#hand eye coordination i will tie you to my bed but ill just have to settle for fucking you until you cant walk

[dirt-str1der]

Ive said it a million times omegaverse power dynamics are worthless uninspired and boring— HOLY CRAP hes standing on a branch like a real bird ...

[bwbawa]

hello, so I'm questioning if I'm autistic so i can reach out for a diagnosis maybe, and i saw another person do this so i wanted to try it out

i wrote a list of some of the things i think that are autistic traits about me and if anyone would like to please read them and tell me if they could be autism or maybe smth else? lol, just as a big favour really. I'll give more context if any is needed, thanks so much!!

also please reblog for reach if you want to, thank you

ts bellow the cut :]

- stimming ( twirling and braiding hair, used to suck on my own hair as a kid, rocking back and forth, doing ??? weird stuff with ny mouth and fingers lol, moving legs a lot)

- echolalia; internal, repeating phrases and songs on my head, but also doing sounds with my mouth

- always feeling like an outsider. This wasn't bad for me as a kid since i was very into creepypastas and media related to being an outcast, i never related it to something bad until adolescence which im still in, and I'm more insecure now about it.

- also, very extroverted as a kid, didn't get social cues and was offensive sometimes

- couldn't and still can't control my strength very well ( sometimes things fall out of my hands or i touch someone harder than i wanted to)

- sensitive skin, to heat cold and pain

- very talkative, as a baby was LITERALLY born babbling

- not good at eye contact, either do way too much or way too little

- terrible at maths (jst not logical to me??? dk how people find them logical )

- kinda restrictive interests but no special interests

- very picky as a child, fav foods were salted noodles with ketchup or by themselves. ( still can't stand some foods and mixing some foods together )

- horrible coordination and balance: didn't learn to tie my shoes correctly, how to ride a bike or how to swim, i bought wheelies and cant use them because my balance is horrible, i run weird (like a baby kind of) and I'm always stumbling on my own feet

- again, didn't learn some stuff until grown: didn't know how to shower correctly or make my bed ( could be due to being very taken care of as a kid, aka my mom didn't let me do stuff by myself )

- terrible spacial awareness: again, stumbling with my own feet, waddling like a penguin when i walk with my friends lol

- bad perception of time

- got upset when things didn't go my way

- ran away when kids were being too loud but didn't mind big performances loud spaces

loud THUDS or sudden noises however startle me, scare me and stress me out: was and still am kind of afraid of balloons, shouting people and loud thuds. As a baby i cried when someone spoke too loudly

- lately I'm much more sensitive to stimuli than i was, could be due to heightened stress in my life: badly done beds make me want to cry, crumbs on the bed feel like hell, heat and sweating are hell, some months ago i cried because my sunglasses and headphones weren't working and there were too many sounds, my head it hurted and everything felt wrong, sent me into a kind of crisis.

- don't think I'm overly empathetic, but i have a strong sense of justice and get very upset and ill about injustices.

related to that, movies and shows that require a lot of stress i don't like, they make me feel ill and i prefer spoilers when it's like that, i get too nervous.

- socially awkward and don't know how to keep conversations going, at least small talk.

- although i used to talk a lot, nowadays i prefer to stay quiet sometimes.

- i get VERY angry and frustrated but it goes away kind of quickly?

-i used to be very loud and I still dont know how to control my tone of voice ( how loud or quiet i am) and i spoke in a very high pitched voice as a child

- i used to read a lot, went to the library in the recess instead of hanging out all the time with kids and used some complicated words that my parents didn't know i knew

- all my life i only had one close friend ( not the same, but always one)

- i think i had a specific routine of morning

- i have a hard time concentrating and being organized

- i make plans for myself in the night and get upset when OTHERS interrupt it but not when i do

- hard time knowing when to pee and when to eat

- again sensory issues, some foods make me want to puke, and wet, sticky or extremely dry hands are disgusting. Also, light touches feel like anger.

- as a kid I repeatedly watched stuff, ended up boring my family because i only wanted to watch that multiple times

- sensory seeker as a kid kind of, slept with my feet up, danced a lot (stimming?)

-i get irritated easily and can hurt people verbally

- don't know if related but i sometimes very anxious, get upset about not saying goodbye correctly to certain people, as a kid i used to cry and didnt want to go to school because of a "bad feeling" that smth bad was gonna happen, could be anxiety.

i absolutely sure there's more, but I don't wanna keep typing

just to finish, most of my circle is neurodivergent. And family wise, my sister is audhd, one cousin and uncle are autistic, my mom has adhd and two of my cousins are suspected autistic.

[stolen-pen-name23]

Any prompt you want. I just want some Padme and Obi-wan friendship (yes, I’m aware these are angst prompts. I don’t care)

Hello my friend! Here's my final prompt fill from this round! Thanks for the prompt! //prompts now closed

Here ya go!

---

“You cannot possibly go like this.”

“Yes, I can,” Anakin says, panting slightly.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at Anakin, standing over his former apprentice as he leans heavily over the toilet bowl. Anakin groans and allows his body to fall back against the wall.

With a concerned “hmm,” Obi-Wan crouches down beside Anakin and places a palm on his forehead. The younger Jedi pulls back but is unable to elude Obi-Wan for long. He is concerned but not surprised by the heat that greets his palm. Sweaty hair tangles in Obi-Wan’s fingers as he tries to smooth it back. His concern deepens when Anakin stops resisting his touch.

“Oh, Padawan,” Obi-Wan says, slipping into the old title like it’s muscle memory. He grabs a damp towel and dabs it at Anakin’s sweaty forehead. “This isn’t good.”

Shivers course through Anakin’s whole body and his cheeks are flushed pink with fever.

“I can still go, M’ster,” Anakin says, though it comes out as more of a whine than an assurance. “Please, Obi-Wan. I can’t disappoint Pa– Senator Amidala.”

“Anakin, you can’t even stand up without keeling over,” Obi-Wan says. “How do you think you’re going to last through a whole senatorial ball?”

“I can stand,” Anakin pouts. As if to demonstrate his point, Anakin climbs to shaky feet. “See? I’m st–”

Anakin sways and his knees buckle. Obi-Wan takes a heavy step forward and grabs a hold of Anakin before he can collapse again.

“You were saying?”

“Shudup.”

Anakin’s face is pressed into Obi-Wan’s chest and he sags into him.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan says. “Let’s get you to bed and out of that suit. You won’t be wearing it tonight I’m afraid.”

“But Padmé…”

“I’m sure Senator Amidala will do just fine for a night,” Obi-Wan reassures, dragging Anakin down the hallway.

“She’s gonna be all ‘lone,” Anakin slurs, and Obi-Wan can feel guilt and disappointment clouding Anakin’s Force presence.

“She’s a very strong woman, Anakin, she’ll manage.”

“But I promised,” Anakin whines.

“She’ll forgive you, she’s very kind,” Obi-Wan says.

“I know,” Anakin says wistfully. “She’s just the best.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Come now, Anakin, let’s get you in bed before you say something I’m going to have to pretend to forget.”

“Kay,” Anakin says, too delirious to truly catch Obi-Wan’s meaning.

Like any good Master would, Obi-Wan helps Anakin out of his fancy suit and provides him with fresh, soft tunics to sleep in.

“Get in bed,” Obi-Wan commands, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right back.”

Anakin grumbles but slides under his sheets.

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan heads to the kitchen and pours some tea he made shortly before he found Anakin hurling his guts out. It was still warm, but not scalding — perfect for Anakin who has an impatient streak a mile wide.

He returns to Anakin’s room to find him with half-closed eyes and an arm wrapped tightly around his abdomen.

“Drink this,” Obi-Wan says, handing the tea over to Anakin. “It will settle your stomach.”

“What about Padmé?” Anakin says again.

Obi-Wan frowns. He does feel bad that Padmé will be left without a date to the senatorial ball. He glances over to the chair where he draped Anakin’s tie and groans internally. Obi-Wan hates senatorial balls.

But he cares about Anakin and he cares about Padmé.

With a long-suffering sigh, Obi-Wan pulls out his commlink.

“Master Kenobi?” Padmé answers. Her expression is passive, but her voice betrays her confusion. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine, Senator, but I’m afraid there has been a change of plans.”

***

A gentle knock at the door tells Obi-Wan his date for the night has arrived to pick him up.

“Hello, Master Kenobi.”

The young senator is radiant in her evening gown. Fine lace patterns web over the length of her slender arms, but cut off at her shoulders, leaving them bare. The rest of the gown, a solid, navy blue, cascades down her body just as a waterfall might plunge from a mountainside. She is a dazzling sight and Obi-Wan thanks the stars that Anakin is asleep in his bed and not out here attempting to prove his healthiness. If illness didn’t make Anakin fall at her feet, this dress would certainly do the trick.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Obi-Wan says. “It is not the most chivalrous thing, but I’m afraid I was short on time.”

“What you’re doing is chivalrous enough, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course, I did. I could not possibly let you get stood up, especially by a Padawan of mine.”

Padmé giggles. “It’s hardly his fault.”

“Oh, I know, but giving him a hard time is much more fun than giving him my pity,” Obi-Wan says. “Give me one moment, Senator. I just need to find… ah, here it is.” Obi-Wan grabs the tie he had thrown haphazardly on the kitchen counter while he was getting ready.

He had rushed to throw together an outfit that would be acceptable for the ball and was pleased to find that his blue coat coordinated quite well with Padmé’s gown.

The tie is made of a silky material and his fingers fumble with the unfamiliar article of clothing. Qui-Gon taught him how to do this a long time ago. Now if only he could remember which way to pull…

“Let me,” Padmé says gently.

“Pardon?”

“You’re hopeless. Let me do it.” Padmé strides over to him and takes each side of the tie in either hand.

“I assure you, Senator, I am perfectly capable–” Obi-Wan starts as he tries to grab hold of the tie again. Padmé bats his hand away.

“Stop that,” she says. He squirms backward but she grabs hold of his shoulder to pull him back. “Hold still, would you?”

Obi-Wan sighs in defeat and allows Padmé to finish the knot. She carefully tucks the tie under his collar and she brushes her hands over his shoulders. “There. You look dashing.”

He smiles softly at her. “Thank you, Padmé. You look quite beautiful yourself.”

She bows her head graciously.

“Where is Anakin?”

His smile tightens into a grimace. “He’s asleep. I hope he stays that way. I gave him something for the nausea in hopes that it will help him sleep.”

Obi-Wan can sense her conflicting emotions in the Force and he already knows what she is going to ask.

“Are you sure he will be okay by himself?”

“He should be fine for a few hours. If not, he knows I will have my comm on me, though I anticipate we’ll be back before he wakes. Unless, of course, this is not the stuffy senatorial ball I was promised?”

“I’m afraid it is the stuffy senatorial ball you were promised.”

“Very well,” Obi-Wan says, extending an arm for Padmé to link hers around. “Let’s get on with it shall we?”

***

“You’re a good dancer,” Padmé observes.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Obi-Wan says, before twirling her around. Her dress splays out, its flared edges brush his legs.

“I’m not,” she says. “I suppose it’s a Jedi thing?”

Obi-Wan laughs at the mental image of Yoda dancing at a senatorial ball. “It is hardly a Jedi thing.”

“Anakin is a good dancer too,” Padmé argues.

“And pray tell, who do you think taught him?”

“Fair enough,” Padmé concedes and then she laughs.

“Something funny?”

