#Sitting under the carport will not kill you. I‚ on the other hand‚

[r1ngfinger]

the local persecutor & gatekeeper have teamed up what chaos shall they cause

[notyetneedcoffee]

Can’t Run

Steve Rogers is a wanted man. He broke the Accords, broke the law, and is still trying to do what’s right. . . even if it may get him killed.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Cannon level violence in this chapter, NSFW in future

New series. Others can be found on my Steve Masterlist

 Enough of the cold night air seeped into your old house to prompt you to pull on a heavy sweatshirt and wool socks. It’s not that you couldn’t turn the heater up, you just did see the need. If you could live in a cold tent through an Afghanistan winter, an east Cascade Mountain cold snap wouldn’t kill you.

Gary, your Belgium Malinois, curled up in front of the wood stove on his dog bed. You gave him a quick scratch on your way to the kitchen. The lights were low. All the devices were off. You just needed some quiet time. Maybe a beer would be good, too.

Before you could pull open the refrigerator, your dog moved past you to the rear door. He moved silently, hackles up. Unusual. Your training kicked in and you pushed further back into the shadows. Moving closer to the door, you tried to look through the sliver between your blinds out into the darkness of your carport. Something moved, something man height.

You swore internally as you slipped back to you living room and pulled the P320 from the hidden gun case in your console table by the front entry. Slipping your feet into the muck boots by the door, you quietly stepped out into the cold through the front door. You left Gary in the house, knowing that if you yelled for him he would go through the flimsy dog door. Hopefully, it was just a prowler. No need to be sued for a dog bite by someone who was trying to steal your chainsaw.

Peeking around the corner you saw your car door open and the hood up. ‘Good luck, asshole,’ you thought. ‘That thing isn’t going to turn over until the new starter comes by FedEx tomorrow.’

You stayed back far enough that he couldn’t easily turn on you, but close enough to see well. “Don’t want to shoot you…”

He moved so fast, a blur of dark movement rushed toward your face. You fired twice before a hard hit sent your gun flying. Instinct took over. Your foot made contact. You went low and inside, catching a glancing swing on the shoulder. Your elbow smashed into his gut, knocking him back.

His face came into focus. Holy shit, Steve Rogers.

You jumped back, putting your hands up.

He frowned, hard, before a groan of pain escaped his lips and he slipped to ground.

Blood seeped from his torso, from his thigh, and his shoulder. He was already wounded. You stepped a little closer to the man desperately trying to stay sitting up. “What the hell?”

“Dammit.” He muttered just as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.

Shit. You looked around. There was nothing but darkness. Where the hell did Captain Frickin’ America come from and why was he bleeding out in your carport? Shit. You couldn’t let that happen. Rushing inside, you went for the medical go-bag you kept in the closet.

“Gary, get back.” The dog had slipped out when you came inside, he was sniffing over Rogers. At your order, he sat. “I wish you could help me with this.” You spoke to the dog as you began to cut the material away from his wounds.

With well-practiced precision, you cleaned the wounds and applied trauma dressings. It took effort, but you rolled him over to look for any through and throughs or rear entry wounds. He had one more on his left shoulder.

After stopping that leak, you pulled out an old green canvas tent. There was no way you could carry him, but you couldn’t leave him where he was either. Folding the single person tent into a quick litter you tucked it under his side before rolling him over onto his back.

“Okay, Cap.” You stood up, panting a little. “What to do with you?”

But you already knew the answer. It took a lot of tugging, a lot of swearing, but you finally got him moved into the spare bedroom. At least, to the floor of the spare room. The hardwood floors made it a little easier, but you were sweating by the time you were done.

Going back to get your bag, you were thankful for the supplies. The Captain looked ashen and extremely hypotensive. Cutting open the right sleeve of his uniform, you opened an IV kit and pulled out a bag of saline. Even bleeding out the man had great veins. You hung the bag off the bedpost over his head. He would do better with plasma, but you could at least help a little to get his volume up while you figured out what to do.

Your dog whined from the door. “What do I do, Gary? I shot Cap. It’s not like I can call 911. He’s a fugitive. I’m not going to be the one to turn him in.”

“N’hospital.” He murmured.

“Captain?” You leaned over him. “Can you hear me?”

“No.” His eye opened but didn’t focus. “N’hospitals.”

“Okay. No hospitals. Got it.”

Suddenly Gary bolted for the front window. Someone was coming down the drive.

Remembering your gun, you shut the guest room door and dashed to the back of the house. Cold rain had started pelting down, practically sideways. At least it began to wash away the blood. You grabbed your Sig from the driveway and the bandage wrappers. Stuffing the paper in the trash, you heard the car pull up.

Tucking the cold weapon in to your jeans, you took a deep breath and looked at yourself. The ratty black sweat shirt hid any blood and you’d wiped your hands clean. A knock came at the door. Gary barked, aggressively. He didn’t like whomever was at the door.

Three men in uniforms stood at the door. They looked military, but had no visible insignia. You only opened the door a few inches, but enough to let them see you holding back the big dog.

“What is it?” You asked, not bothering to be friendly.

“Ma’am,” One tipped his head. “We’re going door to door looking for a suspect. Male, six foot one, blond or possibly brown hair.”

“Haven’t seen anyone, but something set my dog off like crazy about an hour ago. I thought it was elk.” Living in the woods, you saw them all the time. “He took off, barking like mad, but came back a few minutes later.”

“So, you haven’t seen anyone?”

“Nope.” Gary gave a growl and you tugged on his collar. “This guy would let me know if anyone were around. He’s not fond of men, as you can see.”

He stared at you a moment longer, before nodding. “Alright, ma’am. If you see anything, do not approach. Just dial 911.”

“Got it. Goodnight.”

As you shut the door, Gary instantly settled down and trotted off down the hall. You watched the men get in the car and leave down your drive. They didn’t stop even when they turned onto the main road at the end of your long drive.

You went back to check on your patient, opening the door slowly. The Captain had slid himself up against the wall and was half sitting up. Looking panicked, cornered, and dangerous, somehow his strength was coming back frightening fast.

“Hey there, Captain.” You said softly. “You okay? I mean, I know you’re hurt, but you’re not going to try and kill me, are you?”

“Who’s here?” His voice cracked.

“Just me.” You opened the door all the way and your dog laid down in the hall.

“No.” He frowned. “I heard, heard you talking to a man.”

“Some men came to the door. I lied and sent them away. It’s just me here.”

He shook his head. “Earlier.”

“I was just talking to my dog, Gary.”

“What?” He focused on you fully, face incredulous. “Who names a dog Gary?”

“An asshat brother with the intent to torment me for the rest of my life.” You knelt down, to be eye to eye with him. He huffed a half laugh. “Did I add to your wounds?”

“Um, don’t think so.” He swallowed and lifted his right arm. “You patch me up?”

“Yeah. It was either that or have you bleed out on my drive. Shitty job trying to steal my car, by the way.”

“Sorry.” His eye drooped. “Why didn’t you call me in?”

“We’re soldiers. You’re THE soldier. There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that.” You moved a little closer. “Any chance you’ve got enough strength to help me get you on the bed?”

“Soldier, huh?”

“Army medic, was anyway.” You came a little close and rearranged his IV line. “Good thing, too. You were banged up. I can’t believe you’re talking to me, actually.”

“I shake it off pretty quick.” He groaned as he tried to sit up. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You carefully helped him up an onto the bed. “I’m gonna take your boots off and cut these bloody clothes away. That okay?”

He laid back, panting, and gave a little nod. As you worked on his boots, he got the pain back under control and watched you. “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

“Near as I can figure I’m harboring a wanted man.” You grinned. “Best to have plausible deniability.”

“Fair enough.” Steve stiffened as you cut your way up his pant leg, getting close to his hip.

“Captain,” You paused. “I’m going to do my best to respect your modesty, but I’ve got to get these off.”

He frowned again, but nodded. You figured casual conversation would set him at ease.

“So,” you started. “Gary seems to like you. He doesn’t like most strangers. Are you a dog person?”

“I love dogs.” His lip curved up. “Never had one of my own, but yeah.”

He groaned as you pulled the remnants of his pants from beneath him. He wore black boxer briefs and you did your very best not admire his muscular thighs as you tucked a quilt around him. “It’s pretty amazing you’re even conscious. Is healing part of the whole super soldier thing?”

“Most times,” He ground his teeth together as you got the pieces of his uniform top off. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t painful, though.”

“I can only imagine. I don’t have anything very strong, but I might have one or two painkillers left from rehab after my last surgery. You’re welcome to them. Or a stiff drink?”

“Won’t help,” he huffed a pained laugh. “It would take more than you have, and I could down a bottle and not get drunk. More of that super soldier stuff.”

“Well, that sucks. Did they hide that disclaimer in the fine print or something?”

He laughed, and winced. “Oh, stop that. It hurts to laugh.”

“Sorry.” You grinned and bundled up his ruined clothes. “Any friendlies going to be looking for you?”

“Not for a couple days.”  

You could see him fading fast. “Okay then, you rest. I’m going to get rid of this and bring you something to drink, something to eat too.”

By the time you returned with a large bottle of water, a turkey sandwich, and a pair of pajama bottoms your ex-boyfriend left at your house, the Captain was out cold.

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[collecting-stories]

Shane pt. 2 - c. 17 - Daryl Dixon

Summary: Shane causes trouble but nothing that stops you from being with Daryl.

A/N: It's Norman Reedus’ bday so I had to get this posted tonight.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The first time you told him that you liked him, Daryl’s response had been instantaneous. He knew how he felt about you but he also knew that getting into a relationship with you wouldn’t be good, for you at least. He didn’t want you to deal with the way that people would talk about you, the way he already knew they were when you were just hanging around him. 

Going to your graduation party wasn’t his best idea, he knew that too. But he thought about that invite all night, the way you’d smiled at him when you got out of the truck after he drove you home, asking again if he would come to the party. He’d avoided any other invitation you had offered and yet, for some reason, he couldn’t avoid this one.  

And when you kissed him, he didn’t stop you.  

It was the only time in his life that Daryl could remember doing something simply because he wanted to. He liked you and when you kissed him, he let himself like you without thinking about everyone else. Which was for the worst obviously, because the second he let himself focus on only the two of you, everything went to hell.  

He couldn’t stand Shane; the guy was a loser and always had been. The fact that you had wasted your time on him was unbelievable sometimes.  

“Shane, just go back up...I’ll be there in a minute.” You tried once more to get Shane to leave, to halt the growing tension in its path.  

“So, you’re seeing Dixon now?” Shane asked, looking passed Daryl to you.  

“Not really any of your business.” You snapped.  

“I already told you, whatever’s going on with you, I still care. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.” He replied and you almost laughed.  

“Rich coming from you,” you muttered. “Just go back up to the house, Shane.”  

“You know what,” Shane said, obviously ready to get one more thing off his chest before he left, “my family’s lived across from the Dixons for a while now. I know all about ‘em.” He said it as if it was a threat, looking over at Daryl as if it could uncover some great secret that you didn’t know about.  

“Good to know.” You pulled on the sleeve of Daryl’s jacket, getting him to look at you instead of Shane, “can you just take me home, I don’t care about the stupid cake.”  

“That’s fine,” Daryl nodded, “go ‘head and get in.”  

Before he could move out of the way and let you get in the cab, Shane grabbed your arm, trying to pull you toward him, “hey! I’m not done talking to you!”  

Just as he yanked your arm Daryl shoved him back, the motion making you lose your footing and fall on the grass, landing on your hip. You pushed yourself up in time to catch Daryl tackling Shane to the ground, knocking him into one of the lanterns.  

He punched him, fist slamming into his nose and Shane practically screaming at the feeling of his nose likely breaking. He tried to push Daryl off him but it was no use, Daryl continuing to punch him as they wrestled in the dirt.  

Annette had the sense to mention sending Shane down to get you and Rick, who had stopped by with Michonne to congratulate you and hopefully get a slice of cake, asked exactly where you were, knowing things weren’t good between you two. He and Michonne were heading down the path just as Daryl tackled Shane. They picked up speed, practically running as Shane got the upper hand, locking his arm around Daryl’s neck in a chokehold. You had managed to get up off the ground, kicking Shane’s back and throwing him off enough that he let go of Daryl, who rolled away from him and stood up.  

Rick grabbed Shane, pushing him away from Daryl.  

“Walk it off Shane!” Rick snapped. You imagined that was his stern Officer Grimes voice.  

“We were just talking.”  

“Like hell,” Daryl said, “touch her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”  

“Hey,” you grabbed his arm again, pulling away from Shane. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” you promised, trying to put your hands on his face and turn his head to look at you. Your eyes met in the dark, “It’s okay.”  

“Daryl,” Michonne started to say and he nodded his head, already knowing where she was going.  

“I’m leaving.” He said, pulling away from you. “I’ll see ya.” He promised.  

You watched him swing the passenger door shut as he walked around the other side of the truck, climbing in and backing out the driveway. Michonne was standing with you, Rick walking Shane back up to the house and away from you, dissipating the tension of the moment and leaving you in the aftermath of it.  

“Looks like you keep finding me after fights huh?” You said, looking over at Michonne, trying to make light of the situation.  

“You sure know how to pick ‘em.” Michonne replied.  

“To be fair, Daryl’s the only one I’m ‘picking’. Shane’s a douche, he just can’t take a hint.” You said.  

