#Contractors and officers are eating cream

[best24news]

Rewari News: ठेकेदार और अधिकारी खा रहे मलाई, छह माह से धारूहेडा मे लाईटें ढप

Rewari News: ठेकेदार और अधिकारी खा रहे मलाई, छह माह से धारूहेडा मे लाईटें ढप

धारूहेडा: यहां के सेक्टर चार व छह में बीच पैराफेरी मार्ग व करीब छह माह से अंधेरा छाया हुआ है। सबसे अहम बात यह है कि बार बार शिकायत करने के बावजूद भी एचएसवीपी की ओर से कोई सुनवाई नहीं की जा रही है। Haryana CET Exam में रखना होगा इन बातों का ध्यान, जानिए क्या है पांचवे गोले का नियम वार्ड पार्षद ने को उपायुक्त व एचएसवीपी को शिकायत देकर लाईटो को ठीक करवाने की मांग की है। दीपाली पर्व पर अंधेरा छाया…

[bravenewolympus--hq]

𝒅𝒆𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅. this character is neutral, with no allegiances to any faction, and does not engage in criminal activity. suggested faces — please note, this character must be 30+ years old. casey deidrick; boyd holbrook; caio castro; berk cankat; charles michael davis; john cho; steven yeun; diego luna; pedro pascal; nathan parsons; ryan reynolds; scott speedman; ben robson; winston duke; john boyega; daniel kaluuya; lewis tan; michiel huisman; santiago cabrera; jeffrey dean morgan; ricky whittle; michael b. jordan; winston duke. suggested occupations. long haul truck driver; construction worker or foreman, or a contractor; carpenter; brick or stonemason; employee or owner of a local microbrewery; employee or owner of a local fishery, or a fishmonger; ferry operator; first responder, though not a police officer or law enforcement agent; optionally, a reserve or discharged member of the armed forces

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏.

ʙʀᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʟʏᴍᴘᴜꜱ : ᴀ 21+ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʀᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ. athens, new york: an island city, all trees and marble, glass and steel and highrises set against an ocean skyline. bustling and loud, crowded, but not without a bizarre sense that it must have sprung up overnight, somehow, when surely it must have always been here, no? on a clear night, you might even be able to see the lights of its more famous cousin, new york city, across the water…if you squint hard enough. it may not get as much attention as the shiny apple across the hudson, but those not so blinded by the lights must certainly have been coming here for years. is there something in the water here, too? no one leaves, not in any meaningful way anyway. feels like it has a special way of pulling you back in, if you try. they, that is anyone who was anyone or paid even an iota of attention to the evening news,, called him the minotaur. the media does love a catchy nom de guerre, doesn’t it? sells newspapers like hotcakes in the morning. ambrosia, whether it’s the latest designer drug trend or the latest pestilence sweeping the streets of athens, just depends on how tightly you clutch your pearls on sundays. must infuriate the police, don’t it? that without fail, by the time they arrive to any crime scene at all, all that’s left is the heap of little cream-coloured business cards, the red lines of a labyrinthine logo more taunting than they are helpful. between an epidemic of pearlescent powder, neatly parceled out in small plastic baggies, a tide of crimson bull graffiti, casinos and bordellos and the nightlife (oh my!), it’s no small wonder they call this an atlantic sin city. it’s a vice eat dog world, ain’t it? and anyone who calls athens home is just living in it. powerless, with no memory of their past lives, what's a god gotta do to survive?

[bellakitse]

Friendships, Proposals and Tabitha the Cat

Nancy waits until it’s firmly locked before she turns to Carlos. “Dude,” she says, putting a hard emphasis on the word. “Give that man his ring already.”

+

Nancy’s friendship with Carlos and TK grows when she stays with them while her place is rebuilt – she helps Carlos work up the nerve to propose to TK.

Written for @911lonestarweek - Day 3: Found Family/“We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Following ‘Making friends in Life or Death situations’

Nancy Gillian wakes up the same way she has for the last four weeks – in Carlos and TK’s guest bedroom with her cat Tabitha scratching at the door because she can hear TK moving around the house, and she wants to leave Nancy to go find him. Her cat is in love with TK, because of course she is.

“If you love him so much, why don’t you sleep with him?” she questions her cat, still half-asleep and annoyed to be woken up so early on her day off. “Instead, you sleep with your butt in my face and then leave me for that pretty boy before 7 a.m.”

Tabitha meows at her in response, looking so unimpressed and impatient all at once it’s almost impressive.

“Not sure what you’re going to do when our apartment is repaired,” she continues, easily ignoring the stink face as she opens the door, letting Tabitha out. “There you go, brat, go to your equally annoying other half.”

Tabitha meows at her once more, the sound coming out vaguely threatening. Nancy shrugs, used to it by now. She looks back at the bed and contemplates diving back under the covers, but as she checks the time to see it’s close to 8 a.m., she thinks better of it. She’s not the only one off-shift in the house today, and if there is one thing she has learned since temporarily moving in with Carlos and TK while contractors work on building back up her tornado-destroyed condo. It’s that when Carlos is off from work, he turns into a gourmet chef who makes the most delicious breakfasts she’s ever tasted in her life.

She heads for the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash up before heading downstairs, following the sound of voices and pots clanking.

“Good morning,” she calls out, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes even after her shower.

Carlos looks up from where he’s cracking eggs to greet her with a smile. “Morning, Nance, there’s coffee,” he points with a tilt of his head towards the coffee machine.

Nancy smiles gratefully and passes TK, who is sitting on one of the counters, holding Tabitha up to his face as he gives her kisses.

“You’ve stolen my cat’s affections, Strand,” she says, rubbing the top of his head in greeting.

“She’s our cat now,” TK corrects her, childishly sticking his tongue out at her. Nancy returns the gesture, always seeming to revert back to a school-grader around her friend and partner.

“Children, behave,” Carlos chides them, sighing tiredly when they give him twin grins.

She steps up next to him, bumping her shoulder against his, getting a fond smile back from the cop and an arm thrown over her shoulders as he hugs her to his side. Since the tornado and subsequently the start of their friendship just a month ago, she and Carlos have bonded to the point that she now considers him something like a brother.

She feels blessed that he seems to feel the same way.

TK had said as much when they’d discovered she was temporarily homeless, offering their home to her without a second thought as she stood in Carlos’ hospital room. She had initially felt awkward about invading their home, used to handling her problems on her own. TK had, in turn, scoffed at her, telling her she was already family to him, but after saving Carlos’ life, as far as he was concerned, she was now their sister. Carlos had nodded in agreement from his bed, and when it made her cry in response, not really used to having people caring for her like that since Tim died, TK had pulled her into a tight hug, thanking her once more for taking care of Carlos and assuring her they were there for her. ‘We’ve got your back, no matter what.’

“So what’s on the menu this morning, Chef Reyes,” she asks, coming back from her thoughts to peek at the stove.

“Shakshuka, sweet potato hash and for something sweet strawberries and cream pancake muffins and fruit,” Carlos rattles off quickly, like it’s an effortless breakfast and not a menu she would find at some fancy restaurant for brunch. “What?” he questions when she looks at him in amazement.

She turns towards TK when he lets out a laugh to find a look of understanding on his face. “Can you believe this guy?” she questions, getting another longer, louder chuckle from her partner.

“I really can’t sometimes,” he answers her while looking at Carlos with heart eyes. “He’s just too good to be true,” he continues, turning towards Tabitha when she licks his face. “Isn’t he Tabi? Isn’t Carlos just perfect?”

Tabitha meows at TK’s baby voice, budding her head against his.

“See, she agrees,” TK beams in their direction. “She’s so smart.”

Nancy rolls her eyes, finally pouring herself that cup of coffee. “She just likes the sound of your voice; she doesn’t really understand.”

“Yes, she does. Watch,” TK argues. “Tabitha Gillian, listen to me. Is Carlos the most amazing guy in the world?”

Nancy looks from TK to Carlos, smirking as she sees the beginnings of a blush work its way up his neck.

Tabitha meows at TK, causing him to grin.

“Do we love him more than anything, even more than catnip?” he continues to ask earnestly, though Nancy can see the glint of mischievousness in his eyes that tells her he’s messing with Carlos because he likes it when his boyfriend goes bashful.

Tabitha, either because she really does understand TK or because she’s an agent of chaos, makes another noise.

“That’s why I’m going to marry him, and you’re going to be our ring bearer,” TK says to her, going in for the kill. He starts to kiss Tabitha all over her little orange head, not even getting his eyes scratched out because he’s a lucky bastard, not noticing the way Carlos has frozen over their breakfast.

His wide eyes find hers, and she raises an amused eyebrow at him as she takes a sip of her coffee, letting him know without words she remembers his ring comment from the day of the tornados, smirking when he scowls at her.

He clears his throat, giving TK a loving smile when he looks up from his lovefest with her cat. “Breakfast is ready, baby,” he tells him, already moving towards the dining room table with two plates, placing them for her and TK before getting his own.

They don’t talk much as they eat; she and TK are too busy making appreciative noises to speak, and Carlos looks at them fondly while they do.

TK finishes before them, getting up from the table in a rush. “Okay, that was delicious, but I gotta go,” he says as he gathers his plate. “Dad has his eight-month post-surgery appointment, and I told him I would meet him at the doctor’s office,” he reminds them. “I won’t be back until the evening. We’re spending the day together for some father-son bonding afterwards.”

He goes around the table to Carlos, taking his face in his hands as he leans in to kiss him. “Thank you for breakfast, babe,” he whispers with a smile against Carlos’ mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Carlos answers, giving him another sweet kiss of his own. Nancy smiles at the display. They have always been an affectionate couple, but seeing TK and Carlos in the privacy of their home has truly shown her just how deeply they love each other.

TK comes around the table to her, giving her a kiss on the top of her head before leaning down to scratch Tabitha’s ears. “You three be good,” he warns them with a teasing smile as he heads for the door.

Nancy waits until it’s firmly locked before she turns to Carlos. “Dude,” she says, putting a hard emphasis on the word. “Give that man his ring already.”

“Nance – “ Carlos starts, already sighing.

“He’s practically screaming, ‘propose to me!’, Carlos,” she continues, ignoring him. “I’m pretty sure he’s ready to hire a skywriter at this point if you don’t take the hint.”

“I can’t just propose, chica,” Carlos answers back tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “It needs to be perfect. TK deserves perfect.”

Nancy rolls her eyes so hard, she thinks she might strain something. “TK is madly in love with you. You could literally propose while on the toilet, and he would still think it’s perfect.”

She snorts when Carlos wrinkles his nose at her in disgust. Drinking the last of her coffee, she waits quietly as he thinks, finally raising an eyebrow at him when he opens his mouth to speak.

“What if he says no?” he asks her quietly, and Nancy feels a spark of empathy for her friend, but mostly she feels annoyed at his ridiculous question.

“You’re not injured anymore,” she starts dryly, rolling her eyes at him again when he gives her a confused look. “I can and will hit you across the head for being stupid.”

Carlos gives her a dry look of his own, though his lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “You’re so nice; remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because I saved your life,” she answers matter of fact, smiling when it makes Carlos laugh. “And me being nice wasn’t part of the deal, dude.”

Carlos shakes his head at her, smiling reluctantly. “Well, do you think you can try to be nice for the afternoon and help me plan my proposal?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t really think this talk would work,” she blurts out, her eyes widening with excitement. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

Carlos laughs again, giving her a fond look that she returns. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

 ֎֎֎

 TK comes back home after the sun has set. He blinks at her in surprise when she opens the door for him, having heard his car pull up.

“Hey, Nancy,” he says with a smile, his face clear and glowing. He chuckles as she gives him a curious look. “Father-son bonding turned out to be facials,” he explains with a shrug. “You know my dad and skincare.”

Nancy smiles at him, nodding.

“Where is Carlos?” he asks, looking around the living room, and Nancy can’t help herself as she wraps her arms around him, giving him a tight hug.

“I love you both,” she whispers into his ear. “And I’m so glad we’re friends.”

TK returns the hug before pulling back to look at her with a bemused expression on his face. “We love you too, girl.”

“I know,” she answers, feeling her heart warm for her friends and what she knows is about to happen. “Carlos is waiting for you in the backyard.”

“Oh, okay,” TK says, smiling, starting to walk towards the back door, stopping when he sees she isn’t following him. “You’re not coming?”

She shakes her head at him. “This is just for the two of you, honey, but for the record, I’m really happy for you.”

TK gives her another curious look before he continues to make his way to the back while Nancy goes to sit on the couch. She smiles when she hears TK gasp as he opens the door to find the yard covered in twinkly white lights. Her smile only grows as he looks back at her with wide eyes.

“I’ll be here,” she calls out to him, waving him forward.

She pulls out her phone, scrolling through her messages, smiling softly when she finds one from her contractor letting her know her place should be ready in another week.

Tabitha meows at her from the stairs, and she pats the space next to her on the couch, cooing at her baby when she comes to rest beside her.

“You’re going to be a ring bearer,” she tells her cat as she hears TK shout out a ‘yes!’ from the backyard. “Won’t that be fun, Tabitha?”

[feen-feet]

Alternate

This is a fanfic based on Sleepless Domain, a webcomic by Mary Cagle.

-----

Annie swung her legs under the hard plastic chair, feet missing the ground by an inch or so. The sound of the other kids still on lunch break, yelling and running around, drifted into the quiet corridor where she was imprisoned, awaiting sentencing.

Fidgety, she tried combing her fingers through her long brown hair. They got stuck in tangles immediately. There were probably still sticks and stuff caught in there. Ugh.

She glanced at her friend. Steffi’s arms were crossed, lips pouted, eyes locked on the ground. She glanced back, then quickly turned away with a ‘hmph’, presenting Annie with her equally tangled blonde hair.

Annie responded with a ‘hmph’ of her own. Why was Steffi mad with her, anyway? This wasn't her fault.

The door clicked open, and an equally disheveled Yourn stomped out of it. He glared at Steffi as he passed, who glared daggers back at him. Annie sighed. She wished Yourn would leave Steffi alone.

Mrs. Krenshaw, the second year teacher, followed Yourn out of her office and stood in front of them. Her face was stone as she watched Yourn leave, waiting for him to get out of earshot. Annie shrank a little. She liked Mrs. Krenshaw and missed her class from last year. She was nice. But the nice ones are always the scariest when they're mad.

Yourn slammed the door on his way out. To Annie's relief, Mrs. Krenshaw's face softened. She sighed, tugging her glasses off and rubbing her eyes. "You girls. Again."

Before Annie could get a word in, Steffi broke her silence. "He started it! He said my Silver Star shirt was lame!"

Mrs. Krenshaw glowered at Steffi, weary. "And what did you say in return? That his face was lame?"

"Wull- no, I..." Steffi huffed, folding her arms again. "I said his shorts were lame."

Annie sniggered before she could hold it back. Mrs. Krenshaw turned her attention on her. "And you. I expected better from you, Miss Contractor."

Annie withered, turning red. "I'm sorry Mrs. Kren-" Before she could get further, Steffi was on her feet.

"It wasn't her fault Mrs. Krenshaw! Honest! All Annie did was laugh at his shorts and he hit her! It was his fault!"

"That isn't what Yourn told me."

"Well he's a LIAR then!" Steffi was shouting at the teacher. "He never leaves Annie alone! We just want him to go away and play with his own friends!" There were tears welling up in Steffi's eyes as Annie watched. Steffi...

Mrs. Krenshaw crouched down, level with the trembling Steffi. "He doesn't have many friends Steffi. Have you noticed that?"

Steffi looked away, quietening down. "'Course he doesn't. He's a butthead."

Mrs. Krenshaw sighed. "I think I need to talk to your parents." Seeing the sudden fear on their faces, she added "You're not in trouble! But we need to find the three of you an outlet for all this anger. Girls your age shouldn't be fighting like this."

-----

"WHOOOOO! I'M THE BEST AT FIGHTING!" Steffi's arms shot up from behind an ice-cream sundae bigger than her head.

Annie smirked, working on her far more modest dessert. "Yep. You're a world champ, kiddo."

Steffi shoved the monstrosity aside so Annie could give Steffi her full attention. She wore her brand new yellow belt like a headband. "Didya see my front snap? My foot was all sweaty and I thought I was gonna slip but then I just shifted a bit and was like WACHOW!" This was accompanied by her prosthetic leg kicking out of the booth, narrowly missing a waitress.

"Steffi, watch out!" Heinrich hooked his hands under his daughter's armpits, hauling her back like an uncooperative cat. "No kicks indoors, please. Eat your sundae."

"Mresh, Papi." The spoon was already jammed in her mouth.

Annie grinned. Steffi had done really well, even if she was still catching up to Annie. Even Yourn was nice about it. He got all blushy and told Annie that her and Steffi looked like Magical Girls.

That was pretty cool.

-----

Steffi shot upright from her previously relaxed position on Annie's bedroom floor. "Okay! How about these? Are you ready?"

Annie, sprawled on her bed with a comic, rolled her eyes. "Sure, let's hear them."

Steffi cleared her throat. "Team Shock. Team Snap. Team Blast. I was thinking something like Team Lightning, but I think Team Blitz would work better-"

Annie snorted. "You're such a deutsch-nerd."

"Hey! It sounds cool!"

"Whatever, dumb-cough."

"Dummkopf! Take this seriously! We need to be ready when we get the Dream, all the best teams were hot right out of the gate. We're gonna hit the average age next year!"

Annie sat up, amused. "I like that you assume we're gonna get the Dream, or that I even want to get it. You really want to fight monsters every night?"

Steffi spluttered, indignant. "Of course I do! You get to be cool, and protect people, and, and... magic! How could you not want magic powers?!"

Annie shrugged. "You'd also have to survive on 6 hours sleep at most, and be at school every day of the week. I'd love to see how you'd handle that."

"Fooooouuuunder, you're so lame! We're gonna be magic, so shut up!" Steffi dropped to the floor and went back to coming up with rad team names.

Annie grinned. She'd never admit it, but she'd daydreamed about being a Magical Girl too. It did seem dangerous, but kinda... exciting too. And noble.

She wondered what sort of costume she'd get.

-----

Annie followed the stream of girls out of Future's Promise, somewhat glum. This should have been an exciting month. The new school was fun, the dry run patrols she'd done with Team Mentor had gone great, and holy crap, the lunches were so much better.

But she was doing it without Steffi.

When she got the Dream, Steffi was sure hers would come the very next night. Then the one after that. And the one after that. After a fortnight of waking up with the same old blonde hair, she was so heartbroken she couldn't bear looking at Annie.

Annie sighed. She figured she should give Steffi space. Maybe with some time, she'd be okay with having a magical girl friend instead of being one. But for now... Annie missed her friend.

Just past the end of the school fence, a blur formed to Annie's right. She started to turn-

Books, bag, shoes and Annie went flying as she was tackled by her assailant. She hit the ground, somehow already pinned. She groaned, opening her eyes.

A girl her age loomed over her. She wore familiar headphones over a head of shockingly hot pink hair, and a wide, manic grin.

Annie gasped. "S-Steffi?!"

"That's Pop Blitz to you, Rock Blitz!"

The shock was quickly overwhelmed by joy. "Holy crap! You got it! You got the Dream!" She shoved Steffi off of her, pinning her in a bear hug of her own.

"Sure did! Hope you're ready! I've got a bunch of manager's numbers, we gotta go ring them right now and-"

Steffi faltered as she felt Annie's shoulders shake. After a sniffle, Annie croaked out a few words. "I missed you."

Steffi pushed her back so she could face her friend. "Heeey, come on! This is gonna be so cool! We're gonna be the best magical girl team out there!"

Before Annie could respond, the ground opened up beneath her. She watched Steffi's shocked face disappear above her as she fell into nothing.

-----

Dark. She was sliding on something hard, something slick. She dug her sneakers against it but found no purchase, dropping faster and faster through a lightless void.

The ground tipped left. She tumbled, face slamming into the surface, facing back the way she came, maybe. The ground spiralled right, then back. It was almost vertical as she pawed at it, desperate for some friction, faster and faster and fast-

Her stomach lurched. She was sliding... up? Facing backwards, slowing as the ground grew steeper, losing momentum. It even began to feel rougher. She dug her hands in, almost satisfied as they burned. That meant slowing down, that meant control, that meant-

The ground disappeared. Upwards for a few moments, before her stomach lurched again.

She plummeted, tumbling, screaming, towards a pin of white light.

-----

She landed hard, smashing through a pile of garbage. Broken pieces scattered around her and hit the ground with heavy metallic clangs as she crumpled to the ground and slid to a stop.

Whatever just happened, she was still. It was quiet. She focussed on catching her breath. She groaned, with... with someone else’s voice. Her throat seized. That wasn’t her voice. That voice was deep.

She rolled over, eyes snapping open. Everything was white. She was surrounded by broken pieces of machinery, piles of it. She looked at herself.

She was wearing a suit. A boy’s suit. His suit. My suit.

Ben stared at his jacket, his pressed pants, his polished shoes. Slowly, he pinched his cuffs between thumb and forefinger. Polyester. It was real. His suit. His. “What... but, I’m not... I’m...” He felt lightheaded. This voice wasn’t right. This was all wrong. A sob broke through his throat. “I’m... I was-“

“Breathe, Benzene.” A hand on his back, gentle.

He twisted, facing her. A woman, gold and white and sad eyes knelt next to him. He gaped. Words wouldn’t come.

She smiled. “Close your eyes, Benzene. Just breathe.”

With that smile, something broke and surged in his chest. The woman drew him up into a sitting position, leaning his weight against her as he wailed uncontrollably. She hummed softly as she held him, running a hand through his hair.

After a minute or two, he regained some control. “What... where is this? What was that I saw?”

He felt her sigh. “I’m sorry, Benzene. I’m terribly sorry I had to show you that, all at once. I know it hurts.”

His breath hitched, again. He felt like he should pull away, run. But he was so tired. “You showed me that? Why?”

“Because you’ve been calling to me, without knowing it. Without knowing why. I needed you to know why you called out. Do you understand?”

“I don’t... don’t know. I don’t know.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m not sure.”

He felt her pull away. As he leaned into his knees, she took a few steps before sitting in front of him.

“Benzene. Within, you have the potential for magic. Do you understand what that means?”

He rubbed his face against his sleeve, sniffling, before he could face her. “You said I... I called to you? Are you sure?”

She nodded, smiling. “You did. And I’m here, because you were born with the right to do so.”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I don't remember calling.”

She placed a hand on her chest. “The call is coming from deep within, deeper than you can venture right now. But the voice I heard, Benzene, was unmistakably yours.”

He shook his head. "How... how can I trust that? If I don't remember it?"

"You don't need to trust me. Merely trust yourself. Everything you saw tonight came from the same place as the call. All I did was let you view it. Can you trust that?"

He watched her stand up, extending her hand. “You are well suited to the role I’m offering you, in every way. It is yours if you want it. But it will mean venturing to that deep place, and hearing your voice. Is that what you want?”

Ben stared up at her face, at the hand offered to him. This wasn’t real. There was no way. None of this made any sense, he couldn’t make sense of it.

His heart was hammering its way out of his chest. His head throbbed. He was so afraid. He feared knowing. He feared the sense that what he saw really did come from somewhere within. He was afraid that he could trust that.

Her hand was there. If he wanted it.

He hauled himself to his feet. One more long, unsteady breath, then he could face her.

“Yes. That’s what I want.” He took her hand.

Those sad eyes smiled. “I’m glad I could do this for you, Benzene.” He felt a surge, saw a flash, then it was over.

[romioneficfest]

Put a sickle in the swear jar

Title: Put a Sickle in the Swear Jar Prompt/Day: Day 11- St Mungo’s Tumblr name:  Rating: PG Brief summary: Ron is having one of those days… (bit of a post-Hogwarts domestic day in the life) Any possible triggering/warning tags: one bad swear, blood, allusions to Ron and Hermione doing it.

Ron let their dog Chudley into the back garden, then collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. The shop had been unaccountably busy for a Thursday, and almost half their staff were out sick with Fwooper Flu, including George. He had a few investor meetings, a Ministry contractor for their Defense products, and had to simultaneously man the floor of their flagship shop so it wouldn’t be a complete disaster when his meetings convened.

As it always was when a shop was lean staffed, his work shift produced the worst customers in the world. Each was ‘talk to the manager’ types: high maintenance and generally unpleasant.

The very worst was a dad who had let his terror of a four-year-old go wild through the shop. He started his visit by setting off five decoy detonators in the potions aisle, then poured love potion into the pygmy puff enclosure, and ended it by licking the outside of the glass case full of sweets.

The kid’s dad had a ‘never tell your child the word no’ policy in place. He made quite a stink when Ron dared to use the dreaded word to his child when the blighter sprinted around the shop and nearly toppled a full display case of fart sprays. Ron was only lucky they had left the shop by the time his meetings started.

He had to do his meetings on the sales floor, but it gave him a chance to show off a new prototype. He set the Secrecy Spellorator down and it created a field about two meters wide where no one could hear them ‘plan mischief.’ It even turned the volume down to noises outside the field ‘so as not to distract you from your pranking plans.’ Ron explained its alternative uses for Defensive magic and overcrowded offices, and given the way their eyes lit up, Ron could tell the pitch had gone well.

Now all he wanted was some beer or a long nap, neither of which he had proper time for. He needed to pick Hugo up from school and figure out something for dinner. He languidly pulled his arm up to catch the time. Ugh, five minutes more and he might be late.

He slumped up the steps, changed from business robes into his much preferred Muggle clothes, and let the dog back in, before Apparating a few streets away from Hugo’s school. When he arrived, a few of the mothers were gathered and chatting about an upcoming event.

Maybe if he looked busy they wouldn’t try to rope him in… He fished in his pocket for his sporadically used mobile, but realized he’d forgotten it at home.

In moments he was surrounded.

“Ron! We were just talking about you! Weren’t we, Claire?”

“Yes!” she answered with an enthusiastic clap of her hands. Whenever they were talking about him it usually meant manual labour was needed. “We’re doing a school fundraiser the fifteenth and could use your help setting things up. Also, could you bring your bakewell buns? We’ve all been simply craving them since last year!”

His brain went horribly blank of excuses, but he was saved from having to answer by his son.

“Dad!” Hugo cried from across the schoolyard, a giant grin splitting his freckled face. Ron waved at him but blanched when Hugo started running. His overly large backpack wildly swang from one hand, while his puffy jacket flailed like a flag caught in the wind from his other. Ron could see disaster looming.

“Don’t run, Hugh!” Ron hollered. As if time had slowed he watched in horror as the strap of Hugo’s backpack caught his foot, sending the seven-year-old flailing. Normally Ron could have prevented a painful crash with his wand, but with all the mums about him he couldn’t pull his wand out in time.

