#In trying to get the eggs to a better environment I broke the clutch in half so I was worried if it'd even hatch

[applejarjar]

Babies!!

[s-creations]

Now We’re Six

Donald Duck was honestly not prepared to loose so much in such a short time. He's at the end of his rope when two familiar faces show up on his front door to offer their help.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros     Rating: General Audience     Relationships/Pairings: José  Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Dalla Duck mentioned, Scrooge McDuck mentioned, Gyro Gearloose mentioned, Gladstone mentioned, Fethry mentioned, angst, hurt and comfort, happy ending, start of a new family, the triplets are eggs still

Start of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

How was it possible that he could lose everything in only three days? Scrooge didn’t want to take responsibility, even though he was the one who started this whole train of destruction. It wasn’t just enough to stay on the ground. Oh no, space was the next adventure, they just  had to go. Gyro actually had the audacity to look apologetic when faced with the angry duck. As if he truly felt sorry. Never mind the fact that it was his own creation that cost them so much. Did neither bird think it would be pertinent to heighten security? They were both so lax about the whole thing and now Della-

 Donald let out a shaky breath, tightening the grip on his arms. Trying to keep himself grounded. 

 Della was gone. There was no getting around it. She was lost to the stars because it was killing her to remain on the ground. Even though she’s just laid eggs, even after Donald gave every argument he could to make her see sense, she still went. Nothing was going to stop Della Duck. 

 Except a cosmic storm apparently. 

 So, here sat Donald. Losing his twin sister, his great uncle, his stable life. Self-barricaded away in his boathouse he’d only recently bought after scrounging up everything from his savings to get. Scrunched up in the padded booth of the dinner table with eggs covered in every blanket he owned and resting on the flat surface. A constant reminder of what had happened. What was happening. 

 Another shaky exhale as Donald attempted to relax. His body protested for being in a clenched position for so long, bones creaking and muscles sore. The clock over the stove read midnight in a blaring red color. Numbers that were burned into his eyes and seen from behind closed eyelids. A heavy sigh sounded as he reached out to fidget with the towel-created nest.

 He honestly had no idea what he was doing. Were they cold, to warm maybe? He supposed since the color wasn’t dulling, he was doing something right. Was he supposed to take them to a doctor before they hatched? They were only a few weeks away from hatching but that doesn’t mean something wasn’t wrong. Doesn't mean he’d be able to afford an office visit, no insurance. God, he needed to find a stable job quickly. He had four mouths to feed now and no income. Not a great way to start off the rest of his life. But since when has anything been remotely easy for him?

 Donald was broken from his thoughts when his phone chimed. The beaten up piece of technology was resting on the table as well. But had been pushed as far away as possible, teetering on the edge. He’d been receiving numerous phone calls and messages since the incident. Duckworth asking for Donald and the eggs to return to the mansion to talk this out properly, please. Fethry asking what was happening, was Donald okay, where was he? Gladstone actually sounded furious that Donald would just leave with the eggs in tow and no explanation.

 Donald was just tired of it all. So he left the phone alone, turning back to the eggs. 

 Only for the front door to be knocked on.

 Now he was starting to become angry. What idiot goes to a boathouse in the middle of the night? What idiot goes to any random place in the middle of the night?  Was it really so hard to just ask for a moment's peace? Just a few minutes where the environment and his mind would just shut up. The phone started to chime again just as another knock sounded. He was going to lose it.

 “Deal with the joker at the door first, then worry about the phone.” Donald grumbled, trying to keep his anger in check. An outburst could lead to one of the eggs being damaged. Which would not help the situation. 

 He opened the door, ready to tear whoever was on the other side apart. Only to swallow the words back down when he found a familiar parrot and rooster before him.

 It had been so long, years even. Yet José and Panchito looked as they did the day Donald left them. Minus the outfits, which were wildly different. 

 No three-piece for José. Merely a clean pressed, cream colored, short sleeved button up with the familiar straw hat perched atop his head. Black umbrella resting at the crook of his arm. Even in the dark of night, his feathers were a bright green that made Donald think of the jungles the parrot loved to explore. 

 Panchito was honestly the biggest change. No more overly large sombrero or bright, red outfit. The rooster looked like he’d be more at home on a farm wearing his faded jeans and short sleeved plaid shirt. He’d seem to have gotten taller as well, his comb grown out. Hand still in mid-air as he’d no doubt planned on knocking once again. His feathers were a warm red, seeming to have dulled a little since the years had passed, but still a comforting color. 

 All seemed to be frozen as they looked the other over. José still holding his phone up to his ear, Donald seeing his name on the screen display. Absolutely shocked, the duck’s bill opened and closed, mind still trying to confirm what he was seeing. He wasn’t even sure what he should say. 

 What are you doing here?

 How did you get here? 

 I’m sorry I left so suddenly and broke my promise that I would be back then never returning or even providing an explanation.

 He wanted to say it all. But Donald’s mind settled on uttering one world. “...Hi.”

 “Hola.” Panchito easily replied while José pocketed his phone.

 Donald merely stood aside and gestured for the two to enter, too tired to really question what was happening. As soon as he saw the eggs, Panchito let out a coo of excitement and rushed over. Carefully plucking at the fabric nest to cover said eggs better while speaking softly to them. José kept his attention to Donald, who closed the door with a sharp snap before facing the parrot.

