Y'all got some headcanons for a completely stoned Black Hat?
(y'all? Just me here buddy)
disclaimer: mod knows jack shit about being stoned. Anyways–
It’s probably Flug’s weed. (Lord knows he fucking needs it.) BH probably found his stash and asked Dementia what the fuck it was. Dementia happily showed him how to uh. Do. The drugs.? Yeah.
BH’s pupils dilate so hard man omg. It’s like a cat or something, he takes a hit and coughs a lot, but once he gets the hang of it he’s like woah
his physical form kinda stops working?? Like his body goes all fuzzy around the edges and his coat tails start growing fringe and his hat seems to droop as Black Hat slouches for one of the first times in his life.
He’s also smiling. It’s a little bit terrifying how calm he seems right now.
“Dem. Demenem. Demented.” “Dementia.” “You ever wonder what happens when we die?”
“Holy shit guys I think my hands are snakes.” Contrary to popular belief, BH’s hands actually are snakes at the moment. They hiss softly before falling off and melting away. “Woah. Trippy.”
He laughs at everything Dementia says; she reads 5.0.5’s shopping list and he fucking loses it.
When it wears off he switches his monocle to his other eye and yells at Flug for “not sharing that green thing” earlier.
So...what did your old human form look like anyway? At all similar to how you look now?
“How similar? Not even in the slightest. Eye color, height, weight, there is nothing that matches up with how I used to look. Which causes problems whenever I see a mirror. Still kinda hard to accept that this…”
“”This dog looking back is me. I keep expecting her to step aside and see my regular self… but that doesn’t look to be happening anytime soon.”
A weird Western set in a world where Norse heathenism, rather than Christianity, is the dominant religion of America.
The gods walk abroad in the untamed West. Odin watches the gallows and hanging trees where the outlaws dance their last, just as he did in the old days; his spear traded in for a sixshooter, his slouch hat for a ten gallon, his shabby cloak for for a duster- but nothing else has changed.
Thor heralds the thunder that breaks over the deserts and plains, and is much praised in the West for the rain his thunder heralds.
Freya sets watchful eyes on the seithrmather and volva, where they cast the runes in alleyways and saloons for coin enough to wet their parched throats, and guards with fierce devotion the saloon gals and hookers.
The Choosers of the Slain watch the duels and shootouts, and wait.
…yes, before you ask, this is the result of reading American Gods while listening to Blues Sareceno.
I had a request for a fic where Scout looked to Sniper as a father figure. This was the result!
“So how’d you get into snipin’?”
Sniper looked up from his book to see a pair of blue eyes staring down from the top of the stack of crates that he’d hidden himself behind. Backlit by the afternoon sun, Scout stared down at him as he crouched on the edge, somehow having found the one place left on the base proper that Sniper had thought he’d be able to find some peace.
Instead he sighed and closed his book. There was very little that could dissuade Scout when the kid got something in his head, and he’d learned long ago that humoring him was the fastest way to get back to his reading.
“Just kind of fell into it, I suppose.” He replied as Scout dropped down beside him and settled himself on the ground. “Nothing too out of the ordinary. Growing up on a farm meant knowing how. Had to keep the nuisances away somehow.”
“Pests. Keep rabbits out of the garden, snakes out of the hen house, chase off the occasional croc.” Sniper shrugged. “The usual. I just happened to be really good at it.”
“Oh.” Scout shifted a bit. “We got different definitions of ‘nuisance’, then.”
Again, reuse some old clothes in your closet that you don’t wear anymore! Or go to a thrift store for a sweater if you don’t have any you’re willing to slice up. This is an alternative to knitting a beanie, but will require a bit of sewing.
“Camper?” Sniper raised the brim of his slouch hat to peer up at the silhouetted shape in front of him. “You still mad that the RED Sniper pegged you right before time was called?”
Scout kicked at the dirt, sending a rock skipping into the rough underbrush at the edge of the campsite. “It’s cheap, man.
“Look, I know you’re pissed, but that’s what snipin’ is.”
“Pot shots?” Scout snorted. “Please. Freakin’ camper outta actually learn how to fight with a gun.”
Sniper pulled down his aviators and looked out over the lenses. “What, like that scattergun you lug around with you? All that wavin’ about you’re doing is fighting?”
Scout nodded “Up close and personal. Like a good fight oughta be.”
“So you can’t help but hit, more like. You miss someone with a load of buckshot from two feet, you deserve to wind up in respawn.” Sniper couldn’t hold back an amused chuckle, and barely held back from outright laughter when Scout shot him a scowl. “Snipin’s an art. Takes skill to ‘camp’.”