“No, it’s just… I’m picturing you teaching a teenaged Anakin how to dance.”

“Yes, looking back it was probably quite amusing. It was less funny in the moment when he managed to step on all of my toes.”

Padmé laughs even more and the musical cadence of it blends in with the song the band is playing.

“So, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says. “Who taught you to dance. I’m having a hard time picturing Qui-Gon doing it.”

“That would be because he didn’t teach me,” Obi-Wan says.

“Then who did?”

Obi-Wan thinks back to a time long ago — to two kids and a Jedi master on the run. Blonde tresses and the gleam of beskar. Long nights under star-speckled skies.

“An old friend,” he says.

“Your friend did a good job.”

“She was a good teacher — stubborn and willful — but a good teacher nonetheless.”

One song ends and another begins.

Obi-Wan and Padmé continue their dance through the magnificent ballroom, their steps falling perfectly in time with the music and with each other.

“Thank you again for doing this. I know this kind of thing isn’t… well… your thing.”

“All things considered, being in good company certainly makes it more tolerable,” Obi-Wan says.

“Oh, only ‘tolerable’?” Padmé says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe after another glass of champagne, it will verge into enjoyable.”

Padmé grins brightly as he spins her around again. On beat with the music, she steps back perfectly into place, one hand in his, the other on his shoulder.

“You’re a good friend, Obi-Wan,” Padmé says. “To me and to Anakin.”

“Thank you, Senator. You’re a good friend too.” He pauses, but then adds on, “to me and to Anakin.”

Padmé bites her lip and averts her gaze. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Obi-Wan feels the tension in her body as she asks the question and he can tell she has been wanting to ask it for some time. Her worry clouds the Force, but he parses through it to poke at the bond he shares with Anakin.

“He’s fine,” Obi-Wan reassures. Padmé’s shoulders remain rigid. “I would be able to sense if he were not. He’s fine, Padmé.”

Padmé relaxes at his words and returns to gently swaying with the rhythm. They move together, perfectly in sync with one another.

Only a few heartbeats more, and the song finds its end. Obi-Wan bows to Padmé and she inclines her head in polite acknowledgment.

“Another dance?” he asks.

“Maybe in a little while. Let’s see about getting you that glass of champagne first, shall we?”

“You read my mind, Senator.”

Arm in arm, they walk together laughing and smiling — not as a Jedi and a senator, but as two friends enjoying the simple pleasure of one another’s company.

[marveling-chrisevans]

Emergency Room || Chris Evans x Reader

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader / Chris Evans x You

Warnings:  Just some Cute fluffy stuff since I haven’t written in awhile 

Words Count: 1183

Summary: Date night turned into a trip to the emergency room. sorry this is short. 

Tag-List: @patzammit​​​​ @torntaltos​​​​ @smoothdogsgirl​​​​    (tag list is also open so if you want to be tagged let me know, you can reply to this or send an ask) A/N: Hey guys sorry its been awhile this was my last term of school and it killed him. So here we are me trying to get back in the swing of writing. If you have a request let this girl know. 

Sometimes date night was a series of two different thing. Sometimes it's hanging out in the house, skinny dipping, other times its lavish gala’s. Tonight it was the latter of the situations.  A Lavish gala. It was actually the second one of the weekend. The first one was to raise money for Chris’s favorite charity, Christophers Haven. The second one was was just an event. You didn’t listen when he told you the morning before. 

Chris went off to set, brining his tux with him. You met him that night at the gala. You were running late as always.  You got there and he was waiting outside for you. You walked up and gave him a kiss “I'm so sorry I'm late the Uber guy got lost”. You mumbled to him basically because you hated being late and letting him stand there and await for you. Before he could reply someone stuck there head out of the door “Chris, y/n” One of Chris’s charity friends gestured for you to come inside. You took a deep breath as he looked at you “ready to do this?” He smiled and kissed your forehead “No do we have too?” You asked him with puppy dog eyes.   He shook his head and un did his tie “thank god no, lets never do anything we don’t want to do, come on lets make a run for it” You smiled at him “running? We can really just not attend, let's do it” she smiled at him as he held out his hand and you took it as you both started jogging away from the event. You were not as coordinated as most people. At these events you were usually in heels.  You. Guys made it about a block away before you started walking again. You quickly wrapped your arms around Chris and smiled laughing a little bit “running I n heals is harder than you think” you said back to him as the whole time you were running you were just thinking one step in-front of another, it wasn’t really till you stopped running when you stopped thinking about it. You let go of your dress so it wasn’t dragging on the ground “Can we get greasy burgers then go somewhere where the lights don’t hit the city and watch the stars?” You asked wondering if you could recreate one of your favorite dates. “Stop reading my mind” he said back to you as. He flagged down a cab. You took a step back and stepped o your dress causing you to roll your ankle. You tried to laugh it off as you fell on your butt on the streets of downtown LA. Chris quickly turned around hearing you laugh. “Babe are you okay?” You nodded as you took off your heals and got up taking a step and the pain that spread across your face. As he grabbed you. To support you, “okay come on lets get you to the emergency room” he said to you lifting you up butting you into the cab and you slide over letting him get in next to you. You turned so you elevated your ankle on his lap. “We don’t have to go to the emergency room we can go home, ill be fine” You said back to him. “Babe your ankle is already 2x larger than It was when you left home. We need to m make sure its not broken” He said back to you as he touched it slightly as you winced “see you won’t even be able to walk.. we are going to just go get it checked out” he said winning the battle as. You leaned back as you grabbed your shoes and the cab pulled into the parking lot area. Chris helped you out of the back of the cab. As you basically hopped in with him “we are way too over dressed to be in the emergency room Chris” You said back to him as he got you. Wheel chair and then checked you in. Chris smiled at you “well maybe don’t be clumsy, babe.” He said as he started to fill out the paperwork asa the two of you waited in the waiting room. About three hours later they took you back for an X-ray and into a room. “Babeeeee I'm bored” you said back to Chris. Was as you sat in this bed “come here let's watch a movie” now that a you were in a room you could actually had a tv.

Chris had taken off his jacket and given too you as you were cold from the ice they put on your ankle and took o ff his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress  shirt. “Okay lets see   what’s on here” he said as he took the tv remote and hit the movies button. You shifted so you were laying on his shoulder as he turned on a random movie that Disney has made. Hours and hours had passed. It was a ER in a major city and a sprained ankle was low on the list of things they needed to worry. about. Here you were, best dressed in the ER, Fiancé of Chris Evans falling asleep on his shoulder as the doctor came in “Sorry. This took so long, our x ray tech was called into something serious. So good news it does not require surgery. But there is a hairline fracture in the bottom part of your Tibia. So, We are going to put you. In a boot, stay off of it for the next time being and no heels.” “Well thats a good thing I don’t like to wear them in the first place” You replied back to the doctor cutting him off “and you get to where this” A nurse in with a kit to make a soft cast on your foot till. You can go see a non emergency room doctor Chris smiled “do. You know what that means?” He asked looking at you “No it does not it does not mean that” you shook your head “don’t you even think about it” you replied as the nurse started to wrap your ankle “Oh but it does” Chris smiled as he watched them wrap your ankle and get you crutches so. You could go back to the house “Christopher Robert Evans” you smiled at him as the two of you had kinda silly fights over dumb. Stuff like taking care of each other when You are sick or hurt. “You are not I'm fine its not the first time nor the last time I can fend for myself. With these metal arms” you said back two him “Plus that nurse fantasy that I have. Not like a picture it  but maybe I. Won’t rule it out. ” you said once you were back home with him He picked you up and brought you into the house and set you on the couch where dodger greeted you “carefully bubba mom’s hurt. So no running under her for awhile” He said to the puppy. 

[quirkfics]

greeting shadows

commission for the darling @ghost-flakes

word count: 5k

warnings: smut, oral, touch-starved, All the Feels

pairing: Kurogiri x Reader (gender neutral) [[reader has a quirk: spectre! 

The public eye never need see Kurogiri. With coordinates or clear sight, he can move himself from place to place faster than a breeze, with no one the wiser. It’s safer that way, to keep his quirk hidden from public knowledge, and Kurogiri takes little issue with it.

But even he craves being able to lose himself in a crowd, to walk amongst the tide of people and exist near others. It’s an itch, a need, that irritates him sometimes, especially as the safest way to go about it calls for rain. 

Between an umbrella and a hooded coat, it’s almost too easy to remain in anonymity. Everyone is too eager to get out of the wet to look closely at passers-by - and Kurogiri gets the chance to be near others. To satisfy what he knows is a kind of skin craving, even if he’d rather dissipate than admit it.

“You look like you’re enjoying the rain almost as much as I am,” breaks through his thoughts. At first he assumes he isn’t the one being spoken to, but he glances anyway, expecting to see someone looking past him - and finds your eyes on his. 

For a moment, but only a moment, he considers not answering. 

“Is my glee that apparent?” He asks, and notes the way your lips part, your eyes growing large as he speaks. He assumes his appearance and demeanor will soon have you turning on your heel.

Kurogiri is incorrect.

“As is your sarcasm,” you reply with a laugh, gently touching your elbow to his forearm. His heart nearly jolts from his chest at the touch, but… Something about you is utterly charming.

He walks away from a short, but thoroughly enjoyable conversation, believing he will likely never see you again. He does his best not to visit the same place twice, and has always kept to overly crowded areas-

But it turns out that Kurogiri is wrong, twice. It's pure chance that he runs into you a second time, in a completely different city, but you capture his complete attention as surely as you did the first. You’re able to slip him your phone number without him knowing, and that is reason enough for Kurogiri to call you.  

From the moment the words first passed your lips, Kurogiri found you fascinating.

It’s not the attraction to you that’s a surprise for Kurogiri though, not exactly. Day in and day out, people of all kinds are admired. For their looks, or their voice, or the way they handle a situation. Even Kurogiri has fallen prey to it on occasion - though he can say with certainty that he’s a bit more selective than most. And yet, despite his general lack of time, and his need for obscurity? The yearning for companionship still exists within him. It has always been there, simmering below the surface. Barely enough of a thought to keep shape, lingering in the back of his mind.

No, it’s not the attraction to you that’s a surprise. He finds, and has always found you lovely. The quiet determination in you, the passion in your voice- the way you made a point to greet a nameless stranger. It wasn’t who he was attracted to that made him feel as if he’d misstepped. It was how much. 

Even now, Kurogiri feels like a child when he speaks to you, frozen with stage fright when faced with a crowd. Never mind that the audience is a kind and receptive one, he feels stilted and awkward. Idle chit-chat is absolutely abhorrent, as he wants you to think well of him, like him, to want-

He still isn’t sure how exactly this became his reality. Wanting you to want him. 

Perhaps, it’s simply that he’s never let himself have that much before. The skin hunger, the desire to touch is almost overwhelming, and the first time your hand slips into his, Kurogiri forgets every single thought he might be harboring. Mist is not the most solid of forms, and while he is solid enough to have a body- 

“It almost tickles,” you confess, smiling down at his fingers twined with yours. “Cool, but not damp?” You say aloud, mulling over the words as dark specks of mist dot your skin and vanish. 

“I’m not a swamp cooler,” he says, and relishes the embarrassed smile that brings to your face. Never has he been more thankful, and yet fearful at the same time. He wishes you could read the joy on his face, as easily as he does yours - but sharing even that much of himself makes Kurogiri’s chest tight with worry.

