#he seems really nice & he would sit at one enclosure with me for four hours & we would just watch them chill out & he should come home pls

[yeojaa]

finders keep hers, iii.

read parts one and two!  the long awaited conclusion!  i’m sorry it turned into a friggin’ novel.  i hope it does the first two parts justice, though.  these kids are...  idiots.  i love them and you (and also the best beta reader @hobi-gif​)!  💖

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  rating.  explicit, ofc.  tags.  this is...  really soft at certain parts.  and then really raunchy at others.  oops?  but fr - mainly fluff with some smut at the end.  you might need a filling.  wc.  5.4k.

You’re buzzed into the building without a moment’s hesitation, the kind concierge with the gummy smile and greying temples beaming at you as you enter.  “Nice to see you, Miss Lee.”

“You too, Mr. Choi.”  A grin of your own is offered, gym bag hiked higher over your shoulder as you pause to chat.  You’re in no rush.  “Is he home?”

“I don’t believe so.”  The sudden look of disapproval that colours the older gentleman’s features is almost comical, reminiscent of a disparaging parent.  It’s the same expression you’re greeted with nearly every time you visit.  “He left in a town car yesterday afternoon and I don’t think he’s been back since.  That boy’s going to get himself in trouble one day.”  As if Jungkook didn’t already - as if it didn’t follow him around, glued to the bottoms of his Italian leather shoes.

“Tell me about it.”

“You know…”  There’s that twinkle in Mr. Choi’s eyes again - the one that tells you he’s about to repeat the same words he always does when he catches you alone.  “A nice girl like you could get him to settle down.”

Your response is what it always is - a scoff and a laugh rolled into one.  It careens off your tongue, ringing in the spacious lobby.  “I don’t think anyone will ever get him to settle down.”

How true that is, you’re not sure.  For your sake, you try not to think about it too much. 

The old man is undeterred though, shrugging his narrow shoulders beneath the neat uniform he wears.  It’s a little loose in the chest but immaculate otherwise, tie knotted in a classic Windsor and collar ironed perfectly.  He levels you with that shrewd stare of his but says nothing further, simply engaging you in an unspoken staring contest. 

Sometimes, you wonder how much he sees.  How much he knows .

You break before he does, tearing your gaze away and blinking rapidly.  He laughs, full bellied and deep from the chest.  “Get on upstairs, Miss Lee.”  You aren’t offended by the dismissal.  “It’s always nice chatting with you.”

You remind yourself to bring him chocolates the next time you’re by.  The ones with hazelnuts, because those are his favourite. A fact you only know because you’ve helped your best friend pick up a box for him every Christmas, writing the card and having him sign it right before it gets left behind the desk.

Actually, you helped Jungkook with a lot of things.  Always had.  It was simply the nature of your friendship - passed down by your parents and forged stronger by childhood playdates, your fair share of teenage squabbling, and college hangovers so bad they’d created an unbreakable bond.  

Whenever he would need you, you’d be there - whether that meant picking him up at 4 AM from the airport because he wanted “some shitty fast food and to see you” or helping him pick gifts for Mother’s Day.  There was no task too small, no moment too inconsequential. 

Unconditional love, they called it. 

It’s why you have no problem swanning into his apartment with the extra key you’ve had since he moved in, kicking off your trainers and tucking them neatly alongside the rows of black leather and expensive sneakers.  

You do so much for him that you take where you can, indulging in all of the luxuries you’ve never been afforded.  Unparalleled view, stupidly expensive toiletries, a damn jacuzzi tub . 

You pull your sweater over your head - truthfully, one of Jungkook’s from college that you’d never felt inclined to give back - and toss it over the back of a barstool on your way into the guest suite.  Your bag follows shortly after, deposited at the foot of the bed that exists as a rotating welcome mat to your and Jungkook’s circle of friends.  

The rest of your clothes - sports bra, shorts, thong, socks - are stripped, folded, and tucked into the laundry bag you keep handy.  You know you could leave them here and Jungkook’s housekeeper would take care of it, but you’ve never been too comfortable with that.  Different upbringings.

The spray is like sweet relief the moment you step beneath the rainforest shower.  It’s the perfect temperature and pressure, melting the sweat and tension from your bones.  

But it isn't why you’re here, so you make quick work in the glass enclosure, scrubbing your body bare and lathering and conditioning your hair into a squeaky clean mess.  Any other time, you’d just spend a good half hour standing beneath the head but you’re feeling particularly indulgent today.  

Call it a spa day, courtesy of one Jeon Jungkook. 

You don’t bother to dry off, water splashing across the floor as you step from the shower and sink into the spacious tub that overlooks the heart of Seoul.  Diptyque bath oil encapsulates the room in a bubble of sweet almond, similarly branded candle burning on the ledge.  The jets release a steady stream against your tired back and legs, massaging your limbs into jelly. 

You can’t help the sigh of utter relaxation that rolls off your tongue, sinking into water in the same instance your shoulders do.    

This is what dreams are made of.  Anyone who says differently is an idiot and a liar. 

“When are you going to tell her?”

You’re not expecting the voice and it breaks the silence like a thousand pound weight, shattering the calm and nearly startling you enough for you to knock your head on the edge of the tub.  

There’s no reason for you to be surprised.  Not really.  This isn’t your home, after all.  You aren’t entitled to any sort of privacy.  

It doesn’t matter, though.  The discomfort in your chest is unfolding regardless, lodging rocks in your throat.  

Because it’s a female voice.  Lilting, soft, draped in familiarity.  Not someone brand new.  

Your heart stutters at the realisation.  The rush of blood against your eardrums is so loud you momentarily wonder whether they can hear it all the way in the living room.  They must be able to - it’s practically deafening.  You can’t even hear the rest of their conversation.

Their conversation .

Which seems to have ended, leaving only silence.

You suddenly remember your shoes, your sweater.  Traces of you littered throughout the apartment that isn’t yours.  God, you’re an idiot.  He was going to kill you - or she was.  You’re not sure which is worse.

You’re reaching for the fluffy white towel on the rack when you’re scared near half to death yet again.  This time, by your best friend who cuts an imposing figure in the doorway, broad form resting casually against the frame.  He looks surprisingly unbothered, curls pushed back from his forehead by a pair of sunglasses and arms folded over his chest.

“Jesus!”  The shriek comes four octaves higher than it normally would, pitching into the open so loudly you wince.  “You scared me!”

You can’t help the way you peek past his shoulder for a sign of the girl he’d brought home.

“Enjoying yourself?”  There’s something amused dancing in the darks of his eyes, his mouth curving around the same emotion as he steps into the bathroom.  You’d be bothered if he were anyone else, unnecessarily long legs carrying him to you in three strides.  

“I didn’t know you were home.”  You can’t quite meet his stare, still far too distracted by the mystery woman.  Had he left her on the couch?  Maybe his bedroom as he snuck you out?  What excuse could he come up with?

“Didn’t know you were home either.”  

He’s made himself comfortable right on the ledge of the tub, marked fingers dragging lazily through the still-scalding water.  He doesn’t seem terribly in a rush.  That puts you on edge.

Was he going to hide you in here? 

“I wanted to relax after my run.”  You don’t owe him an explanation - not really - but you offer it anyway.  You figure you need to, when you might’ve ruined his Sunday morning romp session.  You can’t bring yourself to address it, though.  The words just won’t come, sitting on the tip of your tongue like thorns.  It hurts to swallow. 

Jungkook doesn’t further the conversation - a first for him.  He’s normally a chatterbox.

The silence stretches on.  Suffocating.

You force yourself to speak, staring down at your hands that are slowly pruning beneath the water.  “Should I… go?”  The way it comes is feeble, soft, uncertain.  You hate it.

By the look of surprise on his face, he does, too.  He cackles suddenly, like a goddamn witch.  “Why?”

Heat floods across your cheeks.  You wish you could blame it on the bath or the steam that still collects on the mirrors.  It pulls high over your ears, colouring them tomato red and embarrassed.  Surely, he knows why.  

When he repeats himself, it’s harder, without any of the laughter from before.  

Rather than answer, you wave a hand through the air, fingers wiggling.  The universal sign for you know .  It should be enough - you hope it’s enough.  Your ego won’t let you verbalise it.  

“Suddenly mute, baby?”

It isn’t quite mocking - teasing, maybe - but it stokes the fire that burns in the pit of your stomach and licks uncomfortably at the organ in your chest.  You don’t even look at him as you nearly spit the words, petulant and far more bothered than you should be.  “You’ve got a girl here.”  

A laugh that isn’t quite a laugh comes, swathed in velvet and coloured blue.  The effort you make to not shoot him a glare is herculean.  

He’s still snickering when he speaks.  “You mean my sister?”

“Your sister?”  It’s more surprise at yourself that has you whipping to look at him, bewilderment tossing all other emotion out the window.  Because his sister was practically your sister.  How had you not recognised her voice?  You feel silly all at once, the embarrassment from earlier fading into reticence. 

“Yeah.  I spent the night babysitting the twins.”

You sometimes forget how much Jungkook loves children - especially his sisters’.  It’s hard to reconcile the family man he effortlessly transforms into when he spends most of his waking hours playing the perfect part of unaffected bachelor. 

“How are they?”  You ask because you care - you adore Minseo and Minhyuk - but also so you can move the conversation along.  The last thing you want to do is dwell on your mistake.

“They’re good.  Getting big.”  He’s got that smile on his face - the one that’s softer than any other, with deep lines at the corners of his eyes.  Reserved especially for the people he cares about most.  Your favourite sight.  “You can come with me next time.  Minnie asked about you, anyway.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest.

Being liked by peers?  Great.  Being respected by your superiors?  Rewarding.  But being loved by children?  It was in a league all its own - better than ice cream on a hot day.

“Sure.”  You can’t keep the grin away.

That is, until he speaks again, circling the conversation back.  “So, were you jealous?”  His ability to piss you off is uncanny.  It’s like it’s written into his genetic code, each molecule of his body tasked with ruining your day. 

“No.”  It’s meant to be a scoff.  It’s not very believable.

“You sure, princess?”  The fingers on your chin are wholly unnecessary - he’s got you caught in his stare, locked in place with nowhere to go.

“Yes, Bunny .”  You know how much he hates the nickname, only tolerating it because it’s you.  You can’t deny the pleasure that comes at the sight of his jaw tensing, muscle jumping in agitation.  Just as he’s your weakness, you’re his, too.  “Now let me finish—”

He cuts you off, sharp and unrelenting:  “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”  

“You heard me.  Get out of the tub or I’m pulling you out myself.”  Risen to his full height, he’s an imposing figure.  Even worse, there’s something you can’t read in his expression - something that has your nerves firing wildly.  Your heart rattles around in your chest, uncertain.  

He leaves you without another word.

You scramble out of the bath as quickly as your confused limbs allow you, knotting the towel beneath your arms.  You’re not quite sure what to do next, caught between pulling your clean clothes out of your workout bag and demanding an answer from your sphinx of a best friend.

What the hell was his problem? 

Your impatience wins out as you’re tugging a brush through your hair, fumbling uncharacteristically through knots until you’re too frustrated to continue.  You’re ready to tear into him when you storm out of the guestroom;  you’ve got a barrage of insults on your tongue, proverbial gun cocked and ready to unload.  

They melt away when you spy him on the couch, neatly wrapped bouquet laid across the coffee table.

“Come here.”  It’s not a request so much as a demand - commanding and soft all at once.  A small part of you wants to fire off a rebuttal;  that part dies when he repeats himself, louder this time. 

The seat you take beside him is begrudging, a good foot of space held between your bodies.  You fiddle with the hem of your towel, turning a loose thread over and over your index finger. 

“What?”  It’s snippy, discontent - kerosene on the fire that burns beneath Jungkook’s skin.

“Watch it,”  he retorts, though there’s no acid to his words.  Frankly, he sounds more frustrated than angry, more exasperated than pissed off.

That makes one of you.

Only he can bring out this side of you - brusque and biting.  “ You watch it, Bunny.”

Fingers find the bridge of his nose, a gesture you don’t see very often.  Guilt blooms behind your ribcage as he rubs at the tension between his eyes.  For someone who has it all, he looks like he’s a moment away from losing it. 

“You’re a brat, you know that?”  

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, not unkindly.  

“You’re making this really hard,”  he snaps in the same instant he all but throws the overwhelming bunch of flowers at you.  

You nearly drop them you’re so surprised.

“What are these for?”

“You.”

“Me?”  

“Did I stutter?”

If you weren’t so busy studying the arrangement of florals, you’d have some witty comeback.  As it stands, you’re preoccupied by the pretty bunch of peonies and tulips.  You wonder what he’s done wrong - why he’s found it necessary to soften the blow with your favourite flowers. 

Your thoughts drift back to his sister’s words:  when are you going to tell her?

All at once, you want nothing more than to leave.  You don’t want whatever heartbreak is about to come.  You’re not ready for it.  

“Listen—”

He cuts you off, again.  “I love you.”

You’re not sure how your face looks.  You imagine you could look up flabbergasted in the dictionary and you’d find a photo of your expression right now.  “What?”

Jungkook won’t quite look at you, intently focused on an indiscernible point against the far wall.  When he speaks the words again, they’re full of uncertainty - but not in the way you expect.  The confession is as believable as any you’ve ever heard - he really does sound like he loves you - but somehow, it’s draped in dread and held aloft by hummingbird wings.  “I love you.”  

He’s nervous, you realise in amazement. 

“Come again?”  

He meets your stare then, brow knitting with unease.  He doesn’t say it again, though.

“Are you messing around with me?”  You don’t mean it how it comes - a little accusatory.

“I’m not an asshole.”  Except both of you know he certainly can be.  You don’t call him on it, though, opting instead to peer curiously at him, hands fisted around the bouquet in your lap.  “I talked to my sister.  She…”  He shrugs once, an almost helpless roll of his shoulders.  “She told me I was an idiot.”

You’re not surprised by that.  Lina had always been the one to give it to him straight.

“She said I would lose you if I didn’t get my shit together.”  There’s a bit of childish petulance that works its way into each syllable - he hates being told what to do.  “Said I needed to tell you or I’d regret it.  Which is stupid, because we’ve been best friends forever and she’s younger than me so what does she know—”  He must realise he’s rambling, something he never does.  “But—”

“But?”  Quiet, hopeful, coaxing. 

There’s a warmth in your chest - illuminating and golden and so bright it hurts to think about.  It grows with each moment that passes, spurred on by the look in his eyes and how they find yours.  

Hesitation pulls the silence a beat too long.  The light wanes.  You wonder if the moment has passed.  

And then he continues, a little more earnestly.  “Was she right?  Am I going to lose you?”

You’re not entirely sure what he’s asking.  You don’t think he even knows what he’s asking.  You try to answer anyway, as honest as you can without pinning your heart directly on your sleeve.  “You’ll never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.”  

Did you?  “You’ll never lose me.”  You’re the one repeating yourself this time, just that bit harder.  

“Then say it.”  Again, not a request.  A prayer, perhaps.  Ardent and needy - a world away from the Jeon Jungkook you know.

You don’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

He doesn’t either - upon you so quickly you don’t have time to blink or think.  

How he kisses you now feels different.  More .  It’s like being consumed entirely - changed from the inside out in ways you never thought possible.  Where he touches, sparks fly, filling you like stars in the night sky.  Lava rolls over every inch, dragging heat and want and need from the soles of your feet to the tip of your nose.  You’re gasping rather than breathing, clawing against the front of his shirt and twining your fingers into the strands that curl over his nape. 

“You never told me you could kiss like that.”  It’s lacking coherence, made by a partial inhale and wild, wondrous eyes.

His response is a laugh and another kiss, forceful and adoring and utterly devastating.  “Shut up,”  he mouths against your lips, tongue licking over your teeth and gums like he’s trying to memorise every inch of you.  Hands follow in the same amorous motions, tugging and pulling and aching for you closer;  the tips of his fingers sear white hot heat over your hips, the small of your waist, the delicate bones of your ribcage.

“I’m serious...”  You really are - far more than you should be.  You’d been missing out on this ?  It’s incomprehensible.

The sound he makes is more of a growl, playful and resounding in the cavern of his chest.  It rattles your own, sending your heart on a downward spiral into the pit of your stomach.  His nose traces the column of your throat, soft lips guiding him further until he’s mouthing hotly over the bare skin of your shoulder.  Tongue teases, delves ever so gently into the dip of your collarbone, and swipes back up, laving over the maroon that peeks around the edge of his teeth.  You can’t help but keen, holding him so closely you wonder if you’re suffocating him.

“So am I.”  Each syllable is punctuated by another nip, another nibble.  It seems like his goal is to bloom roses across your skin - a wreath to welcome him home, made by his own touch.

You don’t mind.  

“Say it again,”  he demands, hopeful and unashamed from his place against your neck.  

The admission comes easily, as if it’s always lived on the tip of your tongue.  “I love you.”  

“Again.”  You’re not ready for the way he stares at you - like he’s never done before.  Like he’s seeing you for the first time and he’s awestruck.  “Say it again.”

“I love you.”  Hands find the familiar contours of his face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of his eyes, over the beauty mark that sits front and centre beneath his lip.  Each graze follows a repetition of the confession, as if you might burn the three simple words beneath his skin - write it into his DNA like he’s written into yours.  “I love you.  I love you.  I love you, Bunny .”

He holds you close - so tightly it feels almost as if he’ll crush you - and captures your mouth again.  It’s more gentle but just as lovesick.  A thousand unspoken words spill from his tongue to yours, swallowed whole with greed you don’t bother to hide.

“I need you.”  It’s whiny, framed by a pout that could end wars and paired with doe eyes so wide and innocent you almost want to roll your own.  

“You have me.”

“Do I?”  There’s a very deliberate roll of his hips, denim of his jeans rough against the exposed softness of your inner thighs, hands manoeuvring over the partially covered swell of your hips.  The press of his fingers is purposeful, digging tension into every inch.  As if he might transfer some of the unadulterated need that thrums through his veins, turning his heart to jelly and brain to mush.

“Since when do you ask?”  You have a point.

“You’re right,”  his grin is almost lazy, drawing over his mouth in a measured crawl.  “Good girls just do what they’re told, right?”  His grips tightens almost imperceptibly, holding you to him almost effortlessly.  You’ve been in this position a hundred times before but it’s never been this easy - like breathing.

The gasp you offer is all mock affront, hand laid palm-down across your chest.  You don’t miss the way his gaze follows it before ticking lower, unabashed in its admiration.  “Are you saying I’m not?”

“Don’t know, baby.”  The war on your neck has resumed, teeth traded seamlessly for the softer promise of his tongue, the dry brush of his lips.  It’s almost sinful, garnering sighs of affection and need from somewhere low in your throat.  “Want to be a good girl for me?”

You’re not quite used to this version of him - playful and needy and not nearly as demanding as usual.  A part of you wants to draw out the side of him you know is there, hidden just beneath the surface;  the other wants to bask in this, all feather soft and cotton candy sweet.

“Always,”  you return, with a coquettish smile and fluttering lashes. 

“Always,”  he murmurs, tasting it for the first time.  He sounds almost giddy when he repeats it once, then twice, then a third time for good measure.  You think it’ll come again, laughter rolling off your tongue as you stare into the eyes of the boy you love.  Instead, he speaks in a voice full of gravel and grit, all traces of your sunshine boy suddenly swallowed whole by the darks of his pupils.  “Fuck - I can’t wait to have you.”

“Then what’re you waiting for?”  You don’t need to push him.  You like to do it anyway.  It feels right .

“You’re the worst.”  What Jungkook means is you’re the best and I love you and I’m going to fuck you six ways into next week .  What he means is this is the scariest thing he’s ever done but it’s all right because he has you.  What he means is thank you - and how he shows it is through worship.  

On the way to the bedroom, he crowds every inch of you, holding you so closely you wonder if he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.  He’s firm and unrelenting, balancing you against his chest as he smothers every available inch of your shoulders in sweet, sloppy kisses.  He revels in the way you cling to him like you’ve never needed anything else. 

In his bed, he lays you out and strips you bare.  He offers devotion with every pass of his fingers, every trail of his tongue.  He wants you so badly it’s hard to focus on giving you everything you deserve, but he tries anyway.  He sucks love into your neck and over your breasts, pinching your nipples between his fingers until you’re panting and he’s aching for the same treatment.  

On his knees, he prays at the altar of your body, taking his time to map the constellations on your skin, the memories written into each scar and dot.  His tongue follows the raised flesh that sits across your hip - an unfortunate mishap from a schoolyard dare.  You whine and he nearly cries, soothing over the sensitive spot with hands and lips and tenderness.  He lays kisses on each freckle, each irregular mark.  From your navel to your knee and everywhere in between, he caresses and comforts, turning those blemishes into stars.  

He also teases - subtly, quietly, with wandering hands and focused breaths.  You don’t realise it until it’s too late, your insides molten, your pulse a thunderclap in your ears.  

“Jungkook.”  It sounds more like begging than anything.  Exactly what he wants.

“What’s up, princess?”  Spoken so casually, as if he isn’t between your legs, long fingers tracing through the slick that coats your thighs.  He gazes up from behind too long strands, all wide-eyed and terribly sweet - until he pops a digit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the taste of you.  “Something wrong?”

“Stop teasing.”  You hear yourself whine but it doesn’t quite sound like you, higher pitched and needier than you’ve ever been.  

“I thought you were going to be good for me,”  he returns with a tut and a push of that same finger deep into your cunt.  He flexes it experimentally, beaming up at you when you clench around the intrusion that’s too much and not even close to being enough all at once.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I just slide right in.”  

As if to drive his point home, he drives another finger in, scissoring them languidly to stretch you open.  It’s such a pretty sight, messy and inviting.  He can’t resist a taste, dragging the flat of his tongue over and around the fingers that continue to fuck into you at a faster pace.   

“ Jungkook! ”  You’re shrieking, bucking against the onslaught of sensations.  A shapely arm immediately cages you against the bed, palm splayed across your hips.  

“Stay still.”  It’s a growl, teeth bared against the sensitive pearl between your legs.  Words are punctuated with the softest pressure - a silent threat that goes no further.  You wonder what he’ll do if he has to repeat himself.  “Good girls listen, remember?”

You’re fumbling across his shoulders, nails digging crescents everywhere you can reach.  You need him so badly it hurts .  “Please.”  

“Please what?”  That patented, stupid smirk cradles his mouth, tongue peeking out as he stares at you expectantly.  “If you’re going to be so demanding, at least use your words.”  He watches the way your eyes roll back into your head when he slots another finger in with the others and curls them against that particular spot that has you seeing stars.  The bastard has the audacity to coo at you.  “What’s wrong, baby?  Can’t speak?”

You’re near wailing, gasping and whining around words that sound like his name.  Angry red lines sprout across his shoulders, his arms - demands carved into flesh. 

He makes a sound, wistful and resigned.  You think - try to think, beyond the pleasure that’s building steadily in the pit of your stomach - that he’s finally going to give you what you need.  You’re almost crying for it, moisture crowding your lashes and threatening to spill over.

Then he withdraws, all at once.

You could scream.  In fact, you do, red in the face and chest heaving.  “I hate you!”  

“No.”  He’s upon you in an instant, insistent and terribly smug.  There’s a playground in his smile, childish laughter spilling into the spaces between you.  “You actually love me.”  He noses at your neck, the heat of his palm searing against your side as he sighs almost dreamily.  “Say it again.”

You answer him with something more than love - frustration and annoyance and so much devotion you can’t keep it out no matter how hard you try.  “No.”

It’s a challenge more than anything.  He knows it;  you know it.

He accepts it readily, just as you expect him to.  

“Say it.”  Enamel presses steady, heavy, into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear.  He mouths over the skin that blows out red and inviting beneath his ministrations, the firm press of his fingers gripping you without hesitation.  You can feel the entire weight of him against you, length nestled comfortably against your core.  He repeats himself as he rocks against you, dragging the swollen, leaking head of his cock through your folds with an agonising slowness that has you clenching around nothing.  “Come on, baby.”

You’re keening, adjusting your hips and grinding against him.  You still won’t say it, hoping to find a rhythm in the quiet that’s punctuated by your laboured breaths and his occasional laughter.

“Just say it and I’ll give you what you want.  I’ll give you everything.  Promise, sweetheart.”  

Framed against the late morning sun, hair spilling across his forehead in curls of india ink, he’s so handsome your heart leaps into your throat.  “I love you.”  It’s a wet confession, carried by a wave of emotion you don’t expect.

“I love you,”  he echoes, sinking into you so gradually you feel like you’re caught in slow motion, all of your focus balanced on the tip of a needle.  

It’s never been like this before.  Each inch is a delicious stretch, filling you and claiming you.  The drag is incredible, your walls fluttering around the intrusion and aching for more.  You bite back a sob, digging into the wide expanse of his back with your nails as your mouth seeks purchase anywhere it can - over his jaw, up his neck, across his shoulders.  He soothes you as he presses deeper, reassurances whispered against your temple.  

