#square ceiling skylight

[zebravalis]

Kitchen - Modern Kitchen Mid-sized minimalist u-shaped light wood floor and beige floor open concept kitchen photo with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and quartz countertops

[chairytale]

Kitchen - Modern Kitchen Mid-sized minimalist u-shaped light wood floor and beige floor open concept kitchen photo with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and quartz countertops

[curlyrps]

Kitchen Great Room in New York

[paulpingminho]

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mentions of sex , profanity , crying , angst

୨୧˚ an; does anyone even care about this anymore LMDOAOO but for real, i’m sorry for how late this part got out. i am battling severe writers block it is dangling me by the BAWLLSSS,, im thinking that this series is coming to a close soon and i never meant for it to get this deep but here we are 🦝 thank you all for being so patient with me i lob you

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

There was something about thunderstorms that Toji always felt drawn to. They were great; overbearing in a way, rolling through and burying a perfectly fine day under gallons of rainwater and gray skies. Authoritative, condemning humans to take shelter lest they wish to drown in its fruits. Suffering the consequences; soaked-through clothes and sopping hair. He watches the pane of glass at the roof, a skylight barred into the flat of your high rise ceilings. The rain storm had reduced it into nothing but a drab, dusty square, baring the pelts of precipitation like punishment. Toji holds you in your bed. Your weight drapes across his chest like a blanket, your head tucked beneath the cut of his chin.

“Do you like the rain, Toji?”

He felt naked, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. The silken sheets that wrap your mattress were unfamiliar against this flesh, cold and slippery. Regretting the forfeit of pajamas. You two had shared a shower after dinner, of which you held him with all the sentiment in the world. Toji fucking hates when people stand at his back. He doesn’t like it, feeling a presence before seeing them. But he let you stay centimeters behind, working peach and ginger scented shampoo into the roots of his scalp. When he was a boy and his mother had yet to find a place in the Zenin's private graveyard, he vaguely remembers receiving analogous strokes of care from the only family member in his life who didn’t see him as a filthy disgrace. Mom bathed him like this, scrubbing blood and tarnish from his cheeks with a threadbare handkerchief in that tin can he called a tub. All that fucking family money, but a new washcloth or a proper bathtub was never in the cards for him. He remembers mom apologizing often when she washed him.

Toji fucked you in the shower. A difficult means of having sex, sure, but slippery surfaces and soap in the eyes weren’t enough to quell that undying twist of hunger. So he took you against the sleek porcelain wall with his hands shelving beneath the curve of your ass and your legs constricting at his waist. You guided him to a quick orgasm with spouts of hushed praises spoken to his ear; he was certain you didn’t cum, didn’t feel that cute clench you did the first night you two slept together, but you lied and told him you did with a reassuring grin. Why did you lie?

“It’s fine, I guess.” A hand caressed your thigh, the one that was slung over and hiked up onto his stomach. Toji grazed his nails over your flesh, mindless and dejected.

Thunder clapped, then lightning struck, and all Toji could think in the moment was about you and him. Together. Stark nude in bed with limbs entwined. He, the thunder; loud and fierce. Scary, enough to make little children and small animals shake and cower in the corner with fear. You’re more like lightning, he supposes. Elegant and powerful, something so naturally beautiful. 

You will hear thunder and remember me.

More thunder boomed. Toji squeezes your body tighter. “I like that.”

“Like what?” He asks.

You trace wobbly circles against his collar bone, avoiding the slices of silvery skin that raised off the plain of skin. Scars, Toji was doused in gauges. Scraped up head to toe, and he could feel your eyes dart lazily between each and every one of them. “I like the thunder,” comes your reply, followed by a small, bashful shrug. “Ever since I was a kid.”

Toji scoffs. Fuckin’ mind reader. “Liar. Nobody likes thunder.”

“Don’t call me a liar,” you slap his cheek playfully. “I mean it. The quiet can be disturbing sometimes. But to me, thunder is so… human-like? Makes me forget I’m alone.”

This has the man tossing his head back against your feathered pillow. “You’re so full of shit.”

Another stroke of brooding thunder rapped against the window like knock, and if Toji was a believer in the Gods above, he’d curse every last one of them for their shitty comedic timing. You’re giggling into his neck; Toji can feel warm puffs of breath fan over his pulse point. “See?” You ask through a grin. “He came back to yell at you.” He, referring to the crack of thunder. Toji rolls his eyes. Leaves a pinch at your thigh.

“Hey, what did you say before?” Toji walked his fingertips down the curve of your spine, stopping just above your ass. “The fuckin’—the french thing?”

How did it go again? Tu mas something?

It took a moment for you to decipher what he was talking about.

“Tu m'as manqué, Toji?”

Toji bit down on the tip of his tongue, stifling a smile at the grandeur in which you held when speaking the delicate French language. He nods, “what’s it mean?” 

“Means ‘I miss you’.” Is he melting? Liquifying into a disgusting puddle beneath your prying palms, soaking into the bed sheets. You lament over his absence, spitting such pure genuine inflections that Toji is inclined to believe you when you tell him just how much you missed his unlawful presence. Like a stray dog that you offhandedly feed every now and again, praying for its safe and soon return back on your doorstep, digging into the leftover scraps of meat you’ve so kindly plated on the stoop. He’s that washed-up, flea ridden, unabashedly feral mutt that can’t help but crawl back to the idea of home. “I missed you. A lot.”

Toji doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so vulnerable. Not even in the throes of passion when he’d had you spread and wet for him did you sound like this. Small and volatile, yet self-assured all the same. How the fuck do you manage to balance such contrasting notions? A witch, you must be something of the sort. 

There’s a gap of longing silence that fills the room; Toji concludes that you wait for him to return the gesture. So he does, “I did, too.” It’s the cold, hard truth, and he gives it to you on a silver platter. “Thought about you.”

And he’d leave that there. It was a much sweeter sentiment than to admit that he thought about you particularly often in those bloody showers with his hand wrenched around his hard on. Leaves much room for you to wonder. 

You hum. 

More quiet. He is fond of the quiet moments with you. 

“This looks fresh.” Ruined peace. He feels your thumb pad prod ever so gently at the teared flesh of his pec, the same one you used as your own personal pillow. It was inflamed, red and angry unlike the plethora of other battle scars which have now faded into a cooler pinkish tone with time. You were right; it was new. Nothing but a little switchblade slash—one of the men Toji had decimated this past week was armed. It was a careless mistake, one that had no real impact or effect, Hell, he barely felt the paper cut. But it impacted you, he noticed. “Does it hurt?” A fingertip whispers over the wound, and he flinches. 

Not because it’s painful, but because your gingerness made him sick to his stomach. Never more than in this moment did Toji feel so guilty for accepting your tender touches, wishing to holy Hell his conscience would allow him to bite his tongue. To let you keep thinking of him as some down-on-his-luck middle aged man with a shit job and no money to his name. 

“Don’t touch,” it’s quick, the way he snatching your wrist. Sturdy bone crushed under the bruising grip of his shaky fist. He didn’t mean to grab you so roughly. You’re taken aback by the outburst. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a meager apology that doesn’t sound right spilling from your lips. It’s trembly and skittish, and your eyes widen coquettishly to flit between his face and the iron-clad grip that joins you together. “I’m—I should’ve asked you first.”

His breathing pattern was off its axis. Shit, shit what is he doing? Toji let’s go, flinching his hand far from your arm like you burned him. He shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to grab you, I didn’t mean to.” Toji pushes up from the warmth of your bed—from the warmth of you—and scans the floor for his boxers. 

You reluctantly part from him, gathering the blanket up over your chest as a makeshift barrier between bare flesh and the chilled air-conditioned bedroom. “What are you doing, Toji?” You sound sad. He finds his boxers. They’re balled up, discarded on the far end of your too-fucking-gigantic bedroom. “Toji!”

He keeps his back toward you, mechanically stepping into his underwear and dragging them up over his hips. It’s fucking gross, feeling the crunch of dried semen as the fabric contorts, but it’s ultimately ignored. “Thanks for dinner, you’re a fuckin’ A chef.” Toji spots his sweatpants nearby. 

“You got that new cut at work.” You’ve made a power move to ditch the comforter, stepping down into the carpet wearing nothing but your birthday suit. The tone of yours shifts, a steep incline from sweet and patient to demanding and accusatory, and Toji doesn’t like that one fucking bit. His sweatpants on, he tosses you a glance over his shoulder. 

“It was an accident.”

“Is that right?” Your brows furrow, gesturing to his torso. His marred, battered, abused torso. “Just covered in accidents then?”

Now he faces you, looks you in the eyes despite your naked form. “Pretty much.” Each lie tastes acidic, like that soupy bile he spits out before vomiting. “Thanks for dinner.” He makes an attempt to stalk past to the door, foregoing the shirt because he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. Probably lost in a forgotten corner of your room, and with the way his heart raced against his rib cage, Toji wasn’t sure he’d survive long enough in this stuffy room to find it. So he thanks you again with an air of finality, only to be stopped. Your hand is flat against the center of his chest, pressed over the beat of his heart. No doubt about it, he’s sure you can feel that manic tempo. 

Beat, beat, beat. 

“I really thought we were getting somewhere.” You start quietly, voice hovering just above a whisper. His eyes stay fixed on the tiny hand that has glued itself to his sternum. “I thought we… I thought… I don’t fucking know, okay?

I like you. I like you so much, Toji.”

I like you too. “I…” like you I like you I like you. 

“Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate anything. These are complicated feelings, I know that. It’s a lot to spring on a person, but it’s the truth. I’m giving you my truth, and I need you to do the same because I don’t know if I can take another week of you disappearing for however long only to return like… like this!” You gesture to the red gash. “I care about you, and I want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, but you make it so fucking difficult.”

It felt as though every saliva particle had been vacuumed out of his mouth, leaving a dry desert plain for a tongue. He's never been so at a loss for words before, you actually rendered him speechless. Finally, finally, after a minute of gaping like a stupid fish out of water, Toji finds his bearings. 

“You’re a good person, Y/n.” He peels your hand off him. “And I’m not.” Toji moves to disconnect hands, but yours follows him, clamping them back together. He can’t find the strength to let go, knowing good and well that his palm was clammy as shit. 