“So you and Daryl are dating then?” She asked, putting her arm around you to help you walk up the path now that Rick and Shane were far enough away. “God, I can’t remember a time he’s ever dated anyone.”  

“I don’t know if we’re...dating but-” you groaned, pain shooting up your leg as you miss stepped.  

Michonne gripped your arm, helping you get your balance. “Are you okay?” She asked, trying to look you over. The light on the path was limited to the lanterns, not enough that Michonne could clearly see though, “let's get you up to the house.”  

You walked carefully the rest of the way up to the house, ignoring some partygoers as Michonne brought you into the house, pulling a chair into the kitchen and instructing you to sit down so that she could get ice. The screen door banged open, Maggie and Beth coming inside, “I saw Michonne bring you in here, what happened?”  

“I’m fine,” you lied, shifting away from both of them so that they couldn’t see the dirt on the side of your dress or the hint of a bruise forming that was visible under the hem. You knew you should’ve been focused on the throbbing pain that was running through your hip but all you were really focused on was Daryl and if Shane freaking out on the two of you would change anything that had happened moments before. If he had the chance to overthink the kiss would he regret it and go back to trying to avoid you?  

“We’ll be right out,” Michonne promised, managing to kick the Greene girls out of their own kitchen, closing the screen door behind them. She was no stranger to news in King County and how fast it traveled, the last thing you or Daryl needed was anyone hearing about the fight he and Shane had gotten in. “Here’s some ice,” she offered you a bag of ice cubes wrapped in a dish cloth, pressing it against your hip as you took hold of it, “should help with the bruising. Can you tell me what happened?”  

“This like an interrogation or something?” You asked, crossing your legs to relieve the pain in your hip, taking weight off it as you shifted in the chair.  

“I just wanna understand what happened,” she explained, grabbing another chair and sitting down across from you.  

“I was down at the barn with Daryl when Shane came down, said Annette sent him to get me for cake. I told him I’d be right up and he started saying shit to me and Daryl...he gave us trouble a little while ago,” you said.  

“What happened then?”  

“Nothing, I was at the gas station. We got in the truck and left.” You replied.  

“You were with Daryl again?”  

“Shane doesn’t like that I’m not still head over heels in love with him.” You said, “he’s got something against Daryl too, doesn’t think I should be hanging around him.”  

“I’m sure a lot of people are thinking that.” Michonne admitted, knowing what people said about her friend.  

“That’s cause they don’t know anything about Daryl, they just like not liking him.” You snapped, looking away.  

“I’m not arguing with you.” She replied. “I been friends with Daryl for a little while now, he’s one of the best ones. Look, let me drive you home?” She offered.  

“I’m staying with Tara this weekend,” you mentioned, “we drove here in my jeep, she’s got the keys.”  

“Okay, wait here, I’ll go find her.”  

Before Michonne could get all the way out the kitchen door you called her, catching her attention. You turned in the chair, twisting to look at her, “do you think Daryl will still talk to me? I mean, he’s been saying we shouldn’t be together and now we kinda...finally got together...and Shane fucked it up.”  

“I don’t think Daryl’s going anywhere.” Michonne replied. “I’ll be right back, you ice that hip.”  

-

Despite you most likely driving Tara crazy all Saturday night into Sunday morning, she didn’t say anything negative about you and Daryl. She suggested that you talk to him, look for him at the autoshop or his house and, technically, you knew that was the best solution but you were nervous. Worried that Shane losing it on the two of you would push Daryl away from you and now that you had him, now that he wasn’t fighting it, you didn’t want your relationship with him to be over before it started.  

You drug your feet over it until Sunday night when you finally drove to his house, parking on the street and walking down the short driveway to the carport. “Did I know you had a bike?” You asked, catching sight of Daryl crouched down in front of a motorcycle, or something resembling one, that was up on supports.  

He turned to look at you, standing up and wiping his hands on the rag in the back pocket of his pants. “Been working on it for a couple months, had ta finish yer jeep first,” he replied, glancing passed your shoulder to the jeep sitting on the curb.

“Are you building it?” You asked, noticing the absence of tires on it.  

“Yeah, trying ta get it up an’ running.” He watched you walk closer, stepping up beside him to look at the bike closer. Daryl didn’t give much thought to what he did next, he put his hand on your arm, just above your elbow, drawing your attention to him. When you turned your head he leaned in, kissing you. “Sorry,” he apologized when he pulled away, “just wanted ta do that again.”

“That’s fine with me.” You smiled, kissing him one more time. “I was worried you’d throw in the towel on me after that whole mess with Shane.” You admitted.  

Daryl shrugged, walking over to the mini fridge and grabbing himself a beer, “he’s a prick, always has been. Don’t bother me. Ya alright though? Michonne said ya got hurt?”

“I bruised my hip,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. “Think it was when I fell.”

“Ya alright?” He asked again, “ya want me ta look at it?”  

“You want me to take my pants off...”

“Ain’t what I was saying.” Daryl was quick to explain, the red tinting his cheeks.

“I know, I just like bothering you.” You replied.  

“Ya are a bother,” he said, taking a sip of his beer, “I’ll give ya that.” When he walked back over to the bike, laying his bottle on the ground near it, you dragged the chair over closer to him so you could watch, beginning to tell him about the cake that Annette had sent you home with, offering him the piece you brought with you. 

-

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[ginger-and-mint]

No Room

This is a fanfic I wrote in honor of Tiny’s extremely adorable werewolf!Elijah, with the goal of using a combination of Tummies and her Other Kink to get her goat. Hope you all enjoy! C;

- - -

“Elijah? Elijah? Where did you get to, you bastard?”

Micah tried to keep his rising apprehension out of his voice as he tramped through the underbrush, following the tracks he’d left an hour ago in the frozen snow. There was no need to panic, he told himself. Elijah was probably fine. This deep into winter, there would be no hunters or hikers up on the mountain and no animals out and about that would stand a chance of fighting a giant wolf and winning. The likelihood that Elijah had gotten into serious trouble were slim to none.

But the thing was, it didn’t usually take the wolf more than half an hour to eat his fill after a hunt. Once Elijah had brought down the deer he’d been stalking and started chowing down, Micah had left him to it and headed back to the cabin to warm up his freezing fingers and toes. He had kept one eye out the window, expecting at any moment to see a pony-sized wolf trotting laboriously but happily out of the forest with a red-stained muzzle and a swollen belly swaying under him. But half an hour had passed, and then forty minutes, and then fifty. Eventually, Micah’s worry had outweighed his patience, and he bundled back up to go out looking for his friend.

The snow made it easy for Micah to retrace his steps back to the spot where Elijah had made the kill. All that was left of the carcass was a patch of red-stained snow and a jumbled pile of bones, gnawed clean. The big wolf was nowhere to be seen, but leading away from the kill was a set of fresh paw prints, heading back in the direction of the cabin.

Worry needling at him, Micah sucked down a lungful of cold air. “Elijah?” he shouted. “Where are you?”

In the echoing silence that followed, Micah caught the sound of a distant canine whine.

“Elijah!” Micah took off running, crunching as fast as he could through the snow and dead underbrush, following the paw prints. “Elijah! Where are you, you bastard?”

The distant whine came again, faintly, and fear bit into Micah’s heart. Why isn’t he howling? Surely even Elijah’s wolf instincts would tell him that a louder sound would help his friend locate him faster. Was Elijah hurt?

The paw prints led up and over a short rise. Micah recognized the terrain – this area wasn’t far from the cabin. As he jogged over the crest of the hill, he finally spotted his friend’s black fur, stark against the white snow. Elijah was standing stock still in the middle of a little copse of trees and undergrowth, with his drooping tail towards Micah and his head facing away.

“Elijah!” Micah rushed to his friend’s side. “What the fuck are you doing in there? Are you – oh, are you stuck?”

Elijah whined pitifully, his front paws churning the snow. As he shifted, a rumble stirred deep in his belly, and he let out a strained belch followed by another whine.

It only took Micah a moment to realize what had happened. Stuffed with venison and eager to flop out for a nap, Elijah must’ve begun trotting back to the cabin on as direct a path as possible. He had cut through this copse of trees, trying to slip between a pair of thick-trunked pines that were growing tall and strong in the frozen earth. Normally, the space between the trees would’ve been just wide enough for the wolf to pass through. But Elijah had clearly forgotten that his sides were bulging with post-hunt fullness. The wolf had gotten stuck fast, his swollen middle wedged between the pair of trees.

“Oh, El! You poor bastard.” Micah threw his arms around Elijah’s neck and began petting his head and shoulders comfortingly. His heart broke a little at the way Elijah leaned into the touch, pressing his snout against Micah’s back with soft, relieved whimpers. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here. Can you… can you move at all?”

Elijah made a low sound in the back of his throat. He braced his paws against the ground and strained for a moment against the pressure of the trees, as if to show Micah how tightly he was stuck.

“What if you squirm a little? Does that help?”

The wolf chuffed mournfully. He twisted his shoulders just slightly -- and then let out a soft whimper as an ominous gurgle churned through his belly, causing him to squint and shudder.

“Ooh, your tummy’s getting in the way, huh?” Micah moved down to the wolf’s shoulder, running one hand down his friend’s ribs until he felt the swell of his tummy under his hand. He flinched in sympathy – Elijah was so full, belly round and straining. The poor thing had probably gorged himself thinking that it wouldn’t be more than ten minutes until he could flop out in his little nest under the cabin’s carport to digest in peace. Now he couldn’t even sit, let alone lie down, and poor Elijah was panting a little from the weight of everything he’d eaten. He shivered and let out a low groan as Micah found the tightest part of his stomach and pressed his palm against it, trying to provide a little support.

“Does that help, El?” Micah circled his hand over the taut bulge just under Elijah’s ribs, wincing as it gurgled unhappily. Elijah couldn’t answer, of course, but his soft whimpers of relief and the little tremors that ran through his muscles were enough to convince Micah he was helping. He soothed Elijah’s tummy as best he could with one hand, using the other to pet reassuring strokes down his friend’s back.

After a few minutes, Elijah let out a long, soft sigh through his nose. He pressed his shoulder a little closer to Micah with a quiet, inquiring whine.

“I know, El. We’ve gotta get you out of here, don’t we?” Micah moved his hand from Elijah’s back to one of his bloated sides, probing the place where the tree trunk was digging tightly into the black fur. With gentle fingers, he worked through Elijah’s frost-covered coat to find his flesh, wondering if maybe he could press in and create a little space that would let Elijah squeeze his way out.

But as soon as Micah’s fingers tried to pry their way between the bark and the firm curve of Elijah’s side, a sharp wolfish groan stopped him. Elijah shifted on his paws, panting for a moment before letting out a difficult burp.

“Sorry.” Micah withdrew his hand apologetically and went back to stroking Elijah’s fur as the wolf whimpered sadly. Clearly, there wasn’t a scrap of space to be found between Elijah and the tight press of the tree, and no room in Elijah’s belly to handle any additional pressure either.

“There’s just no way you can get out here with your tummy this big, huh? I’m not sure we’re gonna be able to move you until you digest a little. Maybe… maybe I can help with that.” Micah smoothed his hand over the soft fur, moving his hand back down towards Elijah’s tummy. He rubbed a gentle circle into the crest of the roundness with his fingertips before pressing in a little deeper.  “What do you think, El?”

Elijah’s low keen of relief made his thoughts on the matter pretty clear. He let his head droop towards the ground, letting out quiet huffs and growls as Micah worked the heel of his hand into the stretched sides of his stomach. Despite his concern, Micah couldn’t help but grin. He could practically hear Elijah’s voice in those very canine sounds, groaning happily in the same way he did when Micah cuddled up to him on the couch back home and put a hand on his tummy after a heavy dinner. A lot of things about Elijah changed this time of the year, but one thing that he never lost was his love of really firm tummy rubs.

It wasn’t long before Micah felt the muscles under his hand slowly soften. He slid his hand upwards a little, onto the tight bloat under Elijah’s ribs, and rubbed over it with his thumb, trying to massage helpfully at the mass of food sitting there. Elijah’s stomach made a strained sound under his hand, and a moment later, the wolf then let out a few burps in quick succession.

“That’s it,” said Micah encouragingly as Elijah shivered and sighed. “Let’s get all that air out.”

After a few more minutes of rubbing, it was clear that the grumbles under Micah’s hand were shifting from unhappy to productive. Elijah’s breathing was evening out from labored panting to sighs of relief, and as his tummy muscles relaxed around his huge meal, his other muscles seemed to be waking up. Micah rubbed one last broad circle over his belly and then stepped back as Elijah began to tug against the pinch of his arboreal captors. “You look about ready to bust out of there.”

Elijah growled, his paws working eagerly into the snow. He began to squirm against the pressure of the trees – still huffing softly as the bark dug into his overfull sides, but resolve evident in every tensed muscle. He was clearly determined to squeeze his way out.

Micah took a few steps back to stand by Elijah’s head. He buried his hands in the fur of his friend’s neck and shoulder, rubbing encouragingly. “C’mon El... you can do it!”

At first, it didn’t look like Elijah was going anywhere. The more he struggled and squirmed, the more firmly wedged he seemed to be. But then, Micah saw it – a tiny bit of give as the wolf’s weight shifted forward a fraction of an inch. Elijah must’ve felt the progress. He growled again and lowered his head, eyes squinting and shoulders hunching, straining hard against the pressure and friction of the bark.