“I’ve got you, baby.  Let me make you feel good.”  When he bottoms out, you demand more - somehow, somehow - locking your ankles against the small of his waist. He doesn’t miss the way you clench, so tight around him it almost hurts , when he says those three words once again.  “I love you.”

His lips find yours and he brushes them over and over - a salve for the burn he ignites beneath your skin.  It doesn’t matter that he’s both the calm and the chaos.  Jungkook’s always been everything to you.

The rhythm he sets is unhurried and perfect.  Each snap of his hips has his cock dragging against your walls, filling and stretching you so well;  everywhere his skin brushes yours, you’re alive.  There are a million nerve endings going haywire beneath your skin, flashing bright as holiday lights.  

That’s what it’s like - Christmas morning .  Picture perfect and filled with wonder.

He’s completely smitten when he draws back just enough to see the entirety of you - your fucked-out expression, the rose-wreath he’s wrought around your neck, the sweat that beads between your tits and tempts him to duck his head.  “I love you.”  It’s almost hypnotising - watching you take him, pussy dripping and needy around his cock. 

“I love you,”  you parrot back - or try to.  It’s not very coherent, driven to a point of nonsense when his hips begin to stutter and he makes up for the loss of rhythm by slipping his fingers over your clit in circle eights.  

You’re at your breaking point.  He knows - can read you like the back of his hand - and holds you there, back bowing to kiss you breathless, pressure unrelenting against the bundle of nerves.  

“That’s it, princess.  Right there.”   

The coil snaps at the third pass and there are hot tears streaming down your cheeks, his name spilling off your tongue in tandem with the erratic thudding of your heart.  White spots your vision, entire body electrified as you crash headlong into an abyss of bliss.  You hear him join you with a hoarse whine, a mix of your cum slipping out of you as he rides out his own high with shallow thrusts, mouth open and panting against your shoulder.  

The comedown is hazy, dusted in exhaustion and a thin sheen of sweat.  When he slips from you, he doesn’t go far, tugging you comfortably against his side like you’re not both a little gross.  It’s not the first time you’ve fucked but it feels different.  

“I love you, baby.”  

“I love you, Bunny.”

You realise - it feels exactly like that.  Making love.

[marvelous-writer]

Baby Giraffes & Overheated Spider-Kids

Summary: In which Peter faints during a family trip to the zoo.

Word count: 2,203

Genre: whump, humor, fluff

A/N: Thank you @whumphoarder and @xxx-cat-xxx for beta reading!! Bethany, you’re a saint for putting up with me. ❤️

Link to read on Ao3

“So where should we go next? Lions, zebras or giraffes?” Tony asks as they come to a stop in front of the sign displaying the zoo’s map. 

“Giraffes!” Morgan exclaims excitedly from her spot on Tony’s shoulders. “I want to see April and her baby!” 

Grinning, Tony continues along the crowded pathway. “Giraffes it is then.” 

Happy is bringing up the rear with Peter, carrying the day bag Pepper had packed for them. “We have a two-thirty reservation at the Rainforest Cafe, so we only have enough time to visit one more exhibit after.” 

“I heard one of the hippos just had a baby last week. I think they’re near the alligators,” Pepper says. 

Morgan lets out a small gasp. “A baby hippo? Can we go?” 

Pepper glances at her smart watch. “If we have enough time.” 

The four of them continue moving through the hoards of people toward the enclosure. They’ve been at the zoo for well over three hours now, going from exhibit to exhibit. Morgan seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself, especially when they stopped at the petting zoo where she was able to hand-feed the farm animals. One of the goats even tried to knock Tony over by ramming into his legs from behind. 

Peter on the other hand… wasn’t having the best time. The hours of walking around in the sun on a sweltering July day have really taken a toll on him. He’s exhausted, his feet are killing him, and all he wants to do is call it quits and go back to the car, turn the AC on full blast and fall asleep until they get back home. But this is Morgan’s day, and Peter is going to suck it up for her. She’s been looking forward to their day at the zoo all week and he isn’t about to ruin it for her. 

When they finally reach the giraffes paddock ten minutes later, they’re met with a horrifyingly long line at the feeding station. 

“I can’t see the baby,” Morgan complains from Tony’s shoulders. 

Tony peers through his sunglasses around the crowd. “She might be inside the barn.”

Peter wishes he thought to bring his own along—not that they would help much right now. 

“Can we feed them?” Morgan asks. 

Tony looks over at the line. “We can… but we might not have enough time to see the baby hippo.”

Morgan hums in thought as she looks back at the giraffes. “Giraffes,” she decides after a few seconds. 

Peter resists the urge to groan, wishing that they could just skip the rest of this and head to the restaurant to get out of this heat wave. But it’s Morgan’s day, so it’s her call what they do and Peter is going to go along with it. 

“It’s not everyday you get to feed a giraffe, right, Pete?” Tony asks, looking back at him as they step in line. 

“Yeah,” Peter agrees with a tired smile. 

Happy on the other hand, doesn’t seem too thrilled. “You don’t think they bite do you?” he asks warily. 

Pepper seems to ponder the question. “Well… I’m sure they’re used to visitors coming here and feeding them,” she reassures. 

“I don’t know… animals are unpredictable, especially exotic ones,” Happy grumbles. 

Tony turns to him with a raised brow. “Are you telling us you’re afraid of these things?” 

“No!” Happy retorts. “I’m just worrying about Morgan getting up close to them.”

Tony nods, his lips spreading into an amused grin. “Oh yeah, sure,”

When Tony turns back around, Happy shoots a glare at the back of his head, causing Peter to huff out a short laugh. 

“We can sit this one out if you want,” Peter offers, turning to him. 

“You sure?” Happy asks. “It’s not everyday you can get up close and personal with one of these things.” 

Peter nods. “Yeah, I’m sure.” The sooner they can get out of this line and find somewhere nice and shady to sit, the better. 

Happy nods and turns to Tony, tapping him on the shoulder. “Pete and I are going to walk around for a bit while you guys do this,” he says. 

Morgan pouts at that. “You don’t want to feed the giraffes?” she asks disappointedly. 

“Not today, but you have fun,” Happy says with a gentle smile. He turns back to Tony. “Call me when you guys are done and we’ll meet you back here.” 

Tony lets out an overly-dramatic sigh. “Alright… but you guys are missing out…” 

Happy rolls his eyes as he turns away, lightly nudging Peter’s shoulder. “Come on.” 

They both step out of line and continue down the crowded pathway. Peter squints in the harsh sunlight, only adding to the headache that’s been steadily worsening since noon. It feels like a fog has settled over his brain, making it hard to think. 

“So what do you want to do to kill some time? We can head over to the hippos and take a few pictures of the baby for Morgan?” Happy suggests. 

Peter nods as he wipes a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Yeah… she’d like that.”

“I’m just not sure where the exhibit is. Maybe they have one of those maps around here. I knew I should have grabbed one back in the gift shop…” Happy trails off, his voice becoming lost as Peter’s ears start to ring. 

He feels lightheaded and breathless all of a sudden, like the hot air is weighing him down, making him even more exhausted than he already is. “Uh, can we… can we stop for a sec?” Peter asks as he looks up, finding that Happy is now walking quite a few steps ahead of him, typing something into his phone. 

“Yeah,” Happy says distractedly. He slows his pace, oblivious to Peter’s distress. “I’m trying to pull up the zoo’s mobile map but I can’t get on their WiFi…” 

Black dots dance across Peter’s field of vision as a rush of heat washes over him. He sways, struggling to keep his heavy legs moving. Happy’s figure grows more and more blurry as the seconds pass by. 

Peter licks his dry lips. “H-Happy?” he mumbles, blinking sluggishly. “I… I don’t feel so good…” 

That seems to get Happy’s attention. “Huh?” He stops, turning around to face Peter with a frown. 

That’s when Peter’s legs suddenly decide to give out underneath him, the ground rushing up to meet him. He’s barely aware of the pair of hands that catch him under his arms, saving him from face-planting against the asphalt before he passes out. 

...

The next thing Peter’s aware of is someone tapping his cheek. 

“...c’mon, Pete wake up…” someone says. Their voice is a bit muffled, kind of like they’re underwater, but that doesn’t make sense. It’s so hot — there can’t be any water around.

Peter groans as feeling starts to come back to him. His head is swirling and pounding and he’s so hot , despite the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. He manages to open his eyes, only to find Happy kneeling over him, his eyes wide and panicked. 

“Did I pass out?” Peter mumbles. 

“Yeah, you did,” Happy says. “How are you feeling?” 

“Really dizzy… tired,” Peter answers, suddenly very aware of the people that have started congregating around them. 

“Think you can sit up?” Happy asks. 

Peter nods sluggishly. “Yeah.” 

Happy helps him sit up and Peter has to shut his eyes tightly against the lightheadedness he’s met with from the change in position. After a few minutes, Happy helps him to his feet, keeping a firm hand on Peter’s arm as he leads him over to a thankfully empty bench in the shade under a tree. 

Happy eases him down on the wooden bench before standing back up and looking around. “I’m going to get you some water,” he says, glancing back at Peter. “Stay here. There’s some right over there,” he says, pointing to a vendor across from them that has a long line in front. 

Peter nods. He leans forward, arms resting on his knees as he hides his face in the crook of his elbow to shield his eyes from the light. 

Happy comes back not even three minutes later, two water bottles in hand, and Peter doesn’t want to know how he managed to skip that line. Peter slowly sits up a bit, arms still braced on his knees. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his right temple. 

Happy unscrews the cap from one of the bottles and hands it to him. “Small sips,” he instructs as he sits down next to Peter, watching him with concerned eyes. 

Peter takes a few small sips of the icy water, just as Tony suddenly appears. He’s a bit breathless, as though he’s been running. 

“Happy called. Are you alright?” Tony gasps out as he crouches down in front of Peter. 

Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. “Feel like hot garbage,” he mumbles. 

“I’m sorry, bud,” Tony says sympathetically. He takes off his sunglasses and slips them onto Peter, causing the boy to sigh in relief. “I think we’re just gonna just order some food and eat it in the car on the way home.” 

“I’ll put an order in at the cafe,” Happy says as he stands up. He hands Tony the other water bottle before stepping away to make the call. 

“Did you get to feed the giraffes?” Peter asks as Tony sits down next to him. 

“Nah, but Pep and Morgan are over there now,” Tony says. 

“Maybe we can make it back in time before they’re done?” Peter says as he tries to stand up from the bench, ignoring the way his vision swims a bit. 

Tony stops him by gently grabbing his arm, keeping him seated. “It’s alright, Pete. There’s always next time. Besides, I’ve got my own hungry kid to feed.”

“But-”

Tony shakes his head. “No buts about it. You just fainted and you need to take it easy.” He uncaps another water and hands it to him. “And keep yourself hydrated.”

Peter sighs, but he takes the bottle anyway. “Okay,” he mumbles before taking a sip. 

They sit there for a few minutes, just watching the people passing by. Eventually Happy finishes his phone call and walks over to join them. 

“The food’s all ordered—should be ready by two-thirty,” Happy says as he stops in front of them. He looks worriedly at Peter. “You feeling any better?” 

“A little,” Peter says. His head still hurts and he feels a bit shaky (probably due to the fact that he really didn’t eat much at lunch), but mostly he’s tired. 

“That’s good. I almost had a heart attack when I saw you drop,” Happy says, taking a seat beside Tony on the long bench. “I think the heat might’ve gotten to you.” 

“Yeah,” Peter agrees as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs as he lazily sips at the water. “Don’t really know what happened.” 

“Well, I texted Pep and told her where we are. She and Morgan are almost done, so when they find us we’ll head to the car so we can get you out of this heat,” Tony says, glancing up from his phone to look at him with worried eyes. “I’ll even let you sit in the backseat and eat while you watch Star Wars if you want,” he offers with a small grin. 

Peter smiles at the offer. “That sounds good,” he says, even though he knows he’ll probably end up passing out before the opening credits roll. 

Several minutes later, Pepper and Morgan arrive, spotting them almost instantly. 

“Petey!” Morgan shouts as she runs over, practically dragging Pepper after her. “We heard you weren’t feeling good, so we got you this!” She holds a fluffy giraffe stuffed animal out to him. 

Peter smiles tiredly at her as she hands it to him. “Awe, thanks, Mo,” 

Tony smiles. “That was very nice of you two,” He says as he helps Peter stand up from the bench. “Now, lets head back to the car so we can all get out of this heat.” 

“Amen,” Happy groans, pushing himself up. 

…

Thirty-five minutes later (including a ten minute search for the car), Peter is sitting in the backseat with the AC on full blast, snuggled up with his new giraffe plushie and almost half asleep while 101 Dalmatians plays on the small built-in TV. 

The car is silent, except for the sounds of the movie and the highway as they drive, but it’s soothing, lulling him to sleep. Peter blinks slowly as he leans back against the headrest. His gaze shifts to the front when he sees Tony raise a hand from the wheel to adjust the rearview mirror. He smiles softly at Peter when their eyes meet. The corners of Peter’s mouth lift into a small, tired smile in return before Tony looks back at the road. 

Peter’s eyes drift over to the window, watching the world go by in a blur as his eyelids get heavier. Eventually he gives in and lets them drift shut, feeling safe and content, knowing that Tony will get them home safely. 

[secretsantasides]

Gift #14: Colorblind

Gift for @forestwulf​

Prompt: Intrulogical Soulmate AU.

        Logan massaged his temples as the nightclub music pounded in his ears, “I don’t know why you insist on coming here.”

        “It’s twinks drink free night,” Patton said, sipping his appletini.

        “You stopped being a twink ten years ago,” Logan muttered.

        Patton sighed, “I’m going to ignore that because you’re my brother and I love you. Speaking of love-”

        “Don’t,” Logan said. “Not this again.”

        “Listen to me,” Patton said. “I’m worried about you, Logan. I know you’re a little robot and you don’t need romance in your life or any friends but-”

        “I have friends,” Logan said.

        “But,” Patton said. “You’re thirty years old and it’s starting to make mom sad on the holidays. When I met Ethan, it wasn’t sitting around at home and moping. I mean how long has it been since you were touched by another human being?”

        “Soulmates,” Logan sighed. “Don’t start, Pat. I’ll gouge my eye out with this tiny umbrella.”

         Patton rolled his eyes, “Logan it’s not just nonsense; it’s science! Just because you think you’re some kind of lone wolf doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate. Your eyes wouldn’t be grey if you weren’t still waiting for your person. So you can deny it all you want. It won’t change the fact that they’re waiting.”

         “I don’t have time for a soulmate, Pat. You and Ethan just work better; you have time to be in love and he’s patient enough to deal with… you.”

         Patton faked an offended gasp, “Just for that I’m not getting you a free drink next round! But you’re right, Ethan is perfect. However-”

         “There is no however.”

         ”However,” Patton continued. “It doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone out there who’s just as patient with your bullshit as Ethan is with mine. Now look you made me swear. I hope you’re happy.”

         “I think the three appletinis made you swear,” Logan said. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

         “Actually I’m going out of town in two days with the girls so they gave me time off.”

         “Out of town? That’s this week?” Logan asked.

         Patton finished his drink, “I love how much you listen when I talk. The pandas are being moved to the zoo in Atlanta so their enclosure can be remodeled and we’re hoping to get some breeding done while we’re out there. That’s why I told you that you have to take mom to the optometrist on Monday. If you forget that, Logan-”

         “Right right,” Logan said. “No I’ll remember it’s… it’s in my phone.” He looked at his empty glass of whiskey but pushed it aside, deciding he’d better stay sober, “So what’s Ethan thinking about this longterm separation?”

         Patton snorted, “One of his retics laid a ton of eggs and she bit his face when he was pulling the clutch. Now he’s walking around like Crocodile Dundee. Plus the whole clutch is viable so we’re looking at a lot of new snakes to add to the national program. He’s in talks with a zoo in Taiwan too about some bloodline trades. It’s really annoying sometimes. He gets dozens of babies a season and I’m lucky if I’ll see more than two or three in my career.”

         “Well you chose the pandas,” Logan said.

         “I’ll have you know the pandas chose me,” Patton said. “You want another drink?”

         “Nah, I’ll drive you home,” Logan said. “Go flirt with the bartender and see if he’ll pretend to think you’re young some more.”

         Patton laughed as he slid out of his seat, walking over to the bar. On the dancefloor Logan saw a small group of students, a few of which he recognized—one in particular a large pain in his ass. Remus Prince, Quarterback of the university football team and well-known idiot. Logan wished Remus was the typical jock idiot, uncaring and arrogant, one he could easily fail without a second thought, but Remus was bound and determined to make up for his own shortcomings with hard work and extra credit. It meant that half of Logan’s office hours were spent patiently explaining things to Remus again and again, and accepting an outlandish amount of extra credit work.

         And—even more annoyingly—through it all Remus was cheerful, friendly and actually interested in what Logan had to say. Worse still, Remus was a senior, only four years younger than Logan who was the baby of the science department and didn’t he just hate that little nickname? Remus was like a peer, but worse, a jock, the kind of person that would have made Logan’s life miserable if they’d ever walked the same halls together as students. The revelation that Remus was gay was… interesting? No, not interesting. He’s a student and you don’t care. Logan rubbed his eyes and sighed, jumping when Patton returned with two appletinis. He sat down and stared at his brother matter-of-factly, “Guess how much these cost me?”

         Logan raised an eyebrow and couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, “How are we related?”

          Patton was a lot heavier than he looked when he needed to be carried, and Logan struggled up the stairs to the door of the apartment, knocking on the door. It was a cute place, all brick and right on the street, divided in half horizontally to make a duplex, but it was roomy and it was nice for two people on zookeeper salary; it was inexpensive—for Florida. Ethan opened the door and Logan gasped, “Ethan, your face!”

         Ethan did smile, and there was more than a little pride in it, “Don’t worry. She hit above and below my eye but the doc said to keep a full dressing on it at night so I don’t rub anything off. He cool?”

         “Vodka drunk,” Logan said, hauling Patton inside and laying him on the couch. “Not too bad but I told him I’d stay sober and I think he needed to drink off some stress.”

         “The move, yeah,” Ethan said, following Logan back to the door. “And my face. He’s not really loving how many times I take the bandage off to show people but it’s my first big tag! You wanna see the pictures from the ER?”

         “Gosh I’d love to but I have class in the morning so-”

         “Ethan!” Patton called from the livingroom, “Come sex me up, Mr. Snake Whisperer!”

         “Good luck with that,” Logan said. “Tell him to call me when he’s less obnoxious.”

         “Will do,” Ethan said. “Bye Logan.”

         Logan snorted when Patton called again and started down the stairs, “Good luck!”

                   Logan looked at himself in the mirror after taking out his contacts and smiled at his grey eyes; grey was distinguished, and he didn’t mind having a constant reminder—for himself and others—that he was beyond all of this soulmate nonsense. He was a lone wolf, just like Patton said, and his true love was forensic anthropology—or biology, as he was currently teaching. His application was top in line for the anthropology department, however, and he had consulted a time or two on actual cases. So, despite Patton’s—and his mother’s—insistence that his life was somehow incomplete, Logan couldn’t be happier. He turned off the bathroom light and crawled into bed, thinking back over his tasks for the day, all of which he’d completed before he ever set foot inside the gay bar with his brother. It was the same way he lulled himself to sleep every night, assured of all of his accomplishments, large and small, and how every day was a blank slate.

         Sleep came quick for him, thanks to the single glass of whiskey and the exhaustion of dealing with his drunk brother—and his sober brother-in-law. His dreams were blurry and immemorable until suddenly his vision was filled with green. There were calloused hands on his skin, warm lips on his cheek and breath in his ear, and he was held against a solid body with a grip that was surprisingly strong. He closed his eyes and still all he could see was green.

         Logan gasped and sat up, checking the clock and scowling; it was still the middle of the night and he was baffled by the strange dream and irredeemably hard. He sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, heading back into the bathroom and turning the shower to cold, stripping off his pajamas. Who the hell did he know that was associated with green, anyway? He didn’t even like the color green, his favorite color was indigo, far from the blinding lime he’d been accosted with in his dream. Any thoughts of the dream went screaming from his mind when he stepped into the water; his chest tightened and he exhaled involuntarily, “F-fuck!”

He tightened his hands into fists and endured the water, somehow preferring cold-induced heart palpitations to ward off an unwanted erection than perhaps the more obvious—and less miserable—solution. It was easier to be stubborn and miserable than to admit—and revel in—the fact that something had gotten him going, and that it had to be the dream. Whiskey wasn’t exactly known for facilitating physical arousal, and he’d barely had enough to taste in the first place.

                           “Morning!” Remus announced as he knocked on the open office door.

         “Good morning,” Logan said, “Come in, Mr. Prince.” He cleared away the end of his desk where Remus usually worked and stacked up the papers elsewhere. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

         Remus laughed, his cheeks a bit pink; Logan wondered if he was getting a cold—and how much that would panic the other professors about the state of the football team. He took a sip of his coffee as he sat down. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Well I have the three essays to turn in, and I did the makeup dissection test with Professor Picane’s Zoological Anatomy class… the uh… feral pig?”

         “Fetal pig,” Logan said, putting his coffee cup aside. “He sent your scores up to me. Good work. You got everything right except for the microscope work. We’re still struggling with cellular identification. I spoke with Emile and he said you actually seemed to have issues where things were similarly colored, so I took the liberty of emailing you some color-blind tests. I’m also inviting you to come in during my freshman course tomorrow. I use different dyes in my slides and I think you’ll benefit from it.”

         “Great!” Remus said. “You really go above and beyond to help me, Professor Heart. I um… well, thank you so much.”

         Logan crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, “You know, Remus, I think you’ve got a lot of potential, and I think you’ve been pushed through classes due to your athletic prowess—to your detriment. I really want to help you understand that you’re not lacking in intelligence, you understand. You’ve got the answers, we’ve just had to learn how to get to them, right?”

         “Right,” Remus said, ducking his head shyly. “You’re always right.”

         “Now, with these three essays and with you making up the microscope work tomorrow, there’s no need for anymore extra credit work. You’ve got this, Mr. Prince. All you have to do is attend all of the lectures and you’ll be on track for a strong grade in this class. Do you feel like you need any more help?”

         Remus hesitated, “I  mean… you’ve done so much. I know you’ve basically changed my life, and how I feel about science—school in general! I um… I guess if I need anything I’ll just schedule a day before finals. If you think I can do it, I think I can do it.”

         Logan smiled, “Very good, Remus. You’ve got this.”

         Remus set the three essays down on the empty part of the desk and looked over them, “I can’t believe this is it, you know? I’m going to graduate in less than a month.”

         “Another year on the books,” Logan said. “Wait until you’re my age.”

         “You’re not old,” Remus said. “You’re still in your twenties too. Oh!” He picked up his backpack and dug through it, pulling out a small cardboard box. He set it on the desk. “I know your real interest is anthropology, like the cop kind, and I um… well, my dad works in the big museum uptown. They got a few of these and they gave my dad two of them.”

         Logan took the box and opened it, raising an eyebrow as he took out a human skull, obviously prepared and preserved professionally. “This is a nicely intact specimen. You’re certain this is alright?”

         “Yeah my dad said he’d rather it go to somebody who wants it than just gather dust in our basement or the museum’s basement. Oh they said it had uh… crouton disease?”

         “Crouzon Disease,” Logan said, standing up. “Hyperostosis Frontalis Interna, very interesting. Thank you Remus this is incredibly thoughtful.”

         Remus watched Logan put the skull in a central place on his shelf of books and specimens; it looked good, but Remus wasn’t really paying attention to the skull, especially when Logan turned and gave him a smile, extending his hand. Remus jumped up and shook it eagerly, “Thank you again, professor. You’re my hero. You’re especially my parents’ hero.”

         Logan chuckled, and the touch was mildly electric, probably static, but it made Logan shiver, “You’re the hero, Mr. Prince. Remember that, hard work got you this far, and it’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

         Remus nodded, slowly releasing Logan’s hand and stepping back to grab his backpack. “Well, see you in class tomorrow! Eight, right?”

         “Right,” Logan said. “And don’t forget the possibility of a pop quiz tomorrow in your actual class.”

         “Possibility,” Remus chuckled. “Good one, Professor Heart. See you then.”

         Logan watched him go and sighed, turning to admire the skull, a warmth blooming in his chest he’d never really felt before. It really was a nice skull, he supposed.

          Logan drove home with that feeling intact, almost floating into the elevator and riding it up to his floor. After making it down the hallway, and the obligatory avoidance of his neighbor’s eyes, he stepped into his apartment and locked the door behind him. He felt bone-deep exhausted—probably from the dream-cursed night before—and he went straight to the bathroom to take out his contacts. Once his contacts were safely back in their saline baths, he brushed his teeth, grabbing his glasses off of the vanity and putting them on. He admired his eyes—his green eyes. Logan gasped and squeezed his eyes closed, opening them again, still green. He took off his glasses, and his reflection was blurry, but clearly green eyes stared back at him. The warmth in his chest suddenly became a sharp icicle, and he realized. Green, Remus Prince. “Fuck!” Logan shouted, turning off the light and rushing out to his bedroom. He sat on the bed and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing his brother.