Your brows pinch, knitting with confusion at the seemingly random proclamation. “I mean, sure you can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I don’t think—”

You don’t understand. So unscathed by the bleakness of this world, your definition of a bad person is someone who’s ’kind of a dick sometimes.’ Toji’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head, bangs bouncing with the movement. Your fancy conditioner made his hair feel soft against his forehead. “That’s surface level shit. You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“So tell me—”

“I can’t.” The word cracks in his throat, and he coughs around it. Choking on it like he did your pretty fingers in the kitchen. “Don’t you get that? If it was that easy…”

“Tell me.” Your voice grows calm, yet stern. Aggressive in the gentlest of ways, coaxing the truth to light. Arms crossed over your bosom, you jut a chin in Toji’s direction. “Because I’m really sick and fucking tired of you treating me like I’m incapable of comprehension. I’ll understand.”

You won’t. He knows you won’t. 

Time grows slow and thick like molasses; Toji feels caught in the midst of an unwinnable battle. Either direction he takes—to come clean, to dance around the truth some more, to lie—will only serve to worsen things to an unfortunate degree. He stalls. Scratches at his jagged jaw dusted with faint stubble. Then, he paws over the masculine plates of his abdomen, feeling his own flesh. There isn’t any warmth to him anymore. Every ounce of humanity had leaked from Toji’s soul, leaving him to become this cold, withering husk of a man. 

When his mouth finally peels open, it takes effort. Like his teeth had been welded together by one of those chewy caramel-coated candies Shiu keeps in his glove compartment. 

“I’m a killer.”

A strange sensation splashed over Toji. Maybe it was relieving to finally share that tidbit of himself, to get his shame out in the open and off his chest. His shoulders felt a little lighter, his joints felt a little looser. This high didn’t last forever, though, and soon he was plummeting back down to Earth when your horror-stricken voice shook in his ears. 

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“Wouldn’t joke. Not about that.” He swirls the built-up saliva in his mouth.

Your eyes were wide, never leaving him. “You… you kill people? For money?”

Begrudgingly, “yes.”

You sputter. “How do you expect me to believe something so—so unimaginable?” Your brows sewed themselves, drawn close in absolute bewilderment. Hinging on the cusp between puking and laughing in his stupid face. “This is insane, Toji.”

He scoffs quietly. “Ain’t fuckin’ lying woman.” No saccharine ma’am. “Wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to fight to live.” A low blow, but you didn’t seem to take it to heart, far too distracted by your own disturb. 

Toji wasn’t prepared for how much this was going to hurt. The disgusted way you looked at him, something you’d never ever done before, made him barely able to contain his quiver. He deserves every morsel of your animosity, but knowing he deserved it didn’t make it any less painful. Toji felt you scanning, analyzing every scar wedged into his torso. His arms. His neck. His face. He sees you making connections, noticing healed-over bullet wounds and knife attacks for what they were: hideous. He watches you make connections, visualizing a new scenario for each scar; for each life he’s taken and how they desperately fought back against him for mercy. Toji’s body bears the story of hundreds of deaths, and you look sick to your stomach at the realization of what he truly is. 

An ugly monster. 

“Oh my God.” You’re hushed, speaking to yourself. “How many people, Toji?”

He grimaced. “I lost count.”

“Oh my God…” Your hand is pressed to your hairline, and you look exasperated to all Hell. Crazed, maybe. As though he’d just rocked your entire world.

Toji interjects with unnecessary commentary. “I told you. I said you would never understand.”

“No, n-no I understand plenty.” Then, you smile, but it’s not one you’d ever bore to Toji before. It lacks any kindness. It’s empty and unloving. “You’re a murderer.”

He winces. Killer and murderer were synonymous, but for some odd reason being called a murderer was a different type of wrench to the gut. “Yeah.” Toji nods. For the right price, he has slaughtered, fucked, and even sold a few peripheral organs. Because money is everything. Money is food. Money is shelter. Money is life itself. But money isn’t you. 

“Get the fuck out of my home.”

You look terrified of him. Toji is frozen stiff.

“I said go! Fucking leave!” Suddenly, you're rushing to collect your crumpled outfit from the floor, feeding your limbs through the small pair of panties and that oversize bed shirt. Amongst the frenzy to get dressed, you snatch your phone from the bedside table and frantically scrawl over the screen with clumsy fingers. Toji sees tears track down your cheeks, they glint from the light emanating off the cellphone. “Or I’ll call the police.”

And turn in what evidence? He’s too good at what he does, Toji doesn’t leave paper trails behind. But he lets you think you have the power to get him in cuffs. You’re already so frightened, clinging to your phone with trembling hands.

“Go ahead. Call them.” His words are lifeless. Lifeless with a touch of irritation. Spat with malice because you would never understand the life he lives, despite how much you’ve preached to him that you would. You teased him, dangling this idea of a normal life in front of his face. One without lies and secrecy, just you and him and this almighty penthouse. This would more than likely be the last exchange between the both of you, the last time Toji would ever look you in the eyes again, and it angered him. All good things have expiration dates. “You know where I live.”

“Just… Fucking leave.” Christ, you were shaking like a leaf. Was it out of fear? Or anger, maybe? Probably a combination of both. Toji gets a few more seconds of stillness in, spent entirely on gulping down eyefuls of you. Even now, face twisted up and cheeks wet from tears, you look so fucking gorgeous. His savior, the one who showed him how to feel again. 

“Okay.” 

He collects himself, puts on a presence of nonchalant coolness. Like walking out of your bedroom wasn’t the most difficult thing he’s had to do in years. Never-minding the shirt, he walks to the door without sparing a glance back over his shoulder. 

Toji leaves. It’s raining, and he is shirtless and sopping wet. Thunder rumbles. 

You will hear thunder and remember me. 

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[thedailymobile]

“USS Food Court: Ten Forward”

[somanyratsinthewalls]

A Little Funny Business (+18)

Pairing: Buggy x Afab!Reader

WC: 3760

Summary: As a Warlord, you’re always being invited to prestigious Marine Events. With your insatiable sexual appetite, you use these events as a hunting ground for your next prey, and tonight you’re feeling a bit… silly. 

Warnings: Bisexual cunty BFF Mihawk, Alcohol consumption, Face Sitting (HONK), Oral Sex (m and f receiving), Inappropriate use of Devil Fruit Powers, nervous Bugs, Missionary, unprotected sex (bad idea!), cream pie (worse idea!), spitting, multiple orgasms, porn with a lot of plot for no reason. 

*authors note* I saw someone ask a few weeks ago for more fics about Buggy being a huge loser and I was a little inspired by that LOL he's such a dork wow

MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

——

“And why do I need to come to this again? I have much better things to be doing than rubbing elbows with those fools.” Dracule ‘Hawkeye’ Mihawk was lounging in your parlor chair with his  boots kicked up on the glass coffee table, the large glass of red wine you had offered him swirling in his hand. He was your best… friend? As a fearsome pirate, no one had friends, per se, but he was probably the closest thing you had other than your own crew. 

“Because…” You emphasize while you throw on one of your dresses from behind your changing curtain. “I’m in the mood for a romp and if I can’t find someone I think can satisfy me tonight, I might as well bring along ole reliable.” You peek over the top of the curtain and shoot him a wink. Over the years you’ve known each other, you and Mihawk realized that you have incredible sexual compatibility but the thought of being in a committed relationship repulsed you both. 

Mihawk rolls his eyes at you. 

“For future reference, it’s not sexy to tell a man that he’s your second choice.” He smirked as he sipped his wine. He was indifferent, he just liked to poke fun at you. “So who do you have your eyes on, then? Another Admiral?” He teased.

You scoff as you exit the curtain in a red plunging, halter, backless gown with a slit up nearly to your hip. “After Aokiji? No way. His hands were so cold I felt like I was the the doctor’s office.” You give Mihawk a twirl, gesticulating at your dress. “Thoughts?” 

Mihawk takes another sip of his wine. 

“You look like a whore.” He smiles slightly and quirks up an eyebrow at your body. You turn around to face yourself in the mirror. You grin. 

“Perfect.”

— — 

Upon docking your ship at the upper-class Marine town where the ball was being held, you slipped on your jacket and heels and made your way to the banquet hall. You made sure to arrive fashionably late, to make your presence known once most of the attendees have already gotten comfortable in their cups. 

“Miss Y/n, I can take your coat, please allow me.” A dinky little pink-haired Marine Cadet gently shuffled your coat off your now bare shoulders. 

“Aren’t you cute, thank you dear. Keep it warm for me, hey?” With a wink you slipped a one-thousand berry note into his uniform pocket. 

“Y-y-y-yes! Of course, Miss! M-m-my pleasure!” The young cadet sputters out while hurrying off to hang your coat. 

You square your shoulders as you saunter into the extravagant banquet hall filled with important men and women. The hall had vaulted ceilings with beautiful skylights and the walls were adorned with gold appliqué and candelabras. You feel the eyes of many on you as you stroll towards the bar. 

“A gin martini please, up, extra dirty.” The bartender nods at you and begins mixing your cocktail. You reach into your purse for your pocket mirror and lipstick and reapply the gorgeous shade of red that matches your dress. After stowing your cosmetics, your drink was ready so you reach out and touch the martini glass. 

“Really? The Marines can’t even spring for chilled glasses?” You furrow your brow at how cheap the government organization had gotten lately. You hear a low chuckle from the man next to you. 

“Allow me.” You hear him say. Suddenly, as if by magic, a frost of ice begins to form from the bottom of your glass to the very top. Realizing who was standing beside you at the bar, you smile. 

“I wondered where you’d made off to. You never called me back, you know.” Admiral Aokiji looks down at you. 

“I do know. It’s nothing personal, Admiral, but keep frosting these glasses for me and I might just change my mind.” You wink and stroll back to the rest of the party with your drink. 

After scanning the crowd you see Mihawk seated at a table with a few others. He was hard to miss… he just had to bring that eyesore of a weapon everywhere. You take the seat next to him and put your drink on the table. 

“I miss anything good yet? Did the fishmen get here? They always make it weird.” You question Mihawk. 

“No, painfully boring as expected.” Mihawk swigs from his drink. “At least it’s an open bar. Have you found your ‘soup of the day’ yet?” He inquires about your hunt for your next sexual conquest. You laugh out loud at his phrasing. 

“Hah! Not yet. Old man Garp looks kind of nice lately though…” You say looking over your left shoulder at the vice-admiral who was paying attention only to the roving stewards with trays of meat-heavy appetizers. Mihawk crinkles up his nose slightly. 

“He looks like he bites. Not in a good way.” The two of you make eye contact then snort into your drinks trying to hold in your laughter. 

