monday: weapons and combat

Agents of Shield, May + or /Skye, trying to teach Skye that her body is her strongest weapon.

Persona 4, Naoto, on the firing range

Final Fantasy Tactics A2, Frimelda + or /Adelle, a sword she wants is up for auction and Frimelda knows only one person who'll fight dirty enough to get it for her

Any, any, using your size to best advantage

Title: Fighting the urge
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,045 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for m_findlow's prompt "any, any, using your size to best advantage" at fic_promptly
Summary: Ianto has many lessons to learn

Jack had been upfront with him from the start. It didn't matter that his duties would be purely administrative, he expected all of his team to have basic defensive training. He wouldn't be out in the field, but as Jack was prepared to admit, sometimes the field came to them. It was an occupational hazard.

Ianto was okay with that. After all, he'd been forced to undertake defensive training at Torchwood One as well. The only difference being the definition of defensive training. Jack was naturally referring to physical combat, hand to hand stuff, self defense and the like. The Torchwood One definition had been learning how to shoot a gun at your assailant. It was one of the many principles on which they disagreed. Yvonne believed that smarts and technology were required to win a battle, not muscle. Jack on the other hand believed in morals over righteousness. Sure, Jack expected a basic understanding of firearms too, but guns were to be a last resort option only. Ianto had once questioningly raised an eyebrow as this and looked down at the webley strapped in its holster at his hip. Jack's reply was succinct. 'I'm the leader. That means I have to make the hard decisions no one else can.'

Combat training with Jack was certainly an experience in itself. The first few times, Ianto spent the bulk of it with his back flat on the mat. Jack laughed and said he was going easy on him, in that usual flirtatious way where Ianto wasn't sure which of them was leading the other on. If this was Jack going easy on him, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of Jack at full force. He wasn't usually one to complain, but he hadn't made any improvement over the months. As Jack threw him back on the floor for the umpteenth time, winding him slightly, he huffed loudly with frustration.

'Get up,' Jack ordered.

'No.'

'No?'

'No,' Ianto repeated firmly.

He knew that Jack and the team hadn't had the best of days, but he'd also refused to postpone their session. Perhaps Jack though he could burn off some of his earlier tension. In any case, Ianto too, wasn't in the mood for being polite. He was fed up with the lack of progress. It didn't help that he'd lost Lisa just a few weeks previous, and that as much as he was sometimes tempted to thump the living daylights out of Jack, he had yet to succeed.

Jack wasn't blind to Ianto's state of mind either. He'd been careful to keep things as normal as possible between them, including their combat training. At the same time, he had lessons to learn and Jack wouldn't give up until he'd learnt them.

Jack steeled himself for what was to come next.

'I said, get up.'

Ianto's eyes blazed at him with an inner fury that was rarely out on display. Now they were getting somewhere.

'You wanna hit me? Don't pretend you can't, or won't. You already proved you could right hook me if you really wanted to.'

Ianto bolted up and swung wildly wide before Jack clipped his knee from behind, sending him tumbling back down to the floor.

'Emotions will get you killed if you can't control them,' Jack lectured coldly. 'You should know that better than anyone.'

It was a callous statement but it had the desired effect, forcing the young man back to his feet. The sharp look of determination etched on his face.

That was when Ianto caught him by surprise. It wasn't necessarily a legal move, and certainly not one that Jack had taught him, but when it came to defending your own life, rules went out the window. It was more of a rugby tackle, which sent them both sprawling across the mat. Jack expected the fist to come at him next, and he dodged it before pulling his own move. To his surprise, Ianto parried it easily, along with the next several moves, getting in a few of his own. The next few minutes saw them engage in a series of moves and counter moves. Ianto was the smaller man, but it seemed he'd finally understood how to use his size to best advantage. His lean build made him more agile than Jack, so that when Jack made to take him down with a decisive move, Ianto manoeuvred easily out of reach, and in the next moment had pinned Jack on the floor underneath him.

Both of them were breathing hard. Jack searched Ianto's expression for the residual anger that indicated he would shortly have to explain a black eye and bloodied nose to Owen. He didn't find it, only a tired resignation that the fight had gone out of him.

'I knew you had it in you,' Jack puffed. 'I just wish I hadn't had to push you so hard,' he apologised.

Next thing he knew, Ianto was pressing his lips against Jack's own. It was an unexpected turn of events, but not an unpleasant one.