 “You look like death, meu amor.” José spoke gently. A hand reaching out to preen a few feathers back into place.  Between the pet name, the gentle tone, the soft touches, Donald couldn’t help a shiver that traveled through him.

 “Really? Thought I was looking pretty good.” The parrot laughed softly, Donald forgetting how much he missed that sound. Was he close to crying or was he just extremely tired? “What are you two doing here?”

 “We heard about Della.”

 José had said it so simply. But it felt like a punch to his stomach, Donald wrapping his arms around himself. “How...who told you.”

 “Fethry and I are friends on Beakbook.” Panchito replied.

 “We came as soon as we could,” José continued, “Had to cash in all my mileage points and vacation time to get this to work. The company was a little upset that this was so sudden, but it was worth it.”

 “Cancelled a few birthdays on my end.” The rooster laughs softly.

 “We just wanted to be here. How are you feeling?”

 Donald let out a snort, rubbing his eyes as he walked back over to the table. He more or less collapsed back into the padded seats. “I’m not feeling anything. I used up all my shock, anger, and disgust on Scrooge the day Della disappeared. Now I’m caring for three eggs when I can barely keep my life together and I’ve ostracized myself from my family. Because they either did nothing to stop Della or just couldn’t understand why in the world I would be so angry.”

 A less than sane laugh escaped from the fragile duck. “And Della just left! Can you believe it? She had eggs. She just delivered her eggs and decided the next best thing was going on the big adventure! How...How absolutely messed up is that? How am I supposed to tell these kids their mother left because motherhood was less important to her than adventuring. The thing she’s done for years but could get enough of!”

 Donald pulled at his feathers, breathing becoming shallow and harsh. This was it, he was finally breaking. Just as he’d received a break in the clouds he feels himself falling apart. He was just so tired…

 Very little resistance was put up as his hands were gently pulled away from his sore head. Instead of self-inflicted pain, he was now clutching onto a shirt. His view became obscured by green feathers that felt like silk and were cool against his heated skin. A familiar tune of a lullaby started to be hummed that calmed his nerves further. Shoulders slumped as he felt himself slip away from consciousness. After three days of unrest, Donald fell into a relatively easy sleep with José holding him close.

 _____________________

 “I would just need to change addresses. It will not be that hard for me.”

 “Won’t you have anything to move?”

 “No, at least not a lot. I can just sell what I do not need. You?”

 “I have a lot of family heirlooms that I would like to bring. If possible.”

 “We will figure something out.”

 “Do you think Donald will be okay with moving?”

 “He is charmingly stubborn. But if we sell it properly, I am sure he will understand where we are coming from.”

 Donald squirmed as he slowly started to wake. Pressed against something warm and soft as he was rocked by the hammock. Fingers gently brushed through the feathers on the back of his head. It would have lulled him back to sleep if he wasn’t determined to figure out what was happening.

 It took a few blinks to clear his blurred vision to understand where he was. Laying against José, both resting in the duck’s hammock hanging in the supposed to be storage room. The only proper bedroom being set up for being the nursery. Panchito was resting on the floor nearby. The eggs and fabric nest had been moved from the table as well, laying next to the rooster who was running a hand over the shells carefully. From the soft light drifting from the window, Donald reasoned it was the following evening. 

 ...How long had he been asleep?

 “I’m sorry meu amor, did we wake you?” José’s voice was soft.

 “No...I was kind of waking up. How are the eggs?”

 “Pequeños Ángeles. So quiet and well-behaved.” Panchito teased.

 “The eggs are fine. We are more worried about you right now,” continued José, “Donald, you have not had a breakdown like that since college.”

 “Possibly even worse than that.”

 “Have more adult problems.” Donald responded weakly. He was still so exhausted.

 “This is not a normal situation,” Panchito argued, “You look so close to death when we arrived yesterday.”

 “Haven’t been able to clear my thoughts for the past few days. It’s all just been a...mess…”

 “We understand where you are coming from Donald. But this is such a sudden change, and to do it on your own…” José was not one to be at a loss for words. But this was a situation that seemed to be weighing heavily on all their shoulders with no clear answer.

 “I’m not going back to Scrooge.” The duck responded sharply.

 “That is not what we are suggesting.”

 “Then what are you suggesting? Because I’m too exhausted to figure it out.”

 “We’re going to help.” Panchito answered easily.

 It took Donald a few seconds to properly understand what was just said. “How? I mean, wait, no, that was rude. You guys already have enough in your own lives to deal with. I couldn’t just...ask you two to help.”

 “We are offering to help.” José corrected.

 “But-”

 “We want to help.”

 Donald sucked in his breath, eyes darting between the two other birds. José calm. Panchito eager. “...I’m not in a good place. Mentally, emotionally, financially.”

 “We were roommates in college, we know what you’re like. You’re going through something...heavy, so anyone facing this wouldn’t be doing okay. We understand. José and I have jobs to help with pay. Easy.” Panchito answered.

 “You can’t just...leave your jobs, your homes.”

 “I am a flight attendant. I just need to transfer to a hub positioned here. Panchito is a freelance performer, he can easily find work. And we do not have much tied to our current apartments. Moving will not be an issue.”