“Ah, my friends! What a pleasure to see you both!” A booming voice caused both you and Mihawk to turn around in your chairs. A massively tall, blonde, sunglasses-clad man was sidling your way. 

“Oh gods, why him? I thought for sure he wouldn’t make it…” Mihawk whispers as he takes a huge gulp of his drink. 

“Ugh.” You turn back towards the table, hoping he would just go away. 

“Is that any way to greet an old pal?” DonQuixote Doflamingo laughs as he muscles his way in-between the two of you. 

“Doflamingo.” You beam up at him with the fakest smile you could muster. You extend a limp hand which he takes in his much larger one. He licks his lips before he kisses it. “Couldn’t be bothered leaving that gaudy thing at the coat check?” You nod your chin towards his ridiculous hot pink jacket. Doflamingo chortles. 

“Always such a charmer, y/n. What does a King have to do for you to join them in his bedchambers tonight?” He licks his lips again. Still smiling at him widely, you respond. 

“When I say that I would rather cover a sea cucumber in sandpaper and-“

Doflamingo leans over you, trying to intimidate you. 

“You’re rejecting me? You must think I won’t kill every single one in here and then-“ 

Mihawk rises and pushes a hand against Doflamingo’s massive chest. 

“Wait until she has a few more martinis. She’s much more… adventurous. Speaking from experience… friend.” Mihawk dispels the situation with ease. Doflamingo huffs and heads off to converse with some Marine Higher-Ups. 

“He’s going to actually kill you one day, you know.” 

“I’d rather fight him than fuck him. He’s insufferable and you know it. Fucking bird brain.” You snap at Mihawk as you take the last sip of your drink. You notice Mihawk’s drink is empty as well. “Get me another drink, will you love?” You smile sweetly at the swordsman. 

“You’re lucky I can’t say no to you.” Mihawk grabs your empty glasses and leaves for the bar. You take this opportunity to scan the ballroom for potential lovers or anyone interesting enough to even have a conversation with. You were starting to regret even coming… when you overhear two marine captains chatting near you.  

“Who invited that guy?”

“Bro he’s a warlord now, can you believe that?”

“No way… he’s so… lame?”

This piqued your interest. You looked in the direction they were gesturing in. There was a man who had just arrived at the event, one you had yet to meet in person. This gentleman was wearing a slightly dirty orange fur jacket with a matching giant, orange pirate hat adorned with blue and green. What you noticed immediately, though, was his large, round, red nose. 

“Buggy the clown, nice to meet ya. It’s me, Buggy, the clown. The Genius Jester, Buggy the Clown, yes that’s me. Captain Buggy, pleasure to meet ya.” The silly looking man was shaking hands like he was running for office. It was corny and he was clearly out of place. You found yourself smiling at his awkward behavior. After pandering to the crowd, the clown eventually seated himself at a table across the room with a glass of whiskey. 

“Your martini, my lady, just the way you like it.” Mihawk returns with a new martini for you, unfortunately not chilled. 

“Thanks. Say, what do you know about the circus guy?” You nod in Buggy’s direction.

“Oh him? We have an old mutual friend. He’s an idiot. Everything good that’s ever happened to him he’s stumbled ass-backwards into it. I give it a week or two as a warlord before someone’s killed him for his spot.” Mihawk explains. 

“Interesting. I’ll be back.” You stride towards Buggy’s table at the opposite end of the ballroom. Without asking or saying anything, you take a seat right beside the clown. 

“Hi.” You lean on your elbow on the table with your head tilted to the side. 

“O-oh, Hi! You’re uh- um- y/n!” The clown stutters out, startled by your sudden appearance next to him. 

“Mhmm…. And you’re Buggy… Captain Buggy.” You look into his sea-glass colored eyes. 

“Y-yes! I am Captain Buggy the Clown. A powerful warlord of the sea!” He nervously chokes out at you.  You giggle. 

“Yeah, me too. So…” You draw circles on the table with your finger. “What brings you to some stuffy Marine function like this one? Doesn’t really seem like your speed.”

“Uh… The free food and booze, honestly.” 

You laugh. Buggy’s posture becomes less stiff and uncomfortable. 

“I’m glad we’re here for similar reasons, Mr. Clown.” You raise your martini glass in his direction. Buggy raises his whiskey and clinks his glass to yours. 

“Please, y/n, call me Buggy. Mr. Clown was my father.” 

Maybe it was the gin talking, but you found yourself laughing out loud at his stupid joke. You both finish your drinks after your toast. 

“Hey, y/n… wanna see a card trick?” Buggy pulls a crusty old deck of cards out of his coat pocket and starts shuffling them. Your eyes widen, not expecting this man to be fully committed to the clown bit. 

“Fuck it, show me.” 

Several minutes of shuffling and slight-of-hand go by before the clown pulls a Queen of Hearts out the deck. 

“Is this your card?” He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“No fucking shit!” You slam your hands on the table, genuinely impressed that he had picked your card. 

“Hah Hah! Told ya!” Buggy laughs as he finishes his drink. You notice his empty glass. 

“Let me get you another drink. Don’t go anywhere.” You wink as you grab your glasses and turn towards the bar. After ordering and receiving your two drinks, you spy Mihawk at the end of the bar facing outward. 

“So, how’s the plight of the huntress going? Anyone that you-“ He starts as he brings his drink to his lips, but you cut him off. 

“I’m going to fuck the clown.” You say with a deadpan expression. 

“Gods, y/n, what?” Mihawk chokes out after he spits out his drink. 

“Yep. See you!” You don’t give Mihawk a chance to criticize your choice before you walk off. You bring the drinks back to the blue-haired clown and sit down, pulling your chair close to his as you sit. 

“Thanks!” Buggy takes a big gulp of his drink, noticing that your knees are now touching his. “So… uh… y/n? I gotta ask… with all these big wigs here… why are ya talking to me all night?” 

You sense his insecurities. Cute, you thought. 

“Well, Buggy,” You emphasize his name. “Unlike you, I am not new to this game. And since I am not new to this game, frankly, I am bored. All these stuck up, no-fun, corporate dickheads make for a very boring party.” You grab his hand that’s clutching his drink on the table. “You however…” You stroke your thumb along the back of his glove. You could see a drop of sweat slide down his temple. “You are fun. I like fun.” 

Buggy giggles nervously.

“Heh, well, uh, t-thank you. You’re… you’re f-fun too…” He uses his free gloved hand to rub the back of his neck. 

“Do you wanna see how much fun I can be, Captain Buggy?” You cock your head to the side and place your other hand on his knee. Buggy’s eyes blow so wide you thought he had seen a ghost. 

“I-… I- Um… Ah!” He jolts as you slide your hand up his thigh, further trying to get your point across. 

“Want to come back to my ship with me, Buggy?” You lean and whisper in his ear. 

“Yes! Of course I do! Now? Can we go now?” He stands up. You laugh. 

“Follow me, funny guy.” 

— —

Buggy follows you all the way back to your ship like a lovesick puppy. Trailing behind you and asking you all kinds of questions and oversharing about himself. You board your ship and lead him into your luxurious captain’s quarters and close the door behind you both. 

“Wow it’s really nice in here, y/n! Who does your…-mmph!” Buggy is cut off by your lips smashing against his as you push him against the closed door. 

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and kiss him deeper. You feel smooth gloved hands wrap around your waist as he finally kisses you back once the shock wore off. Your lips move slowly together at first. Buggy is awkwardly trying to find a rhythm, but after a few moments he feels confident enough to walk you backwards and push you both onto your plush pink comforter. Now laying down, you wrap your legs around his hips, effectively hiking your dress up and exposing your panties to him. Buggy pulls back breathlessly and looks down at you. 

“Uh, so, uh… I-I don’t do this a lot… A-Are you sure you want to-?” His brows are furrowed and his eyes are full of uncertainty. 

You bring your hands up and remove his hat and tossing it to the floor, smoothing his long blue hair off to one side. 

“Buggy. I want you. Please.” With your last plead, you bucked your hips upward to grind into his hardened bulge. Buggy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. 

“Fuck! Okay, okay, okay- let’s get this thing off you, hey?” Hurriedly, Buggy lifts your already hiked up dress over your head leaving you fully exposed except for a red lace thong with a little wet patch right over your hole. His eyes dart from your naked breasts to your long legs to your clothed sex, before you snapped him out of it. 

“I think you have too many clothes on.” You jump up and slide his jacket off of his shoulders and then lift his shirt off his head as he takes off his trousers and boots. Not wearing underwear (you smirk at this realization) he was now naked in front of you. You grab his face with both hands and pull him into a passionate kiss. He falls on top of you again. But during your heated make out, you roll him over so that you’re on top, grinding your lace covered cunt against his hard cock. 

“Y-y/n! Ah!” Buggy moans out lewdly, and he isn’t even inside of you yet. Perhaps knowing he wouldn’t last long once he feels your warm insides sucking him in, he pleads with you.

“Let me taste you, please, y/n. Wanna make you feel good on me…” He was so desperate, it was so cute. You giggle.

“Aww, you’re so cute, Buggy. Of course I’ll let you have a taste. Now open wide baby…” You shuffle your way up to his face and straddle it with your body facing the headboard. You grip your panties and push them forcefully to the side, exposing your slick pussy mere millimeters above Buggy’s waiting mouth. You fully seat yourself down on his face, knowing he could take it. He was a warlord now, after all. 

“Mmmpph!” Buggy swirls his tongue experimentally around your slit, groaning at the sinful taste. He laps and sucks up and down your cunt until he eventually finds your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you when he slurps it between his lips. 

“Fuck, there!” You throw your head back in pleasure as the man below you learns what turns you on and how to bring you to that edge. “Just like that, fuck! Keep going!” He enthusiastically licks at your clit harder with your praise. He moves to slip his tongue into your hole, you sigh out and wind your hands in his hair below you. Instinctively, you push your cunt onto his face, trying to force his tongue deeper into you when you hear-

HONK!

You gasp as all motions on your sex stop and you look down. Nervous, anxious eyes look back up at you from between your legs.

“Buggy… baby…” 

“Y/n I-“

“Baby that’s so hot.” You were panting down at him. His expression became one of even more confusion. “I want more. Do it again.”

Buggy was in shock. There’s no way you were really saying his nose was… sexy? It was turning you on? You had to be joking. There’s no way that you-

Buggy’s thoughts were cut off by you pushing your pussy down onto his mouth again, whining and begging for more of his tongue. 

HONK!

