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amphtaminedreams · 4 years ago

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Why Ethical Fashion Doesn’t Need to be Boring (In the Words of a Shopping Addict): Lookbook no.14

Hi to anyone reading,

Arghhhh.

I never know how to start posts when I literally just uploaded the other week because I tend to follow the very formulaic approach of summarising what I’ve missed due to sporadic posting…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still posting sporadically, it just so happens I’ve had more content to get up recently-sometimes lightning strikes twice, ya know, and I have a brief, if chemically fuelled, reprieve from the permanent state of exhaustion. It’s not like there isn’t stuff to talk about- the last month has seen a horrific murder and public outcry in response. There are a lot of important conversations going on about women’s safety and misogynistic violence that I really cannot do justice to in a paragraph and feelings that have been brewing for a long time that I can’t articulate yet and will not attempt to offhandedly do so in this post. Right now I just wanna say that I stand in solidarity with all those with histories of experiencing violence at the hands of men, those who aren’t here with us anymore as a result of that violence such as Sarah Everard, and those marginalised women whose stories don’t make national news. It’s very telling the way Sarah’s vigil was responded to by the same police force that have allowed mostly male anti-mask protests to go ahead with protestors unscathed, and solidarity with the women who were treated with such an unjustifiable amount of force at the vigil too.

That being said, women’s rights are something I wanted to talk about in this post, with regards to the way it ties into ethical fashion. None of us are perfect and it’s easy living in a first world country to detach yourself from the issues stemming from fast fashion, especially when you don’t have the time or money yourself to be selective about where you buy from. Don’t get me wrong, I do treat myself to some new clothes from fast fashion companies like ASOS and Urban Outfitters a few times a year so this is NOT coming from a place of preaching, but I have drastically reduced that to buying about 90% of my new clothes either second hand from Depop or charity shops or clothing stores that are upfront about their outsourcing practices. I love putting outfits together and updating my wardrobe and I don’t want to abandon that as a medium of self-expression because it does bring me joy, but to continue to update my wardrobe with the frequency I do by buying from fast fashion retailers on such a regular basis I accepted was going against the things I care about; around 80% of textile workers on poverty wages in developing countries are girls and women (opensocietyfoundations.org), and whilst fast fashion companies in the West continue to outsource manufacturing to said countries to cut costs and there is little regulation enforcing employers to pay women the same amount as men or even adhere to a minimum wage, they will continue to be forced into these roles where they are subjected to horrific working conditions, impossible production targets and frequent abuse (according to an article published in the Guardian in June 2018, 540 incidences of abuse, often of a sexual nature, were reported by women working in factories supplying the retailers GAP and H&M when they were interviewed on the subject). There is no denying that the fast fashion industry depends on and perpetuates the subjugation of women and systematically prevents them from making steps towards gender equality in their countries, be it through greater financial independence or the freedom to pursue higher education; the popular current practice by western fast fashion companies of outsourcing manufacturing to factories unhindered by workers rights and gender equality laws by association condones the sexual and physical violence that occurs as a means of punishment for not meeting targets, the exploitative pay which affords women little independence from husbands and families dominated by patriarchal values, and the long, exhausting hours which women have little choice but to take in order to avoid their contracts being terminated and to put food on the table. No, one individual completely abandoning fast fashion isn’t going to put an end to these unethical practices but if all of us make a conscious effort to reduce our consumption at least a little and make it clear why we’re doing so, we put greater pressure on fast fashion companies to act in a more responsible way. There isn’t going to be any kind of miraculous change of heart, so to force them to change we have to hit the industry and the people at the top who benefit from such practices where it really hurts: their profit.

SO, for this post I thought I would highlight some of my favourite more ethical online clothing companies to buy from; the more popular these more socially responsible brands become, the more apparent it becomes to fast fashion companies relying on an exploitative business model that how they treat their workers is of growing importance to consumers. It’s all very well and good Missguided and PLT talking about empowering women and making “girl boss” slogan tees but we need to make it clear that we’re aware of the hollowness of the gesture, and that we want less hypocritical talk and more action to actually enhance the lives of the women that work for them, not just the ones they show in their flashy offices on TV. I’ve included my favourite Depop shops too, because if you can shop second hand, that’s even better; though I like to treat myself to new clothes now and again, I’m aware that the impact the manufacturing process in general, whether or not the company acts in an ethical way with regards to their employment practices, has on the environment is more often than not detrimental. Depop has really been my saving grace this past year-if you know what you’re looking for and have the time and patience, you can find so many gems, and at this point the balance of my wardrobe is tipped firmly in the favour of the reuse and recycle approach to shopping. In the vein of reusing fashion, I thought I’d also include a mini lookbook for a cardigan I got from one of my favourite online retailers, The Ragged Priest, just as a reminder that 1). The best way to be sustainable is to rewear and 2). That with tweaks, one piece alone can give you multiple completely different outfits. Like honestly, outfit repeating doesn’t have to be a literal repeat. Sometimes it’s worth spending a little bit extra on something that looks good with everything, and making that investment into your ability to fool people that you’ve got your shit together by wearing something cool as fuck.

Quickly before I get into it, I’m aware that some ethical companies are a bit out of the average consumer’s price range, and so I wanted to sort them into price point categories which will work as follows:

£= most of their stock is £40 & under ££= most of their stock is between £40-£100 £££= most of their stock costs upwards of £100

Now, in no particular order (and starting with online retailers before moving onto Depop shops), here’s the list!

1. THE RAGGED PRIEST

PRICE POINT: ££

Using recycled fabric to construct their pieces where possible and releasing clothing in small drops designed to sell out rather than following the typical fast fashion model of outsourcing the production of vast amounts of clothing overseas, the Ragged Priest is my absolute favourite clothing brand out there. It’s *semi* affordable and because they are all about those bold, in your face, your-grandma-will-probs-think-it’s-ugly kinda pieces, just one can do SO much for your wardrobe.

I recently bought this cardigan from their The Simple Life drop and had so many outfit ideas for it that I thought I’d put a few of them together for this post just as an example of how you can take the same piece over and over again and still make it interesting, even when you don’t feel like straying too far from your personal style preferences. While we’re at it, I also wanted to use this mini lookbook to point out how fucking great Depop is! Literally everything in these outfits is from there apart from the shoes and the jewellery, the leather blazer on the right I bought a few years ago and then the top and skirt in the outfit from the far left which are both from Ebay. The shoes with that outfit are from Koi Vegan footwear-I didn’t include them in this list because I wanted to keep it consistent and focus on ethical clothing companies rather than retailers that focus on one specific thing such as shoes or jewellery, but they are my favourite place to buy shoes from and focus closely on ethical production too so definitely recommend.

2. MINGA LONDON

PRICE POINT: ££

Towards the lower end of the ££ price point, Minga is probably the closest you’re gonna get to an ethical version of the Dolls Kill Deliah’s range. Their focus on being a socially responsible business is a huge part of their ethos and their pieces are put together in Portugal, where they're based, by a small in-house team; the majority of their fabric is sourced from local Portuguese businesses and even more amazingly, they recycle the fabric of the pieces they don’t sell in new designs. They are just a generally amazing company and I wish more people knew about them because their pieces are fucking adorable and wouldn’t be out of place (or overpriced) in your local UO.

3. ELSIE & FRED

PRICE POINT: £

A small, black owned business set up by 3 siblings from Coventry, Elsie & Fred have earned themselves a reputation as a staple provider of the festival season wardrobe. Being an independently owned business, they have strict standards that their manufacturers must adhere to and a close working relationship with the owners of the two factories who oversee production in Guangzhou, China, to ensure fair wages and a safe working environment. On the environmental side of things, Elsie and Fred are working to incorporate recycled fabric into their designs as much as possible and have this year introduced compostable mailing bags.

4. HOUSE OF SUNNY

PRICE POINT: £££

Follow enough British instagram fashion influencers and you are bound to have heard of House of Sunny in 2020-snagging what is probably my all time favourite coat from there in 2019 before all the hype is a humble brag I will allow myself on the basis that I haven’t been able to afford anything since, lol. Along with kooky, one of a kind designs, being decidedly anti-fast fashion is a huge part of their branding; HoS only drop 2 collections of limited stock a year, thoroughly screen suppliers and on their website you can find a tonne of information on how they’re working to offset their environmental impact too. If you can treat yourself to a piece from there at any point, the quality of the garments truly make the price point worth it.

5. JADED LONDON

PRICE POINT: ££

Similarly to The Ragged Priest and House of Sunny, Jaded London go the route of dropping limited collections on a less frequent basis intending to sell out (particularly popular pieces are occasionally restocked) rather than needlessly manufacturing vast quantities of garments to flog for whatever they can get and cutting corners with fair employment practices to offset any losses. By employing independent staff in the manufacturing plants with which they liaise to ensure fair, dignified working conditions and also by working closely with charities such as the Trussel Trust and Stand Up to Racism, Jaded London demonstrates a level of commitment to corporate responsibility that set them apart from a lot of similar online retailers. They are at the top of their game when it comes to daring and experimental yet wearable pieces and so it’s cool that they recognise the need to conduct their business in a considerate way too.

6. THE HIPPIE SHAKE

PRICE POINT: ££

Owned by UK based bohemian queen Naomi Hession, the Hippie Shake is not only a great small independent business to support but is also the definition of slow fashion. With a limited number of opulent 70s style pieces, I have always wanted to purchase something from here. I’ve yet to do so but I’m gonna make it my mission eventually.

7. VINTAGE HEARTS

PRICE POINT: £

An affordable, gorgeous array of quirky handpicked vintage pieces that would probably take you forever to find in a charity shop or that you’d be charged a small fortune for if you found it in a high street second hand store, Vintage Hearts is where you should go if you want a timeless statement piece that may have otherwise ended up in a landfill. The added benefit of vintage clothing is that it is, by its nature, great for the environment, but you can also look fab and groovy as fuck as you do your bit for the planet<3

8. WE ARE COW

PRICE POINT: £

Offering both original vintage pieces and reworked pieces using recycled fabrics, We Are Cow has both basic branded second hand items but also handmade streetwear style original designs all for a fair price. You can tell that it’s all high quality stuff consistent with their modern, functional aesthetic and it’s clear that the team behind the shop has a real vision in mind when they’re designing.

9. OUT OF THE ORDINARY CLOTHING

PRICE POINT: £

In the words of Corrie Davis, founder of OOTO "I start with the belief that fashion will be always be worn differently by the individual that wears it. Every collection from Out of the Ordinary is different to the last but undeniably Out of the Ordinary. I champion flamboyancy and embrace the cultures I've experienced around the world, merging the two and creating popular style trends in exciting textiles, prints and techniques to bring to you something a little Out of the Ordinary." That pretty much sums up the vibrancy, vivacity and bold elegance of the brand’s aesthetic perfectly, which is reflected by Davis’ commitment to ethical manufacturing based on relationships forged between the founders and family artisans and the sourcing of fabrics from textile markets around the world. Everything you need for a boujie summer holiday in the Mediterranean-when leaving the country is finally allowed again, lol, EVERYBODY GET YOUR FUCKING VACCINE-is here.

10. WILD THING

PRICE POINT: ranges from £-£££ depending on the brand

Probs the closest thing you’ll get to an ethical ASOS, Wild Thing brings together a host of sustainable and independent clothing brands and puts them all in one place to present to us all a collection of the sickest festival style fashion out there. Whilst it’s super cool that this already exists and a slice of humble pie for myself to remind me that I am not in fact the revolutionary marketing genius I thought I was, I’m bummed to know that my idea of said ethical ASOS style website is already out there. Fingers crossed for the next grand money making scheme that comes to mind that I can use to distribute some wealth (yeah, there probably won’t be any because very few original thoughts enter my head, clearly, tehe) xoxo

11. SHOPFLUFFY

PRICE POINT: ££

I know it’s 2021 and we all kind hate the idea of girl boss feminism and the connotations of privilege and exploitation that come with it but can we bring it back when we’re talking about women who embody what it was actually all supposed to be about? Because the owner of ShopFluffy, @lulutrixabelle embodies everything good about the term. Somebody who genuinely does (cue Ramona singer voice here) empower other women through her celebration of powerful female friendship and free spirited sense of personal style that should inspire every one of us to wear whatever the fuck we want (clashing patterns and over-accessorising be damned), Lulu handmakes all the designs on her site and very much places an emphasis on slow fashion by releasing only a few collections a year which you can clearly tell a lot of painstaking effort and talent went into. ShopFluffy is on the pricier side but the adorable crocheted coords LuLu specialises in, reminiscent of carefree childhood days and picnics in meadows picturesque enough to be the backdrop of a Jacquemus runway presentation, are a bold and beautiful expression of playful femininity worthy of departing with a bit more than you’d usually spend. After all, if you are gonna spend that money on a piece of clothing, supporting an ethical, independent woman owned business clearly built on carefully honed skill, passion and authenticity is the way to go.

12. SHOPEASYTIGER

PRICE POINT: ££

It feels correct to follow up the ShopFluffy mention with ShopEasyTiger given the friendship between the former’s owner with Tigerlilly Winfield (is that not the most wonderfully storybook character sounding name of all time?), owner of Easy Tiger. Up there with my most revered style icons, Tigerlilly’s designs are as flamboyant and glamorous and daring and dramatic as her own personal style, and again, they are ethically made! If you want to get that psychedelic rock n’roll groupie that’s actually way cooler than the band itself kinda energy too, her shop is the place to start.

13. HOTTTRAMP

PRICE POINT: ££

Founded by the incredibly hot Belle_hott_tramp on Instagram, HottTramp is a collection of both handmade pieces and carefully selected vintage finds that blur the lines between 90s Courtney Love style grunge and 70s summer of love hippy that make me want to start my own all girl rock band and hire a camper van to paint black and road trip through the American desert. Given my complete lack of hand eye coordination, I’ll most likely never have the instrumental skills to do that but I never said it was a realistic fantasy, okay?

14. LAZY OAF

PRICE POINT: ££

Is it just me that always thought Lazy Oaf was within the same kind of price range as The Ragged Priest? Because it’s a lottt more expensive than I thought. That being said, if you’re going for a playful, toned down Molly Goddard kinda look, anything bright and youthful, Lazy Oaf’s clothes 100% fit that brief. You are paying more, but part of that markup is reflected in their transparency when it comes to their ethical code, which includes ensuring that statutory minimum wage laws are adhered to in the supply chain as well as that all workers are of the legal working age for their countries and that their working hours do not exceed the legal limit. They are also steadfastly committed to donating a portion of their profits to charities dedicated to improving mental wellbeing such as Mind, Rethink Mental Illness, and Young Minds, something that is hugely important to me given my own experiences and the line of work I want to go into.

15. NEVER FULLY DRESSED

PRICE POINT: ££

Similar in their aesthetic to Out of the Ordinary, Never Fully Dressed is big on colour, print, and elegance. They have both specially selected second hand pieces on offer and original designs too and the about us section of their website clearly states how passionate they are about their ethical manufacturing process, which takes place both here in the UK and in China.

16. TUNNEL VISION

PRICE POINT: ££

Offering the dreamiest, one of a kind vintage 90s pieces, Tunnel Vision could just as easily be a grunge girl band come the craft themed moodboard as it is an online retailer. If the 90s isn’t for you-I mean, I don’t wanna question anybody’s taste levels but…-they also have the option of shopping by era, which I think is a really cool feature I wish a lot of irl vintage shops would incorporate.

17. LOVE TOO TRUE

PRICE POINT: £

Everything on Love Too True is fucking gorgeousss and it is no surprise that they manufacture their garments here in London because I feel their brand totally encompasses that stereotypical 90s East End punk vibe perfectly with a shit tonne of chunky boots and show stopping plaid pieces that makes my heart ache for a riot grrrl renaissance. Yes, when it comes to feminism’s place in mainstream culture, making sure the political goals and structural changes we’re aiming for are visible to all is by far the most important, but let’s have a resurgence of the grunge girl’s armour along with that and PLEASE let’s leave athleisure in the 2010s. No more Kardashian nude leggings, I beg (I AM being lighthearted, wear whatever you want! We’re not policing women’s clothes in this neck of the woods).

18. NINE LIVES BAZAAR

PRICE POINT: £££

Eurgh. Nine Lives Bazaar. I want it ALL. Their clothes give me all the Etro, Zimmerman, Torey Burch, modernised Stevie Nicks vibes on a slightly more realistic budget, though unfortunately for me said budget just isn’t realistic enough. You would think pieces being ethically produced is just a given when it comes to clothes within this price range but that’s not necessarily the case and Nine Lives Bazaar is one of the ones you can trust to actually be considerate of their employees needs when it comes to their approach to business. To anybody who can afford to shop here, I am insanely jealous. The rest of us, for now, can just browse the website n feel the fantasy, channel a Valentina level of delusion and pretend it’s just the import taxes from Australia that’s holding us back from making a purchase.

-DEPOP SHOPS-

1. @HOUSE_OF_EROTIQUE

PRICE POINT: ££

Everything handmade and latex and form fitting to make you the baddest bitch in the room, I’ve got myself a few pieces from this shop over the past couple of years. Customer service is a bit hit or miss and there’s been times when I’ve had to wait a while for my purchases to get to me but because they’re all one of a kind and custom made to fit, it’s worth it, and when they have messed up they were kind enough to add something to my order for free.

2. @SACREDHAWK

PRICE POINT: ££

If you picture raiding the wardrobe of a biker gang, snatching the Coachella bound suitcases of the Revolve ambassadors at Palm Springs airport, and then jumbling all those clothes together, that’s probably your best bet at getting an idea of Sacred Hawk’s aesthetic. Formerly an ASOS concession, the brand is now available on Depop and is a collection of the most lavish glam grunge pieces, all vintage or reworked vintage. Some things are a bit on the pricey side but I would say they are all priced fairly considering how unique and ornate a lot of the pieces are, and I reeeeally wanna be able to say I own something from there one day.

3. @IDENTITYPARTY

PRICE POINT: £££

I struggled with how to categorise this Depop shop in terms of price point because although there are some fairly low-priced pieces, the standouts are the vintage coats which are understandably a lot more expensive-if you want to fully immerse yourself in the Almost Famous Penny Lane fantasy, you’re gonna have to fork out a little bit.

4. @RETRO_RAIL

PRICE POINT: £££

Retro_rail is of a similar vein to IdentityParty, in that the standout pieces are the vintage coats which are usually upwards of £100-if you’re looking for one-of-a-kind statement outerwear to invest in, I can’t recommend this shop enough. If you’re like me and you’re looking for something more within the £ to ££ price range, Retro Rail is still worth a browse as inspiration for the kind of styles you might wanna try and find elsewhere on Depop.

5. @5THSEASON

PRICE POINT: £

Most of the quirky vintage pieces you’ll find on offer on this Depop shop are within the £25 to £40 price range and though you’ve got coats similar to those you’ll find on Identity Party and Retro Rail and they are sill slightly more than the tops and trousers and dresses on sale etc., they are more modestly priced than the other 2 listed.

6. @DREAMERSREBELS

PRICE POINT: £££

Another v pricey one, dreamersrebels specialises in the daintiest, most whimsical 60s style co-ords I’ve ever seen. Handmade upon purchase, which in turn guarantees little textile waste, you can find the kind of pieces you’d expect to see on a 21st century incarnation of Audrey Hepburn, all the soft pastels and timeless, retro silhouettes you could possibly wish for. I mean, wishing is pretty much all I can do rn but anyone with a near minimum wage retail job knows you need something to aspire to, lol. I managed to budget enough to treat myself to a Selkie dress so I’m manifesting that same level of self-discipline to get me a dreamersrebels piece next.

7. @AWKWARDPHASE

PRICE POINT: £

Very affordable vintage pieces that range from cutesy mid-century style dresses and coats to grungy 90s jackets, perfectly styled and presented too in a way that will have you wanting to order something for yourself to replicate that modern spin on old staples and give them a second life.

8. @EVIEHALLOWS

PRICE POINT: £

Another Depop shop where the clothes are styled so well, it’ll have you thinking you can make anything from a floral 1950s housewife style cardigan to a lycra jumpsuit look very intentionally on trend.

9. @JAHOOLI

PRICE POINT: £

There’s also Jahooli, which I will just say ticks all the same boxes as the other two aforementioned stores to avoid repeating myself.

10. @LOVELYANDLOVELESS

PRICE POINT: £

In terms of price, I would put Lovely and Loveless into the same category as Jahooli, Awkward Phase and Evie Hallows, the difference being that the clothes available are more on the dainty, classically feminine side. People who have a Pinterest board dedicated to the cottagecore or light academia aesthetic (whew, the gen Z is showing), this one’s for you.

11. @CHLOESTJOHN

PRICE POINT: £

Finally, we have the ChloeStJohn Depop shop and it’s definitely a good one to end on; picture the wardrobe of Carrie Bradshaw if she’d lived in Camden instead of New York in the 90s and hung out with a slightly edgier crew than Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha and there you have it, the vibe of the pieces on offer. Does it belong to a girl who probs lives near Primrose Hill and has access to all the boujiest second hand clothes shops available which she most likely routinely raids to resell on Depop? Potentially, but hopefully not because I am very here for this whole red wine in one hand and a cigarette in another back when people were allowed to smoke inside bars aesthetic. I’m sorry that the gen Z part of me once again jumped out in such an aggressive fashion with that last sentence, but I know you know what I mean.

And that’s everything!

I did wanna close off the post with a reminder of how nuanced a discussion this is-having the time and money to be more conscious about your ethical footprint when you’re buying clothes is in itself a privilege; fashion shouldn’t be an interest reserved for only those who have the means to pay extra or spend time scouring the internet. It’s also important to be aware of the lack of size inclusivity-a lot of the “trendy” sustainable fashion brands tend to not stock anything larger than a size 14 and attempt to deflect attention away from this by categorising clothes as either XS, S, M, or L, which is in itself a bit of a pisstake considering that 12-14 is the average clothing size here for women in the UK, and so in no way large. Shopping from Depop and Ebay is hard too when so many brands fail to understand how to fit a non-straight size body which in turn necessitates trying stuff on before you buy it, something that isn’t possible when you’re shopping second hand. A lot of Depop shops fail to offer returns and even with those who do, chasing up that return can be a time-consuming and generally all round frustrating process.

Basically, when we’re having these kinds of discussions it’s important to consider everyone’s situations and avoid sitting on some kind of high horse. I feel like things have become even more complicated lately- with the recent closure of once popular high street stores such as Topshop and Miss Selfridge, it has got me thinking a lot about just how many people’s income here in the UK is dependent on fast fashion retailers too and their popularity. The job scarcity resulting from these kind of closures, which are often all that is available to a lot of people with the demands of the job market seemingly becoming more and more impossible each day even for those who have been in higher education, is clearly an issue when the kind of support you can expect from the government as someone out of work is so woefully inadequate and likely to become even more so as the conservatives push for further cuts to UC and PIP. The past year has really shown us just how shaky the ground that an intensely capitalist society stands on is and how quickly everything can go tits up when we don’t invest in a safety net for those who are struggling. People seem to have realised more than ever the extent to which those whose jobs we deem “low-skilled” are actually the backbone of society, and yet even here, whilst the situation may not be quite as desperate as it is elsewhere, we still haven’t seen pay rises that reflect that. Turns out all the clapping WAS an empty gesture, who’d have thought it (for fuck’s sake)? Fair wages really are a global issue that starts with paying people enough for them to comfortably live on and in time should lead to a shift in consciousness away from the concept of profit before everything else and towards an equal playing field for everyone, something we should take every opportunity to speak up about and demand from our “leaders”, however shit a job so many of those leaders do. It’s frustrating how the focus on making ethical purchasing choices is so often on the overconsumption of things that women historically are more actively interested in such as clothes and accessories and make up when the reality is that the wealth of every industry titan on this planet, NOT just the ones who dominate the fast fashion sphere, depends on them continuing to get away with exploiting people-we should be looking at how we can show our dissatisfaction in all areas. Maybe I’m perpetuating that with this post, since a lot of the online retailers I mentioned only sell women’s clothing, but that being said, I’m not about to do men’s work for them, lol-they should make the effort, if possible, to research into sustainable clothing alternatives too.

Anyway, that’s the end of this post! If you read to the end, thank you so much! If I’ve made any errors in my research or there are more sustainable clothing brands that I could’ve mentioned, feel free to inbox me them too, and I can add them to this post if Tumblr allows. It’s usually a little bitch when it comes to editing long posts but I’ll try my best:) Again, thanks for reading! And if you are, I hope you are safe and well!

Lauren x

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leverage-commentary · 3 years ago

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Leverage Season 3, Episode 2, The Reunion Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

Jonathan Frakes: Hello everyone I'm Johnathan Frakes.

Michael Colton: Michael Colton.

John Aboud: John Aboud.

Aldis Hodge: This is Al Hodge.

Chris Downey: Chris Downey.

John Rogers: Am I sexual chocolate if you’re Al Hodge?

[Laughter]

John Rogers: It's John Rogers.

Aldis Hodge: Sexual chocolate is coming up.

John Rogers: Executive Producer of this particular episode, along with Chris Downey. And those other gentlemen are the writers and director down at the end. Welcome to The Reunion Job. Boys, which we always ask in the opening sequence, where'd this episode come about?

Michael Colton: The- initially you guys told us you wanted to do a high school reunion episode. And I think all you had was ‘they go undercover at a high school reunion’ and I think you had the end beat of the dancing.

John Rogers: Yes.

Michael Colton: At the dance.

John Rogers: Right, yeah.

Michael Colton: And so from that we started thinking, you know, who would be a good villain for this episode? Someone who high school meant a lot to.

Jonathan Frakes: You talked over my Bourne Identity opening!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Sorry. Frakes why don't you tell us about the-

Jonathan Frakes: No, I got my-

John Rogers: Where'd that particular opening come from?

John Aboud: Bourne Supremacy.

Jonathan Frakes: I'm kidding. Bourne Supremacy.

John Rogers: Bourne Supremacy.

Jonathan Frakes: Carry on.

John Rogers: That was a very aggressive style.

Jonathan Frakes: Where’d you get the rest of this story?

John Aboud: Well as nerds, we were able to channel the rage of a software magnate. Why would a software magnate be bad in the Leverage universe? Well maybe he's supplying his software to some very bad people overseas.

Michael Colton: Well right at the time we were writing this, there was the Irianian- the aftermath of the Iranian elections, so it was actually in the news that this kind of thing could be happening.

John Aboud: And this episode aired on the one year anniversary of that election. And around- and the protests.

Michael Colton: There was enough propaganda.

John Rogers: It was actually funny, we did get one phone call that's like ‘are we gonna get in trouble for like- can we be open to litigation?’ I went ‘if one of the most evil regimes on earth wants to sue us, I don't really see that as a problem.’

Michael Colton: That would be good press for the show. Iran sues-

Jonathan Frakes: Any publicity is good publicity.

John Rogers: Exactly. Now who's playing our victim here? Did a great job.

Jonathan Frakes: That's Ricki Bhullar.

John Rogers: Yep, fantastic job. And now Frakes, why don't you tell us about that opening? What- cause it was a very different opening than what we usually do.

Jonathan Frakes: Well I think what we try to do with each of our cold opens is to either pay an homage or, in other words, steal stylistically from a show.

Chris Downey: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: From a Hitchcock show, or from you know-

John Rogers: It lets you know what the rest of the shows gonna be like.

Jonathan Frakes: Well- hopefully. Or that you just feel like the story of this show is in this particular style. That was a Bourne Supremacy rip off.

John Rogers: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: How many shots can we get? How fast can we cut it? How fast can this action happen? And it has that vibe of international espionage.

John Rogers: Yep. Also that room was great, it was built totally on set. That was actually just a two wall set, wasn’t it?