         The phone rang several times, and went to voicemail; Logan swore again and dialed the home phone, “Come on Pat come on.”

         “Hey Logan! What’s up?”

         “Ethan? Oh, is Pat… oh shit.”

         “Alabama,” Ethan said. “Yeah. You ok?”

         “No, not at all… oh god. Can we talk? Like do you have time?” Logan stood up, pacing around the bed. “I have… an awkward situation.”

         “You? I don’t believe it.”

         Logan sighed and Ethan laughed, “I’d like to be serious with you for a moment.”

         “Of course,” Ethan said. “Go ahead.”

         “When you realized you were Patton’s soulmate, was there a feeling?”

         “Hm,” Ethan said. “Actually, yes. I thought I had heartburn, actually. Just like this warmth in my chest? It sounds a bit stereotypical but yeah. I felt warm. That night when I was washing my face I realized my eyes had changed. You doing a study?”

         “Um… no,” Logan admitted. “My eyes are green.”

         “Oh! Oh my god! Did you tell your mom?”

         “Please, Ethan. I have only told you.”

         “Do you know who it is?” Ethan asked. “Any clue?”

         “One of my students,” Logan said. “The… football player.”

         “Oh yeah I remember Patton mentioning him, the stupid one right?”

         Logan bristled, “He isn’t stupid. He’s…” He sighed, rubbing his temple, “Well, thank you Ethan. You’ve answered my question.”

         “Text Pat,” Ethan said. “He’ll lose his shit.”

         “Goodnight, Ethan,” Logan said.

         Logan hung up and set his phone on the nightstand before undressing, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and climbing into bed. He turned off the lamp and pulled the blanket over his head, willing himself to sink into the earth.

          The following morning’s class was a blur of barely-controlled panic and dread, but luckily Remus barely even spared him a glance, intent on taking and passing his cellular identification exam. Logan pretended to grade papers when Remus came up to his desk, and his heart surged like it had, warming to Remus like a rock in the sun, “See you in class.”

         Logan gave a noncommittal sound, and Remus left the classroom, allowing Logan to finally breathe. Ignoring this wasn’t going to be easy, and Logan was already getting frantic texts from his brother demanding an explanation. Logan briefly wondered how hard it would be to vanish without changing universities. The worst part, without question, was how badly he wanted Remus to touch him, even just a brush of his hand. His body was like a magnet and his hands were shaking even though their closeness had been brief. At least his upcoming class was taking a pop quiz, and they were to clear out as soon as answers were submitted.  

          Logan remained more or less glued to the desk during the hour between classes, grading the microscope work—Remus hadn’t missed a single slide, so Picane’s catch on the colorblindness had been spot on. Logan had felt a stab of jealousy, absurd as it was, that he hadn’t realized it sooner, first, because Remus was his soulmate—his.

         “Mine,” Logan muttered to himself, then his face heated up when he realized what he’d said, and he looked down to realize he’d written it on Remus’ exam answers. Quickly scratching it out he pushed the test aside and lowered his face to the desk. “What a nightmare.”

         “What’s a nightmare, Mr. Heart?”

         Logan looked up to see his first student sliding into her desk, and he forced a chuckle, “The state of the economy in nineteenth century Luxembourg.” He stood up and began writing on the board.

         “Will that be on the final?” another student asked. The classroom had started filling up.

         “Not unless I’ve ever written it on this board,” Logan said. “We start final prep next week, don’t forget.”

         He finished filling out the board as the rest of his students filed in, and once his watch beeped cheerily that class had started, he heard a voice pick up behind him, the same girl from before, “Is that your favorite tie, Mr. Heart? You wear it a lot.”

         “It’s my favorite color,” Logan said without turning around. “As charming as the distraction is, I haven’t forgotten the pop quiz.” He turned around and Remus was staring at him, mouth open in shock. On either side of him, his linebacker buddies were looking at one another, and Logan realized his mistake in revealing his favorite color—because he knew better than anyone what color Remus’ eyes must be now. Wincing, he adjusted his glasses, “Alright, please take out a clean sheet of paper and answer the questions I’ve written on the board. When you’re finished please leave them up here and you may go.”

         Logan sat at his desk and pretended to be working, jumping when the first student turned in their quiz, but calmed and kept his eyes down as the steady stream of quizzes landed on his desk. He was starting to feel safe when most of his students had gone, and he made the mistake of looking up when a loud pair of sneakers stopped at his desk. The room was empty, and Remus Prince was standing at his desk, quiz in his hand. He set it down with the others and shoved his hands in his pockets, “Your eyes are green. I never noticed.”

         Logan paled and stared up at Remus, “I um… it’s recent.”

         Remus nodded, “Me too, indigo, right? It’s a weird blue for eyes. My brother said they look like Liz Taylor whoever that is.”

         Logan let out a nervous little laugh, looking down at the paper he’d been doodling on only to realize he’d been writing the word mine over and over, “Yeah. She had um… dark eyes. So I suppose you’ve met your soulmate then, congratulations, Mr. Prince.”

         Remus looked around and then back at Logan, “You’re going to pretend it isn’t you?”

         Logan was feeling very much like a deer in the headlights, but at the same time heat was playing in his chest. He pushed his chair back and stood up, tensing when Remus reached to grab his wrist, “I’m not-” Logan tried to pull away but Remus shook his head, “I’m not pretending anything I… damn it. Damn it I’m afraid, ok? You’re a student!”

         “Not for long! Like two weeks from now I’m taking the final, and unless I stop showing up entirely, there’s no way I’m failing. I did the math which I know will impress you because I’m such an idiot.”

         “Mr. Prince,” Logan said, then sighed. “Remus… is this even something you want? A relationship dictated by some… some system we don���t even understand? By colors and chance and… what, fate? You want to let the universe stick you with someone… someone like me?”

         Remus laughed and released Logan, covering his face with his hands, “You don’t fucking get it, do you? You really don’t.”

         Logan wrapped his arms around himself, blushing and adjusting his glasses, “Don’t get what?”

         “I have wanted you since before I started in this class!” Remus said. “My brother, the attention whore? He had me come here last semester to pick up a paper for him, remember? If it was just fate shoving us together it would have happened then… but it didn’t. I thought you were hot, so I signed up for your class because I figured I’d cheat my way through and have a hot prof to stare at right?”

         “Hot?”

         “Just let me finish,” Remus said. “When I came in here and sat down at that desk and I listened to you read the syllabus… and all of your weird bone jokes and that thing about the swamp mummy?”

         “Bog bodies, the Tollund Man, yes,” Logan said. “You remember that?”

         “Yeah because you cared, like you actually cared about it. You’re not just here because you couldn’t get a career and you’re not just here to waste time. You really care about what you’re teaching us, and I know you’re trying to switch departments but whatever, you know what I mean… there’s a lot of passion there and it made me give a shit. It took me forty-five minutes to fall in love with your stupid class, and maybe two or three classes to fall in love with you… but still it didn’t happen. Because it didn’t happen until you fell in love with me.”

         Logan was silent as he stared at Remus, his mouth hanging open; he took a sharp breath, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Jesus.”

         “Well? Am I right?” Remus said, tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s the mustache right? My friends told me that’s the reason you didn’t tell me. Because you hate it. I don’t even care. I’ll shave it off, ok? I don’t care if it’s good luck I-”

         Logan crossed the short distance between them and kissed Remus, cutting him off. Remus grabbed Logan’s collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Logan’s mind spun, and his knees went weak. Remus had no trouble holding him up, and when they finally broke the kiss, Logan smiled sheepishly. “I don’t hate the mustache, as much as I wish I did. I really don’t.”

         Remus buried his face against Logan’s shoulder and laughed, “Great because I really need to keep it if I’m going to get drafted. Three of the NFL scouts commented on it.”

         “Yes I’m sure you’ll bring back the seventies mustache. Your parents will be ecstatic.”

         “Yeah… so um… are we dating?”

         “No,” Logan said, then off Remus’ look he hurried to elaborate. “Not until you pass this class of your own merit. Like you said, it’s no big deal and then, the second your final grade is logged in the university database… we can date.”

         Remus smiled, smoothing down Logan’s shirt as he stepped back, “Right, cool um… hey I should probably go then, right? Got studying to do. Bye teach.”

         “Mr. Prince,” Logan said, sinking back down into his seat once Remus was gone.

         It was going to be a long couple of weeks.

[nicka-nell]

There is no such thing as a perfect world - Chapter 4: What is your favorite animal?

Words in this chapter: 1.736

Warning: manga spoilers

Chapter 3 - Bye, Good-bye or see you tomorrow?

(y/n) = your name  |  (l/n) = your last name  |  (h/c) = hair color  | (e/c) = eye color

The man is startled by the sound of another person and immediately let's go of her to run away. Ushijima, who looks angry in front of (y/n), is not sure whether he should run after this disgusting man or stay with her. When he is about to run after the man, he looks once more in (y/n)'s direction and in her tearful face. He decides, for inexplicable reasons, to stay with the weaker one. With her. "Are you all right?" He asks in a calm tone. "Now yes. Thank you Ushijima-san.”, her voice is still a little shaky but (y/n) is relieved at the same time about Ushijima's intervention. "I can take you home if you'd prefer." With his head tilted to one side, he looks questioningly at her delicate body. She reminds him of a gazelle. An easy prey for a strong lion or hyena. "No thanks. It is okay now. Let's just enjoy a nice day at the zoo. And Ushijima-san? You do not have to be formal with me. We're not at work.” She smiles at him again and sits up. "All right.", he replies shortly. However, (y/n) seems to have gotten used to his short answers. Arrived at the zoo, Ushijima looks at the map when an older lady approaches (y/n) and him. She asks them if the two want a photo of them together and points to two cardboard giraffes that form a heart with their necks. “Many couples in love take photos under the two giraffes. Would you like to try it too?" joyfully she turns her gaze to Ushijima, who looks at her emotionlessly. (y/n) and he a couple? They are not together at all, and they are not in love either, he thinks. Since Ushijima does not answer the woman, she looks questioningly at (y/n), who only smiles at her. "Come on Ushijima-san! Let's take a picture. It will be fun.”, she grins and pulls him by the sleeve to the cardboard giraffes. The photo is quickly taken and comes out of a Polaroid camera. (y/n) walks up to the older lady and Ushijima follows her. The two women are curiously waiting for the photo when it finally develops. While (y/n) looks and smiles at Ushijima like a chershire cat, he looks into the camera without emotion. "Oh I guess I missed the right moment. Sir, it would be nice if you laughed in the photo too. Just like your girlfriend.” The lady tries to explain to him calmly. Now Ushijima leans forward to the photo and looks at it. It is very clear to him that he is smiling in the photo. Therefore, he does not understand this woman's statement. He is about to answer her when (y/n) takes the photo from the woman's hand. "It's perfect. I would like to take it. How many does that cost? ”, she asks the lady with a happy expression on her face. A little irritated, she looks at the young woman. "It hasn't turned out so well. Keep it. I don't want money for that." Gratefully (y/n) puts the photo in her shoulder bag and goes with Ushijima to the first enclosure. They have been walking for several hours and have seen a lot of animals. Whether lions, wolves, elephants, giraffes, turtles, everything was there. They are having fun, even if (y/n) can't read it on Ushijimas face. She could tell that he was having fun because he was no longer as taciturn as at the beginning. Both stop in front of the last enclosure and looked at the playing panda bears. "Ushijima-san? What are your favorite animals?” She asked him thoughtfully and leaned against the railing, her eyes now on Ushijima. "Lions. They are strong and dangerous. Everyone is afraid of them.” He answers her quickly like a pistol shot. "Lions? They are really dangerous.” She smiles and keeps her eyes on him. There is a brief silence. "And yours?", he then asks and (y/n) has the feeling that there is a hint of curiosity behind his question. "I would say birds. Eagles are really great. They can fly anywhere. Just leave everything behind and be free.“, dreamily she looks up at the sky. To be free ... To be free is a luxury that even humans cannot treat themselves to. At least not her. Too often she has to think about her childhood, the actions that have changed her, and above all her brother. "But birds are weak." Ushijima's cool voice pulls her out of her thoughts. He looks at her uncomprehendingly. Because how can she prefer an animal that can be free but is not strong. A bird is easy prey compared to a lion. "Ushijima-san ... not all animals can be strong. If they were, the cycle of nature would not work. Eat and be eaten they say. What should be eaten when all animals are of the same strength? In addition, a lion may be strong and there will also be many creatures who are afraid of them. But the lion also has an enemy. The creature that is most dangerous, which is responsible for the extinction of millions of animal species. The human. Humans will be our friends but also our greatest and strongest enemies Ushijima-san.” with a small smile she puts her hand on his shoulder. Her words sound wise but sad at the same time. He doesn't know why, but he finds her fascinating. (y/n)’s hand on his shoulder is warm and so small. He looks ahead to the panda bears and has to think about her words. When he thinks about it now, he has compared (y/n) to a gazelle. Would he have asked her out on a date if she were a strong creature like him? He would see himself as a lion. As an absolute alpha animal. When he looks at (y/n), she is weak, fragile and beautiful, unlike him. "Beautiful," he mumbled softly. "What did you say?", she asks him and puts her hand on her ear to understand him better. His eyes widen a little, and he tries to look back at the panda bears. Did he just say that she is beautiful? No. No, he only sees her as his therapist. He only invited her to thank her for this. After this meeting, he will not hear from her or think of her anymore. Or? "The zoo will close soon, we should go to the exit." With her index finger she points to the clock of a building and waves to Ushijima, who turns his gaze to the panda bears. "All right," he nods and quickly catches up with her. It is already dark on the way back and (y/n) doesn't want to admit it, but she should have listened to her brother and brought a jacket with her. It has gotten quite cool in the meantime, and she rubs her arms to warm her up a bit. "It is cold. Why don't you have a jacket with you? ”, with a questioning look, Ushijima looks in her direction. "I forgot it.", she just sighs. "You will catch a cold without a jacket." His voice is still calm. Of course (y/n) also knows that she could get sick, but she can't conjure up a jacket either. Just when she wants to answer him, she feels something heavy landing on her shoulders. "I'm not freezing so quickly," she hears his voice next to her and looks from the jacket that is on her shoulders to Ushijima, who is only wearing his T-shirt. "Thank you.", with her hands she reaches for his jacket and tries to put it even closer to her trembling body to warm it. "You don't have to take me home Ushijima-san.", softly, her voice can be heard under the jacket and Ushijima's eyes land on (y/n)'s delicate body and examine him. "I'm not surprised that this guy touched you. You don't have a lot of clothes on. If you already wear such clothes, then you shouldn't be walking alone.” He instructs (y/n) and for a short moment she thinks that her brother is standing in front of her. "I don't want anyone to think of touching you again when you're out with me. So I'll take you home.” He continues and looks at the street. She also looks ahead again until the two of them are standing in front of her apartment door after a few minutes. "We are here now. Thanks for the jacket and thanks for the nice evening Ushijima-san.” smilingly she hands the jacket back to him. Hesitantly he takes it and runs his thumb over the logo of Schweiden Adlers. "Do you have time tomorrow?" he suddenly asks her and looks her in the eyes. Why did he just ask her that? Actually, he wanted to go home and check off the whole (y/n) business. So why did his mouth say instead of goodbye, did you have time tomorrow? A little overwhelmed by his sudden question, she looks at him with wide eyes. "Tomorrow? Yes ... I have no plans yet.", "Mhm.", he just nods and puts on his jacket. With her answer he notices how his heart makes a few quick beats. What is that? Will he get sick? Should he go to a doctor? "Then I'll pick you up at four p.m. See you tomorrow.”, he replies as briefly as possible and wants to make his way home to rest. He turns around but (y/n) calls after him. "Wait Ushijima-san. Where do you want to go with me tomorrow?", confused she looks at him. Now he also looks a little confused in her direction. Actually, he hadn't thought about that yet. Tendou said that women like animals. Where else can you find animals except in the zoo? "We can go to the park." he says, still deep in his thoughts. (y/n) tells him that she likes the idea and is already looking forward to the date, which makes his heart beat a few bars faster. He really needs to go home and rest. "See you tomorrow, (l/n)-san." Ushijima says goodbye. "Listen ... just call me (y/n). Okay?" she asks embarrassed. "All right.", he replies briefly, since he has to go home quickly before he finally turns and leaves. (y/n) quietly sneaks into her bedroom so as not to wake her brother and lies down in her bed.

Chapter 5 - Your friend, my friend, our friend

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 3  of true north is here!

[kristanna / t / the actual fic version of my single dad au at long last]

ch. 1 / 2

“Can we see the penguins?”

“That’s the only reason to go to the zoo, isn’t it?” Sven asks, leaning back to tickle his goddaughter’s ankle. 

She squeals and kicks at his hand. “No! We go for ice cream!”

“We have ice cream at home,” Kristoff says, hiding a smile, because it’s his job to be the grouchy one so that Uncle Sven seems even cooler.

“But it’s my birthday,” she whines, and Kristoff glances up in the rearview mirror to see a pair of puppy dog eyes that match the set coming at him from the passenger seat.

“I’ll consider it,” he lies, knowing damn well he’ll be putting down ten bucks for two firecracker pops and a frozen lemonade and watch his melt while he keeps a napkin pressed to Alice’s chubby wrist before it drips onto her dress, and then inevitably more of it will end up on the ground than in her mouth.

He wonders if Bailey would say he’s spoiling her, that she doesn’t need a popsicle and special pancakes and her pink birthday cake.

But Bailey’s not here, and that’s why he’ll do it.

“Hey Al, do you see what I see?” Sven says with exaggerated enthusiasm, pointing to the green road sign that says “Zoo Next Exit”, and Alice scrunches up her face.

“A tree?” she asks, confused, and Kristoff can’t help but laugh.

---

“Nah, man, I’ve got it,” Kristoff says gruffly as Sven pulls out his wallet.

“Let it be my birthday present to Al,” Sven argues, even though he’s already putting it away again; it’s a familiar routine for both of them, helps both of them keep their pride intact even if it means they get weird looks from waiters sometimes when Sven’s excuses err on the ridiculous side.

“I’m sure you already got her something else,” Kristoff says, sliding his debit card across the counter, and by the other man’s grin he knows that’s a yes.

The teenage boy managing the cash register makes that face, the one with narrowed eyes that say don’t I know you from somewhere? Mercifully, Alice saves them by proclaiming very loudly, “It’s my birthday. I’m four.”

The teenager slides an “it’s my birthday!” sticker over the counter. “There you go, kiddo. Happy birthday. And, uh,” he adds, eyeing Sven a little shyly, “go Tigers.”

Sven grins and gives him a fist bump. “Thanks, man.”

They’re saved from getting asked for an autograph by a school bus of preschoolers rolling up. Kristoff pulls Alice out of the way and kneels down to put the sticker on her shirt, but she shrieks and pushes his hand away. “Not there, Daddy,” she whines. 

“Okay, where?”

She points to the same spot he just went for, and he follows her orders. “Better?”

Alice nods and takes hold of his hand. “We can go now,” she says, imperious as a queen, and Sven doesn’t bother to hide his snort of laughter.

---

The arctic section, thankfully, is in the middle of the zoo, so in only a few minutes Alice has her nose pressed up against the glass as she watches them dive for their breakfast. Sven’s right beside her, ooh-ing and ahh-ing with all the kids even though he’s as tall as five of them stacked together. 

Kristoff hangs back and takes a surreptitious picture on his phone; they’ve learned the hard way if they try and take pictures together, someone inevitably notices and gasps, “Sven Peters?” and asks for a picture of their own, and then they lose half an hour to football fans who don’t give a shit that they have a limited amount of time before Alice has an “I-need-a-nap” meltdown.

Eventually, the penguins disappear in the recesses of the enclosure, and Alice bounds back over to him, holding her arms up. He does her one better and sets her on his shoulders. “Where to now, Ally Pally?”

“Seals!” she proclaims, and off they go, just in time to see the show with the trainers and the red ball. 

The birthday sticker nets Alice a chance to ask the trainer a question. “Do seals have mommies?” she asks, and though everyone else laughs at how cute it is, Kristoff feels queasy for a second, worried that she’s still not over last night’s meltdown.

They move pretty quick after that, knowing there’s only a finite amount of time before she starts asking for ice cream; Asian animals are next, first the elephants-- “stinky,” Alice says, wrinkling her nose as they watch one relieve itself, and then the tigers-- “take a picture of me with them quick, Bjorgman,” Sven insists, and somehow they manage to pull it off without anyone seeing, and then the pandas, which are Kristoff’s favorite because they know the secret to happiness is being left the hell alone to eat as much as you please.

The other bears are next, and Alice takes great delight in watching Sven look between Kristoff and the grizzly enclosure and ask if she sees a difference. “I’m telling you, Bjorgman,” he says, clicking his tongue and shaking his head sadly, “the beard’s gotta go, or they’re gonna put you behind glass, too.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, earning a snort and an elbow to the ribs.

They’re only halfway through the monkey section when Alice starts whining about a popsicle. “We’re not coming back through here if we leave now, Al,” Kristoff warns her, but she’s unmoved.

She switches to holding Sven’s hand while Kristoff pays for the popsicles and finds a bench big enough for the three of them; Alice sits in the middle, red popsicle juice already dripping onto her t-shirt, and leans back with a happy sigh.

“Good birthday so far, Ally Pally?” Sven asks as he slurps at his own firecracker pop.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbles, trying and failing to catch a drip running down her arm.

Kristoff sets his frozen lemonade aside to swipe at it, cursing himself for leaving the wet wipes in the car. “Guess what? Uncle Sven’s going to Nana’s house for your party tonight.”

“Why?” Alice asks, frowning.

“Because he’s your family,” Kristoff says.

“Why won’t Mommy be there?”

Shit. He walked right into that one. “She’s busy,” Kristoff says, wondering if she actually is.

Some days, that line works. Today, it doesn’t. A moment later, the popsicle is on the sidewalk, Alice is screeching, and he and Sven come to the silent agreement that it’s time to go.

If he wasn’t so busy wrangling a sobbing four-year-old, Kristoff would have time to be amused that, just like when they played together in college, Sven’s the one clearing a path for him through the horde. He’s damn lucky to have a friend like that, and he knows it, but it still doesn’t sit right, sometimes, all the shit Sven does without asking for anything back. He won’t even take Kristoff buying the tickets and ice cream; there’s going to be a twenty shoved in the glove compartment or the fridge or one of Alice’s little plastic purses by the end of the day, and neither of them will say anything about it.

---

One mile in the car is enough to knock Alice out, and they’ve still got fourteen to go. Sven chuckles at the sight of her slumped over in the carseat. “Damn. Guess chasing the seals up and down the glass wore her out.”

“She didn’t sleep well last night,” Kristoff admits, and they’re both quiet for a minute; they’ve been best friends, tight as real brothers, for going on nine years now, but it’s still hard sometimes, talking about shit like this. It only ever happens in the car when they don’t really have to look at each other.

“Asking about the wicked witch of the west again?”

Petty as it is, the stupid nickname still gives Kristoff a twinge of satisfaction when he hears it. “Yeah. Apparently Lily’s mommy was at her birthday party, so now Al wants hers. As if she’s a fucking clown for hire or something.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“That Mommy’s busy. I’ve told her before that Mommy’s not coming back, but it doesn’t really get through to her. I don’t think she gets ‘never’ yet, you know?”

Sven mutters something under his breath that’s so vulgar Kristoff checks the rearview mirror to make sure Alice didn’t wake up to hear it. “Well, at least she’s got the world’s coolest uncle. And her dad’s alright, too, when he’s not being a grumpy bastard.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

That’s enough male bonding for one day. They’re quiet for another moment, and then Sven plugs the aux cable into his phone, and they listen to Journey at half volume the rest of the way back to the house, Sven headbanging and playing a wicked air guitar until Kristoff cracks a rare smile and plays the drums on the steering wheel at a red light.

---

Sven heads right to practice once they’re back at the house; he claps Kristoff on the shoulder and says “see you tonight” before loping off to his car and leaving him to carry Alice upstairs to her bed.

He’s got forty minutes of naptime left if he’s lucky. He sniffs at his shirt and cringes; between the meltdown last night and how tired he was afterward, a shower hasn’t happened yet. Neither has mopping the kitchen where it’s still sticky after an apple juice incident, nor washing his sheets; he hasn’t even finished double checking the books for the café like his mom asked. 

But that shit’s a hell of a lot easier to do when Alice is awake than this is, so Kristoff hops in the shower without waiting for the water to warm and grabs his bottle of three-in-one soap. He hums a little to himself as he lathers his hair, one of the songs they jammed out to in the car, and lets the warm water do what it can to relieve the tension that’s always sitting in his shoulders even on the days when no one calls out at work and Alice doesn’t scream in the grocery store. 

