’s imagination, when, during a congratulatory speech to the scientists of Los Alamos after the bombing of Hiroshima, the sound of the hysterically cheering crowd goes silent, the room flashes bright, and tatters of skin peel from the face of a white woman in the audience. The scene is powerful and unsettling, and, arguably, avoids sensationalizing the atrocity by not depicting the victims outright. But it also plays into a problematic pattern of whitewashing both the history and threat of nuclear war by appropriating the trauma of the Japanese victims to incite fear about possible future violence upon white bodies. An example of this pattern is a 1948 cover of John Hersey’s Hiroshima, which featured a white couple fleeing a city beneath a glowing orange sky, even though the book itself brought the visceral human suffering to American readers through the eyes of six actual survivors of the bombing.

The Oppenheimer film also neglects the impacts of fallout from nuclear testing, including from the Trinity test depicted in the film; the harm to the health of blue-collar production workers exposed to toxic and radiological materials; and the contamination of Oak Ridge and other production sites. Instead, the impressive pyrotechnics of the Trinity test, images of missile trails descending through clouds toward a doomed planet, and Earth-consuming fireballs interspersed with digital renderings of a quantum universe of swirling stars and atoms, elevate the bomb to the realm of the sublime—terrible, yes, but also awesome.

A compartmentalized project. The origins of this treatment can be traced to the Manhattan Project, when scientists called the bomb by the euphemistic code word “gadget” and the security policy known as compartmentalization limited workers’ knowledge of the project to the minimum necessary to complete their tasks. This policy helped to dilute responsibility and quash moral debates and dissent. Throughout the film, we see Oppenheimer move from resisting compartmentalization to accepting it. When asked by another scientist about his stance on a petition against dropping the bomb on Japan, he responds that the builders of the bomb do not have “any more right or responsibility” than anyone else to determine how it will be used, despite the fact that the scientists were among the few who even knew of its existence.

Due to compartmentalization, the vast majority of the approximately half-million Manhattan Project workers, like my grandfather, could not have signed the petition because they did not know what they were building until Truman announced the bombing of Hiroshima. Afterward, press restrictions limited coverage of the humanitarian impacts, giving the false impression that the bombings had targeted major military and industrial sites—and eliding the vast civilian toll and the novel horrors of radiation. Photographs and films of the aftermath, shot by Japanese journalists and American military, were classified and suppressed in the United States and occupied Japan.

The limit of theory. Not only is it dishonest and harmful to erase the suffering of the real victims of the bomb, but doing so moves the bomb into the realm of the theoretical and abstract. One recurring theme of the film is the limit of theory. Oppenheimer was a brilliant theorist but a haphazard experimentalist. A close friend and fellow scientist questions whether he’ll be able to pull off this massive, high-stakes project of applied theory. Just before the detonation of the Trinity test bomb, General Leslie Groves, the military head of the project, asks Oppenheimer about a joking bet overheard among the scientists regarding the possibility that the explosion would ignite the atmosphere and destroy the world. Oppenheimer assures Groves that they have done the math and the possibility is “near zero.” “Near zero?” Groves asks, alarmed. “What do you want from theory alone?” responds Oppenheimer.

Can the theoretical motivate humanity to action?

One telling scene shows Oppenheimer at a lecture on the impacts of the bomb. We hear the speaker describe how dark stripes on victims’ clothing were burned onto their skin, but the camera remains on Oppenheimer’s face. He looks at the screen, gaunt and glassy-eyed, for a few moments, before turning away. Americans are still looking away. As a country, we’ve succumbed to “psychic numbing,” as Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell call it in their book Hiroshima in America, which leads to general apathy about nuclear weapons—and pink mushroom clouds and bomb props for selfies.

On this anniversary of Nagasaki, the world stands on a precipice, closer than ever to nuclear midnight. The nine nuclear-armed states collectively possess more than 12,500 warheads; the more than 9,500 nuclear weapons available for use in military stockpiles have the combined power of more than 135,000 Hiroshima-sized bombs.

If Oppenheimer motivates conversation, activism, and policy shifts in support of nuclear abolition, that’s a good thing. But by relegating the bomb to abstracted images removed from actual humanitarian consequences, the film leaves the weapon in the realm of the theoretical. And as Oppenheimer says in the film, “theory will only take you so far.” Today, it’s vital that we understand the devastating impacts that nuclear weapons have had and continue to have on real victims of their production, testing, and wartime use. Our survival may depend on it.

#oppenheimer #nuclear weapons #nuclear testing

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yourwizardofaus · 5 months

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It's my last Tumblr post for 2023, the year that saw the release of an Elvis biopic by Buz Luhrmann. Tom Hanks received some criticism along the way for his portrayal of Parker, with everything from his prosthetic makeup to his accent being singled out. As the year ends, lets take a look at some of the pictures I've collected of the real "Thomas Andrew Parker" during his years with Elvis.

Elvis and Parker at an RCA-Paramount Pictures party at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Los Angeles on 18th May 1957.

Two pictures from December 21, 1957, when Elvis went to Parker's home (1215 Gallatin Road in South Madison, Tennessee) to deliver a Christmas present - a new BMW Isetta microcar.

It’s 9:15am at Fort Dix, NJ on 5th March 1960 and Elvis is being honorably discharged from the Army. As he collects his mustering out cheque for $109.54 he kids with the Colonel about his percentage. In later years that would be far from a laughing matter.

Parker shows his sense of humour during the filming Roustabout in 1964 when a birthday party is held for Elvis’ cousin, Billy Smith.

On the NBC set in Los Angeles, Elvis sung a birthday song ‘It Hurts Me’ (in an amusing parody) for the Colonel, 26 June 1968.

A couple of rare shots of Parker with baby Lisa Marie.

Two pictures of Parker and Elvis at the August 1, 1969 press conference in Las Vegas announcing Elvis' new residency at the International Hotel (the Hilton as of 1972).

In this candid shot, we see Parker in a hotel elevator while on tour in Mobile Alabama in 1971 with one of his constant business companions, longtime RCA Records executive George L. Parkhill (centre in yellow shirt). Parkhill’s main task was "working with Elvis." That basically meant he supervised Elvis' concert tours and, when Elvis was in Los Angeles, monitoring all activities that involved him being RCA's top money maker.

The Colonel below the stage as Elvis performs in Cincinnati in the Black Fireworks jumpsuit on November 11, 1971.

Parker once again staying close to this star client below the stage at the evening appearance at Madison Square Garden on June 9, 1972.

Two pictures of Parker below the stage at the afternoon show in Honolulu on November 18, 1972. In the first picture he's picked an unusual spot to have a chat with Joe Esposito.

An undated picture of Colonel Parker on tour with Elvis in the early 1970s.

Colonel Parker before a concert in Detroit at Olympia Stadium on September 29, 1974.

Perhaps the last time Parker and Elvis were photographed together was in the dressing room just before the new years eve concert in Pontiac, MI, on December 31, 1975. At the time Parker had allowed a visit by local mayor Wallace E. Holland and Oakland press writer Jackie Kallen who presented an award.