Ianto released slightly from him, but Jack decided he wanted more. He took advantage of the loosened grip and rolled them both, so that he was on top and Ianto was once again with his back on the mat, Jack's favourite position, and began hungrily assailing his mouth again. The struggle continued as both vied for a position of dominance, but neither could really tell when it had devolved from play fighting into foreplay.

They eventually broke apart before things got too heated. They were, after all, still on duty, despite the late hour.

As they gathered themselves from the floor and headed for the changerooms, Jack ventured to ask the question playing on his mind.

'So, can I assume that we're continuing with your training regime?'

'That depends which part you're referring to, Sir,' he replied coyly. All of the anger and tension from earlier was stripped away, leaving his mind and soul lighter for it. He still wasn't sure how Jack manged to do that, but he was glad for it.

'I think I'm going to have to insist on it,' Jack replied, his voice lowered to somewhere between a growl and a purr.

'You're the boss.'

Any, any, that's not fair, who said you could use a sword?

FAKE, Dee/Ryo, Guns are part of the job.

Guns go with the territory; you can’t be a cop in New York without one, but that doesn’t mean you have to carry one all the time. Ryo leaves his gun at home, securely locked away, when he’s not at work, only getting it out and slipping it into its holster before leaving for the precinct. He has a kid; leaving his weapon lying around isn’t an option.

Dee keeps his gun with him most of the time, only leaving it at home when he’s on a date or visiting the orphanage. It seems somehow sacrilegious to be armed in Mother’s presence, although he doesn’t think she’d object; he’s a cop after all, and guns are part of his job. Nevertheless, guns have no place where there are a lot of kids. It’s not safe.

At the precinct, guns are everywhere; uniformed officers wear theirs on their belts, detectives wear a mix of belt and shoulder holsters, each according to his or her own preference. The civilian clerks are unarmed, for the most part, although some probably have carry permits. While Dee and Ryo are busy with phone calls or paperwork, they often lock their handguns in their desk drawers, only wearing them when they’re out on the street. Why burden themselves when they don’t have to?

Ryo’s sniper rifle stays at the precinct permanently; he doesn’t want it in the apartment where Bikky and his friends might find it, and besides, the police armoury is the best and most secure place for it. He only uses it occasionally, but he still cleans and oils it every week. Guns need to be properly maintained. Once a month he takes it to an outdoor police firing range, because it’s important to keep in practice, and the precinct’s basement firing range is only suitable for handguns; the more powerful rifle would likely punch a hole in the wall.

Like all cops, Dee and Ryo regularly hone their shooting skills on the range. No matter how good a shot you are, there’s always room for improvement, and it’s also an effective way of dealing with the frustrations of the job. There’s something oddly satisfying about reducing a paper target to shreds.

But for all that guns are part of the job, each and every day Dee and Ryo hope that they won’t have to shoot anybody.

The End

Torchwood, Any, Alien weapons don't always look like weapons.

FAKE, Dee/Ryo, Sparring together.

Just because cops were armed with guns didn’t mean they could afford to let their unarmed combat skills grow rusty. The police academy taught them to fight with their bare hands as well as giving them comprehensive firearms training, but while their marksmanship was tested regularly, it was up to the officers themselves to keep their other skills up to scratch. Dee was pretty sure his own fighting techniques had improved a fair bit since he’d been paired with Ryo, not least because his partner had some pretty impressive martial arts moves in his repertoire.

Martial arts were way cool; Ryo had taken karate lessons from an early age, and it hadn’t taken too much begging on Dee’s part to persuade his partner to teach him. Now they made time to spar together at least twice a month, learning from each other. Dee, being a street kid, knew how to fight dirty, and had also done a bit of boxing when he was younger, while Ryo knew karate and some judo, so it was a fair exchange. It also gave Dee the perfect opportunity to surreptitiously grope his partner, since grabbing on and throwing each other to the mat was perfectly in keeping with the rules of this kind of sparring.

Not that Dee managed to grab and throw Ryo all that often; his partner was kinda slippery and good at avoiding being grabbed, which made Dee wonder why he seemed to have so much difficulty avoiding being pounced. Maybe it was because during sparring practice Ryo expected Dee to grab at him while at other times, like at home or at Dee’s place, he didn’t.