“Obviously not,” you say, trying to keep the expression on your face under control. “Swamp coolers are hardly this attractive. And they definitely don’t sound like you.”

The things you say. Kurogiri can’t remember the last time he was around such genuine levity. The last time he felt so utterly unburdened. He leaves your side only reluctantly, and every time he does, the mere memory of you keeps him warm. 

Every meeting, every conversation with you seems like a revelation. Slowly, you’ve become a lantern he finds himself seeking in the dark, a promise of pieces he thought lost, finally returned. He can’t stop whiling away all his free hours at your side, can’t stop thinking about the next time he’ll have the chance to see you, to hear your voice.

More often than not, the two of you take rambling walks through the city in the evening. Sometimes he finds himself distracted, wondering what you would think if he could tell you of his quirk, if he could whisk you away to far off vistas at your slightest whim. You rarely push for answers from him though, far too content to build this strange relationship block, by slow, steady block.

“No,” you insist.

“Why would I lie about that?” Kurogiri asks, eyes focused on a distant street corner. It looks like a cafe, and his brain is two steps ahead, wondering if he should phrase his question in some sort of official sounding way.    

“You mean to tell me, you’ve never once had someone eager to catch your attention somehow?”

Kurogiri halts, and has to glance back over his shoulder to find that you’ve stopped - and you aren’t attempting to catch up with him. “Surely that isn’t surprising?” Kurogiri asks, turning back to face you. “There are few who see shadows in the dark and rush to greet them.”

You scoff, jamming your hands into your pockets and narrowing your eyes, content to watch him from a far vantage - at least for a moment. “You sound like you’re quoting a poem,” you accuse, and then shake your head, walking back to his side. “Seriously, though? The figure you cut in that waistcoat, and not one-”

“I suppose there has been one,” Kurogiri amends, and watches you absolutely light up with curiosity. You miss his entire point though.

“Yeah? Tell me about them! I bet they were some kind of fancy globe-trotter. Did they have their own je-”

Kurogiri sighs. “Why must I be attracted to such ignorance?” He mutters, too quiet for you to make out the words.

“Wait- what was-” 

“I mean you,” he clarifies. Kurogiri’s mouth goes dry when he takes your hand again, amazed that his heartbeat isn’t echoing down the street. “You rushed to greet a shadow,” he says, and reels you into the circle of his arms. “And you wax poetic about my.. figure.” You laugh, and hug him, but all too soon you take a step back. Kurogiri has to keep himself from clutching at you when you make to walk again, but he doesn’t want to rush you if you’re not ready. If you’re not willing. It doesn’t stop the desperate yearning to hold you though, or the way it’s been building inside him like a dam near to bursting. He leaves you only reluctantly that night, and nearly throws all his caution to the wind when you straighten his tie- but your reasoning for ending the walk is all sound, and he too, has work to finish.   

A large part of him knows that all of this is ill advised. He has goals to accomplish, not only for his own sake, but for society and yet it doesn’t stop. He can’t seem to walk away. Can’t seem to want to, not really. Days, and months pass, and each touch of your warm hand in his misty one only seems to reinforce his desire for you. To have you in his life, if not in his bed.

He’s started to dream of your face, gentle with sleep on the pillow next to his, and wonders at the fact that his errant thoughts of you haven’t become a horrible preoccupation. Kurogiri hasn’t neglected any of his duties though, and as his face gives nothing away- Mayhap to assuage his worries, he treats his time with you as an incentive to work all the harder. He wants to hoard each second like a dragon, claws clutching at gold, but it always seems to fly by. 

“Sometimes,” you confess one evening, leaning on the stone windowsill of a storefront, “I used to wonder if I saw you purely because of my quirk. Never mind that I’ve never seen other- I thought you were a ghost,” you say with a laugh. “No one else ever went out of their way to acknowledge you-”

And it’s a barb in his chest, knowing why. He is nothing more than a ghost, walking streets where no one knows his face, much less his name. Kurogiri is nothing more than a shadow, with just enough mass to keep people from treading on his toes. It’s the best way, the only way, to continue to accomplish his goals, and yet… He wants people to see you together, to know that he exists, if only as your shadow.

“You did,” Kurogiri says, and feels his heart wrench when you smile. “You’ve always seen me, and I don’t believe you’ve any idea of how much that means.”

You laugh, and then hide it behind a sip of your warm drink, and Kurogiri is almost sure that you’re ready to pull away again, to sidestep the topic of feelings. He won’t force it, but he can’t seem to keep his silence, not for much longer. You’ve no idea about the things he does when he isn’t with you, and he desperately wants to keep it that way.. And yet he still wants to share it all too. 

He’s been visiting here enough that he’s sure his presence has been noticed by someone. And it’s only a matter of time, really, before word spreads. Before they say something to you. Part of him hopes they’ll ignore him, realize who he is and who he works for and leave everything be- and yet he also finds himself wondering whether you already know because surely... Surely, someone would have told you. Someone would have said something already. A good Samaritan, concerned for your safety. Perhaps you ignored them, or perhaps they decided they were too scared to speak the words- Either way, Kurogiri isn’t sure he wants to know. He lets the topic die in his mind, lets his feelings take the forefront, all too eager to be shared.

“Everyone wants to be seen, Kurogiri. I- I might understand that a little more than most, is all,” you say, raising your hand. If he hadn’t been watching for it, Kurogiri might not have noticed the flicker of your skin. The way you turned diaphanous, absolutely see-through, for the space of a second. “Like a spectre,” you explain, shaking your hand as if the feeling it left behind was a bothersome one. “People weren’t stumbling into you, but it was almost like they couldn’t. Like you were intangible, or creating some kind of barrier-” You laugh. “I had to know.”

“Tangible to others or not,” Kurogiri murmurs, stepping into your space. Everything within him thrills when your legs spread, allowing him such closeness. “Your touch has always held weight to me.” His fingers close around your wrist, and it’s ridiculously difficult for him not to lean down and try for a kiss. You appear to be receptive to it, the way you look at him, lips parted, leaning into his hold on you- But this is hardly the place, even if the time feels right. 

“Romantic, aren’t you?” You rasp, and make to set your cup down on the sill beside you. For a moment, Kurogiri thinks he might be willing to use his quirk, just this once- but his phone buzzes in his slacks, and the only people who have his number are not particularly patient individuals. You blink, eyelashes fluttering against you cheek when you hear the soft buzz of his phone. “Important call?” You ask, and the moment flits away on the breeze. 

“Unfortunately,” he says, and barely feels guilty for the thought. He leaves you with a barely-there caress against your cheekbone, and a promise to call you again when he’s free, almost trembling with need as he walks around the corner and warps away. 

Though Kurogiri usually displays endless bounds of patience, it’s all slowly falling to the wayside. Each delay leaves him longing for you so badly that his lungs feel bound with iron, and your wistful voice in his ear - when he can spare the time for a personal phone call - does nothing to stem the tide of wanting.

He worries he’ll make a fool of himself when the time finally arrives to see you again. He smooths his hands over his clothes so often, he frets about wrinkling them, and warps to the corner near your home almost ten minutes early, though there is no feasible or potential way he would ever allow himself to be late. His worry is atrociously loud in his head, white noise and anxiety, echoing around in his skull, all the way up until you open up the door. 

“Are you early, or am I running late?” You ask, laughing awkwardly as you stand back to let him in. You nearly tremble when he walks by, and Kurogiri has to clench his hands to keep from reaching out to you immediately. “Honestly, I’m a little-”

“I’m afraid my own nervousness got the best of me,” he confesses, and clenches his hands tighter when he thinks about smoothing any wrinkles in his waistcoat. “I am a bit early,” he clarifies, when your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“To think, today is the day I finally see you nervous,” you tease, and the words seem to push back the tension in the air, giving the both of you enough space to breathe. A startled look suddenly passes over your face. “We talked about you stopping here first, but- but we never mentioned after-” You say, and this time Kurogiri doesn’t stop himself. He snags your tense hands in his, reveling in the warmth of you and the way you immediately relax in his hold, and takes a step closer. 

“I care little for anything but time with you. If that means a walking tour of the city? So be it. If you’d like dinner, or-” A very small thought in the back of his head says that he should surprise you with food from the other side of the planet. A wiser part of him knows that this is not the moment to display his quirk and it’s… illegal uses, no matter how enticing the idea is.

You free one of your hands to wave it in a placating gesture, but… you're not stepping away. "Those all sound great, but I'm not going to lie," you say, voice a little strained, "it would be nice, maybe, if we could stay? Here, I mean.” You bite your bottom lip when Kurogiri takes your hand back in his, wishing you could see the smile he feels, just standing here with you. 

“Of course,” he says, and his hand slides up your forearm- only for you to turn, tugging him towards the kitchen. 

“I did pick up that wine you mentioned though. I have a friend- anyway, I owe a favor, but-” You pull away, taking the bottle off the counter and nearly brandishing it at him. Kurogiri takes it, if only to keep it from falling out of your anxious hands. 

He suspects you’re ready to go on a tirade of some sort, with nerves so apparent, but he stops you with a sigh and your whispered name, setting the bottle carefully back on the counter. 

“I know we haven’t exactly- we haven’t put any kind of label on things, but. There is something here, right? Between us? I never want you to feel rushed or anything, but sometimes I think-” You make a small noise of surprise when Kurogiri finally slips his arms around you, clinging to you, breathing in the scent of you. He has so much he wants to say, so much he needs to, if he wants to keep this, keep you in his life, but for now-

Kurogiri leans back until he can look you in the eye, unsure of what exactly, he intends on saying, but knowing he needs to say it. “I find it difficult to think of anything but you,” he says. The words slip free of him, but as soon as he sees the look on your face, he wouldn’t dream of taking them back. They taste of truth, anyhow, and it’s important that he tells you what truths he can. Any truths he can. “So yes. I believe there is something between us, and I would very much like to follow where this leads, if you’re willing to have me.” He isn’t sure whether it’s the phrasing, or simply the moment, but you choke on a laugh and curl your arms around him again, burying your face against him. 

“That’s good,” you say, voice slightly muffled with the way you’re pressed to him. “Did you.. Did you want some of that wine?”

Kurogiri hesitantly strokes a hand over your neck, zeroing in on the way your skin shivers with gooseflesh. He wonders if the mist of his body will be unpleasant to you, too cool for more intimate settings- but you haven’t complained about it yet. “Later, perhaps. I would rather be clear-minded, this evening.” He repeats the action, cool fingers against the top of your spine and shivers himself when you clutch him closer. “I already feel out of step around you in the first place. Alcohol won’t help matters.” 

“Me?” You ask with another laugh, lifting your head away to look him in the eye. “Mr.You greeted the shadows feels awkward around me?”

“Indeed. I could say something trite and cliche about stepping into the light, but I fear you don’t appreciate my poetry.” 

You gasp, and smack a gentle hand against his shoulder blade, but it’s true. Kurogiri had never once gone seeking out someone of your caliber. If he admired anyone, that was where it began and promptly ended. He had little time to devote to another, little time period, but he had… He had taken the time to get to know you. In small, stolen moments where your hand slipped into his, and you smiled up at him like he meant something to you. In the ambling strolls through rainy city streets, where he felt his heart, more solid and heavy in his chest than ever before, insist that he do something, if only to keep feeling the warmth of you, to keep hearing your voice, to keep- To keep you in his life. 