 “The boathouse will be cramped. It was already an issue with me and the eggs, once they hatched.” 

 “This may not be your most favorite of suggesting,” José started cautiously, “But, we would  need to sell the boathouse and find an apartment.”

 “I- We don’t have the financial support or a reliable credit! Mine’s terrible, you two aren’t proper citizens-”

 Panchito coughed weakly at that. “We actually received our citizenship a few months ago.”

 Donald’s mouth dropped at that, looking to José for confirmation. The parrot nodded. “We were going to tell you properly when we saw you again.”

 “Right..the original plan. Only going to be gone for a year,” the duck chuckled weakly, “My luck just had to ruin everything for everyone, didn’t it?”

 “No, no mi amor, esto no es tu culpa.” Panchito inched closer to grab Donald’s hand, José taking the other one. “You should know how unpredictable life truly is. We just have to greet each day the best we can.”

 Donald let out a small sigh, knowing he was slowly losing this battle. “...You didn’t ask… You shouldn’t… This is my family, my mess to deal with. This nothing you two should worry about. I’m not bringing you into this, you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

 “Come now, are we not the Three Caballeros? We are together, to support each other, no matter what kind of storm we face. You need us now more than ever and how terrible would we be if we just abandoned you? Patinho bobo.” José gently teased.

 Donald was unprepared, but not unhappy, when a kiss was placed on both his cheeks. All but melting into the touch. A smile forming as he leaned back into José and gently squeezing each hand he still had a hold of. 

 “Are you really prepared to raise triplets?”

 “I’m used to a big family.” Panchito replied with a smile.

 “Never raised children, but I am a fast learner. We will be fine.”

 Donald gave a small nod, letting out a slow breath as his worries faded away. He didn’t argue when Panchito collected the eggs and all piled into the hammock. It creaked, but gave no further protest as they all settled down. Perhaps it was because he was so exhausted so he couldn’t truly argue anymore. Or because José and Panchito gave good reasoning. But at this moment, sandwiched between two people he loved and the eggs resting on his lap, Donald realized he was feeling content after so many days of unrest. 

 How could he ever doubt these two?

[fullmetalscullyy]

a conspiracy theory - chapter 16

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary: Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 3359

read on ao3

Roy woke to the sound of pots and pans being shuffled. The smell of coffee was strong, and he heard a toaster go off. He wasn’t home. None of that was vaguely familiar to any sounds at home, let alone in the morning. He opened his eyes, feeling one leg bent at ninety degrees with a foot on the ground, while the other remained on the couch. He nodded to himself, letting his arms rise in a stretch and a yawn. He was at Riza’s. Turning he noticed she was already cooking breakfast, still in the sweats she was in when he went to sleep. Her hair was down and wet from a shower. It shined just perfectly in the fluorescent light of the kitchen. He didn’t move, he just took in the sight of her scrambling something in the pan and then turning to the toast. It had to be wondered if she was like this every morning, rising with the sun, which she kindly had pulled the curtains shut for him, and smiled like it too. She looked happy, even content in her task. 

“What time do you work,” he asked with a groggy voice. 

“In two hours,” she answered without looking up. 

“How long have you been up?” 

She slid the eggs onto a plate and looked up at him. “Hayate and I already went for a walk, and I took a shower.” She leaned on the counter, watching him as he sat up with a groan. “So about an hour.” 

“You could've woke me,” he grumbled. 

“You need your sleep.” 

Roy looked on his wrist at his watch. He had to meet Hughes at 8 am. He had an hour to get there. “I don’t have too much time to dilly dally,” he admitted, reaching for his shoulder holster. “But you have to let me repay you somehow.” 

She walked around the kitchen and handed him a plate. “Then eat breakfast.” 

“You’re being too nice to me,” he called to her as she walked away. Although eggs, some fruit, and toast looked way too good to pass up. When was the last time he had a home-cooked breakfast? He needed to make a point of making more food for himself. After the first bite, he had to sit back down. They were the best eggs he’d ever eaten, he swore it on his mother’s grave. The toast was perfect, and he didn’t even think that was possible. When she said she liked to cook, there was no lie in it. She was amazing at it. He took every bite slowly, chewing it, relishing in every tastebud’s celebration of flavor. And he would have asked for seconds too. 

“This is… good,” he commented. He had to hide his groan as flavor burst over his tongue.

“Did you ever doubt my skills?” she asked dryly. “I told you I was into cooking.” 

“Um, I never will again?” he smiled sweetly looking up at her.

Riza laughed and sat down next to him on the couch. She curled her legs underneath her body, leaning on the arm of the chair. She picked at her food innocently, but being this close to her, in her apartment after sleeping over, Roy was sure that she was just as uncomfortable about the environment as he was. It wasn’t like they had anything to be embarrassed about. Still, the awkwardness didn’t dissipate as quickly he would've liked. 

Roy coughed. “I just wanted to apologize for showing up so late last night.”

She glanced over at him expectantly. Her eyebrows twitched downwards in slight confusion.

“I know it’s not the most ideal situation to land yourself in, having me showing up half asleep at your door,” he laughed nervously. He resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck.