#Elvis #Elvis Presley #Colonel Tom Parker #Tom Parker #Colonel Parker #rock music #pop culture #candid #1950s #50s #fifties #1960s #60s #sixties #1970s #70s #seventies

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pricelessemotion · 1 year

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ masterlist ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

steve harrington

i'm in so deep

liquid courage allows you to finally tell steve how you feel.

i'm such a fool

steve has his own confession to make. you’re not sure how to take it.

head over wheels

steve takes you roller skating for your first date.

never really over

you and steve fall apart, then fall back together.

sweet dreams, tennessee [multi-chapter]

the sleepy town of Sweet Dreams holds many childhood memories for you. in the summer of '88, you make your way back to your hometown to visit your grandma and figure things out. when you get there, you're surprised to find you're not the only one who's taking a walk down memory lane.

eddie munson

can i ask you a question? [multi-chapter]

Los Angeles, 1990. eddie munson is a promising rockstar with a less-than-stellar reputation. you’re a budding music journalist who has been tasked with strengthening his social standing. what started as a mutually beneficial assignment turns into something more, as you both blur the lines between professional and personal.

old friend

eddie walks into a diner looking for the past. he doesn’t expect the past to find him.

poltergeists for sidekicks

the kids drag eddie to the halloween store where you happen to work.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington masterlist #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #eddie muson x reader #eddie munson masterlist #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #stranger things masterlist #mimi wrote ✍️#navigation

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dmwrites · 5 months

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2023 fic roundup! Thanks for reading my stuff this year!

Below is all of the fic links, summaries, and any additional notes (in chronological order) from yours truly:)

NPC Bdubs: an in-game explanation to why Bdubs didn’t upload his Limited Life pov- Cleo notices that Bdubs is acting a little weird, almost like some kind of non-playable character.

The Coral Kids’ Keeper: Martyn and Scott live out on a island on the sea on the Limited Life server, and a sea creature that calls himself xbcrafted take interest in them. He protects them. He is here to protect them, right? (Dm note: oh my goddd I love this one still I love the horror at the end [I may just be biased to xb tbh lol])

Impulse’s post-death affirmation: Impulse got second place in Limited Life, and Skizz is so proud of him.

Clock Full of Love: Impulse gave Bdubs a clock in the beginning of Limited Life. At the end, Cleo adds her own touch to it.

Grian and Scar’s punishment: It all started when Grian and Scar touched his (Doc’s) redstone (tunnel bore). Their punishment? Zombiecleo scolding them.

Talks of Adoration on the Tower of Team TIES: Etho and Impulse have more in common then they think, and reflect on it all one sleepless night in the Team TIES base

Big and Handsome God Has A Big Sad: the empires s2 server can’t be empty, right? Sure, Joel hasn’t seen anyone in forever, but people still love him, surely, right? They wouldn’t all leave him. They wouldn’t. Right? (Dm note: this idea wasn’t executed as well as I would have liked, but I really like the crumbling reality vibes of this one)

Cuddling with the Homies: Grian, Impulse, Scar, and Skizz playing Sons of the Forest. They get one tiny-ass tent to all sleep in. It’s if the “only one bed” trope was four dudes being idiots in the woods in a tent.

I know how to keep you warm;)): the new life smp folks wonder if Chillager Martyn will freeze up if he gets flustered. Scott is up to the task. It’s all silly.

Copper Pearlo takes on The Button (2): Grian and Mumbo stumble upon copper golem Pearl

One Year Later: Double Life ended one year ago (when I posted this fic lol). Impulse makes Bdubs another clock

The CuteGuy Who Stepped Up: Scar needs a CuteGuy sidekick, and Grian does not want to be a sidekick in the slightest. Enter Joe Hills from Nashville, Tennessee. (Dm note: the CuteGuy main character was decided by a poll. This is also my second most-liked fic of 2023)

The Slime Code: Gem is a slime in New Life! She calls Jevin on Hermitcraft to ask about any slime rules she now needs to follow

A Dream of Pink: Joel has a dream of showing a pretty girl with pink hair (who roasts him) his hardcore world builds. She seems familiar…

3rd Life x NightVale: the radio transcript when Cecil Palmer from the town of NightVale interviews a strange man with a red sweater and split knuckles and keeps talking about something that happened in a desert. (Dm note: love this one, definitely caters to a very specific audience, but this one shows up in my notifs almost every day. I think I did a good job at the ad breaks and such.)

Sacrificial Impulse: Grian, Scar, and Skizz died while hunting ghosts with Impulse. Impulse wants to bring them back, no matter the cost. Also, EvilNotion is the ghost hunters’ boss.

xB’s Revenge- a Blood on the Clocktower story: based on the first session of hermitcraft’s BOTC, Iskall accuses xbcrafted of being the demon, and xB becomes the first innocent to die. But xB sticks around after death, and wants the sweetest revenge on Iskall. (Dm note: this one is long as hell but man the concept was so good. Drowned!xb is so good.)

Bdoubledown? How Cute: a brief conversation between Impulse and Skizz about Impulse’s brand new soulmate in Double Life

GIGS gets another G: Gem is jealous that Grian, Impulse, Scar, and Skizz are hunting ghosts, and wants to join in. Pearl, local odd woman, has a way. Possession is fun among friends! (Dm note: this is the most liked fic of this year, which is definitely not what I expected lol)

The Dungeon Is Hungry: Hypno thinks all the superstitions around the Decked Out 2 dungeon are stupid. That is until everything goes sideways and Cub is covered in sculk and pointing a sword at him down in level 4.

The Impossible Task: Martyn gets a very simple, two-word task in Secret Life: find RenTheDog. But Ren isn’t here… right? (Dm note: when I thought of this idea I literally said “ouch!” in my head lol)

GIGGS Hunts a Ghost!: the GIGGS crew gets called on by Zedaph to find and capture evidence of a ghost he claims he has seen haunting hermitcraft. (Dm note: the b-plot grian and zed rivalry is so funny to me idk why I decided they hate each other lolll)

A Moment of Peace: Martyn and Cleo are estranged soulmates in Double Life, and they take a moment to drink some tea and talk about what soulmate they’d like to have if they had a choice.

It Feels Different Now (and that’s a good thing): Pearl has to hurt people on the Secret Life server as part of her task, but she takes no joy in it now. She harkens back to what has changed between Double Life and now.

Jimmy’s Grave: Cleo made Jimmy a grave before he died in Secret Life. He did end up dying that very day, and a mourner comes by his grave when it’s all said and done.

Red: Pearl’s favorite color is red. She is made to be a red name, even when she’s not.

Becoming the Villain of the Server: (secret life) Scar digs up Jimmy’s grave to take his spine, to sell it to Joel, pretending that it’s Lizzie’s. Hey, what else is a man to do? (Dm note: this one fucks so hard, i love how fucked up the idea of it is, what Scar would have to do to make it happen. Eating this.)

From One Lonely Winner to Another: Scar wins Secret Life. Sunflowers grow from his skin to be with him as he goes to succeed the final task. (Dm note: another one I love, I just love the aesthetic of it all.)

