#The Hotel Zags

[gaytravelinfo]

The Hotel Zags - Portland, OR

The Hotel Zags | 515 SW Clay St, Portland, OR 97201 | 1-855-523-6914 WELCOME TO THE HOTEL ZAGS — YOUR PORTAL TO PORTLAND  The Hotel Zags is situated in downtown Portland’s Business district, one of the city’s most vibrant neighborhoods. We’re truly close to everywhere you want to be — from delicious dining to hip shopping hot spots to cultural attractions. Most are within walking distance, but…

[djsherriff-responses]

Do you think people normally consent to being eaten? Do you think that cannibalism is illegal in most countries around the world simply because of health issues and not because it might involve something else? Like, idk, murdering someone and violating their bodily autonomy?

btw the mass murder in question is me talking about how weak Hazbin Hotel’s purge plot thread is because we’re meant to be sad Angels are killing people in hell, you know, such as cannibal serial killers and pimps who abuse and rape people?

I don’t agree with killing as a solution and Hazbin Hotel’s writing is weak but like, these characters are already dead. They did awful shit in life and went to hell for their awful behaviour. Sorry that I struggle to take Hell’s plight seriously when these characters in hell are too busy being assholes to even give two shits about it

[glitterandsalt]

The hotel I stayed at tried to charge me a 58$ amenities fee - I booked with a deal site so they didn't mention that but also uhhhh you're really gonna charge ppl a fee for stuff they didn't even use (credits to snacks, 24 Hour Fitness, the hotel restaurant etc)??

I called to ask about it and they said they'd refund me, so that's good but I've never stayed at a hotel where they charged you after your stay unless you opened the not free stuff in your room or broke/dirtied/stole something.

There was also peeling paint in the bathroom bc they had a bathroom fan but it wasn't operational. No microwave in the room or anywhere in the lobby so good luck heating up food if you have it. The windows got so covered in condensation that it was dripping down the wall into the electrical outlet!! The TV in the room didn't work 🤣 like don't stay at the Hotel Zags in Portland if you can help it. It's not the worst but it def acts like it's better than it is without actually having any of the things that make it better.

[lemoncrushh]

I Wish That It Could Be Like That

Summary: An affair with Harry has taken its toll and is no longer enough.

Warnings: angst, infidelity - please don't read if this is a trigger for you

Word Count: 1824

A/N: Written in 2017, inspired by "Secret Love Song, Pt. II" by Little Mix. This is in first person, but the woman's name is not mentioned.

"Have you seen my ring?" asked Harry, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Which ring?" I sat up, stopping in the middle of buckling the straps on my shoes. My breath caught in my throat. Oh, Shit!

"This one," Harry held up his left hand, but pointed at the middle finger with his right.

"Oh," I sighed. "Thank God, I thought you meant..."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I don't-" His words stilled in his mouth and he swallowed hard.

"You don't what?" I raised a brow.

"I don't...wear that one. When I'm with you."

"Oh." I released a breath and grabbed my other shoe, stopping once again. "That's not true. You had it on the other day."

"When?" Harry crossed the room to inspect the dresser.

"At the dinner par-"

Harry nodded at me in the mirror, recognizing my acknowledgment. There had been people at that dinner party who knew her. Who knew them as a couple. I'd had to pretend, playing another one of his friends who just happened to be at the party, and not his date. I was a great actress. No one was the wiser. No one knew our secret.

We had to hide, Harry and me. It wasn't easy, and to be honest after three months, it had started to take its toll on me. In the beginning it was merely a physical attraction we shared. We didn't mean for it to happen. No one ever does. Over time it had started to develop into something more, at least on my part, and I had reason to believe he felt the same. However, he belonged to someone else.

I always only referred to her as her. I couldn't bring myself to use the term wife. Occasionally her name rolled off my tongue, tasting of shame and self-disgust. It wasn't that I had any issues with her. As a person, she was fine, lovely even. It was just that she had something I wanted. She had his last name. She had him.

And for that reason alone, I hated her.

I bit my lip as I tied on my other shoe. Harry passed me as we walked around the bed, still searching for his missing ring.

"There it is," he half giggled when he lifted the pillow. I returned the grin he gave me as he slid the ring onto his finger.

"C'mon, love," he said, holding out his hand to me. "Let's go."

We drove to a night club just outside the city, one that a mutual acquaintance, whom knew nothing of our affair, had casually mentioned in conversation. I felt relief in knowing that we wouldn't be recognized, happy to spend a fun-filled evening as a couple in someplace other than my apartment or a hotel room.

Harry held my hand for the entire drive, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb across my knuckles and rings, occasionally lifting our joined hands to kiss the back of mine. I sat back in my seat, a contented smile on my face as I listened to him humming along to the radio.

I hadn't told him yet, but I was in love with him. I'd decided that day, that morning while I was getting dressed, or maybe brushing my teeth as I thought of his smile, his laugh, his voice...the way we fit together. It was so obvious, I had to laugh at myself. Every piece of him just fit perfectly.

Harry walked around the car to open my door like a gentleman, and again held the door open when we arrived at the entrance of the club. He gently guided me inside with his hand on the small of my back as we walked up to the bar to give our drink orders. We'd only gotten halfway through our first cocktails when a song we both loved began to play. Without a word, Harry set down his glass and pulled me onto the dance floor.

The bass zig-zagged through my veins as we danced, pumping loud and causing the floor to feel like it was made of rubber as we bounced to the beat. I raised my arms above my head like a fan at a concert as I sang along and twirled in a circle at Harry's feet, making him beam his million-watt smile.

With not nearly enough alcohol in my system yet, Harry agreed to sit the next song out and return to the bar for more drinks. This time we grabbed a couple shots, letting the golden liquor loosen any stiff joints and muscles. I watched Harry sway his hips to the next song as I sipped on a glass of water, eager to join him on the dance floor once again.

I giggled at the pure joy he exuded when he placed his hands on my hips and shifted them back and forth to get me to dance. He was obviously having a great time, and that itself made me happy.

We danced a couple more songs, both of us getting hot and sweaty. Then an oldie from the 70s started to play, a more mid-tempo track with a sexy groove. I gave Harry a wink as I began to dance closer to him, my fingers lightly teasing the opening of his shirt, tickling the unfastened buttons.

I loved the way he was looking at me. His eyes sparkled in the dim light, the green darker than usual. He didn't have to say a word. I knew what he was feeling, because I was feeling it too.

I knew I wasn't supposed to. Every warning he'd ever given me replayed in my head as I stood on my tip toes. I didn't care. I needed his lips on mine. I wound my arms around his neck, my chin tilted, awaiting his kiss.

But it didn't happen. Instead, Harry unwrapped my arms from his neck, squeezing my hands before letting them fall between us. His jaw set, he shook his head.

"No, baby," he whispered.

Though his tone was firm, like a parent scolding a child, I knew I detected a bit of regret and sorrow. Or perhaps that was just my own wishful thinking.

"Please."

"We can't. I've told you."

"No one knows us here, Harry."

His brows furrowed, the crinkle above his nose deeper than ever, he shook his head once more and turned toward the bar. I stood in my spot, my feet unable to move. My chest shook as I began to sob internally, careful not to let any tears roll down my face. Finally, I was able to walk, following Harry where he stood at the end of the bar.

"Take me home," I mumbled.

"What?" he turned to me.

"I'd like to leave," I declared, my bottom lip trembling. "Drive me home, please."

"We only got here..." his eyes shifted around the room. "It's early."

"Fine," I argued. "I'll find my own way."

Pushing past him, I made it outside, my heels clicking on the pavement and down the sidewalk. I pulled out my phone to call a cab just as Harry caught up with me.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a ride," I answered, my fingers tapping anxiously on the screen.

"Don't be like this, love. We've been through this."

"Harry, not one fucking soul in that bar knows you're marr-" I couldn't say the word. It tasted awful on my tongue and made me nauseous. "That I'm not yours."