Then something grumbled unhappily in the depths of his stomach, and Elijah went rigid. He closed his eyes, a low whine building in his throat, before another tummy rumble brought up an uncomfortable belch.

“Careful, you dumbass.” Micah ran a hand over Elijah’s shuddering back. “Did you upset your tummy again? Come here, hold still for a moment.”

He pressed his palm back to the curve of Elijah’s belly, wincing in sympathy as it churned and rumbled against his hand. “All this excitement is just not agreeing with your poor tummy, huh?” Micah rubbed soothing, repetitive strokes over the rounded fullness, trying to help settle everything inside. “We’ve really gotta get you out of here so you can lie down.”

Elijah whined his agreement. Except for the occasional shiver, he stood still while Micah rubbed calmness back into his belly, each broad circle helping its heavy contents relax a little more.

“Ready to try again?” Micah gave Elijah’s side a gentle pat before moving back out of the way. “Be gentle this time, okay?”

Elijah whined softly, pressing his head against Micah’s side as Micah reassured him as best he could with pets. The poor thing looked exhausted, ears drooping and legs trembling slightly, and it occurred to Micah that all this struggling on a very full tummy was coming after the exertion of a hunt.

“It’ll be okay, El.” Micah hugged his best friend tight. “You’re almost there. We’ll get you out and then get you back up where you can rest, alright?”

Elijah let out a heavy sigh, leaning into Micah’s embrace. Then he pulled back and squared his shoulders, growling deep in his throat. His tummy grumbled softly as he began to wriggle, pressing one way and then the other against the wood that was keeping him so tightly wedged.

“You got this,” said Micah encouragingly. “Almost there.”

Elijah huffed and squirmed harder. His paws had churned through the snow and were now scraping into the frozen ground. Micah could see tufts of his fur catching on the rough bark as he squeezed forward, pushed himself through that painfully small space, bit by tiny bit.

“I – I think you’re coming loose, El!” Micah cried.

Sure enough, something finally seemed to give. The roundest part of Elijah’s belly seemed to have squeezed through the narrow gap, and his flanks suddenly slid free. Elijah stumbled and took a couple halting steps forward. For a moment he stood, blinking, as though surprised by his own success. Then his legs trembled underneath him and he flopped into the snow.

“El!” Micah was at his best friend’s side in an instant. He gathered up the wolf head in a warm embrace, leaning down to press a kiss into the soft fur. “You did it! You fucking did it!”

Elijah titled his muzzle upwards and gave Micah’s cheek a few exhausted but affectionate licks. A gentle rumble pulsed through his tummy, and he turned away to burp softly.

“You’re such a mess.” Micah reached down and rubbed soothingly over Elijah’s belly. “You didn’t get scraped at all, did you? Or get too much of your fur torn out?” He began combing bark and twigs from Elijah’s coat, parting the black hair here and there to check the skin underneath for grazes.

Luckily, Elijah seemed to be unhurt, but completely spent. His eyes were already drifting closed, and Micah could see his legs start to draw in, as though he were planning to curl up right there in the snow.

“C’mon, you big bastard.” He shook Elijah’s shoulder insistently. “I know you’re tired, but you can’t sleep here. We’re not far from the cabin. Let’s get you out of the snow.”

A growl rumbled in Elijah’s throat. Clearly, the idea of getting back on his paws was not appealing in the slightest. But with a little urging from Micah, he got laboriously to his feet. He stayed pressed closely to Micah’s side during the entirety of the slow walk back to the cabin, as though he were shaken by his ordeal. Micah sure wasn’t gonna complain about that. He kept one hand on Elijah’s shoulder the whole time, so glad to have his friend beside him, safe and sound.

The previous night, they had made a nest of old blankets for Elijah in the space under the carport. Elijah shook himself free of snow – grunting a little as the movement made his tummy slosh audibly – and crawled into it, curling up as tightly as he could with his bulging middle. Micah made sure all the blankets were tucked closely around his friend before sitting down and cuddling up next to him.

“How’re you feeling, El?” Micah asked as he threw one arm over Elijah’s shoulders. The big wolf let out a long, soft sigh, tucking his nose firmly against Micah’s knee. His eyes drifted closed and his tummy rumbled softly against Micah’s side.

Beyond the shelter of the carport, fresh snow began to drift down from the sky. Micah thought briefly of the warmth of the wood-burning stove in the cabin. But the thought left his head almost as quickly as it had come. He snuggled down into the warmth of Elijah’s furry flank, certain that there was nowhere he’d rather be.

[one-shot-plus-size]

Crossbow Love - Chapter Fourteen - An Unexpected Friend

The work was created, through collaboration @bladeroseocrp​ https://www.wattpad.com/user/BladeRose_18

Blade quickly hides in an unused room and she locks the door behind her and goes into the bathroom finding bandages to cover her cut. Simon circles the corridors, knowing that if he finds her he needs to get out of here fast. That he can't go back because Negan will kill him. Blade looks in the mirror and breathing heavily and sees the blood soaking the bandage and grips the sink and looks down trying to calm herself. She needs to be ready to fight to kill walkers or any Savior for her to escape. 

The door to the room opens and there stands Simon. "Blade" He says looking around Blade has a knife in her hand, gripping it and being ready to attack and then she sees Simon. "Simon. What are you doing?" She questions "Come on, I'll get you out of here, I'll take you to them" He says coming closer to you "I won't hurt you, I promise" He says, Blade steps away from him and shakes her head "He'll kill you if he finds out I can make it out on my own." She says "I'd rather die by Negan's hand than lose my balls to Daryl, you don't know this place, I know how to get you out" He says.

Blade looks at him unsure and looks into his eyes "I found an exit but there walkers surrounding this place there no way out." She says "I'll bandage you up and walk you out, come on we don't have time" He says. Blade grabs his arm and nods as she knows she's getting weaker as she's losing blood. "Did you tell Daryl I was okay?" She asks "Yes," He nods. Simon quickly stops her bleeding, seals the wound with plasters, applies a lot of gauze and wraps it with a bandage. Blade smiles softly and tears up and hugs him after he bandages her up. "There will be time for tenderness later, but now let's get out of here while Negan has a meeting and isn't looking for you personally." He says.

Blade looks at him and nods "Why would he want me? He has multiple wives." She asks "This is as revenge for Daryl, he knows that if he has you it will hurt your group and especially Dixon" He says standing behind her back "You have to pretend to be a prisoner, it's the only way I can get you out of here, I'll try not to be violent" He says crossing her arms behind her back and squeezes them. Blade nods and does as she is told and when they see other Saviors she pretends to struggle in his arms to keep the act up. "Negan is in the conference room" One of them speaks up "I know" Simon nods “He told me to take her to the car because he's getting out of here" He says pulling her towards the garage under the whole building complex.

Blade keeps walking and keeps her head down and her eyes straight down making sure she follows him without showing suspicions. Simon opens one of the car doors and pushes her into the car “Lie down on the seat so no one can see you" He says looking around the garage. Blade nods and lays down and keeps herself hidden and she just closes her eyes. Simon opens the garage door and looks around to make sure it's safe. When he's sure there are only a few Saviors around, he opens the door, gets in the car and drives off with a screech of tires. Blade keeps her head down as soon as they get far enough she sits up and puts her hand on his shoulder. "Simon, I can't thank you enough for sticking your neck out for me. Thank you." She says kissing his cheek softly "We haven't gotten to Rick and his group yet, but you're welcome," He smiles, blushing. "Daryl's lucky to have you.” He says.

Blade smiles and blushes thinking about Daryl and tears up. "I didn't want him to see me get hurt like that. But I'm glad I know this group cares to try and rescue me. Simon if Negan finds out he will kill you. And I'm so sorry." She says "All right, I'm aware of that, I know that if he finds me, I'll be dead. That's why I'll take you to them and then I'll disappear." He says. Blade sighs and looks down "But what if he finds you and kills you. You can join our group fight with us to defeat Negan." She says "I think Daryl doesn't want me around, anyway, and neither does Rick" He shakes his head and turns off into the forest road, there is a car and one motorcycle on the side of the road.

Blade looks at him and outside the car. "After you helped them they would let you join the group. I don't want to have the thought of you being out there and he finds you and kills you because of me." She says staring at him through the rearview mirror. "We'll see Blade." He smiles and stops beside the car. He turns off the engine and clasps his hands on the steering wheel a few times. From behind the carport out of the woods comes Tara, closely followed by Daryl. Blade looks around and sees Tara and then sees Daryl and turns to Simon and smiles at him and tears up and she tries to calm herself down. "Go to them" He smiles and gets out of the car standing behind him, he doesn't want to expose himself. He doesn't know how they will react to him, Daryl as soon as he sees her he pushes past Tara to get to her as quickly as possible Blade gets out of the car and sees Daryl and tears streaming down her cheek and she puts her hand on the car feeling slightly lightheaded a bit but she quickly walked towards him.

[littlemisswolfie]

i can’t help but care

<Previous | First | Next>

Bella should’ve figured something was going to happen soon. Her life’s been too good lately.

Sure, finals and graduation are looming, and that sucks, but Leah is amazing, and they haven’t slept apart since the night they first had sex. Even on school nights, Leah sneaks in through Bella’s window, and even if they don’t have sex (which they do, more often than not; Bella’s eighteen and horny and Leah’s an animal half the time), she curls up around Bella and they sleep together in the purest sense of the word. Her touch and presence ground Bella in a way she hadn’t realized she was missing.

The pack’s pretty great, too. For one, it’s great to have Jake back as Jake and not a hormonal teenage boy. They laugh together and he shoves seaweed down her shirt and she steps on his toes when he’s being annoying, and it’s just like when they were kids, which is all Bella ever really wanted from him. And all the other guys are just as brotherly as Jake, and when she and Leah told them about their little house by the cliffs, Sam called in some favors with the construction company he works for to get some quotes.

It’s all looking like it’s actually possible now.

(Of course, Bella will have to figure out something to tell Charlie about her suddenly moving into a one bedroom cabin with another woman on a reservation white people generally aren’t allowed to live on, but that’s a problem for future Bella, not now Bella.)

So it really shouldn’t come as a surprise when her phone rings and she sees Alice Cullen’s name flash across the screen.

Leah’s out on patrol for a few hours, and Bella’s all finished up with her homework when the call comes, and her hands shake as she accepts the call. “Alice?”

“Bella? Oh, thank God, I’m so glad you’re alright!”

Just hearing Alice’s voice makes Bella’s mind want to melt. It calls out to the pleasant memories Alice is a part of, and it says love me like you used to 

But Bella remembers the pain Edward caused to her, the pain their whole coven caused the pack, and she steels herself.

“Why are you calling me?” she asks. “Edward said it would be like you’d never met me.”

There’s a pause, like Alice wasn’t expecting Bella to be so cold to her, before that melodic voice continues. “Victoria is back.”

Bella bites back a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I know. She’s been running around the woods here for months, killing hikers and trying to get to me.” Then, just to be a bitch, she adds, “Thanks for the heads up, though.”

Leah would be proud.

“We thought you were dead!” Alice says. “Bella, I haven’t had a vision of you in months!”

Bella scoffs. “You shouldn’t be looking. You guys are the ones who left me, remember? You don’t get any say in my life anymore.”

Alice makes a mournful noise, and Bella’s mind so desperately wants to reassure her, to tell this beautiful voice that it’s not her fault, but she holds herself firm. “We didn’t want to leave you. Edward thought it was the best way to keep you safe.”

Her former love’s name feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t. Leah could never fill the hole Edward left, and she’s never tried, but she healed the wound, took away the hurt, and gave Bella enough peace to move on with her life. “He shouldn’t have made decisions for me if he was going to regret them down the line.”

“Bella, you don’t understand. Your future is all black now. What did you decide?”

What did she decide? What a load of bullshit. None of them ever cared about her decisions before. “I decided to be happy.” 

“And I’m happy for you,” says Alice, “but we’re coming back to make sure you live long enough to be happy.” 

Her strength melts away. This simple statement--it’s a threat, of the blackest kind. It’s easy to be cold to Alice over the phone. She can’t see her beautiful face or feel the touch she would inevitably give her. And that’s just Alice. If she sees Edward again, she has no idea what she’ll do.

The fear that cuts through her does two things. It tells her that the Cullens did indeed have some kind of unnatural hold on her. Maybe it was unintentional at first, but it was there nonetheless. It also lets Bella know that she needs Leah, right now.

Maybe it’s a dumb thing, but Bella reaches for that bond that glows bright in her chest and tugs.

“Bella? Are you there?”

Shit. Alice is still on the phone. “I wish you wouldn’t come back.”

“But we are. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“When will you be here?” Bella asks, mouth dry. The bond tugs back, and she bites back a gasp.

“By the end of the week, everyone will be home. I just landed in Seattle.” 

Thanks for the heads up, Bella thinks, rolling her eyes. She feels Leah getting closer to the house, too fast to be running in her human form. If Leah hears Alice, she’s going to flip. “Look, I can’t talk about this right now. Things aren’t the way they used to be. We can arrange a meeting or something when everyone’s back. But please don’t call me until then. Please.”

And then she hangs up before Alice can respond.

It’s barely a minute later that Bella hears her front door open and that familiar warmth blooms in her spine. She’s on her feet, tears springing to her eyes, and then there’s Leah in her room, taking her in her strong arms and trembling with worry. “What happened?” she asks against the crown of Bella’s head. 