#seriously thank you #I honestly can’t believe anyone reads my stuff at all #it’s been so fun and rewarding #here’s to another year of putting blorbos into situations

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svalleynow · 1 month

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Drug Bust at a Residence in the City of Dunlap

On April 3, around 1:20 PM, officers with the Dunlap Police Department, TBI Investigation Drug Investigation Unit, with the assistance of the DEA, Tennessee Dangerous Drug Task Force, and the Sequatchie County Sheriff’s Office executed a search warrant at a residence in the City of Dunlap. Officers located during the search of the home approximately 24.9 grams of powder Fentanyl and approximately…

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#DEA #Dunlap News #Dunlap Police Department #Marion County News #Sequatchie County News #Sequatchie County Sheriff&039;s Department #Sequatchie Valley News #TBI #Tennessee Dangerous Drug Task Force

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knfmemarbles · 7 months

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The Devil's Promise pt. 1

Hello everyone! It’s been a while since I have posted any fics but I hope you enjoy this one as it is part one of a series!

word count: 2.5k

pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, Johnny "soap" McTavish x reader

warnings: none I am aware of (if there are any lmk!)

I sighed and tended to the bar at the Saloon, trying to make a little side cash while my father was off at another meeting. It was always nice not to have to deal with his company, having their prying eyes or clinging hands near me. Sometimes, living under the watchful eyes of politicians was the worst place to be. No freedom, no adventure, and no love life the way I would’ve hoped for. My hand was likely promised to the new person willing to protect our town. Many gunslingers were responsible for safeguarding towns and saloons from outlaws and ruffians. However, my father had been swift to draw a line in the sand, almost crossing it as he attempted to enlist more than he could afford. I brushed my hair to the side, standing straighter as I tried to keep my manners with the newest entering patrons. A broad figure entered the Saloon with his posse, eyes scanning the room before staking a claim on a corner table. A mask dawned on his face, a red skull obscuring his features from vision as a back cowboy hat covered the top of his head. It wasn’t one of those cliches where the whole Saloon went silent as they watched the newcomers come in and were suspicious; they were hardly noticed. After all, the town was quite large, and people passed through on business or travel constantly. However, no one had masks like theirs adorning their faces. It was the only thing that caught people’s eyes as they walked by, but they turned back, knowing it was better not to ask. Better to mind your own business. The man settled on a stool, gesturing for one of his buddies to get up and get drinks as the rest of the posse flocked to the table. They began to joke around and became vivid, nothing like how they entered. The group’s vibrant energy while sharing a drink was now nothing less than fun and bubbly. But the cautionary tale of the Devil’s posse only made my hair stand up on end as I knew the danger they posed and why they were in the part of my town only bothered me further.

The information was like an itch I couldn’t reach as my dad only fed me pieces of what was going on between him and the gunslingers in the area. These men did not play fair. They were more than willing to shed petty blood: At least, that’s what the stories say. Their leader was the one in the red mask. He was known as the Devil himself. Father warned me to stay away from this business if possible as my future was already promised away. He did not want to have his bargaining piece used against him. The one who stood closest to the Devil himself was the one to make quick of getting up. He grunted with effort as he was left with the task of acquiring the drinks for the group. He signaled to you as he walked up, hand twirling around in a circle before gesturing towards his table as he approached your bar. He pressed himself against it with his elbows resting against the old polished wood. After all, your town was wealthy.

“Round ‘o whiskey.” He said as he eyed me subtly with his head tilted. He looked amused more than lustful as he let his eyes wander. It gave me a short time to take him in. His hair, neatly shaved, faded almost into a mohawk. His jaw stubbled enough to make him look rough around the edges. The clothes adorning his figure were nothing short of cowboy: a cowhide vest resting on a long-sleeve black, thin top, not to mention the chaps that complimented the jeans.

My gaze flickered up to the cowboy to give him the acknowledgment he sought before moving to grab the closest bottle of Tennessee whiskey. The thick glass was cold to the touch as I reached to grab a few cups to fill, “How many would you like, sir?”

He tilted his head back to the other side, getting a small head count of his group. He rattled off the number of men in his posse with the smile never leaving his lips. He stayed, leaning against the bar as his eyes wandered around the walls and other tables before settling on a staircase tucked right out of sight unless you were looking hard enough. His curiosity began to get the best of him as he leaned forward to speak over hushed words.

“Have any women upstairs?” His words laced in a heavy accent as his eyes followed the staircase. “Or is that just rooms?”

Had he had the accent the whole time? My brain tried to recount as he continued to talk. It sounded almost Scottish. However, his questions did get a laugh out of me. A polite smile eased onto my lips as I shook my head no. “Unfortunately, sir, if you’re looking for company for the night, you must visit a brothel. Those rooms are off-limits to guests.”

He put his hands up in defense with a chuckle. “Alright, miss, you got me there.”

The silence hung in the air as I filled the last few glasses with alcohol. I started to set them on a tray, willing to carry them all over myself before the man rose to his feet.

“Allow me.” He murmured, gently taking a few off the tray to lessen the load.

“Oh, well, thank you,” I waited for him to reply with a name.

“They call me Johnny.” he winked before moving to the table, raising the glasses in the air while the gang around him cheered for the first round of drinks.

I couldn’t help but linger on the group; watching them with such excitement only made my world feel so much smaller. My heart yearned to be a part of something bigger than myself, even if it was as dangerous as gunslinging. But I was merely a woman; I needed to be prim and proper.

I began serving each drink in front of each member. Some took directly from my hand, offering thanks here and there. It wasn’t until I placed the whiskey in front of the man in the red mask.

His eyes narrowed once he saw it. His gaze rose to mine before placing the liquor back onto the tray with a clink.

“Bourbon.” He spoke gruffly, a thick British accent correcting the drink as he leaned back against his seat. “Kentucky.” It was almost an afterthought like I wouldn’t have figured it out alone. It’s not like the chain of saloons carried many different selections. This one is the number one contender and is currently the only bourbon in most stores as of late.

I gave a meek nod, pursing my lips as I pulled the tray away from arm’s length.

” Kentucky bourbon. You got it, sir. Was there anything else I could help you with? “I asked with almost a sarcastic rasp to my voice. The man had easily gotten a rise out of me. I flickered my eyes from the cup to his gaze, not allowing myself to let my eyes wander as I stood straight back up. He didn’t bother speaking another word, only grunting, turning his attention elsewhere. I felt my eye almost twitch at how dismissive he was. I shouldn’t want the attention of the gunslinger, but it was difficult trying to ignore the annoyance bubbling instead of fear. I almost wanted to scold him for his mother not teaching him manners.

I strode back to the bar, setting the tray down to attend to a new glass of bourbon for the man.

While my attention was redirected, Johnny just grinned before turning back towards his boss, who gave him a questioning brow raise. He shrugged in response. "What? She's a pretty gal, and you need to talk more." He says, shrugging as if he wasn't scheming some plan. "She's got a slippery tongue too, might tell you what's up there." He grabbed a thumb backward towards the staircase. "It's a secret, from what I've found out." Redmask sighs briefly before looking at me with a slight hum as if thinking of Johnny’s suggestion.