“Roy, you’re fine. I did say it was okay for you to come over, didn’t I,” she reminded him. “If I didn’t want you to come, I would have said no.” She glanced down at her plate with a small smile. “I enjoy your company, so it’s no issue at all.”

Roy coughed nervously, covering his mouth with his fist. “I uh… Can I use your restroom? Then I better get going.” 

Riza nodded and pointed down the hall. "It’s the first door on your right,” she instructed. 

He put his plate down and jumped up. He was so in love with her. He was. He was infatuated with her. And here he was, waking up with her serving him breakfast. He could hardly stand himself. Standing in the restroom he bit his fist with his hand. Why did he have to go? Why couldn’t he just stay and they could make sweet looks at each other? Life was unfair to him once again. Work called, and it wasn’t just work, it was 'Roy Saving the World' day. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He had no idea what Riza saw in him, but she made him feel more alive than he had in years. 

He emerged from the bathroom and cleared his throat. “I’m going to go now,” he announced softly, reaching for his holster. “I’ve got to meet Maes at the senate’s house and we’re going to do a sweep of the place.” 

Riza nodded, putting her plate down. 

God, how he wanted to stay. He’d do anything to stay. He reached over and grabbed his gun, checking it to ensure that it was still loaded, and put it in its beloved spot. Then he grabbed his jacket and put it on. “I can’t thank you enough. I will make this up to you.” He looked at the door then back into her brown eyes. “You… You’re amazing. I think you’re really wonderful, and every time I get a chance to tell you, something happens. I’m going to show you one day.” He scratched his cheek nervously. 

Riza walked up to him, pulling on his jacket as if she was fixing it. “How about you just make it back alive?" Her hand patted his chest above his heart. 

Roy couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure I’m going to be okay.” He wasn’t thinking about anything else but the way her hand felt on his sternum, and the way she looked up at him. Their bodies pressed against each other - 

She said again softer. “Just come back and we can go to an uninterrupted dinner.” 

“God,” he laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a thing!” 

Riza smiled and Roy smiled back. It wasn’t anything he could help, she brought it out of him so easily. The world with her was full of smiles. With her by his side, he was the happiest he’d been in a long time.

As he turned to take a step towards the door, her hands grasped his jacket tighter and pulled at him. Roy turned his head to ask her what was wrong when her lips met his. At first, Roy stood there with his eyes wide and in shock, but when he felt her pull him closer, and his bottom lip slip along hers, he pressed back. His eyes closed and his arms wrapped protectively around her, sealing them together. There was no guess to how long the kiss actually was. God knew, but Roy did not. 

When Riza did pull back, Roy was frozen with his head forward and his body aching for more. He just stared at her, his dark eyes begging for her to come back. She smelled like the lavender of her shampoo, and her lips tasted like the blueberries that were for breakfast. She leaned up once more to kiss him shortly, a peck of love, and whispered, “just come back.” 

Roy remained frozen, blinking at her. His brain was stuck in place, like a record. He couldn’t make himself function. His lips and hands were still wanting. His head swayed forwards slightly, eager for more, and his hands clutched at her waist tightly. He never wanted to let her go.

“I promise,” he managed to force out. His voice was hoarse. Every emotion inside his chest was threatening to burst forth. Love washed over him as he looked into her caramel eyes, feeling relief follow soon afterward. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb stroked over her cheekbone. Riza shivered but never broke eye contact with him. The pressure from her fingers increased against his sides. “I’ll come back to you, Riza.”

Her head dipped and she wrapped her arms around him tightly in a hug. Her head found his shoulder as Roy moved his hands to wrap around her back. Life was, once more, unfair as it tried to tear him away from this moment; but it did give him something to look forward to once it was all over. He would hold onto this moment with Riza, focus on it and hold it dear to his heart, forever. Whatever happened today, he would focus on getting back to her.

“Be safe,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“I thought you said I had nothing to worry about?” he chuckled lightly.

She pulled back, and Roy saw concern in her eyes. “Still, the sentiment remains the same.”

“Okay, I will. Just for you,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Before he could pull away, Riza grasped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him back to face her. “For both of us,” she replied firmly.

Roy turned before his body forced him to stay and grabbed the door handle. He opened it and took a step out, stopping for a moment, before continuing. It was now or never. Just a few hours until Edward could get the documents to the feds, just until help could arrive. He could do it. 

*          *          *

The lawn at the government buildings was still wet with dew as he marched through it. Maes stood at the top of a few stairs, watching him as he looked over the area. The man was just as diligent as Roy, just as observant. The big difference was who he was working for and the pension after 30 years. Roy was going to miss that pension but if he kept finding things for the Armstrong family, he might not need one. 

“All is quiet on the western front,” Maes said as Roy arrived next to him. “You don’t look like such shit. You must have finally gotten some sleep.” 

Roy nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I did.” He tried his best not to blush at the thought of waking up to Riza making breakfast.

Maes nodded and turned to lead the two of them up the stairs. "The building just opened. We can run through it and check for explosives. Marcoh should be here any minute. I heard they are starting just after 9.” 

“That gives us just over an hour!” 

“Then step it up, Mustang!” Maes grinned. “Don't tell me you’re getting old!” 

Roy frowned. He grumbled something before opening the doors to the senate. “Old my ass,” he mumbled. 