Jonathan Frakes: That was a three-wall set, but we shot the shit out of it.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Chris Downey: And then so you put your energy into that and the rest of the episode you sort of coasted? Is that- you sorta let it…?

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah it's an approach I've found very useful.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Now.

John Rogers: Now.

Jonathan Frakes: Who do you think that- oh!

Everyone: Woahhh!!!

Michael Colton: There we go.

Chris Downey: And reveal.

John Aboud: Didn't see that coming.

Michael Colton: That worked really well.

John Rogers: It did; it did. Johnathan Frakes knows what he’s doing. Yeah and this was also part of the mandate for the opening of the third season, where we wanted to start opening it up into international stories. Kind of open up the Leverage universe in a way that, you know, this is a fictional universe wherein certain rules apply. And it’s close to ours but you know we wanted to start seeing the ramifications of crime world and politics.

Jonathan Frakes: It also suggests the backstory of a lot of these characters has been, in fact, international.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Jonathan Frakes: So that they have experience with all these things. It makes them look, or appear to have more experience than-

Michael Colton: Right.

John Rogers: And sometimes people ask where we get the cases, and we’re kinda establishing here there's a lot of-

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I'm inside your head!’

John Rogers: ‘I'm living rent free.’

Aldis Hodge: Yeah, haha.

John Rogers: You know, kind of establish there's a community of people out there who take freedom of software, the internet's role in being free of government regulations and rules and internationalism very seriously, and Hardison is part of that group. That's part of the hacker group he fell in with.

Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed.

John Rogers: And that's how he knows this guy. That's his background.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘Yeah that's right, we are here to inspect your restaurant.’

John Rogers: Also based on a real spy safehouse that came up in research. But with better locks I think that one had. Ah this is crazy. How'd we get the roach?

Chris Downey: That’s a digital roach.

John Aboud: Digitally inserted.

Michael Colton: It's a real roach, but that plate was not there, it's like the whole thing.

Jonathan Frakes: More discussion about this cockroach than there was about the script!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: We tried to be a little robotic cockroach that went poorly. It went actually too well because it killed.

Jonathan Frakes: What about the real cockroach that we had that nobody liked? Cause it didn’t-

Chris Downey: Oh look at that! Boy that's great.

John Rogers: I think the close up was the real one, that one digital.

Chris Downey: Is that one digital?

John Rogers: I love this, and the little.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, this tees up later.

John Rogers: Yep.

Jonathan Frakes: They don't get much to do together, it's nice to see those two have a little beat.

Michael Colton: I feel like there's a lot of improv in this scene with you guys.

John Aboud: Absolutely.

Aldis Hodge: Yeah this- you know, anytime you get me and Christian in a room together it's over.

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: It's like ‘script, what?’ We just talk.

John Rogers: Yeah, we’re just pretty much superfluous. Maybe next year without writers.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: That was how-

John Rogers: And that was a great way of using Jessie by the way.

Jonathan Frakes: How to make an entrance.

Chris Downey: We’re running out of ways for her to get out of a duct. I mean I feel like is there-

John Rogers: You know what? I just I may be speaking for-

Jonathan Frakes: Cirque du Soleil in town next year.

Chris Downey: We need to watch and take notes, cause there needs to be something new.

John Rogers: I may be speaking for a certain percentage of the audience, but anytime we have her in black jeans and that leather jacket coming out of a duct it's a good day. Really, the dismounts- really now you're really.

Aldis Hodge: I'm glad you said it, cause I was about to.

Jonathan Frakes: How about this shawarma?

John Rogers: I love the shawarma, by the way.

Jonathan Frakes: Who doesn’t?

Aldis Hodge: That shawarma was disgusting though, it was cold and greasy.

John Rogers: You can't shoot around hot shawarma.

Chris Downey: Prop shawarma was not?

John Aboud: Prop shawarma.

Aldis Hodge: Prop shawarma.

John Rogers: Don't eat the prop shawarma.

John Aboud: Don't recommend.

Jonathan Frakes: Not much room to move in this location as I recall, remember this place?

John Aboud: It was very narrow.

Jonathan Frakes: It feels as narrow as it was.

John Aboud: Hard to maneuver.

John Rogers: What was it? Was it a real restaurant we redressed?

John Aboud: It was a Hawaiian barbeque restaurant.

Jonathan Frakes: Real restaurant, Hawaiian barbeque.

Michael Colton: That's right.

John Aboud: And the production had to buy them out for the day, so there was a lot of the-

Jonathan Frakes: Are we happy with the yellow choice on the inside of the van?

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: It's a little late to be asking that.

John Rogers: Yeah, I think we might want to change that. Could you fix that in post? Could you just go and… And yes it's the first time- when do we air this? Episode two or three?

Chris Downey: This is second- this is first night.

Michael Colton: First night.

John Rogers: That's right even though we shot it- did not shoot it second, it aired second. And that was re-establishing- that was establishing the new Lucille.

John Aboud: That's right. Near and dear to Hardison's heart.

John Rogers: This is also fun is that- it always amazes me the amount of international espionage that is actually kept in notebooks.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.

John Rogers: No, the people-

Jonathan Frakes: Old school.

John Rogers: Old school. Yeah, but people-

Aldis Hodge: It keeps them off the radar.

John Rogers: Yeah. You can, you can burn it. You know it can't be hacked, it can't be stolen.

John Aboud: Now that dishwasher, I believe he was also in the prison- in the Jail Break Job?

John Rogers: Oh so this is the jail- it's the job.

John Aboud: In my mind the backstory is: he's on a work release.

John Rogers: Oh that's right.

Chris Downey: Already fell into the wrong element.

John Aboud: Yeah, right away.

John Rogers: Well he doesn't know, they don't tell him.

Chris Downey: His parole officer is not doing a very good job.

John Aboud: Right away, right away.

Jonathan Frakes: The victim. Now we get the villain Arye Gross. Very reliable character actor, been doing it for years.

Michael Colton: You worked with him…?

Jonathan Frakes: I worked with him on Castle. Recommend him to the gang and he nailed it.

Aldis Hodge: Nice.

John Rogers: Your career is banterific. Eliot, of course, learned to make amazing tea, and that is English Breakfast from his samurai master when he studied for 18 months. [pause] Wait no that was Wolverine.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Now whose idea was this to add this whole sequence?

Michael Colton: Well this is all based on NLP which means neuro linguistic programming. And all this is actually based on a guy named Derren Brown, who is British. And what would you- what would you call him? A magician slash-

John Rogers: He calls himself a mentalist, but he uses like a quotation marks around it because he duplicates the effects of charlatans by using psychological techniques.

Michael Colton: You can look him up on YouTube. Look up Derren Brown and NLP and there's stuff he does that is, we sort of basically ripped off for this episode.

John Rogers: Yeah ‘D-e-r-r-e-n’. Yeah, the primary one being he hires two advertising guys to come to his office and give him a campaign- a possible campaign for a children's zoo. They do the sketches and then he reveals his own sketches he did hours earlier and they're almost exactly the same. And then he reveals the visual cues he planted along the way into their head. And that really was the crux of this whole thing.

Michael Colton: And the one where Simon Pegg from Shaun of the Dead has- sits him down and asks him what he wants for his birthday, and he says he wants a bike.

John Aboud: BMX bike.

Michael Colton: But earlier he had written down he had wanted something completely different.

Chris Downey: A leather jacket, I think.

Michael Colton: A leather jacket! And throughout this whole discussion he was just doing cues to get him to say bike. It's kind of amazing.

Aldis Hodge: Wow.

John Rogers: It was also fun to kind of get into the mechanics of- it's easy with a grifter character to say they're just natural at it. To get into the intellectual work that Sophie does in her job.

Chris Downey: And also the idea of hacking into someone's head. I think that's what made this-

John Aboud: Wanted to establish that up front.

Jonathan Frakes: How infuriating it was that it was this character who [unintelligible].

John Rogers: Yeah, and also the fact that once you guys came up with the whole hacker/villain- the whole hacker theme, that really led us to the other material.

Jonathan Frakes: And here we are, Dubertech.

Chris Downey: And this a great location too, this is very-

Jonathan Frakes: On the campus of-

John Aboud: The community college.

Jonathan Frakes: The community college in Portland.

John Aboud: It’s a great building.

John Rogers: The digital overlay on the sign.

John Aboud: It's a theater, actually.

John Rogers: A lot of digital signage.

Jonathan Frakes: It's the theater department, ironically.

John Rogers: It looks evil.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Got an evil vibe to it. This was a lot of fun and this was one of the- one of the times that we took something we could do in a beat, and turned it into almost the entire act. We have broken into someone's office in like half a scene.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.

John Rogers: But sometimes you just.

Jonathan Frakes: What we go through to get the fingerprint.

John Rogers: And it's great. And sometimes you find ways to do- you find stuff you want to do, you want to explore and kind of revel in, and that's the fun of this show. You know there's no real template to this show. So if you have an act where you have a bunch of cool stuff you wanna showcase, you can. Yes, tons of fun.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom.

John Aboud: We wanted this to be a real showcase for Hardison.

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: Because obviously we're dealing with his world. We are in the world that he knows well, and we really liked the idea of him confronting this 1980s technology. I think that was one of our initial pitches to you guys-

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: For an episode.

John Rogers: I think that- you pitched that as a freelancer.

Michael Colton: Our pitch was Hardison hacks an ENIAC.

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: In a museum.

Michael Colton: And that became a TRS-80.

Chris Downey: An abacus really.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Yeah a giant, giant vacuum tube. Yeah and that blended right into this. No, that was- and by the way, if you're gonna pitch a Leverage, pitch a high concept, don't come in with a procedural. You know, ‘he has to hack a 60 year old computer’, I love it, you know. That was an easy one.

Chris Downey: And this is great, I mean how great did they dress this set?

Jonathan Frakes: I love that we [unintelligible].

John Aboud: The music was-

John Rogers: It's the music.

Michael Colton: The set’s great but it’s the music that put us over the edge and sold it.

John Rogers: Yeah Joe LoDuca again giving us that 80s synth pop vibe. It was fantastic. And Aldis you’re great here just the total shock and horror.

John Aboud: This take is wonderful.

Aldis Hodge: This took me back a couple years. I mean, this stuff was older than me but still.

John Rogers: Thank you, thanks for reminding us of that.

Chris Downey: We love to confront Hardison with old technology. Audio tapes things like that.

Jonathan Frakes: He’s appalled here.

John Aboud: His horror.

Aldis Hodge: He's offended, he's insulted.

Jonathan Frakes: And there it is!

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: This takes me back to when-

Chris Downey: Look at that.

John Rogers: Five and a quarter right there, baby.

Aldis Hodge: I used to run off of floppys though, I still remember those.

John Rogers: You were a baby though.

Aldis Hodge: It took like 10 hours to upload a page.

John Rogers: Yep.

Michael Colton: We used to use the war games. The phone doesn’t-

John Aboud: War dialer.

Chris Downey: They used to be on cassettes too.

John Rogers: Yeah they used to be on cassettes.

Jonathan Frakes: What was this computer called?

Michael Colton: TRS-80. Although I don't think we could say that.

John Aboud: We weren't allowed to.

Michael Colton: Yeah, it's just generic 1980s computer.

John Aboud: For clearance reasons.

Jonathan Frakes: I remember part of our prep was the ebay version of the TRS-80 that we shopped for, for two weeks trying to find the one that was actually going to be programmable.

John Rogers: Yeah. Yeah apparently Tandy Corporation has a problem with us saying that freedom is oppressed in Iran through the use of their product. Oh we’re the bad guy? That’s some sort of brand infringement I guess.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: I love the caricature- oh the caricature kills me!

Chris Downey: I didn't even notice that! The caricature of him winning the chess trophy.

John Rogers: He was twelve!

Michael Colton: Well they had photos all around of Arye Gross from that era.

John Aboud: From his personal archive.

Jonathan Frakes: With the hair. When he had that big John Hughes hair.

Michael Colton: The pre-Soul Man. Old stuff.

Chris Downey: That is pre-Soul Man]. He's great in Soul Man, by the way. Soul Man is-

John Rogers: That's a great little shot, by the way. That's kind of an iconic shot of Hardison being distracted and annoyed while Parker quietly freaks out next to him. It's just a nice vibe.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘How much time are you really gonna spend in here after I told you that the bad guys are on the way?’

John Rogers: Yeah.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: But they saw the bad guy in the sweater vest on the way in. I mean, they're not that intimidating.

John Aboud: They knew they could take him. They knew they could take him.

John Rogers: What do you think the origin for the- oh that's great.

Chris Downey: Oh that’s great!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: A locked off comedy frame people!

Chris Downey: It's a locked off comedy frame.

John Aboud: Yep.

Jonathan Frakes: The third in three shows!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Can't go wrong. This was fun, by the way, the- this one when he says ‘it's adorable you still think there's privacy’.

Jonathan Frakes: Isn't this where some of our regulars drink when we do the 360?

John Rogers: Yes, yeah, we drink and we shoot it, too. But you guys had found out- who- was it Albert cause he was a journalist he knew that you could buy people's yearbooks?

John Aboud: Well he did that all the time at People.

Michael Colton: That’s what it was, yeah.

John Aboud: As a celebrity journalist he would go buy people's yearbooks. And it was the easiest thing in the world.

John Rogers: And there's actual services out there that will help you buy the yearbooks of different high schools. There's an enormous amount of creepy shit in this episode.

Aldis Hodge: Your embarrassment is on sale.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: Here's where we bring up the Roman Room, which a lot of people thought we made up but is just another-

John Aboud: By a lot of people you mean Tim Hutton.

Michael Colton: Yes.

John Aboud: Thought we made it up.

Michael Colton: Just another curious thing from the mind of John Rogers.

Chris Downey: It's just one of your many hobbies.

John Rogers: One of my many hobbies.

Michael Colton: Memorizing everything.

John Aboud: Memorizing disconnected pieces of information.

Chris Downey: What was last season, whaling?

John Rogers: It was whaling. I remember I made you that scrimshaw-

Michael Colton: What, you memorized famous whalers?

John Aboud: Wow.

John Rogers: No. I am- a hobby of mine is memory techniques, and I use the Roman Room, and we wound up using it here. And it was just a great way- if we're gonna hack- the big problem was why do we need to go to this high school? We can go to this high school without this guy. Well no, we need context. Well what's the context? Well… It was interesting how this episode kind of organically came up. It was the flashback, it was the 80s thing. And that was that he was using, like I do, he was using his Roman Room for his passwords. And the- actually yes they did not believe this. I was up visiting them and I wound up doing the complete works of Shakespeare based on my high school gym in order to convince Tim that I was- that this was a real thing.

Aldis Hodge: Right.

John Rogers: Aldis you were in the limo that night, that's right. The- we didn’t take Colton or Aboud with us.

John Aboud: Well it coincided with Comic Con.

John Rogers: There you go that's right. Yeah this is, by the way, a really easy memory technique, you can learn it really quickly and with a little bit of practice and imagination. The key is making everything as filthy as possible.

Jonathan Frakes: Seriously?

John Rogers: Has to be obscene.

John Aboud: Ahh, there you go.

John Rogers: Actually Chris Downey made me not use him in my Roman Room techniques because he was distrubed by the fact that I was having him have sex with people and things.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: Well he knows what goes on in that room.

John Rogers: He knows that the Roman Room is a horrible place.

Chris Downey: And John you'll be at the Allentown Marriott this week doing the Roman Room technique, won’t you? Doing it on your tour.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: If you'd like to advance yourself in business or socially. If you’d like to amaze salesmen and other people in your company.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: Whenever you see those signs on a light posts that say ‘make money from home’ the number rings at John Rogers home.

John Rogers: I'm not just running a TV show. I'm running a lot of small businesses out of my garage. Oh was- was that the Psych yellout?

Michael Colton: Oh that was- it in this scene where we talked about what's on his Netflix queue.

John Aboud: That show Psych.

Michael Colton: I wanted Turk 182 to be on his Netflix queue but that was rejected.

Chris Downey: It’s a little too meta.

Jonathan Frakes: I thought it was Rockford?

Chris Downey: It is Rockford.

John Rogers: Well it is Rockford, we went with Rockford and Psych- we added Psych in the end cause Psych had given us a nice little shoutout in their show.

Michael Colton: I think Sex and the City was thrown out there.

John Rogers: Why Sex and the City?

Michael Colton: I think it was an improv, wasn't it?

John Aboud: Humor?

Aldis Hodge: It was an improv.

John Aboud: Humor. Cause it was funny.

John Rogers: Nothing funny about Sex and the City.

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: Very serious show.

Jonathan Frakes: Not that Gina likes to do accents.

John Rogers: This was a lot of fun.

Chris Downey: This was the tour de force.

John Rogers: And the difference- and what's great is watching this with the sound off is watching her physicality change and the smile, yeah, that character smiles and the other one is angry, yeah. It's lovely. And this is also one of those ones where it originally started much more complicated and turned into ‘let’s just have Gina talk, she can do the accents’.

Jonathan Frakes: We cut it all together, let her do the two characters.

Chris Downey: In, sort of, the Facebook era, one of the things I think helped this episode was that you are kind of confronted by people from your high school all the time that you have no recollection of.

John Aboud: Right, right.

Chris Downey: So it really sort of helped the idea that they could actually bomb into somebody's high school reunion as other people and they would just be accepted.

Michael Colton: Yeah this is kind of The Social Network of Leverage episodes, I think it's fair to say.

John Rogers: But before The Social Network- they stole this from you right? The Social Network is stolen from you.

John Aboud: And Facebook, the idea for Facebook.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: We came up with Facematch.

John Rogers: This is the skype of evil.

Chris Downey: We got the finger pyramid of evil going too.

John Rogers: He's got the finger pyramid of evil.

Aldis Hodge: That was scripted right? Finger pyramid.

John Rogers: The finger pyramid of malfeasance I believe, this is the Skype of evil.

Jonathan Frakes: Wait heavies right, there's heavies in dark clothes behind him.

John Rogers: Yes exactly I like to think he prepped it ‘alright let's Skype this- wait turn off the lights!’ I can't.

Chris Downey: Oh I love this.

Michael Colton: This turn here is fantastic. After he hangs up with them.

Jonathan Frakes: Unafraid to milk.

John Rogers: And also one of the things I like about- that you guys did in the script just wanted the general attitude you want to give the villains - ahh there you go - is nobody’s a villain in their own head.

Michael Colton: ‘Larry Duberman?’

John Aboud: ‘Larry Duberman?’

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: It took so long, but it worked.

Jonathan Frakes: And we stayed on it! We kept it all in.

John Aboud: You did.

Jonathan Frakes: Confidant actor.

John Rogers: Yeah somebody said if schadenfreude is the pleasure of other people doing worse than you, what is the German word for delight in doing better than everyone else but not being able to come out and say it? The Germans should have a word for it. Yeah it's pretty impressive- that's a great match for Tim by the way, was that an actor or did we pick an-?

John Aboud: Stock. It was stock.

John Rogers: It was stock, wow.

Aldis Hodge: Now whose stock photos because there were some fugly people in there.

John Rogers: We went to fugly.com.

Aldis Hodge: All right.

John Rogers: That’s where we got that stock.

Aldis Hodge: I'm just saying there’s a select few you didn't know exactly.

John Rogers: Well it's also 80s hair.

Aldis Hodge: There’s that.

John Rogers: 80’s hair was just a nation making a bad choice.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: Evil speech of evil.

Chris Downey: Oh here it is. It's the slow push in on the evil speech of evil.

Aldis Hodge: You gotta get in his nostrils, nice and tight right up there.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Well it's a 40 ft screen; it's a different look when they're on TV.

Chris Downey: And now here we go!

John Rogers: Now where was this?

Chris Downey: And now we're off!

John Aboud: Actual high school.

Michael Colton: This was an actual high school.

John Rogers: They let us redress, and yeah fantastic.

Jonathan Frakes: This is the gym of- what's the high school called? Hall? James T Hall High School?

Chris Downey: Now how many days were you here at the school?

Michael Colton: We were there-

John Aboud: Three days.

Michael Colton: Three, I think.

John Rogers: You managed to get all this done in three days?

Jonathan Frakes: Well the exterior was stock, and not our greatest effort.

John Rogers: Still pretty good.

Jonathan Frakes: This is- here we go!

John Aboud: Here we go.

Michael Colton: Now this was unused-

John Rogers: This was unused footage.

Aldis Hodge: Unused footage from the first season.

John Aboud: Season one.

Chris Downey: Using every part of the animal.

Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed. It’s probably one of my favorite scenes I've shot.

John Rogers: By the way, that is fearless of you. Not a lot of actors would go in the braces and throw on the-

Jonathan Frakes: Aldis is fearless.

Aldis Hodge: Very much so.

John Rogers: Throw on the hat. You really did manage to spot-weld Will Smith and the other guys from Fresh Prince into one character there.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: Alfonso Ribeiro, you mean?

John Rogers: Alfonso Ribeiro. That's the Fresh Prince of Alfonso Ribeiro right there. And this is great that we-

Jonathan Frakes: Eliot pre-hair.

John Rogers: Eliot pre-hair.

Jonathan Frakes: Like wait a minute.

John Aboud: Still the same guy, he looks to camera.

John Rogers: Well it's a flashback.

John Aboud: He looks to flashback camera.

John Rogers: As one does.

Chris Downey: That's good man, that's a good match.

John Rogers: I also like the dialogue fix. Cause it was originally the dialogue-

John Aboud: Brutal punch.

John Rogers: Where we actually lay in that he learned about the knives in context not from a murderous Guatemalan, but from a sexy Home Ec teacher.

Chris Downey: Sexy home ec teacher.

Jonathan Frakes: He's the one who doesn't get to go to the high school.

John Rogers: Ooh yeah that was fun.

Jonathan Frakes: It was easy to take that guy out with one shot.

John Aboud: Little minion did not deserve the brutality of that one punch.

Chris Downey: But it's also nice like-

John Rogers: You know what he knows he's screwing the Iranian kids. He's an accessory after the fact.

John Aboud: It's true, he's complicit.

John Rogers: Absolutely more than complicit, he's an accessory. And therefore worthy of scorn. Ah this was again the Joe LoDuca score. Amazing.

Aldis Hodge: This the song that's playing in this scene right now is the band that Dean Devlin was in.

Chris Downey: Oh that's right. What’s the name of Dean’s band?

John Aboud: What was the name of that band?

John Rogers: Nervous Service.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: This was Dean’s band from the 80s.

Aldis Hodge: Sure it wasn't Dean and the Devlins?

John Rogers: No, no, that was his 50s band. And that's Beth in the badger suit right?

Aldis Hodge: Yeah.

John Aboud: Yes.

John Rogers: Yeah that is Beth.

John Aboud: Yes, spoiler warning.

Chris Downey: Well they've seen it already.

John Aboud: No, they haven’t.

Michael Colton: This is like their sixth viewing.

John Aboud: I only watch Leverage with the commentaries on.

John Rogers: Really? Interesting.

John Aboud: Yes.

Michael Colton: You don't know what happens in this one?

John Aboud: Nope. No clue.

John Rogers: That would explain why your pitches were so weird first year.

John Aboud: Well then Rogers drinks, right? And we do a zoom to see he pours the alcohol into the glass.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh yeah this was a lovely bit of scripting, by the way, on the NLP on this, guys. Very subtle.

Michael Colton: Yeah it's subtle it’s incredibly tight knit it’s-

John Rogers: And great dress. Is this Aboud or Colton on this scene?

Michael Colton: It's mostly Colton.

Jonathan Frakes: It's Grace Peltz! Look at Peltz in the middle of that shot.

John Rogers: That was a nice frame up on that shot.

Chris Downey: Look at that right there.

John Aboud: That's an actual Arye Gross high school photo in the row below.

John Rogers: Are you really?

John Aboud: Yup Lawrence Duberman, first one on the second row.

Aldis Hodge: Yup.

Jonathan Frakes: And here’s how it happened.

John Rogers: All you have to do is insert one page. Who doubts the evidence before their eyes? Where’s Arye Gross?

John Aboud: He's cross eyed. First one on the second row.

Aldis Hodge: That's really him?

John Aboud: That's really him.

Michael Colton: Now what kind of alphabetical order is this? Grace Peltz above Larry Duberman.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh, the honor society had their own photos.

Michael Colton: Oh there you go. That’s computer club.

John Rogers: One of these days you gotta learn to just lie quick.

Chris Downey: You know how to retcon.

Michael Colton: Most of those names are from my high school. Jack Lebowski. I used my-

John Rogers: Don't say that, people have to sign forms for that.

Michael Colton: My high school girlfriend is in there.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom.

Chris Downey: Here we go.

Jonathan Frakes: Don't always get a ninja zoom into the socks and sandals.

John Rogers: He's enjoying that way too much.

Chris Downey: He is. Cleaning pools. I love that- I love that about him. Former quarterback now cleaning pools.

Jonathan Frakes: Tim owned Drake.

John Rogers: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: He totally owned Drake Macintyre.

John Rogers: He really was enjoying that. There really was a moment you saw Tim kind of like ‘I wouldn’t mind cleaning pools. It’s nice and quiet’.

Michael Colton: Mandy Babson.

John Rogers: Yep.

Michael Colton: What do his pins say?

John Rogers: I don't remember.

John Aboud: One of them said ‘I'll wash first’.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Wha- why? Why would you have a pin that said that?

Chris Downey: Not blondie or something?

John Aboud: That's the kind of guy you are. They were all slogans. Oh my voice is really giving out.

Michael Colton: Maybe you should stop talking.

John Aboud: Apologies to the home viewer.

John Rogers: Just let Colton- he’ll be honest about who did what.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Rogers: There's no way he’ll-

John Aboud: How can that go wrong?

John Rogers: Yeah. And it was also fun coming up with the idea that: of course there's a villain. Everyone has a narrative in their head, everyone had the villain in high school. You know the person who made their life hell. Unless you were the villain.

Jonathan Frakes: There he is! ‘Oh Doucherman!’

John Rogers: I'm glad we got that past Standards and Practices, cause Doucherman really was-

Michael Colton: The whole episode was built around Doucherman.

Jonathan Frakes: Whole episode.

John Aboud: It really would’ve fallen apart.

Michael Colton: It's the first thing we started with.

Aldis Hodge: All you thought about at first, and then you built the story around it.

John Aboud: It came later.

Aldis Hodge: ‘Doucherman, hmm we need to write a show’.

John Rogers: And she anchors it with a touch every time, nice acting, nice use of space.

Chris Downey: Who's that guy?

John Aboud: That guy was wearing a kilt! That guy was wearing a kilt.

John Rogers: I know, I saw him in the opening shot.

John Aboud: In the opening shot you can see he was wearing a kilt.

Chris Downey: Good variety of alumni characters.

Michael Colton: You know when I was on Twitter when this was airing to watch it, and Tim was- I thought it was very flattered he was just repeated ‘Douchermans got lady parts’.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Yes over and over again. He loved that. This was also fun showing Hardison scrambling. There's just some stuff you can’t prep for.

Aldis Hodge: Well Frakes, that was the first scene we shot for this episode, but it was also in the middle of shooting another episode the same day.

Jonathan Frakes: Same day in the van, here’s what’s gonna happen.

Aldis Hodge: I remember all that banter.

Chris Downey: That was the violin stuff.

Jonathan Frakes: Well this was the double up day.

Aldis Hodge: Double up day. All that banter was- I'm not even gonna lie I learned that right then and there in like ten minutes. Because I was on the other episode-

John Aboud: It worked.

John Rogers: You were on the other episode.

Michael Colton: Well you were on the violin.

John Rogers: Other episode was a giant part.

Aldis Hodge: Really shoot five pages just straight out? ‘Ok guys!’

John Aboud: Who’s this guy?

John Rogers: And there's our line producer!

Jonathan Frakes: There's our producer Paul Bernard as Schmitty!