After finishing pouring the glass, I stopped to check the time. A small curse slipped through my lips as I returned to the table.

I returned with a small set of menus and gently set them in the center of the table before setting down the bourbon in front of the gentleman with the red skull obscuring his face. I gave a quiet “here you go” before looking to all the other men in the group, “I brought some menus; if you are interested, feel free to wave any of the other waitresses by, and they will be able to help you there.” I smiled and pointed out a few before getting ready to turn and head back to the bar to serve a few patrons waiting for me to serve them.

Johnny smiles at me before touching my wrist, not grabbing it but gently touching it with his finger to stop me. “Thank you, sweetheart. One more thing, though, is there a place we can stay for the night?” He asks, removing his finger from your skin to not make me uncomfortable. In the meantime, Redmask digs around in his pocket and provides a large wad of cash he holds out for the taking.

I felt my face heat up at such a gentle touch. Most men in the bar were very grabby and demanding, rarely using feather-light touches. I gently brought my hand to my chest, touching where his hand had once been. “Ah well, I am sure the local motels around here would be more than willing to take all of you in for the night. Virginia run the one three blocks down.” I smiled, feeling they were trying to figure something out about the upstairs rooms. I looked towards the cash and tilted my head at the red-masked stranger. “Closing the tab?” I asked. I turned to face them with genuine confusion as they were barely served one round. I glanced at the other cowboy and gave him a kind smile, “Would you like me to have someone go over to let Virginia know you need a place to stay?”

He nods, mentally noting the place before taking hold of his glass and drinking. “Ah, that would be appreciated; thank you, sweetheart.” Johnny cooed while his boss sipped at the drink. His eyes leave you after returning to the other men as they talk and joke. The red-masked man, however, just nodded to the question he asked, huffing in slight annoyance. “Any other drinks can be bought by themselves.” He grumbled out, not wanting to feed into his men’s drinking problems. Nor get blackout drunk and cause problems while trying to stay low.

“Okay, I can close that for you. Let me get your change.” I murmured and grasped the money from his gloved hand, brushing my fingers as I rounded to the bar and counted out the Change. I kept glancing at the group, returning to why they were there. Maybe Father had business? No, he never talked well of the posse—quite the opposite. I was utterly lost in thought when counting the money, almost wholly zoning out.

The masked stranger watched as I counted the change. Though he didn’t intend to let me give it to him, he would hand it back, even as a tip, if anything. He turned back towards Johnny, who was already looking at him. He subtly tilted his head in my direction and asked a nonverbal question. It was answered with a single nod. They had come into the town for something. And they would get it no matter what happened—a score to settle almost.

I stopped before bringing the change back and setting it on the table. “Virginia is aware of your upcoming visit. I hope you all enjoyed your time here.” I murmured before heading back to the bar before moving to make my way to the staircase, ready to take a small break from the smell of alcohol and bustling bodies. The amount of people trying to grab my attention slowed my movement to the room, but I needed to get going. I kept glancing behind me, feeling burning gazes on my back, my head on a swivel until I met his from across the bar again. I gulped before continuing up the store, fishing in the small pocket I created in my dress for a key to the room I had been using.

I looked over my shoulder before unlocking the third door and sliding through quickly before giving a soft sigh and moving to set the key down on the nearby dresser. Looking at the time, I promptly began to head to my father’s, moving to strip from the corset and dress to something a little more fancy and ladylike. That way, my reputation would not be affected as my father used me as his little pawn. I wish I could avoid it at all costs, but family love ran deep, and I felt I would only let them down if I didn’t do as told. Not to say mothers’ punishments weren’t the other reason.

I slipped on a different pair of shoes, throwing on light makeup before snagging the key and leaving. After locking the door, I descended the stairs and started through the bar, dodging touchy customers and waving bye to some of the ladies, knowing my father was about to have my head for being late. I cleared my throat, passing by the posse as I waved a tiny bye. The curiosity of who they were gnawing at me as I truly wished I could get to know them.

Johnny gave a tiny head tilt along with the tip of his cowboy hat, grinning as he watched as I walked away. He was unaware of the second set of eyes following me as I left, yet he made no motion to say goodbye. After I left the bar, though, redmask stood. He signaled to Johnny to follow; he was the closest thing to the second in command he would get. They also waited a few minutes before leaving the bar, looking around to see where I had scurried off to.

I waved over my driver and watched the horses slowly trot up, smiling as I approached. I stroked the nose of the horse gently before talking to the coach before moving to get into the cart. The smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared, a frown taking place as I knew I would now have to face my father’s men and wishes. I grew mildly frustrated. I was wishing that I could sneak off and go on my adventure of sorts. After slinking out of the Saloon, I hadn’t even felt the gaze or the men following me.

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost #x reader

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appalachiasferaldaughter · 16 days

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Of Ribs and Trees

A tattered hymnal resting in old pine,

Forgotten, buried—a casket of dust.

Pages filled with prayer in rhyme, lost to time,

Entombed of my heart with decades of trust.

Señor, your heart still trusts—it falters not.

Your hymnal’s pages are pristine and clean.

Far be it that tears should form from my thoughts

on the matter—but your thoughts I must glean.

You call me Eve, which makes you my Adam;

I am missing God and you lack a rib.

Therefore, to fix this issue, you fathom:

“Return to God—your place above my hip.”

If my praise weren’t in shambles, I would yield,

And you have yet to make an opening

to climb into. Dogma remains your shield

against my memory and reasoning.

Another tradition says we were trees—

Or rather driftwood washed upon the beach.

Found by three brothers, who stopped when they see

the potential for life, beauty, and speech.

Odin breathed life into Embla and Ask,

brought them together and gave them Midgard.

Before departure, he gave them one task:

Hold one another in highest regard.

Why do you only consider Adam,

Who was made from the ground and not driftwood,

Whose sins reprehend you like a phantom,

Hold you captive in an endless priesthood?

What if, like Ask, you were simply a tree,

Floating in water until God found you,

Given the purpose to live and be free,

To find a person to pour love into?

Your sigh is angry—that cannot be right.

My sigh is sad—it doesn’t have to be.

I know we are distinct like day and night,

The sun and moon for each other still plea.

I am your rib, Adam—you are my tree.

The same spirit that breathed life into you

also breathed life into me. Don’t you see?

It can be both and it will still be true.

What if in every life and culture,

In every religion, we are there,

Fulfilling a plan of love through structure:

Myths that speak to us and cause us to pair?

How else, señor, could we be sitting here,

on an old church pew talking about gods?

Honduras is far from Tennessee, dear.

Even further, our faiths—always at odds.

It is normal for books to wear and tear,

For churches to face abandon that’s slow.

It doesn’t matter as long as I share

all of my faiths with you—te quiero.