Row after row they walked. Roy ran his fingers under the desks while Maes checked under the chairs. Meticulously they searched every spot around Marcoh’s area. There was nothing. There wasn’t even dust. It made Roy even more nervous. A bomb would have been nice. Then the whole day would be called off… but the chaos would give Kimblee a chance… Roy grumbled. Nothing was going to make today okay. 

“What are you moaning about?” Maes laughed quietly from across the room.

“I’m not moaning,” Roy defended.

“You’re grumbling like an old man.”

Roy grit his teeth. First Ed with the grey hair comment, then Maes getting on about his age. 

“I’m not grumbling,” Roy snapped back.

“If you say so,” Maes replied, his voice taking on a sing-song lilt.

“I just…” Roy straightened, huffing in frustration. “I can’t seem to find anything.”

“That’s a good thing,” Maes countered. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, of course it is, but…” He sighed, checking over the last desk. “A bomb would've been easy.”

“Do you really want to find a bomb in here?” Maes asked.

“It would've made calling everything off easier. It would've made the protection detail much easier too.”

“Always looking for the easy way out,” Maes joked with a smirk.

Roy scowled at him.

“Relax, it'll be fine. This isn’t our first rodeo, and won’t be the last,” Maes replied, waving his hand carelessly in the air. “There’s not going to be a shootout in a public building.”

“Jean was shot in an open area,” Roy countered. “We don’t know what the thought process is here.”

“No, but if these people really want to remain discreet, they won’t start something like that,” Maes reiterated. He’d finished checking the chair and was now lounging against a desk, his hip popped to lean against it.

The door opened across the room and Roy, being on edge, turned sharply. Senator Marcoh stepped through, looking rather surprised at the two men’s presence. He froze in place, keeping a tight grip on files underneath his arm.

“Gentleman,” he greeted with uncertainty. His grip on the door increased.

“Senator Marcoh,” Maes greeted immediately. “I apologize for the sudden appearance,” he stated. Maes reached into his pocket for his badge and Roy straightened, approaching him as well. “My name is Detective Maes Hughes with the Federal Police Department. This is my colleague, Detective Roy Mustang.”

Both men flashed their badges at a rather bewildered Marcoh. “Oh, hello. Can… Can I help you at all?”

“We’re here to assist you today,” Roy intervened.

“Assist me how?” Marcoh questioned.

“Do you have an office where we could possibly discuss things?”

Marcoh shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Not here.”

“This room will be alright then for now, won’t it Detective?” Maes questioned Roy directly.

“Of course.”

Marcoh walked forwards, placing his paperwork on the desk with his name plate attached to it. He shifted through them all, getting them into some kind of order as quickly as he could. “I apologize, this will only take a second. I’m happy to assist you, gentlemen, but I hope you can understand that I have a long day of meetings ahead of me and I need to be organized.”

“Of course, Sir,” Roy reassured him. “Take all the time you need.” He watched the doors, readying for the next person to come through. It was a tight area though, and it made Roy incredibly nervous. If Kimblee did come through the doors, there’d be nowhere to go. Maes must have felt the same way because when Marcoh stood Maes pointed him out the hall. 

“If you please,” he motioned. 

“What's this about,” Marcoh asked, concerned, not expecting to be removed from the room. 

“There’s been a security concern,” Maes answered in a hushed voice. 

“What?” Marcoh stopped in his steps. “About me?” He seemed doubtful.

Roy nodded. “Yes, we believe someone is targeting you, Sir.”

“What for?” he asked, incredulous.

“About this proposition for the west, concerning the land Bradley is interested in.”

Marcoh frowned. “I’m not happy with it, I admit, but… What comes to pass, comes to pass. I will continue to fight for bettering our country regardless.”

“That’s what we’re worried about, Sir.”

“Right,” Marcoh demanded, stopping in his tracks. Maes and Roy turned to face him. Frustration bloomed in Roy’s chest. They needed to move and get him somewhere safe, and he was halting that progress. “Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Sir, we’re trying to, but it’s not safe here -”

Marcoh frowned suddenly. His mouth parted, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he continued to stare past them, even craning his neck to look over their shoulders. Then, his face fell.

Roy turned first, before Maes, and saw Kimblee. He was walking towards them, smiling. The predatory expression on his face reminded Roy of a shark, slowly moving its way towards its prey. Without thinking, Roy reached for his holster but didn’t even get close.

Kimblee’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly, painfully so, and there were two muffled pops. Roy felt himself being sucker punched in the side in quick succession. Two gunshots.

He gasped, eyes flying open as his knees buckled. His legs jerked out to the side from the force of the hits and on instinct, Roy reached out as he fell, but Kimblee’s arm fell through his hand. He collapsed onto the floor as pain blossomed through his torso. His body hit the ground hard, his head bouncing off the tile. A groan left him, rounded off with another gasp of pain. His breathing was erratic as panic consumed every fibre of his being. To his own ears, Roy’s breaths sounded awful, choked and loud.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. There was another gunshot, much louder this time, and there was shouting, there was screaming, but it all faded out into white noise as pain enveloped Roy completely. He’d been shot, twice, in the side. Kimblee walked right up to him and shot him at point blank range.