He winces at his reflection when he gets out of the shower. Sven had a point today about the beard; combined with his overgrown hair and the shadows under his eyes, he looks less like a twenty something ex-football player than a grizzled old mountain man. No fucking wonder people keep their distance from him. 

He likes it that way, though, really; no probing questions in the checkout line, no well-meaning advice from strangers, nobody interrupting the routine they’ve got down. 

But sometimes, he has to admit, it would be nice if—

“Daddy?” comes a sleepy, petulant voice from down the hall, and he’s been wasting time wanting things when he’s not even dressed yet. 

—-

As usual, his mom’s gone all out for the party; Kristoff’s her only child, so she spoils Alice with the focus and enthusiasm of an entire competitive cheer squad. There’s a massive pink cake— way too much for the two of them, his parents, and Sven and his new girlfriend, who’s an unexpected but highly welcome addition to the crew, considering how quickly she and Alice bond over their love of Mulan and orange juice.

 It’s not a break, exactly, to have this many adults around, but it’s breathing room, at least; Alice is in the living room on her grandfather’s lap performing all her favorite songs from Poppy’s Garden Tales while Sven’s girlfriend-- Marissa or Maisie or something-- claps along and Sven takes pictures of them both. Kristoff’s in the kitchen working on clearing the table and washing the dishes, enjoying the relative peace of the moment, until suddenly his mom appears at his elbow with a knowing glint in her eye.

“You’re not eating enough,” she says without preamble.

“What? I ate two plates of spaghetti.”

She jabs him in the side, and he yelps. “What else have you eaten today?”

“A pancake,” he says defensively. “And some frozen lemonade and a PB&J.”

He didn’t realize how little it was until he lists it all off. He used to eat four thousand calories a day, track all his macros weigh all his proteins; now he just eats whatever he’s making for Alice. 

“Baby,” his mother says gently, “you gotta take care of yourself, too.”

He’s heard this lecture a thousand times over the last four years. “I know,” he mumbles; arguing only prolongs the inevitable. 

“Maybe Sven can help you find a nice--”

“No, Ma,” he says, and it comes out harsher than he means it to. He pauses his scrubbing, remorseful, and she sets a hand on his forearm in silent understanding.

He leans down and kisses her cheek. “You and Al are the only girls I need,” he says, keeping his voice light, and she laughs.

The singing’s ended by now, and Alice is on her uncle’s lap reciting all the animals they saw that morning. “We’re gonna go back,” she announces. “You can come next time, Mary.”

Mary-- shit, how’d he forget an easy name like that? He really is getting old.

“What’d you wish for when you blew out the candles, Ally Pally?” she asks, and now Kristoff really likes her for catching on to that so quick.

“I want every day like this,” Alice announces decisively.

Sven chuckles at that. “If every day’s your birthday, then it’s not special anymore.”

“Nooo,” Alice giggles, “I wanna have fun with Daddy every day.”

Well, shit. He fucking wants that too, but how the hell do you tell a four year old it’s not that easy, that he only got today off with her because both his parents worked at the cafe today despite his dad’s knee replacement and his mom’s arthritis?

He’s glad Ma’s turned away from him when Alice says it so he doesn’t have to see the all-too familiar sympathy in her eyes. He gets that look from her and the rest of the world every damn day. He doesn’t want pity, doesn’t even want help. Him and Alice, they’re a team, and they don’t need anyone else. 

“Baby,” his mom starts, and he knows it’s going to be something too compassionate to stomach right now, and so he walks into the living room, pretending not to hear.

[anne-lister-adventures]

Saturday, 8 February 1840

6 10/’’

3 5/’’

A-[Ann] awoke me to strike a light at 5 – Slept well and comfortably on my 2 mattresses placed on our 2 large portmanteaus and a box we found in our room – Breakfast now at 6 3/4 and all over at 7 1/2 Reaumur 6 1/2º in our room – A-[Ann] had felt cold, but had the stove been heated our little 7 ft.[feet] high room would have been an oven –

Off (from Manacowa) at 8 – Pretty undulating parky pine-wooded country Reaumur -13º lying at the open door on my side the Kibitka – Fine morning – As we drove off – Several little valleys and gullies as if beds of rivers and melting snow streams, and pass over several wood-bridges and little frozen lakes – Several villages – The good village and church of Tirêvĕnĭa (as pronounced) at 10; and another large village at a little distance – 

Forests and wood Scotch fir with a little spruce and much birch and a little poplar, and a good deal of young oak-copse, or brush wood as yesterday – The most hilly stage we have had, and interesting corn country – Rather pointed caps today – What sort of Tartars? More snow on the road today than before – A line of birches (sometimes 2 lines) mark off the road 60 to 100 yards wide – Mills with sit sails - 

At our next Station Osablicowa at 11 1/4 – Neat good house – A-[Ann] cold – Came in – Large good room – Wrote all the above of this p.[page] and we had the pot brought in       first time a great convenience – 

Osablicowa pronounced Zabliski (pogosk or bourg) – Good church – Station just before entering the Town – Had just written so far – And the sun shining on my paper now at 11 50/’’ – 

Off at 11 55/’’ – Do not enter the town at all – Leave it (go alongside) at a little distance with its 3 good churches finely situated along a high bank over valley between us as if over a river – Very pretty picturesque looking Town – In the valley just between us and the Town a large Tannery and great deal of leather hanging up today – Nice undulating country – The country probably began to improve upon us at Vladamir; and improves as we go along and at 12 40/’’ gallop over little frozen river and thro’ 2 white pillars, the boundaries between the Governments of Vladimir which we quit and Nijeniy which we enter – 

At 1 3/4 at Jarilowo good, pretty small village or hamlet – Good Station-House – Canifs, knives &c. &c. the manufacture of the country offered to us for sale thro’ our Courier, but not wishing to buy any, nobody came to torment us, and we did not even see the things – 

Off again (from Jarilowo) at 2 10/’’ and at 3 35/’’ pass thro’ good Town – picturesque – Having 3 handsome stone churches and at 3 3/4 pass (a little distance left) the good Monastery of Serkos as pronounced by our Courier – Enclosed by a wall with a round tower at each of the 4 corners – The great gateway passes under the tall picturesque pointed clocher, and behind at a little distance (in the middle of the Monastery enclosure?) a handsome looking church – But this Monastery tho’ handsome and picturesque as an object is a nutshell compared with Troitsa – Part of the wall high and loopholed but the penthouse (seen outside) spoils it – And great part of the wall is low and garden wall like – 

At four incur a cross think loosely of [Pi-Mariana] as I always do now when she serves me for these purposes which I do not now give way to very often but I have had no opportunity of putting anything on nor have I washed once so that my shift is one clot and the hair is clotted together and this and the friction of jolting brought on erection which as I lay conveniently down in the bottom of the kibitka and A[Ann] sleeping I did not discourage found myself very large at night and glad of a wash and to get rid of my clotted chemise       never such a thing occurred to me in my life before – 

From Jarilowo at 2 10/’’ to Aleschkowo at 4 50/’’ ∴[therefore] the Town was about 1/2 way and the Monastery ten minutes more than that – Neither marked on our map – Only the Post Towns and Stations marked but still the map is very full – 

It seemed our Courier was dining ∴[therefore] we having alighted ordered tea – this and the 2 last Stations good – New, large good rooms – Tea at 5 40/’’ to 6 20/’’ – Paid the civil government Post-Master who came in – Put down on the table the 50 Kopek in silver, and he seemed well satisfied It is enough to give for Semovar and cream and use of room – Had to wait for the things repacking – 

Off again at 6 40/’’ from 6 40/’’ to 8 55/’’ from Aleschkowo to Doskino slept the greater part of the way till A-[Ann] suddenly roused me to pick up our lantern which in one of the great jolts had come down with the iron bar on which the pockets are hung – Hardly anything is strong enough to bear such jolts – And when not these there is a strong tremulous motion like that on board a steamer near to the engine – A-[Ann] felt sickish she said once or twice and so did I – But I did not think of it, and it passed off in slumbers, for when crouching down in the bottom of the Kibitka, and propped up with our pillows &c. and having passed so few hours in feather-bed case, we sleep in spite of the jolts par excellence – Glad to pick up our lantern for fear of breakage and fire – We might be 1/2 or all out burnt to death before we could get out – The door pad-locked on A-‘s[Ann’s] side to keep it shut – And the door not opened in a moment on my side tho’ not locked – Held the lantern in my hand till we reached Doskino – 

Off from there in 25 minutes at 9 20/’’ slept – At Nijeney at 1 10/’’ – The rooms to be 12/- per day – 3 rooms and little places of some sort close by including little anteroom might for our 3 men and one woman she (George’s wife) really very handy and attentive – A sofa in each of two rooms, and bois de lit and mattress in our middle room (salle à manger) but A-[Ann] put her mattresses on her sofa, and I mistrusting mine and bed stocks too put mine on chairs – Undressed and washed – Put on my usual night things and over these my Chelat – My Cossack sheep skin lined huge-sleeved pelerined pelisse, and lay down on my mattresses – 

Soon after leaving Doskino last night – George came to beg we would walk down the hill – So steep, dangerous – Afraid we might be overturned! Declined the walking and reached the bottom safe – Looked out of my window the descent seemed steepish a high mound left and I could not what right – A-‘s[Ann’s] window blocked by herself and the glare of the wax light – Could only see out of my own by shading off the light, and putting my head out a little – But never dark – That is one can always see the road when there is so much snow on the ground and so many stars – More snow in the Government of Nijeney than in Moscow or Vladimir? But no great depth anywhere, and very little drifting – Very fine day –

Route from Manacowa (Monakovo) to Nizhny Novgorod.

A view of Nizhny Novgorod in 1911.

[symbols in margin of the page:]    X

[in the margin of the page:]             Enter Government of Nijeniy

[in the margin of the page:]             Monastery of Serkos

[in the margin of the page:]            observation on my cousin

[in the margin of the page:]            Nijeney

Page References:  SH:7/ML/E/24/0007 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0008

[allthe-queens-men]

Day One - Children

John and Roger have been dating for almost a year. They decide to introduce each other to their kids.

………………………………………………………………………………….. 

“Where are we going, Daddy?” Sophie asked, squeezing herself out from between her bickering brothers.

John smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Well, the plan is to go for ice cream, but I don’t think we can go if Junior and Oliver keep poking at one another.” And at the threat of missing out on a treat, the boys were suddenly thick as thieves once more. “A friend of mine is going to be joining us, as well.”

“What friend?” Junior took his sister’s place, leaning forward against the passenger seat.

John gave himself a moment to answer. This whole plan had been equal parts exciting and nerve-wracking since its inception. Roger was the one to bring it up first –“We’ve been together almost a year now. Maybe it’s time we let the kids know.” But he didn’t want to go ahead with that idea without John being onboard with it. And John was. He really was, and really is still now. But, as well as he knows his kids, he doesn’t know how they’ll react to someone special being in his life –and, more importantly, theirs. “Well, he’s been a very… good friend for some time now. And I thought you might like to know who your dad’s spending time with, you know?”

That answer seemed to satisfy Junior’s curiosity for now. John couldn’t see the boy still watching him intently.

Roger was already there when they pulled up to the little storefront. He waved to them, a big grin on his face and a shopping bag at his feet. John smiled softly to himself and put the car in park.

“Is that him?” Oliver asked.

“Yes, that’s Roger. Would you like to go say hello?”

Whether they did or not, they would have to overcome that hurdle first to get into the ice cream parlor. Fortunately Roger came bearing gifts, and after friendly hellos started handing them out to Sophie and Oliver while Junior lagged far behind the group. John hung back a few steps to keep pace with the young teen.

“You okay?”

Junior stubbornly shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you dating him?” he asked with a slight grimace. John sighed inwardly but took the reaction in stride.

“Yes. He and I have been dating almost a year now.”

“Why?”

“Because I like him. Very much.” He forced a smile and a playful nudge. “Sort of like how you like that Anna girl in your maths class.”

Junior hid a blush in his hand, still scowling at the stranger talking excitedly with his little brother and sister. “So what about Mom, then?”

It was an accusation, full of hurt, but one John had been expecting. “He’s never going to replace her. And he has to intention of trying. And I understand this is going to be difficult for you—”

“So then why are you doing it?”

That sent a jolt through John’s chest, like a lightning strike through the heart. “Because… Because he makes me happy. And I hope that, once you get to know him a bit better, he’ll make you happy as well.”

“I don’t want to get to know him.”

“Daddy! Junior!” Sophie called back to them, holding up a stuffed bear too large to hug all the way around. “Roger got us presents!”

Inside they waited in a short queue to order their treats. Sophie reliably chose a rocky road waffle cone; Oliver went for one scoop of pistachio and one of strawberry; Junior got a cup of chocolate peanut butter. Both dads got milkshakes. They gathered around a little brightly colored table in the corner. Junior pushed himself so far back that he could’ve fallen right into the drywall. For a few minutes they made pleasant conversation, except for the eldest child, who just wanted to shoot laser beams from his eyes right through the intruder’s skull. But Roger didn’t seem fazed.

“Oh! I didn’t give you your gift yet, did I?” He reached down into his bag and pulled out a clumsily-wrapped box. “I hope you like it.”

Junior snatched the parcel away, quite confident he would hate it until he tore into the paper. A limited edition Star Wars Lego set. “… Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you get me Legos?”

“Oh, your dad said he got you something similar for your birthday, but that you didn’t have this kit specifically.” He laughed. “Almost fought a soccer mum for it in the middle of the toy store.”

Junior stared down at the box clutched tightly in his hands. His birthday was nine months ago. “… There are more pieces to the collection. This is just the main kit.”

“Wanted to have something to give you for your next birthday.” Roger gave a little wink.

“… Yeah. Okay.” He put it down in the seat next to him. “But now you promised. So now you have to get it for me.”

Roger nodded and took a sip of his shake, eyes smiling discreetly at his boyfriend. John felt the skies clear in his soul, even for just this small victory.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

“I promise, she’s going to love you.”

The assurance was genuine, and John knew it. But he also knew that, sitting in Roger’s car outside the daycare center, no reassuring words could put him at ease. “I’m alright,” he said, letting Roger run in to pick up his daughter. They were going to the zoo –“Hazel’s favorite place in the world”— John dared to hope it would go at least half as well as Roger’s first time meeting his own children, but the doubt sat like a large marble in his stomach.

Hazel said nothing to him when she got in the car. She had her face buried in the zoo brochure, carefully studying it and telling her father where she wanted to go. They were halfway there when Roger decided to introduce them. “Hazel, baby, this is my friend John. Can you say hello?”

She looked up at John, who gave her a nervous smile. “Hi.”

“Hello, Hazel. It’s very nice to finally meet you.” He wanted to talk to her more, but any other words were blocked by the lump in his throat. Hazel’s nose was buried in a picture book, anyway.

They arrived to the zoo and the little girl was immediately tugging on Roger’s hand in the direction of the reptile house. “Snakes, Daddy!”

He laughed softly and let himself be dragged. “Yes, we’ll go see the snakes. But we’re passing by so many interesting little critters in the meantime –why don’t we give them a chance to impress us?”

Hazel’s face bore all the skepticism a four-year-old could muster, but did change course to detour via the red panda exhibit. John trailed behind them with a tight smile on his face, feeling very much like an outsider and wondering how he could win Hazel over, or at least make sure she was comfortable in his presence without having to cling to her dad’s leg.

Roger was seamlessly dividing his attention between his excited little girl and his anxious boyfriend. He picked Hazel up so she could get a better view of the animals, and gestured for John to come stand next to them, Hazel between them on his hip. “Do you have any red panda facts you can share with John?”

She let out a long “um” as she thought. “They’re not actually pandas!”

Roger gasped. “Really? Could’ve fooled me!”

“And this one’s name Mica!”

John laughed softly. “Well, if they aren’t pandas, then what are they?”

But Hazel didn’t answer, watching as one in the enclosure moved from one tree branch to another. John knew enough about children that he didn’t feel ignored, but he couldn’t exactly count it as a win, either.

They saw the skunks, the beavers, and the otters before Hazel grew too impatient to put off the reptile house any longer, but Roger made it clear to her first that they were here to see all the animals, even if they spent the most time looking at the snakes. Hazel gave an excited nod as she pulled him toward the building.

It was dark inside, and filled with unique little habitats behind glass, as well as some larger tanks for larger creatures. Hazel darted excitedly from one to another to another. Roger kept an eye on her but let her run about, so long as she wasn’t causing trouble, and helped her read the plaques when she asked for assistance. John kept himself at some distance, watching the two read about various snakes and what the zoo had named them.

“Daddy, do you think there’s a snake with my name?”

“There might be. Let’s keep looking.”

The wheels started to turn in John’s head. He sought out a keeper of the snake house. “Hello, may I ask a favor?”

The woman greeted him with a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

John pointed back in the pair’s direction. “The little girl right there is looking for a snake that shares her name, Hazel. Is there anything we can do to give her that?”

The zookeeper kept the smile on her face. “Every hour we bring out a docile little corn snake for the guests to touch. I think today we can call her Hazel.”

John grinned and thanked her at least three times before rejoining the others. On his return, Roger gave him a questioning look at the huge grin he was barely suppressing (of course happy that John was happy, but curious as to what caused the sudden change in demeanor). John just chewed his lip and let the surprise stay a secret for now. Roger didn’t have the chance to ask questions, anyway, as he was tugged along by a small and unusually strong child.

At three on the dot, the zookeeper called around for anyone who would like to come pet the corn snake, and Hazel was immediately bee-lining for the opportunity. Roger had to jog just to keep a step behind her. John followed at a brisk but casual pace. There was already a line by the time they made it over, and Hazel was whining as she stood on tiptoes to spot her goal. Roger laid a hand on her shoulder to keep her balanced, and to pull her gently against his thigh. “We’ll get a turn. I’m sure they won’t put the snake buddy away until everyone’s gotten a turn to see him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I do believe so. Why don’t we tell John what we’ve been learning about the snakes we’ve seen so far?”

She looked up at John and huddled closer to her father’s legs, burying her face in his jeans. Roger gave John a sympathetic look. John was still all smiles.

After five minutes that felt like an eternity to Hazel, it was finally her turn to see the snake up close. “I know a lot about snakes,” she told the zookeeper.

“Oh, really? Well, do you know what this little girl is called?”

“It’s a corn snake!”

“Very good!”

Hazel ran a few fingers down the docile creature’s back, giggling. “What’s her name?”

“Her name is Hazel.”

Hazel (the girl, not the snake) stood there in rapt awe, mouth hanging open so far one might think she was the one who could unhinge her jaw. “That’s—… That’s my name!”

The woman feigned surprise. “Is it really?”

“Yes! That’s really my name, my daddy can tell you! Daddy! My name’s Hazel too, right?”

Roger laughed softly. If anyone might’ve been more elated than Hazel herself, it was her father at her reaction. “Yes, your name’s Hazel.”

“So I share a name with a snake! A little corn snake!”

His eyes flash to John, for just a second. “You do?”

She’s bouncing on her heels but is still very gentle with the snake. She enjoys every second of the minute she has before it’s the next person’s turn, but even when she has to leave the smile remained on her face. “Bye bye, other Hazel!” she called as Roger led her out the back, John coming alongside them. There was an ice cream stand just outside, and John, high on pride, offered to buy some before realizing he had only two pounds in his pocket. Roger laughed, pecked him on the cheek when his daughter wasn’t looking, and ordered two vanilla cones.

They sat at a picnic table to eat their snack. They some a few minutes in pleasant quiet, surrounded by the noises of other zoo patrons, and Hazel was slurping melted ice cream out of the cone she shared with her father before she spoke up. “John?”

John’s ears perked up. “Yes, Hazel?”

“Corn snakes look like copperheads, but they aren’t venomous like copperheads.”

He grinned brightly. “I didn’t know that, Hazel. You’re very clever.”

She smiled, tucked her chin against her chest, and handed the empty cone to Roger.

Hazel fell asleep in the car ride home, and slept through Roger carrying her upstairs and tucking her into bed with a little kiss to her head. He left the door ajar but headed back downstairs to where John waited to say goodbye.

John didn’t expect the goodbye kiss to be so passionate. But maybe he should’ve.

[crazyrandomfucker]

Marichat May Day 21: Fireworks

Summary:

Chat Noir and Kitty Noire decide to enjoy the night of Heroes' day with their civilian friends

-------------

After a hectic Heroes' Day filled with activites here and there and lot's of places and meetings to attend to, the four defenders of Paris are finally relaxing for a bit in a rooftop with views to Place de la Concorde. They chit-cat about their plans for the night activites of Heroes' Day and about what they had seen during the rest of the day. When the time comes, Lordbug and Ladybug stand up and leave early to meet some friends as they had already decided before. Some moments after the bugs are no longer in sight, the cats also stand up and leave the place, running with a certain destination in mind as they wager their tails playfully from side to side. They land perfectly at Marin's roof nd greet the twins who already were there drinking a cup of tea while waitng for Chat Noir and Kitty Noire.

"It's nice to see you" says Marinette.

"Busy day I guess" says Marin.

"You have no idea" says Chat Noir stratching a bit.

"But at last, we have some time to spend with our favourite civilian friends!" says Kitty happily.

"Do you know what events are going to happen tonight by chance?" asks Marin.

"Nope, it wouldn't be fair if only my Lady and My Lord were to be the only ones not knowing what's in store for tonight" says Chat Noir.

"One would think that the heroes would be informed of what would be going on during their day" points Marinette.

"Well, they want to make it a surprise for us, so I don't think that's bad" says Kitty.

"At least, we do know one thing for tonight, don't we sis?" says Marin looking to Marinette.

"Yes, we do know something" says Marinette.

"Huh? What is it?2 asks Kitty curiously.

"We know where will we be having dinner, because our parents decided to invite you two to have dinner" says Marin.

"Oh, but we wouldn't want to impose or anything" says Chat.

"My father has forgiven you for last time, you know?" says Marinette.

"And that's exactly another reason to refuse the invitation. It'd be so embarrassing" complains Chat.

"Oh come on brother, it would be rude to refuse the invitation" says Kitty making puppy eyes to convince Chat.

"There is some quiche, pizza and even focaccia among other things for tonight~" says Marinette taunting the catboy.

"O-Okay, we'll accept the invitation, but out of respect, this is definitely not because of the food" says Chat salivating.

Marin chuckles. "That would be much more convincing if your mouth wasn't as watery as it is right now" says Marin.

"Kids, supper is ready!" calls Sabine from downstairs.

"Shall we go then?" asks Marinette with a smile.

"Sure" says Kitty Noire.

The four of them went downstairs and the cats properly greeted Tom and Sabine as well of thanking them for inviting them to dinner, to which both adults just nodded and smiled happily. They all sat down around the dinning table and ate at their hearts content, especially Chat and Kitty since they were enamoured by the food. After singing some praises to Tom and Sabine for their food and for their bakery as well, Tom proposed to play a round of videogames with the cats to see how good they were. While they played, Tom and Sabine were complimenting the heroes for their achievements in fighting crime as well for their gaming abilities. In the end, Chat only managed to win once against Tom and Sabine beat them all mercilessly before Marin recieved a message from Alen about the night time activities.

"Look at all those activities" says Sabine impressed. "We could go to that night market in the ninth arrondissement, we might find something interesting".

"We're going ther then!" says Tom happily, but then he turns to the teens. "What about you kids? Is there somewhere you'd like to go?"

"Don't worry about the time for tonight" says Sabine to her children. "It's a festivity day and you're in good hands I believe".

"Should we maybe go and see this street performances near the Louvre?" proposes Marinette.

"That's fine for me" says Marin shrugging off. "Maybe we run into Alix and Alex thought" says as he looks at the cats.

"Don't worry Mar, we've got this covered" says Kitty smirking. "Remember that time you caught us as civilians?"

"Please, don't tell me that you're going to detransform" says Marinette worried.

"Worry not Marinette, this cats have thought of everything" says Chat. "As our civilian selves, we have the disguise you saw us on minus the sunglasses, but we also added these big plastic mask of our hero selves! No one will recognize us since lot's of people will be wearing heroes' masks".

"That's actually quite a good idea" recognizes Tom. "Will you be able to transform back in case anything happens?"

"Yes, we have a lot of cheese to bribe the things that power us up to behave and to transform us" explains Kitty.

"You need cheese to transform?" asks Sabine surprised.

"Unfortunately, yes. The smellier the better, that's how our kwamis like it" says Chat. "The kwamis are the ones who give us power and transform us and ours are cheese gluttons".

"Must be tough to mask the smell" says Marin.

"Don't even get me started with that. My classmates think I have an obsession with cheese" says Kitty.

"Oh, look at the time" says Marinette looking her phone. "We should maybe hurry up and get going if we want to get there early".

"Have fun kids" says Sabine waving as the teens rush to go outside.