--------------------------

S.L. Ramsey | 2.24.24

#poetscommunity #norse paganism #writers and poets #poems on tumblr #original poem #norse #deconstruction #deconstructing christianity #writing #writers on tumblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #lovers #love poem #i love him #spanish #paganism #el señor

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melancholicbutterflies · 9 months

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Hellmouth | Chapter 1

Summary: After nearly a millennium of being away, Angel lands on Earth, finding herself in 1960s Memphis, Tennessee.

Tags/Warnings: vampire!Elvis, angel!reader, dark!Elvis, controlling!Elvis, religious overtones, mystery/horror elements.

Author's Note: At long last! First chapter of approx. 4 chapters planned.

Word Count: 4,043

The angels were talking loudly today. Normally you’d let this pass, focusing on your tasks. You had quite a few humans under your wing, so-to-speak, and because of your stellar performance you’d only acquired more in recent decades. One such human was Daphne Willows, and she wasn’t audible in the same way she had been previously to you. Something must have happened, and so you did something out of the ordinary. Once securing approval through the proper channels, you traveled down to earth, taking on a human appearance.

It had been so long since you were in the human world that your sense of fashion and behaviors had required a good deal of tweaking. Spying on a few humans out and about, you watched them for some time to understand their mannerisms and clothing choices. Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; certainly, the dress code had changed quite a bit. In place of the more lengthy skirts females wore, you now found knee-high, tight fits and blouses and dresses that dipped low. Even stockings, which as you understood it were for coverage, had become sheer and more for a statement than practicality. Makeup, used to make one’s face prettier (for the male gender, of all things), too, had advanced, becoming a spectacle on a woman’s face with highly pronounced eyes and eyebrow arches. The hairstyle of today was the oddest; many women had taken to wearing their hair straight, but with a beehive sort of look, piling hair at the crown of their head and descending in a curl toward the end. All this had taken milliseconds for you to fashion upon your being, yet you pitied the humans who were forced to contend with it daily.

Daphne lived in a town called Memphis, in the US state of Tennessee. Your knowledge of human affairs was limited, and over time had whittled down to near nothingness; there was nothing required in your job title to understand their customs beyond the need to do your job, and so it was easily forgotten in the millenia or so you’d left the earth yourself. This suited the higher powers, as they emphasized a need to maintain distance between humans and angels. You didn’t understand why, at first, but at one point in time you had a fellow angel you might have called something akin to a friend in the human world lose their angelic powers (including a stripping of their wings, which was not unlike losing one’s identity, and nevertheless extremely painful) due to an inappropriate dalliance with a non-angel being. They were, incidentally, human; you couldn’t imagine how much worse the consequences would have been if it had been an unholy being. At the very least, one would be cut off from heaven entirely.

Memphis was hot. It appeared to have bustling tourism, with people milling about on nearly every corner. You suspected this had something to do with the number of buildings with music notes on them; on one you read ‘Sun Studios’, with many tourists crowding around the perimeter taking pictures and loitering with their eyes peeled inside the dark interior, as if they might spot something of interest.

Humans were funny.

Suddenly your stomach gurgled, and you stopped in the street, much to a driver’s discontent. You watched him drive around you, yelling blasphemous words, before hitting the gas. Humans really could be so short-tempered. Then you remembered that, as a human, you were now susceptible to all the many states and ailments of their kind. One such one, you distantly recalled, was hunger. Grimacing, you continued to pace the downtown until you found an establishment that would serve the energy resource. Unfortunately, upon entering a diner, your simple-minded drive made it difficult to locate something with which to fill your stomach. The waitress, a haggard woman with stains on her pinstripe apron, arrived with a pot of black-looking sludge which she used to fill your cup, and pulled out a pad of paper and writing utensil.

“What can I get you?” She asked.

“What do you recommend on the menu?”

Her eyes never left her pad of paper. “Steak and fries. What will you have?”

You glanced back down, looking at the poorly made depiction. “Yes, I’ll have that.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yes,” you said again. You looked out the window, thinking again how peculiar it was that you couldn’t sense your charge’s exact location. Fortunately, you recalled where she lived, and would go at once. As soon as you received your order, you ate quickly, only narrowly avoiding spilling on your dress. As you rose you noticed an older man’s gaze on you, mid-bite on his hamburger, looking shocked. Perhaps you’d eaten too quickly, or inappropriately in some way. Nevermind, you had no time for the minutia of their manners. However, the woman came to you now looking angry.

“I didn’t just catch you tryin’ to just dine and dash, now did I?”

Your head tilted in confusion. “Dine and… dash?”

“Yes, leave without paying the bill. Are you simple? Not from here?” Her outburst drew the attention of restaurant-goers. If you were human, or here on Earth for a longer duration of time to adapt, you might have felt something like shame or embarrassment. Instead, you very matter-of-factly replied: “how much does it cost?”

“It’s 4 bucks fifty, with tip. You got that on you?” She eyed you skeptically, seeing no pockets on your dress.

The amount materialized on the table, beside your cleaned plate.

“There you are.” You turned back toward the door.

The waitress’ eyes bulged. “But-but, that wasn’t there when-”

Hearing the bell on top of the door chime behind you, you took some steps away from the diner to an alleyway to transport yourself to the house from memory. In doing so, you’d missed the man on the floor sitting in his own filth, an unmarked jug pressed to his lip as he cried, “What the - damn, I gotta get me off the bottle-!”

430 Bismark Road was in a cul-de-sac set off from the main road with nice manicured lawns and friendly folks sitting on their porches. It was the sort of neighborhood you’d come to learn was ‘darling’ in human terms. A far cry from the downtrodden home Daphne had grown up in, she bought the house together with her husband, Daniel, who worked as an investment banker. You weren’t quite sure what that meant, but it allowed them to live the lifestyle they enjoyed, and to which Daphne seemed all too willing to adopt. And you could sense for the first time in her life she was happy, well on her way to having the two point five kids she always dreamed of, having already attained the rich husband, house in the suburbs, and white picket fence. It was a regular old apple pie life, so you’d heard, and you couldn’t imagine what could have taken her away from it.

Ringing the doorbell, you waited until Daniel answered the door. Although it was only early afternoon, his car was parked in the driveway. He wasn’t keeping normal working hours. Strange. You rang again, this time a few more times, finally hearing steps thudding down the stairs, dull and heavy. When he opened the front door, you understood why. Dark circles lined his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his eyes bloodshot, squinting at the sunlight that filtered through the doorway.

“Who are you? Are you here about Daphne?” He barked.

“I am, as a matter of fact. May I come in?”

Blinking several times, he seemed to come into himself. “Sure, yes, of course! I’ve been waiting so long to hear any news – but you…” he took a second look at you, from head to toe. “You dont look like the police...”

“Police?”

“Yes,” he frowned at you now. “My wife’s been missing for a few days now. Isn’t that what you’re here about?”

“Well yes, but I want to hear from you.” You immediately were regretting your outfit; perhaps he would have taken you more seriously had you presented in uniform. Regardless, you will retrieve the information you need from him. Using your angelic powers on a human was illegal, but under such circumstances, the case could be made.

He looked unsettled, and you put him into a trance-like state that would force him to be more welcoming to your line of questioning.

“When was the last time you saw Daphne?” You inquired.