Michael Colton: Star of the show.

Jonathan Frakes: I will tell you, he did have the 80s hair, that's not a haircut.

John Rogers: That's just what Paul Bernard looks like.

Jonathan Frakes: He works in that hair.

John Rogers: He works, he plays in that hair. That’s not stunt hair people.

Michael Colton: Is it true TBS is interested in a Schmitty spin off? Is that happening?

John Rogers: Yeah I think we might do ‘Here’s Schmitty.’

[Laughter]

John Rogers: ‘We’re up to our necks in Schmitty.’ We haven’t decided yet.

Chris Downey: I think there was a reality show in which somebody- they had hidden cameras and people led-

Michael Colton: Someone made like a 2020 special about someone who- some woman who didn't want to go to her thing so she hired a- I think it was a stripper.

Chris Downey: I think it was a stripper.

Michael Colton: To play herself.

Jonathan Frakes: At her high school reunion?

Michael Colton: At her high school reunion.

John Aboud: She coached the stripper through an earpiece-

Chris Downey: Yes.

John Aboud: As she was watching on a video feed.

Michael Colton: While she was watching Hardison-style in a hotel room.

Aldis Hodge: Doesn't it seem like it takes a lot more effort than just showing up?

John Aboud: Just go to your reunion.

Jonathan Frakes: Here's the Roman Room!

John Rogers: Turns out not. See you're young, you still remember what these people look like. You have to remember after 20 years everyone's kind of- what's the great line from Grosse Pointe Blank? Swollen? Everyone just doesn't quite look like what they used to.

Aldis Hodge: I'm young, but I'm an actor, but I don't remember a damn thing past 5 minutes ago.

John Rogers: ‘I don't remember other people, I'm an actor’.

Aldis Hodge: Hey.

Chris Downey: It's fun, too, seeing Eliot typing stuff.

Michael Colton: Ten go to twenty stuff.

John Rogers: It was- and this was actually fun too, we were originally developing this trying to figure out what the hell Eliot was doing and then we realized just put him over there. For once he's gotta- yeah. Also allowed us to do the fight in an interesting way. This- god all high schools do look alike.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah this high school is perfect. The shiny floors, the lockers. We said, ‘We’re looking for a broom closet.’ They said, ‘Well what about the broom closet?’ We said ‘Good, that'll be fine.’

[Laughter]

John Rogers: ‘That'll absolutely work!; And by the way Gina seems to really enjoy when her character doesn't like Tims character. She seems to be digging in a little bit more, I'm just saying. Yeah the utter scorn of the good looking asshole is fantastic. Oh we're past that. That was the-

Michael Colton: This is fun also ‘cause so much- I mean just ‘cause the nature of the show often Tim’s or Nate’s character is playing the shady businessman and this is totally opposite.

John Rogers: Yeah this is a low status character.

Chris Downey: He doesn't do a lot of low status.

John Aboud: He's not worn a hat like this on previous jobs.

Aldis Hodge: I just saw one of the other buttons said ‘I’m a handyman’.

Chris Downey: Is that what it said?

Aldis Hodge: One of them yeah. The yellow one.

Chris Downey: ‘I’m a handyman’.

John Rogers: The bright green one says ‘if you can't be handsome be handy’.

Michael Colton: There's very few of his characters where he can wear that necklace.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I should give you my card’.

Aldis Hodge: The necklace is questionable.

John Rogers: Questionably- is it a surfer? Or what is that?

Aldis Hodge: It's a surfer, man.

Chris Downey: Oh is that what that is?

John Rogers: He's still a Boston guy, so I don't know what he's wearing that for.

John Aboud: Well he's around water all the time.

John Rogers: That’s true.

John Aboud: Pools.

Chris Downey: That's right.

Aldis Hodge: He's a great surfer in his mind.

John Rogers: The great surf pools of Route 9.

Aldis Hodge: Surfer in his mind.

John Aboud: Uh-oh what is this?

Chris Downey: Someone is coming down the stairs.

John Aboud: What’s this what’s this?

John Rogers: Oh yeah, the lovely Kari Wuhrer.

Chris Downey: Now uh MTV? I mean best known-

John Aboud: Oh absolutely.

John Rogers: The sliders, the-

Michael Colton: What’s it called?

John Aboud: Class of ‘96.

Michael Colton: Remote Control.

Chris Downey: Remote Control, that’s right.

Michael Colton: That was a formative influence on me. So I was very happy when I got to work with her.

John Rogers: Yeah, she's fantastic, by the way. She’s really sweet, worked her butt off and just-

Jonathan Frakes: Also happens to be married to our UPM [Editor’s Note: Unit Production Manager].

Chris Downey: But certainly we’re not giving away parts to people connected to the show!

John Aboud: No no.

Jonathan Frakes: Otherwise Jeanie Francis would be on the show by now.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: I did not know-

John Rogers: She didn't want to work with you, that's the problem. We called here and-

Michael Colton: I did not know she was married to the Leverage team until after she was cast. Her audition was great.

Chris Downey: She was.

John Rogers: Well that's the- Jim Scoura, her husband, the UPM, plays of course the assassin in the finale, in the summer finale.

Michael Colton: It's a double assassin household.

John Rogers: In our heads actually they are married in the Leverage verse; they’re like the bad Mr and Ms Smith.

John Aboud: Neither one of them can actually complete a kill.

John Rogers: They just- but they work hard, they get a lot of-

Jonathan Frakes: Watch them roll down these lockers.

Chris Downey: Was Jim here for this sequence?

Jonathan Frakes: He avoided this scene.

John Rogers: Interesting.

John Aboud: Stayed in the office.

Michael Colton: Stayed with the kids this day.

John Rogers: Having your improbably hot wife all over a good looking actor is just-

John Aboud: Why improbable? Why improbably hot?

Jonathan Frakes: Watch this, watch Tim with these- is this where he does the-

Michael Colton: That’s coming up.

Chris Downey: Oh man.

Jonathan Frakes: The stuff with the-

Aldis Hodge: Did this in one take right? Just one take.

Chris Downey: Jeez she's devouring him. This is like an episode of V!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: She’s gonna unhinge her jaw any second now.

John Aboud: And here we go.

Jonathan Frakes: Oof what a surprise that she'd have it there.

John Rogers: It's a warm key.

Jonathan Frakes: Look at Tim! Look at Tim working those props!

John Aboud: Battling the brooms.

Chris Downey: Nothing like-

John Aboud: And then he stands back up.

John Rogers: Come on the doors right there.

Jonathan Frakes: Come on, come on. Tried and true.

John Rogers: ‘And now I'm gonna go kill a dude.’

Jonathan Frakes: Lucky for us, Beth is in the building.

John Rogers: Yep. This is a real broom closet, that's great. How did you have room to shoot in there?

Jonathan Frakes: Went for the big broom closet.

John Rogers: Ah there you go, as opposed to the little one. Also this is a recurring bit: how Parker will just dump food everywhere. It actually turns out to a plot point in the Rashomon episode.

Chris Downey: Apparently we can have food.

Michael Colton: We can if it's chicken wings. They had like three giant trays of chicken wings.

John Rogers: Ahh good spark welding effect. Thank you, thank you props and special effects, appreciate it.

Jonathan Frakes: This works great, actually.

John Rogers: Yes that was better than the lightsaber through the door in the Star Wars prequel.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: That’s a low bar sir.

John Rogers: Well it's still- it's a feature bar I'll take it.

John Aboud: Feature bar.

Michael Colton: ‘I’m for clean fun’. That's another button,

Chris Downey: Is that what it says?

John Aboud: That’s another one, another button.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: The one on the left is haunting me, I can't quite make out the one on the left.

Aldis Hodge: It says- wait.

Michael Colton: Can we enhance?

John Rogers: Stop and enhance, enhance, push in.

Michael Colton: Push in.

John Rogers: And yeah,this was a lot of fun just zooming in on- cause lets face it, not a lot of women can edge Gina Bellman out of that situation.

Jonathan Frakes: I know, and throw wine on her!

John Rogers: Yep.

Chris Downey: And the fun of this was having them revert to their high school personas and being offended by the cheerleader muscling in on her. I mean right? I mean this is- that's what-

Michael Colton: It's called subtext.

John Aboud: Seeing Sophie confront a mean girl.

Chris Downey: Yes.

John Rogers: Yes. It's great everyone had- everyone had their thematic little hook in this. One of the reasons we originally were attracted to the idea, even a year earlier, was because high school is that period where just the shell isn't on yet.

Chris Downey: And a high school reunion-

Jonathan Frakes: Had you done this before where the con men get conned in the middle of their con?

John Rogers: We play around with it, but rarely in this particular thing. Rarely this particular style.

Chris Downey: You mean an assassin showing up late in the episode?

Jonathan Frakes: No, no, no, I mean two con- our con and another con trying to duke it.

Chris Downey: Oh right.

John Rogers: Intersecting? Two Live Crew kinda.

Chris Downey: Well Order 23 we had a guy pretending to be a Marshall and he was an assassin.

John Rogers: Yeah but not a- those are the crucial- the crucials of surveillance photos.

Jonathan Frakes: Oh, she's on Interpol!

John Rogers: You need a half turn, you need a glasses-

Chris Downey: By the way you never see somebody eating spaghetti in surveillance photos.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Well what are the odds that when you see that person they'll be eating spaghetti? You really don't want that on the wanted photo. That you can't recognize a killer without the spaghetti. You want a spaghetti free context.

John Aboud: ‘Here, eat this.’

John Rogers: ‘Oh, you're that person!’

John Aboud: ‘We've got our man!’

Jonathan Frakes: Mission Impossible.

John Rogers: Yeah great little three way walk, nice.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom. ‘You go this way I'll take this way’. Taking a long time to get through that door.

Chris Downey: Really is. It's a really thick door.

John Aboud: Very secure door.

Michael Colton: They stopped for a break.

Jonathan Frakes: Thick door they established that early.

John Rogers: This, by the way- this is great. Not a lot of guys could land this joke. ‘The health inspector?’

Michael Colton: Was that in the script or was that?

Jonathan Frakes: That was on the day.

John Rogers: That was on the day, that was an improv, right?

Michael Colton: Yeah, Chris did a lot of improv in this scene. Entire fight was improvised.

John Rogers: And that was fun, too, is coming up with the- I remember ‘ok what’s- what’s from the 80s you can hit people with?’

Chris Downey: Oh that's great.

John Rogers: This is a great fight.

John Aboud: First take on that smash.

Chris Downey: Oh that's great.

Michael Colton: Oh I know, ‘they give trophies for chess’ was Christian’s.

John Rogers: That's right.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

[Silence]

John Rogers: Sorry mouthful of Irish whiskey.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: Yeah this is a great fight oh and the bowling trophy.

John Rogers: The bowling for chess.

Jonathan Frakes: There’s no prop he doesn't flip!

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: He flips everything.

Jonathan Frakes: Am I right?

Chris Downey: Or twirl.

Aldis Hodge: He’ll flip a table.

Jonathan Frakes: Never found a prop he couldn't twirl.

John Rogers: And that's interesting, because on the big screen, you cut from the dude sort of cracking his neck behind Christian, and it's a slam cut into two people kissing. For a second I'm like ‘what the hell? Wait what the hell is going on here? Oh alright.’

Jonathan Frakes: Here's something we've all looked forward to. The fox fight in the girls dressing room.

Michael Colton: Well that- when we were writing the high school show and we came up with this character we knew we had to have a girl fight in the locker room.

John Aboud: And where was that silencer?

Jonathan Frakes: Gina resisted, and then ended up saying, ‘When can I do this again?’

John Rogers: She loves fighting, you see.

Chris Downey: She does.

John Rogers: You're always worried you're going to get hurt fighting, but the stunt people know what the hell they're doing, everyone’s super safe and you wind up just having fun. And also that was a big thing, you know Sophie’s character is not a killer, she has to cheat.

Chris Downey: Oh and the shoes!

John Rogers: The shoes come off.

Jonathan Frakes: Now it's real. Boom.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: And there's another locked off comedy frame!

John Rogers: And then the cross.

Jonathan Frakes: Locked off comedy!

John Rogers: The cross cutting between the two fights was a lot of fun. And yeah, she could probably take her if she didn't have the fire extinguisher. It- Kari’s frustration in ‘what the hell are you talking about’ here is hilarious, actually.

Jonathan Frakes: These stunt doubles are quite good, this is intercut nicely.

John Rogers: Yup it is. And-

Chris Downey: Oh and she uses a gun, look at that.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, look at that.

Michael Colton: Yeah, but she missed.

John Rogers: Yeah that's the problem, silencers are really useless anywhere over 10 feet. She should've unscrewed it but by then she'd be gone.

Jonathan Frakes: Woah, woah, woah.

John Rogers: And this is a great- actually of the early episodes this season this was one of my sort of favorite sort of character twists is that Drake actually has an arc.

John Aboud: Right.

John Rogers: You know no person is without redemption, including Drake. Oh yeah.

Aldis Hodge: And the taser!

John Rogers: And the taser. Again, crucial for the finale for us to plant it that soon.

John Aboud: Her weapon of choice for the season.

John Rogers: Yeah catering. We originally had her lowering from the ceiling, and then that was just crazy. Used the taser. Oh the hug, that's nice.

Jonathan Frakes: Oof.

John Rogers: Oh the- and then the double turn this, is this is dense. This one’s actually got a lot going on in this act.

Michael Colton: I have no idea what's happening now.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: Truly lost.

John Rogers: Is this the fourth act? This is the fourth act

John Aboud: I think we're in act nine.

John Rogers: Yeah this is the fourth action act, and there's an awful lot of story going on here.

Chris Downey: Oh here we go.

John Rogers: And what I kinda like here is where Arye Gross is playing not just angry, but hurt.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Rogers: It's like ‘I thought all my high school dreams had come true and now you're lying to me.’

Michael Colton: He's great in this.

John Rogers: Genuinely never- can't go wrong with a shot down the gun.

Jonathan Frakes: Nope. Reliable.

John Rogers: Gonna react to it? Nope, just go to the reverse.

Jonathan Frakes: Go out number one.

Michael Colton: Bang.

Aldis Hodge: Commercial, people.

John Rogers: Remember, a guy pulling a gun for the act break is always better than a guy leaving with a gun. And now we do- what's sad is this was the plan. That's- when you think about it this is the most convoluted possible way to get this information in this guy’s head. I don't mean sad in a bad way, I mean this guy really just has no chance whatsoever. And yeah the mixture of like ‘I’m a villain’ and- this may be the saddest villain we’ve ever had.

Michael Colton: Well I was watching this with my sister, who said- this scene happened, she's like ‘oh I feel bad for him’ then he has a line about ‘cause you brutally beat the Iranian’ then she's like ‘oh now I don’t feel bad for him.’ It was the perfect-

Chris Downey: You're like, ‘Ooh I'm glad I put that in there.’

John Rogers: It's a little- it is sometimes a little funny that you know you realize television very much leads you through the emotions of the show. So it’s- you sorta feel like an idiot resetting the emotions as a writer but it’s important. You know you're in a contract with the viewer.

Jonathan Frakes: Well we’ve been in the school for two acts.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Jonathan Frakes: Absolutely true. And the hacker getting hacked we've forgotten about that.

John Rogers: Yeah 42 minutes is- what is it, average American attention span is like 10 minutes? Which is why act length is probably just about right.

John Aboud: ‘Nice try fake Drake’.

Chris Downey: Fake Drake.

John Aboud: And he pointed out that that sounded a little like a Batman villain.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Fake Drake.

John Aboud: ‘Very well Fake Drake.’

John Rogers: The- and again, these are people- these are professional spies. These are people who are hired to take care of people like Eliot.

Aldis Hodge: So it's okay for them to get hurt.

John Rogers: So it's okay for them to get beat up.

John Aboud: For his arm to bend that way.

Aldis Hodge: Yeah we don't feel bad for him, no.

John Rogers: I love the ASCII art there.

John Aboud: Yep, yep.

John Rogers: I love that he would go to the effort of making an ASCII manticore. Cause that's not easy. And you can't have an intern do that cause it's your secret logo.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: I think that probably took Derek all of five seconds. And then it even animates! It even animates when it dies.

John Rogers: x o x o x o yeah. Again, he would've had to do that. So at some point Arye Gross' character had to have gone, ‘What if somebody hacks this? I should put a death animation in just in case.’

Chris Downey: Yeah well you want to know that it's gone.

John Rogers: Yeah exactly. Made unaware.

Jonathan Frakes: This is the fifth Beatle, played strong in this show.

John Rogers: Yeah Derek Frederickson. And of course manticore based on various intercept methods that you can use. And that's kinda tricky is social media is both a tool of insurrection and makes you vulnerable. As soon as you network with other people it's a weakness.

John Aboud: We talked about Carnivore I think wasn’t that the-

John Rogers: Yes, that was the FBI one.

John Aboud: Was the decryption.

Chris Downey: Now how long did it take to ‘Badger 85’? ‘Cause you had to find ways to implant it.

Michael Colton: That- actually that was kind of fun because we had to figure out ways to use the word ‘badger’ or ‘85’.

John Aboud: For this.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Aboud: For this sequence.

Chris Downey: For the flashes.

Jonathan Frakes: There was a wonderful alliteration in this.

Chris Downey: ‘Five years’.

John Aboud: ‘Wasn't all bad-ger brain hold onto every detail’.

John Rogers: And there's the badger. You gotta remember that badger.

Aldis Hodge: AKA Beth.

Michael Colton: ‘I already ate, five months’.

John Rogers: I've had this dream so many times.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: ‘You hacked me?’

John Rogers: And now the meltdown. We don't really give them a gloat here, we don't really give them a gloat.

John Aboud: He pre-gloats.

Aldis Hodge: With the Fred Flinstone run out.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: That’s a chess club run.

Chris Downey: He was in the chess club.

John Aboud: Schmitty.

Jonathan Frakes: Can’t believe we’re out of beer.

Chris Downey: ‘Out of beer!’

Jonathan Frakes: Never happened to Paul.

John Rogers: I don’t think that was a line, I think we just ran out of beer on set.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh Larry Duberman, millionaire, the stress has gotten to him, he's melting down. I'll take him away.

Jonathan Frakes: Here's where we toyed with having our favorite FBI guys in this.

Chris Downey: We almost did but the scheduling didn't work. But we tried to have-

Michael Colton: Yep.

John Rogers: Again always the pain but real humans are attached to these roles. They don't wait around for us.

Chris Downey: Taggert and McSweeten.

John Aboud: Doucherman!

Aldis Hodge: Doucherman.

John Aboud: So disappointed.

Chris Downey: Gave him a nice shot there.

John Aboud: So disappointed.

Jonathan Frakes: He's a friend, he gets a good close up.

John Rogers: That's good.

Jonathan Frakes: And this- I love this end. I love this.

Michael Colton: This is what the show started with.

John Rogers: We held onto this end for two years.

Michael Colton: This was all we had.

John Aboud: This is the image from which the episode sprung.

Michael Colton: From whence it sprang.

John Aboud: Yep.

John Rogers: Like the head of Zeus.

Aldis Hodge: It's a red party cup.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: I love that shirt. I love that shirt. I do love that shirt.

Chris Downey: Is that what that is?

Aldis Hodge: Yup yup.

John Aboud: Red party cup.

Michael Colton: Which is a line-

Chris Downey: Oh I want that.

Jonathan Frakes: And he gives it up to. This actor gives it up again.

John Rogers: Yeah, well didn't we put cayenne pepper in his eyes?

Jonathan Frakes: No we did not.

John Rogers: Oh we don't do that anymore? Alright. No he was-

Aldis Hodge: It's how we motivate our actors. They go hard.

John Rogers: Absolutely fantastic work.

John Aboud: I made him cry.

Aldis Hodge: It’s cause you called him fat right before you shot it.

John Rogers: That's a big part of the show by the way, the victim isn't just pathetic.

John Aboud: It was the insults that did it.

John Rogers: That was a spinoff, too, we talked about - Mandy and Schmitty.

John Aboud: Mandy/Schmitty.

John Rogers: Unwittingly getting involved in cons.

Michael Colton: Schmitheads.

Jonathan Frakes: Mandy was thrilled to get to play a girl with big boobs cause she had just had a baby, so she never had boobs like this before. So she was thrilled to be asked-

Chris Downey: I'm sure she can enjoy hearing that on this.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Lana[?] told me this for sure.

Michael Colton: They look wonderful.

John Rogers: The- and this was fun. The whole idea that they were so convincing at the con and so charming-

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah that they become-

John Rogers: You could've done an entire subplot like that.

Chris Downey: Oh look at that.

John Rogers: I think that's you know that's a good day for Schmitty, he really lost track of his friends, and he's just happy to know Drake’s doing okay.

Jonathan Frakes: And you can't miss the beer bowl, John Hughes. Thank you very much.

John Rogers: No he- and this is Joe LoDuca giving us- and we originally wanted words and then he gave us the melody as a sample before he put the words on and realized we don't want words.

Chris Downey: No, yeah, that's perfect.

John Rogers: This is perfect. This sounds exactly like an 80s tune.

Aldis Hodge: Now which one of your guys' high school dreams is this, here?

John Rogers: Dancing with Gina Bellman?

Michael Colton: Dancing with Tim Hutton?

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: Becoming prom king after like 85 years.

Jonathan Frakes: I love the callback to these two characters, in these costumes, in this place. I think this is lovely, actually.

Michael Colton: Magical.

John Rogers: This is fantastic. This is one of my favorite endings. It really is.

Aldis Hodge: Bit of redemption for what they’ve gone through.

Jonathan Frakes: No, but it’s in front of all these people. Their pasts-

John Rogers: Yeah, and she's not gonna tell him the name, but she's-

Chris Downey: And high school reunions like we said are full of, like, emotion. I mean it's just that’s what's- it kinda takes you back so it’s-

John Aboud: Well and of course what we liked was that Parker never experienced this stuff. So to her it's an alien world and by the end-

Chris Downey: And here's the shot.

John Aboud: This is it.

Jonathan Frakes: Well the metaphor of her feet being off the ground. Here we go bring it on.

Aldis Hodge: Yup.

Michael Colton: Oh yeah.

John Rogers: Yeah, just never actually touching the ground.

Aldis Hodge: I'm just that strong, I'm holding her up.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: That is great.

Aldis Hodge: Oh yeah.

Chris Downey: And of course look! The one who- the one guy who didn't get to have any fun.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I don't get to go.’

John Rogers: ‘Did anybody ask if Eliot's okay? Is Eliot alive?’

Jonathan Frakes: Sorry buddy.

John Rogers: Pissed off Christian is a funny Christian. And then pan up and then find both of them. Oh I love this shot.

Jonathan Frakes: Excellent use of the crane.

John Rogers: This is kind of the whole reason to do- yeah. And-

John Aboud: Fan favorite, gonna call it.

John Rogers: Fan favorite, yep.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: Calling it yeah.

Chris Downey: Both of your episodes guys have endings of real-

Michael Colton: The rest of them are shit, but the endings really land.

Chris Downey: But I'm saying-

Michael Colton: Stick the landing.

John Rogers: Gotta hold on for the ending of Colton and Aboud episode.

Chris Downey: I’m trying to pay you a compliment!

Jonathan Frakes: Makes you wanna put in another DVD doesn't it?

John Rogers: Yes, yes, you should go-

Jonathan Frakes: Let’s watch another episode!

John Rogers: You should go watch another episode right now.

Jonathan Frakes: Go run to the fridge, get some stuff, put another one in.

John Rogers: Get some stuff. If you're pantless that's cool we’re pantless.

Michael Colton: You’re saying for douchbags to go hard.

Aldis Hodge: If Hardison-

Michael Colton: We wrote two endings-

John Aboud: Fake it- we fake it well.

Michael Colton: That are actually heartwarming.

Chris Downey: Very heartwarming.

John Rogers: Well you were given one of them.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Thanks for watching.

Aldis Hodge: Peace people.

#Leverage #Leverage TNT #Leverage Audio Commentary Transcripts #Audio Commentary #Transcripts #Parker #Alec Hardison #Elliot Spencer #Nate Ford #Sophie Deveraux #Season 3 #Episode 2 #Season 3 Episode 2 #The Reunion Job

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nxrthmizu · 3 years ago

Text

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou x y/n #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x you #kuroo tetsurou fluff #[ris writes]—✧

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more-than-a-princess · 2 years ago

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@causalitylinked asked: 💭 - What's on your mind right now?

Munday Meme Questions - Accepting!

I’ll give you two topics! One fashion, One RP.

1. There are two big trends that I highly respect based on their marketing campaigns, the types of styles they offer, and how they listen and resonate with their buyer community and target audience.

However.

I find their cult products ugly and just want to see them offer new styles.

They would be:

- Telfar, particularly the Telfar Shopping Bag

and

- Selkie, particularly the Selkie Puff Dress

I think vegan leather options are fantastic for those who want to buy vegan, and I think their color customization program is an excellent one. Individuality in fashion + sustainability is so important in 2022...but I just think the bags aren’t attractive. And I hate the giant logo. Give me a Longchamp Le Pliage or anything from Polene any day

As far as Selkie goes, I’m convinced the Puff dress looks good on absolutely nobody and pretty much swore off the brand as a reasonable cocktail/formal look unless I wanted to lean heavily into cottagecore in a post-Teuta Matoshi strawberry dress world, but after watching their show during this month’s New York Fashion Week? They’re coming out with silhouettes that don’t make me recoil!

I may have to try a Selkie piece or two.

2. I’m always wondering, but more now than usual, if I’m doing enough in the tumblr RPC. I keep to what I want to write in a style and time frame that works for me (most of the time!), but I just keep wondering if it’s enough. If my partners are both happy to write with me and understand that I’m interested in writing with them.

I tend to base this off my own pet peeves, such as requesting too many asks/memes/threads and not being able to get to all of them or keep them going, thus resulting in deleting them, which I definitely don’t want to do. But I write long posts, that’s just my style and I enjoy it. But they do take time to start and reply to, much less the time I take brainstorming and researching what I need to for any given interaction. So I can’t turn around threads as quickly as others, or take on as many, and so I don’t post as much in a given day and don’t ask for memes or send them as frequently as I see on my dash.

In short, I keep to the rules I do for my own comfort and happiness, but I still wonder if it makes me a bit of an outcast in the RPC because I don’t have a fast turnaround time, and I write longer multi-para threads instead of shorter ones.

This also ties into shipping, whether it be a close platonic (best friends, for example) or romantic ships. I write a slow-burn muse, and it takes time, and many threads, for the potential of a close relationship to even surface for me.

So when I see memes like ‘what sort of relationship does your muse want with mine?’, It’s uncomfortable to send those in because, more often than not, I just don’t know yet because we haven’t interacted/interacted enough. And I don’t want to completely shut doors on possible dynamics, but at the same time, I don’t want to jump into a dynamic that doesn’t make sense or isn’t believable to me. The same applies for threads with sexual intimacy: even if I’m comfortable and willing to write the content, my muse may not be ready to sleep with yours (or hasn’t figured out she might be interested yet. Or just isn’t interested at all).

I feel like this might make me hard to approach to write and/or ship with, despite being interested in both. But I know if I changed my approach to something more immediate/quick in developing dynamics, it would make me far less interested to write it.

The struggle.

#more-than-a-princess answered #more-than-a-princess musings #causalitylinked #(Munday Questions meme)#(Blame S/S 2023 fashion weeks for most of my brainrot rn)#(It's that or the series I'm reading/watching)

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years ago

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Mr. Malum

master list for this series

this took me far too long to complete, I keep getting sidetracked with other stuff...I need to work on a schedule, that I will ignore, cuz I have the attention span of a boiled rock.

this chapter has a different name due to the song Mr. Malum from the Dear Hunter, being the only thing I would think of while typing this chapter

Summary: Heisenberg has a secret that he clearly intends on keeping for himself but honoring your own word of not working for him unless you know what's going on with his factory, you offer him a deal that could benefit you both. A trip to the village, distrust dripping for these people's faces, and the whispers filled with fear is enough for you to learn that...Mr. Heisenberg and the other Lords are more than what they seem.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart! we have a lot of work to do today" Heisenberg screams, throwing the door of your room open, making you sit and scream in surprise, the sound of his laughter is enough to cut your fear short and replace it with humiliation.