Hugo face-planted straight into the ground, his giant thud pulling a chorus of high-pitched gasps from the mothers.

Ron sprinted to his son who was whimpering and not moving.

“Shhh now, you’re okay, little man,” Ron said, trying his best to sound calm as he removed the backpack from around Hugo’s ankle and turned him over.

“Oh shit!” Ron let out. His son’s large brown eyes filled with tears, and his mouth overflowed with blood. His chin looked to be split open as well. “Merlin! Er, okay, Hugh, we’re gonna get you to a healer, but I need to carry you ‘round the corner so the Muggle mums don’t see us Apparate, okay?”

“You- you g-gotsta put a sssickle in the sssswear jar,” Hugo managed to lisp, before breaking into a wail as he saw the blood hit the ground.

Ron scooped up his son, somehow managing to hold the backpack and jacket as well.

The mums all had a variety of questions as he tore down the street, but he simply yelled over his shoulder that his car was round the corner. Checking about him, he Apparated them to St Mungo’s waiting room.

He vaguely recognized the lady behind the check-in desk. Her glare jogged his memory. He might’ve yelled at her a year or two prior…

“My- my son. He fell, and —”

Her glare softened after noticing Hugo’s cries and the blood soaking through Ron’s jacket. Cleared of blood by the healers Ron was infinitely grateful to not be Muggle. Chipped teeth, split lip and lacerated chin… The kid was a mess! Hugo was healed in just a few minutes, leaving him with only a small plaster for his chin he’d need with a topical ‘scar-begone’ potion for a few days.

“Do you have any plasters with brooms on them?” Hugo asked, feet kicking against the exam table.

The healer shook their head.

“Trains?”

“Just beige, I’m afraid,” the healer said with an apologetic smile.

“Dragons?”

“Hugo, we have some at home,” Ron said, knowing Hugo would continue to name things if he wasn’t stopped. “Plus we have some ice cream with your name on it!”

Hugo let out a cheer. They took the Floo home, as Ron was far too tired and rattled to be Apparating with his son.

Ron and Hugo were working on their second helpings of ice cream when Hermione arrived home via Floo.

“Hello boys,” she said, before stopping in her tracks. “Ice cream? Ron, it’s not even five-thirty!”

“We deserve it, believe me.”

“We deserve it, Mum!” Hugo repeated, with a chocolate smeared grin. “Believe me!”

Ron told her about the day they’d each had, and Hugo was happy to inform her how ‘Dad hadn’t put his sickle in the swear jar yet.’ He also was in dire need of a better plaster for his chin.

By the end of the tale she had a cautiously amused look on her face, and went to get their boxes of plasters.

“Okay, Hugo, looks like we have trains or dragons.”

“Both!”

“Choose one.”

“But Mum, I deseeeerve it, believe me!” Hugo said, a pleading look on his face.

She and Ron traded smiles over his curly head.

“Just today, because you were so brave at the hospital.”

“Gryffindor!” Hugo declared, before running after the dog, two plasters on his chin.

“How are you after all those adventures?” she asked, cuddling into Ron’s side.

“Better now that you’re home,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “You okay with ice cream for dinner?”

“Not my first choice, but I’ll manage.” She smiled at him. “Ginny should have Rose back from Quidditch practice soon.”

“Can I feed her ice cream too?” he moaned, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to. She’s eating with Ginny and the kids.”

“Thank Merlin, because I feel like I’ve been pulled through a keyhole backwards.”

“Oh, I guess that means we can’t…” Hugo ran by and Hermione stopped herself. “Can’t ‘you know,’ tonight.”

“Can’t… Oh right! That!”

He felt a bit chagrined that they had to schedule it ahead, but the past few weeks hadn’t allowed for much spontaneity.

“Honestly…” he sighed, before looking sideways at his beautiful wife and slowly smiling. “I’ll manage.”

“We deserve it,” she grinned.

“It’ll be boring and passionless,” he teased, leaning in to plant a kiss on her neck, lingering a bit too long.

She shivered in pleasure. “Of course.”

“You won’t even have to put a silencing spell up,” he said before kissing her more deeply. “Over in five minutes.”

“I’ll prepare myself for the disappointment,” she purred. “Twice.”

“Twice?” he asked with a disbelieving look. She stared at him quite seriously before she broke and began laughing.

“Can you imagine?” she giggled.

“After the day I had?”

“On a school night?”

“Twice?!” they repeated, laughing and snorting,

There came a great crash from the other room. Hugo shouted ‘I’m ok!’ while Chudley barked. Ron began to get up, but Hermione pulled him back down to the couch.

“Don’t forget to put a sickle in the swear jar,” she said as she rose, going to check on their chaotic son.

[hillnerd]

Put a Sickle in the Swear Jar

Written for @romioneficfest - thx to @abradystrix for editing Rating: PG  AO3  ff.net Summary: Ron is having one of those days… (bit of a post-Hogwarts domestic day in the life) triggers: blood, allusions to Ron and Hermione doing it.

-----

Ron let their dog Chudley into the back garden, then collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. The shop had been unaccountably busy for a Thursday, and almost half their staff were out sick with Fwooper Flu, including George. He had a few investor meetings, a Ministry contractor for their Defense products, and had to simultaneously man the floor of their flagship shop so it wouldn’t be a complete disaster when his meetings convened.

As it always was when a shop was lean staffed, his work shift produced the worst customers in the world. Each was ‘talk to the manager’ types: high maintenance and generally unpleasant.

The very worst was a dad who had let his terror of a four-year-old go wild through the shop. He started his visit by setting off five decoy detonators in the potions aisle, then poured love potion into the pygmy puff enclosure, and ended it by licking the outside of the glass case full of sweets.

The kid’s dad had a ‘never tell your child the word no’ policy in place. He made quite a stink when Ron dared to use the dreaded word to his child when the blighter sprinted around the shop and nearly toppled a full display case of fart sprays. Ron was only lucky they had left the shop by the time his meetings started.

He had to do his meetings on the sales floor, but it gave him a chance to show off a new prototype. He set the Secrecy Spellorator down and it created a field about two meters wide where no one could hear them ‘plan mischief.’ It even turned the volume down to noises outside the field ‘so as not to distract you from your pranking plans.’ Ron explained its alternative uses for Defensive magic and overcrowded offices, and given the way their eyes lit up, Ron could tell the pitch had gone well.

Now all he wanted was some beer or a long nap, neither of which he had proper time for. He needed to pick Hugo up from school and figure out something for dinner. He languidly pulled his arm up to catch the time. Ugh, five minutes more and he might be late.

He slumped up the steps, changed from business robes into his much preferred Muggle clothes, and let the dog back in, before Apparating a few streets away from Hugo’s school. When he arrived, a few of the mothers were gathered and chatting about an upcoming event.

Maybe if he looked busy they wouldn’t try to rope him in… He fished in his pocket for his sporadically used mobile, but realized he’d forgotten it at home.

In moments he was surrounded.

“Ron! We were just talking about you! Weren’t we, Claire?”

“Yes!” she answered with an enthusiastic clap of her hands. Whenever they were talking about him it usually meant manual labour was needed. “We’re doing a school fundraiser the fifteenth and could use your help setting things up. Also, could you bring your bakewell buns? We’ve all been simply craving them since last year!”

His brain went horribly blank of excuses, but he was saved from having to answer by his son.

“Dad!” Hugo cried from across the schoolyard, a giant grin splitting his freckled face. Ron waved at him but blanched when Hugo started running. His overly large backpack wildly swang from one hand, while his puffy jacket flailed like a flag caught in the wind from his other. Ron could see disaster looming.

“Don’t run, Hugh!” Ron hollered. As if time had slowed he watched in horror as the strap of Hugo’s backpack caught his foot, sending the seven-year-old flailing. Normally Ron could have prevented a painful crash with his wand, but with all the mums about him he couldn’t pull his wand out in time.

Hugo face-planted straight into the ground, his giant thud pulling a chorus of high-pitched gasps from the mothers.

Ron sprinted to his son who was whimpering and not moving.

“Shhh now, you’re okay, little man,” Ron said, trying his best to sound calm as he removed the backpack from around Hugo’s ankle and turned him over.

“Oh shit!” Ron let out. His son’s large brown eyes filled with tears, and his mouth overflowed with blood. His chin looked to be split open as well. “Merlin! Er, okay, Hugh, we’re gonna get you to a healer, but I need to carry you ‘round the corner so the Muggle mums don’t see us Apparate, okay?”

“You- you g-gotsta put a sssickle in the sssswear jar,” Hugo managed to lisp, before breaking into a wail as he saw the blood hit the ground.

Ron scooped up his son, somehow managing to hold the backpack and jacket as well.

The mums all had a variety of questions as he tore down the street, but he simply yelled over his shoulder that his car was round the corner. Checking about him, he Apparated them to St Mungo’s waiting room.

He vaguely recognized the lady behind the check-in desk. Her glare jogged his memory. He might’ve yelled at her a year or two prior…

“My- my son. He fell, and —”

Her glare softened after noticing Hugo’s cries and the blood soaking through Ron’s jacket. Cleared of blood by the healers Ron was infinitely grateful to not be Muggle. Chipped teeth, split lip and lacerated chin… The kid was a mess! Hugo was healed in just a few minutes, leaving him with only a small plaster for his chin he’d need with a topical ‘scar-begone’ potion for a few days.

“Do you have any plasters with brooms on them?” Hugo asked, feet kicking against the exam table.

The healer shook their head.

“Trains?”

“Just beige, I’m afraid,” the healer said with an apologetic smile.

“Dragons?”

“Hugo, we have some at home,” Ron said, knowing Hugo would continue to name things if he wasn’t stopped. “Plus we have some ice cream with your name on it!”

Hugo let out a cheer. They took the Floo home, as Ron was far too tired and rattled to be Apparating with his son.

Ron and Hugo were working on their second helpings of ice cream when Hermione arrived home via Floo.

“Hello boys,” she said, before stopping in her tracks. “Ice cream? Ron, it’s not even five-thirty!”

“We deserve it, believe me.”

“We deserve it, Mum!” Hugo repeated, with a chocolate smeared grin. “Believe me!”

Ron told her about the day they’d each had, and Hugo was happy to inform her how ‘Dad hadn’t put his sickle in the swear jar yet.’ He also was in dire need of a better plaster for his chin.

By the end of the tale she had a cautiously amused look on her face, and went to get their boxes of plasters.

“Okay, Hugo, looks like we have trains or dragons.”

“Both!”

“Choose one.”

“But Mum, I deseeeerve it, believe me!” Hugo said, a pleading look on his face.

She and Ron traded smiles over his curly head.

“Just today, because you were so brave at the hospital.”

“Gryffindor!” Hugo declared, before running after the dog, two plasters on his chin.

“How are you after all those adventures?” she asked, cuddling into Ron’s side.

“Better now that you’re home,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “You okay with ice cream for dinner?”

“Not my first choice, but I’ll manage.” She smiled at him. “Ginny should have Rose back from Quidditch practice soon.”

“Can I feed her ice cream too?” he moaned, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to. She’s eating with Ginny and the kids.”

“Thank Merlin, because I feel like I’ve been pulled through a keyhole backwards.”

“Oh, I guess that means we can’t…” Hugo ran by and Hermione stopped herself. “Can’t ‘you know,’ tonight.”

“Can’t… Oh right! That!”

He felt a bit chagrined that they had to schedule it ahead, but the past few weeks hadn’t allowed for much spontaneity.

“Honestly…” he sighed, before looking sideways at his beautiful wife and slowly smiling. “I’ll manage.”

“We deserve it,” she grinned.

“It’ll be boring and passionless,” he teased, leaning in to plant a kiss on her neck, lingering a bit too long.

She shivered in pleasure. “Of course.”

“You won’t even have to put a silencing spell up,” he said before kissing her more deeply. “Over in five minutes.”

“I’ll prepare myself for the disappointment,” she purred. “Twice.”

“Twice?” he asked with a disbelieving look. She stared at him quite seriously before she broke and began laughing.

“Can you imagine?” she giggled.

“After the day I had?”

“On a school night?”

“Twice?!” they repeated, laughing and snorting,

There came a great crash from the other room. Hugo shouted ‘I’m ok!’ while Chudley barked. Ron began to get up, but Hermione pulled him back down to the couch.

“Don’t forget to put a sickle in the swear jar,” she said as she rose, going to check on their chaotic son.

[stealinghero]

I recently burned both my hands (my right is better then my left rn) doing my art project and i was wondering if i could get a story with poly zenigata and goemon (i really love these two) taking care of their s/o who did the same thing

I really hope it isn’t as bad as in the scenario! Get well soon and please take care of yourself!! >___

Those two in a relationship would be too much for me. O_O I imagine them bickering the whole time. But it would be nice, too, because they both really care about their partner. So here you go:

This was bad. You had known it from the start and now your maddest nightmares had turned into actual human beings.

It had all started with this stupid project. You had loved it, the work, the imagination flying, everything was perfect. Until the oven was too hot and you just had to get it out of there before burning up. There was a big downside in working with clay.

But hey, the good part was: your project had turned out to be better than you had imagined yourself and your contractor, a rich snobbish man, had loved it and wanted to pay you even more than promised.

But back to the problem at hand – pun intended. You looked down at your bandaged hands, cursing softly, before looking up, watching the two men before you with a pang of guilt.

“I’m okay?” you offered at their stony faces.

They had fought the whole way to the hospital. Goemon was at fault for not watching you with your art project, while Zenigata was at fault for being away doing the grocery shopping. Everyone was at fault but the real guilty one: you. Art was your life and you had burned your fingers before while working with different materials. Sometimes the oven was too hot, sometimes you had seen a mistake while burning the clay and had decided to get it out of the oven without any protection. Shit happens. But this time was the first time with your two boyfriends being there.

“Are you sure? You’re a bit pale.” Zenigata leaned down to the sitting you and eyed you and your bandaged hands closely.

“Of course they are pale. Their hands are burned!” Goemon shoved him away just to do the same as him and to check your forehead for fever.

“Uhm, I hate to interrupt, but I actually am okay,” you answered with a lie. Your hands were the purest form of torture and you had to bite your tongue for not crying as the pain throbbed through the hands.

“Are you sure?”

“If they say, they are okay, they are.”

“Guys, please!”

 In the evening you had escaped the affections of those two and now hid in the bathroom, hearing them shoving the guilt at each other in the living room. Finally you could cry without worrying them more. God, that did hurt!!! A finger was bad, but a hand? And not only one hand but both!! The pain was the meanest you had experienced for a long time, only surpassed by a broken leg when you were 5.

A knock interrupted your tears and you hurried to clean your face when you realized you had no chance to do so. Washing your face? Impossible with two bandaged hands!!

Slowly, looking down to hide your tear-stained face, you opened the door.

Zenigata didn’t say anything and just pulled you into a soft hug, letting you cry a bit more, venting a bit of the pain you felt.

“I am sorry,” you could hear Goemon say behind Zenigata’s back.

“We shouldn’t fight. We should think what we do now,” the Inspector agreed, swaying you to calm you down.

“I can’t even wash my face!” you admitted, feeling totally useless.

And when you had thought your life with them was bad? You hadn’t known what was about to happen.

 Everything was taken away from you. Cleaning yourself? One of them was showering with you, careful not to get the bandaged wet.

Eating? You were now fed.

Going to the toilet? You had to lock the door to have the privacy! It was difficult wiping, but after the first painful tries you had found a way.

 In the first moment you thought he was joking, when Goemon had offered you to take the oven out. But after a few seconds you were convinced that he and Zenigata wanted this thing gone to save you from further injuries. That was enough!

You had sat both of them down in the living room and had told them to leave the oven as it were! With red ears they had apologized and promise not to touch your stuff without your permission.

And then the next doctor appointment had come…

 You cried openly as the doctor took off the bandages from your hands. Zenigata had you embraced in a tight hug and you leaned into him and just let your pain get the better of you.

Goemon had promised not to “over-react” as you had put it, but he was gripping his sword more tightly every sob of yours.

The doctor and the nurse helping him were so cute to you, giving you words of encouragement, making everything possible to take the pain away but it still hurt. The biggest shock was when you saw your own hands. Red and ugly flesh shined through the last compress, making you look away in sheer terror.

Zenigata hugged you more tightly and watched the whole ordeal unblinking, memorizing every step.

 “I admit you are stronger than I thought.”

You were already half-asleep when Goemon joined you in bed, hugging you carefully not to disturb your sleep.

“I hate it,” you admitted and could hear him snicker over your head.

His hands slid over your back and you closed your eyes, cuddling a bit closer to him

“You are very brave. And admitting to dislike this procedure makes you stronger and more honest than me.”

Here you had to look up at him questioningly.

“I was too worried about your hands to think about anything else. Hands are important, yes, but the mind of the person is of utmost importance. Forgive me to have forgotten that.”

You smiled and hugged him, minding your painful hands. “I still love you.”

He didn’t respond but kissed the top of your head.

 “Are you ready?”

You blinked at Zenigata’s smile and eyed all the things in front of him.

“What are you planning?” you asked him finally with a hint of panic.

“We are changing the bandages at home. The doctor told me he wants to see you once in a week. Everything else is too much stress for you.”

You had to admit he was right. The drive to the hospital, the waiting, all those doctors and nurses around you, had made you more panicky than the actual change.

But now you had to trust a police officer to do a doctor’s work?

“I noted everything down and the doctor gave me everything we might need. Sit down.”

You shook your head. This wasn’t about trust, this was purely wanting to avoid any more pain!

Strong hands gently pushed on your shoulders until you gave in and sat down. Goemon embraced you just as Zenigata had done so yesterday and you felt panic arise.

“What about the anesthesia?!”

“Remember the cream you applied a few hours ago?”

You nodded and suddenly realized that your hands had gotten numb from the place where you had applied the thick ointment.

“I apologize for misleading you about the mode of action of this ointment.” Goemon had told you this was a mere care product for your arms to help the unburned skin heal.

“Just close your eyes and give me your hands.”

You huffed and followed the orders.

 It had hurt. And not only you were in pain.

“Koichi?”

He didn’t want to look at you. Making himself as small as possible he had hidden himself in the kitchen for you to find him there in a desperate mood.

“Koichi, look at me, please.” You knelt in front of him, hesitant to reach out for him.

“I hurt you.”

You smiled a bit at his low voice.

“It did hurt. But now? I have new bandages and it doesn’t hurt so much anymore,” you reassured him. You loved him for being so full of doubts but sometimes it was also very stressing.

“But it did hurt.”

This was the beginning of a spiral you didn’t want to go through again.

“Koichi Zenigata, you are a capable police officer, a great man and an even greater partner in this relationship. You didn’t hurt me, I did this to myself because I am stupid sometimes, okay?”

“You’re not stupid.”

You had to laugh. He was so stubborn sometimes and so cute while being a little donkey. You hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“And you didn’t hurt me.”

End of discussion.

 With every passing day it was getting better. The help those two wanted to administer to you almost had gone to zero, giving you enough room to be independent but also to ask for help if you really needed.

They still helped you wash yourself, feeding you and even helped you dress yourself as these things were too much for your still bandaged hands. But the burns were healing nicely and at the last change you had the courage to watch Zenigata’s nimble fingers treating your wounds. He really did great work and you could lean back into Goemon’s hug with a small smile, trusting those two to take care of you for the rest of the healing process.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 3

Summary: Erik has lunch with Tony and gets a new roommate...

"Don't let your young life get you down It always had a certain mystery Many changes come to everyone About the time that they turn seventeen Grandma said at times you'll feel a sting There'll be sharp turns and uphills and closed doors Then she said hold onto your faith 'Cause in this world you've got to go and get yours

So you stand up Be strong go out there Hold on to the real things that matter 'Cause no one's gonna hand it to you on a silver platter..."

The Brand New Heavies—"Brother Sister"

Pepper Potts glared at Tony like he stole cash from her purse.

"What have I done now?" Tony asked.

He placed his hands on the table in an open palm stance. A waiter walked up behind Pepper holding a martini and Erik watched Tony shake his head and the waiter slunk back to the bar. Clearly Boss Man wasn't supposed to be at Durangos. And it appeared that he wasn't supposed to be drinking either. Erik grabbed a menu and stuck his nose down in it to figure out how much of Tony's money he was about to use up. He was hungry and bold enough to spend hundreds at that moment.

Pepper ignored Erik and pulled out a file from the charcoal gray attaché case she had slung around her shoulder.

"I told you I needed these physically signed, not electronically, before you left the office. I told you this three times yesterday and now I have a defense contractor in Germany up my butt because of you. You never listen to me."

"You look lovely today, Pep—"

"Save it. Just sign."

She jabbed a pen Tony's way and he quickly signed several forms before handing her back the pen.

"Lovely to meet you, Erik," Pepper said with a little bite in words. She stormed out of the restaurant.

"So...about her..."

"No need to explain to me," Erik said.

Another waiter approached the table.

"The Lobster and filet mignon for both of us. Medium. One dirty martini...two dirty martinis and a Shirley Temple—"

"Coke," Erik interjected putting down the menu. "I'll have the lobster bisque and glazed duck sliders too."

The waiter took the menus and Tony looked at Erik with humor in his eyes.

"How did you like the morning portion of the tour?"

"It was alright."

"Just alright? State of the art décor, cutting edge tech and all you give me is 'alright'?"

"It was cool, man. Whatchu want me to say? I ain't like them other dudes tripping over themselves to get next to you."

"Yeah, you turned down doing this internship twice...seriously...what do you really think?"

Erik took a sip of the soda the waiter brought over to him and sat back in his seat.

"I was impressed."

"Have you decided what department you want to be in?"

"Cybertech."

"Emphasis?"

"Biometrics."

"Good choice. Perfect for your interests. Who is your hotel roommate?"

"Tyler. The dude from Canada."

"Getting along?"

"He's quiet. Keeps to himself."

"When we move you all over to the Oakwood next week, do you want to keep him as a bunk buddy?"

"You can stick me with anybody—"

"No, you don't get just anybody. You are here for three months and I need all my interns focused at the office and not having problems at night."

"Stick me with whoever. I don't care. I'm here to learn and keep to myself."

"See, that's not how this works at Stark Industries. The lone wolf mentality is not conducive to below the line teamwork. I am building a future team. Ten people are going to be kept on, and I want you to be one of those ten. You have to get rid of this individual crusade you got going on."

"It's worked for me so far—"

"At Annapolis?"

Erik looked at his glass of soda.

"They break you down and build you up to be the Borg. I know the drill, Stevens. Cut the crap."

"You gotta stop separating me then."

"I will do that. This is just a little formality to make sure your head is straight."

"I'm straight—"

The lobster bisque and glazed duck sliders were set before Erik by a different waiter and he tucked in right away. By the time he had wolfed down his first course, the lobster and steak were in front of him, and he ate his meal in peace.

Tony sipped on his martinis and checked his cell from time to time. Erik ordered dessert, chocolate bread pudding with French vanilla bean ice cream. When they were finished, he followed Tony out to the valet stand.

"Do your best and your place here is assured, Stevens."

Erik nodded.

But he wasn't there to get a career. He was there to learn what he could use in the future. A future writ in his father's blood.

###

"Fuck."

Erik stood in the lobby of the Oakwood Apartment office staring at his cell phone.

Maria's name and picture stared back at him. They were partnered as roommates. Apartment key card in his hand, Erik rolled his large suitcase and duffle bag to the furnished upstairs unit he was assigned. It was near the pool and jacuzzi and Erik felt his mood sinking even lower because he knew this was going to be the party spot, and he didn't want to be around loud noises. He went back to the apartment office and tried to get re-assigned, but the woman there said there were to be no changes without Mr. Stark's approval. Erik already knew Tony did this to him on purpose. Stuck him with the most annoying person he had met so far.

When he tapped his key card to the entrance and stepped in, Maria was already standing in the middle of the living room with her three bags.

"Roomie!" she said.

He rolled his eyes at her and closed the door.

"I wanted to wait until you arrived so we could choose rooms."

"Whichever one doesn't face the pool."

"Cool! Because I want the other one that does!"

Maria took off to find her room. The good thing about the layout was that the bedrooms were opposite one another. He planned to spend as little time around her as possible.

Unpacking in the slow methodical way he had always done since he was a child, he took time to organize his living space and changed clothes. He was happy to be in a t-shirt and baggy jeans again. He grabbed the bottle of Gullah Red Rooster hot sauce he had wrapped in his suitcase. Slipping his feet into some comfy black slides, he headed into the kitchen to see what they had as far as cooking utensils.

Maria was already there digging in the cupboards.

"They have a rice cooker!" she squealed.

He nodded, happy that he didn't have to buy one. He was always eating rice. At least they had that one thing in common by the way she was pleased by the discovery.

"I cook a lot," she said.

"I do too."

She stared at him as if she didn't believe him. Cooking was something that was instilled into him early by his father. His Mom was a great cook, but his father was exceptional. It was a skill that was passed down to him, and he planned on using the kitchen a lot to get comfortable. If he had to suffer this living arrangement, he would at least eat well and stuff his pain with good food. He opened up the cupboard closest to the stove and stuck the hot sauce on the bottom shelf. Maria stared at him with a smile on her face.

"What?" he said glaring at her.

She held her hands out to him. A bottle of Louisiana's Finest sat in her palm. Erik couldn't help the smile that crept across his lips. She stepped next to him and placed her bottle next to his in the cupboard.

"Pedestrian," he said staring at her bottle.

"Look who's talking with that mild stuff you're depressing us with—"

"Mild?"

"Watered-down pepper sauce—"

"I know you not talking trash 'bout my Nana's shit—"

"Put up or shut up!"

They both grabbed their bottles and snatched spoons out of a kitchen drawer.

"You first," Maria said.

She opened up her fresh bottle and shook a drop onto the spoon. Erik took the spoon and stuck it into his mouth. A subtle smoky-sweet flavor, a slight tingling in his gums—

"Shit!" he said as his eyes watered and his mouth gaped open from the wicked heat.

Maria cackled. Once Erik could see again and his tongue prepped to create a new layer of skin for his burned off taste buds, Maria took his bottle and shook two drops on her spoon.

"Yo, you might wanna go easy—"

Maria stuck the spoon in her mouth with attitude. Three seconds later she was crying and sticking her mouth under the kitchen sink trying to wash away the taste.

"Told ya," Erik said watching her struggle. The sauce burned away the whites of her eyes turning them a watery red mess, and she kept panting as she rubbed her fingers across her tongue. After a full display of histrionics that Erik felt was overexaggerated, Maria leaned against the kitchen stove and wiped more tears from her face.

"You win," she said, her tongue stuck out for him to see.

"Don't bring no knife to a gunfight, girl," he said putting the bottles into the fridge.

"Keep that away from my stuff!"

He placed their sauces on separate shelves.

