#(i saw a set of frames on another site that came with an actual tail ornament

[snarpreplies]

@nyancrimew did you know that glasses can be a real cat now?

your glasses look great!!

ty, i really need to get the frame fixed or replaced tho lol

[pi-cat000]

FMA:B/BNHA Crossover (2)

Summary: Ed gets stuck in the BNHA world after the end of brotherhood. He starts trying to find a way home and ends up inadvertently working for the league of villains.

Part 1 here

..

..

At one point, the ground level of Ed’s building had probably been a nice-looking shopfront, maybe a flower shop or grocers or something more befitting this weird world…like a tech repair store.  Now, the ground level doubles as apartment space, large windows caked with dust and grime, curtains permanently drawn to hide its occupancy. Heck, if Ed hadn’t been around to fix the glass with alchemy the ground floor would have been pretty much unliveable. Like many buildings in the area, it was a victim of a villain/hero confrontation which always seemed to generate an obscene amount of property damage. Great for leveraging his repair skills in exchange for free accommodation and about nothing else. Not that the people here saw it as much of a problem.

Ed scowls, flipping his OPEN sign to CLOSED, yanking the door shut, locking up as he goes.

Ed doesn’t quite understand the whole thing, and he had had one of the worst track records for property damage when it came to state alchemists. The difference being that he had always returned to reverse as much of the alchemical damage as he could and if he couldn’t Mustang had some other military alchemist/personal waiting in the wings to see to the problem. Rebuilding here was the responsibility of some external agency or other. Ed is a little hazy on how the system was supposed to work, seeing as the military had little to no involvement with anything hero related. Though, considering how the Amestrian military had been in the process of feeding the souls of its citizens to a loosely defined truth God, maybe that was a good thing. Honestly, researching how this place ran its bureaucracy was low on his priority list.

“Hey! Ed! You’re out early? Off somewhere interesting?”  

“Did you see the guy who just came through here,” he asks, eyeing his fellow apartment-liver who seemed to have nothing better to do than loiter outside and yell at people on the street. The greasy-haired man is puffing smoke near the corner of the building with his two equally scruffy friends. They all have a physical abnormally, a lizard tail, claws, bulging eyes, that remind him uncomfortably of chimeras despite knowing it was a result of more quirk bullshit.

The guy blows smoke in his direction, “Big, tall dude? Pretty suspicious looking with the hood and all. I saw him go in. Didn’t see him leave …funny that.”

“Yeah…funny…” Ed mutters, “Did you recognise him?”

“I might have.”

Ed huffs, rolling his eyes and continues down the road. He would leave bribing his neighbours for possible information as a last resort.

He passes the vacant lot holding a near identical half-collapsed block, followed by another nicer looking building, then another, before they gave way to shops and smaller structures. That was something he was still getting used to…the sheer scale of the city. Even Central had barely been a quarter of this city’s size. Luckily, his destination isn’t too far so he doesn’t have to worry about getting lost.  

The building he arrives at is taller than the rest and full of office space. The main lift is out of order so Ed trudges up three flights of stairs to the top floor, stomping into the empty reception/waiting area only hesitating for a second before slamming his hand onto the bell sitting atop the front desk.

There is a muffled voice, “I’m coming. I’m coming. No need for that racket!”

The door behind the desk swings open.

“Edward?”

“Hey, old man,” he gives a small wave, “It’s been a few weeks.”

The man, tall, well-built, cropped brown hair, stares at Ed.

“Yeah it’s been a few weeks! You need to check your phone and answer your messages every now and then. You’re giving me grey hairs. More grey hairs!”

“Right…my phone….” He forgot he had it when not using it to help with navigation. Also, messaging was a pain. He had picked up the local spoken language fast enough out of necessity, but his reading and writing were still a work in progress. Lucky for him, this reality had a few languages similar enough to Amestrian that if he really wanted to read something he could get a translation. It still made written communication tricky.

“I'll try and check it more often," he placates, "I’m here for some information about a job I was offered and seeing you know a bunch of the local businesses I thought I would drop by.”

“Information?” Masao Uraraka lets out a long breath, “And there I went thinking that you were going to take me up on my apprenticeship offer.”

Ed shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging. The older man grunts, “Well come on through. You’re lucky you caught me in the office. I’m usually on-site supervising about this time. But, can’t do much of that until those idiots at HC Construction.co get the go-ahead from their insurance company.”

Ed slips past and into a dimly lit office space which is surprisingly well organised. Across the wall is a collage of family photos, depicting a woman and young girl at various stages of growth.

“…that’s not your problem though. How have you been kid? Hope you haven’t been in too many fights.”

“Hey,” he objects, “Some idiots need a good punch,” and then adds a little less aggressively, “But no. No fights. I’ve been researching quirks....”

“Quirks. That’s different? Weren't you studying chemistry or something?”

Ed shrugs again, unwilling to divulge much else. Uraraka tended to be nosey out of some misguided notion that he could help Ed ‘get back on his feet’ after whatever tragic backstory he had cooked up for him.

“You’re still living at Old Man Watanabe’s right? He not pulling anything is he? Old coot always tries to weasel more out of his deals.”  

Ed can’t help but agree,  “He’s been trying to get me to re-wire the whole building. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

Of course, this just sets Uraraka off on a round of angry muttering, “Is that right? I can have a talk with him. I’ve told him that he needs an electrician and a proper plumber. He owes me a few favours so I can… ”

“It’s fine,” Ed quickly interrupts. Uraraka had his own problems and family to look after. The guy reminded him of Hughes in that he cared way too much. “One grumpy landlord isn’t worth worrying about.”

Uraraka visibly deflates, “Yes, well, most kids your age shouldn’t be worried about that sort of stuff at all. You should be finishing up your schooling, getting your Japanese up to scratch and studying for college entrance exams. You remind me of my daughter. Stubborn.” He pulls a framed photo from his desk, pointing it at Ed, shaking it for emphasis, “She wants to be a Hero you know. A HERO! Can you believe it! My cute little girl, getting into fights with villains.”

Ed clears his throat awkwardly. Yeah, this guy was definitely this world’s weird version of Hughes. If Hughes had worked in construction and had, you know, not died. This isn’t the first time he has had a picture of Ochako, Uraraka’s daughter, shoved in his face.

“About that information?” He cautiously interrupts and gets another sigh.

“Yes, yes. You kids are always so impatient. What’s this job then? What idiot is going around hiring 16-year-olds.”

“Actually, the guy that came in just mentioned some construction work,” Ed rubs his neck, now slightly subconscious, realising he doesn’t have a whole lot to go on, “he didn’t give me a lot of details, just left this.” Ed pulls out the envelope placing it on the desk next to the assortment of framed photographs and scribbly kid drawings.

With a raised brow, Uraraka pulls it towards him, peering in. The man’s eyes widen and he closes the envelope, frowning, “This supposed to be a down payment in advance of a job, or is it for material costs? Because it’s a bit much for a down payment and nowhere near enough for materials. Not if it’s for anything serious. What sort of work is it? You know I can’t lend you equipment without a licence…but I’ll help you source anything that you…”

“No,” Ed rushes to interrupt, “the guy said it was a sign of goodwill. I take it that’s not a normal thing people do in the, ah, construction business?”

“No. It definitely is not,” Uraraka now looks concerned, “there would usually be a contract for services before any sort of payment. Especially, if you’re going to be working as an independent contractor.”

So that just confirmed what he already knew. Ed continues, “So you haven’t heard about people asking around for under the table construction work then?”

“No. I can ask a few of my freelancers if they’ve had similar offers but I deal above the board with licenced workers only, so it’s unlikely they’ll have heard anything.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He glares at the envelope.

“What did he look like? This man that came in?”

“Oh, he was tall, made of dark purple smoke and had a teleportation quirk…I think. He also asked about my quirk and its limits.”

“I’ll keep an ear out.”  Uraraka promises and frowns at Ed, “I hope you’re not considering this offer.”

Ed grunts noncommittally and gets a look of disapproval that reminds him so much of Hughes its almost painful. He tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of answers because coming to Uraraka had always been a long shot. ‘You’re sad, lonely and the only conversations you’ve had this last week were yelling matches with your landlord and neighbours. Uraraka is a nice man. Of course, you would come to him for advice.’ A voice that sounds suspiciously like Al chimes in. ‘I don’t want him to worry. I’m not staying here long. What’s he going to think when I suddenly disappear,’ he snaps back and immediately feels foolish.

Maybe the isolation is getting to him a bit.

“If it's money you need that I’m more than happy to help you get licenced and certified…” Uraraka continues to talk oblivious to the fact that Ed is barely paying attention.

He doesn’t want to settle down and get a popper job or finish off his schooling or talk to youth services or whatever other things Uraraka had brought up in the few months they had known each other. That would be admitting defeat. Also, he had no ID or history and he was pretty sure you needed both to work any legitimate jobs.

“I can handle myself,” he says out loud.

“Yes, you’re worryingly self-sufficient but there is a difference between unlicensed quirk use and aiding and abetting criminals. No self-respecting, above board, organisation hires a kid to do construction work and throws a bunch of money at them.”

“I know.”

Yeah, he knows Tall-Dark-and-Mysterious was probably a criminal of this reality. He knows he is probably getting himself into something dicey and illegal but he needs to follow whatever lead he can to get back home. Finding a quirk with either the ability to transport him between realities or one with the power equivalent to a few thousand souls was his last hope of ever hearing Al's, the real Al’s, voice again.

The older man rubs his forehead, visibly exasperated, “But you’re going to ignore me. Stubborn brat.”

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through V

Chapter: 5/16

Rating: M (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Despite what John had suggested, Ringo didn't go back to The Helter Skelter the following week; he'd considered it when John sent him yet another late night text but ultimately decided it wasn't the best idea. Spike had been playing on his mind daily and Ringo wasn't sure he was prepared to face him again. Instead he focused on his drumming and searched for a few more students to teach, which were fairly easy to find. Usually Ringo enjoyed his time off, he understood he was lucky that he didn't have to work a 9-5 job just to get by, but recently he wanted his fill his time up as much as possible, to distract himself.

One of his new students seemed incredibly interested in him, they'd spent an hour just chatting in his living room before they'd even moved over to the drum kit. Ringo wasn't too fussed, he was getting paid by the hour so wasting time was beneficial to him but he didn't want to give the guy the wrong impression. He was a little bit older and attractive enough but Ringo simply wasn't interested.

"Why didn't you just go for it?" John had asked him when they next met up.

"I dunno..." Ringo mumbled, but a part of him knew very well.

He'd given the guy another lesson since then and it became clear that the guy's interest in him wasn't going away any time soon. Ringo felt bad about the whole thing, wasn't he just doing exactly what Spike was doing to him? He tried to act as professional as possible the second time around in attempt to get the guy to back off, considering he hadn't heard from him since he was hoping it had worked. What was wrong with him? Was he really going to make himself suffer like this all because of one guy? And not just any guy, a stripper who had shown absolutely no interest in him at all. It was ridiculous, he kept telling himself, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he had to get over Spike, he would still think about him every day without fail. Trying to distract himself with clients had been working somewhat, but it had been difficult, especially when his best friend was John Lennon.

       youre gonna love me

The text came through when Ringo was sat in a café getting some lunch. He'd finished with one of his younger students, a sweet girl who's parents had tried to convince her to try a more 'ladylike' instrument but she had promised only to give up the drums if she was awful; much to her delight, and Ringo's for being able to prove the stereotypical parents wrong, she was pretty good. Seeing her always put Ringo in a good mood, the parents mostly stayed away partly due to the noise but mostly due to disappointment, which meant they could joke around together. Ringo could tell she admired him and he welcomed it gladly, one of the best things about teaching was inspiring others, at least for him it was.

        do i not already?

        well yes         but youre gonna love me EVEN more

        what have you done

        well i happened to stop by the club last night

        oh god what did you do

        wow is that how little you trust me

        can you blame me

        suppose not         ANYWAY i got talking to paulie

        surprise surprise

        do you want the good news or not???

        fine fine sorry

        AS I WAS SAYING i was talking to paulie         and he told me that your special little someone has an onlyfans account

        first of all fuck you for calling him that         second of all wtf is onlyfans

        oh sorry i didnt realise you werent living in the 21st century

        ......         care to grace me with your knowledge?

        basically its a website where you can post exclusive stuff for ONLY FANS to see         its not a porn site or anything but its basically where people sell their nudes         MEANING spike has an account so you can totally see loads of raunchy filthy perverted pics of him

        but i have to pay?

        well weve all gotta make a living

        i can basically see him naked for free

        but this way you wont get all freaked out and embarrassed         well you will but nobody will know at least         so do you want the link or not???

Ringo paused for a few moments, he was gripping his phone tightly in both of his hands as he unblinkingly looked at John's words. If his mind was going to decide to make him suffer by enabling his intense interest in Spike, he may as well get something out of it.

        fine

        where are your manners richard??

        can i please have the link to the strippers nude photos please john please

        alright calm down         let me know if its worth while i might have a look

        idk if im even gonna look at it         paying for porn is a little dated

        treat yourself ringo         id offer to pay but im broke

        if youre broke why were you at the strip club last night?

        well SOMEONE had to go

        they really didnt

        im supporting my local economy

        i dont think thats how that works

        sure it is         anyway here you go

Ringo stared at the link for a while, his eyes even began to blur, he didn't want to risk opening it in public even though he knew there was little chance of anyone seeing. He finished his lunch in a hurry and headed home quickly, only when he was in the privacy of his bedroom did he dare open it. First he had to make an account, when he saw the screen loading up asking for an email address and password he just turned his screen off and put the phone down. This was far too much effort for something he shouldn't really have been doing in the first place. But it only took a few minutes for him to pick the phone back up and begin signing up, he used an old email as it felt less seedy that way and he didn't want to risk his name cropping up anywhere for Spike to see. Now he could load up the link properly and take a proper look at Spike's profile.

Just looking at the small profile picture was enough to startle Ringo a little, the dark eyes looking into the camera with that unreadable glimmer behind them. He was shirtless in the picture, Ringo wondered why that didn't catch his attention first, with the frame cutting off just before it showed anything too explicit. The header was a photo taken from the club, showing him in tight, leather pants and tassels on his nipples which matched the whip he held in his hand. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He'd spent so much time and effort trying not to think about this man, attempting to keep him out of his mind as much as possible. Ringo knew that if he went through with this all that progress would be lost, he'd be giving in to whatever strange obsession he'd developed for Spike, one that no doubt wasn't going to lead to anything good.

Ringo kept staring at the screen as though it was going to tell him what he should do. Spike's profile had no description, which wasn't very surprising, and it dashed any hope Ringo had of discovering something new about him. Right before he was about to put his phone down again, it vibrated.

        howd the wank go??

        john i dont care how long weve been friends asking how my wank was will always be weird

        youre right sorry         so how did it go???

        if you must know         i havent had a wank         i havent even paid for entry

        now whos the one being inappropriate??

        ha ha

        why havent you???

        feels weird

        oh i see         youll consume a bunch of unethical porn for free but god forbid you actually give sex workers any actual money

        you are the last person who can lecture me about unethical porn

        hey now watch yourself         ringo if you dont get a subscription I WILL

        go ahead

        and ill tell you every day what sexy sexy pictures hes posting         ill tell you EVERY SINGLE TIME i have a wank over them

        every time? i dont think youve got enough data for that

        im not joking

        neither am i         you wank A LOT

        ringooooo just buy it i swear to god         if its not worth it or you regret it or whatever ill give you the money back

        on top of the money you already owe me?

        have you always been such a capitalist

        youre not doing a very good job of convincing me

        fine         spikes cock         now are you convinced???

        maybe

        naked pictures of spike whenever and wherever you want them all for the low low price of 10 quid a month         convinced??

        fine fine         if itll shut you up

        im starting to think thats code for 'i really wanna do this but im too embarrassed to admit it'

        i hate you

        now that DEFINITELY code for 'john youre right'         anyway theres no time to be telling me how right i am all the time youve got dick pics to look at         even i wont stand in the way of a good wank         so dont bother replying to me until youve paid for that subscription young man

        im older than you

        DONT BOTHER REPLYING

Ringo let out a sigh and rested his head against the bedroom wall from where he was laying on the bed. He opened up the link again and his thumb hovered over the subscription button, why couldn't he just do it? The money wasn't an issue, it could've cost half as much or be double the price and he'd still be debating it all the same. Somehow it felt like an invasion of privacy, after all Spike hadn't told Ringo about it himself, but then again that didn't necessarily mean he didn't want Ringo to see it. After all it was like John said: everyone has to make a living somehow. Sometimes Ringo wished he could turn off that part of his brain that was so empathetic, so concerned about how everyone felt and what they were thinking. He knew that he wanted this, so why wasn't he allowing himself to have it? Ringo could see that he was being ridiculous, as he was with almost anything involving Spike, and after lying there for a while pondering and debating he decided to flip a coin. Heads would mean he got the subscription, tails that he didn't. He watched the coin spinning through the air after he flicked it upwards, then snatched it and slammed it down onto his forearm before slowly moving his hand away: it was tails. What a relief. Ringo chuckled to himself for being so foolish, settling down into his bed; it was still only around midday but he didn't have anywhere he needed to be.

So why didn't he feel relieved in the slightest?

This whole thing was getting tiring, the constant debate between what he believed he should do and what he wanted to do, and it seemed like it wasn't going to be ending anytime soon. Apparently he was in this for the long run, whatever that meant, but if he was going to turn down relatively attractive guys practically throwing themselves at him, he may as well go all the way. While he was putting in his credit card information, he stopped to think around three of four times, but once he'd finished and the images became accessible to him, his brain was barely able to conjure up a coherent sentence.

"Jesus..." Ringo breathed out as his eyes flicked across the plethora of pictures loading up on his screen.

There was a lot of them, and a lot of Spike was on display. Most of them were pictures taken at the club, either from a professional photographer in the audience or photos he'd taken himself in the mirrors backstage - Ringo could even see glimpses of Paul in the background of some of them. The ones that caught Ringo's eyes the most were those that seemed to be taken in his house, these also happened to be the ones in which Spike tended to be fully naked. It was very different experience to see him like this: a static image that he'd intentionally taken of himself and posted for so many people to see, an image that couldn't look back at Ringo and make him feel that strange mixture of excitement and shame. He began scrolling down the feed which only revealed more and more enticing photos. Ringo began to feel himself hardening, he suspected it had been happening for a while now but he'd been far too distracted to notice. He felt like a teenager discovering porn for the first time, it was difficult to remind himself that this wasn't anything new. Seeing Spike naked shouldn't have excited him so much, and yet it did.

One picture in particular drew Ringo's attention: Spike was stood in front of a bathroom mirror with a loose black tie lying against his bare chest, one hand was holding a phone and the other gripping his cock. He had dark eye make up on and his hair was messy. Ringo wasn't sure exactly what it was about this photo that was so enticing but he couldn't take his eyes off it. The prominence of his collarbones, the faint curls of his dark hair, how his slim fingers wrapped around himself. Slowly Ringo slid his own hand under the waistband of his boxers as he stared at the picture. At first he hesitated, his fingers stopped right above the base. It's not like this would've been the first time he'd touched himself while thinking about Spike, it would've been far from the last he imagined, but this was different. It was more concrete, more of an admission. Nothing felt quite as real when it's only being imagined, the haziness of lust fuzzing up the mind as it so often did, but now with a very real photo of Spike in front of him - which he'd paid to see - the feeling was far more tangible, far harder to ignore.

He'd come this far, he told himself as his hand sunk lower until his fingers were running along the length of his semi-hard cock, he may as well go all the way. To begin with Ringo stayed looking at this single picture as he slowly pumped himself, but as his lust began to grow he perused through more and more pictures: Spike kneeling naked in front of a mirror with a loose cigarette hanging from his lips, lying in the bath with bubbles only just about covering his nakedness, spread out on the bed with a gag in his mouth, handcuffs forcing his slim arms behind his back with his cock throbbing. None of this was anything Ringo hadn't seen before, like most people in this day and age he'd searched through the darker corners of the internet - sometimes willingly, sometimes John was to blame - but to see Spike in such a way was like an entirely new rush. Each picture drove Ringo further and further on, at times he almost dropped his phone with how sloppy his movements were becoming. Who took these photos? Ringo figured it was best not to think about it, the possibility that Spike had a boyfriend who took all these pictures of him would've been the quickest way to kill his erection.

Ringo began moaning and cursing wantonly as he got closer and closer to his orgasm, he had to stop flicking through the pictures because he could hardly concentrate on what his other hand was doing, so he settled on a final one to help him finish; it wasn't particularly strategic but he was definitely grateful that he selected the one that he did. In it Spike was looking directly into the camera, allowing Ringo to gaze longingly into the rich brown of his eyes and how his dark lashes curled beautifully around them. He was shirtless with nothing but a necklace on, the same necklace that Ringo had seen him wearing in the record store and Ringo couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction that he'd seen it with his own eyes, as though it meant something. Deep down he knew that it didn't but his inebriated mind was latching onto it. The nudity in the photo was hardly interesting Ringo by this point, although it would be wrong to say that he completely ignored the flatness of his stomach or the faint shadows of his ribs beneath his pale skin, it was the personal aspect which truly affected him.

This wasn't just lust. Lust Ringo could understand, he could compartmentalise it and give into it without much shame or a second thought. If this was just lust, he would've bought the subscription without a care and touched himself looking at the nakedness of Spike's body as though it meant nothing more than a way to get off. Yet here he was on the brink of orgasm looking into another man's eyes, eyes that felt like they were looking straight back at him as though they were sharing this moment together. It wasn't hard to imagine Spike's hand in place of his own, those deep eyes watching Ringo come undone piece by piece. Ringo's hip began to stutter, his leg twitching a little as he had to drop the phone down onto his lap as his head fell back against his pillow as his orgasm approached. It wasn't the image of Spike's naked body that filled Ringo's mind as he came, it wasn't his arse or his cock or even his chest, it was his face, his voice, it was him.

Ringo lay breathless on his bed for a while, the clarity that arrived as his orgasm subsided wasn't welcome in the slightest and he was reluctant to pick his phone back up to see Spike's eyes looking at him once again. There was no use in feeling ashamed about it, no point in trying to deny it any longer: his feelings for Spike were more than a mere passing fancy, that was clear. Exactly what he was meant to do about these feelings was far from clear but that wasn't something Ringo could figure out right now with cum on his stomach and the daylight seeping through his bedroom curtains.

When he'd picked up his phone he'd closed all the apps immediately, doing his best not to catch a glimpse of what he'd been so eagerly looking at before. Just as he was about to step into the shower to clean himself off, his phone buzzed; he almost couldn't hear it over the music he was blasting out. It alerted him for a moment as though it was going to be a message from Spike stating he knew exactly what Ringo had just done - it wouldn't have really surprised him had that been the case, Spike's face almost always looked like he knew something that nobody else did - but fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, it was John.

        sooo how did the wank go

         who knows          but on a totally unrelated note im about to get into the shower

         well before you do that i have even more good news 

         can it not wait?

         NO because you might cum just at the thought of it and then youd be wasting a good shower

         well arent you considerate          and unnecessarily graphic

         thats me          anyway im taking you to the club next tuesday whether you like it or not

         im still waiting for the good news

         well if youd let me FINISH          next week theyre doing a special event and we just have to go          youll never guess what it is

         what is it?

         guess

         you just said ill never guess

         youre no fun

         WHAT IS IT

         alright alright keep your hair on          its a crossdressing event          high heels make up probably a few wigs all that good stuff

         im still waiting for the good news

         OH COME ON youre telling me you dont want to see spike in heels and fishnets with some lovely lipstick on

Ringo gulped. It wasn't a difficult image to conjure up his mind, considering he'd been staring at photos of Spike for the past twenty minutes and it excited him to say the least. He did want to see that, very much indeed.

[ancient-artificer]

My Roommate is an Asshole.

Gajevy Week 2019 - Fairy Tail

You can find these collections and more Gajevy prompts on FF and Ao3 under CapAleran2.

Storyline: “Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong. What?” Her voice trembled with the last word.

The only available apartment in the complex had been accidentally rented to two different people.

GW: Roommates Suck #1 - My Roommate is an Asshole.

Well. This was certainly unexpected.

The situation was far less ideal than what was promised to Levy. She had signed the official papers the day before fully expecting a nice, comfortable little space for cheap rent, paid utilities, and on-site laundry. It was absolutely perfect. Or had been up until a few minutes ago.

“Excuse me, I think I heard you wrong. What?” Her voice trembled with the last word.

The only available apartment in the complex had been accidentally rented to two different people.

“What the fuck is this shit?” The sudden, loud rumble caused her to jump in place. His baritone voice was rough. It sounded as though he was a smoker.

With watery-rimmed eyes, Levy turned around to see him shove his copy of the legal document in the manager’s face and hold it there to force him to look at it through his square glasses. The menacing scowl deepened as his voice lowered with enunciated words.

“Fix it. Now.”

Levy found herself silently agreeing with the man, although his demand was downright frightening. Despite their obvious differences in word usage, they did have one extremely large issue in common.

“Ah, w-well, you s-see,” the scrawny man stuttered. He fidgeted under the intense, angry gaze blazing down on him. He touched the frames in front of his eyes. “I can't- there's nothing I can d-do about it. Legally, I mean.”

The taller, well-built man's arms twitched and Levy was immediately concerned that there would be an assault if the situation wasn't remedied. And quickly.

She stepped forward, careful to avoid any contact with the other apparently irate tenant and asked,  “What do you mean, legally? There's really nothing that can be done for us?”

The complex manager broke free of the hold on his shirt and righted it on his shoulders. He threw a tentative glance at the other male in the office before answering.

“There are two official documents stating that each of you is now the tenant of apartment 2B, submitted the same day by two different employees. Apparently, there was a miscommunication in the availability.”

He pulled out a file from the grey filing cabinet against the back wall. Within were the separate contracts both had previously signed. Levy McGarden and Gajeel Redfox were written on the signature lines.

“A miscommunication? Is that what you're calling it? I'd say it's more of a royal fuck up on your end than anything,” Gajeel spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

His choice words and their intensity grated against Levy's psyche. Her hazel eyes briefly shifted to him in mild annoyance.

“Given that there are no other vacant apartments and the deposits have already been made, the only thing I can suggest is maybe... try to live there together. Peaceably, preferably.”

The manager winced after he spoke. He looked at Gajeel and hoped the desk that stood between them was large enough.

Both Levy and Gajeel reacted simultaneously.

“No!”

***

“Yes.”

Levy held her phone to her ear and assured her friend that she was okay. She absentmindedly tapped her finger on the top of her water bottle in the cupholder. “I'm sure it'll be fine,” she said confidently.

“But he's a guy. And one you don't know,” Lucy countered. Her voice sounded unsure.

“Yea, well he's, he's…” Levy paused.

She turned to look out of her driver's side window to see Gajeel sitting in his jeep a few spaces over. He punched the steering wheel a few times. It looked like he was talking to himself.

“...he's different.”

“Mmhmm.”

“We will just have to make the best of a bad situation. I doubt he'll be that bad. The office runs background checks before they consider who can apply.”

“If you say so.”

When she said goodbye to her friend, Levy grabbed her new apartment key and headed for the stairwell.

It was enclosed inside the brick building, which would be ideal in colder weather. A vending machine for both snacks and beverages stood at the far end and marked the entrance to the laundry area. It was all just more checks on the list of good things the complex offered.

She smiled when she saw her appointed number and letter on the brown door. The apartment was neither too far from nor too close to the stairwell. She probably wouldn't hear the other tenants coming and going, especially at night. It also meant she would have a quiet place to read and write with the windows open on the nice warm days. Inserting the key and giving it a turn, Levy happily entered her home.

The distinct new carpet smell welcomed her. A tiled floor by the door gave way to the beige carpet. Through a foyer-like space was the large front room. A half wall separated it from the kitchen. All the appliances were there on the countertops, ready to be used. Beyond that were a hallway, the bathroom and the two bedrooms.

She gazed around, mentally picturing where she would arrange the furniture, where she would place her bookshelves and her pictures. What did this Gajeel have to bring to the table to add to their shared home? Until she knew, she couldn't plan everything out quite yet.

Her hands clasped at her chest around the key, a contented sigh escaped through her nose in the quiet.

A rough bang on the half closed entry announced the presence of another. The abused door flew open to hit against the rubber stopper on the wall. Gajeel trudged in carrying a full cardboard box the size of a small microwave. A stuffed black backpack clung to one of his shoulders.

He briefly halted a few paces ahead of his unexpected roommate, his head swung around like on a swivel to survey the empty place. He didn't even give Levy a second glance as he asked, “Why've ya just been standin’ there?”

Levy's dry lips parted. No words formed. Her wide eyes slid down his tall, broad form, from his uninterested expression to the box cradled between two massive arms. He was terribly intimidating; if he had wanted to he could have snapped her petite body in half with minimal effort.

She blinked.

Gajeel left her still standing in the middle of the living area to check out the bedrooms. The toe of his black boot pushed open one and then he disappeared inside.

Out of curiosity, Levy deliberately peered in from around the wall. It was a spacious area. There were three windows that illuminated the entire room without the need for the overhead light.

The box and backpack had been set on the carpet. He was standing in the middle under the light fixture, his head turning as he seemingly looked around at nothing but the walls.

Levy kept silent as she spied. Hazel eyes moved from his shaggy mess of thick black hair to the triangular shape of his neck and shoulders.

He hummed to himself and turned his body towards the far wall, his back faced her. Large hands found the waistband of his jeans and rested there. “I think it'll fit,” he murmured.

“What will fit?” Levy asked with sudden interest.

She felt like she was intruding, but they were set up to share a small apartment. There was bound to be some future privacy issues. She shuddered and hoped they wouldn't be too crowded.

He responded as if he had known she was there watching all along, saying, “My drum set.”

Levy's heart sped up the moment she heard. Her vision of quiet, relaxing evenings was shattered with his nonchalant words about a musical instrument. “A drum set?! Like an actual big, loud drum set?”

“Relax Shorty,” he drawled. He was still standing there with his hands perched on his hips. “It's electric. The sound's through a headset.” He tapped the side of his head.

Her eyes fell, half-lidded with displeasure. Why did he call her that? She crossed her arms. “I'm not short.”

“Sure,” he dismissed with a scoff. His attention was elsewhere. Somewhere in that big -but sort of handsome- head of his. Whatever was in there.

Her apprehension subsided a bit with that knowledge that he would have a headset. She glanced towards the other bedroom and wondered what it looked like beyond the closed door. Her peripheral detected a shift in the light, and she felt more than saw Gajeel brush past her. His arm knocked hard into her shoulder as he turned the corner in the narrow hall.

“Hey,” she announced. Her hand came up instinctively to lay on her collarbone. Her mouth set into a firm line. Her eyes bore a hole in the back of his head. And he just walked away? He hadn't even said sorry.

When he didn't stop, she frowned and put effort into it. “Gajeel!” she yelled.

“What?” He asked in annoyance with an enunciated ‘T’. His boots planted there on the living room carpet and he slowly turned to look at her, his palm held up in the air.

Words that Levy had been ready to let loose on him swiftly left her at the sight of his chilling frown. Instead, she dumbly stood exactly where she had been. Was it fear? Was she apprehensive because of his dark looks or his fearsome and reckless attitude?

“Um, I- uh-”

His pierced eyebrow rose.

Levy stuttered. “W-what are you doing?”

She inwardly cringed. Why couldn't she think of something else, something better to say? That was it? She could confront assholes on the street more easily than this particular one. Her mind was completely blank.

“I'm going to bring my shit up here,” he replied steadily. His tone was notably close to condescending. “What else is there to do?”

And then he simply left the apartment, not bothering to touch the open door on his way out.

With a long, silent huff, Levy quickly shook her fist in the air after him, her anger turned to frustration. She pulled the door closed and headed down to the parking lot after him. Like Gajeel, she too had things to bring up from her car. The rest of the furniture was in the back of a small trailer.

On her way out of the building entrance, Gajeel passed her carrying another full cardboard box, almost running into her once again. It was as if he didnt see her at all. His focus was on the stairs before him as he ascended.

Levy's frown deepened and her mouth fell slightly open while she stared. A tiny sound escaped her throat. What was with this guy?

A sense of dread began to fill her stomach. Maybe she would have to find another place. But then if she did her current deposit was forfeited. She couldn't afford to shell out another moving fee and deposit.

Groaning, she did the only thing she could think of at that moment and start officially moving in. All of the items she had fit in her car she comfortably toted up to the apartment. Unlike her new roommate's, her things went directly to her bedroom, set along the back wall to make room for the bigger items later.

It was small. Smaller than the room Gajeel had claimed. It had built in bookshelves on either side of the doorway, which was a pleasant surprise. But what it lacked in initial space it made up for in a large walk-in closet.

When she strolled out from the hall, the carpet was littered with his junk. Her lip wanted to curl. Was he a slob? Random crates and rickety boxes overflowing with Gajeel's personal items. Mostly clothing, though there was a laptop, music devices, and a distasteful calendar that Levy covered over with a rogue jacket that was draped over the side of a box, among other things.

Her gaze landed on a blue milk crate full of books. It was set apart from the rest, on a haphazardly placed brown end table by the hall's light switch.

Gajeel was a reader? From what she’d encountered so far, Levy would have never pegged him. There really was more to someone than outward appearance.

Gently picking through the books, she found that most of them were classics. Their hard covers were worn from use, the pages creased on the top corners. None of them had bookmarks. She had to tell him not to dog-ear his books like that.

“What’re you doing?” his rough voice announced in question.

The three books tumbled from her hands to fall in a heap by the table. His unexpected voice had scared her. “Um, I was just looking. Sorry,” she began as she bent to pick up the downturned books. “I love to read so I just…” Trying to find an excuse, her lips fell silent.

He considered her for a moment, the drawers to a dresser occupying his arms. It seemed as though he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. His mouth shut. He didn't seem angry, but Levy was cautious.

“Don't ya have yer own things to get?” he calmly asked instead. His red eyes gave her a once over before settling back to her face.

Relief rushed through Levy at his civility. “Yes, but I was waiting for you. I need help. I've gotten everything that I could manage myself.”

He humphed and continued about his business, taking the drawers to his room. When he re emerged some seconds later, he gestured to her without slowing down. “Alright. Come on.”

Without needing to be told a second time, Levy followed her roommate.

“It's the trailer there,” she said once they were in the parking lot. A silver trailer was parked in the back. After they emptied it, she would have to notify for its pickup.

“I kinda figured,” Gajeel commented. There was only one moving trailer on the lot.

“Right.” Levy bit her cheek. Her eyes flickered up to him.

His lips were twisted, as if he was trying not to smile. He turned his head away, seemingly interested in a few birds flying overhead before she could be sure.

Standing by the ramp, Levy let him walk in and start picking things to haul out. She watched with her arms crossed over her chest as he picked up a large, clear tote of notebooks, pencil pouches, and various books with a grunt.

The sound of something rolling around inside abruptly stopped as he presented it, most likely a loose pen or pencil. His eyebrow rose and he looked at her.

“I like to write, okay?”

Her lips slid into a grin when she watched him shake his head and his confused expression give way to his own version of a smile.

Soon only her mattress and the bed frame, her bookshelves, dresser, and a long desk were the only things left. She had no idea how she would have gotten them out and up the stairs without his help. The only reason they were in the trailer to begin with is she had had help in moving out of her old place.

He took most of the weight, letting her steer them once they hit the stairwell. His patience with the desk had nearly expired when they hit the wall as they maneuvered the corner, causing the desk's edge to punch into his stomach.

“Lift it, Levy,” he commanded, looking up at her from the bottom. The legs were scraping the steps.

“I am.”

She threw her weight upwards only for nothing to happen. The wooden box drawers were on both ends, making it nearly impossible for her. They should have taken them out before they started the trek, but they couldn't now in the narrow space.

“Yer doin’ it wrong,” he roughly accused.

“How am I wrong?” She answered back just the same. One of her hands came up on reflex, her palm upwards in irritation.

He lowered his head as she spoke and blew out a quick breath in his own annoyance. He lifted his end once more, but when he did, the corner caught the brick wall, effectively halting his progress before it could really begin.

His body continued right into the stationary edge.

Bouncing backwards from it, Gajeel doubled over. A pained growl rumbled from his chest. His mouth formed around a word, but refrained from spitting it out.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?” Levy blurted. She let go of her end of the desk.

“Get out of the way,” he ordered. Anger -probably more embarrassment- simmered in his eyes.

She did so and watched with astonishment as he gathered himself and hauled, lifting the long piece of furniture with a deep grunt. He was fast enough to use the momentum and all but throw it and himself up around the corner.

The desk was now set for a straight path up the rest of the way and to their apartment.

Levy was immediately grateful that she had Gajeel for any heavy lifting.

Giving a breath, he turned to her. His eyes were now impassive. “Can you get around it?” He asked.

Levy hummed. There was a few inches of space between the desk and the brick wall, but she knew she wouldn't be able to fit. “Only a kid could squeeze through there. But, I think I could climb over it.”

Gajeel simply stood to catch his breath and let her do what she had suggested. In amusement, he placed his hands on his hips and watched as her tiny form scrambled up and over the smooth tabletop. Her jean shorts accentuated her curves and her plump ass stared squarely up at him for the briefest of moments.

A grin spread on his face. He let himself look, but kept his hands on his waistband.

Once they were at their apartment with the desk safely in her bedroom without further incident, they shut the front door with a sigh.

The place was an absolute wreck. Nothing was organized and nothing was in a convenient setup. The couch was shoved halfway in the kitchen with her clothing totes upon it. There was one visible walkway through the living room to the hall, the rest of the floor and furniture was littered.

Levy was thirsty, but the box containing kitchen utensils was somewhere buried under the mess. It would take them a few days to sort everything out. “What do you wanna do for dinner?” she asked aloud.

“I dunno.” His voice was muffled. It sounded a little distant as he worked on neatly plugging in the tv and game consoles at the outlet behind the big flat screen. “I don't care, do what ya want.”

“You don't have a favorite place to eat?”  she asked.

“I'll eat anything, just pick something.”

Levy hummed. “Chinese? There's a place a few blocks from here.”

“That's fine,” he replied, and then popped up triumphantly. He turned on the tv. On the screen was the console main logo. Without turning to Levy, he said, “After we eat, ya wanna try out yer new tv?”

Looking up from the restaurant's menu on her phone, she saw the screen as he punched in his passcode. The more she looked at the set up, the more she felt out of her element. “I don't know, I've never really played on one…”

“Really, well yer gonna learn tonight.” Gajeel cleared an area of the floor a few feet from the tv stand and abruptly sat down. He kicked off his boots and quickly took off his grey shirt, leaving him in a white tank. He picked up the controller.

“What about the mess in here?” She lifted a hand and waved it at all of the things brought up and thrown in no particular order as if showcasing a nice car on display.

Gajeel made a sound with his mouth. “We're gonna be here for at least a year. We can sort it tomorrow. Give yer'self a break.” He added with an afterthought, “Does that Chinese place deliver?”

“Uhh.” She scrolled down on her phone. “Yes.”

“Order it for delivery and then get over here.” He let a genuine smile slip up on his face. He set a black controller beside him as if to save her a seat.

Her own smile appeared as she ordered their food. Then she picked her way through their junk and slowly sat down beside him. He was at ease and relaxed as he started to explain a game he thought she would enjoy. When he presented an eye creasing smile, his red eyes warm, she found herself begin to mirror him. Maybe having a new roommate wouldn't be so bad...

[occultsister]

Howliday Miracles

@howlofthewolf

Amane had never been one for doing miracles but as a demi-god it was her duty to hear out anyone’s problems who happened to come to the shrine. The one she spent the majority of her time at was a rather small one that over the years slowly fell forgotten and neglected.

Still it gave her plenty of time to roam around and mingle with the humans which was always lots of fun. On this particular day a man happened to come by grumbling about how miracles didn’t really exist and what good was leaving out fried tofu going to do? Besides attract wild animals.

Well now that got Amane riled up. Miracles didn’t exist huh? Well she’d just see about that.

Later that evening upon returning home Wolf turned on the lights to discover a small, and attractive, young woman lounging on his couch munching on strips of fried tofu. Thick curls of white hair framed her face with to White ears sitting atop her head.

The door was definitely locked and he couldn’t see any other sign of potential break in so how.

“Who the hell are you and how did you get in here??”

Pouting Amane huffed, “You’re the one who came asking for my help. Remember at the shrine? You gave me this.” Lifting a hand she ways a piece of fired tofu around. “Now,” Slowly she floated off his couch and over to him, reveal a quite fluffy tail. “What can I do for you?”

Despite any effort to get her to leave Amane would simply open a new portal and reappear not a minute later. He was the one who came complaining at the shrine and left an offering so she couldn’t just ignore him.

“As a Demi-god it is my job to try and help those who come to the shrine so I’m not leaving.” She insisted

Wolf however was rather skeptical anything could be done, he was fully aware of what the problem was and highly doubted she could do anything about it. Yet no matter what he said she adamantly refused to take no for an answer.

“New Years.” She said folding her arms over her chest

“New Years?” He blinked slightly confused.

“Give me till New Years then. If nothing changes, if I’m unable to do anything by then I’ll leave and never bother you again. Deal?”

Clearly he wasn’t going to get rid of her but that sounded fair enough, “Alright deal.”

_____

To start Amane quietly observed him going about day to day hoping to learn more about him and how to help. Which was very boring and quite mundane actually and it was clear that he really did need someone, a companion perhaps, in his life.

In fact Amane couldn’t figure out why he didn’t, at least on one occasion she’d even witnessed a woman bravely step up and try to ask him out only to be shot down.

“Come on you didn’t even talk to her? I’m not saying give every woman who approaches a chance but what good is shoving them all a way going to do?” Her comments were usually met with being told to mind her own business but she refused to give up.

The first week was an absolute bust,nothing  she did had worked  and they really hadn’t gotten anywhere with him. Clearly she need to try taking a new approach to this.

--

So Amane went on to a new plan setting him up with someone would never work so instead she decided that she would take him somewhere fun and try to get him to loosen up, come out of his shell.

Grabbing hold of his hand Amane opened up a spirit portal and before he could say or do anything to object pulled him through taking them out all the way over to another city where a festival was being held.

First she took them to rent a pair of Yukata’s and then began taking him around showing him all it had to offer. She attempted many of the available games but failed at each one, with the final one having gotten so annoyed Amane used just a little of her magic to win this time. And for the first time she was fairly certain she saw him crack a smile.

“Oh so Mr. Grumpy Wolf can smile,” She teased as they made their way through the crowd, Amane as usual was floating ever so subtly just above the ground.

“You know I don’t think I’ve ever seen you walk?” Wolf couldn’t help but comment.

Amane looked away, “Why walk when I can fly, it’s much more fun.”

By the end of the evening it actually felt like she might have finally got somewhere. Of course he still refused tell her what exactly the problem was and at least he seemed to have fun.

And having met with mild success she decided to continue on pushing him and getting he to try new and different things. To bring him more out of his comfort zone if possible.

___

It baffled Wolf seeing her try so hard to help him despite all the failed attempts she never gave up and yet it was amusing to see what kind of crazy plan she would come up with next. Her determination was admirable and he had to admit that the cute fox girl was starting to grow on him.

________________

Amane just didn’t get it, a good looking guy like him, great sense of humour and was quite the gentleman when he wanted to be. Any girl would be lucky to be with someone like him. So why was he so reluctant. Whenever she asked she was met with any number of excuses. At first she simply had agreed to help since he had been so kind as to leave an offering but he really did deserve someone.

____________

One evening they were playing a video game together when Wolf finally opened up a little to her. Surprising her that beneath his rough exterior he had quite the soft, vulnerable side to him even a bit afraid.

“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easy, I’m not going to give up yet. This fox has still got a few tricks up her sleeve.” She grinned before suddenly giving a cheer and leaping into the air floating above him. “Finally I beat you!” Amane laughed out loud giving a small twirl before dropping back down to the couch.

Now it was her turn to tell him something, the truth was the reason she always would float or fly everywhere wasn’t simply by choice but because she couldn’t walk.

With a yawn she pulled her legs up next to her curling up beside him bringing her tail across her before slowly dozing off.

Wolf chuckled looking down at her a rare smile crossing his face as he played with curled lock of her hair, so soft in his rough hands. It saddened him when he thought about her leaving. Even after having opened up to her about things he dared not tell others, Amane hadn’t shied away or looked at him any different. If anything it felt like he might have only encouraged her to try harder.

_________________________

The final week. Amane did everything in her power she could think of though at the start, despite Wolf making seemingly making things more difficult then normal. Coming up with different plans and even being the one to make suggest things to do and taking her out to places. Why did he have to make these things harder as Amane struggled to ignore her own thoughts and feelings, this was about him after all and making him happy. And yet there was no denying that he seemed so much happier now then when they first met so she allowed him to continue dragging her around to places.

Before they knew it New Years had arrived. Forgetting all about their deal Amane was excited this would be her first New Years in the Human world.

Upon hearing this Wolf knew he needed to make this a special indeed and this time it was his turn to take her around the local festival. Showing her all the sites and the best food.

Amane was having so much fun she didn’t notice the time flying past 

Slowly they made their way back to the shrine with a just a few minutes to Midnight. “A deals a deal,” She sighed floating a portal opening up behind her, “I gave it my best but looks like I failed, so I’ll go back.” Her tail lay flat and ears seemed to droop a little. Turning around as she was about to leave Amane suddenly felt him grab her hand stopping her.

“Wait,” Wolf spoke quickly “You’re wrong you know because you didn’t fail.” And before Amane could even get in another word he pulled her closer and kissed her, right on the lips.

Colour quickly rose to Amane’s cheeks, the fur on her tail bristled and ears perked up in surprise that the kiss. Slowly she softened and returned the kiss, the sound of fireworks exploding in the distance.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Baby Daddy - Chapter 9

You can read it here on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

“Did you hear about this?” Dad asks, shaking out the newspaper as Stiles makes breakfast.

“What?” Stiles asks. “Also, who even reads newspapers anymore? Don’t you have a phone like regular people?”

Dad ignores that. “The Hales are back in town. They’re rebuilding the house.”

“Oh.” Stiles feels a jolt. Right. The Hales. Who he has somehow forgotten to mention to his dad that he knows. And that he is also playing an integral part in producing a new one. Those Hales. “Um, yeah. I knew they were back in town. I didn’t know about the house though.”

Dad peers at him over the frames of his reading glasses. “You knew they were back in town?”

“Yeah. My friend Laura? From the diner? It’s Laura Hale.”

His Dad frowns. “You didn’t mention this when I told you I was checking out the Hale file again.”

“What’s to mention?” Stiles asks, smacking the side of the coffee maker to get it to start working. They really need to get a new one of those at some point. “It’s not like we sit around and talk about that time most of her family got incinerated.”

“I guess not,” Dad says. “It’s just the three of them left, isn’t it?”

Three and a bit, Stiles thinks, and feels his face flooding with warmth.

“I think so? Laura doesn’t talk about her family much, and I don’t really blame her.” He gives the coffee maker another smack. “I met her brother last night though.”

Her incredibly hot and weird brother. And Stiles didn’t exactly meet him, did he? He stood there while the guy glared at him and then turned around and ran like Stiles was the devil or something. Definitely hot, but definitely weird. And Laura was weird as well. Whatever Hale family weirdness Stiles had stepped into there, he has no idea, only that there was sudden tension in the air thick enough to choke on. It had felt like Stiles had wandered on stage in the middle of some dramatic moment but nobody had given him a script. Definitely some heavy stuff going on, and it had been awkward as hell, but Stiles figures he’s already jerked off into a jar for Laura Hale, and whatever was going on last night can’t even come close to that, right? What’s a little more awkwardness thrown in?

“Those poor kids,” Dad says, and Stiles feels an odd moment of disconnect thinking of Laura and Derek that way, but of course they were only teenagers back then and that's how Dad remembers them. Laura must’ve been barely eighteen.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and thinks of Derek Hale. It’s probably unfair to think of him as weird, right? He works nights, which explains his zombification—Stiles once saw his dad get back from a night shift, carefully peel an orange, toss the segments in the trash and then just stare at the peel in his hand like he was knew something had gone wrong but couldn’t quite figure it out. Sleep deprivation is a bitch. And is it any surprise that Derek’s not a Chatty Cathy? The Hales have been through hell. It’s probably a miracle any of them are functioning at all.

Stiles isn’t sure he would be, in their shoes.

Dad sets the newspaper aside and rolls his shoulders. “How’s the Jeep running?”

Stiles gives him a genuine smile. “Really good. It starts like clockwork every time!”

“Well, that’s what a starter motor does, son,” Dad says.

“My old one didn’t.”

Dad huffs out a laugh. “The tutoring is still going well, then?”

“Yeah. It’s doing better than I thought.” Stiles is getting stupidly good at lying about this. And while it works for little things like groceries and the electric bill and the Jeep’s starter motor, he’s not sure yet how he’s going to explain that the hospital bill has been paid. He’s hoping to intercept all the mail until he figures out a way around it. “And it’s awesome to have the Jeep on the road again.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Dad says with a fond smile. “So, how about we celebrate that by going for a drive?”

“Um.” Stiles blinks, and shrugs. “Sure. Where are we going?”

He figures out halfway there, and tells himself he probably should have known.

***

Once upon a time, the private road that snaked through the Preserve ended at a three-storey house with a wraparound porch, bay windows, and a Dutch gable. Stiles has seen the photographs. Now there’s nothing left except the front façade of the house, charred and blackened, and the towering chimney that leans at an ominous angle.

Stiles pulls the Jeep up behind what looks like a contractor’s truck, and goes around to help Dad out the passenger side. They do an awkward little dance while Dad gets his crutches situated, and then they approach the remains of the house.

The contractor turns out to be a surveyor, and some guy that dad knows from town.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a big job,” he says. “Gonna have to shore up the cellar and all the tunnels before we even bring in the bulldozers to clear the site.”

“Never did figure out what those tunnels were about,” Dad says, gazing at the charred remains of the house.

The surveyor shrugs. “A leftover from bootlegging days, maybe? A bunch of old families made their money that way around here. This once place up in Elk Creek, I had the lady try to tell me it was from the Underground Railroad.” He shakes his head. “In California? In a house built in the twenties? Place was still full of empty whisky barrels.”

Dad laughs at that.

Stiles looks at the house, and at the lay of the land, and tries to remember where the three tunnels came out. He’s seen the plans, and they make no sense. How would a narrow tunnel that connects the house basement to a root cellar be of any use to bootleggers? And the other two didn't lead anywhere at all except few hundred feet into the Preserve.

Dad and the surveyor chat for a few more minutes, and then the surveyor leaves to go back into town.

Dad leans on his crutches and stares at the house, like he’s waiting for it to tell him all its secrets.

Stiles stands with him.

“You just…” Dad exhales heavily. “When your house is burning down, you don’t lock yourself in the fucking cellar.”

“Okay, but the fire investigator said it was an electrical fault, right?” Stiles asks. “I don’t know, maybe they were having a slumber party down there or something?”

“It was a regular concrete cellar, Stiles,” Dad says. “It was storage space. There were no bedrooms down there. Not even a couch and a TV. So what the hell were eight people doing down there that night? It doesn’t make any sense, unless…”

Stiles feels a prickling of unease down his spine. “Unless what?”

“Unless it wasn’t just the fire they were trying to get away from,” Dad says, his expression hard. “Unless there was some reason they couldn’t run out the front door, so they tried for the tunnels instead.”

Stiles shivers. “Like what reason?”

Dad gazes around the Preserve. “I don’t know, kid. I really don’t know.”

“You think someone targeted them,” Stiles says, and the realisation is like being doused in cold water. “You think they couldn’t use the doors because whoever set the fire was waiting to pick them off as they came outside. So they tried the tunnels, except they were blocked off somehow too.”

Dad smiles grimly. “Crazy theory, right?”

“Yeah!” Stiles rubs his forehead. “I mean, it’s insane, but it’s also the only thing that fits.”

He understands now why his dad wanted to come out here. It’s been eight years since the fire. There’s no physical evidence left out here. But sometimes it’s important to look at a crime scene to get a sense of the distances, the spaces, even the way the light falls. And sometimes it’s an important reminder that it’s real, that it didn’t just happen on paper and in photographs, and that actual people died here.

Stiles watches as Dad leans heavily on his crutches and looks around the clearing. There’s an old sorrow in his gaze, the weight of what the place is, what it had been once, and of the night itself. Stiles remembers the morning that Dad came home smelling of smoke and ash. He remembers the way his hands shook when washed them in the sink, over and over again, even though they were already clean.

He’s never asked what his dad saw that night, but he knows it was bad.

This isn’t just a puzzle to his dad. This is about his duty to the Hales who lost their lives that night, and the Hales who didn’t.

And, even if Dad doesn’t know it yet, to a tiny Hale who has yet to be born.

***

On the way back to town, down that twisting road through the trees, they pass a black SUV with heavily tinted windows.

It could be a contractor. It could be a sightseer from town. It could be anyone for any reason, but Stiles sees that his dad notes the licence plate number down.

***

Stiles’s stomach tells him that it’s lunchtime when they get home. He pulls the Jeep into the driveway, parking beside the cruiser already there. Deputy Jordan Parrish is leaning on the side of it, and he lifts a hand in greeting.

“Hey, it’s your work son!” Stiles says, waving back at Parrish.

Dad gives him a look. “Where the hell do you even come up with this stuff?”

“Oh, please. You love him. It’s adorable.” Stiles climbs out of the Jeep and heads around to the passenger side to help Dad out, only to find Parrish already there. “Hey, dude.”

“Hey, Stiles. How’s college?”

“Not bad. How’s fighting crime in the vast metropolis of Beacon Hills?”

Parrish makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “I gave out two fines for jay walking last week.”

“Good for you! Jay walkers, man. A scourge on decent society!” He gets ahead of Dad and Parrish so he can get the front door. “Are you staying for lunch, Jordan?”

“Uh, I guess? If I’m not intruding?”

“As if. Dad likes you more than me! I’m making sandwiches.”

“Sounds great.”

Stiles leaves Parrish to get Dad settled in the living room, and heads into the kitchen to rustle up some sandwiches and coffee. He decides on some basic turkey and mayo, with extra lettuce and bean sprouts on Dad’s. When he takes them into the living room, it’s to catch the tail end of Jordan giving Dad the weekly recap of what’s been going on down at the station: current investigations, crime stats, and the continuing saga of the scrub jays that have built a nest overlooking the parking lot and now try to attack anyone walking from the station to their cruiser.

“They’re birds, Parrish,” Dad says, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe they’re holding the entire station hostage like that.”

“I called the park ranger’s office to see what we should do,” Parrish says. “He laughed at me.”

“Because they’re birds,” Dad repeats, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Anyhow, Stiles and I went out to the old Hale house this morning to take a look around. We saw an SUV on the way back. Can I get you to run the plate for me?”

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Parrish says, and takes the piece of notepaper Dad hands him. “I can do it now if you want?”

“Eat your lunch first."

Parrish nods, and tucks the paper into his shirt pocket. “The Hales were pretty well known, weren’t they?”

Parrish hasn’t been in Beacon Hills for long enough to remember the Hales, or the house, back when they were whole.

“They were an old family,” Dad says. “Well liked.”

Stiles exchanges a look with him. If they were so well liked, then why the hell was someone targeting them?

“Do you think that now they’re back in town, there’s going to be trouble?” Parrish asks frankly, and this is why Dad likes him. Parrish gets straight to the point, just like Dad.

“I think that’s a possibility we ought to consider,” Dad says. “I think there’s more to the fire than what you’ll find in those files, that’s for sure.”

“You think it was arson,” Parrish says, raising his eyebrows.

“I think it was murder,” Dad tells him. “The fire investigator was adamant it was an electrical fault, but when your house is burning down around you, you don’t shelter in the goddamn basement. You don’t try and get out that way either, not when you’ve got perfectly good doors and windows on the ground floor. Damned if anyone could tell me why they’d do that.”

Stiles feels a rush of excitement. “Dad!”

“Hmm?”

“Dad, eight years ago nobody could tell you, because Laura and Derek weren’t there, right?”

“Right.”

“But Peter Hale was,” Stiles says. “He was in the house. And didn’t the paper say he was the one that applied for the planning permission? He’s awake now, so why not ask him?”

Dad blinks at him for a moment. “Shit, kid. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”

Stiles knows.

For eight years his dad has gone around and around in circles with the Hale fire, and he’s so used to treading those same paths that he didn’t even realise that something new had shaken loose that might change the entire picture. Hasn’t Dad always said that the thing any old case needs most of all is a fresh set of eyes? Someone to look at things in a different way? And Stiles has always been good for that.

“You’re friends with Laura, you said?” Dad claps him on the shoulder. “Can you get me her uncle’s number?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I can do that.”

Because Laura is his friend, and he wants to keep her safe.

Her, and the newest Hale that she’s trying to bring into the world.

***

Parrish heads out to his cruiser after lunch and Stiles trails along with him. He watches as he inputs the licence plate into the cruiser’s onboard computer.

“Who the hell is Gerard Argent?” Parrish asks, and writes the information down for Dad. Argent has an Arizona address.

Stiles shrugs and takes the notepaper back. “No idea, man. Probably some lost tourist.”

“Probably,” Parrish agrees.

[wandering-chronicler-blog]

The Wolf of Farore - Chapter 21

An Ongoing Zelda/Witcher Fusion Fic - Updates Wednesdays/Thursdays

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Summary:

War has come to The Kingdom of Hyrule.  The people cry for a savior as monsters and spirits stalk the once green fields of the provinces.  Famine grips the populace as the Gerudo Tribes and their blin allies strike along the borders.  Hope for peace begins to drown in the blood spilled in No Man’s Land.  But Hyrule doesn’t need another hero.  It needs a professional.

The Story So Far:

Getting down Death Mountain proved difficult and incredibly risky due to the simple fact that the main paths were blocked off.  However, Link and Midna also discovered that somehow a group of blins had gotten far behind the frontlines.  Ill-equipped to deal with it though, the two escaped with information to pass along...

CHAPTER 21:  SCHOLARLY HELP

The moon was already in the sky by the time they reached the bottom of the path and were off the mountain. Not far in front of them were the fires in the refugee camp and smoke coming from houses in Kakariko. Link took a sip from his canteen and glanced at his shadow for a moment. “How do I look?” he asked.

“Mmm?” he heard Midna say. “Oh, not toxic if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Good.” He took a quick survey of vthe site down the path. “Don’t want to scare anyone.”

“However, might be a good idea for me to put an illusion up. People might be looking for you down here.”

“Good idea.” He looked back at the camp then. As he did, he saw black squares flicker around him and cover his body. They flipped around, like cards on a table and within moments, he appeared in rags. His blond hair was black and his skin was weathered. He looked at his hands for a moment, not recognizing them.

“Long as I stick to your shadow, you’ll not look like the most wanted man in all of Hyrule.”

“Thanks.” He took another sip from the canteen and started walking.

“Think enough people would be scared if they knew there were blins that close to them.”

“Yeah.” There was some quiet between them as he entered the camp. Dozens of people were scattered about. Link immediately spotted a pair of sheikah guards though near the entrance to the village. They were occupied though and he quickly went past them towards the spring near the gate. Even at this late hour, people were still awake. He stopped at the spring and knelt to refill his canteen.

“So… How'd all this start?” she asked in a near whisper.

“Mmm?” For a second he glanced at his shadow and kept his voice low. He spotted a guard starting for the spring and got to his feet once more. Scanning the area, he spotted a small cave to the right of the spring and headed for it.

“The war. I know things were kinda tense here when we were working during the Conjunction, but a war like this has to have been a long time coming.”

“It kinda was...” He looked back to see the guard kneel down to take a couple drinks himself from the fresh water. Link went deeper into the cave, seeing a way out that would give him a good view of the spring, but let him stay relatively unseen.

Midna’s shadowy impish form emerged from his shadow. After a moment, the blackness solidified and she reformed physically in the world. The illusion around Link was broken in a flicker of magic. “All the more reason to try and keep my people out of it.”

“Yeah.” He offered her the canteen and she took a drink from it. “A few gerudo tribes that identified as part of Ganondorf's United Tribes continued some of their raids for goods, in spite of his orders. He came in though on a diplomatic mission due to conditions in the deserts for help. Didn't realize what sort of political development it was. I was thirteen at the time so...”

Midna smirked as she wiped some of the water from her lips. “More interested in other developments?”

“Uh…” He looked to his left and down.

She giggled softly. “Hah! Your ears are turning a little red.” He merely groaned at her response and shook his head. “Sorry. I had to.” She took another sip of the water before handing it back to him. “So. How did that all go?”

“From the records actually, we were getting somewhere at first.” Link took the canteen in his hand and closed it before looking back at her. “But then King Robin died. During the talks. Was sixteen by that time.”

“Guessing then people started pointing fingers at Ganondorf.”

“Yep. Zelda's father, Daphnes, called off the talks.”

Her eyes widened a little in surprise and she drifted over to his side, leaning casually against his shoulder. “Thought he did it?”

Link shook his head. “No, felt with how it was causing problems that it might be good for everyone to cool off for a year or two before going back to the table.”

“Risky, but I can see the wisdom. What happened next?”

He sighed with a little exhaustion as he looked at her as he continued. “When talks resumed, The Tribes had managed to set up something with the zoras of Snowpeak in the way of trade. It didn't sit too well but, the raids had slowed to the point that it was clear the raiders weren't backed by him.”

“And then the conjunction happens I bet.”

Link glanced over his shoulder back at the spring, seeing the guard had left back to his post. “Heh. Actually no. A harsh winter in the desert and rising prices of goods from the zoras bringing trade up river...”

“Aaah... So Ganondorf got desperate.”

He nodded. “If I had to take a guess, yeah. Raiding along the border picked up from the blins. But we'd never seen them so well equipped. Trade disruption got so bad Empress Ambi from Labrynna got involved to try and keep it from going any further.”

“Well, knowing the zoras here are allied with the other zoras in Labrynna, that makes sense. They want to protect their economy.”

“Ambi has always been a peacemaker as well. She was the one who replaced Emperor Tangin, who started the war in the South Seas.” He fell quiet as he remembered his childhood before arriving at The Tower. A sad smile played across his lips. “She didn't want to see another war.”

“Well, she failed,” Midna remarked bluntly.

Link looked back at Midna in the eye. “Because of a few idiots in Labrynna wanting to kill her and frame Hyrule. Bastards were still bitter about the war in the South Seas because it cost them a lot of power. Me and Lana barely managed to stop the assassination attempt at the summit.”

Midna looked at him with wide eyes. “You know the Labrynnan Empress?” she asked, her tone giving away her skepticism.

“Kind of?”

“Damn.” She shook her head as she lowered her head to rest on her arms. “That alone probably put a price on your head when you left your pink princess.”

“Heh. Well, I did get assigned to a dig with my buddy Shad for it.” He yawned then, running a hand up through his hair and pushing his hat off. He pulled it forward and looked it over. “Though that got cut short by The Conjunction... which was when things really turned for the worse. While we were running around The Twilight and Lorule, the raids picked up as more and more monsters showed up all over. A Chosen was killed in one.”

She nodded. “I remember hearing that. We dealt with the twilit griffin while your friend was looking into it.”

“Well, Pipit found our boy's sword among spoils of a recent gerudo raid along with signed orders from Ganondorf himself.”

“And then it started.”

“Yeah. About six months after we destroyed our last mirror and that night in Aboda together...”

She bowed her head a little, shaking it. “Damn...” Midna looked back up at him a moment later. “And that was one of the last peaceful nights you've had in over a year.”

“That was a fun night though.” He looked to her and smiled.

She grinned back, the fang sticking out of her mouth. “It really was. That guy's face got so red!”

“I know, right? Hah. I haven't been kicked out of an arcade since...” The smile faded for a moment as he remembered. “Since I was there with Marin.” He looked down at the long floppy hat in his hand before looking back at her. “Did you have to make the next ball explode like that?”

“I wanted to wipe the smug grin off that guy's face. Besides! You were able to keep the guards from arresting us by waving your charm in their faces.”

“Yes, because I was the 'foreign diplomat's royal escort ' in spite of the fact we did zero diplomacy that night.”

“It worked out didn't it?” She grinned, floating a little bit next to him. “And you didn't have to explain to anyone where that diplomat was from.”

“No one batted an eye. Though I can't believe how lucky we got there with no one finding out you were a twili.”

“Well, I had my illusion no one even realized. They just thought I was some eccentric noblewoman from Labrynna.”

“And I was the poor Chosen assigned to her…” He shook his head a little, smiling before a sigh escaped his lips. “I miss those days.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Maybe we’ll get lucky though.”

“Heh.” He yawned then and glanced back to the spring. “Well, looks like we did.”

“What?”

“I see Epona.” He got to his feet. Sure enough, the mare was taking a drink from the water as Renado spoke with a guard. Midna darted back into his shadow and another illusion wrapped itself around him. Link soon exited the cave and approached them. His eyes noted the shard of agony on the guard’s hip next to the traditional sheikah sword.

“I already told you,” Renado said to the guard. “I had to leave my horse at the goron village because he was exhausted from the trip up. I was lucky one of Darunia’s friends had one that was available. Darunia said a courier would take it then south to Ordon along with some letters.”

“And you’re here to return it to them,” the guard replied. “With respect, we have a wanted man we’re looking for who was last seen up on the mountain and he had an Eldin Drafter.”

“How can you be sure it’s the right one though?” Link asked. “Eldin Drafters all look very similar. Ruddy colored with white manes and tails. How’re you sure this is the one you’re looking for?”

The guard turned to face Link, folding his arms. “Better safe than sorry. Not sure exactly who he is but if The Crown is offering a thousand rupees for him, must be someone important enough that we can’t take chances.”

“He might know though he’s being hunted,” Renado countered. “And in which case, the smartest thing to do initially would be to get rid of specific identifying aspects.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point.”

“He probably headed into Holodrum,” Link lied. If not for the seriousness, he was sure his shadow would be snickering. “Go along the pass and then slip across the border.”

“You’re surprisingly sharp, mister,” the guard said.

“Do a lot of traveling. Now, if you don’t’ mind, I have some letters to deliver.”

The guard studied Link for a moment and then looked at Epona. After a moment he nodded slowly. “Might be better to leave at dawn for it.”

“Probably will be, but glad to have a ride. Walking all the way wouldn’t have been fun.”

“Heh. I hear that.” The guard looked back at Renado for a moment. “Sorry for the trouble. Couldn’t take the risks. Impa The Elder has been insistent on increasing our guard recently.”

“I understand,” the shaman said.

“You two have a pleasant evening.” The guard returned to the gate. Once gone, Link looked at Renado.

“Clever disguise you have there,” he said.

“I know quite a few tricks,” Link replied. He approached his mare and attached the saddlebags once more to her. “Hey girl, you miss me?” Link stroked Epona’s neck gently.

“Have to be if you’re a hexer.” That caused the hylian to stop and immediately look at Renado. The shaman held his hands up. “I noticed the elixirs in your bag. Your secret is safe though. I know full well how magic is not inherently good or evil. That it’s all how one uses it.”

Link let his relief show. “Thank you.” He looked back to Epona for a moment then. “Are you heading back up the mountain?”

“Soon.”

“Good. I need you to tell Darunia that I made it down safely. And that he needs to send about a dozen cobble crushers along the narrower pass.”

“Why?”

“There is a blin camp that was set up along it. They tunneled out of a secluded patch of the mountain. How they got there, I have theories, but it needs to be taken care of, and quickly. Before they attack the village.”

Renado nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. We need to help each other in these trying times.” Renado looked to the camp. “Especially with good becoming blurred.” He turned to Link again. “You don’t strike me as the sort to just abandon people in need.”

“Got that right,” Link heard his shadow mutter.

Link ignored it in favor nodding to Renado. “I like helping people.”

“As do I. I do however think you should stay the night. Epona did take the cart a long ways. She needs her rest.”

“Yeah. She does. We’ll be gone first thing in the morning.” The sun was starting to set as they neared the northern gates of Hyrule Castle. Surrounding a piece of the walls was an encampment of soldiers loyal to The Crown. Link watched as a group of light cavalry went past them on the road, giving them the right of way. They didn’t seem to even notice or care about him. Soon as they were gone, he glanced briefly at his shadow under his feet. “It’s working it seems,” he whispered.

“You doubted me?” he heard in his ear.

“Just a little nervous. Remembering the last time I was here.” He rode across the bridge and was halted by a pair of guards. Unlike the soldiers, they wore less armor and each carried spears. They also wore more leathers as opposed to mail or plate.

“What is your business in Castle Town?” the guard asked.

“I’m visiting a friend,” Link said. “Should only be here a day.”

The guards talked amongst themselves briefly. He heard mention of a curfew briefly before the one who had been talking turned back to him. “Charge is fifty rupees for a stable for your horse, but we can waive it for a scout.”

He tried not to look surprised, but took Epona by the bridle and pulled a purple gem from his wallet to hand to the guard. “Thank you,” he said, walking past the guards. “Scout?” he whispered.

“You’re already wearing greens and look kinda like you’ve been in the field a while,” Midna said. “Just a little work to make you look like you’re one of their agents.”

“Clever.”

“Besides, I only need to put the illusion over your head this way. Less strain on keeping the spell working.”

“A regular scout isn’t going to be allowed into the castle.”

“I know. I’ll change it later. You might want to ditch the shoulder though. It is a clear mark and can be easy to identify. Your old chain shoulders and upper arms were less conspicuous because of no markings and common among scouts and light soldiers.”

“Didn’t really get a chance to grab those on my way out.” He took Epona to the stables near the edge of the wall and took care of her before walking into town. Link also took several of the potions out of her saddle bag, including the more dangerous ones before heading towards the keep. As he did, the buildings started to look nicer. There were fewer people on the streets as well. What had once been busy streets filled with people and stalls of people selling goods were mostly empty. It had become a familiar sight to Link during his time away from the front. People were going about their business quickly as well and avoiding eye contact. This was not how the city should have been.

He looked back over his shoulder as he started into a narrow alleyway. Six guards marched by, spears on their shoulders. Once they’d passed he stepped out and kept going. Eventually he came to a fairly impressive house nestled among similar ones. The windows had drapes drawn and Link saw a pair of soldiers outside it. They appeared to be occupied and talking to one another in the light of the setting sun. Glancing around, he didn’t see anyone else other than the soldiers. The door opened then and another emerged. A captain, if the armor was any indication, but it looked far nicer than the ones he’d seen in the field. They wore a royal purple cloak and their helm was far more ornate as well. He watched them talk to the guards before they and one of the soldiers headed down the street, leaving a single guard standing at the door.

“That can’t be good,” Link heard in his ear.

He let out a sigh. “They’re questioning people,” he said. “Talking to my contacts.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

Link thought for a minute on the situation at hand. He glanced back at his shadow. “We’ve come this far. And the last thing we want is causing an incident that pulls your people into this war.”

“All it’d take is a cadre or two in the right places from what I heard at the camp last night.”

Link looked back to his shadow slowly. “Is it really that bad?”

“Sounding that way.”

He let out a long sigh and looked back to the building the guard stood outside of. Torches were starting to be lit along the roads. He looked up then. Several of the houses had small balconies. “I’ve got it.” He stepped out of the alleyway and went north, away from the guard. They glanced up at him, but then back to the cobblestone streets. Link worked his way around to the other side of the houses. There was a moat there that separated the town from the keep and Royal Palace. After a quick glance around, he climbed in the water and swam for Shad’s house. A minute later, he was in the back of the house. He looked up at the wall, seeing no guards upon it and aimed his clawshot at one of the pillars on the balcony. The device fired suddenly and the claws dug into the armrest. Pushing one of the buttons on the grip, he was reeled up at a rapid rate to here he could climb over it with ease. The doors were unlocked and he pushed one open ever so carefully to avoid making noise.

“Are you absolutely sure?” a woman said. The voice Link recognized instantly. He flattened himself against the wall, hand going for the crossbow on his belt.

“Quite,” a man said. Another voice he recognized. “I have not seen him since he returned from the Castor Wilds with Lana and the wounded. And even then, he was whisked away so quickly by The Sheikah and Royal Guard I didn’t get a chance to even say two words to him. Until I heard the news from Auru about him… Going rogue. Are those guards okay? He doesn’t know the meaning of a fair fight when it’s just his fists. I’ve seen it.”

“No one was killed if that’s what you were asking. And you’re saying he never mentioned any of this to you at all?”

“Not a word.” Link heard his friend sigh. “Who are you going to ask next? The other Chosen? Lana or Cia? Both of them?”

“The investigation is ongoing,” another woman said. It made Link freeze. No wonder there’d been a Royal Guard captain there. “When there is more that we are comfortable sharing, it will be done publically. For the moment, we are trying to keep it quiet and not alert the public to what has happened. We don’t want to cause a panic that a Chosen has possibly defected.”

“I see. Will I still have access to the archives in The Royal Library then? Or is your suspicion given my working history with Link a reason to restrict my research and movements?”

“For the time being, only magi and agents sanctioned by The Crown themselves will be allowed access,” the princess said. “As much as I enjoy our discussions and you have been a valuable friend during these trying times, preparations for the siege take precedence.” Link heard movement downstairs, plate and chainmail clinking against one another.

“So it’s true then. You’ve found where the so-called King of Thieves is hiding.”

“And how did you learn of this?” Impa said.

“Just rumor, general. Many of my alumni are fearful of the events of the war. And I have no problem saying I am as well, especially given the other academics I knew from the desert. People are scared. Fearful that their neighbors may be spies for The Tribes. Especially since there are rumors right now surrounding Link? If one of the Chosen of Farore herself has turned on The Crown and thus The Goddesses… And if they learn they are not mere rumors… “

“Enough,” she said. “That is why we have come. Why we are talking now. To try and figure out what he’s up to so we can prevent him from hurting anyone. Before he kills someone connected with The Crown.”

“…I see.”

“He must be punished, he has been insubordinate,” Zelda said, Link recognizing the style of speaking she was using. “And he badly hurt the soldiers who went to capture him when he abandoned his charm. But I know he’s trying to do what he thinks is right rather than following what will actually work. Shad. Help me bring him back.”

“I don’t know if I can convince him, your highness. Besides. You’ve known him longer and better than I ever will.”

There was a long pause. Link felt his fingers coiling around the grip of his crossbow. His left hand had gone to the grip of his sword. The second woman spoke up then. “Then we shall take our leave. Thank you for your time. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again soon.”

“As am I.” There was about a minute of movement Link caught downstairs through his ears but he still didn’t let go of his weapons.

“Midna?” he whispered.

“I closed the doors behind us,” she said in his ear. “Don’t sense any spellwork here to detect things. It’s just us and your friend now. We’re safe. I’m gonna let the illusion drop. Save my strength a little in case we need it again.”

“Okay.” Only then did he let go of his blade and crossbow. He pulled his hat off, still soaked from the moat water, and looked for a place to wring it out. Link heard the stairs creak from below. When he looked out the door of the library he stood in, he saw the other hylian. He looked like he had been interrupted while having dinner if the napkin still stuffed in his collar was any indication. His glasses slipped down his nose when he saw Link and his mouth fell open. He was about to speak, but Link quieted him.

“There is still a guard out front,” he said.

“Wh-what are you doing here, old boy?!” Shad said in a hushed voice. “The entire kingdom’s looking for you! And you show up right here as I have a discussion with Zelda and Impa downstairs about what you’re doing?!”

Link raised his hands. “It’s a long story, Shad.”

“What in Demise’s name were you thinking?! Beat over a dozen guards senseless and then steal a horse? And for what?”

“She didn’t say?” Link felt himself tensing up. He wondered if he could trust the scholar now.

“Said it was a matter of national security. That Ganondorf has spies everywhere and that whatever was going on she couldn’t discuss it here.” He reached up to push his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose with an index finger.

“If I tell you, it might make you a target.”

“I’d say I’m already a target just by knowing you along with the fact that I had a number of other contacts from the Zuna Ports before the war started! You always seem to just attract the strangest curiosities and nonsense! Do you have any idea how much of a headache it causes sometimes?”

“Join the club,” Midna muttered quietly. Not quietly enough though.

The scholar looked around. “…Who said that?”

Link looked at his shadow for a moment. He let out a sigh. “You’d better sit down, Shad,” he said. “This will take a while to explain. And if things weren’t so desperate I wouldn’t be here anyways.” He reached up and scratched a little behind his left ear.

“Only you would be crazy enough to sneak into a house via the moat.” He pulled the napkin out of his collar and walked to one of the chairs in the room before sitting down.

“Front door wasn’t exactly an option.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Once Shad appeared comfortable Link glanced at his shadow again. “You can come out now.”

“Does he really have to see me like this?” Midna asked.

“Would make working together a little easier.” He looked back at Shad for a moment, the look on his friend’s face saying it all. “No one else has to unless you want them to.”

“Fine…” In nearly an instant the imp emerged from his shadow.

Link glanced back in time to see Shad jump out of his seat. His glasses slipped down his nose again as his brows rose in shock. “Wh-what is that?!”

Midna glared at him, baring her teeth.

“Remember The Conjunction?” Link asked. “I mentioned two people to you who had helped me. Ravio and Midna.” He looked to the imp that was floating in front of him. “You met Ravio, briefly. This is Midna.”

The other hylian slowly calmed, his natural curiosity starting to get the better of him rather than the fear of the unknown. He looked her over carefully. “So… So you’re the infamous Midna?”

It was her turn to have a brow raised. She spun in the air to face Link. “Just how much have you told him about me?” Her tiny hands were on her hips.

“That you were a bit of a troublemaker. And a couple of our jobs during the conjunction,” Link said. “Nothing else, I swear.”

“Oh really?” She grinned at him in a way that felt entirely appropriate given her current shape.

[mandysimo13]

It’s Complicated

Here it is! The last of the three promised gift fics. This one is for @notesoflore, who asked for some badass Johnlockary. Ask and ye shall receive! It’s a little longer than anticipated but, hopefully, it does it for you guys. You can also read it here on AO3. Enjoy! 

John really should have been used to being abducted. To waking up missing small chunks of time, feeling nauseous, cold and hungry and angry and sore. He had been friends with Sherlock long enough, and married to an ex-assassin, and had been abducted several times before. If you count anytime he had been shanghaied by Mycroft. Which he did. He really should have been more prepared.

 But he wasn’t.

 Though his eyes were closed, he winced hard as he slowly came to consciousness.

 First things, first. Take stock, he thought to himself. He knew he was lying facedown on damp, cool concrete that smelled vaguely of mildew. Basement or a warehouse. He dragged his leaden arms up so he could push himself up and at least roll over onto his back. With a bitten-off groan, he succeeded and opened his eyes cautiously. It was dim, he blinked to clear his watery vision a little. Turning his head, he saw a single ceiling lamp, switched on, and nothing else. No furniture, no windows, not even piping. At least that meant they couldn’t tie him down to anything.

 Next, he wiggled his fingers and toes and found them all in tact. His joints were sore but that probably had more to do with waking up on cement than anything else. His neck began to complain, throbbing at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. His hand came up to rub at it and he hissed in pain, the dull throb not unlike an amorous hickey.

 Injection site, more force than necessary.

 He wondered what they’d actually drugged him with, if they planned on keeping him drugged up or if whoever kidnapped him wanted him awake to interrogate him. As to what they would interrogate him about, John had no idea. Either way, he made an effort to be silent as he dragged himself up off the ground to prop his back against the nearest wall.

 His mouth was dry, possibly a side effect of the drug and definitely a result of being dehydrated. He was unsure of how much time had passed but it was safe to say a couple hours at least. Squashing down his impending nausea and shoving aside his discomfort, he dug in his pockets to see what he still had on him. He had left the house this morning with his phone, keys, wallet, set of nail clippers, pocket flashlight, and handkerchief.

 He frowned to realize whoever had taken him had been very thorough. It was too much to hope that he’d have his phone still on him, but stranger things had happened. In any case, they had cleaned him out.

 Well, nothing for it now but to sit and wait. Just like in the army. Sit and wait.

 ///-\\\

 Mary’s blood ran cold when she walked up on their car with their daughter in her arms. The bags John had been holding were scattered on the ground, keys left near the passenger rear wheel, no sign of John. Kidnapping, he’s been kidnapped. Again.

 He had been out of her sight for no less than two minutes. While she got their daughter changed into a new nappy in the loo, John said he’d take the groceries out to the car. They were going to have a nice night in, movie and homemade pizza with the shit £10 wine like the normal couple they had convinced themselves they were.

 Of course that was too much to ask for.

 Not allowing panic to take control, she shifted Rosie on her hip and dug into her purse to pull out her phone and hit speed dial two. “You better pick up your goddamn phone, Sherlock Holmes,” Mary warned the empty air in front of her.

 He answered on the first ring.

 “Mary, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 “John’s gone,” she said, unable to keep the small tremor out of her voice. “Someone’s taken him.”

 The answer was immediate. “Where are you?”

 She told him her location and Sherlock assured her he’d be right there.

 “Did you call the police?”

 “Course not, they’re morons,” Mary said, trying for levity. They shared a strained laugh before she continued. “But they are the next call. We’ll need access to the lot feeds and they’ll be useful in that capacity.”

 “Excellent, Mary. Don’t let them touch anything. I’m already on my way.”

 “We’ll find him, won’t we? Just like before, right?”

 “Of course we will. Hopefully this time he’s not being used for kindling, though. I think it’s a little early for bonfires.”

 “Quite right,” she said, heart picking up speed. She rang off and stood there, leaning against the car as she dialed for Lestrade. If there was anyone who would be willing to let Sherlock get involved, it would be him.

 With the calls made, all she could do was sit and wait.

 ///-\\\

 It took fifteen minutes at the crime scene for Sherlock to determine who had taken John. By the time he got there, Mary had found someone to take Rosie off her hands for the time being and had set up her own perimeter around the car.

 John chose well, in her, he thought silently.

 He had taken a look at the spot and saw John’s keys lying on the ground and had to swallow back a lump of panic. Just like any other case, find and analyse the evidence. Solve the case, he told himself firmly.

 He examined the area, scanned their receipt to see if they had taken anything from their grocery bags, searched the area around the car. Nothing else had been taken, nothing other than John’s keys left behind. A quick look at the lot surveillance yielded a lucky shot of John walking out into the car lot and being tailed by a black van. The footage showed a man opening the side door, hitting John in the neck with something and dragging him into the van before it sped into motion and leaving for parts unknown.

 The van had been partially blocked on the bottom of the frame so it was impossible to read the plate but what they did find made Sherlock’s heart soar with hope. The hand that had delivered the blow to the neck had a tattoo on the back of his hand.

 “I know who took him,” Sherlock declared with delight. Without another thought, he was running out the door and all set to retrieve John himself.

 A grip to the back of his coat stopped him short.

 “Sherlock Fucking Holmes, if you think you’re rescuing my husband without me then you are sorely mistaken.”

 A turn of his head brought an angry, determined Mary Watson into view. Instantly chastised Sherlock stilled. He cleared his throat, “of course. Apologies.”

 Lestrade spoke up and said, “who took him, Sherlock? Tell us and we can all go and get him back safely.”

 Sherlock straightened his coat like a disgruntled bird would smooth its feathers. “A man named Panczenko. Rather, an associate of Panczenko, I recognize the tattoo. I ran into them during my time away. He’s an arms dealer, dabbles in the drug trade and was looking into expanding his enterprise in Russia. I discovered him when I was dismantling Moriarty’s network. I might have caused,” he hesitated, trying to phrase his words correctly, “a slight upset in his supply line.”

 “How,” Mary asked.

 “He had a shipment of guns in a warehouse that I accidentally liquidated.”

 “Is that a fancy way of saying you destroyed the warehouse,” Lestrade asked.

 Sherlock nodded. “More accurately, I had to blow it up. The warehouse they were using was partly owned by a member of the network I had been hunting. I couldn’t get close to him, not without some measure of personal risk. So, I had to go with a more...covert approach.”

 “A bomb is covert,” Lestrade asked incredulously.

 Sherlock shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Could detonate from afar, ensure maximum likelihood of death, cathartic in a sense.”

 “Hang on, how did they find out about you, though,” Mary asked.

 “Criminals talk. I was taking out people left and right, in those days. I didn’t think I was coming home. I wasn’t exactly careful, after a certain point. It’s how I eventually got caught.”

 “And now they want revenge,” Mary said plainly. “Exactly how much did you blow up?”

 “Several hundred thousand pounds worth of merchandise. Some members of their organization, too. Not exactly a write off.”

 Mary, in a second, had turned from “scared wife and mother” to “ready for battle assassin”. For not the first time in his life, and certainly not the last, Sherlock was impressed by Mary’s ability to prioritize and seamlessly blend into any situation she found herself in. Staring up at him she said, “well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get our John back.”

 Sherlock nodded and said, “yes. Let’s go get our John back.”

 ///-\\\

 When Sherlock and Mary burst into his cell, both brandishing guns and murderous scowls, John had to fight the urge to laugh and kiss them both. They were both stunning, sweeping into the room, almost in slow motion to John’s tired brain, looking like some kind of old school spy movie.

 I watch too much fucking James Bond, he thought distantly.

 Not long after, a policeman came barreling in, guarding the door. Commotion rang outside but John couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when the two loves of his life were crouched in front of him, touching his face with concern.

 Mary swept his sweaty fringe back to inspect a cut on his forehead while Sherlock cupped and held his cheeks up to the light to examine his black eye.

 “What have they done to you, John,” Mary asked, barely containing her anger.

 “Just roughed me up a bit,” John answered, wincing at their prodding.

 “Black eye, split lip, two superficial cuts to the forehead,” Sherlock rattled off automatically. He pushed John’s head to the side to look at his neck and he surprised all present by literally growling at what he found. “Whoever kidnapped you was a bloody butcher. I’ve seen better injection sites from first year med students and shaky junkies.”

 John smiled fondly and shoved them both off. “If you two are quite done.” He held out his hands for them to help him rise, which they did, and he staggered a little on his feet. Immediately two arms came around his waist to support him. Between the aftereffects of the drugs, having no food or water in the twelve hours he’d been captive, and the knocking around he’d been given, he was not at his best. “Take me home, if you would be so kind.”

 “Yes, John,” his wife and best friend answered in tandem.

 On the way home, sandwiched between Mary and Sherlock while Lestrade drove, the two grilled him about his time as a captive. On autopilot, he told them that he was asked details about Sherlock’s life. People he loved were threatened if he didn’t answer and he was beaten repeatedly when he didn’t comply.

 When Lestrade pulled up in front of Mary and John’s flat, he offered Sherlock a ride but the detective waived it off. “John needs looking after.”

 John anticipated Mary telling him that she was capable of taking care of him herself but, to his surprise, she seconded Sherlock’s statement. His heart felt full. Normally, he found himself tugged in two directions: the family he had always wanted with Mary and Rosie on one side, Sherlock and the adventure he had always needed on the other. He loved them both tremendously and felt guilt gnaw at him whenever he was with one without the other. He was better, happier, when he could have them both in the same room.

 He had stopped hiding his feelings after Sherlock came back. At least from himself he did. It was Mary who ended up saying the words out loud first. Long after the bullet wound had healed, not long after they brought Rosie home. He had spent so much time away from Sherlock that it made him ache. But parting from his wife, his new child, the thought made him feel like scum.

 He couldn’t decide which was worse.

 She cornered him after putting their daughter to bed. “You love him. He loves you.”

 “I do. I think he does.”

 “It’s obvious.”

 John had laughed humorlessly. “You two sound so alike. What’s that say about me, then? Hmm?”

 “That you’re in love. And you’re feeling guilty as shit, not wanting to choose.” She had stared him down, not pulling away from him or their situation. “I’ll not lose you, John,” she had told him plainly. “But I do think there could be...accommodations made.”

 John shook his head. “I would never risk us.” It was unclear if he was talking about his friendship with Sherlock or his marriage with Mary. It didn’t really matter. There was too much at stake.

 Mary had kissed him then and told him, “you might be surprised. My offer stands. If you ever gather the courage to ask him.”

 That conversation haunted him for months. The offer sat on the tip of his tongue for weeks and each day he grew closer to saying it. But in the end, he always chickened out.

 Dragging his thoughts to the present, John walked into his house with Mary in front of him and Sherlock behind. He wash ushered into the shower by Mary and Sherlock announced he would make John dinner.

 He cleaned himself thoroughly, sighing at the warm water working magic on his stiff, sore limbs. When he emerged, it was to the smell of a proper fry up and fresh pajamas. On the nightstand was two paracetamol tablets and a glass of water, which he downed greedily. Empty glass in hand, he went in search of his rescuers.

 In the kitchen he was handed another glass of water and then a cup of tea. Both went down easily and soon a plate of food was put in front of him. After his plate was clean, he looked at both Sherlock and Mary and asked, “what now?”

 His wife and friend looked at each other then back to John. Sherlock remained silent and Mary sighed, exhausted. “This ends right now.”

 John’s heart lurched in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

 “I’m tired of pretending like you two aren’t completely gone over each other.”

 “Mary,” John started, not wanting to get into it just yet but Mary was having none of it.

 “Neither of us can live without you, John.” She let the statement fall. Silence followed it, heavy and thick. Her eyes watered and she averted her gaze to try and hide it. “While you were gone, while we were looking for you, we talked.”

 John licked his lips nervously. “Go on.”

 Mary, landed her gaze on Sherlock and it seemed to him that she was begging Sherlock to say something. He cleared his throat and toyed with his own hot mug of tea.

 “It was mutually agreed that neither of us can let you go. Nor are we willing to let you continue feeling guilty for having to choose between us.”

 John’s palms began to sweat and his eyes darted between the two people who he loved most in the world. “So...what does that mean?” A million thoughts zipped through his mind.

 Is one of them leaving? I think, I know I can’t handle that. Losing Sherlock almost killed me, Mary’s the mother of my child, how do I keep them, I can’t-

 “Stop thinking, John,” Sherlock told him firmly.

 John swallowed thickly. “I...I can’t.”

 “You don’t have to. We’re not going anywhere,” Mary promised.

 “What does that mean,” John asked, tired and growing increasingly unsure.

 “It means,” Sherlock said, turning to look at Mary.

 “That we’re making room,” she concluded for him.

 John sat, brain unwilling to process the information he had received. Without a word, Sherlock and Mary rose and helped him stand and lead him to the bedroom. Mary left the two men alone while she checked on their daughter and John finally seemed to find his words without so many people in the room.

 “So you just decided all this without me, then?”

 “Are you saying you don’t want this?”

 “That’s not what I’m saying,” John replied instantly.

 “Then don’t overthink it.”

 John sat on the edge of the bed, covering his eyes with his hand. “This is so complicated. So fucked, I don’t know where to even begin.” He looked up at Sherlock and asked, “how did we get here?”

 Sherlock stared right back and said, “Who cares, John?”

 “Who cares, indeed,” Mary said, walking back into the room. She began changing, readying herself for bed and John was about to protest, uncomfortable with the sudden ease of nudity in the room but she beat him to it. “We’re going to be getting very familiar in short order, might as well get a jump on things.”

 She dug into John’s drawers and pulled out an oversized shirt and a pair of John’s pajama pants. “Might be a little short, but they’ll do.” She tossed them to Sherlock and said, “extra toothbrush on the sink.”

 “Thank you,” he said softly, leaving to go ready himself for bed.

 John sighed. “Better go make up the couch, then.” He tried to rise and Mary gently pushed him back down on the bed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. He sleeps here. There’s room enough.”

 “But-”

 “But nothing, John.” She smiled at him and said, “I agree that this is...odd. But since when have we three been normal, eh?”

 Accepting defeat, John nodded once and slipped between the sheets. Soon Mary joined him and then, standing awkwardly in the doorway, Sherlock appeared. He fidgeted with his fingers and John took one look and, finally realizing all he could have if he just stopped thinking, took pity on him. He held up a corner of the duvet and said, “get over here, git.”

 Sherlock relaxed and did as told. John soon found himself in the middle of his bed with a head resting on each shoulder. For the first time since Sherlock’s return, he felt completely and totally whole. His arms squeezed the two of them close and he let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. He had never been so at peace.

 There was just one thing that would make the situation perfect.

Reading his thoughts, Mary tilted her head up and kissed him slowly, sweet, familiar lips welcoming him home. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. Good night, John.” She looked over at Sherlock with a look that said your turn, dummy.

 Sherlock moved slowly and said, “John, may I-”

 “Yes,” John finished for him.

 Almost shyly, Sherlock cupped his chin with one hand and John angled his lips down to meet Sherlock’s. Soft as Mary’s but more timid. Over far too quick for a first kiss, but perfect nonetheless, Sherlock pulled back and said, “good night, John.”

 He pressed one more quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips and then turned to kiss the top of Mary’s head. He said aloud, to them both, “good night.” Then, softly, he added, “I love you.”

 “Love you, too,” the two voices against his chest answered.

 Their situation was bizarre. Complicated beyond belief. But they were right, it didn’t matter how they got there. All that mattered is that they loved each other and they were moving forward together. They’d figure it all out in the morning. Without the weight of guilt on him for the first time in over three years, John Watson slept peacefully.

[thegodthief]

My hubris caught up with me and I took a nap this afternoon. I dreamt of an oil well rig being set up in the middle of Fuck You County (some back-ass part of Texas) in an area that the First Nations peoples had warned was No Good™.

The first week of drilling was one broken thing after another. If it was a hose, is burst or got clogged. If it was a pipe or a shaft, it broke. If it was electrical, it fried. Every day some poor soul passed out from heat stroke despite all the legitimately best efforts by the foreman to keep his men safe. The second week was double the first week’s costs.

The Suit (read: upper management) didn’t care about the increasing costs of drilling. He bragged that not only was the rig replaceable, but so were the men, and he didn’t care if it cost them their souls to get the well dug, that well better be dug on time because the projected profits would greatly overcompensate for the financial cost of digging it.

“You willing to bet your soul on that, Sir?”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t care if it cost us our souls, Sir. Do you care if it cost yours?”

“If I could get this well dug and pumping on time, I’ll gladly give up my soul, if anyone could actually find the damn thing first! Ha!”

“We’ll get it done, Sir. We’ll get it done.”

“You better, or your blood is gonna lube the next rig!”

The Suit left with orders to resume drilling but the foreman told everyone to go into town for the night. He paid everyone several hundred dollars cash and said he wasn’t going to ask how it was spent as long as everyone was back on site before 6am. Those who knew him well immediately grabbed the youngbloods and raced away from the site in fearful silence.

The foreman went in the operations trailer and came out with his thermos of coffee. He moved to stand alone on the platform and looked up to the hanging shaft above him, then down into the connected drilling shafts standing still under him. He took off the plain gold chain and crucifix he wore in defiance of the safety rules about jewelry and began fingering the delicate links. He sipped his cold coffee and watched the still dry scenery alone.

The sun set, and he remained standing on the platform. His lips barely moved as he muttered well practiced words to himself and no one in particular.

The night embraced the land and the rig. He had a flashlight clipped to his belt but he had not activated it. The only sources of light were the red safety lights on the console reflecting off his dry unfocused eyes.

A stillness rose off the ground shortly after midnight. As if all of physical existence was trying to lie low and not be noticed. Something was near. Something was listening. Something was reaching for the immobile standing man on the drilling platform. The man held out a glinting thing in his hand and took a breath to speak.

“With Christ as my witness, you heard his offer. His soul for the successful completion of the well. If this is not suitable for you, I give you my treasure for the safekeeping of my men. Let the equipment fail, but touch not those who hold faith in me.”

The glinting thing turned. The red safety lights gave the gold crucifix the appearance of being smothered in blood. The foreman opened his hand, and the crucifix and chain fell into the exposed drilling shaft. Even if it had been caught by the lubrication mud and was recoverable, the moment the drilling resumed, it would be torn into pieces and made part of the lubrication driving the invasive steel deeper into the virgin earth.

The old hands returned to the rig at five in the morning. Each one bore an offering of a full thermos of coffee for the unusually drowsy and pale foreman. A youngblood spied a newly healing scar on the foreman’s exposed arm and pointed in preparation for making an inquiry. He was quickly slapped by the veterans and told to stop making up stories before he earned scars of his own to tell.

The drilling began without harm to men or equipment, but the ground under them fought back. For all the crew’s best efforts, the drilling proceeded slower than anticipated. They were not going to make the deadline at this pace.

A few mornings later, the foreman was studying the readings from the previous day’s work. He wondered if what he gave wasn’t going to be enough this time. He had been warned when he learned the skill that eventually he was going to have to start offering pieces of himself instead of just trapping fools with their own words. His nearly faded scar on his arm itched as he reflected on the piece of himself he already gave, but it looked like he would have to give more.

Instead of the usual offering of coffee from his crew, he heard terrible shouts and a few screams. He grabbed his shotgun and shouldered open the door ready to retaliate against the perceived attack.

“You the foreman? Sorry I’m late, man. I was supposed to be here two days ago, but the ground is really fucking hard to get through. No wonder you’re having problems.”

A large, thick, and muscular… man… dressed only in trousers made of sackcloth stood barefeet at the feet of the stairs leading to the operations trailer. The foreman thought this was the most severe case of sunburn he has ever seen in his life, because the barely dressed man was as red as a cooked lobster from the curled stubby horns on his head to the spaded tail idly sweeping behind him.

The foreman blinked.

Horns.

Tail.

Around the red creature’s neck was a very familiar gold chain and crucifix.

“Yea, I’m the foreman. Call me ‘Fuck’, cuz if I hear anyone yelling that, it better because something is really fucked up or I’ll fuck him up. You the Devil?”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Fuck. Naw, I ain’t the Devil. Just a demon. Assigned to your crew for the duration of the drill. I ain’t got a name like you folk have names, so whatever you wanna call me is good with me.”

“Demons start shit. And I ain’t having that. That weren’t the deal.”

“Unbonded demons start shit, Mister Fuck.” The demon fingered the necklace collaring him. “See this? It’s the mark of a covenant. I ain’t here to start any shit with you, or with the men under you. I’m here to help you dig this well and to dig it on time. I take it you’re a couple days behind already, so I’m here to push you back on time and finish the job. And when the rig is done, I leave, and you and those who hold faith in you remain untouched by me and mine. Someone else’s soul is liened for payment.”

The foreman lowered his shotgun and uncocked it in a show of peace. “Well, ain’t that precious. Yea…. that’s your name. LISTEN UP GUYS! THIS HERE IS PRECIOUS, AND HE’S GONNA GIVE US A HAND. YOU ALL HAVE TWO HOURS TO FIGURE OUT WHERE PRECIOUS IS GOING TO BE BEST AT WORKING AND THEN IF YOU ALL DON’T GIVE ME SOME PROGRESS TO TRACK I’M GONNA THROW ALL OF YOU DOWN THE FUCKING WELL! I figure two hours is gonna be enough time for me to figure out if you’re gonna be first or last down the well if I don’t get some payback on my investment, Precious.”

The eight foot tall demon shifted as he absentmindedly flexed in glee. “You’ll get your payback, Mister Fuck! You’ll see!”

“That’s BOSS FUCK to you! And I don’t see you doing anything other than NOT FUCKING WORKING ON MY RIG!”

“Yea, Boss! On it, Boss!” The demon turned around in preparation for crossing over to the platform but the foreman yelled at him to wait a bit.

“CHRIS! DON’T YOU BE FUCKING HIDING FROM ME NOW CHRIS, I NEED YOUR HEAD OUT YOUR ASS YOU CHICKEN SHIT MOTHERFUCKER! IF I AIN’T SCARED YOU AIN’T GOT NO RIGHT TO BE SCARED EITHER! CHRISTOPHER! DON’T MAKE ME SAY YOUR FULL NAME, YOU FUCKING BASTARD! I WILL FEED YOU TO THE WELL!”

The veterans of the crew were a superstitious lot, but they were more afraid of the foreman than of any supernatural force, divine or infernal. Chris pulled his head out of his ass himself from his hiding spot and ran to stand beside Precious. “Yes, Boss!”

“Get Precious some boots and gloves that fit.”

“Eh, Boss, I don’t need….”

“Shut up, Precious. You’re on my fucking crew now, may whatever god or devil you fuck with have mercy on you. And ain’t no damn soul, or any saintly ones either, stepping on my rig without non-slip boots and all-grip gloves. Everything else is on you.”

That command was all the crew needed to be able to accept the demon as an equal among them. (Though the youngbloods had to wash the piss out of their overalls before the veterans let them back on the rig.) Though the foreman gave them two hours to see where the demon Precious would fit best, the crew found their new formation in twenty minutes.

Though Precious handles the pipes like any other roughneck, there was something about the demon personally escorting the pipes into the ground that made the entire procedure flow exceedingly well. By noon, they had already made as much progress as the twenty-four hours prior to Precious’ appearance.

In the days that followed, Precious was a surprising cheery presence on the rig. He told stories about the First Nations peoples that were there before and hinted to why they considered the area to be a cursed place to be avoided. “Some things were buried for a reason, and not just to decay, as if it could decay at all.” He learned new expletives that delighted him, and his laughter at a successful prank shook bones and steel frame alike.

The foreman liked him because he could reheat coffee with just a glance, regardless of the container obscuring direct line of sight.

When the Suit came to inspect progress in person, Precious could not be found. So the Suit saw the men struggling to make any headway against the recalcitrant bedrock just as they had struggled before the demon’s appearance. The arrogant manager felt that hard work made for good servants, and nodded his approval at the excessive toil on men and equipment in his presence.

Precious would reappear after the Suit left, scowling and muttering words that decomposed the gloves and boots he was wearing requiring replacements of both. The moment he laid a hand on the pipe, the process would become smooth and easy again. However, Precious’ mood would not return to its regular gay levity until the next day.

Three days before the deadline, the drilling rig struck the target depth. Veteran, youngblood, and demon all exchanged high fives, chest bumps, and ass slaps. The foreman would not report the success until the test pumping rig was installed. If the flow met a certain level of measurement, then and only then, would the rig be considered complete.

Precious assured the foreman that the flow would be constant after the demon left. There was more than enough pressure under the ground to support demand, the demon said calmly before warning the foreman to expect to use reinforced pumps after his departure. “My presence is tempering more than just resistance.”

The well passed the test, and the results were sent back to corporate headquarters for confirmation. Precious removed his gloves and boots in preparation to leave.

“Well, Fuck. Got a question for ya.”

“What, Precious.”

The demon fingered the gold necklace collaring him. “Want it back?”

The witnessing crew held their breath. This was more than just about the necklace, they understood. The foreman swished cold coffee between his teeth than spat it on the ground. “No.”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“It was. I gave it up, free and clear. On the first day we met, Precious, you said that an unbonded demon starts shit, and that necklace is the mark of a covenant that I’m assuming is keeping you bonded and at peace with us. I didn’t remove it then, and I ain’t removing it now. Your assignment with me is completed. Report to your overseer for the next.”

Precious smiled and showed sharp triangular serrated teeth. “You know, Boss Fuck, you ain’t a stupid man. And that’s why we like you. You know how to make, and keep, a deal. I’m off, then. As commanded. Pleasure working with you and your men, Sir.”

The foreman stuck his hand out towards the demon. “Pleasure having you work with us. If you ever get bored of being a demon, you have a spot with us.” 

Precious looked at the outstretched hand and slowly took it. He did not answer but shook the mortal man’s hand with an honest grip. He released the foreman, pulling the last hues of the scar off the foreman’s arm as he moved away, and walked away from the rig towards the uninhabited depths of the desolate land.

The next day the Suit appeared with several acolytes sycophants subordinates in tow. The Suit took credit for the success of the rig after revealing the corporation had already written off the rig as a loss and had ordered the crew to be reassigned elsewhere. “But my persistence and dedication to the company inspired these men to complete my vision and achieve the impossible! This is the achievement that has me now in consideration for the board!”

The foreman’s stern glare kept the youngbloods from adding their observations to the Suit’s speech. The veterans just smiled kindly and nodded their last respects to the man who was going to pay for Precious’ assistance. It was said that within the hour after the Suit returned to his air-conditioned office in a downtown tower of some major city, he fell and was dead before he even hit the ground. The only clue to what ailment had struck him was a strange, deeply infected wound on the inside of his forearm. Yet no one could place when or where the wound was incurred.

The crew broke down their drilling rig and moved on to the next assignment. When the foreman went to clean out his coffee thermos, he poured the dregs of a muddy fluid into the sink, followed by a sudden clunk and the sound of a small chain slipping over the metal lip of the thermos.

His gold necklace and crucifix had been returned to him again.

-fin-

[cyberocean]

I’m More of a Cat Person (One-Shot)

Fandom: GOT7 (with BTS cameo)

Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

Genre: This is pretty fluffy

Word count: 5,017

Warnings: Very mild mentions of sex and suggestive comments.

Summary: You finally have some free time to spend with your close friend and class mate Haruko. It was her turn to choose your hang out spot but her decision didn’t make you very happy. That was until you met a very alluring server.

Comments: In honor of Leader JB’s birthday! It’s a very simple and cute one-shot and I wanted to finish this by the 6th but alas I kept getting distracted. lol Enjoy!

Preview:

“Want to stay another hour and ogle at the Prince of Cats?”

You rolled your eyes but eventually gave in as you knew your friend wanted to spend some time with the dogs. Just because you were a bitter cat person didn’t mean you could take away from your dog-person friend’s enjoyment of the café. Plus, there was Jaebum walking around the place. He would sometimes stop to take care of one of the pets or answer questions from the other guests. But what you kept noticing most were his constant stares in the direction of your table. He would always smile when he would happen to catch you staring back. He was such an incredibly good looking guy and you just couldn’t help it. He was your type of guy from head to toes right down to his bright, wide set of teeth, the sharpness of his nose, the strength of his forehead, his long, long legs, his-

“(Y/N)!”

You jumped right out of your reverie when you heard your name being yelled.

“What?” Your friend was now staring at you as if she were staring at a misbehaving child. “What?!”

You and your friend were out and about in the town trying to figure out what to do for the day. It was a beautiful spring day, the air was crisp and the sky was crystal clear. It was also the weekend so you were eager to go out for some much needed fresh air and fun before university work got the better of you free time.

 “Oh my god! I’m so glad we finally have a day off together!” You said as you hugged you friend Haruko. The two of you had met at the orientation for your graduate school of international studies the previous semester and had become quick friends.

 “I know! Work has been so daunting this month.” Haruko worked as a supervisor at a large fashion retailer while you were a part-time bank teller. Doing your master’s degree while working wasn’t easy but you found support in each other. Haruko had thought her life abroad would be very lonely being so far away from her family and friends who were back in her hometown of Fukuoka, Japan. Fortunately she had found a kindred soul in you who had also left everything behind in your hometown.

 “I bet! Retail is an unforgiving mistress.” You chuckled at your friend who was pretending to choke herself. “Well, let’s forget about work for now. You said there was a place you wanted to check out?” Ever since you started hanging out you made it a habit to visit different cafes and tea houses in the city as a pastime. In the 8 months you had spent together in the city you had both garnered quite a reputation on online review sites. You had even started a blog together.

 “Yup, it’s actually an animal café…” Haruko ended her sentence carefully. She had been trying for a while to have you accompany her to a dog café but she knew you weren’t a big fan. And as expected you didn’t look very enthused.

 “An animal café?” You looked at you friend suspiciously. “I know it’s completely naïve of me to even ask but I’m going to go ahead and give you the benefit of the doubt.” You took a deep breath then looked directly at Haruko again. “What kind of animal café?”

 Haruko grimaced comically, closing one her eyes, and then slowly uttered her answer. “It’s a dog café.”

 “Of course it is.” You huffed and shook your head. “You know I’m not a big fan of dogs. Come on Haru-chan…” You placed your left hand on your hip as you brought your right one to your forehead. This wasn’t the first time that Haruko had suggested it and you suspected it wouldn’t be the last one either. It’s not like you hate dogs, you could find them cute, when they weren’t being hyperactive little burdens. The problem was that your experiences with dogs at the dining table were not so pleasant.

 When you looked up again, Haruko was giving you the biggest googly eyes you had ever seen on your friend. She almost looked like she had a Puri-Cura style eye enlarging filter over her already adorable face. “Come on (Y/N)! Please! Just this once! I swear we won’t be there too long. And if you find you don’t like it at all and can’t stand to be there even a millisecond then we’ll leave. I promise!” She crossed her delicate fingers in front of her face. “Just humor me this once.”

 You stared at your cute friend for almost a full minute before all the air left your lungs in a long, suffering sigh then you shook your head in defeat. “All right! All right! I’ll do it.” Haruko was about to explode from happiness but, before she could, you placed one of your hands on her shoulder. “But only this ONCE.”

 “Yes yes yes yes! Of course!” Haruko gave a small jump then hugged you very tightly. “Ikuyo!! Let’s go!”

 *****

 “Welcome to Wan Wan Café.” A girl with a high pitched voice greeted them from behind a wildly colored counter. She had a very big smile and an adorable bob cut that framed her rounded face very fashionably.

 “Hello~~” Haruko went in first, waving at the young girl. “A table for two please.”

 “Of course! How long will you be with us today?” The girl brought out a small pad with a sign-up sheet.

 “Hhm… Is it ok to do an hour first and then go from there? This is my friend’s first time and she doesn’t hang out around dogs very much.” Haruko looked over her shoulder at you but you weren’t paying any attention, instead you were interestedly looking around at the décor and beyond the iron gate by the counter that kept the dogs from wondering into the receiving area. Haruko turned back to the girl and leaned on the counter to whisper to her. “I’m trying to convince her that these cafes are good but I don’t want to push it you know.”

 The girl nodded her head as she giggled. “I totally get it. Don’t worry. We’ll put you down for an hour and if you wish to stay longer then you can just let your server know.”

 “Thank you!” The girl handed Haruko the form and she filled it out for the both of you.

 “Ok ladies. Please wait here one moment and one of our servers will come get you.” She typed your information into a computer and left through a door behind the counter.

 “It’s cute isn’t it?” Haruko asked you.

 “Yeah, the décor is pretty nice. But I can tell it’s going to be quite noisy in there.” Already the sounds of barking were drifting in from the main area. Through the Victorian style gate that separated them from the action you caught a glimpse of a young woman trailing behind a little French Bulldog. The dog’s dorky face made you giggle. Suddenly an adorable looking beagle was at the gate and he started scratching the metal railing.

 Haruko was already visibly excited as she stepped forward to coo at the little guy. The dog was wagging its tail vigorously which he followed with some pretty loud barking. You cringed a bit at the sound.

 “All right Taffy, stand back boy.” You heard the voice before you saw the man. He had a smooth timbre to his voice that made you immediately zero in on his face. The guy was pretty tall with very long legs. His hair was pure black, slicked back in a neat, dandy style. He was dressed casual, like the rest of the staff, but somehow his ripped jeans and baggy hoodie looked extra fashionable on him. That could’ve been because his face was gorgeous and his ears were full of piercings, though. “Welcome ladies.” He said when he finally managed to get Gummy distracted enough he stepped out into the receiver. “My name’s Jaebum and I’ll be your server today. You can call me JB though. It’s easier to remember.” Haruko immediately gave her signature Japanese bow to the man, who was obviously Asian as well, but you were slightly frozen in place.

 “Thank you so much JB. I’m Haruko and this is my friend (Y/N). It’s her first time at a pet café.” It was a good thing your friend’s brain was functioning because you were very blatantly just staring at the server who had definitely noticed. Haruko shook you slightly by the arm. “You ready (Y/N)-chan?”

 You came out of your dumb stupor and smiled at them both. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I’m a little bewildered by the whole concept still.” Great (Y/N)! So mooth… You thought sarcastically as you followed the chuckling server and your grinning friend. Real smooth… Jaebum brought them to one of the tables that lined the walls. Most of them had good views of the city below which was a big plus for you as reviewer. The center of the café was set-up as a play area and covered with foam like tile in green. It almost resembled a little garden surrounded with dog toys and other cute decorations. Overall the place seemed clean and didn’t smell as bad as you thought it would. “Hey, it smells nice in here.”

 Jaebum scooted the chairs back for each of you for which you both smiled. Slight blushing might have happened as well. “Yeah, the place is designed with really good ventilation and we use air purifiers with natural deodorizers such as coffee grounds and activated charcoal.” He set down the menus for you girls then straightened out his clothes as he stood tall again. “Well ladies, we do have a complete coffee menu and an extensive list of teas. We can also prepare them as milk tea if you like. Your entrance fee includes one free drink, any of them are ok. Finally, these” he pointed at two comically little menus with wooden covers “are the dessert and snack menus. Since it’s your first time with us I’ll give you gals a few minutes to look over the menu.” The little French bulldog from earlier popped its head between Jaebum’s legs out of nowhere which made the man startle a bit and start laughing. “And of course, you’re free to play with any of our dogs. This is JJ. Say hi to the cute ladies JJ.” He scratched the little dog’s head which made him shake his head and move closer to where Haruko was sitting. The woman was so excited she started scratching the little dude’s ears and chin. Jaebum chuckled at the scene. “He definitely likes you. All right. I’ll be back in a bit.” He finished with a bow then went over to another table.

“He is so cute!!” Haruko shrieked.

“Yeah he is.” you said.

Haruko looked up at you to ask you to pet JJ but she realized that you weren’t looking down at the dog. You were still looking in the direction of the handsome server. “Umm… (Y/N)-chan?” nothing. “(Y/N).” nothing. “(Y/N)!”

“What?” You looked back at your friend with big eyes. “Sorry!” You face was slowly becoming pink. “Yes, yes. The goofy dog is cute too.”

The room then became engulfed in Haruko’s loud laughter which made a few of the dogs and all the humans turn their way. Most of the time you were very glad your friend wasn’t as bashful as other Japanese girls you had met but at that very moment you really wished she was just a tad less loud. Haruko noticed your embarrassment and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.” When she finally calmed down she crossed her arms over the table giving you a mischievous smile. “So? Are you glad we came?”

You took a deep breath. “We only just got here. But I’ll give this place its full hour and see how it goes.” Honestly it wasn’t as bad as you had thought initially. You thought you would be walking into a place that would be as loud as a pet shelter and just as smelly but the café was actually pretty calm. There were only about 5 dogs lurking around at the moment, the air felt clean and the calming aroma of coffee beans and baked goods was floating around. As you looked through the menu you both immediately fell in love with the selection, especially with the sweets. “This really reminds me of the cafes I used to visit in Kyoto and Osaka.”

“Sou desu ne. The sweets selection is very Japanese, except they have some Taiwanese and Korean style snacks too.” Haruko was looking through the desserts menu when her eyes went really big. “AH! Fresh Taiwanese taro cakes! I’m having that. I’m so having that. It’ll go great with a nice cup of hot Oolong.”

“I completely agree. But I think I’m gonna go with something a little more traditional Japanese.” You were very impressed with the different kinds of green tea that they carried. “These people are quite serious about their café and tea house side of the business. Why even bother with the dogs?”

“Not much a dog person?” Jaebum was suddenly at your table again, a big smile on his cute lips.

You both looked up a bit startled which made Haruko chuckle. “Oh no I love dogs. The fact that you guys also have an awesome selection is just the smooth taro crème in the flaky cake.”

“Wow, that’s a good one.” Jaebum laughed at her little pun. “I’ve never heard that one before. Is that what you would like to order?” Haruko nodded at him and also ordered a pot of Oolong tea. He jotted down her order then turned to you. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’m actually more of a cat person.”

Jaebum chuckled again. “I’ll be honest. I really like dogs” he leaned a bit closer to you and whispered “but personally I’m also more of a cat person.” He came back to full height with his smile still in place. “I have a cat at home. Her name is Nora. She’s a sneaky little ball of fur but I love her.” Your eyes lit up and you clapped your hands mutely at his confession. You loved cats and guys who loved cats where totally your type. “Anyway, what I actually meant was ‘what would you like to order’.”

Haruko started laughing loudly again as you realized your slip-up and your face started heating up. “Oh, yes! Of course!” You quickly looked down at the page of the menu you had left open just so you could hide your pink-ish face. Jaebum was trying not laugh out loud. He was actually starting to feel guilty for embarrassing you. “I’ll have the pot of Matcha infused Sencha and the adzuki roll cake.” You said almost lamely but you finally looked up and smiled at him.

“All right, I can appreciate someone with classical tastes.” Jaebum took one set of the menus. “I’ll be back with your orders very shortly. Make yourselves at home.”

Once Jaebum disappeared through the kitchen doors you dropped your face onto the table as your friend started laughing again. “Why must I make a fool out of myself in front of every cute guy I meet?”

“There, there.” Haruko petted your hair. “I think he was kind of flirting with you, actually.”

“No way! Not even for a minute.” You brought your face back up, breathing in and willing your face to stop feeling so hot.

“Well, why don’t we go play with some of the dogs so you can forget all about your oh so tragic moment of failure.”

“Yah! Please stop!”

You both left the table and made your way to the center of the room to roll around with the cute pups.

******

“AH!” Jaebum grabbed his hair as he melted against the wall. “I’m so stupid.” Just after he had taken the girl’s orders he had made his way to the kitchen and began berating himself over what happened. He had clearly embarrassed the girl which had been far from his intention.

“Woah. Buddy, what’s up.” The café’s owner and pastry chef was just coming out of the pantry when he heard Jaebum’s usual shouts of frustration. He knew the guy was kicking himself over something silly.

“Jin-hyung…” His hands were now dragging down this face in an attempt to get over his own embarrassment.

“Let me guess. You made a fool of yourself in front of a cute girl.”

“No, worse. I kind of made a fool of her.”

Seokjin cringed at that. “Man, what’d you do? Is this going to affect business?”

“AH!!” He covered his face again, actually banging his head against the wall. “I don’t think so but damn it. She might not come back.”

The pastry chef rolled his eyes. “Come on man! You can’t be like this!” He gave Jaebum a loud clap to his shoulder that had him hit his head again. “Tell me what happened?��� Jaebum proceeded to explain the situation exactly as it happened and the more Seokjin heard the more he laughed.

“Why are you laughing hyung?! I’m suffering here!” Jaebum was at the verge of melting down to the floor, as he usually did when he was overwhelmingly frustrated.

Seokjin shook his head. “What did they order?” He took the order pad from Jaebum. “Table five?” the server simply nodded his head and pointed to the correct part of the order. “Ok! Your very handsome hyung has come up with a solution. Follow me.”

******

You were both playing around with a brown poodle that seemed to have taken a liking to you. You kept trying to make the dog stop licking your feet. “Did I step on some food or something?” You looked under your shoe but saw nothing there. The poodle proceeded to start licking your hand instead. “Oh come on! No, no, no, I need that hand not to be full of doggy germs so that I can eat peacefully.”

“Ladies, your tea and cakes.” Jaebum started placing the items on the table as you came back to your seats. He also placed hand sanitizer and a pair of hot towels on each side. “Your taro cake.” He said as he set down the purple confection in front of Haruko. “And, here’s your adzuki roll cake.”

You looked down at your cake and gasped. “This is so cute!” The maroon cake had been decorated with a pair of whipped cream cat ears and whiskers. There were two dollops of adzuki bean paste as eyes and one as its nose.

“A special treat from me. I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier.” Jaebum bowed with the empty tray pulled to his chest.

“Oh, gosh. Thank you. That’s very sweet of you. I guess I should apologize too. You know, for being such a social klutz.” You chuckled and bowed from the waist. “The cat is pretty on point by the way.” You commented in an amused tone.

“Well, I am an authority on cats around here.” Jaebum gave the room full of dogs and dog lovers a suspicious look which made both girls laugh. “Please enjoy and let me know I you need anything else.”

Haruko looked at you with huge eyes, her lips in a big ‘O’ shape. “Oh my god!! (Y/N)!” She swatted at your arm several times. “Girl, get it! He’s totally flirting!!”

You were completely red by now and you couldn’t stop the big stupid grin spreading on your face. You looked down at your cat roll cake and couldn’t help the feeling that you shouldn’t eat it. It was too adorable. Finally you decided that a picture would last longer so you did the modern thing and instagramed it.

As it turned out the confections were delicious and quite true to their cultural origins. The adzuki crème was very smooth and fluffy and there were deliciously fresh pieces of the actual adzuki bean in it. As far as you were concerned this place would be getting all five stars from you. If Snickers the poodle would stop licking at your shoe that is. “Could you not?” You said down at the brown dog who just sat at your feet.

“Wasn’t that delicious (Y/N)?” Haruko finished off her cake which had been wonderfully flaky and still warm from the oven, just as she loved it.

“Absolutely. I could give this place another try.”

“Want to stay another hour and ogle at the Prince of Cats?”

You rolled your eyes but eventually gave in as you knew your friend wanted to spend some time with the dogs. Just because you were a bitter cat person didn’t mean you could take away from your dog-person friend’s enjoyment of the café. Plus, there was Jaebum walking around the place. He would sometimes stop to take care of one of the pets or answer questions from the other guests. But what you kept noticing most were his constant stares in the direction of your table. He would always smile when he would happen to catch you staring back. He was such an incredibly good looking guy and you just couldn’t help it. He was your type of guy from head to toes right down to his bright, wide set of teeth, the sharpness of his nose, the strength of his forehead, his long, long legs, his-

 “(Y/N)!”

 You jumped right out of your reverie when you heard your name being yelled.

“What?” Your friend was now staring at you as if she were staring at a misbehaving child. “What?!”

“Do you want to order anything else? We should get going soon.”

When you looked down at your wrist watch you noticed that another thirty minutes had already flown by. “I guess I should get one more cup of tea. If their green tea was that good I can’t imagine what their jasmine must be like.”

*****

Just behind the counter Jackson, the tea sommelier, smiled at himself as he prepared a new batch of iced barley tea. The best part of his job was listening to their client’s chatter especially when they were complimenting his creations. He put a lot of effort on his craft and on choosing only the best quality of tea for their shop. He could tell that the girls on table 5 were his type of people, the type that could appreciate a good cup of high grade tea and the best pastry to go with it. That’s why he was pleased that Jaebum had come up with a good way to bridge the awkwardness with their semi-unwilling client. He had been busy behind the counter taking inventory of all their tea when he saw the silly scene unfolding and he really thought this woman would never come back after that. There are few things that keep women away from establishments more than feeling embarrassed in front of an employee, especially when she was making googly eyes at said employee. Things seemed to be better now and the girls decided to stay for another hour, which surprised him.

Jaebum was coming over with the new order from table 5 and as soon as he got there Jackson pinched the server on his side. “Eeeeeeeeey, I see what’s happening here.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Jaebum feigned innocence but he knew Jackson very well. They were friends outside of the café so he knew that the man, despite his loud and seemingly obnoxious behavior, was a very keen observer.

“Don’t play games with me JB. Was the cat roll cake Jin-hyung’s idea?”

“Hell no! He suggested I put rose petals in her tea and write her a poem in chocolate over the roll cake.” Both men chuckled at their strange hyung because of course he would come up with such ludicrous ideas. “Wendy overheard the whole thing and gave me the suggestion.”

“Aaaah, now that makes a lot more sense.” Jackson finished setting up the iced barely tea dispenser then turned to look at the new tea orders. “Awesome. These girls have good taste man. I need them to come back. I want them as regulars, do you understand me JB?” The server nodded his head but seemed a little creeped out by his friend’s insistence. “You don’t get it. Most people come here because they love dogs, which is perfectly acceptable given the fact that this is a freaking dog café. BUT, but, rarely do we get the ones that come back strictly for the awesome things we cook here. So you go out there and you charm those ladies. Here.” He looked under the counter and came back with two small thank you cards. “You write one for your cat lady and I write one for the Japanese angel. Copy?”

Jaebum took the thank you card and nodded. “Oooook. What should I write?”

Jackson gave his friend a tall eyebrow. “Oh I don’t know. Maybe something along the lines of ‘you like cats, I like cats, let’s fuck.’”

“Yah!”

“OH! OH! I have a good one! How about… ‘here’s my address if you want to come visit Nora sometime.’” Jackson patted himself in the back. “Damn, I’m good at this.”

Jaebum rolled his eyes. “Stick to your day job man.” He took the card anyway then pointed at the order he had set down. “Can you please get to your job now? I have tables to serve.”

“Sheesh, here I am trying to get you some kitty-cat loving and this is how you treat me?”

“Jackson, the tea, our valued customers are waiting for it.” And with that he went out onto the floor again.

*****

“Thank you, ladies. We really appreciate you coming to Wan Wan Café today. So how was your first experience at a dog café?” Once the two girls from table five were getting ready to pay their final bill, Jackson decided to come out and deliver his thank you card personally.

“Oh, it was actually pretty fun. But I have a question.” You said to him with a mild smile that then turned into a serious expression.

“Yes m’am?”

“Does Snickers have a foot fetish or something? She would not stop licking my shoes.” You asked in all honesty and you heard Haruko exhaling loudly at her friend’s inability to let the cute poodle live.

Jackson burst out laughing and looked over his shoulder at the dog. “You know, I’ve been asking myself the same thing ever since the boss brought her in. She’s a sweetheart though.” He then turned to Haruko with a big smile and gave her the thank you card with both hands as he bowed at the waist at an almost ninety degree angle. “I noticed you’re a very avid tea lover. I’m a tea sommelier and I consider myself to be a pretty good judge of character. I believe you and I are kindred souls.” He paused dramatically then bowed again. “When it comes to tea, of course.”

Haruko looked very surprise but bowed to him as well. “Thank you. That’s a sweet gesture. And we really did enjoy your incredible tea. We will for sure be back soon.”

Then you added, “Our compliments to the pastry chef too. The cakes were simply perfection. Oh and to our kind server as well.”

“Thank you very much.” Jackson bowed at you as well. “Have a great day ladies.”

Jackson made his way back behind the counter then you and Haruko started giggling with each other as you stood up to leave. “Does this place double as an ikemen café or what?” You said as you grabbed the scarf you had draped over the back of the chair and took your purse. “Is this why you brought me here? You knew this all along didn’t you?”

“I had absolutely no idea (Y/N)-chan. But it all turned out pretty well.” You both made your way to the exit, going through the iron gate again to pay your final bill at the main counter. The same young woman with the bob cut rang you up and you were almost at the door when you suddenly hear a loud “Wait!” You both turned at the door and saw none other than Jaebum walking out of the main area in a hurry.

“I’m sorry, I almost forgot this.” Jaebum was holding a thank you card in one hand while he pulled back his hoodie’s sleeve with the opposite hand. “Thank you for being so understanding today and I’m glad you both stopped by.” He extended his hand toward you with a sheepish smile. “I hope someday I could introduce you to my cat.”

You took the card from him with a smile you couldn’t hold back. It almost felt like your face would split in two. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

“Awesome.” He wiped his slightly clammy hands on the edge of his hoodie and when he noticed the silence was getting awkward he waved and chuckled. “Have a great day. I hope to see you again soon.”

******

As soon as you were out the door you both started laughing. What an adventure that had been. “Oh my god! And that tea sommelier, holy shit!” Haruko fanned her face with both her hands, one of which was still holding the thank you card from Jackson. As you walked toward her car you urged her to open the card and read it which she did. “Ok, ok. Listen. Dear and beloved guest. It has been an honor listening to your delicate voice as you enjoyed the things we have made for you with dedication today. Judging by your great taste and worldly comments I would say you’re a woman who enjoys the finer things in life and knows exactly what she wants. I can only hope that one of those things you desire is a date with me. With much admiration, Jackson Wang.”

“WAAAAHH!!” You both shrieked at the same time then you shook Haruko exorbitantly by her arm. “Get it girl! Did he leave his contact info?”

Haruko only nodded as she fanned her face again with both hands. It took her a moment to gain back her composure and to stop smiling long enough to breath. “Read yours!!”

You looked at the cute little thank you card with a bit of trepidation. What if it wasn’t as cute or inviting? What if it was a sore disappointment and you had read the situation all wrong? “Ok.” You took a deep breath and opened it. There was a single line on the card followed by a kakao ID. As soon as you read the one liner you started laughing out loud. Haruko was looking at you with big eyes urging you to read it out loud. “It says, ‘Hey, I left my kakao ID in case you ever want to meet my cat, Nora.’ And he made an adorable drawing of his cat.”

[itsworn]

How The Hemi & Today’s Demon Got Its Start At Indy in ‘61!

As I walked through the sprawling acreage of Lucas Oil Raceway Park (better known as Indianapolis Raceway Park/IRP) during the 2017 NHRA Chevrolet Performance U.S. Nationals, I tried to imagine what IRP was like during Labor Day of 1961. That’s when “absolutely, beyond a shadow of doubt…the most important drag race in Chrysler history” took place right there on the very soil beneath my feet. That race, run 56 years ago, was directly responsible for the 2018 Dodge SRT Demon Drag Race Simulator I was on hand to help promote.

The quote above came from the late Mopar engineering/racing legend Tom Hoover, and describes an impromptu match race between the new 409 Impala of “Dyno” Don Nicholson and the Ramchargers’ long-ram 413-equipped Dodge Dart Seneca. Though Nicholson’s 409 had defeated Ramchargers driver Al Eckstrand earlier in the hour due to the Dart’s balky three-speed manual transmission, in the time lull between classes the crowd began to chant “re-match, re-match, re-match.” Without the inflexible scheduling caused by modern live TV-broadcast race coverage, the pace was more leisurely and track officials decided “why not.”

Nicholson and Eckstrand quickly returned to the starting line, the flagman moved, both cars pounced, the Ram’s pin-type A239 transmission synchronizers actually cooperated and the full-size C-Body Dodge won by a car length, cranking off a low 13-second e.t. At the time, factory Super Stock machines were the latest thing. Never before did “stock” passenger cars offer so much power. Door slammers suddenly attracted as many spectators as traditional open-wheel race cars.

As Nicholson and Eckstrand pulled onto the return road, the crowd shouted “one more, one more, one more” and by radio the timing tower told the finish line workers to send both cars back to the starting line, pronto! Again, they launched side by side but when Eckstrand rammed the shift lever forward, up and to the right for the 1-2 upshift, the darned A239 ‘box balked and Nicholson’s bowtie took the race, its superior but fragile Borg Warner T-10 4-speed helping a bunch.

But the winning race was photographed heavily and images soon appeared in National Dragster, Hot Rod, Car Craft, Motor Trend and others. In those pre-Internet days, car magazines were even more influential than they are today, and when newly appointed Chrysler Corp. president Lynn Townsend saw them, he wanted more.

Townsend was part of a new breed of auto executives with names like Iacocca, Wangers, Knudsen, Beltz, and others. These fresh thinking corporate chiefs sought to tap into the baby boom market with exciting, youthful offerings. For his part, it helped that Townsend’s teenaged sons kept him up to date on what models were making waves on Woodward Ave. and in the pages of the popular car magazines of the day. Long story short, the Nicholson/Eckstrand run was the match that lit the fuse on the 1962 Max Wedge and 1964 Race Hemi development programs.

Without that singular race and the resulting flood of magazine ink, Hoover and his like-minded band of race engineers might have been shown the door. That’s because another kind of ink—red ink—encircled Chrysler Corporation in 1961. Compared to 1960, DeSoto output was down 88 percent, Dodge was down 33.87 percent, Plymouth was down 21.77 percent and Imperial was down 30.81 percent. Only Chrysler had good news, building 24.8 percent more cars than in 1960. One of Townsend’s mandates from shareholders was to make deep cuts in the engineering budget. Yes, many engineers lost their jobs, but Hoover, Eckstrand, and most of the other Ramchargers were spared….thanks to that freak race at Indy.

Getting back to the present day, the core reason for my trip to the 2017 NHRA U.S. Nationals was to host the Dodge SRT Demon Drag Race Simulator inside the manufacturers’ midway. My honored task during the five-day weekend race was to present 15 minute Demon “show and tell” sessions at the top of every hour. After each 15 minutes of Demon cheerleading was completed, I was free to wander until the next show time.

During each presentation, I used the Demon showcase PA system to continually tell the story of that fluke drag race and how today’s Demon is a direct result. So with this nostalgic mindset, let’s wander the Indy grounds and see how this hollowed competition venue has changed the face of drag racing, and how it still influences it today.

Each Demon simulator is plumbed with functional dashboard air blowers to keep riders cool. I used them as a talking point to discuss Demon’s double-duty Super Chiller that diverts A/C function to drop supercharger inlet air temperature a full 45 degrees lower than ambient air, but also keeps passengers cool.

Matt Hagan’s Hemi Charger flip-top helped the Mopar Fast Lane service division celebrate its 80th anniversary by setting the track record at 3.799 seconds and 338.77 mph. When IRP opened in 1961, the Mopar parts and service division (launched in 1937) was a mere 25 years young.

Ron Capps’ NAPA-sponsored Charger was Funny Car runner-up with a 3.949 second, 325.53 mph rip. The quickest and fastest machine at Indy in 1961 was Pete Robinson’s AA/D blown gas dragster at 8.68/169.49. From 1957 through 1963, the NHRA banned nitro at national events. The Ramchargers’ Dart Seneca ran 13.3s at 109.

Many Fuel Funny Car racers are turning to carbon-carbon front disc brakes from Strange Engineering. Truly immune to fade, the hotter they get the harder they bite. If handled by greasy fingers, Strange says to bake the bare rotors in an electric oven “until the stink stops.” That’s when they’re pure again.

The latest application of the Dart nameplate to a drag machine is light years away from the Ram’s ’61 Seneca. The leaf-blower-from-hell look resulted from the NHRA’s adoption of EFI. Allen Johnson’s Hemi Dart will be his final machine. He’s retiring at the end of the 2017 season after over 500 professional race entries.

If it says “Hemi” on the rocker cover, who are we to argue? Note the equally-spaced spark plug tubes on Allen Johnson’s 11,000rpm Pro Stock mill. Our X-ray camera lens broke but the low-in-a-row spark plug tubes suggest “twisted” chamber and canted valve architecture.

The low-high spark plug tube targeting and tapered roof of this Brad Anderson Top Alcohol rocker cover puzzles traditional Hemi spotters. These adjustments allow for pedestal-mounted rocker arms and larger port housings. There are literally hundreds of aftermarket and factory Hemi head variations.

The Big Go East always features a car show. A much more traditional Hemi powers this 1930 five-window Tudor hot rod. The gorgeous blue multi-shade panel paint was applied by Bucky’s Ltd., home of Bucky Hess and his 150mph 1968 SS/AH Hemi Barracuda.

The color-matched Chrysler Fire Power Hemi was built by Ross Racing Engines. Unlike earlier days when a small four-barrel might have hidden inside its GMC 4-71 blower case, this one’s a legitimate belt-boosted street driver. The quartet of Strombergs adds a crowning retro touch.

The 1970-vintage Paris Brothers Top Fuel dragster has been lightly modernized for NHRA cacklefest appearances. Its dual Chrysler “whale motors” have been revitalized with help from Hot Heads, a leader in the Gen-1 Hemi world.

71 superchargers. At the inaugural 1961 NHRA U.S. Indy Nationals, Dode Martin’s “Two Thing”—running side-by-side supercharged V8s—set the meet’s top speed at 177.87 mph. Other multi-engine Top Gas rails on site in ’61 were Jack Chrisman’s Howard Cam Special, Eddie Hill’s dual-Pontiac rig, and Tommy Ivo’s four-engine Show Boat. In the care of Ron Pellegrini, Ivo’s machine made exhibition runs only.

With machined braces to hold the dual Hemis in alignment, a simple steel hub connects the crankshaft snouts and tails.

A Mopar muscle car-sourced Dana 60 rear axle puts the estimated 2,500 horsepower to the ground. Note how the Paris Brothers used the former pinion snubber support and trio of fastener holes to affix a brace merging the rear engine and axle housing to the frame. Truck/van-sourced Dana 60 housings lack the extra metal and raised pad.

Car Craft archives Of the 32 supercharged AA/GD gasoline dragsters competing at the 1968 Indy Nats, three were dual-engine equipped. Here, the 2,150-pound machine of Frakes & Funk (foreground) awaits time trials with Bill Mullins’ 1,950 pounder. Mullins’ best was a 7.72/194.80.

Before Don Garlits’ March 1970 clutch explosion on the Lions starting line, front-engine “diggers” like the Ditmars Brothers machine were the norm. Note the Gen-2 Hemi’s iron block and heads. Though 1965-vintage aluminum A990 heads were also used, many racers felt iron combustion chambers better resisted melting. Iron blocks were the rule because aluminum clones from Keith Black, Milodon, and Donovan didn’t arrive until the early seventies.

Ever since the original Little Red Wagon A100 pickup truck accidentally yanked the front wheels in late 1964 (with Jay Howell at the wheel), well over a hundred racers have followed suit. The 392 Hemi-powered Little Red Fire Truck was on static display but is active on the exhibition circuit.

A far cry from the stock interior of the original Little Red Wagon, the fire rig’s cockpit puts the driver in the center with plenty of see-through mesh flooring. The twin brake controls—floor pedal and hand lever—affect the rear wheels only; the front axle carries no brakes. Note the absence of a passenger seat. As Jay Leno can testify, The Hurst Hemi Under Glass was built for occasional passengers (Google “Leno/Hemi Under Glass crash” to see the shocking result).

In this age of easy-way-out Chevy-powered wheelie machines, it’s good to see an iron Fire Power Hemi and old-school 6-71 huffer. Hot Heads also sponsors this machine.

The owner of this retro-inspired ’63 Dart GT hardtop probably has no clue a similar Dart 170 pillar coupe won C/Factory Experimental (C/FX) at the 1963 Indy Nats. Driven by California police officer Ron Root, its 225 Slant Six was bolstered by an Offy four-barrel intake (not the expected Hyper-Pak). Root ran a 15.12/90.63 mph to defeat Bruce McConnell’s turbo-215 V8 ’63 Olds Cutlass convertible. Factory Experimental (FX) wasn’t just for big V8s. This red relic is also 225-powered.

The show field included this wild 392 whale-powered ’64 Dodge Polara 500. Owned by Bill Rowe, again that BDS supercharger is no hollowed-out fake. When Ed Donovan’s aluminum 392 racing blocks appeared in 1973, the once obsolete Gen I Hemi was revived in Top Fuel. Drag racing reporters needed to differentiate it from the 426-style Gen II “elephant” Hemi and the “whale motor” designation was born.

Custom mounts position the wide Gen-I Hemi without fender-wall or shock-tower surgery. The hoses are part of the partially hidden air conditioning system. Yep, it has a Hemi …and A/C! The first Gen-II 426 Race Hemis appeared in 1964 Dodges and featured reverse-stamped shock mounts for added clearance.

At the absolute tip of the Hemi spear, modern Top Fuel power plants like the Hennen Motorsports “Road Rage Fuel Booster” machine make nearly twenty five times the original 425 horsepower rating. Had the Ramchargers not beaten Nicholson’s 409 in that fateful 1961 match race, this engine probably wouldn’t exist.

Shown in action at Detroit Dragway, here’s the 1961 Dart Seneca that rattled Nicholson’s 409 and spurred corporate drag race support. Though stripped for dragging, its C-Body was unitized only from the firewall back. It was replaced in 1962 by the 370 pound lighter, fully-unitized B-Body. The 413 Max Wedge—with its one-piece short ram intake manifold—arrived on May 1, 1962.

Hot Rod archives In its coverage of the inaugural 1961 NHRA Nationals at IRP, Hot Rod magazine mentioned that Dodge and its Indianapolis-area Dodge dealers sponsored Dodge Performance Day the day before racing kicked off. Here HRM reporter LeRoi “Tex” Smith (in white) poses with what is probably a Hyper-Pak equipped Lancer GT. The Dart Phoenix or Polara convertible in the background is likely packing a ram-inducted 383 or 413, respectable but of no comparison to the lighter Max Wedges of 1962.

The post How The Hemi & Today’s Demon Got Its Start At Indy in ‘61! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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