Before you can even respond the man is out and waiting in the kitchen, at least, he gave you time to compose yourself, running your fingers through your tangled hair and cursing yourself for going to sleep with damp hair, the tossing and turning did nothing to help, making the rat's nest that's your hair so much worst. Perhaps you should consider cutting it short, that would make it more manageable.

Joining him in the kitchen it's strange, half hoping to be met with his usual snark, instead, he's drinking coffee and looking over some papers, another mug has been placed on the table, the acrid smell of black coffee incites you to get close and take the warm mug in your hands, the taste is strong and it's enough to fully wake you up.

"We are going to be working on the west wing, some of the vents have been giving problems which is making the place overheat" a blueprint it's pushed towards you, the areas to be inspected are circled with red pen. "Since you are a lot slimmer, you will be getting into some hard to access places, keep the print, that way you will know what to fix"

Looking down at the print, you contemplate your situation.

It's, quite clear, that you can't escape, he said so yesterday, talking about the possibility of Miranda killing you or him catching you before she did. You can't refuse to work for him either, even after you told him you wouldn't do it until you knew what was going on in the factory, and it seems he decided to politely forget about that part of the conversation. There's no way out of this...but there's a way to try and twist his arm.

After all, you are not stuck here with him, he's stuck in here with you.

Putting down the mug, taking a moment to stretch your back and casually take a seat across from him "Yeah, this? sounds like a you problem" resting your head on your hands gives you the right amount of time to see him go from triumphant into anger "However! I'm willing to strike you a deal"

Father was a man who cared for his employees and sometimes caring for others means being, rather, unfair with those seeking to start a partnership, or so he said. "You have to assess how desperate you are when they come looking for you, but never push too hard on your luck, or you might lose the perfect cath, ask for realistic demands never for the Sun", those were his words, and you will be forever grateful for them.

" A deal?" leaning closer to you he looks at you from above his shades, a mocking smile on his face "What kind of deal are you offering? you have nothing to offer and I have everything you could want"

"Oh! but I do have a lot to offer, years of experience as a mechanic, the promise of optimizing your production rate, my family's factory for you to dismantle and get spare parts from...my silence?"

At that, he straightens up, face unreadable and impassive, hes thinking and considering. And you know it by watching him light up a cigar slowly, taking a couple of drags before expelling a large smoke cloud up to the ceiling. "I'm listening"

"Excellent, my demands are easy to meet, so don't worry" with careful movements you get up from the chair, unhurried steps carrying to stand behind him, snaking your hands up his arms and towards his shoulders, bending down to place your head close to his "All I ask from you is this, fitting clothes, a pair of gloves like yours and a leather apron, an actual bed, for you to repair the hot water, and have my own set of tools" you smile sweetly at him letting your right hand play with his hair "See? nothing too hard to get"

He's impressed with your boldness, not fearing getting your pretty hand burned with his cigar and pressing that delicious body of yours so close to him. And, indeed, your demands are nothing but reasonable compared to the blind devotion and absolute silence he's expecting from you, let alone, access to whatever is left from your factory.

The next time he expels smoke he does it in your direction, getting no reaction of you "And how do I know that you won't try and rat me out, doll? just trust your word and give you everything you want? I think I'll pass and just force you to do it"

"Well, I understand, it doesn't matter that I'm a woman of my word, words can be twisted and forgotten, sir. But...if you don't feel comfortable with a verbal agreement"

Your next move is not just bold, and you know it, you are weaponizing your own body, using it to make him lower his guard a little. Letting go of his shoulder to sit on his lap, back towards him, taking your sweet time to grab one of the paper sheets where he was jolting down notes and his pen. "We can do a contract if you prefer, that way I will be legally bound to do whatever it says and since you are a Lord, it will be just a formality"

There's a moment where you feel like gagging when his hands find your hips and push you to be closer to his body, it's his time to rest his head on your shoulder, looking at whatever you plan on writing down.

"Then do it, darlin'. Do your silly contract, which I expect you to abide by because I will do my part if that means I get to have you like this always"

"Of course, my Lord"

Immediately after you start writing down a rather simple contract, making sure to write everything you want and what you will be giving in return. The whole time he stays still, occasionally moving his head to blow the smoke away for you or the table in general, one hand squeezing your hip.

You are careful when offering the pen for him to sign the paper, tactfully placing your hand as to obscure a piece of the pact, he either doesn't care or thinks you are doing it to prevent the paper from slipping and messing his signature. Once he's done you sign quickly, smiling inwardly at your victory.

"Let me read this you" clearing your throat you begin to speak clearly and loud "I, Lord Karl Heisenberg, in full use of my mental capabilities, promise Miss Y/N L/N, to fulfill the following...One, provide her with proper clothing, which shall include a leather apron, heavy-duty gloves, and boots...Two, a bed and blankets for her to sleep in, making sure to place the bed in her bedroom...Three, acquire a new complete toolset for her...Four, repair the faulty got water pipe in the bathroom..."

The pause is done on purpose, looking at him over your shoulder to see his shit-eating grin morph into either confusion or anger "FIVE...make sure the kitchen is well stocked with all kinds of food, to ensure proper nourishment for my employee. The employee won't be expected to cook meals for me"

The hand on your hip shoots up to grab your neck, forcing you to be fully against him, his breath fans over the side of your face as he speaks "You little bitch, who do you think you are trying to swindle? you asked for four things, not five"

"Did I? I don't remember saying just four, sir...that's why contracts are so useful you see, after all, words can be twisted and forgotten" there's a small adrenaline rush when he growls so close to you, that you can feel the vibrations against your chest, almost crying out with joy when he let you go, clearly annoyed with your small victory.

"Fine, if that's the case!" his rudeness comes back with a vengeance when he pulls you off, doing quick work of walking to his room "Stay where you are" after that, only the distant lull of the machines can be heard, then there's the sound of his voice, almost whispering and growing slowly irritated by the second. It takes him a couple of minutes but he comes backs, dropping a bag full of money on the table.

"Since you are so hellbent on these demands of yours...and I have so much to do, for the foreseeable future, YOU are going down to the village, look for and get the seamstress to take your measurements, YOU are going to the Duke and buy whatever food we might need and tell him what tools you need, YOU are bringing said groceries from his Emporium all the way here, after all, your contract says I have to provide with clothing, food and put a bed in your toom, which means, it's YOUR responsibility to buy and transport the food while all I have to do is provide you with the money"

He got you...and he got you good, that's why making detailed contracts is always important, or you leave legal windows for the other party.

"Or...I can do all that for you, minus the clothes, if you sleep in my bed from now" his smile is wolfish and nasty, eyeing you the same way a starving dog would look at a defenseless chicken, it makes you question your flirting tactics from earlier, but you won't let him win.

"Well, you are right, I never said you needed to bring the groceries here" quickly you snatch the money from the table, getting up and walking to the door as if he didn't say anything about sharing his bed "I shall take my leave and come back before lunch, have a good day, sir!"

The door opens and with a side glance, you take his coat from the hook on the wall, scurrying off before he can say or do anything about it, almost bolting through the factory into the main entrance, afraid he will catch up with you and send you out into the freezing weather with nothing to shield you from it.

The trek down into the Village is something terrible, the terrain is irregular and some of the cobblestone steps are loose, trying to make a mental note of anything that might make you trip on your way back becomes a game, occasionally kicking some of the stones away and praying that you might now slip and fall.

You only stop to look at the 4 statues located past the bridge, taking a bit to admire the enormous things, their rotten features that have been consumed by the elements, and the weather, there's a pedestal of some sort in the middle but nothing else, following the path you find yourself looking at the Duke, slowly dozing off sitting inside his cart and his merchandise im plain view. The sound of your boots against the floor and snow, alert him of your presence.

"Ah! but it isn't our lovely Y/N, did Lord Heisenberg sent you for something, or are you here to acquire something for yourself?" hes already rubbing his hands together looking at you with interest

"You know me so well! I do come to run some...errands...Heisenberg set me to find the seamstress and to get groceries, his entire kitchen is empty, also, to place an order for me!"

The man laughs at your expression filled with pride, trying to uncover what or how you managed to get out of the factory on your second day there, smiling approvingly at whatever trick you used. "Of course, of course! tell me more about your shopping needs and I shall have them covered in no time"

"Oh, I wanted to know if I could write you a list and come back for the groceries on my way back?"

"Whatever you might need, miss Y/N" He's quick into offering you a pen and notepad, remarking the importance of treating all his customers with great care, and prideful of his service.

It takes you a bit to write down everything the kitchen lacks off and placing the order for your tools, gloves, and boots your size, acting a bit selfish by asking him to get you soap. The Duke reassures you that he will have your order as soon as possible and your groceries packed by the time you come back.

"Before I leave, by any chance do you know where I can find the seamstress? Heisenberg sent me out and told me to ask around...the prick"

"I do, it's an easy trip just go through that door and walk until you see the Maiden of War, a statue of a woman with a sword, easy to see! from it go west into the village and look for a house with teal walls, or simply ask for Sabina's house, but be careful Y/N, the people there might not take kindly to your presence"

The Duke was right, as soon as you enter the village, people start to stare and talk in low voices as you walk past them, you can hear them call you "Lord Heisenberg's bride" which makes you scrunch up your nose, others are more concerned of your status as an outsider and the small group of people praising Mother Miranda for giving you a home in this place. At the mention of her name, you have to force down the taste of vile down your throat and keep on walking to Sabina's place.

The house is easy to spot in the sea of gloomy colors, the teal exterior pops like a sore thumb, it's clear the house has seen better days, but you are no one to comment on the current state of the place, limiting yourself to knock on the door and wait for a response.

Sabina is, probably, no older than you, but the expression lines and tiredness of her face make her look a lot older, as soon as she sees you, she ushers you inside, eyes glued to the floor and speaking softly...she's scared of you.

"I was asked by Lord Heisenberg to come, he told me..."

"YES! I...I was made aware of your need for clothes and something like an apron, I received a call from the Chruch and expected you a bit earlier, now im afraid this order might be too hurried" fear masked as anger, you know about that, that's the only thing you have felt lately "please strip down so I can properly measure you"

The woman moves quickly, retrieving her tape and something to write on, while you are shedding the coat, pants, and boots off, leaving only the shirt on.

When she comes back you see her grimace and reach out for the shirt, out of instinct you slap her hand away, the terror in her eyes growing and becoming a burden that makes her freeze in her spot, making you feel a bit of guilt for causing her to do that face. "...Im sorry, I don't feel comfortable with people seeing me in my underwear"

Sabina only nods, trembling hands reaching out to start the process of taking every measurement required to make your new clothes, taking a second you jolt down each number and asking you what kind of fabric you would like for the pants and shirts, if the apron will need pockets and how many, any special requirements she should be aware of.

"Cotton undershirts" you blur out, avoiding to look at Sabina "I...need undershirts that are of a soft material" unconsciously reaching to touch your left side, the woman seems to understand, adding the undershirts to the list.

"I will have everything in the next four days if that's ok with the Lady, if not, I could have it done by tomorrow morning"

"No...four days is ok, how much do I owe you?" you ask absent-mindedly, dressing quickly to avoid losing any more body heat.

Sabina, who was halfway through putting her take away, stops to look at you, an uncomfortable expression on her face followed by a forced smile "I'm just pleased to serve the Heisenberg house, my lady"

You begin to protest but Sabina starts to push you out of the door, talking over you loudly, repeating like crazy how honored she feels, and for you to have a nice day, slamming her door shut and leaving you confused out in the snow.

This time, people avoid you, ducking their heads down, bowling lightly, and muttering praises to have someone from the Heisenberg house come to the village, but all of them speak with reverence, terrified of your existence. Miranda made you feel like a thing and these people make you feel like if you could kill them where they stand any minute now, like you are above them and more important. It's disgusting.

"Did you had a good time with the villagers, miss Y/N?"

"No!? Duke, it was horrible, the way people looked at me like if I was either a God or the Devil himself, it gave me your creeps" you are so lost looking at the crates, sacks, and bags that you have to carry back, that you don't notice him twistedly smile at you "What is wrong with these people?"

"We all need to believe in something, this village, just happens to believe in the protection and love of Mother Miranda and her lords and ladies, divine beings on Earth, but you might be right, perhaps it's not a godly figure what they're chasing after, but the devil" this time you do see him smile, the jolly man from last night is gone, replaced by a being of mischief and secrets that makes your skin crawl.

Hurriedly you pick up everything and balance it all in your arms, finding a way to trust the bag full of lei into his waiting hands and bolt it back into the fabric, distantly hearing him laugh over the sound of your pounding heart.

You only stop right in the middle of all the four statues you saw that morning, uneasiness nestling inside you...just what is going here? what are the lords of this place and why is everyone so panicked by them? why would anyone feel love for a monster like Miranda?

Wondering, if you did the right thing by making a deal with Heisenberg, knowing, he might be the devil incarnate.

#re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #the many joys

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twistedtummies2 · 3 years ago

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Descending From the Sky - Part 1 (500 Followers Special)

IN CELEBRATION OF 500 FOLLOWERS...! (freezes as someone whispers in my ear) ...Eh? You...say I have 509 now? ...Frick. WELL, BETTER LATE THAN NEVER! Something a lot of people have wanted me to write - on this site as well as an alternate site I frequent - is a “rampage story.” You know the type: macro-sized predator goes stomping around eating people and causing destruction in their wake. I have several ideas for such tales, though most of them are still in the “pre-production” stages. I decided to go with the one that could offer me the clearest possible plot, and which I know a few people were hoping to see: this is the third chapter in my Giant AU for My Hero Academia, based on Jack and the Beanstalk. In the past two sections, Midoriya and Kaminari went up to see the Giants. THIS time, however, one of the giants comes down to Earth themselves. I mustn’t say more though, or I shall spoil the fun. This is a two-parter; part two will be up tomorrow. As is typical, this first section is mostly just expository stuff and...well...actual STORY than anything else. Most of the “fun stuff” will be in tomorrow’s second half. Keeping this in mind, I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for the support!

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Three months had passed since Izuku Midoriya and Denki Kaminari had descended from the beanstalk with the Golden Eggs.

The result of their fortunate adventures were plainly visible: the farm where they both lived had become far more prosperous. The fields had been able to widen, as their master, Aizawa, had been able to hire new farmhands, buy new equipment, and even purchase a new cow for milking! (Although Izuku couldn’t help but notice how much whiter Milky White’s output had always been.) The farmhouse had been repaired, and plans were in motion to construct a larger building, all while a second barn was being built to house all the new supplies. Over all of this rising splendor towered the magnificent beanstalk...and on the unusually hot morning where our story begins, the boys were very glad about that. Kaminari sighed as he paused in his work, wiping his brow with a spotted handkerchief before stuffing it back into his pocket. Though the boys could afford nice clothes, they usually wore their old peasant garb while working After all, there was no point in ruining the good stuff. “Y’know something, Midoriya?” he mumbled out, looking up. Midoriya paused, putting down his hammer and looking down at Kaminari. His expression was wide-eyed and attentive. Kaminari huffed, leaning against the side of the shed the two were in the process of building. “Life doesn’t make sense sometimes.” “Yeah, that’s a fact,” Midoriya said, with a small smile, and chuckled, turning his freckled face back towards his work. He was standing on a ladder and tapping nails into place to hold the roof boards. Kaminari was holding the nails in a jar, and passing them up, and was supposed to be holding the ladder. In that moment, however, the distracted blonde was more focused on the jar, biting his lip as he stirred the nails boredly. The pair had been alternating positions every couple of boards, since, obviously, it was a lot more work to hammer than to hold. Not that the heat made either of the stations particularly fun. Kaminari tried to get a bit of shade from the side of the shed, but as the Sun was facing in the wrong direction, there was no shade to be had. “What I mean is,” Denki went on, “I thought all this extra stuff would make our lives easier: a little less of a workload on us. Instead, it feels like we haven’t a chance to just...you know...breathe.” “I know,” Midoriya murmured, pausing in his work and dipping his head. “Nor a chance to visit our friends ‘upstairs.’” “Friend. Singular,” Kaminari corrected. “Unless you count that mean man-eater as a friend…” Both of the teens shuddered, and Kaminari even crossed himself. Midoriya shook his head and refocused on hammering as Kaminari passed up another nail, and made sure to grab hold of the ladder with one hand. He didn’t want Midoriya to fall over. For one thing, it would be kind of embarrassing if either of them broke an arm falling from a ladder after managing to climb up and down a mammoth beanstalk and never tumble once.

“Mr. Aizawa says that after this is built, we should be able to rest a bit,” Midoriya said, with a bright-eyed smile that made his green irises look like emeralds. “Maybe we’ll get to go back up there in a couple weeks.”

“Maybe,” murmured Kaminari, and frowned. “Hey, do you think he’s giving us extra work to keep us from going up there?” Midoriya frowned and turned carefully on the ladder, looking to the beanstalk, then looking over the farmland...and shook his head again, this time in disagreement. “No,” he answered, and continued hammering; the boards were hard and the nails long. “With everything going on, I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt there. There’s just...so much expansion, with all the buying and selling we’ve been doing…” “I’m glad he let us keep those Golden Eggs!” grinned Kaminari. “They look cool in the bedroom.” Midoriya nodded wordlessly in agreement, and began to descend the ladder. It was Kaminari’s turn to take care of the next few boards-and-nails. “We’ll get back there soon,” he said. “Things just have to get harder before they get easier.” “That’s one way of looking at it,” shrugged Kaminari, giving Midoriya the nail jar as he took the hammer. He bit his lip and looked off to the side. Midoriya tilted his head, concerned by the unhappy expression on his friend’s face. “Hey...something else wrong?” he asked. “Just...when I went up there last time…” Kaminari trailed off...took a breath...and shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, and smiled. “Let’s just get back to work. The faster we finish, the faster we can get inside where it’s cool.” Midoriya looked skeptical, but before he could answer, a voice interrupted the pair… “It’s going to take a little longer than expected to do that.” The boys looked up. The baggy-eyed figure of Aizawa was approaching the pair. The teens stiffened, almost as if standing at attention. “Good morning, Master!” they chorused, as if speaking to a drill sergeant. Aizawa rolled his eyes and made a grumpy sound. He made a lot of those. “Relax, you’re not in trouble. Yet,” he mumbled, then went on a bit more clearly: “I need you two to stop work on the shed today. There’s another job for you both now.” The teens looked at each other, then back to the head farmer. “Um...no offense, sir,” Midoriya spoke up, and sounded sincerely polite and curious as he spoke, “But why not get one of the others to do it?” “Or do it yourself?” suggested Kaminari, in the same tone. Neither sounded defiant, just a little confused. Aizawa crossed his arms and sighed through his nose, looking out over the farmland, watching the new helpers hoe and shovel and rake away… “I have to stay,” he said, simply and strictly. “And as for the rest of the farmhands…” He looked back to the pair somewhat earnestly. “...I trust you both more than most of them.” The two boys practically had stars in their eyes. “You...you trust us?” peeped Midoriya. “Really?” Kaminari gasped. Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he droned, drably. “I trust Mineta more than you both, and he’s a donkey. And I trust my dog more than I trust him.” The pair ducked their heads with nervous, bashful smiles. Kaminari scratched the back of his head, kicking an imaginary pebble, while Midoriya rubbed one arm, trying to look anywhere but into Aizawa’s face. Aizawa rolled his eyes and then cleared his throat. “Ahem...the new help has loaded the wagon with produce to take to market,” he informed the pair. “Change clothes and hitch the horse up, then take it all. And this time, PLEASE don’t try to trade anything on the way for Magic Beans. One big green liability is enough.” He looked to Midoriya pointedly with those words. Midoriya gulped guiltily. “We’ll do our best, Master,” Kaminari promised, and slung an arm around Midoriya as he gave a cocky grin. “Just leave it to us! We’ll come back with more money than you can shake a stick at! Although I don’t know why you’d want to…” Aizawa just made another grumpy sort of sound and paused before going on… “Mind your way through the forest. Don’t stray from the path. Keep the cart moving on its course: some of the new boys have said they’ve encountered robbers in the woods, ever since…” He pointed up towards the clouds indicatively. “We’ll be careful, Mr. Aizawa,” vowed Midoriya, then looked to Kaminari. “C’mon, let’s get moving!” The duo folded up the ladder, and darted off to put away their tools before getting ready for the journey to market. Aizawa watched them go, then looked back to the partially finished shed, then turned his gaze heavenward. He glared as he looked at the top of the beanstalk...or, at least, the furthest point he could see, as it disappeared beyond the blue sky’s crest. He shook his head and pinched his brow as he walked off to see about feeding the chickens. “This place has never been the same,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I could decide if that was good or bad…”

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Meanwhile, in the Land of the Giants… “Sure you’ll be okay while I’m gone?” The red-haired, fang-toothed giant known as Kirishima looked with concern to his friend. His fellow titan, Bakugou, narrowed his own crimson eyes, a sour expression on his face as he lounged on a sofa in their living room. “Hell’s that s’posed to mean?” he sneered. “What do you think’s gonna happen while I’m here?” Kirishima opened his mouth to answer...then closed it again. “...Never mind,” he shrugged, and gave a cheerful smile as he slung the leather backpack over his back. “Anyway, I better get going. Tamaki’s probably gonna get all anxious if I’m late; start thinking if I still wanna be his friend, and so on…” “Tch,” Bakugou scoffed, and took a sip of the coffee he held in his hand. “How come you hang out with that wuss anyway? He’s softer than you are!” “Hey, you can’t pick your friends!” “Yes, you can,” droned Bakugou, boredly. “It’s family. You can’t pick your family.” “That, too.” Bakugou blinked slowly, his expression tremendously dull as he took another drink. “Whatever. It’ll be nice to not have your dumb hair poisoning my vision,” he grumbled. “Yeah, I’ll miss you, too,” Kirishima chuckled. Bakugou just grunted, taking yet another drink. He licked his lips thinly as Kirishima tilted his head. “Hey...you certain you’re alright?” “What makes you think I’m not?” “I dunno...just...you’ve been a lot quieter lately. And you haven’t gone down to mess with the little guys in a couple of months. Not that I mind that at all…” He grinned. “Am I rubbing off on you a little, maybe?” “Dream on. I just haven’t had an appetite for ‘em.” “Uh-huh. Sure,” Kirishima mumbled, sounded unconvinced, and gave a smile. “Well...anyway, I’ll be back by tomorrow. Guard the house well!” “The fuck do you mean ‘guard the house well’?!” snapped Bakugou, barking out his annoyance. “DO I LOOK LIKE A DAMN GUARD DOG TO YOU?!” Kirishima sniggered, and responded with a jaunty mock-salute. Whistling merrily, the friendly giant thus left the house. Bakugou growled (ironically sounding VERY much like an angry guard dog), his fingers twitching around his coffee cup as he finished his drink. He stifled a burp in his ballooning cheeks - “HHHMMMRRRLLLRRRPH...grm…” - and swallowed the excess gas back down, thumping his bare chest with a beefy fist before rising to his feet. The Barbarian-garbed colossus then tromped back to the kitchen, cleaning his cup and putting it aside to drain and dry. In truth, there was something on Bakugou’s mind. Something that had been buzzing around in his brain for months, and had become increasingly more annoying. I climbed a beanstalk to the top of the sky...I befriended a giant, was able to hide from another...and I was able to make my whole village happy, and even the king...do you think anyone who’s ‘just meat’ could even think of all that? The giant ground his teeth together, fingers twitching again. “Worthless little runt,” he growled to himself. “What does he know?” The little one Kirishima called “Midoriya” wouldn’t leave his mind. He kept trying to force the small one’s words aside, but the pathetic rat wouldn’t get out of his head. It was starting to drive the titan insane. He’d spent his whole life eating humans. He was bigger, stronger, faster, and all around better than they were. It was the law of the jungle: they were SUPPOSED to fill his belly. It was just their fault they were so small and tasty! That’s how he’d always justified it. That’s how he’d always felt about it. And it wasn’t as if he ate indiscriminately. But now… Someones gotta knock some sense into you, Bakugou! You can’t just eat people, it’s...it’s not right! And if one of my friends is in danger...I’ve got to do whatever I can to help them! No matter what! Bakugou snarled, clenching his fists at his sides. The little vermin had guts. What he wouldn’t give to introduce them to HIS guts... Still...he hadn’t been down to eat in months now...and the truth was, what he’d told Kirishima was true. He just...hadn’t been in the mood to eat little people in a while. It was really starting to piss him off, because this had never happened before. They were his FAVORITE food...so what was holding him back? GRRROOORRRLLLB… Bakugou winced and hissed through his teeth, clapping a hand to his belly. His fingers rubbed over his bare, strong, well-sculpted abs as his stomach gurgled and “brumbled” noisily. So far, all he he’d had that morning was coffee. It seemed his gut was demanding something more substantial. For a moment, the thought of dozens of squirming little morsels flashed in his mind...but he shook that thought away with a toss of his messy blonde locks, and instead relaxed slightly as he stomped towards the icebox. “Something light oughta kill those damn noises,” he muttered coarsely. “Where’d I put those cold cuts…?”