The rest of their time was spent at the kitchen table going over house rules. Mainly Erik's rules. No talking or loud noises before ten a.m. No house guests without two days' notice. Shared spaces had to be immaculate. No dishes left in the sink under any circumstances...clean as you go. No touching or eating another's food. Bathroom and toilet had to be cleaned daily. No traces of shaved hairs in the sink or bathtub. No hair ties or traces or hair after washing in the tub/shower. Phone conversations shouldn't be heard by a third party. Shoes off in the apartment at all times. Trash taken out every three days even if it wasn't full. No loud noises after nine at night. No smoking indoors unless it was weed.

Maria stared at the list he had emailed to her.

"You have anything to add?" he asked her staring at his own cell.

"Am I allowed to breathe or fart at any time?"

Erik quirked his lips at her and she giggled.

"Can we play music?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just be cognizant of the other person if they are working on something. Use headphones at appropriate times."

"Have you always been this anal?"

"Anal?"

"I know military training is imprinted on you, but jeez dude—"

"I just want to keep the peace. I need order and cleanliness, Ma. For reals. I can't stand living with nasty ass people. Can you deal?"

"I can deal."

They heard music blaring from outside. Maria jumped up and ran to their tiny balcony window throwing back the drapes.

"People are out at the jacuzzi already. We should go down!"

Erik let out an exasperated sigh.

"You are such an old man! Lighten up, Erik. God, I love this song!"

Maria grabbed his hand and dragged him out the front door.

Five interns sat inside the jacuzzi while an additional ten stood around with beers in their hand. Someone already made a beer run? They all wore swimsuits.

Erik glanced around. No Giselle or Curtis.

"Hey look, it's Stark's boy!"

Wesley Bretts. Boston. New money. Ultra redneck vibes masked under an upper-middle-class persona. Trouble.

"I ain't nobody's boy," Erik said with a little thunder behind his tone.

"No harm no foul, man. Just pointing out your favored status."

Wesley grinned with perfect bleached teeth and a phony all-shucks demeanor. Erik could feel all eyes on him again. He was younger than everyone else there, but he wasn't about to let no Boston bum talk to him any ole kind of way. Erik sauntered over and stood toe to toe with him.

"Watch how you talk to me and there won't be no problems in this bitch—"

"Hey, Erik, have a beer," Maria said.

She grabbed one from one of the women there and shoved it into his chest. Someone splashed water on Wesley from the jacuzzi and he wrenched his eyes from Erik's.

"You are so in trouble for that!" Wesley said dropping down into the jacuzzi and splashing water back at a blonde who had her eyes on Erik.

Erik opened the tab on his beer and gulped down the bitter brew.

"He's a dick. Ignore him," another blonde said to him. Her smile was sincere.

"I'm Hayley, that's Irene and Valentina—"

Erik took in their names and faces. Maria introduced herself to them and he stood there feeling uncomfortable, wishing he had stayed inside the apartment. If he couldn't get through a beer bash at an impromptu party, he was going to be on struggle mode the rest of his time there. Better to man up and push through the dumb shit.

"You and I will be under the same project manager," Valentina said.

"What?" he said tuning into her face.

Valentina was a raven-haired beauty with the lightest milky blue eyes he had ever seen up close. They almost looked fake. Her dark hair and tanned skin made her look Mediterranean. She stood out among the bleached blondes and suspect red-heads in the bunch.

She held up her cell to him.

"The team list was just posted," she said. Her smile was genuine and Erik felt himself lighten up a bit.

"Ohmigosh, I'm with you guys!"

Maria gave a little jump. Why was she so excited about every little thing? She held her phone up to Erik. He took it from her hand and scanned the other names. He found Giselle listed with a design and innovations team. He wondered where she was staying in the complex. Why couldn't he be living with her? Or teamed up with her at the office?

Other interns began showing up at the pool and the noise level rose. He was about to excuse himself when he saw Giselle walking into the pool area with a big Swede named Roland. She was caught up in an intense convo with him, and when her eyes caught Erik's, she waved but kept right on talking to Roland.

"See you guys," Valentina said.

"Where you going?" he asked, curious to know her since they would be around each other for three months.

"The pool is heated," she said, "we're getting in."

"We should go get our swimsuits," Maria said clutching his arm. Erik watched Giselle pull off the shorts and shirt she had on revealing a red string bikini underneath that had heads turning.

"Bet," he said. He followed Maria back to the apartment. He threw on an old pair of OP trunks and grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

"Whoa," Maria said when she saw him. Her eyes flitted up and down his body, "You must work out...a lot," she said.

He saw her cheeks turn a little red. He looked at her green one piece. She had a cute shape although she slouched a bit like she was trying to hide her little round body. A swimsuit that worked with her curves instead of against them would probably help her confidence.

"Maybe I should forget the pool," she mumbled throwing her towel around her shoulders and covering most of her body.

"You suggested this, so now we're going," he said.

He headed toward the door and she hesitated following him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Now you wanna be shy all of sudden?"

"Look how you're built. Did you see Valentina's body? Giselle's?"

God yes, he saw their bodies, and he played it off like he didn't, looking hella slick while doing it too.

"Stop trippin' girl. You got a cute shape. Go show it off. Thick thighs save lives too."

Maria started laughing.

"Wait...you think I have a cute shape? You're not just saying that to be nice right? I shouldn't care because men always make women feel like shit if they don't meet some ridiculous beauty standard, but this is real life and I have to deal with this bullshit even if I don't want to."

"I'm not going to lie to you. You really do have a cute shape. Cute face too."

"Thank you. I do think you're lying, but if I walk out with you, they won't notice my frumpy—"

"Listen. If we are going to be on the same team, I can't be with someone who has no confidence. Fake it 'til you make it, Ma. C'mon. Don't be dragging me down with your poor self-image. I'm telling you...you look fine. Act like it or else stay in the apartment. My Nana always told me that a closed mouth don't get fed. So if you want to make a good impression, get out there, mix and mingle and stop worrying about how you look. Let these bitches know who they fuckin' with."

"Easy for you to say when you look like a Greek Adonis and have the brain of an Einstein."

"African Adonis. And better than Einstein. Get it right."

He opened the front door and he felt her rush behind him.

"I'm sticking with you if that's okay," she said.

"When have you not?" he said while locking their front door.

###

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5

Tag List:

@fonville-designs​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee

[hobiwonder]

Conspicuous (m) |

Genre: Smut, PWP. Sugarmama!Reader, Sugarbaby/little!Jungkook. 

Pairing: reader x jungkook. Reader is older.

Warnings: detailed description of oral sex, intercourse, creampie, cream pie eating, dirty talk, noona kink and just overall badly written porn lolll.

Words: 7.1k

Summary: Pretty docile jungkook falls for a cynical old witch. you kinda like him too i guess.

a/n: so i wrote this a while ago and it was shit but then i edited this slower than a turtle and realised it’s not much better lmao but im kinda trying to move on from hating my writing so here u go :// it is what it is. i hope u guys semi-like this :)) also im a big fat liar and can’t stick to update dates so pls 4give.

It had been a rough day. You had over 4 meetings and a ton of paper work to look over before you signed and made a few deals for your company that had been in the works for months. Signing on new contractors to make your company’s newest tech products hadn’t been an easy feat. Finding honest companies with good work ethic, a spotless track record of their dealings before with other major enterprises was also not an easy task. You were known to be a meticulous worker, settling for nothing but the best when it came to the products your company launched. Finally, after months of designing and drafting the first prototype for the newest series of cameras and mobile phones, your company was about to launch their new line. This project had been your baby for a long, long time.

Some would argue that you hadn’t had to work hard for anything in your life. Inheriting your father’s company at the ripe age of 23 had made you nothing but bitter with the way your life had turned out. You were young and impressionable, and wanted everything from the world. There was nothing that you thought was out of your reach with a billion-dollar inheritance anyway. Yet the possibility of having to take over your father’s entire company due to his sudden and inconveniently timed illness had never crossed your mind. It had been very sudden. One day you had been planning a trip to Paris with your friends and the next day at 8am you had to fly down to Seoul to head the board meeting. By 9pm, you had been voted the new Chief Executive Officer. You had been thrilled at first, trying to make the best of the situation that you were slam dunked into. However, it was hard to keep up the optimistic façade when you had discovered that you were only voted in because the mistrust that your father had built in his own company had lead all the prospective candidates for the job to vote you in. Handing you the position just to ultimately micromanage under the pretence of ‘guiding’ you had seemed a better option to all the other high ranking employees than to trust each other at handling the company by voting on someone from it who probably knew the company inside and out.

Your father was a clever bastard. You hated him, but you had to give it to him for creating such a passively aggressive hostile environment where none of his officials trusted anyone but him. Which ensured that when his demise came, the position that he had held in his own company for decades would be seamlessly passed down to you, without anyone accusing your father of manipulating the rules. Each day passed and the more you held on, just out of spite for your father and the retched men filled workplace that you were in charge of, the more rivals you made out of the men twice your age, greying and still hitting on you despite insisting that they saw you as their ‘own daughter.’ It was infuriating, disturbing and honestly, quite disheartening, when all your dreams of traveling the world, making a name for yourself as a photographer, working with expressionists to runway models to just taking pictures of breathtaking landscapes, had been shattered. Though, there was no point on dwelling. Your father had barely believed in your dreams nor ever payed attention whenever you tried to steer the conversation in the direction of what you wanted to do. To put it simply, if it did not generate revenue – and fast – your father had no interest in your dreams. You had learned that quite young and kept it all to yourself, albeit the longing you felt in the pit of your stomach for someone who would root for you, remained. Someone who would follow and support your journey. But what use is there for that special someone when the dream no longer lived?

That’s what you told yourself each night that your mind would wander to useless thoughts of what could have been and what definitely wasn’t. You were a cynic by nature, but you had tried to defeat that part of yourself once upon a time. No longer did you inhibit these tendencies when they came in so handy being the youngest CEO your company was likely to see. Each decision you had made had been opposed to the maximum. First they were careful, trying not to out their true intentions. When you showed no signs of quitting or budging from your position, all the men had been quite shameless in opposing you as well as their public display of disdain for you. When you worked with the wolves every day, it was hard not to become a pessimist and even harder to not let it suck all emotions out of you until nothing was left but the ever dull numbness that you worked with every day.

Until him. Until he seemingly just showed up in your life one day, looking ever like the lost little boy who was searching for his mother at the fair. Yes, he literally looked too kind, too good to be true. With his too big innocent eyes, slightly pouted lips, eyebrows furrowed charmingly as he held the flyer in his hand, trying to figure out if he was in the right building or not. He’d been chatting with the receptionist when you’d entered the building with your assistant trailing beside you going over the day’s agenda. At first you had barely glanced at him as you approached the reception to pick up some forms that your assistant was supposed to but you figured, why not? You’re passing through anyway. You weren’t a monster, as much as everyone at your company believed you to be. When you really had a good look at him, your heart had skipped several beats, taking in how handsome he really was.

He’d been leaning over the counter pointing something out to Somin, the main receptionist while she shook her head apologetically at him, her face twisting into a pitying expression.

“Sorry darling, we’re looking for professional companies to shoot the commercial. I’m afraid there is nothing we can do.”

“I-I have a portfolio though. Please, would you have your b-boss or anyone really, have a look at it?” He was almost pleading by this point. This made Somin sigh, leaning forward in her seat to give him an eyeful of her breasts. You knew he was getting an eyeful from the smirk on her face and the almost visible battle he was having with himself to not look down at her chest.

“Sweetheart, there is no point okay? Our boss won’t be interested in cute little boys like you with little to no experience with professional campaigns. Personally, I think she’d eat you alive. Why don’t you meet me in a few hours and I can get you some other gigs? I know a lot of people.” You almost gagged at the sugary sweet voice she had put on for him, twirling a strand of her hair.

You almost wanted to fire her but knowing you didn’t have time to deal with that headache, you settled for letting her know you were watching her unprofessional behaviour. Throwing down a pile of papers for her to forward to the relevant departments, you made yourself known, interrupting her flirting when she visibly jumped at your voice.

“Put your tits back in your blouse Somin, before I fire you.”

“I-I, ah, yes ma’am.” She muttered looking down quickly adjusting in her seat as she clicked away on her computer, no doubt trying to look like she wasn’t just hitting on the boy. “I was just letting him know we don-”

“Send him in.”

“Wait, are-”

“Somin, send him in.” You said it slower, to get your point across that you didn’t need her input on any decision you made. Even as frivolous as this one.

Or so you thought.

Jungkook, if possible, had looked even more startled than Somin. Almost doubling over, tripping on his way over when he realised who you were and that you had agreed to meet him.

Turns out, that decision was not frivolous at all. Considering how little time it took you to decide that he was yours and that you would move any mountain in the world you could to see a smile on his face after you let him shoot the magazine cover for your company’s monthly issue. It wasn’t the commercial he was hoping to shoot, despite having an remarkable portfolio. Nonetheless, it was enough to have the sunniest smile you had ever seen on anyone. Most of all, it was sincere. He had been honest, too honest, letting you know that he desperately needed this job. He was two months behind his college tuition and if he didn’t make any payment, he would be kicked out. At first you had contemplated the chances of him lying to you about his backstory to get a gig. After all, the exposure that your company or merely being associated with your company afforded, was enormous. Enough to get anyone started on their feet with the name of your company on their resume. But there was no doubt of his truth. Firstly, his clothes did all the talking. The poor boy was wearing a hoodie a size too small, shoes almost giving away at the stitches but most of all, his eyes. They were the kindest that you had ever come across. They showed the kind of hope in them that you had for yourself six years ago. Even though it was obvious that his situation was in dire need of saving, probably no other option after this, he still held on with stubbornness and tenacity you only wished you had held on to. Not the one where you go months arguing your point just to wear everyone out and get your way to prove yourself. Not just because you could and you were the CEO. But because you believed in yourself. Jungkook believed in himself and his efforts. In the short amount of time you spent with him that morning, you learned more about him than you had learned about yourself in all the 29 years you had been alive.

The rest had been history. It had started out with a job for him and turned into so much more. The first time you had kissed him was when he was shooting the cover page. You never went to any of the magazine shoots unless you were in a featuring story, but your heart had betrayed you when you tried to tell yourself you didn’t really need to see him. He was nothing special to you. That thought process went to shit when your lips had met his and the undeniably soft moan he had let out in surprise of your action. A kiss turned into secret rendezvous in your office when everyone was packing up and leaving while you pressed him into your office desk with your body straddling his, tugging the sweetest moans out of his soft mouth as your hand worked his length. He never asked for more; at first. Just relishing in the moments of tenderness you provided him unlike your cold exterior and dealings with him on a normal basis. But these stolen moments in your office turned into him staying at your place almost every night of the week. At first you told yourself that he was a grown man, you didn’t need to worry if he had dinner or if the heater at his place was working alright. But who were you fooling anyway? One noisy growl from his stomach and you were out of your office, motioning him to follow you. And he did, eyes wide, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Watching him eat was one of your favourite pass times. He made so much noise, munching his food loudly like a baby that all it did was make you crazy from inside out. Making it harder and harder to keep an emotional distance from him while you kept up this mutually beneficial arrangement. It was hard keeping him at an arm’s length when he was so open and willing to share his heart with you. He was smart, he was diligent in his affection, kind, caring, shy. Utmost importantly, he believed in you, the goodness in you. It made you feel guilty at night when both of you lay in your post coital bliss, him snoring lightly beside you while his head lay on your arm. Guilty that he took even the smallest gestures at such high value, looking at you like you were the centre of his universe when you did so much as buy him a pair of cashmere gloves and scarf in the cold unforgiving months of winter. You knew it wasn’t just because of the money or the things that you would buy for him. You knew this because the first time you transferred him money without him knowing, it wasn’t spent until 3 weeks later when he was actually expecting his pay check. And those 3 weeks, you were stuffed so full with his random displays of affection whenever you were with him. He would make sure to touch you as much as he could whenever he was around. Telling you again and again how wonderful you were every chance he got. Saying how much you inspired him and gave him hope for any future for himself knowing how much stress you were always under. It was almost suffocating as you weren’t used to it all but slowly, you realised you were spoiled. You doubted anything less in the future would satisfy you.

Tonight was no different. Maybe a little different. If anything had changed in the months that you had met Jeon Jungkook, was that you had learned that even big, muscly boys like him, who were no less than men judging solely from the rippling muscles, and by god the best fucking 8 pack you had ever seen, could be just as attention demanding as a 5-year-old. Jungkook was a certified baby boy. He was your baby boy. However, tonight, you didn’t need his needy whinges no matter how much your core complained otherwise. He had gotten home shortly after you, all the while huffing and puffing about his new lecturer and how strict he was with his marking. You had hummed along with his complains while he took off his shoes, throwing his backpack aside and had made his way over to you towards the counter where you’d been standing, looking over some paperwork while you sipped on your freshly brewed coffee.

He had wrapped you into a warm back hug – the boy was all heat, always – resting his head on your shoulder with a pout that could give a toddler a run for his money when he noticed your lack of response to his nuzzling in the crook of your neck, no doubt, trying to get you to reciprocate and coddle him like you usually did to make him feel better. You had warmed up to him, and only for him, a lot. But apparently, not enough for Jungkook.

“Noona,” He whined again, pressing tighter against your back, his taller stature looming over yours when he stands straighter, annoyed at your lack of reaction to his pouting face.

“Hmm… go have dinner, it’s in the fridge.” He made a noise in the back of his throat, much like a whine, poking head in front of your face, trying to block your way of the documents you were currently perusing.

“Jungkook, not now. Eat your dinner or go play overwatch please.” It was apparent that you were done with the conversation. At your stony dismissal, he huffed, but nonetheless, went and sat at the dining table, stabbing his fork in the plate. Clearly showing his annoyance and that he was less than happy with you. At that point, you barely heard anything besides the ringing in your ears and the pounding headache that had a hold of you since this morning. You really needed to have all the paperwork sorted tonight or you would be in deep shit. Jungkook could wait. His brattiness always chose the most inappropriate of times to surface.

He stared at you all the while he stabbed his food to mush before taking a bite. You could almost feel his eyes burning a hole in your forehead. When he was done with his food, he made his way over to the sink, noisily throwing his plate in the dish washer after rinsing it. You knew he wanted to get a rise out of you and he damned well almost did.

“I’m done.” Raising an eyebrow without sparing him a glance, you made a noise of confirmation that your heard him, barely.

“Noona,” you continued to nod to yourself reading over all the terms and conditions of the new contract. Jungkook scoffed, setting his hands on his hips.

“Can you at least look at me?” Slamming your hands down on the counter, you looked at him square in the eyes with a stern face that had the blood rushing to his face, flustered.

“And what Jungkook? Can you please-,” exhaling loudly, “let me finish this? I don’t have time for your whining right now. Go play the new game I bought you and not a peep out of you. Understood?” Your demanding voice had him gulping, knowing the unspoken punishment was just lurking the corner. He was already treading on thin ice. Hoping that sent him the message that you were not to be disturbed, you turned back to your documents.

You continued to ignore him while he muttered to himself, walking over to the couch in your penthouse, turning on the gaming console.

It had been about 3 hours since you had last spoken to Jungkook. He’d played on the Xbox for a while before he’d resorted to watching Netflix on your couch. It had been halfway into Iron Man that you’d stopped hearing his commentary on the movie. You’d finally finished with the paperwork, made sure there were no loose ends and no errors before the big day of the official signing. Giving your limbs a much needed stretch, you yawned, feeling unbelievably tired. Knowing how much you’d neglected Jungkook also didn’t have you feeling so hot. He could hold a grudge for an impressively long amount of time. Lucky for you, you knew just how to make it up to him.

Walking over to the large L shaped couch and his figure curled on it with his hands tucked in between his knees had you feeling weak in yours. He held such an air of innocence even when he simply slept. The unmistakable content look on his gentle face almost had you turning back and letting him nap some more, knowing how frustrated he was before he fell asleep. Smiling, you walked over to the fridge and grabbed a box of banana milk that you always had stacked in your fridge. The boy was a sucker for banana milk. He’d probably give away his bank account details if you gave him enough of it.

You sat beside his sleeping figure, stabbing the straw in to the box and setting it beside you. Putting your hands beside his head, cradling it, you kissed his forehead, whispering his name to shake him out of his slumber. You continued to give him soft eskimo kisses as he groaned and shook his head, too overcome with drowsiness to attempt to shake it away. The chuckle you’d been biting back escaped as you took in the pout that was starting to form once again on his face. There was once a time you thought you hated boys. Then came a period you thought you hated high maintenance boys (you’d been told by your best friend that male versions of you reciprocated that feeling). But here you were with Jungkook. A boy AND very high maintenance.

“Jungkook, wake up darling.” You nuzzled his nose as he finally stretched his arms above his head, peeking at you with an eye open as his handsome face turned into a frown, likely remembering he was mad at you. You grabbed the banana milk and handed it to him, happily taking advantage of his weakness to get in his good graces. His face instantly lit up and all you wanted to do was scream. He was too adorable. Too good and easily pleased for his own benefit.

“You can’t bribe me to like you with this.” He spoke around the straw in his mouth, sipping on it as he sat up slightly, allowing your arms to wrap around his shoulders and pull him into you. You grinned, looking down with your eyes closed before raising them up to his face again.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry I yelled okay? You need to realise when noona is stressed and needs to be left alone.” The seriousness of your tone had him listening carefully to your every word. Sighing he nodded, looking down, most likely understanding your difficult position. He always did. He was too good for you.

“I’m sorry, too. I just was so annoyed at my professor today!” He huffed again, sticking out his bottom lip for good measure.

“How come baby? What happened?” Seeing you interested in wanting to know about his day, Jungkook visibly perked up, eagerly telling you about how hard he worked on his last project and got 85%.

“That’s amazing Jungkook! That’s something to be proud of, considering how much of an ass he sounds like. Cheer up honey.” You kissed his lips softly, keeping it chaste and sweet.  

Of course, Jungkook being Jungkook, he chased after your lips when you pulled away. Eyes half closed as he tried to pull you closer, throwing the empty milk box on the side. You smirked, holding his face between your palms and pushing him back down.

“Behave, baby.” Whining had seemed to become Jungkook’s favourite tonight, as he did just that, pulling you on top of his frame. One of the insanely lust inducing facts that you’d learned about Jungkook was his insatiable sexual appetite. First, he’d seemed to be too reluctant and shy to do so much as slip his tongue in your mouth and all the previous encounters had been initiated by you. Slowly, he’d developed into a man possessed to have his cravings satisfied. Needily rutting against you as he once again buried his face in your neck. He was greedy. But you were more than happy to provide what he desired.

“Noona,” whining breathlessly and you had barely held him for more than a few moments, “need you.”

“What do you need baby?” He knew you liked to drag it out, milk the moment until he was so needy, so beside himself that tears pricked his eyes, begging you for some relief. He also knew you loved it when he was vocal, freely expressing his want with the way he whined and gasped and moaned, composing your favourite melody.

“S-Suck me, noona, please.” He whined low in his throat as you felt the trickle of arousal escape your core, heat travelling downwards and opening your body up to his gluttonous eyes. His shameless demand only spurred you on further. Jungkook had tugged his leg over yours, pushing his hardened length in your stomach, grinding brazenly, hoping you’d show him mercy, just for tonight. You were still biting your lips, looking down at his flushed face and needy, big button eyes fluttering and boring into yours before dipping them down towards your cleavage. He dragged his hands from your waist up, bringing your silk blouse along with him until you stopped them from ascending any further. He was whining again, nuzzling his face in your breasts through your blouse when not granted permission to take off your shirt. This time though, the noise lit a fire deep in your core instead of the chaste affection it incited in a more innocent context. Instead, you reached behind with both of your arms under the shirt, taking off your bra, slowly, making sure to watch Jungkook’s already breathless face and glazed eyes. He looked like he’d been drugged. Knowing it was you and your hands over him satisfied an almost cloying need inside you that was inexplainable. Inexplainable but attainable and only from having him.

You leaned back down after throwing your bra aside. Taking his face in your hands, you took his deep red lips in for another kiss. Thrusting your tongue into his mouth, letting it lead his own, you kissed him fervently enough to set his nerves on ablaze. He was so restless and beside himself that his sensual grinding had turned into desperate rutting of his hips against your damp sex through your panties, skirt ridden up to your waist. You placed your hands on his bottom, slowing down his pace to the sensual grind it was before, making him groan loudly in your mouth. He was young and by no means a virgin, but you often found yourself slowing him down. He was always eager to please and be pleased. The stamina of a bull, you thought bitterly on more than one occasion, knowing how mild paced you’d had sex before compared to your hectic life.

“Slow down baby, noona will give you what you need.” Jungkook moved down towards your chest, ignoring your warning and taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth through your silk blouse. You hissed at the harsh tug of his teeth on your nipple. Apparently Jungkook was in no mood of being obedient.

You almost had to wrestle his hands in to your hold as he sucked on your nipple through the fabric, pleasure flooding your nerves, setting them on fire as he tugged and tugged, slowly suckling afterwards to ease the pain. Your breathing was rough. Jungkook was being brattier than usual, not listening to a word so far. You resigned yourself to just let him be, get it out of his system. He was obviously showing his feelings from your spat earlier, rather than excessively voicing them. He pulled away from one just to switch to the other. The fabric of your blouse now sticking to your nipple, outlining the peak shamelessly. You left his hands beside him, dragging your own down to his hardened length. Jungkook was a very generously endowed man. The fact that his body and his cock didn’t match his face or personality was the hottest thing to you. He had no idea how sexy it was to you that he fucked like a porn star, however, possessed the temperament of a timid mouse. His acquiescent demeanour was your weakness. It only made you want to have him even more. You granted a harsh tug on his cock, halting his movements on your breast, using your hand that was cradling him to your chest to tug his gasping face away from it.

“Enough.” Voice callous, sending shivers down his brawny torso. He whimpered lowly, tugging on his bottom lip. Your hand continued to move on his hard length, lubricated from the excessive pre-cum smeared on the tip. It was messy and you loved messy.

“I want your cock in my mouth.” You purred lowly beside his ear, hearing him gulp. Slowly, you sat up, sliding down his body, Jungkook watching you with dim eyes, pupils dilated, such apparent lust swimming in his irises. Sliding off your silk blouse, you discarded it to the side along with his jeans and underwear in one swoop. You leaned down, eyes level with his own, landing open mouthed kisses to his pelvis, trailing them down to the cherry red head of his leaking cock. He was unbelievably hard and intimidatingly engorged. It made you all the more wet, knowing you’ll get to feel him soon. You began by starting at the base of his shaft with your tongue and working your way up towards the tip. He was trembling. His skin felt scorching and clammy as the temperature seemed to rise around you despite the open plan space.