Right at that moment, Ryo had Dee pinned bodily to the mat. He’d gone down hard and nearly had the breath knocked out of him, but having Ryo lying on top of him more than made up for any discomfort he might be feeling. He was almost tempted to try and steal a kiss, except that Ryo was explaining what Dee had done wrong and Dee was happy to stay right there listening, rather than risk causing Ryo to scramble off him prematurely. He’d probably use the scenario in his fantasies later, imagining kissing his partner and having Ryo kiss him back before…

No, not a good idea to think along those lines right now; he needed to pay attention to what Ryo was saying.

“Understand?” Ryo asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Can we try that again?”

Ryo nodded, and Dee bit back a groan of disappointment as that leanly muscled body shifted off him and Ryo stood, offering him a hand up. Dee intended to keep practising this move until he was the one pinning Ryo to the mat. Even though he wouldn’t be able to take full advantage of that position for fear of Ryo refusing to train him anymore, it would still be worth experiencing, and it would make a change to have Ryo’s approval for jumping on him. Someday, hopefully, Ryo would be all for the other, more pleasurable, form of grappling, but for the moment Dee would take his pleasure wherever he could find it. It was worth getting a bit banged up.

The End

Time on the firing range was well spent, Dee knew his marksmanship had improved under his partner’s expert tutelage, but even the most gun-happy cop in the department knew their service weapon wasn’t the be all and end all when it came to defending themselves on the street. There were times when unarmed combat was a more appropriate response to being attacked than pulling a gun.

Dee was no slouch at hand to hand; he’d grown up in a rough neighbourhood and got into his share of fights. He’d learned from an early age to fight dirty, and then Jess had taken him in hand and taught him the rudiments of boxing. He could hold his own against the general run of thugs and reluctant arrestees, but he was outclassed by Ryo, who’d started learning karate from his mother almost before he could walk. Lessons had followed as soon as he was old enough, not just karate but also judo, and it hadn’t taken Dee too much in the way of begging before Ryo had agreed to share his knowledge of martial arts.

It was way cool! They made time to spar together two or three times a month, every week if work and other obligations allowed, and Dee loved having the opportunity to grapple with his partner’s lean frame, grabbing anywhere he could and getting all sweaty. He could easily get away with a surreptitious grope here and there under the guise of trying to throw his smaller and slighter partner. Not that he succeeded often, Ryo was too experienced at this kind of fighting, while Dee was a novice, but the attempts certainly spiced up proceedings.

Ryo was also more on guard when sparring than when the two of them were alone together at his or Dee’s apartment, and very focussed on teaching Dee the proper techniques, which Dee did is best to concentrate on, but sometimes it was so hard!

Right now, Ryo had him pinned bodily to the mat. Dee had gone down so hard the breath had almost been knocked out of him, but he wasn’t complaining because Ryo was lying on top of him, all sweaty and dishevelled, and that was such a turn on it more than made up for any slight discomfort he might be feeling.

Dee tried to concentrate on what his partner was saying, an explanation of what he’d done wrong, but Ryo’s lips were so close and he smelled so good, musky and male… It was a bad idea, and worse it could put an end to their sparring sessions, but right at the instant Dee decided it was worth the risk and as Ryo moved to get off him Dee flipped them over so he was the one on top, claiming Ryo’s lips in a deep, passionate kiss as his hands roamed unchecked over his partner’s body.

Next thing he knew he was flat on his back and Ryo was on his feet, glaring down at him, eyes flashing with anger.

“Don’t you ever stop?” he snapped. “And here I was actually starting to think you might be serious about learning from me, but it’s all just a game to you, isn’t it? Any excuse to paw at me! You must think you’re so clever! Well as of now I’m done with this charade. You can find yourself another sparring partner, if anyone else will have you.” Spinning on his heel, Ryo stalked off across the room.

Gathering his scattered wits, Dee scrambled to his feet and started after him. “No, please Ryo, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that; it was a stupid spur of the moment whim! I am serious about learning, honest, and I swear it’ll never happen again. Just please give me another chance!”

“For what? So you can try to… take advantage of me again? How am I supposed to trust you, Dee? I’m not some plaything you get to grope whenever you feel like it.”

“I know that, and I know I screwed up just now, I let temptation get the better of me, but I’ll behave in the future, you have my word!”

Ryo sighed heavily. “I don’t know; I’ll have to think about it, alone. I’m not sure how much your word is worth. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” Turning away again he left the room. On the bright side, he didn’t slam the door behind him so maybe he wasn’t as angry as he’d sounded, more disappointed in Dee than anything. Thinking about it, that was worse.