Roy gasped as his body convulsed. His shoulders were trying to round in on themselves to protect his body as he lay on the cold floor, but any movement made more pain explode all over his abdomen. He could feel the warmth of his blood around him, which he thought was odd at first, till he saw the red. He rolled on the floor, groaning weakly as he begged the world to give him a reprieve from this pain. He still felt like he couldn’t breathe. Roy was choking on everything, tasting the iron from his blood on his tongue.

“Roy!” The shout broke through everything as his mind shut down, unable to focus on much else as his body reacted to having two bullets forced into it.

Roy’s eyes were unfocussed as his head rolled uncontrollably to try and see who was calling to him. Maes’ face appeared over his, his expression full of worry. He felt Mae's roll him on his back, weight being pressed on his side. He turned his head to shout something to someone, but Roy lost track of his friend’s features. His face melted back into the grey of his vision.

He was losing it. His limbs were relaxing and his body was slowing in its shaking. His legs slid out on the floor and had stopped twitching so much. His arms were becoming heavy by his sides as the grey colour at the edges of his vision was replaced with black. All Roy could see in his mind’s eye was Riza’s face.

He’d broken his promise to her. He’d failed her. The pain had numbed his body, but he still felt that failure settle heavily inside his chest. His heart hurt and he whimpered. He wanted to see her again… Wanted to lose himself in those whiskey eyes that he adored so much. He wanted to kiss her and love her like she deserved… Roy had realised in her bathroom that morning that he loved her. He should've told her. Should have said something. Now, he was going to die, after such an incredible morning he’d had with her? Life truly was cruel.

“Hold on, Roy,” a disembodied voice called to him. There was a hard pressure on his side. He felt his body move as the force increased, but his mind felt detached from it all. He no longer felt pain, just a numbing sensation all over his body.

Roy wanted to hold on. He’d meant it when he told Riza he would, just for her, but it was becoming too hard. His lids were begging to close, pleading for him to give in. If he closed his eyes, he was sure he’d see Riza more clearly… ‘one last hurrah’ echoed inside his mind. How naïve he’d been back then. He didn’t want one last hurrah. He wanted to get up and go to her, just like he’d vowed he would.

But instead, everything just went dark.

[ezatluba]

Alligators make terrible pets: 'You're basically dealing with a dinosaur.'

New Mexico officials seized this seven-foot American alligator (seen here at his new home, the ABQ BioPark Zoo) from a private home, where he'd been kept illegally for a decade.

A rise in the abandoned reptiles around the United States—including two recently found in a Kansas creek—has raised concern among experts.

JULY 31, 2020

Something unusual was lurking in Wildcat Creek, in Manhattan, Kansas, a small college town on the prairie. In June, townsfolk spotted two American alligators swimming in a body of water better known for reptiles such as garter snakes and painted turtles.

Further investigation revealed that a thief—still at large—had stolen the gators from a local pet shop and released them into the creek. Rescuers set humane traps to catch the animals, but the female, Pebbles, died after falling into the water inside one of these traps. The male, Beauregard, eluded capture until late July, when a construction worker caught and returned him to his owners at Manhattan Reptile World, according to their Facebook page.

The two gators, kept at Manhattan Reptile World under a state zoo permit, had previously been illegal pets, living in a pool and a bathtub in Manhattan and Kansas City, according to a news release. (Learn more about why people want exotic pets.)

The incident—particularly the female’s untimely death—highlights the often problematic, yet not widely known, phenomenon of keeping pet American alligators, which are native to the U.S. Southeast, experts say. (Read more about the exotic pet trade.)

Formerly endangered, American alligators reached their nadir in the 1950s because of overhunting and habitat loss, but conservation efforts returned the species to healthy numbers by the mid-1980s. Weighing up to a thousand pounds, these behemoths live in wetlands, rivers, lakes, and swamps, feeding primarily on fish, turtles, snakes, and small mammals. (Watch alligators on the hunt.)

Official numbers on how many American alligators are kept as pets don’t exist, but some states have estimates. There are likely 5,000 in Michigan; at least 50 in Phoenix, Arizona; and as many as 52 of the prehistoric reptiles are surrendered to the city of Chicago each year.

American Alligator, Alligator mississippiensis

TYPE: Reptile

DIET: Carnivore

GROUP NAME: Congregation

AVERAGE LIFE SPAN IN THE WILD: 35-50 years

SIZE: 10-15 feet

WEIGHT: 1,000#

In recent years, wildlife officials across the nation have noticed an uptick in alligators abandoned in parks, creeks, and other public places. In 2019, six pet alligators went on the loose in Detroit (one was shot to death), and in August, the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish seized an alligator from a Santa Fe man who had kept the animal illegally for 10 years.

Gator laws

Ownership laws for alligators vary by state and municipality. While keeping them is legal in Michigan, parts of Detroit ban private ownership. In other states, such as New Mexico, pet gators are illegal without a permit, and in Arizona and New York, private ownership is banned.

Such regulations don’t faze many collectors who covet palm-size baby gators. A quick search for pet alligators turns up dozens of websites that sell juvenile alligators for anywhere from $150 to $15,000 (for an albino animal). Most of these young reptiles come from legal alligator breeders in the Southeast who sell the animals wholesale to vendors.