“Noona, noona!” Jungkook was almost heaving, resisting the urge to pull on your head and shove you down his cock. He wondered if this is what heaven felt like. He’d ask you that question if he wasn’t busy trying not to die because he would rather experience this feeling in this life than wait for the next.

“Yes, baby?” You kept up your licking as he stared at you, pupils blown, his mouth hanging open. “What do you want my darling?”

“I want your mouth noona, please suck me, suck my cock noona, p-please.” He whined shamelessly, moaning loudly when his wish was granted. This is the point where Jungkook lost all his inhibitions and chased your touch without his reticent nature afflicting him. Finally reaching the tip, you were rewarded with a few drops of pre-cum that you licked up with your tongue, quickly swallowing him down. Slowly feeling the veiny warmth of his luscious cock as you moved up and down on it. Working it with your tongue. Jerking it with one hand while the other gently pressed on the underside of his scrotum. All the while desperate moans of ‘noona’ and your name when he got too carried away were sounding the walls of your penthouse. Jungkook had always been vocal and it was your weakness. He was either quiet and reserved or bratty and loud. The later usually in more compromising situations as this one.

You slowly worked your way down the veiny shaft with your tongue and with your other hand holding and slowly jerking his cock.

“F-Fuck! Y-Yes just like that noona, take my cock,” He whimpered loudly, his shirt now discarded on the floor as his torso glistened with a light sheen of perspiration, “I’m gunna cum noona, oh god.” Holding his cock deep in your throat, you finally lifted your head up and off his dick, spitting saliva all over his engorged dick. His desperate pleas for you to finish him off were mostly a catalyst to your already hedonistic desires at this moment. Giving head had never appealed so much to you before Jungkook. In fact, it was almost degrading to you considering your stature to almost all your partners before. Though, it never occurred to you when it came to Jungkook. First you mistook it as pity on the young man but you were soon realising that your interest in foreplay was not merely a phase. There was something more than was you felt on the surface which was becoming harder to ignore. One last time you put your face directly above his cock and took a deep breath, sweat dripping onto the mushroom tip from your forehead you finally sunk down again. Jungkook didn’t think he even had control of his body as he thrust upward, pushing his cock even further down your throat. Pleasurable tears fell down your face as you continued to hold Jungkook's cock in your throat. Finally, barely able to breathe you pulled your head back allowing his cock to escape your mouth as you gasped for air. Threads of saliva trailed down from your mouth to his beautiful cock. Continuing to bob up and down, going deep but not nearly as deep as you had been, your adoration of Jungkook's beautiful cock had him soon ready to explode. Jungkook looked at you in panic, breathing heavily.

“Noona I’m gunna cum! tell me w-where.” He almost pleaded as you sat up slightly away from his cock.

"Come on baby, give it to me," you instructed Jungkook as he jerked his cock, the engorged head only inches from your face.

You opened your mouth and Jungkook aimed, shooting two ropes of cum almost directly into your mouth, some of it landing on your lips and chin. You quickly swallowed, gulping down his warm sticky cum. He looked beautifully wrecked. His skin flushed a deep pink, abs contracting and relaxing as he took deep breaths in. So vulnerable and uncut. Once his orgasm had subsided, he’d wasted no time in sitting up and pulling you into his lap.

“I came so hard noona, you’re so amazing, you’re so beautiful.” His words being pressed into your skin as he held you close to his naked body, hands now working on your skirt and panties, tugging them off.

“Anything for my baby,” You kissed him sweetly as your hand continued down to stroke his hardening cock again, exploring each other's mouths. You pulled away from his lips, caressing his cheek with your free hand.

“Noona is going to fuck you now, okay baby?” Jungkook moaned at your words nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Please, fuck me noona. I-I’m so hard for you.”

Slowly you placed your bare feet up on either side of his hips, then lowered your pussy over his cock. Instantly feeling the electricity of his huge member penetrating your pussy. When you were satisfied that you could get no more of his cock into your pussy, you began to bounce up and down on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning on his shoulder.

Enjoying the feeling of fullness that always comes from having Jungkook’s cock in your pussy. For the first time today Jungkook finally got to properly suck on your breasts. Pushing you back slightly as you continued to bounce up and down, you were thankful for the Pilates classes that kept you in shape. He gently sucked on your nipples, swirling his tongue over the areola of each tit. Sucking and biting each nipple your orgasm soon built up in your core. The combination of being on edge from the events before combined with the stresses of the day had you rushing towards your end faster than usual. So you turned around. Now facing forward, and began to really fuck Jungkook.

You pushed down until you could feel the head of his member nudge your cervical opening and sending a bite of pain up your torso. You stopped for a second leaning back to sweetly talk in Jungkook’s ear, "Baby, thrust upward as hard as you can, okay? Please do it for Noona." You smiled wickedly at him as he suddenly pushed upward as hard as he could, crying out with you. "Oh God, Jungkook!" you cried out loudly as the pain of his thrust hit you. In seconds that pain was replaced by pleasure as his cock penetrated depths of your cunt. "Don't stop," Urging him on as Jungkook had started to slow down his rhythm thinking he hurt you. The overwhelming feelings had you so engrossed in your own little world and only when Jungkook squeezes his hands on your waist you glance down at where you’re both connected.

With Jungkook now penetrating your cunt fully you begin to ride him ferociously, fucking like animals. Your naked bodies made loud smacking sounds as you worked towards the inevitable climax. Sweat once again poured off of your naked body glistening in the light of the living room. You were getting tired with your continued rhythm on his cock and thankfully Jungkook noticed as he kissed up your back helping you maintain it.

“How about I turn you over now? Please,” He kissed your collarbone, “Wanna fuck noona.”

You gave into his pleading, getting off his lap and getting on all fours on the couch as Jungkook rested one knee on the couch and the other foot on the floor, gaining all leverage he needed. You were drunk on each other's bodies and it was evident in the way Jungkook’s eyes were glazed over, never taking them off of you. This was not the usual and the fact that you allowed him to take over only further showed him how past your typical temperament you were.

Having positioned himself on the seat he looked over at you with a mischievous grin on his handsome face. Jungkook stroking his now well lubricated cock, grabbed it with his left hand and guided it to your pussy. As he slowly entered, you let out a muffled groan, adjusting to his size in this position. Somehow, he felt larger and harder as the rigid shaft dragged across your vaginal walls, filling you up inch by inch. And then he began to slowly fuck you, pushing your body forward a bit with every thrust, getting into a rhythm. His cock working your pussy felt unbelievable. With sweat pouring out of your body and dripping on the couch, you felt the rush of you orgasm building as you instructed Jungkook. "Faster baby, please," The more Jungkook gave, the lesser it felt. He was addicting, enchanting and like a true addict, you always wanted more. Jungkook began ploughing into your cunt with reckless abandon. Making shameful smacking sounds as your sweaty bodies collided together and before you knew it, your torso was collapsing on the couch as Jungkook held firmly on to your hips.

“You look so sexy Y/N. You feel so good, fuck.” When you turned your head to the side, eyes sliding back to glance at his face, the view only brought you closer. Jungkook’s eyebrows were furrowed in amazement as his eyes were securely stuck to the view of where your bodies made illicit contact.

“A-Am I doing well Noona? I’ve b-been holding off for you.” You nodded your head as best as you could, knowing he was well aware of his skill but always wanted to hear it from you. And you were more than happy to oblige.

“Yes honey, you’re so good.”

“God, it’s never enough. I wanna fuck you f-forever Noona.” A hiccup to let you know he was choking up which wasn’t so out of the ordinary as what he says next. “P-Please don’t leave me.”

The brokenness his words convey is so honest and sincere it’s like being stamped directly on the surface of your skin. And you’re not given much time to mull it over when Jungkook’s rhythm behind you turns frantic, almost as if he’s also realised his slip up. It for sure makes you forget though. Now needing to cum, you matched his rhythm and pushed back harder, sweat still dripping from your body onto the couch. You felt an incredible rush of pleasure wash over your body listening to Jungkook whine with each thrust, muttering about how perfect you felt on his cock.

“Baby I’m c-cuming,” You moaned in urgency, prompting Jungkook to get impossibly faster.

“Cum for me noona, want you dripping over my cock.”

You barely kept your balance on the seat as your orgasm exploded, your cunt dripping with Jungkook's cock still ploughing into you, the liquid nectar gushing onto the couch below as he helps you climb the bridge of your ecstasy.

Jungkook slowed his rhythm down, knowing you needed a minute but his cock never really stopped gently thrusting your cunt.

He began to pick up his rhythm again hammering your pussy with his thick girth over and over. Your pussy convulsing around his cock in oversensitivity, but you wanted him to cum again. At that moment you didn't care. All you could think about was how good his cock felt inside you and how good his cum was going to feel in you again. Now working harder than ever before, Junngkook's cock kept battering your dripping pussy. The smacking sounds of your flesh louder than ever. "N-noona." you knew that he was telling you he was ready. "In me baby. Cum inside noona’s pussy.” you instructed. Filling you up to the brim. Slowing down as he continued to spurt inside, holding on to your hips as his eyebrows were furrowed, concentrating on milking all his cum from his cock. You waited for him to snap out of his daze as he came to a halt, reluctantly pulling out. You winced slightly as he exited your entrance at the inflamed lips of your pussy. As he slid down to the floor, you took his place on the couch, laying back to give your aching limbs a rest as your vision took time to clear.

What you weren’t prepared for was a tongue snaking its way to your cum-filled pussy, startling you.

"Jungkook." You cried out a little too loud as Jungkook's tongue first began to explore your lips. He began by placing soft kisses all around your pussy lips. Gently using his tongue to massage the outer labia of your cunt. His hands caressing your stomach and then reaching back down to spread your thighs wide.

“You’re so yummy noona, I want to eat all of our cum,” his words making you moan even louder. Jungkook was just as filthy as you and it made you even wetter. Meanwhile, his tongue had begun to work his way into your pussy. Jungkook took his time with your pussy reciprocating the worship that you had shown his cock. His tongue began to work inward further licking all around quickly but not viciously, allowing your pleasure to build. His eyes peaked over in to your own, only his nose visible above your mound. And you can’t help but bring your hands down to cradle his face close to you. There was no mistaking Jungkook’s current position between your legs was obscene, objectively speaking. But somehow, it didn’t feel that way. At least not when he looked at you like you were his life source. It was overwhelming in such an intimate way and you couldn’t tear your eyes away no matter how much your mind screamed at you to put some sort of methodical barrier between you two. And if it wasn’t for his tongue slipping up to your clit, you would have most likely been lost in his twinkling eyes for who knows how long.

“Gently, baby.” You hiss as each swipe of his tongue is like a shock to your core. Once he closes his lips around the bundle of nerves, you let go with a whimper; your climax short but powerful. Jungkook only stopped his licking for a few seconds when you came and was now back to work on your now very wet and cum soaked pussy. After a few minutes of just licking up all your juices, he stopped once you started wincing, having had enough for the day. You caught your breath as you pulled him up beside you, laying his head down on your chest as he draped your body with his own, wrapping his arms around you.

After a few minutes of silence, you heard him say the words that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

“I love you Y/N.”

You simply smiled, stroking his hair, tugging his lips softly on your own, not kissing just resting.

Hoping to buy time and figure out what the fuck to do.

a/n: feedback appreciated, esp the constructive kind. :)))

[corinnejmorris]

↷ A DAY IN THE LIFE

Transcribed above: Dear diary, I had lunch with Celia Mae this afternoon since she was in town. Apparently her contractor continues to delay the renovations on her house in the Hamptons, and she drives out every weekend from Boston to meet with him. She likes to believe their hookups are coincidental but surely she knows he’s stalling just to see her? Hopefully her husband doesn’t find out..or does...I don’t know what I’d do in such a situation…regardless, she was telling me about this exercise wherein, you keep track of your day in a journal or an app— but writing most definitely will be more beneficial for me. It’s to get an idea of where your time goes, so you can try to improve your productivity and be more aware of your everyday happenings. Anyways, I’m going to try it on Friday, since Thursday is so busy.

5:30AM 

She wakes up with the assistance of $90 sunrise alarm clock. She makes her bed almost immediately and lazily walks over to her ensuite. She’s a morning shower person, so her oversized tshirt gets left on the floor as she lets the water heat up. Towel wrapped around her chest, she continues on to teeth, then skin care— toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer and sunscreen, then moisturize before she’s onto the closet. She doesn’t spend long finding something, and make sure to grab a pair of leggings and a sports bra for yoga this afternoon. Before changing she sits at her vanity and does her beauty routine— primer, light concealer, lip balm, eye shadow, mascara, lips, perfume.

Transcribed above: Dear diary, I woke up at 5:30 this morning, and spent an hour and a half on my look this morning.

7:00AM

She’s changed and is now in the kitchen, for a mediocre cook at best— Corinne can somewhat pull off breakfast. Turkey bacon in a pan, and a small saucepan is boiling water. Whole wheat toast from a local bakery in her toaster and espresso brews on her stove top. Now is when she checks her phone for late night emails, calls or texts she may have missed and makes note to answer them once she gets to work, or answers immediately if they’re pressing. She poaches her egg, and smashes an avocado on her toast with some chili flakes. She eats alone at her dining room, no phone, no notebook, often times with a soundtrack of soft jazz. 

7:45 AM

She’s in her car with two lattes in travel mugs. Although her office isn’t that far, she likes being the first person in the office. Or at least one of the first— but today she picks up Nicky first which used to be a more common occurrence but now he more often commutes with his girlfriend. The drive from her neighbourhood to his is short and she greets him with a hot latte. They drive through the beginnings of morning traffic and Nicky talks while she nods and pipes in occasionally. 

Transcribed above: Dear diary, We’re settled in the office now, sometimes I forget how refreshing Nick’s babble can be.

8:10 AM

Emails, phone calls and all the correspondence she can muster before their team debrief. All the while she tries to finish her own latte, and solve whatever Nicky’s plight so happens to be. This is also when she sets up her schedule for the day.

8:35 AM

Team debrief, overlook at the past week, what next week looks like. Where everyone is at on their projects, where they can use insight. This might be Corinne’s favourite part of the day.

9:00 AM

Meeting one, whatever client she’s spear heading normally gets this first meeting. Gets as long as they need, and this slot is usually reserved for whoever pays most. Today it’s a meeting with some more of Bell’s campaign staff. A progress report of sorts.

11:00 AM

Meeting two, a conference call with the New York guys. Corinne mostly does these out of courtesy. She really wishes she could off load this onto someone else, but she doesn’t. They talk about possible expansion, she thinks for a moment about moving back to New York.

12:00 PM

Social media break before lunch, god her brother’s kid is so cute!

12:15 PM

Lunch at the office today and as much as she hates interrupting her eating, there’s a meeting with the board she’s forced to attend.

1:45 PM

Back in her office, with a stack of reports neatly piled on her desk. This alone time is her favourite. Alone with the words and numbers, highlighters and pens— a time she could clear her head of everything else and focus.

Transcribed above: Dear diary, I’m taking a break from the tobacco reports to update you on today’s events.

3:30 PM

Rooftop yoga at the office. She changes in the bathroom down the hall before walking up the final two flights up to the rooftop. A serene closing to her day.

4:45 PM

Back in the office, back in her Western business casual attire and sending out her final emails of the day, planning any meetings for tomorrow, a few quick phone calls and she’s ready to be out the door.

5:25 PM

She says goodbye to her assistant and is off to find her car. With the rush hour traffic her ride takes her around 40 minutes. But also her sometimes shitty driving might also play a part in the length of her commute.

6:30 PM

She unlocks her front door and immediately gets rid of her shoes and drops her purse. Although she’ll only be here for a few minutes, walking through her front door is always a welcoming feeling. She quickly changes, and smokes out her shadow for a more night time look.

Transcribed above: Dear diary, I’m sort of in a rush but, today was a good day— smooth, no hiccups. I have dinner with Colin tonight which should be nice.

8:10 PM

Dinner downtown. It feels like a slightly more personal client dinner but it’s nice to catch up. Although she initially thought they wouldn’t have a lot to talk about, the conversation starts and never stops. She’s glad she got to do this. The company is welcomed, the food is great and the wine is even better.

10:40 PM

His hotel is just around the corner and they say goodbye and agree to catch up again soon. The walk to her car is brisk and she’s back on the road shortly. Driving timidly after her two glasses of red.

11:00 PM

This time there’s an audible sigh when she enters the house this time. Now she’s done for the night. Clothing is shed when she breaches her bedroom and sits at her vanity. She removes her makeup and spends a beat too long inspecting every inch of her face. She slips back into her pyjamas from this morning.

Transcribed above: Dear diary, Dinner with Colin was fantastic, I forgot how charming and talkative he was. It’s always so nice to catch up with people from school. Maybe I should call him.

11:45 PM

She goes downstairs for one more drink and sits on her couch in the dark. She enjoys the stillness of moments like these. Reminds her of the power of her loneliness.

12:50 AM

She drags her tired limbs back upstairs and brushes her teeth before curling up her duvet.

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 5: Askew

This episode: We meet some very strange people, and go to a very strange place.

Contractor Darius firmly escorts Valeria and Gral out of the Baroness’s hall, but he’s chill about it. Nothing personal, we’re just trying to keep the talk about this madman on the down low. We’ve had some suspicious activity around here lately, see. We Cursebreakers got our hands on some important books recently, and Witness Beatrice was just getting started on translating some of the more suspect tomes. Two days later, the library mysteriously burned to the ground. Now I’m not sayin’ it was the Penitents. We don’t have proof. But...well, you see why we’re being careful with news of anyone touched by the Curse.

Gral and Valeria are quite understanding, but they’d also like to take Darius up on his offer to meet this “madman.” Why not go right now?

Meanwhile, Clem goes armor shopping and meets some nice lesbian weaponsmiths at Hammerstein and Sons - Ms. Hammerstein, and her business partner Ms. Sons. Sadly, she finds out that armor and silvered weapons are ‘spensive. Shoshana is wandering the city, noticing that while people give her funny looks, nobody really gives her any crap about her mildly cursed appearance. Clearly, this is an opportunity to hang out in bookstores and impulse-buy unhealthy food. Nobody invites them to come interrogate the madman. Ahem. Anyway.

Darius brings the two adventurers into a narrow hallway in the repurposed mining office that the Cursebreakers took over after the library burned down. Several offices have been converted into sturdy jail cells. Only one of them is occupied. There’s a bed, and there’s easels everywhere, holding half-finished paintings, ink drawings, and charcoal sketches. Pots of paint and other art supplies are scattered around haphazardly.

“He’s weird but we’re pretty sure he’s harmless,” Darius tells them. “Bea comes in to cast Detect Magic once a day to see if he’s up to something, but she’s never found anything.”

Valeria inspects the various half-finished paintings. They’re mostly landscapes. She sees:

-a frozen ocean crashing up against bright purple cliffs, under a sky with five moons

-an owl that turns into a lizard partway through, casting a human shadow. The ground beneath it is breaking apart, opening a pit to darkness.

-a cavernous landscape filled with bones, a grim city looming in the darkness above

-the biggest canvas is full of nothing but very finely-detailed abstract shapes in a psychedelic swirl of colors. Only a small patch of the huge canvas is filled. There is no overarching pattern, just random but elaborate shapes and lines.

Sitting at the big canvas, there is a gaunt elf in ragged clothes. Fresh clothing is folded nearby within his reach, but he hasn’t touched it. Gral notices that there’s something weird about him - the elf’s proportions are juuuust slightly off, pushing him slightly into the uncanny valley. He turns to face them. His eyes are very, very wide, and they are all-black and full of stars.

He notices the group and politely inquires: “Hello. Is the key here?”

“The key?”

“Yes, I think I could be ready to leave soon.”

The adventurers ask if he knows why he’s in here.

“The very nice knights gave me this room to work on my paintings. They’re things I saw when I was elsewhere. I like to refresh my memory.” He points at the grim city. “I’m missing something here….”

Gral politely introduces himself and Valeria.

“Hello, I am the painter. Well, a painter. I’m the only painter here so I might as well be The. Unless one of you paints? No? Very well, the Painter I am!”

Gral inquires of Darius how long ago this odd gentleman was found. Darius says it’s been maybe two or three months? Not long after the mists started happening. The Condotierri found him wandering in a farmer’s field.

Gral turns to the Painter: “Do you know about the lake nearby?"

“Oh yes!  I’m very familiar with it!”

“Have you seen the mists?”

“No. Although it makes sense that there would be mists, that’s where mists should happen.”

Valeria brings us back on topic. “How did you get to ‘elsewhere?’”

“Oh, the Key brought me.”

Gral: “...What, or who, is the Key?”

“That is a very complicated question. I’ve asked the Astronomer that many times, and he was always frustratingly vague.”

“The Astronomer?”

“Yes, the Astronomer, he’s the one who told me about the Key. I’m working on a portrait of it!” He gestures to the huge abstract canvas. “I can only remember it sometimes.”

“Where did you meet this Astronomer?”

“In his house by the lake, that’s an awfully silly question.”

Valeria: “...Tell me more about your paintings. This one is super nice, tell me about it!” She points to the ocean landscape.

“Oh yes! That was beautiful, one of the first places I went from the Astronomer’s house. I don’t know if the others made it through in time. I lost my sketchbook somewhere. Unfortunately I didn’t have my paints with me.”

“...you went to these other places with others?

“Oh, well, that was the idea, but I ended up alone. The Astronomer, The Musicians, The Alchemist, the Sculptor, the other Painter – frankly he’s hideous and the world is better that he was left behind, or stuck between – I didn’t look back, there was too much to see in front of me.”

Valeria elbows Gral. “You’re a musician.”

“So I am! Did these musicians happen to be orcs?”

The painter doesn’t know what “orc” means, so Gral takes off his mask and asks if the musicians looked like him. Nope. Glancing between the orc Gral, the dragonborn Valeria, and the human Darius, he decides the musicians looked like - well, nobody here, but Darius more than anybody.

Moving on to the next painting, Valeria points at the owl-lizard creature. “What kind of creature is this?”

The Painter looks angry. “That’s the Destroyer. We had worked so hard for so long, and at the last moment, the triumph of success, it interrupted us.”

“What did it do?”

“I was on the other side, so I was only able to see, but not warn the others. It destroyed our art, our collaboration. What was to be a bridge is now trapped between the two, between here and there. Sometimes there’s a bit of a connection, but… that’s when I’m able to work on the portrait. I remember the Key.”

Valeria: "...Is the Key a physical object?”

“Are you?”

“…Generally speaking, yes?”

“Not entirely, no, but less than you are.”

“Is the key alive?”

“Partially. Partially. It was killed, but it’s alive. Maybe. It should be more. These are some very odd questions!”

Valeria is pretty frustrated by all the riddles. “It doesn’t sound like your key is entirely anything!”

“Well, it might have been one day. If there’s any of it left. That’s why we tried so hard to reach it. The Astronomer especially. He was the first to see it. He organized the collaboration. I was the only one to make it through. 

It hasn’t been so bad since I’ve been back. The small one comes to play chess with me, but she’s really bad at it. Doesn’t know any of the rules.”

“What happened to the Astronomer?”

"He is where the house is. I don’t know which side of the house he’s on, this one or the other side.”

Next painting. What’s up with this city of bones?

“The Key wasn’t WITH me, but it helped me. It sent me places. And yes, it was a rather gloomy place, I did not care for it. Impressive visual, but poor lighting.”

“Was anything there alive and moving?”

“Alive no, moving yes. I’ve left those bits out, it’s more of a landscape. What’s the opposite of still life? Moving dead? I’m sure the OTHER painter would have loved it. But I capture sublime beauty, thank you very much. Is that all? Thanks for the appreciation, but I must get back to work on the portrait. I remembered some of it last night, and those memories don’t stay.”

Gral: “Where are the other collaborators now?”

“Some of them might be in the house, some might be wandering. I barely know why I’m here! I doubt the Astronomer left the house, he loves it. It was his place.”

Valeria asks whether the Astronomer would mind if we paid the house a visit.

“Oh, he loves guests!” An insight check reveals the painter is entirely sincere, and madder than a box of rabbits

He turns away from our heroes and gets back to work, almost trance-like in his movements.

Darius is pretty impressed. “You caught him on a good day. Usually he’s worse, you can’t get him away from painting at all. The paints keep him calm. Me or Quentin will try to talk to him, but this is the most we’ve gotten in a while. He’s usually better after the mists come, which is NOT a comforting thought.”

Gral is fixated on the idea of other worlds. When the terrible creature came upon his expedition, Gral saw a kind of warping in space. “The painter’s madness resembles some of the whisperings upon the air when that creature growled. I think there is truth to what he’s saying, just not our truth. And we know there’s something at the lake. Have you found the Astronomer?” 

They haven’t. In fact, this is the first time he’s ever been mentioned. The guy hasn’t really given us anything about what he saw in the mists. You might want to talk to Bea about the astronomer? She used to be local record-keeper. She has a shrine to Torme in the basement - all the books she could recover from the library fire. Don’t spook her, please.  Also, Quentin’s gonna want an answer about the Mornheim expedition sooner rather than later. 

It’s roughly around here that Clem and Shoshana’s players insist on Showing Back Up. Shoshana is eating some sort of absurd ice cream wrapped in fried dough, because no one was there to stop her.

Gral recounts the audience with the Baroness and the meeting with the Painter, and tells Shoshana and Clem the harrowing story of the Curse’s Champion. “I know the Champion’s in the painter’s story somewhere – not sure if it’s the Key, or the Destroyer. But I don’t like any of it. He has probably seen the Champion.”

We ruminate on the idea of this Key taking things Elsewhere. “When the Champion attacked, it ripped the space around it. Maybe it took the encampment’s tents somewhere else instead of destroying them?”

Maybe this Key is a connection to other dimensions. If that’s the case, Gral contends, the connection is sentient. And sometimes mean. Perhaps, if he had followed the beckoning whispers that accompanied the fearsome beast, maybe he would have ended up in the fantastical places in the paintings.

Our problem: CAN we do anything? We’re low-level, dimensional portals are probably not weak to “being hit with sword,” and we have to face the possibility that, like in a Fantasy HP Lovecraft novel (he’s very racist toward orcs), we will be exposed to Weird Shit Man Was Not Meant To Know and end up as nutty as the painter. Also, like, the dead rising in Mornheim might be a priority?

Gral holds firm. “I can’t overstate how important this is. Sooner or later – I don’t know the agenda of this champion, but everyone in this town will die at its hands.”

He bows his head. “I’ve been living for a long time to just see this thing dead, but when I heard its growl last night I just wanted to run and hide. Still. I’ve heard it speak, so I believe it has a body. And if we can find out what that body is - if we know what it is, and where it is, we can figure out what its weakness is.”

Undecided if or when to investigate the Astronomer’s lake house in regards to this mystery, we decide to first take Darius’s suggestion and speak to Witness Beatrice, the cleric of Torme who rescued books from the library fire.