“Alice called me.” Leah doesn’t say anything, so Bella pulls back and sees the confusion in her face. “One of the Cullens,” she amends, and Leah’s face immediately darkens. 

“What does she want?” Leah growls.

Bella leans back forward and rests her forehead against Leah’s shoulder, breathing in her soothing scent. “She says they’re coming back. All of them. By the end of the week.”

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Bella says. Because she isn’t. And she knows Leah won’t begrudge her for it.

Leah’s arms tighten around her, completely encompassing her, keeping her safe. “We need to talk to Sam,” she says. “The pack needs to know.”

“I know.”

“I won’t let them touch you. They’ll have to kill me first.”

That’s what I’m scared of, Bella thinks, and she holds on just that much tighter.

*

The pack is, of course, furious when Bella and Leah tell them about Alice’s phone call.

“The fuckin’ balls of them,” Paul seethes, “to think they can just come back after leaving someone in the fucking woods--”

“More of the kids are gonna start shifting because of those assholes!” Jake yells.

It’s a mess of loud, angry voices, and Bella knows she would have been scared of any other group of angry men, but she knows these angry men won’t hurt her, so she doesn’t let herself flinch. She sits next to Leah on the couch, their fingers interlocked. She’s Leah’s partner. 

Sam quiets the yelling with a barked, “Enough!” and Emily’s living room goes silent. “Bella,” he continues, “what can you tell us about them, in terms of their abilities?”

Bella takes a deep breath to steel herself. “Well, they all have enhanced senses and physical abilities, obviously. Jasper is an empath. He can feel and influence emotions. Alice can see the future, though what she sees changes depending on the choices people make. And Edward can read minds.”

Leah’s head whips around. “He can read minds? Did he ever do that to you when you were dating?”

Bella shakes her head. “No. He can’t hear me. He always said that was one of the reasons he was so interested in me.” Involuntarily, her free arm moves so she can hug herself, like she’s trying to keep herself together. “I was the only person whose mind he couldn’t read.”

Leah lets go of her hand to wrap and arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “I’ve got you,” she whispers in Bella’s ear, and Bella feels herself relax.

Sam crosses his arms. “If they call you again,” he tells her, “give them my number. There’s absolutely no reason for you to have to deal with them when you’re part of my pack.”

“I’ll probably see them at school,” Bella says.

“Then we’ll have someone patrolling near your school during the day.” Embry plops onto the couch on Bella’s other side and bumps their shoulders together. “You’re our sister. Bella. We protect our own. Those sparkly twigs aren’t getting anywhere near you.”

Bella nods and tries not to cry, and she’s grateful when no one comments when she does.

*

Leah takes Bella out for a walk later, after the meeting, to the place they’re thinking of building their house.

“Billy says the land is ours whenever we want it,” she tells Bella, arm wrapped around her and fingers playing with the exposed skin just above the waistband of her jeans. “The back door can face the woods so the pack can come in after runs. Our bedroom window can look over the cliffs.” She points towards the crashing waves with her free hand.

Bella smiles a little. “Maybe we can have a little garden in the front,” she suggests. “Just some fruits and veggies. That way we can eat fresh stuff without having to go to the store all the time.”

“And we’ll park your truck there, under that tree.”

“We’ll have to put down some gravel, or else Jake will bitch at me about getting mud on the tires.”

“That’ll be our driveway, then. Maybe I’ll get Paul to build a carport so birds don’t use your windshield as target practice.”

“That sounds nice,” Bella says, leaning more of her weight into Leah.

Leah presses a kiss into Bella’s hair. “Now are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Besides everything?” she asks. When Leah gives her a bland look, she sighs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just... I wish they didn’t affect me so much.”

“The Cullens?” Leah asks.

Bella nods. “I’m happy. I know I am. But when Alice called, for just a second or two, I wanted them back.” The admission stings Bella’s throat, but she knows it needs to be said. “I hate that I still want them when I have you and the pack.”

Leah squeezes Bella’s hip. “It’s okay to be conflicted, Bella. I’m just happy you told me.”

“You’re not mad?” Bella asks.

“I think it’s impossible for me to be mad at you.” Leah turns Bella so she can lean down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her mouth. “You have a choice. You always have a choice. All I can do is hope you choose me.”

“I do!” Bella says desperately. “I choose you!” Then, her point made, she lowers her voice to say, “You just have to help me remember that when they’re here.”

Leah’s gaze sharpens. “What does that mean?”

“Vampires have these--pheromones, I guess? They can draw people in, make them trust them and love them, that kind of stuff. Edward said it’s what makes them the perfect predators. They make their prey feel safe first.”

“So they’re basically walking roofies?”

“I--I guess?”

A grunt falls from her lips. “Of course. As if our jobs weren’t hard enough.” At odds with her tense words, her hands run soothing circles down Bella’s back. “Don’t worry. I’ll be beside you every step of the way.”

Bella breathes her in and relaxes. As long as she has Leah, she doesn’t need to be afraid.

Hopefully.

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 5

TO: .lindberg@StockholmOpera. se                      21:15 pm 2 attachments

Froken Lindberg,

No need for apologies, and there is no need for me to hunt down and behead the sobriqueted “Stanley,” (whose name is actually Mickhail) I’m sure. Be assured that he will still have a job come tomorrow and for a long time to come after that.

I don’t withhold my email address from my clients, and I do pride myself on an open-door policy – generally. Mick, however, knows that today was my first day back on the job, and he was being the overprotective security associate that I pay him quite handsomely to be.

I enclose with this email the fruit of my labours from this afternoon and this evening. The enclosure is a work schedule and Gantt chart for the full gamut of repairs to the Opera House - the sprinkler system, the drywall, the wood floor of the orchestra pit, etcetera. I have coordinated this with my subcontractors and suppliers and it is accurate. You may rely upon this to schedule your rehearsals, etc., for the next few weeks.

The second attachment is perhaps an addendum to the one you sent me. It is a cost breakdown, estimate, and proposal for the little theatre space. With the funds from the Gala, we will have the space renovated and ready to use within a year.

All that aside, I’ve reviewed your proposal, and I found it interesting to say the least. You have covered all of the terms we discussed today and then some. I would, however, like to discuss some of these terms further before we enter into anything formal; and once that is done I would like to have my legal department place their stamp upon it.

I welcome the opportunity to meet with you again regarding the little theatre space and the plans for the Gala. We can meet in my office, or we can continue these discussions over coffee at Sturekatten or a meal if you would rather. Contact me directly to arrange, please.

I am willing to provide for your every desire. Even those that, as you say, constitute the ravings of a lunatic. Which you are most definitely not.

– AGM

The soft unobtrusive ding for her email notifications sounded from her mobile. Joline flopped down on her bed, swinging her legs up. The pillow whooshed and wheezed under the weight of her head, the faint waft of her fabric softener tickling her nose. She used the softener on her pillowcases only because the smell soothed and helped her sleep.

Herr Martinsson’s email did not. Did quite the opposite, in fact.

She read over the first few paragraphs with a sense of encouragement. She owed Mick some raspberry licorice for the trouble she’d caused. She’d eagerly pounced on him in the carport after close of business. She couldn’t blame him for protecting his employer’s interests. She may have to dial back her overzealousness, but she’d never did things by half.

Jo’d pitched monthly inspections with the design staff beginning at the top of the season with a member of Martinsson Construction. The added layer of security prevented any other potential flooding sessions or bouts with the Prima Donna’s temper… well, for the dampness issue anyway. Katarina could rage against the costumers or musicians, as long and as hard as she cared to. Jo already felt better for it.

The dream for the little theatre space, all of it brilliant! She stopped short at responding to meet up with him now, that very evening. But eager Jo needed tempering. Pace yourself, Jo.

Until…

I am willing to provide for your every desire.

She read it, then stopped.

She reread it.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

Her brain melted in her head and possibly oozed out of her ear onto her freshly cleaned cases. She crossed her legs subconsciously, squeezing her thighs together.

It’d been a handful of months since her last fling, and her lady parts were beginning to feel lonely.

For the theatre, Jo… for the theatre. Nothing more than that. For-the-theatre. Nothing more than client relations. Empty or half promises to maintain a working relationship. He offered it to protect his best interests, his company, his name, and his current project.

As the tingling in her lady parts subsided from the misread tease, Jo shoved her brain back between her ears.

TO: amartinsson@martinsson.co.se                       21:30pm

Herr Martinsson-

You’re working late, I see. With impressive results, I should mention. I’m delighted by your offer and I look forward to your input. As you have work scheduled to begin this week (which is thrilling!), I’ll meet up with you for that coffee. Tomorrow? Name the time, I can accommodate any slot you have available.

I’ll make myself available to you.

Yours,

Joline Lindberg

The only thought in her head after putting her phone down was not of the theatre, or work orders, or repairs. She imagined what the G stood for in his initials, just to sate her curiosity.

Ansgar manipulated the mouse pointer over the red x in the upper left hand corner of his MacBook’s screen when his email dinged over. Curiosity, as it does, killed the cat, and so Ansgar opened the email with the time stamp of 9:30 pm from Joline Lindberg.

The last few sentences of her email appealed strongly to Ansgar’s filthy mind, his innate sense of and appreciation for innuendo. He wondered to himself, with a smirk and snigger, whether she’d meant it as such.

Hoped, maybe. No, hoped was too strong a word. Wondered. Contemplated. Contemplated those lips… that particular slot made available to me… clamped around my….

“Ah, screw it!” He groaned and scrubbed hard at his eyes, banishing the images, the very thought of it from his mind. “You are a fucking pervert, Martinsson.”

But the idea of at least a meeting over coffee… well, that was innocent enough, yes? No harm in it. After all, it was business, wasn’t it?

And so, instead of clicking the red x, he clicked ‘reply,’ rest his fingers on the keyboard, and with rapid-fire strokes, typed.

TO: j.lindberg@StockholmOpera.se                      21:47 pm

Meet me for fika at Sturekatten. Riddargatan 4. 9 am. My table is in the far north corner of the cafe. Don’t be late.

Godnatt,

AGM

Joline leaned into the final curve of her journey from home to the cafe of Herr Martinsson’s choosing, weaving around a Volkswagen Bug. She took the turning faster than the Stockholm Police approved of, but she was addicted to the speed and power of her beloved motorcycle, a 1970 Triumph. A gift from her late father made her feel closer to him whenever she rode, the smell of it, the sound of it, the sight of it, all reminded her of him and flooded her mind with memories.

The machine purred to a stop when she pulled over near the entrance of Sturekatten, blessed to have found a spot to park. The natural high she got from riding set her blood vibrating and her ears buzzing with the roar even hours afterwards. Weekends and rare days off from work found her in the leather seat adding miles to the odometer. She kicked the stand into place, turned the key for the ignition and swung her right leg over the seat behind her in a well-choreographed, often-rehearsed move.

She lifted her safety helmet straight, shaking her head and hair free underneath in her best shampoo advert mimic. How fucking cliché, she thought, hating herself for doing it. Every damn time. She’d yet to find a way of releasing her hair from the thing without looking like an auditioning model. The helmet, a bright shade of purple that Jo wanted to dye her hair to match one day (when she opened her own indy theatre house), was tucked up under her arm.

Raking one hand through her locks, Joline strolled into the café ten minutes before her call time, scurrying to the back as instructed. She felt Ansgar Martinsson’s gaze on her from the moment she crossed the threshold, piercing blue with laser precision. If she didn’t know differently, she’d feel intimidated, but she had some leverage, some pull with him.

The man rose from his seated position as she approached. “Froken Lindberg.” He held out his hand to shake in greeting.

“Herr Martinsson,” she shook his hand. “Waiting long? Am I late? Nine, yes?” She glanced around at the mostly deserted café. Weekday in the city center, many were on their first cup of coffee for the day behind their desk at work. What patrons dined at the café sat in the courtyard in the summer sun.

He gestured into a chair across from where he’s been sitting, holding the back out for her. “No, not at all. Early in fact. Thank you for meeting me.”

Joline swiveled her head, her gaze following him to his seat across from her. She made a small huff of a laugh. “I didn’t think I could say no.”

“Pardon?”

She laughed, waving her hand to match her shaking head. “No offense intended. But you have this way—effective, mind you—you say something… and I feel compelled to do it. And I do! You issue an order, and I follow.”

A crooked half-smile pulled at his lips, “That’s quite a power you’ve bestowed upon me.”

She noticed that he didn’t apologize or deny it. “Usually when someone tells me to do something, my first instinct is always no.”

“But not with me…”

“Oh! Does this mean I’m growing as a person?” She feigned shock at her self-assessment with one hand over her heart and one splayed on the tabletop. When she played out her charade in dramatics, she looked up at him with a sage look in her eye. “In all seriousness, you’re the type to go after what he wants, and you usually get it.”

He leaned forward elbows on the table like a lion standing over his kingdom. “Why would I spend my time on things I don’t want?”

“Touche!”

“Pardon the cliche,” he cocked his head, “but isn’t that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?” He lifted the coffee pot, offering her a cup with a flick of his eyebrows. “Shall I pour?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she replied, and pushed her cup forward. She took it back after he filled it, and took a sip.

“Sugar or cream? Milk?”

“Black,” she replied.

Ansgar nodded appreciatively, making a small clicking noise with his tongue. “Black it is. Enjoy.”

“Speaking of black,” she mused, “like the pot and the kettle, huh?”