“How hard is that?” Scout scoffed as he held up two fingers like a gun. “You point it, aim it, fire it. Pow!” His wrist snapped in a mimicry of recoil. “Move on.”
There was a certain temptation to just let it go, and up until that last bit, that’s what Sniper had been inclined to do. He knew it was frustrating to get halfway across the field past a barrage of missiles, explosives, and fire, just to be sent right back to respawn by a single well-placed bullet. But there was an element of professional pride, even if he was roundabout defending the slipshod shooting of the RED Sniper. Besides, he wasn’t gonna let a young buck whose definition of “finesse” in combat included bludgeoning someone with a baseball bat. With a sigh, he pulled himself up from his camp chair and, in a single smooth motion, he grabbed his rifle, swung it to his shoulder and fired off a shot. The canyon echoed as the rifle cracked, and Scout watched as the brittle branch of a weathered dead tree was sent flying.
“Not hard at all, I guess.” Sniper turned as he ejected the spent shell casing and looked at the surprised expression on Scout’s face. He slipped a fresh round into the breach and locked it into place. “Show me how it’s done, Roo.”
“What?” Scout looked at the rifle. “Me?”
Sniper nodded as he held the gun out. “Yeah. Ain’t that hard, is it? I didn’t even bother to aim.”
For a minute Scout just looked at the rifle in Sniper’s hands as if it were going to jump out and bite him. Then, either out of pride or principle, he took it and felt the weight, sliding his hand on the stock until his hands were in roughly the same positions as Sniper’s had been. He planted his feet on the ground, his stance narrow as he pulled the stock to his shoulder and squinted down the iron sights. His hands were shaking and causing the muzzle to quiver at the end of the barrel. A small tremor that wouldn’t have meant anything with a scattergun, but for a rifle was enough to send the bullet careening off course. The weather wasn’t overly warm, but he could see a small bead of sweat starting to form at Scout’s temple.
Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy, ran through Sniper’s head, but he held his tongue while Scout’s own peeked out between his lips. His first shots weren’t nearly as neat.
Still, he was trying.
With a brazenness and disregard for proper gun safety that came with dying several times in a given day, Sniper crept up behind Scout and slipped his hands on top as Scout stiffened underneath. “Don’t overreach. I’ve got longer arms than you.” He gently pulled Scout’s hand closer. A long leg tucked between Scout’s knees to urge his stance wider, directing his feet before using his own arms to pull him taller. “Don’t slouch. Stand up straight. Makes you stronger.” He murmured over Scout’s shoulder as he used whole body to carefully nudge him this way and that until he almost felt like the gun was back in his own hands. After a minute, he felt Scout relax in front of him, and when those blue eyes flicked back to look at him, he didn’t feel all that inclined to let go.
“Take a minute and breathe,” Sniper instructed quietly. “Get a handle on your own heartbeat.”
For once Scout was quiet. They stood there, front to back, as Scout slowly picked up the easy rise and fall of Sniper’s trained breaths into his own rhythm. The wind blew gently around them and the soft moan as it ran through the desert canyons was the only sound.
“Good, Roo.” Sniper leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost across Scout’s neck. “Now when you’re ready, exhale and fire.”
Sniper felt the rifle’s kick, but held both himself and Scout firm. Down the canyon he heard the ping of the bullet striking a rock, and pulled away to see a small dust cloud a few feet to the right of the tree.
“Not bad?” Scout exclaimed. “That’s it?”
Sniper grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “You did hit the general vicinity of the tree. I’ll give you that.”
“Pppph!” Scout stuck out his tongue as he handed the rifled back to Sniper.
“Think you might have some promise though.” Sniper continued as he ejected the casing. “You’ll just have to come back and practice some more.”
Scout did not blush. He totally, absolutely, positively did not blush at the look that Sniper was giving him over the rims of his glasses and the slip his voice made into a range just a little deeper that was totally on purpose. And he sure as hell didn’t get a goofy grin of his own as all thoughts about the indignity of respawn and RED campers faded away into nothing.
But he did certainly plan on another round of target practice.
When Theodore Roosevelt became police commissioner of New York in 1895, the NYPD was its most dangerous and powerful criminal enterprise. An organized brutal shakedown ring, the captains had a hand in most of the city’s illegal operations. Determined to clean up the corruption, Roosevelt did exactly what Commissioner Gordon did when he took over Gotham City’s corrupt police force: he put on a black cape, patrolled the most dangerous parts of the city at midnight, and used his great physical strength, expertise in martial arts, and detective skills to personally deliver wrongdoers to justice.