"Baby..." He stepped closer, but still didn't reach for me. The few inches between us might as well had been a million miles. "You are mine."

"Am I? Because I don't feel like it."

Harry remained silent, the only sound his breath as he exhaled through his nose. I felt the tears form in my eyes again and I blinked, desperate to hold them back.

"You won't even touch me now," I whispered in a shaky voice.

"I...I want to..."

I shook my head, the first lone tear trickling down my cheek. "Just take me home. Please."

Dropping his head, Harry dug his keys out of his pocket. I followed him to the car and climbed inside when he held the door open. The noise rang in my ears when he shut it, like the sound of a pinball dropping down the chute, much like the clanging of a phantom beat in my empty heart.

As he drove, the silence was deafening. I couldn't stop the tears anymore. They came rolling down my face like a waterfall. My chest shook with heavy breaths. I couldn't look at him, so I just stared out the window and watched the headlights and street lamps go by.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally spoke.

I sniffled, still unable to turn my head. "I don't wanna hide anymore," I mumbled through sobs.

I could hear him swallow, hear the sound of his hand running across the steering wheel. He cleared his throat.

"I wanna be able to be seen with you," I continued. "I want to be able to kiss you. Why can't we be like that?"

"We...we just...we can't."

"Why not?" I cried, finally turning to face him. His face was lit by the dashboard light, but his expression was unreadable. "I love y-"

"Shh, baby, don't," he interrupted, reaching over the seat to grab my hand.

"Don't what? I can't help it, Harry! I'm in love with you! I want the world to know. I wanna shout it from the rooftops!"

Harry said nothing else for the rest of the ride home. I just sat in the passenger seat, staring at him, waiting and hoping desperately for him to speak. His hand still held mine as he pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car in front of my apartment. Releasing it slowly, he shifted the car into park and bowed his head.

"It's hopeless, isn't it?" I finally asked.

"It's...it's complicated, baby. You knew that from the beginning."

"You said I'm yours. Why is that complicated?"

"Because, it is," he glared at me.

"Because someone else is yours too. That's never gonna change, is it?"

Harry sighed, answering my question with that one gesture.

"I can't live this way, Harry. I've been hoping..." I shook my head, wiping another stream of tears. "No, I can't. I can't keep waiting. It'll never be enough."

"I'm sorry, baby," he said again. "I just can't give you what you're wanting right now."

"I know."

I leaned forward, placing my hand on his cheek. His eyelids fluttered as my lips met his and he kissed me back. One last kiss. A kiss goodbye. Forever.

Neither of us spoke. Instead, I opened my own car door and walked to my own front door, unlocking it as Harry backed out of the parking space. His taillights shone on my hardwood floor when I turned around and watched him drive away.

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[nerdykeppie]

Our events page has been updated with new dates! Come see us at the Night Markets at Hotel Zags or at GeekGirlCon in Seattle. :)

[dark-elf-writes]

Hades seems to like trapping his sons so they can't escape to the dangerous world beyond his realm.

... I guess he learned from Zag not to let it be a test of strength considering the two canons and how Nico and Bianca were trapped via pleasure (endless arcade in a casino).

Hades: How can I keep my children safe without having them hate me clearly my choices with Zagreus were… ill advised

Hades: Trapping Boarding them in a hotel that is outside of time!

Hades: I’m so smart!

[yellow-yarrow]

Linoleum Salesman looking at Malin's back dotted with birthmarks like stars, through a telescope, the Deserter looking at Klaasje and Lely's body tattooed with stars through the scope.... Harry crashing into the sea then passing out high on drugs in a hotel room, with his tie hanging from the ceiling fan like a rope, and then waking up with no memories, the Linoleum Salesman walking into water then his Linoleum Salesman persona disappears after an orgasm in the hotel room, while he has a rope around his neck .... The Linoleum Salesman's smile is described as "zig-zag", like mountains, like pine trees, "the window hangs like a cracked smile", "When the Linoleum Salesman came out, his hand were full of broken, glittery glass" "it's only on the balcony where he hears the intense wheezing of evil". Malin's smile is described as evil, there are many Jesper and LS parallels, Zigi breaking the window, Harry breaks a window, and the Dolores Dei glass. anyway, where was i going with this

[after-the-end-times]

We'll always have (more than) Paris

Different Meeting Tedependent AU where Ted had planned a trip to Paris for him, Michelle, and Henry, but before he can tell her she hands him divorce papers.

But after so many months of researching places to go and things to do and food to eat he finds he still wants to go. So, he and Henry go to Paris without Michelle.

They're wandering toward the base of the Eiffel Tower when a little girl darts past him giggling and screeching that ear splitting high pitched happy screech kids that age can so easily hit.

A few moments later a harried looking man with amazingly white streaked hair trot-runs past him, trying to catch up to her without full out sprinting.

But Ted knows how toddlers can be when they're in that darting away phase and she's not going to stop until she's scooped up.

He also knows no parent actually wants to look like they can't get their child back without yelling or running, so he turns to Henry,

"Hey Henry, why don't run up past that little kid there? Get her to chase you and get her back to her dad, hm?"

Henry doesn't need to be told twice and takes off, dashing past the man and then the little girl.

Ted speeds up his walking pace to tap the man on the shoulder.

"Excuse me! Er- Excusez moi! Uh parlez um- inglese? My son's gonna bring her back, don't worry! Toddlers love nothing more than chasing big kids!"

Ted tries to make himself look as encouraging and friendly as possible in case the man doesn't understand him. The man had turned to look at Ted at his shoulder tap so Ted finally got to see that magnificent hair up close.

"Oh! Uh yes, thank you. Though he might have his work cut out for him, she hasn't been a very good listener today, I'm afraid," He looks back to the kids who are giggling and zig-zagging around the green, before turning back to Ted looking slightly bewildered, "And I'm sorry, was that supposed to be French earlier? I think there might've been some Spanish in there."

Ted huffs out a laugh and puts his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, I tried to learn some French on that owl app before we came here, but three years of high school Spanish keeps slipping through instead," He nods toward Henry, "He's actually taken to it a lot quicker. Probably cause it's like it's just another game on his tablet."

He holds out his hand, "Ah right, Ted Lasso. That's Henry out there."

The man gives him a bemused look and takes it, "Trent Crimm. And she's Darcy"

"Well, nice to meet you Trent Crimm," He nods toward where Henry and Darcy have flopped down on the grass, breathing hard, "Looks like someone's been tuckered out."

"Well, thank you for that. Fortunately, our hotel isn't far and it's just about time for a nap," He starts toward the kids, before pausing and turning to Ted, "Have a good vacation Mr. Lasso. You should make sure to visit Musée d'Orsay, they have a little art scavenger hunt Henry might enjoy."

"Thanks for the tip. And please. Ted." He smiles at Trent.

"Ted." Trent holds his gaze a moment longer, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks, before glancing away. He turns and calls out, "Darcy! Come on! It's time to go!"

Henry and Darcy sit up and clamber to their feet. Darcy races over to Trent, slamming into his calves, "Daddy! Can Henry come picnic with us?"

"No darling, we're done picnicking for today. And I'm sure Henry's dad has plans for them."

"T'morrow?" She gazes up at Trent with glistening eyes.

Ted wouldn't wish those big crocodile tears on anyone, let alone his new friend.

"Well hey there, little Miss Darcy!" He bends down to address her where she's still wrapped around Trent's legs and she turns her eyes toward Ted, "You guys have been picnicking? That's fun! Henry and I love a good picnic! We'd love to join you sometime!"

He stands up to look at Trent, smiling gently at him "If that's alright with you?"

Trent blinks a couple times up at him, a slow smile over taking his face, "We'd love for you to join us." He pauses and breaths out a laugh as he glances away, "But tomorrow we actually have plans. To visit the Musée d'Orsay, in fact."