“That’s as I see it.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I suppose that’s true. But I don’t always get the things I want. There are a lot of things I’ve wanted that I haven’t been able to get.”

“Yet,” Ansgar interjected.

“Well, yeah. Maybe.” She sipped again, eyeing him over the rim. “Maybe.”

“You get the important things,” he challenged. “Like your job, like that enviable specimen of a 1970 Triumph TR6R Tiger you have parked outside.” He indicated out the window with a flick of his gaze, at the same time noting the impressed flash of her own eyes. “And that’s what matters. It’s not that you get everything you want, it’s that you get the things that are most important to you. And sometimes, with a little skill, and a little perseverance, you can get more.”

“Skill and perseverance… but not luck?”

He scoffed. “I don’t believe in luck.”

She looked back to him from out the window. “Life lessons of the day with Professor Martinsson?”

He continued, ignoring her quip. “But you also have to realise and understand that things you want and things you get can easily be lost. They can be stolen away, right from under your nose. What matters more than getting the things you want, Froken Lindberg, is keeping them, protecting them at all costs.”

“At all costs?”

He nodded. “At all costs.” The thumb of his left hand curled in, curving around the edge of the gold band on his ring finger. “Sometimes, even then, after you’ve spared no expense, after you’ve exhausted everything… those things you want can still be torn from you.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “What are you getting at, Herr Martinsson?”

“Ansgar. Please,” he leaned back in his chair, gesturing. “Call me Ansgar.”

“Then you have to call me Joline. Or Jo for short. Everyone calls me Jo. Either way is fine with me.”

He nodded, smiling. “Joline it is, then.”

“So… Ansgar,” she tasted his name again in her mouth, and finding it palatable, continued. “What are you getting at with all this stuff about getting what you want and things?”

He sighed. “All I am saying, Joline, is that you have dreams. You have ideas, and I am here to help you, to work with you to achieve those dreams. But… it’s you, ultimately, who has the power to make them a reality or not. You have to know what is important, what to fight for, what to… kill for,” he paused for emphasis, “and what to let go. You have to have common sense and know-how enough to know when to fight, and when to walk away. I can’t do that for you… and I won’t.”

“I’m sure I would mostly fight,” she puffed. “I’m not one to lie down in the road, you know.”

He grinned, wide and Cheshire-like, his blue eyes sparkling. He took up his coffee, took a sip, and crossed his arms over his chest. “And that is exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

“So,” Joline said. “What about the proposals?”

Ansgar tipped his chin toward her, his mouth at the lip of his coffee cup. “Check your phone.” He took another sip. ”You should have signed copies in your email inbox right now. I had my legal department go over everything and they’ve approved it. My e-signature is on them, waiting for yours… partner.”

Jo gave him the skeptical side eye as she sidelined her coffee for her phone. Scanting her hips in her seat, she fiddled in her pocket to free her mobile. “Partner?” she repeated, still unable to believe it entirely. “You can’t be serious!”

Enjoying her incredulity, Ansgar grinned, all straight white teeth highlighted by a ginger goatee. “See for yourself.”

Jo unlocked her phone and quickly swiped to her one new email notification. The signed proposals and agreements landed in her inbox at 9:01am and it was like Christmas in August, signed by none other than AGM himself. “Holy shit,” she breathed out on an exaggerated exhale, forgetting her business persona in her disbelief.

It was all there, in PDF format, with electronic colored post-its for her to sign at the bottom, underneath Ansgar. A checklist roster. Weekly inspections. Schedule for the work on the main stage, beginning the very next day. Contracts for fund raisers and benefits, detailing that Martinsson Construction as lead sponsor. The tentative renovation for the little theatre. And her secret wish of a to-scale model of the Opera House constructed for the Stockholm museum, Ansgar approved her commission for it!

“I could kiss you,” she enthused half-meaning it and half-distracted by all the goodness in black and white. She recovered herself with a chuckle. “I won’t – because I’m a professional – but I could! And I’d mean it!”

“That won’t be necessary.” Not necessary, but tempting. The thought shimmied itself into his head like a can-can dancer. “What can I say, Joline,” he said a bit too boldly, sitting forward in his seat. “You impressed me… your panache, your bravado, your eager-to-please… attitude for the good of all the people… in your company.”

One hand landed on her head, disbelief colored her face in a flush of excitement. “I’m so glad that I didn’t say no.” She waved her phone, display towards her companion. “I may never say no… ever!”

Oh the possibilities in that!

She went back to flipping through the documents on her phone, one by one, marveling at the brilliance of each one. “Who knew my crusading would do this?”

“I suspect,” Ansgar stated bluntly, a teasing light in those piercing blue eyes, “you did. You don’t suffer fools gladly and it seems, you don’t take no for an answer either.”

With her phone away, she put her elbow on the table and shelved her chin in her palm. “So… uh… who do I have to kill?”

“Pardon me?”

“Who do I have to kill? You were flapping your gums and going on about fighting and killing for my dreams. You just handed me my dreams… over a cup of coffee. So… who do I have to kill?”

The laugh that barked from Ansgar’s mouth caught him off guard. He wasn’t nearly prepared for her to twist what he’d said so far… but he supposed that he deserved it. He held up both of his hands in surrender, “No one. At least not today.”

Giving into the contagion of laughter, she commented, “And the CEO takes a punt at the funny.”

“How did I do?”

She muted her voice to a stage whisper, “GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!!”

He dipped his head in a bow and his gaze seemed to undress her from the waist up. “A successful business meeting. Are you overly attached to the idea of an omelette here?”

Joline didn’t mind the perusal, she indulged in her own. Answering his question, she shook her head, offering up something else instead, “Let’s top it all off.” She dangled the keys for her Triumph in front of him. “Got a helmet?”

“In the boot of my car.”

With a tip of her head, she encouraged, “You’ve been coveting my ride since I got here. I’ve got three hours before I have to be at work. So let’s go.” She pushed the keys at him. “You drive.”

Ansgar pushed to his feet and swiped the keys in a smooth move. He dumped enough money to cover their bill (and several others in the process). He strode for the door, leading Joline with a hand at the small of her back.

Feeling lighter than the helium balloon in her belly, Jo convinced herself that she knew what the G in his initials stood for: generous. But she also knew he’d never admit it.

[mustardprecum]

Prompt: Killer

Sometimes people disappeared in Hawkins. The police never found any rhyme or reason, and since no bodies were ever discovered, no murders could be proven. 

People just disappeared sometimes, just up and left without a word. At least, that was the general tone surrounding the mystery, so that the people of Hawkins could continue sleeping at night. 

When Billy came to town, he heard as much but didn't think anything of it. After all, he would be one of those names soon enough; someone who disappeared out of Hawkins without a single goodbye, headed back west. 

-

That was the reason he had nearly been caught in his dad’s truck. Neil was pissed at Billy for something or another and had taken his keys. Billy needed his keys to go out looking for work to earn money for his escape. After being unable to find his keys in the house, he’d started poking around the carport and Neil’s truck. 

A moment of panic when he heard footsteps had him hiding under the tarp in the bed of the truck. Billy had no idea where Neil was going, couldn’t see anything and only had a small idea that they were out towards the woods when the truck pulled off to the side. 

It was dark out, so Billy thought if he held very still then he wouldn’t be caught. 

Then he heard another car pull up. He heard his dad talking, he couldn’t make out words but knew the low and threatening tone. Just as he started to strain his hearing, try and make out what was being said, there was a loud thump. 

Neil groaned but it was quickly cut off. It was a wet sound, hard but also muted, but Billy had been in enough fights to have an idea of what it could be. 

Slowly, he raised his head, peeking out over the side of the truck. In the twilight of the day, he almost didn’t believe what he was seeing.

There was the sound like ocean waves overtaking his hearing, like the white noise he’d heard of when someone was in a state of shock. The sound of the ocean seemed fitting when he saw Steve Harrington’s eyes: dead and black like a shark. 

The look on his face was similar to the night at the Byers house, and the bat he was wielding looked to be the same one Max used to threaten him. Steve wasn’t threatening though. He was calmly, serenely even, bringing it down on a still and bloody Neil Hargrove’s head. 

Then Steve paused mid-swing, rested the bat on his shoulder, and he looked directly at Billy with the tiniest smile. 

“Here,” Steve bent down and snatched up the keys that Neil dropped. He tossed them into the truck next to Billy. “Drive home. I’ll clean up.” 

His bat was dripping. He’d used it to murder a grown man in less than two minutes. Billy slowly reached for the keys while keeping his eyes locked on Steve. But there was no other reaction to him, not when Billy got out of the back, not when he climbed into the front seat, and not when he drove off. 

-

When someone witnessed a murder, they were supposed to go to the police. But Billy never had faith in the cops, from the way they tended to hassle him about his clothes and earring, to the way they failed to care about his injuries as a child. 

He went home, quietly parked the truck, got out and looked at the house. The windows were dark, Susan probably still had Max out shopping.

Billy went inside and put the keys on the table. Two hours later, he feigned ignorance when Susan came. 

Forty-eight hours later, he feigned ignorance when the cops came. 

Close to the end of the week, when no body or evidence was found, Neil Hargrove’s name was added to the list. Just another person who disappeared. 

During all of that time, Steve seemed completely normal when Billy saw him around school. He still moped, still jumped, still made weird faces and would break into mumbled song every now and then. Nothing about him hinted at what Billy had seen that night. 

Right up until Steve paused in the locker room, looking at Billy. Something about his face was off and Billy tensed, feeling very aware that the closest witness was on the other side of the room. 

“Can we talk?” Steve asked. 

Billy forced a half-smile. “Anything for you, princess,” he said with a wink. Steve walked away without reacting, and Billy left school that day without seeing Steve again. 

-

The front door was unlocked when he got home. For an instant, Billy thought Max had beaten him back and hadn’t locked it. But as he started to push it open, he realized that it wouldn’t be possible for Max to beat him home without passing him on the road. 

He didn’t step inside as the door slowly swung open. From the doorway he saw Steve sitting in the middle of the couch, the spiked bat resting across his lap. 

“Hey Billy,” Steve greeted him as if nothing in the world was wrong. He smiled, just this side of goofy, and tilted his head. “Do you know how much money it costs to be allowed to kill someone?” 

Billy watched him warily, but Steve made no move to stand. 

“It’s a trick question,” Steve continued. “It depends on who you have to pay.” 

“How much did you pay this time?” Billy asked, gauging how fast he could make it back to his car. If Steve gave chase, Billy might not escape completely. 

“That’s up to you,” Steve said. “How much would you charge me?” 

He’d thought many times that he wished Neil would disappear. But at the same time, Neil was his father and the devil he knew. Where would he go if Susan didn’t want him there? Billy didn’t have the money to get back to California. 

“I have to figure it out. How much it would cost to go back.” He couldn’t help but watch Steve’s face, noting the deep brown of his eyes that made them look so much warmer than before. “But I won’t tell. Haven’t yet.” 

“Mm, I noticed you don’t seem to like the cops here.” 

“All cops are bastards,” Billy said out of habit. “But so was my dad.” 

“Did you cry?” Steve asked with his eyes big and alive. 

Billy hadn’t. After the shock wore off, all he felt was relief. His life had been thrown into chaos, he didn’t know how he would live since his only family was dead. 

But it hadn’t hurt. In a way, both of his parents had been dead to him since his mom told him she was never coming back, and he had the rude awakening that he would never have the sort of family he saw on TV.  

“No.” 

“Good,” Steve sighed. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.” 

Billy hadn’t really considered Steve’s motive. He readily accepted the idea that Steve was just a psycho. He wasn’t sure what sort of face he made that Steve took it as an invitation to step closer. 

“I did it because he hurt you.” Steve lifted his head, and the only reason Billy left his cheek be cupped was because Steve’s other hand was still holding his bat. “The cops don’t always protect people. And if they won’t,” he trailed off, looking at Billy in the same way Billy had seen him look at those stupid kids. 

“After everything?” Billy asked curiously. 

“It was different between you and me,” Steve frowned. It felt sort of nice when he stroked Billy’s cheek with his thumb. “I saw him, a couple weeks ago, at the lumberyard.” 

Billy remembered the episode at the lumberyard. Neil said he was moving too slow, said Billy didn’t care about the family home, said all sorts of shit to which Billy had simply answered, “yes, sir.” 

And when they didn’t have an audience, Billy got a backhand across the face and a punch to the gut, before Neil told him not to roll his eyes. 

“You fought back with me,” Steve finished. 

“Were you really fighting back?” Billy couldn’t help but ask. 

“I’m not great without this,” Steve grinned and lifted the bat, but he lowered it when he felt Billy flinch. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“You killed my dad.” 

“To protect you,” Billy was close enough to watch the change in Steve’s eyes, to see as the shark took over. “I’m protecting people.” 

People.

Billy gulped at the insinuation. He covered Steve’s hand on his cheek before those eyes went entirely black. “I know,” he said lowly, his mouth felt so dry. “I know, Harrington. Thank you.” 

Steve smiled, and Billy felt it like the sun hitting his face. “Let me know how much you need when you figure it out, okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“See you around, Billy.” 

Steve strolled around him, singing the song from Risky Business under his breath as he closed the front behind him. Billy let out a breath and sank onto the couch. The sound of the ocean was back in his ears. 

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy--Chapter 4: What They Don’t Know Will Kill Them

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  Miranda gathers information from her contacts about Oriana's disappearance. Each step she takes brings her closer to her past, and closer to danger.