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The wagon full of pumpkins, apples, cucumbers, potatoes, corn, and all sorts of other home-grown delights rattled along the semi-level road that twisted and twined its way through the forest. Kaminari sat beside Midoriya, who held the reins, while an old gray mare hauled the cart along at a steady trot. “Easy there, Chiyo,” Midoriya smiled gently, as the horse huffed softly, ears flicking at a noise from somewhere in the underbrush. “Just a jackrabbit.” “Hopefully,” mumbled Kaminari, then cocked his head to the left. “Say, Midoriya? Do you think we’ll run into that Yagi guy who gave you the Magic Beans?” “I doubt it,” Izuku said wistfully. “I get the feeling that was a one-time deal, or something.” “Hm. Got it,” Kaminari grunted, looking away again, a somewhat pensive, pondering look on his face. Midoriya’s smile faded. “Kaminari...seriously, what’s been bothering you?” “What do you mean?” “You’re thinking. A lot. That’s...very unusual for you.” “Hey. Thinking is dangerous. It can lead to headaches.” Midoriya smirked and chuckled, then paused, pulling the horse to a stop. “Come on,” he said, gently, placing the reins at his side nad putting a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” Kaminari squirmed a bit uncomfortably. “We should keep going,” he said, quietly. “Aizawa said there were-” “We’ll be fine. Talk to me. We’re friends, right?” “Right...well, um...it’s just…” Kaminari took a deep breath, and let it out before speaking. “...I’ve felt...really bad ever since I went up the beanstalk.” “Bad as in sick?” “No, just...bad. Emotionally. I really messed things up, and I almost got killed for it. I was being greedy and stubborn and selfish, and...look, I still love money-” “And girls.” “Well, duh, girls are what make life worth living, and money helps there.” Midoriya sighed and rolled his eyes, still smiling. “But seriously,” Kaminari went on, shifting his position so he could look Midoriya in the face, “What I did was wrong and...well...kinda stupid, even for me. I wanna make up for it somehow, just...I don’t really know what to do. And with all the time that’s gone by-” “I forgive you.” Kaminari stopped short. “I forgive you,” Midoriya said, his smile gentle and friendly. “And I know Kirishima forgives you, too. If it makes you feel so bad, we’ll find a way to go up there and see if you can do something more. I wanna go back up there just as much as you do. But work’s gotta come first.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Kaminari sighed...then smirked, and adopted a dramatic pose, pointing forward. “Well...drive on, my good man!” Midoriya snickered at Kaminari’s over-the-top impression of a pompous nobleman. “Yes, My Lord,” he winked, and whipped the reins, clicking and calling out Chiyo’s name. Chiyo let out a soft whinny and began to move forward again. Kaminari paused to adjust his clothes: both he and Midoriya were dressed in sharp-looking coats and breeches, so they could look more presentable at the market. “Yellow and black are good colors,” smirked Kaminari, admiring the golden lining of his jacket. He grinned somewhat sneakily. “Hey, think I’ll impress a few ladies while we’re out?” Midoriya was about to respond...but before he could - and after the pair had only traveled about twenty or thirty yards - Chiyo suddenly let out a sharp cry and came to an equally sharp stop. “Whoa, whoa, girl!” called out Midoriya, and as the horse settled, he and Kaminari frowned and stood up in the wagon to see what was the matter. The pair were surprised by what they saw: a small girl, dressed in a somewhat ratty-looking white dress. She had metallic-colored hair, almost the color of steel, and red eyes that looked like a couple of fresh, ripe cherries. The girl was trembling slightly. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared up at the pair. She didn’t move off the path, even as she stood. The two teens looked to each other, then back to the girl, and smiled. “Hello there!” Midoriya said kindly, and stepped down from the cart, while Kaminari stayed aboard and took the reins, just in case the old mare got a bit fidgety. The girl didn’t answer. She stayed still as Midoriya approached. His smile remained gentle and good-natured as he got down on one knee, bringing himself to the little girl’s height. “What is your name, little girl?” he asked, sweetly. The girl paused, blinking just once, before answering in a plaintive, soft voice: “Eri.” “Eri,” repeated Midoriya. “That’s a nice name.” He looked back to the wagon. “Don’t you think so, Kaminari?” “Oh, yeah. Short but pretty,” Denki nodded. Midoriya smiled a little wider, and looked back to Eri. “What are you doing out here, Eri?” he asked, carefully, and looked about with some small amount of worry. “Are your parents around?” Eri bit her lip and squirmed where she stood, looking away and hugging herself. “My...my papa needs help,” she admitted quietly, sounding almost ashamed of the words. “I...I heard your cart coming, and...c-could you...could you help me?” Midoriya frowned with concern. “Of course we’ll help,” he promised sincerely, and looked back to Kaminari. “Stay here with Chiyo and the market goods. I’m gonna see what’s going on, then we can figure out what to do.” “Gotcha,” Kaminari nodded. “Be quick though.” “I’ll try,” Midoriya said, then looked back to Eri with another kind, sweet smile. “C’mon, Eri...let’s go, okay?” He extended a hand...and to his surprised, Eri stepped back, letting out a tiny, timid whimper, as if she expected to be hit. Midoriya looked at his palm, then up at the little girl. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. Just...take my hand, and tell me where to go. Alright?” Eri blinked a few times, looking between Midoriya’s face and his hand...then, her own tiny, trembling fingers clasped about his. Midoriya smiled and stood up, holding firmly but carefully onto the young lady as she led him off the path into the forest. Kaminari, for his part, watched them go. Once they were out of sight, he reached into the cart and picked out a juicy yellow apple. No reason he couldn’t have a snack while he waited: there was plenty in the cart to sell at market, anyway. He checked the surrounding trees as he took a crunching bite from the fruit. He made sure to be alert; he didn’t want to make any mistakes. After all, if Aizawa was right, it wouldn’t be a good idea to let their guard down in the forest… While Kaminari dutifully and calmly guarded the wagon, Eri led Midoriya deeper and deeper into the untouched woods, away from the road. Midoriya looked back and frowned; the cart disappeared from sight behind him. “How far away is your father, Eri?” he asked. “And what happened to him?” Eri bit her lip, and paused, keeping her head down. As they stopped, Midoriya looked to her with concern. “Eri?” he checked, quietly. “Please answer me.” Eri let out a whimper...and, without warning, pulled her hand away from Midoriya’s, as if his touch burned her. He stepped back with some alarm as her tiny, frail shoulders began to shake. He could hear her starting to cry. “...You’re nice,” she said very, very softly. “No one...no one has been nice to me...in such a long time…” She gulped and looked up to the teen with misty eyes. “I’m so sorry.” No sooner had Eri uttered the words...then suddenly, someone leapt out from the bushes behind Midoriya and grabbed hold of him. Midoriya gasped and whirled to try and fight back...but another figure lunged from behind a tree and grabbed hold of his other arm. Izuku’s eyes widened: both of his attackers were strapping, masculine figures, dressed in long black robes, with plague doctor’s masks upon their faces. “Wh-What is this?!” he shouted, and struggled to break free. “Let...LET GO OF ME!” “Good work, Eri.” Midoriya froze as he heard the words...and his eyes widened as a third figure stepped out from behind another tree, moving over to Eri’s side. They placed a dark-gloved hand on the girl’s shoulder; she whined like a kicked puppy and shuddered, clearly repulsed but unwilling to move away from the figure’s touch. This figure wore a long green coat, lined with unusual violet fur. He, too, wore a plague doctor’s mask...but this one was not the plain ivory visage the two strikers wore. His was decorated in red and gold, and covered only everything below his eyes. The golden eyes in question narrowed, a supercilious gleam in them. “Very good work, my daughter,” the voice behind the mask intoned. “Thank you for helping us, Izuku Midoriya. We have much to discuss.” The figure then pointed off in another direction, and uttered one command to the two cloaked men: “Take him!” “KAMINARI!” Midoriya yelled at the top of his lungs, struggling harder as one of the two attackers pulled a short club out of their robes. “KAMINARI! KAMINAR-!” WHACK! The world became fuzzy and filled with plain. Midoriya’s voice slurred unhealthily. “...K-Kamin-ar-i…” WHACK! Izuku knew no more. However, his cries had not gone unheard. Kaminari jolted as he heard Midoriya call to him with what sounded like real panic, the apple dropping from his hands and rolling across the dirt. It stopped right in front of the gray mare, who, thinking it was a treat, nibbled it happily. It was a lucky thing the apple distracted the horse, because the moment Kaminari heard the calls stop just as suddenly as they had come, he was on the move. He bounced off the wagon and bounded into the woods, calling back as he ran in the direction he’d seen Eri taking Midoriya. “MIDORIYA! MIDORIYA, I’M COMING!” Naturally, he was too late. Kaminari skidded to a halt, his expression horror struck, as he saw a second wagon not so far ahead...but this was no produce cart drawn by a farmer’s horse. Instead, it was a prison wagon, a cage-cart drawn by two black horses. He saw the driver’s plague doctor mask glint in the sunlight, and heard them laugh jeeringly as they whipped the horses up...then, the wagon rolled out of sight. Just before it disappeared, he caught sight of Midoriya, slumped over in the prisoner’s cage...alongside Eri and another figure he couldn’t rightly make out. Once it was gone, Kaminari stood stock still for several seconds, processing with dread what he had just witnessed...then, cursing under his breath, he dashed back through the woods to his own cart. Chiyo had just finished her apple, and let out a startled sound as the blonde-haired, yellow-eyed youth leapt back into the driver’s seat, tugging and cracking the reins. “C’mon, old girl!” he shouted. “We have to get back to the farm! This is an emergency!” The horse neighed, and the cart was soon turned around. Then, with another crack and a click, Kaminari rode the rattling wagon back down the road towards Aizawa’s farm as fast as he could…

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“Kidnapped?!” “Yeah!” Kaminari confirmed, emphatically. “I saw it happen, Mr. Aizawa! They were riding off with him; I couldn’t hope to catch up in time!” Aizawa grinded his teeth; a look of intense worry burned in his eyes. “Which way were they going?” he demanded, standing up from his desk in the room Kaminari had found him in. “South? West?” “East,” Kaminari replied. “Due East, no doubt of it.” “And you said the driver of the cart wore a plague doctor’s mask?” “Yes, sir!” Aizawa sighed. “There’s no doubt of it then,” he murmured, in an ominous tone of mortal dread. “He’s being taken to Yakuza.” Kaminari gulped nervously. Everyone in the Kingdom of Ua knew about Yakuza: it was one of two neighboring kingdoms, which had been feuding with the land for years on end. It was ruled by the evil King Kai; its armies were ruthless, and its defenses plentiful. While outright war had not been done in many years, relations between the kingdoms were still intensely...well...tense, to say the least. No one in Ua ever went to Yakuza...and lived to tell about it. “Wh-why would they take Midoriya?” Kaminari almost whimpered. “I can make a few guesses,” growled Aizawa curtly, as he dressed himself in his best hat and coat and looked to Kaminari. “I’m going to to take the new stallion to the castle. I have friends among the King’s Knights, they might be able to help us.” “I’ll go with you!” “No,” ordered Aizawa. “You stay here. I already have one of you in danger. I’m not getting you into any more trouble, and I don’t want you causing it, either.” “But I want to help!” “I know,” sighed Aizawa. “But this is no time for rash action!” “This is the PERFECT time for rash action!” Kaminari almost screamed out. “They took Izuku, and who knows what they’re gonna-?!” He stopped short at a burning, searing glare from Aizawa. He ducked his head and looked away. “...I’m...I’m sorry…” “Stay. Here,” Aizawa commanded, then added more softly, “Please.” Kaminari said nothing, but remained where he was. Aizawa looked the blonde haired boy over a time or two...then sighed again and shook his head, before hustling out of the house. There wasn’t a moment to lose. For a time, Kaminari stayed perfectly still where he stood. He listened. He waited. And the instant he heard the sound of Aizawa whistling to his horse, and the sound of the horse hooves galloping off into the distance...his eyes lifted. He looked to the beanstalk outside...and then moved to Aizawa’s desk. He hastily pulled out a small piece of parchment, and scribbled a message onto it. You said to leave you a note next time, the message read. I’m sorry, Master. I have to help my friend. I have to make up for my mistakes. Signed, Kaminari. With this managed, Kaminari clambered out of the open window, and crept towards the mighty beanstalk. He glanced from side to side, to make sure no one was looking...then, without another thought, he latched onto its based, grabbed hold of its stems and leaves...and began, once more, the long climb up...Up...UP…

“I’ll save you, Midoriya,” he promised, as he soon climbed up past the roof of the house, and kept right on climbing. “I’ll save you...one way or another…”

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“UUUURRRRRRRROOOORRRRRPH...mph...weak…” Bakugou snorted as he lounged back on the couch in the den of his and Kirishima’s home. His stomach was ever so slightly distended; just enough to make the strong, deep crevices between his six-pack muscles a little less well-defined, a clear but very small curve of fullness along his middle. One of his hands was resting upon his gut, covering his deep, black navel. He didn’t rub his stomach, didn’t scratch it...simply let his hand rest there, the limb rising and falling as his gut moved with his breathing. The ogre’s other arm was slung behind his messy-haired head as he glared with his usual, grouchy scowl at the ceiling, red eyes smoldering as he seemed to look through the ceiling itself...thinking and thinking. The (relatively) light meal he’d enjoyed left a pleasant warmth in his belly...but was not truly full yet. It barely made the slightest dent in his gut, and he knew he could fit more. But nothing around the house seemed to his satisfaction...and he had a feeling he knew what he wanted. What was stopping him? He knew what his stomach desired. He’d never denied it before. So why was he purposefully avoiding it now? He couldn’t even blame his appetite: he clearly wanted it, so what was holding him back? He didn’t know. This was...annoying. “Pissing me off,” he all but hissed to himself, fingers curling over his bare belly and twitching slightly with his ever-present anger. “Damn that little snack-rat...how’d that little fucker get inside my head anyhow…” He growled and shook his head, trying to push away the thoughts and the ever-repeating words. But they wouldn’t go away. He covered his ears, snarling and pulling at his hair. “Die, you stupid thoughts!” he snapped, trying to think of a way to force them out of his mind. He couldn’t take this much more…! He froze in the middle of his thoughts. His eyes widened as his ears pricked up. The giant listened closely. He could have sworn...he’d heard the scampering of tiny feet. He sniffed the air...and growled again, almost like a wild bear. “Fee, Fi, Fo-Fuck it. I don’t have time for this shit…” The giant swung himself out of his seat and onto the floor...but he didn’t stomp his way towards the source of the sound and scent. Instead, he cautiously began to prowl towards it, moving almost like a giant cat. He was fairly certain the little rat hadn’t realized he was around, and he wanted to keep it that way… The giant tip-toed out of the living room and towards the main hall. He peered around the corner, and his red eyes widened at what he saw. He looked both surprised and angry at the same time. Creeping across the floor was a familiar little fellow - no bigger than a mouse, compared to the man-eating man-mountain - with yellow hair and matching eyes. He nervously moved across the floor, peering from side to side and looking all around. “Kirishima?” he called out. “Hello? Is anybody home?” “Yeah. Someone’s home, little snack.” Kaminari jumped...then squealed with fright as he saw Bakugou step out from hiding. The giant’s teeth were bared in a vicious snarl, his fists clenched and visibly shaking. With a comical holler, Kaminari flailed and turned around, trying to make a mad dash back the way he had come… “COME BACK HERE, RAT!” Katsuki roared. “I’LL KILL YOU!” “That’s not a good incentive for me to come back!” Kaminari called back. Bakugou just let out a wordless shout of anger, and lumbered forward. In three long, strong strides, he moved in front of Kaminari. Kaminari skidded to a halt as the Giant glared and lifted one massive boot over him... “DIE, RUNT!” “YIPE!” Kaminari barely had time to scramble out of the way before the giant’s foot slammed into the floor. THOOM! Denki stumbled as the floor shook with the force of the stomp. He hit the floor was was briefly winded...and barely had time to lift a hand in a pleading gesture, a futile attempt to stop the inevitable, as Bakugou’s own giant fingers came swooping down towards him and snatched him. Kaminari cried out as he was hoisted into the air; vertigo hit him in an instant, and he felt woozy...but only for a second or two. He had much worse things to worry about as he was soon held up to the giant’s face. “What are you doin’ back here?” sneered Bakugou. “I...I was lookin’ for-GACK!” Kaminari choked and gasped as Bakuguou gave him a squeeze. His ribs felt nearly ready to cave in, and his spine creaked forebodingly. “I don’t give a damn,” Katsuki snorted, then smirked. “Guess it’s my luck you decided to try and rob us again. This time...you’re not goin’ home, runt.” Kaminari let out a terrified moan as Bakugou licked his lips. “I haven’t had a human to eat in months,” the ogre rumbled, his free hand rubbing his belly up and down. “Now, I’ll finally get a small taste again...thanks for comin’ to me, meat.” So saying, Bakugou closed his eyes and opened his jaws. Kaminari cried out as he was brought closer to the stinking hot maw of the man-eating monster, the tongue twitching as the teeth parted to reveal the slimy chasm of pink, soft flesh that would consume him. “W-Wait...WAIT, JUST A MINUTE! WAIT, PLEASE!” Kaminari yowled as the mouth loomed closer and closer, and he struggled in the giant’s grip. “I DIDN’T COME HERE TO STEAL, I PROMISE! PLEASE!” Bakugou stopped. His eyes opened...and he pulled Kaminari away from his jaws, closing them and glaring at the small morsel. “You’re...not here to steal?” he repeated, skeptically. Kaminari - relieved to be away from that mouth and the odor of digesting meat that came from it - sighed and nodded in confirmation. Bakugou glared darkly. “Why should I believe you?” “Um...b-because it’s true?” Kaminari eeped out. Bakugou’s glare did not soften. “Listen,” Kaminari said, and took a breath to steady himself before going on, still wiggling to try and find some semblance of comfort between the boa constrictors that were Bakugou’s mighty digits. “L-Listen, I...I’m sorry. For what I did last time. I know it was wrong, a-and I won’t do it again.” “Apology not accepted,” sneered Bakugou. “And if that’s all you’ve got, I’m eating you.” “It’s not, it’s not!” exclaimed Kaminari, desperately. “Please...wh-where’s Kirishima? I need his help!” “Stupid hair’s not here. He won’t be back till tomorrow,” shrugged Bakugou, carelessly. Kaminari looked mortified. “But...but...oh, no...now what do I do?” the human worried, speaking more to himself than the giant. “By tomorrow...b-by tomorrow, he could be dead…” Bakugou looked the tiny morsel up and down, and tilted his huge head curiously. “What do you need that extra’s help for, anyway?” he groused. “Midoriya. My friend. He’s been kidnapped.” Bakugou’s eyes widened anew. “Kidnapped?” he repeated, voice soft and somewhat shaky. “Yeah,” Kaminari nodded, his expression dour. “He...he was tricked…a-and a bunch of creeps from a rival kingdom took him away. I...I was too late to stop them. I though...maybe Kirishima could...you know...help me rescue him. Being a giant and all. But...without his help…” “Without his help, you’ll be better off,” snorted Bakugou. “Where is this kingdom?” Kaminari looked up, seemingly stunned. “Wait...you mean...YOU’LL help me?” “Psh. Don’t think of it as me helping you. I’m just helping myself,” Bakugou snorted, and smirked cruelly as he jabbed his free thumb to his chest, head held high. “No one’s gonna kill that green-haired, worthless idiot except ME. Besides, I’ve been on a ‘diet’ recently, you might say…” He licked his teeth as his stomach let out an excited burbling noise. “...I think it’s time I broke it. So...where do I need to go to eat?” Kaminari gulped nervously. “Um...uh...y-you need to go due east, f-from our home. I...I can point the way if you...um...maybe...p-promise not to eat me?” Kaminari smiled hopefully. Bakugou glared. “I don’t make promises to snacks,” he growled...then paused before going on, slowly: “Still...it’ll be hard to find the place without a guide...I guess I can let you live a little longer.” Kaminari sighed with even greater relief. “Thanks,” he breathed...then squeaked like a rodent as the giant quickly tucked him into his vest pocket. “Stay right there, and if you do anything stupid, I’ll squash you flat,” Bakugou grunted. “Now come on, snack. You’ve got another annoying bug to save…” He grinned viciously as he began to march out of the house. “...And I’ve got dinner waiting for me now. Heh heh heh…” Kaminari shuddered as he heard the giant smack his chops hungrily, and looked out over the white and blue landscape of the Kingdom Above the Clouds as his “ride” stepped out into the daylight and went on his way. “I hope I don’t live to regret this,” Denki murmured to himself. “Hang on tight, Midoriya...I’m coming…” “Ahem!” “Uh...oh, uh...w-we’re coming.” “Hmph. Better. Don’t make me regret not eating you…” “I’ll try...h-heh…”

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

Izuku Midoriya groaned; a splitting headache greeted him as he opened his eyes. Breathing, itself, required great focus, which only made the throbbing, stinging pain in his cranium worse. Something prickled like nettles inside his nostrils - it smelled like ammonia - rousing him from the bleary, black haze he’d been in for some time. He could still feel the weight of the club against his skull, and hoped he didn’t have any lasting damage to worry about. Midoriya sneezed as the odor became stronger, and shook his head with a louder groan, trying to clear it and focus on the fuzzy, faded-out world around him. “That’s enough,” a voice grunted. “He’s coming to.” The scent went away, and that’s when Midoriya became aware of a few things. One, his hands and ankles were both bound with what felt like rough hemp cord. Two, a large wooden post or pole was against his back, his arms wrapped around it behind him. Three, as he shifted his bound feet he realized they brushed against splintery wood. Finally, vision and total awareness returned to him...and Midoriya felt a chill go up his spine. The location appeared to be a city square, a huge black castle not so far in the distance, and various buildings all around him. This, however, was no city square he’d encountered before...and the people around him were the most unsettling part of all. There were hundreds gathered all around him, and while many of them looked perfectly ordinary in dress and appearance...at least a third of them were wearing dark robes and bone-white plague doctor’s masks, thee black lenses blankly staring at Izuku upon the pyre he was stationed on. At the base of the pyre, Midoriya became aware of a flicker of flame. He looked down and gulped nervously: one of the Plague Doctors carried a torch. Beside him stood King Kai: his purple eyes peering over the crest of his ruby-and-gold mask, dressed still in his expensive-looking green and purple coat. Half-hidden behind the King was Eri, who was visibly shaking, eyes darting about to look anywhere except at Midoriya. Midoriya blinked at Eri...then looked up with a glare at King Kai. “Where am I?” he asked, bluntly. “Wh-What’s going on?” “Welcome to Shie, the capital city of Yakuza,” King Kai answered, and Midoriya could sense the smirk behind the mask. “I am-” “I know who you are,” Midoriya said, trying to sound as brave as he could, but unable to stop shaking. “What do you want with me?” Kai blinked slowly. “Why don’t you guess, filthy Uan?” he responded, his voice cold and cutting. Midoriya bit his lip. “In the past few months, the Beanstalk you grew has helped make your kingdom’s capital all the more prosperous,” Kai decided to explain, his voice business-like. “I would like to know how you were able to create such a thing, and where all the wealth came from.” “And why should I tell you that?” Kai narrowed his eyes, and with a slight motion of his head, the robed figure holding a torch stepped forward. Midoriya shuddered, but held up his head, straightening against the post as he glared defiantly. “Y-You can do what you want to me,” he said softly. “I’ll never tell you anything. If someone like you figured it out, who knows what you could do!” “I can already think of a few possibilities,” Kai said, coolly. “But I would recommend reconsidering. Burning to death is a TERRIBLE way to go. Trust me.” Midoriya’s defiant expression did not shift. “Please don’t hurt him…” Both Kai and Midoriya looked down at the furtive little voice that spoke. Kai’s eyes widened as he found Eri tugging on his pant leg. “Please...j-just let him go,” she pleaded. “H-He’s nice, he didn’t-AH!” Kai sneered as one of his minions struck the girl across the face, knocking her back. Kai checked his leg and sighed with relief when he saw nothing wrong. “Never touch me,” he said, in a soft, warning tone. “How often do I have to tell you, Eri? You. Do. Not. TOUCH ME.” Eri sniffled and whimpered, holding her cheek; a bright red mark was visible upon it. “Leave her alone!” snapped Midoriya. “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?” “She’s useful on occasion,” Kai answered, in the same icy tone as before. “But she’s very undisciplined. A father is supposed to discipline his child when they misbehave, yes?” Midoriya looked ill. He looked to Eri with sympathy. “Are you okay?” he asked, gently. Eri blinked, clearly not sure how to respond to the question under the circumstances. “She is far from your concern,” Kai intruded. “I’ll ask again: will you tell us where you got those so-called Magic Beans that brought that stalk to fruition? This is your last chance.” Midoriya struggled against his bonds for a moment, but the knots were strong and taut. He heard several in the crowd snicker. Sighing in defeat, he glared at Kai, who stared up patiently. “Even if I knew where you could find them,” he said, firmly, “I would never tell you.” “Very well,” shrugged King Kai. “In that case, you are of no use to me.” He held out a hand, twitching his fingers in a beckoning gesture. The minion holding the torch handed it over. Kai then turned to address the crowd. “Citizens of Yakuza!” he thundered. “The enemy agent has refused to tell us the secret of the Magic Beanstalk. Today, we burn him, and purge his sorry existence from our clean and well-ordered society. Tomorrow, we shall treat those who live on his farm the same way...and then cut down the mighty beanstalk itself!” The crowd cheered, lifting their fists and shouting jeers at Midoriya. Kai smiled darkly behind his mask, amethyst eyes glittering maliciously as he turned back to Izuku. “Any last words?” Kai hissed. Midoriya blinked once...and gave his reply quickly. PHUT! Kai stumbled back...and his expression became one of livid horror as he felt the slimy substance on his cheek...felt his face burning, felt the hives itch and puff up… He glared with psychotic, feral fury at Midoriya, who smirked back with undying defiance after spitting in the evil king’s face. Kai snarled, and without further hesitation, hurled the torch onto the pyre. The kindling at the base of the pyre began to crackle and burn in an instant. Midoriya’s smile faded, and he began to struggle again. The crowd cheered louder than before, laughing and mocking Midoriya’s struggles as he fought for dear life. Smoke was wisping up, and growing rapidly in density...the fire would be burning fiercely in a very short while. If smoke inhalation didn’t kill him, the flames themselves would. Either way, it would be a lingering, painful demise. “HELP! HELP ME!” he called out, struggling to loosen the knots. Kai glared with triumphant anger as his robed minions taunted Midoriya by mockingly screaming for help, and the crowd pointed and hollered. “NO! NO, LET HIM GO! STOP!” Eri cried out, as two of the masked men held her back. “Perhaps you’ll scream out the answer while you burn, you diseased piece of trash,” sneered Kai. “If not...at least tomorrow we’ll make sure your family suffers the same fate.” Midoriya struggled harder in response, which made Kai chuckle. He crossed his arms, the dark king patiently watching the fire rise and the smoke billow, quickly growing into thicker and thicker curls of vapor...it wouldn’t be long before Midoriya began coughing and wheezing. He was going to enjoy every last second of this he thought, shuddering with revulsion as he touched the stinging portion of his face the boy had spat on. “Bring me my balm,” he muttered, looking towards one of his minions. “I need to-” THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP… Kai froze...and the crowd soon went silent...as a huge, pounding sound echoed through the air. The ground began to tremble, and all across the city went very quiet, confused and frightened as the noise grew steadily louder, and the vibrations more intense… Midoriya blinked, and looked upwards, as did Eri and Kai and nearly everyone else gathered in the city square. Midoriya saw a huge, towering silhouette - at least as large as the castle itself - approaching the area… “Kirishima?” he whispered to himself hopefully, with an optimistic smile.

“A Giant!” exclaimed King Kai, and barked orders to some of his soldiers as he moved a few steps away from the pyre, the people of the city clutching each other, their chatter turning into frightened noises as the King shouted and cried out: “Get to the edges of the city! Fan out! Do everything in your power, but don’t let that...that THING pollute my capital!” The soldiers hurried to move, forgetting all about Midoriya, whose pyre still burned. Midoriya himself had almost forgotten, himself, given the circumstances.: the adventurous lad’s smile quickly faded into a look of confusion and fear as he realized the hair didn’t look like Kirishima’s...and as the giant moved closer and closer, and people in the city began to fretfully murmur, he soon saw the glare of two glowing red eyes. So like Kirishima’s, yet so unlike them. A flash of green and orange caught his eye...and that’s when Midoriya knew. “B-Bakugou?!”

To Be Continued...

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stars-trash-18 · 3 years ago

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Home lll

Ngl this was kind of a filler chapter. but it’s what I got, if anything this will give you more background on reader and the planet’s history.

Again please message me about corrections about anything, especially if I use anything gendered or with racial descriptions.

You did as promised, you delivered some crops and spare farming supplies. After that you turned your focus back home. You went about as normal, getting Attila to school, smoking meats, tanning hides, and prepping everything else for the monthly market. The town several miles from your ranch had a weekly market for smaller sales, but once a month they had a large fair to sell bulk items for better prices. It helped keep some income during the weeks coming in and when the fair happened it brought in tourists or larger buyers to bring in the bulk income for many of the families, including yours.

Over the years you had gained the reputation of being one of the better ranchers to buy livestock off of. You cared for them like they were your own children and made sure that everyone walked away with a decent price, whether or not you gained a profit or broke even.

Because of this the fair became one of the only markets you showed up to, you'd bring your products and had the city wives falling over themselves for the leather and furs, the galactic ranchers trying to outbid each other for whatever prized bull you brought with you, and the smaller families happy when you turned the wealthier business to them. Because, although you had a wider range of product than most other farmers, you made sure to make a sly comment about others like, "The Ferdorick's leather products are some of the finest, if you decide to buy from me i'm sure they'd make this hide into a wonderful jacket,".