Dee dropped his head into his hands. What had he done? He’d thrown away one of the greatest highlights of his existence for the sake of a brief smooch and some illicit fondling. Any trust he’d built between himself and the man he was crazy about had just been obliterated in the space of a few seconds. He uttered a hollow, despairing groan; he had no one to blame for this disaster but himself.

“I just never learn.”

After a few moments he straightened up; there was no point in wallowing. Somehow, no matter what it took, he was going to have to set things right again between himself and Ryo, prove he did actually have some self control around his flighty partner, that he could be trusted. Then just maybe Ryo would agree to resume teaching him, although it remained to be seen whether their friendship would survive his latest seduction attempt.

Maybe Ryo really wasn’t interested in anything beyond friendship and Dee should just accept that, only that would mean letting go of his dreams of winning Ryo’s heart, and he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to do that. He hoped he hadn’t completely blown his chances with the man of his dreams. Only time would tell.

The End

Author's choice, author's choice, gunpowder and lead

Narcissa Malfoy knew that the time had come, she had to make her break for freedom now, before her life became any more entwined with the Dark Lord. Her husband was deep in the Dark Lord’s circle and so was her elder sister Bellatrix, but Narcissa had managed so far to keep herself to the sidelines, never taking the mark of the monster, but giving her support.

Her support had gotten her nowhere though, the Dark Lord would never share power, not with her husband at least, and the more out of favour Lucius became the harder he was to live with. She knew that he was feeling like he was a failure, but that didn’t give him the right to treat her the way he had been, she wanted out before her life got any worse.

Lucius had always thought that he had the upper hand in their marriage, she was the youngest and most petite of the Black sisters and was often seen as niave because of that, but really she was just biding her time. She was not as fanatic as her eldest sister Bellatrix, nor was she a muggle lover like her elder sister Andromeda, she was a true Slytherin she was only concerned with her own survival. Her survival had been her top priority so when she was younger she had soaked up as much knowledge as she could. She had let Bellatrix teach her all sorts of dark and illegal curses, and had learnt about the mysteries of the muggle things gunpowder and lead from Andromeda and her muggleborn boyfriend.

Narcissa would never admit to anyone that she enjoyed the feel of a shotgun in her hand, she doubted they would believe her if she did. In a way it made things better, no-one would ever think to connect her to what was going to happen, it wouldn’t even cross their minds. Her plan of attack was simple, and should never be connected to her.

Narcissa knew from her sister that Lucius would be home within the next few hours, the Dark Lord had liberated his followers from Azkaban earlier that day when everyone else was concerned about the children returning to Hogwarts. Draco was at the school, out of the way and safe, or as safe as he could be whilst trying to assassinate the Headmaster. All Narcissa had to do was lie in wait for her darling husband to return, and then she could begin to make her attempt for freedom.

When Lucius returned it was obvious to Narcissa that the Dark Lord had tortured him, the tremors running through his body from the cruciatus curse were a dead giveaway. When she mentioned this Lucius he backhanded her, shocking Narcissa to the core. While Lucius had become harder to live with physical violence was not his normal method of aggression; he was normally more likely to curse her with something that would leave no marks.

His actions only strengthened her resolve, she called his name to get his attention while she pulled out the small gun she had hidden on her person. She had gone to a lot of trouble to get a small concealable weapon, she would have been much more comfortable with a shotgun, it was what she had learnt to shoot with after all; but it would have been counterproductive to her subterfuge.

She smiled at Lucius, a cold frigid smile, as he turned to face her and the barrel of her small revolver. She pulled the trigger. Watching Lucius fall was like a weight lifting from her back, the fact that he knocked a priceless vase over on his way to the ground was satisfying; he had always cared more for the Malfoy heirlooms than he had her.

Retreating to her room she hid her weapon before heading back downstairs to discover the body after hearing the crash. After running a diagnostic charm she would contact the aurors, informing them that her husband had turned up at the manor when he should be in prison and that someone had killed him. They would question her, but no-one would ever believe she had done it, not when they realised that Lucius was killed with a muggle weapon. She would be free of Lucius once and for all.

Draco would have to be pulled out of school, for a short while at least, appearances must be kept, and funeral arrangements would have to be made. Once the funeral was over however she would convince Draco that it was time to leave. Instead of him returning to Hogwarts they would leave for France, sealing Malfoy Manor, and escaping the war and the Dark Lord. If it meant that Severus had to step in and kill Dumbledore on Draco’s behalf, well he should never have allowed her to trick him into such an unbreakable vow. She was a Slytherin, her survival and that of her son were the only things that mattered.