“Last Sunday. We had a roast and went to bed shortly after. I went to work Monday morning and came back to find the house empty.”

“Is there any possibility she could be staying with someone? A sister? A friend?”

“No. I called her sister Monday evening and she hadn’t heard from her. Her friends hadn’t heard anything, either.”

The possibility that one of them knew but hadn’t told him didn’t escape your notice, although you couldn’t think of a reason why. Either way, you’d be sure to check with them.

“Anything odd about the way she has behaved lately? Something that seemed amiss? Could be anything.” You implored him to consider the words.

Pausing, he answered, “yes, she had been acting differently the past few weeks. I never could pinpoint why, but I suppose I was too caught up in work to take time to figure it out.”

“Differently in what ways?”

“She wasn’t going to service anymore. She always used to be a devout christian, at least since I met her. We would attend church every Sunday, and if not, then Saturday evenings. It was how we met, at church. A friend of a friend introduced us.”

You recalled this, and the news left a feeling you could only describe as unsettling. “That is indeed concerning.” You murmured. “Was there something she was doing instead? Surely this you would have noticed?”

“So she said, she was volunteering at a soup kitchen. I don’t even know how she found it, but it was something she seemed terribly passionate about, and seeing as it was serving the greater good, as Christ would, I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“Hmm.” You highlighted the mental note you made to talk to others in her life, her friends in particular. “What do the police think happened to Daphne?”

“They visited the house and took some fingerprints and photos. Nothing out of the ordinary, they claimed. They also said since nothing was taken, it wasn't likely anything to do with a burglary. Their working theory is that she ran off and just didn’t have the heart to tell me.”

“Do you believe that’s true?”

“No!” His forced calm demeanor morphed into anger. “Of course not. I’m her husband. I did right by her. I don’t know why she’d ever get an idea like that–”

“Was there any reason she could have been unhappy?” You interrupted his tirade.

He faltered. “I… I don’t know.”

“Think carefully, Daniel.”

His head fell. “I gave her everything she ever wanted, with the exception of children, which we were well on our way to having. There was no reason Daphne would have left of her own free will, I can tell you that.”

He was convinced of his own words, and his mind felt rigid now to you. He wouldn’t be of any further help.

“Thank you, Daniel. Be well.” You waited until you were several steps from the house to relinquish your hold on him.

You were certain now more than ever that there was something very wrong with Daphne.

Night had come to Memphis, and you were feeling sluggish from your travels and interrogation. Using your powers was more draining in the human plane, and this had exponentially zapped you of your energy. Recalling humans laid their heads to sleep in hotels, you found one such one of low-profile. This took you back to the downtown area, which had emptied of the larger crowds of earlier. More of a motel, which as you understood was of less quality, you walked to the front desk, where a man stood behind looking skittish.

“Booking a room?” He said, taking his eyes off the small television in the corner.

His eyes had barely landed on you before you understood what he was.

“Angel?!” He hissed at you, eyes glowing dark as midnight as he immediately assumed an aggressive stance.

“Incubus,” you mirrored, narrowing your eyes in disgust. He was one of the unholy, and one of the most abominable creatures that there was. They existed off of the misery and taint leftovers that other unholies like vampire and werewolf kind alike had discarded. They were the bottom-feeders of their class.

“Well I’ll be. A goddamn angel in Memphis of all places. Guess you got bored and decided to slum it down here with us heathens,” he grinned meanly, showing his rotten incisors. To humans he would appear irresistibly handsome, but to your keen eye, and that of other supernaturals, this was a mere illusion for the dirt and rot that his true form possessed. His looks weren’t the worst part – to you he stunk of sin, and that was only displayed in the form he took. “I’ve got business, which incidentally, is none of yours. Now give me a key,” you reached over the counter.

He nearly seized your arm before remembering himself with a humorless laugh. The unholy burnt at the touch of an angelic, some even said to burst into flames; the reverse was not said to be true, although it would surely be unpleasant as well as lower your status in heaven.

“Ah, I suppose you can seize it as you wish.”

His eyes followed you up the stairs, licking his lips quick as a gecko as they narrowed into tiny flints. “I’d wish you sweet dreams, but I don’t think they will be.” He smirked.

He wasn’t wrong. Your night brought you a fitful sleep. Nearly drained of your powers for the day, you weren’t able to utilize as many protective measures as you might have otherwise, using what little you had left on the forcefields of your room that protected you from physical harm. The incubus’ face appeared in horrible visions, only disappearing at your wake. These were interspersed with dreams of your charge, Daphne, who flit from scene to scene like an actress appearing in film, never appearing clearly. In fact, even her surroundings were blurred, which was highly unusual. Your mind's eye had sought her presence in a dream-like state once before, and it was never like this. The only thing that became clear was the presence that surrounded her. It was dark, like ink flames that followed her wherever she went. Towards the end you might have caught something red pooling… blood? You couldn’t be sure. A terrifying smile that shook you to your core revealed itself to you, forcing you from your last attempt at rest. It was unfamiliar, yet so horrifying it could only belong to that of an unholy creature. Something told you that it was not that of the incubus’. Could it have been Daphne’s captor? This would mean you were most assuredly up against an unholy. Alas, you needed more information.

Being in the human realm in long periods made your angelic powers less accessible to you. It was dangerous, but you felt you had no choice but to move onward. The sooner you found Daphne, assured her health and safety, the sooner you could return home to heaven. This was what you told yourself as you sought a different source of sustenance in the early morning hours. Now remembering to pay, your breakfast went seamlessly, and you felt recharged enough to tackle the day. Daphne had three close friends varying in intimacy, and one sibling, her sister Sarah, who she’d reacquainted with later in her married life. Her friends were located only twenty minutes or so from her neighborhood, while Sarah was located approximately three-hours northeast in Nashville. You vowed to preserve your powers today, and would forego teleportation in favor of driving. If you made good time, you could return to Memphis by sundown and resume your search.

You quickly learned that Daphne’s friends were in the dark about her extracurriculars, all except for one that was.

Mary Jane. She was a forthright woman, which you could respect. She brewed you some coffee and revealed Daphne had talked about meeting someone at the soup kitchen.

“What kind of someone?” You’d asked.

“A man. I don’t know his name,” she shrugged, “she’d never said, but he was a real charmer apparently.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You don’t think Daphne had an affair, do you?”

Mary Jane looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. If she did, I don’t think she could have fibbed so easily. She’s a terrible liar,” she gave a sardonic laugh, “but she was definitely taken with the man. I think it made her feel awful about it. She didn't talk about him after that, so I assumed it fizzled out. But then she got really distant, not wanting to get together as much. She said it was something at home, not related. Now that she’s missing. . .”

“What?”

“Well, I wonder if it’s about this mystery fella after all,” she looked perturbed. “Sorry, I can’t help more than that.” Probing her mind, you could tell Mary Jane was telling the truth.

Sarah wasn’t much more helpful. Her sister had only recently reconnected, and much of her time was spent wrangling four young children; there wasn’t a lot of common ground. Still, Sarah was appropriately concerned about her sister’s wearabouts. When asked about any new person in Daphne’s life, Sarah seemed completely in the dark. “I can’t say. I wish I could be more helpful.”