Ted smiles wide as he realizes, "Why Trent! And here I just heard a great recommendation for the Musée d'Orsay! And an art scavenger hunt, I believe?"

He glances over at where Henry's attempting to do cartwheels in the grass. Darcy notices as well and abandons Trent's legs to run over and start somersaulting alongside him.

Ted's smile softens as he tilts his head to the side and looks at Trent from under his lashes, "I'm almost sorry I messed up our "Accidentally running into each other for the second time" meet-cute, but at least now we can spend the whole time together! Then grab lunch afterwards? Besides, art scavenger hunts are much more fun with more people, everyone knows that."

Trent smiles up at Ted, "Well, if everyone knows that. Who am I to disagree?"

For a moment they gaze into each other's eyes, picturing the rest of their time in Paris; Visiting museums and tourist spots together, meeting at cafes for breakfast, finally making it to the top of the Eiffel Tower, ice cream along the Seine, Henry gaining a Darcy shadow, Ted and Trent spending their every moment learning about each other and falling in love faster than either thought was possible.

But for now, Ted and Henry walk Trent and Darcy back to their hotel for nap time. And as Ted looks at Henry skipping ahead of them while Darcy chatters on and he feels Trent's sliding his hand into his own, he suddenly knows they're going to have so much more than Paris

~fin~

post scripts: Before their flight, Ted got an email and was offered the Richmond coaching job, but hadn't thought much of it. He's definitely going to accept it now. Michelle always wanted to travel and move abroad, but Ted never wanted to leave Kansas. She studied abroad in London and would actually love the opportunity to move there with Henry and Ted (but not with Ted) Trent is overwhelmed when Ted tells him he was one of the deciding factors for Ted accepting the Richmond coaching position. He never imagined someone could ever love him so much they'd move across the ocean for him. It takes time, but he finally starts to believe it

[angelhareincorrectquotes]

Jonah: Your smile? It makes my day.

Gabby: Your happiness? I live for that.

Zag: A room? Get one.

Francis: Hotel? Trivago.

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

Just for the Weekend 3/10

Summary: Jason makes a pit stop.

Pair: Reader x Jason Todd

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Mutual pining, swearing.

Part 2

"Is she here?" Jason asks as he follows you down the steps

"Yes sir, We're just getting her off now and Leslie will see that your bags are delivered to the hotel."

"Awesome, thanks." He says handing Julian what looks to be $100. You just stand there, mostly confused about what is happening and it isn't until someone rounds the corner with a dark maroon motorcycle that you understand who she is.

"No," you say almost immediately, Dick had been trying for years to get you on one of those death traps and you had yet to cave. "I'll just go in the car, meet you there."

"But darling," he says, clicking his teeth like he's trying out the pet name but doesn't like the way it feels in his mouth, "we need to arrive together, how will it look if we aren't?"

"No way,"

"Sugar, you'll be fine. I've only crashed twice,"

"Jason,"

"What if the car follows us, sweet cheeks?" his eyes crush up, "the car can follow us and if you want to get off I'll let you off,"

"If the cars going to follow us why can't I just-"

"How far is it to the hotel from here?" He asks Julian.

"30 minutes,"

"Doll, well be there before you know it,"

"If I come with you, will you stop with the pet names?"

"Deal, get her a helmet."

Within seconds Jason has the helmet on and you're climbing on the back of the bike. Fuck, he's so close. That fucking forest cologne permeating your nostrils and making your insides tingles. You reach down gripping the side rail, like Dick had shown you the one time he managed to get you on the bike before you chickened out.

"Hold onto me," Jason says through what you assume is a Bluetooth connection in the helmets.

"Nah, I'm good," you say, glad that he cannot see how red you are.

"If you don't wanna fall off you need to hold onto me,"

"I can hold on here, it's fine,"

He lurches the bike forward before coming to an abrupt stop and your arms fly around his waist, holding on for dear life. "See now isn't that better," you can hear the smile in his voice. Fucking asshole, but God he's so fucking warm and as he takes off you squeeze him tighter, closing your eyes and wishing that you could crawl inside him so you don't have to feel how fast the wind is moving past you.

"Your eyes shut?" He asks and you can barely hear him over the revving underneath you.

"Yeah,"

"Open them," reluctantly you do as he asks, just in time to see the coastline to your left

"It's beautiful,"

"Would've missed this view in the car," it's only then you realise that you can't see the SUV anywhere and you're traveling up a dirt road.

"Where are we? Where's the car?" You start to panic,

"Took a shortcut, should be there soon."

"You say that-" cut off by a sharp turn, you feel your adrenaline start to pump. "Are you enjoying this?" You start to giggle uncontrollably as he moves faster, zig zagging through the landscape as your laughter goes higher and higher.

He stops and you know you're not at the hotel. The hotel is closer to the city and this seems to be an alcove? Maybe a private beach?. "I don't want to get arrested for trespassing."

"We won't, Bruce owns the house up there," he points up the hill. "We're about 2 hours ahead of schedule so I wanted to go for a swim," retrieving the bag that somehow managed to fit behind your ass on the bike. You assumed it was for the helmets, but as Jason pulls out towels and a bag you realise it's much bigger on the inside.

"What's this?"

"Swimmers and a towel,"

"What for?"

"Swimming? Aren't you meant to be the smart one?"

"Shut up, I mean why are we here?"

"Like I said I wanted to go for a dip." He pulls off his shirt and you think you might pass out. How is he like this? He's so broad, his arms look fucking huge and as your eyes taper down you notice the round curve of his tummy that looks so soft and biteable.

"Is there somewhere I can change?" You stutter, fuck you need to get away, need to breathe for a second.

"Yeah there's a cabin that way," he points to the shack you hadn't noticed.

"Thanks," grabbing the bag, you take long deep calming breaths that do nothing to stop your pounding heart.

The look on your face was worth it, Jason thinks as he quickly changes into his board shorts. The shameless way you ogled him before running away like a kitten in a storm.

He steps closer to the water, diving under the first wave and relishing in the cold kiss of the water. He's always loved the water. It took him a while to get back in after Lazarus, the fear that this time he wouldn't rise back out lingering in some distant part of his brain.

But as you emerge from Alfred's cabin, he can't seem to recall that fear. Instead focusing on you, your hair flowing freely behind you and the tiny swimsuit you're wearing. "Come on in, the waters nice," he calls out to you as you stare down at him. He thanks the universe that the coolness of the water is keeping his face from turn red as he takes you in.

You start to run, knowing that if you stop you're probably just going to turn back into the adorable cabin and stay there. When you hit the edge of the water you keep running, making sure you're deep enough. And when you lose the sandbar you drop, flopping yourself into the upcoming wave and making a huge splash.

A large burst of water splashes into you when you emerge and you know where it came from. You kick hard, splashing Jason back, before attempting to swim away.

This goes back and forth, the both of you enjoying your splash in the water as your arms and legs go weary.

You hear a noise overhead and look up to see a flock of gulls flying over you. You turn to the place Jason was to tell him about it but he's gone, seemingly vanished. It's only when you feel a tug on your ankle and let out a scream, your head is dragged under water.

Two strong hands tugging you back up and Jason's rancorous laughter fills the air when you brush all the hair that falls in front of your face. "Rude!" You shout, splashing him again.

Annoyed that you probably look like a drowned cat and he still looks perfect, somehow maintaining the curls while dripping in ocean water.

“Is there something on my face?"

"No. It's… never mind"

"Coz you're looking at me like there's something on my face."

"It is starting to get a bit pink," you point up at the sun, "maybe we should find some shade?"

"Good idea," he starts trudging up towards the shore, grabbing a towel and laying it out under the trees.

"Drying off?" You question, laying your towel out beside him in a much sunnier position.

"Yeah, don't want to get on her wet," he stops looking at you, seeming to focus on something in the distance.