As we go down towards the basement, Clem pulls Gral aside. “Gral, I’m so sorry – I didn’t know that any of that happened to you. I kind of understand where you’re coming from, back with your unit. So if you ever feel like you need to talk, please know that I’m here for you.”

Gral shrugs. “It’s not something I like to remember. Part of me’s scared, part is mad, part is excited I can finally kill this thing. But I have to know what it is first if I’m going to have any hope of killing it..”

Clem nods grimly. “Believe me, I would LOVE to help you kill this thing.”

We head down to the basement. It’s cluttered with bookshelves - some carry old mining records, but most are groaning under a haphazard collection of singed books. There is a small shrine to Torme, the god of knowledge and law, in the corner. It takes a moment amidst the clutter, but Gral spots a small halfling woman muttering to herself and organizing one of the shelves. Gral takes his mask off, knowing that most non-orcs find it unsettling, and calls out a cheery, “Hello!”

She looks up at us from behind big ol coke-bottle glasses. We are all super visually intimidating and armed, because adventurers. She eeps! and hides behind a shelf. “DARIUS!”

Darius scolds us for frightening her after he specifically told us not to, and tells her it’s okay, these guys came and brought Morozov a dead body and an animal skin - wow, okay, that doesn’t actually help make them less scary. Anyhow they’re allies.

She insists he leave his bird, Daikon, down here with her if we’re gonna be large and scary and stuff.

Turns out that when the library burned, she had just begun a research project on several rare texts that might have clues to the Curse: “The Song of Druids,” “The Temptation of Fiends,” and a gruesome collection of essays on undead compiled by a mad necromancer.

Gral asks if any of the texts mentioned keys or gateways.

Bea: “Portals to the Abyss, maybe? I didn’t get very far before the fire.” She shows us a glass case. There are several fragile books inside, badly burned. 

She also tells us the Painter’s name is Johann. “I don’t think he knows how the rules of chess work? He picked up a pawn and started painting on it and said that it was a fish. Then he put it in my water glass. Which makes sense, in a way? But I was drinking that.”

When we mention an Astronomer with a lake house, though, something rings a bell. She hunts through the shelves for an old book of maps, left over from when this was a mining office. One of us tall folks kindly gets it off the top shelf.

There! On one of the islands in the lake. There’s supposed to be a home here – right over the cave system they were mapping. A manor house, belonging to one Artyom Vlemisk. A land grant from the old baron to his friend. Bea thinks back: “Yeah, astronomer Artyom! I remember when he came to town, just when I was starting out – he had a bit of an artists’ colony out in his observatory. I mean, we assumed the artists’ colony died a long time ago. Daikon did a sweep, over the entire lake, and we didn’t see the house anymore. When mists first came, we assumed they all got Got. A lot of the people close to the lake have died in the mists, especially down in the fishing village.”

Bea uses a neat magic trick to instantly transcribe us a copy of the map. She was up by the lake not long ago -  she stopped by when Darius was surveying the lake bed (using Daikon, who was an octopus at the time) & Quentin was off with Ser Balderich. There’s some guys from Sturmhearst College who set up on edge of lake. They say they’re here to “study the anomalies,” and they’ve set up shop in an abandoned church, calling it a “staging ground.” It might be easier to get them to take us across to the island - the fishermen probably won’t want to risk their boats. They’re led by a Professor Quercus, who specializes in “aberrant biology.” Bea marks the church on the map for us.

With business out of the way, Valeria can’t help but feel a Powerful Need to do something nice for Bea, and produces her book of tales of the Peacock Knight to help Bea rebuild her library. Bea has a copy of the same tales, but it’s a singed and battered old one, and Valeria happily swaps it for her pristine illustrated copy so the library can have something nice. 

We decide to go down to the lake to check it out. We still have five days before we have to give Ser Quentin an answer about Mornheim, and since the mists just came last night, we are maybe less likely to get caught in them again if we go soon. Also, we’re just gonna take a casual look around for an afternoon; we don’t have to get into anything too crazy. Right? 

We bop on down to the lake. Sure enough, there’s a damaged old stone churchy building, patched with leather tarps. Lights are flashing behind the windows. Someone has put a wooden sign up out front, reading “Sturmhearst College of the Natural Sciences, Holzog Annex. est. [last Tuesday]” 

A pair of hulking dudes all in black leather, with big hats and owl masks stand impassively at the gate, armed with big ol’ clubs. They eerily turn in weird unison to look at us as we walk down the path towards them. Clem waves. Valeria waves. Shoshana finger guns. One of them awkwardly tries to finger gun back.

There’s a bell on a pole near the front gate, labeled “please ring for entrance.” Shosha theatrically pulls the ding dong. A figure in a long-beaked bird mask peeks out of the door. “Um, yes, we’re not buying any, go away.”

“Hey, can we use one of your boats?”

“Uh. You’d have to talk to the professor, I guess. I’m just a researcher”

“Oh, is the professor the one in the bird mask?”

“Is this a joke? ...No, really, is that a joke? I’m studying humor. Well, the humors. I’ve been theorizing that maybe comedy affects the balance.”

Behind him, through the door, there is a cacophony of noise. Growl, clatter, crash, explosion! The researcher goes to check, we wait a moment, and then the door opens. “The professor is now available.”

The researcher, who we dub Frederick, leads us into a decently sized church. Folks in bird masks are hurriedly dragging something into basement. It’s under  a tarp. It’s vaguely dog shaped, but big. It also looks like a buncha stuff just got crashed over. There’s another owl guard standing there, holding a weird contraption. It’s vaguely smoking, crossbowlike, and smells of ozone? Whatever it is, I want one the next time we go in the woods.

We are approached by a fellow in a white leather coat, wearing a fancier bird mask than the others. He walks up to Valeria. “Ah! Hello there! Mister…mis…are you a boy or a girl?”

“Um, Kyr Valeria Argent, she/her pronouns?”

“Ah, good. My usual method of determining gender of reptilian organisms would be quite rude!”

IT SURE WOULD, I BET.

“Anyway, why do you want a boat?”

“For science?” we try. Before he can call us on the cliche, he distractedly dives under a table and grabs at a rolling object. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t want to lose the orb! It got knocked down during a…football game. That we were having. Yes. I don’t want it to accidentally take root, it would be an awful waste!”

We inform him that we are investigating what used to be a manor built on the lake. An artist colony, disturbed by the mist. Perhaps even movement between dimensions! Have you ever heard of anything like that?”

“Oh, how fascinating! Have I heard of such a…transference? WHAT NO OF COURSE I HAVEN’T. BUT IT WOULD BE QUITE SOMETHING.”

Insight check: he’s lying through his beak. He IS super fascinated by a transference on that scale, but yes, there is super shady shit happening here. We don’t push further, but he bustles over to a table of various strange objects.

“A quest as worthy as this must be done post haste! And I should give you some assistance! That is what one does when asking a group of valiant heroes to quest for knowledge, yes? Take one of these things, they’re magic. Student inventions, you see.” He offers us three options:

1: A rectangular wooden box with a weird putty inside. The putty apparently works similarly to the Mending cantrip, but is especially intended to repair things that have been burned.

2: A ceramic tile with a hole in the middle and a tortoiseshell on the back. It’s a method of acquiring fresh water – it absorbs water from air, or uses a form of the Create Water spell. He’s not really sure! Boop the shell button and you get a stream of fresh water.

3: A weird misshapen orb of plant matter they found in woods. If you throw it to the ground, it makes vines happen. Frederick got stuck in it! You could use it to make rope, or climb a wall. It grows quite quickly if planted or thrown! 

We choose the burn repair gel, hoping it might help Witness Beatrice.

He also insists on giving us a red journal in which to record our notes. We all acknowledge he is definitely using us as unpaid research assistants.

“Oh, by the way. Standard procedure for sending out expeditions: do you know what a homunculus is?” (Valeria does. It’s like a familiar, but crafted out of alchemy. They’re not necessarily evil? Super weird, tho.) 

“I have one named Gray. Though he’s really rather more of a blue color. He’s got quite a keen sense of smell, so in case you do not return, please let him sniff you so we can track you and recover your research notes. What’s that, Frederick? Oh. Oh dear! To shreds, you say?” 

Frederick nods.

“Well! Please leave an article of clothing, perhaps a sock? He will have to smell you later, when he’s a bit more put together.” Gral gives him a bit of sleeve. He tells us to stick together, so they can find all of us if they track Gral. Splitting the party is not university policy!

As we’re merrily heading out, the DM admits he’s surprised he kept a straight face for the whole scene. And then slyly tells us to google the meaning of the name “Quercus.”

The Professor’s name. Is Oak. 

...the laughing DM narrowly avoids being pummeled, by virtue of being several hundred miles away. Valeria’s player is revealed to have been a willing accomplice in the whole gag. 

For the record, the three items he offered us? A Char Mender, a Squirt Tile, and a Bulbous Orb.

Revenge will be had, DM. When you least expect it.

Aaaaaanyway.

They let us borrow a dinghy, which we all pile into - nobody has boat proficiency, but we do fine on the basis of nobody wants to spend an hour doing a “did anyone fall overboard and get wet” sidequest. A fish looks at us. It has three eyes. It is not a chess pawn.

We can see houses with docks on the edge of lake. They’re badly damaged and falling apart. There were never many people on the lake islands, but when the mists first rose, everyone on islands got real dead, real quick.

The middle of largest island is where the astronomer’s house was. This is not a particularly deep tangle of wood. The whole place seems pretty tame. The trees aren’t too thick, and there’s a paved road right to a large clearing.

According to the map, there should be a large house here. There is not. Instead, there is a giant hole in ground. We peer into it and see the splintered but surprisingly intact remains of the manor house – like a sinkhole opened up directly under it. Valeria throws a rock in the hole, as an experiment. We observe normal rock in hole behavior, and write it down, for science. It’s about a 50ft deep hole. Seems like there was a cave down there? The house is awkwardly sitting in it, looking weirdly intact for a house that fell in a sinkhole.

We rappel down into the pit. It’s weirdly quiet. Closer up, we can see the house has been painted all over with weird geometric patterns and lines. There are bits of carved stone nailed to house in a big massive design of shifting colors and shapes. The designs are broken up a good deal by the collapse of house. Seems like even the house itself was a giant weird abstract art project? We wonder if it’s the same pattern as the Painter’s “portrait,” but we don’t roll well enough to figure out if it is.

Heading in, we find ourselves in a crumpled hallway. The weird patterns continue along the walls. There are 4 doors; 2 on each side. The end of hallway is rubble.

We open the closest door on left: it’s a painter’s studio. There are easels and spilled paint, and there’s a human skull on floor. There’s sketches. Looks like this painter was painting the skull. Shosha takes a sketch, for souvenir reasons. The art is all really macabre, lots of battle scenes There’s a rack of weapons and a mirror, clearly for art references. One wall has a crazy mural of impossible battle scene. Knights are fighting weird monsters. There’s fire and shooty glowing lights. The characters don’t have the cultural context to describe wtf it is, but the players are told it’s very King Arthur vs. Flash Gordon. There’s also a nice, if cliché, Rack in Chains painting.

Next up is the sculptor’s studio. Lots of big marble blocks. The pattern on the walls has continued through both rooms. In the middle of the room there’s an unfinished sculpture of...something weird? It’s clearly unfinished, but there’s, like, an arm and torso stickin’ out. Wtf is that supposed to be? Also, there’s a bunch of symbols and shapes carved into the wall and into blocks of marble, as if the sculptor was practicing them. They get more regular. Some are carved on statue. Shoshana tries to copy them into our Pokedex journal, but starts getting headache staring at them for so long. Roll initiative. Wait, what?

Wait. That shape wasn’t there before...is it moving? A carved fold in sculpture opens up to reveal a maw of stony teeth. A blue-purple tendril emerges from the mouth and the whole thing kind of inverts itself into a big teeth-and-eyes-everywhere guy. WELP. SCP jokes are made.

It proceeds to smack Shoshana with a pseudopod. Hissss! She instinctually swats back, Primal Savagery giving her unnatural claws. But it’s immune to acid damage, which her claws do for some weird mechanics reason. RUDE. Gral fails to insult it. Then, a clatter of metal - the swords from previous room flying through the air! There is a crackling as lightning comes out of the pattern along the walls. The lightning grabs the swords and pulls them through the air along the lines of the pattern, like a Mag-lev train, and attack Valeria and Gral. Clem smacks a mimic with a sword, which is very helpful, since it has just reduced Shoshana to 0 hp. Gral Healing Words her up, though. Shosha MAX DMGs Burning Hands, killing the mimic. A dozen mouths open as if to scream, and what comes out is a weird discordant song. It burns and starts to shrivel up in front of us. Valeria snaps one of the swords, Shoshana flames another, and the final one rolls a natural -3 and self-destructs in shame.

We decide we no longer want to be in the sculptor’s studio.

The door across the hall opens into a large lounge. There’s a bar, bookshelves, and tables. We flip through the books. Most are about art history. They’re super moldy, though. We also find a book of cocktails, written in Kevan, and immediately start making puns. The Boozenomicon. The Negroni-nomicon? By the Mixologist of Minsk. Miska-TONICS? Mixa-tonics? Obviously by Sturmhearst University press. Clem also finds 2 bottles of fancy high-elven vodka, worth 25gp each. Valeria finds scattered sheet music for 2 songs: one is called “Requiem for the Prisoner;” the other is “The Opening of the Ways.” Naturally, she gives the music to the bard.

Next up is the kitchen. The scattered mess and wall patterns continue through it. Chained to the wall, we find a heavily annotated cookbook. Clem takes it and decides to flip through. It’s written like an eldritch recipe blog, and we definitely gotta have it. Loot!

An awful, acrid chemical scent is coming from the next room. It appears to be the alchemist’s lab, which is definitely not a thing you put next to a kitchen, home designers. We all roll Con saves versus being sickened by the fumes. In the middle of the room lies a decaying body - the alchemist herself. A medicine check reveals a head injury - she was likely concussed or knocked out when the house fell, preventing her from escaping the toxic chemical fumes of her shattered laboratory. 

Gral finds a notebook labeled “Property of Dr. Alicia Keene”. It describes certain paints that she was inspired to create – formulas for various pigments and art materials. “While I do not have a direct role in the collaboration, I was inspired to create the wondrous pigments Johann and Musalt will need for their parts, though some of the ingredients for the pigments must be acquired from Beyond. Artyoum has assured me that the Lurker and his Hounds will not bother me as I gather them.”

We also gather three potions, labeled A, B, and Q. The DM has not decided what they are yet, but he’ll stat them at some point, if we ever remember we looted them. Shosha also finds a sealed tin labeled “Paint: Reserved for Collaboration.”

Clem, as we loot evidence, notices a weird puddle. Drip. Drip. She looks up and a slimy mass is clinging to the ceiling. It drops onto us and tries to eat us, but we skedaddle outside the room, far outpacing its slow oozing speed.

As we climb upstairs, we start to hear faint music. It echoes down a long hallway filled with doors. Like dumb teens in a horror movie, we go directly toward it.

Inside the conservatory, the painted patterns swirl in complex detail across the floor, centering on a single music stand. The walls are lined with mirrors, but we notice with unease that we don’t reflect in them. The reflection seems to show the room we’re in, but instead of us there are two women, distorted and lanky with unnaturally long fingers, surrounded by floating musical instruments. One is playing a violin, the other a flute. Gral, having read the sheet music, recognizes they are playing “Requiem for the Prisoner.” 

As we enter the room, they look at us and stop playing. They spare a glance at each other, raise their instruments once more, and continue playing. But this time, it’s a different song. We hear the opening bars of “The Opening of the Ways,” and the patterns across the floor begin to glow faintly. Cracks in the mirrors begin to emit the same soft glow, and the odd colorful light begins to extend past the edges of the mirror. Mist begins to pour from the cracks.

A sensible adventuring party would have fled, escaping the house before things could go very, very sideways. The DM explicitly gave us the option. But since when has “sensible” ever described an adventuring party? We wanna see what’s gonna happen. 

We are declared certified Dumbasses by the DM, and we are about to go on a very strange journey through the looking-glass.

All PCs are now level 4.

[theawkwardterrier]

Stitch Together

Summary: Peggy and Steve can't leave a particular competition behind in the twentieth century.

It’s Steggy Secret Santa tiiiiime!! This one is for @roboticonography, with best wishes for a very, very merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy!!

AO3 link here.

As with so many things, perhaps the trouble would never have started without Tony’s big mouth.

“Are you knitting over there, Cap?” he asked, too loudly, breaking the quiet that had settled over the jet as they flew back from Australia. Even Peggy and Clint, the furthest away, turned around from the pilot’s controls. “If you wanted upgrades on your suit, you could’ve just asked.”

“It was going to be a Christmas present for you,” Steve said, fingers continuing their consistent movement. “But if that’s your attitude, maybe I should reconsider.”

Tony held up his hands. “Carry on. Should never have stepped in. I’m sure it’s going to be the best…?”

“Sweater,” Steve inserted.

“The best sweater I’ve ever worn.”

Steve said dryly, “Considering that you own a sweater that cost a thousand dollars because it was made from rare yak wool, I wasn’t too worried about the competition,” Tony snapped his gum consideringly, and that would have been that. Except that Peggy had heard the words “best sweater” and her eyes had narrowed.

So it might have been more accurate to say that, as with so many things, perhaps the trouble would never have started if Peggy could pass up a challenge.

Despite his best efforts not to think about it at all, Steve had spent every visit with Peggy wondering if it would be their last. So he could be forgiven for staring, stunned, for several minutes when she walked into the office he kept at the Tower looking exactly as he remembered her during the war.

“I know that I told you recently that you were always dramatic,” she said, amused, “but you needn’t have taken it as an order.” Then, seeing the way that he leaned back against his desk, his breath catching, she came over and placed a soft hand on his arm.

“It’s alright,” she said, and without making him ask, told him the whole story.

That Peggy wasn’t truly mentally competent at the time to have made the decision to enter the Stark Industries reverse aging trial was something that he would later take up with Tony. Just because she had signed up for it a decade earlier, it didn’t make it alright to go ahead once her cognitive decline had begun. But even as he had marshalled his reasoning for why it was inappropriate, almost unacceptable, he knew that he was, deep down, too illicitly glad to argue well. That Peggy was one of very few candidates to come through at all and the only one to have such a perfect outcome didn’t surprise him exactly (he had known from the first day he’d seen her that she was made of sterner stuff), but it did make him feel luckier.

They ended up talking on the cramped couch in the corner of his office for hours. He had Tony around to occasionally bring up incidents carefully mummified by Howard, or passed down by his Aunt Peggy, but to truly talk to Peggy herself about these things, to have his own memories reflected back by that familiar, consistent sharpness, felt like nearly too much.

When sunset and twilight had long since passed, he finally mentioned, “There’s food downstairs.” She gave him a knowing, fond look that he translated so easily that he wondered if he would cry. “Well, sure, there’s food here too, but it’s not as good.”

“It can’t be worse than what you used to have around,” she said. That was true; keeping extra rations might have been necessary to support his accelerated metabolism, but the serum was certainly the only reason he hadn’t gotten a medical discharge from eating too much of Hitler's secret weapon. But instead of standing to go searching with him, she yawned and reached for the soft handmade afghan he kept on the back of the sofa. “Though I think I might need a bit of a rest before we go scavenging.”

She spread the blanket over herself (“This is nice. I assume that you still consider yourself the superior at knitting?” “That makes it sound like an opinion.”), and a little corner over him, and fell asleep leaning on his shoulder. He stared straight ahead and thought about how she had lived a whole life, that she had had a husband who wasn’t him, raised children, that she’d built SHIELD and run it admirably for decades. It was ridiculous to think that she would even consider a romantic relationship with a barely employed ex-SHIELD contractor who she had kissed once seventy years ago, and it would only make things awkward to ask. He had Peggy, miraculously back with him, and that was all he needed.

That Christmas Eve, Natasha glanced at the presents under the tree and stopped halfway through her second piece of the chocolate gingerbread cake with which Thor had cheerfully presented everyone. (“Bakery,” Darcy had mouthed from behind him, then, giving up pretense, said, “Do you really think I’d let either of them use a mixer? Jane hasn’t made unburned toast in the entire time I’ve known her. Neither of them could pull off something this good.”)

“Smart of you to avoid tomorrow morning,” Nat said quietly to Sam as he got his bag together to head down to spend Christmas Day at his grandmother’s big house in Maryland.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll know,” she told him, and swallowed the last of her cake. (You never knew the next time you’d get cake.)

But Sam didn’t know, not yet. Because when Tony opened his presents the next day, the gray-violet hooded Aran pullover he received from Steve got only the expected compliments. Steve had given handmade gifts to nearly everyone (a painting for Pepper to hang in the empty space in the guest bedroom that always bothered her, a pair of new throwing knives that he and Thor had worked on together for Natasha) and they had known about the sweater for months. Even when Tony opened his package from Peggy to find a cable knit sweater in navy and light blue with large buttons, it was seen simply as another lovely gift and the overlap chalked up to coincidence or some obscure 1940s tradition.

Only Natasha saw the narrow-eyed glance Steve gave Peggy, and the small, decisive nod.

Even for Nat, it was difficult to tell that anything had changed over the next few months. Steve and Peggy laughed and sparred with each other, recounted old war stories to everyone in the jet or around the Tower, bent their heads together as they planned operations, and noticeably did not knit in public. It was only in May, after their first week of consistently warm weather, that the sound of raised voices drew everyone to the glass-fronted office which Peggy had claimed as her own, where they found Steve saying through clenched teeth, “It was rigged!”

“In what way,” Peggy asked him politely, “do you think I could influence Tony’s wardrobe choices?”

“He wore yours more because he’s scared of you and he knows that you notice everything.”

Peggy turned toward the doorway. “Tony, are you afraid of me?”

“Course I am,” Tony told her promptly. “I used to tell kids on the playground not to mess with me or I’d call my aunt Peg.”

“Flattering as that is, it has no bearing on the question at hand.” She turned back to Steve, her fingertips pressing gently but deliberately into the desktop as she leaned forward. “It’s clear to me, given that my sweater was worn on six more occasions than yours, that Tony considered mine to be more attractive, more comfortable, and of better quality.”

“That doesn’t—” Steve started, but Bruce cut him off.

“Can someone explain what the hell is going on here?” He looked between the two of them. “Are you two really having the first fight I’ve ever seen from you over sweaters?”

Peggy and Steve glanced at each other, then turned toward Bruce with mutually crossed arms. “Sweaters,” Peggy said dangerously, “are very important.”

It hadn’t been the plan for Steve to go on the mission at all. Marcus Harrington - Harry - a more experienced SSR field agent who Peggy had worked with before, had been tapped to join her again. But then Harry had broken a leg during a foot chase, Steve happened to be in London for three days of leave while the Commandos rested up between assignments, and the operation simply couldn’t wait.

Steve and Peggy had rescued the captive SSR operative fairly easily - he was still being dragged by a small group of soldiers through the woods back toward an established Nazi base when they found him - but returning him to where he needed to be proved more difficult. Finland was never exactly hot, but they had picked a particularly terrible week to be outdoors. Steve would often sit with his broad back facing into the cutting breeze in an attempt to act as a windbreak. But finally they managed to get him to the safehouse, enduring with embarrassment the effusive thanks of the two sisters and multiple Resistance friends already there.

“Let us give you something to thank you!” someone said, and Steve and Peggy accepted, hoping that this could serve as an appropriate endpoint to the conversation in the way that their protestations that it really was only their job had not.

Food supplies being what they were, it took a bit of time to find something deemed suitable as a gift. Finally a skein of cream yarn and a pair of knitting needles were handed to them, a final round of thanks was exchanged, and Steve and Peggy set back on their way to their pickup point.

The driving snow that cut them off miles from where they were meant to be was a problem. The small and broken shed they found to shelter in was an absolute miracle. Except that, after several hours of forgetting propriety - Steve leaning toward Peggy, or she leaning toward him, to share his warmth - and then abruptly remembering it again, they were both absolutely, incredibly bored.

Steve hadn’t remembered the yarn, exactly, but when he encountered it after sticking a hand in his pocket, it was a relief.

“I can show you a couple of stitches,” he offered Peggy idly, and she looked at him and asked, “What makes you think that I don’t know your ‘couple of stitches,’ and more than you do besides?”

“You’re already a codebreaker and a crack shot,” Steve pointed out. “Where would you find the time to learn to knit too?”

As she soon showed him, she made the time. But Steve, who had gained his own skills during long winters (and autumns, and summers) in bed, guided by the few knitting books available from the public library, was for once determined to hold his own. In anything else he accepted Peggy’s superiority as a matter of course, but in this he refused to yield.

When the pilot asked how they had passed the time waiting for the storm to clear, they both answered, without looking at each other, “Talked.” But a personal battle had been declared, and neither party was willing to back down.

Although Tony congratulated them on their attempt at experimental design, he had to admit that “proximity to hand as he reached into closet” was too significant a factor in his getting dressed to have made it a fair competition between them. New parameters would have to be set.

“Your criteria were a problem. Best sweater is too broad and too subjective, and you didn’t take weather or occasion into account,” Pepper told them. “The sweater you want to wear for a cozy day in the house isn’t necessarily the sweater you want to wear shoveling the driveway, or to work, and it’s practically impossible to make a sweater that fits all of those needs.”

It became quickly apparent that there were too many facets to consider. Half the room was stewing in stumped silence, while the other half talked over each other with suggestions. Finally it was Clint, who had walked in midway through the argument, who said through the slice of pizza he’d crammed into his mouth, “Ugliest.”

The new competition now took shape. The guidelines would not be which was the most attractive or most comfortable, which showed the most advanced technique or held up best in the wash, but instead who could make the ugliest sweater.

“It has to be wearable,” Natasha ticked off. “And the deadline is this Christmas morning.”

Those were the only rules.

That Peggy and Steve retreat to opposite corners and refuse to speak for the six months of competition seemed the next logical step. But they had been happily at war with each other for six months already, and saw no need to let the renewal of hostilities interfere with their relationship now.

If anything, they grew closer. Now that Steve had no reason to base himself out of DC, he had decided to find himself another, less depressing New York apartment, and masochistically asked if Peggy would like to be his roommate. (If he could see Peggy fixing the garbage disposal, or accusing him of eating all of her favorite breakfast cereal, or with disheveled hair finding something to watch on TV, he swore to himself that now it would be enough.) Peggy recognized with some sadness that after nearly dying, acclimating to all the losses of an entirely new century, and spending time with her elderly self, Steve was too battered for a relationship and certainly could not view her in a romantic light. She was also past ready to move out of the Tower. She accepted.