“Lies and slander!” You insist, laughing again, tension fading from your frame, and his heart thuds unevenly. The way you smile, the gentleness of your hands upon him… “I do appreciate your poetry. Tell me then. Am I.. sunlight or- or a moonbeam?” You ask, smile turning wry when his eyes narrow in response.

“I would think starlight a finer partner for shadows,” Kurogiri says, tone nearly reverent, and bends closer when your eyelashes flutter. He wants to kiss you, if you’re willing, wants to wrap you in the mist of his body and feel warmth that goes more than skin deep.

“I suppose shadows can reach far off stars,” you say, voice growing soft. The traces of embarrassment have vanished, leaving behind nothing but tenderness. If it had been anyone else, if it has been only a month sooner, Kurogiri isn’t sure he could have faced the immense amount of emotion in either of you and stayed.

“Reach and catch them fast,” Kurogiri murmurs, voice almost as soft as yours. “Perhaps I might have a kiss?” He asks, close enough to breathe in the taste of you.

You don’t answer with words, though a moment of panic crosses the iris of your eyes. You lean forward to kiss him, eyelids falling closed, trusting him to adjust as necessary. Some inexplicable part of him wants to laugh, but he wants your lips against his far more than that. Kurogiri leans into the kiss, eager for the taste of you, the steady spread of body heat, and presses a glancing kiss against your mouth.  

It isn’t like the reel of images he’d stored in the back of his head, the silly hopes and wonders - it’s better. Having you here, listening to you breathe out another laugh before you chase his lips for more? It’s more vivid and thrilling than anything he can summon to mind. 

His fears about being too cool to the touch seem to be completely unfounded. You don’t shy from the icy mist of his face, of his hands. You press close to his every caress, and your lips part willingly, tongue hot against his own.

“That was a kiss,” you gasp, pulling away and cradling your suddenly warm face. “I think you’ve been holding out on me, Kurogiri,” you tease. You nerves still betray you though. He spies your pulse thundering in your neck, and wants nothing more than to feel the steady thud of it against his tongue. 

“You’ve but to ask,” he replies, and drags a knuckle over the jumping vein in your throat.

“Seriously? How do you do that? You say barely half a sentence and I feel like I should be melting into a puddle on the ground.” You take a step back, and never has Kurogiri felt the acute loss of warmth as he does now.

“You like the sound of my voice?” He asks, and his eyes narrow again as you reach out to tap the edge of a fingernail against a button on his waistcoat. 

“You can’t say that you hadn’t realized. You nearly send me into shivers every time you speak. Did you think I was just a very cold individual?”

Kurogiri scoffs, and closes the distance once more, hoping you won’t turn tail and run, or change the subject. “The thought has crossed my mind. More than once, even. Though I thought I might be projecting.” 

“Project all you want,” you mutter, glancing down at the floor. “Especially seeing as it’s true. You, uh-” Your hand moves from the button up to his tie, fumbling with it until it’s loose and you can tug him close again. “More kisses, please?”

“Only kisses?” Kurogiri asks, resisting the next gentle tug of his tie. He can’t deny he wants to throw all caution to the wind, but it’s been so long- he’d rather make sure you were entirely sure of it all. Entirely sure of him. The last thing he wants to do is break what little he has with you, especially if you’re not ready. 

“Maybe more, if-” You blow out a breath, pausing. “If you’re interested in that too?” You finally ask, your gaze tracing the lightning of his eyes. “Because I am. Interested.”      

That's all Kurogiri needed to hear. He let's your next gentle tug of his tie bring him back into the orbit of a kiss. As soon as his mouth finds yours again, dark mist dotting your face, you make a soft, small sigh that has Kurogiri's body lighting up with want. Your hands are gentle, stroking over the line of his shoulders, and Kurogiri wants nothing more than to watch your nimble fingers unbutton his waistcoat and his shirt, watch you arch into his touch- He bumps back into the fridge, and then he realizes you're both simply fumbling about in the kitchen, too enamored with each other to even think of moving.

“Oh,” you say, pulling away to catch your breath, eyes darting around the room. “I haven’t even let you get in the door and I’m already-”  

“I’m not complaining,” Kurogiri murmurs. “But perhaps we should find somewhere to sit?”

Neither of you end up sitting. You keep interrupting the conversation for stolen kisses, and swift caresses, stumbling against the wall before he draws you back into the circle of his arms. He can’t seem to stop touching, eager to see your eyelashes fanning against your cheek, and the way you inhale, as if you can taste him on the air. You make it all the way to the bedroom before you lose track of time, of yourselves, shedding clothes and inhibitions smoother than the wine you left closed on the counter.

Kurogiri is careful as he lays you down on the bed, strong, cool fingers trailing down your bare thighs, heart caught fast in his throat as he parts them. He wants to kiss your knees, and draw idle patterns over your hips, he wants-  

“Can I taste you?” He asks, voice rough with longing, and doesn’t miss the tell-tale shiver of appreciation that his question brings. You nod your head, slow and measure, and Kurogiri’s grip on your thighs adjusts, tightens as he leans down between your legs. His tongue is warmer than the mist of his body, but still markedly colder than most, and that first touch has you arching, fingers curling into the sheets. 

“Kurogiri,” you breathe, and you tremble as he works you over with gentle touches, and strokes and sucking- And then slows, those lightning eyes focused on yours as he halts, all too soon. 

“I find myself a little impatient,” he rumbles, sitting up and taking your thighs in hand. He pulls you down the bed, mussing the blankets, and hooks your legs around his hips.

“Not complaining,” you reply, breathing in deeply as he leans over you. The sight of it, the lithe angles of his shoulders, and the way his hand strokes up your chest- “Not at all.” 

“Good,” he says, and laughs when your hips rock. “Is there something you’d like to ask?”

Your open your mouth to speak, hesitant, but his thumb stroking over your hip spurs you on. “Keep talking? The way you speak..” Your eyes close when he shifts, the hard length of him brushing against your thighs.

“How could I refuse?” 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t leave your side, but the slightest shift of the sheets has you opening your eyes to him flicking open the top of a small, expensive looking bottle of lube. You wonder- but decide it’s a question for later. You want him too much. 

“Everything about you,” Kurogiri murmurs, slicking you up expertly with careful fingers, “is exquisite.” The lube is warm, and you can’t help the jolt of your thighs at the temperature change. “I worried you’d find me too… Cold,” he says, and for some reason, you’re unsure as to whether he means his body, or his demeanor. His fingers curl, and you gasp. “I worried you’d decide against this. Against me, and yet you’ve surprised me at every turn.” His fingers pull out of you, but before you can even mourn the loss, the head of his cock is pressed against you. 

You can’t quite find the words, can only clutch at his forearm, and hook your ankles behind him, urging him to press closer. “Please,” you finally get out, gratefully accepting a kiss before he thrusts shallowly into you. At first, he’s as cool as the rest of his body, but every slow roll of his hips, every stroke of your hands over his shoulders has him warming.

You want him to speak, he knows, but Kurogiri can barely summon the breath to keep moving. The heat of you and your eager touch fumbling over his shoulders- He groans, and picks up the pace when you ask for him to speak more, to whisper what he wants in your ear-

“You,” he chokes out, voice rough. “I want you, like this. I want you to say my name, to keep looking at me-” Kurogiri loses track of everything but you. He can’t recall the exact layout of the room or the brand of wine on the counter, all he knows is how good you feel around him, how much like.. How much like a home you are, warm and inviting, and pleased to have his company.

You press an open mouthed kiss to his shoulder and gasp when he bottoms out, fingernails digging into his back, teeth catching his skin. Kurogiri curses. That hint of sharpness has him speeding, gasping, thrusting harder when you cling to him- and then you’re coming, and Kurogiri’s thighs are burning with the tension. He fucks you through his orgasm, legs trembling, but it isn’t until you gasp his name that he realizes how close he is.

“Fuck,” he groans. “The heat of you, the way-” He loses that small shred of control, shuddering as he comes, but before he can say anything else, you’re pulling him back into another kiss. The heat- He half wonders if his mist will burn away with continued exposure to the warmth of you, but he decides then and there that it’d be a lovely way to go.

[freyjaiam]

Part of ‘Frey’s 12 Days of Ficmas’

03: Peraltiago: The Battle of Turkeys

Holidays were always chaotic for Amy. She just wanted them to be perfect. She always made a plan and did her best to stick with it so that there was no discord. If one thing went wrong it rocked her. She did her best to keep it cool, her friends and husband always there to try and ease her nerves in a way her parents never could when she was younger. However, being married to Jake was a new pressure she hadn’t dealt with before. Her husband didn’t have many fond memories of any holiday. She wanted to change that. Which was why she was up at four in the morning opening her binder to start the day. She had many pieces of the puzzle already in play.

Gifts?

Wrapped and under the tree her and Jake decorated on December first. Half of Jake’s were decoys because she knew he was impatient and did his best to guess what she’d gotten him by shaking and “accidentally” opening gifts. Socks, underwear, and other random things were under that tree. His real gifts were safely stashed with Rosa, who would be bringing them at dinner. Save for the one gift she still had to pick up before the dinner started.

The table?

Already set. She’d been up until midnight making sure it was perfect. She’d researched many websites, magazines, and even watched some daytime television to get these ideas. Her colors were traditional. The plates each had a little sheer giftbag coordinated with the person assigned to that seat. Gina had promised her that she’d get the flowers for her centerpiece, but since Amy knew Gina liked to sabotage her due to thinking it was funny she also bought extra flowers which she had in the fridge to keep them as fresh as possible.

Alcohol?

Alcohol is a must for parties. Especially with the precinct. Jake’s parents were also coming. Not Amy’s. They decided to visit her brother this year. Her and Jake had bought some and everyone else attending said they would bring something as well. Needless to say it wasn’t going to be a dry party.

Food?

Amy had a slight fight with Charles about the food. She knew she wasn’t a great cook. Despite her promise to always follow the recipe, and despite Charles having gone to the store with her to make sure she had all the ingredients for everything she said she wanted to make, he still insisted on coming to help cook. All Amy could think about was the food truck fiasco where both her and Gina quit because they weren’t cutting the bread right. She didn’t want a hospital visit this holiday, and she knew if Charles was in the kitchen with her she’d probably stab him in the face with her best kitchen knife. So they eventually agreed to split the side dishes in half. She would be in charge of the potatoes, gravy, and green bean casserole. They argued over the turkey. He finally relented but she knew that sneaky sonuvabitch  was making his own turkey to bring here. She just knew it. The little attention whore was probably hoping she’d fail so that he could take the credit for—

“Okay, Amy, focus,” she said outloud with a shake of her head. “You got this. Just…” She checked her watch. “Just under ten hours until people start to show up.”

She went to the fridge to pull out the turkey that she’d taken out of the freezer and—

“Oh… Oh no…” She set it on the counter and it thunked. “WHY ARE YOU STILL FROZEN?!”

.

.

.

“JAKE!” Jake bolted up from bed. His heart was racing and his hand went over it as he looked at his wife. He instantly knew something was wrong due to the wild look on her face. Well that and the giant nicotine patch he saw on her forehead. He hadn’t seen that since their wedding. “We have an emergency!”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“We have more important things to worry about than your heart, Jake!”

“Ouch. Okay. Hurtful. But okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just really freaking out, because I already messed up this morning. Jake, the turkey is frozen. Frozen! There is no way I’m going to get it thawed out, in the oven, and ready in time for dinner.”