Not much later, they get close to one of the allies nearby the Louvre and the cat-themed heroes detransform. As they had said, their outfits were nothing like the usual clothes they wear everyday and they had masks of themselves on, so not even Marin or Marinette could see their faces nor recognize them. Once the kwamis were fed and hidden, the gang run towards the permormance site and watched excitedly how different dancers moved at the rythm of hip-hop and some singers roasted eachoters in rap battles. During the performance, they met with the Kubdel twins as predicted, who were accompanied by Kim, Jin, Max and Mathilda. When the performace ended, they said goodbye and went to the next place, Eiffel's tower, where Jagged Stone was playing along with Clara Nightingale and the arising band Kitty Section.

Upon arriving to the entrance of the improvised enclosure where the concert was going to be held, someone pulled Marinette aside. It turns out that the one who pulled Marinette aside to get her attention was no other than Jagged's assistant, Penny. She told Marinette and Marin that since the three groups playing that night had some of their clothes tailored and designed by Marinette and Marin, they had a space reserved for them and any friends they brought with them. Between each concert, Jagged, Clara and Kitty Section paid a visit to the designers to have a chat, all of them happy to see their favourite designers assisting their concerts.

After the concert, they looked again at the night activities and selected one unanimously: Fireworks from the Seine. They went to an alley and Chat and Kitty transformed back into their hero identities to have some privileged seats for the show. They carried Marinette and Marin all the way to Notre Dame and sat in a hidden spot on the roof where the views of Paris and the Seine were amazing. There was still some time until the fireworks, so they relaxed a bit and talked about their everyday. Before the fireworks started, Kitty asked Marinette to change her place under the pretext of sitting next to Marin during the fireworks, while in reality her intentions where to make Mari sit with Chat to give them a gentle push, even if she definitelyappreciated spending such a romantic moment with Marin.

"Do we know the exact hour for te fireworks?" asks Chat Noir.

"They'll start anytime know" says Marinette looking at the horizon. "I'm quite excited to see them, they are always so beautiful".

"I doubt their beauty can hold a candle to yours thought" says Chat teasingly.

"You flirty cat" says Marinette rolling her eyes.

"I think maybe we should go somewhere else Kitty, because they seem to be about to kiss" jokes Marin.

"Indeed, who would have thught that tonight we'd become family" replies Kitty having fun.

"And when is your wedding then?" asks Chat Noir. "You two seem so awfully close to eachother".

"It was yesterday, I forgot to send you an invitation" replies Kitty sassily.

"Then mine too, because I don't remember you two being so close" teases Marinette as a payback.

"It must have been the mailm-" tries to says Kitty, but the fireworks lit the sky and all of their attention turns to the fireworks.

"Woah, so amazing" says Marin.

"It always leaves me with all this excitement" says Marinette energically. "I think I could lift Chat if I wanted to".

"She really gets into the mood" says Kitty Noire surprised.

"I never saw Marinette this excited since that time she found those super fabric rolls" add Chat.

Marinette blushes a bit awkwardy because all of their comments. "Sorry if I get too hyped by them" apologizes the girl.

"Don't worry Princess, it's cute to se you like that" says Kitty smiling.

"She took the words from my mouth" says Chat Noir. "Your cuteness' levels skyrocketed for a moment".

"Now, now. If you flirt with her that much I'll have to call you two in-laws" jokes Marin while Marinette hides her blushy face.

"You could call me something else if you wanted to Prince Charming" says Kitty winking at Marin.

"Okaay, time to stop" says Cat. "For real flirting you cn go somewhere else, kiss and whatever, but not in front of me please".

"Says the one who is holdig back the urges to cuddle with my sister" points Marin and Chat sits straight.

"I'm not holding any urges back!" says Chat blushing.

"It would be more convincing if you weren't blushing brother" points Kitty.

"Come on Kitty, let's give them some space to calm down and stop blushing like red lightbulbs" says Marin.

Kitty Noir picks him up bridal style. "We'll come back later, make sure to kiss a lot!" says Kitty smugly.

"I'm going to skin Marin fo that" says Marinette blushing.

"Same here Princess" says Chat Noir.

They fell into an awkward silence, stealing glances from one another but not uttering a single word. As MArinette shivered, Chat got closer to her and offered his Jacket for her, which she refused to accept and they ended up sharing it instead so neitherof them would freeze. They stayed like that for some time, simply sitting next to each other without speaking until it was time to go back home. Meanwhile, not much far away, Marin and Kitty Noire were truly enjoying the fireworks. After a quick confession from both sides, the sat together holding hands with their heads resting on Marin's shoulder. They had some chaste kisses, afraid of exploring the other's lips by the mere fear of scaring the other for going 'too fast'. But they enjoyed the fireworks, much like the blushing messes known as Marinette and Chat Noir.

[harrisonstories]

Above and below: George Harrison and Sir Jackie Stewart at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy meeting in Donington Park, England, Middle: George driving the Lotus 18 at the same event (3 June 1979)

NOTE: This is a rather long but refreshing read about a side of George’s life which doesn’t get talked about much. Here is an interview George and Jackie did at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy. 

A Beatle’s new mania

George Harrison, former lead guitarist with the legendary Beatles pop music group, talks to Chris Hockley about his passion for Formula 1, fast cars and a private life

IT’S PUZZLING in a way why George Harrison has such a fervent passion for fast cars and motor racing. For since the mind-boggling days of the Swinging ‘Sixties, when as one of The Beatles he was swept towards super-stardom and super-richness on a tidal wave of hysteria, the pace of his life has slowed to a virtual crawl.

Gone are the days when he had to make a run for it through thousands of screaming pop fans. Today, you are more likely to find him in his wellies, gently pushing a wheelbarrow towards carefully-tended flower beds in the vast grounds of his palatial country mansion.

Gone are the days when he lived out of a suitcase and wasn’t sure if he was in London, New York, Tokyo or Cloud Cuckoo Land. Today, he meditates silently for hours in his own temple.

Gone are the days when girls scratched each other’s eyes out as they fought to touch a fragment of his clothing. Today, he is happier to stay at home with his wife Olivia and their 10 month-old son, Dhani.

Yet there is still one public side to the private Mr. Harrison. For as well as being one of the world’s most famous pop stars, he has gradually become the world’s most famous motor racing fan.

“I’m getting too well known at motor races now,” he grins – as he is beseiged by a swarm of autograph hunters who have just rushed past Mario Andretti. “It was my hobby, now it’s getting like work again.”

George’s lean and craggy features are a frequent sight at Grand Prix meetings around the globe. His name is enough to ensure him VIP treatment, but he reckons he repays all the behind-the-scenes privileges he enjoys by attracting publicity for the sport.

Though he is often to be seen in the midst of a cluster of photographers, he does not go out of his way to court glamour. Harrison goes motor racing to see and not be seen.

He has been a genuine enthusiast since the days when he was just another poor kid from the streets of Liverpool, digging deep into his pocket to get into the city’s Aintree circuit during its heydey in the ‘Fifties.

He loves talking about racing. To him it represents a refuge from never-ending questions like: “Are the Beatles ever going to get together again, George?” Or, “Is it true that Paul McCartney once had a bunion on his right foot?”

In his slow, deliberate – and knowledgeable – Scouse drawl, George will tell you about oversteer, understeer, gear ratios and why he hopes Jody Scheckter will be world champion this year.

And he will rave about Fangio with the same 12-year-old’s wide eyes that watched the great Argentinian dominate the 1955 British Grand Prix at Aintree with Mercedes team-mate Stirling Moss.

“I can’t remember why I started going to Aintree – I think I just saw a poster advertising a race,” he says. “Anyway, I used to go there whether it was a big or small meeting, take my butties and sit on the Railway Straight embankment to watch the race. I went to a lot of bike meetings as well – I was a big fan of Geoff Duke!

“I had a box camera and went round taking pictures of all the cars. If I could find an address I wrote away to the car factories, and somewhere at home I’ve got pictures of all the old Vanwalls, Connaughts and BRMS. All that stuff got lost when I went on the road with The Beatles, but I’m sure it’s still in my dad’s attic.”

Such was his enthusiasm that it was a question of whether cars or guitars would dominate his life. He couldn’t afford both…he couldn’t afford either, really. because he had to borrow the £2 10 shillings he needed to buy his first guitar. Luckily for him, he opted for pop.

“By the time I got any money at all I was 17 or 18, getting a couple of quid a week from a few concerts in Liverpool. But I got so involved with rock ‘n’ roll and The Beatles – we were on our way to making records and all that – that to tell you the truth I completely lost touch with motor racing apart from watching the odd bit on TV or reading magazines.”

As the Fab Four became the world’s top pop stars, so they were able to call the tune and ease up on their stamina-sapping schedule. George found himself free to head back to the tracks once more…and in true showbiz style aimed straight for Monaco.

It was there that he met the man who helped him to step backstage of big-time motor racing – Jackie Stewart. George found an instant affinity with Stewart, not least because Jackie wore his hair long and was an outspoken critic of the established order, two keystones of the “rock revolution” of the late ‘Sixties and early ‘Seventies of which Harrison was so much a part.

George said: “Jackie did such a lot for the sport and was criticised for it. People moaned and groaned when he wore fireproof suits and talked about safety – things which are so obvious and practical now but at that time were being put down.

“Another thing was that he always projected the sport beyond just the racing enthusiasts which I think is very important.”

It is Stewart, always a big Beatles fan, who has given George an appreciation of the finer points of the racing art, often driving him around circuits – he scared the pants off Harrison at Interlagos this year – or showing him the best places to watch from “inside” of the track.

“I always enjoy the last session of the qualifying best,” says George. “Jackie taught me how to get the most from it by wandering around the circuit to watch from different places. That way you really get into how cars are handling gear ratios, the whole thing.”

The rapport between the two was vividly illustrated at the recent Gunnar Nilsson Campaign meeting at Donington, where both took part in a demonstration of classic Grand Prix cars. Afterwards, Harrison changed into jeans and sweater, while Stewart stayed in his racing overalls plus the mandatory black corduroy cap. As they walked into the royal enclosure to watch the afternoon’s racing, Stewart turned to Harrison and said: “I don’t know why I am dressed like this.” “Because you’re a twit,” came the reply.

Friends say that of the four ex-Beatles, Harrison is the one who has kept his feet closest to the ground. He seems to have retained the “love and peace” message of the flower power era and has refused to be swayed by the cynicism of the ‘Seventies.

His easy-going manner has made him a popular figure among the Formula One drivers, and he has become friendly with many of them.

“It’s obviously an advantage for me to be sort of independent,” he says. “I’m not like a spy from Ferrari or Lotus or anything like that. It’s a very nice position to be in – I am no threat to anyone so they are friendly towards me.”

His close contact with the drivers has also changed his attitude to them. Like most race fans, he has had his idols – Fangio because he was top dog in his childhood. Graham Hill because he was “a very English gentleman,” Jackie because he was Jackie and so on.

Now, there are no more heroes. “It’s difficult to single anyone out because I’m much closer to them. I mean, there’s people like Jochen Mass who might never be world champion but is such a nice person.

“But I want Jody Scheckter to be world champion this year. It would be good if Grand Prix racing was like the music business, where you can have a No. 1 hit and then get knocked off by your mate for his turn at No. 1. But unfortunately it isn’t like that. There is a point where you are just ‘ready’ to be a world champion, and if it doesn’t happen, it could be all downhill from there.

“Jody is ready – he’s got the car and the team, and mentally he’s right there. To get in the right team at the right time is almost impossible. It happens, like Mario last year – he was very fortunate in having that car.

Take Villeneuve. He’s very good but he’s still a bit young and more prone to making mistakes than Jody. He’s got a lot of years ahead of him, though. That’s why I’d like to see Jody get it now.

“Alan Jones is another one who’s ready. He’s great, he’s mature and he’s ready to win. And now he has got a really good competitive car. Maybe next year Alan Jones will be right at the head of the championship.”

Harrison is no sluggard himself. He drives a Porsche Turbo and what he calls an “old” Ferrari Dino Spyder. There are whispers about 140 mph tyre-squealing burn-ups on a 10-mile “circuit” around his incredible home – Friar Park, near Henley-on-Thames.

Certainly it is not difficult to imagine a glorious road circuit winding through the 33-acre wooded grounds. Nothing would come as a surprise after the mansion itself – a £2 million fairy palace that would do credit to Disneyland – and other amazing features of the grounds like three lakes built on different levels, a series of caves filled with distorting mirrors, model skeletons, glass grapes and hundreds of the proverbial garden gnomes…and an Alpine rock garden including a 100ft high replica of the Matterhorn!

But George though he admits he sometimes has “a spin through the woods,” insists that the burn-up stories are exaggerated: “It’s all very slow speed around the garden – you know tractors and wheelbarrows and things like that…”

He has, however, had a go at the real thing. He took his turn at the wheel of a Porsche 924 in a 24-hour run for the Nilsson campaign at Silverstone, organised by his local sports car specialists, Maltin’s of Henley.

He drove Stirling Moss’s famous Rob Walker Lotus 18 at the Nilsson’s day at Donington, where Jackie Stewart managed to frighten him yet again by blasting his Tyrrell around at full pelt at the same time.

And he has even managed to get his hands on a modern generation Formula One car. It was at Brands Hatch two years ago, the time when former world motorbike champ Barry Sheene, another good friend, was thinking of moving into car racing. Sheene took George with him when he tried out a Surtees TS19 with a view to having a crack at the British Aurora Formula One series.

It was an occasion which George remembers with more than a slight grin…

“Barry persuaded John Surtees to let me have a go. But John said: ‘He’s got no gear.’ So Barry rips off his fireproof vest and says to me ‘Here y’are, you can wear this.’ I just slipped on this sweaty old thing and borrowed John Surtee’s crash helmet. I got in the car and said: ‘I’m not going to go fast because I haven’t even walked around Brands Hatch, let alone driven round.’ So he said: ‘Oh shit, you had better get in my road car.’

“Well, we went bombing off round the track in his Mercedes and he was saying things like: ‘Keep it over to the left here, make sure the tail doesn’t flick out too much here, and so on. I was just hanging on for dear life.

“I got in the F1 car and thought ‘Now, what did he say?’ Then, while I was pulling away in the pit lane, trying not to stall it, I was thinking ‘God, it’s windy in this car.’ I hadn’t even remembered to close my visor!

“Still, it was a great feeling. Although some people have told me it wasn’t a very good Grand Prix car, believe me if you hadn’t driven one before it was fantastic. It was like, wow…those wheels just dig in round the corners.

“I didn’t go very fast. I just signed the chitty saying that if I killed myself it wasn’t John’s fault!”

George, now 36 years old, is unlikely to do a Paul Newman and turn his hand to serious racing. He is honest enough to admit he is apprehensive of the dangers.

Neither is he likely to become involved in large-scale sponsorship, despite a reputation for generosity (it is said that he once gave the landlady of his local pub three rubies for her birthday).

He has dabbled in a small way with bike racing – last year he backed Steve Parrish, who he knew through Barry Sheene, when Steve lost his works Suzuki ride. But this year he has turned down an approach for £185,000 to run a BMW M1 in the Procar series – and has no intention of following in the footsteps of Walter Wolf or Lord Hesketh by setting up his own Grand Prix team.

“What with living in England and the tax I pay, it takes a long time to get some cash anyway, and the last thing you need is just to give it away. You need too much money to do the job properly in Formula One. If I had £3 million to give away, which I haven’t, there’s probably better things to give it to than motor racing. Like the starving, for example.”

The last comment reflects Harrison’s continued commitment to the impoverished parts of countries like Bangladesh and India. All the royalties from one of his albums go into a foundation, and from there the cash is handed out to various charities.

There is a chance that in the years to come, George’s enthusiasm may rub off on his son, and we may yet see a Harrison out there on the track. After the usual parental head-scratching, George concedes that he would not stand in the way if Harrison Junior opted for cars instead of guitars – “though by that time they’ll probably be driving missiles or something.”

But for the time being at least, George will stay on the outside looking in. A weekend at the races will go on being the noisy, urgent, smelly and exciting contrast to the gardening and the meditation.

And a brief glimpse of the one public side to the private Mr. Harrison.

-  MOTOR magazine (28 July 1979)

[iamtotallycool]

In the Case

This is an EOA Fantastic Beasts!AU that I had sitting in my drafts ever since I saw The Crimes of Grindelwald...so it’s been in there for awhile!

Anyways, this was a chance for me to write something featuring the Core 4 Amigos and I hope you guys enjoy it!

PS It is quite long, hence the read more link XD

“Ouch!” Naomi yelped loudly.

“Sorry, just a couple of more shards,” Gabe said as he held her foot in his lap, tweezers in hand as he pulled out the last bit of glass from a broken bottle that she had stepped on during their daring escape at the Blind Pig Pub.

Across the way, their wizard companions were putting the last of the captured magical creatures back into their respective enclosures.

“Don’t worry, mommy’s here,” Mateo said as he slowly placed the baby Occamy back in the nest with the rest of his younger siblings.

The chicks each took a turn wrapping and sliding over his forearms and hands, all chirping with excitement and anticipation.

“Yes, yes, mommy hasn’t forgotten about dinner time.”

Elena smiled at the sweet sentiment as she picked up Dougal and placed him back in his hanging hammock. The exhausted Demiguise let out a great yawn and Elena covered him with a small quilt.

“Thanks Ms. Flores,” Mateo said, as he threw a few meat pellets into the Occamy’s nest.

“Oh, I think we’re long past formal titles Mateo.” Elena pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, “You can just call me Elena.”

“Ok…Elena,” Mateo said as he shot her a smile, which she happily returned. “And you’re sure that was everything that came out of your case right?” Naomi then asked skeptically, not that anyone would blame her. 

The group had had several close encounters with the law and creatures a like just in the past day. They were only now catching their breath inside Mateo’s magical suitcase, which itself was securely tucked away in a far corner on the Macy’s store roof. 

“I promise you it was,” Mateo said as he pulled off his ruined vest and untucked his dress shirt. “Delgado has no reason now to keep blaming my creatures for these attacks.”

“Right, now it’s just the easy part of trying to convince the entire MACUSA team of that.”

“Nice to see where your optimism lies Naomi,” Elena joked as she began removing her sparkly and chunky jewelry.

“Just trying to keep everything in a realistic perspective–OUCH!” She yelped again, and smacked Gabe on the shoulder for good measure.

“Oh here, let me grab my wand and I’ll fix that right up,” Elena said as she made a reach for her thigh holster.

“Oh yeah, what am I doing?” Naomi said as she began to pull away.

“No magic,” Gabe said sternly as he grabbed Naomi’s foot again. “If you three want to jump on to chandeliers, or dive off second story landings, or taunt creatures the size of houses, then you are going to be treated and healed like a muggle or else you won’t learn your lesson.”

The three accused looked at each other, seeing who would be the first to speak out in protest. But from the sheer amount of cuts and bruises they had, they knew it wouldn’t be an argument they could win against someone like Gabe.

So, instead they replied in unison, “Yes sir."

“Then can I least get a drink that’s not any of that god awful giggle water.” Naomi groaned, “Stupid prohibition.”

“Here,” Mateo said as he went over to the small kitchenette and grabbed a bottle off the top shelf. “It was a gift given to me while I was over in England.”

“Now were talking,” Naomi said when she saw that it was a bottle of Firewhiskey, “Grab some cups then, I think we could all use a little.”

“What were you looking for in England?” Elena asked, grabbing four mix-matched cups and mugs from Mateo’s cabinet and bringing them over to the table.

“Was just helping out a friend of my grandfather’s with a giant squid situation,” Mateo said as he poured everyone a small some of the whiskey and began passing them around. “Poor creature was injured and acting out, scaring the young wizards at the school.”

“Wait, are there schools that teach you guys magic?” Gabe asked in astonishment as he finished bandaging up Naomi’s wound.

“Of course!” Mateo exclaimed, “Where else do you think we learned magic?”

“Hey, 48 hours ago, I didn’t even know all of this existed,” Gabe said as he widely gestured around to emphasize the 'this.' “Where did you go to school at?”

“Avalor,” Mateo said excitedly. “It’s a school hidden within an old Maruvian temple deep in the jungles of Latin America.”

“What was it like?” Elena then asked in a longing tone, placing her chin in her hand.

“Incredible,” Mateo said, his smile stretched so wide on his face. “I remember holding my head high as I walked through the doors with one of my grandfather’s tamoritas clutched tightly in my hand. The colorful Jaquins would fly around and sing songs while they guarded the school. And two years later, I was able to summon my spirit guide, Cacahuate.”

“And what about the graduation ceremony?” Elena asked, grabbing his arm eagerly. “They said that the King of the Janquins himself comes, presenting words of wisdom to only those wizards.”

“Wouldn’t know what that is like actually,” Mateo said sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I…kind of got expelled from the school during my 5th year.”

“Does it have anything to do with the girl whose picture you’ve got over there?” Gabe asked, pointing to Mateo’s small office area. “Rita, right? That’s what it says on the frame.”

“Nothing gets past you Detective Nunez,” Mateo said sarcastically as he took an unusually large gulp of his Firewhiskey. “It was a misunderstanding. She…she just wanted to take care of a creature on her own.” 

Mateo unbuttoned his shirt enough to reveal a large and deep scar that covered his entire left shoulder and some of his collarbone.

“The Professors ended up finding me soon after the creature went on a rampage, and it took me a week to recover.” Mateo bent his head up, staring at the star illusion that floated above them, and absorbing their bright light to fight back the dark memory. “Turns out some people got hurt though, luckily it was no where near as bad as me. But I should have never left her alone, so I thought I should take the fall for her.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Naomi said coolly.

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Mateo replied nonchalantly. “So, now that I was expelled, a disgrace to my grandfather’s legacy and not wanting to be a burden to my mom, I decided to head out and drift around.”

"Worked out though, since I ended up realizing that what I really wanted to do was save and preserve these guys," Mateo glowed with pride as he swiveled around in his chair to look at his creatures. The constant and comforting reminders that his life and work had meant something, despite what others still whispered when they saw him. "And hopefully I'll get to educate fellow wizards about them as well.”

“Have you seen Rita since you got expelled?” Elena then asked.

Mateo didn’t say anything as he just shook his head.

“Well, if I can speak freely, she seems like a taker Mateo,” Elena said in a gentle tone, laying a hand on top of his. “And you need a giver. You’re too sweet and kind to have anything less.”

The young wizard looked back at her with a wide eyed expression, waiting for her to take back the kind words she had just said. But she didn’t, and instead gripped his fingers tighter.

“It's nothing to really dread about. It was a long time ago.” Mateo then let out a forced cough and turned his attention else where. “Anyways, what about you Naomi, did you attend a school here in the states?”

“Nope,” Naomi said, making a popping sound on the ‘p’. “I didn’t attend any school, I’m surprised you haven’t figured out that I’m a squib.”

“What’s a squib?” Gabe asked, feeling slightly exhausted from all the questions he had to keep asking.

“A non-magical child born from wizard parents.”

“That’s the PC way of saying it,” Naomi said with a harsh edge to her words. “My parents did attend magical schools though, my father went to Ilvamorny and my mother went to Nordburg, a small Norwegian School. And by the time I was born, my parents were firmly in the trading business; so I’ve been learning about the wizarding world and muggle world since I could walk.”

“That wasn’t hard at all?” Elena inquired.

Naomi shrugged, “At times. But my dad was a muggle-born and my mom was always open-minded. So together they had the strong belief that any skill learned could be useful, magical or not.

“Like for one…” Naomi quickly reached under her and pulled up Niffler by one his feet, “Being able to detect pick-pocketers, especially little kleptomaniacs.”

“Oh jeez,” Mateo said with an exasperated tone as he grabbed Niffler from Naomi and went to, once again, put him back in his cage. “I swear I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second.”

“Are you going to be taking over your parents business then?” Gabe asked sincerely, as he gently ran his hand down her foot to smooth down her bandages.

“Not exactly,” Naomi said as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “My parents might be open-minded, but the same can’t be said for the crew or, more importantly, our noble, pure-blooded clients.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Especially since I ended up breaking one of those pompous windbags noses after he called me something along the lines of a ‘filthy little squib that should have been killed at birth.’”

“Surprised he only got away with a broken nose,” Elena said as she placed her hand back on top of Mateo’s once he rejoined the group.

“Well, as good as it felt to do that, my parents ended up getting some pretty bad backlash. Because for whatever reason, no matter what I do, it seems to not mean anything. And even my parent’s crew thought–”

Naomi stopped herself abruptly and bit her lip. She closed her eyes tightly and let out a frustrated and staggered sigh. She remained that way for a couple of long seconds before she opened her eyes and waved her hand, as if to bat away her negative feelings.

“Anyways, I didn’t really want to be a part of the wizarding world for a while. So I decided to build connections and reaffirm old ones my dad had from his days when he was still living between both worlds here in the states. And it's not a lot, but it's a start.”

"That's some really impressive dedication you've got there," Gabe praised, hand still on her ankle. 