They were good roommates. Their parents would have been scandalized. A schedule was devised for making sure the bathroom was kept clean, and they agreed that if one was making food, they would always make enough for both of them. (This quickly turned into a promise to order in enough for both of them, as their stove remained mostly unused.) Peggy snuck a pair of nicely fitted jeans into Steve’s wardrobe. He bought her a gun safe that matched the red accents of her cream-painted bedroom. They mutually agreed to cancel the History Channel on their television package, but found themselves sharing the sofa often at the end of the day, flipping through the options and bickering over what self-indulgent program to choose.

And in the evenings, they would part, each to their separate bedroom to work on their creations.

Darcy passed Peggy’s office one afternoon when Steve was away and poked her head inside. “If you’re in the apartment anyway, why don’t you just, like, burn his yarn supply? Or at least sneak a peek at what he’s working on?” she asked.

“Well, that would hardly be sporting,” said Peggy, letting the screen scroll through some documents in front of her as her hands kept up her stitching. “And it’s certainly unnecessary. I will beat him, as always, through pure talent.”

Steve was equally confident. “You don’t spend a few years making your own clothes by taking apart charity castoffs and not gain some useful skills,” he told Sam as they headed back on another flight, this one commercial, following a lead in one of the HYDRA files. His needles clicked as he spoke; somehow Steve was never questioned about them at security.

“Considering what you’re competing for, I don’t know if those skills are something to brag about,” Sam commented, and Steve shut up and stewed.

Though the cordiality - which was by this point their hallmark - remained through their shared Thanksgiving and into the beginning of December, there were some cracks starting to show. They shared an open glare during a conversation about strategy which certainly did not merit such anger, and their training sessions in the Avengers gym, which typically had a graceful, mythic quality, were taking on a vicious angle. Yet somehow, even as they shopped for gifts and put on their finishing touches, their time together at the end of the day remained sacrosanct. Neither was willing to give it up. The possibility was never even mentioned.

Sam arranged to do Christmas Eve in the city and then leave again for Christmas itself with his family. As he put it, he was too smart to keep himself in the line of fire.

“It’s like my mother always said,” he told Pepper as they all stood around the Tower drinking eggnog and pretending not to look with trepidation at the gifts beneath the tree. “‘It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,’ and I plan to get to New Years with the same two I was born with.”

The point was astute. Most of the fun to the competition had slowly worn away, and it somehow seemed to be standing in for proof of something more serious yet unnamed. Still, everyone opened their gifts on the next morning with passable glee, poking at new gadgets and passing thanks around.

No one got further knitwear, which helped.

Finally, the two packages were brought forward. Peggy and Steve took politeness to another level, each insisting that the other go first for so long that - after Tony realized he didn’t exactly carry change - Darcy took out a quarter and flipped it.

The pride Steve had in his creation was understandable. He had clearly been exploring fashions of the 1980s at some point recently, which were recreated in the shape of the...garment (calling it a sweater seemed dangerous and insulting). The shoulders of it were so enormously padded as to be nearly square, and the base color - a vivid and horrible metallic red, with accompanying sequins - was easy to imagine tossed by the skein into the bargain bin. The stripes of silver and green glittery fur yarn gave the entire thing the impression of either a tinsel-covered candy cane or some of the more disturbing types of mold. But it was in the notions department that Steve had truly outdone himself, choosing beads in the shapes of Christmas bells, buttons molded to look like holly berries and leaves, and bows in all sizes, colors, and textures to spangle across his creation without pattern or logic.

There was a moment of silence as he unveiled it. The true hideousness of it needed to be mourned upon sight.

“Okay, maybe it is a real contest,” Tony said, a little awed. He dared only look at Peggy from the corner of his eye; he had enough memories of her steaming when she had been upset with his father, and he didn’t need new ones.

But Peggy, when she brought her own box forward, was calm. If Steve had gone for the more traditional route of unattractiveness through overwhelming the eye, Peggy had decided on a subtler, more simple strategy. The sweater in itself had something of an ersatz quality to it - it was made too wide, so that it somewhat resembled a poncho or a sweater cape, and the snowflakes decorating the hem were lopsided and angular - but it was as the eye drew upward that the true knockout came.

Jane, who was a little tipsy, began to giggle. So did Pepper, who wasn’t.

“Oh,” said Bruce. “Oh, wow. Oh no.”

And he might have summed it up the best. For what Peggy had attached to the front of her entry were two mock reindeer faces: plush, tan appendages stuffed presumably with batting, little red noses on the ends and antlers above the tops. She had even included tiny stitched smiles on the lower curves, and sewn on button eyes.

They were placed directly on the chest so as to mimic two nude, decorated breasts.

“Comment cards can be found on the table for easy tallying,” she said generously.

For a moment nobody moved, struck not by an enemy but by the terrible, impossible choice before them. Then, into the silence, Natasha said, “There’s something else under the tree.”

And she reached for a final time beneath the tree, pulling something from the hidden back branches. She set the box in her lap, and slowly lifted the lid...

As they walked home, Steve kept glancing at Peggy when they passed under streetlights. He was enchanted by the color the cold was bringing to her face, a blush in her cheeks and a rosy tip to her nose.

“I had no idea that Father Christmas could be so frightening,” she was saying, and he forced himself back into the conversation and agreed.

“It was bad even with those little lights in his eyes off, but when she turned them on...” He gave a shudder.

Seeing the third, and most disturbing, take on the contest prompt, a draw had been declared, and the afternoon had progressed with food, classic Christmas movies, and the traditional British crackers which Jarvis had ordered specially for Peggy. Only when it had darkened did everyone begin to drift out, including Peggy and Steve, getting a chance to speak on their own for the first time since the morning.

“We both put up a good fight,” Steve said as they reached their block. “Truce?” He put out his hand. Peggy took it and shook easily.

“It really was marvelous fun, and you were a worthy competitor.” They took a moment to wave to their neighbor, Mr. Travellini, as he put his cat out. “I’m only sorry that I was so caught up in the whole affair that I neglected to get you a gift.”

Steve was already shaking his head. “Not like I got one for you, either. And besides, I have all the gifts I need.”

She had climbed one step to their building before she had turned back to look at him. In the warm beam of the streetlights as snow began to drift down around them, his scarf draped indifferently around his neck and his eyes glowed up at her, just like the boy she remembered.

Oh, she thought, as she always had when faced with that gaze. Oh, my.

She wondered if he had become better at hiding the look, or if she had just been too caught up in her own logic, her own assumptions, to see it.

“Steve,” she asked, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. “Steve, are you ever going to kiss me?”

His mouth parted just a bit, an amazed kind of confusion on his face. “I thought—” He swallowed. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”

“Well,” she said practically, “I absolutely do. And you’ve just said that you owe me a gift.” With her on the step, they were of a height. All it would take was the tiniest lean forward...

Steve might have been more practiced at knitting than he was at kissing, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give a perfectly lovely present.

[fullmetaldevil-blog]

Batim Stitched AU Ch.6

Ok this one took quite a bit to work out, but nevertheless I hope you all enjoy the AU thus far and I will warn you, there may be a part or two that might be viewed as 'offensive' do keep in mind that some of the descriptions are period correct but followed loosely. The other part might be a bit graphic (depending on how squeamish you are) but for the most part kept PG13.

Now on with the show~

Ch. 6 A little light Went Out.

Silence was the only bed fellow of the studio and the facility had yet to wake and open it's arms to welcome it's staff to start the day's operations, yet a lone figure drifted within it's sleeping halls coming to a stop at one it's many hall way doors. The person jiggled the handle to the doorway several times growing frustrated that the room had been locked and disturbed a sleeping occupant within.

Benny looked up from his crate to hear the jiggling of the handle to the room, but it didn't sound like the normal sounds of Allison or Norman opening up the door upon arriving. The way the door knob violently shock and rattled sounded like whomever was outside was struggling with the key. With a small hope that Tom had returned, Benny gingerly hopped back up on top of the desk and laid against the wall keeping a hopeful watch on the wall, his grin wide. He truly hoped that Tom simply forgot that he was supposed to bring him home yesterday and had returned in the morning to fetch him. Benny quickly gave himself a once over making sure he looked his best before he resumed his watch on the door.  His smile faded and was replaced with confusion when the jiggling on the handle continued for quite sometime, it shouldn't take this long to open a door. Right?  His face morphed into one of anger when he heard a feminine voice uttering small curses as she struggled with the door. This wasn't Alison, it sounded like that woman Susie that Norman had warned him about. He slipped off the desk and quietly crossed the room to a corner hiding within the shadow of the shelving out of the doors line of sight.  Small growls escaped the toon, he didn't like this woman at all, and if he needed to he would defend himself. The stitching on his stomach slowly came undone as small white protrusions lined the rim resembling small teeth and the void opened slightly. His teeth took on a slight triangular appearance and the tips of his gloved hands had small protrusions on the ends resembling small claws. This was not his angel.

Susie cursed her rotten luck that Allison locked her dressing room, figures that the woman would lock a room that she felt didn't belong to her. Frustrated at the inability to open the door she wandered down the hall towards Wally's janitorial closet. The man always had random junk stashed in his closet and despite his large ring of keys he could never seem to lock his own closet. She tested the closets door nob and to her pleasure it was unlocked. She gingerly opened the door and dug around the closet till she found a fireman's ax, not sure what the man needed it for but it would suit her needs just fine. With weapon in hand she nearly skipped with glee back to Allison's dressing room. 'Oh I'm gonna love this' Susie chuckled to herself as she gently ran her fingers along the edge of the tools blade with tender love. She raised the weapon high above her head and brought it down harshly upon the the base of the door's handle.

The rattling of the door had fallen silent for a time and Benny hoped that the woman had given up and gone home, but that hope was dashed by a loud banging against the door. She was trying to break in! Benny scooted back further into the corner within the shadows preparing to pounce if he needed to. This was his room that belonged to Allison, not this woman. He stilled as he listened to the door cry from the blows being done to it and heard fragments of it break away. He didn't have to wait long as the door let out a crack for the last time and slowly swung open. Benny's bravado instantly died and was replaced by  fear by her silhouette. The woman stood within the doorway with the dull yellow light behind her, now why she herself wasn't particularly frightening it was her weapon of choice that glistened in the dull light. An ax.  The toon made a small whisper of a whimper at the weapon while gently grasping onto his stomach which was rapidly sealing itself back up, he remembered all to well what damage a weapon like could do. The only thoughts that raced through his mind was that he had been somehow found out and needed to escape.

Susie scowled as she looked over the room, it wasn't anything impressive, nor special. It was just an old office that had a long mirror installed and a desk, nothing more and nothing less. Well perhaps if the room was trashed a little then maybe Allison would get scared and leave. After all her husband is only a contractor for Joey and therefore isn't part of the official roster for the staff, he's isn't an obstacle like she is. How dare that woman take away her claim to fame. Susie bitterly remembered all the previous roles she had of voicing everything from objects to chickens, all roles that were either demeaning or lack luster. This new role of Alice Angel, that was her ticket to fame and it righteously belonged to her. She worked hard to get where she was and they didn't have the right to take Alice away from her, she was Alice Angel not Allison. She couldn't wait till she finally got a proper meeting with Joey, that blasted man had been ducking and dodging her for a little over a week now. He will hear her opinion on the matter cause after all Alice doesn't like people who lie to her. Susie took one last loving look at the ax in her hand before she strode across the room and slammed the blade into the mirror shattering it, the glass falling to the floor like a silvery waterfall.

Benny could only watch in horror as Susie proceeded to bury the weapon into the remains of the mirror laughing manically as she worked, a joyous, twisted grin splitting her face. Once the mirror was nothing more then shards of glass upon the floor and the wall boards broken she turned her attention to desk itself taking it apart board by board. The chair had been upended and the back and seat completely broken and splintered. While she was decimating the opposite of the room Benny glanced at the open doorway and then back at Susie destroying the room. He didn't want to leave, but he feared that if he stayed he too would be taken apart like all the other inanimate objects within the room. Taking that last glance and ensuring that Susie had yet to turn her attention to his hiding spot he mustered up his courage and fled the room he once called his own, his last thoughts were that he would 'find his angel' before he disappeared down the dark halls of the studio.

------------ An hour Later at the Connor's --------------

The sounds of creaking bones and groans of a worn out man drifted through the house as Tom slowly got out of bed. He felt like he had slept, but at the same time didn't. His sleep had been fitful with his thoughts drifting to Allison's previous outburst and how she had avoided him thereafter. He didn't know why such a small thing as a toy was so important to her, but the least he could do was to try and get the toy before the staff showed up at the studio. He grabbed his robe and covered himself up before sliding into his bedroom slippers and slowly groaned into the kitchen, his body fighting him every step of the way. He turned the corner leading into the kitchen fully expecting to see an empty room, but standing at the stove was Allison. His eyes were wide at the mere fact that she was up, let alone up before him. He had grown used to leaving the home long before Allison woke and would only see her during the lunch break and her sleeping face when he got home.

'M-Morning.” Tom dryly choked out. He didn't know what else to say, he could only hope Allison had calmed down.

'Morning” Allison's eyes widened at seeing him, but she briefly smiled back at him before returning her attention to the stove. Tom taking that as a good sign that she was feeling better.

A small glance past Allison revealed the kitchen table covered in various food items. Tom was completely gobsmacked at the amount, it was just like the previous night except it was a mix of breakfast, lunch and dinner. “Umm...Honey? What's with all the food?”

“It's for the band.” Allison replied without skipping a beat. “We were planning a small picnic after recording later today, so I'll be home late.”

“Oh, ok.” Tom's eyes looked over the foods, he eyed some cookies and turned to look at Allison watching her carefully as a hand drifted towards a cookie. His hand didn't get far as Allison turned around and swatted his hand away from the cookie with precision.

“Not for you” Her stern eyes met his and he took the hint and vamoosed away from the pile of food and sat at the opposite end of the table that wasn't all cluttered.

The man didn't wait long as Allison presented a plate of eggs, bacon and a bagel with cream cheese. Tom uttered a small 'Thank you' while he gingerly accepted the plate and slowly started eating, savoring each and every bite of one of the many things he enjoyed from Allison; her cooking. While he ate he watched her carefully pack all the food items into 2 wicker baskets and stow them away in her day pack before taking up her own breakfast and ate in front of him.

The shared meal was primarily quiet, for Tom feared really trying to ask her about the previous day's event's lest she would get upset at him again. Once they both finished their breakfast Tom offered to wash the dishes  to give Allison time to get dressed for work. He watched her disappear down the hall to their bedroom and his mind drifted to the previous day with her outburst. It felt like she wasn't quite giving him the cold shoulder, but it was obvious she wasn't in the mood to talk about it. A long sigh escaped him as he placed the last plate into the dish rack to dry and dried his hands before finally turning to the hallway to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway and noticed that Allison was already dressed and was packing a large coat with her. She looked up at him and smiled briefly before she hefted her pack and coat and walked past him before stopping and gave him a small peck on the cheek whispering 'see you at work'.

Tom stood still as he watched her head out the door before him. He wished they could have both gone together but with the wall that Allison had put up it was perhaps for the better that she goes alone. He ran his fingers down the side of his face before heading to his room to get dressed himself. His mind drifting to the phone call he had received and how that he had no choice but to go back to the accursed hell hole of a facility known as Joey Drew Studios. He never wanted to put a singe toe back in that place, it had done nothing for him except give him a horrid sense of foreboding and hatred. He truly hated Joey with every fiber of his being and wanted nothing more to see the man's downfall, but that pleasure he wanted to see sooner then later. For now Tom had no choice but to swallow the bile of loathing that was building within him and had to report back to his 'former' boss.

The grumpy mechanic retreated to his workroom and retrieved his tool box and drafts, and box by box loaded them into his truck. He pondered over his luggage making sure all was accounted for and sat at the drivers seat glaring holes into the steering wheel. He didn't want to start the truck, he didn't want to drive down the same stretch of road he's taken over and over to get to the studio. He didn't even want to look at the building itself, but against his better judgment he edged the key into the ignition and started the truck with a low grumble. He could only chuckle and the seemingly annoyed groan the truck made and couldn't help but agree with the noise. With the removal of the parking break and the slow release of the break pedal Tom eased out the drive and slowly made his way of the stretch of road towards the studio.

--------- At Joey Drew Studios ----------

Tom pulled up in the studio lot to see that Allison's car was already there along with several other vehicle's that he recognized as the other staff members. He sighed and got out of the truck and grabbed his pack and headed for the doors. As soon as he walked in the staff was hustling and bustling as usual but there were many oddly huddled in small groups whispering to each other and the minute they saw him looking at them would either stop talking and look away, or leave all together. He couldn't hide the confusion on his face as he was normally greeted a few of the animation crew members that he had grown friendly with, but even they were avoiding him. What on earth happened? He tried to approach a few to say good morning  and the minute they saw him they all scattered like ants. OK. Something was definitely up.

Tom's thoughts were ground to a halt when he spotted a young ball of energy running down one of the hallways, Leonard. Tom hastily hid behind a stack of crates and carefully peaked around the corner. Right when he knew the boy was in range he swiftly raised his arm up and felt something ram into it. The young mans neck and chin caught Tom's upper arm and and elbow letting out a loud yelp as he fell backwards slamming onto the floor with his feet strait up in the air in a almost comical way. After all they always say to never run in the halls for you never know what may come around the corner. The musician groaned from the impact and tried to catch his breath which abandoned him the minute he looked up and saw Tom looming over him. A small squeak escaped the man before Tom grabbed him by the front of his shirt hefting him like a toy and pinning him behind the stack of crates. Only one word that escaped Tom's gritted teeth, 'Talk'.

Leonard was sweating bullets under Toms frigid glare, he didn't know what he did to get the man upset at him this time. He hadn't been playing and 'accidentally' bust any pipes this time, so what had the GENT engineers goat this early in the morning? “M-Morning Thomas. H-How are you this fine morning?” He squeaked to try and lighten the mood giving a shaky grin. Tom pressing him further into the wall served as a strong indicator that the man was by no sense of the word in the mood for small talk.

Tom sharpened his glare and slowly started lifting Leonard off the ground bit by bit. “Talk, what's going on?”

“S-Someone broke into Allison's dressing room and r-ransacked the place, the room was completely busted up by a blunt object and she's crying in the music department. N-Norman's there now t-trying to comfort her along with the band, but she is beyond w-words sir!” Leonard shrieked in the mans grasp.

Tom's eyes went wide at the information and it explained why everyone was dodging him. He dropped Leonard on the floor the young man immediately nestled himself behind the crates to keep Tom from throttling him. Tom turned on his heel ignoring Leonard and dashed down the hall towards the music department. Everyone was a mere blur as the staff quickly got out of the locomotive of a mechanics way for fear of being run over. The man clearly on a mission and was not tolerant of any obstacles, be it a object or a person. Tom saw the familiar sight of the music department logo and a cluster of people all muttering amongst themselves. Heads turned upon heading Tom's thundering footsteps and all hastily cleared a path for the man, some nearly tripping over themselves or each other. The sight before him made him stop in his tracks and his heart ache.

Allison was sitting on a chair absolutely beside herself, large tears streamed down her face as she was curled in on herself.  Norman was sitting next to her trying to comfort her the best he could, trying to talk to her while gently rubbing her back with Aaron and Giovanni both talking to Norman in hushed tones.  Edgar and Earl were in the corner both wearing a worried and somber expression neither boy approaching the distraught woman. Aaron and Giovanni both looked at Tom and a small scowl graced their faces before they turned to give Allison and her husband some much needed space leaving the room. Earl and Edgar both watched the older men leave and decided to do the same. Norman briefly looked up at the mechanic and he too had a small scowl before returning his attention back to Allison. Tom stayed silent and slowly made his way to his grieving wife, he had never seen her this upset before. The previous day's emotional episode was nothing in comparison to how she was now and a little voice in the back of his mind told him that it is more then just a simple break in and the ransacking of a dressing room, if the strange looks of disappointment from the band members where anything to go by.

Tom just barely opened his mouth to talk to her when Norman looked at him dead in the eye and shook his head telling him 'no', shutting him up immediately. He looked at the projectionist with worried eyes and Norman's stern look didn't budge and the man had no choice but to back down and give his wife some space. The projectionist looked down at Allison then back up and spotted Leonard whom had carefully edged into the hall, he gestured for the man to come over. The young man was confused at first since Norman didn't say anything, but firmly pointed at him and waggled his finger to come over. Not wanting to question the man, Leonard obeyed and Norman got up from his seat and had Leonard replace him in trying to comfort Allison while Norman gestured for Tom to follow him. Tom was confused why Norman didn't want him to talk to his wife, but decided to hear the man out.

Norman rounded the stairs and went up to his projection booth with Thomas in tow, he unlocked the door and motioned for the man to enter and once he did he followed in closing the door behind him and securely locking it. Norman turned around and let out a deep sigh looking up at tom “ Ah take it ya heard 'bout da missus room gettin' wrecked?”

Tom glanced down out the window at his wife and then back at Norman “Yeah I heard, but she can easily get a new room, god knows there are plenty of them here. I don't think she had anything important or valuable in the room.”

Norma's eyes went wide at the gruff mechanics statement. It truly confirmed what Allison managed to choke out in between her sobs 'Tom left Benny behind', and now her room had been destroyed and Benny was nowhere to be found. He pinched the bridge of his nose to keep his own temper from flaring up, but needed to find out how much or how little Tom knew.

“Well th' only thin' she had that would be considered valuable was her Bendy plush, but da little toy's turned up missin'” he leaned against the door studying Tom's body language to try and figure him out.

Tom hung his head in shame “Well that blew that idea.” he scowled and Norman gestured for him to continue. “See yesterday I forgot to bring the stupid little toy home and Allison blew up on me. I understand that the darn thing was a gift, but for her to get so upset baffles me. If she wants one so badly I'm sure I can swindle one out of Shawn easy enough, plus he owes me a favor anyways for fixing the belts in his factory.” he had thrown his hands up in the air as he vented to Norman whom patiently listened. He had no clue why something so simple mattered so much.

Norman simply watched the man rant, it was clear that he had no clue about the true nature of the 'toy' as he called Benny. He let out a sigh making Thomas still after his venting. “How much did she tell ya?” his face very serious which was unusual for the normally relaxed projectionist.

Tom looked at him and rifled through his memories of the past few days and could think of anything significant. “She just asked me to bring home a toy she had gotten as a gift. I know I promised, but it was an honest mistake. There's no reason to have a full blown meltdown.” he scratched the back of his head in frustration.

“That's not how e'll see it.” Norman uttered softly looking at Tom with eyes full of pity and sadness.

“That's twice now I've heard that phrase.” Tom steadily growing frustrated pointing a finger sternly at Norman “what does that mean!?” The man nearly shouting at the top of his lungs throwing his arms up into the air.

Norman waved his hand nonchalantly and looked down at Tom “That lil dolly that Mrs. Allison done asked ya t' bring home was countin' on ya on doin' so. Lil Benny ain't welcomed dis place he was born in, an' I woulda thought you would 'ave known 'bout him considerin' ya done built th' machin' that made 'em. Th' lil toons been hidin' in 'er room waitin' fer ya t' show up and take 'im home.” Norman's words died down as he looked past the mechanic at his grieving wife below. “Now someone don' broke in 'er room an' he ain't no where t' be found. 'Er precious lil one disappeared. We don' even know if 'es alive or dead.” His sorrowful eyes drifted back to Thomas. “She's like a mother who lost 'er child.”

As soon as Norman's words left his mouth Tom felt his throat dry up and a pit formed within his stomach as he processed the man's words. The little toon was alive, the first one that had been made by the prototype ink machine was alive. He was living in Allison's room the entire time under her care while he had to refine the machine to make Bendy. His little body was fabric not ink, that's how he was able to survive the injury Joey had dealt him, the fabric softened the blow. The little one whom gave him a childlike thrill when he looked at a living toon that was responding to his interactions and was so infant like in response. The little light that had been accidentally brought to life and proved the theory was true, and brought nothing but joy upon creation. A light believed to have been snuffed out for not meeting the standard and for simply existing.

Tom lowered his arms and slowly looked at his hands, he remembered the feel of what he assumed was a stuffed animal in his hands that day he had a meltdown in Allison's room while hugging the plush 'Bendy'. The plush toy that felt oddly warm and solid. His mind drifted to that moment. He had been sobbing and after pulling the toy into an embrace someone was gently rubbing his back to try and comfort him, he had assumed it was Allison, but that couldn't be right she was at the bathroom at the time. It was the little 'Bendy', he was trying to comfort him as best he could. How could he have missed it? He held the little toon he thought had been killed by his monstrous boss in his hands and had promised to take him home. Tom's legs nearly gave out on him as the grim reality hit prompting Norman to grab his arm to keep him steady. He broke his promise. He lied to the little toon whom he brought into the world and the little one had been counting on him to get him out.

“I-I broke my promise. I broke my promise to the little toon, I broke my promise to my wife.” Tom's dryly choked as his mind was still trying to process all the things he missed. Allison's need for a bigger bag was for her to transport him around the studio safely. The two wicker baskets, it wasn't food for the band, it was extra food to feed the toon whom had no other food source. The dried ink all over her original bag, it was from his injury and he leaked ink everywhere. Tears started forming at the edges of his eyes and he slowly turned to look Norman in the eye “What have a I done?”

Norman could feel the regret coming of Tom in waves, the severity of what he had failed to do hitting him like a ton of bricks. He pondered over what would be best for the situation and slowly and carefully started to speak. “'Fer starters apologize t' Mrs. Allison. Then try t' find Benny, the lil boy is alone an' scared. You need t' find 'em before someone else does.” he held Tom's shoulders while looking him sternly in the eyes. “Find 'em.”

“B-Benny?” Tom looked at Norman slightly confused as to the name.

Norman chuckled “The lil toon's name is Benny, Mrs. Allison gave 'em the name since it's similar to Bendy but not. The lil boy is 'off-model', I'm sure you'd recognize 'em as soon as ya see 'em. You did make 'em after all.”

Tom nodded his head, he couldn't ever forget how 'off-model' the toon now named 'Benny' was in comparison to his now living counterpart Bendy. He could only hope he could find the little toon in a facility so large. Norman released his shoulders allowing the man to venture back to the window to look down at his wife below. He let out a sigh and turned back towards the door letting himself out and slowly made his way down the stairs. Step by step felt like an eternity as he tried to figure out his wording when he would approach her. He himself felt like his stomach abandoned him the closer he got and wanted to turn away to compose himself, but he needed to be strong for her, and to let her know it will be all right. He will find their little toon and Joey could go strait to hell for all he cared, Benny belonged with them not to that heinous man. Tom stopped briefly at the doorway at the bottom of the stairwell and was met by the Leonard looking at him with worry. He nodded slightly and the young man slowly edged himself away from Allison and Tom gently took his place and pulled Allison closer to himself.