“Can’t we just, I don’t know, put it in the oven to thaw out?”

“No Jake, that is how you get raw turkey in the middle and dry and burnt turkey on the outside. I’m a disaster in the kitchen but even I know that! I need your help!”

“Okay,” he crawled out of bed and walked to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe Amy. We got this. We’re a team, now, remember?”

“Yeah.” She took a calming breath. “Jake, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll put on some pants and find us a turkey. Shouldn’t be too hard since its still early. Right? I mean, corporate America cares more about making the extra dollar now than taking a holiday off for their employees so… I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“Thanks. I’ll start the other stuff but… Please hurry.”

Jake slipped on a shirt, shrugged on his jacket, and found his wallet and keys. On his way out the door he didn’t ask once about the turkey wedged in the microwave that was destroyed due to the door being on the kitchen floor. He just hoped to God he found a turkey before it was more than just the microwave receiving a beating from Amy today.

.

.

.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nooooooooooooo—-Hey Charles!” Jake spun around to see his best friend. “Just picking up a few things we forgot.”

“Really? But I went shopping with Amy the other day. She should have everything.” Jake hated the almost gleeful look that came upon his best friend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” insisted Jake.

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you-”

“No, nope, not buying it,” said Charles, hands on his hips. He was practically bouncing on the heels of his shoes. “Something is up. I can smell it.”

“Well… Get your nose checked. Because we’re fine!” Jake then decided to flip the tables. “Why are you here?”

“Amy said I could make a dessert so I’m making pecan pie. All the extra hours we got this week I couldn’t make the trip until now…”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you went shopping with Amy this week?”

“I did.”

And there it was. The small hiccup. The slight catch of breath, the way Charles slightly adjusted his brown tie, something was up with him. Jake didn’t know what it was, but he was the best damn detective in the city, so he was going to sniff it out.

“Oh? Then why are you here? If you went shopping with Amy then you should have everything you need as well. So, Boyle, why are you really here?”

They stood, face to face, waiting for the other to break. They stood like that for a good minute before Charles cleared his throat and backed off. They silently regarded one another and then separated. Jake sighed a sigh of relief when Charles exited into the pasta aisle. He then made his move. He went down the cookie aisle, knowing Charles would be following him. He knew his friend, and he knew he’d be watching. He took a sharp left down the the dairy aisle, apologizing to the woman whose cart he ran into when he was too busy looking to see where Charles was. Little did Jake know, Charles was doing the same thing, and they both froze in slight surprise when they met again near the turkeys.

“Aha! I knew it! Something is wrong! She messed up the turkey already, hasn’t she?!”

“What? No! I’m just…”

“Oh save it, Jake. I know you’re covering for her.”

“Okay, then why are you here?” Jake raised an accusatory finger at Charles. “You’re here for turkey, too. Aren’t you? You promised me you wouldn’t interfere with Amy’s turkey!”

“My toes were crossed, Jake, no promise was made!”

“Dammit. I forgot about your freakishly long toes,” muttered Jake. “Rookie mistake. Next time I make a promise with you the shoes come off, Buddy!”

“Admit defeat, Jake. I’m going to make the best turkey, and you can’t stop me,” said Charles, showing his ugly side, but Jake could get ugly, too. “I knew she couldn’t do it. I was going to just let the chips fall where they may but decided that swooping in with the better turkey would be better.”

“You know what?” Jake grabbed a turkey. It was perfect. And not frozen at all. “There will be no swooping today! Amy and I are going to make the best turkey. Better than any dry piece of meat you’ll have to offer!”

Charles gasped, then snagged his own turkey. “All have you know my turkey is moist and delicious and it will beat the pants off of your turkey! So bring it, Bitch!”

Challenge accepted.

Merry freaking Christmas.

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.

.

“Amy! Amy we need to…” It was quiet. Too quiet. Jake locked the door and timidly made his way to the kitchen, hoping she was ok. Amy wasn’t there. There was a pile of potatoes, half peeled and half not. There was also a bag of green beans on the counter. He set the turkey in the sink because he remembered something about a turkey needing to be in the sink from his mother. It was now eight in the morning. They had six hours. They needed to get this bird in the oven. “Ames? Where are you?”

It was then he realized she wasn’t there. He pulled out his phone and texted her that he was home with the turkey. He saw her start to reply, but no message was sent. Did she not trust him to do it? Had she thought he’d fail at getting them a turkey? The thought hurt a little, but he couldn’t let it get to him. Not yet.

Because he had to beat Charles.

How hard could it be to make a turkey?

He removed the plastic and only puked one when pulling out all the guts from the ass of the turkey. Thankfully he made it to the trash can. He threw the guts over his vomit and then took out the trash to remove the evidence of him yaking in the bin. Twenty minutes later he heard the jangling of keys in the door right after he finished cramming stuffing back up the ass he’d just pulled guts out of.  He was washing his hands and talking as he heard someone approaching him from behind.

“Amy, not cool, where have you-” He turned around and the woman in front of him wasn’t Amy. She had long, brunette hair, blue eyes, and was smiling nervously while wringing her hands before placing them in the back pockets of her jeans. “You aren’t Amy.”

“Jake…” Amy stepped into the kitchen. She had an easygoing smile as she approached him. She took his hand then tugged him forward a little closer to the mystery woman. “Jake this is Victoria. Your half-sister.”

“My…” He looked her over once more. She had Dad’s nose. “Oh.”

“Um… Surprise?” said Victoria before letting out a nervous laugh.

“Um, yeah… Hi!” Jake eagerly opened his arms for a hug and she gave him one. She was tense at first but relaxed slightly before he pulled away. “Victoria, huh?”

“Vicki, please, only my mother calls me Victoria and usually that’s when I did something pretty bad,” she said with a laugh.

“Right. Right. So, where are you from?”

“Minneapolis, Minnesota originally but currently living in Fargo, North Dakota.”

“Oh, you don’t sound like—”

“Yeah, trust me, not everyone from there talks like the people from the movie,” she said with a laugh. “Everyone from that town hates that damn movie.”

“Right,” said Jake, chancing a look to Amy, who loved that movie. She seemed unphased about it though. “Fargo sucks. I mean, if you want a good movie, then the one to watch is Die Hard, right?”

“Let me show you where to put your stuff while Jake processes,” said Amy, gesturing toward the hall that lead to the spare bedroom, shaking her head at Jake’s poor attempt to see if his sister liked the movie he loved. When she returned she wrapped her arms around Jake. “Hey… Doing okay?”

“How… When…”

“I kinda went over your notes, and babe we really have to work on your organizational skills, but I managed to track down Vicki with the help of your dad. Um, I didn’t give him a heads up about her being here today either. But she wanted to meet you. More than him. Um… She’s never met your dad so…”

“That’ll be interesting.”

“You’re okay with this?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

“What? Are you kidding me? I love it. I’m just surprised you kept the secret that long from everyone or that no one found out. Wait… Did you fake a turkey emergency to get me out of the apartment or…”

“Oh, no, the turkey is a disaster. I really did need a new one that wasn’t a solid brick of ice. But I see you got one, and started it, thanks Babe.”

“Yeah, about that…”

Jake filled in Amy about meeting Charles at the store. Suddenly, gone was the bubbly woman he loved and in her place was a demon ready to suck the soul out of Boyle’s body and place it into the fiery pits of hell.

“We need to destroy him,” she said flatly.

“Okay, but it’s Charles,” said Jake. “The guy can cook. And let’s be honest, the two of us can barely manage not burning a pizza in the oven.”

“Yeah, but we have a secret weapon,” said Amy with a grin.

“What is that?” asked Jake as Vicki entered the kitchen.

“Hey, Vicki, I was just telling Jake that you are part owner of a restaurant up in Fargo,” said Amy, giving Jake a slight nudge.

“Oh, really?” said Jake, a sneaky smiling on his face as he pressed his fingertips together.

“Okay. I’ve only known you both for a couple hours but I can see something is going on,” said Victoria. “What’s up?”

“Well…”

.

.

.

Charles felt pretty damn smug. His turkey was perfect. Along with the cranberry sauce and desserts Amy asked him for after their little fight over cooking dinner. He also made some sweet potatoes, just to be safe. Oh, and some fresh rolls. He nodded to Rosa who had a sack full of gifts as well as some beer. The girl she was dating, the one she met on Jake and Amy’s wedding day, was with her parents instead. Their relationship being new Rosa had turned down the idea of meeting her parents on the holiday and instead decided to celebrate with her second family.

“Charles.”

“Hey Rosa! What’s with all the gifts?”

“None of your business.”

“Okay, okay…”

“What’s with all the food?” asked Rosa, nodding toward the bag. “I thought Amy was cooking.”

“We decided to split the cooking duties this year.”

“Uh huh… But wasn’t she making the turkey?”

“Well… I figured—”

“You went behind her back and made your own, didn’t you? Bad move Charles. Though I approve because it’ll be funny to see Amy annihilate you when you come in the door with it.”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later,” said Charles as they got to the door. He knocked and it was Jake who answered. His face stern as he looked at Charles. “Hello, Jake.”

“Charles.”

“Ugh,” said Rosa, shouldering her way in with her stuff, avoiding the standoff at the door. She nodded to those who were there. When she noticed a new face she turned to Amy with a questioning look.

“That is Victoria,” said Amy, taking the bag of gifts. “Jake’s sister.”

“Holy crap,” said Rosa. “Well that’s a surprise.”

“Yeah, he thought so, too. Thanks for keeping his gifts. Glasses are in the kitchen for drinks.”

“Okay. Hey, just a heads up, Charles-”

“Oh, I know, Jake told me. Don’t worry. We have it handled.”

Rosa had to admit. It smelled damn good in the kitchen when she got her drink. She also noticed the perfectly cooked pies cooling on the counter top. She smirked at that, remembering Charles saying something about cooking the desserts. Rosa poured her drink and went into the living room to ready herself for the fireworks.

.

.

.

“Oh, Charles, sorry. I had no room for the turkey in the oven,” said Amy. “Your sweet potatoes went in there though. They fit just fine.”

“That’s ok, Amy, my turkey will be fine sitting out for the next couple minutes. Since it’s done and perfect. Oh, I saw the pies. Where did you buy them from?”

“I didn’t buy them,” said Amy with a smug grin. “They’re homemade.”

Charles scoffed at that. “Oh, please, no one here will believe that.”

“Ohhh, but it is the truth,” said Jake, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “They are homemade. My sister made them.”

“Kate?” asked Charles. “Well now no one will eat your food. There will probably be glass in it!”

“No, not Kate,” said a woman Charles didn’t know, hands on her hips and her eyebrow quirked. Charles instantly disliked her. “Me.”

“Charles, I’d like for you to meet my sister Vicki. She is a co-owner to a wonderful little restaurant and OUR FOOD IS GOING TO WIN! In your face!”

“Oh, bring it, Jake. My palette is superior in every way. I’m going to wipe the floor with you!” Charles then quickly shifted gears. Because since she was Jake’s sister he totally loved her already. “My name is Charles, I’m Jake’s best friend, it’s really nice to meet you by the way–-Now get ready to suck it!”

“Wow,” said Vicki as Charles marched out of the kitchen area. “He’s… A lot.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s very intense. Maybe a little insane. But he’s my partner and best friend aside from Amy and means a lot to me so hopefully we can get along after all this.”