Naomi smiled. “Well now I’m curious about you Mister Muggle.”

Gabe laughed, “I can guarantee that my school wasn’t anything big, and certainly not as exciting as a wizarding school.”

“No, but you told me earlier that you fought in the war,” Mateo said, noting back to the awkward small talk the two of them had been making on their way to Central Park the previous night. “Were you drafted into it?”

“No, I enlisted for the army on December 16th of 1914.″

“Wait,” Mateo interrupted, the wheels in his head turning and calculating. “But that means you would’ve been underage at the time, right?”

Gabe shrugged, “Honestly, when you’re a kid like me growing up in the Bronx, there wasn’t really a difference between being 16 and 18. Besides, there were kids a lot younger that signed up and someone had to keep an eye on them.”

“Still, what did you’re parents think?” Mateo asked, remembering how a lot of wizarding families had felt about rogue wizards joining the efforts, his mother included.

“About as well as you could imagine,” Gabe said as he began loosening his tie, letting out a deep sigh once he was free. “My mom just kind of had this blank and confused look on her face while my dad was furious: yelling and screaming about how he didn’t immigrant to this country so that his son could end up dead in the mud in some foreign place. But, it worked out for me in the end, still have all my limbs and my life.” 

Gabe then let out a bitter chuckle and dragged his hand through his already messy hair. “Of course, fighting the war had been the easy part. Trying to find a place here when I returned had been a very different story. I tried so hard to get a job on the police force, but I guess I had been in the war too long and I didn’t have the right ‘look.’ So my only options were to either work in a canning factory like a lot of the other guys, go back to my parents, or, for the best I could do, work security at the bank. Wasn't really hard decision to make in the end.”

“And what about your parents?”

“They’re doing good, still running their small bakery where you have to try the empanadas if you ever go,” Gabe smiled fondly. “My mom and me still see each other and talk when we can, but my dad and I on the other hand…still a little touchy.”

“Anyways that just leaves you Elena,” Gabe said hastily before an awkward pause could even start, “did you go to a different wizarding school in Latin America?”

“I actually didn’t attend any schools either.”

“Really?”

Elena nodded, “My father was the President of Magic, just as my grandfather had been before him, and his mother before him.”

“No wonder they used to call you the Royal Family,” Mateo teased which Elena responded by lightly shoving his shoulder.

“You can imagine then that my family and our curriculum changed to be more focused on homeschooling.” Elena shrugged, “It wasn’t much a surprise since everyone was expecting me or my cousins, Esteban and Cristobal, to become the next leader. Though I really wanted to attend Avalor more than anything.”

A deep shadow then fell over Elena’s eyes as she stared down into her cup of alcohol, getting lost in the dark color of the liquid.

“But when I was 15…” She cleared her throat, trying to choke down the sob. “When I was 15, my parents were killed.”

Gabe froze in shock. “Do you know who killed them?”

“Yes,” Elena said as her voice remained very solemn, “Her name is Shuriki, she’s an international terrorist that is still on the loose. And she made a grand show of power not too long ago by murdering my parents with the killing curse on the grounds of the Mexican Ministry.”

She and her fanatics disappeared though before she could have a chance to get me and the rest of my family. However, knowing that she would come after us again, we went into hiding.” 

Elena took a sip of her alcohol before she continued. “And while it was a large and beautiful castle we stayed in, it was still a gilded prison, I felt myself going insane in there as every day passed.”

So, when I turned 17 and a little help from the international council: I cut my hair, stowed away my family’s scepter, and began training as an Auror, much to the disapproval of my grandparents. And after a couple of years of pushing papers and shadowing others, I finally got a chance to pick where I wanted to be located.”

Elena leaned in closer to her companions, letting them in on her top secret information that she had not shared with anyone, even her little sister Isabel. “I heard a rumor that Shuriki came to the US and I know she’s here, I've been feeling her presence for months. And I’m going to find and bring her to justice for my parents if it’s the last thing I do.”

The group fell silent. The empty air around them began being filled with the various sounds of the beasts, continuing on their simple existences and completely oblivious to what had just happened. Meanwhile, all the humans could do was keep staring at each other as they felt somehow freer and heavier than they had a few moments ago. And all, no doubt, wondering if more alcohol would be a viable option right now.

“Wow, that got…unintentionally deep and personal," Naomi commented.

“Well, there are some things you can’t do without liking each other in the end,” Mateo responded.

“Like capturing a 20 foot Occamy.”

“Or thrashing a Goblin’s bar.”

“Or breaking out of MACUSA.”

“Or having some very nice mugshots plastered all over the wizarding world.”

They all let out a small laugh, nothing quite as hardy or jovial like when they had worked together to capture the Occamy, but still warm and very much needed.

“Alright, we have to find this mystery creature,” Elena then said in an unwavering time as she turned to face her friend. “Mateo, are you positive that it is an obscurial?”

“Absolutely, the markings were a dead give away.” Mateo scoffed, “I hate to burst the President’s bubble, but just because obscurials aren’t as common as they were a long time ago, doesn't mean they're gone. I’ve come across many cases of these poor, troubled kids.”

“So since it’s from a form of powerful repression, we can easily rule out kids in new money families,” Naomi noted. “I highly doubt they would be against their kids using magic if it meant prosperity.”

“That’s a good point, but that could easily mean that rich families from old money could have an obscurial, if they don’t want to face anything out of the norm,” Gabe chimed in. “But I suppose class doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things, but you’re on the right track," Mateo said as he reached for his notebook, where he jotted down quick and messy observations. “I’m talking about a really dark environment though, usually the child is under heavy abuse, being constantly punished for their magical powers, and knowing that they have to repress this power in order to survive.”

“Alright, I have a few places in mind, either from reports or things I’ve noticed,” Gabe said. “We’ll need to get cleaned up and head out as soon as we can.”

“I agree” Elena said determinedly. “We can’t afford to waste anymore time, muggles and wizards are going to get increasingly paranoid the more these attacks keep happening, and I fear there could be a point that we can’t come back from and the Statute of Secrecy will be null and void.” 

Elena pulled out her wand and waved it so that their glitzy formal clothes began to melt away into their more suitable civilian attires. “The last thing I want to happen is for Shuriki or her fanatics to get even the slightest hint of success for their insane crusade.”

“Well, I know we’re with you, all the way,” Mateo said encouragingly, using his own wand to summon medical supplies from his workshop table.

"They won't even know what hit them," Naomi chimed in.

“And besides," Gabe began in a confident tone. "After everything else we’ve faced, how much harder could this really be?”

[goddamnitaisha]

Hey dear @asreoninfusion,

remember a time before you were a popular blog Sefikura BDSM Kink Queen? 

When you were too afraid to make a blog? And were too afraid to message me because you worried you would annoy me? Before we met in real life. 

Hahaha you sent me anon messages in a time I received multiple anons a day. I had to give you a nickname because I wanted you to sign your posts. I gave you name options, you chose the name anon-sundown. I wanted you to continue talking to me, because you were cute enough to be adopted. You suggested writing about your funny life experiences.

Now, I kept all these messages for years. READ THEM BOTTOM TO TOP. You might want to copy them and put them on your own blog.

Love,

your friend Aisha

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago You couldn't actually see the driver; all that was visible were two hands sticking out through this massive bunch of bananas, clutching the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip, and a little face peering round the edge.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago But the favourite two-wheeler incident was the banana man. People would often cart around huge amounts of food or stock for the local shops they owned; this man was transporting bananas. A /lot/ of bananas. To this day I have no idea how he managed to balance them all on there, but it is safe to say there was significantly more banana than man.

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago We used to see all sorts of insane things on two-wheelers. Across the road from the Croc Bank there lived a man who would regularly drive a fully grown goat around on his bike, with the animal casually draped over the back. One time we saw two men driving along with an eight foot length of PVC pipe... lengthways. They were holding it /across/ the bike, taking up almost the entire road and forcing everyone to swerve all over the place to avoid them! (Fairly standard driving for India, then.)

anon-sundown asked you: 10 hours ago Let's have a non-animal related story for a change. In India they were big on their motorbikes - or two-wheelers, as they call them. They tend to be a lot cheaper and more accessible for most people, so they made up about 40% of the traffic. And the amount of stuff people would cram onto those things! It wasn't at all uncommon to see a family of four or five squashed onto the one bike.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago One other thing the macaques used to do - and I have no idea where they learnt to do this, if it was instictive or they had learnt it from someone - was floss their teeth. The zookeeper would pull out a strand of their hair and hand it to the monkeys, and they'd start flossing! That soon became an integral part of the feeding show, getting them to clean their teeth afterwards for the visitors to see. We were often the ones doing that, so it's a good thing both my mum and I have very thick hair!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Even if they weren't playing with the hose, most of the monkeys would still stop and stare while you cleaned, then try to imitate what you were doing. My mum once brought in a little toy broom to give to them while she was sweeping, see if she could get them to copy her and do some of the work! (They weren't buying it.)

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago In the complete opposite of the spider monkeys, the macaques loved water. The cleaning always took twice as long as it should have, as the monkeys would come and play in the spray when you were trying to hose down the floor and rocks. On more than one occasion a zookeeper (usually my mum) was caught playing skipping rope with the monkeys and a stream of water.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Cleaning their enclosure was always a two person job; one to do the cleaning, and the other would stand there with a hose, keeping the monkeys at bay. Fortunately, the macaques monkeys were much friendlier. You had to make sure not to get too near to any of the babies - the mothers were very protective of their young - but other than that they were quite happy to have company in their enclosure.

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago Most of the time the spider monkeys would grudgingly accept an intrusion at feeding time. They weren't pleased that someone was in their space, but they knew that they got food out of it. Even so, they could be vicious buggers, so the zookeeper would always carry a water pistol in with them. If the spider monkeys got too close or too aggressive, you just squirted them with the water pistol and they would back off!

anon-sundown asked you: 12 hours ago At the Hunter Valley Zoo in Australia there were also monkeys, although these were part of the zoo rather than the local wildlife! We had two species; macaques and spider monkeys. The macaques were a big friendly group, playful and generally very nice. The spider monkeys, on the other hand, were not. Their enclosure was /their/ territory, and hoo boy, they did not like their territory invaded. Oddly enough, the only thing they liked less than having someone in their territory was... water.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago Fortunately, he missed the food. But he did knock over a bottle of milk belonging my little sister (who was very little then). Somehow he managed to set it spinning right around, squirting milk out in every direction at everyone while we dove for cover. Having very successfully got our attention, the goat then hopped back down and made for his balcony, only to run straight into the closed glass door. We let him out there just to get some peace!

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago He's obviously gone for my apple cores, sticking his head into the bin to get at them... but then his horns had got caught, and he couldn't get himself back out past the swing lid. So he just pulled the whole thing off. and then, flailing around like a mad thing trying to dislodge the lid, charged upstairs and jumped right up onto the dinner table.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One final piece of background information; I like eating apples. I used to sit at the computer in the front room downstairs, happily munching away, and throw the cores into a little bin with a swing lid just by the desk. This is relevant. So, the goat sneaks into the house. The family is all sat down for dinner, minding our own business, and the first we know of it is hearing a huge ka-clop, ka-clop, ka-clop as the goat comes absolutely flying up the stairs with a bin lid stuck around his neck.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago As it turned out, we needn't have worried. The goat's reaction to the big scary dogs was to headbutt them, full in the face. The German Shepherd was the one scared of the goat! After the goat had grown a bit and become too big for the balcony, he was relocated to a nice little shed outside. But he still believed the balcony was /his/ balcony and his home, and thus would regularly sneak into the house and charge upstairs to try to get back there.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago When the goat was just a little thing, it used to live out on the balcony on the second floor of our house. This was because we also had two dogs, an Australian Cattle dog and a fully grown German Shepherd. The former was about twice the size of the goat, and the latter three or four times bigger. We introduced them regularly, but didn't want them to share the same living space until the goat was a bit more grown up and less likely to be intimidated by the big scary dogs.

anon-sundown answered you: a day ago rp-sephiroth asked:

Hahahahaha, I loved the story of the goat. It made me really happy on a less than happy day! xD You're so full of good things, I can't imagine why you still hide. Over the past few weeks you've come across as a pretty rad friend. xD <3 Yes, you make me happy!

Ahhh, thank you! I’m so happy I can make you happy. ^_^ I have another tale of the goat for today’s silly story.

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago Oh! And just out of curiosity, how are you making the keyblade? I cosplayed Aqua one time and made Stormfall for her. It came out... okay, I guess, but a bit fragile. Someone leant on it and snapped it. orz So anyway, I'm interested to see what method/materials you're going to use. :)

anon-sundown asked rp-writer-aisha: 2 days ago I know what you mean about the self-acceptance thing. v_v And for me it never seemed reasonable or fair to expect anyone else to like you when you don't even like yourself. (This thinking is a significant part of why I'm always so terrified to talk to anyone new; it just seems so rude to impose my shitty self on them. orz) But I like you, and I'm sure the other people you mentioned who send you messages like and accept you too! It's probably not worth much, but there's that at least. ^^'

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Then the goat came trotting along, looking pleased as punch with himself, with three or four cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Ah, of course. The builder took off after the goat to try and get them back, but alas, it was too late for the cigarettes. They were chewed to pieces and covered in goat slobber. And the poor builder never did get to have a smoke that day.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago The goat was also around. And goats, as you may know, will eat just about anything. On this particular day, 'anything' was the builder's entire packet of cigarettes that he had left out. He came asking us if we knew where his cigarettes had gone, and for a good while we were all searching around the area he'd misplaced them, scratching our heads.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago Originally, Avoca Drive was bought as a plot of land, and my mum and stepdad had a house built on it. We moved in as soon as we could, with just a few finishing touches like carpets to go down and a concrete path to lay outside the front door (the latter of which meant we had to climb out a ground floor window to get out the house for a day or two while the concrete set, that was fun). So there were a few builders around, just finishing up whatever they needed to do.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 days ago While we were in the same house as the wombat incident (henceforth to be known as Avoca Drive, if I need to reference it again) we also owned a goat. And this goat-- oh Goddess, this goat. It was a donation from another family; they had won the goat in a charity auction, raising money for African villages and 'Give a Goat' sort of projects (hence why they were auctioning a goat, I suppose). But they discovered after the fact they didn't have the time/space to look after a goat, so it came to us.

I perched on the back of the sofa (up out of reach of marauding wombats; I wasn't taking on that thing either) and laughed at everyone. Eventually my brother joined me up on the sofa, and the wombat was led away to its overnight bunk in the cupboard under the house, where it the proceeded to keep everyone up all night trying to dig through the foundations.

anon-sundown asked you: 2 minutes ago He tried to shake the wombat off, changing direction and speeding up. The wombat only sped up after him. They ended up running round the room in panicked circles with my brother shouting for mummy. Mum swept in for a rescue attempt, but was not very successful. They /both/ ended up running round the room being chased by the wombat.

anon-sundown asked you: 3 minutes ago Now, this wombat had been trained at Taronga Zoo to follow people around, so the zoo keepers could easily get it to go where they wanted. So when we let it out to have a wander in the front room it began to follow around my brother. He was only ten at the time, and not terribly pleased by the large hairy creature tailing him at a distance far to close for comfort.

anon-sundown asked you: 5 minutes ago Okay, so back when we lived in Australia (as my stepdad is Australian; everything is always his fault), he and my mum owned a zoo in the Hunter Valley, several hours drive north of Sydney. We had acquired a wombat, a transfer from Taronga Zoo. Since our house was directly along and right in the middle of the route between Taronga in Sydney and the Hunter Valley, it was decided the wombat would stay a night at home to break up the journey.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago We eventually got the noodles back after my mum went and yelled at the monkeys, though it wasn't terribly effective until the monkeys hissed back and scared my little sister. Then my mum actually got angry with them, and she is rather scary when angry. The monkeys dropped the jar and ran off, and thus victory was ours.

anon-sundown asked you: a day ago One time the door to the house was left open and two monkeys broke in. One stood guard at the door while other darted into the kitchen, jumped up on to the counter and proceeded to raid the cupboard. They made off with a jar of pot noodles and took to a nearby tree to try and prise the thing open (without much succes).

[ernmark]

Because I’ve been posting a whole lot of really sad stuff lately, here’s something a little bit more fun.

The prompt comes courtesy of Kya, who requested Juno undertake a very particular kind of case, with some details based on a conversation with @crownsnbirds​. 

Rita’s laid down the law: there will be no more dry spells in the Juno Steel Detective Agency. Juno has two weeks to recover, just long enough for the sunburn to finish peeling and the vertigo to fade into mild dizzy spells when he stands up too fast, and then he’s back on the job. 

He should probably thank her for that, at least when he’s done being annoyed at her about it. 

After everything that’s happened, the current case is a relief. There’s no conspiracy, no murder, no hostage situations, no rigged elections. Just a run-of-the-mill Uptown blue blood whining because their favorite tiara went missing.

“No, not a tiara,” insists Theophania Frost. “It’s a diadem. An antique from my dearest grandmama.” 

“Your... diadem.” Goddamn rich people. “Right. Now are you sure it’s actually stolen? Have you checked with your staff? Made sure it’s not out for cleaning or repairs or whatever?” Hell, maybe somebody left it in the refrigerator by mistake. God knows he’s done that with his eye patch once or twice after a long night.

“Detective Steel, I wouldn’t have called you here if I wasn’t absolutely certain it’s been stolen-- and I know who did it, too!”

Juno sighs. The tone of their voice tells him he’s going to be in for a long day. “Do you?”

Frost leans in conspiratorially and drops their voice to a whisper, as if they might be overheard. “Have you ever heard of the Bouquet Bandit?”

Oh god, not this again.

“Is this one of those crooks with a theme song trying to get into the Fortezza? Because this is a hell of a bad time to cash in on that deal.” 

“I don’t know, Detective, but I’m not the only one who’s been stolen from. Sam Spare, you know, the botanist? Xir diamond shears went missing a month ago. And Telemnachus Wake’s collection of antique horsehair necklaces was taken two months ago, and on the same day, they were sent flowers.”

“Flowers.” 

Frost takes Juno’s exasperation for enthusiasm. “That’s right! Every time he takes something, he always leaves behind a dozen roses.”

“Thus the name, I got it.” 

Why did Rita have to pick now to start doing her job?

Whoever this Bouquet Bandit is, he’s good. The crime scene is spotless, and there’s no signs of forced entry whatsoever. While Rita goes over Frost’s security system for footage and signs of tampering, Juno looks into the other alleged crimes of the serial burglar, looking for something they had in common. 

The best bet is in the delivery personnel-- people this rich get a lot of deliveries, and nobody thinks twice about a person in uniform with a box in hand walking right up to the front door. There are a few people on the security feeds that Juno pegs as suspicious, and not just because of the one thing they all seem to have in common: no matter where they are or what they’re doing, Juno can never get a good look at their faces. 

He scours the timestamps on the videos, looking for others that might give a better angle or reveal some kind of other identifying mark, but there’s no luck so far.

And honestly? He’s kind of loving it. After all the shit that went down, he’s been in need of a good, clean, straightforward case. It’s been too long since he’s done legitimate investigating that he could feel good about.

The thought barely has the chance to cross his mind before he hears Rita start talking to someone at her desk. A moment later, she’s poking her head inside his office.

“Hey, Boss? You got a delivery.” 

She looks about as concerned as he feels. Because in her hand is a bouquet of twelve red roses.

“What the hell?” He starts to his feet. “Rita, did you see who delivered these?” 

“Don’t worry, boss, I already asked. It was just a kid. She said some man stopped her on the sidewalk and gave her a whole bunch of money to deliver these to you.” 

“Did she see his face?” 

“I asked, but she wouldn’t say nothin’. She just gave me the flowers and ran.”

Juno grabs the card from among the roses and turns it over. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Juno’s still got the card in his pocket when he arrives at the meeting point. Rita insisted she come with him when she saw, but this time he was the one who put his foot down-- the last time she joined him on a job, she fell in love with a murderer, and this time he’s going to cut off the inevitable tragedy before he has to buy two pints of ice cream and sit through her forty favorite sad movies.

The card itself is infuriatingly unhelpful. The paper is high-class cardstock, but nothing so fancy that you couldn’t get it at any stationary store in town. The text is digitally printed in a fancy but publicly available font. The message is short:

Detective Juno Steel

Meet me at the Jacobi Convention Center at 3 PM on July 5.

Don’t be late.

It screams ambush-- which is another reason why Rita isn’t coming.

Even if the ambush is apparently going to happen at the local Y2K Faire.

It makes sense in its own ridiculous way: there are hundreds of people coming and going, half of them in costume, and everyone’s going to be carrying a shopping bag or a replica glock or sword or whatever, and there’ll be enough reenactors demonstrating fake duels that nobody’s going to notice if things get heated until it’s too late.

Old Americana-style signposts mark the different sections of the faire, their directions spelled out in big white letters against reflective green rectangles. One catches Juno’s eye: its metal pole is decorated with a dozen roses. It looks like a regular decoration, but he takes it as a sign and follows its lead. It’s not hard to find a second sign post covered in roses a little further, and another, until he’s on the far end of the convention center. By now the trail is easy to follow, laid out in a path of rose petals on the floor. They’re fresh, not quite dried out yet, not nearly as trampled as they should be, given how many people are here. The bandit can’t have been here more than half an hour ago, tops.

The trail leads to an exotic animal exhibit based on old-fashioned Earth petting zoos. Which... can’t be right. Juno checks all the way around the enclosure, just to make sure he got it right, but no. That’s where it ends. 

What the hell is he supposed to do with this?

He stares, perplexed, at children reaching through the bars to offer handfuls of pellets and sliced vegetables to cows and ponies and old Earth species of rabbits-- the kind that are fluffy and bright-eyed and small enough to hold in your arms.

The kind I’m used to eat carrots and wrinkle their little nosies.

The thought makes Juno’s heart ache a little bit. Reminders of Nureyev always do. 

He’s staring into the enclosure when he notices something that doesn’t belong: a bit of paper, fancy card stock the same stiffness and shade as the card in his hand, carefully pinned to the wool of a star-horned goat on the other end of the enclosure. He hurries over to the spot of fence closest to it, but as soon as he gets there, it’s on the move, meandering around to the other side.

“Goddammit,” he mutters under his breath, and sets his foot on the metal gate. He wasn’t planning to get cow dung on his shoes today, but whatever.

“Hey!” barks a man who smells like he’s been working with these things for a long, long time. “You can’t go in there.”

Juno would ignore him and make the leap anyway, but the guy grabs him, and hot damn does he have a strong grip. Apparently wrangling a bunch of four-legged antiques for a living builds muscles or something. 

“I said you can’t go in there,” the caretaker repeats slowly. It’s a warning. It won’t be repeated again.

There’s even odds that Juno would win any fight between them, but no matter how it goes, he’ll end the fight by being dragged out by security, which means he’ll lose his only lead on this case. The Bandit’s got a game to play, and Juno intends to win it.

And that means playing by the rules.

“Sorry about that,” he says as sweetly as he can get away with. “I’m just so excited. I’ve never seen a goat up close before.”

The caretaker gives him a weird look, but backs off. “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to do your watching from out here. It stresses the animals out too much to let people into the pen.”

“Do you think you could bring one over for me to get a closer look?” He points at the star-horned goat with the note on its wool. “How about that one over there?”

“Listen, buddy,” the caretaker says. “We can’t do that. If you want them to come closer, we sell food pellets for a cred a bag.”

Sometimes, being a Private Eye means asking the hard questions-- like whether he’s going to include “petting zoo food pellets” in his expense report at the end of a case.

He decides to swallow the cost along with his pride and he buys a bag.

And then he buys two more; the one goat he’s after looks hungry, but apparently not as much as the rest of the animals in the enclosure. In seconds he’s swarmed by livestock, and Juno runs his hands over all of them, just in case the goat wasn’t the only one with a note in its fur.

And... okay, so they are really soft. It’s not like this is his first time at a Y2K Faire, but he’s never bothered to pay money for a chance to pet the animals. It’s actually kind of nice. Especially the cow-- she keeps bumping his hand with her soft, velvety nose, and scrubs her long tongue over the palm of his hand in a way that should be a lot more gross than it is. It’s a shame there aren’t more of these on Mars.

Sure, a few people are complaining about the smell, but Juno spent half his childhood wading through the sewers with giant rabbits. If anything, the smell of hay and manure and animal fur feels a little bit nostalgic. 

It’s not until he trades a handful of pellets to a six-year-old in exchange for a bunch of carrot slices that the goat finally starts heading his way, nosing at one hand while he fumbles to unpin the note from its wool. 

Just like he guessed, it’s the a perfect match for the card that came with the flowers, with the same paper, the same font, and the same obnoxious lack of helpful information.

Hungry, Detective?

Meet me in the Foode Courte.

