#just watched a man back into someone in the intersection lads

[flownintothesun]

 ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ───    𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧? 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬? 𝐈𝐟 𝐬𝐨, 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞! 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡? 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭? 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐞𝐜𝐭).

                            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞 ( @smokedanced )

  𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧?

⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── Lately I’ve really been into writing Marin and I think part of that is that most of my time on tumblr has been spent writing the princely type or the hero. Don’t get me wrong, Marin’s a badass in her own right — but she’s also soft and wants to be loved and she needs to be shown that. I really took a chance bringing her here because I know a lot of people kind of run from softer OCs who are women — but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with soft characters (as someone who has played opposite plenty of them). I think that each of my muses has their place but I’m really enjoying getting to explore some softness and not having to write the strong/toppy/dom one (not that she can’t be those things) all of the time (I still enjoy it though!). On the exact contrary, I’ve been writing Mariano a lot particularly with Nonny and really enjoying that as well. I’ve really loved getting to explore new dynamics in general too, it’s giving me a rejuvenation to writing even though I’m still more behind than I’d like to be.

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬? 𝐈𝐟 𝐬𝐨, 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞!

⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── Hm — so, their universes never intersect, meaning I don’t usually make them exist in the same Universe. However, with Westley, Marin and especially Mariano — there is significant overlap into Nonny’s characters’ worlds. Example: For Nonny’s human!Muriel — the brother that killed his parents is Mariano’s boss, so they will always be intrinsically tied together. Also — Nonny’s character Doris is Westley and Marin’s mother. And if there’s no interest in romance or shipping in Westley’s crime verse — Muriel will be his husband. (And Nonny’s Coco is his boss in the crime verse too.) Sometimes when I’m writing in the intricate verses Nonny and I have built together, my muses can exist in the same verse — but most often they don’t, and never really on Tumblr. The truth is (and this is an ongoing joke with Nonny) that my muses mostly can’t stand each other — especially Westley and Francis, they are always antagonizing each other in the back of my head. Which is really really funny because when we were watching RW&RB we realized Henry and Alex are basically Francis and Westley. They probably just need to fuck. Now Westley’s glaring at me even though he knows Muriel would be a very happy man to see that.

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡? 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭?

⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── Outwardly, I would say the easiest to get along with is probably Francis unless you’re a terrible person. Hardest is definitely Westley, he’s a fighty lad with walls a million feet high. The rest of them are pretty complicated. Lucienne is an introvert and pretty reclusive. Marin would get along with mostly anyone but it would be an act unless she legitimately had a reason to care about you. Mariano is much the same, quite charming but usually it’s business (or pleasure). With Marin and Mariano specifically the problem is that usually it takes awhile to get to know the real them.

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐞𝐜𝐭).

⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── I mean I’d rather someone send a prompt to whoever they want to send the prompt to and are actually interested in! But sending crimeverse stuff to Francis wouldn’t make much sense. I haven’t figured out fantasy verses for Mariano yet (I need to though). Insta-love doesn’t happen for Westley. Basically just stuff that’s like ‘if you read their bios/verses it’s pretty easy’, or if you ask me ‘hey I’m in the mood for (x) which of your muses do you think would be a good fit?’ I’m totally down for that, too.

[fooltofancy]

never stop bein impressed by how many insane accidents happen at the only busy intersection in this very, very small town.

[spiteweaver]

previous | next

(Note: this story takes place in April of 2020!)

--

Late morning sunlight filtered through slatted blinds, pooling in rich amber splotches on the floor of Isaiah’s office. Beyond its cramped confines, he could make out the clamor of the hospital’s daily routine, but it came to him through a thick fog of grogginess. He cracked an eye open, only to be greeted by a messy whirl of blurred shapes and colors; his glasses had slipped from his nose sometime during the night. Reluctantly, he began to search for them on his desk, one hand sweeping across unsigned papers and discarded pens, the other tucked comfortably under his cheek.

As his fingers brushed against cool glass and metal, the lock on his door gave a hearty click and swung inward. Wolf stepped into his office, closing the door politely behind him, and waited while Isaiah struggled to collect himself.

“Thought I locked that,” Isaiah grumbled.

“You did,” Wolf said. “It isn’t a skill a holy man should possess, but—” He held a makeshift lock pick aloft to catch the light, both his smile and posture sheepish— “old habits die hard.”

“So do old boyfriends apparently.”

Wolf took a seat across from him. “He dropped by then?”

“Yes.”

“How did it…?”

It was a stupid question. For Isaiah to have locked himself in his office was one thing; the clan had yet to settle since waking, and he didn’t have the time to spare for every minor worry. (“That’s why we have interns,” he always said.) For him to refuse to see anyone, even those closest to him, was another matter entirely. If what Wolf had been told was correct, he had even sent Xerxes away when the lad had come calling. After that, everyone had decided it might be best to leave him well enough alone.

Everyone, except for Wolf.

Isaiah slid his glasses back onto his scowling face. “Terrible,” he replied, “it was an absolute disaster. He’s as much an idiot now as he was then, and I’m busy enough without him trying to bumble his way back into my bedroom.”

“I don’t think that’s what he came for, Isaiah,” Wolf said.

“No?” Isaiah looked up sharply, but swiftly dropped his gaze to the papers scattered helter-skelter across his desk. With a muttered curse, he began to organize them. “He told me he still loved me,” he confessed after a pregnant pause. “I kicked him out on his ass.”

“Well—” Wolf shrugged— “he never was any good at reading the room, was he?”

“No,” Isaiah agreed. Pursing his lips, he turned his attention from neatening his desk back to his guest. “That’s why I fell for him; he’s honest to a fault. Look, I know you’re gonna tell me to make amends, but I can’t. After what he did—y’know, trying to murder me and all—I don’t think there’s any reconciliation to be had.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“How would you know? We haven’t exactly been friendly these past seven cycles.”

At this, Wolf’s smile faltered and then gave way to a thoughtful frown. He stared hard at his hands, clasped neatly in his lap, and saw, for the briefest instant, the mark where his father’s ring had once sat proudly upon his finger. It had long since faded, but he remembered how looking at it after leaving Goldsparc had made him feel—homesick, uncertain, alone. He wanted to say that those had been better days, back when they’d all been together. Maybe they had been. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“We were both trying to escape our pasts,” Wolf tried to explain, but Isaiah cut him off.

“I know,” he said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You thought I needed space, I thought you needed space, we made new lives for ourselves, and then they just never intersected again, not in any meaningful way.”

“They can, you know?” Wolf shifted forward in his seat, the subtle movement catching and holding Isaiah’s attention as easily as it had seven cycles prior. “No matter who I am now, my love for you will never change. We were brothers then, and we always will be. I know that Absolom feels the same.”

“I know,” Isaiah said again, “I know, I just—” He took a second to chew on his next words, the taste of them nearly making him gag— “I’m not ready.”

“You’re still in love with him, you mean.”

“No, I—”

There was no point in lying to Wolf, so Isaiah decided to save himself the trouble. The pair fell into a lengthy silence, during which Isaiah pretended to busy himself with his desk again and Wolf pretended to watch him do so. All the while, they waited for the other to speak, the only sound the clock on Isaiah’s wall, ticking ever onward. The space between them felt sickly and warm.

“Of course I am,” Isaiah mumbled. “I’ve tried not to be. I’m a doctor; I’m supposed to be able to think logically.” Then, groaning, he dropped his head into his hands to hide the red rising in his cheeks. “We were practically engaged,” he went on. “I was just waiting for him to pop the question—and if he didn’t have the balls to do it, I was more than willing to do it for him. I’ve told myself for seven cycles that there are plenty of fish in the sea, but there aren’t. Not for me.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Wolf said. “The two of you were smitten from the moment you met. You spent your entire lives courting one another. That’s a difficult relationship to simply toss aside.”

Isaiah peered at Wolf through a crack in his fingers. “What are you, my therapist?”

“No,” Wolf replied, “I’m your friend.”

“All right, friend, what do you think I should do?”

The question seemed to catch Wolf off guard, and Isaiah couldn’t help the slightest smirk as he watched his old partner in crime flounder for a response. Wolf swirled his reply around in his mouth for several moments, like a fine wine, before finally heaving a weary sigh.

“I think you should do what is best for you,” he said, “and in my opinion, what is best for you is to confront your past, just as I now must. However, my opinion is not the one that matters.”

Isaiah wanted to say, “You’re damn right!” but wisely held his tongue. After all, he’d asked for Wolf’s input—but, gods, it was just like Wolf to give him the right answer and yet no answer at all. Of course confronting his past was the right thing to do; running from it had only made him miserable. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, though. What he wanted to do was lock himself away until his chest stopped aching and his head stopped spinning, until Absolom was long gone, until he didn’t have to confront anyone or anything anymore.

Where was he even supposed to begin?

Before he could ask Wolf that very question, the door to his office flew open, slamming noisily into the wall and causing several books to jar loose from their shelves. In the doorway stood Xerxes. He was gulping down lungfuls of air, and trembling so violently that Isaiah immediately leapt to his feet. Fortunately, Crucis was there in a flash of fuchsia and white, all but forcing Xerxes back into his wheelchair.

“I tried to stop him,” he insisted in his usual monotone, “but the boy’s as stubborn as ever.”

“Xerxes—” Isaiah began.

“Don’t ‘Xerxes’ me!” Xerxes interrupted, rising from his chair again, only to be held down by Crucis. “No one’s seen you since yesterday! Did you sleep here? Do you know how worried we all were? You’ve never refused to see me! Never! I thought—I thought someone must have died for you to be so upset!”

“No one’s died,” Isaiah assured.

“Then what happened?” Xerxes asked.

“Xerxes? Is something wrong?”

A familiar face appeared around the door frame, though Isaiah had not expected to see it again so soon. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a high-pitched wheeze of, “Lamium?” The young Imperial blinked groggily, stifling a yawn and shuffling into full view. He looked healthy—or, well, as healthy as someone like him could look. Were it not for the sleepy way he moved and spoke, Isaiah would never have guessed he’d been caught in a time loop.

“Oh,” said Wolf, “I forgot to tell you. Those we managed to pull from Aphaster’s loop have started to wake.”

“That’s why I came to see you last night!” Xerxes cried. For a moment, it looked like he may overpower Crucis—then Lamium placed his hands on his shoulders, and Xerxes settled deeper into his wheelchair, every painfully tensed muscle in his body relaxing all at once. “You told us to tell you if any of them woke up. Well, Lamium did, so I came straight here.”

“I—” Isaiah looked away, examining his once flawless bookshelves— “I’m sorry, Xerxes, Lamium. I, ah, had a few personal things to see to.”

“Are you all right?” Lamium inquired.

“I should be asking you that,” Isaiah replied. Finally, he found the courage to meet Xerxes’ tearful glare. “I’m fine, Xerxes. Wolf and I talked it over, and I’m going to, er, ‘take care’ of what’s been bothering me.”

“Just…”

Xerxes slumped somehow further into his wheelchair, and for the first time, Isaiah noted how exhausted his ward was. There were dark circles hanging beneath his eyes, which seemed to have lost their luster in recent weeks, and it was clear by the looseness of his clothes that he’d lost weight. Isaiah’s chest tightened at the sight, a lump swelling in his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I’ve been tied up here at the hospital, and—Xerxes, I’m so sorry.”

“Just don’t scare me like that again,” Xerxes demanded, but was quick to add a quiet, “please.”

Without another word, he fell abruptly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Isaiah watched as Lamium leaned down to brush a strand of hair out of Xerxes’ face. He had known the two had grown close before their clans had been caught in the loop, but to look at them now, he would have thought they were lovers. Yes, that must have been it; that must have been how Xerxes had been able to pull Lamium from the Aphaster loop.

How had he missed so much?

“I suppose he’s right,” Isaiah said as he shrugged on his coat. “I need a break, before the rest of your clanmates start to come ‘round, Lamium. Come on; let’s get Xerxes home and into bed.”

--

@nostlenne :3c

[dorthyanndrarry]

The Liars Department -14-

tags: drarry, auror Harry, ministry employee Draco, oblivious Harry, Draco is an unrepentant flirt, and disillusionment there’s just so much disillusionment

suggested rating: T+

Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <– Part 13 || Part 15 ->

-

The seats were pale grey leather and made that squeaky fart sound so particular to leather seats as Harry sat, pulling the door shut behind him, perhaps a little too hard by the way Malfoy’s eye twitched.

“Seat belt on, Auror Potter,” Malfoy said.

“Harry,” Harry said, reaching over his shoulder and pulling the belt over his shoulder.

Malfoy rolled his eyes before sliding his sunglasses back on and putting the car into gear, pulling out onto the street.

Harry clutched the seat with both hands in a death grip as Malfoy accelerated, holding his breath in anticipation of the worst. But Malfoy slowed as the light turned red at the next intersection and was smooth in accelerating once it went green again, his hand shifting from gear to gear like it was second nature. He liked to accelerate on any clear stretch, but he never misjudged how close the next car was or rushed yellow lights. Malfoy was actually a good driver.

“How long have you been driving?” Harry asked, prising his grip loose.

“Three years,” Malfoy said.

That meant that Malfoy would have been driving while Harry had still been in training. “How did you learn? Did you take a class?” Harry asked.

“I hired a tutor,” Malfoy said.

Harry grinned, “A tutor?”

“All of my education outside of Hogwarts has been from tutors. It seemed logical enough to me.” Malfoy said.

Harry let himself relax back into the seat, the wind ruffling his hair whenever they were moving, “And they have driving tutors?”

“I found someone willing.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“University student,” Malfoy said.

“University’s a bit strange for a first name,” Harry said.

Malfoy glanced over at him then back at the road, “I hardly see how it matters, but his name’s Trev.”

“Trev. Was he a lad? With that sort of name he sounds like a lad,” Harry said.

Malfoy sighed at him.

“You know the type, always going to the pub to watch footie on the tv with his mates,” Harry said.

“And you don’t go to the pub to listen to quidditch broadcasts?” Malfoy asked.

“Well, yeah… but I’m not a lad. Not a lad lad,” Harry said.

Malfoy snorted at him.

“It’s a thing, like a distinct thing,” Harry insisted.

“Well, since you’re the one defining it, you’ll excuse me if I don’t entirely believe you,” Malfoy said. He shifted down, the car slowing as he pulled half onto the pavement, his car parked right over the bright yellow line.

“You can’t park here,” Harry said, “The yellow line means-”

“I know,” Malfoy opened the glovebox and taking out a paper wrapped in a yellow plastic that read PENALTY CHARGE NOTICE, which he put under the wiper blade after getting out.

Harry scrambled out of the car, “That’s- You can’t do that!”

Malfoy smirked at him as he walked around the car, “Oh, but I must, Auror Potter. Don’t you know in order to own and use any muggle object that might conceivably be also touched or used by a muggle that the object must be carefully warded with muggle repelling charms?”

“So?”

“I’m not allowed to alter or bespell the car in case it’s sold back to a muggle. So, that,” Malfoy said with an elegant gesture that somehow contrived to be mocking, “is my muggle repelling object. I registered it and the car with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.”

“They let you register that-” Harry pointed accusingly at the parking ticket.

“Oh, yes, its all perfectly legal. I have the papers back at my office if you want to check them,” Malfoy said.

“They have no idea what that even means do they?” Harry said.

Malfoy smiled with delight, “Not the faintest clue.”

“Is it even charmed, or is it just a parking ticket?” Harry asked.

Malfoy’s smile grew, “Not telling.”

“What are you, five?”

“It’s more fun, old man,” Malfoy said.

Harry frowned at him, “We’re the same age, and two months difference doesn’t make me an old man.”

Malfoy laughed and took his sunglasses off, which felt like a victory to Harry.

“One, I was referring to your state of mind,” Malfoy said, “Two, why do you know when my birthday is?”

“What? It’s just- you know, you always got a lot of presents, and the house elves always made a little cake if it was someone's birthday,” Harry said, feeling embarrassed. Trying to shake the feeling off he said, “Besides I bet you know when mine is, it’s not that odd.”

“Your birthday is practically a national holiday. I don’t think they compare,” Malfoy said, “To think, I might have been flattered by that once. Now I just find it slightly concerning.”

“What? What do you mean-”

“Quit dawdling. You need to get fitted so they can finish the alterations for tomorrow,” Malfoy said, waving for Harry to follow him.

Harry hesitated, the shop was fronted in dark stained wood, the only sign was the names, Pyne and Baley, over the door in modest gold lettering. The windows were narrow and held no window displays or signs. There were no listed hours. There was no indication, in fact, that it was a shop at all.

Harry wanted to protest again, but Malfoy was already inside, the door swinging shut silently behind him. Harry wasn’t going to stand on the street by himself, so he went in as well.

As soon as the door shut behind him all sound from the street vanished. The air in the shop felt like crushed velvet and smelled very faintly of an earthy, expensive cologne.

The front room was small, with wine coloured carpet and matching heavy drapes hanging around the windows. The walls were covered in old fashioned ornate wallpaper, the light fixtures were brightly polished brass.

“It’s only a week,” Harry hissed under his breath, feeling utterly unnerved by the silence and privilege the room exuded.

There weren’t even any suits displayed, just a few chairs and small couch upholstered in black fabric so matte the shapes and shadow of the furniture were lost.

Malfoy glanced at him, unmoved.

“I have a suit I can wear,” Harry said.

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched up.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, nearly- probably pleading.

Instead, Malfoy called out, “Mr Pyne? Mr Baley?”

His words were absorbed back into silence almost immediately, and there were a few nerve-wracking seconds before a door at the back of the room was opened, even more silently than the front door, followed by an equally quiet man. He was older with grey hair and a moustache neatly trimmed who exuded a perfect calm composure that Harry envied. He stared at Malfoy for a second before dipping his head in recognition, “Mr Malfoy, it’s a pleasure to have your custom once again.”

“For you and your partner’s skill, I would cross oceans, Mr Payne,” Malfoy said.

Mr Payne put on the faintest of smiles, “Your compliments would be better served in the ears of others. At sixty, I’ve heard them all.”

Malfoy stood differently in this place. He was always straight-backed, head held high and generally full of himself, but here, instead of looking stiff and formal, he fit. He felt easier in the way he talked and stood, even his expressions seemed smoother.

And Harry couldn’t have felt more out of place if he tried.

“I need a suit for my new associate,” Malfoy said, “In the same cut and style as mine but black to my white.”

“Yin to your yang,” Mr Payne said. His voice held no hint of meaning or implication, but there was a look in his eye that made Malfoy go still.

“I’m helping Malfoy’s new department get off the ground,” Harry clarified.

“Hmm,” Mr Payne said under his breath, looking from Malfoy to Harry.

Malfoy cleared his throat, “I’ll need it ready by tomorrow, I’m willing to pay for the rush.”

Mr Payne nodded and went back into the backroom, “Let me check our stock and see if we have anything we can alter.”

“Just so you know, I’m going to look ridiculous,” Harry said.

“I doubt that,” Malfoy said, “Everyone looks good in a suit regardless of size or gender.”

“Well, you’re wrong because I look like a berk in one,” Harry muttered.

Malfoy turned and looked at him. The room was so small and quiet, it felt more than a little unnerving to be stared at so intently.

“Probably because it was one size too big, if not more,” Malfoy said, “Just like your uniform and everything else you wear.”

“I- I just don’t like tight-fitting clothing,” Harry said, feeling defensive,

“Clothes that fit correctly aren’t tight, unless you want them to be,” Malfoy said, “Did your uniform at school bother you?”

“What?” And it took a moment to remember they were in a muggle shop so of course Malfoy wouldn’t bring up robes. “They were fine, I guess, I never noticed one way or the other.”

“Those were tailored. Most of the clothes made in for us are. You’d know that if bought any of them,” Malfoy said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really a fan of wiz- um, strange fashions,” Harry said.

“The point being,” Malfoy went on, “that bespoke tailoring won’t feel constricting because it’s made for you. And it’s your uniform, so your opinion really doesn’t matter.”

Mr Payne returned and hung several suits up on the wall, brushing his hands over the black fabric and stepping back, “I have these available for such short notice.”

Malfoy left, going over to Mr Payne, his voice dropping as he talked quietly and with avid interest about the different suits. They all looked the same to Harry.

Harry didn’t care what they were talking about. He was too preoccupied with the strange feeling his chest that had catapulted him back to sixth year like a sucker-punch to the face. It was a twisting, gnawing, why aren’t you looking at me? Feeling, right in the pit of his stomach. Except that this time Malfoy wasn’t up to something, unless Harry counted Malfoy being a general pain the ass to everyone he met for his own amusement. But Harry didn’t understand why he was feeling it now. It just- it didn’t make sense.

“-tter! I told you he wasn’t listening,” Malfoy said, “He’s completely bull-headed.”

“My Oliver is the same way,” Mr Payne said, “Very single minded.”

“I am not,” Harry said, “What do you want?”

“I need to take your measurements,” Mr Payne said patiently. He took a cloth tape measure from his pocket, “You will likely need to take off your jacket and trousers as they are quite bulky. Although I can try to get an accurate measurement with them on if you’re more comfortable that way-”

Harry saw Malfoy smirk.

“-we also have a small room in back for changing if you would prefer,” Mr Payne said.

Harry glared back at Malfoy, “No, that’s fine,” he said stiffly and shrugged off his jacket, dropping it over the back of one of the chairs. He was suddenly relieved he had put on his good pants that morning, if he had worn one of his older pairs Malfoy would have never let him live it down.

Malfoy draped himself onto the couch and proceeded to watch with apparent interest as Harry got measured and then fitted into a suit. Harry had to assume Malfoy enjoyed watching him squirm.

(continued in next part)

-

♥ Next update will be tuesday noonish pst ♥

♥  Tags below  ♥  (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages on the previous part.)