Something you valued so much more than the core worlds was the community that surrounded the outer rim planet, in planets like Coruscant people walked by the needy everyday. But here if someone needed shelter or something to eat the locals would give it to them, whether they were one meal away from the same fate or not, they still extended a hand and gave what they could. They did it for you when you ran, when you first landed with Attila balanced on your shoulders wondering what to do it was the Ganoris' who set you up in their spare bedroom, the Ferdoricks who taught you how to tan hides and gave you your first 5 head of cattle, and the Actorias who gathered the materials and taught you how to build and thatch. You were a stranger who was more dangerous than they knew, but they extended their hands to you and you work so that you can prosper and help them too. So when the Armorer landed on your doorstep you wondered if it would be wrong to turn her away, because you were tired of seeing people.

You enjoyed chatting with those you knew, but seeing so many strangers more than once a month made your social batteries drain. But you reluctantly invited her in and sat across from her at your table as you went about preparing the morning coffee. Already preparing yourself for the long day ahead. She sat regaly for someone who was so weary weeks prior, she reminded you of the tall bamboo stalks from your ex’s estate with how she could go from being bent with stress to tall and strong. She only watched you carefully as you moved around your small kitchen and rested a hand onto the table, only moving it to say no when you offered her a mug.

“How can I help you today, is everything alright?” you inquired carefully, blowing the steam away to cool the sweet nectar of the gods.

“Everything is alright in our new home, it’s been a long time since we’ve been able to call anything that,” she receded, her voice filled with warmth at her family’s good fortune before she continued.

“I’m here to ask if you would be willing to help us again, we’d like to gain some income but don’t know how we’d be received by the community and we’d prefer to stay as hidden as possible,” she breathed a heavy sigh when she finished. You blinked at her owlishly for a moment before giving her a calming smile and leaned back in your chair.

“I’d be glad to help, from what little I know of Mandalorian culture your people are famous for their care of those they consider family and it’s the same here,” You paused to sip your coffee before further explaining, “ There’s a story that the natives tell, the natives that have been here long before space exploration, that this planet was steeped in war but over time as the war dragged on the blood spilled by the fallen started to poison it, causing more to die from starvation than battle itself,”

“They came to the agreement that to preserve themselves they had to merge, it took many years but finally there was peace and balance, they shared their knowledge with each other and valued cooperation and helping others and that has remained the same since, they are wary of outsiders but would still help them at any cost, because with all the bad in this galaxy they hope to heal it one person at a time,” you finished before pausing again in thought, “But don’t mistake the peace for weakness mandalorian, the people of this planet will still fight if it’s the last thing to do, because though they prefer peace if you threaten their homes and family they fight like you wouldn’t believe, now onto the business at hand,” you chimed as you pulled your datapad in front of you.

“That was insightful, all the same. We'd like it if one of our own accompanies you to the market so you can show them how this planet works,” She replied thoughtfully, tapping her fingertips onto the table briefly in thought. “We understand that there are a few threats to you at the monthly fair but Paz has volunteered to accompany you to help carry your goods and some of ours with the added benefit of protection, from what i’m told you’re more than capable but at this moment it is the only labor we can provide,” she clarified. “ We'll give you a percentage of our sales since by extension we’re using your reputation to do so and to compensate for you teaching Paz the ropes, because what he learns with you he’ll bring to us,” she further revealed.

You huffed a laugh before waving your hand at her, “nonsense, here knowledge is free and openly shared, I’ll send you the coordinates for the public libraries and can have Attila look out for your children if you ever decide to put them into the school, besides you have more mouths to feed than I do and I could frankly use an extra set of hands at the market so this will go towards you’re payment for the land,” you receded. The armorer jolted for a moment at your news, her breathing seeming to stutter for a moment before she straightened further.

“Very well I accept the terms, I must ask however why you show us such hospitality,” she prodded, you understood what she really meant. She was trying to find any ulterior motive, and you could see why with how the mandalorians have been treated throughout their history. So you only thought for a moment before answering her, setting your mug down and looking to the floor to try and keep the memories at bay.

“I was running from someone who wanted me dead and to take my son, I was an intelligence officer for the resistance during the war so I knew that this planet would be the safest and furthest away, when I got here all I had was a small bag with necessities and little Attila slung over my shoulders,” You breathed in heavily to try and build a wall around the memories that flashed into your mind, trying not to get thrown into an episode, “I had nothing, but the people here took care of us, they helped me and as the saying goes taught me to fish,” you smiled softly at the memory of the elderly patriarch of the Actorias lecturing you.

“So to repay them for their kindness is to pass it forward and no one is more deserving than the Mandalorians, you guys were really screwed over by history,” you finished with a slight chuckle and turning back to the mandalorian matriarch, who sat rigidly. She rose from her seat at the table and placed her arm over her chest and bowed slightly.