The black market trade of these animals has long been “a big problem,” according to Matt Eschenbrenner, director of animal care and conservation at the Great Plains Zoo and Delbridge Museum of Natural History, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It’s likely that most of these animals originate in Florida, says Russ Johnson, president of the Phoenix Herpetological Society.

Florida has strict alligator farming laws and inspection protocols, but not all breeders play by the rules. In 2018, the state reported 21 active alligator farms that produced legal hides and meat. Not present on this list are unlicensed operations that illegally breed gators as pets. (Read about the largest seizure to date of illegally caught reptiles.)

Bone breakers

Most gator pet owners are unprepared to care for an adult animal that can reach 14 feet and live 80 years, Johnson says. When that cute baby gets bigger and less manageable, the owner faces a real conundrum. “It’s not like owning a cat or dog that will return love,” he adds. “You’re basically dealing with a dinosaur.”

To capture their prey, alligators are armed with strong jaws lined with up to 80 teeth. If captive gators don’t get enough food—a common problem—they can get cranky and bite, easily breaking through human bone. “It’s not the alligator’s fault,” Johnson says. “The alligator was just being an alligator.”

This happens, he says, because feeding an alligator is expensive. Adults need nourishment such as whole chickens or pork with the bone, and Johnson says he pays about $150 a month to feed each adult alligator at his rescue facility.

Alligators also need a large pool of water to thrive. Bathtubs and kiddie pools, preferred by many pet owners, aren’t good enough, Eschenbrenner says. Buoyancy relieves the weight of an alligator’s internal organs, and if the water isn’t deep enough for a gator to float, it can suffer pain and even die from the pressure of its own internal weight. Plentiful water helps alligators feel safe and calm in their environment, he adds.

The right temperature is a requirement too. As natives of the U.S. Southeast, alligators are used to living in a warm-to-hot environment, and pet owners may need to use several heat lamps to keep the cold-blooded animals warm, Eschenbrenner says.

Health woes

Because many people keep pet alligators illegally, the animals miss out on routine veterinary care. As a result, serious health problems may go unchecked for years.

Eschenbrenner recalls one alligator rescued from a home in New Mexico that had been kept in a kiddie pool for a decade. The animal was obese, but even so, poor nutrition had stunted its growth and caused dental problems—it was unable to fully close its mouth because the top and bottom jaws were misaligned.

Many pet alligators develop weakened bones because of a nutrient-poor diet, such as hamburger meat or deboned chicken. One alligator rescued in Arizona was so low on calcium that its jaws were “like a rubber band,” Johnson says. Another was so malnourished that it broke its back leg while trying to escape rescuers.

Unnatural surfaces can be harmful: One alligator raised on a glass platform had a disfigured skeleton because of improperly settled bones.

Considering the difficulties of keeping an alligator, much less a healthy one, it’s no surprise that when the animals become too difficult to care for, their owners abandon or kill them—or surrender them to the authorities, Johnson says.

Good homes for gators

There are people trying to make life better for abandoned alligators. For example, the Phoenix Herpetological Society, in Arizona, provides a natural, semi-wild habitat for 15 rescued alligators at its 2.5-acre sanctuary—along with a number of other abandoned, abused, and confiscated reptiles. The facility, which has an on-site reptile clinic and research center, aims to find permanent homes for many of its animals, often sending them to other reputable sanctuaries around the country.

Female crocs lay their eggs in clutches of 20 to 60. After the eggs have incubated for about three months, the mother opens the nest and helps her young out of their shells.

Alligators' heads are shorter and wider than crocodiles'. Although heavy and slow on land, they can ambush their prey from the water by lunging at speeds of 30 miles (48 kilometers) per hour.

Nile crocodiles are the largest crocodilians in Africa, sometimes reaching 20 feet (6 meters) long.

Saved from the brink of extinction, the American alligator now thrives in its native habitat: the swamps and wetlands of the southeastern United States.

Critically endangered, the prehistoric-looking American crocodile struggles to survive in pockets of shrinking habitat.

The largest crocodilians on Earth, saltwater crocs, or "salties," are excellent swimmers and have often been spotted far out at sea.

American alligators are found in freshwater coastal wetlands across the southeastern United States, from Louisiana to the Carolinas.

Mother Nile crocodiles lay their eggs in a buried nest, opening it when high-pitched squeaks are heard from within. The sex of baby crocs is dependent upon the temperature of the nest rather than genetics.

The best solution, Eschenbrenner says, is not to own an alligator in the first place. “I would never have an animal like this as a pet, period.”

A good option for alligator enthusiasts is to appreciate them from a distance by supporting conservation groups or a certified zoo that keeps the animals properly for public education, he says.

Owning one is “doing an injustice to this animal,” Eschenbrenner says. “You’re causing it more harm than good.”

Wildlife Watch is an investigative reporting project between National Geographic Society and National Geographic Partners focusing on wildlife crime and exploitation. Read more Wildlife Watch stories here, and learn more about National Geographic Society’s nonprofit mission at nationalgeographic.org. Send tips, feedback, and story ideas to NGP.WildlifeWatch@natgeo.com.

[dearyallfrommatt]

Never Give A Fascist An Even Break.