“It was dimly lit by candles…and Jimmy was just sitting there in a corner, wearing this hat slouched over his eyes and holding a cane. It was really mysterious and weird…He looked just like a gangster. It was magnificent.” - Lori Maddox
There were very few occasions where Lily truly hated being a girl. Sure, she had cramps and cursed her uterus just as much as the next girl, but really. Lily loved being a girl.
Except when she was standing at the end of an incredibly wrong line, knees shaking with the urge of controlling her rebellious bladder. Due to an unfortunate prank Marlene had pulled, the largest girls bathroom on this side of the school was shut down until the mirrors stopped flashing Bloody Mary. Lily had no qualms about the screaming murdered woman in the mirror, but at least 3 first years had passed out. Marlene hadn’t stopped laughing. Lily could’ve cried. 6 years of magical education, and she was 30 seconds from peeing her damn self.
The most infuriating part of this situation was that the boys room had no line. Absolutely none. Sweat beaded on Lily’s forehead, and she decided that desperate times called for desperate measures. Turning quickly on her heel, she rounded the corner and hid behind a curtained alcove. Shoving her hair up into her hat and slouching, she made a mad dash into the boys room.
If she was quick and lucky, she could get away with this.
Nearly choking with the stench, she dived into a stall. ‘Just in time, too’. She knew a hand washing spell, so if she could skip out quickly, no one would be the wiser. Lily was about to congratulate herself on a job well done, until she heard a familiar voice.
Four familiar voices, to be precise.
James Potter was in there with his pals, and they were planning something.
“Mate, if I levitited you, the stairs shouldn’t change. I mean they’re triggered by someone stepping on them,” James said excitedly.
Sirius seemed skeptical. “I’m fairly certain that Godric would have had the foresight to plan against prats like you.”
Lily could feel her face turning bright red in fury. Those perverts were planning on sneaking into the girls dormitories! Throwing all pride to the wind, Lily quickly adjusted her robes, and burst out of her stall, glaring daggers.
The door slammed open with a bang, and Lily felt a glimmer of savage pride as Peter nearly soiled himself. Not that she typically enjoyed terrifying Peter, but this time he deserved it. They all deserved it.
Peter would later maintain that an unexpected and furious Lily Evans with eyes flashing and hair flying, gunning to kill you in the toilet was a perfectly understandable reason to shriek like a 5 year old girl.
The other 3 looked at Lily with looks somewhere between confusion, fear, and in James’ case, awe.
Lily whipped out her wand and pointed at them. She snarled “if you 4 so much as THINK about sneaking into MY dorm, I will REMOVE certain pieces of your precious anatomy!”
James started to make a crude joke about said anatomy, but Sirius kicked him before responsing himself. “Big words for the girl hiding in the men’s room,” Sirius snorted. Lily could feel her face grow hot, her pale skin betraying her by turning a shade of red that rivalled her hair.
…..“there was a line and I couldn’t wait, but Merlin, I was just taking a piss, not PERVING IN THE DORMS!” Lily screeched.
The boys looked like they were about to burst open from containing laughter. Remus, who had a feeling that Lily might have been serious about her previous threat, felt inclined to speak up. “Lily,” he tried to say in a reasonable voice, but she cut him off, and the rest dissolved into guffaws.
“Honestly Remus, you’re a prefect! And I know you’re no saint, but I never thought you would sink this low!” Lily was beside herself, especially because she was embarrassed now too. Her Gryffindore pride bristled at the way they were laughing at her.
James was practically whezing at this point. “Lily, relax, we were going to slide down the chute! On cushions! We just needed a way to get to the top! You know, just good clean fun!”
Lily narrowed her eyes. “You’re serious?” She hissed. They all nodded together before collapsing into uncontrollable laughter.
“You’re perfectly welcome to join,” James offered hopefully. “Especially if you can tell us how to avoid dying on the way up.”
Lily took a deep breath. “Levitation spell won’t work,” she muttered. “Not unless you want to get stuck to the ceiling”
Sirius smirked. “Told you so,” he sing songed, and James swatted at him.
“Althought,” she said slowly, thinking of all the possibilities offered by a large, spiral slide and several satin cushions, “I believe a broom would be effective.”
The boys traded conspiratorial looks, and they immediately started discussing the possibilities of Peter sneaking extra brooms out of the school shed, because neither Remus nor Peter owned brooms.