Night had descended by the time you returned to Memphis. The ‘Night Crawler’ was a night club just on the outskirts of the city limits, with the backdrop of corn fields all around; in darkness it was nearly pitch-black, save for the odd flickering lamp light that was only ever enough to illuminate a single parking place. An imposing figure stood guard outside the door of the nondescript building, arms crossed. He appeared to be checking for identification, which you would be lacking. Fortunately you had a trick up your sleeve.

“ID?” He asked boredly, eying you up and down. When you attempted to use a simple spell you felt a brick wall not unlike the building’s surface.

Cursing at you, he warned, “Whatever you’re trying to do, Angel, it won’t work.”

It became immediately clear you had run into another supernatural. But of what kind, was the question. You felt aggravation prick at you: what were the chances you’d run into so many non-humans in one place? Either there was more going on than met the eye in this city, or you were naive to the number of supernaturals that had immigrated to the human realm. The incubus hadn’t been entirely wrong in that angels were unaware of the goings on outside of heavenly affairs. Perhaps to your detriment, you were soon learning.

“What are you?” You demanded, feeling a sense of foreboding. “I can’t read you.”

The guard laughed, large chest bouncing with the effort. “It is amusing to see you out of your depth, Angel. I’m one of you. Well,” he considered, “technically, half of you.”

“A nephilim?” You gasped. “But I had heard you were extinct? Run out after the third war, the rest captured and killed.”

“Indeed,” he growled, “I don't need a history lesson on your kin’s ways. Abomination, right? Anything that’s not pure angel is.” He laughed humorlessly.

You remained silent.

It was a belief held by the most conservative of your kind that angel hybrids were to be rooted out with the same level of vengeance as an unholy, because they committed the most heinous of betrayals by diluting the heavenly essence. Both the parties that were found guilty of committing the act, and their offspring as a consequence. You yourself were neutral, but that didn’t seem like the right approach in this circumstance. “It’s unnecessary, and I don’t condone it.”

“But you wouldn’t stop it if you saw it happening either, would you?” He sneered.

Two men, or what appeared to be at first glance, broke into fight in the parking lot, their faces transforming into something monstrous. “Hey, break it up you dogs!” The guard bellowed, eventually pushing himself off the wall to intervene physically. Even half-angel, his strength was a force to be reckoned with, and was more than enough to subdue two fully-grown werewolves without further bloodshed. He looked back at you, gesturing toward the door. “Go on ahead, I won’t stop you. But if you cause any problems, you’ll regret it.”

With a solemn nod of understanding, you went inside, swallowed by the darkness within.

Third Person Point of View

Elvis sensed you the moment you entered the building. Powerful that he was, it was not out of the ordinary that he was acutely aware of others, particularly females, who were his preference of the human sexes. What was highly unusual was the preternatural need he had for you without ever having laid eyes on you. When he found your figure, standing out-of-place in the crowded dance floor while humans and supernaturals alike writhed up against one another and occasionally against your body, clueless thing that you were, he was mesmerized. He’d have thought it an act of God if he weren’t so far removed from heaven. Indeed, his dead heart raced in his chest, long deceased veins thrumming with pleasure as he drank in your view from afar. If you’d only look up, you might have seen him staring greedily, but alas, a woman on a mission, your focus appeared to be elsewhere.

No trouble at all, Elvis thought to himself, reclining back on the long couch surrounded by his scantily clad thralls. He was patient when he had to be. And for you, he had nothing but time.

To be continued . . .

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reality-inflicted · 7 months

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This is a photo with more personal than artistic value (not saying that any of my photography has any of the former, but one can on the rare occasion hope that someone likes what I like). Somewhere in Nashville, Tennessee there is a little park. That park has, or at least it did about ten years ago, a little stage. On that little stage was the most askew little bench I've ever seen. And I loved it. I've never read a book about photography. I started out with a cheap ass little PoS-camera – i aimed it in the general direction of what I liked and I pressed the button. The camera did the rest.

After about a year or so i took money that I really didn't have and bought a small camera that I would bring with me on a trip to China. The plan was to write an article on the trip and to get it published and at least get some of the money back. I did actually manage to sell the articles (there were two of them), but the photos weren't taken with the new camera that I'd bought. On the second day of trip I got absolutely shit-faced in a drinking contest with a retired Major in the Chinese army and consequently lost the camera somewhere in a dark alley. Not a great success. I eventually bought a new camera for more money that I did not have. The last time I saw that it popped up was in a random plastic bag, a forgotten memento of forgotten times. I'd somehow managed to keep the camera though, which was a bit of a step forward I guess. As I geared up to go on my trip to the US, during which this photo was taken, i bought yet another camera I couldn't really afford. True to form I got shitfaced yet again on my second night, this time in San Francisco – a city notoriously unforgiving for drunken tourists. The camera, together with my headphones and some cash vanished. Luckily I'd managed to transfer the photos I'd taken previously onto an external hard drive (now sadly defunct and the photos – again – lost to time). I still had to buy another camera that I couldn't afford to document the remainder of my trip.

I have since lost that camera as well due to being shitfaced. As can be deducted I've had a very long and not very glamorous relationship with alcohol, however I am happy to report that I haven't lost anything to being shitfaced for quite some time now, which is always a bonus. I'd been toying with the idea of cutting down on the drinking before I went on the trip to the US (it will be ten years come December next year) but it would take about four or five more years before I finally felt shitty enough to go through with it. Alcoholism takes many forms – I was in no way drinking every day. But when I did it was always difficult to contain oneself to "just a few beers" resulting in increasingly self-destructive behaviour. What finally pushed me over the edge was the realization that I'd become that which I despise the most – my father. When he got drunk he turned into an absolute asshole and I started to see the same tendencies in myself or, rather, I came to accept that I showed those tendencies and I. Really. Did. Not. Like. That. One. Bit.

So I quit. I didn't drink a drop of alcohol for almost three years. Not that it did any good for my inherent ability to loose things. I still forgot headphones and laptops, but – increasingly – I noticed that I could find them again. In the hangover is a quiet despair, a disgusting apathy, that prevent you from handling even the easiest of tasks.

Today I have the occasional beer. Or a glass of wine with dinner once in a while. I can handle that – I know that some people can't and I place no judgement in that. I like to think, however, that I am at least a little bit of a better, albeit a bit more lonesome person. But that is ok. I like being alone. Like the bench above, all crooked like.

#original photography #original photographers #photographers on tumblr #artists on tumblr #realityinflicted #photography

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imhereformysciencefriends · 6 months

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@mcyt-yuri-week Day 5: Rarepair!

Gem/Puffy because faves should kiss. And flirt. Excessively. Read on AO3 here

Princess Gem was in the lighthouse running some mild repairs when she first caught sight of the ship on the horizon. Ships were not strange things in Dawn. She herself had built the port, after all, but this was not one of Dawn’s ships, nor did she recognize its sails nor its flag. It wasn’t a pirate flag, thank goodness, she wasn’t sure she was quite up to task to deal with seafaring pillagers at the moment, but there was still a stranger at her shores.