“Please baby? Make me cum on that handsome face of yours.” You gasp out as he resumes his ministrations on your swollen clit. You close your eyes and moan loudly. You feel two hands massaging at your breasts, and you snap your eyes open to see two disembodied hands at your chest. 

“Shit, yes! I’m gonna- ah!” 

With a final pinch of your nipples and a harsh suck to your clit, your orgasm rips through your body and you shriek out and grab the headboard in front of you for balance. Shudders of pleasure still radiate through your body as you hear Buggy’s hands reattach to his body and he pulls you down onto the bed with him. He cradles your face and kisses you deeply. You moan at the taste of your release on his lips. 

Buggy pulls back from the kiss. 

“D-Do ya still want to-?” Buggy asked, hesitantly, like he didn’t just let you ride his face. 

“Gods, yes. Fuck me.” You sighed as you slipped your panties all the way off and laid back on the bed with your legs spread. You were wiped from your orgasm, but your hole was still aching to be filled by the clown. He climbs on top of you and smiles a wicked smile. 

“Get it nice and wet for me first, kay?”

Suddenly you feel something velvety and hard tap against the side of your mouth. You glance down and see Buggy’s detached cock prodding at your kiss-bitten lips. You mindlessly obey and open your mouth and allow Buggy to slide it onto your tongue hands (and body) free. You wrap your lips around his shaft and try to suck it in as far as it will go down your throat. 

“W-wow doll, you really are somethin’!” Feeling himself already losing it at your cock-hungry expression, he pulls himself from your lips and attaches his spit-soaked cock back to his body, positioned at your dripping hole. 

“Just fuck me already, Buggy!” You grab his ass and push his hips into yours. He gets the message and swiftly bottoms out inside of you, the sloppy wetness of your saliva and arousal making it easy to slip right in. His long blue locks are splayed over his bare shoulders that stutter as he tries to compose himself now that he’s fully buried in your hot sex. You groan out, finally feeling him fill you. 

“FUCK, y/n!” Buggy leans forward and bites deeply into your neck, still trying to steel himself. Thinking this would keep him from cumming immediately, it had the opposite effect. When you felt his teeth in your neck, your cunt clenched on him so tight that it triggered his orgasm. Buggy’s eyes roll back and he muffles his moan. He can’t let you know that he came so early. 

Fighting overstimulation, he shallowly starts thrusting his hips into yours. Buggy whimpers at the feeling of his oversensitive cock gliding through your slippery, now cum-coated walls. 

“Harder, fuck me harder, PLEASE!” You were begging him to rail you, and he knew he had to give it to you. Hearing you plead made him fully hard again immeasurably quickly. Buggy places one hand on your hip and angles himself to thrust upwards inside your cunt. 

“That’s so good baby, please, right there just like that, you’re doing so good for me.” You slid your left hand down and rubbed your clit in tight circles. 

“Fuck, let me…” Buggy slaps your hand away to replace it with one of his now detached hands. He slows down his thrusts enough to drop a glob of spit down onto your clit and start rubbing it himself. 

“Bugs, fuck! Gonna cum! Ah, shit… yes!” You jolt upwards and waves of pleasure start overtaking your body. Buggy fucks you through your orgasm and picks up his pace. He attaches his hand and now places both hands on your hips to slam you onto his cock at a breakneck speed.

“Gonna fucking make you mine…. All mine…”

“Ah- yes- yours- fuck-“ You sputter out incoherently as you bounce back and forth against the bed on Buggy’s cock. 

“There it is baby… yes-!… ” Buggy slams his hips into yours deeply and empties himself for a second time inside of you tonight. After catching his breath in the crook of your neck, Buggy rolls off of you and lays his head on the pillow next to yours. You both make eye contact and start laughing. 

Buggy eventually rolls his body into a sitting position and rises from the bed. He begins picking up his belongings and tries pulling his shirt over his head. You sit up and look at him, while pulling the blankets over your body. 

“You’re not staying?” You inquire of your clown lover. 

“I-I wasn’t… I mean I wasn’t invited to sleep- sleep over? You know? I didn’t want to-“ He stutters out, his shirt on, dick still out in front of you. You giggle and flop back on the bed. 

“Get in here. I may be tired now, but I might want to see what else those chop-chop powers can do in the morning.” 

Buggy strips his shirt again and hops under the covers with you. 

“Doll, you haven’t even seen the half of it.”

xx 

[agere-fics]

Doctor Papa

dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄

pairing: caregiver!papa!bruce banner x regressor!little!reader

characters: uncle thor, bruce banner, reader, mentions of: steve, bucky, sam, and tony stark.

summary: you have to get MRIs done but you're nervous. thank goodness, papa knows how to cheer you up.

word count: 1,751

content warnings: MRIs, hospital gown, reader is written like they're a child's height, no mention of a particular chronic illness, please tell me if i'm missing anything

author's note: tadaa!! all done! this is the most i've written for a one shot! very proud of myself. also, this is inspired by me having to get MRIs done recently ajfhs

♡

Sometimes stuff we've done lots of times can still seem scary; which is annoying because who wants to feel anxious about the same exact thing over and over again?

You have to get these scans done by tomorrow. With every heart of your being, you wished that wasn't true but your previous scans were too old.

UGH!

Luckily, your papa had a trick up his sleeve.

He told you to stay here, in this gigantic, empty, white walled room. It was utterly boring, there were no paintings or statues or anything. Not even toys! Well, okay, you had your Mr. Rainy Day Bear but still! At least there were floor to ceiling windows- OH, and a skylight, too. Those are always nice.

While you waited for Bruce to come back, you watched what went on outside. There was Tony using his latest invention to attempt to lift Uncle Thor’s hammer. Tony still had no idea that it couldn't possibly work! How silly of him.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve stood in a far apart triangle. They were tossing around the Captain America shield like a Frisbee, guffawing, and yelling things that were joyously incomprehensible. It looked like lots of fun! Definitely more fun than MRIs. Maybe, they would let you join in later.

The double doors of the empty room swung open and papa’s humongous green form entered.

“Okayyy, love bug, I've grabbed all the cardboard pieces from recycling that weren't gross.” He grimaced thinking about the black, moldy gunk that spoiled some previously useful parts. He shrunk back down to Bruce Banner size after dumping the cardboard into a large pile. “We should have enough for our little art project.”

“Art project?” You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were actually lit up with stars of joy this time, instead of meteor shower anxiety.

The idea was to make a cardboard MRI machine. Having an art project to focus on would comfort and reassure you about the process you would go through tomorrow. If he could make it fun, your anxiety wouldn't be so bad.

“I’ve seen the machine before, papa, I can make the bestest one yet!” You hopped on your toes, giddy with tight, flapping fists.

“I grabbed your sticker books and some paint, too-”

“OH YAY, THANK YOU PAPA, THIS IS SO EXCITING!!”

Mission accomplished. Anxiety gone, replaced with magical cure Art Project™. Bruce smirked to himself.

You laid down on a tall, square cardboard piece. Bruce traced your form with a sharpie as you giggled. Once you had the correct length, you both began cutting a rectangular piece and put that piece on a metal cart with wheels.

Then, you cut out half circle pieces and hot glued them all together until it made one large 4D sphere with a hole in the middle like a donut.

At one point, the glue burned you but Papa Bruce fixed it right up and stopped the booboo pain with a cure-all kiss.

Your cardboard MRI machine may look done to outsiders but it wasn't even close. It was missing the most important part of all: the stickers! There were heart stickers, stickers with dolphins, rainbow stickers, puppy stickers, stickers that had Mr. Hulk and Papa on them, too! There were even stickers of Stevey, Bucky, Iron Man, and Uncle Thor! Papa said for your birthday he'd make stickers with you on them, too.

You also painted squiggles, polka dots, lines, circles, triangles, kitty cats, and zig zags. All of them in your most favoritest color.

“There!” You stood proudly, hands on your hips. “Now, it's very, very pretty, papa.”

Papa gave you a minute and then asked, “Are you ready to practice?”

You blinked and sighed. Defeat warping your mood. “Yeah...”

Papa spun away, put a doctor's coat on, and then turned back, holding a clipboard. “Alright, are you the caregiver for Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

“Yeah, papa.” You lightened up a little bit.

“Papa? No, I'm Doctor Doctor. Who's papa?”

“You're papaaa!” You pointed at him.

“Okay, okay I'm Doctor Papa.” He repeated, “Are you the caregiver of Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

You tilted your chin up and did a faux British accent. “Why, yes, sir. He's feeling very, very bad and needs a scan.”

“Ah, yes, I see that on his chart, Caregiver.” He flipped through the scribbled pages on the clipboard. “Let's have. Mr. Bear lay down on the table with his head on the pillow.” Bruce gestured with his hand.

You laid your stuffie down on the pretend bed, placing Mr. Bear’s head gently on the pillow. You patted his hand for good measure.

Doctor Papa put ear plugs into the bear's ears and placed cushy pink headphones on him. The headphones had cat ears on them. Papa raised his voice a little, “Mr. Rainy Day Bear, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Doctor Papa, Mr. Bear is nonverbal.” you said matter of factly. You raised your pointer finger to the sky. “I’ll answer for him. He likes The Wiggles, Papa- I mean Doctor Papa.”

“Alrighty then, The Wiggles album coming right up.” Bruce pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right music. “Wiggles rave?”

You nodded, then kissed the tippity top of Rainy Day’s head. “You'll be okay, Mr. Bear.”

Bruce began to push the cardboard bed into the donut sphere. You took a big, big deep breath in.

“BRRRR BEEEP AGHHHH RRRRR DNNNN-”

That breath was immediately released back into the atmosphere. “PAPAAA!” You clutched your chest, laughing so hard your legs felt weak.

Doctor Papa continued, “DRRRRR EEEEEE EHHHHHH MRRRRRR!”

You were rolling on the floor, tears leaving your eyes. How silly of your papa!

“BRRRRRrrrrrr….” Papa rolled the cardboard bed out of the donut. “How are you feeling Mr. Bear?”

“Papa, he can't hear you!”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.” He removed the headphones and then the earplugs. “How is the fantastic Mr. Bear?”

You lifted Mr. Bear’s paws and had him sign to Bruce, ‘I am okay.’

“Perfect! Let's take a look at your scans here…” Papa turned around and scribbled quickly on the paper. When he faced you again, he showed you the scan. It was a poorly constructed scribble of Mr. Rainy Day Bear with a big, biiiiiiiig, heart right in the middle. “I knew it, Lots-Of-Love-itis.”

You unburied the British accent. “Quite good, sir. Well done, Mr. Bear.” You placed a hulk sticker on his paw and hugged him tightly.