“That was all I needed so I’ll take my leave, but know that you have a clan of mandalorians in your debt, those who threaten you threaten us,” she said like a vow before she swiftly turned and walked out of your home. Using the jetpack you didn’t even notice light up as she took off back towards the bunker.

~~~~POV switch to earlier that week~~~~~~

“Paz you don’t have to be the one to accompany the rancher, we can send one of our more experienced merchants to better learn the trade,” The Armourer explained with a hand to the front of her helmet in exasperation.

“I know, but if you send me it’ll be better to gauge how the people would react to us, I can also provide security,” He stressed, adamant about being the one sent to learn.

“From what you told me they are their own security, you just find them attractive,” Din teased his brother playfully, earning an elbow to the side gap in his armor from Paz and a groan from the Armourer.

“Enough you two, Paz if you’re so enthralled with the rancher I’ll grant your request now both of you out,” she reprimanded before waving her tongs at them in dismissal so she wouldn’t have to deal with their childishness.

As they left Din passed his brother with one last jab, “try to learn a little Verde”.

#paz x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla imagine #paz vizla x reader #paz series #home series #home lll #paz vizsla

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prouvaireafterdark · 4 years ago

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See Something You Like? - Malex Sex Shop AU Part 1/2

It’s FINALLY here: the Malex Sex Shop AU you’ve all been waiting for! Well, the first half anyway (Part Two will be out soon!)

I dedicate this fic to my friendly neighborhood Thigh Riding Anon™️, who inspired this fic with her galaxy brain prompt, and all of you who have been patiently waiting for me to finish this absolute monster of a smut fic. I hope you enjoy it! 💜😘

Also on AO3!

***

When Michael moved to California to start his PhD in agricultural engineering, he’d grossly underestimated how expensive the move would be. The stipend that came with his teaching assistantship just barely covers the rent on his studio apartment, and finding a roommate off Craigslist that’s desperate enough to live in such close quarters isn’t exactly an option considering how many alien skeletons Michael’s got in his closet. The vegetables he’s planning on growing in his complex’s shared community garden will help, but if he wants to eat any time soon he’s gonna have to find a part time job.

Enter Jackie and Kris, the delightful middle-aged lesbian couple who live next door and share Michael’s enthusiasm for sustainable gardening and the occasional midnight smoke.

They get to talking one night while passing a bong back and forth over the railing that divides their balconies, first about DIY organic fertilizer and then about Michael’s degree. He lets spill in a moment of weakness that his coursework is a breeze, but he’s worried he’ll run out of money before he can finish the program. As embarrassed as he is about the confession, it ends up saving his life.

Turns out, Jackie and Kris own a sex shop named Pandora’s Box around the corner and have been looking for some help running the storefront while they focus on expanding their online business and organizing safe sex workshops for the local queer and BDSM communities. The hours would be flexible around Michael’s schedule and all they really would need him to do is stand behind the register, ring people up, and answer questions about their products with “affability and professionalism.”

It’s maybe not the work he imagined himself doing when he moved to California for grad school, but for $15/hr, Michael really can’t afford to say no. He sits for an official interview the very next day and leaves Jackie’s home office with a new job and a pot brownie wrapped in tin foil, eager to get started on both.

Monday afternoons at Pandora's Box are the best. They’re notoriously slow so Michael gets to work his shift alone, which gives him ample time to grade the assignments he procrastinated on all weekend while he sits behind the counter.

It’s a Monday afternoon, in fact, about a year and a half later, when Michael hears the bell above the door chime softly to announce the arrival of a customer who would change his life forever.

The first thing Michael notices when he lifts his head from the stack of exams on the counter is the black leather jacket that’s stretched across the man’s broad shoulders. When Michael’s eyes flick up to get a look at the man’s face, he’s met with sharp cheekbones, beautifully tan skin, and a pair of trendy but understated sunglasses. He looks a little lost—unsurprising, since Michael’s certain he would have remembered it if he’d ever seen a man that pretty walk into his shop before—but when he realizes Michael’s looking at him, he flips his sunglasses up onto his artfully messy dark hair and smiles.

And oh, what a smile it is—the most beautiful one Michael has ever seen, soft and sweeter that it has any right to be, his full lips capturing Michael’s attention with ease. His heart pounds in his chest as their eyes lock together, and if Michael didn’t know any better, he’d think he’s just fallen in love with a perfect stranger.

Before Michael can do more than shoot him a dazed smile in return, the man disappears down an aisle.

As a general rule, Michael doesn’t talk to customers who don’t approach him for help first. It’s best practice in a store that sells pornography and sex toys—most customers don’t want to be questioned about their kinks, and those that do usually already know what they’re looking for—but the pull he feels toward this man is undeniable. He’s curious about him for reasons he can’t explain, and as his feet carry him off in the direction the man went, Michael decides not to question it.

Michael weaves casually through the aisles until he finds the man staring up at the floor to ceiling wall display of dildos and other anal toys—because of course he does. He sends a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that this man isn’t buying something for his girlfriend before he steps in line beside him.

“See something you like?” Michael asks, toning down his customer service voice into something approaching normal human speech.

Up close, he can see the man has a septum piercing, which glints a little in the light. Michael’s seen plenty of people with body jewelry come through this store, but he’s never really thought of it as cute until now.

The man smiles at him, a little shy, but Michael’s not so distracted this time that he misses the way his eyes flick over his body in naked interest, and it leaves him feeling a little hot under the collar.

“I’m not sure yet,” the stranger answers.

Even his voice is nice, Michael notes, deeper than he expects and smooth like honey.

Michael nods in understanding. He gets it—this wall can certainly be intimidating, even for someone who’s been to a sex shop before. He looks the man over again, taking in his charmingly flushed cheeks, and wonders if it’s his first time in a place like this. If maybe he needs a little help after all.

It’s a good thing Michael’s an expert, huh?

He doesn’t want to come at him too strongly, though. Encountering an overbearing sales associate isn’t any more fun than being one, and Michael certainly isn’t looking to push the guy passed his personal boundaries. He may be smitten, but he’s not an asshole.

“Well, if you have any questions about any of our products, my name’s Michael,” he says, flashing him a warm smile.

He’s about to go off in search of a nearby display to straighten up so he can give the man some space, but his voice catches Michael’s attention once more.

“And if I don’t have questions?” the man asks, and when Michael turns to look at him there’s a real smile tugging at his lips this time. “What should I call you then?”

Michael laughs, shaking his head as he shoots back, “Okay, smartass, what should I call you?”

For a single, horrible second after his own words reach his ears, Michael thinks he’s gone too far, but the sudden burst of anxiety in his chest turns out to be for nothing—the man’s grin only grows wider.

“Alex,” he says, and to Michael’s surprise he holds his hand out for him.

Alex’s palm is warm against his when he shakes it, and Michael can’t help but wonder how it would feel anchored in his curls or clutching tight to the skin of his hips.

“So, Alex,” Michael starts, emboldened by the introduction. He finds he likes the way Alex’s name feels in his mouth. “What are you in the market for today?”

Alex flushes a little and it’s so endearing Michael has to bite the inside of his bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“That’s the thing—I don’t really know,” Alex answers honestly. “There’s just so many options.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with an easier question: are you shopping for yourself or a significant other?” he asks, and, yeah, maybe he’s planning on filing the answer to his question away for later. Sue him.

Alex looks at him like maybe he suspects ulterior motives, but Michael shamelessly holds his gaze.

“No boyfriend,” Alex says, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I’m looking for something for myself.”

“Fantastic,” Michael smiles, before he slips a little deeper into salesman mode. “So, judging by the aisle we’re standing in, I’m gonna take a leap and say that you’re looking for a toy you can use for internal anal stimulation. Is that right?”

“Yeah. Think you can help me out with that?” Alex asks, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Definitely,” Michael answers with a smirk before he turns to the wall display. “As you can see, we have a pretty wide selection; you name it, we’ve probably either got it in stock or can have it shipped in three to five business days. Is there a particular price point you’re aiming for?”

Alex seems to think about it. “I’m not really looking to spend more than $100, but I could go up to $150 if it’ll change my life.”

“I can work with that,” Michael assures him. “Any other parameters I should keep in mind?”

“I’ve read that jelly toys can be dangerous, so definitely not anything made out of that,” Alex says, and Michael’s glad to hear he’s done his research. Jelly toys are frustratingly popular because they’re so cheap and Michael usually has to put in a little work to talk people out of buying them.

“Oh yeah, fuck that jelly shit,” Michael agrees, and Alex’s startled laugh makes his heart skip. “They’re impossible to sanitize properly and they’re full of toxic chemicals—you wouldn’t believe the horror stories I’ve heard about them since I started working here. If you’re looking for something with a softer texture, medical grade silicone is really the only way to go. Just make sure you stick to water-based lube or else you could ruin your toy.”

Alex nods thoughtfully, like he’s read that too.

“Glass and metal are also good options,” Michael continues. “They obviously feel a lot harder inside you, but they’re easy to clean, you don’t have to be as careful about what lube you use, and they’re naturally waterproof. They’re excellent for temperature play, too, if you’re into that.”

“Never tried it,” Alex confesses.

“It’s not for everyone, but it can be a fun time,” Michael says, recalling the scorching summer afternoon he spent fooling around with an ice cube tray and a girl he met on Tinder. “So, your options are metal, glass, and silicone. Any preference?”

Michael notices Alex’s eye catching on a set of stainless steel plugs, but he answers, “Silicone for now, I think.”

“Good choice,” Michael replies easily. “So, now that we know what material you’re looking for, let’s talk about your ideal experience. What are you looking to get out of your purchase?”

“An orgasm?” Alex answers, his confusion evident.

Michael laughs. “Sorry, I meant—how would you like to get there? What sort of sensation are you looking for?”

Alex looks a little lost at the question, so Michael turns to plan B.

“See, this one, for example,” Michael says, pointing to a familiar black prostate massager, “is great for when you wanna get off fast and hard. It’s not too thick, so you don’t have to spend a ton of time opening yourself up for it, and the curve puts the tip of it right up on your p-spot. It’s also got a bunch of different vibration settings and get this: It’s waterproof.”

Alex hums in interested acknowledgement, though Michael notes that the longer he talks, the more Alex’s attention is fixed on him, not the toy.

Feeling bold, Michael adds, “I’d advise caution if you’ve got thin walls though.”

“Why, does it make a lot of noise?” Alex asks curiously.

A slow grin spreads across Michael’s lips. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “But you will.”

Michael watches Alex try and fail to suppress a smile, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You seem pretty sure of that,” Alex says when he releases it. “That from firsthand experience, or are you just a really good salesman?”

Michael laughs, equal parts delighted by Alex’s flirting and embarrassed by the memory his question brings to mind.

“What?” Alex asks, a smile building on his face.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you,” Michael hesitates, his face heating up just thinking about it. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Aw, come on,” Alex goads him. “Don’t be such a tease.”

Michael gasps in mock offense. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but a tease isn’t one of them.”

“That mean you’re gonna tell me what’s got you blushing like that after all?” Alex asks.

“I’m not blushing,” Michael protests, even though he definitely is.

Alex raises an eyebrow at him. It’s stupidly attractive.

With a huff, Michael considers his options. He doesn’t usually give personal anecdotes like this to customers, but there’s just something about Alex that makes Michael want to give him whatever he wants.

“Fuck it, why not?” Michael says to himself.

Alex smiles victoriously and settles in to listen.

“So, about a year ago, I came in to work and found this box sitting on the table in the break room, which was filled with a bunch of different toys from the company that makes that massager. I asked my boss about it and she said the company sent her a bunch of free samples.”

“Does that happen often?” Alex interrupts to ask. “Companies just send you free stuff?”

“Eh, sometimes, if it’s from a new line of toys that a company wants retailers to hype up,” Michael explains. “It helps that my boss Jackie’s wife Kris has a pretty popular blog where she tests and rates toys, so she gets free stuff all the time.”

“Huh,” Alex says. “So I’m guessing you took one after your shift?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael nods. “Tried it out as soon as I got home.”

“How was it?”

“Intense is about the only word that covers it,” Michael answers. “Those vibrations can be really powerful, it was like nothing else I’d ever tried before. Definitely one of my top ten solo orgasms of all time.”

“Not number one?” Alex asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I came in, like, a minute, so no, not quite,” Michael laughs.

“Is that the embarrassing part?” Alex asks. “That you came so fast?”

“Not quite,” Michael winces, his cheeks flushing. “As I was coming, I screamed so loud that the little old lady whose living room is on the other side of my bedroom called the cops on me. Apparently, she thought I was being murdered.”

“Oh no,” Alex laughs, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “Not exactly the happy ending I was after.”

Alex laughs again, but there’s heat behind his eyes too when he asks, a moment later, “Not usually a screamer, I take it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Michael winks.

“Mm,” Alex hums thoughtfully. He looks Michael right in the eye as he asks, “Well, what if I don’t want to get off that fast? What if I want to make it last?”

Michael tries not to smile as he gets back to business.

“Well, I should mention that this massager does also have softer levels of vibration intensity, which I only discovered after Officer ACAB knocked on my door,” Michael says.

Alex laughs before asking incredulously, “You didn’t read the instructions?”

“Uh, no,” Michael admits. “I’m more of a ‘take things apart and see how they work’ kinda guy, I’ve never been big on reading the directions.”

“Even after your little misadventure?” Alex asks.

“Hey, don’t knock my process. I got a fantastic orgasm out of that ‘misadventure,’” Michael reminds him.

“How could I forget?” Alex asks, shooting Michael a look that really tests his self-restraint.

Michael huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch the back of his own neck so he doesn’t do something stupid, like push Alex against the fucking dildo display and kiss that look off his face.

“So, anyway,” Michael starts, shifting the topic back toward the task at hand, “you can either learn from my mistakes or you can try something that doesn’t have vibrations at all. We’ve got a great selection of dildos in all shapes and sizes.”

“Do any of them come with a story?” Alex asks cheekily.

Michael snickers in spite of himself. “Maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Let’s see what we’ve got in stock.”

Michael hums as he looks over the display, searching for another recommendation he can make, when his eye catches on a purple dildo with ribbing along the shaft.

“This one’s a good starter dildo,” he says, pointing it out. “It’s a pretty modest size, but the ribbing feels really nice and there’s a suction cup on the bottom if you wanna stick it somewhere and fuck yourself onto it. There’s also a few by the same company that have a hole that you can slide a bullet vibrator into if you wanna get something that can do both.”

“Have you tried them all?” Alex asks.

Michael laughs, looking up at the expansive display of dildos. “Not all of them,” he says, glancing over to Alex as he continues, “but the employee discount here is very generous and, as you already know, sometimes we get free shit. I’ve built up a bit of a collection since I started working here.”

“I see,” Alex replies, the corner of his mouth turning up before he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Michael tracks the movement hungrily when Alex releases it a moment later to ask, “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Depends,” Michael shrugs, aiming for nonchalance even though he can feel himself chubbing up in his jeans.

“On?”

“On how full I wanna feel,” Michael answers, and there’s no mistaking the heat that blazes in Alex’s eyes at those words, nor the sudden intake of breath that fills his chest.

If Alex wants him half as much as it looks like he does, Michael doesn’t even care if he gets fired for where this conversation is headed, so long as it ends with Alex’s hands on him.

“See, sometimes all I’m looking for is enough internal stimulation to get the job done,” Michael elaborates, his eyes watching Alex closely. “When I feel like that, I’ll use that prostate massager I showed you earlier on myself.”

Alex’s eyes flick over to the sleek black toy still sitting on the shelf that they’d just discussed.

“And the other times?” Alex asks when he tears his eyes away.

“Other times… other times I really wanna feel it,” Michael purrs, taking a step closer. Alex’s eyes drop right to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, and Michael can’t stop himself from asking, “You ever get like that, Alex? Like you just need something thick and heavy filling you up, so deep you’ll be feeling it for days?”

“Yeah,” Alex rasps.

“You wanna know what I fuck myself with then?” he asks.

Alex nods, eyes still on Michael’s mouth.

Michael gives him a sly grin before he backs up a few steps to find the sample of the eight inch galaxy dildo he treated himself to a few months ago. Alex follows him, as if they’re connected by an invisible string.

“This one,” he says, removing it from the shelf and offering it up for Alex’s inspection.

Alex takes it from him, his eyes passing over it with interest as he tests the give of the silicone with his fingers. Michael wonders if he’s imagining what it would look like inside him. He hopes he is.

“It might not look like much compared to some of the fucking horse cocks we sell here, but it’s thick,” Michael says, his cock hardening further the more he thinks about it, the longer Alex stands there holding it. “Takes me some time to work up to it, but it’s always worth it when I do.”

“Yeah?” Alex asks, eyes fixed where he’s shifting his hold on the dildo to measure it’s thickness with his fingers.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, watching how Alex wraps his thumb and forefinger in a tight circle around the toy. They only just touch around its girth.

Alex hums to himself, sounding pleased, and Michael’s gut churns with the need to hear that sound again.

“I bet this stretches you out nice, huh,” Alex wonders a moment later, and with the way he stares at Michael then, like he’s trying to picture how he would look stuffed full, his rim taught over the silicone, he just knows Alex isn’t speaking generically.

“Yeah, it does,” Michael agrees quietly, trying not to squirm under the intensity of Alex’s gaze.

“How do you use it?” Alex asks him, stoking the flames inside him further.

“If you play your cards right, you just might find out,” Michael shoots back.

“You’d let me watch?” Alex asks, a smile teasing at his lips, and it’s all Michael can do not to get lost in the idea of riding that toy while Alex watches with his hand around his cock.

“Think I’d let you do more than that,” Michael admits.

Alex full-on grins at that, but before he can open his mouth to reply someone clears their throat behind them.

Michael’s heart seizes in his chest as he whips around to see Jenna Cameron, a regular customer and occasional drinking buddy of his, standing with her thumbs tucked into her police-issue gun belt. Michael can feel his erection flag at the sight of her.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some service around here, Guerin?” Cameron asks, somehow managing to look annoyed and amused simultaneously. He notices there’s a discreet black plastic bag dangling from her fingers. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t hear anyone else come in,” Michael apologizes, trying and failing to keep a blush off his face.

“I can see that,” she answers with a pointed glance at Alex.

Michael takes an instinctive step away from him and clears his throat.

“I’ve gotta—“ he says to Alex, jerking his thumb behind him.

“Yeah,” Alex nods, eyes on his shoelaces. It makes the pleasure that had been coiling in his belly sour further.

“I’ll be right back,” Michael tells him, soft enough that Cameron won’t overhear.

The smile Alex gives him in return is encouraging enough that Michael’s fairly certain he won’t disappear if he leaves, so he follows Cameron back toward the register, all the while pointedly ignoring the smirk he can feel her directing at the side of his face.

He walks around the other side of the cash wrap and crosses his arms over his chest before he asks her, without an ounce of enthusiasm, “What do you want?”

“Damn, you’re really earning that employee of the month trophy aren’t you, Guerin?” she jokes, tossing the bag on the table. “I bought a harness this weekend, but it was broken when I took it out of the box. Receipt’s in the bag.”

Michael takes the box the leather strap-on harness came in out of the bag along with the receipt.

“Do you want a refund or an exchange?”

“Refund,” she says. “I’m thinking about getting one of those strapless ones instead.”

“You should talk to Kris, she’s got opinions about those,” he says as he starts scanning the receipt.

“Oh?” Cameron asks. “Is she here?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “You can catch her at the bondage workshop she’s running later though.”

“Perfect,” she replies before leaning forward onto the counter on her elbows. “So are you gonna tell me who the hottie with the nose ring you were talking to is?”

“Why, so you can find out if he’s got any priors?” Michael jokes, not taking his eyes off his task.

“Very funny,” Cameron deadpans. “You fuck him yet?”

“None of your business,” Michael answers.

“So that’s a no, then,” she smirks, and Michael lets out a long-suffering sigh in response.

“Don’t you have places to be? Donuts to eat?” he asks, pushing her return receipt hastily in her direction.

Before Cameron can answer, the front door swings open and in walks a short middle-aged woman with a dark brown pixie cut carrying an iced coffee and a stack of papers.

Michael startles at the sight of her, realizing it must be later in his shift than he’d thought—exactly how long had he stood there talking to Alex?—but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Kris!” Michael calls to her. “Perfect timing, Cam’s got some strap-on questions for you.”

“Well, I’ve got some strap-on answers,” Kris answers cheerfully as she walks around them to drop the stack of papers—freshly-printed but yet-to-be-folded safe sex pamphlets, Michael notices—onto the counter next to the second register. “Step into my office, baby girl.”

Cameron shoots Michael a look before she steps to the side to talk to Kris, who’s leaning patiently against the side of the cash wrap.

With Cameron finally out of his hair but Kris close enough to notice him leave, Michael starts planning his escape so he can find Alex again, but it turns out he doesn’t need one. When he looks up after putting Cam’s broken harness in the bin under the counter, he sees the man in question approaching his register with a familiar black box in his hands.

“I was gonna wait for you,” Alex explains as he sets the box on the counter, “but I’m actually supposed to be meeting my brother soon.”

“Shame,” Michael says, wishing they had more time. “I was looking forward to finishing that conversation.”

Alex glances covertly at Kris and Cameron before he leans a hair closer and says, “Don’t know that it was the conversation you were hoping to finish.”

Michael blushes, casting a look at Kris and Cameron to make sure they’re too engrossed in their conversation to notice when he leans in a little further and says, low so only Alex will hear, “What can I say? I’m very committed to customer satisfaction.”

Alex laughs, a bright and happy sound that makes Michael’s heart feel strangely full, before he asks, “You charm all your customers like this?”

“No,” Michael says honestly. “Not even a little bit.”

Alex looks at him for a long minute, trying to spot the lie, and when he finds none he merely shakes his head with an incredulous smile.

“Lucky me,” he says.

Michael winks at him before he turns his attention to the box on the counter, shifting it in his hands until he finds the barcode. He usually never comments on his customers’ purchases, but with this one he simply can’t resist.

“Went with the prostate massager, huh?” Michael asks, as he rings him up.

“What can I say?” Alex answers, a smile creeping onto his face. “You made me curious.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Michael says.

“No,” Alex replies, and the way he looks at him then makes Michael wonder if they’re still talking about the massager. “I don’t think I will.”

Michael smiles at him before he tells him his total. Alex inserts the end of his card in the reader and his receipt prints a brief moment later.

“Can you sign here?” Michael asks, passing Alex the merchant’s copy of his receipt and the green pen he’d been grading with earlier.

“Mhm,” Alex hums, plucking the pen from his fingers and signing his name in a delicate script.

Michael ducks under the counter to find a bag adequately sized for Alex’s purchase before he places the box inside it along with Alex’s copy of the receipt.

“You’re all set,” Michael says, pushing the box in Alex’s direction.

“Thanks,” Alex smiles, holding the merchant copy of the receipt out for Michael to take. “And this is for you.”

Their fingers brush as Michael takes it from him and Michael swears he can feel the tension crackling between them at the simple touch.

“Thanks,” Michael says, mouth a little dry.

Alex glances back to Kris and Cam before he says, “Have a nice day, Michael.”

“You too,” Michael says, his eyes straying pointedly to the black bag in Alex’s hand.

“Oh, I will,” Alex says, one corner of his lips lifting up into a smile before he turns and heads for the door.

Michael can’t help but watch his ass and those broad shoulders as he leaves.

Once Alex is gone, Michael unfolds the receipt Alex left for him. He’s about to slide it into the folder they keep by the register for receipts when he notices the phone number printed neatly beside Alex’s signature. Below, Alex has also written the words: Hit me up if you want to hear my review.

“You strike out?”

Michael startles, looking up to see Cameron leaning on the counter, a lot closer than she was a moment ago. He sees Kris at the far end, folding her papers into pamphlets for her workshop later.

“Not quite,” Michael grins and pockets the receipt.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex smut #malex sex shop au #merry christmas y'all #part 2 coming soon!#god i hope you guys like it lol #i've worked so hard on this 😩#my fic

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bitsmasterlist

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draven-imani · 3 years ago

Text

Journal 5 (part 1)

We’ve had an…extremely productive day. We found a note on Hosilla’s person that detailed three safehouses of the cult of Baphomet: Nyserian Manor, Topaz Solutions, and the Tower of Estrod. The note was signed SV—which I’m assuming is Stauton Vhagn. Looks like he came back and finished the job of destroying the Wardstone after Commander Tirabade stopped him the first time.

After talking to Aravashnial, Anevia, and Horgus, we pooled our information together. Nyserian Manor was owned by a noble who sometimes worked with Horgus, and had taken out a loan from him once to buy Commander Tirabade’s sword from her. Anevia hadn’t been aware Irabeth had sold her sword—apparently she’d told her wife she’d lost it. Anevia was going to be having words with the commander of the Eagle Watch upon seeing her again.

The Tower of Estrod was of interest to Aravashnial, as it was a place of arcane studies. He also requested that we look into the Blackwing Library, where the Riftwardens would be located.

Anevia wanted to look for Irabeth, and therefore would like to look into going home as that was the only lead she had on where her wife may be.

As we discussed, we exited the subterranean tunnels and entered the sewers. And came upon three orphan kids and a middle aged pinkish tiefling woman with many piercings and a bow. The orphans immediately ran to Luna, clearly familiar with her. Another point in her favor for ‘good person, not a murderer/serial killer/whatever else the rumor mill decides to say’.

“So you must be ‘Una’,” the tiefling said, imitating the orphans mispronunciation of her name. Or maybe legitimately mistaking her name for that. “Nice to meet you, incase you haven’t noticed, everything’s gone to hell.”

The tiefling introduced herself as Hiskaria. She had arrived in town from Numeria recently to join the Raven Corps, actually, although she was apparently a Kenabres native initially. She was on lone by one ‘Kevoth-Kul’, because she was a criminal on parole, and joining the Raven Corps was her penance.

Ouch.

Aaaaaand as the only member of the Raven Corps around that means it fell on me to keep her around until we could either find her handler or someone with more authority. That and strength in numbers. We couldn’t exactly leave her behind, even if she is a confessed murderer.

Oh, yeah, I didn’t mention that her crime was murder did I? Yeah, our new buddy’s a convicted murderer. One fake murderer and one real one, and if I had to put money on it, everyone’s going to get who’s who wrong.

After some discussion, we decided to head for Horgus’ manor first. It would provide a safe place to leave the orphans, so that we wouldn’t be dragging them around in the open where every demon still lurking around might decide to swoop down on them.

We made it there with only minor incident, some rat demon ripping up a clothing store who dubbed himself ‘the rat king’. He was of personal offense to Melody given that he was in the process of destroying things of beauty. That and the owners of the shop were still there and might be able to salvage some things.

Given my studies I was able to identify the demon as an Abrikandilu, a wrecker demon. A destroyer of beauty, not just of artwork like the dresses, but of physical beauty, using their fangs to cause horrible scarring on those they attack. I also knew that Radiance was the only weapon we had that would pierce its defenses, although it also had a unique weakness to mirrors, due to all demons of this kind having an abhorrence of their own visage. That being the case, I suggested that Luna and Melody slip into the store to get one of the mirrors from the changing rooms within while I distracted and fought it with Radiance and Hiskaria took pot shots at it from a safe distance.

Radiance and I were both more than happy to finally be putting a demon to the blade.

Spilling demons’ blood, at least, we both agree on.

Things went off about how we’d hoped. The Abrikandilu was a bit faster than I’d anticipated and it rushed me rather than me pinning it by the building as I’d planned, but I stopped its fangs with my shield and avoided any new scars. Melody and Luna came out with a mirror, which drew the demon’s attention. Luna’s axe stuck into it. Then Radiance slew it.

Radiance roared in my head each time it drew blood against a demonic foe, in what I can only describe as ecstasy. They, at least, get joy from battle. I wish I could say the same, but the demons die all the same. I feel good about it, that we slayed the demon and helped those people. It’s something good. Not joy, that’s too strong of a word. I feel—satisfied, maybe?

Regardless, the shop owners thanked us. They had little to offer and we tried to assure them that we didn’t need anything, but they insisted on at least providing us with a nice outfit each in thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything so fine. An orphan and a soldier don’t exactly make for elegant living.

Afterwards we made it to Horgus’ manor with no further incidents. His holdings were untouched. Melody mused at first that perhaps someone was trying to frame him. However after some thought, Hiskaria and I disagreed with that assessment. Demons by nature would seek out where the most people are, the places where they could wreak the most havoc. And as we approached it was clear that his manor was devoid of life. It would seem that his men and his servants had fled their posts when the attack happened, and as a lucky result the manor had been untouched. I’ll give Horgus some credit here. While he was clearly visibly upset that the men he’d hired to protect his holdings had left their posts, he tried very hard to be reasonable that it was for the best that they’d left and protected the servants, and that it had indirectly kept the demons from destroying his things. He was however very upset that they’d taken all of the mints from the little bowl at the front entrance—as was Miss Melody, who bemoaned that it was quite rude of them. Ah what I would give to have her priorities.

Luna was shepherding the orphans—one of whom, Hamm, had taken a shine to Hiskaria’s magic and gotten it into his head that he was going to…what was it? Summon demons in his snot bubbles? Charming kid. Glad his entire world falling apart around him didn’t completely destroy his sense of innocence and wonder. Suppose he was lucky he ran into Hiskaria so the three of them didn’t get killed or worse. That’s a point in her favor.

After gathering up food from the kitchen and some entertainment for the kids from a room formerly used for the staff’s children while they were on the job, Horgus went down to the safest part of the manor: the vault. He opened the safe, which proved to have been completed untouched. Inside was more wealth than I’d probably ever seen in one place before, or ever will again. He paid Luna that looked like a rather hefty sum. Then he also paid myself, Melody, and Hiskaria 1000 gold for returning him here safely, although payment had never been promised. Hiskaria tried to argue that she’d only just joined with us, but he said that it was payment due to someone who couldn’t be here to take their cut.

Horgus…is a complicated man, I am beginning to realize. I cannot pin him down yet. Even more than most people, his words and actions do not align. And even some of his actions I think are more masks on top of that. Luna insists he’s a good man but won’t give details beyond that. She’s had a few private conversations with him, so I’m inclined to believe she knows something that’s given her that impression. And I trust Luna’s judgement in people.

As Horgus locked himself away, we heard the beginnings of him teaching the kids something or another about some…math thing. I don’t know, look, I’m not the one to look to about Abadar tax bracket stuff. Luna was just glad he was hopefully keeping Hamm from thinking about snot demons.

From there we went next door, to Nyserian Manor. Or what was left of it. Which was not much. At all. Or anything, really. See, the demons hadn’t been very discerning in their building demolition. They’d destroyed their own safehouse. Idiots. Served anyone who was inside right for betraying humanity to the demons.

Next up was Blackwing Library.

Oh Blackwing Library. This one made me angry.

If you know me you know that’s bad. Of course, you don’t know me, because you’re just a bundle of inanimate papers sandwiched in leather that I’m writing in to keep my tenuous grip on sanity together. Suffice to say: that’s bad. I don’t get angry easily. Unless you’re a Deskari worshipper or waving his symbol in my face like I’m a bull, but I mean, that’s just asking for trouble from any Iomedaen, really.

As we approached the library, it was immediately apparent that the entire thing had been decimated. Aravashnial was despondent. All of his friends and colleagues with the Riftwardens would have been there, and he feared the worst. While Melody and surprisingly Hiskaria tried to comfort him, Luna tried to sneak closer to look into the library. I stuck close to her, although not so close as to blow her cover.

What she saw was a turncoat Iomedaen with five librarians bound and gagged, and a sixth librarian being forced to pile books around them, to serve as both a book burning and a funeral pyre.

We didn’t have long to think as he pulled out the flint and tinder. Luna downed a potion of invisibility and vanished. We had to put our faith in her. And as usual, she didn’t let us down, as a moment later blood splattered across the floor and she reappeared behind the armored man with her hood up and a declaration that she was “the Butcher of Balestreet, Bitch”.

The cavalier’s two tiefling thugs tried to flank Luna, but I helped fight off one and Hiskaria finished them with a potshot from outside the door that got him right between the eyes, while Melody swooped in to take a stab at the other.

Luna clearly outmatched the man she was facing, and he was smart enough to realize it. He dropped his weapons, and offered to surrender. He swore if we let him go, he’d never do such a thing again.

The others seemed ready to let their guards down.

I didn’t buy it.

I could feel it. This was an evil man. The kind who would just turn around and do something like this again the second he had an opportunity, if we let him live.

Luna lowered her weapon to go deal with the tiefling thug. I told her what I just wrote, that if we let him go he would just harm others. She said it wasn’t going to be her choice to make.

If anyone was making this choice, it was going to be me, and me alone.

Melody tried to reason that maybe we could get some information out of him. That we could take him alive, and question him. After all, that’s what she was best at.

And then what, I asked her. What do we do with him after that? There weren’t any jails. The city was in chaos. Where do we put him when we’re done questioning him so that he doesn’t hurt anyone else?

He swore again that he’d just go away and be good. I called bullshit.

Melody said maybe he’d know more about the safehouses, or the other plans. What we’d potentially be walking into.

Fine. For the safety of the rest of the group, I’d take him alive.

So I punched the cocky bastard in the face and left him to Melody.

Hiskaria and Luna went about helping the librarians while Melody did her thing. She manacled the man and tied him up for a nice friendly chat. I stuck around. I didn’t trust this man. Kaleb, I learned his name was. Much good it did.

Melody woke him up. First thing he did was tried to play ignorant. Tried to pretend like he’d been possessed, like he hadn’t been in control of his own faculties before.

Bullshit. More lies.

Melody saw through his lies this time just as much as I had. She told him to start over and try again.

Next he tried to weave a sob story about how he’d been coerced into doing what he’d done. How he was a crusader who’s unit had been taken captive, and he’d been forced into committing evil acts out of desperation.

Again, nothing but lies. All he knew how to do was lie, habitually, spew whatever falsehood he thought would get him in our good graces.

When Melody and I called him out on it again, he snapped. In a final act of rebellious desperation, he finally told the truth. He’s nothing but scum of the earth. He was a crusader, and his unit had been wiped out, that was the one honest thing that had left this mouth. Afterwards he’d decided to hedge his bets and side with the demons, so he started committing every atrocity he could to try to win their favor. And he swore that when he died and went to the pits of the Abyss to be reborn he’d come back.

And flay us alive.

Bad choice of words.

I think the bull metaphor before was apt, because I certainly saw red for a moment. I don’t think anyone was in disagreement when I stabbed Radiance through his blackened heart at this point though.

We didn’t learn anything though. Except that he wasn’t a cultist. Just a psychopath who found an excuse to start killing people.

As we discussed our next course of action, the librarian we’d rescued approached us. He knew that Aravashnial was with the Riftwardens, and he knew what had happened to them. The Riftwardens after locking what they could in their vault had teleported to a different location, meaning Aravashnial’s friends were safely somewhere else. Unfortunately, a day later someone else arrived. Xanthir Vang. Another of Deskari’s generals. A worm that walks, a terrible creature that is both a swarm and one being bound to Deskari’s will. Xanthir cut through the floor, right above where the vault would be in the secret Riftwarden floors below, and lifted the entire vault from the floor. Then he ripped it apart like it was nothing. He seemed disappointed that the Riftwardens weren’t there—predictably, I suppose, since he had a personal grudge against them.

We found a single dead and dried up worm husk in a corner of the room. I don’t like this. It’s probably my imagination that my arm itches. Probably. Another of Deskari’s generals so close. That’s…terrifying.

With this information tucked away, we decided to head for Anevia’s home to look for clues of where Commander Tirabade may be. Mostly to make sure her wife was safe, and to inform her of everything we’d found out thus far, and a little tiny bit to ask her about that sword she’d apparently sold behind her back.

On the way, we were accosted by a skeletal demon from atop a building, who also called himself the rat king. He claimed the one we’d defeated before was a usurper, and then summoned a swarm of dire rats to attack us. We dealt with the dire rats handily enough. They took a few chomps at me, annoying little things. Between rats and lizards, do I just taste good or something?

Nope, just licked my hand to test it, I’m quite certain I do not taste good.

We arrived to a small unassuming house. Irabeth’s funds clearly went to things other than worldly possessions. Not that it was a bad house. I’m not trying to be judgmental of Irabeth Tirabade I’m just saying with her position most people would have much larger quarters, so she clearly puts hers to good use elsewhere. I’m not one to judge small living quarters, I live in the barracks. Which probably are in ruins now. Ah, well. Not like I had anything of sentimental value in there anyways. My fiddle, my sword, and my shield were on my person, those were the only things I might have cried over losing. And then my sword got forcefully replaced by a talkative holy blade anyways.

I wish I could say Radiance is growing on me like Horgus. Unfortunately, we got off an extremely wrong foot and they haven’t exactly tried to mend any bridges. Luna says I should be more assertive with them, since I’m the only one who can wield them, they need me to do their holy mission they want. And Radiance even agreed with her, because of course they did.

Figures. A guy tries to be nice to the holy sword who he’ll have to be working with for the foreseeable future and apparently even trying to just not make waves with the being you’ll have to work with talking in your head is the wrong move.

Fine…assertive. What do they want me to do, put Radiance in time out in their little box when they get uppity? That is a funny image though.

I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

Right, reread a few paragraphs, Anevia’s house. So, Luna and Melody took a peek inside to make sure nothing was lurking around inside.

Predictably, something was lurking around inside.

He was invisible, but when Melody began using detect evil he ‘pinged’, so she had an idea of where the invisible presence was. The invisible presence summoned a fire beetle outside to attack Anevia, but Hiskaria turned and shot it dead before it got a chance.

Melody and Luna had a good idea where the invisible foe was, and began to force him back into a corner, although their swings of axe and glaive kept hitting nothing but air.

I came in, and I swear to you Iomedae guided Radiance’s blade. Not only did I strike true, from the amount of red that splattered across the ground, I’m certain I hit something vital. That, and I made him very angry. The next thing I saw was an enraged orc, whose invisibility faded away as a blast of fire was released from his hand point blank in my face. Too familiar. Far too familiar. And then darkness.

And then I was awake again, Melody tipping one of my potions into my mouth. Luna had bloodied the orc, but he’d refused to go down in his blind frenzy. Then Hiskaria had stepped in and finished the job.

I proceeded to heal myself a little more thoroughly while the ladies talked to Anevia about what just happened.

Huh, now that Aravashnial and Horgus are gone I am the only guy in the little group of ours, aren’t I?

The prettiest guy in our group by default as well, not that that’s saying much.

Anevia recognized the orc, he was someone who Irabeth had stopped from some previous scheme years back, who she’d left out in the world alive. Apparently, he came back for revenge. He won’t be getting a third chance.