 So you’ve probably seen the above floating around Twitter, maybe it’s made its way to Tumblr, I don’t know. In a nutshell, it’s a recording of alt-right butthole Richard Spencer having a full-on meltdown after being escorted away by police from the “Unite The Right” rally in Charlottesville, VA, back in 2017 that resulted in the death of activist Heather Heyer.

 What’s particularly interesting about this audio, about a minute in length, is how unambiguously it shows just what Spencer really is and what he champions, especially when he faces any sort of resistance. Apparently, this will come as a shock to some people. I know, right?

 Previously, Spencer had been normalized in the mainstream press like The New York Times as a fresh new kind of hate monger, one that kept his cool and looked sharp doing it, a Nazi you could have a drink with. CNN, the network so loathed by the very people who think Spencer is worth listening to, had him on as a guest as recently as this past July. Even liberal magazine Mother Jones, in a stunning display of poor judgement, referred to him as a “dapper white nationalist”. We have to listen, they said. Marketplace of ideas or something like that, they said. Or maybe it was free speech, I don’t know.

 And of course, everyone has seen him take that well-deserved punch last January that launched a thousand memes, which apparently hurt his delicate feels more than the sock to the jaw. Even so, by October he was speaking at the University of Florida, my alma mater for whatever that’s worth, as the president of the National Policy Institute, a “think tank” based in Arlington, VA. He wasn’t invited by the university, though. Indeed, they denounced Spencer because he’s a fascist douchenozzle and a smelly racist, but being a state university they had to rent him the space and just had to charge students and alumni up to $500,000 for added security. 

 Amusingly enough, this audio was released by former ally and two-bit grifter Milo Yiannopolous. Formerly good buddies, the two had a falling out after Milo went all pro-pedophile, blowing his con and causing American conservatives to abandoned their Gay Best Friend. Milo’s fall from grace has seen him recently begging for money and losing book deals while pissing on his former fanboys.

 Here’s a quote from Spencer’s whine. Trigger Warning: All sorts of racism and antisemitism.

“I win! They fucking lose!” he continued, before railing against Jews and non-whites, whom he said should be subservient to people like himself. “Little fucking kikes, they get ruled by people like me,” he snarled. “Little fucking octoroons! … My ancestors fucking enslaved those fucking pieces of fucking shit! I rule the fucking world! Those pieces of shit get ruled by people like me!” 

 Well... what can you say? Are you really surprised? You shouldn’t be. Though tech-savvy and media smart (supposedly), Spencer and his alt-right are the same foul racists, antisemitic poltroons, and general bigots we’ve seen from the Ku Klux Klan and the American Nazi Party and Christian Identity adherents and John Birchers and any manner of human garbage that has infested the American soul since the country started. 

 It should be noted, of course, that this has yet to be independently verified (as of 2 a.m. Monday morning) and, naturally, we shouldn’t believe Milo goofy ass as far as we can throw him. Nevertheless, whoever’s voice that is, that’s what white supremacy says. That’s what Richard Spencer has been espousing since he broke on the scene, even if he said it nicer and calmer  and more controlled manner than that. Well-spoken racist dickbags are still racist dickbags.

 Even though this was released late Sunday evening, so we don’t have the corporate media’s take on this particular egg on their face, wingnuts are already starting to cut their losses. Sleazy wank stain Jack Prosobiec is trying to distance himself and blame everything on Jake Tapper. Well, Bumble Jack, believe you me, there’s plenty of blame to go around, so buckle up. Your time is going to come eventually, I imagine.

 Now, children, what can we learn from all of this? Well, for one, when someone tells you what they are, believe them. If we, as a culture, reject bigotry, white nationalism, white supremacy, antisemitism, general hatred, and all the rest like we say we do, why should we even give cheap rats like Spencer a second look? After the aforementioned suckerpunch, conservatives and not a few liberals wrung their hands and clutched their pearls at the incivility. “Why must we engage in violence,” they mewled. “Can’t we defeat his ideas with discourse and debate?”

 See, here’s the thing: his ideas have already been discredited and discarded, so everything the geek says should be disregarded no matter how sharp his suit is or how friendly is. This may come as a shock to you, fellow honkies, but there is no “debate” with someone who wants to eliminate rights for large segments of the population or, if they’re being honest, just full on eliminate those segments of the population. In the ‘90s, we called Richard Spencer “David Duke”. This ain’t the first rodeo with this sort of clown.

 We owe him no consideration and no debate. Read your Karl Popper, specifically the Paradox of Tolerance, if you need more persuasion. However, after treating these guys as the pitiful butt of jokes and guilt-free villains in video games at best and the outright scum of the Earth at worst, I really can’t understand why it’d behoove us to even bother.

 I know I’m not the only one to say it, but Donald Trump did not bring us Richard Spencer. When it comes to America’s bigotry against historically oppressed groups, he is merely a symptom, not the cause of the disease. Indeed, it could be argued that Richard Spencer - the people who agree with him outright or just those who tacitly allow the sufferance of his ideology - brought us Donald Trump. Way, way too many people were just waiting on someone in “charge” to give them the okay; treating guys like Spencer seriously helped encourage that environment

 The scales should not be falling from our eyes on this one. We really, really should know better. We shouldn’t allow the corporate media to get away with shit like this. We all share a little guilt on this one. Next time, don’t be so easy on complete bastards, okay?