Papa kneeled down and asked, “Do you want to practice with you this time?”

You gave it a thought, looking this way and that. “Hmmm, will you make the funny noises again?”

“BEEEEP BRRR-”

“Not right now, Papa!” You shouted with a smile.

“Oh, during the practice?” He waited for you to finish rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay…” You breathed in, out, in, and out slowly. “Let's practice, Doctor Papa.”

♡

“Big day, lille venn.” Uncle Thor said as he helped tie the back of your hospital gown. He double knotted the strings behind your neck and then the ones by your hip. “There you are. All set.”

You frowned at that, looking at Thor with big, watery eyes. “Not all set.”

“It'll be okay.” His hands (placed on your shoulders) turned you to face him. “Remember your breathing?”

“Mhm.”

“Let's do it together.” He raised his left hand as you did the same. “Climb Yggdrasil, breathe in.”

You traced up your pointer finger.

“Let's sit at the very top, hold your breath.”

You paused at the tip of your finger.

“Slide down the Yggdrasil branches, breathe out.”

You traced down your pointer finger.

Uncle Thor had you repeat that four more times, until the tears dried and the anxiety flowed further away.

“Very good, great job. Let's go see Papa.” He held your hand as he walked you towards the scary room. Worse than the boring room from yesterday.

You turned the corner and there was Papa at the computer. “Hey there! The computer’s prepped and waiting for you, little one.”

You looked at Papa, then Uncle Thor, and then Papa again. “Okay… I'm ready.”

Papa led you to the metal bed. It was rectangular and thin. A sheet was laid out on it so you wouldn't get super cold. There was a thick pillow on the end that had your favorite kitty cat pillowcase on it, which made the corners of your lips turn upwards.

Papa pressed an arrow down bottom next to the donut sphere that brought the bed down to your level. He held your hand as you hopped on and then helped position you onto the center. He guided you through a big, deep breath so that your body was as comfortable on the table as can be instead of tense.

Next came pink headphones with cutesy kitty ears on them and plain boring ear plugs so that your hearing wasn't hurt from the loud noises. Papa already set up your favorite kind of music so when the headphones were placed on you, it was already playing. Bruce furrowed his brow in question, moving his thumb up and down. You replied with a thumbs up. You were ready.

Bruce handed you a panic button to hold just in case and laid a blanket over you to keep you warm. Papa kissed the top of your head and left the room.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

BBRRRRRRR

‘It's okay. I'm okay.’

BEEEEEEPPP

‘Woohoo, I'm doing awesome!’

REEEEHHHHHH

‘This is boring, it's got to have been a bajillion minutes by now.’

After ten years (minutes), the machine stopped and Papa walked back into the room. He gave you a high five and bunches of praises that you only heard some of because of all the ear protectors. But you could tell by his facial expressions that he was so very proud of you.

He pressed the arrow down button again and the bed began moving to an easier height. You removed the headphones and earplugs yourself, you felt like such a big kid (in the best way)!

You stretched this way and that while making funny noises which made you abrupt into hearty giggles.

Bruce held your hand as you jumped down. Next thing you knew, he was hugging you tightly, picking you up, and spinning you around and around!

“I'm so very, very proud of you, bumble bee!”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!”

♡

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Stunning 1898 Neo-Italian Renaissance limestone in Brooklyn, New York City is so well preserved and original. 7bds, 4ba, 2.5ba, $13.995M

The elegant foyer. Even the small square floor in here has such attention to detail, framed in mosaics.

This seating area in front of the center hall stairs has a gorgeous corner fireplace, plus you can enjoy looking at the beautiful stairs, and the coffered ceiling.

Curved mirror on the landing.

Gorgeous dining room. Big, beautiful fireplace and I've never seen a beamed ceiling with plaster patterns in between.

Shutters open to reveal the kitchen, which I'm not lovin' b/c the color of the cabinetry is such a contrast to the rest of the home's wood.

It's also small for a mansion. Where is the dishwasher? This is a mansion.

Elegant home office. I like the tile around the hearth.

The bath is basically vintage, but they're incorporated a large shower.

This home also has beautiful stained glass windows, but look at the doors on these closets.

The primary bedroom. Large enough for a living room sitting area, plus there are two built-in tables by the windows.

The ceiling plaster work is even under the stairs.

On this level, note that the wood changes to a lighter tone.

Here's a lovely children's room.

This bath is updated and has a nice vintage look.

One of the bedrooms fitted with a mirrored wall, bench and gym floor.

The uppermost floor has a stunning stained glass skylight. (How do they keep it so clean?)

This bath looks original.

The finished attic is lovely.

Another vintage bath up here in the attic.

Finished basement is a modern space.

The sitting area door opens to an enclosed foyer area that steps up to a small patio.

https://www.compass.com/listing/18-prospect-park-west-brooklyn-ny-11215/1388437577056308105/

[neon-kazoo]

Choo Choo (Train Top Chase- The Briefcase)

(cw: threats, knife violence)

When Hero heard that Villain was planning to steal something in transit on the railroad, they assumed that they would find him rummaging through one of the sixty plus freight cars lined up on the tracks. They did not expect to find an immaculately dressed Villain surrounded by similarly dressed people dining in a singular passenger car at the end of the train.

The caboose of the train was…out of place, to say the least. Polished cherry wood lined the top of it, sealed and waxed to an impressive level of shine. There was no rust to be found, which was impressive for a train exposed to the elements for days on end. Chestnut paneling and gilded accents completed the outside, which was notably absent of any identifying number markers. The craftsmanship of the exterior was a stark contrast to the amateur graffiti that marked the previous car that the caboose was coupled to.

Hero observed the carriage car through a convenient skylight as the train started to move. The interior was similarly well-crafted with white tiered ceilings that gave way to wide windows, separated into panes only in conjunction with the white-clothed dining tables and corresponding upholstered booth seats. The silver cutlery gleamed in the light that filtered through lace curtains. Hero would not have been surprised to see a chandelier strung from the roof, made of crystals or something similarly stunning. It looked fit to hold a wedding, complete with a dozen guests all dressed in black tie apparel. Villain himself wore a black suit, dress shoes polished and brown hair gelled down. His face was even freshly shaven. A picture perfect gentleman—the opposite of his true nature.

There appeared to be some type of business taking place—as opposed to this being just a randomly-conspicuous social gathering or a confusingly-disguised heist. A singular black briefcase sat inconspicuously at the feet of a black-haired man. Hero would have thought nothing of it, but it seemed to be the only bag in the room, not to mention that every pair of eyes seemed to be ogling it at every sly opportunity. Deciding that there was no way this was legitimate business if Villain was present, Hero resolved to keep the briefcase out of all of their hands.

Several conversations were taking place around the tables—none of which could Hero hear over the rumbling of the tracks—but Hero was only focused on one specific group.

Villain stood in front of a booth that sat one woman in a pencil-straight maroon dress and one man in a suit with a corresponding maroon tie. Hero watched the fake laughs and twirling forks until Villain leaned in close to make his excuses to his company before he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small carton.

Hero crawled to the back of the roof, careful not to alert the people sipping champagne inside that an uninvited guest was about to crash their party. When he exited the back door of the train to stand on the small platform there, cigarette in hand, Hero pounced.

Villain did not even have a chance to flick open his lighter before Hero was on him, swinging down from the overhang to kick him square in the chest. He was pushed back into the railing, giving Hero enough space to land on the platform and get a hand wrapped over the door handle. Determining this was not the safest place for a fight, Hero swung open the door and rushed inside before Villain had a chance to recover.

They took advantage of the startled and stunned people inside the car and made a beeline for the man with the case. About halfway there, Hero bumped into a woman with braids who consequently spilled her bubbly drink down the front of her expensive-looking pink dress. Hero mouthed their apologies before snatching the case from the floor across the aisle, much to the chagrin of the black-haired man who tried to grab for their arm. Light on their feet, Hero deftly avoided his grip and slid open the door on the other side, which was harder to do than they thought thanks to the weird air pressure between the cars.

A chorus of offended shouts got swallowed by the gap as Hero fought to close the door behind them. From there, Hero would scale the ladder on the back of the container car and make the leap to the truck they had called to pull up alongside the train. At least, that’s what they thought they would do before they reached the top one-handed and raced to the edge of the roof.

When they looked down, they saw there was no truck, and more importantly, there was no road. Here, the tracks were paralleled only by a river. Huh, they must have seriously misjudged the speed of the train.

A quick glance back to the ladder revealed a brown-haired head just about to graze the top.

Well, time for plan B.

There were no tunnels on this route—they checked—so at least Hero didn’t have to worry about being taken out Indiana Jones style as they ran across the box car towards the front of the locomotive. Blessedly, the first chain of freight cars were all the same height and the train had yet to hit a curve. It was easier than expected to step between them.

They kept moving forward, crossing one car after another. Their steps landed on tops from faded orange to blue to grey to brown. After about the tenth container, something changed.

The next car had no roof, instead filled to the top with some type of granules. Deciding that pile looked a little too much like quicksand, Hero elected to chance balancing along the edge of the hopper car for fear of silo-style suffocation. Hero slowed to ensure their steps were true—which was probably a bad move in hindsight—and finally leapt the rest of the way to the thankfully-covered train car waiting ahead.

Just when they were getting back into a rhythm and gaining speed and confidence, Hero reached the tanker section.

The tanker cars stretched out as far as their eyes could see, all black cylinders, sporting rails only in the middle and much wider gaps between them than the previous box cars had. Jumping down onto the first one, Hero ran and grabbed the bar, vaulting over the valve access and heading towards the next. Praying to every god they could think of and making several promises they didn’t plan on keeping, Hero made the leap between the first tanker car and the second. It was an extremely weird feeling, jumping forward on something that was already moving forward with wind resistance pushing you back. Hero had no time to dwell on it though.

They risked another glance back, confirming their fear that Villain was still in pursuit.

How Villain could keep up a train-top chase dressed in those clothes was anyone’s guess. Hero certainly would’ve ripped a seam by now in such a well-tailored dress pants.

And those shoes.

There was no way a normal pair of dress shoes was getting any traction on top of a tanker car. They must have custom rubber soles or something even grippier. Probably some new material that hadn’t even hit the market yet.

Rich fucker could definitely afford it.

Unfortunately for Hero, they were rather poor and did not have access to state-of-the-art footware, and it took only one misstep to almost go plummeting towards the couplings. Said misstep occurred around the fifth leap.