“Who cares. I just want to win,” said Amy, taking another drink for herself before announcing that dinner was ready.

Jake’s dad had cancelled. Which was fine with Amy but heartbreaking for Jake so she supported him with a half hug. Vicki wasn’t too sad about the dad she never met not showing. Surprisingly she got along really well with Jake’s mother and Kevin, the both of them very curious about her business at home. When it came time to carve the turkeys Amy and Charles faced off at opposite ends of the table. Everyone got a helping of each turkey. From the looks of it Amy and Vicki’s looked better. But looks weren’t everything. They took their seats. Amy cut her toast in half so that the eating could start, and then she just watched. Everyone seemed happy with all the food and that made her feel better by a lot. The turkey was what mattered the most. Charles tried to say she cheated by not making it. Vicki intervened by saying she never touched the turkey and only gave guidance while making the pies.

That had shut him up.

“Okay, you have to settle this for us, who had the better turkey?”

“Must we really?” Kevin sighed before sharing a look with Vicki. “I must warn you. This group of individuals are always involved in some inane quarrel about who is better at what.”

“Competition is healthy, Kevin, and I must say that Santiago had the best turkey,” said Raymond Holt. “Properly cooked. Properly seasoned.”

“Hah, suck it Charles!” sneered Amy.

“I pick Charles,” said Gina.

“Oh you would,” scoffed Amy. “Just like I knew you wouldn’t bring the flowers.”

“Get off my back, Amy, damn!” said Gina before grabbing her wine.

They all went around the table. It was close. Charles was ahead by two before they got to the last of the guests. Rosa picked Amy as did Jake’s mom, which rocked Charles because apparently he’d been trying to butter her up all night. The final vote came to Kevin and everyone looked at him expectantly. He sighed, finally relenting, placing his cutlery down before pondering his decision.

“I’m with Raymond. Amy had the better dish.”

“YES!” Amy cheered before standing up and starting her celebration dance.

“NOOOOOOOO!” shouted Charles at the same time, hands slamming on the table and rattling everything on it.

“Hey, can we get some pie now?” asked Scully.

“We saw the pies cooling on the counter and if you make us wait any longer we may just burn the place down,” said Hitchcock.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” said Rosa, laughing at Charles losing it once more when his pie was bypassed in favor of Vicki’s when he tried to say his pies would be better than hers—then losing tremendously.

.

.

.

Everyone was gone. Vicki was in the guest room getting ready for bed. Amy was putting the last of the dishes away when two arms wrapped around her middle. She smiled, hands settling over his as he hugged her tightly.

“Can I say this was probably the best Christmas I ever had. Meeting Victoria at the top of the list and then beating Charles in the Battle of Turkeys. Also, present decoys? Nioce.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” she said turning in his embrace so that she could wrap her arms around him fully. “I’m sorry your dad didn’t show.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Hey-oh. Sorry,” said Vicki, who’d come into the kitchen. “I’ll come back.”

“No, no, we’re cool. What’s up?” asked Amy.

“Well I’m not quite tired yet since it’s only nine where I’m from. I was going to ask if you all wanted to watch a movie or something.”

“We… We could watch Die Hard,” said Jake almost breathlessly.

“Oh, yeah. That’d be good. I like that movie.” said Vicki. “Just let me take my contacts out!”

“Oh my God I love her,” said Jake as she left, making Amy laugh. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers for a quick yet satisfying kiss. “I love you, Ames. Merry Christmas.”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

END

[papermoonloveslucy]

ORSON WELLES RADIO ALMANAC

March 9, 1944

“Orson Welles Almanac” (1944) is a CBS Radio series directed and hosted by Orson Welles. Broadcast live in California and Arizona via CBS West Coast studios, the 30-minute program was heard Wednesdays at 9:30pm beginning January 26, 1944. Its last broadcast was July 19, 1944. Orson Welles Almanac presented readings from classic works, drama, music, sketch comedy, magic, mindreading, and personal commentary by Welles. Many of the shows originated from US Army camps where Welles entertained the troops. Welles had an ongoing battle with the program's sponsor, Mobil Oil, which shortened the life of the series. Twenty six broadcasts were produced; all but four shows have survived.

This is the seventh episode of the series, aired on March 9, 1944. Previous guests were Groucho Marx, Lionel Barrymore, Ann Sothern, Robert Benchley, Hedda Hopper, and Victor Moore.  Lucille Ball would return to the series to guest star on May 3, 1944. Unfortunately, this is one of the four lost episodes.  

CAST

Lucille Ball (Guest Star) was then filming Ziegfeld Follies for release in 1945.  Her films Best Foot Forward and Thousands Cheer (both released in 1943) were then in local cinemas. Ball was in her fourth year of a rocky marriage to Desi Arnaz, who she would divorce in September 1944, although the papers were never officially filed. The week prior to this broadcast, Ball guest starred on Bing Crosby’s radio show “Music Hall”.  

Orson Welles arrived in Hollywood in 1939 when Ball was a contract player at RKO Studios. To squelch rumors that he was a homosexual, the studio sent Lucy to escort him to a premiere to be photographed. He later recalled,

“We went to see the opening of some movie or other—I simply picked her up at her house and we went to the movie and got photographed and came home and I said ‘Good night,’ and that was the end of that. That was the end of that romance, but it was the beginning of a long friendship.”

A veteran of the theatre, in 1941 the actor / director completed his magnum opus film Citizen Kane. In the 1950s he was under contract to Desilu to film a pilot for an anthology series called “The Fountain of Youth,” which wasn’t aired until 1958 and did not result in a series. Despite that, it won a Peabody Award, the only pilot to ever do so.

On February 5, 1956 Lucy and Desi appeared with Welles on Ed Sullivan’s “Toast of the Town.” They were there to promote their film Forever Darling. Welles was there to promote his revival of his King Lear at New York’s City Center, which he initially performed in a wheelchair due to injuries to both ankles. By the time he performed it on “Toast of the Town” (aka “The Ed Sullivan Show”) Welles was using a crutch.

When the Oscar-winning actor and director was down on his luck he was invited to stay in the Arnaz guest cottage. Notorious for his drinking and rude behavior, Lucy had to find a way to politely get rid of her guest so she decided to have an episode of “I Love Lucy” written for him so she could pay him a salary. With that in mind, Desilu paid him the exorbitant sum of $15,000!  Ball’s memories of Welles were mixed. “I had a real love-hate relationship with Orson,” she said towards the end of her life. “His mind was awesome…but he was also a pain in the ass.”

At the time of this broadcast (March 8, 1944) Welles’ film Jane Eyre was playing in cinemas. 

Ella Mae Morse (Musical Guest) was signed by Jimmy Dorsey at the age of 14 (she lied about her age and said she was 19) and was subsequently fired after discovering the truth about her age. Her recording of "Cow Cow Boogie" was the first million-selling single for Capitol Records in 1942. Her biggest hit was "The Blacksmith Blues" released in February 1952. The song she sings here, “Shoo-Shoo Baby” (written by Phil Moore), would be heard in the about-to-be-released film South of Dixie in which she played Barbara Ann Morgan.  

Agnes Moorehead (Prudence Pratt / Miss Grimace / Swoon Club Girl) was a member of Welles’ Mercury Theatre on stage and radio as well as starring in Welles’ films Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons. She is best remembered as Endora, Samantha’s mother-in-law on TV’s “Bewitched”. 

Hans Conried (Colonel Peabristle / Hotel Operator / Frenchman / Dr. Snake Oil / Flat Top) first co-starred with Lucille Ball in The Big Street (1942). After being a recurring guest on her radio show “My Favorite Husband” (1948-51), he appeared on “I Love Lucy” as used furniture man Dan Jenkins in “Redecorating” (ILL S2;E8) and later that same season as Percy Livermore in “Lucy Hires an English Tutor” (ILL S2;E13) – both in 1952. The following year he began an association with Disney by voicing Captain Hook in Peter Pan. On “The Lucy Show” he played Professor Gitterman in “Lucy’s Barbershop Quartet” (TLS S1;E19) and in “Lucy Plays Cleopatra” (TLS S2;E1). He was probably best known as Uncle Tonoose on “Make Room for Daddy” starring Danny Thomas, which was filmed on the Desilu lot. He joined Thomas on a season 6 episode of “Here’s Lucy” in 1973.

The All-Star Jazz Group: Mutt Carey (trumpet), Kid Ory (trombone), Jimmy Noone (clarinet), Buster Wilson (piano), Bud Scott (guitar), Ed Garland (bass), and Zutty Singleton (drums). 

John McIntire (Announcer) 

EPISODE

Orson Welles introduces the episode, opening with a Household Hint by Prudence Pratt and a Wonders of Science fact by Colonel Peabristle. After the opening music and Mobil Oil sponsorship message, Welles summons his secretary Miss Grimace to tell him who is on the show tonight. She reports that it is Miss Lucille Ball, although she hasn’t arrived yet.  Welles says she is filing her tax forms. 

WELLES: “Can you imagine. The Government wants Lucille Ball to fill in HER form!” 

Miss Grimace admits the three members of The Orson Welles Swoon Club.  Welles interrogates them as to their whereabouts during his public appearances. He wants new members, promising them nylons.   

Oops!  Welles mis-reads the script, saying “nylon baby socks” instead of “nylon bobby sox”. He corrects himself with a laugh and says “For me, it’s booby socks!”  Bobby soxer is a term for the wildly enthusiastic, teenage female fans of 1940s music, particularly Frank Sinatra.

Orson wants to know if they have gotten the new photographs he sent them. One of the Swoon Club compliments him on how he looks in his sarong - mistaking him for Dororthy Lamour in a Bob Hope / Bing Crosby picture. 

Dorothy Lamour was nicknamed ‘The Sarong Girl’. In 1936 she donned her soon-to-be-famous sarong for her debut at Paramount, The Jungle Princess (1936), and continued to play similar parts through the war years and beyond. The most famous of these was in the popular Bob Hope / Bing Crosby "Road" pictures - a combination of adventure, music, and slapstick.

The Swoon Club feel sorry for Orson that he hasn’t won an Oscar, so they knit him a tie - which started out as a pair of socks.He dismisses the club.  

When the 16th Academy Awards were distributed at Grauman's Chinese Theatre on Thursday, March 2, 1944, neither of Welles’ 1943 motion pictures were among the nominees: Jane Eyre and Journey Into Fear, which he also co-directed and co-wrote. Welles shared a 1942 Oscar with Herman Mankiewicz for writing Citizen Kane, a bone of contention between them, since Mankiewicz later claimed he wrote the entire script. The backstory is explored in the modern film Mank (2020). 

Miss Grimace reports that the Hotel Carlton is suing him. After he did a magic show there, the two rabbits ran rampant and did damage! Orson calls the hotel operator (Hans Conried) and learns that the hotel is now called the Carlton Rabbit Farm and the manager’s eyes have turned pink!  Welles asks Miss Grimace to send Lucille Ball roses. Miss Grimace says they are too expensive and he should send her something simpler, like phoenicia vulgaris. Welles says no because it sounds too dirty.  

Here Welles ad libs, causing Agnes Moorehead to break character and laugh. He mentions Lewis Titterton, the NBC censor and says “If you had a name like Louis Titterton anything would sound dirty. Let’s get back to the script.”  They try, but it takes a moment for their laughter to subside. 

A Frenchman from a reducing salon (Hans Conried) approaches him for an estimate on a new body. He measures Welles’ body with a tape measure. He was once the girdle coordinator at Bullocks basement for 15 years. 