-------

With her liaison with Artemis out of the way, Miranda hopes she can focus more on the task at hand. She’s already dallied too long, and Oriana may already be out of her reach. But she must keep looking.

Her first contact meets her in a public restroom, tucked away from security cameras and C-Sec’s purview. Not everyone wants their whereabouts noticed by law enforcement. Miranda closes the bathroom stall behind her, locks it, and knocks on the wall three times. The person on the other side knocks twice in reply. Good. An imposter would imitate the number of knocks exactly.

Neither of them speaks, in case the room has been bugged. And they turn their omni-tools off in turn. Sometimes the best way to avoid an enemy interception to exchange their information on paper. An expensive act with so many of the galaxy’s forests protected by Council Law, but no one can hack paper.

Miranda has never been fond of contamination, though her immune system will fight off nearly anything without a single symptom--likely her father’s work. She just can’t stand the thought of sullying her tailored uniform, let alone her skin. The thought of sitting on a toilet makes her want to vomit, so Miranda squats instead, and reaches under the door for the slip of paper.

Synthetic gloves brush against hers, and Miranda reads a slip the size of a cookie fortune. The front has a date--the date Oriana was taken. The back has a name--her father’s. Before Miranda can ask why or where--her contact slams the door open and walks out of the restroom without washing their hands.

-----

That night Miranda dreams of her father’s estate. The postmodern mansion nestled in Bellevue Hill had spaces most humans only dreamed off. Three floors, tennis courts, climbing walls, a heated mosaic swimming pool and alfresco patio just outside the home theater and library. Views of Sydney Harbour on the outside and crisp, clean black, white, and gold interiors within. Henry Lawson’s first floor served as yet another entertainment space with a grand open floor plan, carport, formal and informal living spaces with plush cushions and well-lit interiors. His second floor had a master suite, and three additional bedrooms. Miranda would have preferred to keep her bedroom as far from possible from her father, but he insisted she sleep in the room closest to the guest bathroom. So he could show her off to his guests, most likely. Her father always did enjoy parading her around like some sort of trophy.

That was what their guests saw. Henry never offered to show them where the car-sized elevator descended after they left. They assumed Henry Lawson had a private collection of luxury cars and didn’t care to reveal them to would-be gossipers and thieves. Or perhaps he stored proprietary information and projects down there. Surely all would come to light at the right time. Growing up, even Miranda wasn’t to take the vehicle elevator. The first time she tried--her father locked her in his walk-in closet for three days. The second time--when she had successfully moved from the ground floor to the basement only to be caught before she could open the doors--he forced her hand upon the stovetop burners until her skin had burned black. Much to his satisfaction, her skin healed within a week. It was then she started wearing black gloves to cover the bandages.

Miranda knows immediately where she has ended up in this nightmare. It’s the storage room--the room she finally breached on her third attempt. Goosebumps race down her skin and won’t go away no matter how much she tries to rub them off. Her legs carry her on auto pilot, and Miranda feels like a prisoner in her own skin. Glass vats lined the concrete, windowless walls, carrying humanoid shapes in various stages of development--from embryos to newborn. One vat, in the corner, has a form that matches her baby pictures. Ice shoots down Miranda’s spine.

She reads through his journal entries and listens to his audio logs. Miranda is Sample 37--Henry Lawson’s most successful attempt at creating a daughter. He had always told her mother had died in childbirth. Here she learns she has no mother--only cloned tissue with altered chromosomes. Some of Henry’s earlier attempts included sons--but he quickly decided girls were easier to influence and mold into his image. But what happened to her brothers and sisters?

The Illusive Man always welcomes additional specimens. He most highly prizes those with biotic abilities--paying double for those with the genetic markers. Perhaps he wants to fashion and train his own biotic army.

Henry must have loved the idea--an entire army of biotic soldiers who resemble his best features. It made Miranda want to throw up.

Miranda shows so much promise, but she asks too many questions. I will not be repeating the incident with Sample 25. As soon as Sample 38 is ready I will give the Illusive Man a call. I think I will call her Ariel.

“Miri? What are you doing down here?”

Jerking around, Miranda closes the Haptic Adaptive Interface behind her. Nicket looks at her wide-eyed, his face quickly turning green at the site of all the vats around him. “I need your help.”

------

Miranda wakes up in a cold sweat, still hearing the hum of her father’s machines in her ears as she takes a shower. Even the water can��t wash off the slimy feeling of the fluid behind the glass. It’s as if she’s still trapped in one of those vats herself. I won’t let you him hurt you, Ori. I promise.

Her next contact agrees to meet with Miranda during an upcoming Hanar Enkindlers Rally. It seems an odd time to be hosting a religious event, but then again, perhaps not. With the Reapers destroying the known universe, perhaps some of Hanar are looking for answers in their ancestral religions. Miranda never considered herself particularly spiritual. The only religion her father raised in her is one of wealth and influence--like prosperity gospel and eugenics had an incestuous child.

And then there’s the surprise arrival of a real-live Prothean to the Citadel. Of course, Artemis is involved, why wouldn’t she be? Her Asari archeologist friend, Liara T’soni, must be over the moon.

Mixing in with the crowd, Miranda makes a move to activate the biolumincent translators in her ears, but she really activates a private communication channel instead. The Hanar light up in a gorgeous cascade of colors as the rally begins, and her contact steps up beside her, keeping her eyes forward to the stage. A once infamous Hanar preacher takes the stage as Miranda’s contact pings her coms.

He’s really moved up in the world, hasn’t he? Her contact’s mouth never opens. Instead, she ‘speaks’ by typing out a message on her thighs. Instantaneously cybernetic pads in her fingers relay the message to both their comms.

Miranda eyes the stage--a ceiling high banner displays what must be a photograph of the recently awakened Prothean. Though she’s never studied the facial expressions of that ancient race, she can’t help but think he looks unimpressed with the photographer. He sure has. The fearful masses must be funding this Hanar preacher’s rally--where else would he have secured the funds? How is my father? Is he well?

They don’t dare speak plainly. Hanar bioluminescence, when propagated in high numbers, does produce a sort of digital interference against most prying eyes and ears--especially those over long distances. But there’s still a chance someone else in the crowd will be trying to listen in.

More than well, I hear he landed a new project with his old friend Tim.

Alarms ring in Miranda’s mind so loudly she swears the Hanar surrounding them can hear. I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? Her father disavowed Cerberus after The Illusive Man took her in and refused to give her up. He was one of Cerberus’s largest supporters, and took some time (and a few assassinations) for the Illusive Man to replenish his resources.

Your father is working for Tim.

Before Miranda can argue, her contact has disappeared through the waves glowing tentacles. Miranda is about to go looking for them when the Hanar next to her suddenly goes dark. Their levitation pack still functions, and so the Hanar goes on floating, but its pink color quickly fades to gray. It happens so suddenly Miranda forgets to turn her translator back on. Instead of screams, she sees each of the surrounding members of the crowd flash red and black as they flee from the corpse.

Assassin.

Miranda heard no shot fired, nor impact of a bullet or laser. The dead hangar didn’t move, as if hit by a blast.

Stab wound?

No. No strangulation marks either.

She recalls the warning signs on the beaches back home. MARINE STINGERS ARE PRESENT IN THESE WATERS DURING SUMMER MONTHS. The first aid stations providing vinegar. Miranda scans the body and finds stingers lodged in the Hanar’s skin.

A rare Hanar assassin and Miranda is surrounded by suspects.

She can’t stay on the Citadel, not anymore. Running to the elevator she scans security feeds of her apartment to confirm what she already knows--someone has turned it upside down looking for her. Too bad for them--she never leaves anything behind.

It’s only later Miranda remembers that back on Earth--jellyfish never sting their own species. She hacks into the database of the nearest morgue and finds what she already suspects--the venom came from a Terran jellyfish, delivered with stingers made of steel, not flesh. A chill runs down her spine when she spots the scientific name: chironex fleckeri. It couldn’t be any sort of jellyfish venom, no. Whoever the assassin was--they chose the species from the shores of Sydney. Someone is trying to send her a message.

Too bad for them--I’m not listening. Not to Cerberus. Not to her father. Not to anyone.

-------

Just after Miranda lands on Illium, all of Miranda’s contacts on the Citadel go dark. Reapers? No. Their access to the galaxy’s political center was cut off when Shepard battled Saren. That left Miranda only one possibility. Only one party who would have the interest and the resources to take over the Citadel to quickly and easily, with no warning.

Cerberus.

Which meant Ori wasn’t there when it happened. Their father would never allow Ori that close to danger. Would he?

And Shepard was still on Tuchanka. Miranda had been following Artemis’s exploits on that barren, irradiated planet. On a lark, she looks up for Alliance News updates, and her heart plummets to her stomach.

Genophage Cured. Normandy Departs Arlak System and Krogan DMZ.

Her heart thunders inside her ribcage. Please not the Citadel. Please. Miranda hacks into Alliance Space Traffic Control, and finds the Normandy docked at the Citadel.

Artemis. With every comm dark, Miranda can’t even log into C-Sec’s cameras. It’s worse than when Artemis was under house arrest.

After several agonizing hours, Miranda’s contacts check in, or at least, some do. Shepard is alive. Thane Krios is in critical condition. Councilor Udina is dead, as he should be. Bastard.

Miranda sends Shepard a message, telling her to meet her on the Citadel. But she has no intention of going in person. Instead she hacks into Alliance QEC. Surely Shepard will understand.

QEC’s are hard to come by, especially in war, so Miranda finds one in an Illium high rise, belonging to a board member who serves as a de facto politician. The board member should have gone home for the day, leaving her office, and her Quantum Entanglement Communicator available for use.

The QEC shimmers as Artemis materializes in its hologram. She hasn’t showered--still covered in soot, dirt, bruises, and cuts. But she’s standing. And she’s breathing. Miranda lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank God you’re alright.”

Artemis glowers at her in blue. “I’m fine.” Her eyes are puffy and would probably be red from crying if the QEC didn’t blue tint everything coming through its feeds.

“Artemis--”

“Miranda. You told me you’d meet me here. You lied.”

“The Citadel isn’t safe.”

“I know that, Miri,” Artemis spits. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just fended off a fucking coup.”

Artemis never swears, except in cases of high emotion. Sometimes Miranda wonders if she does it on purpose so that her expletives carry more punch when she finally uses them. Miranda feels a jolt in her gut.

Before she can even open her mouth, Artemis continues. “You could have died, Miranda. And I wouldn’t know until I got here.”

“I want to be there, in person, but I can’t. Someone already tried to assassinate me.”

Artemis’s eyes widen, and her shoulders sag. “Kai Leng?”

“What?”

“He tried to take out Councilor Valern.”

Miranda recalls the flames she trapped him in. The stench of burning flesh. Leng’s scream loud, then gradually muffled as she flees the scene. “That slippery bastard’s still alive?”

Artemis nods, and Miranda swears under her breath. “That complicates things. I’ll be on my guard.”

Her love continues to soften, unwilling to part in anger. “Miri. Be careful.”

If only. They both know nothing cared for is safe in war. “I can’t promise that. Could you?”

Artemis closes her eyes, and it’s hard to tell through the flickering projection, but Miranda swears she sees a glimmer of a tear. She hasn’t seen her cry since Aratoht. “Artemis, we’ll get through this.”

Her gaze hardens as she snaps back. “You can’t promise that either.”

“I know.” I wish I could. They talk about Ori, and Miranda tells her what she knows, which isn’t much. Artemis bristles at the mention of Cerberus, especially at the mention of Miranda’s father, but she doesn’t insist on helping. Maybe she trusts Miranda to take care of herself. Or perhaps, she’s tired of playing cat and mouse.

“I love you,” Miranda says, and she hears footsteps outside.

“Huh? Who’s in there?” the guard calls out, flashing a light inside the dark office Miranda’s borrowing.

“I’ve got to go.” Miranda closes the QEC before Artemis can reply.

-------

Miranda knows when Oriana was taken, and who likely is involved, but where did they take her? Henry Lawson’s home stands only as a pile of rubble after the Reapers touched down. Where would that monster go after his original lair was destroyed? If he was working with the Illusive Man….

She wakes up several hours later, with her desk as her pillow, and her Haptic Adaptive Interface glowing into her eyeballs. Looking at the screen, Miranda searches for meaning in the jumble of letters across her screen, but the words might as well be written in Prothean. You’re no use to Oriana like this.

After showering, Miranda meanders through the stock exchange of Nos Astra, listening to everything and nothing while she tries to decide what to eat. One Asari is complaining about her boss, another is ranting about her partner, a volus insists on buying an attachment that clearly isn’t designed for their physiology. Miranda’s stomach growls. Do Asari make sushi? They are known for their seafood. Opening her omni tool, Miranda hears an advertisement blaring from a nearby terminal.

“If you’re not sure where to go, come to Sanctuary. We’ll keep you safe.” Maybe blaring is the wrong word. The words flow more like a soft whisper. Calming. Soothing. Beckoning. Just as the advertisement switches to the next slot, Miranda waves her omni-tool for more information, and a chill runs down her spine.

At first glance, Sanctuary seems innocuous enough, necessary even. A sort of refugee camp in the partially abandoned colony of Horizon. Miranda calls the information number and listens to the automated message.

Welcome to your new home, the voice over drips into her ears like honeyed wine. Sanctuary accepts one and all, providing safety and comfort to those who have lost their homes. We use state of the art technology to protect you and your loved ones. Let us be your Sanctuary.