Even without the little heart at the bottom of the card, there’s something ridiculously flirtatious about the whole thing. But that’s this thief’s schtick, isn’t it? Some kind of hopeless romantic who goes around tossing roses all over the place. Just watch, when Juno finds him he’ll be wearing a top hat and cape. Maybe that’s why he picked this place to sneak around in, so his getup won’t cause any suspicion.

After he washes himself off, Juno follows the signs to the circle of kiosks selling “authentic” twentieth-century cuisine-- things with bizarre names like “deep fried twinkies” and “mashed potatoes” and “blooming onions”. Thankfully, the trail of rose petals on the floor leads him past the more exotic options to a plain-old popcorn stand that’s offering nothing more historic than cheddar-and-caramel among its flavors. The smell of the popcorn is subtle compared to the other foods lingering in the air, but when he’s this close, it’s enough to make his stomach grumble.

Just like before, there’s another note, tucked into one of the pre-portioned bags of popcorn, and he swipes the beg the second the cashier’s back is turned. All expenses paid or not, there’s something criminal about charging seven creds for a quarter’s worth of popcorn. 

Okay, so the popcorn isn’t half bad. Not good enough to justify that price tag, but still, not bad. And he was just thinking he could use a snack.

The note is spotted and translucent with cooking oil, but it’s still readable enough. 

Join me for a game.

“That’s funny, I thought we were already playing one,” Juno says aloud, just in case the Bandit is watching him... which he probably is, dammit.

There’s a section of kiosks dedicated to old Earth carnival games, and sure enough, there’s another trail of rose petals leading him to the right booth: a target shooting game backed up against a funnel cake stand.

He’s not even surprised when he finds the corner of another note sticking out of a cut in an oversized teddy bear.

“Joke’s on you,” he mutters. “I’m great at these things.” 

He used to do these all the time when he was in high school, winning the biggest prize he could carry just to show off for his dates. 

He pays a couple creds to the lady behind the counter and takes aim. All three shots go wide, barely hitting the target.

Anywhere else, that might disappoint him, but not here. Sure, his aim isn’t ever going to be as great as it was when he had the THEIA on and active, but these games are always rigged. The trick is that now he knows which way the laser is skewed, and he corrects his aim accordingly. 

Seven bulls-eyes later, and he’s walking away from the stand with a stuffed bear almost as big as he is. Rita’s going to love this thing-- maybe it’ll make up for not letting her come.

He slips the last note out of the little hole in the bear and unfolds it.

If you want to look into my face, you’ll have to look into your own.

I’ll be waiting in the hall of mirrors.

Finally something direct.

There’s no trail of rose petals this time-- just an “out for lunch” sign and an unlocked door on the old twentieth-century attraction. He never got the appeal of places like this, where everything is dim and warped and confusing. But then, he never really got the appeal of mirrors, either. 

He leaves the bag of popcorn and stuffed bear just inside the door, and he sets out. 

“Alright, I’m here,” he calls into the twisting halls. “Enough of this scavenger hunt. Come out and we’ll settle this.”

His only answer is in footsteps. He whirls to follow the source of the sound, but he only manages to catch reflections of a retreating figure. In the warped glass, he can’t make out a face or a body type, but there’s something about the pattern of the footsteps that feels familiar. 

The Bandit is running, so he gives chase. He keeps seeing flashes of the man, bits and pieces that should all fit together but don’t. All of it feels too familiar. 

And then he’s out of the hall of mirrors and into another corner of the funhouse, this one full of holograms and wax figurines, all of them of celebrities and historical figures and beautiful people through the ages. Some of them are moving, repeating cliched one-liners and overused quotations, and it’s all coming from everywhere, sending false signals from every corner. His senses are so confused that he’s even smelling things he shouldn’t, animals and food and cologne.

Cologne.

“No,” he whispers. “No, it can’t be.” But the more he looks at it, the more obvious it is.

Pet the fuzzy animals. Have a snack. Play a game. Hell, even the flowers--

It’s so obvious. It’s terrible. 

Jesus, why do people keep doing this to him? Sending him on cases that aren’t cases-- it wasn’t even a year ago that he got dragged all over Oldtown for Sasha’s performance review, and then Ramses staged a goddamn assassination for a job interview, and then apparently the stakeout that was a bad excuse to get him to rest up from a stab wound, and now this? 

“Goddammit, Nureyev,” he snaps. “Is this supposed to be a date?”

Nureyev is still out of sight, lost in the dim lights and mannequins, but his voice wafts over Juno. “Are you having fun? I certainly am.”

“You couldn’t just ask--” No, he couldn’t. Because that isn’t Nureyev’s style, and Juno’s never exactly been the type to openly accept that kind of invitation. So he changes tracks. “I gotta say, the location threw me. A Y2K Faire seems kind of low-brow for you.”

“That’s hardly my fault. It did take you some time to respond to my calling card, after all.”

His... oh, goddammit, the serial robberies. “You’ve been trying to get my attention.”

“For months now, thank you for noticing. And you’ve been playing hard to get.” 

Juno sighs. “I wasn’t playing. I was just...” How is he supposed to even put it into words? “My head’s been a real mess.” 

“I can imagine,” Nureyev hums, and his voice is soft and so close that Juno can feel his breath in his ear. “Would you like to talk about it over dinner?”

[josai]

i'd love to hear all the headcanons about Godzilla and King Caesar!

These headcanons are based on my Drug AU and were made by myself and @amalasdraws​! Amalas also illustrated the cats so beautifully! Thank you ♥♥

Godzilla is on the left and King Caesar is on the right! They are brothers from the same litter. Godzilla is the runt and is a bit smaller than Caesar. 

Headcanons below the cut! 

The beginning:

Both cats were brought to an animal shelter when they were only two weeks old. Their entire litter of four cats (two males, two females) were found abandoned by their mother and were then raised by the shelter staff in the late fall. As they’re so small and kittens, they aren’t exposed to many other cats other than each other until they’re ready to be adopted. 

The two female cats and King Caesar are both adopted shortly before Christmas, leaving Godzilla the only one who isn’t adopted. He isn’t as friendly as the other three, a bit more wary of people and angry, not to mention a black cat so it’s harder getting him adopted out so he stays in the shelter.

Hajime comes into the shelter after spending a lonely Christmas by himself, feeling like he needs some company and thinking that having someone to take care of would be good for him. He comes in a few days before New Year’s Eve, not wanting to spend that holiday alone too.

Before coming in, Hajime did some research, wanting to prepare and be ready for a cat. He comes into the shelter hoping to adopt two cats (preferably siblings) so that one isn’t alone when he has to be at work.

As soon as he walks in, he’s overwhelmed with so many cats to meet! There’s lots of friendly cats, but he’s immediately taken by this little black ball of fluff that’s hiding in the back of his enclosure, all spiky and a little bit shy. Hajime asks about him and unfortunately all of his siblings have been adopted out by this point, and Godzilla doesn’t get along well with the other cats at the shelter. Hajime voices what a bummer that is but he the more he sees Godzilla the more he falls in love with him until ultimately he ends up taking him home. 

Godzilla is about twelve weeks at this point but is still very small. Tiny, nervous and a bit shy, Godzilla’s personality shows pretty early as he’s a little bit grumpy until Hajime puts down his carrier and leaves him be.

Hajime doesn’t push Godzilla, who doesn’t get out of his carrier right away. He leaves the room and starts to just go about his business, making some food, just keeping an eye on Godzilla as he does, giving him space to let him explore his new place in peace.

Slowly, Godzilla comes out to explore, but he is still distant and careful around Hajime. He slowly walks around and smells things, explores a bit, jumps up on the furniture. Hajime left out some blankets, toys and food, things for Godzilla to use. Hajime really just leaves him be and lets him adjust. Before going to bed Hajime sees Godzilla all curled up asleep on some blankets, tired from his first day and lots of big changes.

The second day Godzilla isn’t as shaken anymore and is less nervous. He is more curious, running around Hajime’s flat, up to his feet and sniffing him. He explores some more and Hajime tries playing with him a little bit, throwing some toys for him to chase. Godzilla won’t play fetch, but he’ll chase the toy Hajime throws, grab it and run off to hide with it. When Hajime throws another one, he’ll leave the first so that Hajime can steal it and the game continues. No cuddles or anything yet… but Godzilla’s starting to get more playful and comfortable around Hajime.

In the afternoon when he’s all tired from playing, Godzilla hops up on the couch and lies down next to Hajime. Not touching him, but close. He naps for a little bit while Hajime watches some television, and gets up about an hour later to jump down and have some food. This time though when he comes back, he jumps up and walks closer to Hajime, sniffing him curiously and sitting down right next to him. Hajime reaches out very carefully when Godzilla starts to sniff him, offering him a hand. After smelling it Godzilla rubs his head against Hajime’s hand and starts to pet himself using Hajime’s hand. Hajime’s ecstatic at this point but lets Godzilla set the pace; it’s the first time Godzilla lets him pet him but Godzilla still has all the control. After a bit of time petting him Godzilla curls up right close against Hajime’s thigh and starts to purr. Hajime watches him, grinning, above to move his hand away to let him sleep until Godzilla looks up at him and meows like don’t do that…hand stays here.

That’s about the cutest thing Hajime’s ever seen in his entire life so of course he listens, putting his hand back and petting Godzilla nice and gently. Godzilla keeps purring until he falls asleep, cuddled nice and close.

Later that night when Hajime heads to bed Godzilla follows him, investigating his bedroom. He sniffs around a bit, eventually jumping up and curling up to sleep on the edge of Hajime’s bed.

He is just so smol! So cute! So fluffy! Hajime is so in love with this little kitty already! He looks so cute all curled up, Hajime obviously takes a picture for his steadily-growing folder of kitty pics on his cell phone.

Just knowing that there is someone… A little cat…Someone who is living and breathing… purring, with him, is so comforting, it really helps him sleep better.

Over the next few days, Godzilla really starts to warm up more to Hajime! They get along really well, playing and cuddling, living in each other’s space very comfortably. Hajime wakes up to kitty paws on his arm when he’s hungry and a kitty jumping on his bed for cuddles on cold mornings. Godzilla is energetic, playful and a very curious kitty!

Hajime learns that Godzilla is very, very cuddly. Once Godzilla is comfortable and no longer hostile, his favourite thing is cuddling. He will climb up and cuddle right on his chest, on his lap, really just anywhere that he can. He loves napping with Hajime on quiet afternoons when he’s off work.

King Caesar’s arrival:

Just under three weeks after he adopts Godzilla, Hajime gets a phone call from the shelter. As it turns out, although Godzilla’s brother was adopted out, he was brought back because it wasn’t a good fit. The shelter remembered Hajime had wanted to adopt two cats initially so they give him a call to see if he’s still interested. He is absolutely still interested! He is still wanting someone to keep Godzilla company while he’s at work and adopting this little cat just seems meant to be. So he heads over to the shelter that evening to pick up Caesar! It’s been a few weeks since they’ve seen each other so the shelter staff do warn Hajime that it could be a bit difficult before they get readjusted to one another.

Caesar is friendlier than Godzilla was initially, but still a bit shy and nervous. It’s been a lot of change for this poor little guy - the shelter, then a home, the shelter again and now Hajime.

Hajime brings King Caesar home and Godzilla sniffs the carrier really confused and curiously. He puts it down and opens it up, stepping back and giving a little bit of space for the brother’s reunion.

There’s a few quiet moments when Caesar comes out and Godzilla is a little way’s away.. A bit wary… but then both cats jump at each other like AH I KNOW YOU! 

The cats roll around and play together so happily! Hajime lets them play and when they’re tired, Godzilla jumps up on the couch to cuddle up in Hajime’s lap. Caesar is less afraid following Godzilla’s lead and he jumps up too, curling up right next to Hajime’s thigh and happily accepting pets.

It doesn’t take very long before Caesar gets how things work here and just jumps up to cuddle on Hajime with Godzilla, demanding snuggles and pets.

Miscellaneous headcanons:

When Tooru comes over for the first time and meets Godzilla, he laughs a little at Hajime, but it’s all good. It’s cute, and he sees just how good that having this cat will be for Hajime, how good it will be for his recovery and sobriety. Then there are suddenly two cats.. and Tooru can’t help but shake his head a little. But it’s so cute and the cats are so cute!

Godzilla is very in love with Hajime! (How could he not be, really?) Hajime is definitely his favourite person and it is extremely obvious. He’s very protective of him, a little jealous about sharing his affections and is always following him around the flat. It takes him a few days to warm up to Tooru but he does like him and enjoys cuddling him too, but Hajime is definitely his clear favourite.

King Caesar loves Hajime too, of course, but he also really really loves Tooru and goes running whenever Hajime comes over to visit. Tooru loves playing with the more energetic cat, tiring him out before he jumps in for cuddles.

The cats are very close and Hajime frequently comes home to find them curled up cuddling together in the sun after a long afternoon of playing.

As they grow, both cats remain more on the lean and slender side. Godzilla never gets as big as King Caesar does, but his big personality more than makes up for that. 

Later on, when Hajime and Tooru are together again, the cats love pushing their way in for cuddles when they’re curled up in bed together. Big cuddle piles are pretty common there.

The cats are less pleased when the boys shut the bedroom door and keep them out, but Hajime and Tooru make up for it by scooping them up and offering cuddles in the morning while they have their coffee.

Sorry this got pretty long, and this gave me about a dozen ideas for little writing drabbles I’d love to do… Let me know what you thought, if you have any questions or want to hear more random headcanons from my AUs! Thank you so much for asking, this was so fun ♥ and thank you again Amalas, you're the best!!

[lindoig1]

Heaven - or almost!   Day 10.

We ate fiery beef noodles at a place opposite our hotel for breakfast. Not quite sure whether the hotel doesn’t do breakfast or whether what they provide is not suitable for westerners, but they gave us a voucher for beef noodles as I said - if we wanted anything else, we had to pay for it ourselves as well as try to explain to the cook what we wanted. Everyone who came into the cafe seemed to get the same order, but the cafe threw in a somewhat strange, but perfectly fine, boiled egg each for us. We have noticed that many places have a lot of eggs floating in some sort of hot stock and the look of them turned me off a bit, but they tasted fine even if we got eggs that had been in the soup for a week - how would anyone know?

Then it was off to the mountains to the Heavenly Lake near God’s Mountain (Mt Bogda).  It was well over an hour’s drive to where we had to go through security and buy our tickets. Oops, they don’t take tickets from foreigners so we had to get checked out at the Police Station and after 15 minutes or so, we were suitably accredited and cleared to rejoin the queue to go through security again. You then walk across a courtyard and go through security again. I wonder what they could have missed the first time that we could have acquired in the 50 metre walk across the razor-wire enclosure that warranted the second examination? Chinese people seem highly regimented and simply cop whatever ridiculous bureaucratic procedures are applied. They all line up neatly until the door is opened and then the queue collapses and it is all push and shove to be first inside. They wedge themselves between us and surreptitiously edge forward or sidle around and between you and then try the same manoeuvre with whoever is next in line. Only problem is that 500 others are trying to pull exactly the same stunt on them. I have to say that the security nonsense is getting to me. You have to show your passport or ID card 10 times a day and everything has to go through the X-ray machine even if nobody is there to monitor it - even to get into our own hotel lobby. You get patted down with greater or lesser intrusion/excitement at least a couple of times a day and I have observed that as westerners, we get a lot more scrutiny than the locals.

We are now in the CORRECT station waiting 4 hours for our train. At the first X-ray station, they confiscated Heather’s dry hair shampoo, at the second X-ray station 50 metres later, they confiscated our plastic fruit knife and hair cutting scissors. They made us open all our bags and did a thorough job on Heather’s, but when my bags were all open at their insistence, they didn’t even lift the lid, just waved me through. But they were VERY interested in my binoculars.  They mimed a lot of birdwatching moves until I understood that I had to get them out of my backpack. They turned them over, shook them, peered through both ends, examined them again from every angle and eventually handed them back with true eastern inscrutability and a flick of the hand to send me on my way.

Anyway, back to the Heavenly Lake. We all lined up in our thousands and progressively boarded a cavalcade of hundreds of buses to be driven 10-15 kilometres where we all had to get out and walk/climb close to a kilometre through a slightly tacky ‘traditional village’ lined with stalls selling mostly non-traditional souvenirs, food and other wares. This path led us to a larger enclosed buying opportunity with some similar items as well as plenty of others, all at upmarket prices. We escaped with our money belt intact and finished our walk to where we lined up dutifully so a different fleet of buses could take us the remaining 30-40 km up the mountain to the lake. Interesting that we alighted the first bus maybe 15 metres from where we boarded the second one, but a sturdy fence and a plethora of police and security guards prevented anyone taking a short cut to miss the tourist trap. Despite it all, the walk wasn’t too bad and the hawkers not too aggressive although Heather was struggling a bit with the stairs in what turned out to be quite a hot day.

The lake was suitable heavenly - very beautiful set in very steep towering hills against the broad background of a regiment of snowy peaks to the north. The water was glacial (there are 2 glaciers in the part of the range we could see) and deep emerald - also just deep, 100 metres at its deepest with an average depth of 60 metres. We paid a small fee and joined a boatload of local tourists for a half-hour spin around the lake. (We haven’t seen a single westerner for at least 4 days.) It was a pleasant enough trip, but no commentary, even from our guide who we have marked down heavily on a number of counts.

Our guide recommended that we go to his friend’s place further up the mountain for lunch because the food near the lake was tourist food and very poor. A little apprehensively, we agreed and Rachid collected us in his car and drove us up to his village - a collection of yurts. It was quite nice up there in the forest, quiet and with fewer people than we have seen outside our hotel rooms since arriving. We selected a few items and he and his wife cooked them for us. Nothing special, but quite nice, more than we could eat and a little on the expensive side, but we are tourists after all. Rachid and his wife were very courteous, Kazakhs but living in China for 40 years.  Rachid (at least) spoke excellent English and Heather had quite a yarn with him while I looked unsuccessfully for birds - saw hundreds of black-eared kites, very like our black kites, but only a single rook apart from them.

After lunch, we returned to the lake and I had a short walk along the boardwalk while Heather rested in the blazing sun, then it was into the bus that took us all the way to the bottom without providing any further buying opportunities. En route to find our driver, we discovered a geological museum in the entrance hall near the bus station and spent an interesting half hour or so finding out a bit about how the mountains and lake were formed. There was a lot to see and read and at least one more floor that we never explored so had we known and planned things better, we could happily have spent a couple of hours in the area.

This probably all sounds a bit flippant but it was a really nice day. The mountains are truly spectacular. Steep and rugged, rocky and riddled with jagged aretes slicing the slopes in all directions, strata running at all angles, a hundred shades of green, but with heavily scarred areas of slippage - truly dramatic, quite breathtaking, absolutely beautiful. There were horses, cattle, sheep and goats in numerous places along the roadside, some of the most colourful stock I have seen. The sheep, in particular, came in black, greys, browns, white, creamy-yellow, a range of fawns and beiges and red, really red, at least Hereford red. Many sported a combination of 2, 3 or 4 colours.  I have never seen sheep like that before and the horses and cattle were almost as colourful. There was a small river and a couple of minor creeks rushing the snowmelt to lower pastures, and the trees and grass were a mix of dazzling greens and the shady glades looked very inviting in the heat. To add to the natural beauty, there were quaint pagodas perched high at the very precipices of some mountains, a scattering of yurts here and there, and a couple of temples near the lake. All very interesting and picturesque. It was an entrancing day in the country even if the administrative hassles were frustrating and really quite ludicrous.

There was a fair bit of debate on the way back to town about what to do next. Our guide said it was too early to go to the station and suggested we go to a water park, but we were both pooped and didn’t want to do any more walking or climbing any more steps. We also got the feeling that the driver didn’t want to extend too much and the guide said we should give him an extra 100RMB for his time. We weren’t worried about the money, but just wanted to sit down with a cold drink for a while so we finally settled on a bar and we shouted them both a drink.

We sat and talked a strange mixture of language, signing and interpretation and when we were sufficiently recovered, it was off to the station. Another long walk to get to the entrance and then the multiple passport checking, X-rays and security hassles got into full swing. An hour or so later, we were inside the ginormous waiting room with 4 hours to go and huge crowds occupying almost every seat. Interesting that half of them left on the next train and the rest left on the following one and we got very lonely all alone in the mammoth waiting room. Another young couple came in just before our train was starting to board and the four of us set off with our baggage to climb two sets of at least 100 steps each up to the platform. The other couple were young and strong, but ended up as whacked as we were by the time we finally made it to the top. More hassles about our tickets and passports, but it was finally sorted and the train got under way about half an hour later than intended. Not sure if that was just because of us, but soon after we got our papers back, the train headed out into the night.

It is now 1am and I am going to sleep. More drama are possible ahead at the border - a process scheduled to take more than 8 hours!!!

[plotbunnyshipper]

Fundamental Cracks - Partial Chapter 31

Going to be posting the rest of this on Ao3 tonight, https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325564/, but so I can motivate myself to finish proofreading the next portion of the chapter I’m just throwing this up here.

Posted the rest this morning rather than last night, https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325564/chapters/31842270

Goes smutty, so if that’s not your thing, don’t keep reading. 

Five years and some months ago…Away from Starling City.

We drive another couple hours after the sun sets. The trip mostly in a silence interspersed with a few handfuls of words as the stars fill the night sky. Stretching I trail my fingers up the back of his neck, over the cropped hair that makes my fingers feel prickly. Oliver ever so slightly leans his head into the touch, reminding me of a cat that is gracing me with temporary permission to pet so I let my fingernails scratch along his scalp lightly.

Humming a pleased noise, there is a pause before he motions his chin towards something in the car lights ahead.  A sign reflects bright letters, listing a few gas stations, restaurants, and a ‘historic’ B&B. “Your choice Felicity, stop to eat, stop for the night, or keep going?”

“I’ll pick door number two.” A glance at my purse, “Though maybe I should turn my phone back on, check the reviews to make sure it doesn’t have bedbugs, or ghosts, or anything?”

“It was your idea to go at least a week off the grid.”

“I never said my ideas were always the best, and my cyber addiction is itching for a hit.”

“Let’s take the risk.” Oliver’s fingers reach up and squeeze my hand. I quit messing with his buzzed hair and our hands twine before resting between us.

}]}———}>

The room seems small though I know it’s not. The furniture is just so oversized it eats the space. A massive bed seemingly built of logs taking up most of the space, a bulky desk leaves enough room between the two to get to the bathroom door, a wood burning stove in the corner near the window is fitted with a small electric heater inside for ‘ambiance,’ and absolutely out of place, a large TV is mounted on the wall, clashing with the fragile yellowing photographs of people panning for gold.

I run my finger over the small stack of takeout menus near the remote. He’ll be back with the rest of the luggage in a minute and I can’t understand why I’m feeling nervous. It’s Oliver. You know him. He knows you. We have…We’ve worked together, done more than just work. If that first date hadn’t gone upside down so horribly, if he hadn’t gone to The League… I mean it’s not like we haven’t done this…done that…been there, done that, dosed him up with who knows what right after. And since then…he got married-ish, he betrayed us but not really, he…I rescued him this time, I flew an experimental suit up a dam and didn’t drop him or crash us. Now we’re on a new adventure. Come on, you’ve reinvented yourself entirely, this is easy. He’s-“

There is a knock and the leaflets scatter as my arm jerks.

“It’s me.” He doesn’t look nervous. Because there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s totally ridiculous. Then I spot the small box covered in pictures of grapes nestled in the crook of his arm, balanced with a small plastic bag and the handles of the rest of our things.

The “Oh thank god,” escapes under my breath but the before I realize it.

Oliver notices where my eyes are focused, kicks his shoes off next to mine, and starts setting things down. “Ran across the street, they only had boxed wine in the cooler. I figured we could officially celebrate the start of our adventure.”

…

It’s nothing fancy, but drinking out of plastic cups while sitting on the floor while picking at the few  gas station snacks with him feels as natural as crowded around eating takeout in the bunker. Oliver finishes off his cup and stretches his back, “It’s been a long day, and as nice as driving with the top down is, it leaves a grime…mind if I take a shower?”

“Oh, of course. No problemo.” No problemo?! “I mean that sounds good. Have fun getting,” soapy and wet, “clean.”

His fingers brush mine and give a small squeeze. “Felicity, you ok?”

“Of course!”

An eyebrow raises as his eyes narrow slightly, “Hmm…” he looks at my face, then at the tight grip I have on my wine, “Nervous?”

The denial is instant, “I’m not.”

The look on his face practically yells that he doesn’t buy my lie. “I’ll be in the shower, feel free to join me.” It is said so casually, like it’s something we’ve done together so often it’s second nature, but there is a tenseness to his jaw that hints I’m not the only one who’s more than a little nervous. It has been a busy twenty four hours. Deciding to take off, splitting to get some sleep, pack, settle up bills and my apartment, though that’s mostly paying off Thea to shove everything I’m not taking with me into storage when she has time before the lease runs out, all the everyday things that we would be leaving behind in Starling.  At nine he picks me up so I can stop by the bank for my passport and cash before hitting the road.