The mechanic looked down at his wife and was thankful she had calmed down. Her sobs were soft as she was pulled into his chest and he rocked back and forth gently. “Honey.” he softly spoke while running his fingers through her hair pulling them away from her face. “Sweetheart.”

Allison slowly looked up at Tom with tired glassy eyes making the man's heart clench, she looked so exhausted and worn out. Tom uttered 3 small words that made her smile slightly and lean into him. 'I'll find him'.

Norman stood in the doorway and watched the couple in silence, it was heartbreaking that the lack of communication can cause such heartache, but at the same time it wasn't like they could freely tell each other what was going on. With Thomas's sense of professionalism and dedication to his job they feared that he would have turned Benny in if he knew he was still alive, or worse try and kill him like Joey had tried. The man was big on logic and reasoning which at times made them wonder if he had a heart under his stern and stiff demeanor. Allison on the other hand was nearly his exact opposite, while she was very much a professional she was far more compassionate about the people around her.  It was obvious she loved Benny like he was her own, but because of the fact that Benny was so off-model she feared that her husband's sense of duty to his job would somehow override his sense of compassion for a toon that was 'only an accident'.

Leonard quietly stood in the corner catching Norman's eye and he motioned for the young man to leave for which he needed no encouragement, it seemed he too knew when to give people some much needed space. Once Leonard was gone the projectionist  returned his attention back to the couple and smiled.  He didn't know what they were saying but he could see the burning determination in Tom's eyes and how Allison had relaxed into him. He didn't know what all happened between Thomas and Benny at the start of it all, but watching the man slowly get up from his seat and leaving a few small words with Allison the look in his eyes said it all. He will find Benny. Tom turned to face Norman briefly and nodded before making a purposeful stride out of the Music department and disappeared down the hallway and up the stairs.

Norman was very much thankful Thomas left when he did, Sammy had arrived a short time after him carrying one of the Bendy cutouts and placed it in the corner of the room along with a small collection of them. It struck him as odd. While Sammy jokingly commented about appeasing Bendy the man only bothered with the film version of the toon if he wasn't swamped with multiple cartoons at once that all needed music by the end of the day. Sammy had eluded that he hated the smile given to the Bendy cutouts and other homages to the toon devil, saying that they were creepy and wrong, but yet here he was openly carrying one of them around.

Once the cutout had been placed Norman watched Sammy walk up to Allison and have a brief chat with her before she was excused to rest in the corner of the room away from the band. 'Huh' Norman thought to himself as he watched the man motioning to the band to enter the department and take their seats while he stood at his podium. 'Looks like he heard 'bout Mrs. Allison's meltdown and is givin' 'er a break to recoup'. He tipped his cap to Sammy and retreated to his projection booth to set up when he saw a figure standing in the doorway of the department. Susie Campbell. The former actress sashayed up to Sammy clearly pouring on the charm, the man seemed neither impressed nor amused by whatever she was saying. He shook his head and uttered a few words to the woman which seemed to outrage her. Norman didn't know what was said but he could see her face morph into pure anger as she was clearly shouting at him and gesturing angrily at Allison, even the Band seemed to withdraw away from the scene. Sammy placed his hands on the former actresses shoulders and spoke for awhile and whatever he said seemed to calm the woman down somewhat. She shot another heated glare at Allison before giving a sweet look to Sammy before leaving the department as quickly as she came. Norman made a mental note to ask Allison what was said later.

Sammy stared at the doorway for a time to make sure Susie had left and let out a long tired sigh. It wasn't his idea to switch out the actresses, he kinda liked Susie, but at times she seemed very hollow and distant. A stark contrast to her normally sassy and confident woman she carried herself as. He didn't know what Joey was doing with all the sudden changes, but in the end he had to admit he liked Allison's voice for Alice Angel better. He could only hope that Allison got over her distress soon since they had to record another song later in the evening. It was a total shock that someone had to audacity to completely trash the young woman's room, and he had a sinking suspicion that it was Susie, but wasn't in the position to openly confront the woman about the matter. Allison was loved by many in the studio and he couldn't think of anyone whom had any grievances with her, say for Susie whom is thoroughly convinced that Allison went out of her way to steal the role of Alice Angel from her. The former actress would be the only one with a solid reason to go after Allison.

'Ah, well.' Sammy thought to himself. 'I'll worry about this nonsense later, but for now I need to get these songs done and to get Joey off my back'. He tapped his baton on the podium catching the bands attention and raised his arms in the air making sure all eyes were on him, once he had confirmation of attention he struck up the band.

While the band was playing and thankfully only rehearsing to familiarize themselves with the sheet music, Norman quietly slipped out of his projection booth after setting up the projectors for the later recordings. He eased down the stairs as to not be a distraction and quietly crept up to Allison whom sat quietly in the corner of the room studying her sheet music.  A gentle nudge broke her out of her concentration and she looked up at Norman who whispered 'I'm gonna go look fer 'em for a bit, I'm not needed fer a lil while so I got a moment'. Allison smiled at the man and whispered a small 'good luck'. He tipped his cap and quietly snuck out of the music department stopping at its entrance. Norman took a glance over his shoulder at Allison who never took her eyes off him and at the small glimmer of hope in her eyes. He could only hope to find her little one, and since Benny hid in dark places, the best place to look was below the studio.

The projectionist knew he was one of the few that not only had proper access to the newer sections of the studio being constructed below, but also of the few who knew about it. It was one of Joey's little secrets that was still in the works and since Benny shy-ed from any excessive amounts of noise and people the toon may have accidentally gone deeper into the studio where it was dark and quiet. Norman paced the halls and thought it was funny how he had grown used to constantly bumping into the various GENT staffers whom would be working on something in the studio, but now it was only the main studio staff. It was strange to not have them fluttering about tapping and banging on some extension of the Ink machine or fixing leaks. However none of that mattered now as the Ink machine was completed and now only Tom remained. He felt pity for the man, it was obvious by his earlier actions that Benny meant a lot to the man even if he may not have been with him long. He wish he better knew Tom's side of the story in regards to Benny's creation it would help fill in the gaps to what was really going on behind the scenes of the studio, he could only hope things don't get worse.

Norman set aside his thoughts for now and knew his focus was to try and find Benny. The rehearsals only last for a few hours and he would have to somehow get to the bottom of the studio and back again within that time frame, and could only hope he finds Benny in the process.

---------Meanwhile----------

Thomas carried a purposeful stride as he hurried down the halls of the studio. There were many places a 3 foot tall living doll could hide, and it wasn't like he can just wander down the halls shouting his name. People would think he was crazy for starters and the toon wasn't supposed to exist so that will put the little one at risk. He stopped at every doorway checking each and every room systematically, he felt ridiculous checking in small crevasses and crates, but the toon was the size of a small child and children can hide in the damnest places. Once Tom was certain the hallway and floor was cleared he turned his attention to the to hallway leading to the stairs for the next level. The man once again resembling an angry locomotive charged down the invisible tracks of the hall to the stairwell when an animator ran up to him shouting his name.

“Mr. Connor! Mr. Connor wait!” The young redheaded man ran up to him clearly out of breath. Tom stopped to hear the young man out, the man grasping his knees trying to catch his breath. “Mr. Drew is demanding to see you. He is raising one hell of a storm in the animation department trying to find you.”

Tom internally scowled, it was just a matter of time before Drew took out his frustrations on the staff in some manner. He let out a long sigh and rest his hand on the tired out animator. “Why don't you go take a break, I'll go deal with Joey. Ok?” The young animator nodded his head and wandered towards the break room with Tom escorting him, and once he was sure the kid was relaxing he steeled himself and turned towards the animation department to seek out the tantrum throwing tyrant.

Tom's trip was by no sense of the word a long one as he neared the animation department he could hear Joey bellowing at the overworked animators. The staff cowering under the dictator director and hurrying their sketches and cells as fast as their hands would allow. The man inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled preparing himself for a tirade and calmly entered the department well within Joeys line of sight smiling calmly at the man.

“Ah, Good morning sir.” Tom sauntered over to the red faced Joey “I heard you wished to see me.” Tom was thoroughly enjoying seeing Joey looking a bit worse for wear.

Joey glared back at Tom with a clear scowl on his face as he stopped looming over a terrified staffer and turned his attention to GENT engineer in full. The older man's clothes looked like they hadn't been ironed and pressed in a week and his hair which was normally slicked back was down and fluffy looking. Joey's normally tall and firm stance was now stooped over as he seemed to be clinging to his cane for dear life rather then making it look like a mere accessory. His eyes were wild and he looked like he was loosing his mind, and clear dark patches were underneath them like he hadn't slept in days.

“My Office. Now.” Joey growled out to the smug mechanic and turned to the department shouting at them to get back to work before he hobbled out of the department and down the hall towards his office with Tom in tow.

Tom watched Joey clearly struggling with walking as the man occasionally pushed off a wall to try and re-balance himself. The last time he saw him he wasn't this bad, it was like the older man was injured or exhausted. Certainly dealing with Bendy for a full day couldn't have taken this much out of the man can it? Sure Joey was always the frail sort, but he couldn't have been this fragile. Speaking of the toon where was he? He fully expected Joey to be proudly parading the little cartoon demon all around the studio boasting about the ink machine's 'great achievement' and how that all the efforts of the staff weren't in vain, but that wouldn't explain why he was forced to come back. Did something go wrong? God he hoped not,cause something about bendy felt a little off. Tom's mind went abuzz with countless possibilities while he followed the man into the office, not noticing the small ink splatters that stained the wall and corner by the door.

Joey slowly hobbled to his desk grasping onto it like it was his life line and edged around it till he was able to reach his chair and pulled it close to himself. He eased his worn body into the chair with a small groan, his joints protesting even the smallest movements and rest his cane on the edge of the desk. He folded his hands together on the desk leaning forward and rest his chin on his hands staring holes in the the still contemplating mechanic. “Now, do you know why I brought you here?” His tone cold and firm as his Grey eyes bore holes into Tom.

Joey's voice reminding the man of another matter, Tom looked up from his thoughts to face the director. “Oh probably you throwing a tantrum about Bendy and the Ink machine, thinking that I somehow screwed up again.” Tom shot back a heated glare. He was by no sense of the word appreciative of being forced to come back to the studio lest he lose his job.

“Precisely!” Joey's sudden shout startling Tom “That damn abomination of a toon doesn't act like Bendy at all!” Joey threw his arms up in the air in rage. “We have never had a voice actor for Bendy and yet that little shit was not only talking, but had the nerve to talk back to me! He didn't recognize the music from his own show and he sure as hell didn't recognize his other toon friends! The way he talks and moves around, he's acting like that pathetic excuse of a animator that left! You screwed up that machine for a second time now and I. Demand. Answers!” Joey slammed his fists down onto the desk at the end of his tirade, his breath coming out hard and labored.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose taking slow deep breaths to try and school his own temper “Look for as much as you seemingly hate to admit it, he is Bendy. Perhaps maybe not the way you see him, but maybe way his creator saw him. Last I looked you didn't design the toon, you only own him. So maybe, just maybe a bit of how his creator viewed his toon somehow got into the toon upon creation. After all sir what you put in is what you get out-”

“ I don't get what you mean by that! We put in all the reels, cells, sketches and anything we could find of bendy to make him! He should act how he is on the blasted screen, not in the imagination of his maker! ” Joey all but screamed at Tom, the mans eyes wild and filled with anger.

“Its as it means. We put is so much material into the damn machine I was surprised it was able to even handle the intake. What we put in merely provided a mold, it is up to him to fill it. Bendy is still a infant toon barely a day old and you're already pitching fits just like you did with the last one. What is it in your thick skull you don't get? Huh?!” tom waved his arms in annoyed disbelief “We created a mold and empty shell with the machine and the ink and information provided gave him his personality, but he lacks experience with his surrounding cause he has never been in reality. He has to learn what it is to be a living toon and what he is expected to do. We don't even know what all he is capable or incapable of doing cause he is only 1 day old. Why don't you actually spend time with him to get to know him before you condemn him!” Tom's face was flush with anger. This pathetic excuse of a human being had no patience for anything that is still developing. Bendy and Benny both were like children that needed the helping hand of a adult figure to navigate the ways of the world and this man had the gall to think that they would just pop out of a mechanical device 100% perfect with no strings attached. Life doesn't work that way. Everything has a string attached and you have to be willing to sort them out and work with them.

Joey's cold calculating eyes bore holes into Tom, the man had said that the machine was merely a mold maker and it was up to something to fill it? That the toon needed to be taught? Fine, he'll play this little game. For now. “Fine I'll do that, I'll give the toon a chance and try to teach him how he is supposed to behave. For now I want you to return to the machine and make sure everything is in working order Mr. Connor then go back to maintaining it's workings with Wally.” He waved a hand towards the door “You're dismissed.”

Tom scowled not budging an inch. “Where's Bendy?”

Joey grinned “He's fine and is in my care. You have nothing to worry about, he's just fine.”

“Then bring him out here. I want to see for myself.” Tom growled, balling his hands into tight fists. He knew with Joey's little outburst about already not liking the toon that there was no way for the toon to be in good health. He hadn't seen the man parading him like a trophy at all, nor had he heard any additional noises indicating that the toon was nearby. Not only that but to agree so easily without a full blown argument, something was wrong.

“Like I said, he is just fine and is resting from his birth. He is quite energetic and wore himself out. After all toons are surprisingly energetic, more so then on the big screen.” Joey coolly smiled as he leaned back into his chair, chuckling even like it was amusing about the nature of toons.

Tom glared at him and knew he wasn't going to get an answer as to what befell the young toon. “Fine.”

With a quick turn on the heel, Tom turned around and marched up to the door stopping briefly noticing small splatters of ink on the wall and the floor next to the door. Something had been thrown or struck in this spot, and it wasn't very high. Joey's office was always impeccable regardless of the countless pipe ruptures and spills. Something must have happened in the office. He briefly glanced over his shoulder and Joey whom was still watching him coldly, he let out a small huff and walked out the office closing the door roughly behind himself. Tom leaned against the door taking a deep breath before narrowing his eyes down the halls that surrounded him. He now had two lost toons to find.

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

Joey made sure Tom was long gone before he left his office slowly and carefully as to not attract attention from any nearby staff. He cursed his uncooperative body, it was already bad enough that he suffered from weak joints and pain dealt to him from polio he got as a child, but any physical activity didn't help. Restraining that pathetic excuse of a toon wore him out more so then he would have liked, and on top of that the toon struck him during the struggle crippling him. His silent curses were broken by a smooth southern voice.

“Ya alright Mr. Drew? Ya look like yer havin' a bit o' trouble there.”

Joey turned to look up at Norman Polk whom had a worried look on his face. “Ah, just having an off day Mr. Polk. My body isn't exactly old, but I certainly feel old right now.” He lightly chuckled smiling faintly, he was always neutral towards the dark skinned man. Norman was a hard worker, well worth his pay and wasn't a problem child unlike some of the staff. He kept to himself and his projectors. 'Wait' Joey thought to himself. 'Thomas said that the toon needed to be taught. Perhaps he can be educated from watching his own films.' Joey lightly cleared his throat gaining Norman's full attention. “Hey Mr. Polk?”

“yes sir?” The projectionist looking down at him.

“You once told me that you have a little sister correct?”

Norman flashed a big proud grin. “Yes Sir. She's a lil bitty thin', all but 8 years old.” He took pride in his little sister and had to help his mother raise her since their father was no longer in the picture. “She absolutely love's the cartoons we make 'ere.”

Joey smiled listening to Normans answer, children like Norman's sister were the target audience for the cartoons and they would know the best shorts to pick that would describe the toon. After all children know their favorite shorts by heart. “Say if you had to pick all of your sisters favorite shorts, what would they be?”

Norman tilted his head the mans question, but thought back to the memories of his sister happily sitting in his lap at the movie theater cheering and pointing at the toons and their antics on the silver screen. A warm smile crept across his face as he reminisced at all the shorts he himself put together and seeing his sister's loving response. Naturally all the shorts that Henry made and that he put together were her favorites. He never missed a chance to take her to the theater so they could see the latest movie and to see the shorts. While they always had to sit in the back since the theater was segregated it never damped her mood at all. She always commented how she felt a connection to the little devil, always judged by her looks. That no matter how someone looks it was whats inside that counts.

Norman faced Joey and happily gave him a lengthy list of all the shorts that he sister adored, while Joey quickly jotted them down on a piece of paper. Once Joey wrote the last of the titles on the page he looked back up and Norman and smiled while patting the man on the shoulder “Thank you.”

Norman looked surprised by Joey's kindness towards him and seemingly earnest respect. “Yer welcom' sir, but if ya don' mind mah askin' what did ya need the list fer?”

Joey was caught off guard by the sudden inquiry, but was quick with his answer. “I got a group of investors coming later in the week and I needed to showcase some of our best films.” He flashed a warm grin at Norman “After all children know best.”

A chuckle escaped Norman's lip “Ya, that they do sir.”

“well if you'll excuse me I need to start rounding up those reels.” Joey nodded in farewell and started to try and limp down the hall but he got nowhere when a firm hand grasped his arm. He turned to see Norman holding onto his arm, the man lifted his arm up and slung it over his shoulder supporting his weight. “Wh-what are you doing?” Joey stammered out surprised by the sudden movement.

“Givin' ya a hand. Yer not gonna get far with yer legs so I'm gonna help ya. Yer headin' to the vault fer the reels right? I'm headin' that way anyway so might as well help ya along.” Norman laughed.

Joey lowered his head and chuckled softly to himself. “fine have it your way.”

With amused silence Norman shouldered the mans weight and with slow and steady stride he helped carry the older man to the elevator to take to the lower levels. They idly chatted about little things like Norman's family and the different cartoons as the elevator creaked and groaned on it's decent. When they reached the new  administration level they disembarked the elevator and stopped to take a break. Joey was worn out just from reaching the elevator so Norman let him rest on a crate until the man was able to steady himself again and then resumed their trip to the vault.  At the vault door Joey showed Norman how to open the door since at the moment he lacked the strength to stand for the duration and open the door. Once the door opened Norman was handed the list of desired shorts and the man gingerly rummaged through the collection pulling out the desired reels.

Norman fingered through the shelving of reels and various other items that had been stored in the vault and noticed a door in the far right corner of the room partially hidden by a shelf. He peered over his shoulder to make sure Joey wasn't looking and edged closer to the corner to get a better look. The door was large and partially hidden by an empty book case like someone didn't want anyone to see the door. A large ink splatter was at the base of the door and on the walls. The whole thing seemed wrong, he could only hope Benny didn't somehow make it this far down.

“Did you get them all?” Joeys voice sounded out from outside the vault room.

Norman scrambled away from the corner and grabbed the pile of reels needed. “yes sir! I got 'em right 'ere.” The man strode out of the vault carrying the pile in his arms.

Joey eyed the stack double checking that all was present and accounted for. “Good man. I almost thought you weren't even there for a minute and was gonna lock you in there.” He laughed while patting Norman on the back. The projectionist was slightly disturbed by the notion but chose to chuckle going along with the gag.

Carrying the reels in his arms Norman offered his shoulder to Joey whom quietly accepted and they both slowly made the trip back to the upper levels of the studio. Norman picked up a few additional reels along the way that were needed by the music department for later in the evening, and dropped Joey and his stack of reels off at his office. Joey gave the man his thanks and with the tip of his cap Norman resumed his route down the hall disappearing out of sight leaving Joey to his own devices. He hated having to stop to help the man whom hurt his little friend, and now the time he could have spent looking for Benny got used up by Joey and he had to go back to the music department.

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

Joey glanced at the reels that Norman has stacked on the edge of his desk in his office letting out a deep annoyed sigh. He seriously doubted that playing the reels for Bendy would work in any fashion, but anything was worth a shot. He already spent too much on the ink machine and as much as he hated to admit it the damn thing had produced a proper living toon with the aid of the Illusion of Living and the sacrifices. He'll try Thomas's suggestion of letting the toon learn from his own reels, but he needed a back up plan in case Bendy doesn't behave the way he is supposed to. But what?

Joey subconsciously pulled out the Illusion of Living and glanced through it's contents. The mysterious book had aided in the creation of the living toon and helped provide the Ink machine with it's ability to create life, may something within could help guide the toon as it did with the machine. Joey mindlessly flipped through the pages of rituals and summonings until a small excerpt caught his attention:

A human can be divided into two distinct portions: the soul, and the body. The body is merely a vessel, a husk that the soul fills and in turn brings the empty husk to live by providing the life needed. The soul is the heart of the body and the very essence of what makes up the individual. The body cannot function without a soul and the soul cannot be without a body. It is intangible unless given a physical form to be contained within. In rare instances the body can move without a soul housing it by means of magic imitating the likeness of a soul, a personality. An illusion of a living individual and what made that individual unique. In short a doll given magic to imitate the life around it and pass off as a living creature, a golem with a power source of magic. Magic is not infinite making golems only temporary, a soul however is. While it is not recommended and highly dangerous it is possible to give a golem or doll a soul. It requires sacrifices and a ritual.

Joey's eyes lit up at the passage. He saw many similarities to Tom's rough description of the ink machine. It was made a mold in the shape of the toon that the ink filled with information to make a living toon. However once his eyes rest upon the final portion of the paragraph it made his heart race. He had infused the Ink machine with dark magic he gained from the book and the grim fact that the magic was not infinite. How long would it last? Was it a few days? Weeks? Years? There was no time frame given. How long would the toon last? He was certain that Bendy didn't have a soul since he is a cartoon and has no person within him as a 'energy source', but that didn't seem right.

The man rest his head on his hands as he leaned forward on his desk laying the book down and skimming the passage again trying to better comprehend the wording. Bendy claimed that he had some of Henry's essence in his ink from his creation using that as an excuse as to how he somehow knew the man. Was the blood mixed in the ink and acted as a temporary source keeping the toon going, but how long will that last? His mind also drifted to the toon that Sammy has spotted in the music department, the false Bendy. That toon somehow was still alive despite being made from the experimental Ink machine. Was somehow some of Tom's blood mixed in with the dolls fabric when he gave it to the machine? He was the only one to handle the toy prior to handing it over and his hands were banged up from working all day. Bendy claimed he had Henry in him so under that logic the rejected toon must have some of Tom in him as well. Blood must be a energy source for them somehow, but that cannot last forever.

Joey reread the passage again 'Magic is not infinite making golems only temporary, a soul however is. It is possible to give a golem or doll a soul. It requires sacrifices and a ritual.' This caused the man to chuckle and burst into a raucous laughter. He already had the sacrifices and knew how to perform rituals with ease all he needs is the man in question and he will have a soul for the empty husk known as Bendy the Dancing Demon. With a swift motion Joey opened up his desk and pulled out some stationary laying it out, a few strokes of a pen later and he wrote a simple letter of invitation:

Dear Henry,

It's been awhile since we worked on cartoons together, time seems to be slipping away faster and faster.

At your earliest convince come visit the old shop, there's something I want to show you.

Your best pal,

Joey Drew

Joey held up the letter with pride before a hint of concern shot through him turning his smile into a scowl. What if something goes wrong? Would any soul work as a source rather then the creator himself? Bendy already has a personality given to him from the material used in the machine so wouldn't he just need an energy source? This warrants investigation, but first he needs to be educated by his own cartoons to ensure success. If all goes as planned then any random insignificant person will do, he owns the entire staff of the studio so it wouldn't matter if a person or two disappeared. A smile crept across his lips and he slid the paper and address back into the drawer the only thought that crossed his mind 'just in case'.

--------Meanwhile at the Music Department---------

Sammy couldn't help but scowl at the entire band, often losing his temper and nearly snapping his baton from how hard he struck the podium shouting for the band to cease playing. Every last one of them was not playing to the best of their abilities, and most of all Allison. Her singing didn't have that normal heavenly feel to it like it would normally have. It was like an angel who had her wings broken. He understood that her dressing room had been broken into but unfortunately this was a studio and they lacked the luxury of waiting for someone to get their act together after a incident. It was cold but it was a grim truth. It was as if her distraught mood had affected the band. They were playing halfheartedly and that lively energy wasn't there. The feel of the room didn't match the film being played behind them.

After the 5th attempt at the piece Sammy slammed his hands and baton on the podium. “Stop, Stop, Stop! I don't know what is wrong with the lot of you today, but we don't have all day for you to get your acts together.”

The irate musical director pointed a finger at Leonard. “Your violin playing is everywhere, but where the sheet music dictated. You're hitting too many flats and you're off key. Re-tune your violin and watch your damn finger placement.”

“You two Aaron and Giovanni, I don't who spit in your corn flakes, but you both are playing too aggressively for the piece and the notes are coming out too harsh for the piece. Both your respective pieces have many parts that dictate a decrescendo and yet you are blatantly ignoring it. If it says to lighten up then lighten the hell up.” Sammy bellowed at the two men from across the room making Leonard flinch since he was taking the brunt of Sammy's tirade.

“And you blasted twins, your playing sounds like your dragging your feet down the road to your funeral, you're supposed to be playing a lively tune with a skip in your step. Pick it up!” Both Edgar and Earl winced from the mans heated glare and bellowing.

“Most of all you. Mrs Connor.” Sammy took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Look I understand that someone broke into your dressing room and completely trashed the place, but I need you to find your voice. You are singing so softly I can barely hear you and your voice sounds cracked and broken. I'm sorry, but I need an joyous Angel, not a weeping one.” Allison looked at him and nodded at him slightly before bowing her head not looking at him in the eye.

“All right everyone take a 15 and we will try again. Keep in mind we don't have a luxury of mistakes or it's our paychecks.” Sammy shouted out to the band excusing them for a moment, he picked up a handful of the sheet music and left the department.

Norman came out of his projection booth letting out a loud sigh. “Man it's been awhile since I seen Sammy get that worked up.” he grabbed an empty chair and pushed aside the Bendy cutout facing it away from himself.

Allison sat on her stool holding her bag close to her chest. “I'm having a hard time feeling it. I would feel him nudging me and would often try and sing along to where I would have to pat him to get him to stop, but now I don't feel anything. He isn't there by my side. I know Tom promised to go look for him, but this place it huge and Benny is small. He could be anywhere.” The woman curled around the bag gently as if it were her lifeline.

Leonard looked at her worriedly until a little idea popped into his head “Hey It's not all that bad.” his chipper mood causing Allison to look up at him. “See Edgar, Earl and I.” the young man grabbed the twins pulling them close so all three can face her. “The three of us know the studio like the back of our hands, I'm sure with the three of us all running 'round we can find the little bundle of joy in no time.” the three young men all flashed huge mischievous grins at Allison, making her laugh.

Edgar and Earl both spoke in unison sounding in stereo “Yeah! We'll find our little devil in no time!”