They caught themselves enough to stumble forward a few more steps onto the cylinder, but were unable to keep their balance with the briefcase throwing them off. They dropped onto their stomach, grappling for a handhold anywhere. They began to slip off the side, fingerless glove not finding enough traction on the side of the smooth metal tank. They couldn’t reach the cap or the ladder to stop their fall with their one free hand, so they used the last of their precious split second to push away from the car and hope it was enough to keep from being crushed beneath the train wheels.

They hit the ground with a series of crunches they hoped were only the gravel around the tracks shifting under their weight. Groaning, they thanked themselves for their choice of attire—covered completely from head to toe—because otherwise they would likely be pulling pebbles out of their skin for weeks. As soon as they were sure they weren’t about to lose life or limb to the roaring train, they looked up just in time to see Villain roll and land—admittedly more gracefully than them—a few dozen feet ahead.

Attempting to pick themselves up, Hero gritted their teeth. Their tuck-and-roll had turned into more of a sprawl-and-tumble. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow.

That was, assuming they made it to tomorrow, which they realized with a wince was quite a presumption. Villain stalked towards them, seemingly unbothered by the whole falling/jumping-off-a-train thing.

His hair was still slicked back perfectly, but his tie was slightly askew—the only visible sign of the chase Hero could find. It didn’t even look like he was breathing hard—which was ridiculous. Hero’s breaths were heavy enough to blow down a brick house, and they considered themselves to be in pretty good shape.

Putting aside Villain’s infuriating fitness level for later, Hero finally managed to get their feet underneath them and wasted no time turning and running in the opposite direction, briefcase roughed up but still in hand. Either they were miraculously uninjured, or adrenaline was really a hell of a drug. Regardless, they scrambled back up the loose-gravel pile and followed the rails back the way they came, hoping to make it back to the section with the road, which was seeming further and further away the longer they thought about it.

How long had they stayed atop the train?

They really, desperately did not want to look back behind them. Although they couldn’t hear him over the roaring in their ears, Hero knew instinctively that Villain was hot on their tail. Problem was, the road was no where in sight, and there was nowhere else to go. Unless Hero wanted to chance class III rapids with no floatation device—plus, who knew if the case was waterproof—the only things around were wide open grass plains and steep hills peppered with hard-to-scale pine trees. Not to mention the bugs and bears and who knew what else that probably littered the countryside. Hero couldn’t run forever, and for all they knew, Villain could.

This led them to the unfortunate realization that this mission was probably not going to end in success. Maybe they should have thought this through a little more.

That realization was appropriately accompanied by the feeling of something crashing into them from behind. Tumbling onto the tracks for a second time that day, Hero yelped as one of their elbows hit the rail harshly.

Great, another bruise. Or worse.

Rolling quickly onto their back, ready to spring back upright, Hero spotted the culprit lying across the tracks.

A stick.

He threw a stick at them.

Hero cursed themselves for being bested by a glorified twig of all things.

“Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a good long chase, but surely you must be getting tired by now,” came a voice from behind them that should have been breathless, and Hero cursed that it wasn’t.

They were quickly back on their feet. Their legs were on fire, their elbow throbbed, their skin prickled, and their throat and lungs burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Nope. Not tired at all.

Hero’s lead had dwindled greatly in the time it had taken them to get back up. They knew with painful certainty that they could no longer out run Villain on a straight-away.

Okay, on to plan C.

Hero gathered the last of their energy and dashed off the tracks and down the hill, making a beeline for the river. In front of them, the water churned to the point of opaqueness. Perfect.

Hero spotted a boulder on the water’s edge and promptly threw themselves on top of it. Grateful for their knee pads, they clambered up to the highest point. From there, they held the briefcase out over the water and shouted an order for the villain to stop.

Villain halted in the tall grass a dozen feet away, which Hero almost counted as a victory before they spotted the perturbing smirk on his face.

“That’s cute,” he called back, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back casually.

Adrenaline reserves exhausted, Hero fought to maintain a neutral expression as their knees turned to jelly and they remained greedy for oxygen.

It would be really unfortunate if they fell into the river right now.

“So what’s your plan? Toss your only bargaining chip in the river and hope for the best?” Villain inquired with an air of curiosity, as if this show was amusing to him.

“It’s simple. You leave, and this case lives for you to steal another day,” Hero spoke in what they hoped was a calm and assured voice. They added a pat against the side of the leather casing for good measure.

“I believe the only thief here is you.”

Hero thought Villain ended that correction with a chuckle, but it was honestly hard to hear with the raging river in the immediate background.

“Do you even know what’s in there?” He asked.

Hero, in fact, did not.

“Of course I do. How else would I know you wouldn’t want to risk losing it in a river,” Hero blustered with all the courage they could muster.

“It would be an inconvenience at best. You think I don’t have contingency plans? A tracker, perhaps?” Villain was much better at achieving a tone of nonchalance than Hero.

Hero had no idea if he was bluffing. They didn’t even know if they were bluffing.

Would a tracker even matter if the case got caught under the current? Would they really risk throwing this mysterious bag into the rapids? For all they knew, it could explode. Or poison all the local wildlife. Or something equally catastrophic.

Hero once again found themselves envious of Villain’s calm demeanor. He should have at least been sweating through his starch-white dress shirt by now.

Villain did have a point. Plan C was no where near foolproof.

Hero sized him up.

It’d be hard to hide a weapon in a suit that tight, but then again if it’s truly custom there could be all kinds of hidden pockets-

Who were they kidding, his weapon of choice earlier was a stick.

So no weapon, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t dangerous. If at all possible, Hero would still like to avoid a fight.

“Do you have a counter offer?”

“Yes. Give me the case, and they won’t have to clean your blood off the train pistons,” he replied evenly.

Hero blanched at the visceral image triggered by his statement. They tried to reassure themselves that they were armed, albeit with a measly switchblade and utility knife, and their opponent was most likely not. Plus, in true Obi Wan fashion, they had the literal high ground.

“Like Hell I’m just handing this over,” Hero scoffed as loudly as they could, “You wouldn’t hesitate to tie me to the tracks regardless. You watch too many cartoons, by the way. There are plenty of ways to kill me that don’t involve traumatizing some poor train conductor.”

Hero punctuated their response with an exaggerated eye roll. Unfortunately, what their eyes landed back on was not the smooth stone they expected to see beneath them. Instead, they found themselves staring right at the diamond back of a snake sunning itself on the rock.

They threw their arms up in surprise, which sent a jolt through their hand from their injured elbow. Furthering the series of unfortunate events, this caused Hero to lose their grip on the case. The mystery container went plummeting into the white water, but Hero had more pressing concerns at the moment. They had stumbled back from the legless reptile and subsequently lost their footing. They flailed, about to meet the same fate as the contentious case.

Before they could, however, they were yanked back by the hood of their jacket, and they collided with the hard rock instead of the turbulent water. They were pulled the rest of the way down into the softer grass and, temporarily blinded by the relief of not drowning, they didn’t resist.

“You assume,” came a voice that was unmistakably filtered through gritted teeth, “that I would let you die.”

Realizing they were far from safe after that near-death experience, Hero pushed away from the hands that saved them. It did them no good as they were manhandled to their feet, but they continued to struggle anyway.

“What? Still think you can outrun me? Go ahead. Try.”

He threw them back to the ground, challenge written all over his face as he peered down at them. Hero felt their ankle fold beneath them and swore.

They couldn’t, they knew they couldn’t, but they couldn’t just give up.

Out of options, Hero reached for the switchblade that was clipped to their waistband.

Their hands found nothing but cloth.

Panicked, they looked up towards Villain. They were horrified to find their blade flicked open in his hand.

“Looking for this?” He asked lightly, pausing to study the tip with faux curiosity, “What were you going to do with it? A light jab, perhaps?” Quick as the snake that brought them to this position, Villain pushed the blade into their ribs and pulled it right back out.

Hero choked in disbelief. He didn’t cut deep, but the wound was dangerously close to their lungs.

“A slash? Or two?”

Villain caught Hero once on their upper arm and once on the opposite lower arm with shallow cuts as they attempted to block.

“Maybe something a little more substantial. The kidneys?”

Hero crabbed walked back as best they could, which wasn’t good enough. Villain descended atop them, intent clear in the movement of the blade.

“Shit, dude! What the fuck was in there?!”

Villain stopped and held the knife still. It was pointed at their abdomen, pushing lightly into the cloth of their jacket. He was kneeling beside them, one hand on their shoulder to keep them from moving back.

“So you’re a liar and a thief?” He asked rhetorically. Hero was frozen with terror and exhaustion, hands pushing into their side where the metal had entered. Villain leaned in closer, and Hero heard a whimper leave their own lips involuntarily.

“Maybe you’ll find out when you get it for me,” He nearly whispered.

Hero blinked.

They pulled back slightly as hands grabbed onto their arms. Villain’s expression darkened.

“We’re getting up. Unless you need another reminder?” He questioned, brandishing the knife and holding it lightly to the inside of hero’s thigh. Hero shook their head frantically and allowed themselves to be pulled up onto their feet.

Swallowing the pain from their ankle and the grip on their forearm that crossed over the gash in the fabric of their sleeve, they steeled.

They were going to need so many painkillers later.

…

There was going to be a later, right?

Hero held their gaze on the view of the landscape around them. Where the water hit the rocks and sprayed upwards, they spotted a small rainbow projected onto the vapor.

Hand on the back of their neck, Villain led them away. As Hero limped along, they felt a bit like a misbehaving kitten that had been caught by its mom and dragged back to the litter by its scruff. Embarrassed, injured, and utterly defeated.

Honk Honk (part 2)

[ladyeckland28]

### The Winchester Mystery House: An Architectural Enigma

The Winchester Mystery House in San Jose, California, remains one of America’s most enigmatic and captivating landmarks, a testament to Sarah Winchester’s eccentric vision and haunted beliefs. Widow of William Wirt Winchester, the heir to the Winchester Repeating Arms Company, Sarah Winchester embarked on a ceaseless construction project that spanned 38 years, driven by an unorthodox mission to appease the spirits she believed were victims of her husband's invention: the Winchester rifle.

Sarah Winchester's life was marred by tragedy. Following the death of her infant daughter from marasmus and her husband's untimely demise from tuberculosis, she turned to a spiritualist for guidance. It was purportedly this medium who informed her that she was cursed by the vengeful spirits of those slain by Winchester rifles and that the only way to avoid their wrath was to build a house that would confuse and contain them. Thus began the construction of what would become known as the Winchester Mystery House, a sprawling 24,000 square feet mansion comprised of peculiar and whimsical architectural elements.