With that settled and no more assassins lurking about, Anevia went to her and Irabeth’s bedroom and opened a secret compartment. Inside she read a note and took out some supplies. She told us that Commander Tirabade and the other remaining Crusaders were hiding out at the Defender’s Heart tavern, and the passcode to get in was “Silverstrong”.

We decided to go straight there, as it was closer than any of the safehouses, and allies were still more useful than victories at the moment.

I was especially feeling that way when that damn skeleton ‘rat king’ showed up again, and threw a flock of vultures at us. Most of which decided to descend upon me. I know vultures are a bad omen but come on, that’s too on the nose even for me. What’s worse? Do you know what’s worse? What’s even worse than vultures? Fiend vultures. These things could smite. I had, no joke, five buzzards smiting me like a bunch of feathery antipaladins.

Just my cursed luck again. Why does Desna hate me?

So, yeah. I was hurting. And really wanting some rest. While everyone else was ready and raring to go for two more safehouses after we finished meeting with the Commander. I finished healing myself again and I was almost tapped out of spells, and completely out of potions. My fervor was wearing thin as well. Luna was all well and good, she didn’t use spells. Hiskaria was fine, she mostly only used her cantrips to empower her bow to fire twice—a neat trick that didn’t really cost her anything. Melody had used one judgement and some spells but she was just fine and equally ready to go.

Ever the weak link.

Eh, no point thinking like that, right? Plenty more happened after that. We arrived to Defender’s Heart and gave them the passcode. They came out to meet us, initially excited to see Anevia.

Then they saw Luna, still with her hood up in her Butcher guise from our fight earlier.

Oops.

We tried to explain that this wasn’t what it looked like. That she wasn’t actually a murderer. That the rumors and stories and reports were wrong. Anevia tried to back us up. Luna took off her hood, and pointed out that she drank one of the two of them under the table at this very tavern just a few days prior, and no one got hurt. Despite our best efforts, tensions were raising. The guards were going for their weapons, and we were surrounded. The paladins were throwing accusations, and no one was listening to our words, they were only hearing what they believed to be true.

Then a strong hand came down on both of the guards’ shoulders. A voice spoke, and told them that maybe sometime they should try actually using the gift Iomedae grants them to detect evil.

Irabeth Tirabade stood behind the two guards, in the flesh, as…everything as I ever would have imagined. Tall, proud, honorable, noble.

The guards scrambled to cast the detect spells, and predictably found that Luna was not evil. They were puzzled but relaxed somewhat. Then jumped and went for their weapons again when they looked in Hiskaria’s direction.

The Commander told them that it was alright, and held up some papers, saying all the paperwork was in order for Hiskaria.

It looked like she was officially Raven Corps now.

Commander Tirabade picked up Anevia and carried her inside, and asked the four of us to follow. She got to quarters where she could lay Anevia down, then turned to me.

And the conversation went something like this.

“Acting Captain of the Raven Corps,” she said.

I was flabbergasted for a moment then realized she had to be talking to me because there was literally no one else she could be talking to. “Me?”

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #Draven Imani

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cherrypieships · 3 years ago

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the amusement park: chapter one

A/N: Hi all! This is my first fic posted here on my self ship blog! I’m really proud of this story, it’s gonna be a two-parter.

Ship: davey jacobs x pepper simmons (s/i), featuring my best friend V and my gf Khourey and their respective f/os, race higgins and jack kelly!

Summary: Some of the newsies head to Canobie lake's haunted house/amusement park. Pepper and Davey are the only non-couple.

The backseat of Race’s mom’s minivan was one of the last places Pepper wanted to be at 7 o’clock on a Friday morning. Yet here she was, awaiting their arrival to Canobie Lake Park’s annual Screemfest as she got crammed in next to Davey Jacobs.

Not that she disliked Davey. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Pepper liked Davey a whole lot. And that was exactly the problem. Here she was, in such close proximity to him that their knees knocked together every time Violet hit a pothole, harbouring a gigantic crush on her best friend. And everyone in the car knew beside him. And they were totally fifth- and sixth-wheeling on this trip.

It was fine.

Besides, Pepper was willing to endure a few hours pining quietly if it meant she could go on some sick roller coasters. So she sucked it up and tucked quietly into her seat.

Mickey turned around from the middle row and handed Pepper a piece of her chocolate croissant. “You cold back there?” She asked, wild red curls framing her face as she spoke.

After popping the pastry into her mouth, Pepper shrugged. “I’m fucking always cold.”

Jack tugged his hat up from where it rested over his eyes. “That is a fair point, she is always cold.” He said pointedly, and yelped when Pepper flicked the back of his head.

“I have poor circulation, dickhead.” She whined.

Race snickered from the passenger seat. “Good thing my dickhead doesn’t have poor circulation.” He quipped.

Though Pepper couldn’t see it, she could feel Violet rolling their eyes at their boyfriend. “I’m gonna file for divorce, Race.” They picked up their coffee and took a brief sip. “And I’m taking the kids.”

Beside her, Davey was digging around in the duffel bag he’d brought for the ride. He’d described it to Pepper as a ‘Minor Catastrophe Bag’, with a tiny first aid kit, nail clippers, some snacks, ibuprofen, pads, and a pair of tweezers. As much as she would have loved to gently bully him for being such a mother hen, she knew she’d be thanking him later through an inevitable headache. He straightened, finally, and emerged with a sweater. “Um, if you’re really cold,” He held it out to her. “You can wear this. It’s my backup but I’m pretty warm.” He said.

Pepper took the sweater in both hands with a gentle smile, trying to ignore the soft brush of his fingertips against hers. “You sure?” As much as she would love to immediately engulf herself in his clothes, it was Mid-October and she didn’t want to steal Davey’s source of warmth from him.

Like usual, he waved off her gentle concern. “I have my jacket and I’m wearing layers.” He explained, pushing the sweater towards her.

She took it in her hands, hoping and praying that the heat in her face wasn’t visible. “If you insist.” The teasing was playful, as it always had been. Their friendship had existed for years, the product of a few friend groups merging and discovering that they fit like puzzle pieces. Davey always gave up his cherry Starbursts to Pepper because they were her favorite. Pepper let Davey borrow her favorite poetry books. They spent summers at the pool together. Had napped, cried, laughed, celebrated together for what seemed like forever.

So why did wearing his clothes make her so much more flustered than anything before?

She slid the sweater on, enveloping herself in his scent- oh Christ she was dying- and did actually feel much better. Even though the dark blue didn’t exactly match her outfit.

Davey smiled at her. “When will you learn to dress for the weather?” He admonished gently.

“That’s why I keep you around.” Pepper said, rather than admitting that she was just forgetful and liked her outfit too much.

“Davey’s new occupation: Pepper’s coat rack.” Violet chimed in, handing their phone to Race to switch the song that was playing.

Davey sighed. “I’m really putting that college education to good use.”

The rest of the car ride went by relatively quickly, much to Pepper’s delight. They hopped out into the cool autumn air, cracked their cramped joints, and headed into the park. Davey thankfully left most of his supplies in the trunk of the minivan (save for the ibuprofen he’d managed to sneak into Pepper’s purse just in case), so they’d made it through security and into the place without much fuss as well.

Jack, ever the natural born leader of the bunch, snagged a map and immediately started planning their route for the day. He unfurled it in front of the group and, as Mickey curled into his side, eyed the pathways and rollercoasters thoughtfully. “So do you guys wanna start at the front and work our way back? Or the other way around?”

There was a beat of silence as everyone worked the thought over. “We should just head towards the back, I think everyone’s gotta start testing the rides first anyway.” Mickey piped up first.

Davey nodded. “Gives us more time.” He added.

They made the trek towards the back of the park, Mickey and Jack leading with the map.

Race sidled up beside Pepper and hip-checked her. “You been to these haunted houses before?” He asked, making reference to the night-time festivities. Once the sun set, the park released creepily-costumed actors to scare those who stayed, and previously blocked-off areas were transformed into small haunted houses. Truthfully, Pepper had never been to any haunted house, let alone ones set up at an amusement park.

So, she shook her head. “It’s my first haunted house, actually.” Something she’d confided in Mickey and Vi about.

Race feigned a gasp. “Well ain’t this a hell of a place to start!” He elbowed her, and she returned the gesture, their own weird little handshake.

“Are you serious?” Davey asked, his own elbow catching her shoulder, fucking ow, he’s bony.

Pepper nodded. “I was too scared when I was a kid, and then when I stopped being a baby, all that stuff with my mom happened, so I just never went.”

Davey hummed in acknowledgement, evidently eager to skip past the whole ‘my-mom-is-ill’ conversation. “Ah, well. If you need a buddy, I’m sure we’ll be left alone. Together.” He said, his head tilting to their friends, who had once again broken off into couples, leaving them to their own devices.

Shoving the impending smile down, she nodded. “I’m sure we will.”

“Well, we have a good, um,” He checked the watch on his wrist (the one with the brown leather strap that he wore with every outfit, even if Pepper told him it didn’t match, or that it was too clunky.) “Like, ten hours before we need to even think about that.”

She crumpled into a fit of giggles. “Perfect. I’m sure we’ll spend that time wisely.” She swatted his arm as he shoved his watch in front of her face.

---

They did not.

Six and a half hours later, the group stood in line at one of the concession stands, staring at the menu and nodding to the song playing in the background; some mid-2010s Kesha track that was making Vi go absolutely crazy.

Jack squinted at the chalkboard. “They don’t even have chicken tenders here?” He nudged Race. “They don’t even have chicken tenders here.”

Race nodded slowly, also squinting. Pepper wondered, briefly, if the pair needed glasses or if they were just trying to look contemplative. “Mickey’s gonna call it homophobic, you know.” He said.

“It is!” Mickey called dutifully from the table they had snagged for the gang to inevitably sit at. “I’ll take some cheese fries though!” To which Jack nodded and stepped up to the worker behind the plexiglass, beginning to list off the group’s orders.

Vi’s voice floated through Pepper’s ears. “Oh what a shame that you came here with someone,” they approached her, eyes closed and hands up by their shoulders as they got all the way into their performance. “My god, if they have candy apples at a stall somewhere, I’m gonna go buckwild.” They said suddenly, snapping out of their trance to stare at Pepper expectantly.

Before she could say anything, though, Davey stole the words from her mouth. “You are allergic to apples, V.” He chided, maybe more kindly than Pepper would have put it, but she was willing to overlook it for the sake of the way a small smile pulled at his mouth.

Violet dropped their hands. “Only a little bit.” They argued.

“A little bit allergic.” Davey repeated, and Pepper pressed her lips together firmly to fight off the grin at the exasperation in his voice.

“To apples, yes.” They nodded, and, evidently done with arguing, turned to keep Mickey company at the table.

Davey turned to Pepper, disbelief crossing his features. “Can you believe-”

“Yes.” She cut him off. “Yes I absolutely can believe it.” Pepper said, digging through her memory of the times V had pulled some similar shit; eating eleven mozzarella sticks despite their lactose intolerance, buying a Panic! At The Disco vinyl despite wanting Brendon Urie dead, and spending $40 on a Funko Pop figure of Spiderman Noir for no real reason other than some guy at a convention told them to.

Jack turned to his friends. “Okay I did the ordering, someone else has to do the collecting.” He announced, shoving the receipt with the order number on it towards Davey, who had inadvertently become Second In Command. Then, with a signature Jack Kelly Smug Smile, he stalked off to where V and Mickey were seated, Race following behind.

Great, Pepper thought, another conveniently timed moment alone with Davey. Briefly, she wondered if her friends had planned this ahead of time, and then she came to her senses and realized that yes, of course they had. Those conniving little weasels had been conspiring to get Davey to like her since senior prom.

She still remembered the way Mickey had shoved Davey at her when a slow song came on that night. Work Song by Hozier had drifted over the speakers, and V’s elbow caught her in the ribs as they growled a furious “Dance with him or I’ll fucking kill you.” and skipped off to sway with Racer. Pepper had stood on the dance floor, gaping as she watched Jack wink at Vi. Those two never got along about anything.

Davey’s hand had entered her field of vision, skin almost glowing under the light of the mirrorball. He’d smiled sheepishly, admitted that this was one of his favorite songs, and asked if she’d like to share a dance.

The strange thing was, she didn’t actually like Davey before that. At least she thought she didn’t. It wasn’t until she was cradled close to his chest, breathing in the smell of his soap and some soft, powdery cologne he frequented, that she found her heart pounding and her palms going clammy. And when he’d started humming against her hair, one hand in hers and the other around her waist, she knew she was absolutely fucked.

She’d started thinking about it and, yeah, it made sense to want to be with Davey. Handsome Davey, who sometimes made her laugh until soda came out her nose, and whose affinity for children’s cartoons made him the ideal conversation partner. Three years later, she was still in love with him.

And it was all her stupid, evil friends’ faults.

Back in the present, Davey tucked his hands in his pockets, his lips twisting as he lost himself in thought. “We’re gonna have so much shit to carry.” He murmured, exasperated at being the ones left behind.

“We sure are. At least you and Jack ordered drinks, so that’s more stuff to spill.” She twisted a long strand of hair around her finger.

Davey scoffed good-naturedly. “Yeah well you made me leave my water bottle in the car so I needed to be hydrated somehow.”

Pepper kicked at his shin with the toe of her sneaker. “And a caramel hot chocolate is the best way to stay hydrated?” She grinned up at him, watching him tuck the receipt into his back pocket and start moving for the pick-up window as the drink in question was called out.

He hummed in assent. “You bet it is.” He picked up the paper cup, taking a short sip and licking at his bottom lip. Pepper ignored the urge to run her thumb across it.

She must have been staring, because after a second, Davey held the cup out towards her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. She loved chocolate and caramel, and always ran cold. He knew there was no way she’d have turned down a sip if he’d offered, so he must have decided to save his breath. She took the cup in her hands, the warmth emanating from it seeping pleasingly into her palms, and took a sip as well, subconsciously hoping to taste more than the drink. She licked her lips.

Davey watched her intently. He opened his mouth, ready to say something to her, when the order bell rang out. “Order sixty-nine!” The college girl behind the counter announced.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Race cackled from the table. V leaned into him, trying to hide their own laughter as Mickey gave him a high-five.

Pepper sighed, she should’ve known that would be their luck. The pair of them moved forward, Davey pushing in front of her to grab the tray before she could even reach for it. “I got it.” He mumbled, holding onto the plastic tray like a nervous Disney-Channel-Original-Movie teenager. “Grab the drinks, don’t worry about it.” And then he smiled up at her, a closed-lipped little smile that made her heart race as she picked up Jack’s orange soda.

Behind her, someone clicked their tongue. Pepper turned, making immediate eye contact with an older lady with greying black hair and soft folds in her skin, who gave her a knowing smile. “And they say chivalry is dead. You got yourself a sweet one, honey.” She said, then winked.

Pepper’s jaw went slack trying to think of a response. She turned back to Davey, whose eyebrows were so far up his face that they were basically in his hairline. “Oh God,” he said simply, “Um, thank you, ma’am.”

The woman laughed softly, leaned over and patted Pepper’s shoulder as if she knew something Pepper didn’t, and then disappeared into the line to order food.

There was a long, silent moment, where Pepper was racking her brain, searching every corner for something to say that would shift the air, move the mood from awkward to playful with a joke of some sort. She looked at him again, and he was staring at her, unblinking. There was a funny look on his face- regret maybe- his eyebrows low and his eyes a little soft. She wondered, distantly, if he was realizing that she was in love with him; if it was a look of pity-

“Hurry up with my goddamn cheese fries!” Mickey yelled, their hunger obviously taking control over their inhibition.

Without a second thought, Pepper turned on her heel and walked to where their friends were, leaving Davey and the unnerving encounter behind.

#pls drop a like/rb if you read! i'm really proud of this one!#davey #olive talks #my fic #the amusement park

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ceilingfan5 · 4 years ago

Note

for the prompt thing... one of them works at a curio/mysticism shop in a mall or something but doesn't believe in Any of it... the other comes in to but the product and is Secretly Actually Magic...

i....may have misread your prompt

“Yeah, I need to return this fuckin’ orb,” the man with the long braid and the cardigan with fifteen pockets says. He plonks the orb on the counter, enormous and purple. Kravitz stares at it.

“I’m sorry, sir-”

“Taako.”

“Do, you, uh, do you have a receipt?” Kravitz takes him in a little more. He’s wearing at least two rings on every finger. There are jeweled stars in his hair, hanging by little golden chains, and Kravitz imagines how badly they probably get tangled at the end of the day when it’s time for this eccentric asshole to take off the schtick and put on a college t-shirt and boxers to sleep in like the rest of humanity. Or maybe he wears one of those old-timey nightgowns, embroidered with constellations that don’t exist, and a sleepy cap like in the Night Before Candlenights.

“Nah, I ate the receipt.” Taako checks his nails. Kravitz stares at him.

“I don’t know if I can complete the transaction without the receipt, but I can see if there are any records-?”

“Yeah, do that. I want my hundred and sixty bucks back.”

One hundred and sixty? Kravitz looks at the orb. It’s a lovely color. Very round. It also looks like a cheap garden ornament from Walmart. Sorry sir, do you want to trade in for a concrete fawn? How about a bird bath?

But Kravitz is gonna do his damn job, so he looks through the records the little old lady who owns the shop keeps in an old, leather-bound journal in creeping, spidery handwriting. She’s been writing in bright pink gel pen lately, which makes it much more difficult to parse.

“What, err, what isn’t satisfactory to you, um, about the orb?” Kravitz says as he flips and scans. Taako rolls the orb lazily around on the counter.

“Uh, it’s a piece of shit? It fucking cursed my cat, man. Totally off-brand magic. All the spells I tried with it absolutely backfired, I almost lost my eyebrows.”

Kravitz squints at the man. Taako looks serious and calm, casual, even, like he has to stop by the GameStop after this and pick up the new MarioKart. Talking about actual fucking magic in the goddamn mall.

“We sell...curios, here, sir. These things-” he gestures at some ugly dragon statues, a big fuck-off sword, the entire incense aisle- “are not...for actual magic.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed, and don’t think I’m gonna shop here again, right?”

Kravitz drags his hands down his face, almost forgetting to look up the orb purchase.

“None of these things are magic because magic isn’t real!”

Taako laughs so hard he doubles over.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, sure, absolutely. Who the fuck do you think does special effects in movies, huh? Who do you think buys this garbage for shits and giggles, huh? What do you think all those packets and powders are behind the counter, dog, huh?”

Kravitz thought they were drugs, but he’s not going to admit to that out loud. Besides, he’s not going to listen to this clown.

“Magic isn’t real and you aren’t going to convince me of it, sir.” He jams his finger down on the notebook and finds a scraggly scrawl: Taako, scrying orb, purple, $160. ”Huh,” he says.

“Huh~?” Taako echoes with a smirk.

“I guess you get your money back.” Kravitz opens the cash register and a bat flies out. He ducks back and swears, covering his face. “The FUCK-”

“No worries,” Taako says, and he points at the bat, and the bat disappears completely. Kravitz blinks. And blinks again. And rubs his eyes.

“Right, um,” he says, valiantly charging on. “That’s 20, 40, 60, 80, 100, 120, 140, 160.” He hands the money over to Taako, who’s just grinning ear to ear.

“You know, I could teach you a little magic, if you want.”

“Magic isn’t real!” Kravitz insists, his voice breaking a little.

“Yeah, and I’m a natural blonde.” Taako pops his gum and grabs a sticky note shaped like a hamburger and scrawls his number down. “Call me if you wanna shake up your horizons, a’ight punkin?”

And Taako walks away with his money, leaving Kravitz by himself, wide-eyed and baffled and a little sweaty. It wasn’t real, he thinks. It was a trick. It was- it was a special effect, it-

The bat reappears, and dives at Kravitz’s hair. Kravitz yelps and grabs the broom to beat it out of the store, in the direction of the food court. Panda Express can deal with this horeshit. Kravitz is done. He’s going to get a job at a car wash. He has no interest in the supernatural, if it even exists, which it doesn’t!

Taako was sort of cute, though, and despite himself, Kravitz slips the burgernote into his pocket as he locks up the store for the evening. He glances at the curios and tchotchkes, waiting for them to come alive and charge at him, or something. But nothing moves, nothing glints maliciously, nothing whispers his name in the spooky voice of his dead ancestor. It all just looks normal.

Well. He’ll see about that.

#taz #tazb #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #taakitz #taakitz fic #this is silly #thats why i like it #fan5fics #ask games #thank you!!

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shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 5 years ago

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Borrowed

Raven cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. "Damian...?" She called, after a quick knock on his door.

"Mm, Raven?" He grumbled in lieu of a reply. It sounded far away.

What exactly was he doing?

Raven shifted her weight from foot to the other. "Are you... decent?" Her pale fingers lingered on the shiny brass handle, her heartbeat quickened impatiently, and she nearly had to stop herself from barging in without waiting for confirmation. She didn't want to lose the nerve.

There weren't exactly any other options.

"Yes, what's up -"

"I'm coming in." Raven said in a hurry, before opening the door adjoining the two hotel rooms. "I need to... borrow something of yours -" Raven's eyes widened as she took note of Damian's bare chest, the droplets of water, a runoff flowing down his rows of abs. His arm muscles flexed, while he continuously ran a white hand towel through his damp hair. She bit her lip and looked away, trying to keep her flush down as best she could.

Why had he let her in?

This was most certainly not decent.

And then, he cocked his head and shamelessly proceeded to stare at her pajamas. "Hmm, is that so...?" Damian openly appraised her legs in the shorts, not bothering to avert his eyes. "I see..."

Goodness what was he thinking? And what was she thinking?

"What...?" She asked slowly, folding her arms around her body self-consciously. "That we're going to fall behind schedule if we both don't get dressed?"

He shook his head. "You... said you need something from me?"

Raven paled. "That's not exactly how I would put it, but..."

"You would like to borrow something of mine." Damian repeated slowly, savoring the sound of statement on his tongue.

"Yes..." Raven lifted an eyebrow.

"But you wouldn't take me up on a ticket for a seat in first class... Or accept my offers to buy you new clothes..." That was a Wayne for you. He would be remiss if he couldn't bring up the various ways she had rejected his outlandish proposals.

"Damian, I couldn't accept those things..." She glanced at the ground. It wouldn't have been right no matter how close they had gotten. Sometimes she forgot they just worked together. It was getting harder and harder to discern, with the trips and all the late nights. But it was times like these when she was reminded of that fact. "I just couldn't."

"Your pride aside, Raven. You realize that if you accepted the plane ticket in the first place, there is a strong possibility that the mishap with your luggage would have never even happened..." Raven felt the vessel in her temple tick. She unclenched her fist.

She sighed a long drawn out sigh. "I'm willing to compromise..."

"So... your compromise is that you'll borrow my clothes?" He sat on the bed, passively squeezing the towel through his dark hair while he watched her.

His hair wasn't even that long - how much time did it need to dry?

"Just for now…" Raven clarified. "The airline says they'll recover my baggage soon - tomorrow - Thursday at the latest." She rubbed her arm.

That was being optimistic, but the sooner the better.

"Your baggage…?" He crooned, his handsome face tilted toward her with a half smirk flashing on his distractingly devious lips. "There certainly is a lot of it... I highly doubt they'll find it in time…" A scowl threatened to take up residence on her face. Those implications were outrageous and Raven didn't need to take this.

Damian was enjoying every second of this and Raven could tell. He liked her veil of calm to show its cracks. He liked her flustered. He liked her helpless in her tiny pajama shorts. He liked her in need of him.

And he probably liked her off-put and distracted by those stupidly sculpted abs.

They were somehow perfect, even from this angle, wasn't he sitting down? She tore her eyes away from his rippling stomach muscles as his legs reclined, taut arms moving overhead to reach the tendrils curled at his nape.

Christ.

She willed the scarlet away from her cheeks. "Damian, can I borrow something to wear or not?"

"Of course you can. I haven't unpacked yet, so you'll have to rummage through the suitcase. You can take whatever you like." Damian gestured to the open leather suitcase with his towel. "Until they find your things, feel free... My door's always open..." he added under his breath, as he padded over to the bathroom to hang the towel.

"If only all that open door policy extended to when we were at the office..." She mumbled, riffling through the perfectly folded items as neatly as possible. All the clothes had that rich cedarwood and spicy cardamom and it was assaulting her senses, even though she tried not to think about all the ways that scent would envelop her. It would cling to her all day and night, brazed to her skin from wearing his clothes - Damian's clothes.

"Raven... Even when I'm busy, I make sure my employees feel valued." Damian said seriously. "If I didn't value you, you wouldn't be accompanying me on this trip."

"Right..." Raven settled on a simple v-neck sweater. She checked the label. It was 100% cashmere. An entire suitcase and not a blend in sight - that was so typical Damian Wayne. "So you're not afraid my value disappeared along with my baggage? I mean suitcase." She corrected hurriedly.

Damian softened for a moment. Raven saw that playful sparkle return to sharpen his vibrant green eyes. "With or without your pantsuits... and your monochromatic wardrobe in all black..." Raven pursed her lips. That didn't exactly sound like a compliment. "I know you are the best choice for this."

Oh.

Raven's face began to warm. It was somehow nice that he noticed something as trivial as her clothes, despite that slightly snub in the details.

She turned to him in the doorway of the adjoining rooms, the sweater in her hands. "Thanks, for this." Raven offered him a small smile.

"Good choice," Damian nodded, seeming impressed. "I think we'll manage until Thursday."

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

No.

They would not be able to manage until Thursday.

There was no way.

Damian had hoped he would be able to handle things until normalcy resumed on Thursday, but he was wrong. Raven's baggage hadn't turned up. The airline was fumbling, but that was hardly the issue.

It was her entering his room unannounced in a towel or a sleep shirt. Her rifling through his suitcase or his drawers on tiptoes when he returned from the gym. And then, when he'd come in from the balcony in the evening and saw her standing there with his shirt hanging off her.

Raven in his clothing.

He had thought about it once before, but not at all like this.

For someone who's wardrobe was usually a rotation of fewer than three shades, it was surprising how creative she could be. She mixed the limited items from her carry-on with Damian's wardrobe. Damian's t-shirts and work shirts were transformed into dresses, shirt dresses, or oversized tops. They became off-the-shoulder shirts, cinched with belts, buttoned up in interesting ways with rolled up sleeves and turned up collars. His undershirts paired with her jeans became statements. Vests and polos had never looked better than they had on her pale curves.

Damian felt his breath quicken and his heart pound in his chest every time he saw her in another piece from his closet. He knew the truth. He didn't care if they ever found her suitcase, not if it meant he got to see her in his clothes. The incident with the airline really had caused them to leave whatever baggage they had between them in Gotham.

But then, the night of the benefit arrived and Damian grew worried. As far as he knew, the airline was still searching for her luggage and hadn't found her clothes. Damian didn't have a spare dress packed away anywhere, so how exactly would she pull off black tie?

Damian shook his glass, peering down furtively at his watch or the spherical ice cubes, while he tried to make polite conversation with the other businessmen at the benefit. It did little to distract him from wondering where in the hell she was. Would she show up? And in what?

Damian had to pause mid sip of scotch - he nearly choked.

True to her form, Raven had worn a suit.

In all black.

But in a way he had never seen before.

All eyes were on Raven as she stood there in heels, with her dark hair tucked elegantly behind her left ear, and one of his black suit jackets. She had worn it as a dress that came up to her thighs. Damian swallowed, as she spotted him and made her way over.

With each step a new detail was revealed. Like there was no shirt under that jacket. He could see the center of her cleavage before his eyes reached the first buttonhole. Goodness, there was no bra under that jacket either. Damian's body tensed and involuntarily he edged in front of the floral arrangement on the entrance table, until he could gather his bearings.

Gods, she seemed glide. And she looked incredible.

Her face warmed in new ways, her entire being seemed to radiate when those indigo eyes met his vert. "Good evening, Wayne."

He shook his head incredulously. "Raven, wow..."

"You looked worried." Raven's lips turned up coyly. "Were you worried?"

"No... Maybe a little," he admitted. "But honestly, I think I just have a new appreciation for this suit," Damian said softly, his finger brushed the shoulder of the jacket. "I've been meaning to tell you how much I like your new look..."

"Me wearing your clothes, after the airport lost mine? This is the product of circumstance." Raven cocked a hip. "Out of curiosity, what would you even call this look - lost baggage chic?"

Metaphorical or otherwise, it really had disappeared. The baggage.

"Yes." He placed a firm hand on the small of her back to guide her to their table, like man would his date. "You and those black pantsuits..." She froze, before her petite form settled into him. "You always look great." Damian whispered softly in her ear.

#damirae week 2020 #damirae #damiraeweek #demonbirds #damian x raven #raven roth #damian wayne #coworkers au #fanfiction #writing #me #Wanted to do this for day 1 wasn't going to publish it but what the hell?#This is filth and silly but hopefully it's not too terrible

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mulderist · 4 years ago

Text

Wicked Game

previous chapter // read on A03 // @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 7 3rd District Precinct 12:31 a.m.

The second wind finally arrived. I paced the floor in Interrogation Room 5 with arms folded tight across my chest. I felt like a gun ready to go off. My focus was on Theo Chambers, enforcer to Carlo Lodi. He sat handcuffed in his expensive blue suit with a shit-eating grin. After I got him processed I let him stew and he behaved, which was a bit of a surprise.

“I could do this all night, you know, “ I said standing at the edge of the table looking at the remains of a weak cup of coffee and half a pack of Morleys. “Even if we’re just sitting here in silence.”

I paused and listened for dramatic affect. “You know, I read somewhere that silence is golden but, I don’t think you like to keep quiet.”

“How’s the jaw,” he responded with a puff of smoke and a tilt of his chin.

I turned and pulled out the chair at the opposite end of the table, dragging it purposefully across the floor creating a sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“Well, you hit like a featherweight so a stiff drink and I was right as rain.” I said as I sat down. “Speaking of which, does Lodi get you to do all his heavy lifting? Use you like a trained dog; Theo attack! Theo come! Good boy Theo...”

“You wanna cut the bullshit?” he interrupted.

“Indeed I do. You want to tell me how long you’ve been running out of the Navy Yard?”

Theo cracked a smile and tapped his cigarette against the discolored ashtray. He then pinched it between his thumb and index finger, covering the end to hide the glow. Standard technique for someone who does a lot of their work in the shadows. I continued with my questioning.

“Is the taxi company your only front?”

“Mum’s the word, detective,” he said.

“Do the taxis only run in the southeast?” I pressed.

Theo tucked the cigarette in the corner of his mouth then leaned back as far as he could. Silent, aside from the sound of the metal chain pulling across the top of the table. His cuffed hands knitted together.

“Do the taxis run anywhere else in the District? Down Constitution Ave.? Down to the Tidal Basin? Over the bridge into Virginia?”

“Mum’s. The. Word,” Theo said pointedly, letting the cig hang from his lip. I was wired and on the edge. I rose and placed my hands on my hips. I resisted the urge to hit him; punch him square in the jaw, bloody his nose, pin him against the table. Really make him hurt. Instead, using better judgement, I turned on my heel and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

Several officers were in the hallway and scattered when they saw me. Word travels fast when you bring in a c-list celebrity from the crime sheets. I moved past them and their whispering and took a walk to the bullpen. The chorus of ringing phones and typewriters was in full swing. I approached my desk and took the liberty of kicking the unsuspecting wastebasket. It ricocheted and rolled away from where I was standing. A few heads perked up at the noise but returned to their work just as quickly. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. I was getting nowhere slowly.

“Rough night?” I heard the captain’s voice from behind me.

“Just blowing off some steam,” I said with an exhale, “So far I haven’t gotten much out of our new friend Theo. I need to talk to his boss.”

“He’s already been questioned,” Skinner said as I crouched down to straighten up the wastebasket. I glanced at my shoes, which were probably ruined from traipsing around in the storm. Maybe on a day off I’d buy another pair.

“Not by me,” I replied and started out of the bullpen back to the interrogation rooms. I went two doors down but before I could turn the knob, Skinner caught up and stopped me.

“Sir, may I ask what you’re doing?”

“I want to remind you that this is a valuable asset. I commend your effort in apprehending him and his enforcer,” he said in a low voice. I sensed there was more to that statement. This case already had too many hands involved.

“But you don’t want me to unravel this seemingly tightly knit case with my usual brand of questioning.”

Skinner squared his jaw.

“Oh, now I get it,” I continued. “You already talked to him and you were just going to leave it at that. No one else in or out?”

“Are you doubting my methods, Mulder?”

“I’m doubting the line of questioning,” my voice lowered and I clenched my fist, “We are so close to tying things together with this ring and Spender’s involvement. I need to see how far up this goes.”

“We already have the evidence to pin Lodi for Skinner’s murder,” Skinner said. I shifted my stance. “We just need something to narrow down where the heroin was being distributed.

“That’s all I want to do. Because as soon as I get what I need, I’m going home. Believe me sir I want to close this and move on. This case has already taken up too much of my life.”

Skinner nodded. I knew I was walking into a high-stakes game with the house’s money and a cold shoulder from Lady Luck. My hand gripped the doorknob and I entered the smoke filled room.

Another table, another ashtray, another handcuffed suspect. Carlo Lodi sat just like he did when I confronted him at the restaurant; an air of superiority trapped in a grey pin-stripped suit. breathed life into a superficial demeanor as cool as a summer breeze.

“We meet again Mr Lodi,” I began as I pulled out the chair and took a seat. I unbuttoned the cuffs of my sleeves then rolled them up towards my elbow. The skin on my forearms felt clammy. I couldn’t wait to get into fresh, dry clothes when this was all over.

“Quite the set-up you’ve got down at the docks. Smart to use a small crew. Less people to inventory when you get caught.”

“C’mon detective, you know how this works,” Lodi said twisting the ring on his finger, “I ain’t saying anything without my lawyer.”

I continued without missing a beat.

“Vincenti sure knows how to pick ‘em. What makes you hold the title of being his favorite croney? It can’t be your looks.”

“You’re getting nothing from me.”

“Oh I can keep going.”

“You think this is the first time I’ve been here? You think you’re being original?”

“I have evidence that connects you to Vincenti. I have proof you operate out of the Navy Yard not to mention proof that you murdered a city detective in cold blood. And if you won’t talk, perhaps your friend down the hall will.”

I watched him light up and take a long drag. Thick white smoke drifted out of his mouth and curled up towards his nostrils.

“Here’s the thing, detective; you got nothing on me. Not a damn thing. My hands are as clean as a nun’s habit. So if you want to listen to yourself talk, then go right ahead. I’ll finish this pack of smokes and wait for my lawyer.”

My second wind dissolved into a subtle breeze, taking the wind out of my sails. I knew his lawyer wasn’t marching through that door anytime soon. I didn’t want to paint myself into a corner. I considered going downstairs to retrieve the bullets that matched his gun. Rub his face in it.

“Alright then,” I said as I pushed back in my chair, “I like the sound of my own voice. Who’s idea was it to use a taxi company, couldn’t have been you could it? Vincenti must have been riding around town and the idea just came to him right? Seems as though an awful lot of people must want a taste of that dust. Gotta give those pushers an extra cut for spreading the word about a top notch supply.”

Lodi pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray and cleared his throat.

“The pushers...they’re ants compared to us.” He grunted, “All of that product, all that demand, all because of us. They’d be nothing without us.”

Now we were getting somewhere.

“Are those pushers driving your cabs too? Skimming a little more off the top, just a little closer to that brass ring. Or are you threatening folks just trying to make an honest living, taking their livelihood so you can move the product. Unless, you start recruiting smart looking door-to-door salesmen to sell the dope”

“Yeah, then nice people in the suburbs would be hopheads,” he chuckled at himself, “Mary and Joe with their kids and their white picket fence, flying high getting a little taste of the city. Going mad when they can’t get another fix. Vincenti does say business is business.”

The pop of a match and familiar scent of a Lucky Strike. He waved his hand to extinguish the match and tossed it on the table. I rose from my seat and walked to the opposite corner of the room, glancing at my watch. I needed a drink. My stomach turned at the thought of another boiled down cup of coffee. I looked at Lodi and he flicked away some ash.

“Get comfortable. You’re going to be staying the night.” I said then exited the room.

———

I woke with a start and realized I was still at the precinct. It was a brief respite, maybe thirty minutes of a fitful sleep. A cramp pinched at the side of my neck thanks to how my head was turned towards the back of the couch. The strap from my holster dug into my ribs; I should have taken it off before I laid down. I checked the time and slowly sat upright burying my face in my hands. My head was swimming, my throat felt raw. I stood and went to the water cooler, grabbed a paper cup and pushed the tab. I took a swig, listened for the gurgle then poured in some more.

I walked past my desk to see if any messages had been left in my absence. Nothing. It was just as I left it. Officer Pendrell caught my attention.

“Hey Mulder, the suspect in room 3 was asking for some water a little while ago. Do you know if anyone went back in there?”

“I’m not sure. I took a cat nap but I was going back in there anyway. Have we heard anything from his lawyer?”

“Don’t think so. But I’ll check it out.”

I loosened my tie as I strode down the hall. My shoulders felt stiff as I adjusted the leather strap of the holster.

“Rise and shine,” I said as I entered the room and snapped my fingers. I felt my voice catch in my throat when I saw Lodi on the floor, his arms stretched overhead at an unnatural angle with hands still cuffed to the table. His lips were purple, his eyes looked bulged in their sockets. And then there was the smell. I covered my nose and mouth as I observed the horrible pale tint to the skin on his face. There was a puddle of sick on the floor and some remnants down his front.

“I need some help in here NOW!” I yelled out the door then approached his seemingly lifeless body. His wrists were a dark red from where the cuffs were cutting off the circulation, his fingers and hands already looked dead.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” a voice said behind me, I looked over my shoulder and saw Pendrell hesitantly standing in the doorway.

“Do you have keys?” I asked. He nodded and fumbled in his pocket. I did the honors. With the second cuff released Lodi’s body fell to the floor with a wet smack. The smell hit me again.

“Was it a heart attack?” Pendrell offered as he came over. Two other officers crowded in the doorway to get their looks in.

“Someone get Captain Skinner,” I said then turned my attention back to the body. I leaned closer and noticed a white trail down the corner of his mouth, crusting on the lips. Pendrell rounded the other side of the interrogation table and bent down, covering the lower part of his face.

“Mulder look.” He was pointing at a discarded water cup. The wheels started turning. I stood quickly and left the room, leaving Pendrell to document the scene. I went two doors down and saw Theo Chambers in a similar state. He had collapsed across the table, cuffed hands hung off the edge. The smell didn’t hit as hard but there was more blood. Theo had a thick smear of it under his nose down to his mouth. I left the room and charged down the hall, meeting Skinner.

“What the hell happened here, Mulder?”

“Both suspects are dead. I think they were poisoned.”

“Excuse me?”

“Someone...someone knew. Somebody discovered they were caught and wanted to rub them out.”

“Who would have known that?”

“It’s the mob, sir. Word travels fast.”

“Mulder...Hey! Mulder!”

“I need to get the boys in forensics up here. No one touches these two!” I was rambling, I could feel it. Things took a turn faster than a Grand Prix driver. I heard dissonance in my ears as I found the closest telephone. I pulled the rotary to dial the lab. I closed my eyes to try and center myself, listened to the ring in the earpiece. I hoped one of the boys was awake down there. Another ring and a groggy voice answered.

“Langley, it’s Mulder. Are Byers and Frohike with you?”

I could hear a yawn before he said, “Frohike called it a night a few hours ago but Byers is still burning the midnight oil.”

“I need the two of you up here with your bag of tricks. We’ve got a couple of stiffs in the intero rooms.”

“Wait a minute, someone dropped them off?”

“No. It’s a fresh scene.” I wiped my brow.

There was a pause and I heard him adjust the phone.

“We’ll be right up.”

#i wrote this #historical au #xf fanfic #my fic

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