She descended the lighthouse and crossed to her port, wings folded behind her for the time being. She didn’t know if this was a threat yet or not, and butterfly wings made for delicate, easily shot targets if she wasn’t cautious.

The ship was modest. Typically there would be a crew of maybe four people for a vessel this size, but it was possible for one person to man such a thing alone, if the person was practiced. Gem stood at the stone wall shoring up the small cliffside, hand resting on a crenellation, and watched as the vessel’s one-woman-crew heaved the anchor over the side, fastened her boat to the dock, and staggered off.

The bow-legged sheep hybrid (ram? She had large, curling horns) glanced up and caught sight of Princess Gem, and flashed her a big smile.

“Hey girl,” she called, leaning her elbow awkwardly on a pile of crates Gem had ready for trade when one of her own ships returned from their current voyage, “are you from Tennessee?”

“...What?”

“Cause you’reeeee the only ten I see!”

Gem stared at her, wide eyed and flabbergasted and maybe just a touch pink to the cheeks.

“Are you drunk!?” she shouted down, trying to sound appalled and mostly just coming off as embarrassed.

The sailor clicked her tongue and snapped before she pointed two double pistols Gem’s way, staggering slightly with her weight removed from the crates. “I am so dehydrated.”

“Oh well for goodness sake!” Gem unlocked the gate to port and descended the steps, catching the sailor before she could tilt hooves over kilter into the seawater behind her. “Did you not pack enough water for your trip?”

“Got blown off course,” she muttered, leaning on Gem heavily, “nasty storm.”

Well. At least she was alive. Gem huffed.

“I am Princess Gem, ruler of Dawn.”

The sailor grinned. “Captain Puffy; at your service pretty lady.”

Gem felt herself blush again, then snapped her gaze forward, focusing on getting them up the steps. “Let’s just get you some water!”

Puffy laughed, and let Gem all but drag her to the tavern. Across multiple bottles of water, a tankard of very thin mead, and two cups of apple cider, Puffy detailed what had happened to Gem. She’d been sailing since she was old enough to hold a rope and had all the overconfidence to match. She’d been on her own, something she’d done a billion times before, when a storm caught her blindsided. She’d survived and so had her ship, but she’d lost some supplies and had been blown far from the shore she’d been headed towards.

“Normally I have my son with me, and he can get rid of the worst storms. Guess I got too comfortable; didn’t prepare like normal people should.”

“You have a son,” Gem said, for some reason fixated on that fact and feeling… oddly sad?

Puffy grinned, waggling her eyebrows at Gem. “Yeah, but I’m single.”

Gem felt heat rise to her cheeks once again.

“And ready to mingle,” Puffy added lasciviously, leaning forward, and Gem shoved the glass towards her.

“Ju–just drink your juice!!”

Puffy laughed and hoisted the glass upwards, first, as though to toast, before downing it.

“You, um, feeling less dehydrated?” Gem asked, desperately changing the subject.

“Yeah. It’ll take a while to fully recover, though, hydration is best done in multiple smaller drinks done consistently and frequently overtime.” Again, that cocksure, self-assured grin of hers. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around a while.”

Gem was a princess. She was trained from a young age to flit lightly and easily from social situation to social situation, always fluttering above conflict and subtle insult and shadowed prodding. Her words were as delicate lace, intricate and woven into complexity.

This woman’s straightforward flirtations and direct approach had Gem’s heart pounding like a warhammer against her birdcage ribs. If Gem’s decorum was trained to look like stained glass, Puffy’s brazenness was a rock crashing through it.

And, on top of all of that, the captain had the audacity to laugh at her.

“You don’t play with sailors much, do you little lady?” she asked, reclining in her seat and crossing a leg over her knee. It gave Gem a very clear view of her. Her white-turned-beige shirt with ruffles over her breasts tucked into high waisted, big-buttoned pants. Her large captain’s coat hanging boldly off her shoulders, her elbows propped up to the sides. Her beads and coins strung throughout her hair, catching the light of the tavern and glinting distractingly. Her sailor’s muscles and big curling horns and the way the light caught on the dampness left on her lips.

“I—” Gem started when she realized she’d been staring, “Converse. With, traders, perfectly frequently.”

“And none of ‘em take advantage of how cute you are?” Why was her voice so loud? It didn’t sound this loud in Gem’s ears when they were on the dock. Well, loud yes but not this loud. Must’ve been because they were inside now. Puffy’s voice was simply filling the space, and echoing back.

“I’m not—it’s not, in a princess’s job description to be taken advantage of,” Gem stuttered, blushing at how the words sounded coming out of her own mouth. She didn’t mean it like that!

But Puffy laughed at her, and uncrossed her leg with a sharp thud of hoof hitting floor, and rose with a faint jingling of her hair ornaments. She rounded the table with lazy swagger, and it should’ve been impossible for a woman so short to loom so toweringly.

She stopped with her hip cocked against the table, and set a hand on Gem’s shoulder, deceptively slow and gentle. “What about fun?” she asked, voice now so quiet, so so so so quiet Gem had to lean forward to hear her better, her hand drifting off Gem’s shoulder to trail down her arm. “Is having fun in the job description?”

“I—” Gem cut off as she shuddered, Puffy’s hand, roughened with rope and seawater, caressing the freckles dotting the exposed skin of Gem’s own. She swallowed, unable to blink or look away. “I have plenty of fun.”

Puffy grinned like she’d won. “Yeah? Come by my boat and show me sometime, pretty princess. I’ll let you see something nice.”

Gem was so red in the face it made her lightheaded as she watched Puffy saunter away. It did not become a princess to lose her marbles so easily, but Gem simply couldn’t seem to relocate her composure. It was fully lost. Off in the fields somewhere. Or maybe it was leaping around Puffy’s hocks, admiring the way her fluffy woolen tail wiggled as she walked.

The moment the tavern door swung shut behind her, Gem tore her eyes away and grasped at the nearest drink, downing the entire thing in big, heaving gulps. She slammed the cup down in a distinctly unladylike fashion, gasping slightly.

Without distraction, she was now free to make eye contact with the tavern keeper. The tavern keeper who watched her very knowingly. Who had probably been watching her and Puffy since the two had entered in and ordered an absurd number of drinks.

But instead of remarking, the tavernkeeper merely asked, “So are you the one paying for those, then?”

“She—oh she didn’t even—!” Gem gasped, realizing Puffy had left her with the bill. “Oh that little—I’m gonna—!”

She was going to—!

Going to…

She…

Gem’s face, flushed red with a mixture of arousal and fluster and embarrassment at being lightly swindled, felt surely that there must be steam rolling out of her ears by this point. She dropped her burning face into her hands, hiding behind her curtain of hair and red to the tips of her ears.

#captain puffy #captainpuffy #geminitay #gempuffy #puffygem #mcytyuriweek2023 #mcyt yuri week #empires #empires smp #empires s2 #dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #my writing #haro writes #flirting #brazen flirting #rarepair

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