Very interesting story. Thank you for writing this.

Thanks :) I saw the prompt and Miranda Lambert's Gunpowder and Lead was playing on spotify at the time, I couldn't resist.

Great minds must think alike, because that's actually how the prompt popped into my head in the first place. :-)

Highlander, author's choice, an Immortal's sword is his life.

BtVS, author's choice, Stakes, and holy water

Author's choice, author's choice, "A more civilized weapon for a more civilized age" (Obi - Wan Kenobi, Star Wars: A New Hope)

Author's choice, author's choice, the pen is mightier than the sword.

Title: Bad news
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 820 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for juliet316’s prompt "any, any, the pen is mightier than the sword" at fic_promptly
Summary: Torchwood finds enemies I the most unlikely of places

There's one type of creature Jack hates above all others. It's not the aliens hell bent on coming here and taking over, slash killing or enslaving, slash destroying the entire planet. It's not the police force who hinder more than they help. It's not even the politicians and the beaurecrats that make life difficult for him by constantly being on the phone, complaining about how this situation was dealt with or that one, and who's going to pay for it all. No, if there's one species of individual that really gets up Jack's nose, it's journalists.

The Official Secrets Act doesn't apply to people outside of government owned departments, and even if it did, you couldn't trust any journalist who signed it to ever keep their end of the bargain, no matter how serious the prison sentence for defying the law. They're snakes who are only out to look after themselves.

One in particular has always had it in for Jack. Samuel Jordan. He's the biggest snake of them all in Jack's books. He's been retconned so may times it's a wonder that he can even remember how to put his socks on in the morning, and that stupid bow tie that he always wears.

They're still not quite sure how he manages it, but he's often found lurking at the scene when the police first arrive, and still there after they've left. You know when he's there because he's always dressed the same. Long black overcoat, polished brogues, waistcoat, bow tie. He's taken to repeatedly turning up in and around areas where Torchwood are investigating, even when the police aren't involved. He even had the gumption to turn up one night when Jack and Ianto were doing nothing more than waiting to pick up a pizza and have a quiet night in. It was only luck that Ianto prevented a thoroughly incensed Jack from getting into yet another altercation with the insufferable man. A public assault charge would be just the sort of ammunition Jordan was probably hoping for.

A background check hasn't revealed anything about how he knows where to find them, and also confirms he's not alien himself. He did move here from London though three years ago, so Jack suspects he was hassling Torchwood One before their untimely downfall, and may have possibly looted the site for classified documents and other items. Jack and Owen ransacked his flat one day when he was out, to see if he was hiding anything, but turned up nothing. They'd been hoping for a rift activity locator or something similar that might explain how he knew where to find them.

The worst part is Jack just can't get rid of him. Sometimes Jack yearns for the old days when Torchwood could just make people they didn't like, just disappear. No questions asked. Therein lies the problem.

If he were publicly known as a bit of a quack, a geek, or a conspiracy theorist, they could probably have shut him down. The problem is that, admittedly, he's good at his job, and well known. His editor doesn't care for his stalking adventures, and the explanation that he's following a story that will rock the city's foundations, but so long as all his other assignments and submitted on time and to the requisite standard, he'll let Jordan have his eccentricities. Who knows, one day maybe they'll pay dividends, and the more credibility he earns in the mean time, the better. Anything to help sales of newspapers.

He's somehow managed to suss out the names of all of the members of the team, much to Jack's annoyance. He uses it as leverage whenever they go head to head, which is often considering Jack's naturally antagonistic method of dealing with people. Jordan threatens to release their names in the media if Jack doesn't give him what he wants by the end of their argument. Somehow, someway, retcon always finds its way to Jordan's mouth by the end of such a day's argument, and he forgets all about his threatening remarks.

Jack knows that he could release the names any time he wanted, but he likes holding that card close to his chest to keep Jack in line, or so he thinks. Nothing might come from their names being released, but Jack's not prepared to take the chance. Torchwood is dangerous enough as it is. The last thing they need is some nutter reading Jordan's article, tracking down their address and coming after them. They're his team, and he'll protect them at any cost.

He's a weasel of a man and he gets under of the skin of everyone on the team, but Jack most of all. He's obnoxious and persistent, irritating and conniving, but for now, there's not much Jack can do about it. All he can do is keep a careful watch on him, which shouldn't be hard since he's never far away.