You like the silence, it's not awkward or filled with tension or anything like that. It's peaceful. Like you're both just enjoying the sun, listening to the waves lapping and when you finally feel your bathing suit dry. You stand, "well we should get going, don't want to be late and I'd like to have a shower before dinner."

"We're still going to be hours early but if that's what you want."

"It is. I'm excited to see Jamie and Sunny. I think you might actually like them too."

"Me? Pfft I don't like anyone,"

"Now I know that's not true. I know you have a secret soft spot for Titus," you tease, you've spotted Jason quite a number of times in the library with the dog's face on his lap. It was a very sweet image.

"Have you been spying on me," he glares at you.

"I dabble," you shrug, grateful that he's already halfway up the path and he can't see how you're watching him.

Jason closes the door to the cabin behind him. Shit. You are so beautiful and that fuckin bikini. He could barely keep his head on straight enough to have a conversation when he first caught sight of you. He thinks as he slips off his board shorts and puts his jeans back on.

You've been spying on him. He thinks aloud, were you trying to avoid him? Learning his habits so you could stay clear of his path?

He steps out of the cabin, noticing you must have changed on the beach. you smile at him like you're actually happy to see him. It's just for the weekend, he reminds himself. It's Just because he's doing you a favor, by Monday you're going to forget all about him and you'll go back to avoiding him. Might as well enjoy it.

Part 4

[no-truth-left]

1.010 - Go with Jethro; ask him about himself

“That sounds great,” Chie says, smiling.

“Anytime.” With a powerful shove, Jethro pushes the boat into the shallows. Keeping a hand on it, he starts towards the docks. The water splashes quietly around his rubber boots.

Chie follows, keeping to the shore. “Do you work on the docks?”

“Yup. Rin and me export our catch and supply the Gilman House.”

“The Gilman House?”

Jethro frowns at her, his smooth stride never breaking. “It's the only…” he pauses, thumbing at his gold nose ring. “I'd say hotel, but that's too fancy. Bed and restaurant?” He shrugs. “It's the only place for tourists in town.”

“O-oh, yeah!” Chie feels her face flushing again. “Ah- have. Have you lived here all your life?” Is she being too awkward? Does Jethro think she's stupid, not knowing where she could stay?

“Mostly,” Jethro answers easily. “I left for a few years for university.”

Whether he is ignoring her lack of knowledge or just hasn't thought about it, Chie is thankful Jethro goes along with her subject change. “What did you study?”

“Business management,” Jethro replies. “I know how to fish well enough, but I was floundering with the finances. Dad…” he trails off, thick throat working around the words. His shoulders tense, and he clears his throat.

Jethro mutters to himself, “I'm not gonna-” before clearing his throat again.

Chie bites the inside of her cheek. “You don't have to share if it's too much.”

Immediately, Jethro relaxes. “I appreciate that.” He takes the out in stride as he approaches the dock.

The smell of fish hits Chie like a truck going eighty. Its thick stench is nauseating. The dock is worn, with barnacles and algae clinging to the posts. Only one other boat is docked; unlike the dinghy, it’s motorized and looks like it was once sleek and shiny. Now, its paint is dull, the metal rims rusty, and a large crack zig-zags down the front window.

A woman at the docks hauls in a net. Her thin hair is tied in a messy bun, and Chie sees similarities between her and Jethro; wide-set eyes, thin mouth, and strange scars on her neck against the gold choker she wore.

A strange thing to wear while fishing.

“Wanna tour?” Jethro asks, expertly tying the dinghy to a free post on the dock. The smell doesn't seem to bother him.

[gaytravelinfo]

The Hotel Zags - Portland, OR

The Hotel Zags | 515 SW Clay St, Portland, OR 97201 | 1-855-523-6914 WELCOME TO THE HOTEL ZAGS — YOUR PORTAL TO PORTLAND  The Hotel Zags is situated in downtown Portland’s Business district, one of the city’s most vibrant neighborhoods. We’re truly close to everywhere you want to be — from delicious dining to hip shopping hot spots to cultural attractions. Most are within walking distance, but…

[morgana-artt]

Romeo x Mechanic!Male!Reader (Part 1)

Spoilers for LoP

Notes: So I kinda went a bit off the rails on this one and wrote a lot more than I wanted to (especially in part 2 that I'll post tomorrow), my brain kinda went blank but I think (and hope) its still decent enough of a read. I suppose its a bit of a slow burn at first but I hope you Enjoy!

Reader is similar to Sophia and can channel ergo like she can.

_________________________________________

You ran and you ran FAST. What were you running from? Oh, just a group full of puppets that decided to make you their target and that wasn't fair, you were just some guy who enjoyed tinkering in mechanics! You could ramble on that for a while but you needed to get to safety, you were at the hotel but didn't stay for long as you were on your way to what was called Alchemist's Isle for answers to your past and had to go through the Opera House in order to do so.

You panted as you zig zagged bewteen swipes from puppets to alleyways before finally reaching your first destination, you leaned against the statue in the garden out of breath. "This... sucks! All because I need to find- ugh...hopefully it'll be better inside" you spoke to yourself as you stood up straight and made your way into the big building. Opening the large doors you saw how huge this place actually was and despite it seeing better days it still looked beautiful, you looked around not hearing anything before making your way up the stairs and saw a door way further into the building, "This looks like it goes through the main part...'suppose I'll go through there..." you mumbled to yourself before going through the doors.

You gulped as you saw a swinging chandelier, "Are you fucking kidding me? One hit and I'm screwed..." you cursed to yourself as you watched the giant fire basket swing side to side, you took a deep breath before getting ready and once it swung to the left you bolted just in time but as you did the one wooden pole that helped you cross snapped in half and broke into the hole. You stared at it, "Well...no going back." you said as you turned to the double doors in front of you plated with gold. You walked towards it pushed the heavy doors and you were met with...a sad disaster.

What would've been a beautiful ballroom of somesort was instead a burnt down ruined stage, you frowned at this something clearly went on long ago judging by how rotten the wooden had gotten but what you also noticed was a body propped up against a giant rundown puppet- or you hoped it was runned down. It had been a year or so when the puppet frenzied calmed down but that didn't stop the few puppets around Krat from attempting to hurt anything that passed them just like yourself.

With very careful steps, at first you throught you were approaching a dead human but no...it was a puppet. It looked badly burnt with half it's face broken off, it had blonde hair and despite the state it was in you could tell it- or he you should say- was quite a handsome puppet. Almost prince like. You shook your head, now was not the time to admire the puppet, you saw his head down and eye closed and crouched to his level. "You look like you went through hell..." you mumbled to yourself, now despite knowing how dangerous these things can be you couldn't help but feel sorry for them as you did stumble upon a few puppets that were friendly and even helped repair a few. This one really interested you but it was a gamble- was this puppet friendly or mad crazed like so many others? You decided to take the risk.

You walked around the puppet and analyzed it, didn't seem TOO bad...yeah he was burnt to shit but none of his internal scraps had been broken. Now you had a power that not many people knew about, you could give ergo to puppets and understand them, you can't remember much but it started to develope later in your teens- it was probably why you felt so intune with puppets you could LITERALLY feel their 'souls' give or take.

Using your handkerchief that was tied around your belt you dusted the soot off the puppet and began to rummaged through your bag, you only had a few tools with you and tighened some lose parts on the puppet next to you. You kneeled in front of him and moved some of his hair away from his face, he really was a handsome fellow but it made you sad at the state of his face maybe you could repair it? If he hasn't killed you yet.

With a deep breath you placed your hand where your heart was, ergo began to twist around your hand before you placed it against the chest of the puppet. You waited. and waited. and waited.

Nothing. You furrowed your eyebrows as usually this would work within seconds, guess the poor thing really was damaged. You began to tinker around him a little longer.