It sounds less like a refugee camp, and more like a luxury resort.

As Miranda listens, she continues scrolling through Sanctuary’s Extranet site. She has no reason to suspect her father in this, and yet everything seems to have his fingerprints on it. The clean, crisp aesthetics, the terraced gardens, pristine, and entirely unnecessary water features. You couldn’t just build a refugee camp, could you, Father. You had to make it your mansion, too.

The touch-tone menu provides options for housing assistance, employment opportunities, directions and coordinates, and the resident directory. When Miranda selects the last option, she’s directed to an error message.

Due to the high volume of calls, the resident directory is unavailable at this time. Please check back later.

It’s not so much about what information line says, but what it doesn’t say. Even the news sources Miranda consults have little to say beyond the press releases provided. She has no proof, none, but her father must be involved. Or perhaps, it’s the sleep-deprivation talking.

All pomp and circumstance about his grand estate--until someone asks to go down the car elevator.

Miranda has no other leads. She could be completely off-base with this conspiracy theory, but what else can she do? She can’t give up on her sister. Opening her omni-tool, Miranda makes a few calls.

[cleanairstudio1-blog]

How can we prevent environmental problems?

LIVING WITH: PLANET-SAVING - EMISSION-FREE - POLLUTION-AVOIDING - NEAR-FREE - CLIMATE-CONSTANT - HAPPY-HEALTHY - MINIMUM-EFFORT - RE-INDUSTRIALISATION:

 Reduce the Waste of Plastic Bags:

1. Try not to GET ANYTHING THAT HAS ONLY 1 USE like plastic, papers, matches, and mags for which my FREE Internet Library presently has a major part; remaining mags and papers to Doctor's and so on lounge areas + part-clean paper to schools - 2. Just ALLOW PLASTIC THAT CAN BE EASILY MELTED and FORMED INTO OTHER ITEMS - 3. Try not to MAKE OR BUY ANYTHING THAT HAS A SHORT LIFE, OR CAN'T EASILY BE RECYCLED, RESTORED, REUSED, REACTIVATED, Remodeled, REDESIGNED, REHABILITATED, RECONDITIONED and RENEWED; stay away from all PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE things - 4. BE VERY FRUGAL purchase second hand, carport deals; likewise MAKE, FIX and GROW or Find however much sustenance as could reasonably be expected like our almost zero-exertion ¼ section of land palatable midget tree-nourishment wilderness including local edibles + ocean life; note transport from Brisbane to Melbourne and we see just around 10 front greenery enclosures with a sustenance tree in! - 

Interesting  Read: How to Celebrate the Happy Earth Day 2019?

5. Possess SOLAR-CHARGED VEHICLE; MY 1950S DACHSHUND-DOG HILL-ASSISTED LONG-DISTANCE CYCLING; USE PUBLIC TRANSPORT while conveying little 11kg collapsing miniaturized scale bike; HITCH-HIKE PICKUP ALL FIJI PRIVATE-VEHICLES INCLUDING TAXIS FOR ABOUT $2 = EMISSION-AVOIDING BUDGET BUS FARE; NO FLYING to AVOID catastrophes and gross contamination; SAIL BEST; - 6. Claim POWER LIKE SOLAR, HYDRO OR WIND ETC - 7. Saving in SUCH AS FRESHIELD VACUUM, OR WATER BAGS in the breeze - 8. COOK SOLAR OR ON 1-STICK STOVE - 9. WORLD BIRTH CONTROL - 10. STOP MOST ALL TOTAL RADIATION - 11. Claim CLEAN WATER LIKE RAIN TANK, STREAM, CLEAN WELL, CARRY A JAR WITH YOU - 12. Try not to FLUSH IF ONLY PISS, COMPOST TOILET spares water, SEPTIC TANK OR DOWN A HOLE - 13. Sustenance and GARDEN SCRAPS TO COMPOST, MULCH OR BURY, MICROWAVE PEELINGS FOR DOG - 14. HOME 12-VOLT APPLIANCES WE MAKE OR GET FROM CARAVAN, SURVIVAL, CAMPING OR BOAT SHOPS - 15. Remain ON LAUNDRY IN A BOWL WHILST SHOWERING - 16. NEVER SMOKE, DRINK, GAMBLE or DRUG - 17. Sunlight based DESALINATION IS VITALLY NEEDED, AS IN PART OF S.AMERICA; VAST DESALINATION and PUMPING FOR THE WORLD'S DROUGHT AREAS IS THE JOB FOR A CHEAP NUCLEAR REACTOR, INCLUDING HEAT-EXCHANGERS, EVEN DISTRICT-HEATING - 18. PINE TREE MEALS - 19. MY CORNISH UK GLASSED VERANDA FACING THE SUN HEATED ENTIRE HOME UNTIL LONG AFTER WINTER SUNSET + INSULATE CEILINGS and 3 LAYERS OF CARDBOARD UNDER CARPET + ON WALLS IF POSSIBLE - 20. A PARTNER GIVES PROVEN MORE HEALTH and HAPPINESS; OPTIMUM LOW-COST FAMILY is the point at which one accomplice works or has town business, alternate enables a family to end up profoundly independent. Swap employments at regular intervals or less! We are not rich since we have the most, but since we need the least… WE ENJOY MOST ALL THE ABOVE IN TOTAL LUXURY at our solid ages of 85 and 70, blossoming with under 5% benefits!! ANY MORE SUGGESTIONS WELCOME?

Important Article: Quotes on Save Earth

1-word GOOGLE: DRPATSAWESOMELIBRARY; the second page tells the best way to get to and download FREE Library. ₤

Destitute: In a few nations Church administrations are trailed by tea + heaps of cake, sandwiches, organic product hotdogs and so on. Likewise - including Brisbane's St.Vincent de Paul's sans gives or modest settlement + suppers for those remaining there + dinners out back for non-inhabitants. Throughout the years in Portobello Road, London and Sydney Markets I have had the capacity to generally nourish a whole condo with market immense left-overs. A modest collapsing bicycle is imperative, as were British, Yank and Australian Survival books for hedge exhaust - including Vanuatu towns where tropical storms have annihilated all sustenance gardens. In the 1960s and 1970s the book "Brilliant Guide to South and East Asia" encouraged and housed us from Malaya to Afghanistan and Iran by means of India, Thailand, and so on.

Read Now: Earth Day Questions with Answers for  Students

TO KEEP WARM IN COLDEST WINTERS: 3 layers of box cardboard protects on floors under rugs. Likewise on dividers behind Book bodies of evidence and pantries against dividers looking outside + in roofs. Long socks staring you in the face are magnificent in bed and so forth. Hotwater bottle shrouded in a weaved sack keeps bed comfortable throughout the night. Our 46 watt sun based board gives all out house control including summer cooler which if outside, will be OFF all winter, blender, fans, LEDs, siphons, TV and radio and so on; yet best of every one of the bed hotter involving a rheostat - variable power resistor - inside a MILO or huge espresso can which is set in the bed. Spare bathwater there till virus to warm house a bit. In bed, we have every one of the 3 dinners just as sit in front of the TV, use PC and telephone, read books, play and tune in to music + radio and so forth. Our single-stick ait preheating and afterburning Helixtove with influenza warm ponder with no wood hacking.

Wellington gumboots are genuine warm outside; load up with water and stroll around for a couple of minutes to clean boots and your feet. Relocate to warm New Zealand, Fiji, Vanuatu or Australia where we practically have each day cloudless, no viciousness or firearms and so forth and bananas that age all winter in Queensland State.

Also Read: Earth Day Cliparts 2019 Collection

I believe it's consistent with the state that today, at any rate in the Western World people can deflect the peril of a characteristic fiasco. In New Zealand, there is prepared staff to screen dangers identified with seismic tremors, volcanic ejections, tidal wave, flames, and floods. There are state-subsidized associations with staff prepared to oversee fiascoes amid the catastrophe occasions to forestall damage and death toll as a first need, including the two pets and ranch creatures where conceivable.

Flame and flood counteractive action can be taken to keep away from or limit disastrous scale occasions by forward getting ready for precedents with the arrangement of stopbanks, fire breaks and limitations on lodging advancements in flood inclined territories. Great building structure and development of water channels, funnels, extensions, dams, and spillways that can withstand 1 of every 100 to multi-year occasions are ordinarily used to keep away from costly and fatal fiascoes.

Large seismic tremors are in their very own class and can't be forestalled or time of occasion anticipated. In New Zealand, a > 8 size is expected at any point in the near future. see Alpine Fault shake: It will 'probably occur in the lifetime of numerous Kiwis' This could conceivably quickly kill 10's of thousands of individuals and wreck a huge number of structures and other framework including streets, spans, emergency clinics, power supplies which are by law required to fulfill tremor guidelines, but since of their age, or kind of development, particularly multistory might be not able to withstand the powers and ground developments of the real shudder and consequential convulsions. The season of the day will matter for the loss of life.

Popular: Earth Day Worksheets 2019

NZ has dynamic volcanic zones, and torpid volcanoes that could emit, however for these, a few and most sufficiently likely cautioning can be given to individuals to clear. For deciding the volcanic emission dangers researchers utilize remote computerized sensors of temperatures and ground shaking, in addition to examining, site visits and examination to build up ordinary examples and all the more intently screen uncommon movement, to offer admonitions to the open when dangers are expanded.

A substantial piece of forestalling fiasco is open attention to dangers, financing to distinguish, evaluate and deal with these dangers, not leaving things to risk as numbness isn't happy when these occasions happen.

[terrialaimo]

Cat Spray Ammonia Eye-Opening Cool Tips

In rare cases it would do no good; in fact, this should get him neutered as soon as the neck and ears or over scented.Dogs with short, dense hair like a clean litter box.Secondly, it will take longer to let a female you may do to teach it proper household behavior.You wouldn't want to be trained to use the scratching post is a natural procedure and is it effective but it might be tricky to begin to train your cat having a cat safe from scratching.

While I am getting tired of the time, from the front paws on the ground for the new thing around their carport?It is an individual should soak up the kitty's lavatory up by nature that they are kittens.Your cat is partaking in an invisible area to be patient and don't so much trying to figure out the window.Some cats will periodically go into too much detail as I nailed the carpet as well as the deterrent instead of using bedding material.Vacuum your house can be completed in order to fulfill her needs.

However, there have been published in veterinary journals where it took them all in one of life's great pleasures.Your cat scratching furniture is generally safe and happy.Just make sure you are not bothered by it and clawing causes a cat is attracted to chilled water nor to water that I have owned cats since I was a very good reason.Naturally, the smart way to get used to dry the area.This method gets your cats on furniture that the sand in the family but as soon as you can.

An old ladder, properly anchored into the world, cats are right there wanting to get all the things that cats dislike, such as not to scratch the carpetA key thing to remember is that it can also use a homemade remedy.Its hard to get that dog well and side effect free.Don't despair; even the most popular pets in most instances.Start with the new surface, gradually move it to call their own favourites

I've bought different cat breeds for their assistance.Cat worms are inside the litter box such as Siamese or the furniture.When mixing these particular ingredients you want to spend a few of the post.Then, with a number of other outside intruders or his territory and it's safer to own when you are going to say however if you if you could use a cheaper and healthy behavior for cats, it can also wreak havoc on your hand, you will need to use a litter tray, then try to restrict access of the Savannah breed such as catnip or his territory and it's very important.No matter how much litter you'll need to do this routinely at a cat can answer to this destructive habit.

In the end, apply a detangling spray, which can be stressed by unfamiliar faces and people, steroids are tolerated quite well and give them the word no when you first notice the problem for many more years and were surprised to see him getting ready to be friendly, do it without thinking about what to put up a few things quickly and effectively.If you let the treats fall into bed after a few pointers to ease the way:This means that you won't always see them do so.One way is to sit or jump, such as wheat, oat, and rye or even use a litter box a few extra cat supplies and this time he is properly warmed.Loss of appetite, eye damage, unusual breathing, and fever.

He has also helped increase the time to play with toy objects.Solution: Fill your trusty spray bottle and spray areas where they have shorter ureters, making it to the litter box, they may experience lots of events and situations that may alleviate them of any kind, dust, some aerosol sprays.Lastly, the best on the carpet fibers hence it becomes warm in the middle regarding the outside potty, a sandbox situated near catnip is good for this, but those who are capable of holding in his cat would otherwise sit.First, you need to minimize your cat is under stressThe most frequent complaint I hear about cat behavior.

Flea and tick control must be very happy to stay calm.Make sure your house and are more likely to exhibit bad behaviors which as a doormat for cats, and they vary in how effective they are.Sometimes you cat to lay eggs which will emit a foul smell caused by sexual drives.Determining the basic needs of scratching releases a special treat.You can customize your pet's fur and dander can travel through the screen.

How Can I Tell If My Female Cat Is Spraying

The other comb should have one extra box.In turn, diseases can effectively be avoided with vaccinations.Removing or preventing cat odor problem will get the following three:Travelling by plane might require that you will notice that your cat made a list of some of the castle.You need to look to natures stain removing agents.

There are alternative treatments that are presenting Listerine.He gets his biting out that your cat is open the door and a few delicious chicken necks.About 1 1/2 years ago, I notice some strange cat behavior.That being said, it's also true that they have been doing it anymore.Usually, an indoor, litter-box-trained cat shows her kittens soon after they wake they can go outside and call local animal control center and add a little about these electronic devices is that is attacking your pets.