“Thanks boys.” Allison chuckled at them. It was no secret that the unholy trio treated the studio like it was a playground and were probably more mischievous then the little devil darling himself. They had this uncanny ability to get into places that most of the older staff cursed their child like nature. Perhaps it took one with a child like personality to find a child.

Giovanni stepped forward and ruffled his hand on Leonard's hair messing it up. “With  our little pocket nuisances running around being the local terrors that they are, I'm gonna see if I can lay some of those can of Bacon soup around for the boy. We all know he likes food so maybe if some food is left sitting around he might go for it. That way we can narrow down where he ran off to. With his appetite he is bound to get hungry sooner or later.”

“Oh god no, do you plan on poisoning the boy?” Aaron joked from across the room. “We all know how bad that soup tastes and it will only make the little one sick. If you're gonna leave food lying around you might as well leave something that tastes better.”

“Hate t' break it t' ya Aaron, but those are th' only things that can be lyin' round that Joey ain't gonna suspect. Th' man is pround o' th' soup and 'as no problem wit' them lyin' all over th' place. Anythin' else be obvious and raise an alarm. Plus thay got a shelf life that won't quit, them damn thin' 'ill last ferever” Norman commented from his chair.

“Beside those canned soups actually taste pretty good!” Leonard beam over at Aaron. The man grumbled and commented about how something must be either wrong with Leonard's taste buds, his brain or both.

The group burst into laughter at Aaron's commentary and everyone agreed that now they needed to find their little lost friend for their Angel's sake. With Tom now in the mix looking for the toon the man was like a determined hunting dog, he doesn't let up till he gets his prize. The atmosphere seemed to lighten with the group and the weight on all of their shoulders and hearts a little lighter. The small Bendy cutout collection in the corner all smiling at the lighter mood the small team had found themselves in.

Sammy entered the music hall after the break prompting the group to break apart and resume their positions back at their instruments, mic and projector. Sammy glanced around and it seemed that everyone's faces were brighter and more focused. With the wave of a hand and baton he stuck up the band and the sound that followed was the sound that he was used to, perfection. Whatever happened through the course of the 15 minute break seemed to be enough to help the band get back on their feet, Allison found her voice and the band was playing like normal.

Once the day wrapped up Sammy laid out the new music for the band to collect and wandered off in search of more cutouts. Once Sammy was out of sight and the band confirmed he was gone they all looked at Allison with determined eyes and all split up to begin their search of a little plushdemon whom had gone missing. The group searched for hours until some got caught by Joey and was urged to go home for the day and come back in the morning. While Joey was fussing at Leonard, Edgar and Earl for once again running around the halls like little hell spawns Giovanni had secured a stash of Bacon Soup cans and with Aaron and Norman's help had slowly started leaving small shelves worth of the stuff in random places. Taking mental note of where they had been placed and hoped to check on them in the morning to narrow down the search.

-------late that night within the studio--------

Joey was more then frustrated and exhausted from the day, but at the least he had little 'loose ends' to wrap up. He found his reining in the nuisance trio from the music department a mere setback, god he wished those three had better things to do then run around the studio like it was a playpen. They were adults for gods sake and Leonard was worst of them being the clear ring leader. That one was just as energetic as the little devil darling himself. That mere thought gave him pause. Leonard was just as energetic as Bendy and knew the cartoons like the back of his hand. The man was a known musician, dancer and overall entertainer hence why he was recommended for hiring. He might be a good candidate to offer to Bendy, after all the two were similar.

'First things first' Joey thought to himself as he cradled the collection of film reels in his arm 'I need to give Bendy a proper education after all'. The man strode down the dark halls of the studio with only a few of the pale yellow emergency lights lighting his way. He went down several halls and entered the elevator descending into the depths of the studio. The elevator's decent was slow and creaky leaving the man to be a bit nervous as to whether or not it would suddenly give out on him, but with it's protesting it arrived at the desired destination. Joey swiftly exited the elevator not wanting to be in the cursed contraption any longer then necessary and vowing to take the stairs upon returning to the top floors.

He strode past the new additions to the studio feeling a sense of pride in knowing how his precious studio was progressing faster then he could ever believe. He had an amusement park being developed within its newer walls, the completion of the Ink machine and the production of the living toons which will soon freely roam the park and be living attractions, something that the competitors couldn't ever dream of having. He and he alone had the ambition to make the impossible possible. He just has a small speed bump to take care of and soon Joey Drew studios will reach new heights that no one else could ever hope to achieve.

Joey adjusted the reels in his arms as he slowly unlocked the vault door pulling it open just enough to squeeze through. He briefly set the reels down and moved the shelving that masked the hidden door to the heart of the Ink machine. Though small curses escaped the man as he moved the heavy shelving. He wished he could have just have Norman pull out the reels and left them sitting out to retrieve later, but then that would let on that something was amiss on these floors and the last thing he wanted was for someone to discover the truths within the walls. Few people were allowed this far down and he wanted to keep it that way while the areas were still in development. However with Bertrum's constant boasting about his park development and the little mechanical toy Bendy he had been developing eating up the finances that should go into finishing the new administrative areas and offices, he had to bite his tongue. That man can boast till the cows come home about his fame and prowess in development and design, but he Joey Drew has a living toon. That little mechanical toy that is supposed to be Bendy can never be him cause he had the real one once he has all that he needs to be perfect. So for now he will let Bertrum have his little fun and as long as his staff assists with completing the park and the lower levels along side GENT, then he will be satisfied with that.

The man traversed the short halls and entered the 'Belly of the Beast' that housed the ink lake. He cursed the fact that a proper bridge or platform had not been made yet to allow access to the heart of the machine without walking away like someone lost a fight with an ink well. Yet another little delay that needed GENT's or Bertrum's team's attention. With caution he slowly waded across with his eyes watching the ink as it seemed to grab at his closing like a lake of cursed souls begging for freedom. He was silently thankful that the natural well for the ink wasn't any deeper lest he fall and drown in the ebony substance.

He finally reached the shore and set the reels down to wipe off the excess ink that stubbornly clung to his clothes. Once he got the majority of the excess ink off he scooped up the reels and with a sing song voice that would scare more sane folk, waltzed into the 'throne room' where Bendy sat limp at the chair and to Joey's relief still bound in chains.

“Oh Beeeeeendy~” Joey hummed out reaching his hand under the toons chin lifting his head to face him. “Look what I got for you.” the man held up a film reel reading 'The Dancing Demon' on it's side.

Bendy was unresponsive and didn't even seem to be looking at the man, Joey ran his fingers down the side of Bendy's face marveling at the feel of the living ink demon and then noted that the toons frown was twitching. Bendy lunged at him bearing teeth that were off-model as he tried to bite his hand, Joey thanking his reflexes at pulling away before the toon could bite down on him. The man took in the toons off model teeth, the base of the teeth were the normal blocky look but the ends of the teeth which should be flat were triangular and sharp. Bendy's pie cut eyes glaring at the man and small growls seemed to be escaping is gritted teeth.

“Oh come now Bendy, temper ,temper.” Joey subconsciously rubbed his hand that barely escaped being bitten. “I brought you a little present and this is how you thank me?”

Bendy didn't say anything except small low warning growls every time the man got near him while Joey seemed to be pulling out boxy looking items around the base of the chair. Joey whistled Bendy's theme song for the show while he worked all the while the toon trying his best to once again free himself, but failing since the only thing he could move was his floating head. His hands occasionally grazed Joeys clothes trying to grab a hold on him while he worked earning a frown from the man.

Joey grew tired of the toons rattling around in the chains while he worked, and drifted over to the pile of clasps that still lay in the corner. He found 2 smaller ones and pulled out the small bottle of acetone he carried and coated the rings in the liquid. He turned around to face Bendy and the toons growls ceased when he saw the look in the mans eyes, cold and void of life. His desire for escape escalated more and more as Joey approached him opening each ring, even restoring to begging for forgiveness and he'll behave if he just let him go. The toons begging fell on deaf ears as Joey grabbed Bendy left hand and with assistance from the acetone drove the ring through the button on his hand and then curled the ring around coming out the adjacent button clamping it around the chains holding his hand in place. The toon screamed in agony and pain at the sudden motion, he sobbed loudly with large inky tears staining his face as he begged for forgiveness and that he was sorry for trying to bite the man let alone trying to grab him. The director didn't seem to care for the toons pleas and repeated the same actions to the toons right hand earning more screams and sobs.

“Now that I have your undivided attention” Joey sneered as he grabbed Bendy's head lifting it up to meet his own. “I want you to watch these films and be a good little boy.” He released Bendy's head and the toon quietly sobbed as Joey resumed working on the projectors. One by one each projector came to life showing off the various shorts of the Bendy cartoon. The little smiling devil was a far cry different from the one whom sat crucified to the throne and was forced to watch. “And look! You won't be in a dark room anymore, so have fun.”

The last thing Bendy heard was Joey's raucous laughter as the man slammed the door behind himself. The toon silently vowing to someday wipe that man's smile off his face, he'll have the final laugh.

Authors Notes:

Poor little Benny has disappeared into the depth of the studio, driven away by the false angel. Tom finally learned the truth of the little toon he thought was dead and the severity of his lack of action, but how was the poor guy to know? It is amazing how lack of communication and trust can create so many problems. Now they have to try and find Benny in hopes that they aren't too late and now it seems that Joey Drew is on the move with poor Bendy as his play thing.

[pixieungerstories]

Darkness - 11

Brie was interesting at two in the morning. Even before the glass of wine kicked in and knocked her out she had been drunk on lack of sleep and lack of food.  Darkness caught the goblet before it hit the floor.  There was a lot of dust on the floor.  Or more specifically, there was a path through the dust to the bed.  That wasn’t good.  Humans were fragile things.  He had generally made it a policy not to get attached.

He was getting attached.

And she was right, the house was in no state to hold humans any more.  Still, the previous owners had furnished him with a small army of imps, in addition to the indigenous population of goblins.  And they were more than happy to do his bidding.  He had long ago eaten the ones who were not.  Still, when his issued the order to clean the house, there had been… not resistance, more like sullen hesitation.  Still, he insisted and there were enough of them that the house was tidy by morning.  It would be spotless by tomorrow.

The resident metaphysical population, however, were not plumbers or electricians. There was asbestos in the walls, which was likely the only thing keeping the wiring from burning the house down.  And he was pretty sure that lead pipes where no longer en vogue.  Most of the single pane windows let in the damp.  After Brie mentioned black mould, he had asked Goblynn about it.  Apparently it was a bad thing.  The house had an abundance.  There was also a good chance that the once expensive green wallpaper was full of cyanide.

In truth, upon taking Brie back to her cottage that afternoon, he had learned that if he was wanting to keep a pet, this house was the last place Darkness should be bringing her.  And just when arrangements had begun to correct that, she had let herself in.

He wondered about that.  What had happened to prompt his gardener to let herself into the house?  Goblynn had been clear when he hired her that even looking too hard at the house was a firing offence.   She hadn’t seemed pleased when her brought her here that morning.  Why return on her own after dark?  And why the library?  She had gone straight for the book the original builder of the house had written about him.  Had she known to look for it?  Or had she just gotten lucky?

In all the time he had spent invading her dreams, he had never thought to check for demonologist inclinations.  Was that even still a hobby for people?  She was in no state for him to go looking now.  Not completely exhausted and half starved as she was.  He liked the way she looked in his bed.  Small.  Relaxed.  Completely vulnerable.  He didn’t quite understand the Shark Week slogan on her sleeveless shirt, but he appreciated the simulated arterial spray and the way her nipples were faintly visible through the thin fabric.

The imps were back having stolen coffee and croissants from the town.  Time to go make breakfast for his pet.

Maybe if he fed her, she would stick around for a while.

------

Brie woke up with the sun shining on her face.  This was not unusual.  The bed was.  She scrambled up into a sitting position and looked around.  Her kick on garden shoes were placed neatly next to the huge bed.   Light was streaming in through the window.   She recognized the room and was slightly horrified to be here.  What had she been thinking?  Breaking into Mr Herne’s house just because she had misplaced a scar sounded ridiculous in the cold light of day.  But it was still confusing being here.  She had only ever seen this part of the house while hallucinating monsters.  Still, the creepy room sparked a brief moment of panic as she wondered if she were locked in V.C. Andrews style.

To her relief, the door opened smoothly.  She hurried out of the room and found away down and hopefully out of the building.  Mr Herne was waiting for her in a room off the main floor hall.  He looked imposing in black trainers, black sweats and a black hoodie worn up to shadow most of his face.

“I am so, so sorry.  I don’t know what… I was thinking.  I shouldn’t be-”

“I will care for you anytime you come here seeking refuge.  You can depend on that.  You are my responsibility here.”

“I-”  Brie stopped.  She wasn’t sure what to say to that.  She went with, “Thank you.”

Marbus Herne nodded, “You are truly welcome, Gabriella Moreno.”

“You can call me Brie.  Everyone does.”

There was something in the way he watched her just a little too intently.  Brie shivered.

“You persist in calling me Mr Herne.”

Brie struggled with that, she was appalled she had broken into this man’s house.  He had no right to go being all civil and polite about it.  He should be saying something like, ‘pack your things and be off the property by noon.’   She needed to know.  She didn’t want to ask, but she needed to know, “Am I fired, Mr Herne?”

He blinked, then laughed, “No, Ms Moreno, I was rather hoping you would allow me to feed you breakfast.”

Brie felt skeptical and it must have shown on her face because Marbus gestured to the room behind him.

“There is coffee and croissants and fresh made jam.  Please, help yourself.”

The table was small and only set for one.  There was a french press of coffee, two small cartons, one for milk and one for full fat cream.  There was a little pot of honey and a glass bowl of raspberry jam, and a tiny crystal butter dish, just big enough for a small pat of butter.

“Are you having breakfast, Mr H- um, Marbus?”

He winced like the question pained him, “No, I’m afraid I am going to work in my office.  The house is yours, Brie.”

Brie looked at the table and when she turned back to where he had been standing, Marbus Herne was gone.  Really the only word for it was creepy.  Still, the coffee was excellent.  The jam was the best she had ever tasted and the croissants were obviously the ones from the bakery in town.  She ate breakfast, then gathered her dishes and was able to find the kitchen.   Maybe it was just the better light from the east, but the house seemed cleaner than she remembered.  Their tea cups from last night were still in the sink.  There wasn’t any dish soap.

Well, he hadn’t fired her yet, she could just run down to her cottage and pick up some soap and hurry back to wash the dishes.  It was the least she could do.  

She opened the door just as someone was about to knock.  The man had been holding the door knocker.  Brie pulling the door open caused him to stumble into the house.  Brie gaped at him, he stared at her before wrenching his gaze upwards.  Brie blushed as she remembered she wasn’t wearing a bra.  And again when she remembered she was still in her shark week t-shirt.

She coughed and said, “Can I help you?”

The man blinked.  He was about six three, built like a brick shit house with a neatly trimmed beard and a tidy blond crew cut.  “I, uh, Mr Lynn told me to meet the grounds keeper here.”

Brie nodded, “Yeah, that’s me.  There was just-” she stopped, honestly having no idea how to explain her appearance.  “I’m supposed to let you in.  Is there anything else you need?”

“No.  I’ll just do the house inspection and let you know when I’m done.”

Brie nodded.  “Mr Herne is in his office, and I honestly don’t know where that is.  I need to go get dish soap, but I will be weeding in the yard after I get the dishes washed.”

The man blinked.  “I’m Mitchell.  Are you the house keeper?”

“The grounds keeper, actually, but I sometimes bring Mr Herne food.”  There.  That sounded completely respectable.  “I’m Brie, by the way.”

Mitchell held out a big, warm and slightly calloused hand.  Brie shook it.  He was doing a reasonably good job of maintaining eye contact.  “See you later,” she said as she slid past him.  She was about half way down the walk when she glanced back over her shoulder and caught him staring at her ass.  He noticed and headed inside, closing the door behind him.  As he turned, Brie returned the favour.  He wore those slightly grubby jeans really well.

-----

Brie had been out in the sun for a while.  She had sweat running down her back and between her breasts.  She sat up and wiped her forehead before taking off her hat and fanning herself with it.  As she took a swig of water from her thermos.  As she glanced back towards the house, she saw Mitchell leaning against one of the walls,  his shirt off, his perfectly sculpted chest on full display.  

The way he was watching her made Brie blush.  As she turned her head to look away, just for a moment, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her demon watching her from one of the windows.  When she looked back it was Marbus Herne.  

“How is this my life?” she muttered to herself as she put down the thermos and went back to weeding.

The contractor was there all day.  He paused for lunch and asked Brie about the local pub.  She told him it was excellent but declined to join him there.  Then got somewhat angry when he tried to insist.

She was eating her lunch on the bench in the porn orchard when a familiar voice behind her asked, “Why not join him for lunch?”

Looking straight ahead, Brie shrugged, “No really interested.”

“He seemed interested.”

“Yeah, but I’m still having nightmares after…” she trailed off.  “I’m not interested.”

“Is that why you came to the house last night?”  When she didn’t respond, Marbus added, “Because of nightmares?”

Brie still hadn’t turned to look at him, so he couldn’t see her face when he asked that.  Given that she had a moment where she wanted to cry, it was probably just as well.  “Something like that.”

She sat unmoving for a moment.  

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Brie thought about that.  “Join me for lunch?” she suggested, still not turning to look at him.

Marbus Herne walked over and sat on the bench with his back to hers.  Brie leaned back against him and slid her half sandwich in his direction.

[marketinformation]

Metal Coil Lamination Market Global Analysis, Covid-19 Impact, Long-Term Investment with Top Most Key Players By 2027

"Metal Coil Lamination Market is valued at USD 3422.5 Million in 2018 and expected to reach USD 4771.0 Million by 2025 with the CAGR of 4.86% over the forecast period."

Global Metal Coil Lamination Market: Global Size, Trends, Competitive, Historical & Forecast Analysis, 2020-2025- Increasing canned beverages product and growing usage of metal films in packaging and automotive industry is driving the growth of Global Metal Coil Lamination Market.

Scope of Metal Coil Lamination Market Report-

Metal coil lamination is a coating to the metal coil with ether metal or polymer film with the assistance of adhesives to improve aesthetics and impart corrosion resistance. It is used in food & beverages packaging for food products which includes ready to eat snacks, coffee, ice-creams, in boil in bag pouches, as well as in freezer to microwave. It is also used in the automotive industry.

Get Full Report …. @ https://brandessenceresearch.com/heavy-industry/metal-coil-lamination-market-size

The product is used in a variety of automotive interior components which include seat inserts, door panels, headliners, protective window films, overhead systems and reinforced protective films. The lamination of metal generates minimal pollution that supports its adoption. Adoption of metal coil lamination increased rapidly in food packaging, automotive, home appliances like stainless steel range hood, refrigerator stainless door panels, and appliance stainless chassis.

Building contractors and architects are using coil laminations in order to design-based requirements for both residential and commercial installations and offer superior resistance to weathering and are available in limitless aesthetic color as well as texture alternatives. Laminated metals maintain the durability while adding a protective, decorative laminate film that prevents oxidation and enhance the service life of the appliances.

Metal Coil Lamination market report is segmented on the basis of type, application, and by regional & country level. Based upon type, metal coil lamination market is classified into metal to polymer film and metal to metal. Based upon application, metal coil lamination market is classified into appliances, metal construction, automotive and food & beverage packaging.

Based upon appliances, market is subdivided into refrigerators & freezers, washing machine, dishwasher, range or fume hoods and others.

Metal Coil Lamination Market Segmentation:–

By Type: Metal to polymer film, Metal to metal

By Application:

 Refrigerators      & Freezers

 Washing      Machine

 Dishwasher

 Ovens

 Range      or fume hoods

 Others

 Garage      doors

 Metal      roofing

 Office      furniture

 Others

 Automotive      trim

 Vehicle      light weighting

 Others

Get Free Sample PDF Copy of Latest Research on Metal Coil Lamination Market 2021 before the purchase @ https://brandessenceresearch.com/requestSample/PostId/961?utm_source=AR&utm_medium=Free

Table of Content: Global Metal Coil Lamination Market Research Report

Chapter 1: Global Metal Coil Lamination Overview

Chapter 2: Global Economic Impact on Metal Coil Lamination Markets

Chapter 3: Global Market Size Competition by Industry Producers

Chapter 4: Global Productions, Revenue (Value), according to Regions

Chapter 5: Global Supplies (Production), Consumption, Export, Import, geographically

Chapter 6: Global Productions, Revenue (Value), Price Trend, Product Type

Chapter 7: Global Market Analysis, on the basis of Application

Chapter 8: Metal Coil Lamination Market Industry Value Chain

Chapter 9: Metal Coil Lamination Market Chain, Sourcing Strategy, and Downstream Buyers

Chapter 10: Strategies and key policies by Distributors/Suppliers/Traders

Chapter 11: Key Economic Indicators, by Market Vendors

Chapter 12: Market Effect Factors Analysis

Chapter 13: Global Metal Coil Lamination Market Forecast Period

Chapter 14: Future of the Market

Chapter 15: Appendix

Thanks for reading this article; you can also get individual chapter wise section or region wise report version like North America, Europe or Asia.

About Brandessence Market Research Inc.

Brandessence market research publishes market research reports & business insights produced by highly qualified and experienced industry analysts. Brand Essence Market Research report will be best fit for senior executives, business development managers, marketing managers, consultants, CEOs, CIOs, COOs, and Directors, governments, agencies, organizations and Ph.D. Students. We have a delivery center in Pune, India and our sales office is in London.

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[architectnews]

Ducasse School, Paris

Campus Meudon, France, Architect, Paris Building Design, Architecture Photos

Ducasse School in Meudon-la-Fôre, Paris

12 Dec 2020

Ducasse School

Design: Arte Charpentier Architectes

Location: Meudon-la-Fôre, suburbs of Paris, France

Ducasse School is a major new training center of 5 000 sqm, dedicated to the transmission and promotion of French gastronomic expertise, is located in the outlying district of Meudon-la-Fôret, 10km to the south-west of Paris, in an area of huge potential for the Greater Paris region.

Situated on the edge of Meudon forest, the building is inspired by the presence of nature.

The building mass is subdivided into 4 separate entities representing the four elements of earth, water, fire, and air, with a strong physical and metaphorical link to the act of eating, and which are reunited around a central space, the fifth element or “void”.

The workshops and kitchens are gradually revealed, by means of openings and see-through panels allowing an understanding of the spacial organization of the building, its functions, and uses. The internal street, evoking with its lively ambiance the famous Parisian covered passages.

At the ends of the street, forming a cross in plan view, full-height glazing admits a maximum amount of natural light, whilst bringing views of the natural landscape into the building.

The building sits upon a smooth, dark, solid concrete base, which anchors it firmly to the site, and expresses the notions of permanence and stability. Symbolically, it represents the theoretical foundations of learning, whilst the upper, most important part, symbolizes practice and experience. This upper section clad in a sculpted metal skin is lighter in appearance, and more subtly articulated, the shiny metal echoing the stainless steel furnished kitchens found within. It is this contrast between form and material which gives the campus all its force and character.

These overhanging elevations, being more exposed to the processes of weathering, are given a sculpted metal form as if eroded by the natural forces of rain and wind, creating a wholly unique appearance and contemporary feel. From the outside, the architecture is characterized by the curving rhythms of brushed metal punctuated by sweeping glass facades.

The main façade is dominated by a large restaurant, forming the prow of the building, showcasing the expertise of Chef Alain Ducasse, and open to the public. The 215 m² restaurants with a seating capacity of 60, laid out and decorated by design agency Jouin Manku, has been imagined as a double-height, linear space, orientated towards the terrace.

The different training and activity areas are organized on the ground and first floors, comprising 9 laboratories for the culinary arts, a patisserie, a bakery, chocolate, and ice cream-making areas, an area for sensory analysis for the matching of food and wine and for the discovery of new flavors, 7 classrooms for instruction in subjects such as finance, marketing, and human resources, 1 knowledge center and co-working areas, 1 back office and administrative offices. In addition, there are areas open to the public such as a culinary boutique with a takeaway service, and a restaurant offering two different styles of dining: ‘gastronomic’ and ‘bistro’.

The Ecole Ducasse meets French Energy Efficiency Standard RT2012 and has received HQE Passeport (excellent) certification.

The landscaping proposals for the Ecole Ducasse were informed by a reflection on the integration of the site within a natural context, characterized by the abundantly green surrounding plots, and by the edge of Meudon forest itself. To this end, trees were planted around the edges of the site, accompanied by shrub hedges and fruit bushes, to create a buffer zone of planting around the building.

Comprising a variety of evergreen and deciduous species, the visual screen changes color with the evolving seasons. The biodiversity of the site is augmented by the planting of a large range of aromatic and fruit-bearing shrubs in the hedges, which might also satisfy the curiosity and appetite of students who can sample them throughout the seasons.

Landscaped places: the entrance forecourt is an outdoor terrace for the restaurant, a flavor garden composed of aromatic or edible plants for educational or recreational use, a cherry orchard provides a shady place to sit out during a break in the activities, the car parking area is also green and mostly hidden from the main entrance, the restaurant terrace, and the street.

The Green Roof, certain inaccessible areas such as the roofs will constitute natural refuges for the local flora and fauna. Locally occurring insect-pollinating plants will be favored for

their production of quantities of natural seeds, and their role in attracting pollinating insects to the site.

Ducasse School in Meudon-la-Fôre – Building Information

Floor area: 5 057 sqm Adress: 16 – 20 Avenue du Maréchal Juin, Meudon-la-Fôret (92) Delivery date: November 2020 Client: Covivio Assistant client: Artelia Design team leader, architecture, interior design, landscape design: Arte Charpentier Architectes Restaurant design: Jouin Manku for the initiation restaurant design

BET: Structural: Terrell Building services – fluids: Barnabel Acoustics: AVLS Quantity surveyor: DAL Building control : Socotec Environmental sustainability: Green Affair External finishes: Joseph Ingenierie Kitchen design: BEGC Civil engineering: CL Infra Building contractor: SPIE Batignolles

About Arte Charpentier Architectes Since 1969, the agency has strived to bring the best in its expertise, innovation, and reactivity to bear on complex projects and a fresh approach to each new challenging brief. This requires that we adapt and renew our practice of architecture, urbanism, interior design, and landscape on a daily basis. This uncompromising attitude is what unites more than 120 employees of 15 different nationalities, including 20 associates, in our Paris, Lyon, and Shanghai agencies, and resonates with the constantly evolving issues of urban and territorial design in France and further afield.

Photography © Boegly Grazia

Ducasse School, Paris images / information received 121220 from v2com newswire

Location: 16 – 20 Avenue du Maréchal Juin, Meudon-la-Fôret (92) Paris, France

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