Romeos P.O.V

Something in you had awaken, how? Gepettos puppet had freed you so why did you feel you had awaken from a deep slumber? You heard ruffling and breathing...? You opened your good eye, it was blurry at first but you noticed a moving figure in front of you, talking to itself...a human? Your eyesight cleared up as you were faced into a chest, the person you saw the chest of was bent a little over you looking at your back as you felt a few tugs. You didn't dare to move. What if it was that bastard Gepetto again?Wasn't being brought back to life in a puppet not good enough? He had to be brought back again? No...he can't go through with that...the responsiblitlies...the pain...the desperation. If he could cry he would, he couldn't go back to that. He watched as the person in front of him moved back to look into their bag, Romeo took note of a soft looking man in front of him. It was a human but thankfully not the one he hated but how did you bring him back? He lost his ergo so how could you...were you special? Maybe. He watched you in curiosity as you mumbled to yourself about him not working. The young man in front of you had soft (H/C) and piercing (E/C) eyes, and despite looking like a cat that ran through a hedge head first you were pretty nice looking to him.

The man in front of you turned his gaze to you before jumping following up with a little yelp, "You're...awake? It worked!" you watched the man puff in pride, "Ah...My names (Y/N). Do you have one...?" he asked, you slowly lifted your head a little but it immediately went back down- you had little to no energy in you right now apart from your eye. "I-I-I....R-R-" you tried to speak but it came out so statically and robotic, the guy in front of you smiled softly with encouragement, "You don't have to tell me now, I'm guessing you went through a lot judging by how burnt you are" the man spoke, were you really that damaged? "R-R...Rom..eo" You managed to get out, the person smiled at that. "Well, Romeo. It's nice to meet you, I've only given you enough ergo to start up hence why you're only able to move barely. Of course I can take it out if you no longer wish to live" the man gave you a choice, something you didn't get at first.

You glanced at the one in front of you before trying to lift your arm towards the persons face- you struggled and before your arm fell, the stranger- who himself called (Y/N)- grabbed it in time. He felt soft and warm...you hadn't felt that in a really long time. It was nice.

Your P.O.V

You took a hold of the puppets- now named Romeo- hand into yours, You felt pity and it was clear as day he was conflicted on whether staying alive or not. "How about this- You stay here and I'll gather more ergo which hopefully will give you more strength with it and you can decide later, hm? Of course you can ask me to piss off" you laughed dryly. The puppet stared at you making you feel a little flustered, you weren't used to such things and what made it worse was how Romeo had a hold of your fingers and was staring at them, "Ahem, well...I should be off to get some more ergo, yes? Don't worry, I'll come back" you whispered but felt the tightened grip on your fingers, "N-NO...no...fragile..." Romeo spoke, you frowned. Fragile? Was he scared for you? "Romeo, If you want to even lift your head up I'll have to give you more ergo and I can only give you so much from myself" you tried to reason with the puppet. Romeo was confliced but softly nodded. He let go and you stood up, "as to show my promise I'll leave this with you!" you then gave him a necklace, "it belonged to a dear friend of mine...it means a lot and I'm putting it in your possession till I come back!" You looked down at him. "I'll come back...promise" and with that you walked off to hopefully find enough ergo for your new friend.

As Romeo sat and waited he inspected the necklace, what you had said felt familiar to him- with the dear friend...a promise...it felt sort of like a Déjà Vu for him. He surprised himself with the hope he felt of wanting you to come back, he hoped you did you were...nice. He liked you, you seemed like a good person. Like someone else he knew but has long been forgotten.

[jamiesfootball]

How about 74. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.” ?

Oooh, I'm not sure if you remember sending me this prompt, but congratulations- it's the prompt that got away from me. It's also super long so I will be posting it to AO3 shortly.

A/N: contains horror elements

Part 1 of 3

“Well c’mon in and have a seat. Ooh—watch the microphone! There we go. And what did you say your name was again?” Ted asked as he led Trent into the booth. The friendly man moved a box of papers out of the way; he waved his hand at the newly opened seat.

Trent hesitantly sat down.

“Trent. Trent Crimm. I’m with The Independent.”

Ted's simple, brandless jumper paired well with his easy smile.

“I’m not sure we get that publication all the way out here, but hey! From one journalist to another, I’m always welcome to talk. You said you were interested in Richmond. What would you like to know about our little home sweet home?”

“Well—“

“Oh, actually hold on a sec—Beard!" Ted turned around, yelling in the direction of the opaque glass window embedded in the wall. "Could we get a beverage for our guest? Would you like a coffee, Mr. Crimm?”

“No, I'm fine. Thank you. And just Trent is fine.”

“You got it, Trent! Love the name. And the glasses. And the hair. What can I do for you?”

Trent took a trembling breath.

"Why am I here?"

Ted paused in sliding a headset over his hair. "I'm sorry?"

Trent swallowed past the rock in his throat.

"Why- how did I get here? I don't remember- anything, past going to sleep last night in my hotel. This morning I woke up on a bus outside your radio station. My phone won't work. Is this a prank? Is this a fucking joke? Because I do not--"

"Can't use that language."

Trent startled, an icy shiver running down his chest.

Ted grinned apologetically. "That'd be Beard in the control booth. Sorry to interrupt, but we're about to start broadcasting and he is correct--aside from a few special exceptions, that sort of language is prohibited on air. Against the code. Now, you're welcome to strap on your own headset or if you'd like you can sit there and watch. Whatever you decide, once that On-Air light flicks on, there's no leaving the room. Got it?"

Trent picked up the headset. It fit perfectly. For a moment the bulk of the earmuffs swamped all ambient noise under a high pitched ringing, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, sure he’d find eyes if he just looked over his shoulder—

Then a click, and the world whirred back into focus.

The On-Air light illuminated in Mercury-blue.

"Hello, howdy, hi, and good morning, Richmond! It is shaping up to be a beautiful day outside, but let's not count our chickens before they hatch. We'll have a weather update coming up for you shortly, along with sports, a couple of civic updates, and the morning recap. But first!--" Ted's mustache quirked as he turned towards Trent, "A little personal news from yours truly. On my way in, I had the pleasure of running into a fellow fan of the written word. Now me and him are still just getting to know each other, but I've invited him to join me on the show today. If you wouldn't mind introducing yourself to the listeners at home...?"

Ted gestured towards a second microphone on the table that he hadn't noticed before. 

He could call for help, Trent thought frantically, but as he leaned forward the urgency bled from his chest, a preternatural calm suffusing his nerves and leaving his voice smooth and confident:

"Trent Crimm, The Independent."

The other half of Ted's moustache raised to join the rest. "And we are pleased for you to join us, Trent. Now! Let's start off with an easy one: where you from?"

His brain slipped. For a moment, the word escaped him, but he seized it before it could wriggle out of his grasp.

"London," he answered confidently. He shook his head. "I'm from London. West." 

"Any relation to Kanye West?"

The zag of the remark caught Trent off-guard. A joke, clearly, and if he had his faculties about him, he'd question the wisdom of the timing.

Trent studied Ted, who continued filling the airwaves, undeterred by Trent's lack of participation.

"You know, I've never been to London. I know I meant to visit at one time, but I suppose I never got around to it. If you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Trent; what makes the different sections of London so different, anyways? I know there's a West London and a South London, but there's also Chelseas and Surreys. Would you say it's more of a Hollywood or New York situation?"

“The different areas are divided into boroughs—,” I’m not telling you where I live, “—Wait. Are you saying I’m not in London anymore?”

“It sounds like you’re saying it, Trent,” Ted joked. “Though might I add, I’ve always felt like Richmond was a mighty fine alternative. The weather, the pubs, the accents; it all has a certain verisimilitude to the real thing, you know—oh would you look at that. Our first caller of the day."

Ted fiddled with the control panel. He flicked a switch, and a soft, pink light illuminated with a pleasant glow.

Trent's mind conjured the spectre of an iron gate wrought with blooming ivy. The scent of lilies filled the studio, rising like a fog to blend with the smells of old paper and coffee.