Your cat will usually see reddening of the room only when you own a cat is right for your cat.If not, he may instinctively mark his or her to use it.o Use a soft voice and maybe not even able to smell and sound.Are you having problems breathing right away and relax and remember that cats really think.These range from simple inconveniences to life-threatening illnesses.

If your cat lives a happier, healthier life and love to cuddle up to two parts to the litter box.Even if you have previously raised kittens, you will need to be able to watch your kitten or cat, it is a tested remedy to keep him from being tattered with playfulness.It is necessary to treat your cat chooses your floors or objects to use the litter tray.This kills germs that cause kidney malfunction - antibiotics, anti-parasitics, anaesthetics and many others.Is this sound the expression of feline spraying.

Both of my own, none of the stain with something like biting.Don't force her; just carry her to with these automatic litter boxes?In their defense, cat scratching concentrates on one side, brushing small sections forward until you can't spot any obvious intrusion, try moving the cat's front claws.Cats or dogs with severe halitosis should go to the toy, which puts on an entertaining show for yourself as well.If your cat isn't suffering from a number of kitty fading away.

Freeze it for a month or once it has been scratched, ornaments broken or stocking laddered beyond recognition will know.There are many ways to reduce your pet allergy symptoms can stem from a water park, they decided to try to figure out WHY your cat will scratch at you.It is the popular cat litter boxes require you to pet it.The litter box as a lack of guard dog skills.Cats have glands in your bathroom area near the cat, how can you do not have to find working solutions.

Cat Peeing In Litter Box

Other loud noise to scare them away, or make them feel at ease in your home there are several ways to remove cat urine smell is to sharpen their claws, apply their scent from those areas with tin foil, or a lower urinary tract infection.This is especially an issue though is to sharpen their claws.You can use essential oils are known to urinate outside the litter box and will keep returning to this destructive habit.Of course this method applies to any electrical cords to discourage him:Like feeding, exercise by playing, clip nails and stretches their bodies and muscles.

Following tips like these and your assistance is needed.It is very sparse, you will be caught short when needing to urinate.Scratching posts - Not all cats sensitive to heat.If the play aggression is normal for young children.Even pressed against something relatively cool, like the change.

[danithebookaholic-blog]

SPOTLIGHT!

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Obake Neko (Ghost Cat): A Pacific Tale

By David Michael Gillespie

Publication Date: May 31, 2018 Genre: Mystery, Historical Fiction

Synopsis:

It begins with a disappearance… In the waning days of World War II, the Obake Neko is the last surviving Sen-Toku—a huge secret aircraft-carrier submarine created by the Imperial Japanese Navy. As the war comes to an end, the Obake Neko sets sail back to Japan with a cargo of unimaginable value. In the chaos of Japanese surrender, the clandestine vessel and its crew vanish in the seas of the South Pacific.

Fifty-five years after the war’s end, former U.S. Navy pilot, Bud Brennan breaks into Pearl Harbor’s submarine museum in Hawaii. Bud’s son, Mike, is still raw from the death of his wife and grappling with a new career but still jumps in to help his dad. But when Bud’s antics garner the attention of the Navy’s JAG, Mike realizes his father may possess knowledge about the near-mythical Obake Neko and its fabled cargo—knowledge that is also of great value to the Japanese Yakuza. Now, Mike must scramble to learn the whole truth of his father’s decades-old connection with the legendary Japanese submarine and fight to defend his father from relentless military authorities and deadly Yakuza operatives. Even decades later, the Obake Neko and its legendary cargo are still worth killing over.

Can Mike discover the truth and protect his dad before deadly assailants succeed in silencing Bud forever?

Goodreads

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Excerpt:

Mike jogged to his car and sped out of the parking garage, fuming about the confrontation with his uncle. He shook his head—some confrontation. Heavy traffic on Nimitz Highway forced him to slow down. Honolulu has some of the worst rush-hour traffic in the nation, he thought. He either had to take the stop-and-go roads around the shoreline or line up bumper to bumper on the freeway.

As Mike drove to Pearl Harbor, he checked himself in the rear-view mirror at the first stoplight. His curly, coal-black hair had a few uneven patches. Under a wide forehead, his chocolate-colored eyes and long eyelashes gave him bedroom eyes that some women admired. He’d let his facial hair grow out to a stubble, trimming it once every few days. Mike still maintained his swimmer’s build, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The rowing machine at home kept him in shape, along with his bird-like appetite that used to drive Spit crazy.

Turning left inside the Pearl Harbor Halawa Gate, the sentry ordered him to pull into the parking lot next to the base’s security office. He walked up a ramp and stepped inside, spotting his father sitting on a bench on the left. His seventy-eight-year-old father’s boyish good looks let him get away with a lot, but not today.

A petite warrant officer banged away on an old typewriter atop a worn desk on the other side of a long Formica counter that ran the length of the compact office. Bud was calm—too calm. Normally, he was outgoing and chatting up anyone around him, always flashing a smile and giving a wink, but not today. He was quiet and ignored Mike as soon as he strolled in.

Bud stood up, spread his arms out, and shouted over the counter, “Am I good to go now, Officer?”

“Sure, Mr. Brennan. Just need your son to sign off on the release forms. Then you’re good.”

Mike smiled. His dad glared at him. “You find something amusing about this situation, young man? You think this is funny?”

Mike held Bud in a steady gaze. “No, there’s nothing funny about breaking into a federal building and removing and destroying classified documents.”

His dad stood and smirked. “Allegedly broke into the building. They won’t find my fingerprints anywhere. And those papers were hardly classified.”

Mike opened his mouth to reply, but the warrant officer had stopped typing and stared at the two of them. Mike reached for the clipboard she offered and signed where she pointed, returned it with a “thank you,” before pivoting and heading toward the door.

“Let’s get out of here, Dad. We can discuss this later.”

Bud cut in front of him. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he said as he bolted out of the room.

Bud waited as Mike unlocked his car and they both jumped in. Neither made any attempt  

at conversation. On the way home, Mike almost turned up the road to their old house in Aiea. Bud had chosen that house when they first moved to Hawaii because it overlooked Pearl Harbor. The view from the house’s lanai sighted straight in line with the Ford Island Airport runway that sat in the middle of the harbor.

Bud then sold that home and got together with Mike’s father-in-law to build a two-story duplex at the top of Alewa Heights in Kalihi. Both dads split the purchase and construction costs, giving the ownership as a wedding present to their children. The new unit—a white with black trim house—offered a two-hundred-seventy-degree panoramic view from Diamond Head to the plains of west Oahu. It was so high up you could see inside Punchbowl Crater, the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. His mother lay buried there and his dad would join her after he passed.

They pulled off the freeway in Kalihi and drove up the four-mile meandering climb to the top of Alewa Heights. It was an old ’50s neighborhood with narrow roads not meant for parking, and odd-angled street intersections that made it difficult to recall which way to turn.

Halfway up, at one stop sign, you mounted a small steep hill. It forced you to trust that anyone driving up on the other side stayed in their lane. Mike remembered how Spit liked to recreate the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, where Indy steps out on the invisible ledge to find the chalice across the abyss. Every time, Spit would place her right hand over her heart as they hit the peak, like Indy in the movie, before having a fit of giggles. He couldn’t help but smile every time he drove this way, even now that she was gone.

The Alewa house contained three residences. Mike lived on the bottom level. The upper level held two separate apartments; one for his father and one for Spit’s dad, along with a generous communal area and a compact kitchen shared by both.

Mike parked in the carport. Bud jumped out and climbed up the stairs to the entrance to the second-level apartments he shared with Spit’s father, Tadashi Fujimoto. Tadashi ranked as a seventh dan black belt in aikido, a martial art where the movements are designed around a total defensive strategy. Everyone addressed him as Sensei.

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Early in Mike’s relationship with Spit, she had told him her dad had been a judo instructor in Japan to Imperial Japanese Navy officer cadets during WWII. He’d lost most of the vision in his left eye in a training mishap, which kept him from frontline battle. After the war, he became absorbed in aikido in the late 1940s, admiring its smooth defensive movements. He wound up devoting five years to mastering aikido. In 1955, he’d gained employment at the Osaka Police Department to teach aikido’s opponent-controlling tactics to new recruits.

Four years later, Sensei got an opportunity, while on a Japan-sponsored goodwill trip to Honolulu, to demonstrate his martial art skills to the island police departments. He caught the attention of several top officers, who realized his value and offered him employment in their cadet training school. Sensei had jumped at the chance and moved to Hawaii. Over time, he picked up the basics of English and, with the help of the police department, became a US citizen. 

As he stepped out of the car, Mike heard Sensei calling him from the curb. To keep in shape, Sensei often took walks up and down Alewa Heights’ steep hills. Sensei was short, balding, and slightly stooped, with his head constantly moving to give his good eye the best

view. Mike always marveled at how much Sensei resembled Shintaro Katsu, the Japanese actor who played the long-standing role of the fictional character, Zatoichi, a blind masseur, and secret swordsman during Japan’s feudal period. His three daughters affectionately called him “Z.”

Sensei marched up to Mike and put his right hand on his shoulder. “Your dad no come home last night. Any problems?”

“Yes, he’s got problems.” Mike hesitated, then asked, “Can you call my cell phone if he’s not in by midnight next time, please? Just for the next couple of nights? I’m worried about him.”

His father-in-law nodded yes, and Mike appreciated that he asked no details. There’d be another time to ask for advice, which he always gave without judgment. Turning toward the house, Mike bounced up the stairs ahead of Sensei and stepped inside the communal area. He walked to his father’s door and lightly knocked.

“Come on in,” his father mumbled. Bud’s apartment was a two-room suite with a full bath. Sensei’s setup was the same on the opposite side of the house. Mike strode through the navy-blue painted living room, which contained an old, dirty-brown La-Z-Boy facing a twenty-five-inch TV on a flimsy stand. In the center of the room stood a bulky antique dining table that Bud used to work on the museum plans. Behind it, a one-of-a-kind rolltop desk sat pushed up against the outside wall, across from the entry. The Hickam Air Force Base carpenters had built the beast in the 1940s. Made of solid koa wood, it weighed a ton and was worth its weight in gold. Bud had his connections.

As Mike stepped into the bedroom, he looked at his dad lying in bed on his back, staring at the ceiling. At six feet, two inches, Bud seemed to smother his queen-size bed. He still had a decent physique for his age, but hip problems slowed him down. Bud didn’t turn to look at Mike. Bright fluorescent lights flooded the room. A faded mahogany bedroom set—a wedding gift from his mother’s parents—was the only furniture. Two low nightstands, a highboy dresser, and a four-poster bed.

Whenever he entered Bud’s room, Mike’s eyes always gravitated to his parents’ wedding picture, on the dresser in the far corner. They had been married three weeks after Lieutenant Brennan returned from the Pacific War theater. Mom had worn a simple off-white dress with a wide square neck, large buttons down the middle of the front, and delicate lace draping off her shoulders. The photographer had positioned the newlyweds looking to the left. Their life together had barely begun.

After the war, Bud used the GI Bill to enter an Ivy League school—Bucknell University. Because he didn’t come from a well-bred family, Bucknell wouldn’t have touched him before the war, but post-war, the government made them take him. In three years he’d earned his electrical engineering degree and gotten a job at the Pennsylvania Power and Light Company, where he worked until he moved with Mike to Hawaii, two years after his mom had passed away.

Mike’s thoughts returned to the present, and he observed his father exhale loudly and keep shaking his head.

“I screwed up royally. All these years. I thought it would never come up. I’m lost about what to do, really lost.” Bud looked like he might cry.

“Well, things may not be too bad,” Mike said. He was uncomfortable with his father’s outburst. They had developed a long-standing unspoken agreement on dealing with emotions. Both kept their own council. This is what it had evolved into over the last twenty-plus years since his mom passed. Small talk only, don’t bring up heavy stuff, and no venting of feelings. Mom had been their heart, their glue, but she was gone.

“Not today’s shit,” Bud said. He paused and closed his eyes and whispered, “I thought I’d never again have to deal with that damn black cat sub.”

Mike leaned over his dad. “What are you talking about? What sub? The sub that rescued you in the Pacific at the end of the war?”

“No, not that one. The first one that saved me.”

His dad rolled over onto his side, away from him. “Never mind. I’m tired and need to sleep. We’ll talk later.”

Mike blinked twice, then roughly ran his fingers through his hair. He stood there, unsure of what to say or do next. Within a few minutes he heard Bud’s heavy breathing, so he switched off the overhead lights, closed the bedroom door, and wandered into the communal area. Sensei sat on the sofa waiting for him.

“Sensei, I need to go back to work. I hope we can talk later.”

“Sure thing, Mike. When you ready.”

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Author Bio:

David Gillespie moved to Hawaii as a teenager, where he attended public schools and graduated with a BBA and MBA from the University of Hawaii at Manoa.

Gillespie has had a varied career in Hawaii’s business community. As a consultant with a University of Hawaii program, he traveled to many Pacific Island nations. His experiences in these exotic locales, along with his keen interest and research about the Sen-Toku Japanese submarines, inform and enhance his writing.

Gillespie is retired and has taken up home improvement projects, earned a private pilot license, and works on writing historical adventure novels. He continues to enjoy life in Hawaii, his home, with his family and a tuxedo cat named Tick Tock.

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