The mansion's design is a labyrinthine wonder. Staircases ascend to ceilings, doors open to solid walls, and windows overlook interior rooms. The house contains 160 rooms, 10,000 windows, 2,000 doors, 52 skylights, 47 stairways, 47 fireplaces, 17 chimneys, 13 bathrooms, and 6 kitchens. Many of these features serve no practical purpose other than to bewilder. For instance, the infamous "Door to Nowhere" opens to a sheer drop from the second floor, a prime example of Sarah Winchester's effort to mislead and perplex any spectral inhabitants.

Sarah Winchester's architectural improvisation was underpinned by a combination of superstition, wealth, and an unending pursuit of atonement. The number 13 is a recurring motif throughout the house, believed to have spiritual significance. The chandeliers, windows, and even drain covers feature this motif, symbolizing Sarah’s deep commitment to her esoteric beliefs.

Despite the erratic and often illogical design, the Winchester Mystery House holds considerable historical and cultural significance. Its construction showcases Victorian craftsmanship and an era of newfound prosperity in post-Gold Rush California. Today, the mansion is a popular tourist attraction, drawing visitors intrigued by its paranormal lore and architectural curiosities.

The Winchester Mystery House exemplifies how personal grief and guilt can manifest in extraordinary ways. Sarah Winchester's attempt to cope with her tragic losses resulted in one of the most bizarre and fascinating architectural endeavors in history. The mansion stands as both a monument to human eccentricity and a testament to the lengths one might go to find solace from inner turmoil.

[ask-a-girl-and-a-bowgart]

I present to you- story time! This is actually relevant to the events of the AU, so do make sure you take a read!! So without further ado:

🍂 Blessings 🍂

🍁✨️🍂✨️📖

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, and Blue was gathering his things. House keys, check. "Topics to Research" list, check. Reading glasses, check. Not a lot of items, but they would be necessary for his outing.

Lily and Dee were playing Memory in the living room. It was one of Lily's recent favorites, and kept her occupied for hours. Literally. Blue taught her how to play only a fortnight ago, and she has been playing it day in and day out. Cozmo was there too, watching the kids while Blue went out.

"I'll be back in a few hours, I think," Blue told Cozmo, who gave a thumbs up in reply. He turned to Lily and Dee.

"Behave," he pointed a finger in emphasis.

"Okay!" The two replied in unison, not looking up from their game (Lily anyway, it was hard to tell where Dee was looking, giving he had no eyes).

Blue put all his items in his satchel, and left the house.

There were a billion thoughts running through his head. None of particular importance, but there were a few worries coursing through his skull. Specifically, his worries about being unemployed.

He gotten pretty used to hopping from job to job. He would get fired or be asked to leave, for one reason or another, and often he'd get another job within a month. This time it was different.

He hadn't found a job in 6 months.

That aside...

He reached the outskirts of town (it wasn't too far of a walk). It was busy, as it always was, with monsters shopping around in stalls or shops, monsters hustling around getting chores done, or monsters making their way to their afternoon shift.

Blue walked into town, dodging around monsters and stalls. He made it to the Square, arguable the busiest part of town. Maybe not so much with foot traffic, but there were many businesses here, and some important buildings too.

West of the Square was the library. This is where Blue was heading to.

He opened one of the double glass doors that led into the building.

The library was quite large, one of the largest buildings in town. It was also quite spacious. The bookshelves were packed with books (obviously) that lined every wall, and were organized in a maze-like manner. The building was two stories tall, and the second floor was visible from the first. The second story was, in essence, a large balcony, with mostly study space and materials. There were also children's books on that floor. A large, round desk was situated in the middle of the library, underneath the glass skylight dome that made up the ceiling.

A lone librarian was working the desk. She was a Rare T-Rox, wearing glasses with thin, bright pink frames. She was reading a thick novel with a navy blue cover, or so it appeared.

"Um, excuse me," Blue walked up to the desk, feeling slightly anxious (social anxiety amirite).

"Hmm?" The librarian didn't look up from her book.

"I, uh-"

"Go on, spit it out," She gestured, still reading her book. Her voice had a bit of an accent.

"I was curious," Blue started, finally gathering his thoughts, "if you had any books on-" he took out his list, referred to it, "-interdimensional travel and multiverse theory?"

It was at this the librarian finally looked up from her book.

"What." She gave Blue a look. A look that read "what in the name of the Celestials are you bullshitting about?"

Blue blinked.

"Where would I find books on multiverse theory?" He asked again.

The librarian slowly blinked, thinking.

"I'm not sure if we have books of that nature," the librarian spoke deliberately, opening her eyes. "You can check the science section, it's over there-" she pointed a claw (more of a hand) towards a bookshelf directly west of the front desk "- by the history books."

"Thank you," Blue gave a small nod of gratitude, and headed to the science section.

"Mm-hm," the librarian went back to her book.

The books primarily found here were science books pertaining to the studies of the Monster world. Monster biology, herbology, plant encyclopedias, et cetera. Not a whole lot of interdimensional related stuff.

"C'mon, there HAS to be something," Blue whispered to himself. Nothing was turning up.

An older, slightly tattered book caught Blue's attention. It was leather bound, and smelled of old ink. It was also just out of Blue's reach, to his dismay. After several attempts of tiptoe reaching for it, he got the book out of its place on the bookshelf.

He opened to the front page. The title was written on it, or at least what Blue assumed to be the title. It read:

"The Times and Travels of H.R. Gungstein; A Detailed Account of Arguably the Best Sailor of His Day"

Turns out, it was just an autobiography placed on the wrong shelf. Blues disappointment was immeasurable.

Blue spent the next thirty minutes searching for books. He found a few actually, though they weren't exactly what he was looking for. Nonetheless, they would have to do.

He found a desk and an empty chair, and settled in to study.

🍁✨️🍂✨️📖

Minutes blurred into hours, and Blue's eyes were starting to get sore. In fact, his body was aching from not moving for quite some time. It was as if his bones were made of old cobblestone.

He got up to stretch, and caught a glimpse of the clock. Half past four, post meridian. The sky was starting to turn pink and orange. It wasn't dusk yet, but it was getting close.

Blue figured it was time to head home.

He wasn't finished with his research yet, certainly not. He planned on resuming tomorrow, perhaps in his study.

He packed up his belongings, bringing the three books he had found with him.

The librarian at the desk was still there, reading a different novel this time. She had a somewhat small stack of books off to the side, presumably ones she had finished reading.

"Hi again," Blue said, a little nervously. He put his books on the desk.

"Checking out?" The librarian bookmarked her book, placed it down off to the side.

"Yep," Blue folded his hands awkwardly, nervously. Definitely not a social monster.

The librarian grabbed a stamp- a long one, with adjustable number rings; the kind of stamps where you can adjust the date - and pressed into the red ink pad. She opened the cover of each book, marking inside the date of "12/27"

"I'll be expecting these back in a month," She set the stamp and ink pad aside, pushing the books toward Blue.

"Thank you," Blue grabbed the books and started for the door. He was about halfway there when the librarian called to him

"Wait a minute," She said.

Blue turned, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"You're that one monster who can't keep a job, right?"

His heart stopped.

"How do you know that?" The words came out a little more abrasively than he liked.

The librarian shrugged. "I know a lot of things. Besides, I was in your shoes at one point."

He stood directly facing the librarian, intrigued by the conversation.

"You know," the librarian opened a drawer and produced a thin packet of paper, "we're looking for some more staff for the library."

She walked around the desk towards Blue, continuing. "As you can see, it's just me right now, and half of the other employees don't ever show up."

She was in front of Blue now, offering the packet to him. Blue took it, skimming through the front page's contents.

"I don't know what you have going on, or if you found a job, but if you're interested..." she nodded over at the desk. "You know where you can find me, yeah?"

Blue was, at this point, eyes wide open. If he thought what was being was being said...

"So I just-"

"Fill it out and bring it to me, yup," the librarian nodded, heading back to the desk.

"I- wow, uh-"

Blue smiled at her.

"Thank you...?"

"Raesa," She looked back at Blue. "And there's no need to thank me."

"Right," he nodded nervously, looking down at the packet of paper in his hand. There is no way this is happening.

"You ought to get home," Raesa looked at the clock. "It's getting late, and we're going to close pretty soon."

"Right, yes," Blue headed to the door.

He opened the door to leave, thanking Raesa one last time ("Don't even," she said, shaking her head. She was smiling a bit, which wad the first time Blue saw her do so).

The Square was a little less busy now, with businesses closing for the day and monsters going home. But it was still teeming with activity as the night life began to trickle in. Blue walked back home the way he came, through the South end of the Square.

The packet he was holding was now safely tucked into his satchel. Blue felt as though he struck gold, though not in the way he expected. Anyone would have felt the same way, Blue thought, if they were handed a job just like that, after months of trying to hold onto one.

He went home in high spirits. And he was definitely counting his blessings tonight.

____

Previous || Next || First

[hiddenvalistheabymrsflowerpot]

The castle and the Archduke Elwin Rosfield When Clive goes to see his father we get to see inside the castle for the first time. The elegantly carved stone and woodwork indicate the high status of this building compared to the rough hewn stone buildings outside the castle walls. The throne room has no windows but is filled with light from a domed skylight set into a vaulted ceiling. Rosarian banners and carved phoenix crest adorn the walls in case you forget whose domain you are in. Twin staircases lead to the upper gallery and the balcony that overlooks the gardens. Candle sconces on the walls light Clive's way as he takes his leave and heads to his room to rest. All images copyright Square Enix Co Ltd.

[rabbitcruiser]

Caesars Palace, NV (No. 5)

The Forum Shops at Caesars, also known as The Forum Shops, is an upscale shopping mall on the Las Vegas Strip in Paradise, Nevada. It is connected to the Caesars Palace resort, and both feature a Roman theme. The mall project was announced in 1987. It was developed and initially owned by The Gordon Company and Melvin Simon & Associates. The land had previously been used for the unsuccessful Caesars Palace Grand Prix. Construction of the Forum Shops began in 1990, and the project opened on May 1, 1992, with 240,000 sq ft (22,000 m2) of leasable space. An expansion opened in 1997. Simon subsequently took over full ownership, and another expansion was opened in 2004.

The mall has 675,000 sq ft (62,700 m2) and approximately 160 tenants, including various restaurants. It has also offered several shows featuring animatronic statues. Until 2016, the Forum Shops was the highest grossing mall in the U.S., measured in terms of sales per square foot.