"What’s the word, early bird?”

A woman's voice clipped through the line, "Ted."

Ted beamed. "Rebecca! Did you get my biscuits?" He hit a button on the microphone and leaned towards Trent, whispering, "I may sound American, but when I say biscuits I do mean your folk's biscuits."

Rebecca huffed. "Good morning, Ted. Yes I did, they were delicious, now would you please stop screwing around and get to the civics update? I need my polling numbers."

"Ooh," Ted shuffled some papers around. "Sorry to say, boss, but it doesn't look like I have any news on that front."

"Yes, you do," the woman—Rebecca—argued. "You said it. You said, 'I have a few civics updates.'"

"Oh that," Ted's eyes focused into the middle distance. "The Higgenses are looking to adopt another son. Sorry, boss; that's all I got for you."

The woman let out a strangled noise, shouting, "Higgins!" before the line cut off.

"Let's cut to a quick commercial," said Ted. He flipped a switch and removed his headset. 

Trent followed suit. Once freed, his ears started ringing. Mentally, he replayed the short conversation, but his thoughts refused to be corralled into order.

When he didn't say anything, Ted filled the silence.

“She’s just got the jitters. See, we got an election coming up and this new guy in town, Zava, his platform is doing really well with the voters.”

“What’s his platform?”

“'Vote for me. I’m Zava.'”

“It’s a compelling platform.”

"She worries. Doesn’t matter how many times you assure her it's illegal for the other guy to win. Now Trent—where were we?"

Ted appeared calm and genial, leaning forward with his hands steepled under his chin and a non-expectant smile on his face. But his eyes, they were intent. He stared directly at Trent, as if beseeching him to—

—play along.

Ted drew upon all his experience as a reporter asking unpleasant questions, stuffed down his discomfort, and called upon his professionalism like a shield of armour.

"You were telling me how lovely Richmond is," Trent said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs like he was settling in for an interview. "Tell me Ted, have you lived here long?"

Ted's unassuming demeanour briefly gave way to approval. "Oh, I've been around for a while. Long enough to know how things work around here."

"Such as local election law."

"Yes, sir."

"You seem very confident that your friend's opponent won't succeed. Against the law, even. Would care to expand upon that opinion?"

Ted told him. The answer was so absurd the world turned to white noise.

"I beg your pardon?" Trent blinked. He did not hear that right. "Metaphorically?"

"No, ma'am. I wouldn't joke about that." Ted scooted his chair closer. Whispered in sotto voce, "And don't tell her I said so, but honestly? I've considered voting for him too. Magnetic presence, like listening to Michael Keaton while looking at Prince while Tilda Swinton drinks cocktails in the corner. If you see it, you'll believe it."

"Fascinating," he said faintly. He looked around the darkened studio, looking for another topic that'd be safely within the bounds of discussion. When no photos or tchotchkes presented themselves, Trent settled for the natural follow up to 'have you been here long.'

"If you don't mind me asking—," If it's safe to ask, "—What, er, how did you come to be in Richmond in the first place?"

"Same way most of us do, I suppose. Like I said, I meant to visit London. Happened to end up here instead."

"Did you take the bus?" Like I did.

"Don't reckon a bus would've made it across the Atlantic. No, I flew over in a plane. Third class, little cups, snacks a little worse than your low expectations were expecting. Nothing special about it at all--your standard great big metal bird in the sky."

Despite his nerves, Trent's lip twitched into a teasing smile. "Metaphorically?"

Ted beamed. "Yes, sir; that one's a metaphor."

"Commercial break is ending."

Without the element of surprise, Trent could register that the voice in the recording booth also had an American accent, like Ted's. The voice scratched across the room like velcro, all abrasive friction; Trent got the feeling he was being judged.

Ted fiddled with his headset. "Oh shoot. Lost track of time."

"I spliced in one of the pre-recorded announcements," Beard said dryly. "You're welcome."

"Please and thank you," Ted returned. He nodded at Trent. "Headphones."

This time when he slid them on, he was prepared for the sharp ringing. The sharp sensation of eyes crawling along his skin was harder to endure.

"Welcome back, listeners. I apologize for the punctuated morning. Let's get on with some of our usually scheduled programming, shall we? In sports news--what a hell of a game our local football team played last night! I'm sure I don't need to tell you folks, it felt like the entire town was in attendance, but the script says I have to, so here we go."

He shuffled some papers until he found the one he was looking for, at which point he audibly sighed into the microphone. Mustering up what appeared to be a pained effort, he began, "The Greyhounds kicked off the night with a 5-4-1 formation--please, Trent, if you got something to add, you can just jump right in. We gave you that microphone for a reason."

"4-5-1. I presume we're discussing football?" Ted nodded. "Then it's '4-5-1.'" Ted looked confused. "Four defenders, five midfielders, and a striker. It's a great defensive formation, so long as the opposing team isn't playing a high line."

Ted turned into a human eye-gleam. "Well, take me to church, Hozier. You know your football."

"I'm a sports journalist."

A comical look of horror crossed Ted's face. Or a real one. His voice quavered as he asked, "You are?"

"Yes. For The Independent." He knew he'd said that more than once, but his mind insisted he mention it again. Perhaps it was a compulsion, a way humanising himself while dealing with the situation--

--which had already begun to slip Trent's mind. His heart jolted. How had that--he loved football, but surely not enough that he would forget that he was--what? Kidnapped? Some sort of hostage? He knew he was in danger; he was equally certain that no amount of true crime podcasts could advise him as to what kind of danger this was.

He was stuck.

Ted blanketed the airwaves with patter about what sounded like a competitive, if standard, match. Trent once again took in his surroundings. He'd...yes, he'd looked at them when he walked in, he must have. When he walked in the--

He could not remember entering the building. He remembered a bus, grey and blue--

It took all of his focus to command himself to study the room.

The blue on-air light was the main source of illumination, although Trent didn't remember the room being dark when he entered and he couldn't recall any lights being turned off when they started broadcasting. There was no light switch on the wall. There was a corkboard, which housed a flurry of flyers advertising local businesses as well as two campaign posters.

The 'Welton for Wellness' poster promised calm and cosy with just a hint of teeth. The combative 'Vote for Zava' poster was--alluring. Strange. Beckoning.

Trent had to force himself to drag his eyes away from it.

Along one wall--the entire length of one wall--was the opaque window that hid the control booth. The man, Beard, presuming he was a man, must be the producer or else some sort of switchboard operator. He'd not objected at all to Trent being given a headset or microphone, despite the fact that this couldn't possibly be what passed for normal programming.

Embedded in the wall with a full view of the studio, the mirror revealed nothing and reflected everything, and what it reflected was, was--

Trent thought he'd reached an inner calm, but his face reflected terror.

"...Now of course the most surprising figure of last night's match was the newest addition to the Greyhound team. Since he showed up during the last snow storm, he’s been giving the other players on both sides a run for their money. Our latest informants say they're pretty sure he's from Man City, but the tags on that collar he won't let anyone near are pretty sparse on information. They just say 'JT.'"

Like a switch being flipped, Trent's awareness pointed up at the new topic. "Man City--do you mean Manchester?"

Ted hopped over his interruption like a true professional. "No, ma'am. I don't know what that is."

"It's--it's Manchester." Trent could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. "It's a city, it--they have two football teams. Famous teams. How can you be anywhere in Britain and not know what Manchester is? How can you provide football coverage and not know what Manchester is?!"

"Roy Kent's on the line," Beard interrupted, his voice joining theirs on air in the playback of the headphones. "Perhaps he can help clear this up."

"That's a great idea. Let's patch him through." Ted was back to watching Trent with that expression that was so guardlessly effacing. He explained, "Roy's in charge of the Greyhounds. If there's anyone here who can help answer your questions--"

"Would you get on with the fucking weather report!"