“Evans, you want in?” James offered.
Lily took a deep breath. “Don’t count me out,” she asked.
High fives were traded among the boys.
Their was the briefest moment of comradary, until a 4th year paused on his way to the urinal and gave Lily a confunded look. Blushing slightly, and wondering what the hell she had gotten into, she brushed her hair over her shoulder.
“I’ll just….erm….go then,” she muttered, before making a hasty retreat.
Briskly making her way to anywhere that wasn’t that damned bathroom, Lily was torn between giggling and kicking herself. Of all the insane things she had done…
“Did you just–” a 3rd year began to ask, and Lily breezed by.
“Damn straight I did!” She declared.
The laughter of the marauders chased her down the hall, and Lily allowed herself a small giggle.
Wrote this really quickly (again) and I’m bad a proofreading, so apologies. But this came into my head and was bothering me until I wrote it.
When Marshall eventually arrived in Yorktown, most of the young women were disappointed. Instead of the dashing figure they had expected, they met a gangly, loose-jointed frontiersman whose disheveled appearance may have been appropriate for one of Colonel Daniel Morgan’s light infantry officers but was quite unsuited for the garrison world of Yorktown. “When I beheld his awkward figure, unpolished manners, and total negligence of person,” Eliza said, “I lost all desire of becoming agreeable in his eyes.” Most of the young women shared Eliza’s opinion and saw Marshall as another backwoods bumpkin. It was a hasty assessment they soon would regret, for as Eliza noted, “Under the slouched hat there beamed an eye that penetrated at one glance the inmost recesses of the human character; and beneath the slovenly garb there dwelt a heart complete with every virtue.”
John Marshall - Definer of a Nation by Jean Edward Smith (Chapter 3)
The Marshalls at that time enjoyed increasing popularity as war heroes to those who reside in Yorktown and the Marshalls mingled freely with the tidewater gentry of Yorktown, the Ambler family among them.
Thomas Marshall, John Marshall’s father, also a commissioned officer in the Continental Army, was a frequent visitor in the Ambler household and whenever John, who was still away in the North with George Washington’s army, wrote back to his father, his father in turn shared his letters with the Ambler family. His letters impressed the young ladies of Yorktown and expectations about Marshall’s appearance and character were built up.
““We had been accustomed to hear [of Captain John Marshall] as a very paragon,” wrote Jaquelin’s oldest daughter, Eliza, many years later. “His letters [to his father] were fraught with filial and paternal affection.” As the Amblers’ eldest daughter recalled, “perhaps no officer … excited so much interest as Captain Marshall. Our expectations were raised to the highest pitch, and the little circle of York was on tip-toe awaiting his arrival.””
When he finally came to Yorktown, all the women are disappointed that their expectations of Marshall are not met - except for his future wife, Mary “Polly” Ambler, who adored Marshall’s rustic manners and simple ways.
“Winter scares me.” She said gravely, her breath fogging up the car window as we sat in her driveway.
I looked past her and out the window at the field that sprawled out for a couple acres before it met the silent woods at the edge of the property. All of it was blanketed with a fresh layer of snow from the blizzard the night before, and not even the animals had dared to disturb the fresh powder with their tracks. The pine trees were burdened with the clumps that settled on their branches, and the horizon seemed lost to the grayish white of the land and sky.
“I’ve always thought winter was beautiful. Everything is so clean and crisp, and the quiet of it all can be comforting” I reasoned, refocusing my gaze on her pale face. Her winter hat slouched low on her forehead, and I felt as though she looked through me when she replied.
“It’s too quiet. The snow covers the sound of life. The snow changes everything into an unrecognizable wasteland until it gets muddied into slush, and then it’s just cold and gray and empty.” She started to shiver and I shook my head and cursed under my breath as I smacked the dash of the car, willing the heat to actually work for once.
“You’d probably like it better if the heat actually worked in this piece of junk,” I said with a chuckle, “sorry about that.”
“No it’s fine, I should probably get going anyways, or you’ll end up running out of gas in my driveway.” She fixed her eyes on me and all I could focus on was the sound of her voice and how her frost bitten cheeks and nose somehow made her even prettier as they complimented the tangle of red curls that escaped from under her hat. All I could do was manage a half smile and a nod in reply, and with that she opened the passenger door and left, disappearing into the small white ranch house that blended in with the rest of the frigid landscape.
I sat in her driveway a little while longer looking around more and more at the monochromatic scene, and as I pulled out of her driveway I realized that maybe she was right about winter all along.