FRENCHMAN: “If a size 44 tries to get into a 38, I help push!”

Announcer John McIntire does a live commercial for Mobilgas with some driving tips.  

PART 2

Before a musical introduction, Dr. Snake Oil (Hans Conried) gives a tip about dislodging a fishbone caught in the throat. 

The All-Star Jazz Group plays "Bésame Mucho" ("Kiss me a lot"), a song written in 1940 by Consuelo Velázquez. It is now considered one of the most popular songs of the 20th century and of all times. It is also the most recorded and covered song in Spanish of all time. 

Welles welcomes Lucille Ball to the show to studio audience applause. Welles says he’s written a sketch full of romantic love scenes. Orson improvs a commercial for a sponsor Krunchies, a noisy breakfast cereal that gets soggy in milk. He introduces...

“THE CASE OF THE BLUE BLOOD STAIN”

Orson plays Mickey, a detective on his night off, reading the evening paper. Lucy plays his adoring wife, Dora. 

DORA: “Mickey, where were you last night?” MICKEY: “Don’t be silly, you know how I feel about you. You’re the eighth wonder of the world.” DORA: “Yeah, well, just don’t let me catch you with the other seven, bub!” 

Lounging in bed, Dora feels a cold hand which doesn’t belong to Mickey. She screams! There’s a dead man in their bed. 

MICKEY: “You know how difficult it is to find a room these days.”

Detective Mickey notes that the dead man has 18 knife wounds in him and no holes in his shirt.

DORA: “Must have been an inside job.”

They push the body off the bed and decide to turn out the lights and go to sleep.  In the darkness, they hear a squeaky door. 

WELLES (aside): “Fine thing, a squeaky door in an oil program!” 

The audience loudly applauds this ad-lib by Welles, and even Lucy chuckles.

Dora insists there’s someone in the closet. A body falls out of the closet and onto the floor with a loud thud. Someone throws a rock through their bedroom window with a note on it. 

Except the sound effect of broken glass does not happen. Welles laughs a bit but forges ahead. 

MICKEY (reading the note): “Keep your mouth shut and throw a thousand dollars out of the window or you’ll never get another sounds effect...no, excuse me... or they’ll be four bodies in your room.”

Another rock comes through the window - with a sound effect this time!

MICKEY (reading the note): "PS: I’ll settle for $950.” 

A knock at the front door. 

MICKEY: “That must be the murderer. Come in!  I’ll take that line again: That must be the murderer. Come in!”

The man, Flat Top (Hans Conried), pulls a gun on them and threatens to shoot.  

DORA: “Where’s your patriotism? You can’t shoot him. Don’t you know the government is trying to save waste fats?” 

During World War II, the US government urged Americans to save excess fat rendered from cooking and donate it to the army to produce explosives. Fats are used to make glycerin, and glycerin is used to make things blow up.

As gunfire rings out, Welles does a Krunchies commercial, extolling their virtues with strawberries and cream.

WELLES: “You can have strawberries and cream. What do you need Krunchies for?”

Mickey is bleeding. During the commercial, Mickey has hit Flat Top on the head and called the police!  

John McIntire does a commercial for Mobil Oil. He urges motorists to keep their car oil clean to avoid repairs. 

PART THREE  

Welles introduces Ella Mae Morse, who sings “Shoo-Shoo Baby” backed by the All-Star Jazz Group.

The song was also heard in the 1944 film Follow The Boys aka Three Cheers for the Boys sung by the Andrews Sisters. 

Welles then takes a serious tone, dedicating the show to the premise that ‘every man belongs to all men.’ He reads from “Meditation 17″ by John Donne (1572-1631). 

Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris. Now this bell, tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die. 

All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. And therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all;  Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? But who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Welles bids the audience goodnight. 

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Journey Unfinished

post-TSS fic below the cut, ~2k words, Merlin’s POV re: Harry

(wasn’t Merlahad in my head but it’s certainly Merlahad-friendly; it basically works either way)

.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

It was Eggsy who’d reminded him, after the plane had landed back at headquarters, Roxy waiting for them on the tarmac near the transport he’d sent for her. They’d cheered their victory, Lancelot and Galahad hugging for ages, and then the boy had broken away, sobered, turning to him. Asking:

“Ain’t there gonna be a funeral? For Harry?”

Merlin tenses at the memory. Yes, there should be. There’s supposed to be.

There always is. The death of a Kingsman is a blessedly infrequent occasion, but when it happens, there’s rarely any living kin to speak of. Someone’s got to bury them, and there’s no honor in leaving it to the state. As a Kingsman is welcomed by his brethren, so shall he depart the earth. Every suit is black on those days. Every topcoat.

Merlin himself has only been to a sparse number of these. It’s only recently that colleague casualties have begun to plague his tenure with any regularity. They lost an Arthur—his and Harry’s training agent, Chester’s predecessor—to diabetic ketoacidosis in the mid-eighties. A Gareth fell to Botswanan militants in ’92. A Percival to a literal fall in ’94. Then Lancelot—prior to James; a man named Duncan Billingsley—killed in a car crash in 1997. James, they buried on a Thursday, stitched back together as best they could do. Lee Unwin, they turned over to the Westminster Public Mortuary, who, in turn, released his remains to the custody of his widow; he received no Kingsman ceremony, though the circle K mark still graces the base of his headstone, earned through his bravery.

Five funerals. Only five, and five too many. Never in all his years has he seriously pictured attending Harry’s. Harry Hart, damn him and all his reckless shite, was…indestructible. Stubbornly so. That funeral was always the most hypothetical. The very last one he’d ever expected, or wanted to attend.

Until now. Now, it’s the one thing he wants to attend more than anything.

Now that he can’t.

He removes his glasses, setting the frames down on his desk, working his hands together. They cup his face, and he sighs. His exhausted mind replays the comlink feedback from not five minutes ago.

“Come in, Merlin; this is Llamrei. We’re on the ground.”

They’d been in the air before even he and the recruits had. The salvage crew. He hadn’t waited. Not even for the toast. He hadn’t toasted. He’d arranged for pickup instead. For God’s sake, he’d sent them immediately.

“We have blood on the car park, positively identified.”

In front of South Glade Mission Church. Analysis would have taken only seconds. But they shouldn’t have had to analyze. The source was supposed to be where they’d left him…

“Area is clear. Repeat, area is clear. No remains or sign of Agent Galahad.”

No remains or sign of Agent Galahad.

He’d sent them immediately. He couldn’t have sent them any sooner, couldn’t have shortened the ocean or sped them to Kentucky any faster. And it wasn’t enough. Somewhere in that window of time…

What the hell happened?

There’s nothing in this world he despises more than a question with no answer. Ordinarily, they annoy him. Vex him. Irritate him to no end. He designs workarounds to circumvent them. When possible, he cracks them. When advantageous, he hacks them. Unanswered questions and his hatred thereof have inspired no less than his every development, every schematic.

For all that work, this is one that he can’t fix. He’s met his match, and it’s Harry’s brains on a car park, no chance he survived, yet no body to return to his home.

How did we fucking lose him?

“You check the area,” he’d ordered them. “And then you check it again.” The situation wasn’t without possibilities. The moment of Harry’s death may not have coincided with the termination of his feed. He could have crawled for a bit. Back inside, or away for help. Even between the cars, or underneath, to keep himself from being discovered. Sensationalized.

But he hadn’t. Merlin had watched with his own eyes as Llamrei transmitted. Their full sweep returned a topographical scan of the area covering a half-mile’s radius.

Harry was gone. Harry is gone, and a day that was already hell is now infinitely worse.

He picks up his glasses, easing them back onto his nose. He straightens his tie, palming it flat beneath his jumper. His own emotions, his own frustrations mean extraordinarily little now. Especially because it’s very likely that they’ll never subside. Not without answers that are maddeningly beyond his reach. There’ll be time to grapple with them later. He wouldn’t rule out a pint of scotch for supper tonight.

He’s already failed to bring Harry home to rest. He is not going to fail at the one task Harry left in his hands.

“Look after him, Merlin.” He remembers Harry in his housecoat and slippers, fresh out of his coma, more concerned with dramatic entrustments than even his return to civilization. “Should I be any less lucky the next time round, I ask you, as a personal favor. Please. See that he fulfills his potential. Don’t let him be discouraged by my death. Or dwell on it, for heaven’s sake.”

He’d told Harry to shut up. And called him a prick, if memory serves. Which it always does.

He hates the prick even worse now for making him do this.

Merlin rises, putting his computer to sleep. For once, he doesn’t collect his clipboard. Instead, he goes by instinct to the right coordinates of wall, pressing his palm to the hidden censor. Bluegreen fingerprints etch out a glow beneath his touch. The panel recesses. From the cubby it reveals, he carefully procures one of the agency’s dozen coveted decanters, pinching together three shot glasses in his spare hand.

The others have toasted. Bedivere. Gawain. Lamorak. Fucking dead Chester. This is for the three of them who haven’t, not fittingly. It’s arguable they’re the ones who need it more than the rest combined.

His gut is no less sour as he walks with measured steps toward the Lancelot suite. He’s just very good at hiding it. After all this time, he fucking ought to be. With the crystal stopper, he taps twice, lightly, on the heavy door.

“Permission to enter,” he requests.

“Granted,” Roxy’s voice returns.

Merlin enters. Exhaustion has taken hold of the kids in his absence. They’re both sat on the foot of the bed, Eggsy’s elbows on his knees, medallion in his hands. Roxy’s angled toward him, her near hand on his back. J.B. and Marthe lounge at their feet, panting as if they’d put in the same work as their human counterparts.

Wordlessly, he hands Roxy the first shot glass. Her brow quirks, but she accepts. The transaction flags Eggsy’s peripheral, as he knew it would, and when the boy looks up, Merlin proffers him the second one.

“What’s all this?”

Merlin uncorks the ceremonial booze. “We’re honoring Harry,” he explains.

“But…I already…”

“No, you didn’t. It doesn’t count as a proper memorial when someone’s trying to poison you. A good tip you might want to remember for the future.” He pours Roxy’s shot first, then Eggsy’s, and then his own. If they’re a little heavy-handed…well. Harry can come fucking fight him, now can’t he.

He plans to wait at least until they drink. That is, he does until Roxy sizes him up, careful scrutiny all over her face, and he knows he’s been made.

Nothing’s going to go as planned today, then. Not aside from the exploding heads, anyway.

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” she diagnoses.

For a moment, he’s perfectly still but for his eyes, shifting from one of them to the other. They’re hanging on his every word, both of them. Merlin sighs. His manners only take precedence because his autopilot knows no better. “May I sit?”

Roxy nods once. He takes the chair by her door and moves it closer, parking himself just the other side of the dogs. The shot glass and decanter go on the ottoman. His hands knead without permission.

“What’s wrong?”

He pays Eggsy for his question with eye contact. He has to force it, but he can’t deny it’s been earned, no matter how difficult.

“I’m afraid this will be the extent of any funeral for Harry.”

There’s only a split second where the thought of telling the truth crosses his mind. Then, willingly, without regret or hesitation, he lies.

“After the test at the church, Valentine…sent in a cleanup crew.”