Edited 2016-03-13 09:30 (UTC)

Will probably get to close to something and the journalist will meet his end in a gristly Torchwood-esque way eventually. Very nice story, thank you for writing this!

Author's choice, author's choice, grenades

𖣂
𖣂
𖣂
𖣂
𖣂

It's not the bombs that cause the first death that Damocles sees in connection to his enlistment. Nor is it any of the bullets that rain like fearsome hail on them in the trenches, or the desperate souls that cross over to physically reach them with blades, or, the ones that he remembers most vividly because it's what almost killed him too, the invisible land mines.

It's not even on the battlefield. It's nowhere near it.

It happens a day early into the training the new recruits get, one of which is Damocles himself. The assignment of the day is to learn about and how to handle basic explosives, and a few of the others, trying to release some of the tension stretching among the young, nervous soldiers, are making jokes, as their instructor turns his back to answer questions or aid someone.

It's a sweeping gesture that does it. It knocks a box off kilter, and the contents spill out on the ground. Faces pale, the instructor turns, is saying to step away, but the young man, barely out of boyhood really, is flustered, and bends to pick up the pieces.

When one explodes, it spreads into a massive blast that knocks people over, spreads into fire, and shatters the ground and tables around them. The accident is terrible, many lives are lost, and in the roaring silence that follows, leaving Damocles deaf for several long, anguished days, the sight of the boy picking up that one, triggering grenade, won't leave Damocles' mind, long after even he loses his mortal life.

Very sad. Tank you for writing this.

I'm glad you think so! Thank you!

Kingdom Hearts, Organization XIII, using the joke weapons with a straight face

Duke Nukem Forever, Duke, accidentally picking up the turd instead of the shotgun.

Contains strong language, violence, and improper use of a turd. ... I love this series.

* * * *

Not a lot of space to fight in a public bathroom. Duke thought about that as he ate a horn-knuckled fist about the size of his head, or at least big enough to hurt.

He landed on his back, but immediately did a roll and got back to his feet. He might have been packing on the years (and the pounds), but he had not lost his touch. He had, however, lost his gun, though he noticed it was not far from where he had landed.

The alien grinned. Then again, face like that, it looked like it was always grinning. Where did outer space come up with these gruesome sons of bitches, anyway?

"All right, peckerwood," Duke said, gritting his teeth, "let's see who's laughin' now." And he reached down to pick up the shotgun that had been knocked from his hands in the previous hand-to-hand scuffle, his eyes never leaving the opponent in front of him.

Squish.

"Don't they say not to play with your food on this planet, Duke? Hurfhurfhurf." Son of a bitch was having a good laugh. And why? Duke had grabbed the wrong thing.

He thought back to the big fight at the stadium, and he got both a major sense of déjà vu and a strong urge to fling one of his favorite expletives at the wall.

How to save the situation? Duke had to think quickly. "You're the one with the shit-eating grin on his face." Splat. Right between the eyes. Being a bug-eyed monster had its disadvantages. "Guess you were just in time for the shitshow." And that gave Duke the time he needed to lift up his sunglasses, look down at where the shotgun was, pick it up, and put a fist-sized hole through the bastard without batting an eyelash.

As he walked away, though, Duke grumbled, wiping his hand on his pants, "People really gotta learn how to flush when they're done. What a mess."

And yet he still insisted on wearing his sunglasses at all hours.

END.

Author's choice, author's choice, the art of arms trading

Author's choice, author's choice, unarmed combat

monday: weapons and combat

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Fill: Part Of The Job (FAKE: Ryo, Dee: PG)

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Fill: Sparring Practice (FAKE: Dee, Ryo: PG)

Fill: Crossing The Line – Sparring Practice Remix (FAKE: Dee, Ryo: PG)

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Fill - Harry Potter, Narcissa Malfoy - Survival

Re: Fill - Harry Potter, Narcissa Malfoy - Survival

Re: Fill - Harry Potter, Narcissa Malfoy - Survival

Re: Fill - Harry Potter, Narcissa Malfoy - Survival

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Vampire the Masquerade, OC Vampire (pre-Embrace) [WWI, Gruesome Death (explicit-ish & referenced]

Re: Vampire the Masquerade, OC Vampire (pre-Embrace) [WWI, Gruesome Death (explicit-ish & referenced

Re: Vampire the Masquerade, OC Vampire (pre-Embrace) [WWI, Gruesome Death (explicit-ish & referenced

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Downtown Brown [Duke Nukem Forever – Duke]

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