Trent jumped out of his chair, throwing his headset across the room. Every instinct he had told him to run. This wasn't the velcro-man or the iron-lady; this voice boomed. It reverberated through the cells of his skin. It filled the room with an anger like a stoked charcoal pit, and it encompassed everything in a smoke as thick as a London fog.

Ted's eyes crinkled in true delight. "Hey, Roy. How are things down at the Dog Track?"

Despite not wearing headphones, Trent could hear every syllable of the booming man's voice as if he were shouting in the room.

"How do you think it's going," the man did not ask. Behind his ferocity, he was--exasperated. "I've got everyone yipping at my heels wanting to know if they can go outside, and you're having a chat about geography with some journo you found wandering the streets."

Ted was full of reproach as he said, "You know it's not that simple--"

"It was raining," Trent heard himself offer. The room around him seemed to shrink as Ted and the voice turned to look at him. "When I got off the bus, it was raining."

The room went silent. Trent realised too late that without the microphone, whoever this Roy was couldn't hear him--

"Ta' for that," Roy said. "You heard him, lads. Go! Now! Sprints from box to box. Oi, you, I don't want to hear any excuses about the mud. Hustle."

"I'm hustling, I'm hustling. Keep your sweater on, old man," said another voice, barely audible above the background susurrous. A familiar voice, with a familiar Mancunian accent. Played football for Man City, with the initials 'JT'--

His mind put it together quicker than his growing horror could keep up with.

Ted watched him; his openly growing concern spoke volumes in regards to whatever was happening on Trent's face.

Hoarsely, needing to know despite the way it made his stomach swoop, he asked into the crackling air of the room, "Is that Jamie Tartt?"

A plastic clatter.

Before him stood a man where a man had not stood before.

He wore a scowl and a leather jacket. If there was anything else to know from his appearance, it slipped through Trent's grasp like sand from a broken hourglass under the weight of the sheer presence of the man.

The voice was every bit as imposing and deep when it was in the room. "Explain."

"It is, isn't it?" He felt compelled to stick his foot in deeper. If he was right, he couldn't- he couldn't not say it. "That's Jamie Tartt. The player that went missing from Manchester."

The studio fell quiet. The man in the leather jacket--Roy, was it?--Trent couldn't make out his expression. No matter how hard he tried, all he got was the impression of a scowl, depthless eyes and an unhappy brow, but the second he looked away the image faded from his memory.

In contrast, Ted's face was an open book, but that book was a horror story.

From Trent's fallen headset, a small noise fizzled.

Ted visibly pulled himself together. "Hold on a second there."

He nodded at Roy. The man in the leather jacket knelt down to pick up the headset. His knee cracked unpleasantly as he stood up. With an unexpected level of gentleness, he held the headset out to Trent.

The air popped as Trent slid them on.

"Go ahead, J--Jamie," Ted said, stumbling over the name.

"Uhm. Hello." A harsh Mancunian voice brushed against his ears like barbed wire through a pillow. Behind it fell the patter of cold rain. "Who is this again?"

Oh. The phone hadn't disconnected when Roy appeared; he'd just dropped it.

A feeling like hysteria bubbled up inside him.

"This is Trent Crimm, The Independent."

"And you said I'm Jamie Tartt?"

The man in the leather jacket glared daggers into Trent's back, a silent warning to tread lightly. Not even a warning--a threat.

"I believe so, yes," said Trent. "It's been a while. We've spoken a handful of times. Nothing as formal as a full interview, but you've always been more than generous when it comes to sharing your post-match opinions with others."

Roy barked out a laugh; the mirror on the wall rattled.

"Oh. That's...," the Mancunian sounded small. Upset. Something metal rattled. "That's okay, I guess. Don't know that I like that name, though."

Under the gentle tapping of rain, a women's voice--gentle and pink--cooed through the chainlink fence.

Most of Trent's coverage with the Premier League stuck to the greater London area. He'd interview members of a visiting team, sure, but he wasn't exactly a familiar entity in their lives, and nor was he to theirs. But he was sure in all the times he'd spoken to Jamie Tartt in the past, he hadn't sounded so lost. The small admission cut through the terror as something like heartbreak bloomed in Trent's chest, and, unbidden, he thought of his own daughter at home.

His faculties felt clearer now, thoughts attaching from one to the other like roads free of traffic.

"Have you been safe here?" he asked. The answer felt important. "Are you treated well? Are you being taken care of?" Are you in any danger, sat on his tongue. A needless question. Weren't they all?

"What's that got to do with anything?" he sniffed. "Who cares if I'm safe? I'm still [beep]-ing stuck here, aren't I?"

"Language." Ted.

"Language." Beard.

"Language." Roy.

"For [beep] sake," Tartt complained. "The [beep] can't I say [beep]. Roy gets to swear."

'Special exceptions?' Trent mouthed at Ted.

Ted gave him a stifled smile and a thumbs up.

"You can swear when you fucking earn it," the man in the leather jacket answered. For the first time since appearing, his burning gaze left Trent. He asked Ted, "You got this here then?"

"Wait, hold on a second!" the gentle, pink voice jumped in, sounding decidedly less gentle and decidedly more pink--his daughter had a small stuffed lion in the same shade. "Did you say he was missing?"

This damnable place, it made it so difficult to hold a thought.

"That's right," Trent affirmed. "For nearly a year. Disappeared after the Manchester derby. It's been in all the papers."

"A year?" Tartt asked in disbelief.

"But who's missing him?" the pink cloud wanted to know.

For the first time since arriving, the answer came to Trent quick and sharp. It tasted wrong, like blood on his tongue.

He didn't answer.

The man in the leather jacket took a step towards Trent. "I don't know what you're here for, but if it's to pull his fucking chain--"

Ted interrupted, "Now wait a minute. Maybe Trent's here to help."

Roy hesitated. He looked from Trent, who stood frozen to the ground, to Ted, who lifted his eyebrows pointedly. Some silent communication passed between the two.

Roy stood down. He sighed, "Maybe he's here to save us from your sports coverage."

He disappeared.

"Well, that was exciting," Ted said, radio professionalism flooding back into the studio. Distantly, Trent noted that they'd been on-air this whole time. "Call me Miss Gale, because I've just been taken for a whirlwind. Keeley, you got eyes on our grumpy stormcloud?"

"Yep! I'm waving to him now. If he doesn't hurry up, I'm going to start chucking food over the fence. That'll light a fire under him."

Ted chuckled. "Well I'll leave him to your capable hands." He paused for a moment. In a tone as kind as a steadying hand on a shoulder, he said, "Jamie?"

The fence rattled. There was an electronic clicking, then, "Yeah?"

Ted hesitated. "We can talk about it later."

A derisive snort that screeched like barbed wire. "Whatever."

The line clicked off.

Trent let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He buried his face in his hands, pushing his glasses onto his head as he did.

He had to get out of here.

"Folks, I'm sure you can all appreciate what a tense situation this morning has been. That's just what it's like around the Dog Track--high emotions all around. But you know what they say about footballers—no footballer is perfect. They become perfect when you learn to love them for who they are. Trent?”

They said danger sharpened the senses, but somehow Trent had failed to notice it before.

There was no door.

No door to the room. No door to the soundbooth behind the mirrored window.

No windows at all.

Ted sighed. "Boy, I wish it didn't always come to this. Beard, cut to traffic. Trent, have a seat."

Again, Ted moved a box to let Trent have a seat. It was the same box as before; no one had put it back.

This time when Trent sat down, Ted pulled up his own chair and sat down next to him.

"I just want to know what's going on," Trent said in a defeated voice that couldn't possibly be his own. "I understand if you can't tell me everything, but if you could tell me something, anything. What happened to me? Why am I here?"

Ted averted his gaze. Down to his mug, to the blank mirrored window, to the box on the ground. He said, “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

"'Opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance.'"