Like Caesars Palace, a Roman theme is used throughout the Forum Shops. The mall features an abundance of marble, and several fountains are located inside and out. The interior includes sky-painted ceilings which change from day to night.

The mall has 675,000 sq ft (62,700 m2) of leasable tenant space. It has approximately 160 tenants, including 145 retailers and 15 restaurants. The mall receives an average of 50,000 visitors per day. Approximately 20 percent of the mall's clientele are local residents, with tourists making up the remainder. By 1997, the Forum Shops had become the highest grossing mall in the U.S., measured in terms of sales per square foot.[19][49] It would retain this title until 2016.

The three-story expansion includes a skylight, and features several spiral escalators, created by Mitsubishi Electric. The company spent two years developing the escalators, and took another nine months to install them. At the time, the Forum Shops was one of only two projects in the U.S. to use spiral escalators, joining the Westfield San Francisco Centre shopping mall.

Source: Wikipedia

[gosecretscribbles]

Rise August 2024 Day 3: Todd

“Guess who’s heee-eeere!” Muninn sang, flying into Draxum’s lab.

The lab had only recently been rebuilt and still had bits of rubble swept into the corners. The skylight that took up most of the roof was cracked and filmed with rubble dust. The light filtered grudgingly down to the counters lining the walls, all laden with glass beakers, notebooks, and grimoires. A long-haired teenager in battle armor sat on one of the counters, casually swinging his legs. Baron hunched next to him, carefully pouring a bubbling pink liquid into an empty beaker.

Baron glanced over his shoulder, scowling. “Do you mind?”

“Oh we absolutely don’t,” Huginn assured him. “Anyway, since you won’t guess – it’s Todd!”

“Lemonade!” Todd announced, stepping through the doorway with a platter full of very full glasses.

CJ’s eyes lit up. “Todd! I haven’t had your lemonade in ages!”

“Oh? Are you one of the folks from Alaska who needed a little citrus sunshine?”

“Alaska?” CJ repeated, taking a glass. “No, um – I’m from the future, actually. An apocalypse where the Krang wiped out all life on earth. You ran out of ingredients for your lemonade when I was five or six.”

Huginn hissed through his teeth. “Riiiight, sorry, Todd. We didn’t know CJ would be here or we would’ve told you his Tragic Backstory TM.”

“Um, okay?”

“He’s been useful,” Barry said shortly. “He told me quite a bit about my experiments in mystic energy and life force manipulation. It’s advanced my research by several years.”

He finished pouring. The air in the apparently-empty beaker suddenly turned bright pink, then condensed into a bright pink cloud. The cloud rained tiny droplets and a little vine grew from the base of the beaker. The vine crackled with tiny lines of lightning, flexing its leaves in an unmistakable threat to its creator.

“Aw, it’s cute!” Todd cooed. “Like a…little angry bonsai. So! Lemonade?”

“You really should take a break,” CJ told Barry.

Barry rolled his eyes and straightened. Or rather, tried to straighten. His back popped several times in the attempt. He glared at CJ, who very pointedly hid his grin in a glass of lemonade.

“What did I do to deserve this,” Barry grumbled.

“You completed your sticker chart!” Huginn said proudly. Beside him, Muninn whipped out a wrinkled Bingo sheet with squares that read ‘Hug My Son’ and ‘Exist In the Same Room as Lou Jitsu Without Violence for Two Minutes.’ The stickers were all tiny glittery stars.

Barry glared daggers at them. “You have ten seconds to remove that from my sight.”

Muninn giggled. “It’s okay, boss! We know you’re the tsundere type!”

“Yeah,” Huginn added. “If you really meant it, you’d have – hey!”

A vine dropped from the ceiling, grew fangs, and swallowed the sheet in one bite.

“Does the vine want lemonade, too?” Todd asked cheerfully.

Baron grumbled under his breath and CJ just shrugged, so Todd offered it a glass. The vine ate the whole thing, burped, then drifted slowly towards the jar, as if contemplating dessert. The monster bonsai grew a mouth and hissed at it.

“So, an apocalypse, huh?” Todd asked, setting the platter down. Huginn and Muninn descended on the remaining glasses. “Does that have anything to do with the alien invasion?”

CJ grimaced. “Yeah. I’m…still getting used to things here. I know people lived separately Before, with humans and youkai completely separate, but it’s weird to see it in action. I like walking around the Hidden City more than New York. It feels a lot like one of our bases on a busy day.”

“Maybe you could show me around! I haven’t really visited it beyond a few restaurants. It would be neat to learn more about youkai customs!”

CJ frowned. “But…you…are a youkai?”

“Nope!” Todd said cheerfully. “Born human!”

“He’s a product of my oozequitoes,” Barry said. He swatted at the big vine, which had been creeping closer and closer to the jar. The bonsai blew a raspberry at it.

“Huh,” CJ said thoughtfully. “You never said. I mean, there were a few mutant rebel leaders, but they usually made a lot of noise about being human. Why didn’t you?”

Todd shrugged. “I can’t speak for Future Me, but mutating was never really that upsetting. People change all the time. Experiences, memories, friendships, even just the passing of time can shape who you are. This is just a change you can see on the outside.”

“I guess,” CJ said dubiously. “Except you seem exactly the same as the last time I saw you, minus the scars.”

“Oh, rugged Todd!” Muninn exclaimed. “Just like that time he tried to break into Barry’s stronghold!”

Todd sighed. “Ambush strategies are not my strong suit.”

“Cheer up, Todd!” Huginn landed on his shoulder. “You still can still infiltrate any stronghold with the power of kindness and lemonade!”

Muninn landed on his other shoulder. “Does lemonade count as bribery? Is Todd actually secretly manipulative?”

Huginn gasped. “That was a twist I did not see coming!”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Don’t you two have anything better to do than annoy me?”

Huginn shook his head. “Nah, we cleared our calendars to celebrate your sticker chart. It’s important to celebrate personal milestones!”

“You would know that if you read the parenting book we got you,” Muninn added.

“I do not need to know six ways to get a child to eat their vegetables! And I highly doubt that the number of hugs per day affects physiological development, or everyone within a five-mile radius of Michelangelo would be twice the size of Raphael! That book is absurd!”

“Then why did you highlight those pages?” Huginn asked innocently.

Barry twitched. The bonsai leaped out of the jar and smacked Huginn in the face. Huginn fell off Todd’s shoulder with a squeal, clawing at the plant as it lit up with numerous tiny shocks.

“Ow! Ow! It’s like a really angry sock! Get it off!”

“Oops,” Barry said flatly.

CJ chuckled. “I guess some things never change.”

A/N: I had so much trouble thinking of what to write, but now that I did I'm just picturing Todd bringing everybody lemonade in the middle of the apocalypse. Where does he keep getting it? Does he have secret stashes buried everywhere? Does he keep the ingredients hidden in his enormous mustache?? (That's why it's so big, it's full of secrets.)

@sariphantom

[blessyourhondahurley]

Divide and Distract

A continuation of OMW2U. Dean, Cas, and Garth steal the haunted locket from a local museum. Garth does not get to wear the tux.

Suptober prompt: Liar Flufftober prompt: Reunion Fictober prompt: "That's not why we're doing this." Inktober prompt: Snack

(Read on AO3)

“And as you can see, our atrium offers a lovely, airy space for a gathering such as a wedding reception or perhaps a reunion...” The museum's event coordinator gestures grandly at a small open area at the center of their main exhibit hall. In the ceiling above them there's a single dingy skylight that's about the size of an unfolded newspaper.

Atrium, my ass, Dean thinks scornfully. This is a glorified alcove. He readjusts the bland smile he's attempting to maintain for the duration of a seemingly endless after-hours tour of the facility. Sometimes being a professional liar is nerve-wracking, even terrifying. But sometimes, like now, it's just very, very dull. He shoots Garth a wink, but gets nothing in response. Still pouting because I made him cancel the heist, Dean assumes. What a brat.

The sales pitch drones on and on. Dean tunes in briefly, long enough to hear “... in-house caterer can provide cocktails and light snacks for an additional...”  A few cocktails would hit the spot right about now, he thinks with a sigh. He mentally scrolls back through their drive to the museum, trying to decide where they can grab a late dinner after the job is done. Wonder how much longer Cas is gonna be...

As if summoned by that thought, there's a subtle movement on his left. Keeping his expression bland, he cuts his eyes towards the room where the museum's exhibit on modern jewelry is currently housed. Cas stands in the shadow of the doorway there. When he sees Dean is looking his way, he nods once, then disappears deeper into the room.

At his husband's signal, a light jolt of adrenaline pulses through Dean's system. Enough daydreaming about burgers and beer, he chides himself. That's not why we're doing this. He clears his throat and crosses the so-called “atrium” in three steps; the event coordinator turns on his heel to face him. This puts the man's back to the room where Cas is now busy picking the lock on a display case full of antique examples of local silverwork.

Dean puts his hands behind his back and crosses his fingers for luck. Then he starts asking every question he can think of: Square footage of the space. Accommodations for food allergies. Maximum occupancy numbers. Parking lot capacity. Coat check procedure. History of the building. Relevant fire codes. Name of their cleaning company. Brands of liquor on offer... Anything that pops into his head, he spews it out his mouth. As he talks, he turns up the volume on his voice, really lets it fill the space and echo off that tiny skylight. Cas's nod meant that the alarms have been disabled, and he's gotten a lot smoother at picking locks lately, but it would be a very bad thing indeed if this guy were to hear any suspicious sounds from the exhibit area.  

Eventually Garth stirs himself out of his sulk enough to pitch in on the conversation, and Dean's grateful for the assist, begrudging and belated as it is. The event coordinator has a canned response ready for every question they lob at him. There's a toothy grin on his face. He thinks he's about to land a very lucrative account, and he's giving his prospective big-shot clients his full and fawning attention.

Over the man's shoulder, Dean watches Cas reemerge from the doorway and nod once more, then make a beeline for the main exit. Dean nudges an elbow into Garth's ribs.

“Oh shoot, is that the time?” Garth announces, glancing at a Mickey Mouse watch on his bony wrist. “We've got another appointment to get to, but thank you so much, sir. This is a lovely venue and we will definitely be in touch very soon!”

There's a three-sided flurry of handshakes and empty promises, and then they're out the door. Two blocks away, Cas is waiting by the car. A small pile of ashes on the sidewalk is all that remains of their haunted locket.

Concluded here...