💜 @pain-changes-everything thank you!!!!!! he’s so fun to write!💜 💜

💜 @potter-harreh thank you!!!  💜 💜

💜 @shadowybook 💜💜💜! thank you! Harry’s pulling pigtails because thats the easiest way he knows how to communicate with draco but I agree with you 100% he was being a childish dick 💜

💜 @cportera very conflicting 💜 thank you! 💜

💜 @lilyinthebreeze lol too true 💜 thank you!! 💜

💜 @witch19 they gotta get to know one another properly all over again💜💜

💜 @devilrising ah, but draco gets to be an asshole right back, step number one of which is playing dress-up potter because he can’t say no 💜 💜 💜 thank you so much!! 💜

💜 @sspectacularlyignorant​ Thank You!!!!! i always worry about writing harry, he easy to get wrong 💜

💜 @justafangirlslikes thank you! 💜

💜 @dewitty1 yeah lol but harry tends to stick his foot in it even when he is aware he likes someone(╯▽╰ ) he’s terrible at flirting 💜 thank you!! 💜

💜 @podsgirl agreeed! thank you! 💜

💜 @ijustreallylikedrarry thank you so much!!! 💜 I know tumblrs tags don’t always work so I always tag everyone two weeks in a row just in case 💜 💜

💜 @iamactuallya-cat ooooooo, I kinda want to do that later in the story now, how fun 💜💜 thank you!! 💜

💜 @sakurachyohli i think they’re all bad, it takes some kind of magic to have a good drivers licence photo 💜 thank you!

💜 @dracodragon19872​ yeah, my photo always suck 💜 thank you!!!! 💜

💜 @addicted-to-w0rds​ they are good good idiots 💜 thank you!!! 💜

💜 @whiteout I was just reading your ao3 your comment when this comment popped up! you were quick finding me here! I’m glad you like the story so far and thank you for the lovely comments!! 💜

💜 @mindless-cryptid 💜 @havingaverydrarryday 💜 @magvic 💜

💜 @powerpunkmuffin 💜 @fangirl-at-hogwarts 💜 @freakybb2 💜 @livredor71 💜 @pumpkinminette​ 💜 @myrvaenboys​ 💜 @snarkyship​ 💜 @whenrainbowsend​ 💜 @themoonatemymemories​ 💜 @victor-morgan​ 💜 @laneymaybe​ 💜 @champagnemonarch​ 💜 @microscopicfocus​ 💜 @duhhjax  💜 

[lokis-little-kitten]

Teaching Assistant 12

Loki his lads turn out to be rather nice. Evan has short haze hair and deep brown eyes. He is tall and lean like Loki but with much fewer muscles. He is a dom and does a lot of pet play with his partner. He is rather playful and a bit of a clown but a very loyal one. 

Luke has blonde hair and blue eyes. Not as tall as Loki but he has more muscle which makes him look bulky. He is kind and sweet as he is a Daddy Dom. You knew pretty quickly that he would be one of your favourites. 

James is tall, dark and handsome. He is a sadist and seems the most dangerous but Loki told you you had nothing to worry about. James is a fair man and straightforward. 

Micheal is quieter and he is a switch. He has a Mistress at the moment and is quite soft. He is very caring towards everyone. He has short black hair and dark brown eyes. He has dark skin and quite some muscle on him. 

Loki walks towards the couch and sits down with you still wrapped around him like a monkey. ‘’Hello there, what is your name,’’ Luke asks who is sitting next to Loki. ‘’I’m Y/N,’’ you whisper back at him. Hesitantly you shake his hand and then hide in Loki’s neck. ‘’She’s a shy one,’’ Luke chuckles. Loki tells you all of their names and ‘titles’ but just leaves it there. 

‘’How is Eliza,’’ Loki then asks Micheal while slightly rocking you. ‘’She’s great, we’re thinking maybe take a sub,’’ he beams. ‘’For real,’’ Luke asks with a smile. ‘’Yeah… John might know a girl for us but that is still in early stages.’’ ‘’Still,’’ Evan chimes in, ‘’big step even thinking about it.’’ Micheal just nods this time and sips his beers. 

‘’But, back to this cutie. How did you meet,’’ James asks with a smirk. ‘’She wrote some rubbish BDSM stories and so I offered to teach her the ropes,’’ Loki simply explains. ‘’She then turned out to be a little… I think. We are figuring this out at our own pace.’’ You only nod a little looking around the room. 

‘’Loki?’’ Loki looks at you and kisses your cheeks. ‘’Yes dear?’’ ‘’You promised me a bath,’’ you pout looking at him. ‘’That is true. Be a good girl now and then I’ll allow you a nice bath tonight, huh?’’ He kisses under your ear which causes you to giggle. 

‘’Okay,’’ you mumble and nuzzle your face into his neck. Loki chuckles but then goes back to the conversation with his friends. They drink some beers and chat. You eventually mingle in some conversation. Your answers stay short. It’s a little daunting to be in a room full of men. 

Eventually it is Luke who walks to a cupboard in the corner. He opens the doors and frowns. “I could have sworn you had a bunch of board games here,” he calls. Loki stands up after peeling you off of his lap. He takes a look at the cupboard as well, as if he had forgotten he even had it. “I think those are downstairs as well. I didn’t use them much anymore.” He then walks towards the table next to the front door to grab his key chain. This strikes you as odd. You sit up a little to take a better look at what he is doing. 

“Luke, we can go grab them from storage,” he explains and holds up his keys as he opens the door. Immediately you shoot up from the couch. Quickly you grab his arm and look up at him. You try to beg him to stay with your eyes alone. 

“You can come with me, dear, don’t worry.” He places a kiss on your hair and rubs your back. He tells the other lads he’ll be back in a few minutes. You go into the lift all the way down to the storage area. You hadn’t been here before yet. 

Loki confidently guides you to the right storage box once underground. Even the storage boxes in this building are posh. It nearly looks like these are flats as well. The ground is hard wood and the hallways are rather light. 

Loki finds his box and opens the door. He flicks on the light. Together you walk in. Luke immediately looks out a few board games. You are more so occupied with other things. Loki has quite some storage cabinets with files, old books and boxes stored in them. Everything is in a set place so the storage box is very neat. There is one storage rack with large moving boxes. Some of them have kink labels on them. One has BONDAGE written on it in Loki’s neat handwriting. Others have things such as Masochism/Sadism, Impact, Humiliation, Non-Con and there was a box with Age play written on it. 

You want to pull out a box to take a look but Loki catches you. He wraps his arm around you and kisses your shoulder. “What are you looking at?” You giggle as he does and you point at the label of the box, Non-Con. He chuckles and pushes the box back into the rack. “We’ll talk about that later, love.” He pulls you away from the boxes and towards the rack with a collection of board games.

“I was just curious,” you counter as you look through the games. You feel a bit more comfortable now that it is only Luke along. 

“That’s good to hear,” Loki replies as he pats your bum playfully. You just start browsing through the games together with the other men. You pull out a few that seem fun and hold those under your arm. 

When everyone has a few Loki calls it quit and you guys go back upstairs. When you return to the flat the others cheer a little overexcited. Their arms are up in the air with their hands in fists. You put the games on the counter and look at the ones Loki and Luke grabbed. 

James joins you as well to take a look at them. “What would you like to play,” he asks as he also starts to browse. You then see Loki or Luke had grabbed The Game Of Life. You pick it and take it to Loki. “Can we play this one,” you ask in a small voice as you lean into his side. He takes it from you and let’s you hide your head in his arms. He agrees and starts setting up the game. You quickly pick your favourite colour pin before the others choose theirs. 

“Loki,” you whisper. You sit tightly against him with your arm around his. “After this game I’m going home. Early morning tomorrow.” He kisses your forehead as you tell him this. 

“Of course. Whatever you need.” You cuddle a little closer and start the game. It’s fun to play with the other men as well. It helps you let loose a little more. You do stay close to Loki but you manage to talk a little more now. 

When the game is over you grab your stuff. You are absolutely exhausted. It was late already and you had an early class. You were dreading the drive home but knew you had to. You didn’t want to stay over at Loki’s. No matter how nice it was, everything was moving very quickly and you needed your space and boundaries. 

Loki brings you downstairs and helps you seek out your motorcycle. He notices you rubbing your eyes and moving a bit slowly. “Can you drive back yourself or do you need me to drive you?” Quickly you shake your head. 

“No, I can do it myself. I need my bike at home and I don’t want to risk someone seeing us.” Loki reluctantly agrees and then presses a gentle kiss on your lips. He rarely kissed you there so it took you a little by surprise. 

“See you tomorrow. Be a good girl and sleep tight.” He also kisses your nose after saying that and pulls you a little closer. 

“You too. I will be.” 

“I will who,” he asks you as he pulls you a little closer to him again.

You put your arms around his shoulders and get on your tippy toes. “I will be good… Daddy.”

A pleased smirk creeps on Loki’s lips. “Good girl.” After that and a last kiss you get on your back and start the drive home. 

Once you’re on the road the fatigue really starts to catch up with you. Your eyes feel heavy and you can’t concentrate on the road as much as you would like. The lights appear much brighter and cloud your vision. 

Luckily you live close by. Just one more traffic light and a few more turns. The intersection, however, was a busy one. When you arrived you were shocked to find it was broken. There was no one directing the traffic anymore either because it was so late in the evening. No other vehicle is approaching so when it seems clear you cross over. 

When you nearly reach the other side of the intersection a small car suddenly comes from around the corner. It was going very fast. It hit the breaks but it was too late. It hit you. You are knocked off your bike and hit the pavement. You land on your collarbone. The air is knocked from your lungs as you are thrown across the asphalt. Eventually you come to a stop when you hit one of the traffic light poles. You gasp for air but the shock prevents you from breathing for a moment. Eventually you’re able to suck in some air again and start to couch. 

The driver from the car runs up to you. He has his phone against his ear. You can’t hear what he’s saying. Your ears are ringing. The street lights blur your vision more than before. You can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. 

You try to stay awake. You count to ten, list the names of the days of the week, list up the classes  you take at Uni and recall your phone number. 

The blinds from your helmet are popped open. An ambulance worker is in sight. He calls something to his college but you still can’t hear him. You’re too out of it to worry about anything. 

Eventually the ringing becomes less when the ambulance worker sits down next to you again. He is a middle aged black man. 

“Stay with me dear, we’re gonna get you to the hospital,” he tells you but you don’t reply. He shines a light in your eyes. You try to squint and look away from it. 

Now that the adrenaline starts to fade you start to feel the pain. Your entire body aches. Your collarbone and ribs in particular. 

Quickly you are hauled into an ambulance. Once in there you get a neck brace and your helmet is removed. They soon start padding at your head, take a blood sample and give you an IV. You can only watch as they work on your. 

The pain starts to fade away again when the IV is connected to some bag of fluids. The ambulance workers kept telling you things but it didn’t register. You felt so terribly tired. You just wanted to go to sleep. You didn’t. You started to count again and name the days of the week. You look outside and see the trees, flats and street lights pass. 

Eventually you get to the hospital. They roll you out of the ambulance and into the ER. They got you into a room where they started their tests. One woman then looked you in your eyes and smiled. “I’m doctor Nelson, I’m gonna take good care of you. What’s your name?” You choked out your name and started to cry. 

“I’m gonna take good care of you Y/N,” doctor Nelson replies. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” You tell her no and then she joins the other people working on you. The next thing they did was take an X-ray of your chest. They then checked your neck and took off the brace when you were cleared. A doctor looked at the X-ray. 

They discussed some discussion doctor Nelson addressed you again. “Your left collarbone is broken. It’s a complicated break so you need surgery. Do you consent to that?” You quickly do and only a moment later you are brought to the surgery room. Once in there they put you to sleep. 

The anesthesiologist tells you to count to ten for him. You start for him. A bright light is shining above you and doctors in scrubs start to come in. The closer you get to ten the more blurred everything becomes. Your eyes feel heavy and soon they close. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Unmistakable: Kauri AU

CW: Noncon touching, noncon kissing, noncon licking, blood, knives… creepy and intimate whumper. References to conditioning/brainwashing. Not exactly NSFW, but you probably shouldn’t read this if an easily-offended person is looking over your shoulder.

FIRST NOTE: This takes place in an alternate universe, and is not part of the main Kauri storyline in any way! So don’t worry, Kauri is happily letting strange men buy him food somewhere else with absolutely no negative consequences. In this AU, @whumpiary‘s Cass is definitely nearby rolling his eyes and saying “I told you so”.

I am tagging the Kauri people just because I figure… if you like reading his story, maybe you’ll also enjoy this! It’s… something! Tagged: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl

The man in the suit smiled at him, warm and friendly, from across the table in the little restaurant, watching with patient amusement as Kauri wolfed down his cheeseburger with impressive speed. “Hey, whoa,“ he said, holding up one hand.

He had nice hands, Kauri thought idly. Long-fingered, like maybe he played an instrument or something.

“You don’t need to scarf that down all at once!” The man in the suit laughed, and it was a really nice laugh, too. “I’ve got no places to be. Just enjoy it.”

His voice was warm and nearly melodic with the accent people had here. Kauri smiled, a little shamefaced, feeling genuinely guilty for having eaten so quickly.

He wiped at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, sitting slowly back. “S-sorry. I just, uh, hadn’t eaten much yet today.” He hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, but that wasn’t so bad and he didn’t want any pity over it. It had just been a long bus ride back here from the other side of the city, and yesterday’s panhandling had barely covered the bus fare. “I’m pretty hungry. Thanks for offering to buy me lunch. You… you didn’t have to do that. I’m really grateful.”

“Not a problem at all, lad,” The man said, smile brightening. All he’d gotten for himself was a small plate of fries, and he ate them slowly, one by one, while watching Kauri absolutely demolish a cheeseburger combo. “I’ve seen you before, you know.”

“Have you?” Kauri frowned, fighting a hint of unease. Lots of people saw him - it wasn’t that unusual that someone had seen him more than once. Most people didn’t say anything, though - some kind of unwritten rule, not to let the boy on the street corner know you saw him again and again and nothing changed about his life for the better.

Usually the people who had seen him more than once went one of two ways - they gave less, or they gave more. But they never admitted, either way, that they knew his face.

“You’ve asked for help at that intersection before,” The man replied, cheerfully. There was no hint of judgement in his voice, only curiosity. “I haven’t been able to stop by, previously, but I’ve long meant to take a moment to feed you, give you what you need. Today, I was ready. How long have you been a resident of our illustrious overheated streets, then?”

Kauri shrugged, relaxing now. Okay, that made sense - he probably drove to work the same way every day. He’d just seen Kauri with his little sign asking for anything anyone could spare, giving the same effusive thanks for a handful of coins as he did offers to buy him new shoes, or sandals, or a new shirt.

Meant to buy him lunch, had to wait until he had a long lunch hour, enough time to linger over a plate of fries.

“A few weeks. I came from somewhere else.” He pulled the milkshake closer to him with a low scraping sound of glass on the table, picking up a long-handled silver spoon. He used it to fish the cherry off the top, a little whipped cream coming with it.

Focused on his goal, he didn’t notice the intensity with which the man’s eyes followed the cherry, bits of whipped cream clinging to its rounded red sides, from milkshake to his mouth. He did not notice how the man watched him bite down as the cold juice burst inside his mouth - the way his eyes dropped to Kauri’s lips and then his throat, taking him in as he chewed and swallowed.

He didn’t see the man’s hand, hidden as it was under the table, dig fingernails into his own thigh through the neatly pressed pants to hold himself still. 

By the time Kauri looked back at him, the man had his head resting on one hand and was smiling again, friendly and open, an avid sparkling interest in his eyes. “Are you preparing to return to that somewhere else, then?”

Kauri hesitated, then shook his head. “Not for a while. Some things happened… I needed to leave town for a bit. I don’t really want to, um, to talk about it.”

"Sorry to pry. Did you have friends here, then?” The man’s curiosity was kind of nice. Kauri hadn’t spoken to much of anyone since he’d gotten here, just the hi how are you, can you spare a five routine. It was nice to have someone so interested in him, for once.

“I… you’re going to laugh at me,” Kauri said, flushing a little. Something in the man’s expression brightened again, at the sight of the blood rushing to his face.

“Allow me to promise you that no matter what you say… in this moment, I will not laugh at you,” the man said firmly, sincerely.

Kauri ducked his head and used the spoon to take a bite of chocolate milkshake. Cold and smooth on his tongue, burst of sugar and smooth flavor. He closed his eyes, for a second, reveling in it. Owen never gave him milkshakes. The first time Jack had bought him one, his mind hadn’t known what he was looking at, other than shakes he’d seen in movies - but his tongue had remembered the flavor.

He did not see the man’s eyes lock on the way his lips closed around the long-handled spoon.

The man cleared his throat, and Kauri’s eyes opened again to find the same charming, affable expression from before. “I promised not to laugh,” the man said, good-natured humor lacing his voice alongside a hint of a reminder. “You have to tell me what you were going to say.”

“Oh. Right.” The man in the suit was looking outside, now, not even at him at all. “Well, I still think you’ll laugh, but… I picked this city at random when I first got here. Just… got off the bus when it stopped. I don’t know anyone, and I-”

He caught himself in time.

He’d been so relaxed he’d very nearly said, and I can’t read the map.

The man was watching him, expectantly. “You what, love?”

Kauri cleared his throat and took another bite of milkshake. “I don’t usually do things like that, is all,” he said smoothly, and stuck the straw down in his shake now, hoping the time he spent drinking it was time he wouldn’t be expected to make more idle chatter that could get him in trouble. The man didn’t seem like the type to tell anyone if Kauri said something, admitted to illiteracy or any of the other tells that gave the runaway Box Boys away.

Not that they were all illiterate. Just the ones like him, with owners who had wanted to ensure they could not read well enough to find their way out.

They were both largely quiet after that, beyond a few more amused comments about his appetite, a couple of questions about his plans for the rest of the day, and Kauri’s quiet, friendly answers. Kauri made himself eat more slowly, and noticed that the man didn’t really eat anything at all after that. He paid the bill with a smile and a comment to the waitress that had her blushing.

Then he turned back to Kauri. “I need to head back to my car. Your particular corner of choice is right next to the parking lot, isn’t it?” There was a pause for thought, and Kauri caught a flicker of something in the man’s expression that he could not quite read. “Grand and Parkview, right?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.” Kauri had no idea what the names of the streets were, he couldn’t even look at the signs without the headache starting up, swift and strong. That sounded right, though, he thought…

Something and Parkview, anyway, right?

The man gave him a sort of strange look - something deeply pleased, but in a way that made the hair on the back of Kauri’s neck stand up. “Hm. Well, walk me that direction then, will you? I’ve enjoyed your company this afternoon.”

He would follow him out, Kauri thought, slightly uneasy now. Follow him and then make sure he was gone before Kauri ducked down an alleyway or two and spent the rest of his day somewhere else.

The man dropped his pace once they had left the restaurant and stepped back out into the dry sunshine that beat down into Kauri’s dark hair and pale skin with a nearly physical weight. They ended up walking side by side, not quite ambling down the street. Kauri had jammed his hands into his pockets, the leather bracelet on his left wrist a pressure against it, covering the barcode that would give him away.

Kauri didn’t notice the men in simple nondescript polo shirts and pants that peeled themselves away from their casual positions along the wall outside the restaurant and began to follow them. He had started to look over his shoulder at the movement, but a man nearly walked right into him and his head jerked back around so he could duck to the side, almost into the man in the suit who had bought him lunch, and avoid a collision.

Just ahead of them a man in a polo shirt stopped briefly to light some kind of sweet-smelling cigarette. The smoke wafted around Kauri’s head. It smelled like cloves maybe, like the art kids smoked outside his dorm-

How the fuck would he know what kind of cigarettes art majors smoke? Was that part of the memories that slid in and out of his mind? Had he been an art major, maybe? He was sure he used to write poetry…

The man in the suit seemed to notice Kauri’s distraction, because he cleared his throat unobtrusively. Kauri blinked up at him and he smiled, leaning slightly down. “Before we part ways, can I ask… what’s your name, love?”  

“Oh. I didn’t tell you, did I? Um. I’m Kauri.” The man held out his right hand and Kauri shook it, trying to ensure his grip was firm. Nat had shown him how to shake hands well, in a way that didn’t give away what he was, or that he was sometimes so nervous. No limp wrist, grip on tightly, firm shake once or maybe twice, let go.

“That’s a good handshake,” The man said, his voice slightly low, and Kauri blushed again, grinning at the compliment. Nat would be glad to hear the afternoon she’d spent teaching him how to act like a normal person had paid off. “And your name is lovely.”

The man just ahead of them had stopped again, took another slow drag, and spoke some words into the phone he had put up to his ear. A car with blacked-out windows pulled up alongside them at the curb.

Kauri didn’t really notice - the man in the suit had lifted a hand to brush the backs of his knuckles against Kauri’s face, and he was entirely focused on the shiver that ran down his spine, not entirely unpleasant. “Kauri. No last name, though?”

Kauri hunched his shoulders, feeling suddenly defensive, uncertain. “I-I don’t…” Don’t say I don’t have one, don’t say I don’t have one, don’t say I don’t have one. “I just don’t, uh, have much to do with my family anymore.” That was true, at least. “So I don’t… use it.”

“How sad. I hate to hear about someone estranged from family so young. How do you spell Kauri, if I may be bold enough to ask?“ The man looked at him through the cloud of sweet smoke. When Kauri turned his head to squint a glare at the asshole smoking so close by, the man in the suit took his chin between thumb and forefinger and turned his eyes back. “Ah, ah,” He said, not quite reprovingly. “I asked a question, darling.”

Kauri felt the first lick of real worry, a coldness that seemed to wash straight down his spine. He moved to pull back, but the grip on his chin tightened and held his eyes locked on the man’s. “Please let go,” He whispered.

“No. Tell me how to spell your name.”

Kauri swallowed, hard. The cold worry shifted into an even colder fear. He felt rooted here, frozen in this spot. “I… I don’t know.”

The man tsked, clicking tongue against teeth, and shook his head without taking his eyes off Kauri’s. “Poor dear. Can’t spell your name… no home, no family, no one knows you’re here, and you clearly didn’t know what street corner I found you at, since those streets are on two opposite ends of this city… Oh, love. You really shouldn’t let strange men buy you things if you’re going to be so gorgeously vulnerable.”

Kauri moved to pull away again and realized there were men on either side of him, the man in the suit in front, and a car just behind. He felt a sinking, awful familiarity - a memory he didn’t actually have, that something like this had happened before. “W-wait-… you, you said-”

“My name is Martin,” The man in the suit said smoothly, interrupting him. “I’m inclined even to allow you to use it, although only in very specific circumstances. But we’ll discuss that a bit more once we have time to really get to know each other, won’t we?”

“No, I’m not-… I don’t want to-”

“Quiet.” The man jerked his head to the side, just slightly, and the men on other side of him were suddenly boxing him in, pressed against him. Kauri flinched back, only to trip on the curb and smack his back into the side of the car, next to the lid for the gas tank.

“Wait, wh-what’s… why are you-”

“Don’t ask questions, darling, it’s tiresome. Get in the car.”

“N-no.” Kauri braced his feet and stood his ground, setting his jaw in defiance. The men on either side of him bristled, but the man in the suit - Martin - only smiled.”I, I appreciate you buying me lunch - I said thank you - but… but people buying you things doesn’t mean you owe them. If you try… I’ll scream.”

Martin’s smile widened, just a little, and he reached out to run a hand through Kauri’s riot of wild black curls, longer than he really meant them to be but he kept forgetting to get a haircut. It wasn’t a malicious movement - more like a man who watched a kitten rolling around on a pillow and he just couldn’t help himself but pet the soft fur.

Kauri shivered, ducking his head instinctively into the touch.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Martin said softly, and did it again. This time, Kauri fought the instincts and the training, and held himself still, despite the rush of pleasure that seemed to run straight from scalp to knees and back again.

“I’ll scream,” He said again, but his voice was weaker. “For… for help.”

“No, you won’t,” Martin said with perfect confidence. “Because you are an escaped Box Boy, and if I take that bracelet off your wrist I’ll see a barcode there, plain as day, won’t I?” The men on either side of him grabbed his wrists and jerked them upwards. Martin held Kauri’s frightened gaze as he held one hand out and the second man handed him a pair of black leather gloves.

“M-My…”

Martin pulled the gloves on, slowly, taking his sweet time. In no hurry at all. Then he reached out, trailing leather-clad fingertips up his arm, until he popped the snaps that held Kauri’s bracelet closed and slid it slowly off, to drop abandoned and unnoticed in the gutter.

On the inside of his left wrist, a barcode in deep black ink, and below that the numbers 645898.

“There it is.” Martin traced little circles across the tattoo, as Kauri fought to pull away and the men in the polo shirts held him fast with his back shoved up against the car. No one walking past them stopped or even looked - if they did they walked even faster to get away. No one asked him if he needed help. “Look at that. You’re property, aren’t you? Just got up and walked away on two legs, like my table getting a mind of its own…”

“Please,” Kauri said softly, and Martin let out a soft exhalation in response. “Please, you don’t have to-”

“I’m giving you a choice, Kauri,” Martin said, in a tone of perfect rationality. Two men having a polite discussion, one of them significantly younger and backed up against a car, the other pressing further and further into his space with every passing second. “If you scream, or try to walk away, I will call law enforcement myself. I’ll show them the barcode on that… beautifully thin wrist-” Martin’s thumb rubbed, slowly, back and forth over the barcode now, pressed into the line of numbers at the bottom. Kauri swallowed hard against the way the pressure of his hand felt very nearly good. “-and they’ll take you back, won’t they? Scan your… microchip, or something.”

“I d-don’t have a-”

“That’s really not important,” Martin said smoothly. One of the men holding Kauri opened the door to the car, and Kauri looked sidelong at the dark space inside with growing panic. Not again, his mind whispered, fighting the fear of a memory he didn’t consciously have any longer.

Still, no one stopped.

No one asked if he needed help.

Martin slid the cool leather covering his palm over the side of Kauri’s face and gently turned his eyes back. “Look at me, love. Your choice is this. You can step into my car of your own free will, or you can… not. If you don’t, I’ll ensure you find your way back to that very sad man who keeps asking about you on TV. If you go with him, sweet boy, I think we both know you’ll never be seen by anyone else again.” He brushed a bit of Kauri’s hair from his eyes, head tilting as he took in the trembling and the fear. Kauri’s breath had begun to come in quick, shaking gasps, and something in Martin lit up in response. “If you come with me, however… I’ll get bored of you, eventually. And I promise I’ll let you back out right here where I found you. Intact… more or less. Honestly… if you’re good enough, I’ll even pay you a little for your time.”

Martin smiled. Kauri swallowed, hard. His heart was racing, less a heartbeat than a vibration inside his chest, and he saw someone passing by look at them, see his barcode, and do a double-take.

People walking by probably saw a runaway Box Boy being scooped back up and taken home.

“Pretty thing like you… you could do a lot with five hundred or so, hm?”

This wasn’t any choice at all.

He had no reason to trust the man, but if the alternative was going back to Owen, and there was even a chance the man was telling the truth about letting him go later… maybe he could buy some time, find a way out of Martin’s house. Houses had ways out, they had stairs or second-story windows. It wouldn’t be like Owen’s balcony, seven stories up, too high up to survive the jump…

“Get in the car,” Martin said again, more firmly this time.

Kauri nodded, a quick jerk of his chin down and then back up again, and when the man let go of his arms he felt his stomach sink as he climbed, all on his own, into the backseat of Martin’s silver car. The seats were a cool maroon leather and it was so dark from the tinted windows that Kauri had to blink rapidly as his eyes adjusted.

“Should we get in with you?” One of the polo-shirted men asked, in a low voice.

“Oh, no,” Martin replied smoothly. “I can handle him just fine from here, thanks.” Kauri pushed himself to the other side and tried, surreptitiously, to open the door and run out into the street. The handle moved - the door did not open.

“Oh, you must think I’m quite stupid,” Martin said pleasantly, settling into the seat, closing his car door. All at once, the last bit of light was gone and they were left in semi-darkness. “No, love, that door won’t open for you.”

Kauri swallowed, trying to soothe his own fear, to figure out what came next. His eyes jumped through the spacious backseat interior - windows tinted so dark he couldn’t see out and no one else could see in, a blacked-out pane of glass between them and the driver up front. Low yellowed lights along the interior roof, the only light to see by. “Wh-why… why me?”

“Two reasons. I don’t mind explaining.” Martin settled back - no seatbelt, Kauri noticed, as he felt the car pull away from the curb, the lurching, sickening resignation that whatever was going to happen to him, it was happening now. “The first is simple - I’ve heard about Box Boys, and I’ve always wondered if the rumors about their… responsiveness… are true. I did not lie to you, Kauri. I’ve seen you for some time, standing at that corner. I knew what you were, and I had you researched, photographed. I saw what I wanted. Now I have it.”

“And… and the second reason?” Kauri’s voice was nearly a whisper.

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed, for a moment deep in thought. “Well. That. I’ve… had some heartbreak recently. They say a rebound is good for soothing such a deep grief… it doesn’t matter. I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell since my heartbreak. That dry spell ends now. Come here.”

Kauri pressed himself even more firmly against the door, as far away as he could get, and slowly shook his head. “I-I don’t want to-… I don’t think-”

Martin sighed, a sound of genuine disappointment. One of his hands dropped to his hip. “You don’t need to think about much at all, now, Kauri. That’s not what you were made for.”

I didn’t have them make you for me so you could think, Kauri. 

“I said,” Martin said, in a low, deep voice, “Come here.”

The authority in his tone was overwhelming - it filled the car’s interior, was nearly a pressure that pushed Kauri forward. All his conditioning, his training, the months in the Facility burned in him to obey. He had to dig his fingernails into the soft leather seats to keep himself still. Even so, he slowly leaned forward, just a little.

Just enough.

Too much.

Martin grabbed him by the hair and dragged him the rest of the way across the backseat until Kauri was nearly on his hands and knees, Martin’s hand gripped hard into his hair to hold him still. Kauri went to jerk himself backwards, to pull away, and felt cool metal press, just a little, against his throat.

He went still.

Martin’s breathing had changed - gone heavier, a little ragged. He used the grip in Kauri’s hair to pull his head up, until his mouth pressed lightly - barely a brush, a kiss - against Kauri’s ear. The knife moved, too, the same almost-cutting pressure against the side of his neck.

“Pl-please, please don’t kill me,” Kauri whispered, tears pricking at his eyes. “Please don’t k-kill-”

“And waste such a perfectly formed mouth on such a beautiful body?” Martin chuckled, puffs of air against his earlobe. Kauri felt a warmth suffuse him, unwanted and loathed, the simple sudden heat that began to pool in the core of him. “I would never. Not unless you keep being so… rude. Are you going to be rude, Kauri?”

“N-No, I w-w-won’t, I-… ah!” Martin’s lips had found a spot just below his ear, where his neck and jaw met, and begun to suck, lightly, at the skin there. The warmth in him was a shivery awful pleasure that he - for once - hated.

It was like Owen, and not like him at all.

“God, it’s true what they say… you’re already getting hard for me, aren’t you, darling?” Martin spoke so his lips moved on Kauri’s skin, and he whimpered.

The knife pricked at his skin, just a little, and when he flinched back the hand fisted even more tightly in his hair. Kauri had nowhere to go. “I… I don’t know, Martin,” Kauri whispered, and let Martin pull his head back even further by the grip on his hair. “I don’t know if I am.”

It was a lie. He knew he was, he could feel it, starting to become a weight between his own legs. He was too well trained for anything else.

Martin’s tongue licked at the drop of blood that had welled up from the prick of the knife. He closed his eyes tightly and shivered, wishing that it didn’t feel so good.

“We’ll have to make sure you can really feel it, then, won’t we? So it’s… unmistakable. I’m in the mood for you to call me sir. What do they teach you to say, if your master tells you what to call them?”

Kauri swallowed. “I…” His voice cracked, and Martin chuckled again, dragging him even closer, until he had to move to catch his balance and his hand was pressed into the leather seats between Martin’s legs, his head hovering over his stomach.

Staring directly down at Martin’s belt buckle, at the hint of shadows and shape that told Kauri what would come next.

He wasn’t the only one reacting.

“I am… an active participant in fulfilling my owner’s desires,” Kauri whispered. One of the first things they’d had him memorize, when he was put into training.

“Say it again. Use master instead of owner.”

“I’m… I’m an active participant in fulfilling my m-master’s desires.”

“Are you, now? Perfect. I have so many desires, Kauri… let’s see what you can do to fulfill them… actively.” He pulled Kauri’s head back again, to look him in the eyes in the near-darkness, and watched tears run down Kauri’s cheeks with an intense, focused fascination. The blade in his hand slowly slid down Kauri’s neck until it settled just between the two halves of his collarbone. “How well can you take a knife?”

Kauri’s shivering was suddenly no longer from the unwanted coil of arousal simmering under his skin. In a flash, he felt only a horrible cold. “I-I… I’m not t-trained for pain, sir,” He said softly.

“What a shame.” Martin smiled, in a way that said he did not find it a shame at all. The car moved through the city streets. No one knew him here, and his friends wouldn’t expect much communication for days. The knife slid with a kiss of pain along the neckline of his shirt, and Kauri hissed. He tried once more to pull away, but Martin held him where he was, letting it move with careful, practiced curves. Skin smoothly melting apart, leaving behind the ache and the drops of blood.

“Don’t worry, love. You’ll bleed plenty, for me. I’ll train you myself.” Martin sighed - not quite contentment, it was edged with darker lust. “But I am ever the gentleman, aren’t I? I’ll make sure that eager little body is… well taken of.” He paused, considering. The knife left Kauri’s skin and the boy breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Martin used his grip on Kauri’s hair to push his head lower, and relief was replaced once again by the wash of icy fear.

“For the foreseeable future, love, the only thing that should matter to you - that will matter to you - is how well you are pleasing me.”

“Yes, sir,” Kauri said softly.

He felt… distant from himself, and yet horrifyingly present, all at once. He could feel every shift of cloth against his skin, the low throb of want that had begun to course through him against his will. He could feel the hand gripped in his hair, hear Martin’s breath. 

And yet… he felt like there was a fog between himself and wha was happening. Just like he’d been trained. He would be good.

Shadows and shape. He knew how to do this. He had been forced to do this so many times in the Facility it was a muscle memory by now, tongue and lips searching out the right spots… he liked it by now, giving Owen - Jack - Derrick - others - what would make them feel good.

This was no different.

So why was he so scared?

“Then get started,” Martin said quietly. “You might as well familiarize yourself, you and I are going to know each other very well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ve been watching you for weeks, Kauri, and I have plans for you.”

Kauri carefully lowered his head, his right hand moving to pull down Martin’s zipper, and prayed at least one of those plans involved letting him get out of this alive.

***

Martin Viklund-Reid belongs to @evermetnotforgotten and is used with permission

[alchemicalterror]

Self-implemented Parole

[ Below is a transcript of an RP between @askanarky​ and ol’ Jonny boy, involving Anarky’s breakout and aftermath. WIth special guest @riddlesandqueries​ and @echoandquery​

Trigger warnings: Adolescent Homelessness, swearing. ]

Fuck. Shit. God dammit. Fuck, Lonnie swears to himself, couldn’t stay hidden for two days, could he?

Here he is, leaning against the wall of the dentist’s-office-turned-failed-comedy-club-turned-pirate-radio-station-slash-hideout he’d been spending the day at. Beside him’s a wooden baseball bat, blood-red paint dripping down the business end, three posters, and an overfilled olive drab backpack absolutely covered in patches and safety pins. In his hands, a box of old clothes and records.

Bitterly, Lonnie wonders how much weight he’d lost. Six and a half months was a lot longer- or maybe shorter?- than he’d fully realized.

God, why’s he even humoring the old man? Ten bucks and he could already be gone. He’d find another shitty landlord to blackmail for an equally shitty studio apartment, and life’d go on like he never left.

...But then again, that wasn’t him. And plus, he owes Jon a lot and did kinda call him ‘dad,' and plus, he couldn’t feasibly cut him out entirely unless he left Gotham for good, and why would he do that, he’s got work to continue-

”Fuck.” Lonnie mutters under his breath, shifting his weight to his other leg.

"Fuck." Jon mutters, pulling his coat in tighter. He doesn't know jack shit about hijacked radio towers, and while his car is an unremarkable, beat-up old junker that he's had for years - it runs fine, there's no noises or weird smells, but the body has seen better days - why run into a headache with traffic, gas mileage, potentially being seen at an intersection with a recently escaped convict...?

'Course, nothing could hide how tall he is. And god damn it, it's April, it's supposed to be warm....

Jonathan mutters against the cold in vague irritation, gravitating towards the next set of charity drop-off boxes in vain hopes of actually tracking down the runt. Jesus, he should've asked for directions. At least he's in good shape.

"Me an' my motherfuckin' ide--" Pause. Squint, at someone who fits the stature in a beat up black hoodie, with a box.

"....Kid?"

The good thing about oversized hoodies is that, if you’re drowning in them enough, it can almost conceal how high you jump when something calls an epithet that can apply to you. Immediately, Lonnie crouches to quickly, but gently place his box down and grab his baseball bat in his place, then raises himself up into half of a batter’s stance at the source of the-

Wait. Tall man, absolutely orange hair, in a thrift-store jacket and blue jeans. Of fucking course.

”Jesus Christ,” he half-mouths. He lets his stance relax and his arms hang limply down in an exaggerated 'I-don’t-wanna-be-here' stance. “‘Ay.” Lonnie’s stage voice is remarkable, if a bit higher than his normal growl.

Jonathan grins, a bit, despite himself. Baseball bat? Good lad.

He lifts a hand in a wave, chuckling. "Nice to see you ain't without means, boy." Jon murmurs, nodding at the weapon. "Half kickin' myself I didn't get directions when abouts I could, I been walking around back alleys all afternoon."

"Legs could use a break, and I saw a beaten-down dive up the block some, folks don't glance at your face even when you're ordering in places like that. You wanna coffee or somethin' before we ship out?"

“....” Lonnie turns away for half a second, letting a puff of air escape his clenched teeth. “Hey, you said you didn’t need them.”

Hypocritical, coming from him. He’s at least trying to be a little friendly, through the obvious voice crack and the constantly-correcting tone. “...Fine, I guess? I mean, I’ve got what...” He backs away and unzips the front pocket of the backpack on the ground. A cheap leather wallet spills out (along with six separate embroidered circle-As in various shades of crimson.) He unfolds it and squints between the pockets, “....twelve...? Dollars on me? That’s enough for, like, a sandwich.”

"Come off it kid, I got paid yesterday, you ain't gotta spend what little you got on a sandwich. Save it, s'good to have bus money." And with that Jon turns, and waves Lonnie follow him. Tall as he is, he's long ago adopted a sort of ambling gait to make it easier for other people to keep up with his long stride.

The diner is, as estimated, utterly apathetic to the arrival of both Jonathan and Lonnie, save for the motions of seating them both. No odd looks are given to Lonnie's box of things, nor -- if he brought it along -- his bat. He was half-heartedly offered the opportunity to drop it in the umbrella rack, if he wanted to.

Jon takes a booth with a high back, and turns his attention toward the menu.

Lonnie, in fact, does put his baseball bat in the umbrella rack (only in Gotham,) and swings himself up onto the booth, squishing himself into the corner and placing his box under the table. His backpack’s placed right beside him.

He’s already small- especially compared to Jonathan- but he seems determined to make himself even smaller. Lonnie hunches over the table and scrutinizes the menu with one exposed eye, rapping his free hand on the table. Jonathan receives the occasional upwards glance from him.

Coffee. And a sandwich. Jon picks both, mentally placing his order, and sets the menu down.

"...After we order, I got some things to ask, arright?" He murmurs, keeping his voice low; the staff might not care, but patrons could. Best keep mumbly.

"Dinner's on me whatever you got to say, upfront. Ain't contingent on you givin' me answers you think I'm gonna wanna hear."

(The waitress does drift by, uninterested and unimpressed, to take their orders.)

Watching the waitress approach means Lonnie didn’t have the space to answer Jon in full; Instead, he flashes a thumbs up his way.

BLT, cherry Coke. Lonnie deserved something sweet, he thought. His menu comes down after Jon’s, and he doesn’t fully turn to place his order. He does, however, have the common sense for manners; “I’d like an egg BLT and a cherry Coke, please.”

"And I'd like a tuna sub and a black coffee, please, miss. Thank you kindly."

Their orders are noted down, and she drifts on to her next engagement - and Jon leans on the table, looking Lonnie over. Where to start. "....You got a place to stay?"

“I’ll get one.” Lonnie murmurs, implying that the answer’s actually no. “Old landlord probably won’t let me back in, not like I was actually paying for my old apartment anyway...” He murmurs as he passes the saltshaker between his hands. "...Right." Jonathan says, nodding slowly. "...If you need a place to crash a li'l while while you work him over, y'know - I got a guest room. Ain't got much more than a bed and a couple boxes and a desk, but it's dry an' the door locks." "...And like, if puttin' out on your own for a place don't work, I don't mind if you stay, right?" .... Hm. The saltshaker rests in his left hand.

“...You’re serious? C’mon, your job’s probably already batter-fried as is, if anyone finds out-”

Lonnie doesn’t trail off, per se, more than he just lets his throat close a little. “...Really? You really don’t-“

He’d be an absolute idiot to decline, but there had to be some kind of catch - ? - but Jon’s not that much of a jerkass.... "Kid, much as I'm sure you could find someone whose arm you could twist for a place, it don't sit right with me to just leave you in an alley to do that. I got the room, and - well, Arkham can just deal." Jonathan’s tone is flat.

"What they don't know ain't gonna hurt my career." Lonnie puts a fist to his rapidly-splitting mouth and exhales sharply. “‘Guess that is true,” he answers, then shakes two fingers at Jon. 

“...Shit, thanks, I guess? I didn’t... really expect you to show real concern, holy shit...” "What, you think it was just for appearances?"  Jon chuckles, genial. "Naw, son, I try to actually care 'bout the folks I work with, didn't get into this business on accounta I don't care about people."

"Look, after Dinner I'll help you carry shit, since I left the car at home." “Okay.” Lonnie doesn’t particularly feel like pushing it any more, so he doesn’t. 

“...How’d I not notice this place before?” He asks, mostly to himself. Or maybe he had, and he’d forgotten about it. Was it even worth forgetting?  Ech, everything was so overwhelming. As their food and coffee comes around, Jonathan turns his attention to the rogue chat, securing something, before starting to eat. Tuna melts are truly the mac and cheese of the sandwich world, and hard to get wrong.

[ Dr_J_C ] - Hey, Eddie, you on. [ E?Nygma ] - Yes? [ Dr_J_C ]  - You got a cab company you trust to keep their yaps shut [ E?Nygma ] - My henchwomen. [ Dr_J_C ]  - ...Think they'd be willing to come pick up me and a runaway? Wound up cross town and the kid's got luggage [ E?Nygma ] - Only one way to find out, really.

[ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Ladies? ] [ DM  E&Q to E?Nygma: [Q] You need something, Ed? ] [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Yes, if you have the time tonight. Dr Crane is asking me about securing private transit that doesn't talk too much, if you catch my drift. Since you're both the pair I trust most on the matter, I thought I'd ask if you'd be willing to go fetch him and cart him wherever he needs to go. He's not in a stabbing mood, so it shouldn't be risky. ] [ DM  E&Q to E?Nygma: [Q] Not in a stabbing mood? Color me surprised.. but sure thing, Boss! [E] Dr. Crane requires transit? We aren’t busy, so we’ll be glad to pick him up, when needed. Anything that’s said will stay in the car, don’t you worry. ] [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: Peachy. Make him buy you dinner, huh? I'll forward the address: you know what to do if he starts giving you trouble, and where to send the bill. Thanks so much. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - Good news, Jonny, they'll do it. Have an address? [ Dr_J_C ]  - Yeah, hangon.... Down town, Eighth and Tuppence. The shitty diner.

[ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: : Eighth and Tuppence, the "shitty diner", as he put it. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - I told them to make you buy them dinner. 

[ Dr_J_C ]  -  Yeah, sure, doesn't have to be from here. We just got our food, so - give it an hour? [ DM: E?Nygma to E&Q: He's asked for you to come in an hour, so you have time to get ready. ]

[ E?Nygma ] - Done and done, don't leave them waiting.

Before eating, Lonnie removes the top slice of bread from each sandwich half and salts the (perfectly over-medium) egg on top, then slides the salt to the other side of the table. He almost chokes on his first bite. God, he missed real food. "...Arkham food, huh." Jonathan chuckles, humorlessly. "Shit, every time I've gotten outta there, pizza boxes have looked appetizing."

"Eddie's henches are gonna be givin' us a ride. They ain't snitches, and I fancy our chances in one'a their cars than on foot."

“...Tall punk one n’ a short one?” Lonnie clarifies through a mouthful of BLT. Gulp. “Nice.”

“...Spent his ketchup money on Walgreens eyeliner and a burger. Should probably get online and tell ‘im once I get home, huh.” He pauses, putting down his sandwich for a second. “I told you the ketchup thing, right?”

Jonathan grins, lifting his coffee in a weird sort of salute. "Sure did. Bet you made with Eddie, right? Eyeliner and a bite's a good cause, then. He chomps down half his sandwich before turning his attention properly to coffee.

"...Good-ish news, the Asylum is pretty sure I didn't help you break out." "So they prob'ly ain't gonna assume I came got you, neither."

“Thank god,” Lonnie comments. “Like, not just ‘cuz your job’s still safe, that’s great, but god, I didn’t spend three weeks figuring out like, 80 million people’s schedules for a friend in a high place to get the stick, it’s my damn credit.” He pauses for a sip of soda. “...Is that the right metaphor? Doesn’t matter. ‘S.... nice y’aint in that deep shit.”

Another pause. “Jesus Christ, I just said ‘y’ain’t’ in complete earnest, what the fuck are you doing to me?” Lonnie laughs, leaning his head back and pulling down one eyelid. Jonathan barks a cheerful laugh, and even that is ignored by the utter apathy that is a back-street diner in Gotham. He shakes his head until it trickles down to a snicker and, grinning, drains the rest of his coffee before his attention returns to the perfectly adequate tuna melt.

"Naww, they had me doin' damage control, after talkin' to me a bit and nosing some at my notes. Shit, I didn't know a damn thing about your plans, and it showed, son, so oughta be fine."

"New's being shitty about it anyways, though, m'sorry about that." “I~’m aware,” Lonnie chimes rather sardonically, waiting to swallow this time. “Eh, GCN’s a bunch of corporatist bullcrap anyway. They don’t think I’m a real dude, I know they aren’t a real news station, cancels out.” It really doesn’t cancel out, but the shrug indicates either he’s actually fine or he doesn’t particularly want to talk about it.

Jonathan slowly nods, and makes a mental tick to get a tee-shirt made inviting people to physically fight him if they want to call Lonnie a girl. That's a dadly thing to do, right?

"...So,” Jon starts, slowly, “Y'all called me dad."

Groan. “Uh, I’m sorry?” Lonnie shrugs to accompany the nonapology— not like it was worth applogizing for. “Slip of the tongue, like callin’ a teacher ‘mom,’ y’know?”

He sucks the rest of his Coke down and sets the tall plastic glass back on the table. Jon laughs, sitting back himself and uncrossing his arms. "Dunno where all I said I was upset about it, son." His grin is lazy and easy, and he just shrugs.

"Y'all see me as a father figure?" ... Does he? ... “I mean— you’re what, two and a half times my age n I’ve seen more of you  in the, what, three-ish months since you took my case than anyone else, not to mention you’re like...” Lonnie cycles through various expressions as he speaks, apparently directing his explanation at his fingernails. (Note the lack of a solid answer.) 

He doesn’t mention what Jon’s like. Soon, he throws his forehead into one hand, rubbing his temples.

“I mean—- no, but also not no?” "...So, solid maybe." Jon suggests, wiping crumbs off his hands with a chuckle. "Right, well that ain't somethin' you gotta come up with an answer to today, son. Right now, priority's makin' sure you don't get picked up by the cops two days after a breakout."

"And,” he adds, “Not leavin' you to find a half-comfortable Alley to try an' make a sleeping spot from."

“Mmh,” Lonnie affirms through his last bite of BLT (emphasis on the L.) “In my defense, I spent like... the first third’a my sophomore year doin’ that, I’ve got practice.” He jokes, sending finger-guns Jon’s way. “But yeah, let’s leave that for later, ‘kay?”

"Sounds good." Jonathan pulls out his wallet, leafing through it and leaving the bill in cash, with a generous tip. No, the bill hasn't actually arrived yet, but he's pretty good at math. Something about being a Chemist, maybe. 

"Ed's girls oughta be here in a nother couple minutes, so - you wanna hit the washroom or anything 'fore we head outside?"

[damiensdemon]

It Wasn't Fate

Chapter 1 - Trust and Judgement

In… and out.

Russell stretched up on his tiptoes as he plucked a bottle of neon-blue soda from the interior of the mini-mart cooler. The store is silent, save for the electric buzz of the lights and the tinny pop playing from an unseen radio. Behind the counter, the attendant played on his phone as he numbly let the night slip by.

Russell shouldn’t have been out so late. He knew that. In the desert, it's common knowledge that home is the best place to be when the sun goes down. But, with exhaustion glazed over his features he couldn’t say no to the sugar-kick his body was craving. And, damn it, I’m a grown fucking man. What’s the point of being an adult if you can’t even over-caffeinate yourself at two in the morning!

... How much caffeine is in this thing, anyway?

Curiously, he began examining the label of his soda and let the cooler door swing shut. A loud thunk resonated through the store, making him jump. Self-consciously, Russell checked for witnesses. Fortunately, he was alone in the aisle. 

He caught his reflection in the glass cooler door. Behind him, someone appeared from the back of the store.

Just out of Russell’s natural line of sight, but captured in the reflection, a tall figure stood motionless. At this distance, their only discernible features were their height, their big dark sunglasses, and a plain medical mask.

None of that was particularly alarming. Plenty of people in that area would prefer not to be seen, including Russell. He was wearing a mask as well, though his own hair was a few inches shorter than the tall-one's dark mane.

Still, the stillness of their rigid posture made Russ's paranoia kick in. Am I in their way? But, why are they waiting down there, then…?

With a second look-over, Russ decided that rigid wasn't the right word. Despite their height, they were slouched. Their broad shoulders rose and fell with steady and deep breaths. Within the pocket of their stained hoodie, their hands were stationary.

No, this person was focused .

Russell tightened his grip on his soda, summoning up his courage. Then, he quickly turned around to look directly at them.

In the time it took him to find the spot the figure had been standing in, they were already gone. A shiver shot up his back, but with a roll of his shoulders, Russ dismissed his paranoia.

Here I am, getting all freaked out about someone standing around in a store, when I've been standing here staring at them .

With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head and made his way to the front of the store with his prize in-hand.

 

The exit chimed an optimistic farewell as Russ stepped out onto the street. The wind noisily hurried past him, rustling the plastic bag clutched in his grip. As he smoothed his hair out of his face, the faint thrum of music floated to him from the bar across the street. With the breeze urging him along, he began his walk home.

Before his mind could wander off completely, another sound found its way to his ears. It was nearly drowned out by the pounding bass, but a distinctive door-chime rang out from the store behind him.

The store with only one other customer in it.

Gripping his bag firmly, he kept his head down and walked faster. The pang of fear he felt was, more than likely, irrational. But that didn’t stop the sensations of eyes boring a hole into his back. Deep breaths. In, and out.

“-- for me?”

Over the wind, he heard a voice. Just the tail-end of a sentence. With dread building in his stomach, he hesitantly glanced toward the speaker.

Across the street, in front of the bar, a gaggle of assorted inebriates wave back at him. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to see. He risked a glance toward the store, but found no sign of the tall person. With a soft sigh of relief, Russ turned his attention to the group.

“What was that?” He called out.

A ripple of laughter passed through them, and one repeated the initial question. “Whatcha got for me, sweetie ? Did you buy me something?”

Oh, no.

His face burned, and he stammered back,“I-... It’s a soda.”

“I wanna sip!” A different lad in the herd shouted. To his right, a less-drunk friend slapped him on the arm. Undiscouraged, he continued, “C’mon, honey, I’m thirsty! ”

Russell fumbled, shifting his weight between his feet. He opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again as the wind swept away the first syllable of his response. Taking it as a sign, he turned on his heel and walked away from the situation.

Behind him, he could hear little snippets of the men’s speech. What had initially begun as disappointed leering turned into playful threats, and more alarmingly, they were growing louder.

Closer.

Russ fought to swallow the tense knot in his throat as he prepared to break into a sprint.

I should have just stayed home .

“Hey! Slow down, we just wanna talk to you!”

He shut his eyes, hands balling into fists.

As if that’s the problem. I shouldn’t have to deal with this, just because I --

“ Stop. ”

This voice was different. It was commanding, nearly gravely. Russell’s heart stopped in its tracks, and so did his feet. His blood was ice as he forced himself to turn around and face it…

And found that it wasn’t directed at him. 

Between Russell and the approaching gaggle, an imposing figure stood firm. They had their back to him, but their stature is familiar. The person from the store…

For a long moment, the world stood still. The group silently watched the newcomer, and Russell remained rooted to the spot. His eyes darted between the back of their hood and their stiff-looking fingers by their sides. They remained tense, waiting for a reason to lunge at the drunkards.

Then, the tension breaks as one of the men laughed, slurring, “What’s your fuckin’ deal , dude?”

“Yeah, we’re just messing around. Chill...” Another chimed in.

Stiffly, the tall figure twisted around to make eye contact with Russell. Between his sunglasses and thick mane of hair, Russ caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. His skin was pale, and his eyes were dark.

He gestured at the men, then croaked, “... D-... do you want them to follow you?”

Russ opened his mouth to reply, but his throat wouldn’t comply. Instead, he shook his head forcefully.

The man nodded, then turned back to the unwanted guests. “Please leave us alone.”

The same one who’d called out last time rolled his eyes, “Oh, or else wh- ”

One of his friend’s cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. The instigator gave him a confused look, before his friend whispered something to him.

Even in the dark, his face went pale. “... Oh . Fuck that.” He mumbled, putting up his hands.

"Whatever you want, kid. It’ll be your funeral.” Another shrugged, motioning for his group to follow him back to the bar. “It’s fucking freezing out here. Let's go."

Relief poured out of Russ’s body as they shuffled off. Still, his pulse pounded in his ears as he stared at the broad back of his savior.

Just in, and out. In, and out. Russell struggled to find a crumb of composure as the tall man finally turned around to properly face him.

In… and out.

The man shook the tension out of his hands, cleared his throat, then asked, “Are you okay?”

Russ nodded, throat still blocked by an invisible lump.

The stranger tilted his head as he observed the shorter guy from a respectful distance. It was impossible to tell exactly where he was looking through his glasses, which made Russell squirm in his skin.

“I’m Jeff.” He said abruptly, snapping Russ out of his thoughts. “Um… D-... Do you want me to walk home with you? I’m not busy or anything.”

Perhaps it was the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but Russ found himself struggling to process the situation. Should I be scared...? He kept those assholes away from me, but… What if he has something worse in mind for me?

“I-if you don’t want me to, I won’t be offended. I just-...” He leaned in, whispering horsley with a nod toward the bar, “Y’know, I can wait here and keep an eye on them, too.”

Something about his tone, mannerisms, his energy … He came off as genuinely innocent. Not much about his expression could be discerned, but it was obvious that Jeff was doing everything he could to put Russ at ease. If he was being honest with himself, Russ was pretty sure that if the dude wasn’t a foot and a half taller than himself and built like a shit brickhouse, Jeff would come off as entirely harmless.

Finally, Russ found the strength to speak. “... Thank you. My name is Russell. Can... I ask you something?”

“Oh, of course!” Jeff replied eagerly.

“Why did you do that?”

He hesitated. Reflexively, his fingers found a lock of his black hair and began to toy with it. “Well… I guess, um…” He fumbled, “I’ve seen you… around , before. And, I worry about people, y’know? There’s a lot of bad folk in this area. So, when I heard those guys yelling at you, I thought that you might want some help.”

Russell nodded. “... Okay. Thanks for stepping in.”

“It was no problem. Why wouldn’t I?” He said, shrugging. “Gotta earn my keep somehow, heh…”

Russ grinned, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “... If you don’t mind, I wouldn’t mind if you walked with me.”

Under his mask, a wide smile stretched Jeff’s mouth. “O-of course! Thank you!” 

He laughed softly, “For what? You’re the one doing me a favor.”

“Just… trusting me, really.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Russ took a step back, “Let’s get moving. It really is fucking freezing.”

Jeff nodded giddily, following after him. “Lead the way!”

 

The two of them walked side-by-side, but Jeff kept a comfortable distance from his companion. He stayed close enough that he never left Russ’s field of view, but never quite came within arm’s reach.

With his hands shoved deep into his hoodie’s pocket, Jeff stared off ahead of them. Occasionally, he’d glance behind them, but never looked directly at Russell for long.

As they waited for an intersection to clear, Russ piped up. “Weird question, but… You don’t think I’m a kid, do you?”

“No, of course not. Why would a kid be out this late?” Jeff replied, amused.

“Just wondering. I know I have a baby-face, but like...  Y’know, I’m old enough to drink. I’ve voted twice. ” Russell elaborated, adding with a snort, “I’ve had people threaten to call my parents on me before. I haven’t lived with them for five years.”

Jeff made a deep, wheezy sound in response. A laugh, perhaps? The noise alone made Russ laugh along with him.

“I-I can’t relate to that, I’m sorry.” Jeff replies, “I haven’t been carded in over 20 years.”

“Really? How old are you?” Russ blurted, eyes flicking over his tall companion’s form. The best indication he could get of Jeff’s age was that one of his knees kept popping. Beside that, he was a peak physical specimen.

“Um… 38.” He admitted.

“Oh. Huh…” Russ muttered, surprised. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff’s shoulders dipped forward.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“... What for?”

“For, um. Being me, I guess.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I know I’m scary to look at. Obviously.”

Russ responded quickly, “You shouldn’t apologize for that. Like, you can’t help being massive, or intimidating, or... whatever. And even if you could --”

“You haven’t even seen what I look like.” Jeff cut in, idly toying with his hair again. “I like how I look. But, y’know, some people assume a lot about you by your appearance.”

“Ahah, I get that…” Russ sighed, “I wish more people realized that stuff doesn’t matter. How you look doesn’t make you a bad person, or a good person. It’s your actions that matter.”

“Exactly. I try really hard to be good. ”

“I think you are. I mean, you deescalated a really nasty situation for me. That’s pretty good”

Jeff’s gaze was fixed on the sidewalk ahead of them as he listened. Russell’s eyes settled on the pink skin of his neck as Jeff idly scratched at it. The skin there was splotchy and shiny in places, much like his hand. It reminded Russ of a burn.

Russ cleared his throat, snapping himself out of his thoughts. “You know what? You remind me a little of my older brother.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Though… He might be a little taller than you are, actually.”

Jeff stumbled over an uneven slab of concrete, but recovered quickly. His stiff posture read to Russell as embarrassment.

“Th-... thank you. That’s really nice of you to say.” He murmured, shoving his stiff fingers into his pocket once more.

“Hardly. It’s common decency.” Russ shrugged dismissively, slowing his stride as he fished out his house key.

With his head tilted back, Jeffery took in the apartment building towering above them. “Nice place.”

“For a one-bedroom? It’s not too bad. I’d like it a lot if they ever fixed the elevator. And the stairs..” Russell griped, and again, Jeff laughed. It was such a genuine sound of happiness, it made Russ’s chest ache.

When the giggle died off, he coughed. “Well. Um… Thank you for letting me walk you home. It really means a lot to me.”

“No, really, thank you .” Russ stood on the second step to the entryway, turning to face the man on the sidewalk. “If you hadn’t been there, tonight might have been… kinda shitty for me.”

“It’s just common decency.” Jeff fired back, rolling his shoulders.

Even two-steps up, Jeff still had a few inches on Russell. He didn't want to make the larger man uncomfortable by staring at him, but he could see the excitement radiating off of Jeff's body.

[hermionegranger56]

ok lads its time for my breakdown of folklore, something absolutely no one is asking for but here we are!! this album. thIs ALBUMMMM. dear GOD. the intersection of my two favorite things, taylor swift and indie folk???? i feel like i’m dreaming. when she announced the surprise drop i literally burst into tears and evidently for good reason lol.

anywho here’s the thing. Red has been my all time favorite album for 8 years now. it holds such an important place in my life and i never thought anything she did could come close (though Lover almost did). but this. THIS IS BETTER THAN RED

the lyrical genius is unmatched here. taylor isn’t just writing songs here, this is POETRY. every song is nuanced, intricate, devastatingly beautiful, with words that’ll haunt me for a long time. and the fact that it’s stories, literal folklore, no longer just about her own life is incredibly creative and is executed so well for someone who has interwoven her life into her entire body of music thus far. folklore blends facts with fiction so seamlessly and is a true exhibition of taylor’s power as a songwriter.

and the vibessss!! from haunting heartbreak songs, to ethereal lost-in-the-woods vibes, to a comforting return to her old self, this album has everything. taylor is without a doubt one of the most versatile artists of our generation, having success and skill in multiple genres and folklore only solidifies this fact.

ALL RIGHT KIDS LETS JUMP IN

the 1: hell yeah explicit tswift give it to me lol you ARE on some new shit!! ok when i first listened to this i hadn’t read her statement about the other perspectives and i was about to RIOT about her and joe breaking up (like they could ever lol). this is such a catchy beat, such a casual?? look at such a painful feeling? a really good start to this album. the part where she goes another day waking up aLONE killlllllls me wow

fave lines: “in my defense i have none/for never leaving well enough alone”

cardigan: (don’t get me started on the mv it’s gorgeous) YES THE TEENAGE LOVE TRIANGLE suchhh a good concept!! the melody of this song is unreal, the chorus makes me want to scream it’s so beautiful, the i-i-i is SOMETHING ELSE. it’s crazy how just the melody makes betty’s pain so palpable, but so enchanting at the same time. it’s bittersweet and cinematic and i’m in love. PETER LOSING WENDY GOD. easily top 5 song here

fave lines: “when you are young they assume you know nothing”, “cause i knew you/ heartbeat on the high line/ once in 20 lifetimes i” “you drew stars around my scars/but now i’m bleeding”

the last great american dynasty: watch hill!!! her watch hill house!! i live near there!! oh i think this song is so clever and i love how it ties into mad woman as well as harkens back to starlight. i LOVE the way she ties her self in, “and then it was bought by me” like ughhh her mind? and its catchy AF

fave lines: “i had a marvelous time ruining everything”

exile: YOU KNOW HOW TO DO AN INDIE ALBUM??? BRING BON IVER INTO THIS SHIT!! wowww this song is haunting and is definitely the “i’m you but stronger” version of The Last Time. the overlap of both of them singing and their parallel lines are flawless. i could play this on repeat for hours and contemplate my whole existence

fave lines: “you never gave a warning sign/i gave so many signs”

my tears ricochet: ok somehow a track 5 with tears in the title is not the saddest song here but DAMN is it good. I love the visual of someone watching over their funeral and reacting. the music is stunningggg here. ALSO i am pretty convinced this is about the whole scott/scooter drama, like the lyrics fit so well? and she said it was the first song she wrote so the timeline kinda fits?? geniusss

fave lines: “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace”, “and if i’m dead to you/why are you at the wake?”

mirrorball: ohhhh this one is so pretty!! it just makes me want to dance around the kitchen with the person i love??? its comforting, ethereal, happyyy ugh i love it. I also think it could be about her relationship with her fans? like her music shows us different sides of ourselves idk? or just absorbing into a relationship?

fave lines: “on my tallest tiptoes/shining just for you”

seven: i’m gonna call this now: this is going to be the most underrated song on this album. it is STUNNING. POETIC. HEARTBREAKING. the music is so hauntingly nostalgic. and the lyrics, holy absolute shit. they’re a delicate testament to childhood, memory, and innocent love. it’s gut wrenching and i love it so so much

fave lines: “i’ve been meaning to tell you/i think your house is haunted/your dad is always mad/and that must be why”, “and just like folk song/our love will be passed on”, “before i learned civility/ i used to scream ferociously” ALL OF IT

august: and now we get the girl james cheated with’s perspective, which i think is great. its sunny, wistful and sad underneath all that beautiful production. when she slides from the chorus to the “back when we we’re changing for the better” and hits that “mineeee to lose” GOD, it just fills your chest. i feel like even if you never have, this makes anyone feel like they know exactly what a summer fling feels like. one of my faves

fave lines: “august slipped away/like a bottle of wine”, “cancel my plans just in case you call/ and say meet me behind the mall”

this is me trying: the slow pacing of this melody serves to show these EXQUISITE lyrics here. this is so intimate and personal and i feel like everyone can relate to this feeling of just trying to hold on and put on a brave face?

fave lines: “they told me all of my cages were mental/ so i got wasted like all my potential”

illicit affairs: ok all you need to know about this one is a) I’m obsessed b) this is the closest she has come to creating a bridge that makes me feel like the All Too Well bridge has, like scream sobbing in the car type vibe??? its unreal. and this song makes me feel that shitty feeling of: “this was supposed to be casual but oops its very much not” hmmm maybe that’s where the scream sobbing comes from hahah

fave lines: “don’t call me kid/don’t call me baby/look at this godforsaken mess that you made me/you showed me colors you know i can’t see with anyone else”

invisible string: this. THIS is probably her most stunning love song. like. i thought it was Lover. i was wrong. this one is confidently from Taylor’s perspective, about Joe and dear lord i want a love like theirs. and shit does this song put the folk in folklore, the music is so simple and gorgeous and harkens back to her country roots without losing this new sound she has. and the first few notes remind me of Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens so instantly im sold. this and betty are tied for my number 1, it’s just too beautiful

fave lines: “time curious time/give me no compasses/give me no signs” “isn’t it just so pretty to think/all along there was some invisible string/tying you to me”, “cold was steel of the axe that i had to grind/for the boys who broke my heart/now i buy their babies presents”, “hell was the journey/but it brought me heaven”

mad woman: FUCK YOU FOREVERRRRRR!!! yes taylor said fuckkkk ugh i LOVE this vibe, the revenge of the mad woman that the town cast out is so eerie and powerful, i’m obsessed. it ties back into the maddest woman of TLGAD and it feels like a spiritual sequel to The Man, the same feminist thread weaving through it. the lyrics are razor sharp and biting, i love it

fave lines: “and you poke that bear/till the claws come out/ and you find something/ to wrap your noose around”, “it’s obvious wanting me dead has really brought you two together”

epiphany: so uhhh THIS is the saddest song on folklore. fight me. the seamless comparison between wartime and the pandemic and waiting for some epiphany that could make sense of all the horrors surrounding the both. idk man, as someone who’s been a covid nurse since March, i just….this one HURTS. similar to Soon You’ll Get Better tbh

fave lines: “hold your hand through plastic now/doc i think she’s crashing out/and somethings you just can’t speak about”

betty: OH I LOVE IT WITH MY WHOLE HEART! this is such a TRIUMPHANT return to old taylor, it is so joyful but sad at the same time?? the harmonica?? the last part of the love triangle?? it sounds like Taylor Swift and Fearless all grown up and it makes me ache for back then, but love where we are right now. tbh the first time i heard this i sobbed through the whole thing just out of pure nostalgia. she’s back but at the same time she never left. this feels like a love song to original fans and it. is. incredible. my favoriteeee goddd

fave lines: THE WHOLE CHORUS BABYYYYY

peace: it’s gorgeous, especially the guitarrr ugh. this feels like delicate’s quiet older sister. i think it’s definitely about joe and how taylor, despite loving him, still has these insecurities and fears about what a relationship with someone in her position could be like? like there will be struggles, but he’s her family and she “would die for you in secret”. stunning

fave lines: “i’m a fire and i’ll keep your brittle heart warm”, “the devils in the detail/but you’ve got a friend in me”, “give you my wild/give you a child”

hoax: i’m surprised she ended it on a sad one (but we still have the lakes!!) but this song is hauntingly beautiful WOW. every line of this absolutely floors me. i think this one will also be largely underrated, but it is pure poetry and deserves so so much hype

fave lines: “stood on the cliffside/screaming give me a reason/your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in”, “it still hurts underneath my scars/from when they pulled me apart/but what you did was just as dark” “my kingdom come undone/ my broken drum/ you have beaten my heart”

ANYWHO TAYLOR HAS PRODUCED HER BEST WORK TO DATE AND IM READY FOR SAD GIRL AUTUMN

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 86

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

THANK YOU all so much for reading my story after my 5-week hiatus.  I was thrilled to know that you were waiting for its return and I really appreciated your kind messages to me.  Your feedback about the chapter raised some questions that will be answered in forthcoming chapters.  Thank you so much.

SYNOPSIS:  James Fraser tracks down William Ransom to a secret location in the woods. He also finds his accomplice Steven Bonnet there and wrecks some havoc on the two university students. Steven Bonnet is recalcitrant, but with Jamie’s frightening methods and intimidating persuasion, he finds out where his Claire can be found.

Previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

N.B. This chapter contains some violence

  CHAPTER 86 (V)

Hurriedly leaving the University grounds, Jamie steered the SUV back onto Route 1 and headed towards Lion Rock Tunnel for the new address the university supervisor had given him was located in the New Territories. The address was for a cabin situated in the woods which belonged to the family of his friend Steven Bonnet; therefore, it was probable that this man was the accomplice in Claire's kidnapping. Clearly William Ransom and this Steven Bonnet had decided to lay low away from Hong Kong in the scenic hillsides and forestry plantations of Lion Rock Country Park in the Mong Fu Shek area. It was much easier for two men to disappear in this wooded, isolated area for a while rather than in the city itself where it was possible someone would know of their movements. Jamie knew that if both men were at the location then he would have a good chance of getting the Intel he needed as to Claire’s whereabouts.

Driving through the forested area he continued on for some miles until coming to an intersection which looked like two logging roads. He stopped and checked his map as to the most probable road to take where a cabin may be located, before turning the SUV down the dirt road that led towards a river. As luck would have it, it was the right decision. When he saw a cabin in the distance, Jamie killed the engine and cruised along the winding track before parking the car a discreet distance away from the cabin under the cover of foliage. Soundlessly, he got out of the vehicle so as not to alert anyone of his presence, then made his way nearer to the cabin. Hiding in the bushes, he observed the surrounding perimeter looking for any sign of life and in particular the two men who he was looking for. 

Creeping closer he could see that the cabin was indeed occupied, as smoke was filtering from the chimney. There was also a 4-wheel drive parked out the front and music was blaring from a stereo system that was at odds with the tranquillity of the locale. On high alert in case someone appeared, Jamie carefully looked around checking for anomalies but the perimeter was clear. There was no sign that William Ransom was anywhere else but inside the house. However, just as he was about to creep even further closer to the cabin, he heard the sound of a car engine. Immediately he stepped back under the cover of the undergrowth while he surveyed the area yet again particularly the route of the sound. Suddenly from the opposite direction, an all-terrain vehicle appeared at one end of another road leading to the cabin. The driver had his foot to the floor, skylarking and doing burnouts along the track. As the person driving neared the cabin, the tyres skidded in the dirt when the jeep came to a sudden halt stopping in a cloud of dust.

Jamie watched to see what would happen next.

A young man got out of the vehicle calling to the occupant of the cabin as he ran up the stairs yelling to be heard over the music. "Hey Will ... You in there?" When there was no immediate answer, he called out again, this time pounding on the door to make himself heard. "Ransom! Open up ... it's me!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The music died down and another man, obviously William Ransom, came to the door, opened it and stepped outside. Jamie had a good view of the two assailants as they stood on the porch talking. He observed their interactions and body language to see if there were any weakness he could exploit. "Hey man ... how come you're so late?” William asked with some concern in his greeting.  “Did you get all the supplies we need?" "Yeah ... I've got enough to last us a couple of weeks." "That's good ... Did you remember my cigarettes?"

"Yeah ... here you go," Steven Bonnet replied tossing the packet to his friend. 

William Ransom took one out of the packet and lit up, inhaled deeply as if savouring an elixir then tensely exhaled the smoke into the air.  He took a few quick puffs before throwing the lit cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the sole of his foot. It appeared to Jamie that he was a little nervous and knew that this lad was vulnerable and uneasy. The question was why? Was he afraid of his friend or was it some other deep-seated factor? Like what role did he play in Claire’s kidnapping?  Jamie was interested to hear more of their interactions, hoping that it could reveal more information as to who else may be involved in Claire’s disappearance other than these two males. "Anything happen while I was away?" Steven asked as his buddy followed him to his car to collect the supplies. "Wang Yu called," William stated matter-of-factually as he began to unload the supplies from the jeep. Steven stopped what he was doing and looked at his friend with a perplexed look on his face. "Oh?" "He wants you to call him ASAP." “I wonder what he wants?” Steven Bonnet speculated as he flipped open his cell phone and dialled his number. As he waited for a connection, he turned to his buddy asking, "Did he say anything to you?" "No." Loaded up with supplies William Ransom went back into the house while Bonnet waited for Wang Yu to answer his call signalling that he'd be back for more goods once he'd put these away. Finally, a connection was made and he replied to the caller, "Hello ..." "Ah, Steven ... I have a question of you." Wang Yu stated without preamble. "Sure ... fire away," was his cocky answer. "Tell me ... the gun you had in your possession. Was it yours?" "Well ... I had two guns... which one are you referring to?" "The revolver with the distinctive markings on it." "Oh ... that one." "Yes ... Where did you get it from?" "I picked it up when that broad dropped it at the apartment block." "So, it's hers then?"

 "Yep ... why?" 

"That's not important, but thank you for the information,” he stated cutting off any further discussion as to why he required this info. Then to stop Bonnet from any other questions put forward a proposition to him.  “Now I also have a favour to ask of you." Steven’s ears pricked up at this request. He looked around to see if William was returning and when he failed to see his friend replied, "Really? ... Just me?" "Yes ... after your performance with our prisoner ... I think you are the right person for this job." With an inflated sense of importance that he’d been singled out, Steven Bonnet replied. "Thank you ... what do you want me to do Mr Yu?" "Someone has been making inquiries about the Rising Dragons in New Kowloon and on Hong Kong Island. I need you to take care of them.  I need you to intimidate them by any means necessary … but the end result will be their elimination.  Can you do that?" "Of course, ... I'm your man ... I'm listening ...." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

William Ransom returned just as Steven was disconnecting the call. Bonnet had an enigmatic smirk on his face and William looked at his partner wanting to know what Wang Yu had wanted. When Steven gave nothing away with his gaze, he asked, "Has there been a last-minute change of plans?" "No ... he wanted to know about the woman's gun,” then reluctantly added, “… and he offered me another job." "What job?" "A hit in New Kowloon or one on Hong Kong Island." "And what did you say?" He asked wary of what Steven Bonnet had got them into again after the success of the kidnapping of Claire Beauchamp.     "I said I'd take the one in New Kowloon." "Why?" "Because it pays more and is consistent with our cover story and besides it's close by." "Ah, I see ... Did he say anything about me?" "No ... I think he sensed that you were lacking in ruthlessness for a hit." William was relieved to hear that it was only Steven that was required to do this job for the Rising Dragons and breathed a sigh of relief.  Kidnapping Claire Beauchamp had affected him more that he realised. "He's right ... I don't think I'm cut out for this ... not like you Steven." "Why not?" "It didn't seem right kidnapping that woman ... and then when I shot her ... that was a mistake." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

From his concealed vantage point, James Fraser heard every word of their conversation and his ears pricked up when he heard Ransom say this. He was immediately shaken to the core and enraged beyond belief at this piece of information. It was inconceivable to think that his Claire had been the victim of a shooting on top of having been kidnapped. Jamie closed his eyes as the despair of the worst-case scenario coursed through his mind.

 No! His Claire had been shot! ... Was she already dead?  

These thoughts were followed by the feelings of revenge and vengeance towards her perpetrator and he vowed that he would kill William Ransom with his bare hands.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

However, just as he was about to move forward, William added, "Thank goodness it was only a flesh wound." 

"She'll be fine ... anyway it's not our worry ... we did our job and were told to lay low and that's what we're doing." Steven Bonnet answered dismissively. 

"Yeah, but I can't help thinking about what we did ... what you did." Steven looked at William perplexed as to what he was alluding to. "What I did?" he asked mystified. In return he side eyed his buddy. "You roughed her up a lot Steven ... that wasn't necessary." "Well it worked didn't it? And now Wang Yu wants me to take care of some business for the triad." "Are you sure you want to do this?" "Yeah ... It's not as if we're real members of the Rising Dragons yet." "I beg to differ ... I think this is their way of ensuring that they have us where they want us. Because of the kidnapping and now this hit, we've got ourselves in too deep to get out of the triad now. You know how ruthless they can be and if they think we'll talk, then our lives won't be worth living. I'm a bit concerned actually." "Ah ... It's all in your mind Will ... we're in and that's it ... Think of it as an adventure." "I think it will be our death sentence." He replied with a sense of doom to his voice. Steven Bonnet just laughed at his trepidation. "I'll look after you my friend ... you think too much. It will be fine. No one knows we're here except Wang Yu." "I hope you're right," William answered forlornly. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Jamie continued to listen to their conversation and the more he heard the more his anger intensified.  Ransom’s partner, Steven Bonnet appeared to be more ruthless, gung-ho and callus of the two, and he too would suffer retaliation for what he had done to his Sassenach. Both men would feel the full force of Section One’s cold-blooded killer’s wrath for touching just one single hair on Claire’s head. At first the two men seemed to be polar opposites and Jamie was convinced that Ransom was the weaker of the two, but perhaps he’d been wrong in his assessment of the young man. Perhaps this William Ransom had some remorse after all for what he’d done. 

However, there was one thing Jamie was certain of.  Ransom and Bonnet’s words would come back to haunt them once they knew who they were up against. If William was worried about the triad then he had nothing to fear but once he met James Fraser his nightmares would only just be beginning. As for Bonnet thinking this was an adventure, he would rue the day he made that mistake, for he would show no mercy to either man for what they had done.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Suddenly Steven stopped talking and twisted his head around when he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. Spooked, he quickly turned in the direction of the noise and fired his gun ... scaring a flock of birds into the air. 

"What was that?" William asked with a tremor in his voice. "Nothing ... Just some birds. Your words were making me paranoid. I thought I heard something." "I guess we're both a little jumpy." Picking up a carton of beer from the back seat of the jeep, Steven placed his arm around his friend’s shoulder. "Come on Ransom let's go and have a beer to celebrate our initiation into the Rising Dragons and toast our success in the kidnapping." "Okay," he replied feeling better after hearing his confident reply. "We're going to have a long stay in the woods because we like the isolation hey Will?"

"Yeah ... we do," he laughed in reply as they both headed inside the cabin to crack open a couple of beers. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The two young men walked away oblivious to the real danger that lay in wait just meters away.

Jamie had heard enough. It was time for reprisal for these two assailants and in particular Steven Bonnet who had dared to roughen up and manhandle his Claire. William Ransom too had injured her and for that he also would pay.  Any man who laid a finger on his Sassenach would be the recipient of his wrath and these two men would both wish they were dead for hurting Claire.

Their worst nightmare awaited them. An adversary like no other watched and waited until Steven Bonnet and William Ransom had entered the cabin before he made his move. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Returning to the SUV, James Fraser opened the bag that Walter had given him. Inside there was a mini compact missile made to make an impact but not too high on the destruction level. The missile would detonate but cause minimal damage but enough to force the two men out into the open when caught unawares. Jamie quickly took it out,

set up the small projectile on a launcher, aimed it at the cabin and readied it for launch. Keying in a sequence of numbers, the missile automatically lit up and finally burst free on its trajectory. Once the rocket was launched, Jamie watched it silently advance through the trees to its target.

The sound of an explosion as the projectile detonated reverberated in the stillness while the sound of shocked voices could be heard coming from inside the cabin. 

Scrutinizing the area, Jamie leaned against a tree as he took cover with his gun at the ready, watching for the two kidnappers to come out of the cabin. As he waited, he studied the area while his Section instincts alerted him to a possible problem. Everything seemed a little too quiet. The voices inside the cabin had ceased and William Ransom and Steven Bonnet had not yet emerged.  However, the cabin door eventually flew open and they soon came rushing out onto the porch in a state of shock but still brandishing weapons at the ready.  As they appeared Jamie aimed his gun, firing a shot over their heads. The two men ran from the cabin and ducked behind the cover of William's 4-wheel drive hiding behind the vehicle to get out of the open where they were vulnerable from an unknown foe. Bonnet took aim too firing his pistol in the direction of the gunfire. However, there was no sign of Jamie as he had moved to another position where he watched as the two young men came to grips with the fact that they were not alone. William Ransom began to panic and made to get up to run into the woods but Steven grasped him by his jumper and held him back. Grabbing him, he placed a hand over the terrified man's mouth, quieting him. "Shhh. Will ... listen to me. We don't have very much time. I'm going to need your help. We need to get out of here." Realizing that Steven was trying to help him overcome his fear, he immediately calmed down. "But how?" he answered nervously looking around for the assassin. "We'll make a dash for my jeep and make our getaway." He pointed to where he had parked his vehicle a short dash away from the safety of the car they were crouching behind. "Are you sure that will work? What if he fires again?" "You go first then and I'll cover you ... Start up the jeep and I'll catch up. Okay?" "O-kay," he worriedly replied. Jamie quietly observed everything that was happening, then slipped out of sight to a better vantage point firing another round of bullets towards the two men. He watched as one man, then the other ran in the direction of the other vehicle. He moved into position letting both men get in the vehicle as William Ransom revved up the motor and backed the jeep back onto the dirt road. However, just as they were about to speed off down the road, they saw a man dressed in black step out on to the track ahead of them. William immediately accelerated hard and tried to run him down, but before he could hit him, Jamie shot out the front left tyre. The jeep careened off the road as the driver lost control and tried to steady the jeep without success before it crashed into a tree. The impact stalled the car and the jeep was now firmly lodged against the tree trunk. Panicking, William tried to restart the engine, but it wouldn't turn over. Steam began to pour out of the broken radiator under the bonnet. He revved the engine but merely flooded the carburettor while the tyres spun above the ground. Calmly closing in on the crashed vehicle, James Fraser aimed his gun at the two of them. "Get out of the car!" He ordered in an ominous tone. Steven Bonnet and William Ransom both looked at the menacing man who had a weapon pointed at them and nervously got out of the jeep. Jamie immediately aimed his gun again but as Steven moved over closer to William's side, he suddenly grabbed him as a hostage holding his gun up to his head. With the jeep to protect his back and using his friend as a human shield he threatened, "Drop the gun! ... Drop it! ... Drop it, man! I'll kill him ... if you don't let me go." "Kill him. I dinna bargain," was the steely reply. Taken a back Steven asked, "Who are you?" Jamie fired a shot over his head before Bonnet knew what was happening with his ominous words, "Yer worst nightmare." This action caught him unawares. They both ducked. Frightened, William thought that if Steven became irrational and fired back, he could be in the firing line. They stood at an impasse for a minute. Scrutinizing the man in black, Bonnet soon realised he could not underestimate him. The man had fired a rocket launcher at the cabin which had narrowly missed the two of them before detonating. More than likely he had other weapons too. Weighing up his options he finally held his gun out with his fingers and dropped it on the ground realizing the only way to kill this mystery man would endanger his friend.

William Ransom closed his eyes in relief. 

With his gun still drawn, Jamie approached the two men and placed his gun to Steven Bonnet's head. "Yer going to tell me where Claire Beauchamp is." 

"Who?" He replied foxing in his reply. "The woman ye kidnapped ... the one ye roughed up. Where is she?" "Don't know ... don't care." 

"There are ways to make ye talk." At that, the gun was moved from Steven's head. Cold, emotionless, blue eyes looked him in the eye as James Fraser proceeded to calmly shoot him in the foot. 

A large gasp erupted from Bonnet’s lips as the unexpected bullet pierced his foot. He flinched in pain but he answered Jamie with bravado. "I haven't seen her for a while." 

"Well then, neither have I. That's ... the problem."

 James Fraser was menacing in his perusal of the target who watched his assailant still recoiling in the pain of the first bullet. This man was far too hard to read and Steven was flummoxed as to what he might do next.  With steely eyes and gritted teeth, he watched as this menacing man calculatingly moved the gun and took aim at his knee.

Toying with him like a cat with a mouse, Jamie announced, "Now ... I can work my way up until ye feel that ye wish to cooperate with me." 

Steven Bonnet’s eyes widened in dread at his words before he closed them expecting one more bullet to his knee.  Another shot rang out. He grabbed his knee but Jamie had merely taunted with him this time. Bending over in pain, he  intonated, "Go to hell!" 

Ignoring his retort, Jamie nonchalantly did shoot him in the knee before turning to look at William Ransom, giving him an intimidating look.

"Ye shot Claire ... Where is she?" 

Realising that this imposing man was extremely threatening he swallowed before answering his words rushing out in bumbled urgency, "It ... it was an accident man ... I didn't mean to do it." 

Without warning Jamie took retribution. Unsympathetically and with a cold look in his eye, he shot William in the leg. He screamed loudly and crouched down clutching at his leg which was bleeding profusely while cowering in fright. Coming up to stand over the two quivering men Jamie stated menacingly. "I can do this two ways ... kill ye first or kill ye later ... Either way ye'll be dead. I will find out ... now where is Claire Beauchamp being held?" "Steven, just tell him what he wants to know." William pleaded with him as the pain intensified where the bullet had lodged in his flesh. "Why should I?" Was his belligerent reply. Realising that his friend was not going to reveal the information this man wanted, he would instead if it would save his life. "She's ..." Even though Jamie still had his gun trained on him, Steven Bonnet censured his friend. "Shut up William ... he's only messing with our minds." Then, with bravado he turned to Jamie, "Like we care about any of this." "I'm sorry, are ye bored?" he replied disdainfully, the cold chill of his voice piercing through their brain with intent. Yet Bonnet refused to cower in the face of adversary and stood his ground. "Yeah. We've already told you we don't know anything." Suddenly Jamie's hand whipped out and he snapped him in the throat. Caught off guard Steven doubled over gasping and choking on his own bile. His throat was constricted and the pain was horrendous. Struggling for breath, he could barely breathe as he tried to gasp air back into his lungs.

"When yer ready … I'm waiting." Showing defiance in the face of adversity Steven merely stared at the mystery man refusing to give one iota, and then laughing replied flippantly, "Hey I remember now ... they took her to Hong Kong Disneyland." Jamie walked over to him. Steven Bonnet's eyes followed every move he made and watched as he chambered another bullet into his gun. Wondering if his time was up, he briefly closed his eyes. The mystery man's recent actions had given him no idea which way he would go. Jamie aimed the gun at him. "Now listen carefully. The choice is yours whether ye live or die." Trying to negotiate his way out of this sticky situation he was patronizing in his reply. "Oooh ... I'm afraid. If you kill us there will be no one to tell you where your woman is. Allow us to leave and I'll promise you that no harm will come to her. It's in your hands." James Fraser saw the supercilious smirk cross over the man's face as Bonnet raised his head to defiantly look at him. He was a typical recruit for the Rising Dragons … arrogant, proud, belligerent and not afraid to die. Catching a deft movement by the man Jamie caught a glimpse of a small gun Steven had secretively removed from a concealed place on his body. He pointed the gun at this menacing man in black ... but he was not quick enough in taking aim for before he could gain leverage Jamie shot him in self-defence. William Ransom watched in fear as the body of his friend slumped down onto the ground as the cold assassin stood his ground. "I want the location of Claire Beauchamp ... and I want it now." Petrified that he would meet the same demise as his friend, William was shaking in his boots and decided the best course of action was to tell all that he knew.  

 "Yes … yes … I'll tell you everything I know." 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

[seromreven]

title: burning love.

anonymous requested: “ahh sorry to bother but can I get a john x paul smut, where paul works at a record store and they do the dirty”

author’s note: aw, bby, you’re not a bother at all!

---

It was fifteen minutes before closing when John barged into the small record shop heaving for breath with his hands on his knees as he struggled for air. Work had kept him for longer than usual which made him resort to sprinting from one place to another and over the very busy intersection to reach the store in time. People glanced his way with raised brows and muttering but he really couldn't give a fuck about what they thought of his dishevelled appearance, leather trousers and all. John stretched out and shook his arms, pretending he hadn’t been near death (or so it felt) only seconds prior. He strutted to the register, feeling mighty confident, and called out for the reason of his appearance in the rather snobby boutique; “‘Ey, Macca!”

There was no response- surely the lad couldn’t be so busy, so he took a sharp intake of breath and called out again, “Paul! Paulie! Pauline! Paulette!… I can go on!” Some tard looked at him funny with narrowed eyes and a stuck up nose and he stuck his tongue at her as he heard a pair of hurried feet rushing through the store. “John!” He saw the red face of his good friend as he came towards in a fast walking pace (not quite running, not really walking either). “You don’t need to yell. I heard you the first time,” he placed a box he had been carrying on the counter and waved timidly to the woman John so rudely had gotten to know. John shrugged.

“Is the big boss man in? Eppy… Something, something Epstein… Something… Eppy!”

Paul raised a brow at the nickname but shook his head; his dark bangs following delicately along. He was a gorgeous boy, but this John knew very well- they were hooking up on the low after all. Had been for a while now. Both wanted more from their relationship, wanted more than random fucks and make-out sessions whenever they had the chance. But neither dared to.

“Mr Epstein is visiting family today,” Paul muttered and scratched the side of his nose as he watched a group exit the store, arms bare of merchandise. John drummed on the counter, obnoxiously, if the looks from the same woman from before was any indication- he cared even less now than he did before. “The new Elvis out yet?” John asked, with barely hidden excitement- what was even the point of trying to hide it? He was bloody well excited! Paul nodded and rummaged through a shelf underneath the counter and pulled out that wonderful, wonderful, record with that wonderful man on the cover- John nearly jumped over the counter at the sight of it. “On the house,” Paul smiled and winked and- fuck, John was definitely about to jump over the counter now. 

“On the house?... Meaning you paid for it?” John couldn’t contain his grin, cheeks almost bursting from how wide it was getting as Paul nodded. John laughed with glee until his throat started to feel sore and his voice hoarse. “Oh, I could bloody well kiss ya, you magnificent lad.” 

Paul smiled, charmingly as always, and looked past his shoulder at someone huffing and puffing- his eyes were slowly getting wider as he clearly tried to contain his alluring persona. “Yes, now you go look at it in the back office while I take care of customers and close up shop.” John skipped as he went behind the register and sneakily grabbed a feel of Paul’s pert arse before disappearing into the next room. Just imagining Paul doing his darndest not to react it in front of the customer got John laughing all over again.

John didn’t have to wait long before Paul finally showed up in the entrance to the cramped room. He looked as neat and tidy as ever- out of his teddy boy look and into what his father surely must just adore, sweater vest over a dress shirt and dress pants to match and look the part of the fine establishment. His hair was neatly combed and John just couldn’t wait to ruin that the moment he got the chance. Paul’s smile turned immediately to a slight frown when he finally noticed where John had found his place in the office- behind Epstein’s large oak desk. Paul felt a sharp sting of panic and looked hurriedly around, as if they weren’t the only pair in the room, and rushed to stand in front of John with his hands on his narrow hips, looking down at the smirking teddy boy with a disapproving glance. 

“You can’t sit there-” Paul tried to be serious but was quickly interrupted by John’s shoeless foot sneaking its way up high on his inner thigh. John had really made himself comfortable in the short time he had been there, lazing in the proud leather chair like he owned it. “J-John,” Paul coughed and looked around yet again, face quickly growing a dark shade, as John’s smirk only grew larger and his foot wider up. “C’mon, Macca,” he teased in a singing voice, pulling the at vowels of the beloved nickname, as he pulled the other boy towards him with his foot around the knee, “I’m sure you’ve always wanted to do it in here…” He, with great force and lack of care, pulled Paul unto his lap- Paul yelped as he fell unto his lover’s lap and felt John’s already hard erection protruding against his ass.

John caressed Paul’s arms through the long-sleeved shirt while the object of his affection fidgeted around in his seat upon John’s strong legs. He licked and nibbled at the younger man’s soft skin on his neck as he held him tight in his lap. Paul felt it hard to resist and soon forgot all about his boss and his office and of him ever existing as John ground his erection roughly against the fabric of his trousers- and felt himself growing harder and harder in his increasingly tighter pants. And John noticed this too and hummed,  “naughty, aren’t ya?” Paul’s skin burned and he felt himself joined in the rough and aroused movements of his peer beneath him. And thanked the Heavens the store was closed and empty as he let out a moan at the appearance of John’s large hand appearing at the mound his cock made.

And so they sat; John searching for the friction he so needed on his needy cock against Paul’s clothed ass as he helped his lover to completion through his work pants that would surely be ruined by the end of the evening. It wasn’t what John quite had in mind at the start of his visit- getting off on Paul in his boss’s office, clothed and all. But he didn’t want Paul to get in too serious of problems- and he would’ve if John’s original plans had come to fruition. Getting his so prim and proper lover bent over the extraordinarily expensive desk, getting him to scream so hard that he would leave dents on the wood with his fingernails as he came all over the paperwork that laid there. But that could, and would have to, wait for another wonderful night- for now it was enough for John to wrap his arms tightly around Paul’s waist as they both came loudly into their trousers, leaving them for a thorough clean and an explanation for whoever washed them.

[rational-mastermind]

King’s Cafe Ch 1

HELL YES we’re starting this year off with a shit ton of writing!!

Now fair warning to the five others in this fandom and what few read my writing for the sheer sake of it: I’m not intending on making this a serious fanfic. Trilby won’t save the day or have any sort of epic quest to save the coffee shop. Just...more like glorified head canons than anything. How they meet. What others do with their modern-day life. A few consistencies, but nothing major. No over arcing plots. Hell no real plot at all. Just slice-of-life shit. That being said, enjoy.

--

Chapter 1 - Introductions

 On the corner, at the intersection between Bronwyn road and Kings street, sat a small cafe which was aptly named King’s Cafe. It was small and quaint and obviously trying its best. Nothing too fancy or special. A modest little coffee shop that got by on the average. It had its share of regulars and made decent enough sales to keep the employees paid.

 And one employee in particular, Siobhan O’Malley, was running late.

 She hurried into the store and closed the door behind her. She sighed disappointed and frustrated, knowing she’s likely to hear about her tardiness from the manager, Cabadath. But now wasn’t a time for self-pity. Now was a time for work. She came over to the door to the worker’s back room, grabbed her apron, punched in, heard the snide remark from Cabadath about being a few minutes late, and came out, ready to start her day.

 First she headed to the back to check on their resident baker, John DeFoe.

 John was an unusual lad. He was tall, pale as a ghost, and lanky, practically skin and bones. He had a gaunt face and hollowed eyes, but he wasn’t really as spooky as he appeared. He was actually very timid and sweet, but a hard worker as well.

 He always arrived first, bright and early, to get started on the cakes and doughnuts and pastries. It would’ve been a surprise that the cafe’s management even allowed him to have so much free reign, but it was no secret that his baking was what really brought in customers. Between his sweet treats and the way his twin brother, Matthew, would ice and decorate and customize each and every cookie, it was a wonder you could call it a cafe at all and not just a bakery.

 Siobhan peeked into the kitchen to check on him, the sweet warm smell of spices, yeast, and fresh brewed coffee already wafting about the air.

 “Morning!” she greeted cheerfully.

 John was in the middle of stirring up dough and looking at a recipe on the company’s laptop. He jumped, slightly startled, before his gaze became expressionless once more, as it normally was, and he fixed it on her. He gave a curt nod.

John was a mute. He could hear, and he often used sign-language as a means to communicate, though it was really only something Matthew understood. In all truth, it always made Siobhan uneasy and constantly in the dark of the lad’s real thoughts or intentions. She hoped the nod was meant well and she gave a thumbs-up in return, feeling momentarily stupid for doing so.

 “Morning, Ms. Siobhan!” Matthew’s sweet and excited voice rang out as he came in, from the pantry behind the kitchen, carrying a large tray full of different colored icing.

 Siobhan immediately started to lighten up and feel better. Matthew’s sunny disposition and youthful energy easily filled any room. A complimentary yang to John’s yin.

 “Hey Matt.” Siobhan smiled back. “How we looking today?”

 “Doing great! Same as always!” Matt replied easily.

 “Awesome.”

 Siobhan came back out to the main room and looked up at the chalkboard. She noticed Cabadath had already scribbled in specials for the day and the cake display was already polished and gleaming. She got started on brewing a few of the coffees, and, when ready, made herself a Caretaker. A personal favorite of the unusually named coffees they served.

 Siobhan then went about the cafe, setting chairs to tables, setting out the old magazines no one looks at, and setting pillows up on the couches, where they belonged.

 “S’cuse me, Siobhan.”

 She turned and saw Theo standing behind her with a broom and dustpan. An expectant and rather bored look on his face.

 “Oh! Yeah, sorry.” she stepped out of the way and Dacabe began sweeping under the couch. “When’d you come in?”

 “Same time as you. I came in right behind you.”

 “Oh..” Siobhan gave a weak grin. “Ah.. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

 “No one ever does.”

 She rolled her eyes and walked away. Theo was always a bit of a crybaby. He was the janitor though, so not only was it easy to overlook him, it wasn’t exactly like he had the hardest job. Not in Siobhan’s opinion at least.

 Siobhan came to the front and pulled away the blinds and turned around the open sign. She came back to the counter.

 ‘5….

 ‘4….

 ‘3….

 ‘2….

 ‘1….’

 “Morning!” Claire’s voice rang out, out of breath but still perky. She hurried to the door to the back office and soon reappeared, dressed for work. “Hey! Sorry! Sorry I’m late!”

 “You’re right on time, Claire.” Siobhan grinned.

 Claire hurried around the counter, said good morning to the boys, and came back to the counter and began helping set things up for the morning.

 “So, how’s it going?” Claire asked.

 “Same old, same old.” Siobhan sighed with a patient smile.

 Claire worked the counters with Siobhan. She was a sweet, short, bespectacled woman. The type who loved to collect cat figurines and make movie references. She was bubbly and kind and claims to be psychic. Some believe her, some don’t. It didn’t really matter to Siobhan either way. Working with Claire was always a delight.

 They got the store ready and opened. After helping a few early morning patrons, Siobhan looked up at the clock. 9:30.

 She heard the door jingle and looked over in time to see Dr. Somerset walk in.

 “Morning, Somerset!” she called out with a smile.

 “Morning.” he greeted with a small nod.

 “You ordering anything this time?”

 “Maybe in a bit.” he walked over to the same corner he always sat at, in the arm chair underneath the space poster, and pulled out his laptop from his bag.

 Siobhan rolled her eyes. Somerset was nice enough, but being a psychologist, trying to get into the field, he was almost always jobless. As such, he hardly ever actually ordered coffee. Instead he sat on his laptop, scrolling through the internet, busy with job hunting.

 Not 3 minutes later did the door jingle for another regular.

 “Siobhan!” Prof. Abed Chahal called out, as soon as he came in. He was a good man, a history professor for the nearby university. He always came in on the weekend, carrying a suitcase.

 Siobhan waved, smiling.

 “Morning, Abed! What’ll it be?”

 “Ah.. I’m feeling adventurous today.” Abed thought for a moment, looking at the menu. “I think I’ll have a Guide.”

 “Got it. Anything else?”

 “Do the boys have any pastries ready?” he glanced over at the glass display of cakes and tarts.

 “They’ve already been baking. Whatcha need?”

 “Mmm.. What would you recommend?”

 “Hm. I think I saw Johnny put in a sheet of cookies!”

 “Well that sounds perfect. I’ll have one of those when they’re finished.”

 “Alright then.” Siobhan jotted down the order and rang him up.

 Abed walked over to a booth to wait. He sat down his suitcase, opened it up, and began setting up the chess board he always brought with him. Siobhan chuckled and watched him set up all the pieces.

 “Who are you gonna play today?” she asked.

 “Not sure, yet. But I’m sure I’ll find someone. Perhaps Johnny will entertain me on his break.”

 “Hm. Maybe.” though Siobhan was sure he wouldn’t.

 Johnny almost always liked to keep to himself and stay in the back. Abed was likely confusing him for Matthew.

 Time went by, she made the coffee, got the cookie, came out to the counter.

 “Abed, you’re coffee’s ready!” she immediately turned to find Chris Quinn, just as he was about to attempt shouting and scaring her. “Morning Chris.”

 “Aw- what?!” Chris’ face fell in disappointment. “Bullshit, how’d you know I was here?”

 “Because you do it almost every morning.” Siobhan chuckled. “And I heard Claire take your order.”

 “She’s a sharp one, Chris.” Abed was chuckling as he took his coffee.

 Chris blew a raspberry and proceeded to act like he was deflating and drape himself over the counter.

 “You’re no fun, Siobhan.”

 “And you’re still a child.” she chuckled.

 “Here’s your coffee, Chris!”, Claire nudged past Siobhan and handed him a cup. “One Arrogant Joe.”

 “Hell yes. Thank you!” he grinned and quickly bounced over to the couch beside Somerset and sat down to bug him instead.

 Chris Quinn was an odd one. A man who supposedly wrote for a living. He was childish, excited, exuberant, and eccentric. He would’ve looked like a psychopathic horror, with the dark bags under his wide eyes and the long black trench coat that had red splatter paint on it.

He was a type of person Claire would describe as “bright”, but not in the traditional sense of being intelligent. “Bright” as in the way a 1000 watt lightbulb would be bright. He was friendly with everyone, had a horrible caffeine and  sugar addiction, and was only ever kicked out once when he made everyone uncomfortable after downing 5 lattes on a dare and began talking about talking dog heads and zombies. He was mostly harmless, but has warned most of his slight schizophrenic tendencies.

 After a while, the doorbell rang once more and the last regular of this cafe’s dysfunctional family arrived; Jim Fowler.

 Jim was less common compared to others, being generally busy with school himself, but often stopped by on the weekends. He was a good, sensible lad who was on good terms with the DeFoe Twins, despite being a year younger. They go to the same school and on weekends, like today, Jim sometimes hangs around the shop and studies.

 “Morning, Jim. What’ll it be?”

 “Morning, Ms. O’Malley. Um..” Jim looked over the menu, thinking a moment before finally snapping his fingers with an answer. “Y’know? I think I’ll have the Bridgekeeper.”

 “Got it.”

 “Any of John’s cakes?”

 “Plenty!” Matt came around, setting up another baked good for the display. “Whatcha need?”

 “What was that one..? You guys were talking about it the other day. With the caramel?”

 “Ooh! Yeah, the Salty Bears! We just finished those!”

 Matt quickly disappeared into the back to retrieve his dish. Siobhan chuckled and rang him up.

 “Jimmy! Why don’t you sit down and play a round with me?” Abed asked, looking up from his board.

 “Wish I could, Abed, but I got studies!” Jim gave an apologetic grin.

 “Nonsense! It’s just one round!”

 “Mm. He should really study.” Claire chimed in, closing her eyes. “Big test coming up.” 

 “You’re telling me..” Jim rolled his eyes. “My dad’s gonna be all over me if I don’t pass.”

 He hurried to another table and sat down, sitting his backpack beside him and started pulling out his textbooks.

 “Welp, everyone’s here today.” Siobhan said to Claire.

 “Yup. Another day in the King’s Cafe.” Claire sighed contently.

 Jim soon got his coffee and pastry, and then it was just another, slow, typical day in the cafe.

 Abed managed to convince Matthew to play with him on his next break.

 A few randos came in and went out.

 Simone Taylor droned on in the background on a small TV mounted to the wall in the back.

 Chris decided he was done bugging Somerset and struck up a conversation with Siobhan while waiting for his next cup.

 “So, can I ask a serious question, Siobhan?” Chris was asking.

 “But you’re never serious.” Siobhan chuckled, pouring the milk into his latte, practicing her foam art.

 “No, come on. Really.”

 “Okay, fine, what?”

 “When are we gonna stop playing these silly games with each other?” he grinned suggestively.

 Siobhan laughed. It wasn’t the first time Chris was a flirt, let alone flirted with her. But as opposed to most guys, Siobhan didn’t think it wise to have even a casual fling with a man like Chris. She shook her head.

 “Chris, I still don’t know what game you’re talking about? But if you’re looking for a date Friday, the answer is still no.”

 “Aw, come on!”

 The door jingled and rang. Siobhan handed him his coffee.

 “Just take your drink, would...ya…” Siobhan’s thought slowed as she took in the recent customer.

 He was tall.

 He was handsome.

 He was well dressed.

 He was soaked to the bone.

 His long black hair clung damply to his pale face.

 He took off a small gray hat, a complementary part to the three piece grey pinstripe suit he wore, and shook the excess water off.

 He looked up and smiled at Siobhan, politely.

 “Good afternoon.” he said in a soft, posh, baritone voice.

 “Um..” Siobhan quickly shook her head and smiled readily. “Welcome to the King’s Cafe, sir. What can I get you?”

 “Well let’s see um…” the man frowned, reading the menu. “I’m...afraid I don’t quite understand what some of your options are.”

 “Oh! Right! Uh, the King’s Cafe has a few specials, and ergo a fun and special lingo for the customers.” Siobhan chuckled. “It’s a little silly really, but I’ll do my best to explain anything that catches your attention.”

 “Well.. What’s the Guide?”

 “The Guide is basically a Mead Raf.” Siobhan explained. “Espresso with a shot of honey and topped with heavy cream. Bitter, strong, but a hint of something sweet.”

 “Actually that already sounds lovely. I think I’ll try that.”

 “Coming right up, sir. Do you like cakes?”

 “Not often...” he said, looking at his watch, frowning thoughtfully. “...Perhaps another time.”

 “Alright then. I’ll get that coffee ready.”

 She rung him up and he paid, but was so distracted he left to a table and sat down immediately. He was carrying a leather messenger bag and quickly sat up in a corner booth, pulling out several notebooks and a laptop. He immediately got to work on whatever and it took Siobhan an embarrassing amount of time to realize she hadn’t asked his name.

 “Uh, sir? Sir?” but it was too late.

 The man was already too engrossed in whatever it was he was doing to hear her. Siobhan simply sighed and looked at the cup. She shrugged and drew a trilby on it. And that was when she realized the newcomer had caught everyone’s attention. Even Somerset and the DeFoe twins were all looking over, trying to get a look at the strange man.

 “...Alright, come on you guys, there’s nothing to see. He’s just another customer.” Siobhan rolled her eyes and got to work.

 “He is kinda cute though.” Claire grinned, leaning over the counter to look better.

 “Claire.” Siobhan said disapprovingly.

 “Hell maybe he’ll wanna go out this Friday.” Chris grinned.

 “Chris, you’re not even gay.” Siobhan looked at him, confused.

 “So?” Chris immediately went over to introduce himself.

 Siobhan internally cringed. She hated when Chris did this with other customers. The one time it was funny because a guy named Philip clocked him in the face, but aside from that, it was usually just embarrassing and frustrating.

 “Hey!” Chris greeted, taking a seat opposite of the man. “So what’s your name?”

 The man didn’t skip a beat, and continued to type away on his keyboard, slowing only to reach over with one hand and hold up a notebook he was looking at. One hand still typing away while he read.

 Chris sat there for a moment before leaning over a little closer, looking over the notebook.

 “Whatcha working on there?” he reached to move the notebook down a little.

 “Your demise if you so much as touch this notebook.” was the sharp and quiet answer.

 Chris immediately retreated. The man continued on, unphased.

 “I’ve no time for idle chit-chat, thank you.” the man said politely. “I’ve a very important deadline.”

 “Then maybe another time? ‘Nother place?”

 “Here and now is plenty for me to worry about. I’ve no interest in any further plans.”

 Siobhan chuckled at how utterly rejected Chris looked. Eventually she finished the order and looked over at him. She wasn’t sure at first how to address him, but figured if she had to, she’ll go over and tap him on the shoulder.

 “Um.. Sir? W-with the trilby?” she leaned over the counter a little.

 At that, as if by magic, the man’s head popped up from his work

 “Hm? Me? Oh, yes.”

 He came over and grabbed the coffee.

 “Thank you very much, miss.” he smiled politely.

 “Wait, what’s your-?” He already turned and retreated back to his corner.

 “Maybe his name’s Trilby?” Claire suggested.

 “What kind of name is that?” Siobhan scoffed.

 “Hm, judging by his laptop and notebooks, it could be a pseudonym.” Somerset commented thoughtfully. “Likely an author or writer of some sort.”

 “You think he’s here to stay?” Chris asked.

 “Whatcha mean?” Claire asked.

 “Well I mean.. Look at us.” Siobhan shrugged. “Normally we’re all here at some point or another. Sometimes with Philip or Janine.”

 “Oh.. So you think maybe he’s gonna…” Claire looked back and Chris helpfully finished the sentence.

 “Stick around.”

 Everyone was looking at him curiously now, lost in their own thoughts and assumptions.

 Siobhan watched him for a while, serious and busy hammering away at his laptop. He occasionally paused only to look over his notes once more or to sigh, rub his chin, and soon enough get back to typing. Perfectly content and oblivious to the world around him. She smiled.

 “...Maybe he will.”

[ununniliad]

Legion of Net.Heroes Volume 3 #2: "The TERROR of June 26th, 2019!"

<cover: A fancy hardcover lying on a messy desk, on whose cover is written in gold leaf, "On June Twenty-Sixth, Twenty-Nineteen, the Legion of Net.Heroes will DIE!">

----

It was June 23rd when the evidence was discovered.

The young, academic orc (also known as an orcademic) who worked in the library of LNH Headquarters, whose real name was Fred Gnarshteeth but who had for various reasons which we will not go into here decided to call himself Anal-Retentive Archive Kid II...

...slapped a manila folder on the desk, and put a VHS tape down next to it. Behind said desk stood Fearless Leader, Co-Deputy Leader of the Legion of Net.Heroes. The other Co-Deputy Leaders, Catalyst Lass and Cheesecake-Eater Lad, stood next to him, peering down at the folder. The post-WikiLull Ultimate Ninja leaned against the wall, silently watching the goings-on.

"According to this evidence," said ARAK II, "in three days, the LNH will face a villain more powerful than any we've ever seen before."

"Sounds like every other Tuesday," said Cheesecake-Eater Lad, mindfully keeping things light.

"Where does said evidence come from?" said Fearless Leader, keeping on-point.

"Library Lad was working on going through old LNH records when he disappeared," said ARAK. "Taking things from the archives that are in danger of being forgotten, and putting them in an accessible database in our modern systems. I've been trying to keep it going in his absence."

"Good job!" bubbled Catalyst Lass. "That kind of community-minded spirit is what keeps the LNH the LNH."

ARAK nodded in acknowledgment, letting himself savor a little bubble of warmth in his belly, then continued briskly. "This is a twenty-five-year-old statement taken from an incident type 214."

"Time traveler who has come back on a last desperate mission to change the future," said Fearless Leader.

"Just so," said ARAK. "In this case, the time traveler was Poignant Death Lass."

"Who wouldn't even join the LNH until years later," said Catalyst Lass.

"Right," said ARAK. "The statement was taken by Sig.File Man. PDL, badly wounded but still mostly lucid, described a foe who came out of nowhere; a man filled with enormous cosmic power, burning out his body, and blaming the LNH for everything that had gone wrong with his life. He ripped through all of our strongest hitters, and was in the midst of blowing apart the LNHQ when she was sent back. After handing over the tape, she passed out, and was taken to sickbay, where..." He sighed. "Well, where you can guess what happened." 

Cheesecake-Eater Lad and Catalyst Lass looked up at Fearless Leader, who had been the sole survivor of a very similar attempt at averting worldwide disaster - an attempt that had failed. But he had grown since then, kept moving forward and recovering, and seen this Legion through many more moments of near-destruction. His face was calm, focused. "Right. And the tape?"

ARAK nodded, and signaled. wReamhack wheeled in a metal cart with a VCR and a CRT TV on it. ARAK slid the tape in and pressed play.

   The lawn of the LNHQ, everything quiet and normal. Suddenly, a streak of light flies through the air - and collides with a hastily-activated defense shield.

   Before the shield, a man floats in the sky, his features washed out by a crackling field of energy that surrounds him, bolts of blue, red, purple, white, lashing at the ground, curving off into space,. Where the energies intersect with the shield, it starts fading. "The LNH... you've been hurting me since I was a child... you killed my mother... NO MORE!" He rams his crackling hands against the shield, and it cracks apart! "REVENGE!"

   Kid Not Appearing In Any Retcon Hour Story, one of the LNH's heavy hitters, finally reaches the threat. They grapple, and the energy blasts into the Kid's form. "Nice try, net.asshole," grunts the man, "but you're going down like the Browns." The Kid cries out in agony, and holds on - but his form seems to wither and dwindle, and finally, he falls, a drained shell.

   The shield deactivates, and LNHers spill out of the HQ - whichever random members were in today. They engage, but the man plows thru them. "She was a sweet woman! She never did anything! Do you hate immigrants? Do you hate single mothers!? WHAT DID SHE EVER DO TO YOU!?" His own form withers as he moves inexorably forward, but he seems no less strong.

   Suddenly, Kid Kirby, the greatest cosmic hero of the Legion, appears, seated behind a huge, complicated-looking cannon. With a great flash of light, it pours a blast of coruscating energy into the man's form... but when the light dies down, the aura of energy is even stronger, occluding the man entirely. A searing blast from the man destroys the cannon, blows Kid Kirby to pieces, and blows a great hole in the side of LNHQ.

   "And now..." The man's voice is thin, halting. "Now..." He walks through the hole, into the heart of the LNHQ. "DIE!"

   From afar, the LNHQ can be seen glowing from within - and then a fireball consumes it - and spreads - and spreads, destroying, consuming the city--

   Nothing is left of Net.ropolis but a crater. The screen goes black.

Catalyst Lass let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Fearless Leader looked less calm, more grim. "That was... thorough."

ARAK tried not too look shaken - come on, he thought, you've watched this already, no surprises here. "Apparently, there was an automatic failsafe that recorded and sent the tape after everything came apart. Complete with the dramatic camera angles."

"I know Multi-Tasking Man has been working on something like that..." said Cheesecake-Eater Lad, his expression pale but determined.

"He's thorough too," said Fearless Leader, leaning back in his seat. "Anal-Retentive Archive Kid, your analysis?"

ARAK tapped his neatly-manicured claws on the desk. "As far as I can tell, this was our Legion, a Legion that had taken on the Bryttle Brothers, the Crossover Queen, the Mechanical Author... and we were defeated by someone we didn't even know about."

"But we should've known about him in this timeline," said Cheesecake-Eater Lad. "Why wasn't this flagged? We've had the next time the Time Crapper shows up scheduled for the last six months."

"It turns out there's a fairly simple answer to that, having to do, again, with time," said ARAK. "The statement was taken on June 26th, 1994. Twenty-five years before the incident, to the day..."

Cheesecake-Eater Lad's eyes went wide. "...and two days before..."

"Retcon Hour," said Catalyst Lass quietly. Her knuckles went white on the edge of the desk.

Retcon Hour, one of the messiest events in the Legion's history, involving multiple time-travelers creating a multitude of alternate timelines, then letting them overlap, overwrite, a million conflicting narratives at war. The LNH had defeated the mastermind behind it all, somehow, and Captain Continuity and the RACCelestial Madonna had put things back as they should have been - but everyone who had been through the final battle held onto strange, fragmented memories of things that had never been.

"After Retcon Hour, no one wanted to even think about changing the future," said Cheesecake-Eater Lad. "They were just happy that the LNH seemed to have a future."

ARAK nodded. "That makes sense. As far as I can tell, this file was put in the archives and left to gather dust. Nobody's thought about it in the last twenty-five years - until today."

"All right," said Fearless Leader, standing up. "We have three days of warning, and we're going to use them. First, we bring in all the forces we can. Every Legionnaire, ready to defend, on the day of the attack. Second, we search for any sign of this guy. He has to be out there somewhere. Maybe we can find a weakness. Maybe we can get to him before whatever triggered this attack happens."

"I'll rally the members!" said Catalyst Lass.

"I'll get our resources on the case," said Cheesecake-Eater Lad.

"Anal-Retentive Archive Kid," said Fearless Leader, "see if you can match the data on this to anything else in the archives. A villain we've fought before, a hero gone rogue, a cosmic confluence that fills random people with powers. Even if it seems like this guy came out of nowhere, he's got to have a past."

"Got it," said ARAK, standing straight and nodding firmly.

Catalyst Lass mm-hemed. Fearless Leader looked at her quizzically... "Oh, yes."

All three of the Co-Deputy Leaders looked to Ultimate Ninja. He stood up, cracked his knuckles, and gave a firm nod.

"Right," said Fearless Leader. "It's time to gather our strength. Legion... let's go!"

----

The call went out. Subgroups were pulled back from missions. Reservists were called to active duty. Characters whose writers had been inactive for years but were still technically on the roster gathered together offscreen.

Contraption Man and Multi-Tasking Man firmed up the LNH's defense grid. Occultism Kid, Shining Tungsten Magister and Kid Occultism Kid wove mystic wards. Johnny Stomper and Very Big Boy trained for combat with giants, while Doctor Stomper and Mashup Laq monitored for incursions from the Picoverse. Foreshadowing Lad reached out for clues and hints, while Kid Recap recalled the past. The leaders drafted plan after plan.

And ARAK dove deep into the archives, looking for the single clue that might save them all...

----

The day came. At the break of dawn, the massed forces of the Legion of Net.Heroes gathered on the lawn of the LNHQ. Scouts spread out through the city. Satellites recorded every spark of net.ahuman power being used, looking for the spark that would turn into a wildfire.

At full readiness, they waited.

...and they waited...

...and they waited.

By mid-morning, Cheesecake-Eater Lad, Frat Boy and Shake-n-Bake Lass were distributing breakfast in shifts, each LNHer on edge, ready to rise from their meal and fight.

By noon, a bunch of blankets had been brought out to spread on the lawn, and the LNHers were sitting to conserve their energy, having little conversations to keep their minds sharp, but still ready for the fight. Lunch was served in picnic baskets, and LNHers snacked on fortifying sandwiches and cheesecakes. Soda, juice, and bottles of water were pulled from a series of coolers and passed around.

By mid-afternoon, there were five games of Magic: The Gathering going on and three D&D campaigns, there was a screen set up showing all seven Vorkosigan Saga movies, and a Lego model of the LNHQ was in progress. Anal-Retentive Archive Kid II leaned against the door to the LNHQ, Catalyst Lass standing next to him and soaking in some sun.

ARAK sighed. "I've been searching for the last three days, and there's nothing. Not just no other appearances of this guy, but no evidence someone like him has ever existed. Like, take a look at this..." He held up a clipboard with the statement on it, and a transcript of the tape. "The guy was talking about how the LNH killed his mom. So I look up bystander fatalities. Not a common thing with us, but it can happen. Then I look up the children, follow up their histories... I found three that had ever shown powers, one of whom lives in Nepal now, one of whom is an investment banker in Cleveland, and one of whom is actually a member of the LNH. And here - it says that he spoke with a midwestern accent, and he was talking about 'the Browns'. So I started checking in the Cleveland area, but there's like a dozen active net.heroes over there and none of them had tangled with any cosmic villains in the last year." He shook his head. "It's all like that. Nothing comes together, there's no person for whom all of this fits." He looked up at Catalyst Lass. "I'm sorry. I lead us on a wild goose chase."

Cat smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. It's better to be proactive and have it turn out to be nothing than to ignore things and have them turn out to be something." She gestured out towards the crowd on the lawn. "Besides, you got everybody together for a picnic!"

"Mmmm... yeah, that's fair." ARAK looked over the gathered crowd, and tried to relax, to take an actual break. If only he could be sure, though...

"Oh, hey, Cat." ARAK looked up. Two men were coming towards them; one was older, and dressed in blues and grays, in that distinctive coordination that told ARAK he was a net.hero in a casual version of his costume; the other, younger, wearing a T-shirt and khaki shorts on the hot June day.

Catalyst Lass squeaked in surprise and delight. "Sig.File Man!" She pushed herself off the wall and wrapped him up in a tight hug, then let go, stepping back, holding him by the shoulders and looking him over. "It's been so long! How've you been? Who's this?"

Sig.File Man laughed good-naturedly. "Pretty good, thanks. And you're right, it's been forever." He gestured to the younger man. "This is my son, Adam. He lives in Net.ropolis. I flew over for a visit, and we heard the LNH was having some kind of shindig, so I decided to stop by."

"Your son?" Catalyst Lass clapped her hands. "I didn't know you had kids!"

Sig.File Man smiled. "Just the one. Remember after I left the LNH, and sent those Christmas cards with that cute girl and the little boy? That was him and his mom."

"Ohhh!" Cat grinned. "He's grown up so big and strong, good job! Does he have powers?"

"Well, yeah..." Sig.File Man leaned in and spoke quietly. "He's not interested in being a net.hero, but I figured you-all might be able to help train him anyway. He's got a kind of phobia of this place, or I would've brought him by years ago." He tilted his head towards Adam. "He's been going to a new therapist lately, and even coming here is a big step up."

"Ohhhh, of course!" trilled Cat. She stepped over to Adam. "Hullo there! I'm Catalyst Lass, Co-Deputy Leader of the Legion of Net.Heroes! Would you like a bit of a tour?"

"Oh, well..." Adam looked down, but then looked back up at Catalyst Lass, and was, like so many, swept up by her honest enthusiasm. "I guess we could."

He followed her into the LNHQ, leaving ARAK and Sig.File Man alone. ARAK looked down at the clipboard in his hand... oh, what an opportunity! "Say, Sig.File-- ah, I guess I should ask your real name."

"Sigmund Ampulle," said the former Sig.File Man, and stuck out his hand.

ARAK smiled. "Fred Gnarshteeth." They shook, and ARAK pointed to the clipboard. "Do you remember taking this statement? For obvious reasons, it's been on my mind today."

"Hmmm..." Sigmund took the clipboard and glanced over the top page. "Oh, yes, this..." He blinked, and leaned in, squinting at the date on top. "...ah. Of course..." He looked up at the gathering of LNHers. "Of course it would be today that we came by..."

ARAK tilted his head. "Er... pardon me?"

Sigmund chuckled. "Sorry, but... let me tell you a story..."

"Back in 1994, I was starting to drift away from the LNH. My old team, the Tantalizing Teens, had broken up a couple years before. Cliche Dude and SideKick Man had joined the Legion alongside me, but Cliche Dude had left for a space mission with Halls Jordan, and SideKick Man had turned out to be an evil robot all along. That stung, of course, and I was left with few close friends in the community. Then an old enemy ran me over with a bulldozer..."

"Eesh," said ARAK.

"Yeah, right? So I wasn't exactly having fun as an LNHer. But I didn't really know where I should go next."

"Then this fell in my lap. I figured, why not stop this before it starts? So I started making plans to go to Cleveland and investigate. Then..." Sigmund sucked in a breath. "Retcon Hour happened. I barely remember the bulk of it; I think at one point I was the leader of an all-singing all-dancing theater troupe version of the Legion?" He chuckled. "But it was big and it was stressful and it was just another indication that maybe this wasn't the kind of life for me. So those plans turned a bit longer-term than they used to be."

"I rented an apartment and tried to track down the 'mom' mentioned - doing some of the fancy detective work I hadn't really done since my Tantalizing Teens days. I found a few different women who fit the clues; but there was only one of them, Sarah Hernandez, who was raising a young son alone, ever since his male genetic donor had walked out on them. I kept an eye on the others, but made friends with Sarah, hoping that I could keep them out of any net.hero-related trouble."

"A young son..." ARAK looked over his shoulder at the LNHQ, then back at Sigmund, eyebrow raised.

"Yep." Sigmund nodded. "Sarah and I ended up falling in love by Christmas. By then, I'd heard about their backstory - how they'd been visiting Net.ropolis during Retcon Hour and been temporarily pulled into an alternate universe where the LNH were all these terrifying evil robots, and Adam had ended up rather traumatized."

"I see..." The pieces fit, indeed, thought ARAK.

"We got married a couple of years later," said Sigmund. "By then, I'd formally retired from the LNH and set up a detective agency. I figured, well, maybe just by coming here I'd prevented a tragedy."

"Only there was a tragedy still on its way. It turned out Sarah had a degenerative neural disease..." He sighed. "With no cure." 

"Oh..."  said ARAK, unsure how to respond. He settled on, "I'm so sorry."

Sigmund shook his head. "Don't worry about it. That was a long time ago, now. And, this time, I was there to support both of them thru it." He looked off into the distance. "It was during the stress of that whole mess that Adam's powers activated. Powers to channel cosmic energy. He was pretty freaked out by them, to be honest - freaked out by anything related to net.heroes - and for a while he thought he'd messed up his mom. The doctors told him he couldn't have, that that wasn't how disorders like this work. But he ended up repressing them pretty hard."

"He's doing better now, though?" said ARAK, encouragingly.

"Yeah. Not city-destroyingly better, thankfully. I guess, in the other timeline, without therapy, without anybody, he just ended up obsessing, and..." Sigmund raised his hands, motioned pushing something away. "Anyway. Yeah. Much better, and has been quite stable for a long time."

"Good," said ARAK, and meant it. "I guess, then, you've saved the city - and I can close this file, which is nearly as relieving."

Sigmund laughed. "Guess so." He handed the clipboard back. "Turns out there's a lot of ways to do this job."

"Yeah. And the people who take care of it before it becomes a problem don't get nearly enough credit for it." ARAK tucked the clipboard under his arm. "Would you like to come down to the archives and help me close this file out? I'd like to give you credit, after all this time."

"Aw. Well, far be it for me to maintain false modesty." Sigmund opened the door of the LNHQ, and ARAK stepped thru.

And the picnic ended up going on past dusk, until the moon rose over the city of Net.ropolis.

[eldritchwyrm]

what goes around comes around (a fic for the glorious 25th of may)

The first time Lu-Tze learned of the Glorious People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road was long before Sam Vimes got caught in a thunderstorm and was swept thirty years into the past. In fact, when Lu-Tze was young and light on his feet and had only just moved to Ankh-Morpork for the first time, he took a wrong turn and stumbled upon a narrative temporal phenomenon the likes of which he had never seen in his life.

He was picking up some groceries for Mrs. Cosmopolite, who was graciously allowing him lodging, because was it not written that What Goes Around Comes Around? He was also lost.

He tried asking random passerby for directions, but his attempts were all rebuffed with variants on “up yours, mister” and the slurs that were generally leveled at anyone who looked too foreign for their own good. So instead of turning onto the Pitts as she should have, he missed the intersection and continued straight ahead.

It was the 25th of May. Spring was battling valiantly against the smog and grime of the city, and contrary to all expectation the few shrubs that had survived were putting out green shoots.

Lu-Tze hitched up the bag of groceries and thought the sacred wisdom: My Joints Aren’t What They Used To Be. He was a bit young for that one, he reflected, but was not all wisdom valuable?

He turned onto Treacle Mine Road.

It was noon. Bright and sunny. The street was loud and busy with carts and animals and people, as you’d expect on any weekday. And yet as he walked forward, the sun dimmed. The air cooled. The hustle of the streets became muffled, farther away.

The scent of lilac filled in the air.

The hairs on his arms tingled like a storm was approaching.

He took a good look around, really looked rather than focusing on the unimportant surface bits, like the buildings and the people—and nearly choked on his own tongue.

This—this was—it was a disruption in the space-time continuum so extreme that it was a wonder anyone in the immediate vicinity was still alive. This was a rift so profound that rationally speaking, he should be standing in the equivalent of a smoking crater where a chunk of functional reality used to be.

There were no words to describe the wrongness of this place. You could say that the passage of time in this location was like a length of yarn which had been bundled into a ball and left unattended in a room full of eager-eyed kittens. (It would be blatantly incorrect, but you could definitely say that.)

“Ye gods,” said Lu-Tze, because some words always worked.

He ditched the groceries and started running.

He burst through the door of Mrs. Cosmopolite’s boarding house with a crash. The hostess jumped in surprise and nearly hit him over the head with the plate she was drying, but restrained herself, because that wasn’t Done. Instead she shouted, “Young man, just what do you think you’re doing?”

“No time!”

If he’d stopped to think properly he would have realized how stupid a statement that was, but he was busy racing up the stairs and into his room. He grabbed his emergency supply pack from under the bed and dashed out again.

There were images in his head that didn’t make sense—darkness and rain and a silver cigar case, gleaming on the cobbles, and lilacs blooming in the night, over and over again.

When he returned to Treacle Mine Road he knelt down in the middle of the street, right in the middle of traffic, and the carts moved smoothly around him without a blink, despite their relocation occasionally involved a minor rewriting of the conventional laws of physics. He barely noticed. He found a bare patch of dirt and got to work. He would be hard-pressed to construct a sophisticated detection mandala on such short notice, but he would damn well make do...

The air crackled with energy as he finished the last curve on the mandala. He dusted his hands and waited.

It began to turn.

The patterns shifted, then stilled.

He frowned. “No,” he said. “That can’t be right.  Historical imperative? But this is so obviously a narrative disruption. An unfinished story.”

A rift in time that didn’t exist, memories of events that never happened... it had to be a result of an incomplete narrative unable to achieve a single resolution. Something, somewhen, had gone wrong, and a major role had gone unfulfilled, and now the phenomenon was scrabbling for a solution.

“Must be incorrectly set up,” he muttered to himself. “I mean, this thing is telling me there should be a major temporal incident any moment now—”

Unfortunately, the young Lu-Tze had not yet learned some valuable wisdom. For is it not written that You Are So Sharp You'll Cut Yourself?

There was a sound like an elastic band snapping, and the world turned sideways.

He stumbled upright once the universe had returned to something close to normal and scrambled to get his bearings. He was still in the present day, but another time was—how to describe it, how to describe it—layered on top, one moment falling over the other like snow. Fog and wind and darkness swirled in, obscuring the sky, wreathing around the figures in the courtyard before him.

The men were wearing Watch uniforms.

“Okay, lads,” said one of the men. He had an eyepatch and a battered breastplate, and a voice that echoed as if it was coming from very far away. Years ago, thought Lu-Tze. “What we’re going to do is keep the peace. That’s our job...”

If Lu-Tze concentrated, he could still feel the rush of wind from the passing street and hear the sound of the busy city. But here, in a much more real sense, he could see the watchmen shuffling anxiously as they listened to the sergeant-at-arms. He talked about duty and right and wrong, and then he drew a line in the sand, and then the men made their choice.

History struck a chord.

The world shifted.

A barricade climbed into the air, higher and higher, packed with furniture and upturned carts and spare wood, held up by desperate hope and bottomless fear, the rawest emotions of humanity. When sufficiently concentrate, those were capable of twisting time into knots so complex that only a master of the temporal would ever be able to undo them.

And why would they want to? So what if someone thought it was odd that time crawled by while they were under stress, or if it went by instantly during a fun afternoon? That was what made people human. 

That sound again, and the world changed again—

A battle was raging around him. Men in battered uniforms, not many, fighting for their lives, wearing the lilac...

...the man with the eyepatch leapt forward, sword a blur in his hands, hacking wildly...

...and across the street, untouched by the carnage, was a little old man in a robe. He was sweeping peacefully at a patch of dust, undisturbed by the blood and guts and destruction whirling around him. It was surreal.

The old man looked up and winked.

Time stood still.

(Well, it didn’t really stand still, but the true answer involved multivariable calculus and besides, it was a useful metaphor and at this moment in time Lu-Tze was not the type to spend valuable effort messing about with the sneaky kind of sums with letters in them.)

The old sweeper carefully plodded across the frozen tableau, ducking under an upraised sword and stepping around the body of a watchman who had not yet hit the ground.

Ah, so another monk was on the problem, then? The young time-traveler stood up straight and tried to act like this was an expected development.

“Hey, kid,” said the sweeper. “You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

* * *

Lu-Tze was convinced that this particular branch of the No Such Monastery did not exist in the present day, which made it quite worrying that it appeared to exist in both the past and the future.

He sipped his tea with yak butter and eyed the old sweeper suspiciously. He distrusted older authority figures on principle.

“So you spotted the incongruity, did you,” said the sweeper. “Historical imperative’s a tricky thing, isn’t it.”

“It’s not historical imperative. It’s narrative causality.”

The sweeper sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo. It’s both. The Glorious People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road... it didn’t take long for the city to forget, but the story still leaves echoes. It wants to be remembered.”

The young man frowned. “I kept having memories of things that never happened. Deja vu without the original vu.”

“Sounds pretty standard. Lilacs, right? You smelled the lilacs? That’s the anchor. On the Glorious 25th of May, the lilacs are in bloom. They will always be in bloom, forever and ever, for as long as time exists, and whenever the survivors see it, they’ll be brought back here. Even poor sods like you with receptive enough minds will be saddled with this piece of history.”

“But this doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t understand why a bunch of men would just get themselves killed like that just—just to be heroes.” Lu-Tze knew a dramatic last stand when he saw one.

“Yeah, see, that’s 'cos you’re seventeen and I’m old and wise,” said the sweeper. “Why do we fix time? Is it because we want to be heroic? Is it because we have to? No, we do it because we could just let time curl in on itself and extinguish all the complicated bits like sentient life, but we decide to make fixing this mess our job.”

“But—alright, fine, but there’s still a gigantic rift in reality and I’m standing in it. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“You heard me. There’s no reason to muck about with a story that’s looking to be told. This case is unusual, mostly ‘cause it’s a bit under-construction if you know what I mean, but yea, is it not written that There’s A First Time For Everything?”

The young time-traveler sat bolt upright. “You—you’re a follower of the Way? But none of the senior monks—it’s just a thing that I made up so—I mean—”

The sweeper shook his head sadly. “Hoo boy. I really am paying for how much of an idiot back then. I suppose What Goes Around Comes Around.”

The young history monk’s eyes widened, realization dawning. He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man interrupted him. “Now, this is slightly more complicated than a standard closed time loop, since you’re not here in any physical sense. So if I just...”

He slashed his hand through the air. The air began to sing with mounting tension, time itself groaning under the weight, and the world snapped back to the present.

The city streets bustled around him. Lu-Tze's mouth was slack with shock. Had that really been...?

He looked down at the mandala he had scrawled in the dirt. The wind had scrubbed it out.

Overhead, the lilacs were in bloom.

[rantingwriter]

WerewolfAU with Kagami where he roams around the forest and he sees s/o, who is traveling alone, from afar. He was originally planning to attack her but the more he watches them the more he becomes infatuated. While the s/o continues with their journey, Kagami secretly watches over them making sure they're okay. Thiefs show up and try to mug and injure s/o but Kagami jumps in and saves them but gets heavily injured in the process. S/o helps treat his wounds. Sorry for the ask being so long 😅

It is late, the forest path layed barren in the pale moon light. Even with the lack of prey, Kagami waits. Stalking within the dense tree line for any signs of foolish travelers. Much to his surprise, his glowing eyes spy a young woman walking with minimal supplies. A runaway perhaps? If she is walking by herself at this time of night. She must be either dumb or desperate, maybe both. He sets himself up to ambush her. Pausing long enough to see her fully in the light of the moon. Her face is soft and determined, her eyes reflecting the stars. She is beautiful. He watches her walk past him, her skirt swaying as she keeps a brisk pace. She is definitely running from something and for once it’s not him. Keeping to the shadows of the trees, he follows her along the path. His hunger long forgotten as he takes in every inch of her. By morning his transformation disappears, leaving the man he should be. Even still, he continues to follow. Wanting to protect this beauty from danger. He considers going over to talk to her many times, but he knows she will never accept the monster he becomes. 

Days go by and he is ready to leave her, thinking she is close enough to the safety of a town. When a group intersects her path. “C-Can I help you?” She is scared, the blatant difference in size alone is sending her back the way she came. 

“You can give us all your money for starters, and then we will see what fun we can get out of you.” The sick grins that appear on their faces, sends Kagami out of hiding. 

“Oi! Back away from her!” She is oblivious to who he is, but the gratitude in her eyes is enough motivation to move the red head forward. 

“What? We are just trying to make a living.” One grabs her by the arm, brandishing a knife near her neck. Kagami looks toward the horizon, the sun is nearly gone. 

“Drop your weapons and walk away.” He is afraid to turn in front of her, but he is more concerned with leaving her alone with these cretins. 

“Or what?” He can hear her whimper, a small line of crimson sliding down her neck. The last of the sunlight slips away. 

“Last chance…” He could already feel the beast inside stirring. 

“Kill him lads!” Two of the five charge at him, both wielding good sized swords. He disarms them easily, his agility increasing with the oncoming transformation. 

“Idiots!” A third comes at him with an ax. Barely missing his shoulder, he jumps back enough to buy some time. His head throbs as ears sprout from it. He groans, the rest of his body morphing to accommodate his new appendages. “The hell? Boss, what is that thing?!” A harsh cry from the very person who asked sends chills down everyone’s spines. 

“I warned you…” In a matter of moments the rest of them abandon the girl and attack. Landing many sharp blows that make steady streams of blood run down his body. He ignores the pain and takes out two more bandits. Aiming for the jugulars, he is successful in taking the rest down. Once the adrenaline dies down, he collapses from his injuries. “Damn it…” He would heal, but even with the werewolf blood that surges through (and out of him at the moment). He wasn’t going to have strength to move. Soft footsteps approach him. Glancing up, he is shocked to see the girl standing in front of him. 

“Can you stand?” She looks worried, Kagami’s thoughts go rampant with the same quesition. Why isn’t she scared of me?

“Kind of…” He gets to his feet and gets startled by her small hands helping him. 

“Let’s get you off the road, people will panic if they see you.” She is so calm about this as she leads him to a small clearing that dips down to form a small, grass covered, hole. Once he is seated, she digs through her pack. “This is going to sting.” She pours something smelly on his wounds. 

“Argh, what is that?” He asks, writhing a little as she starts sewing the gashes up. 

“It will stop infection from spreading. Hold still please.” She continues to sew him up, giving him a chance to ask. “Aren’t you scared of me?” 

“Not really, I saw you a few times on the road. You really need to work on your stealth.” He blushes, he thought she wouldn’t have been able to see him through the trees. 

“So…you got a name?” She smiles and starts wrapping the stitches in gauze. 

“[Name], what’s yours?” 

“Kagami…Kagami Taiga.” He relaxes against the ground as she packs her bag up. 

“Well Kagami, care to join me? It would be nice to travel with someone, instead of getting followed all day.” He can’t stop the bloom of pink on his face. 

“S-Sure, that sounds good…” He never thought he would find such a nice human. Let alone someone as beautiful as [name].

[flauntpage]

Clash of Kings: Tactical Guide to Stipe Miocic vs. Daniel Cormier

Stipe Miocic is the best heavyweight the UFC has ever seen. If you have a realistic assessment of the great Fedor Emelianenko’s abilities and opposition, Miocic might well be the best heavyweight MMA has ever seen. For Miocic to take on the incumbent UFC light heavyweight champion might seem like a step down in competition from the monsters of the heavyweight division, but Daniel Cormier is no stranger to the big lads. Bigfoot Silva, Josh Barnett, Frank Mir—Cormier has thrown around some of the biggest bodies you can find, he has simply spent his last few years watching his diet a little more closely.

With Max Holloway already off the UFC 226 card due to terrifying concussion-like symptoms, and Cormier himself managing to take a tumble over a cable at the pre-fight press conference, to be an MMA fan is to be in a prolonged state of anticipation and dread ahead of the fights so I won’t test your patience with story-telling: let’s just examine the details of the match up.

The Jab or the Kick?

Daniel Cormier’s trouble against Jon Jones was largely due to Jones’s control of distance and his ability to attack Cormier from outside of Cormier’s own effective range. Though he did slip in some straight punches to the gut, Jones is a kicker at range. Stipe Miocic has a couple of inches less reach than Jones and is the same height, but while Jones’s game is entirely based around his legs, Miocic actually owns a jab.

As we examined in Eight Limbs: The Masters of Each Strike in MMA, kicking techniques are the longest usable strikes in a fight, but a kicker makes sacrifices in his balance and movement as he plants his pivoting leg and takes his striking leg off the ground. They are powerful but limiting and considerable maneuvering must be done between kicks to set each one up and ensure correct distancing so that the opponent cannot simply run through it with a right straight or takedown attempt.

Because the act of kicking means removing a foot from the floor and locking yourself in one place, the danger of the opponent simply smashing straight into the kicking fighter is ever present. For this reason, straight line kicks wherein the path of the kick occupies the space between the two combatants are considered safer. Side kicks and front kicks have a little more room for error than round kicks if all the opponent wants to do is rush straight up the center. Change the target to be the opponent’s nearest limb—the lead leg—and you will understand why side kicks and oblique kicks to the knee have become so valuable to strikers in MMA. They are very low risk even if the reward isn’t always as great as slamming a roundhouse kick into the opponent’s midsection or head.

But even in the safest of kicks, a fighter cannot change the fact that only one foot is on the floor. From his stance a fighter’s feet ferry him across the mat but during a kick the pivoting foot acts more as an anchor, pinning him in place. For an infamous example of that, Jon Jones’s mistimed oblique kick at Alexander Gustafsson’s restless lead leg led to him being taken down for the first time in his career.

Striking with the fists will always carry the advantage that, while punches carry less thud than a strike from the lower limbs, the feet are planted throughout the entire process. Where kicks are long, powerful and unstable, punches are shorter, weaker, but stable. Good hitting is done by involving the entire bodyweight, building kinetic chains from floor to jaw, but a fighter can just as easily flick out his hands in one direction while moving his feet and body in a completely different one. T.J. Dillashaw, for instance, flicks out partial punches while his feet carry him to new positions, then drives up from the floor when he wants to hit with some spite.

Not all punches need to be connected with the movement of the feet and that is where Stipe Miocic’s jab comes in. Miocic can step in on his jab and shake a man to his boots if it connects, but his ends are better served by feinting and flicking the jab out there, a piston from the shoulder and elbow rather than the hips and legs. Pumping shoulder feints and stepping in afterwards to connect legitimate jabs is the mark of someone who actually understands how the jab works. Watch Georges St-Pierre or Robert Whittaker stutter-step into their jabs and you will see how it throws off even the best fighters in MMA.

The jab could be Daniel Cormier’s worst nightmare in this fight. It is lengthy and fast and versatile enough to build off of when he goes into his overcommitted defensive sways. Miocic has a limited set of weapons on the feet but usually goes to his jab to tease out reactions from his opponent and then capitalize on them. Lack of reaction, of course, means it is high time to be force-feeding the opponent the right hand, but against dangerous opponents who are working on a hair trigger, Miocic will play with their expectations.

Francis Ngannou dropped his weight and set his feet wide to swing his counter punches—this was especially noticeable when he moved in a very high, narrow stance and dropped into a long stance to strike back in his early UFC fights. Miocic would show a shoulder feint or slight level change to simulate a jab, Ngannou would begin a counter swing and then rethink it, and then Miocic would punt the flustered giant’s lead leg as he returned to guard.

Single- and double-jabbing Cormier into his backwards or sideways lean—as he showed against Jon Jones and Volkan Oezdemir—would be a great time to drop the right hand on him. Oezdemir repeatedly caught Cormier with short left hands as the light heavyweight champ leaned out to his right.

Countering the Level Change

Yet Daniel Cormier’s most dangerous tactic will always be changing levels and picking up the high crotch single. The standard response in every fans mind will be “uppercut,” because they have seen dozens of effective counter uppercuts and knees against level changes. Jose Aldo vs. Manny Gamburyan is the one scorched into this writer’s mind. But there is danger in attempting to counter the level change with the uppercut as Miocic himself demonstrated against Ngannou.

The uppercut is a very powerful, but limited, weapon; it does not simply cover everywhere the opponent can put their head when it drops below shoulder height. Ngannou fired the right uppercut every time Miocic threatened to step in and after connecting one good one, it simply stopped working. Miocic would level change with his head off to Ngannou’s right side and suddenly Ngannou’s punching path would intersect with nothing.

This was something that Cus D’amato was acutely aware of. It isn’t the case that you can slip or level change, you can do both at the same time. Any time Mike Tyson dipped below his opponent’s shoulder level he would usually slip to left or right as well, or immediately after his initial level change. While Miocic slipped to the inside of Ngannou’s uppercut, he could just as readily have slipped towards the elbow side and attempted takedowns with his head outside Ngannou’s right hip. You will notice in this clip that Miocic, trapped on the fence, expects a right uppercut and both ducks and slips off to the side, avoiding the horizontal right swing that comes instead.

A safer option exists when using the same weapon to counter level changes, and it was demonstrated well by Takanori Gomi all the way back at PRIDE Bushido 9. During that lightweight grand prix, Gomi ran through Tatsuya Kawajiri and Luiz Azeredo in the same night, showing pressure and body shots like MMA fans had never seen. When he met Azeredo, Gomi walked him to the ropes constantly and after he had dinged the Brazilian’s chin with a hook, Azeredo began ducking for takedowns. Rather than swing wildly for Azeredo’s head, Gomi uppercutted lower, smashing his right hand into Azeredo’s chest and midriff each time he ducked in. Even if Azeredo plowed forward, Gomi’s elbow was still on the inside and he had an underhook with which to apply some control.

There are two types of level change—whether we are talking boxing or wrestling. There are level changes that hinge at the waist and level changes in which the back remains relatively upright and the legs do the work (whether that be by squatting down or dropping a knee into the mat). Cormier and Miocic both change level at the waist in most of their bouts. This style of level change presents the chest to the uppercut in a manner which it would be impossible to strike with that weapon at any other point in the fight. We also know that Cormier will tire when hammered with attrition strikes like low kicks and body shots because Jon Jones exhausted him in their first fight this way and was on his way to doing it in their second fight.

The Mummy Guard

For Cormier, the fight seems to come down to whether he can get his shots in on Miocic’s hips and whether he can run through his usual sequence of attacks off the high crotch with the same effectiveness. In terms of his ability on the feet, Cormier will probably never be anyone’s favorite striker but as herky jerky as he looks he is at least comfortable.

The gaping hole in Miocic’s game is that he scarcely uses a left hook and ends combinations with his right hand, completely exposed to a counter. Most coaches stress the importance of “closing the door” with the left hook or jab to return a fighter to his guard while striking the entire time, but Miocic swings for the fences with his right hand and forgets about his left after it has done the groundwork for his right. A good left hook off the level change or off the jab could turn Miocic’s head around, and Cormier was happy to hook off the jab against both Jones and Oezdemir.

Against Oezdemir, Cormier’s bizarre mummy guard seemed to have him flirting with danger at all points until he got the takedown, but there’s some science behind this rather ugly method of fighting. With his right hand high to palm Oezdemir’s jab, Cormier moved in behind his extended left arm and attempted to put it over Oezdemir’s shoulder.

This movement raises Cormier’s lead shoulder as the stonewall does in boxing and the long guard does in Muay Thai, something which is partly undone by Cormier continuing to hold his chin high, but it also obstructs the path of Oezdemir’s right hand. In bareknuckle times this was called "barring" a right hand, Edwin Haislet referred to it as a "leverage guard." It’s hideous, but it makes striking awkward and that is really all DC needs to do.

Here DC’s extended right arm bars Oezdemir’s left.

As a bonus, reaching over the opponent’s lead shoulder has no offensive applications in boxing, but for an Olympic medalist in wrestling fighting in MMA, the collar tie is right there for Cormier to reach out and take. While Cormier can look to advance his grips off this control, he also does some of his best hitting with the uppercut from a single collar tie.

Cormier’s reaching for his opponent’s punches is often criticized, but Jack Johnson and George Foreman made careers out of it in boxing. The hands forward "mummy" style of fighting obstructs the opponent’s fastest punches—the straights—and they are forced to swing around if they hope to sneak a blow in. Circular blows are slower and can be ducked.

By checking both of his opponent’s hands, Cormier can shut down his quickest offensive options. Many opponents react by trying to free their hands or drawing them into their body, and this allows Cormier to score with his own punches.

Like the great Jack Johnson, Cormier can catch his opponents out by switching from a purely stifling use of his hands to a quick, straight-forward attack with his hands.

(For more on Johnson’s style, watch this video.)

In addition to Miocic’s tendency to leave himself exposed after throwing his right hand, and Cormier’s wrestling advantage on paper, Miocic also struggles with pace. Miocic put the pace on Francis Ngannou and Junior dos Santos (in their first fight) but hardly looked fresh as a daisy in the third, fourth, and fifth rounds. There is decent cardio for a heavyweight, and then there is decent cardio for any other division in the sport. If Cormier can enter on clinches and work from there as he did in the first round against Oezdemir, it is quite conceivable that he could tire Miocic out without taking much damage. If Miocic can be drained significantly, Cormier might well move Miocic into position along the fence and open up with knees and uppercuts as he did against Frank Mir.

One of the downsides of the hands-extended, mummy-style guard is that it doesn’t account for a shin bone sweeping up and cracking you from the side to the body or head. In boxing, you would have a check on both the opponent’s weapons; in MMA the opponent still has two limbs which he can use with impunity. Fortunately, Stipe Miocic isn’t a very dexterous kicker. If Miocic could commit to throwing a few high kicks as Cormier ducks, he might be able to convince Cormier to move more cautiously even if he doesn’t score a spectacular high kick knockout. Meanwhile Cormier has always been able to throw a hard kick even if it isn’t always with textbook form. As Cormier is the man more likely to be hunting the clinches and the takedowns, he might as well try to get some low kicks in to slow Miocic down without worrying about being taken down.

Daniel Cormier would be doing something truly remarkable if he succeeded in taking the UFC heavyweight title, and Stipe Miocic might just be the right kind of fighter for him to do it against. Cormier’s ugly striking is best against straight hitting, non-kickers, which is a perfect description of Miocic. But Cormier’s over-extensions and deep leans can cost him against fighters who build off set ups and can feint decently: things which Miocic has been known to do. Additionally we just don’t know what Miocic can do if Cormier grabs a hold of him. The interest in a Cain Velasquez match hinged around Velasquez’s gas tank and relentless wrestling, Cormier might not have quite the same intensity and pace as Velasquez but he’s the next best thing.

Something interesting is bound to happen at UFC 226 and whether it’s another defense for King Stipe, or Daniel Cormier walking off into the sunset with both belts draped over his shoulders, we will be breaking down the finer points on Monday.

Jack wrote the hit biography Notorious: The Life and Fights of Conor McGregor and hosts the Fights Gone By Podcast

Clash of Kings: Tactical Guide to Stipe Miocic vs. Daniel Cormier published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/