"Socrates?"

"Plato."

Ted snapped. "Darn, I always get the two confused."

Trent didn't respond. He waited, until sure enough after a long stretch of silence, Ted cracked.

"How's your life been lately, Trent?" he asked. He sounded gentle, nearly as soft as the tone he'd used with Jamie.

Something about having that same care turned towards him made Trent's eyes burn. He swallowed around the shame of self-pity in his throat. "Poorly."

Ted nodded like he understood. "Anything big happen lately?"

He shook his head; this couldn't possibly be to do with--, "I got divorced."

Ted's face fluttered in sympathy. He sighed. "Me too. Right before I ended up here."

"Are we dead?" he had to ask. "Are we both dead? Am I in purgatory? Did I drink too much and do something stupid--"

"No," Ted cut him off. He braced his hand on Trent's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "No. That's not likely, no. Things around here are just a little-," he waved his other hand in the air. "Strange."

"Like Zava?" Trent asked, trying to give the man an easier line of questioning. The hand upon his shoulder trembled noticeably.

"Yes," Ted answered. He pulled away, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Like Zava."

"And is everyone else...?"

"It varies," explained Ted. He leaned back in his seat. "Everyone comes in a little different. Take me for instance. When you first got here, you may have noticed how holding onto a train of thought was a bit like dancing a waltz in the dark? Maybe you could fumble your way through it for a while, but sooner or later you'd miss a step, and then it's almost impossible to get back into rhythm. Me on the other hand, you may as well call me Fred Astaire. It may not be useful, the stuff I've held onto, but it's a fair bit more than anyone else around here gets. The next closest is Beard, and thank the deity of your choosing for that, because I definitely would've lost it by now if all my jokes went over everybody's heads."

"The jokes I found rather grounding," Trent confessed. "I did feel myself slipping quite a number of times, but having those small reminders braced me. They allowed me to focus."

"Huh." Ted appeared to be taken aback by the notion. "Good to know."

"What about Roy?" Trent asked. The man in the leather jacket was by far the most...off-putting, of the individuals he'd met. "What's his deal?"

"Ooh, now that's a tricky one," Ted grinned, "Our Roy is...well, the only word that comes to mind is 'omnipresent.' There's a lot of places in this town that are off-limits to folks, but it doesn't slow him down. He's here, he's there, he's everywhere. Anywhere he wants to be. Hell, he lives at the Dog Track. People aren't even allowed in the Dog Track--that's why Keeley's got to throw all the food over the fence to feed the footballers."

Something about his phrasing rang a bell in Trent's head.

"What did Beard say his name was?"

"Oh, I'm going to have to stop you, Trent. Beard doesn't share his name with just anybody."

"No, not- what did he say Roy's name was."

"Kent," Beard answered from the booth. "Roy Kent."

"I know that name." His mind whirred. "I don't know from where or how, but I know that name."

Ted watched him in guarded interest.

"How about we make a deal? I'll do my best to ply you with all the best trivia a guy from Kansas has to offer. In return, you report back on anything that shakes out. Whatever you remember. No kernel too small, no detail left unturned. If you've got a book in you, I want to read it."

"Heh!" Trent laughed, the sound startling to his own ears. At Ted's visible confusion, he explained, "Last night. I remember thinking to myself--'now that I'm divorced, maybe I'll finally get a chance to write that book.'"

The smile Ted had to offer may have been dimmer, but it was more sincere. Something like wonder filled in the gaps.

"Well that's a start," Ted concluded. "In the meantime, you know, maybe Roy's got a point. Because I've got this entire--," he lifted a stack of papers on his desk, "--sport's update, and I am still a novice when it comes to your people's football."

Trent hummed consideringly. "Maybe you made it to London, after all."

"Maybe I did." The smile got a little broader. "Beard, how we looking for time?"

"Forecast is next and queued."

"After you, Mr. The Independent."

They sat at the desk, headsets in place, and Ted flicked the switch on the control panel. 

"Welcome back everyone. There's been a change in plans with regards to our visiting journalist. Big news, Richmond! Big news.

“But for now--let’s go to the weather!”

A loud electronic noise filled the air, followed by the smash of a keyboard and a high pierced wail.

The weather sounded like Janis Joplin.

[plethomacademia]

wip thursday (idk)

before i go back to prompts (SEND PROMPTS), thank for to @nullcanary for the wip tag! i am zagging on y'all with a snippet from my most recent dip into my modern AU for Maeve and Gortash.

Reminder: In this AU, Maeve is a Gwyneth Paltrow/Ivanka Trump mishmash nepo baby health guru influencer and Enver is her husband of fifteen years who started as a genius engineer in aviation/rocketry and is now an executive in a weapons manufacturing company. They have an agreement that they each go to one event a quarter to support the other and this is when Maeve makes him go with her to a movie premiere. They have a big house in north NJ that neither of them live in but their three kids (via surrogate) are there.

Anyway y'all ever do good drugs at an afterparty and end up reconnecting with your estranged husband?

In the dark of the room, it’s easy to lean back against the same strong chest, to breathe in the same rich cologne that he has always worn. It settles around her just as his arms settle around her and she feels her own body relax, a combination of success and drugs and heat and dark folding them back together into the shape that they always seemed to end up in. They talk in an easy way, a way that does not stick in her mind in terms of what is said but how it is said, soft smiles and genuine interest, questions and follow ups, eyes that, when they do meet, seem to see each other for the first time in months.

Finally, she feels hot breath on her ear and through the haze, she hears him ask, “Do you want to get out of here?”

She is transported back fifteen years to another party, one with louder music and much stronger drugs, one where she was the one who asked the question, a socialite with dreams and a low cut dress, and he was the young genius that she had taken a shine to.

She takes his hand without a word.

As they wait for the driver to bring around her car, he puts his jacket around her shoulders and she finally feels the chill that he had noticed before she had, the gooseflesh running up her bare arms and back. She closes her eyes and only the light of a flashbulb brings her back enough to realize that they are kissing. She can imagine the comments already, how her fans will gush about her perfect life and her perfect family and her perfect marriage to a perfect man. Neither of them stop, if anything he pulls her closer as another set of flashes go off just before their Escalade blocks them from view.

When her car stops at his hotel for the second time that evening, he offers her his hand and she takes it again, letting him lead her inside. The lobby is gleaming old Hollywood, lights reflected a million times on crystal and brass, and she is happy once they are in the elevator and away from it, happier still when he motions her into his hotel suite and closes the door behind them.

In the dark, they can be hands and hearts. In the dark, they can drop it all, clothes and scars and armor. In the dark, she can focus on the feeling of his hands trailing down her flat stomach that did not bear his children, his somehow still calloused fingers as they open her up, break her apart in the casual way that only someone who has done so a thousand times can manage. In the dark, she can be like she was the first time, drunk with love and the thrill of claiming something for herself, something she was not supposed to have, this man from nothing who built with his hands and saw a future where he owned the world, not because it had been given to him like it had been given to her, but because he had reached out and taken it. In the dark, she can offer herself up and be taken.

When Maeve finally opens her eyes the next day, she can already tell from the light sneaking through the windows that it has to be well past the afternoon. She goes to the bathroom, sees the mascara under her eyes and the marks on her neck under the harsh glow of the vanity light. She turns on the faucet and sets to putting herself back together.

[nerdykeppie]

NerdyKeppie staff after a convention weekend.

Thank you for coming to see us at Rose City Comic Con last weekend! Jake & Emet will be at Hotel Zags' Night Market tomorrow from 6-9 PM - come see us and other local Portland artists.

We've canceled our booth at Salem Pride - Spider won't be released back to unrestricted post-surgery activity until after that weekend, so maybe this was a little too ambitious a plan for us.

But! We're giving GeekGirlCon a shot this year, so plan to come out and see us Nov 9th & 10th in Seattle!

And - as always - you can find our ongoing show schedule online: