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justforbooks · 10 months ago

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Michael Caine wears two watches: an analogue for the time and an Apple for everything else. It even knows his pulse, he says, impressed. Right now, it’s telling him his flat is 26C: warm enough for his wife, Shakira, to pour iced coffee into his flask, but not hot enough for those balcony doors to be open: “It’s blowing a bloody gale in here!”

I slide them shut slightly. Is that OK? A bit more. Enough? Bit more. I close them completely. He’s happy now.

Caine lives in Chelsea Harbour: posh 80s condos and Princess Diana’s gym. He likes the security and tolerates the helicopters. His London penthouse has caramel carpets, 360-degree views, two Oscars and 5,000 photos of his grandchildren.

Below us lies Battersea Bridge, tide low, shore glittering. No, he shudders, he’s never mudlarked. Why not? After all, his first novel, out in November, is about binmen who find uranium down at the dump. “Well,” he says darkly, “other people do things and it goes all right. I do them and bad things happen.”

He looks at me. We’re waiting for his co-star, John Standing, who is stuck in traffic. Caine is a big man with whom to make small talk. It’s not just that your brain short-circuits each time he speaks (Michael Caine?!?!), it’s that at 90, he’s still 6ft 2in, undiminished and simply intimidating.

In 1987, he gave an acting masterclass in which he revealed the secret to being forceful on screen was a) don’t blink and b) mascara. It works face-to-face, too. The first one, anyway.

During the Blitz, says Caine, he watched the city get flattened from his dormer in Camberwell; from here, he’s seen it rise up again. He loves new-build and soft furnishings with the passion of a man raised in an attic with no hot water, one outdoor loo and rickets. Every time a bomb fell, the mattresses doiiinged. “Me and my brother would laugh all through the bleedin’ air raids!”

An update: Standing will be here shortly. I praise the pot-plants and Caine mourns his garden. He was evacuated to Berkshire, where he was fed a tin of pilchards a day and locked in a cupboard for the weekends, and then to rural Norfolk, where he discovered a love of horticulture – later energetically indulged at his own places in Oxfordshire and Surrey.

Less so in Hollywood. He sold up there after someone told him that if he wanted to grow daffodils he’d need to put the bulbs in the fridge for a fortnight. “That was it! Final straw!” But did he do it? “Oh yeah. It worked.”

In comes Standing, 89 but nimble as a debutante, all polish and apologies. They settle down, discuss the weather and a window is discreetly opened. Caine goggles at my iPad, which he mistakes for a phone: “Blimey, that’s a big one!”

The Great Escaper is brilliant, I say. Caine is surprised I’ve seen it, let alone enjoyed it. Didn’t he? “Yeah. But I’ve had films where I liked it but other people didn’t agree with me.”

No wonder it tempted them from retirement: meaty roles dry up as you approach 100. Caine plays Bernard Jordan, a real-life Royal Navy veteran who made headlines in 2014 when he travelled alone from his care home in Hove, East Sussex, to Normandy for the 70th D-day anniversary. The film – flintier than you might think, and very moving – fictionalises a friendship with Arthur, a former RAF pilot (Standing) he meets on the ferry.

Both actors did national service in Berlin after the war; Caine was then drafted to Korea – “a bugger”, he says (his memoir suggests this is understatement). “When we got there they said: the Chinese have just sent a million troops. What? But they were just young kids and old men to take all our ammunition. You shoot at them and then the real fighters come. And that was the Chinese in a nutshell.”

In the film, the pair make a pilgrimage to the war cemetery at Bayeux in Normandy. “What a waste,” cries Bernard as the camera zooms out to show the rows and rows of headstones. Caine doesn’t agree. “You had to have full cemeteries because you’d had to fight the German army, which was not a load of idiots. And the Germans had to be stopped.”

And Korea? Well, communism is “perfectly frightful”, says Standing. Caine nods. “It doesn’t take care of the working class quite the way they say. My father was a fishmonger in Billingsgate, so I knew when I saw the communists, they had no idea what it was all about. Do any working-class people want to live in North Korea?”

They both think national service should be reintroduced. “It gives you a whole new realisation of life,” says Caine. “I notice how different young people are today. They’re so free with everything. Military training makes you think about helping other people. My grandsons – all they do is play football.” (Still, he adds later, they’re also “incredible, unbelievable, and they worry about other people – which is handy”.)

Standing chips in: one of his daughters is “a bit woke” and cautions him about getting cancelled. “It’s horrible! We’re not allowed to say anything. I loathe it. My God, you’re not allowed to have mother-in-law jokes! It’s sort of barking.”

Then again, “things were far less complicated” 70 years ago. He smiles benignly. “Your telephone alone is the most complex thing anybody’s ever dreamed of. You’ve got all the information you ever want. You can chat to Henry VIII. Have you seen the man made of wood and iron playing the most immaculate game of ping-pong and thrashing the ordinary Briton at the other end?”

I haven’t. Caine confesses some concern over robots – that’s partly what his novel, a thriller, is about. “But I’m 90. I don’t worry about the future. I worry if I’m gonna make it to lunch.”

Caine and Standing first met on another hot day, in the summer of 1976, shooting another war movie, The Eagle Has Landed. Caine played a Nazi eager to assassinate Churchill; Standing a rather flaky vicar. Memories of the shoot seem thin on the ground, but they agree moviemaking hasn’t changed much.

“I make my own world,” says Caine. “And if they employ me, they gotta leave me to do it my way. Otherwise I screw it up. And even if I do it my way, I screw it up as well.”

They both chuckle. “Michael, darling!” says Standing.

Have they changed?

Standing sighs. “We’re just so bloody old.”

“And we’re still here,” says Caine.

“Which is incredible! All my mates are brown bread.”

“Oh, mine and all. Sean Connery, Roger Moore. Everybody’s dead. It’s amazing.”

How does that feel?

“Lonely,” says Caine. “I had dinner last night here with eight women. Shakira gets ’em. I don’t get ’em. They’re the wives of my friends. I’m often sitting with a table full of widows.”

Standing empathises. “Hundreds of women round one all the time. And you sit there thinking: give us a break! Ask me something, anything you like!”

Caine nods. “Ask me a question about football! But I’m perfectly happy with all the girls. I love them.”

Again: consult his memoir for more details, but this is putting it mildly. Caine spent the 50s, 60s and early 70s hoovering up hotties across the continents, pausing only for relationships with Natalie Wood and Nancy Sinatra and to refuel on vodka with Terence Stamp and Peter O’Toole.

So when he says he was tired of bachelor life by 1972, you can believe it – he must have been exhausted. He had a night in, saw a Maxwell House ad on telly and resolved to fly to Brazil the next morning to marry the woman with the maracas. No need, said a pal: she was Indian, not Brazilian, and lived on the Fulham Road in west London.

This is one of Caine’s regular chatshow yarns and he duly does it for us today: “I tracked her down! Incredible!” Caine is a bit of an anecdote jukebox – tales triggered by the briefest mention of Cary or Larry or Frank – but with material like his, it’s hard to object. Though charming, he also dominates conversation in general – about which Standing is a gent. Does he miss the 60s? “I don’t miss it, but I love having done it. I used to get into trouble all over the place.”

He and Shakira have been married more than 50 years. Ageing is less awful, he advises, “if you’re married to someone really beautiful who doesn’t grow old. I wake up every morning and there she is!” It’s true: Shakira, 76, does seem preternaturally patient and gorgeous. “What is great about her is that she’s very bright. She was the secretary in the … I forget which country she comes from [Shakira was born in British Guiana, now Guyana], but she was the secretary of the American embassy, so she’s a great secretary for me. She runs everything. It’s unbelievable.”

At the heart of The Great Escaper is another enduring marriage, between Bernie and Irene, played by Glenda Jackson in her final film. She and Caine first worked together 48 years ago. “She was very young and pretty,” he says. “Very attractive. Bloody good actress. But a left-wing socialist and I’m all for making money because I come from a very poor background.” They never talked politics – bit busy making the movies. He saw her five days before she died in June: “She seemed fine.” He’s relieved it was quick.

Bernie and Irene are a devoted couple who, though the film doesn’t discuss it, didn’t have children. Might that have changed their dynamic? “Oh, tremendously,” says Caine. “You don’t have any other separate thing to talk about. You talk about each other. And you don’t have to judge how people feel about someone else. Only you.”

It’s a sharp insight, particularly given that he’s personally “always had children around me like wildfire”. His eldest daughter, Dominique, was born when he was 23, during a brief marriage to the actor Patricia Haines; he and Shakira have another daughter, Natasha. Picking up his eldest grandson from the school is, Shakira tells me later, the highlight of his week. “I love kids,” he says, a bit wistfully.

Standing murmurs agreement. He’s also been married for yonks. The secret, he says, is “laughing with each other”.

Caine is less on-message: “Don’t argue. Don’t try to prove it with arguments or a row. Let ’em do it.”

“Women are No 1 anyway,” says Standing.

“It’s the only place you can get babies,” nods Caine.

“But I gotta say this, Michael: have you seen what women do now?” says Standing. A dramatic pause. He’s a West End veteran, light comedies a specialty. “Cage fighting!” He turns to me. “What possessed your sex to do something like that? For men to cage fight is unthinkable. For women – boom, boom, boom, on each other’s faces! Deranged! But that’s modern life.”

Has Caine seen that? “Oh yeah,” he says blithely. “On television.” And? “I was stunned.” Why? “I wouldn’t do that to anyone. Even if I didn’t like them. I’d just knock ’em out and walk away.”

The real theme of The Great Escaper is – perhaps not one for the poster – that the only escape from old age is death. Yet Caine and Standing continue to produce work that will live on after they’re gone. Caine wrote his first novel bedridden during lockdown, and is now writing a second. Standing is a professional painter. They have six children between them. Are any of these enterprises better or worse as stabs at immortality? There’s only really one, says Caine: “Kindness.” And maybe Alfie. And The Muppet Christmas Carol.

“Michael, darling,” says Standing, “I said to someone the other day: ‘Have you heard of Peter O’Toole?’ She said: ‘Well, I know the name.’ Once you are dead, you are dead. You think of Bogart! But young people only know Goose. What’s he called? Gosling. Big names in the theatre – Gielgud – mean nothing.”

That craft and that class is history, they reckon. When I ask Caine who today’s version of him is, he agrees there isn’t one.

“Because you don’t get young people now who are that far back in society. That had to come forward in great leaps. I think my type of person is extinct. I can’t think of anybody who had a life like mine.”

It wasn’t just the poverty, he says, it was Korea and then, six months later, malaria (he nearly died). “And so it never stopped, you know? Until it did.”

And yet it sort of hasn’t. Caine remains an icon of a time and an energy that feel increasingly exotic. He still calls himself working class and frets over any potential betrayal of his roots. The fate of his brother, Stanley, troubles him. “He just stood there and watched me become a millionaire when he didn’t even have a job. I turned him into someone who couldn’t move. I should have gone and moved him.”

Once, Caine was shopping for a sofa and Stanley – who’d been awol for a while – appeared as part of the team lugging it in from the back. “I grabbed him. I said, ‘You are outta here.’ Oh, it was terrible. I didn’t know where he was.

“He became an alcoholic. So I bought him two houses: one to live in and one to rent so he could have some money to buy some booze.” Caine’s eyes are rheumy. “He’s three years younger than me. And he’s been dead for five years.”

There was an older brother, too, David, born with severe epilepsy and confined to an institution. Caine only found out about him after their mother’s death – though she had visited David secretly each week. Caine then made him as comfortable as possible. His mother spent her final years living in one of the houses he’d bought her with a carer and her two young sons, “who loved my mum like a grandma. I was very happy with that. I did everything for everybody. So that’s it. I’m sitting here, I’ve done it. I can’t do any more.”

The Great Escaper has been widely described as Caine’s final film, just as Harry Brown was in 2009, and then – 24 films later – Best Sellers in 2021. It’s not. He’s shooting another in January: “It’s about someone who is so famous I’d never heard of him. Charles, Charles …”

“ … Darwin,” says Standing.

“Yeah. I play Charles Darwin. And that’ll be it. I won’t do another one after.”

He’s sure?

“No! But the point is, can you do it? Can you remember all the lines? I’ve got used to not working and staying in bed till 11am and staying out late at night. I love it.”

In The Great Escaper, Jackson has a line about life being fun when you’re young, but once you hit her age, “you’re basically buggered”. Present company queers that pitch. “Oh blimey,” says Caine. “I have a great time.” Standing nods. His one concession to old age has been to give up tap-dancing – though you suspect he might oblige in an emergency.

Neither man can think of a single instance in which they’ve been ill-treated because of their age.

“Nobody patronises me,” says Caine.

“We don’t look like we need help,” says Standing.

In Caine’s case, that’s not entirely true. His skin is smooth, his cheeks full – “I’m very lucky the whole face has not collapsed” – and The Great Escaper showcases them with loads of fantastic closeups. Yet he does use a walker and wheelchair. Never had qualms about being seen with them, he says. “Nope. It’s my life and I do what I want.”

“I think you are bloody brave,” says Standing. “Michael, man-to-man, it was an admirable thing to say: ‘Bollocks, I will do the film’, in spite of all those things.’”

I think he’s right. For someone with an image as familiar – and cultivated – as Caine’s, to visibly concede frailty feels courageous. It’s a shame, I say, that “mobility issues” were given as the reason the Queen didn’t attend various events near the end – as if being seen in a wheelchair was inconceivable.

Caine opts not to criticise the Queen. Instead he cues up the story of the first time they met, at a dinner, when she asked him to tell her a joke. He couldn’t think of a clean one. “She pointed to the man on her other side and said: ‘I’m gonna talk to him now. In five minutes I’ll be back and I want a joke.’”

I don’t know what I’d imagined Michael Caine’s Queen impression to sound like, but it’s definitely a lot more mobster. That was quite frightening, I tell him, once he’s finished the joke (long, about a chicken). Does he see any similarities between them?

“I think everyone sees a similarity between themselves and the Queen.”

Even Standing, an actual baronet, demurs at that one. But the fact Caine believes it adds weight to the idea they do share something – the ability, perhaps, to unsettle others through their presence alone. The Great Escaper taps that, too. Bernie prompts in people – Arthur included – profound reckonings, without really trying. Can Caine relate?

“I don’t know,” he says. “A bit, probably, yes. But it could be quite unpleasant. I don’t do things that are unpleasant.”

But you feel you have that power?

“Yeah, oh yeah.”

And what’s that like?

He grins. “Great.”

Our time is up. Caine checks his watch. “28C,” he says, “and that’s with the bloody windows open.”

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #michael caine #john standing

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citrus-cactus · 1 year ago

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Otakon 2023 Wrap-Up Post!

Otakon 2023 was this past weekend, and I gotta say I had a great time! (if that wasn’t obvious. From the deluge of posts about the digimon movie redubs). That was the main reason I went this year, and the screening took up a significant portion of my time there (WORTH. EVERY. MILLISECOND.), but during my one day I was able to blitz through the main halls as well. And I met @ahiddenpath ! That was AWESOME!!! She’s incredibly sweet, and we got to walk through Artist Alley together and talk (irl!!!) about Digimon, fandom, and life ☺️

My con haul!! I was like, “eh, it’s not that much” but some might beg to differ, including me, now that I look at it all together 😅 Most of it came from the Dealer’s Hall. There is one vendor who is a huge Digimon fan herself and sells a TON of amazing digi-merch, and that’s where most of my money went, ahahaha. She not only had some amazing hard-to-get figures and blind boxes (the Adv. kigurumi figures and Piedmon keychain set), but some Frontier 20th Anniversary merch as well! HOW CAN I SAY NO TO THAT??? That is a GIANT TAKUYA ACRYLIC STAND (which I would prefer to be a bit smaller), but aaah!!!! 🤩 I randomly got Sora from a blind box (💖), as well as Koji-in-pajamas (!!), and spent a little extra to get Takeru unwrapped. Unwrapped Jyou was the same price as a random blind box, because she said no one wants him and she always has extras! Can you believe it?? JYOU! 😭 Hidden and I agree that she’s not reaching enough of this audience on Tumblr, because HOW DO YOU NOT LOVE JYOU? Look at his face! He HAD to come home with me 😤

Ahem. Anyway, I found those oldschool Fox Kids-looking vinyl clings at a separate stall that sold a lot of vintage 90s stuff. Dub merch!! I do have a small collection of that.

The pencil-board… folder… thing… is two-sided and I believe it was originally an extra with a specific issue of Animedia that covered both tri and Appmon! I had to. Because APPMON (also I do love that tri art) 🥺

Some close-ups of the small stuff! The resin statue of the mountains came from Artist Alley (actually, a friend of Hidden!) because it reminds me of home. I also really liked the moon-shaped pendant. And a citrus pin! MY BRAND!! I have a shirt with Togemon on it (the cactus), but I have a hard time finding citrus merch, so YES, I can now rep my full screen name in an outfit 👍👍👍 One lone Goomy pin is my sole Pokemon purchase this year. “Hen with a Tie” cracked me up (if you’re an anime dinosaur like me, you know), and the Mimi button was actually a gift from Hidden! 😭

Finally, Takeru and Jyou side-by-side, where they belong ☺️ The contrast of their poses/expressions cracks me up!

Takeru: I think I’ll cause problems on purpose.

Jyou: NOOOOO PLS MY BLOOD PRESSURE!!!!

So there you have it: the results of an intense and incredibly exciting digi-day! I’m still so shocked that my local con got this amazing premiere, and I got to watch the whole thing (er… when I wasn’t live-texting information to certain people who couldn’t be there in person, lol!). I’m SO incredibly grateful to the Discord group for notifying me about it, because otherwise I probably wouldn’t have even gone to the con at all this year!

Really hoping I can see my OG con buddy either at Otakon 2024 or her local con, so she can take a well-earned break from being a new mom and join in on the fun! 🤞🤞🤞

#digimon adventure #digimon frontier #appmon #appli monsters #otakon 2023 #con wrap-up #the cactus speaks #I know that’s not how being a parent works but I can dream!!

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thessalian · 1 year ago

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Thess vs Untenable Situations

I'm trying to figure out how the hell I can explain to my managers (and their managers, frankly) that the current situation is absolutely fucking untenable. And I don't mean from the point of view of "I can't keep doing overtime like this". I mean "my working overtime is insufficient no matter how hard I work". Because seriously? No.

It's not just the fact that Scruffman's away until Thursday. That's a pretty big part of it, because all the lazier habits of my office-bound co-workers are dialled up to 11 when he's not in and they're also picking up some of the things he normally does, but it's not all of it. No, it's the fact that I did some counting towards the end of the standard working day, and calculated that between them, the doctors (however many there were; I did not look into that) dumped a grand total of 301 bits of dictation into the queue. And that's not counting the urgent cases that got done as and when throughout the day. I did all of those, so tack on another ten cases, for a grand total of 311. This is a whole lot of doctors who, between them, are working from just before 8am until just after 6pm every weekday, plus pulling several hours over the weekends. Whereas the secretaries who are in at the moment work at best a standard 9-5 (or 8-4). As it stands, we only have two full-time secretaries devoted entirely to the typing, and they aren't currently, because Scruffman's away. Then we have the two part-timers - one who only works two days a week and desperately wants more hours (but for some reason isn't getting them), and me, who's currently effectively working full-time because of the sheer amount of overtime I've had to pull to keep us from drowning completely.

Of course, it'd be nice if the secretaries that want to meander through the typing queue would just take the longer ones and loaf over those, and leave me to do my speed-demon blitz through the shorter ones, but nope. Nope, they want the shorter ones so they can "still feel productive" because on paper they're doing the same number of cases I am when they meander through short ones and I blitz through long ones as best I can through the mess some of these doctors make of their dictations.

It doesn't help that I am fucking exhausted. My one-hour break between the normal workday and the overtime hours was not spent relaxing or eating or anything, but dealing with my monthly grocery order. Turns out my little intercom / buzzer that lets me let people into the foyer is probably broken, because the grocery delivery guy couldn't even call up to my flat's intercom. He had to call me on my mobile to let me know he was downstairs waiting. And since I couldn't just buzz him in, I had to go hobble downstairs, let him in manually, and then take the stairs to meet him on my floor because I would not fit into the lift with a grown man and a dolly bearing my month's worth of groceries. And then I had to put all that away. Which is a kind of a to-do in a kitchen as small as mine is, I have to say.

I mean, granted, it was a pretty big order this time around. But there are reasons for that. Partly I was running out of a lot of stuff that I don't replace very often - icing sugar, powdered milk, tuna for the tuna broccoli lemon pasta, stuff like that. Mostly it was because there are new recipes. For instance, I have plans in the direction of a white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake - well, assuming that the Amazon guy can get in with the pie plate I ordered. I also ordered ramekins and picked up some ready-made gluten-free puff pastries with a view to making chicken and mushroom pie. And little chocolate dessert pots. And, once my rolling pin finally gets here ... gluten-free pierogis. I have missed pierogis, and apparently while they're a little finicky to make with gluten-free flour, they hold their shape very well while boiling, so hey. Also I found out that gluten-free toad in the hole is pretty easy, so that's another one I got fixings for.

This is very optimistically assuming I have any energy left to me at the end of busy days, honestly. But I do have to make the cheesecake - the best before date on my raspberries is tomorrow and fruits like that have a short shelf life.

So basically all of the everything is fairly untenable just now. Hell, I can't even decide what I want to do about dinner at this point. I had ordered myself a nice steak that I planned to make, but unfortunately they were out of stock so that's my main idea about dinner not going to happen unless I brave the great outdoors. Which I do not have the energy to do, and anyway, I have food at home. It just takes a little more effort than I necessarily wanted to spend at 8:30pm after a hard day and two hours of overtime.

It's fine. I'll cope. Probably the tuna broccoli lemon pasta or something.

#Thess has a day job #Thess cooks

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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What would happen if you were sent back and ended up in the orphanage with Tom Riddle—and say you also had magic?

Oh boy.

Well, there's a lot to question here. Judging by the... spirit of this ask, I presume I'm... pretty much reincarnated. I'm in the orphanage, I'm much younger than I am now and a child, I'm pre-Hogwarts age, and I retain my current knowledge.

For the purpose of this ask I suppose I also retain my current mental faculties. Despite being in the body of an eight-year-old, I'm not The Carnivorous Muffin at eight.

Welp, there's a lot to consider here.

First, I probably don't realize I'm in Harry Potter for quite some time and instead assume I've been reincarnated to some parallel universe. It's the 1930's, I'm in England in the depression, WWI has occurred and the vast majority of major historical events I know about seem to have happened in the right order, and this Earth is eerily similar to the Earth I left behind.

Strange that I appear to remember everything of my past life with my adult mental abilities, but alright universe, I guess that's how we're going to play this.

What I do know is that I'm dirt poor, presumably still a woman which does not bode well for my career prospects, and if I want any prospects in life period I'm going to have to fight tooth and nail for it. It'd be great if I got adopted to help with this, and might be nice to have people in my life who love me, but there's a lot of orphans in the world and a lot of orphans who are much less weird than I am.

The orphanage is the orphanage and not great, Mrs. Cole is overworked, the orphanage is chronically understaffed, and the kids are running wild beating the shit out of each other.

Being a girl, I probably don't have to worry about getting the shit kicked out of me quite as much, but I still probably try to keep my head down and don't aggravate the particularly beefy looking orphans.

Yes, there's some very angry gremlin named Tom Riddle around who will shove you down the stairs in retribution, but that's just a weird coincidence. And then supernatural shit starts happening. Billy's rabbit hangs itself, people get injuries when Tom is nowhere near them, and I start wondering if this is really the Tom Riddle.

I'm in Wool's Orphanage, my matron is Mrs. Cole, Tom Riddle is running around lighting things on fire. It's possible, though it could all be a strange coincidence.

Now, how things go from here depends on how controlled my own magic is. Since accidental magic typically does manifest at least once or twice, it probably does manifest for me for.. something. If Tom Riddle's there to witness it then...

Well, I imagine he's very offended. Here he was, special, different, better than everyone else, and then some girl in the orphanage (who dares to get very good grades on her assignments in school) has it too.

And I just stand there, smiling, going "Tee hee".

He probably confronts me to prove that he's better at it than I am, and he probably is unless the universe hates both him and me, but having someone else with the Shining around probably prompts him to take me as his protégé (in part so he can show off and in part because he's genuinely excited to be able to share this super cool talent).

I am now apprentice to eight-year-old Tom Riddle. Whoop de doo.

Well, I don't remember this part of Harry Potter, so now I'm probably confused as to where I am again. Regardless, I try to advise Tom on how to tone it down and not, say, traumatize Amy and Dennis for life and antagonize all the other orphans forever. He probably doesn't take me seriously. What do I know, I can't even light that patch of grass on fire?

Hanging around Tom Riddle gets me a reputation to, given the difference in genders, probably a fairly nasty one at that. When Dumbledore arrives he's undoubtedly told hot gossip about how eleven-year-old Tom and I have had sex in a ritual to summon Satan. Dumbledore takes this seriously.

Dumbledore probably meets us both at the same time and it's a disaster. I tried my best to prep Tom without revealing I'm a prophet, Tom first doesn't believe there might not be others, then doesn't believe they would be antagonist/anything but amazed by how awesome he is.

Well, Dumbledore lights his wardrobe on fire while I sit there. Dying inside. Dumbledore probably also does something to me too, to teach me some kind of lesson about something.

I imagine he temporarily disfigures me/makes me appear very ugly, then sticks a mirror to the wall, that way I realize that looks aren’t everything/being a whore is wrong. Tom, still traumatized over the wardrobe, is no help and my magic’s probably not controlled enough to do a thing about it.

I spend a day looking like a pig, Tom and I are given just enough money to buy new wands and second hand/barely functioning everything else and given the world’s worst directions to Diagon Alley. Thanks, Albus.

Well, months pass, we get our wands, Tom gets excited for Hogwarts and I... start seriously considering the future. WWII is coming, the Blitz is coming, Tom and I live in east London and must be able to evacuate during the bombing of London (which went on well past the Blitz to the end of the war). I also start considering my future in the wizarding world. Do I now actually have career prospects?

Probably not because I’m muggle born and a woman. My best bet is doing very well in useful subjects and finding employment with the goblins, I can’t imagine they have the same hang ups as the wizarding world.

Tom wants to go to Slytherin, of course, I tell him this is a bad idea. “Gee Tom,” I say, “Not sure how I know this but I have this feeling that Slytherin is filled with people who loathe our very existence and will shank us. Why don’t we pick Ravenclaw or Gryffindor instead?”

No one shanks Tom Riddle! Tom says. Tom is still eleven and while he admits that sometimes I may, in retrospect, have been right about certain things that doesn’t mean he wants to go to the house known for hard work. That’s code word for everyone there being a moron and having no other redeeming features than tenacity. As for the other two, Ravenclaws sound like smug, elitist, nerds and Gryffindors like dumb jocks.

Better to be known for ambition, cunning, and actually being competent.

Well, there’s no talking him out of this one, and goddamn it we’re all each other has.

I’m the closest thing Tom Riddle has ever had to a friend in all these years and in the orphanage the only one who could hold a decent conversation with him. And while it’s not my moral obligation to keep Tom from becoming a domestic terrorist, and there’s no guarantee I even can, dumping him for one of the other houses and drifting apart won’t help.

Not to mention that, after all these years, I’m undoubtedly lonely, I’m in this foreign land, and he’s now the closest thing to a friend I have.

Looks like I’m going to Slytherin, YOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! I shout as a battle cry as tears run down my face. I may have to convince the hat to put me in Slytherin, but like all human beings I am a mixture of many qualities. I’m not cunning in the least, mind games exhaust me unutterably, but I’m full of ambition.

This confirms every bad opinion Dumbledore had regarding me and Tom.

For the next several months, Tom probably beats the shit out of dormmates who steal his things/harass him. He beats up mine too because feminism (TM) means that he should treat all people equally when guilty of the same crime. I... am not sure I can win that fight so I just resign myself to having to adopt some of Tom’s tactics to make sure I’m not shoved in lockers, have tampons thrown at me, or pig’s blood dumped on me at the prom.

Once again, everyone thinks Tom Riddle and I are dating. I don’t even know if they’re wrong at this point.

Well, being in class with eleven year olds who seem to have had little to no prior education, Tom and I are undoubtedly blazing through class. I imagine I’m bored out of my mind (the Hogwarts curriculum sounds unbelievably boring) and Tom is... well, probably devouring the library but probably also bored. I decide to try and see if I can find some real history texts on this world (there are probably none, the wizarding world seems to only have two historians and both... have a different approach to history than current modern thought as I know it) and discover what magic even is. That shit is fascinating: wingardium leviosa is not.

Dumbledore likely gives neither me nor Tom points in class, I think the house cup is stupid, so I really don’t care. I have no interest in playing quidditch, neither does Tom, so that doesn’t happen.

The second world war starts up, Tom, me, and the muggle borns are the only ones who give a flying fuck. I work harder on figuring out how to get lodging during the Blitz/the bombing of London. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole hates me too for being the Bride of Satan, so that’s a no go. Third year, 1939, I probably write her in earnest anyway telling her to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, send Tom and I instructions for the summer/where the orphans are staying/how they’ve been dispersed to the countryside. As a back up plan, I try desperately to shmooze shopkeepers in Hogsmeade during every Hogsmeade weekend to get myself and Tom part time jobs and lodging over the summer. As a back up back up plan, I spend my time badgering Tom to become very good at survivalist wandless magic and if the Lord has pity on me gain some ability in it myself.

Hopefully, either Mrs. Cole or one of the Hogsmeade shop owners take pity on us. If not, then Tom and I are going extreme camping. Given Mrs. Cole (and the brain damage brought on by Dumbledore erasing memories left and right) and the likelihood of Hogsmeade shop owners just not getting it, Tom and I probably go extreme camping.

(Tom, meanwhile, asks Dippet and Dumbledore if we can stay in Hogwarts over the summer. He’s told no exceptions. London’s being bombed, you say? No exceptions. Toodles. Tom is never the same.)

Me, Tom Riddle, a tent we made ourselves, several rabbits we had to catch and skin ourselves, and the pitiful fire that we can keep going through pure will alone because if we try to use real people spells then we’ll get arrested. It has the benefit of making Tom feel very manly and impressive, catching his own food, but both of us are well aware that this sucks.

But hey, we aren’t dead.

Well, I’m sure Tom doesn’t appreciate that and this is where I imagine he seriously starts talking about violent revolution. I imagine much of my time is spent discussing the merits of not violently overthrowing our ant overlords. I imagine a thirteen-year-old Tom isn’t impressed by my pacifism, but he’s not married to Voldemort yet (probably).

Then I imagine the horcrux thing comes up and... Well, I will argue hard against it. Humans die, it is a truth of the universe, and simply something we have to accept. Horcruxes are not a measure against that, they can be destroyed, given infinite time they will be, and the sacrifice they require is too high: human life as well as the very essence of who you are.

What is a soul? I’m not sure, we never really learn in HP canon, but whatever it is, it is in some way the essence of yourself. If you take half of it and throw it somewhere else, you will cease to be you, someone or something else is walking around in your body while the other half of you exists in endless agony.

If you must chase immortality, create a philosopher’s stone (as I darkly wonder why it was that couldn’t be replicated and what Flamel had to do to make it in the first place). On second thought, maybe we should search for the Holy Grail.

Whether I can talk Tom out of this or not is... unclear. I’m going to say that I can, in part because I imagine he’ll want to show the chamber off to me, tell me when he realizes he’s Heir of Slytherin, and in doing so I can prevent the basilisk incident from occurring. Without that, there’s no dead Myrtle, which means no first victim. That summer, when he goes to the Gaunts, I’ll go with him and convince him that it’s not worth it. He can just turn around and leave these people alone, I hopefully can talk him down. Which means no second victim.

I start writing Flamel to see if Tom or I can get an apprenticeship (Dumbledore probably beats us to the chase and poisons him against us, but it’s worth a shot).

Then, should all go well, I can convince Tom to find employment with the goblins rather than shady antique dealers on the bad side of town. Hopefully, I can convince him to never become Voldemort, and instead we travel the world together looking for the origins of magic or something.

Dumbledore goes around taking people’s memories of us in preparation for when Tom becomes a dark lord and I his lady of the night darkness.

TL;DR Apparently my life would become an SI/Tom Riddle fic. So, thanks anon.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #tom riddle #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #meta #headcanon #opinion

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ka-za-ri · 4 years ago

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Personal Assistant Pt. 7 (Finale)

Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 4: here Part 5: here Part 6: here Crossposted to Ao3: here

Wow, I’m surprised y’all are here. Really, I’m humbled and honored for all the followers and all the support you’ve given me in this whirlwind of a writing marathon. Please enjoy the last course of this smut fest and lemme know how y’all are feelin’ Taglist at the end.

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader Wordcount: 8,500 ish Genre: Delicious smut Tags: Multiple Orgasms, cunnilingus, aphrodisiacs, demon sex Summary: You get to experience some intimate times with Lucifer as a year with him winds to a close.

Bonus

After your business trip, you were mandated to work from home for at least a week. Lucifer knew the extent of what you went through and bed rest was absolutely necessary to ensure you would be able to come back to work in top form. Even after a weekend of basically being bedridden right after the session, the soreness between your legs persisted as a constant reminder of just how thoroughly you had been used. So, when you received the text from him late Sunday night to work from home, you couldn’t be any more relieved. Your legs had gotten some strength back into them; but you still couldn’t freely move around without experiencing discomfort and limping.

With the holidays looming so closely, Lucifer was rather ashamed that he couldn’t give you proper vacation time off to recover. At the very least, he knew you were safe from prying eyes while you stayed at home and remoted in on your computer. It was strange though, not seeing you sitting at your desk, your back turned to him while you were entering data. He oddly missed turning around and seeing you filing away the monthly reports or retrieving files for a meeting. The office felt empty for the first time in a long time.

Caring for humans was something foreign and unfamiliar to him. But, with you, it felt like the proper thing to do.

He reasoned that he was simply doing his due diligence to visit your abode with physical paperwork that needed to be reviewed. It also seemed to be a natural thing for him to buy you some food; surely you were tired of cooking for yourself and your food supplies were dwindling from being unable to get to the grocery store. It didn’t cross his mind that food delivery was an option until he was mere meters away from your front door, one hand holding a heavy bag full of takeout and a thick pile of reports in his arm. Regardless of his oversight, it was too late to turn back now.

You had expected Lucifer to come over, drop off some papers to go over and leave you to your own devices. You had already shown to him that you could still complete the most of your usual workload in a timely manner, even if you weren't at the office with him. So, when he invited himself into your abode, stepping past you as soon as you opened the door to set down the food and papers he brought, you were taken aback to say the least. After all, Lucifer was a busy man and he had much better things to do than to get comfortable in the recliner that sat in your living room once his shoes and coat were off of him.

“It’s gotten a bit nippy out this week. Are you sure you’re running the heat here? It’s absolutely frigid.” He commented, loosening his tie and settling into the seat he had claimed as his own. You stared dumbly at your boss who had just so casually stepped into your home as if he lived there with you and was meant to unwind right in your living room. It had to be a dream, you had to be hallucinating. Yet, no matter how many times you blinked or rubbed your eyes, Lucifer was right there, in your living room, his tie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone.

He looked over at your stunned face, smiling a bit. “What? Am I not allowed to make a visit to my assistant who’s been ‘out sick’ all week?” He wasn’t sure what lines he had crossed, but it felt as if his presence made you uncomfortable. Perhaps he should have given you a little more of an advanced notice before coming over. The silence between the two of you grew palpable. When at the office, he was the epitome of control and composed. Humans were easy to predict in a controlled environment where there was a clear hierarchy. In such a casual setting though, he found himself rather out of place and lost. He had only vaguely ever gotten the idea of how to behave; with how you were reacting though, he was unsure how to proceed.

“Did you eat?” He asked, changing the subject and gesturing over to the food he brought on the counter. If he had been too forward with getting comfortable in your space, he could at least assuage the tension by changing the subject and moving the focus over to food and not to him. It would be the perfect time to reassess his plan of action while you were distracted by eating. “You should have something before it gets cold.”

“I was just about to order some delivery.” You admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. Having Lucifer in such an intimate setting was strange. You could tell he didn’t feel quite as at home as he was fronting and wondered just how you could get him out so he could go back to being his usual self without you around him.

“I hope you don’t mind Greek.” Lucifer visibly relaxed, walking over to the bag of food and started to take out the boxes. “A new place just opened up and the marketing head suggested I try it out.” He opened the containers, revealing some of the typical dishes you expected to see, naming each one and describing them. Some dishes you were familiar with; others you had never seen before and with each description he gave, your mouth watered a little more and your stomach grumbled in hunger.

At the loud gurgle your stomach gave once he opened the last box, Lucifer chuckled, pulling a chair out for you at the small table, now crowded with more takeout than two people could ever eat. “Eat. I know you’re hungry.”

You nodded, at least having the decorum to grab some dishes and silverware before digging into the feast in front of you. The explosion of flavors and textures was a welcome change from the pizza and Chinese takeout you had been living off of for the past week. It was hard to keep your manners in mind when the table was so crammed full of boxes and you were forced to eat with the plate in your lap, hunched over the food like the gremlin that you felt like you were.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Lucifer pick at his own food, ever composed and nonplussed that he wasn’t actually eating in the most ideal circumstances. The quiet that fell between you this time felt much better, the food serving as the perfect buffer between you and him and you could at least feel a little more yourself with proper sustenance in you.

“The year end reports are starting to roll in.” he said once you had adequate time to try everything. Now, you were just going in for seconds of what you liked best, picking at your favorites until your hunger was properly sated. “And marketing has been sending in the proposals of the ads we’ll be running this season. I’d like to go over those with you once you’re done with dinner.”

With the conversation focused on work, it was much easier to forget how awkward it had all been in the beginning when he walked through your door. You nodded, already grabbing the first folder on the stack to start skimming through reports. Ad proposals were much more fun to go over than pages upon pages of analysis. The sooner you could finish the boring stuff, you could look at the more interesting things.

“My work computer is in the room. I can move it out here once we’re done.” you said, flipping a page and sighing when there were even more numbers you needed to double check.

“No need, we’ll just move there.” He said, not realizing the connotations his words had. “You’re on sick leave and you must rest when you can. We’ll just carry on as you have for the past week.”

You felt your body heat up at his words, trying to see if he had any intentions outside of making sure you were as well rested as possible before you returned to work in a few days. You could never read him, unable to tell what his motives were, and all you could do was follow his instructions. Once all the food had been cleaned up and leftovers were stowed in the fridge, you showed him down the short hallway to your room where you had your home office set up in bed.

As you shuffled to your computer, he could tell there was still a bit of a limp in your gait and there was a mixture of pride and shame. On the one hand, he was glad that your body still remembered the amazing experience you shared with him, Diavolo and Barbatos. On the other, he was ashamed that you were pushed to that limit at all. And then, he remembered the reason he broke you at all in the first place.

So he could put you back together just how he wanted.

He let you climb into bed and settle the lap desk in place before handing you the first of the reports you needed to go over. Lucifer himself took a seat in the chair he had dragged over from your vanity to sit next to your bed and look over the projections for the next few months. Normally, he would have kept strict office hours; but with holidays, even he had to put in a few longer nights to keep up with how hectic things got.

The two of you worked in silence. Even if the location was different, the professional atmosphere was the same as it always had been at the office. The only differences were that you sat in a much more comfortable position and you were much closer to Lucifer than you normal. From where you sat, you got a much closer look at your boss while he worked. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration as he parsed out the plans for the upcoming month. His mouth was set in a straight, tight line whenever he crossed anything out and wrote corrections in the margins. He was beautifully efficient in his work, blitzing through several files in the time it took you to go through one.

You heard stray cats mewling from the cold outside at some point, breaking your concentration and you looked at the clock on your dresser. It was much later than you thought it would be, and you still had ad proposals to look through. Sighing and setting the reports to the side to look over during the weekend, you picked up the folders filled with ad storyboards. “Are you going home soon?” You asked, looking up at Lucifer who just finished the last of his work.

“Oh, I was waiting for you to finish so we can go over the ad proposals together. I’d like to hear your opinions on them in real time.” He said. Lucifer shifted from his place in the chair next to your bed to sitting beside you on your bed. You blushed, moving aside so he had ample room and got comfortable.

In this new position, you could feel the warmth of his body right next to yours. It was a distraction on its own, right alongside the familiar smell of his cologne. He handed you the first of the proposals, giving you a few minutes to look through it before asking for your thoughts on it.

What focus you had earlier was completely lost from being so close to Lucifer. It felt like an eternity since the last time you were in the office and having him right beside you, talking business had your mind and body in conflicting positions. While you struggled to pay attention to his words and stared at the papers in front of you, Lucifer smirked, knowing just what kind of effect he was having on you.

“So, do you think we should run it?” He asked nonchalantly leaning closer so that he could have a clear view of the storyboard.

You swallowed, trying to ignore how his voice sounded and how you could feel his breath ghosting across your neck. It was time for work, not time for your body to crave his touch, his kisses, his… everything. Stop. You blinked, turning the pages back and forth before voicing your thoughts. “I think the message of this ad is alright, but the target audience is off. If I saw this, I wouldn’t know what it’s trying to sell until it’s too late and I’m bored with it.”

He nodded, agreeing mostly with your opinion and closed the file after writing down your comments. “Alright, what about this one.” He said, pulling up the next one and letting you go through it.

Your eyes scanned the script and you immediately grimaced at how cheesy the writing was. You instinctively wanted to reject it and move onto the next one. However, your morbid sense of curiosity had you reading further and analyzing everything else in the file. In the end, your gut feeling was correct and you wholeheartedly turned it down from being produced. “Unless you want to lose half of your clients, I’d say bin that one.”

He chuckled, not bothering to write any notes on it, knowing that it wouldn’t go any further. “And what about this one?” he asked, putting another file on top of your lap desk.

You flipped through, engrossed in the storytelling and the script, rather shocked at the proposed budget to shoot an ad like this. You nodded, thinking through the allocated funds for the rest of the year and calculated if it would be feasible to go forward with the project. You crunched a few numbers, actually invested in the proposal and didn’t notice just how close Lucifer had gotten until his hand snuck its way under the sheets covering your legs and stopped at your thigh.

“What do you think?” He asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your thigh and your brain ceased to function for a moment. It felt like an eternity had passed since the last time he did anything like this to you. You looked over to him and smiled, trying to go back to the subject at hand, though your brain refused to process what he was asking you.

“It’s nice…” You finally managed to say.

“Is that all?” He asked, moving his hand further up and brushing his fingers against the apex of your thighs. “You seemed to be so interested in it, but it’s just ‘fine’?”

You cleared your throat, hoping it would reset your thoughts; but your brain was stuck in a constant feedback loop that refused to get over what Lucifer was doing to you. “It… it’s got good parts.”

Lucifer smirked, nodding at your answer and continuing his questions as if his hands weren’t teasing you. “Tell me more.” He encouraged, slipping his hand past the waistband of your shorts to rub your labia. “I’m interested in your thoughts.”

“I uh.. W-well.” You stuttered, swallowing hard and looking at him pleadingly. You were still sore but the way he was so soft with his touches did things to your libido and your heart. “Well, it fits the mood for the season…” You started, touching on the most basic things to get your mind in the right state.

“Yes, I did tell you these were proposals for the holiday season. It’s obvious it would fit the mood.” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear and his teeth nipped at your earlobe. “Come on now, your analysis for all the others was so thorough, what happened?” he drawled, smiling wickedly, knowing exactly what was making your brain stutter. His fingers parted your lips in turn making you unconsciously spread your legs for him to get easier access.

You bit your lip, using the pain to ground your focus to the task at hand. “Well, the year has been rather rough financially for a lot of people.” You said through gritted teeth. “Showing how they’re able to… ah--” Whatever you were about to say flew right out of your mind when his finger brushed against your clit. You gasped, your whole nether region was still so sore from the last time, but your body was quickly craving more; and the only way to get that was to work. “We’re able to show people that they can… they can afford to celebrate on a budget… Ah… Lucifer…” you whined, rolling your hips up and gasping at how stiff all your muscles were. The sudden jolt of pain keeping you from reacting the way you wanted to.

He hushed you, kissing your jaw and teased your nether lips further with his fingers, running them up and down your slit which was quickly becoming wet from his ministrations. You whimpered, hating how you were being forced to sit still due to your own body’s limits.

“Yes, I’m listening still.” He replied nonchalantly, trailing his kisses down your neck and nipping the skin there with his teeth. “I’m concerned about the budget they’ve set for this ad… your thoughts on that?”

You gulped, amazed that he was still asking questions about the damn ad as if his fingers weren’t coated with your essence at that very moment. You took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself but not doing a very good job at it. “We-well… initial calculations say that it’s not something that can be done right no--- ahh…” You gasped in pleasure when you felt firm pressure on your clit, his finger rubbed circles around it and made you see stars. “Right now… b-but if we reallocate funds from the IT department that submitted their final budget for the year and th...they have a surplus, we can manage….”

“Oh? That’s very good news then…” Lucifer smiled, loving the way you struggled to keep yourself composed while he unraveled you bit by bit with his fingers. Tentatively, he probed your entrance, wondering how well you had healed over the week. When you yelped in pain, instinctively closing your legs against that touch, he stopped immediately. “This was my favorite out of all the ones submitted, I’m glad that you approve of it as well.”

Lucifer went back to teasing your folds, making you forget about the pain and put your body back into the relaxed, aroused state it had been in before. Now that he knew your limits, he was free to skirt them right at the edge, teasing you until you squirmed with pleasure. “I’ll let Marketing know the good news over the weekend so they can start the project as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure they’ll be very happy about that.”

“Indeed they will be. Final thing, I just need you to sign off on these reports and I’ll be on my way home.” He said before dropping a sizable stack of papers in front of you. “I need them right away so I can submit them over the weekend and get underwriting to process them first thing next week.” He explained. His touches slowed to a halt and you felt the fog of pleasure lift a little. Now though, you ached for his continued caresses and you whined loudly when he pulled his hand out from under the sheets.

“Do as you’re told and you’ll be rewarded accordingly.” He stated firmly, all the while making the most lewd show of licking his fingers coated in your slick.

Never in your life had you started reading boring documents so quickly. You were skimming words, processing them, but just barely, all to get to what you were promised. Even if your body ached and screamed in protest, what Lucifer had teased you with was too tantalizing to pass up.

He smiled, planting a soft kiss at your temple before leaving your side. You startled, looking up at him with pleading eyes, wondering if he was leaving for the night. “I’ll be right back…” He reassured you with a self satisfied smirk.

You wondered what he meant by those words for a brief moment before his actions did all the explaining as he ducked his head under the sheets and nestled himself between your legs. You swallowed, parting your legs for him after he slid your shorts and panties off. You could feel his warm breath on your inner thighs, traveling higher and higher until the tip of his nose brushed against your pussy and you whined softly at the contact.

There was still an important task to be done and you had to see it through. All the while Lucifer happily lapped at your core. His hands firmly at your thighs to keep your legs parted for him. His tongue traced your slit slowly and you caught your breath with each pass he took. The words on the pages in front of you had no meaning, but you kept reading them anyway.

The lewd sounds of him licking and sucking your folds were muffled under the sheets, yet they were still loud enough to be the only sounds your ears picked up on. Your breathing came out in stuttered breaths as you turned the last page in a report and mindlessly signed your name. Closing the file and moving on to the next one, you felt Lucifer press the flat of his tongue all along your pussy, spreading your labia and just brushing past your abused hole. At that, you moaned loudly, your hips jerking at the contact and sending pain shooting across your sore muscles. However, when you felt the tip of his tongue circle your clit, the pain dissipated and all that was left was a delicious soreness which mingled with the pleasure.

It was so hard to focus on your work, his tongue worked you into a frenzy, leaving you shuddering and moaning his name. You came as soon as you finished signing off on the second report. There were three more to go in the stack and you wondered if you could cum once for every one that was left. It would be perfect motivation to keep working.

No matter how many times your body was being pushed to the point of overstimulation, you could never get used to it. The way every nerve in your body seemed to vibrate with every touch and made you twitch in pleasure always felt new; and you couldn’t get enough of that euphoria. You had never been made to work through that state, but it was a test of your willpower now, going through reports while Lucifer’s tongue worked you into orgasm over and over again.

You felt like it took hours to complete reading everything. However, when you glanced up at the clock, barely an hour had passed and you were a quivering mess in your own bed, your boss between your legs, lazily licking your essence off your thighs as you came one last time, signing the last report off. “I… All the reports are done…”

You hated how cold you felt when he unburrowed himself from under your sheets. You could see your essence glistening on his lips and his chin, his eyes glowing that deep red color that made your heart skip a beat. “Very good job.” He praised, picking everything up and gathering it into his arms. He kissed the top of your head, making you feel dizzy from his praise and the number of times you came from just having his mouth attached to your pussy for an hour. “I’ll see you on Monday.” He said, preparing to leave.

A small part of you was heartbroken he didn’t want to stay. “Yeah… I’ll see you Monday…” You said weakly, smiling wistfully at his retreating form.

A year to a human was no insignificant amount of time. As an immortal, this was the hardest concept for Lucifer to grasp. Yet, after having you around for a year, it felt natural for him to celebrate the time he had spent with you.

You expected work to be piled up when you got back to the office. However, with your absence and also the general hectic nature of the holidays approaching, you were swamped with work. Staying late to catch up and working yourself into an exhausted heap, there were nights where you simply fell asleep on one of the couches in the lounge area so you didn’t have to worry about losing time with your commute.

Even if Lucifer wanted you to slow down, the corporate world and human greed made it impossible. You weren’t the only one who worked to the bone. Even he had to pick up a fair amount of extra work to ensure the year ended smoothly. The last three months that year were a blur, you barely remembered who you talked to or what you did. All that mattered was making sure the company ran as smooth as possible.

So when the worst of it was all over and the department parties began, it felt as if the whole building got to sigh in relief now that the storm had passed. You were invited to a fair number of new year celebrations, both you and Lucifer’s schedules were filled with more parties than meetings. Seeing all the employees under his wing celebrate another successful year with him warmed your heart. It was a rare opportunity to see him interact with others and seeing him in such a joyous setting made your heart swell with pride.

With the last of the company parties out of the way, you were finally able to release the sigh of relief you had been holding for months. As soon as you returned to the office, it was as if a weight had been lifted and you were free to at least pretend the workload would lessen as the year rolled over. You were about to start packing your things up when you noticed a parcel on your desk. Curious, you opened it and it revealed a beautiful sparking black and red gown. You looked back at Lucifer who was leaning against his desk, watching you for your reaction. “You didn’t think I’d plan a celebration for the two of us now, did you?” He sauntered over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We count as our own department, right?”

“Of course… How could I forget.” You laughed, running your hand across the delicate fabric, marveling at how it shifted in the light.

“Go on, get dressed, I’ll get the rest of the preparations ready.”

You couldn’t have run into the bathroom any faster. Your legs quivered a little in excitement and you nearly tripped out of your work clothes before shimmying into the black and red number you had been gifted. You were surprised at how well it fit you. Like a glove, it hugged your every curve in the right way to accentuate it. The fabric shimmered with every movement, making it look like you were walking through smoke. It felt odd to be in such a lavish dress and have nothing else to match it.

You ran your fingers through your hair, rearranging it in a way you thought framed your face a little better to accentuate the dress. You wanted to touch up your makeup, but had neglected to bring any with you in your rush to get changed. You would have to make do with what you had. Turning this way and that, you took one last look in the mirror and accepted the fact that it was as good as it was going to get with what you had.

Stepping back out into the office space, you gasped at how quickly Lucifer had managed to transform it. There was a clear hint of magic in the air, there was no other way to explain the softly glowing orbs that illuminated the room in a warm light. They floated through the air, suspended by nothing and fueled by whatever magic Lucifer had put into them. A table for two had been set up in the time it took you to get dressed and what looked like a delightful meal awaited you. Even Lucifer had changed his usual black and grey work suit to something with a little more red in it to match you.

Once again, he was waiting for you while leaning on his desk. As soon as he saw you, he picked up a pair of champagne flutes which sat next to him on his desk. He walked over and offered you the drink, a soft smile on his face. “Courtesy of Barbatos.” He explained, gesturing at the plates of food on the table. “He felt bad about his first impressions with you and wanted to make up for it. So, lucky me, I get catering from the best chef I know for this party.”

You giggled slightly, taking a sip of the champagne. “I hope that doesn’t mean that you expect me to cook for you in the future as your assistant. I’ll have you know the extent of my cookery knowledge will be phoning Barbatos up and asking him to deliver something for you.” You joked.

Lucifer let out a genuine laugh, leading you over to the table and helping you get seated. “Oh no, I don’t expect that from you at all. But, I’ll take note of that in case I change my mind later.”

Truth be told, though the food presented was some of the best you had ever eaten, being in close company with Lucifer was even better. For once, conversation didn’t revolve around work, instead, he regaled you with tales of where he came from and all the troubles he had to get Diavolo out of. The chatter and the good food filled your heart and your soul; you didn’t think you would ever get to see this side of Lucifer, but you were eternally grateful for the chance to witness it.

“Ah, the last thing. You can’t end a good meal without dessert.” Lucifer got up and reached for a box on his desk. Coming back, he presented you with an array of chocolate coated strawberries. “Please, help yourself.” he encouraged, turning the box to you. “I have a bit of an allergy to them, so they’re all yours.”

You tentatively took one, feeling rather guilty that Lucifer wouldn’t be able to join you; however, with a little bit of coaxing, your worries were laid to rest and you happily bit into the fruit. Lucifer watched your expression of joy as you indulged in one of your favorite treats. The way you made such happy sounds when enjoying something had him entirely amused. All the while, a small, knowing smile played at his lips. “They’re not going anywhere. You can take your time.” He said when he noticed just how quickly you were devouring them.

In an attempt to pace you, he pulled the box away from your grasp, plucking one of the strawberries from it and offered it to you. He looked at you expectantly, an eyebrow cocked up as he enticed you to lean in and take a bite.

You blushed, flustered that he would be feeding you dessert in this way. There was a distinct intimacy in how he delicately held the fruit out to you with one hand. His other hand cupped below it to catch anything that might fall. You obeyed after a moment of hesitation, leaning forward and taking it into your mouth. Somehow, just from having Lucifer present you dessert in such a way had dessert tasting so much sweeter to you.

You were halfway through the strawberries when you realized something felt off.The room felt warmer, the floating lights pulsed in a way that cast a halo around Lucifer, somehow making him look angelic to you. You thought it was because you were too tired after a whole week of festivities. It must have been past your normal bedtime and your body wanted to rest. At least, that’s what you thought was the case. But when he spoke again and his voice seemed to penetrate your whole body, sending shivers down your spine and pooling right to your core; you knew it had to be something else.

“Shall we dance?” he asked, getting up after he had finished feeding you what was left of the box of sweets. He held his hand out expectantly; with a little bit of magic, soft music filtered through the room and set the mood. While you struggled to comprehend what was happening to your body, you mindlessly followed his directions. All your nerves tingled, from the tips of your fingers to your scalp, everything seemed to vibrate with a heat and a need that built itself out of seemingly nowhere

The moment he placed his hand in your own and wrapped his arm around your waist, things started to click and your whole body heated up further at the realization. Your eyes blow wide open and your lips parted in a perpetual pant as he nonchalantly lead you in a slow dance, circling the empty area of the office to the beat of the soft music. You followed him in a haze, barely noticing your body move, a practical rag doll in his arms as he spun you around and watched your pupils get ever wider and the flush on your cheeks get ever deeper.

You were so hot and bothered in such a short period of time, it was absolutely overwhelming. Your hands shook in his, your mind barely able to comprehend the music as it was singularly focused on his warmth, his smell, his voice, his everything that was so close to you. You couldn’t look up at him, ashamed that with every dance step you shared, your essence flowing so freely from you was being smeared along your thighs and the back of your legs.

He knew what he had done, you could tell with the way the corner of his lip turned up. He was trying so hard to hide that self-satisfied smirk he always had on whenever you were right where he wanted you. You were so wet and ready for something other than the innocent game he was playing; but you knew better than to rush him. So you held onto your slipping control, pretending everything was alright when your body screamed to be used and not teased. That control disintegrated as you could smell your arousal while you dance; you knew there was no way he missed that smell either.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, his voice full of faux concern after the second time you circled the room. “You seem so out of it.”

“It’s just… It’s hot, Lucifer.” You said, clinging onto his lapels and leaning into him. With his arm no longer around your waist, you couldn’t seem to keep yourself upright. You could hear his heart beating as you pressed your face against his chest, steadying yourself. “It’s… I don’t know what happened, I’m just, so hot…” It was a lie, you knew exactly what happened, what those strawberries were laced with, but you couldn’t say it out loud, not when you were so affected by his sneaky little plan.

“Oh dear… Are you coming down with something?” He asked, gently guiding you to sit down where you stood. “Are you feeling ill? Are you hurt?”

Yes, you were hurt, your whole body ached in need and he was playing around like he didn’t have any idea what he had done to you. You whine, pulling the skirt of your dress up, a wave of cool air offering you a bit of relief on your heated body. “I hurt… right here.” You said, spreading your legs apart and giving him a clear view of the wet mess you had become in such a short time. “It’s hot… and I hurt…”

Your lips and throat felt dry, your whole body flushed and heated to a point where you wanted to tear off the fancy dress and just dunk yourself into a vat of ice water. You needed relief that only he could give you. Lucifer’s face of concern changed drastically the moment you revealed yourself to him and that sadistic smile you knew so well spread across his face.

“Oh now, that is a problem…” He murmured, pressing a finger against your soiled panties and rubbing his finger up and down to mold the fabric to your slit. “But… I would hate for you to leave the party so soon.” He drawled, putting on a dramatic pout. “I was so sure you would enjoy your time, is it not to your liking?” He pulled the skirt back down, earning a desperate whine from you; but you didn’t protest. There was a promise of satisfaction in the lilt of his voice and you were willing to go through the ends of the world at that point to get to it.

You crawled into his lap, rubbing your face against his crotch in a futile attempt to get him to the same playing field as you were. But, he was firm, preventing you from getting what you craved and helped you back up on your quivering feet. The music had stopped and the lights dimmed, giving you a sense of security. You leaned against him, tears starting to form as your desire became the only thing you could think about. You wanted him so badly. “What else do you have in mind for tonight?” You asked, your voice shaking and you looked up at him.

“Just some games....” He replied casually, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. Just the brief contact along sent a massive wave of arousal through you and you saw stars for a moment. “Mainly, I want to see how long before the special ingredients in those strawberries really kick in.”

Your eyes went wide. If this wasn’t the brunt of the effects coursing through your body, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. There was no way it could get any more intense than this, yet the way he spoke hinted only at a high that you hadn’t felt before. He chuckled, burrowing his head at the crook of your neck, kissing your sensitive, heated skin and you were helpless to stop him. Your whole body spasmed in need as your nerves were caressed and teased. It lost feeling at the tip of your fingers and your arms fell limp to your sids as you were completely swept away from him.

He didn’t need to do anything more than grab one of your breasts, kneading it experimentally before your tender nipples sent enough pleasure signals through your body to have you cumming. Your knees gave out and you sank to the ground, gasping as you rode out the sudden climax. The edge of your vision blurred and your ears rang as you caught your breath. Looking up, you saw Lucifer with that stupid smirk on his face, his eyes glittering and a noticeable bulge growing in his pants. You reached up to nuzzle it, burrow your head against the thing you crave and took in his musk. “Please… I need you…” You begged. “I need you right now…”

Those were the words he had been waiting to hear from you. Just the sound of your pleas were music to his ears and did more for his libido than you could ever imagine. He brought you back up on your feet, kissing you deeply and swallowing all the delightfully lewd moans that came from your throat. His hand laced into your hair at the back of your head kept you right where he wanted as he took the prize he had waited all day for. “Then you shall have me.” He said, licking his lips menacingly once he broke the kiss.

You were ready to sink to your hands and knees and let him use you as he saw fit. However, he brought you out of the office and into the elevator instead. You blinked in confusion until you saw him wave a black card over the scanner at the elevator, requesting for a floor that you never accessed before. It wasn’t until you stepped out that you realized he had brought you to the top most floor to his own abode.

There was no time to admire the great view that the floor to ceiling windows had of the city. You weren’t in the right mind to notice the collection of fine art or the practical furnishings that decorated his abode. All that mattered was the beeline the two of you made to his bedroom. Even if you wanted to take a second to soak in your surroundings, Lucifer gave you no time to do so, nearly throwing you into the massive bed in the room. You let out a little yelp of surprise when you hit the silky sheets; but that was quickly replaced with your need to feel his hands on your skin.

Now that he had you in his own space, in the privacy of his own home; Lucifer had the freedom to act as he wished. The first order of business was to help you out of that slinky number of yours. It had served its purpose and now he was ready to move onto looking at the most beautiful thing he possessed. He chuckled darkly, sliding the straps of the dress of your shoulders, turning you over just long enough to pull the zipper down to reveal your lacy underthings. As soon as the dress fell to the floor, it took no time at all for him to expose the rest of you by quickly removing your panties and bra.

Even if it took mere seconds to divest you of all your clothes, it felt like an eternity to you. The drag of the fabric across your skin made you shiver. His featherlight touches made you moan and when he finally pulled away to witness your nude form, the way he licked his lips made you shiver in anticipation.

Without clothes, the heat of your body was more bearable; however, it did nothing to quell your pussy’s need to be stuffed full with his cock. Spreading yourself wide once again, you beckoned him to take what you knew he wanted. This time, he was more than happy to oblige to your request. His clothes seemed to evaporate off of him; likely a result of some magic, but you didn’t care to discuss the details on how he removed his clothes. What you cared about the feeling of his weight above your own and the fullness you felt whenever he entered you.

Your hips levitated off the bed as soon as the tip of his cock started to tease at your folds. “Please, don’t play with me like this, Sir.” you cried, clutching onto the sheets below you as he made slow passes up and down your slit. He chuckled darkly, pushing you just a little further before he finally, gratefully put the tip of his cock into you.

Just at that, you could feel your inner walls clenching around him at your entrance, wanting to draw him in further into you. With how busy you had been with work and how much time he had given you to recover since being impaled by Diavolo and himself, it had been an eternity and a half since you last felt him fill your needy hole with his dick. A mixture of curses and his name fell from your lips as you hungrily took every inch of him. He was so terrible, taking his time to make the first pass in you; but it was the most fulfilling experience when he was fully seated inside of you. Your body molded itself around him, clinging to him for dear life as you rutted against his hips, begging for stimulation.

He didn’t want to torture you any further, after seeing your sweet face scrunch of up pure pleasure once he fully sank himself into you. Now, what he wanted was for your body to memorize just how good he could make it feel; and that meant fucking you right into his bed. The pace he set was just enough to bring you to the precipice of an orgasm with a few thrusts. “I know you want to cum…” He growled into your ear. “Feel free to do as many times as you want tonight.”

As soon as the permission was given, you spasmed around his cock still thrusting into you. You screamed his name, the sounds of sex and your moans filling the room as he picked up the pace and slammed his hips into you harder as you climaxed. Fucking you while your inner walls fluttered in orgasm never failed to bring him close to the edge and he was losing himself as well to the throes of pleasure.

You counted maybe two or three more orgasms before his own hips stuttered and his pace became erratic, his own release coming soon. You wrapped your legs around him, drawing him closer to you until his own hips stilled and he spilled his seed into you.

The brunt of what was in the strawberries finally hit you and the need that roiled in your blood intensified, making you keen and milk him hungrily. He pulled out of you, watching his cum drip out of your hole before taking a finger and slowly working it back into you. The sex was already mindblowing and your body was telling you that it was getting tired of being so overstimulated; but, it wasn’t enough. You wanted more and you pulled him in for a searing hot kiss full of tongue and teeth. “I want all of you. Give me that demon cock of yours. Fill me.” You demanded in between kisses. “Please, I need it…”

You heard him chuckle darkly before he agreed to your request. There was a fluttering sound and you saw black feathers in your peripheral vision as he shifted into his demon form. You smiled lazily, admiring how beautiful he was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. You hadn’t seen this side of him since the first time. Even if you knew what to expect the second time around, it was just as awe inspiring as the first. You knew what was to come now and you eagerly awaited his next move.

“Hands and knees.” He growled and you scrambled to follow his orders. Your knees quaked a bit as you got into position. You could feel the bed dip from his weight as he joined you in it, lining the tip of his cock with your dripping cunt. With one smooth motion, he was buried in you right up to the top of his knot. “Yes... “ He hissed, fisting his hand in your hair and pulling you up to be flush up against his chest while he set a brutal pace. “Yes..”

You were in heaven, your body feeling nothing but euphoria as it conformed to every ridge and vein of his cock that worked in and out of you. You came only after a few thrusts, but you knew it was far from over. Lucifer’s thick girth and massive length working in and out of your dripping pussy would push you right to the edge of pure bliss and you couldn’t wait to chase that feeling with him.

His free hand snaked around your waist to rub your clit, sending you keening and again into another orgasm. His sharp fangs raked the soft skin of your neck, leaving welts and marks that would last for days. The pain only added to the experience and you rode out yet another high around his cock.

“All of me.” He growled, slowing his thrusts to start pushing his knot into you. You let out a strangled gasp, feeling the familiar stretch at your entrance. It was blindingly blissful, being penetrated so deeply by his cock and then to be stretched to your limits with his knot. There was no other feeling like it and even without the aphrodisiacs coursing through you, you knew it was the best sex you would ever have. You breathed slowly, feeling every inch of his knot enter you, your eyelids fluttering as you could only imagine what it looked like right now as your pussy engulfed him.

He groaned when the tie was complete, your core accepting every last bit of him and now, his true pleasure began. He pushed you back onto the bed, letting you brace yourself on your elbows while his hands went to your waist to keep you steady. He rutted into you, rocking back and forth and groaning every time he felt your walls clench around him. You could tell he was close and with one last possessive growl, he pushed himself as deeply as he could into you, releasing his load. The warmth of his seed filling you doing its job as it brought you to one last climax before you felt your arms give way and you collapsed from exhaustion.

Lucifer gently maneuvered you to lay on your side so he could join you in the bed with his knot still fully embedded in you. He could still feel his balls twitching, releasing his cum in spurts inside of you as he nestled you into the crook of his arms and protectively wrapped his wings around your form.

“Congratulations on making it through a year here.” He praised, stroking your hair and lulling you into sleep.

“Of course, I expect to be with you for many years to come.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear.” He chuckled, kissing the top of your head as you dozed off into slumber. “Stay for the night… It’s too late to get you home by now.”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” You said, clenching yourself around his cock and he chuckled at your response.

“This is very true.” He said, still petting you methodically and watching you fall asleep.

He waited patiently for you to start softly snoring before he allowed himself the privilege of resting as well. His knot was still hard and firmly entrenched in you and it would likely stay that way for a few more hours. He watched your body slowly rise and fall in slumber and listened to you mumble in your sleep while he let himself soak in the soft moment.

“I love you, Lucifer…” You mumbled in your sleep, shifting a little and clinging onto the arm he had thrown across you.

“I know.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head, fully satisfied with the result of a long years’ worth of training. “I love you, too.”

Caring for humans was still a foreign concept to Lucifer; but, he could make an exception for you.

Fin

Taglist: @ptv-hades @bluelipsblueveins-blue @utopiamiroh @vanillaicebaby @taehyungtrasholiviahaneul99 @weebartistinc

#Obey me #obey me fanfiction #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x oc #obey me smut #wow this took two days to write #almost not sorry #I saw you anon #I just didn't want to spoil what I already had planned a week ago lmfao #enjoy the end of this smut #i hope y'all liked the wild ride #my writing

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tendouthighs · 4 years ago

Text

Characters: Kuro Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou (separate)

Time period: 3rd years at Nekoma, late college time

Warnings: literally one slightly suggestive line

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre: Fluff

Format: One shot

Gender: Fem/Male/Gen

Dedicated to @jayeray for the secret solstice event between me and some friends!

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XOXO

Kuro Tetsurou:

It was finally the weekend, the boys had just finished their volleyball practice and you and Kuroo were on your way back to his for your Annual-December-Weekend-Movie-Marathon. Cool name right? Anyway, the manger of Nekoma, Jay, had just finished locking up and saw Kuro waiting for her by the vending machine. Walking over Kuro passes Jay a soda and proceeds to hold her hand.

“So what are we going to watch this time?” Jay asks as she take a sip of her drink, “I swear to god if it’s the polar express again, I’ll drown you in hot chocolate.” Kuro chuckles and grabs her unoccupied hand, “You say that but I know you love the film, sweetheart.” “Don’t ridicule me you ass hat” Jay says in fake annoyance. “What can I say? It’s fun to tease you” His ever lasting smirk makes Jay want to hit him but unfortunately her hands are full.

Jay rolls her eyes as she sees that they’re just now coming up to the schools gate. “If we stay at this speed we’re never going to get back. Was volleyball to hard on you, Captain~” Jay chides, teasing him back from his comment before hand. “Well I don’t know if you can see, kitten, but it snowed last night and I’d rather you not fall and be whining all through out watching polar express that ‘it hurts’ and that I should ‘kiss it better’. So you should be thanking me.”

The comment makes Jay fluster as she finish’s her drink and throws it away, “Hey! I thought I said no polar exp-“ Jay pauses in her sentence when she see the rest of the volleyball team are all standing around grinning, “what’s up with them?”

Turning around (and letting go of kuroo’s hand) Jay spots kenma launch a snow ball at Yamamoto. Kuroo instantly starts to cackle while Jay stood there in shock and proudness “I knew he had it in him”, Jay whispers whilst wiping a fake tear from her eye.

Just as Kuroo finally calmed down from laughing, he cracked up again as Yamamoto missed throwing a snowball at Kenma and hit Yaku. “Wahhh Yaku so you’re so tiny that it must of been luck that the snowball hit you” Lev commented which therefore caused Yaku to throw a snow ball at Lev and a while snowball war to start out.

“I’m not even going to question how this happened, so let’s just leave and not get dragged in-“ Jay whistles and try’s to turn around to sneak off, whilst dragging Kuroo with her. Jay was definitely not going to give up cuddles just to get cold in the snow. But alas, the universe has different plans for Jay and her main character life.

On their way out Lev threw a rouge snowball and it hit Jay square in the back of the head. God help Lev against Jay’s overprotective (and dotting) boyfriend. “Hey! Do you want to run double laps Lev!” Kuro shouts as Lev frantically apologises, “it was an accident Kuroo I swear- Jay, I’m sorry! Tell the bad man it was an accident!”

Whilst kuro was telling Yaku to keep Lev on a leash, Fukunaga throw a snowball at Kuroo, right in the face bless him. “That was cold as ice,” he giggles to him self.

Jay instantly burst out laughing “Fukunaga that was comedy ‘cold’! And the faCE KURO MADE AHAHA! Oh god I’m crying that was hilarious, you deserve a raise for that oh my-“

Jay stopped laughing as snow filled her mouth making her cough. The cackles of Kuro and the muffled giggles from the team were heard as Jay slowly stood up from her previous laughing fit on the floor.

Jay swiftly snatched the snowball Lev was making (which in turn made him whine, but Yaku stuffed snow in his mouth whilst Inokua tried to stop him-) and aimed the snowball at Kuros face, at close range might I add, and threw it into his cackling open mouth and closed eyes, which made him choke.

After Kuro stopped dying, Lev of course had to say something “that’s karma for throwing a snowball at our pretty managers face”, which irk’ed Kuro. “I’ll show you pretty you damned giant!” Kuro sneers and throws another snowball. Which unfortunately for Kuro, hit Kai. Which then began another war.

After an hour or so had past, and being covered in snow and cold to the bone, the volleyball team went inside to get changed, and dry off, in the locker room. Jay and Kuro started on their ways back to Kuroo’s, with his arm draped over Jay’s shoulder, and her arm wrapped round his waist. Slowly catching her breath, Jay breathed an airy laugh, “I gotta say, I didn’t expect to be dragged into a snow ball fight when I woke up this morning,” she smiled, “although I can’t complain, as you did get a face full of snow”.

“Says the one who got snow thrown in their mouth!” Kuro retorts, smirking. “Yeah! Well! At least I wasn’t the one who choked on the snow!” The look Kuro gave Jay made her realise what she said, “hey wait, don’t-“. He swiftly cut her off “ but you’re the one who chokes-“, Jay jumped and tried her best to cover his mouth, “LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU-“.

His eyes held amusement as he pries her hands away, “you know, that was our first snow ball fight.” Realisation flashed in Jay’s eyes and a giant smile came across her face. “Oh yeah! It didn’t snow last year” Jay comments and grabs kuro’s hand to continue the walk, “well I enjoyed it, especially now that we can get back and we can cuddle and get warm.”

Looking up at the sky Jay smiles fondly “Although it’s cold, this will still be one of the best memories that I’ll treasure with you and the team in”. Kuro’s eyes wondering slightly before a genuine smile settled across his lips, not his usual smirk. “Well then I’ll just have to warm you up in my arms and make more unforgettable memories”.

Coming to a stop a few blocks from Kuro’s house, he hugs Jay tight around the waist as her arms come to instinctively curl around his neck. Jay looks into his eyes and smiles cheekily, “well my lips are cold too.”

With a smirk and a whisper of “I think I can warm them up”. Kuro dips his head as his lips connect to hers in a soft kiss. Pulling back slightly Jay smiles at him. “We should hurry up, or else we’ll never get back,” with another peck to his lips Jay detaches her self, “I want more kisses and cuddles when we get in.”

With a laugh, they both continue back. It’s safe to say this is the best winter that Jay had ever had.. and Jay knows that as long as she has Kuro, all winters will be the same. Nothing seems more perfect than this.

XOXO

Bokuto Koutarou:

Bokuto always took things to the extreme, and Christmas was no exception.

The house was blitzed to the max with decorations, the biggest tree there was, and a hundred lights that light the front lawn.

But the activity that Bokuto loved the most, was gingerbread decorating.

So that’s what Jay and Bokuto did Christmas Eve Eve (as Bokuto says) because patience is not in Bokuto’s vocabulary.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing” Jay’s eyes glimmer in amusement as she watches Bokuto stack icing covered gingerbread biscuits on top of each other. “I know what I’m doing, I’m an expert at this type of thing! I wasn’t the ace of Fukurōdani for nothing!”.

“Bokuto that was four years ago,” Jay sweat drops but doesn’t bother pressing into the matter, “and with how tight you’re squeezing that bottle, the top looks like it’s about to blow off”. It was true, with the excitement and determination to finish his gingerbread tower? Stack? Thing?, his knuckles were slightly white from squeezing the bottle too hard.

“This bottle is as tough as nails!” He proudly declares, “nothing can break this bad boy-“ maybe it was the fact he spoke too soon, or his icing cover face and hands that made Jay laugh and grab the table to stable herself; but either way she was in stitches.

“W-what was you going to say-“ even speaking was hard when you were dying from laughter, “as hard as nails, eh?”. The tick mark on Bokuto’s forehead increased with every comment; until he exploded.

“YEAH, WELL, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT IT WAS AS SOFT AS KUROO WHEN HE LOOKS AT WOMAN” Bokuto _screamed_, it went silent. A pin drop would of sounded like an earth quake.

“Did you just-“ Jay cut herself off as she stared at Bokuto, deadpanning. Flushing red he rubbed his face to get the icing off, instead making it worse. “Now you just look like a clown,” Jay’s comment makes his hair deflate a little so Jay quickly rephrased what she said, “a hot clown that is my lovely boyfriend!”

A proud smirk soon returned to his face as mischief flashed through his eyes, which in turn made Jay raise an eyebrow. “Well every hot clown needs a stunning clown!” Realisation hits Jay like a brick as she waved her hands around frantically, “h-hey! W-wait a minute,B-Bokutooooo!”

Bokuto pounces on Jay and knocks the both of you to the floor, with Bokuto on top of you, gripping Jay’s hands with his; whilst rubbing his cheek against Jay’s simultaneously. “Now we’re clowns together! All we need now is a baby to make a clown family!” The comment is enough to make Jay flush, but Jay quickly push it down as she sits up and Bokuto slips to the floor. “At least give me a ring first” Jay jokes as Bokuto’s hair sticks straight up and stars shine in and around his eyes, “Marriage is the key to a clown family!! I’ll start the preparations and we can have a gingerbread tower cake and-“ before Bokuto can ramble anymore Jay presses a finger to his lips which stops him in his rambles, going cross eyed to stare at her finger.

Meeting back with Jay’s eyes, fondness is swirling within her irises, “oh I love you, you big good,” a massive smile etches on to his as he tackles you to the floor again, changing “I love you! I love you!” Over and over.

“Alright, alright!” Jay fondly holds him back, “let’s get tidied up and then we can discuss the marriage deal with the gingerbread tower cake”

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General Taglist: @mssyprsn @sachirou-senpai @sugasugawarau

Random: my heart is about to beat out of my chest I’m so nervous- sorry in advance because of how b a d my writing is- ily- xoxo

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junejalow · 4 years ago

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“Date Night”

Coolguy1245 requested the a prompt of Thermite/Ash going on a date.

Sorry this took so long to get out, I've honestly been caught up with other things but I'm getting back full swing on requests! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Text

Thermite whistled to himself as he leisurely walked along the halls of the base, he had just finished up some drills under Thatcher's watch and helped him out with paper work afterwards which surprising didn't draw any form of usual complaint from the older man, he was slightly taken aback by the action despite it speeding up the process. Jordan could get work done when in the right mind set and with the right people or on his own even if he tended to procrastinate when left alone, he eventually got the work done before whatever dead line the reports had since he didn't want Ash, Harry, Thatcher or Montagne's scolding on his ass. He sighed at the thought, pushing it aside as he neared his designation. He had walked from the training grounds, court yard, living area to the showers, stopped to fill out reports with Thatcher, hurried along to the dorm section and now he was here. He fished around in his pocket for the key to his room and with one swift movement he unlocked the door and turned the nob. He noticed the lights were already on and glanced to Ash's work desk, sure enough the attacker was sitting there typing away on her laptop with papers strewed around and folders stacked or opened. Her brow was furrowed with concentration to whatever she was working on. He didn't disturb her until he heard the laptop click shut.

"How was training?" Ash asked as she cleaned up her desk, putting papers into the correct files and placing them in storage. She was a organized frantic when it came to things being put in their place, mainly when it was files. She couldn't stress enough how easy things were to find when they were placed correctly, vs the mess Jordan had on his side of things but she never tried to fix any of it since she valued her sanity and the hard Texan always managed to find exactly what he needed. Ash would never openly say it, but the simple act amazed her. He could pick a needle out of a hay stack with one look.

"Same as usual, Although a accident happened. Nothing to bad. Blitz rushed the biohazard container last second and flash banged Jager, caught him off guard, Poor guy tripped over some ruble from a wall I took down and busted his tail bone. Fuze ain't happy about it, nearly shoved Blitz against a wall over the matter." He replied, watching Ash get ready for the date they agreed to go on this afternoon after all of their work was done.

"See, this is why I told Harry it wasn't a good idea to have anyone romantically involved on opposite sides. That exact situation could have turned into a fight and that's the last thing we need."

"Hey hey, it's alright. There aren't any hard feelings. Monty calmed everyone down and they understood it was just training and accidents happen. Even Thatcher didn't leave until everyone was good. It's fine, really." Jordan told her, leaving the shared room with her after grabbing his car keys.

"Not the point Jordan." She sighed out with a light annoyed tone. "I'm not against anyone here having a relationship, it helps in ways. Like you did with me…. I would be drowning in work and responsibilities if you weren't here to tug me back a few steps." He smiled warmly and grabbed her hand, taking their time walking through the hallways of the base.

"I needed you too Eliza, I got no one outside this team. Everyone here is like family of some sort or another but you…damn woman you are so much more~"

"Starting your flirting already? Did your gadget blast you with too much heat?" Ash teased with a smile, shivering faintly to the chilly England air as they walked out of the dorm section of the base and across open ground to the parking lot. Various car's neatly lined up. Harry didn't mind them leaving and exploring during downtime but expected them to come back within reasonable time incase there was an emergency, which seemed to be a lot lately. Half the base was currently deployed to different countries right now. Thermite himself had just returned not even three days ago from a month long mission helping defuse bombs from several sites and hidden factory's the White Masks were crafting and producing. His hands were still sore but he would never complain about it, not when the entire team had come back without a scratch. Sure exhausted and lack of sleep had taken it's toll on all of them, that wasn't anything new to the operators. He wouldn't trade sleep for this chance of a date night, they had been planning this for months now with the last three attempts being stolen away by their jobs calling for their attention. Soon enough the pair were on their way down the road, soft music playing from the radio between idol chatter of news reports about jobs, tv shows, new food brands, touring music bands, and new movie releases. Ash's phone bleeped with a text message, she tried to ignore it since she promised Jordan her attention would be on the date and not work once they left.

"You can answer it Eliza, we're not at the restaurant yet." Thermite told her with a reassuring tone.

"I'm not going back on my promise Jordan, that's not something I do and you know it."

"What if it's Jager letting you know he got called out for a mission? You know he never rests for anything, he's on standby as well." He replied, making a good point. He had personally witnessed the German operator fly them out of harsh situations even with injuries, even though the scolding he got from Doc and Harry himself wasn't very nice to listen too and left the pilot not wanting to leave his room for awhile.

"It's nothing important, if it was they would have called instead." Eliza replied, dismissing the subject. Her eyes wondered to the passing scenery, small stores, café's, old historical areas. Even she had to admit that England was a pretty place. Smoke and Mute had taken them on tours before as a team building exercise that turned into an all day trip, it was much needed at the time though. A lot of them had come back from a mass joint operation that ended in success but not without casualties, they had a lost a hand full of recruits that day. Montagne and Kapkan were emotionally scarred from it, they had personally trained the recruits for that mission just for them to come home in coffins. It took a solid month for them to come out of their depressed states and focus on the bigger issue at hand. She noticed the scenery slowing down as Thermite pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, once he found a decent parking spot he escorted her inside. They found a booth in the corner and settled in, it only took them a few minutes to get drinks and their food ordered. Thankfully neither of them were picky about what they consumed. Living on base with different nationalities you learned to eat whatever was offered by the on site staff who tended to change up the weekly food list to make everyone happy, of course the kitchen was open over the weekend for the operator's. Some enjoyed baking sweets or a simple home dish to lift spirits.

"You know...this is pretty nice. Getting out like this and relaxing." Eliza said with a smile, working at a steak with her cutlery.

"We don't get it often, and I don't count on base movie nights as dates." Jordan chuckled.

"Those are not movie nights, that's just a excuse for our friends to get drunk and fight over the remote for the tv."

"Okay okay, I'll give you that one… even though you stole the remote last time and played that cheesy love movie."

"Jordan! It was not cheesy! It was a good movie and you have zero taste in anything that doesn't explode."

"Really? Coming from someone who launches grenades' at walls?" Eliza paused midchew and stared at him from across the table, after a moment of silence they both tried to stifle a laugh so they wouldn't be too loud.

The two attacker's couldn't have any solid arguments about their own equipment since both were similar in ways. It was all in good fun though and both knew it, bantering like this relieved stress in an odd way for them. Ash waved her hand in front of her towards Thermite when he asked if she was retort any.

"No, no. I'm done. You had a fair point Jordan." She replied with a genuine smile. Thermite found himself returning the same type of smile, He loved the woman sitting in front of him with every fiber of his being for a endless list of reasons. The way they interacted with each other was in the top ten on that list. He could always joke around with her without it being taken serious. They had been around each other long enough to know the faint body signals, the small twitches, muscles tensing or jaws setting a certain way that gave away aggravation.

"Hey, did you still wanna talk about whatever it was you mentioned this morning?" She suddenly asked him, eyes gleaming curiously.

"Right! Right," Jordan said before clearing his throat a bit, he had finished his own steak earlier. Being among the few guys within rainbow that could put a lot of competitive eaters to shame. "Well. I recently got an apartment off base, and…I um…" Eliza waited patiently, concern filling her features. Jordan was never at a loss for words so she knew this was coming important.

"Jordie… what's going on?" She asked softly, using his nickname only she could call him by. Anyone else caught a glare from the Texan that clearly told people not to use it. He glanced up from his scarred hands, pausing to seeing her expression.

"It's not bad! I promise I was just… wondering if you wanted… to move in with me. Maybe take this a step further?"

Her face blanked out for a moment, taking in the request from her boyfriend. Her pulse quickened at the thought of actually living off base with him, both of them would constantly have to take their work home or rush back at a moment's notice should anything happen. But at the same time… having a place to call their own? She felt a grin spreading across her face before she said anything.

"You know what? I like that idea, I would love to move in with you." Jordan felt his chest swell with mixed emotions, happiness, fear, excitement, nervousness.

"Y-you serious? You really want to?"

She nodded, keeping her grin. "Yes, I'm being dead serious Jordan."

Thermite had to stop himself from jumping up and shouting right on the spot, his dream coming true of finally having a more private area with Eliza. A place they could officially call home and not be interrupted at night by loud noises or arguing between operators. "Thank you for agreeing, I'm moving everything next week if that's enough time for you."

"Of course, I can work with that."

The couple soon finished up their drinks and headed back out after paying, they wondered into base and quickly skipped past the common room. Hearing Rook fuss at Lion about drinking too much with them being on stand by, Blitz keeping Bandit from going after them for interrupting his tv show. Glaz and Mute sitting at a table on the other side of the room, the Russian working on a sketch while Mute typed away at his laptop. It wasn't unusual to see the pair together when Tachanka and Smoke were off base on missions. Ash shook her head they couldn't have one quiet afternoon here without something happening but that was the fun part of being with Rainbow. All the different people and personalities. Even if her and Jordan moved to the apartment soon, they would always be here for their family.

#rainbow six siege #thermite #ash #fanficion #fbi

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evilmortys · 4 years ago

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Have you ever talked about/drawn/ have head among about c-136’s rick? His relationship w/ his family and morty? Is her better than other ricks or worse? Etc!

i’ve never talked about rick c-136 much extensively come to think of it! so i hope you don’t mind if i use this ask as an opportunity to ramble about him and their dynamic and their dimension in general a little. it’s quite divergent from what’s typical for a rick and morty dynamic in places, i think.

first off i wanna lead with: morty c-136 is sixteen! so his summer is of course older too, and is now living away from home and attending college. he misses her a lot, but they still call a few times a week and bitch about their parents and what’s going on in their lives and bully each other a lot. she comes home sometimes, usually for holidays such as thanksgiving or whatever. they’re overly sappy for a minute max upon reuniting, then she’s kicking him in the balls and he’s calling her a dumb bitch.

his mom and dad are divorced, and have been since he was ten, so jerry is not really in the picture. rick is very relieved about this and hates jerry about as much as is typical for bastard grandpas. morty was sad about their messy break up, but very quickly came to understand it was for the best. there’s a security system rick set up to kick jerry to the curb if he ever comes around, much to morty’s aggravation, but it’s not put to much use anyway. (usually he walks over to his dad’s sad studio apartment of his own volition for custody weekend instead of being picked up, because his dad sleeps until late noon, so. not exactly a dependable ride. if he goes himself he can shake jerry awake at a reasonable hour and ... try to shake some sense into him too. so he doesn’t come to the house much.)

c-136′s rick has a complex relationship with his beth. she’s still very much wrapped up in his opinion of her and works to please, impress and ultimately attain his attention whenever she can. an easy way to do this is back rick up when morty backtalks him. if morty angrily says “shut the fuck up, rick” within earshot of his mother, she’s very quick to fly to her father’s defence as apposed to her son’s- “morty, don’t speak to my dad like that!” rick plays off this, recognizing an opportunity to make beth feel like it’s them versus morty, and says “thank you, sweetie.” the two then delve into conversation about how morty is “out of hand” as if he’s not even there, which understandably infuriates him further.

it hurts him a lot that his mom is so desperate to feel like her and her dad get along, and for him to acknowledge her existence, that she’ll invalidate his feelings and bitch about his behavior with rick to get it. he very much feels like his mom values having a positive relationship with her dad over him as a result. morty continues to love and care about her even in spite of the fact that it feels largely nonreciprocal at the best of times, but can come across quite cold, dismissive and clearly subconsciously angry with beth when talking about her at times as a result. don’t get me wrong, they go see the occasional movie together and morty helps her out preparing dinner very often. he cares deeply about his mom and he loves her, of course he does, but he's also felt incredibly estranged from her for most of his life. if nothing else, they can always at least bond over an eyeroll at one of his dad's latest fuck ups or stupid statuses on facebook. there’s some stuff about his childhood i could tack in here that’s relevant, but i’m very conscious of how long this is and i haven’t even talked about rick and morty’s dynamic yet ... adjaskjdfaksf sorry!

her alcoholism worries morty whereas rick seems a little indifferent to it, or considers it not a big deal. likely because he knows it invites accusations of hypocrisy if he calls out her self destruction via these vices.

in the past, morty’s tried talking with her, watering down and pouring out her alcohol stashes, and even pleaded for rick try and make her see reason- to no avail. (his grandpa ended up cracking a joke about what a fucking buzzkill morty is, they laughed it off together, and they both went out for, you guessed it, a fucking drink, or more likely ten of them, directly after the fact.)

right now, beth c-136 has been seeing a bartender for eleven months. rick seems to idly approve of him- at the very least, doesn’t hate him like he did jerry, which delights beth. her father deeming anything in her life a good choice means everything to her because she fights so hard to impress him while also trying not to look overtly clingy and needy, because that seems to repel him. also, he’s her genius father who doesn’t like anyone, so how the hell can his judgement be wrong, right? him approving of this guy has locked him into her life for the forseeable future. again, this pisses morty off, because this bartender guy encourages his mom’s worst vice of daydrinking with his job and lifestyle. he makes her happy, but he’s the fucking worst, and it makes morty want to tear his hair out. him and summer frequently snipe about the guy in private. sharing distaste for their parents’ prospective partners is very valid bonding they think.

c-136 rick and morty's relationship is emotionally flexible at the best of times. some days, so very rarely, they get along just great.

to name one wholesome headcanon before we Get Into It. occasionally, rick will pretend to know absolutely jack shit about one of the plants in morty’s greenhouse just to let him go off about it and suddenly seem excitably sure of himself for about twenty minutes of nonstop infodumping. 95% of the time he knows absolutely everything about the plant he’s asking about, actually, and on some level morty is absolutely aware of it. the smartest man in the universe apparently doesn’t know what a flaxtius olcum is? right. but ... he still appreciates the gesture a lot, and it cheers him up after a shitshow adventure.

it's not too clear what allows these occasions of treating one another with basic respect and almost fondness to arise- maybe his grandfather's in an uncommonly gracious mood, maybe they're playing minecraft or bashing animal crossing together, maybe they're snickering and exchanging incredulous glances during some cartoonishly evil alien's monologue of a plan as it's dictated to them in painstaking detail … regardless, those come around less and less often, these days.

rick secretly considers morty to be very capable and alarmingly more competent as of late, and he's not sure whether to feel almost proud or work to scramble to unravel all this progress lest morty start pulling away from him and revelling in his own independence.

they're a kickass duo when adventuring, very in sync. morty's less of a whiny burden or wide-eyed, unremarkable sidekick, and more of a borderline asset at this point. which again, makes rick feel very conflicted over how that skews their dynamic in a way that's less favorable for him, because morty doesn't need to lean on him as heavily or stick as close anymore. but at the same time, there’s less inherent risk of him dying while they adventure, because he handles himself so well. they can split up as needed to get shit done faster. morty frequently solo adventures, or as he calls it, “runs rick’s goddamn errands, actually.” he’s outgrown the concept of getting to choose an adventure and instead claims the portal gun every twelve adventures they have together, and goes off for one of his own.

morty speaks his mind very bluntly with rick and isn't really afraid to tell him to get fucked when he's being an unreasonable dick. he resents rick immensely for putting him down and pushing him around all the time.

morty's more assertive, yet still very much resigned to their irrefutably imbalanced companionship ; there are countless factors as to why. but primarily, it tends to boil down to feeling like he owes a lot to rick. were it not for his presence in his life, morty knows deep down that he wouldn't be half as interesting or even marginally as intelligent as he's capable of being now. he’d still be stupid, and mediocre, and uninteresting. unremarkable. unworthy of anyone’s attention or time because of how dull he is.

he's at a point where (to an extent) he feels distant from his life on earth at the best of times, because space and the infinite multiverse has encompassed his daily life for so long and on some level, he handles himself far better fighting for his life on the edge of the universe than trapped in a school full of sweaty teenagers and material he either blitzes through or can barely grasp. plus, rick was the closest thing he ever had to a friend while he was growing up. morty cares about rick, even if the older constantly cites reasons as to why attachment is moronic and sentiment is stupid, and he's aware that rick has come to care for him too- even if all his pointed jabs about not giving a shit and aloof front makes it hard to believe that all the time.

the issue is, once morty seems to waver in feeling that he has to constantly acquiesce to rick and falters in tolerating rick as an result of this obligated feeling of familial love, no matter how slightly, rick then begins to exert control over their relationship by other means, such as emotionally manipulating, gaslighting and outright blackmailing him to keep him in line with what he wants out of their dynamic: rick and morty, a hundred years, the only two people in the infinite multiverse that truly matter- theretofore, they should both solely consider one another as important, and worthwhile. he's willing to tarnish any other connections morty might form beyond their duo for fear of losing him.

he grows out of this irrational attachment a little more each time his grandfather lets him down, disillusions him ever further, hurts him or traumatizes him or actively fucking experiments on him- slowly but surely. he'll snap, in some sense, sometime. when exactly can't be known. what precise actions he might take to pry himself free of their codependent dynamic is unclear. but the way things are headed, the two of them splintering apart is inevitable, and it's unlikely to be an amicable thing at all. rick often actively renounces and appears repulsed by the very concept of familial love and basic attachment, constantly rants and raves in his drunken stupors about how replaceable everyone in his life is, and it's hard for morty to bite his tongue when he's behaving like that.

he just hates that he feels badly about himself and second guesses himself around rick. strangely enough, when he’s having to push through crazy shit alone, he does fine. great, even. sure, he’s freaking out, making everything up as he goes along, and secretly wishing rick was around to guide him out of the chaos because he knows in his heart rick would probably do it smarter. but once he’s with rick, he feels incapable and stupid beside him. like, being apart from him makes him feel so much lighter, allows him to lean on the intelligence he very much does possess, without being berated, second guessing it, and reminded it’ll never match up to rick’s, so there’s really no point in even trying.

#also fun fact: morty's very first mindblower was from when he was 14 and reverse engineered the whole ass portal gun #and rick absolutely flipped his shit and lowkey freaked out and erased the whole incident #BUT. HE THINKS ABOUT IT FUCKIN. OFTEN.#THE LIQUID IS WHAT'S HARD TO RECONSTRUCT. NOT SO MUCH THE GUN.#BUT IT WAS STILL... HE JUST. WHAT THE FUCK. HOW THE FUCK.#why is his morty. LIKE THAT.#feral and too smart/cocky for his own fuckin good!!!#I DON'T EVEN THINK THIS IS EVERYTHING IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG FDJFG FUCK??#i really did go off..... cringe.....#alex answers!#long post cw #I DONT WANT TO GIVE AWAY LIKE EVERYTHING BC #ONE DAY I MIGHT GET MY SHIT 2GETHER AND WRITE HIS FIC #BUT... YEAH-#Anonymous #c136!

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cynicalrainbows · 5 years ago

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The Next Best Thing Chapter 10

Next chapter!

Comments always very welcome and encouraged please!

(And Cathy will mellow towards Anna soon, I promise! Just...y’know, friendship politics are complex when you’re 7.)

Just as Cathy suspected, they hear all about the sleepovers Anna has been on with her friends back in Germany: Greta, who has a swimming pool in the garden that a hedgehog drowned in, and Greta’s Vati had to get it out with a stick, and Hedda, who’s Mutti let them make chocolate crispy cakes for supper, and Sofie, who has an older brother called Mortiz who let them stay in the room while he watched a scary, scary film about a clown that lived in the drain (until Sofie’s Mutti saw what they were watching and gave them popsicles in exchange for promising not to tell their own parents).

It all sounds amazing, except that nothing like that will happen at Anne’s sleepover, Cathy knows.

Anne’s family doesn’t have a pool. Also, Anne’s Mum doesn’t let them in the kitchen (Jane lets Anne bake with her sometimes but the sleepover isn’t at Jane’s house, so that’s no good), and although Anne has an older brother (called George), he doesn’t live with them.

(George lives in London. Cathy has never seen him but she knows that he goes to the Royal College of Art, which is like a school you go to when you’re grown up.

It sounded quite exciting when he first went because it sounded like he was going to paint pictures for a king or a queen, and she and Anne wondered if maybe they’d get to visit him and meet a prince or a princess….but it’s actually nothing like that at all.

Not only does George not paint pictures for anyone even a little bit royal, he doesn’t paint pictures at all.

Instead, he makes sculptures, which are like people made of clay, except Anne hasn’t seen any of them apart from a picture of one she saw by accident that George had sent in a letter. Anne said that the clay person didn’t have any clothes on at all, but that she didn’t really see it properly because her Dad saw she was looking at it and snatched it away and made her go up to her room.

She and Cathy giggled all day at the thought of George spending all his time in London making things like that (it’s more evidence that grown ups are really very strange) but Anne’s Mum and Dad don’t find it funny at all, Anne says.

They do lots of cross sighing about waste of money and terrible life choices and utterly obscene whenever Jane asks about him or when he sends them a Christmas card.

The cards always have pictures that aren’t in the LEAST bit Christmassy on them- once, there was just a photo of a dead cow in a tank- and Anne’s mum and Dad sighed and shook their heads and then put the card in a drawer.

Once, Anne snuck one out for Jane to read to her because George’s handwriting is too scrawly-small for her to decipher.

Happy Holidays and all that jazz to little sis, don’t let them grind you down, and tell Janey thanks for her ceaseless efforts to try and smooth stuff over, stay cool x

She thinks Jane left some bits out because the card was full of writing, written all smudgy like the pen has been pressed too hard into the page, that would have surely meant more words.

But Jane just says the rest is grown up stuff that she shouldn’t worry about.

George hasn’t sent a card for a while though. So chances of him being around to let them watch a scary clown film are low.)

It makes Cathy worried that the lack of older-brothers-with-scary-films and/or swimming pools is going to make Anna turn up her nose at Anne’s sleepover- but she seems just as excited as they are when they’re talking about it.

She shows them both where she’s made a little tally of days to tick off until Saturday in her News book (because the sleepover is sort of like news- it’s news-before-it-happens) and after a while, Cathy gets caught up enough in planning the pillow fortress they’ll make that she stops thinking about how annoying it is that Anna talks about Germany All. The. Time. and thinks about how much fun it will be instead.

Because it will be fun.

Even if Anna is there.

Or maybe because Anna will be there because annoyingly….Anna does have some good ideas.

Sometimes.

And as much as she doesn’t want to, as much as she wants to just hope that Anna goes back to Germany one day soon (or at least to another school)...she actually finds that sometimes, she’s really glad Anna is at their school and not at another.

It’s Anna, after all, who has the idea of excavating the big bit of rock that’s sticking half way out of the school field to see if it’s a dinosaur bone that they’ll be able to sell to a museum for lots of money.

(They don’t get very far, because they have to use twigs instead of proper little trowels and brushes but it’s still exciting to think that maybe that IS what it is and to talk about what it would be like to be famous.)

And it’s Anna who teaches the whole class ‘Feur, Wasser, Blitz, Sturm’ which they get to play instead of normal P.E, and they spend the hour flinging themselves flat to avoid the ‘feur’ (which means ‘fire’) and scrambling up the climbing ropes to escape the ‘wasser’ (which is water), and Cathy thinks it’s a thousand times more fun than having to demonstrate again and again that no matter how hard she tries, she cannot do a cartwheel OR stand on her head for the hundredth time.

So.

Having Anna at the school isn’t ALL bad.

Still, it’s very confusing, and Catalina, for once, is no help at all.

She is in fact annoyingly insistent on telling her that she is to always be ‘nice’ to Anna, and she reminds her lots of times that while she doesn’t have to play with Anna if she doesn’t want to, she is absolutely not allowed to stop Anne from playing with her or from ever discouraging Anna from playing with Anne and I mean it, mija.

She actually looks quite stern and serious when she says it, and it’s a bit uncomfortable to have Catalina look at her like that, so she promises that she won’t.

Still.

It is very confusing.

The days drag until the weekend but eventually, Saturday comes.

She’s so excited she can’t finish her breakfast, so excited that she can barely sit still.

(She’s going to a sleepover like a- well, not a grown up but like one of the older girls at school, like one of the characters on television. It’s breathtakingly thrilling.)

Catalina walks her to Anne’s parents house and reminds her about brushing her teeth and saying please and thank you, then hugs her so tightly that she nearly can’t breathe.

‘It’s going to be strange not having you in the flat tonight, mija.’

Cathy thinks that’s a funny thing to say when not all that long ago she was never in the flat at all- but before she can say it, she realises she sort of understands what Catalina means.

It’s exciting because she’s going to stay at Anne’s house ALL night….but also, she realises now….that means she’s not going to be sleeping in her own room.

The thought of sleeping somewhere else- now that she’s thinking about it- is strange.

Not bad exactly, but...different, and she realises that her bedroom in the flat has become her room rather than her-room-at-Catalina’s-flat without her even noticing it.

She wonders, if she was to sleep in the bedroom of her old house now, whether that would feel like going home or whether it would feel strange.

She wonders if somehow, by some bit of magic or maybe a genie, she was able to sleep in her old bedroom and have everything back to how it was- Mum and Dad in their room down the hall and all her old books, the copies that Catalina didn’t buy back for her, and the clothes that didn’t fit anymore and that got left behind when she was having to pack her things and the toy farm that she didn’t really play with anymore but that she missed the shape of all the same….she wonders if it would feel normal.

Would it feel normal or would she find herself missing Catalina kissing her goodnight and making sure to close the curtains so that there isn’t even the tiniest gap that a scary face could peep through?

(Catalina once asked her what constitutes a scary face.

‘Like a monster, mija?’

She said no because monsters aren’t real obviously but that not being real doesn’t also mean that they couldn’t look through her window if they wanted to and that monster or not, any face looking through her curtains in the dark would be a scary face.

Catalina nodded and said that since the flat is on the fifth floor, she can see how anything at all looking through her window could be rather disconcerting and that she will make sure to always shut her curtains specially tight to keep out any and all mysterious faces.

She likes that Catalina never tries to use adult explanations to make her not be scared of things, she never tells her that she’s being wrong or silly, even when she knows it is, a bit.)

‘Will you miss me?’

(She wonders suddenly if Catalina will enjoy having the flat back to how it was, if it will make her miss not Cathy but her old life.)

But Catalina nods emphatically before the worry has really had a chance to take hold.

‘Of course, querida. But you shall have such a wonderful time and tell me all about it tomorrow, yes?’

She nods.

‘And you’ll be able to give Anne her birthday present too.’

(She refused to make a card for Anne- although she normally would: card making still makes her feel a bit sick. But she’s proud of how fancy her writing inside the shop brought card looks- all in joined up writing and written with Catalina’s special expensive heavy fountain pen. And she’s proud of the wrapping paper- green with little red dinosaurs all over it- and of the green ribbon it’s tied up with (and of how she managed to curl the ends with scissors all by herself) and she’s most proud of the present itself.

It’s hard picking out presents for Anne, just because she gets new toys a LOT.

(Kitty does too but she often doesn’t play with them because according to Kitty, Pink Kitty would be sad. For some reason, she prefers hunching up in the playhouse Jane made her out of a fridge box with Pink Kitty to riding in her tiny pink electric car.

Neither Cathy nor Anne can understand this.)

Anne doesn’t have loyalties like that- she likes getting new things.

Not just for her birthday or Christmas- last year, Anne got a big new dollhouse for no reason at all and it was the best surprise ever because it just turned up one day in the playroom without a word being said.

It did spoil it just a tiny bit that getting the dollhouse meant she didn’t get anything for her birthday a week later (because apparently only very greedy little girls would have expected another present after getting the dolls house, according to Anne’s mum) but the dollhouse itself was still excellent, with its lights that turned on and off and all the furniture that matched.

It does make it hard to choose presents for Anne though, because she has so much stuff.

Still. She’s very proud of this present.

They’re standing on the doorstep for all of this, and they haven’t knocked yet, so it’s a surprise when the door opens right up and Catalina gives a very little scream and puts her hand to her chest.

‘Catalina! And Cathy! How are you both?’

Jane is standing in front of them, smiling delightedly, and there’s a small pink Kitty-sized figure holding onto her hand.

Cathy waves at her and Kitty hides her face in Jane’s skirt.

‘Anne will be so happy you’re here, Cathy! And-’ Jane lowers her voice slightly, turning to Catalina. ‘It’s so good to be able to say thank you again. For-….’

‘Oh it was nothing-’ Catalina waves her hand, and with it, waves away all the scariness from last week. ‘No trouble at all.’ She cranes her neck a little to look behind Jane. ‘Hello, Kitty.’

Kitty presses herself further into Jane, whimpering until Jane picks her up.

‘Can you hello nicely to Catalina, Kitty-Kat?’

It does not seem, from the lack of response, like she can.

‘She isn’t scary!’ Cathy adds earnestly. She’s trying to be helpful but both Jane and Catalina smile as if she’s said something funny, and then Jane’s smile fades.

‘Sorry, she’s just going through a-’

‘It’s completely fine-’

‘Strangers are just-’

‘Honestly, don’t worry-’

‘We’re working on it-’

While they’re talking, Kitty risks peeking out at them all- and then stares, transfixed.

After a moment, they all follow her gaze- to the necklace Catalina is wearing. It’s a little silver tiger on a chain- one of Cathy’s favourites and she can see immediately why Kitty is taken with it too.

‘Do you like it, Kitty?’

Kitty flinches back at Catalina talking to her directly- but then pauses before burying her face in Jane’s neck again, as if she’s weighed up her options and chosen to keep looking at this new and wonderful thing.

She nods solemnly, not taking her eyes off it.

‘Would you like to hold it?’

She nods again.

‘You don’t have to-’ Jane interrupts. ‘It’s kind of you to offer but please don’t feel like you have to- We can look with our eyes not our hands, sweetheart.’

‘Oh it’s alright, it wasn’t at all expensive.’ Catalina unclasps the necklace and takes it from around her neck. ‘And I’m sure Kitty will be very, very gentle.’ She pauses. ‘Won’t you?’

There’s a little pause- and Cathy wonders if Kitty has exhausted her communicative powers for the day, maybe she isn’t even going to nod anymore.

Then- ‘Yes’ Kitty replies, in a very tiny voice.

She looks up into Catalina’s face for the first time and, when Catalina nods a Go Ahead nod, holds out a hand to gently stroke the tiny tigers little head.

‘Good girl.’ Catalina keeps hold of the chain, but holds it loosely so that Kitty can thoroughly investigate the silver charm with her own small fingers.

She turns it over and over, looks into the tiny face and mews experimentally and then gently strokes it with her forefinger like she’s petting a very tiny cat.

After a moment, she leans back and whispers something to Jane, who smiles and shakes her head.

‘I don’t know, darling. Why don’t you ask Catalina?’

Kitty’s voice is tinier than the tiger. ‘What’s it called?’

Catalina smiles at her. ‘She doesn’t have a name yet. I never thought to give her one.’

Cathy opens her mouth to correct her- it’s true Catalina never gave her tiger necklace a name herself but only because Cathy asked her the same question when she was around Kitty’s age.

She’s just about to tell Kitty that the tiger's name is Stripey, when Catalina gives her hand a quick, tiny squeeze, and she knows, just knows, somehow, without anyone saying anything, that she shouldn’t say a word.

‘What do you think would be a good name for her?’

Kitty hesitates for a moment, thinking hard. ‘Silver Kitty’ she says at last. Her voice is a tiny bit stronger.

Catalina nods decisively. ‘Then Silver Kitty she is.’

‘Give her back now, Kitty Kat’ Jane says, and Kitty reluctantly lets go.

‘What do we say to Catalina?’

‘Thank you.’

‘And thank you for the excellent name.’ Catalina says, scooping her hair out of the way to fasten the necklace back on.

Jane is smiling and blinking a bit too much. She sets Kitty back on her feet so that she can help Catalina fumble with the tiny clasp and Cathy catches her whisper.

‘-first time she’s- ever since- thank you so much-’

Catalina murmurs a quick ‘You’re welcome’ back, and then raises her voice slightly and says they should probably let the girls get started with the sleepover and Jane says yes, yes, she’s sorry to have held them up and would Catalina like to pop in for a cup of tea at her own house next door, and Catalina says yes, that would be lovely-

-and then Anne is pulling open the door wearing a new tshirt made of very shiny green fabric that is almost like scales and Catalina is giving her a last kiss goodbye and Anne is grabbing Cathy’s hand and pulling her inside, to where there is already music playing and the tempting smell of birthday cake.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction #the next best thing

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spamzineglasgow · 4 years ago

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(REVIEW) Old Food, by Ed Atkins

Jon Petre takes a hearty bite out of Ed Atkins’ Old Food (Fitzcarraldo Editions, 2019), musing on the transfiguration of consumption and disgust into a carnivalesque prose poetry of mastication, food prep and Dadaist stylistics.

> There’s nothing worse than food cooked badly, is there? On our street we used to have sleepovers at a friend’s house. His parents couldn’t cook for shit. To this day I recoil to think of breakfast at his, which was always lukewarm beans, underdone toast and grey sausages, their skins thick and resistant to slicing, the meat inside limpid and oozing water. You’re more likely to remember an awful meal, I think, than a decent or just an average one. You remember consumption when it’s disgusting.

> Bad food sticks in the memory as well as the throat. It takes you back: a glimpse of grey sausages and I’m a twelve-year-old snob again. The opening scene of Ed Atkins’ Old Food (2019) strikes a similar chord:

Spring finds medium son just on the floor. Looks maybe six? evil, holds the red plastic-handled table knife in a small right fist, fishes a slice from the open bag of bad read with a left.

> What follows is a slightly sickening description of buttering bread with ‘crumb-stuck margarine’, margarine on the foil lid, margarine glistening on the kid’s skin and an old sock where it’s smudged in the food-prep process. It’s such a specific, carefully observed scene, with all the detail of a memory. The speaker destabilises the workaday and familiar (buttering bread, being awake before your mum at the weekend) and makes it an uncanny, vaguely gross and alien process. And that’s just for starters: welcome to Old Food.

> Old Food began life in 2017 as an art installation at the Martin-Gropius Bau in Berlin. I didn’t see it. From what I gather from videos, images and reviews online, animation formed a central part of the exhibition. In Atkins’ films, hyper-realistic people gorged themselves on food, eating and dying in some nightmarish uncanny universe. Old Food became infamous for a CGI shit sandwich that was full of tiny babies. In one film, a creepy child jerkily crosses the room and plays the piano as a storm rages outside. This book, elegantly published by Fitzcarraldo Editions in their signature blue French-flapped style, distils that visual exhibition into a verbal form: a fatty lump of consumption and disgust rendered into prose poetry.

> The speaker, or speakers, takes us through a series of meals and mealtimes. I felt like I was reading someone’s hardscrabble childhood, picturing Lord of the Flies children foraging for herbs and thieving cast-offs in a violent dystopia. But it feels wrong to ascribe Old Food such a linear narrative. No, Old Food is a carnival. A parade of savage mealtimes, a festival of overindulgence and late-capitalist excess. It is a meditation on the strange ways that consumerism has chewed up our animal instincts of desire and consumption.

> Old Food is narrated in second-person, and I was transfixed by the ‘we’ of the speaker: ‘We used to cut most everything with fridge-cold clammy chicken’, ‘we’d cut parachute silk / with skate wings’, ‘We became happy brutes’. For whom are they speaking? Are they carnal and transgressive as a collective, or is the speaker hiding in a crowd from individual responsibility? Vaguely troubling, rarely elucidated.

> Like artistic composition, food prep is both destructive and creative – taking a dozen bitty parts from a dozen separately whole things and making a composite other whole-thing whose wholeness depends entirely on how well it’s made, how well done-it is, how refined your taste is. Like art, food sounds mad. In its twisty language and wordplay, Old Food resembles some of the best Surrealist poetry (I won’t name names, taste being subjective) as well as the Futurists’ Manifesto of Futurist Cuisine (1930). The Futurists fetishized elaborate eating rituals as a way to cement ideas of nationalism and the supremacy of masculine desire. (they tried to ban pasta because it’d stop Italians from being uber-mensch.) Old Food comes out closer to Dada – sure food can be art, but it’s still full of shit!

> Words are chopped up and blitzed into paste, disassembled and reconstituted to suit the speaker’s palate. Peanut butter on bread is measured in ‘knifefuls’, zucchini is ‘scabbed’ in Tempura, and the ‘hot long release’ of pissing in a field sounds like ‘the frying pan sizzle’. This is poetry for a nation in turmoil, where even the language around who we are a nation and what is normal has started to go off. Old Food brings us down to its level.

> A roasted goose has ‘opened [its] legs’ for cooking; filling the bird’s cavity with stuffing is to ‘engorge to torture’. Eating has forever been synonymous with sex, but Old Food doesn’t take any prisoners – cooking juices are like body fluids, feasting is fucking, and so on. Sex, violence and eating – are all the same desire, Atkins suggests, carnal impulses that poetry is always better for embracing.

> Yet there is a tinge of desolation to all this gluttony and lust, no matter how fun. Old Food’s epigraph is from Georges Bataille: being formless, we may as well imagine it as ‘something like a spider or spit’. There is no grand narrative behind eating three meals a day until you die. Imagine every meal you’ve ever eaten, the good and the bad, the Wotsits and the Wellingtons, the slurped oysters and the Daddies’ sauce and, no matter how delicious or well-prepared they were, it’d all be the same in a vast, Sisyphean heap. There’s horror between those buns.

> ‘What’s at stake with this sandwich?’ the speaker asks, and the answer is desire itself: which desires we’re willing to admit to, which inhibitions we’re willing to shed. Whether it’s food or sex, someone is trying to sell us a fantasy of consumption; to think of either as sacred is absurd, Atkins seems to say, and in Old Food we’re better off revelling in the shit than swallowing it.

There used to be justice rather than I don’t know chocolate eggs. There used to be rallying cries’d rather than just a rich man suppressing belches at you. There used to be an unopened box and an open front door.

> By revelling in the shit, with its imagery of disgust and vocabulary of consumption, Old Food makes a stink about the sourness of our sex and food after late capitalism’s had its way with it. It’s credit to Atkin’s talent as an artist that he can move between visual art and prose poetry without seeming to lose his bite. If Old Food is like Surrealist poetry, then it is because you can enjoy the poetry as much for its puns as its absurdist critique of late capitalism. And for all the Bataille and nihilism, Old Food is a reminder that consumption is fun. Forget health cleanses and behaving yourself in public. What’s wrong with wanting crisp sandwiches and dirty sex?

Text: Jon Petre Published: 7/7/20

#poetry #review #poetry review #prose poetry #Jon Petre #Ed Atkins #Fitzcarraldo #reviews

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kiruuuuu · 5 years ago

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Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which they’re on holiday, and maybe, just maybe, Bandit is up to something. Includes Sledge/Maestro, Smoke/Mute, Blitz/Rook and my recruits!! (Rating T/M, chaos, shenanigans + fluff, ~9.3k words) - written for @grasshopper643! This was an absolute blast, thank you so so much for commissioning me, and also for including the recruits 💖💖

Bandit awakens to birdsong, crickets chirping up a storm, bright sunlight falling into the comfy room smelling of old wood, and another body draped over his. Mind blissfully blank, he takes advantage of the marvellous situation he finds himself in: a deep breath fills his lungs with warm, fragrant summer air, and when he tilts his head to feel the soothing rays on his cheeks, he just happens to snuggle closer to the man atop him. Hands wander over exposed skin, travel down the dip of the lower waist, climb the gentle rise a bit further down, fingertips digging into inviting flesh.

Jäger stirs, not much, just enough so Bandit knows he’s awake, and wraps even tighter around him with a contented sigh. Normally, an embrace this snug would feel suffocating, and normally, the start of a new day would be met with unwilling groans and mutual shoving, but they’re on holiday. Bandit’s mind is at peace here, aided by the floral scent of all the flowers thriving not only outside the small house but scattered inside, too, inhabiting vases everywhere and mixing with the building’s own organic smell. Jäger’s personal one is merely the cherry on top.

Lazily, Bandit mouths at his lover’s shoulder while continuing the really quite lovely groping, massaging plump cheeks in preparation of early morning sex, something for which they rarely have the time. But they’re on holiday. They can do what they want. If he was any more awake, he might endeavour to take Jäger apart with his tongue until his moans turn into these hoarse pleas which never fail to drive Bandit insane, yet he’s afraid they’ll have to make do with languid humping amid deep kisses – travelling to their destination yesterday was surprisingly exhausting and they needed the sleep.

Nibbling at Jäger’s nape of the neck earns him his first moan for the day, so he uses more teeth, continues down that vein and grins to himself when Jäger stretches into his ministrations, sees a shadow move by the window and looks up, over Jäger’s shoulder, to -

- to be faced with five pairs of eyes. Very wide, and very curious.

His gaze must’ve turned murderous as all five idiots drop out of view immediately and, from the quiet sounds of it, scramble to get away. Vague regret befalls Bandit not for the first time: this half-baked plan might come to bite him in the arse eventually.

Oblivious to this distraction, Jäger curls into him and captures his lips in a sloppy kiss, and just for a moment, Bandit considers not getting up at all. Give ‘em a show, who cares – part of him wants to show off his boyfriend with his long limbs, the adorable little smiles, confident movements so unusual for him. And Jesus fucking Christ, not even twenty-four hours in Italy, and he’s already let its sappy atmosphere seep into his thoughts.

“Off”, he orders and slaps Jäger’s backside hard enough to leave a bright red mark. With a dissatisfied grumble, Jäger obliges and rolls off him, but not without reaching between Bandit’s legs and hell, he really doesn’t make anything easy, does he? There’s a brief scuffle accompanied by sleepy giggling on Jäger’s part and vanishing resistance on Bandit’s, and when he ends up pinning the other man down by the wrists, he still hasn’t won. Because Jäger beams up at him so unguardedly that it feels like a stab to the heart. He’s just, he’s just so -

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots movement once more and that’s it.

“I’ll be right back”, he promises and, despite being incredibly pissed, briefly sucks on Jäger’s neck for good measure just so his smile doesn’t fade before untangling their limbs and getting up. On the way out, he pulls on a t-shirt and underwear since he doesn’t feel like digging through their luggage for his sweatpants, takes one set of keys and leaves the house to face his delegation of idiots.

The five recruits have piled up outside the door, the majority visibly uncomfortable.

“Sorry for interrupting, chief”, the Irish lad, Shay, brightly addresses him and gets shushed by the others immediately before continuing much more quietly: “We just wanted to report back.”

“Did anything happen?”, Bandit asks and looks to the only competent one of the bunch, the Russian lurking in the back, always seeming uninterested yet no doubt watching like a hawk out of the corner of his eyes. Bandit probably likes Ivan Ivanovic the most as he has him largely figured out – he’s familiar with the cool façade of nonchalance hiding a sharp mind, while he never has any clue what’s going on in Shay’s, Jojo’s or Gian’s heads. Nor is he particularly curious. And Valenti reminds him too much of Blitz sometimes: an overachiever, someone who fancies himself a leader.

“They had romantic breakfast, so Gian called cops on them”, Ivan Ivanovic replies levelly.

Bandit waits a second to see if they’re joking, but Shay merely nods encouragingly and since he can’t lie for shit, they must be serious. He massages his temples and, to buy time in order to process this revelation, barks at Valenti and Jojo: “If either of you glances at my cock one more time, I’m going to shove it up your ass.”

Both gazes snap up in instant terror and both faces flush a satisfying crimson. Well. He could’ve phrased this better.

“To be quite frank, we were in a state of non-negligible panic”, Gian points out calmly. “An interruption seemed the necessary course of action, yet revealing our presence unwise, so I acted swiftly.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway”, Jojo cuts in, sensing Bandit’s disbelief, “they turned out to know some of Maestro’s relatives, we think, so they had a pleasant chat and left and were none the wiser.”

“So let me get this straight – you made a false emergency call and are patting yourselves on the back now?”

Valenti opens his mouth to protest yet realises much too late that this is exactly what happened. His sheepish expression soothes some of Bandit’s anger, though it does nothing to improve the situation. “You did say we could use whatever means necessary”, Shay chimes in good-naturedly and Bandit belatedly understands how in the world these five usually land in these kinds of situations.

“Not only did you fucking violate the law, but you also ogled my boyfriend in order to tell me that ultimately nothing happened?”

They exchange uncertain glances until Valenti of all people attempts to appease him: “Well, we figured -”

“Fuck off. Don’t talk to me again unless it’s urgent, and if you miss me so much that you can’t bear living without me yelling at you, text me. Got it?” His razor sharp tone has them all nod and flee into different directions, leaving him to consider just aborting the entire mission.

But no. He has to get revenge.

The infuriating incompetence at least does have a positive side effect – he’s not only awake but also riled up enough to tongue punch Jäger into never-never land, and when he returns to a long body prettily stretched out on the bed, one hand wrapped around a very interested member, he only needs to grit out a turn around to spark a smile full of anticipation.

He still closes the curtains for good measure.

When it comes down to it, it’s Jäger’s fault. He fed Bandit genuine laughs, secretive grins and all the attention he could ever ask for whenever he let the other German in on a joke, and over time Bandit got used to it: shenanigans mean admiration, a few stolen kisses here and there, a re-telling both excited and exaggerated, and even pride. Jäger used to be proud of his innovations, all the creative ways in which he terrorised those around him. Therefore, when Bandit changes all of Blitz’ personalised ring tones to – as he finds – fitting alternatives and merely garners a crushing, accusing look together with a devastating sigh, his world view crumbles.

Admittedly, it did take Blitz an entire weekend to set up the system Bandit single-handed destroyed during two afternoons. Admittedly, most of the song choices were in poor taste and some of them genuinely offensive, but that doesn’t make them any less funny, does it? And admittedly, maybe, just maybe choosing Weird Al’s ‘Fat’ for Rook when the Frenchie only recently voiced wanting to lose a few pounds was a tad misguided. Especially when Blitz hadn’t noticed Bandit’s stunt and asked Rook to call him to locate his misplaced phone.

Well. Alright. Maybe he did deserve the tired look Jäger gave him.

But after that? No matter how hard he tried to impress him, how much of a menace he was, he never managed to regain Jäger’s favour. Instead, he got a talk.

Please stop, was the baseline. Don’t play pranks anymore. Focus on other, more constructive activities. Stop wasting all these resources on messing with people.

And so Bandit stopped. Not because Jäger told him, obviously, but without his partner in crime it just wasn’t fun anymore. It took most of his self-discipline not to tamper with Rook’s new shoes – heelies, of all things, it would’ve been child’s play to make him eat shit – and leave Mute’s new jammer prototype alone, despite him forgetting to lock it away one day. God, it could’ve been glorious. Bandit could’ve strapped it onto Diana and declare her a denial of service dog.

But no, he didn’t even want to mess around anymore anyway, and if he stretched towards Jäger’s resulting affection like a sunflower, it merely was a pleasant side effect. If only the others didn’t notice.

Smoke was the first. Out of boredom, he taped the kitchen door shut and texted Bandit about Monika having baked fresh brownies, then recorded him enthusiastically giving himself a black eye, and Bandit couldn’t retaliate. Because that night was going to be the fourth night in a row on which Jäger would pet his hair until he’s asleep which he’d never really done before, and Bandit wasn’t going to let anything get in the way.

Then Mute hacked his phone and literally every link led to fucking Rick Astley and every time Bandit typed ‘I’, his keyboard replaced it with the entire lyrics to the song, and Bandit still couldn’t take revenge because Jäger was in the middle of watching a series together with Bandit despite not being super into it, and he didn’t want to finish it alone.

And when a handful of others got wind of being immune to his wrath, it turned into hell. People openly approached him to criticise the way he led his team during a training exercise, and sure, he did a shite job due to acute laziness, but who does that? Others let him know they appreciated all the extra care he put in during their most recent mission and fucking Christ, if they don’t even stop shy of compliments, he might as well quit because what’s even left of him in that case? Horrifying.

Obviously, he keeps track of every misdeed. Just in case Jäger gets deployed for a few weeks, allowing him to punish all the wrongdoers. Even if he has the feeling he’d be too distracted to really make it count in that case.

But Sledge puts the cherry on top. One day, he pulls Bandit aside and says a few things which are inexcusable. Unforgivable. And thus, Bandit hatches a plan.

They have breakfast in a small café together with Smoke and Mute, both of whom immediately expressed the wish to tag along when Bandit mentioned his plans to go on a short holiday to the beautiful Western coast of Italy and who is he to turn down their company (especially when they potentially distract Jäger, allowing him some breathing room)? The Brits share the vacation house next to theirs and Bandit just hopes they didn’t notice the early morning commotion, but then again it seems as if Mute ensured they haven’t noticed much since their arrival.

“I’m going to eat fucking ten of these overpriced cardboard pastries”, he announces mid-chew and chases down the second half of Smoke’s cornetto with a sip of Jäger’s coffee before anyone can stop him.

“Babe”, Smoke tries to gently reason with him and earns a wild glare.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, not my fault they fold up the footpaths at night, I’m starving.” He gestures to the vaguely horrified-looking waiter to bring more sustenance and finishes Jäger’s latte in one go.

“If I’d stayed up all bloody night high on energy drinks I’d be starving too”, Smoke mutters with a helpless shake of the head which alright, that explains both Mute’s manic restlessness as well as the bags under Smoke’s eyes.

“Are you sure you should be getting more caffeine?”, Bandit wants to know dubiously and realises too late that the young lad’s gaze is worryingly unfocused.

“Huh?”, he makes and it’s obvious he hasn’t been following anyone’s conversation but his own so far. “Bloody hell, if this horrifically sweet stuff is all they eat for breakfast it’s no wonder Seamus is getting fat. I’ll ask whether they have bacon. They must have bacon. Right? Everyone has bacon. Or sausages at least. Fucking cold cuts, anything. Maybe there’s a salt shortage going on in Italy, though the people definitely had more than enough. Bacon.”

The other three stare after him as he makes a beeline towards the poor guy stuck serving them. “I would be salty, too, if some asshole insisted on New York style pizza being better than the original”, Smoke points out drily.

“Is he gonna be alright?” So far, Bandit has witnessed Mute on caffeine overdose (result: the attention span of a squirrel), sleep deprivation (result: endless ideas better suited for a mad scientist, particularly terrifying coming from someone who can actually implement most of them), and excessive hunger (result: an exceedingly sharp tongue plus an infinite supply of irritation), yet never all three together. He has to admit, it’s a sight to behold.

Smoke shrugs. “The crash is gonna be hilarious, no lie. He did tell me he hates energy drinks but didn’t specify why. Had I known, I would’ve put up more of a fight.”

Just as Mute returns triumphantly with an entire plate of fried eggs probably meant for all of them despite him making no move to share, Bandit notices that Jäger has been unusually quiet ever since they’ve left the house – and it’s even odder that he’s just watching Bandit with a small smile. Does he… does he know about his plan? Is he suspecting something? “What?”, Bandit asks defensively.

The smile widens. Uh oh. “Nothing. I’m just happy we’re here.”

Abort mission, abort mission. “Yeah, me too, and isn’t it a shame Elias and Julien have to rot at base without -”

“I was really surprised when you made the suggestion to come here, I would never have expected anything like this from you.”

“Well, we’re here now and we should make a list of everything that’s bad so we can annoy Maestro when we’re -”

“But it’s wonderful. The house is pretty, the beach is gorgeous and the town picturesque. It’s really romantic and I like it here. A lot.”

Bandit just laughs nervously. His face is on fire and he has to get out of this as soon as possible. Maybe he should split up the dumb recruits and have two of them watch him so he can give them a secret signal whenever a situation like this happens because holy shit, this is -

“Even so, you could’ve chosen any place and it would’ve been great, just because you’d be there. Thank you, Dom.”

He’s scarlet. Across the table, Mute is still stuck in the motion of salting his eggs while gaping at the two of them, unaware he’s created a veritable heap crowning one of the yolks by now. Jäger continues to smile at him and there’s no way he can bear another second of this. “I have to take a piss”, he declares loudly before fleeing to the men’s where he sits down on the lid, trying to will away the blood from his cheeks. Maybe coming here was a mistake after all.

To distract himself from the odd sensation in his stomach, he checks his phone and finds a message from Valenti: two lovebirds heading to the water, unsure how to interfere.

Alright. At least he can do something on this front. Once he’s cooled off a little, he returns to Mute nearly dunking half an egg into Smoke’s glass and Jäger observing them with a shit eating grin. “We should go to the beach afterwards”, he suggests and tries his best not to react to the hand straying to his thigh as soon as he’s sat down.

It wasn’t pickpocketing per se. Not really, because the odd object was half sticking out of Sledge’s trousers anyway, screaming to be taken. A rectangular box, while not too bulky, definitely not made for being carried around in front pockets for an entire day, and so Bandit merely… relieved the Scotsman of this burden. After all, he might’ve lost it otherwise and who knows how valuable it is. Better keep it safe for him than fill him with panic when he can’t find it and has to retrace his steps.

Bandit can’t deny it came at a pretty fucking opportune time seeing as he’d been obsessing about vengeance for Sledge’s uncalled-for insults, and so he nicked the velvety item without thinking and, as he hopes, without anyone noticing. For once, having to sit next to Sledge during meetings paid off. He’s patient for the rest of the day, carries his prize around without taking a proper look in case anyone catches him, yet when he opens it at home, he blanches.

Oh the possibilities.

For a few seconds, his mind is filled with delicious scenarios, one better than the other: replace the ring with one from a bubblegum dispenser. Replace it with bees. Add a noisemaker which produces a fart sound whenever the box is opened. Superglue it so it can’t be taken out. The more he thinks, the more absurd his ideas become: have it reduced in size. Engrave it with a random name. Coat it in a substance which dyes skin for weeks.

It’s a really tasteful ring. If he’s honest, it’s gorgeous. At the same time, he knows Maestro will flip the fuck out no matter what it looks like because it’s the act that counts, the intention.

Not only that, but Sledge is certain to inspect the entire box with extreme prejudice once he gets it back, and if he identifies any tampering, Bandit is dead meat.

“You dropped this yesterday”, he says the day after and hands the box back.

Sledge, as expected, examines it thoroughly before nodding – he doesn’t even hide it and alright, that’s fair. Given Bandit’s history of messing with him, he wouldn’t even bat an eye at Sledge sending it in to some lab. “Thanks”, he replies, and Bandit isn’t even offended at the astonishment in his voice. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Relationships really do turn most people into utter fools if Sledge deems it a fruitful idea to ask Bandit for his opinion. Fortunately, he’s very different. He’d never change himself just because of Jäger or fall into the trap of hopeless, helpless infatuation. He’s always in control. “It’d be way too small for me”, he shoots back, unimpressed, “but hey, you measured it, so I’m sure Maestro will love his new cock ring.”

The genuine laugh he gets in return tells him that Sledge really has it bad. “I’m planning to propose to him on our trip to Italy next month”, he foolishly divulges and Bandit’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh?”, he prompts politely. “Tell me more.”

If looks could kill, Bandit would’ve dropped dead the instant Sledge catches sight of him. He would’ve spontaneously combusted and his ashes been blown away by the wind, because the Scotsman must know instantly that he’s up to something, judging by how the sun itself darkens along with his mood. He’s stretched out on a towel on the beautiful fine-grained white sand, shielded from the harsh sunlight by a large parasol and ready to wring Bandit’s neck.

“What? How?”, Mute is still going on, not having recovered from this remarkable coincidence. “It’s impossible that we end up in the same vacation spot by pure chance!”

“Yes”, Sledge grits out. “Impossible.”

“Adriano recommended this place to us”, Smoke jumps in and Bandit owes him so many drinks, “and I thought you were gonna visit his family?” Some of Sledge’s suspicion fades, even if Jäger throws Bandit a curious glance. He still needs to be careful, so he keeps quiet.

“This… isn’t a set-up? You’re not up to anything?”, Sledge wants to know accusingly and Bandit just snorts.

“Of course not, as if I didn’t have anything better to do in my free time. Are you getting paranoid?”

Sledge looks like he has a few choice words to say, but when Maestro joins them, his attention snaps to him like metal to a magnet – not like Bandit could blame him, not with the Italian’s tan skin glistening all over and his dangerously short swimming trunks clinging to his body. Bandit takes note of this: should he ever need to divert the Scot’s attention, he merely needs to dump some water over his boyfriend.

“Amici miei! What a wonderful surprise, how great to see you!”, Maestro greets them warmly and smooches their cheeks, in the process getting all of them wet, and then turns to where Mute is chasing seagulls while screeching along with them. “What, uh, what happened with my cucciolo?”

“He’ll tire himself out”, Smoke assures him with a sigh.

“How do you like it here? I will show you everything! Isn’t it such a fortunate coincidence, cioccolatino?”

“Marvellous”, says Sledge.

“We can spend all our time together and I will teach you the most important phrases!”

And while the Scotsman looks like he bit into a lemon, Mute rushes over to detail all the sand castles he’ll build.

No more than five minutes later, the youngest Brit is already conked out and snoring softly on the very towel Sledge had occupied previously, and when he seems to be wholly unperturbed by the others talking around him, they set up their own beach equipment and share their experiences and impressions of Maestro’s home country. He seems genuinely delighted over their presence, unlike Sledge, and generously shares anecdotes about this particular holiday favourite. Normally, Bandit would rather chew off his own leg than allow the Italian to chew off his ear, but Jäger’s holding his hand and so he really has no other choice. Besides, his lover seems stoked over the opportunity to ask about everything local and his enthusiasm is contagious. At least a little bit.

Eventually, the group breaks up a little, with Sledge announcing his intention to go for a walk along the beach with Maestro, and Jäger urging Bandit to go swimming as well. He shoots Ivan Ivanovic a message about keeping an eye on the unlikely couple and interrupting them should the atmosphere become a little too amorous, and notices a text from Rook: the Frenchman seems to be making the most out of being stuck in Hereford and challenges the holidaymakers in a group chat to snap the best ‘out of context’ selfie they can. Attached is a peace-signing Rook in the foreground, with a half-naked Buck getting his chest hair shaved behind him, looking not at all amused with a doubled-over Valkyrie.

Half a minute later, Blitz contributes by sending a photo of him giving a cheery thumbs-up, while Rook in the background is apparently getting yelled at by a half-shaven Buck. Days since the last superglue accident: 0, Blitz adds.

Bandit, despite being highly entertained, silently vows to upstage him, upstage all of them really, even if he hasn’t figured out how yet.

“At least he’s prepared if he wants to compete with Meghan in the pool again”, Jäger comments good-naturedly, following the chat on his own phone. He turns around to photograph himself grinning while also capturing Smoke drawing a dick on his boyfriend’s unconscious body with sun cream. “You guys are cute”, he adds inexplicably.

Smoke takes one look at the drooling man haphazardly flung onto the fabric, shirt riding up enough to expose a canvas for him to abuse, and nods. “I’ve never loved another human being more”, he responds gravely and adds a few cum spurts shooting from the tip.

“Give the balls some hair too”, Jäger suggests sweetly before dragging Bandit off towards the splashing waves.

The hot sand burns their soles, so they awkwardly skip towards the sea, tackling each other once they’re largely submerged and nearly lose the beach ball they brought. Bandit supposes it’s a bad time to mention how he never really liked going on holiday, figures it’s usually more effort than it’s worth, and hanging around at the beach all day not having anything to do seems like a massive waste of time – but since his presence here has purpose and the cogs in his head never stop turning, it’s actually not that bad. He keeps one eye on the couple strolling along the beautiful shore, almost far enough away that he can’t see them anymore, and focuses the rest of his attention on Jäger.

Because dear God.

He belatedly understands Sledge’s distraction upon seeing his boyfriend emerge from the sea, cheeks rosy, rivulets running down exposed skin, playful smile plastered on his face and -

- and there’s an entire pack of dogs swarming Sledge and Maestro in the distance.

Bandit stares because what else is there to do? It looks as if all stray dogs from the region had assembled to circle the two, jump up and apparently try to slobber all over them, and while his brain is still trying to process the view, he gets thwacked in the head full force by the beach ball, losing his footing in the process.

He’s still coughing up salt water as Jäger drags him towards the sand, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his laughter and apologising simultaneously. He should be more upset, seeing as not only did the recruits choose one of the flashiest ways of bothering Sledge again, but also he’s got a headache now and his lungs are burning, he will probably end up with a nasty sunburn on his scalp as he refuses to wear any kind of hat, keeps stepping on sharp seashells, hates the way sun lotion feels on his skin and despises the taste of tangy water – but when they trip and fall, and his field of vision is filled with nothing but Jäger, and his lover smiles and quietly asks whether he needs CPR, and when there’s warm lips on his own cool ones, none of it really seems that dramatic.

Mute is awake and has aged by ten years as they return, but at least he seems to have mellowed out considerably – even though he doesn’t look at all amused with the jellyfish Smoke keeps lining up next to their shadowy spot. “Can someone tell him that sleeping for sixteen hours is a worthwhile activity?”, Mute sighs, massaging his temples.

“If I hadn’t sent you out to get some food, you wouldn’t have let me sleep last night either, babe. Stay up till evening and reset your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll reset your fucking schedule if you don’t stop with these stupid gelatine blobs. We’re not taking one home and that’s final.”

“Glad to see everyone else also enjoying their holiday!”, Jäger pipes up cheerfully while towelling himself dry. “But what happened to you two?”

Sledge, sipping what looks suspiciously like coffee instead of his usual tea, glances down at his scratched up legs, at Maestro’s paw print covered loafers as well as the general dirt smeared over them, and replies flatly: “We’ve gone to the dogs.”

“This has been a really odd trip so far”, Maestro adds, “the first evening we couldn’t turn off any of the lights in our house though they switched off by themselves some time during the night. Just this morning, we were approached by policemen about allegedly causing a disturbance even though I’m fairly sure we had the curtains closed the entire time -”

“He’s referring to the fact that he likes to sleep naked”, Sledge hastens to explain due to several pairs of eyebrows shooting up at this comment.

“Then someone threw a few Playboy magazines through the letter slot, and just now we became an irresistible attraction for the local wildlife.”

“It’s almost as if someone was up to something.”

And while the others continue discussing these odd and unfortunate turns of events, Bandit pretends he missed Sledge’s meaningful comment.

“I think I’ve got sunburn on my hands”, Smoke mutters to himself as Jäger and Maestro encourage each other to come up with the most complicated conspiracy theory which would explain all that’s happened to the happy couple, with Sledge merely shaking his head. “They’re pretty red.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your collection”, Mute prompts tiredly and indicates the shrivelling, dead creatures by Smoke’s feet.

“You see, most of them are just see-through slime, but this one is real pretty. Looks like an omelette almost, don’t you think, babe?”

Mute blinks slowly. “Go and buy some vinegar with Adriano, will you? Doesn’t matter what kind, and don’t ask.”

The suggestion makes most of them spring into action as Jäger was considering heading out for lunch anyway, yet he lingers when everyone but Mute and Bandit trail after a happily bubbling Maestro. “Don’t you think it’s weird that all these things happen to the two of them?”, he asks and it takes all of Bandit’s willpower and focus not to smirk. “You’re not up to anything, are you?”

“Of course not”, he promises as sincerely as decades of professional lying allow it, and sends his boyfriend off with a kiss to his nose.

Once he’s out of earshot, Mute mumbles: “You’re absolutely up to something, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am”, he scoffs and blames it on the energy drinks that it took Mute this long to realise.

“It’s a fucking fried egg jellyfish”, Mute explains without being prompted. “Nothing serious, but the bloody idiot is probably gonna feel it for a few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“And have him start early with asking me to piss on his hands? No thank you.”

~*~

“To be fair”, Valenti, the little fucker, tries to justify himself, “you didn’t say not to use perfume bombs.”

The effects of just 24 hours of Italian air are noticeable on the five recruits: Valenti has gotten even cockier than usual and revels in the warm weather, Shay has turned a lovely shade of lobster red, Jojo has bought a new wardrobe and, remarkably, looks just as fashionable as Maestro, Gian is distracted by everything and anything around him, visibly enjoying himself and writing novellas into his notebook, and even Ivan Ivanovic is smiling. If only Bandit himself felt the soothing touch of the country, he probably wouldn’t be this close to shaking some sense into the confident tiny Frenchman.

“You’re extremely lucky Seamus isn’t into crossdressing or any of that shite, because his soon-to-be fiancé smelling of several whorehouses at once caters pretty well to these fantasies and would’ve set him off, and then you’d have to keep two randy lovebirds apart and not just two sappy ones.”

“How do you know that’d happen?”, Jojo chimes up curiously.

The five of them are eating ice cream while sitting on the stone balustrade separating the promenade from the beach below and Bandit develops the sudden urge to toss the other German off it. “Look”, he starts and immediately gets interrupted by Shay smushing his face into his chocolate ice and Gian starting to giggle uncontrollably.

“The hell are you doing?”, Valenti wants to know, aghast, and rolls his eyes at Ivan’s reply: “I told him milk good for sunburn. Takes off heat.”

“I do feel much better already!”

Jojo grabs the cone out of the Irishman’s hand and sticks it against Shay’s forehead. “Shame you’re not called Shaun because now you’d be a uni-shaun.” Without any hesitation, he leans in and starts licking the ice cream off of Shay’s cheek, causing him to squeal and wield his damaged cone like a weapon and mere seconds later, they’re having a lightsaber fight in the middle of the fortunately empty street, with Valenti acting as referee.

Bandit’s earlier headache is starting to come back, and this time he’s sure it’s not related to heat stroke.

“Like children”, Ivan comments. He’s still got that smile on his face.

“Regardless of how we might achieve the goal you set for us”, Gian addresses Bandit, “our reward remains unclaimed. You’re confident you can procure it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you what you want, provided you guys keep your end of the -” And then he’s cut off by a screaming Shay colliding with him full force, sending him stumbling and dangerously close to the low banister but not yet over – though when he tries to turn and yell, Jojo joins the dogpile and sends them flying.

Jäger looks fucking gorgeous when Bandit returns to their cottage, shorts and boots really hitting the spot and if he complains about having forgotten lighter shoes one more time, Bandit is going to show him just what he thinks of his outfit by having him keep it on as he blows both him and his mind. Thoughts like this one have become second nature and he’s still not entirely sure how.

“Don’t touch me, I need a shower”, he warns his lover before he can wrap around Bandit the way he usually does, no matter how long he’s been gone, “I’ve got sand everywhere, even up my arse crack.”

“What did you do?”

“Slipped and fell on the beach. And other people might’ve also slipped and fallen on me.”

“Odd. Seamus had ice cream tossed at him from inside a bush.”

“Huh. Did he find out by whom?”

“It was a thorn bush, so he stayed away from it.” Yikes. Bandit feels like his conscience shouldn’t be as clear as it is, but on the other hand he’s largely paying for their trip. So if he gets free entertainment out of it, he’s not going to complain. “Look, Elias and Julien sent another selfie.”

On screen, the happy couple is smooching in front of Echo sleeping on one of the workshop tables, with a variety of objects stacked on top of him in an impressive display of balancing skills. Next to him, Dokkaebi is showcasing a veritably demonic grin, much to Hibana’s concern. “Cute”, Bandit comments sarcastically yet it seems Jäger takes him at face value.

“Right? I still don’t understand why you kept gagging next to them when they were freshly together. They’re so good for each other.”

And he’s never understood how Jäger can support kitsch on four legs this openly. “This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not really the romantic type.”

The knowing smirk following his statement is what drives him away, ears burning, and it’s still adorning soft lips when Jäger joins him in the shower a few minutes later.

~*~

“Mutiny”, Bandit repeats after a grave-looking Jojo. “Are you taking the fucking piss?”

“We’ve spent almost three days of constant surveillance, spontaneous action, consistent communication as well as doing a remarkably good job, if I may say so”, Valenti jumps in, eager to support his mate, “and you’ve not met your end of the deal.”

They’re huddled behind the very stone balustrade which has painted Bandit’s back a hideous shade of yellowish-green due to an acute case of getting bodychecked over it, and he’s beginning to feel like a repeat performance is preferable over dealing with these numbskulls. “My end of the deal?”, he parrots in disbelief. “I’ve paid for your fucking vacation, you ungrateful little shits, and all you’ve done is ruin their holiday.”

“I wouldn’t go that far -”

“Well I fucking would. You nearly gave Seamus food poisoning, caused him to fall into the sea, harassed him with prank calls which weren’t even remotely funny -”

“Billy’s roadkill diner – you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em”, Shay interjects cheerily, earning a snort and an addition from Jojo: “You frag ‘em, we bag ‘em!”

“- and you even egged Maestro’s favourite shirt.”

“That was little funny”, Ivan Ivanovic butts in, and alright, the string of expletives exploding out of the hot-blooded Italian was admittedly hilarious, especially when even Sledge seemed genuinely scandalised over some of them.

Still, he’s understood by now that engaging any of the clowns leads to madness, so he simply keeps talking. “Besides, what the fuck do you want me to do about a Scot who flat out refuses to take off his shirt at the beach? I can hardly go and undress him, can I?”

“You could show creativity, like we have. Aren’t you supposed to be resourceful?”

If this had come from anyone but the Russian, Bandit might’ve slapped some sense into them, yet this gives him pause. “I mean – I tried, but he wouldn’t budge. Why is this so fucking important to you anyway, are you that bloody horny?”

Jojo looks ready to hold an entire speech as to why it’s crucial for mankind’s survival that they witness the buff Scotsman shed his shirt, but fortunately it’s Gian who speaks up instead: “I cannot help but feel your heart is not in this endeavour.” How fucking dare he. “You informed us of your wish to exert revenge, yet your glee has been muted, your undertakings half-hearted and your satisfaction with our actions astonishingly low.”

Bullshit. Bandit enjoyed watching the one guy suffer who usually throws wrenches into his plans, who reprimands him constantly and sabotages his pranks – it was extremely satisfying, he enjoyed it so much that he’d say it was the best part of his holiday so far.

…he would say that, wouldn’t he? And simultaneously know he’d be wrong.

Because his focus really wasn’t on Sledge, and with passed time it’s gotten harder and harder for Bandit to remind himself of why Sledge’s words stung so much. Why what he said sent Bandit into a white hot fit of rage.

Five pairs of eyes are staring at him expectantly. They might’ve gone about it arseways, but they did indeed accomplish what he asked of them, to the best of their capabilities. They even managed not to get caught, and while there’s no doubt someone is up to something, no one has been able to prove it was Bandit, even if Sledge, Smoke and Mute continuously side-eye him.

Maybe he should call the whole thing off after all and enjoy what’s left of his holiday.

“Give me a minute”, he asks and thankfully, all of them nod. When it comes down to it, they’ve proven reliable in the way a thunderstorm is – no way of telling when the next lightning strikes, but thunder always follows. Besides, now that they’ve overcome their terror of speaking with him, their natural banter reminds him of the familial atmosphere of his own team. Fuck. He’s starting not to mind them, even if they look like vaguely reverent meerkats staring up at him for any kind of signal as he paces back and forth next to them.

This is when he spots Sledge and Maestro, a short distance away from where Jäger, Smoke and Mute are building a proper sand fort: they’re holding hands, facing each other and seem to be deeply moved and fucking shite, it’s the perfect atmosphere with the gentle sea retreating in low tide behind them, the sun sliding lower and lower and flooding the beach in a warm, orange light. Sledge is gonna go down on one knee any second now and Bandit has no way of stopping them.

Shay must’ve noticed the horror in his expression as he peeks over the banister and immediately rips open Valenti’s backpack. “Code red”, he announces more professionally than he’s ever sounded in his entire career, stands up and -

And lobs a water balloon at the two lovebirds. A water balloon which bursts upon impact with Sledge’s broad chest, no doubt interrupting their little moment. A water balloon filled with neon yellow paint.

There’s a second of perfect silence.

Then Shay throws a second one.

In an impressive demonstration of his skills, Sledge catches it without it detonating in his hands and hurls it back full force, a detail the other four recruits quite obviously missed as they rise to get a better look, and when the second paint bomb explodes on the balustrade in front of them, literally all five end up coated in hot pink, with Bandit only suffering a light dose.

Well. That could’ve gone better. For another brief moment, the spattered recruits, Bandit, and the eye-wateringly yellow couple stare at each other.

“You fuckers”, Maestro then screams, and Sledge yells: “Dom, you little prick!” And the recruits and Bandit exchange a single glance before individually coming to the conclusion that an escape is in order. Especially when the two star-crossed lovers start running.

Shay shrieks like a little girl, Ivan takes a brief moment to wipe some of the paint off Valenti’s eyes with the inside of his shirt, and Jojo is already halfway down the street. Bandit is in great company. Gian nearly gets run over by a scooter and apologises in fluid Italian, Bandit slides over the hood of an expensive-looking car and leaves behind frankly hideous pink streaks, and Ivan seems to consider scaling the nearest building while Valenti is still coughing up paint. Shay trips and gets dragged along by Gian, and together the six of them scramble their way through the picturesque seaside town, garnering more than a few odd looks from the locals.

“Whose fucking idea was this?!”, Bandit wants to know and struggles to make it up the steep stairs to another busy road, though he does appreciate Ivan lending him a hand eventually.

“I didn’t think he’d catch it”, Valenti admits between breaths.

“He played fucking rugby, you moron!”

“May I suggest postponing this argument and instead focusing on the task at hand?”

“This colour actually suits you, Jojo, did you know?”

“Let us make left here, come on.”

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Bandit mumbles to himself though he can’t curse away the rush of endorphins in his system – he’s started to become complacent, and though Jäger will no doubt be disappointed in him, he’s missed this, the chaos, the knowledge of doing something forbidden, the guilty laughter bursting out of them now and then as they weave their way through alleys and between cars. He wastes no thought on what’s going to happen once they’ve successfully evaded their pursuers, right now he’s preoccupied with feeling the wind in his hair, jumping obstacles, running with the pack, rushing around corners and -

And apparently colliding with what feels like a brick wall. Something that doesn’t look like one though. Because it’s neon yellow.

“I will fucking castrate you and shove your own balls so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste them”, Maestro growls while Sledge causes another pile-up next to him by letting the recruits bounce off him easily.

It seems like this is it.

“How on earth are you so fast?”, Shay wants to know with wide eyes as the five of them take turns shoving each other to the front to face the Scotsman glaring daggers.

“Shouldn’t have let the one guy among you with no sense of direction lead”, Sledge explains. All eyes slide over to Jojo whose face starts matching the paint he’s covered in.

“Who’s the ringleader here?”, Maestro demands to know. All eyes slide back over to Bandit.

“It was a group effort?”, he tries.

“Will you let us live if we tell you?” Hell, he really should’ve gotten rid of this French gremlin sooner. A single nod from Sledge, and now five fingers are pointing at Bandit.

“Look”, he begins and gets interrupted by being slammed into the wall next to him, and it’ll be a miracle if the furious Italian lets him get away with mere bruises, though fortunately a hand on Maestro’s arm stops him.

“Adrianito. Let him go.” Sledge’s intervention is welcome yet Bandit’s relief short-lived when the two of them part to reveal the rest of their group: Mute and Smoke who are only missing popcorn, judging by the unadulterated amusement in their expressions – and Jäger.

A very unimpressed-looking Jäger. This is worse than a few bruises. He pushes to the front, brow raised and demeanour so calm it instils paralysing fear. For the first time ever since they came here, there’s not even a hint of a smile on his lips and it does unpleasant things to Bandit’s insides. He wasn’t meant to prank anyone, let alone follow Sledge and Maestro like this just to terrorise them. Whatever will come out of his lover’s mouth next is sure to be devastating.

“What were you doing?”, Jäger asks quietly. So far, so good. Around them, everyone seems to be holding their breath.

It’s the perfect opportunity. Seeing as Bandit won’t be able to interfere anymore after this, he could mention his plan off-handedly, complete his revenge by spoiling the surprise waiting in Sledge’s pocket. He can see it in Sledge’s eyes that he knows it too: a few words, and he’d be forced to show the ring, do it all on Bandit’s terms. He holds power over the Scot he never thought possible, and even if he doesn’t ruin his proposal right now, he could use it as an excellent source of blackmail later. The idea of Sledge having to do whatever he wants is more than enticing. “Annoying the hell out of him”, he replies, buying himself time. Sledge’s hazel eyes are boring into his.

Jäger just shakes his head a little. “And, what, were you planning on following them to his parent’s place too?”

Maestro senses his hesitation and though he hasn’t overcome his animosity, he doesn’t leave Bandit in the dark: “My mamma invited us for a family reunion. We’re leaving tomorrow morning and spending the rest of the week with my family.”

Oh. He didn’t know this, their plans must’ve changed since he talked to Sledge about their vacation. It’d be lovely. He pictures it, Sledge kneeling down, surrounded by Maestro’s relatives, all of them freaking out and cooing over them. It sounds heart-warming. And he could destroy it with a single sentence. If he doesn’t do it now, the two will be gone tomorrow and he’ll have missed his chance.

“Well”, he says. Jäger looks ready to cross his arms. “I hope you two have a great time.”

And Sledge gets it. His smile speaks volumes, he relaxes and even graces Bandit with a slight nod. Despite how much they clash the rest of the time, Bandit doesn’t want to do this to him, not like this. There are other methods he can employ without messing with Sledge’s love life and potentially ruin what could’ve been a wonderful memory.

Even so, he’s not out of the shite yet, there are still five recruits looking like they’re going to be gutted any second now, a seething Italian just waiting for his signal to rip them apart, and Jäger. So far, he’s not done one of his sighs. There is hope.

“Why did you do all this?”, he wants to know and Bandit realises something belatedly: namely just how truly fucked he is. Conveniently forgetting about this little detail, he pushed it to the back of his mind, merely holding on to his rage about Sledge’s words yet ignoring their content. His gaze snaps to Sledge and oh boy, how the tables have turned.

You’ve been behaving well recently, Sledge said to him that fateful day Bandit swore revenge at all costs. It’s Marius’ influence, isn’t it?

Bandit grumbled a little, waved him off, tried to change the topic but Sledge wasn’t having any of it: Have you told him you love him?

And fucking Christ, how presumptuous could any one person be? Not only wasn’t it his business, but also was he plain wrong. One fact Bandit had accepted long ago was that he cared about no one but himself. His life was littered with selfish decisions, no matter how much he tried to care, tried to hold on. Ultimately, the only one he ever protected was himself. He said something along those lines, unusually earnest with his nemesis, and felt more than just irritation rise in him when he received the response: Stop running from him and ask him to move in with you.

Preposterous. Frankly insulting. And Bandit silently vowed to have Sledge’s head for this.

“Oh well, who cares, just yell at me and let’s move on, alright?”, he hastens to change the topic and doesn’t miss Sledge’s grin amid everyone’s bewilderment.

Jäger doesn’t seem happy with this answer. “What do you mean? You can’t tell me there was no reason for you to pull this shite.”

“He pissed me off, I wanted revenge, here we are, now let’s stop dwelling on the past and -”

“What did you do?”, his boyfriend turns to the Scotsman in question, fuelling Bandit’s panic.

“Don’t ask him, he probably doesn’t even -”

“Be quiet. If you won’t give me an answer, Dom, let him.”

This is bad. Bandit’s and Sledge’s eyes meet and he’s well aware to be completely at his mercy – and he doesn’t harbour much hope, not after the past three days of constant torment, not after he very nearly spoiled their holiday. The recruits are holding their breath, neither of them fully aware of what’s going on but Bandit knows they treat the members of Rainbow like celebrities, so it must be exciting for them to witness drama like this up close. Smoke and Mute are following the conversation silently, gazes darting back and forth like in a tennis match, and Bandit wouldn’t be surprised if they’d placed bets on the outcome. Maestro has postponed his fury, though he’s clearly waiting for his time to lay into pretty much anyone involved.

Sledge seems to have made a decision and there’s no way in hell he’s not disclosing Bandit’s innermost thoughts to the world. He simply has to take this opportunity to humiliate him, uncover the secret he carries in his heart, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. He fixes Bandit with a level stare and says: “I insulted his bike.”

A beat.

Oh, thinks Bandit.

“You did what?!” And suddenly, Jäger’s composure has vanished. “How dare you! It’s a piece of art!”

Like a real trooper, Sledge keeps it up. “I called it a death trap waiting to happen and the decals juvenile.”

“Luce dei miei occhi, you can’t be serious!” Unbelievably, even Maestro looks offended. “It has fire, spirit, passion – that motorcycle has a soul, who are you to call it names!”

“I bet you’ve never even ridden it, it sounds like a large cat purring”, Smoke chimes in as well now, and all of a sudden, nearly everyone is directing their ire at Sledge who admittedly takes it like a champ. It’s a miracle. And Bandit instantly forgives him everything he’s ever done, from uncovering his candy related Ponzi scheme which not only involved Rainbow’s recruits but even spread to the SAS ones, to winning against him in hand to hand literally every time. He can’t believe it, merely gapes at the outrage directed at Sledge of all people and vows to try and never cross the Scot again.

Even so, there’s something he still has to do. “We need to talk”, he quietly informs the very upset Jäger and gently drags him a few steps away from the loudly arguing group, ignoring Mute’s encouraging about time! and Smoke’s meaningful wink. For some reason it seems that pretty much all people present know more about Bandit’s emotions than he does, and though he should find this fact concerning, his mind is currently trying to wrap around what he’s about to say. It’s been a while since this particular phrase has left his mouth, indubitably much too long. He doesn’t use it nearly enough and is painfully aware, so now’s his chance.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Jäger simply blinks at him. “What for?”

Now it’s Bandit’s turn to be gobsmacked. “Wha – for doing all this behind your back. For not listening to you. For almost ruining this holiday.”

His lover softens and shakes his head with a smile. “Dom. I knew you were up to something. I may be horribly in love, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.” Bandit almost chokes on nothing. He what. “It was never about the stupid pranks, it was about them getting so elaborate that we spent less and less time together. I’m fine with you doing whatever as long as you pay enough attention to me. Which you have in the past days. I’m really happy with this vacation – and besides, you’re adorable when you’re shifty.”

Closing his mouth seems impossible at this point. “You – I’m -”

“We’re staying here for the rest of the week, right? So let’s make the most of it.”

The friendly, unguarded smile is killing him. Killing him. How can Jäger say – how can he stand there and just – it’s impossible, and his face is on fire yet again, and maybe, just maybe Sledge was spot on with what he said. He should stop running. For now, he merely nods, disarmed, and avoids Jäger’s much too intense gaze. There’s so much he still has to tell him, but it can wait. He doesn’t think there’ll be a shortage of romantic moments any time soon.

Looking towards the others, there’s at least one battle he can win. Maestro has switched to yelling at the poor recruits and doesn’t seem to notice anything else, so Bandit calls: “Seamus! Could you take your shirt off for me?”

The selfie Bandit posts in the group a minute later has him and Jäger in the foreground, lips touching and both ears crimson, but the background is pandemonium. A neon yellow Maestro is giving the splattered recruits a well-deserved bollocking, though neither of the five seems to be listening – instead, they’re staring over Maestro’s shoulder, eyes wide and transfixed on a shirtless Sledge who seems ready to humour anyone (probably courtesy of the fact that Bandit will leave him alone from now on) and is flexing for their benefit as well as showing off suspicious scratch marks and bruises all over his chiselled torso. Next to him, Mute has donned Sledge’s paint-soaked shirt and dragged his fingers through the viscous liquid to write TWAT on the bandages around Smoke’s hands, both of them beaming into the camera while making obscene gestures.

Blitz’ reply summarises the scene quite aptly: wtf, he writes and adds a row of appropriately dumbstruck emoji. Are those our recruits??

You guys are cute, is Rook’s contribution and for once, Bandit wholeheartedly agrees. And while he holds on to Jäger’s slim form, ignoring the chaos next to them and grinning at his lover’s suggestion of involving him in future plans so they can kill two birds with one stone, he decides to let the recruits enjoy the rest of their holiday unbothered.

After all, everyone deserves a bit of peace and quiet now and then. And it just so happens that he’s currently embracing his own.

#rainbow six siege #bandit #jäger #bandit/jäger #sledge/maestro #smoke/mute #blitz/rook #recruitverse #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #boy it wasn't easy fitting all of them in here #sledge and bandit make the best frenemies #next to everyone is a disaster in this #thank you again!!!! I really enjoyed myself :)

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lonelypond · 5 years ago

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Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party: Nico Protects

NozoEli, NicoMaki, KanaMari, Love Live, Love Live Sunshine, 2.5K, 3/?

Summary: Nico can't reach Eli while Maki realizes she's not where she wants to be.

Nico Protects

Nico was glaring at her phone...Maki Nishikino aka DJ Diamond Princess was on a two week tour of all the Ontario and Quebec hot spots. And so Maki was all over EVERYONE’S social media, in cute and huggy and air kissy poses with all the hot hot young female celebrities. Not that Nico cared. Not that the pictures were any good. Not that with the time difference and Nico’s insanely early morning shooting schedule for an actual live action show Nico had any time to do more than text and send selfies. Maki’s texts were usually rants about people wanting to take pictures and messing with her equipment or touching the vinyl. She was ready to stop being away from home. And Nico was ready to stop seeing her with so many women in so little clothing draped all over her.

Nico glanced at the clock. Maki would have usually texted something by now. And Eli should be done with Day Two of her weekend of dance at the Ohara on The Beach, getting the choreography down in 20 hours worth of dance sessions. Why wasn’t Eli back? Nico hopped up from the couch to check the kitchen calendar. Nope, another week until the full moon. So why wasn’t Eli home?

Quick text: Hey, Eli, did you get lost. Or meet a cute girl?

There was a reply.

“Sorry, I’m still busy.”

Nico frowned, “Sorry, you’re not Eli, WHY DO YOU HAVE ELI’S PHONE?

“Who is this?”

Nico hit call. The person on the other end actually answered so Nico only YELLED a little, “Who are you?”

There was a cough, and a shuffle, and a high silly voice and a muffled bark in the background that put Nico on alert. Then Nico heard a high voice giggle with the distance Eli’s phone on speaker would give. “Eli can’t come to the phone right now. She’s not feeling well.”

“Who is this?” Nico got quieter but sharper, “Tell me right now where Eli is or I’m calling the cops.”

Nico heard another voice, frazzled, “Mari, let me talk to her. Is this Eli’s roommate?”

“Yes.”

New person now had the phone. Her voice was a cool breeze compared to the previous. She switched the phone from speaker. “I’m Kanan. That was my wife. She likes to play jokes. I’m sorry but...”

Nico wasn’t that easy and cut off what she knew would be a lie from Kanan, “Where is Eli?”

“She isn’t feeling well. She had a sudden…” a pause…”seizure.”

“I’ll be right there. This is that hotel right?” Nico was on her feet, already deciding what to bring along.

“Yes, but…”

The other voice was back. “She’ll be fine, Bella. Kanan and I know what to do…”

Nico paused…’knew what to do’. Now she was positive Eli had switched her four legged form. No more discussion. “I will be there in a half an hour. If Eli isn’t somewhere Nico can see her, Nico will tear through your hotel room by room.”

“But....”

“Yeah, bye.” Nico ended the call and her phone buzzed again. She was about to answer with a snarl when she recognized Maki’s icon. Why now? Why the sudden switch from texting? Did no one realize Nico needed some normal as she raced to be the number one actor on any coast.

“Maki! Hey! How was your gig?” Nico tried to remember how much she’d been looking forward to Maki checking in.

“Exhausting.” Maki sounded growly grumpy. It might have been kinda cute, but Nico had seen too many pictures of Maki with her arm around a half dressed dancer or three. “SO many people hanging on me.”

“I know.” Nico knew her sentence would come through gritted teeth, “Nico saw all the snaps.”

“Rin just wouldn’t shut up either and I so want to get on a plane and just cancel the next three gigs and finally take you out to dinner and talk about anything but this or….”

Nico interrupted before Maki could get into full rant flow. “Maki, Nico completely agrees with where you’re going, but I can’t talk…”

“What’s wrong?” Maki’s tone instantly changing from complaining to concerned.

“Eli’s being held captive in a hotel.” Nico tried to speak as if that were an everyday thing Nico could obviously cope with.

“WHAT?” There might have been a phone dropping into a cushion noise. Then a scrabbling sound and Maki breathless, “What’s going on?”

“Nico doesn’t know….” Nico knew now she was sounding scared and frantic but she didn’t have the time to smooth things over for Maki. And it was a relief not to have to lie to Maki. “And I have to find out. So can we talk tomorrow?”

Maki sounded...mad…”Sure. I’ll text you.” And the call ended and Nico could feel the sourness left in the silence. Her hand tightened around the phone and there might almost have been a tear, but Eli was missing. And people Nico didn’t know had taken her roommate’s phone.

###

Maki wanted to pace, to punch. EVERY conversation with Nico seemed to stall at Eli, every plan Maki wanted to make...how much of Nico’s life revolved around her roommate? Before Maki had left town, Nico had made it seem like things were back to normal for Eli...But then Maki remembered the snarling, vicious sounds the night she’d gone to Nico’s to check on them,...was that how Eli was now all the time? Was Nico in danger? Maki checked her calendar, full moon next week. Didn’t Nico say she thought the early changes were more violent...Maki put her phone on speaker. Why pay a lawyer so much money if not to get DJ Diamond Princess out of things that Maki Nishikino didn’t want to do. Rin would be disappointed, but…

“Call Aya” she said as she opened her laptop to get to her travel account.

###

Nico stormed right up to the front desk. “Call Kanan Matsuura. I’m here to see Eli Ayase.”

The clerk frowned, typing a quick message into the pad in front of her.

“I said call…” Nico’s clenched fist rested on the desktop, ready to provide emphatic punctuation to her request.

The staffer smiled and pointed behind Nico, “Ms. Ohara will see you in her private suite. Please follow Ms. O’Hara’s assistant to the elevator.”

Nico turned to see a polite young woman in an exquisitely tailored suit, a pad tucked under her arm. “Good evening, Ms. Yazawa.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You’re listed as Ms. Ayase’s emergency contact. Ms. Ohara wishes me to assure you that Ms. Ayase is physically unharmed…”

“Shut up and walk faster.” Nico snapped, managing not to push the staffer along.

###

The elevator opened up into a foyer, with fountains and sculptures, a few tables and divans scattered, there were several floor to ceiling windows that looked out on the Pacific, Nico could see stars twinkling and the majority of the currently traitorous moon. It would have been breathtaking but Nico was on a mission.

No one was in sight so Nico just yelled, “ELI! WHERE ARE YOU? ELI!”

Nico heard a bark and a growl and someone, not sprinting, but hastening in her direction. A busty blonde, nearly falling out of a sundress, came around the corner and stopped in front of Nico, wagging a chiding finger.“You didn’t have to do that, silly. We just got her settled.”

Nico stepped right up to the blonde, who was slightly taller than Eli, “If you don’t let Eli go, I’m going to go through you, get her, and then maybe leave your front counter standing.”

“Oh, bella, you’re so cute, so tiny, so stizzoso…” the woman giggled.

Nico, seething, squared her shoulders and prepared to do her blitz move through this increasingly annoying obstacle. Another woman came into view, dark haired and solid, arm in a cast. Kanan Matsuura, Nico recognized her from Eli’s TWIG posts.

Kanan was shaking her head, hands in the kangaroo pocket of a sweatshirt,“You know Mari, I’m not going to defend you.”

The blonde whirled, pouting, hands reaching out. Nico just strode forward, busting the connection before the two women could even lock hands, shouting again, “ELI!”

A bark to the left, and a confused howl, then a whine of pain and a growl. Nico stopped, eyes the most dangerous of reds, “What did you do to her?”

Kanan put both hands up, “We just moved her to a safe space once the transformation seemed to be over. But she keeps…”

Nico didn’t let Kanan finish. “That doesn’t happen. It’s not even a full moon, that’s next week,” Nico knew she was starting to sound panicked, but Eli had been acting so oddly recently. “Something must have happened…”

“She’s in our guest room, Nico,” Kanan started to explain, “But I don’t think you should see her, she’s…” Kanan’s purple eyes were kind, but nothing like the amethyst Nico had been daydreaming about. She pulled up her sleeve and showed Nico a recently bandaged forearm, “It’s why we didn’t meet you downstairs. Eli’s lashing out. She’s terrified.”

Nico felt her knees buckle. What was happening? Why couldn’t Eli keep her transformations under control. “Eli hates changing. She usually sedates herself, but she wouldn’t have been expecting this not ‘til next week.” Or she would never have come here. Nico knew that.

Mari asked. “What does she use? We could slip some in her food?”

Nico froze. She’d been talking too much. These two already knew too much. Eli would be pissed. But they had to solve this immediate problem before Eli hurt herself or someone else. Racing through her knowledge of Eli’s habits, Nico grudgingly offered a suggestion, “Try playing Tchaikovsky, start with the Nutcracker. That usually relaxes her some.”

Mari pulled out her phone, swiped twice, and typed in letters. Classical music began to play. Kanan had a gentle hand on Nico’s shoulder and was leading her to a couch, “Are you hungry?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nico shook her head, “Is she really okay?” And then suspicion kicked in, “And why are you so calm?”

“She’s physically uninjured, but it sounds like there’s been recent upheavals in her usual routine, which would be a long term concern.” Kanan sat next to Nico, “And I have some experience with a similar situation.”

“Kanan’s not nearly as fluffy, though.” The super annoying blonde giggled. Nico glared, not wanting to encourage what seemed to be silly jokes.

“Mari.” Kanan’s voice was stern, a warning. Then she turned back to Nico. “We know people who can help.”

“How? Who?”

Mari laughed, “LA is one of those places where you can find anything. It’s why so many of us come here.”

“So you know other werewolves…”

Kanan shrugged, “Mermaids, jiaos, selkies, frogpeople, dark watchers...we have friends who help them get help...very quietly.”

“Have you told Eli?” Nico didn’t like having this discussion about Eli without Eli.

Kanan sighed. “We didn’t know she needed it. Until tonight.”

Nico stood. “Then Nico doesn’t say anything else. This is Eli’s business. Nico’s just here to make sure you’re not going to skin her or turn her into the government.”

More giggling. “She’s too adorable to…”

“Mari…” Kanan snapped, her patience finally fleeing to join Nico’s somewhere else. “Please forgive my wife, she has a very questionable sense of humor.”

Nico frowned and crossed her arms, ignoring the blonde irritant. “Where’s the room, Nico wants to tell Eli I’m here.”

Kanan stood, “Follow me.”

###

Nico’s phone buzzed and the room she was lying on pillows in front of exploded in a crazy frenzy of barking. “Damn it…” Nico pulled out her phone. Maki...calling....

“Hey.” Nico winced as she thought of what Maki was hearing on the other end.

“Are you at home?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Long story, Maki.” Nico sat up, pulling the blanket Kanan had gotten her up to her shoulders. “Can we speed this up. I need to quiet Eli down.”

A pause. “Where are you?”

“The Ohara BeachFront. Where Eli rehearses.”

“Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I clear customs.”

“What? Why aren’t you in Canada?”

“Do you need anything?” Maki ignored Nico’s question.

Nico frowned, she hated to say what she was going to say next but it was already after dawn and Eli was still sounding furrier than usual, “Bring a muzzle.”

Another silence and then Maki blew out a long breath. In her mind, Nico could just see the arc of the redhead’s jaw sharpen as she processed that request.

“All right.” And then Maki’s voice got kinder, “Be careful, Nico, please.”

“Nico is trying.”

“Good.” Maki muttered something away from the phone, then came back, “I’ll see you soon, Nico.”

“Are you all right, Nico?” Kanan’s voice came out of nowhere as Maki ended the call and Nico jumped.

“Don’t sneak up on Nico.” Nico knew it might be unreasonable to scold someone for walking around their own house, but Nico was not in a polite mood.

“Sorry.”

“My friend is coming to help me get Eli home.” Nico pocketed her phone.

“Eli can stay here as long as she needs to. You too.” Kanan offered Nico her hand, “Are you ready for breakfast. Mari had the staff send up everything.”

“Including raw chuck roast? Eli likes to chew on that.” Nico stretched. Next time she was in a fancy hotel for a sleepover, there would be comfy mattresses.

“I’ll get some.” Kanan started down the hall.

Nico put her hand on the door, whispering. “It’s okay, Eli. Nico’ll get you breakfast and take you home.”

Growling. A thump as Eli lunged at the door. Nico closed her eyes, frustrated at both the situation and having an audience.

“It might be better…” Kanan had stopped.

Nico’s temper flared, and she only barely held back a shout. “You don’t know anything about Eli. I need to get her back in a familiar place as soon as possible. She’s…” Nico chose her next word with some thought, “sensitive.”

Kanan smiled, but Nico wasn’t open to friendly, “Mari and I just want to help. We consider Eli a friend now.”

Nico snapped her fingers at Kanan, “Well Nico can’t really talk to Eli about your new BFF status now, can I? How does Nico know you didn’t dose her with something.”

Horrified, Kanan’s eyes widened, “I would never…”

“How would Nico know?” Accusation. Strong. Fierce. Nico was back to something solid, protecting her friend.

Kanan hung her head, Mari was better at winning over skeptics, but she’d had to deal with handing off her morning tasks so it would be a half an hour or so before she would return. “I promise we’ll help with whatever you and your friend want to do. Just eat some breakfast first.”

“Order Eli’s.”

Kanan pulled out her phone. This was something Nico was going to allow her to do. Maybe after breakfast Kanan could get everyone working together.

A/N: Just finished up 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' which was excellent but exhausting fun so getting back in the writing game. Is it too darn hot wherever you are?

#NozoEli #NicoMaki #KanaMari #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Ayase Eli #Matsuura Kanan #Ohara Mari #werewolf #cryptid #Love Live #Love Live Sunshine #LA

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kadmeread · 5 years ago

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Not Over Yet - Chapter 2: Explanations

Chapter 2: Explanations

I was shaken out of my reverie by a knock on the door. After opening it, I saw the girl who had brought me here standing there.

“Hello,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Samirah, you can call me Sam, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

Taking her hand I said “Hi, I’m Jason Grace. I take it your my Valkyrie.” She looked surprised at my guess so I presumed I was correct and that she was indeed my Valkyrie, whatever that was.

“How much do you know?” she asked.

“Not much,” I admitted. “Magnus gave me a rundown on my hallmates and told me the basics. I must admit I didn’t expect to end up here.” She glanced down at my tattoo, reminding me of Magnus’ reaction to it earlier. I moved my hand to cover it subconsciously.

“You deserve to be here Jason, I am proud to be your Valkyrie.” She told me as we continued on towards what I guessed was the dining hall. I nodded uncomfortably, wondering how much she knew.

As we walked Sam told me various other facts about Valhalla. I made sure to try and memorise them as I had found it better to always be prepared. I never knew how Percy could stand it, not knowing anything until someone told him about it. I would say it was a Roman thing except Annabeth is the same way, and she’s about as un-Roman as you can get.

Sam was looking impressed by my comments. “You’re taking this well,” she said.

“Yeah, well, with the way my life has been going recently, the fact that the Norse gods exist and I’m in Valhalla isn’t actually all that surprising.”

She looked like she was about to question me on that, when we reached the dining hall and I wouldn’t have heard her anyway.

The dining hall was impressive, it reminded me of Olympus. Except it didn’t have Annabeth’s architectural flare. “Wow,” I murmured.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It doesn’t ever really get old. There’s our table over there.” She pointed to a table with two other people already sitting there. “Good thing we’re not the only ones.” She muttered as we sat down. I wanted to ask about that but she obviously didn’t intend for me to hear it, so I decided not to pry.

“So…” I started awkwardly, “Magnus mentioned something earlier about me getting the hall to myself soon? Are they all going away somewhere or something?”

Her expression darkened, “Or something,” She repeated. “You see we have to stop my father from launching Naflgar and starting Ragnorak.”

I had a million questions going through my head after that, but I decided to start with a simple one. “Your father?”

She nodded, “My father. Loki.”

Before I could work out what to ask next, the doors opened with a boom and hundreds of warriors streamed in. I was very grateful that we had entered earlier and avoided the rush. I saw Magnus wave at me as he came in with whom I presumed to be the rest of our hallmates.

A girl came around and gave me some meat and what I guessed to be mead from the smell. Sam saw me looking around and got my attention.

“Eat now,” She recommended. “After we get to watch you die gloriously.”

The idea of reliving my death slowed my appetite a bit, I don’t think anyone would be all too keen on that idea. Yet I did still look forward to it, if I was lucky I would find out what happened to my friends, find out if they survived.

As the meal ended my anticipation and anxiety only grew, warring for the place of pride in my stomach. First we watched the other guy die heroically, gun in hand, saving two strangers, and heard he was destined to fight well during Ragnarok. Then it was my turn. It felt odd seeing it happen again. I watched as Apollo stabbed himself and I blew Meg out the side. The others in the hall were silent, they hadn’t been for the other guy, so I distantly felt that was odd, but didn’t pay much attention to it, I was too busy watching what was happening. I saw myself take arrow wounds, I hadn’t even noticed that I got shot. I winced as I turned to Apollo, I knew what was coming, I reminded him of his promise and then I saw Caligula stab me in the back. I heard Piper’s scream of grief, and knew that even if we weren’t together she still loved me. We were a team, her and I. The last thing I saw before the video faded away, was Tempest running across the water, my friends on his back. I smiled, relieved to know that my death hadn’t been in vain, and that they had all gotten out of there safely.

There was silence for a moment before the hall exploded into whispers. If I tried to listen, I could hear them saying things like “Thor”, and “powers”. I figured they probably thought me to be a son of Thor. Suddenly they all stopped talking. On a throne that had been empty before except for two large ravens (which had been watching me throughout, they gave me the creeps) appeared a huge figure of a man. What I first noticed about him was that he only had one eye. Then I noticed that the murmurs had started up again, this time with “Odin” and “Allfather” interspersed with the ones about me.

“It is good to see you again my friends.” He boomed, looking around at us all. “But unfortunately I come to you in dire times. Sitting before you is a warrior, who we will have need of before long. I sent Samirah to get him, before he left to places not under my jurisdiction, for a reason. I hope you will forgive me.” He looked directly at me as he said this. “That reason being, the Pontifex Maximus may save us all. And so I humbly ask, you Jason Grace, if you will help us on this quest, or will you depart to be judged worthy of Elysium, as my counterpart has informed me you would’ve been placed. Without your help, I have foreseen that Ragnarok will come. And so, son of Jupiter, will you help us stop Ragnarok?”

The hall was silent except for the whispers of the warriors, that was becoming a common reaction for anything to do with me. I sighed, considering. I had just died helping out with a save the world quest, I would have liked to have a break. But I knew what my answer would be, what any demigod’s answer would be. “Yes,” I said. “I will help.” As cheers rang around the hall, I had an inkling that I had agreed to something bigger than what I had originally thought.

The next time I looked up I notice Magnus leading who I guessed were to be my new questmates over. As he introduced us, he eyed me oddly when I didn’t appear to be paying attention, I wanted to ask but I knew then wasn’t the time. I asked a different question instead. “So when do we set off?”

“We’re setting sail in the morning, unless something else goes wrong.” The guy who I now knew was T.J replied, looking accusingly at Magnus.

“Hey!” Magnus protested, “I actually got some good advice from Percy today!”

“Yeah,” Alex chimed in smugly. “He didn’t die today.”

While Magnus continued complaining about their lack of belief in him, I suddenly felt dizzy. Percy...Percy and Annabeth had been in Boston this weekend, helping her cousin, I think, prepare for some sort of cruise. I hadn’t gotten the full details because of the communication block and the Apollo situation, but Apollo had told us that, along with the information about Percy’s baby sister. Magnus must be Annabeth’s cousin, that was why he looked vaguely familiar. That would also explain the odd looks he was giving me, he knew. It sounded like Alex probably knew too.

Having realized this, I wasn’t surprised when Magnus and Alex dawdled after everyone had gone back to their rooms.

“Come on in.” I told them, leading them into my rooms. They followed me in awkwardly. I could tell they had no idea how to broach the subject at hand.

“So...do Percy and Annabeth know yet?” I asked. They obviously hadn’t worked out that I had worked out that they knew.

“I don’t think so,” Magnus replied. “They’ve been down here for the weekend, meaning they’ve been even more out of touch with the situation then in New York. They’ll probably find out when they get back. In fact I should probably…”

He trailed off as Alex interrupted him impatiently, “So where are you in this mess?”

“Me? I’m Roman, son of Jupiter. I was on the quest to Greece with Percy and Annabeth.”

Magnus nodded, “Annabeth mentioned you. You were the one swapped with Percy, right?”

“Yup that was me. So...who exactly knows what?”

Magnus thought it over quickly before replying, “So Alex and I are the only ones who have actually met Percy and Annabeth. Although Sam knows of them and the existence of your pantheons. The others had no idea you even existed, and quite possibly still don’t.”

I thought it over, “I’ll tell the rest of our quest group once we’ve set off, is there anyone else other than our hallmates?”

Magnus looked startled, “Oh, right. My friends Blitz and Hearth, along with Sam as you know. Blitz is a dwarf, very fashionable. Hearth is an elf, he does magic, and he’s deaf.”

I nodded and relaxed from where I had been standing stiffly near the door. “Thanks for letting me know.”

They nodded and then left me to it. I decided to try and get some sleep, who knew when I was going to get some.

Unfortunately, even though I was dead, my demigod dreams didn’t appear to have stopped. While not as bad as Percy’s, (from what I heard he had the worst dreams) they were still fully capable of ruining any sleep I tried to have. First I saw flashes of what must’ve been happening in California, I saw Piper grieving. Apollo speaking prophecies in chains, Piper killing Medea, Leo flying in one Festus, and then hugging Piper as she cried. Meg and Apollo boarding a plane, a coffin sitting in the plane, which I knew with a chill of certainty held my dead body.

Then the scenes slowed down and changed again, I was on what I guessed to be a Viking ship, made of what looked to be people’s finger and toenails. The ship was surrounded by ice, I saw mummified human bodies and giants which thankfully looked very different from those I had fought before.

“Oh look,” said a cheerful voice behind me, I jumped, turning to see who was speaking. “It’s Odin’s secret weapon. Not so secret now, are you boy?”

The guy’s face was horrific, burned and scarred. As I studied him, he continued, his face softening. “Here’s a warning for you little demigod. Don’t get in my way, you may have defeated giants. But I can promise you this, I am like nothing you have ever faced before. You will not be able to escape me. Run, little son of Jupiter, and you may just survive the storm to come. This isn’t your Pantheon, little Pontifex Maximus, and if you continue on this path of interference,”

His face darkened, and it struck me that he was quite mad. That didn’t reassure me, I was killed by a madman after all. “I can promise you this, you will never see your friends again.” I could sense someone shaking me, as the dream receded I could hear the guy laughing. “Welcome to the end, little boy, your father may be king, but I was born to destroy kings.” As the dream faded away, he met my horrified gaze, “Enjoy your afterlife.” His laughter followed me as I woke up.

A.N So that was the next chapter! I should probably explain the timeline to you guys. So I have The Hidden Oracle happening at the same time as the Sword of Summer, leading Hammer of Thor to be about the same time as The Dark Prophecy. I have placed Jason’s death in The Burning Maze, at about the same time as Percy and Annabeth leaving Boston in the Ship of the Dead, thus they haven’t heard yet of Jason’s death and that Nico can’t find him in the Underworld. Once they do, Annabeth will obviously try and contact Magnus, but due to him being on a quest, she won’t be able to until after they get back. I hope that makes sense.

Please let me know any ideas, errors etc.

Thanks Kadme.

#magnus chase and the gods of asgard #not over yet #trials of apollo #jason grace #jason lives (sort of)#magnus chase #chapter 2 #explanations

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wineanddinosaur · 3 years ago

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VinePair Podcast: How the Hotel Bar Went From Tragic to Trendy

The hotel bar was once thought of as a last resort for travelers after a weary day on the go. Times are changing, though, as hotel bars are increasingly becoming cool, craft cocktail stops that draw hotel guests and outsiders alike. On this episode of the “VinePair Podcast,” join hosts Adam Teeter, Joanna Sciarrino, and Zach Geballe for a conversation on the history of hotel bars and how they’ve evolved to become the trendy drinking spots they are now.

Teeter, Sciarrino, and Geballe muse on the three kinds of hotel bars they’ve seen, where demand for trendy bars is coming from, and how hotels would be remiss to not take note of shifting consumer desires and interests surrounding travel — and where to stop for a drink along the way.

Tune in to learn more about hotel bars and the trajectory they’re on.

LISTEN ONLINE

Listen on Apple Podcasts

Listen on Spotify

OR CHECK OUT THE CONVERSATION HERE

Adam Teeter: From VinePair’s New York City headquarters, I’m Adam Teeter.

Joanna Sciarrino: And I’m Joanna Sciarrino.

Zach Geballe: And in Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe.

A: And this is the “VinePair Podcast.” Joanna and Zach, we are in September. This is weird. Are you in the camp that this time of year is still summer or is it fall? I’m curious where you both fall on this.

J: Fall for me.

A: Really? So, after Labor Day for you, full stop, it’s fall.

J: Yeah. I mean, it’s still quite warm in New York. So depressing.

A: You’re one of those. OK. What about you, Zach?

Z: I think that my opinion on this has changed over the last few years. I was a staunch “summer is not over” kind of person. I still am very sympathetic to that general perspective, but with a child who’s going to school, it’s now fall. That’s my stance.

A: If your kid went back to school like they do in the South, during the first week of August, would you say that was fall, too?

Z: Well, I don’t live in the South, so I can’t say. For me personally, where our school does start in September, it feels pretty fall-ish. The weather’s quite nice, actually. Plus, whether you’re in New York or Seattle, the days start getting pretty noticeably shorter this time of year. It’s dark by 8 p.m. And that’s a fall feeling to me. When I’m finishing dinner and it’s getting dark out, that’s not summer.

A: Yeah. OK, fair.

J: What about you, Adam?

A: I’d like it to still be summer, but it’s probably fall. So annoying.

J: Fall’s the best. Come on.

A: I love fall as a season. I’m just already sick of Keith Beavers.

Z: Just in general?

A: He’s just trolling with the pumpkin spice shit. I don’t like pumpkin spice. He needs to give it up. It’s old. I’m not going to get into it. He just wants me to know how amazing it is. I’m just not feeling pumpkin spice.

Z: We’ll know you’ve been kidnapped if you come on the air one day and tell us how much you enjoy your pumpkin spice.

A: He’ll be here, holding a pumpkin above my head, saying he’ll drop it on my head if I don’t say that I love pumpkin spice. I could see him doing that. I bet Keith would even like pumpkin spice wine.

Z: Oh, man. Well that’s something for Season 3 of “Wine 101,” I suppose.

A: Seriously. Also, I’m pretty pumped this week because, last week, we launched the first episode of “Cocktail College.” If you are into cocktails, you’ve got to check out this new podcast we just launched. It’s hosted by Tim McKirdy, our senior staff writer. Every week he tackles one cocktail and does a deep dive with a really famous bartender who’s well known for making that drink. The first episode is on the Old Fashioned. I’m not going to give too much away, so you have to listen. He talks to a bartender who is not really famous for the drink, but taught a very famous actor how to make the drink. That actor made the drink in a movie that came out recently and it is considered by many as the best cocktail scene ever. So, you’ve got to listen to the podcast to hear who this person is, who the actor is, and what the scene is. It’s great, and it really made me crave an Old Fashioned. So, before we talk about what I drank this past week, what about the two of you. Joanna?

J: This past week, I had some interesting things. I had a new hard seltzer that I learned about through VinePair. It was Lunar hard seltzer, which was very good. I had the yuzu flavor. I tried some Interboro beer, the Bushburg Pilsner, which was good. What I’m most excited about is something that I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. Back in the day, at a bar called Booker & Dax —

A: Yeah, that was a great bar.

J: Great bar. One of my favorite cocktails was the Banana Justino, which I understand he brought back at Existing Conditions, but I never got to go there before it closed. Anyway, I love this cocktail. It’s a banana rum cocktail. It had some lime and a coconut water ice cube. He put the recipe for it out into the world. I think it might be in his book, “Liquid Intelligence.” It requires this technique, like a centrifuge, to clarify the banana rum. I’ve always wanted to do it. Obviously, I don’t have a centrifuge, but I found a recipe for it online that doesn’t require it. It’s bananas, rum, and pectinex ultra, which is this enzyme that breaks down pectin and helps clarify without a centrifuge.

Z: Did you wear goggles while doing this?

J: I didn’t. It was honestly very simple. You blitz that all up, let it sit, and then strain it through a Chemex filter. I made the rum, and I’m really excited to make the cocktail this weekend.

A: Oh, that’s awesome. I love a good project like that. Very cool. Now, you have to tell us how the cocktail is.

J: I will.

A: Very cool. I have favorite cocktails from bars too, but they’re not that complicated. Zach, what about you?

Z: Unfortunately, the whole family was sick this past weekend. We’re still getting over it, but we are otherwise fine. There’s just the lingering congestion. That may be the other reason it feels like fall to me. I got sick. Yesterday I I did a wine dinner with a chef and friend of mine who I partnered with on some events here in Seattle. The dinner was centered around my favorite vintage of Washington wine that I’ve experienced, which is 2011. So we got to pour five wines from that vintage, from five different producers. Those included a sparkling wine, a white, a couple of reds, and an ice wine. It was really fun. Really delicious wines. I got to open a double magnum of one of the wines. That’s always kind of cool and people get a kick out of that. They were all really good. The star of the show, in some ways for me, was the ice wine. I drink ice wine very rarely. True ice wines aren’t easy to find. There’s something about that style of dessert wine where you capture the purity of the fruit, in a way that the concentration of flavor for most other dessert wines comes through drying or fungal rot, basically, that affects the flavor. With ice wines, you’re freezing it, so you get a fresher tasting wine even a decade later, which is cool. It was just a fun thing. I haven’t done a wine dinner in almost two years at this point. It’s fun to get to do that again and share wine with people who are excited about the experience. How about you, Adam? You traveled, right?

A: I had one of the greatest experiences I’ve had, post-Covid, last Friday night. It could have happened anywhere, but it happened to happen in Saratoga Springs, N.Y. We went up to Montreal for a wedding and decided to break up the drive by stopping in Saratoga, which is basically halfway between New York and Montreal. I didn’t realize, because I’m stupid, that it was race weeks.

Z: Oh, yeah.

A: Saratoga is one of the most famous cities in America for horse racing. It has one of the last tracks that is still very historic. It hasn’t been modernized, really. People still dress up for the races. It’s really cool. But I kind of didn’t realize that. There was this cool hotel — which we’re going to talk about in the next segment — that I wanted to stay at. It was very hard to get a reservation at restaurants for dinner. When I called to get a reservation, they said they had two seats at the bar. I went to this really cool restaurant called Solevo. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that basically everything about it was like Carbone, but better, less pretentious, and cool kid. It was very cool. The food was just as good as Carbone, and it didn’t have that “we’re-better-than-you vibe.” What was crazy is that we were seated at the bar, and Naomi and I became friends with Kevin and Heidi.

Z: Oh, nice.

A: It was just the coolest thing. They started talking to us, and then we had this entire conversation during dinner with this couple who was sitting at the bar and were just super friendly. They were also from New York. They had invested in a racehorse. I learned all about horse racing, because I’ve never really been somewhat into horse racing, but it was really interesting to learn and meet people that you normally would not normally meet. We went and got a drink with them at another bar afterwards.

J: How cool. That’s amazing.

A: It was just really, really fun. I happened to drink a really good bottle of Onorati at dinner, and I had an Aviation cocktail first. The coolest thing was just this event that hasn’t happened in over 18 months. I used to love sitting at the bar. If you happen to have friendly people sitting next to you, that was even better because you got to have those connections and meet people. We went back to the hotel that night and thought, “Oh my god, I can’t believe that we had missed this.” There’s that magic of sitting at the bar that you don’t realize until you go back to do it for the first time again. I will definitely sit at the bar more often now that I feel like there’s more places that are requiring that you have a vaccine in order to dine. Hopefully, there’ll be more people that I get to meet. As a good segue here, one of the reasons we stopped in Saratoga was because of this hotel. Naomi’s really into design and has always followed this design company, Post Company. They’re a very well-known hotel design company. They do lots of really cool boutique hotels. They designed a hotel that we’d stayed at a long time ago in Barcelona. I think they actually did the Dogfish Head Inn and some other really cool stuff. The only hotel they’ve ever designed that they actually also own is in Saratoga Springs. It’s called Brentwood. One of the things that they do, and a lot of these boutique hotels have done this over the last few years that I’ve really noticed, is that one of the biggest selling points is the bar. It’s really interesting to me how much the hotel bar has become cool again. I feel like there was a time, especially when I traveled in really early days, where the hotel bar was kind of sad. You did not stay and have drinks at the hotel bar. In the last five to 10 years, the hotel bar has become very cool again. Even in New York, some of the best bars are in hotels. It’s really interesting because that was never the case. Do you now hold the hotel bar to the same standard you would a regular bar? This bar at the Brentwood, not to 100 percent criticize, pushes a lot of really great cocktails, but the cocktails actually weren’t that great. Right? And they were still expensive. It clearly worked. It was a hook. I was really excited. As you’ll learn if you listen to “Cocktail College,” the ice they used was like ice machine ice. The cocktail I ordered, because I had been in the mood after listening to Tim’s first episode, was an Old Fashioned. It was really watered down because of that ice. It wasn’t a 100 percent amazing experience, but they definitely hooked me and made me think I was going to get that experience because of how they positioned themselves as this great craft cocktail bar. I’m curious to have a conversation with the both of you about hotel bars in general and how you view them. Have you seen the same trend that I have, that new, cool, boutique hotels have really used the bar as a key marketing component when it comes to getting you to stay there?

J: I have a question first. What was the vibe of the bar? I feel like, for me, going to a hotel bar is partially for the cocktails and the drinks that I’m going to have.

A: Very Freemans. Very Brooklyn.

J: Cozy. Yeah.

A: Now, because of Covid, they were encouraging people to sit outside, so outside there were benches and a fire pit. But, yes. Very craft cocktail.

J: Yeah. I definitely agree with you. I’ve seen this trend as well. I think it is a draw for me as a traveler, too, especially for smaller towns like upstate New York and across the country. If I’m exploring a small town and there’s a hip boutique hotel, even if I’m not staying there, I’m probably going to check out the bar or the restaurant. I definitely think that it’s been happening. I also think there’s something about the older, storied hotel bars. There’s something really wonderful and appealing about those to me. I think about Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle in Manhattan. The Rum House at the Edison was a place that I used to go quite a bit. It’s in Midtown, and it’s a horrible area, but that bar was a refuge from 42nd Street. There’s that old-school type of hotel bar that I think is really wonderful. Then, there’s this new thing that we’re seeing happening. It’s really interesting because I think, for those smaller towns, it has to be a draw. Otherwise, if you don’t have people staying there, how else are you going to do business?

A: It’s so interesting that you say that. There’s these two different kinds of hotel bars, and then you have your Marriotts of the world.

J: Right. There’s the third.

A: You have these really old-school, very historic, amazing hotel bars. I’m thinking of The Sazerac inside of The Roosevelt in New Orleans.

J: Ah, great bar.

A: Or, you have what seems to be the same model of bar at all these boutiques. It’s sort of Brooklyn, very craft. I don’t even know how to describe it, but they all look very similar. They all have similar fonts, do you know what I mean? It’s different. It’s not trying to copy the old, historic, big, amazing bar with the bar peanuts and stuff like that. It is supposed to basically make you think you are at a great cocktail bar in Brooklyn, San Francisco, or L.A. I don’t know.

Z: I have a couple of thoughts here. The first is that what we societally expect from a hotel bar both has and has not changed over the years. The basic expectation is the same. It’s just the form it takes that is different. When you think about what role a hotel bar plays, for the most part, it’s for the hotel guests. But it’s also maybe not that dissimilar from the experience you were describing at the restaurant that you went to in Saratoga Springs, Adam. You also go to hotel bars to meet people, both in this sort of lurid traveler kind of way, but also in the way that, traditionally, interesting people travel and people who travel are interesting. I’ve known plenty of people who enjoy hanging out of hotel bars because they’re just interesting people to talk to. A lot of other cocktail bars, even pre-Covid, were not really centered around socializing with people who you didn’t come with. One of the great cocktail bar experiences I had in my life in terms of the cocktails was Franklin Investment in Philadelphia. But, you’re siloed off with your party and you would never just randomly start a conversation with someone else. You are very clearly there doing your own thing. Hotel bars just have that vibe, no matter what the trappings of the bar are. The expectation is that a lot of people are there by themselves, because they’re traveling by themselves, or maybe with one or two other people. If they’re hanging out in a hotel bar, they’re probably looking to chat. For whatever ends. I’m not going to go there. But that’s a thing. The other thing about hotel bars, and I think this is important to note here, is that they always take on the form of providing a kind of comfort. I’m talking about comfort for the kind of people who are traveling. The classic hotel bars that you describe were comfortable to a generation of travelers — especially business travelers, who were almost exclusively white men — who wanted a certain kind of experience. They could have that experience at any of the hotels you mentioned. Now, what the generation of travelers like us wants is the trappings of a cool cocktail bar. It makes total sense for hotels, whether they’re one-offs or part of a larger company. I think about Provenance Hotels, which is based in Portland, but has hotels there, in Seattle, Nashville, Fort Wayne, Ind., and all kinds of places. One of their big things all along has been that they take over these old hotels, and one of their main focuses is on the hotel bar. They’re all a little different. They don’t all have quite the hipster cocktail bar vibe. They make a huge point of developing the cocktail program because they see that as both a selling point for travelers and a way to bring in locals. It may be that a great cocktail bar in a hotel in the middle of Manhattan isn’t going to skate by on being OK because there are many other options. But, in a lot of other places, the hotel may be the best bar in town. Or, for a traveler who doesn’t want to go that far outside of their hotel for whatever set of reasons but wants a good cocktail, the hotel bar is a great option, too. Why would you not, as a business, try and capture that market? It’s a valuable one.

A: These are really good points. The hotel bar is interesting. It has an issue. You want it to be amazing if that’s why you chose the hotel. Also, if it’s so amazing that it attracts locals, is the hotel bar too crowded and hard to get into, even if you’re a paying guest?

J: It’s a careful balance.

A: At that kind of hotel bar, you assume that you’re going to get a truly great cocktail. Whereas, at the hotel bar where only the hotel guests are staying, you’re probably drinking the draft beer or the spirit, straight. Do you know what I mean? What do we want out of a hotel bar? I’ve found, more and more, that what I want is the former. I don’t want the hotel bar to just be my nightcap. Right? I want the hotel bar to be a place where I can have a great night out, and I don’t have to leave the bar. Maybe that’s because I’m a New Yorker. When we travel, I really don’t feel comfortable driving. I don’t feel comfortable driving the second I have a drink. I really don’t want to do it. There’s a lot of places, especially around New York, that have become really trendy over the last five or six years that don’t really have Ubers and Lyfts. Or, if they do, you could be waiting 45 minutes. A lot of times, if we go out to dinner, I don’t really drink that much. If we do come back, I want to have a really nice drink and be on property. But, if it’s that good, am I then fighting against all the other people who are staying in other places who have heard that this hotel has the best bar? At least then it’s fun. If I’m doing that at — I hate to pick on them — the Marriott and it’s just a subpar drink or maybe I’m just drinking brown straight, that’s not a great experience. Then I think, well, I don’t want to drink anyways.

Z: I think this is what’s fascinating about the hotel bar. It’s getting pulled in multiple directions. There are the people like we’re talking about that want their hotel bar experience to be on par with their bar experience anywhere else. Why would I drink there if the bar isn’t able to meet my expectations for cocktails? Otherwise, I won’t, or I’ll do it out of lack of other options or as a last resort. But there’s also this other piece of it that might be more true in the Marriotts, larger chains, or hotels that, for whatever set of reasons, cannot aspire to creating a great cocktail bar internally. It’s the outsourcing of all of that to lots of the things we’ve discussed on the podcast over the last year. There’s all the different RTD brands that are trying to get into these hotel bars. The drink dispensing machines, like Drinkworks, that want to be in those places. There are all these pressures to essentially remove the hotel bar from the operations of the hotel and have it be a glorified vending machine. That’s not inherently a bad thing. I don’t want to say that’s a bad choice. I think, in some cases, those kinds of products offer a better experience than the person who makes a watered down Manhattan, who doesn’t even know what they’re doing very well. In the end, I’d rather have a really great RTD that someone just pours out of a bottle, opens a can, or just hands to me. The most important thing to me is that the drink is good if I’m spending money on it. It is interesting because the hotel bar experience is being stretched. It might end up breaking into these two very different things. In the future, the hotel bar is not what we picture now. It’s basically a fancy vending machine.

J: I agree with that. I also think that there’s still a large group of people who are still traveling and are just fine with how the hotel bar is at the Marriott is and will continue to patronize a place like that.

A: Marriott’s listening to this and they’re like, “God, Adam.”

J: I think it’s very interesting that this new wave of hotel bars is catering to a younger generation. It makes so much sense.

A: I do wonder if part of this evolution that Zach is talking about will be even more sped up by Covid. The hotel bar we’re all talking about not liking exists, often, at hotels whose primary guests are business travelers. Business travelers don’t really care about a great hotel bar.

J: Right. It serves a purpose.

Z: They care more about their loyalty points than anything else.

A: Exactly. Those business travelers that do care, I think will still stay at the trendy hotel and will say screw their points. That might be lessening as more people start to say, “I’m not going to fly for one night to Chicago from New York when we could just Zoom, so I don’t need to stay at the Marriott that’s well located near the corporate office tower that I’m going into to have my meeting that day.” Then, will we have these hotels that are realizing they need to attract more general consumers who want a great location in Chicago for a long weekend? Will they realize they need better bars? That is at least being acknowledged by these very trendy, renovated motels that Joanna and I are talking about. That’s what’s taking off all across the country for all these companies. They’re taking these old motels, fully renovating them, and making them really cool. Most of them are putting good bars inside of them, at least in image. You may actually get there and not have a great drink. But, they’re at least trying, because they know that’s what the demographic is looking for if it’s going to be a vacation. If it’s a vacation, people want to be able to have a drink where they’re staying. Not just a drink, but a good drink. I don’t want to just go get whatever beer you have on draft. I don’t want to feel like, when I’m at my hotel, that I’m drinking in the airport lounge.

Z: I have one last thing to add to this. It’s also really important to keep in mind, when we talk about all this, the other challenge in this whole sector, which is labor. We’ve talked about labor issues in the hospitality industry a couple of times recently. You have to think about how creating a great bar program is not easy. Having the right people to staff it is not easy. It may be that some of these renovated motels in some of these places might be able to attract talent because of what we’ve talked about. There’s lower cost of living, maybe you have the opportunity to have some equity, a hotel has more revenue streams than a bar does, so assuming you have good occupancy, you can usually subsidize some of the cost of doing business in the bar in a way that just a bar can’t. This is why I think you’re going to see this real separation in what a hotel bar is over the next few years. Again, this is driven by Covid and the labor market. If the bar that you’re able to operate is little more than a pour-a-shot-of-brown kind of place, at some point it doesn’t even make sense for you to have staff to do that. If you’re struggling to find people, you’re going to find work-arounds that don’t involve as many people working. At the same time, it provides opportunity in these places that maybe do see the service and skill component as being central to their mission. It’s a way to attract and keep talent.

A: I think the thing that would be really well suited to most of these hotel bars that are especially trying to go the craft cocktail route would be to take a piece of advice from Tim’s guest on the first episode of “Cocktail College.” That advice is to just master the classics. I think what happens in a lot of these trendy bars is that whoever consulted on the hotel and then consulted on the bar said the hotel should have eight to 10 signature cocktails. Right? They may have a list initially developed by a bartender, but then that list probably evolves as someone is working there. What would be great is if you could go to one of these bars and there’s eight to 10 of the classics. There’s a really great Old Fashioned. There’s a really great Martini. I think that’s what people want. If you have a really great drink that’s just one of the classics done superbly, and you’re sitting in this place that’s been so well designed, feels cool, is an escape, and you didn’t have to wait in line or make a reservation to get into the trendy cocktail bar in your town, that’s what people actually want.

Z: Certainly, if you can’t master the classics, then you probably should not be focusing on a bunch of experimental stuff.

J: Right.

A: Exactly. Well, guys, this has been a great conversation. If anyone listening has a hotel bar that you particularly love, please let us know at [email protected]. I would love to know about it because I’d probably like to go check it out. If you do have a great hotel bar, let us know. Zach, Joanna, I’ll talk to you next week.

J: Thanks so much.

Z: Sounds great.

Thanks so much for listening to the “VinePair Podcast.” If you love this show as much as we love making it, then please leave us a rating or review on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever it is you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show.

Now, for the credits. VinePair is produced and recorded in New York City and Seattle, Washington, by myself and Zach Geballe, who does all the editing and loves to get the credit. Also, I would love to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder, Josh Malin, for helping make all this possible, and also to Keith Beavers, VinePair’s tastings director, who is additionally a producer on the show. I also want to, of course, thank every other member of the VinePair team, who are instrumental in all of the ideas that go into making the show every week. Thanks so much for listening, and we’ll see you again.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article VinePair Podcast: How the Hotel Bar Went From Tragic to Trendy appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/podcast-hotel-bar-tragic-to-trendy/

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