It’s certainly not impossible. In fact, it’s the closest to a logical idea he’s got. Except that the bodies in the building were still there. Maybe Valentine took Harry’s body specifically to learn who he was. It’s a longshot. But it’s better than the alternative. Eggsy filling his own head with false hope, waiting for months like a cocker spaniel at the window. Waiting against all odds for a triumphant return that’s never going to come.

“My recovery team canvassed the property, but there wasn’t anything left. No weapons. No blood. And…no bodies. Neither inside nor out. No one was left. Suppose he didn’t want to attract the media before the countdown to V-Day was finished.”

He watches them react. Concern paints Roxy’s face, but her eyes only widen momentarily before checking on Eggsy. The boy’s eyes aren’t dry anymore. He swallows hard. Merlin has to remind himself again that this is the best recourse in the long run.

“So… You’re sayin’ that… They took his body. So…that’s it.”

Merlin nods. “Mass cremation, most likely.” It’s insurance. None of them want to picture it, but he’s in the business of protection now. He’s the one doomed to lack closure. The kids don’t have to. It’s a sick, wasting illness he’s got no designs to spread.

Roxy’s eyes shut, a single tear driving down her cheek. She swipes it away, nodding. Eggsy is stoic, jaw so tightly locked that the tendons in his neck protrude. He stares at the carpet for what feels to Merlin like a solid hour, and then his head bobs too, and he throws back the contents of his shot glass in a single gulp, wincing once it’s down.

He holds it out, spare hand beckoning. “Let’s have another, then.”

Not an hour ago—fresh from champagne and strawberries, effectively grounded in the back of the plane—he’d have denied him that. But not now. The look on his face is enough. Suddenly Merlin sees through Harry’s eyes, and for the first time, there’s a pull that lets him understand firsthand, more than he thought he did already. For all intents and purposes, this boy is Harry’s son. Everything he gave the world.

It’s more than enough reason to give him another drink. A generous one, at that.

Merlin’s still blinking away the resemblance manufactured by his brain when Eggsy lifts his second shot. “To Harry,” he says solemnly. “Just the fuckin’ best of us.”

Roxy’s goes up next. And Merlin follows, lightly clinking them together at the rim. “To Harry.” It’s by no means a good enough goodbye, but as the only one he’s ever going to get, at least it’s in good company.

Together, the three of them drink. Merlin leads an unannounced moment of silence afterward, and then he stands. He doesn’t cork the coveted brandy or collect their glasses. Let them finish it. There’s always more. Some things can be replaced.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“You can stay, y’know, Merlin.” Eggsy’s looking up at him now. “You really came through for us both in all this. You don’t ’ave to go.”

It’s only a borderline plea, which is good, because it frees him to choose the side of the border where he can ignore the pleading part entirely. Roxy’s with him. That’s enough for the moment.

“Actually, I do,” he says. “Someone’s got to start new Arthur proceedings. The sooner the better.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. But thank you.”

Truthfully, it can wait ’til morning. The real problem is that this is going to be far more difficult than anticipated. Making it through the long haul means getting out of this room right now, before he and his lie both unravel around the younger agents’ little fingers.

Eggsy doesn’t press. “Alright,” he says.

“Sleep well, Merlin,” Roxy offers.

“And…thanks.”

All Merlin can do is smile faintly, nod one more time, and perform an about-face, pulling Roxy’s door shut in his wake. He heads down the center of the corridor with concrete in every step, his fifty-plus years weighing like eighty in his bones. Had he his clipboard, it would probably be smashed. ‘Accidentally,’ to be sure.

Are you happy, you bastard? The deed is done; a new mission begun of an old one never to end. Wherever you are, I hope you’re fucking happy.

He sits at his desk until Llamrei returns, and then he goes to bed, extinguishing an era with the light.

.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Inkjournal Day 21 - Ya Heard?

Summary: Varric heard one thing, Isabela saw another, and Merrill’s got a different story all together. Just who has the true story of Moses and Avery’s love lives, and who’s mistaken? Will they find it out before it’s time to play cards, or will the answers be lost to the ages.

---

“It's your move, Isabela.”

“I've got my eye on you, Varric, so don't try anything.”

Nothing was more interesting than playing Wicked Grace with a cheater, especially when the other party was one too. Perhaps they could have considered it a test of their hand-eye coordination as they continued to sub cards in and out of their hands from various places.

It wasn't the money they were playing for – it was pride.

Varric, of course, was always one of the more obvious cheaters. “Why, I'm horrified you would even think I would try to cheat.”

“Right, and that card hanging out of your vest just wanted to check out your chest hair.” Isabela chuckled as she leaned back in her seat, casually making a grab for one of the cards she kept in her boot. “You're losing your touch.”

A sudden slamming of the door to the Hanged Man made both of them lose their focus – and some of their ill-gotten cards for that matter – as they turned to look to the source of the sound. Merrill's face was beet red as she picked her way across the dirty room towards their table, not even stopping to take a seat next to her very favorite pirate.

What had gotten her so excited?

Isabela was the one who guided her into a chair, feeling that the elf was like a thousand coiled springs wound too tightly. “Kitten, what's the matter? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Well, maybe not a ghost. Merill was smiling, and her eyes were shining. Either there had been a particularly cute puppy on her way over or someone had massacred a Templar. There were only a few things that got her like that.

She was still bouncing on her heels as she waited for the right moment. “You won't believe it, but guess who I saw kissing Fenris on the way over! They looked so cute!”

Varric chuckled as he took the chance to shuffle the deck, adding in a few cards as he did. “So, the big guy finally took his act public? They've been doing a lot of sneaking around lately.”

Isabela stopped him though, cocking her eyebrow as she did. “Varric, what are you talking about? I saw Fenris making out with Avery last week.”

…

What?

Both rogues gave each other a rather long stare, eyebrows heading towards their individual hairlines. Their rigged card game was forgotten for the moment in favor of what was becoming a tale of juicy hidden affairs among their close friends.

That beat Wicked Grace any day.

“You had to have been seeing things. Avery was practically eye-fucking Blondie when we were at the Wounded Coast three days ago.” The dwarf had almost suggested they get a room once he had seen it. They were just that bad.

If he was lucky, it was annoying the crap out of Justice. The damn spirit could use the kind of loosening up that the warrior could provide.

Isabela snorted in response. “Now I know you're seeing things, Varric. I caught Moses and Anders in the clinic two weeks ago. They were rather into each other if you get my drift.”

Things were getting more confusing by the second as the details rolled in. While relationships forming and breaking up could definitely happen, it didn't seem likely that it would happen so quickly. Nor, for that matter, did they think anyone who was interested in one party could  find themselves attracted to the other.

After all, Fenris and Anders seemed like rather far ends of the spectrum of attraction.

Merrill was the one who broke the tie as she cocked her head in confusion. “You saw Moses and Anders? That's strange, because I know I saw him with Fenris just a few minutes ago. They looked pretty cozy together, actually.”

She paused, frowning. “Though, now that you mention it, I think I did see Avery hug him once. It didn't look like a friendly thing either.”

Well, now things were just getting complicated. The small party exchanged some rather wild looks as they tried to put their data together into something that resembled sense. However, any option they could think of just made them even more confused, even as they knew they could trust their eyes.

Just what the hell was going on?

Varric was the one who spoke first as he nudged the cards away. “Maybe we should ask them.”

“What, who they're fucking?” Isabela snorted into her drink. “I can't see that going over well. Can you imagine it? 'Hey, Hawke, who's sharing your bed with you tonight because we've all got different stories and would like to know what's what.'”

“Well, tonight it's Fenris, but I can't see why you need to know that.”

A new voice drew their attention. Standing close to their table with a mug in their hand was one fourth of the confusing equation. Avery looked none too convinced by the goings on as she squeezed into the table, perching on the edge of her seat like she might need to run.

Given the conversation, it might not have been too bad of an idea.

Now that they had their subject in front of them, Isabela and Varric found themselves at a loss for words. Either though none of them were the type to be embarrassed by bedroom antics, there was something strange about asking about the secret love lives of their close friends, especially when... well they didn't want to suggest cheating, but it seemed pretty obvious.

Luckily, they had a third member.

“Avery, Varric says he's sure you're interested in Anders, but Isabela and I think it's Fenris.” Merrill's sweet voice was asking some very not sweet things. “Do you mind telling us which one is right?”

Honestly, no one in the party knew what to expect. The warrior had been surprisingly tight lipped about who she kept in her bed ever since they had known her. There was never so much of a hint of it until they had seen it with their own eyes, and even now they were starting to doubt it.

Just what the hell was going on?

It took Avery a few moments to answer, mostly because she had paused to take a sizable gulp of her drink. A real tension fell over the small group as they waited for her to speak, almost as if she was the Divine pronouncing the new age. Who would it be? Anders, Fenris? Or maybe neither, if the week wore on. Only she could tell the truth.

“Both.”

It was such a simple word, but none of them could really process it at first. All they could do was stare, eyes wide, towards the small woman. Varric's jaw even dropped a little, while Isabela had to stifle a surprised chuckle.

Well, they weren't expecting that.

Merrill, once again, broke the silence. “Both?”

“I'm seeing both Fenris and Anders, yes.” She paused, then added, “At different times, obviously. Maker's ass, I would not want to stick the two of them in a bed together. They appreciate me separately.”

And then Avery took another sip of her drink, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world to be seeing two very different men at the same time. Whether that put into question her taste or her sanity, none of the small group was quite certain.

Maybe a little jealous, but definitely confused.

However, that only solved one half of the equation. A larger portion that normally wore robes and a fair amount of makeup was still hanging up in the air, unsolved and waiting for some answers. And of course, since it was Moses, there was no way those answers were going to come from him. Luckily, they had his official spokesperson right in front of them.

Of course, the question required delicacy. There was the chance Avery didn't know what her brother was getting up to behind her back. The last thing anyone wanted was to see a woman scorned going after her cheating brother, especially given their unique strengths. Kirkwall wouldn't remain standing if blood mage met reaver in open combat, at least not in its semi-habitable state. This needed finesse.

Instead, it got Isabela.

“So uh... what about Moses?” She nudged the elf-blooded woman in the side gently. “Do you know who's sharing his bed lately?”

“Besides Dog?” Avery's eyebrow cocked. “If you want to ask him who he's fucking, he's right there you know.”

Color drained from everyone's face as Varric stole a glance over his shoulder. They had a fifth member at their table now, one they surprisingly hadn't seen despite his massive size and presence. Moses was sitting there, working on his own mug of the Hanged Man's finest.

For a big guy, he could be pretty quiet.

Since everyone was stunned, it was the warrior who turned to her brother. “You might as well let them know. Maker knows they're just going to keep hounding us until they solve it.”

“Don't see what the big deal is.” He put his mug down. “Obviously, both of them.”

If any of the party had been paying attention, they would've seen brief, yet identical, grins slide across both of the Hawkes' faces. They did see the brief fist bump, however, which did somewhat ruin the effect.

However, it was worth it to see their faces.

“Oh, so you're both dating Fenris and Anders.” Merrill's tone was as light as ever. “Sounds a little confusing, but you two probably do just fine.”

“We've got a system.” Avery finished her drink, still grinning. “Now, are we going to play Wicked Grace with Varric's loaded deck this time, or is it Isabela's with the marked cards? I'm feeling pretty lucky today.”

And just like that, things were back to as normal as they were going to get. After all, both rogues had their lack of honor in cards to defend. Still, they now had a new piece of information about their friends tucked away behind what else they knew.

How the two managed to wrangle both, only the Maker knew.