A minute passes and I hear the shower door close and the water turn on. Letting the water warm up while you’re in it? Crazy island man! I glance at the clock, fingers itching to just check my phone, but I’m going to stick to my tech blackout. It’s just a week, and besides, there’s a showering Oliver waiting in the next room for me…Put on- No, make that pull off your big girl panties and go for it!

I leave my glasses on the nightstand and slip into the bathroom. My eyes meet his in the mirror, he just nods and turns slightly, steam clouding the glass to give us both the illusion of privacy. The bathroom was not what I had expected, bright lights, small plants scattered across the vanity and the small window, and a modern shower enclosure instead of a claw foot tub.

His clothes are draped on the counter, so a few quick motions puts mine beside them. I notice him noticing out of a side glance. He may think he’s being stealthy, but the effect of his viewing isn’t exactly hidden. Taking my time shedding the last two pieces I tap lightly on the glass. Oliver opens it, extending a hand to help me in while moving over so I can get under the spray of water too. Not closer, not away, just over…This is Oliver, my Oliver. Honestly, what’s the worst that realistically is going to happen? It’s not like ninjas are going to suddenly- It’s not like…No. We’re away from all that and this isn’t a one last chance, it’s a new start!

Leaning up on tip toes, I press a small kiss to his lips which he returns. Our hands both hesitate before ending up chastely pressing familiar touches to each other’s shoulders and faces. A bold step forward has me pressing my front against his and the shyness crumbles.

His arms wrap around me, mouths part, and a pleased noise from one or both of us fills the small space. Wet hands slide down my back amid the patter of droplets.

As my fingertips scrape across his head again my mouth decides to break the kiss and blurt out the inappropriate before the thought fully forms, “I can’t get any sort of grip like this. I- I mean it’s short. You…They cut it-“ Stop talking! My hand retreats to press against the center of my forehead and his lips press softly against my knuckles, “It’s not bad, but I liked it…I liked how it was...”

His grin is faint, but there at the corners of his mouth and eyes, while his words cut off that ramble, “Well the League was a bit more focused on fighting than grabbable hair styles.”

Tell that to Ra’s al Ghul…or wait, is Oliver now…? Well the prior…last…the Ghul formerly known as Ra’s…and his daughter, and Sarah, and..Come on! You’re in the shower with him, quit thinking about other people!

The silence has stretched on too long, he puts an breath of distance between us, “Hey, if you’re having second thoughts-“

“No! No second thoughts, just my regular irrelevant thoughts…the voices in my- not real voices, just my own voice in my own mind-”

He inches back a bit further, “We don’t have to do anything-“

What? “You don’t want to do anything?”

Oliver leans his head forward, his lips brushing my ear gently, “I think it’s pretty clear, right now, what I want. Who I want.”

My eyes flick downwards of their own accord. Yep…clearly hard as- clear as crystal. I move my hand back in place, sending water droplets from his hair. “Just let it grow enough to let my fingers get hold?” His eye sparkle and the faintest twitch pulses at the edge of his jaw as he nods into the touch. It takes me a heartbeat, trying to figure out why he’s doing the Oliver equivalent of cuckling, then a mental groan forms at how else that can be taken. Well we both know what direction tonight is going, let him take it both ways.

“Kiss me.” I keep it from being a question and one press of lips turns into two, then three. A  seduction of kisses and a soft exploration of touches that goes on delightfully for another couple minutes until the water sudden goes from wonderfully steamy to tap temperature. His reflexes are fast, but even so they send him reaching for the handle a second too late to keep it from hitting pause on the make-out session as I gasp at the shock and press myself to the glass to get it open.

…

Draped in towels we make our way the few steps over towards the bed. Another kiss turns into a handful. Then a handful of his towel and a tug sends the fabric dropping from my fingers, leaving Oliver standing before me in all his glory. His breath catches when I keep that boldness and wrap my fingers around his ‘interest.’

He keeps waiting for me to make those steps forward, and that’s starting to make this less fun. I want the give and take of our couldn’t-possibly-be-flirting, the shared desperation of our only time doing this together before. Well, then, let me do something I didn’t do then and see how he reacts to that.

He makes my name a rather strained question when I pull away from him, sliding my hand up the center line of his body. Pushing him in the center of the chest moves him absolutely nowhere so I give a smirk and point, “Sit on the bed.” There is no pause, if he’s resetting his thoughts it doesn’t slow him down as he immediately sits where instructed.

There are three types of first times people choose to have for their new experiences with a new sexy time partner. The go with the flow, whatever happens, happens. The play it safe, being a bit conservative with what you're doing so there is easy improvement when you get more familiar with each other’s preferences. Then there is the camp I fall into, the all in, make it as amazing as possible, fantasy fuel, so when they think of whatever it is you're doing it will forever be the clearest memory, the thing they think about with a little suggestion or flirt.

Tightening my towel I slide down to my knees. He gets it and starts to protest, "You don't-" My fingers wrap around his length, guiding the swollen head right to my lips. Oliver doesn't finish what he was going to say as I press a kiss to the clean damp skin.

A small taste of the underside sends a shudder running through him. He makes such a soft needy noise, as my fingers stroke up until they meet my mouth then firmly back down, that my core clenches.

The sweep of my tongue across the clear bead forming at his tip turns to a kiss, then to gliding his length past my lips. My name is a moan, and I need to hear it again. Teasing a loose grip I stroke in time with my bobbing. When stray blonde strands keep getting in the way I let him go with a pop and give him one more command, “Little help with my hair.”

His fingers immediately go to my face, moving the hair out of the way and holding it high on the back of my head.

The first anything will always be memorable so I am extra enthusiastic, learning what speed to move my hand, if he responds better to a full gripped stroke or just a thumb and finger, if sweeping licks or fluttering ones best draw out his quiet moans and make his fingers clench in my hair.

Glancing up I see his eyes are closed tight. Releasing him from my mouth with a pop I stroke him slowly in my hand, “See how nice it is to get a big handful of hair in your grip?”

He groans, and I can feel the tension in his body, the way his hips give these tiny motions as he tries, nearly fails, to keep from bucking up with each stroke. I savor this side of Oliver, his demands on his self control are almost always locked down tight, and this, from this point on is my chance to reward that, break that, learn together how to be happy.

I hum and praise with my lips, tongue, and hands covering every inch of his cock with attention, but also caressing and teasing with featherlight scratches over his belly, inner thighs, and balls, searching for any special sensitive points that make his breath choppy and moans ragged. His restrained movements grow jerky, nearly matching my rhythm as I stroke and suck and lick.

“Watch.” I tease, hearing the smile in my voice before dragging my tongue around the silky smooth crown of him.

“Felicity, I…I can’t-“ His grip is getting tighter with every motion. I can hear, fuck I can feel, what the idea of staring down at me with my mouth wrapped around him does, and my own body responds in kind with tightly clenching muscles and a flush rising to my cheeks. It makes me greedy, a craving for that loss of control. A need, a must have, and I’m not above fighting dirty to get it.

I let my teeth barely graze the path I just took, following with another fast lick and feel him throb in my grip. “Watch.”

His voice cracks, rasping my name in a plea for mercy.

I cup him, palm just barely helping to support the base of his cock as I lick attention around the glans, “Please, Oliver…,” a small glide of him a few inches into then out of my mouth while tilting my head as far into the grip on my hair allows so he can feel me staring up at him. Letting him hover there, shiny and slick, only my breath teasing against him as I turn the request into a demand, “Watch.”

When Oliver’s eyes force themselves to open to narrow slits I smile, taking him back into my mouth.  He swears and his eyes strain wider, pupils flared so wide that on the tiniest sliver of blue remains. That gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes, to his fingers buried in my hair, then back to my face. One hand manages to release its grip and grabs my wrist, trying to tug me up. I hum a negative around a mouthful of him, giving the smallest shake of my head sucking just that much harder.

“I-“ He squeezes his eyes closed tight for a heartbeat before rasping, “I’m-“

I let the smile show in my eyes. Permission, encouragement, a demand, however he takes it when I make a vibration more than a sound of, “Mmm hmm,” his control shatters.

His body jerks and I feel him pulsing, filling my mouth. The noises he makes are  unrestrained, wordless, but other than the few times he’s quietly told me ‘I love you’ they are now the best things I have heard from him make.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open past the first breath of release, the agony and bliss warring on his face beautifully. I don’t stop, wringing out as much of his pleasure as his body will give until his shallow gasps are surely making him dizzy and the muscles in his legs are trembling. Only then do I ease up, not off, keeping him in my mouth and grip, letting him start to catch his breath and slowly go soft in a hot, wet embrace.

“Felicity,” I can hear how he struggles to make the syllables coherent, “that w-…I…think I…you…” The hand in my hair, still shaking, slips to caress the side of my face.

Even ignoring how turned on I am right now, and that stumbling attempt at what is surely praise, the rush from having that much power over him, the ability to make Oliver get to that state, is intoxicating. Gently I release him, my smile wide. “I enjoyed that too.”

Bending he pulls me up, not even hesitating to kiss me hard as he settles me gingerly over his lap, “My turn.”

I know he’s trying to sound sexy, but the sheer breathiness of his voice makes it hard not to laugh, “Yes please.”

He nuzzles my nose with his, hands sliding to my shoulders. A pivoting twist finds him easing me onto my back before I realize that he’s laying me across the bed. My face is gently covered with kisses as Oliver tugs my towel open. Caressing with broad strokes he murmurs, “Have I told you I love you, today?”

Playfully sing-songing my words, my fingers skitter over his tattoos, “You can always tell me again.”

He does.

Oliver tells me he loves me as the scruff of his beard tickles against my jaw, in whispers between slow kisses down the column of my throat. As his fingers lead the way in a lazy path that brushes over my chest, he asks with a look then, as I arch my back to try and hurry him up, savors one pebbled nipple.

I grab his hand, sliding it down between my thighs. Oliver laughs for half a second at my impatience quickly replaced by a groan that is almost pained as those long calloused fingers glide across the obscenely wet skin they find there. He sucks on my breast and I feel each pull like a direct line to where his hand toys. Moaning his name only encourages him to repeat the suckling over the other side.

His hand cups over my sex, middle two fingers dragging through slicked folds as I lean up into his attentions, my hands clutching at his shoulders. Our eyes meet and he releases my nipple with a quiet pop of his lips. A far too slow for my sanity smattering of kisses trail down my midline, the tips of that pair of fingers circling over my clit, parting me, teasing the very edge of my entrance before dragging them back up to massage the evidence of my arousal around those sensitive nerves.

His voice is quiet, a flirty promising caress of words against my belly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Oliver presses my thighs a little wider in that firm but gentle grip, so much like our fleeting reassuring touches. When I make no objection he dips down between my legs with a low exhale as he shifts my knees over his shoulders.

A shiver runs through me, and our eyes meet as he makes sure this is still ok, smiling at whatever he sees in them. Watching his face disappear against the most intimate part of me isn’t exactly low on my fantasies.

Pressing his mouth to me he takes a long lick that makes us both moan as his tongue parts me, tastes how wet I am, before sliding up to tease a coaxing exploration around the most sensitive part of me. I gasp his name, and he repeats the lashing motion his tongue just made until I moan it.

His fingers don’t stay still, again just barely teasing into me even as my hips rock up towards him. My motions don’t make him do anything other than stay at his gentle mapping of what makes me squirm.

Every nerve in my body pulses with the demand for more and I plead, “Oliver please!”

Placing a kiss over me I can see myself shining on his mouth as he smirks that rare and hidden smile before letting his jaw drop and tongue stretch out. Oliver doesn’t go back to licking so much as nodding his head against .

My thoughts scatter as I buck against him, moaning. Those wicked, terrible, perfect fingers delve in deep, slip back out, then twist and search while thrusting back in.

My right hand is futilely trying to grab his too-short hair as my left reaches, fisting the towel beneath me, needing something, something-

It takes too much to keep from trying to push his face down and messily grind on his mouth and hand. The fingers not driving me crazy tug my grip off the fabric and lace with them, squeezing mine twice in quick succession.

“This-“ I gasp arching, “This would be a-!” An uncontrolled shudder wracks through me at that curling press inside, and my voice goes high and breathy, “Really good time for a grip!”

His eyes show his smile before his face tilts up to me, letting me see that wonderful tongue chasing the shine from his lips. “Then wrap your legs around my head.” If he thought I’d be hesitant he was wrong with a capital ‘W’ and three exclamation points. I cry out a loud moan as he buries his face against me and worries his mouth against me, like he can’t taste enough. Oliver’s own groans and obscene wet lapping, slurping, feasting noises only serve to spur us both on, making my whole body tense and burn with need.

...

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Synchronicity 12

F.E.A.R.!AU. We get to the testing facility. Finally. The plane in question is Shaanxi Y-8 gunship variant, a nice thing for moderate PMC outfit. There’s a mention of suicide. Gerard gives exposition in twirling-mustache-villain-fashion. Also, introducing core mechanic.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

(...)“The plane,” Jack chuckles, looking at his hands. Inadvertently he rolls his sleeves up to see the faint lines on his wrists, hardly raised anymore. “When it lands, he dies, that person dies, gets his throat somehow slashed, not just cut, slashed, and he knows that, relives it, but he still… refuses to acknowledge it?” Dark tendril uncurls around his arm and brushes against the scar, lingering on the discolored flesh, and he tries to keep the stinging tears back. “I don’t even remember,” he laughs. “I should know better. If you want to die you don’t do it like that. It gives them too much time to force you to live.”(...)

***

(…)

There's time on the wall, but no one around

His will is numb, he's half in the ground

If all we are is all we were

Then he'd soon pass on without a whisper

(…)

 The whole structure is coming apart around him, metal catwalks adjacent to it on this side scream and twist, portions of the construction break off and fall below. Jack follows the way down where the exit must be – the cavern’s ceiling is a flat surface of rock as far as he can see it. The masquerade is working in his favor, someone pats his arm and points in the direction of the evacuation route, or what is left of one, more likely.

But then the Beast tugs at his arm and he turns to the other side just as the metal bridge groans and rips in half under falling rocks, taking with it an unfortunate soldier. The man flails in the air descending to his death, and Jack observes him idly as he himself catches the outer sides of a ladder and grinds the soles of his boots into steel enclosure, then he merely slackens his grip and slides, landing on the platform below just in time for the whole upper part to sway and start collapsing on itself.

The ladder snaps, the whole portion of the catwalk looms above falling in slow motion. Jack clutches the railing, bracing for the impact, hunkering down. He only manages to drag in one breath before the crash jostles him, it feels almost like his arm gets torn out of its socket, and then he is falling.

He doesn’t register the moment his body smashes into the concrete, only the darkness whispering it will take him with it when it goes.

A jolt of pain to his ribs wakes him up. He cannot feel his hands behind his back. Someone barks a command at him in French. Moroccan accent. Get up. Profanities follow. Another kick catches the inside of his thigh and with a gasp, he manages to roll himself to rest on his side. Water.

He thanks whoever listens for the mask stopping him from aspirating the liquid and sits up. The twisted canopy of bent metal elements above groans dangerously.

“Fuck.” Doesn’t feel like anything broken, the memory of phantom blows is only that, a memory, something dredged up from god knows where. He should be dead, the fall from that height should have killed him, there is no way he could have survived it even encased in a metal cage. And even if, by an uncanny stroke of luck, when he moves his arm, it does not protest, not more than usual – the joint works perfectly.

“Lucky you,” with a short derisive laugh that sprays blood the blonde apparition looks him straight into eyes, the voice familiar, grating, decidedly unfriendly. Jack inhales sharply at the image. “Get the fuck up.”

“You aren’t like the others.”

“Give the man his cookie, he earned it,” his doppelganger glares, lips curled up into a sneer. With each word more clotted blood spills and mingles with murky water. “I’m not going to repeat myself again. Get the fuck up.”

“Little restless, aren’t you, Sunshine?” The Beast caresses the side of his neck as Jack makes his move to stand up, stopped in mid-motion when the wraith reaches out and its fingers make contact with the black mass. Apparition’s face softens, becomes almost vulnerable with a tragic melancholy – desperation – written on it.

“I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much… You didn’t take me with you,” the doppelganger whispers. “You left me.”

“Did I, Sunshine? I am here, after all, I am always with you,” the Beast murmurs back as the apparition flickers and dissolves in the faint lighting filtering in from above. “I am a part of you, Sunshine, always were and always will be,” it laughs, the sound bubbling under its surface, breaking out in waves, covering surroundings in rainbow-tinted luminosity that stretches the screech of metal into an unbearable low whine. “There will never be a point of return.”

“There will never be a point of return,” Jack, lifting himself up, repeats after it. The same kind of radiance that bathes every surface of an encompassing area follows in the wake of each of his movements. Something is wrong with how the water he wades in behaves, very wrong, like the surface tension does not want to give under his soles and sticks to his boots. He passes droplets almost frozen in the air – light refracts in them lazily painting space in pastels – and every breath he takes sluggishly flows between his lips, trickles down his throat like molasses.

And as he enters the concrete tunnel the time collapses into itself, the whine becomes a shrieking wail of roaring destruction when all the precariously balanced debris sink under their own weight; stones, concrete, and metal coming down with a delayed fury of gravity finally taking a jealous hold on its regained domain. Jack glances back – the way behind him is definitely blocked now.

He forces down nausea at the realization mere seconds – maybe even less – separated him from being crushed under the rubble. It also comes with a heady kiss of adrenaline that threatens to split his brain in two, and the hum of the rushing blood in his ears dampening any other sound into an indistinct echo. Jack licks his chapped lips. Probably around twenty-four hours since he ate anything. Or drunk. Or took the pills, damn pills, that have him shaking with every mention.

“Such a disturbing notion, Sunshine, isn’t it, every little dirty secret buried under the poison you willingly take crawling back out of the woodwork?” The Beast’s voice cuts through the haze. Jack walks the only direction available, away from the rubble, left hand raised and fingertips trailing the concrete of the tunnel. It’s grounding, in a way, helps with the tremors. “And who knows where the lies end?”

“You know, for being me, you’re fucking vague,” Jack chokes out a stifled chuckle.

“Where would be the fun in it being any other way? Just remember, Sunshine, we will kill them all, we will carve every nerve from their muscle, we will suck out the marrow from their bones, I promise you.”

“Yes. We will kill them all.” Bizarrely, the sentiment, and the words, bring some satisfaction, enough to curl up the corners of his mouth, it’s not a smile, not really, but the noise in his ears slowly dies down replaced by the sound of splashing water and whizzing air somewhere beyond the tunnel’s exit he’s nearing.

“And every step of the way I’ll be with you, Sunshine.”

“I know. I know.”

The area Jack enters has a different feel than the pretend hospital and the labs housed in the underground complex now entombed under tons of rock behind him. No, all the pretense is dropped here unceremoniously – everything speaks of industrial design and purpose. On the left, there are two elevator platforms, one of them broken and tilted to the side, the other seems stable.

He walks to the ledge and stares into the darkness below trying to come up with something, anything, that could be there in the cavern, deeper, so they would need to haul cargo, enough of it to warrant the elevators. It doesn’t matter. He can always come back and check.

As if to answer the possibility, the intact platform trembles and breaks off in a shower of sparks, plummeting down with a ripped off part of the rail. He waits for the sound of impact, counting. Almost fifteen seconds. Above one klick down.

“Shit.” So that leaves only one possible direction, another tunnel, and the only light he can see is at the entrance, above him. With uneasiness, Jack steps into the darkness, and a light warm breeze brushes his skin.

He glances at the aircraft flying low, dark under the crimson sky, reflective surfaces glinting menacingly. Four engines. Shaanxi. He doesn’t really bother with thinking what would be the reason to use Chinese plane other than smoke and mirrors, all the plausible deniability shtick, doesn’t buy into ‘the best for the best’, it’s not his area of expertise anyway.

What he does know, observing as the craft circles lazily to make its approach, is that when it touches down, something happens, something that has him freeze in apprehension, and turn towards the tarmac hidden behind the tall swaying grass where two shades walk side by side.

No. He has to warn them because when the plane lands it happens – whatever that it is – and they are there, oblivious, just walking – talking – like everything is right but it is only an illusion and it will happen. It. Will. Happen.

Yet before he can move one of the silhouettes turns around and red eyes pin him in place, leave him breathless and faltering. Scared of the wrath and visceral hate gleaming in them, and with a snarl the darkness rushes at him, the grass divides and flattens under chittering onslaught screaming murder with a multitude of one voice simultaneously.

It smashes into him – goes through him – and Jack hits the wall, thrown, shoulder painfully colliding with the solid surface. Gasping for precious air. He rips the mask off his face and stares into space.

Reaper is trapped. He is trapped, in those moments, memories possibly, he realizes, and he pulls him under into them with him either consciously or unwittingly, into a place that doesn’t exist but maybe parts of it did, the tree, the airstrip, the grass, and Jack is an intruder there.

He can imagine what it does to anyone when the pain of the blade and the smell of burnt meat, the screams, and the thunder, they are always lingering just at the edge of his own awareness, never entirely gone, the Beast stinging behind his teeth, looking through his eyes, whispering in his ears.

“Who isn’t a prisoner of their own past, Sunshine?”

“The plane,” Jack chuckles, looking at his hands. Inadvertently he rolls his sleeves up to see the faint lines on his wrists, hardly raised anymore. “When it lands, he dies, that person dies, gets his throat somehow slashed, not just cut, slashed, and he knows that, relives it, but he still… refuses to acknowledge it?” Dark tendril uncurls around his arm and brushes against the scar, lingering on the discolored flesh, and he tries to keep the stinging tears back. “I don’t even remember,” he laughs. “I should know better. If you want to die you don’t do it like that. It gives them too much time to force you to live.”

“No, Sunshine,” the Beast murmurs back, the sound deprived of its usual ridicule, “you can’t die yet, not until we kill our old friends, all of them.”

Somehow, with applied force, black tendril pulls his hand away from where it tried to grab the knife still strapped to the jacket. Jack slowly draws a breath, holds it for five seconds, and then exhales. The shaking stops after he repeats it several times.

“Good, Sunshine, now up. You have to go through the dome.”

He doesn’t question. To his right is gaping darkness, and to the left, the way ahead is buried under rocks, the ceiling caved in, but luckily the same occurrence crashed and bent the frame of another observation theatre. Judging by the thickness of the glass he wouldn’t be able to shoot through it. Below he can see screens rapidly flashing images in front of something that looks like a heavy reinforced platform crossed with a chair, something one would see in a cheap science fiction flick rather than in a laboratory or any industrial context. By the foot of it pools something that looks suspiciously like blood.

Three meters, give or take. He can’t roll, not really, not with all the shards littering the ground below. Jack positions himself cautiously, and jumps, landing on bent legs to the accompaniment of crunching glass. He bites back the groan in answer to his joints and muscles protesting the awkward pose and tension, draws the pistol, listening. Only the hum of machines.

Slowly he rounds the chair. In it, cuffed, sits the same kind of creature – human – he encountered earlier, emaciated, twisted, and very dead, with a part of construction stabbed through its – his – chest. Jack doesn’t know what he feels confronted with the sight, is it relief or pity for it – him?

The door further from his position is slightly ajar, one of the hinges broken, but he can glimpse the rubble behind it. No go. With glass creaking under his feet he slips toward the only other exit, a narrow short hallway that opens into a bigger area with strange half-finished construction bits, partitions with gaps that appear to mimic parts of buildings with doors and windows. There is a burned out frame of a car with most of its body intact to his left.

Training range. The recognition comes with the sound of a blaring alarm and his point of entrance being shut with heavy metal plate sliding into place. Jack lets the instinct take over and vaults over the nearest obstacle, a low brick wall, and immediately pushes his back against it.

The screen in front of him turns on, showing a chamber not unlike the one he was just in, but this time the chair’s occupant thrashes in the restraints snarling and hissing, more of a senseless animal than human.

“You’re turning out to be more trouble than you’re fucking worth, Morrison.” Gerard enters the frame from the right. “Or should I say, subject seventy-six. So, I was thinking we can run some test, see again how you fare against the newer models.” Jack can feel the anger, the hate, building up on his tongue, bitter seething thing thrashing inside. “Talon’s jewel in the crown, genetically engineered puppet soldiers, mindless cannon fodder, O’Deorain’s framework and Ziegler’s implementation, some fucking bullshit about telepathic command, that’s what you fucking get when you let fucking stupid bitches run things. But you see, turning one into a commander renders it fucking insane, useless, not really useful for a real military situation, but for now, it’s sufficient. Let’s run our little simulation.”

“Boss,” Rutledge’s voice coming from outside of the frame startles him, his fingers turning white on the grip of the pistol, “we had visual on our targets, six klicks away, covering a lot of ground.”

“Good. Finish it up. I don’t want anything on fucking Reaper, Replica or Harbinger getting out of here and linked with Talon. Have a nice die, Morrison,” Gerard snorts, stepping away from the camera. The alarm goes off again.