#so the owner asked me to keep and ear out since i was unbiased and haven't been targeted and yea

[stubz]

"CAPTAIN!" Calis bursted through the doors panting.

"Yes, Calis?"

"Ki- The humans...the human!" they panted.

"The humans?"

"Yes! I have...urgent news about them. Everyone, out."

The control goes quiet. All eyes on the captain and his second in command.

"Give the room to me and Commander Calis." When everyone leaves he sighs and takes a seat in his chair.

"Captain...the human has betrayed us. My scouts who follow General Morbius spotted Kim along with several other humans conversing with him. Numerous times have they seen them together...surely they have betrayed us."

The Captain looks at Calis and pulls out a drink. He sips it. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room." He motions for them to sit.

Calis sits and accepts the drink offered by their Captain. Strong yenx.

"When we discovered that Morbius was feeding classified information to enemy forces we had you follow him with your best scouts. And for a time that was sufficient...until recently." Calis nods.

They stopped the general from leaking information but they still have yet to gather enough evidence to charge him with treason. Not only that but he has gotten more cautious and rarely leaves his home when not at work.

"Well we went through the data base of the Coalition looking for clues or evidence to use when I stumbled upon Kim Greene's file. Here," he hands them the electronic document. "you'll see why Kim, along with some other humans, are conversing with the general so much."

Calis read over the document. At first glance it was nothing special. References, personal information, education, etc. normal things. Until they saw the green triangle next to one of the interview questions.

"...Why is she marked down for secret intelligence? In brackets, honorary...what is a honorary secret intelligence?"

"It's because she along with all the other humans you spotted have experience in befriending the enemy in order to report them to their superiors.

During her interview we asked about what was the toughest thing she had to do at her previous job.

The previous child centre she worked at had several people who were spreading false accusations against their fellow co-workers. One even falsely accused her mentor of illegal activity."

"At a child centre??"

"Yes, I can't believe it either. Carrying on, she was rather quiet at the time and always did her duty with a smile so the enemy ignored her. She used that to become a spy of sorts for her superiors who she respected very much.

Eventually she managed to gather enough information for them that they managed to fire and report the enemies to the proper authorities."

"Are the other humans like this?"

"In a way yes. Steven Smith one of our cafeteria chefs, worked at a restaurant as a waiter and has the patience of a god. He can be belittled, insulted, and be stuck in a never ending conversation that would rot your braincells without cracking."

"Something that would be perfect for the general."

"Indeed. Rebecca Cheng, worked at a cleaning service company and has mastered the art of being unseen whenever she wishes. She has caught several of her employers doing illegal acts or being unfaithful to their spouse simply because they forgot all about her.

And that's just the first few, we have at least a dozen of humans like them who are capable of hiding their presence while at the same time capable of 'befriending' the most unpleasant, foul, and infuriating beings."

"I shudder at the thought of going through the training they went through to achieve this."

The Captain regretfully shakes his head. "This wasn't training Commander...this was them adapting so that they may survive."

[rubistella]

Regulations

Private & Selective Owing to time constraints and the demanding nature of roleplay, I'm highly selective about whom I write with, as I firmly believe in valuing quality over quantity.

This is not a self-insert/projection friendly zone The title says it all! Projection and self-inserts make me very uncomfortable, so I will terminate interactions immediately if I catch whiff of that.

Dashboard Stuff I often overlook the dashboard since I rarely check it. When I do, I might choose to engage with a few people, but it's pretty infrequent!

Adults Only (21+) Given the mature and dark themes my writing frequently explores, as well as Astarion's past, this roleplay blog is not suitable for minors. I personally prefer that only those 21 or older engage. Every potentially triggering content and/or interaction will be put under tw; dddne and "ask to tag" for blacklisting purposes.

Astarion & Headcanons My portrayal of Astarion will stay unfiltered. For more details, click here. Also, please don’t assume Astarion will choose your muse— there are other people in camp (NPCs) he could be feeding from, or other plot devices we could use instead.

Duplicate Friendly Space While I love connecting with fellow Astarion enthusiasts and sometimes follow duplicates, I avoid reading their headcanons to keep my portrayal unbiased. Any shared ideas or plots are purely coincidental—great minds and all that!

Credits & Disclaimer This blog's avatar is by artbyvi, and the graphics were commissioned from ilithid-psds. Some icon screenshots aren’t mine, so if one is yours and you want credit or prefer I don't use it, just let me know, and I'll make the changes.

Unfollowing & Re-following I'm mutually exclusive: if I don't get a follow back in a few days, I'll unfollow. I also unfollow blogs inactive for over a month without notice. If you return and want to be mutuals again, just drop me a line, and I'll gladly follow back.

The Mun I'm Milky, 21+. I like cats, tea, a good book and playing video games with my friends. Even if we can't, for whatever reason, roleplay together, feel free to send Astarion IC asks or approach me OOC for a chat. :) Toodles!

Ship Exclusives I won't always extend exclusivity to ship partners, and by no means do I force anyone into that position. While not all my ship partners fall under the exclusive category, for those with whom I do ship exclusively, it’s been mutually agreed-upon beforehand. For transparency's sake, here is the list!

[doberbutts]

(1) Sorry sending another ask! I just came across something weird when doing dog breed research. There's a website called coloredbostonterriertruth that talks about how it's wrong to breed color variations on Bostons because "... These colors are considered disqualifiying faults and completely go against the breed standard (the very definition of the Boston Terrier), breeding them could never be done with the purpose of improving the breed. Unfortunately it is often done for profit."

(2) it just sounds... I don't know the word, elitist? Why does it matter the color of the dog? What if the breeders are breeding for companions only? It's really confusing to me. It's like this person absolutely hates non standard colors and they claim anyone who breeds them aren't doing it for the health of the breed. What does color have to do with breed health??? A dog being good for show doesn't automatically mean they're healthy right? So strange. Their wording is just so weird.

Well, there’s a couple things to dismantle:

People who deliberately do not breed to standard- unless the standard is in and of itself harmful- are usually not doing right by their dogs. Standards exist for a reason- whether the reason is arbitrary (no white GSDs!) or not (no double merles!) ignoring individual pieces of standard is frequently harmful because nothing ever exists in a vacuum. Additionally while there is room in many standards for various interpretations (thus why we have different types), when you change one part you often change the whole.

The other problem is that frequently people who are deliberately not breeding to standard are simply breeding for color alone. This means nothing else matters, and the dog loses out on health, temperament, structure, and more. This generates a huge problem of dogs that may be interesting colors, but have horrible health, crippling arthritis, and are aggressive or overly shy. Additionally a lot of breeders who are simply breeding to produce off-standard colors are doing it with the intention of charging more money for the “rare” colored puppies. The money a puppy costs should be comparable to the money you put into producing the litter itself and into the parents, so for instance charging $1000 for a standard colored puppy and then $5000 for an off-standard colored puppy from the same litter is ridiculous because it’s not like that “rare” color took any extra money to produce. And yet, many people who deliberately produce off-standard colors do exactly this. It’s a money making scheme at best.

Boston terriers are a companion breed, which means all of them are bred for companions. Even show dogs are companions. “Breeding for companionship” is not enough of a reason to breed a dog- what do they have to prove the dog is bred to standard? Being purebred is not enough, and if you are breeding purebred dogs then why not breed to the purebred standard? Dog shows are there to judge how well the dog matches the standard by using an unbiased third party (several, actually)- if you are not participating, how do you know that your dog is correct?

All five of these dogs are purebred, registered Yorkshire Terriers, another companion breed. There is nothing about any of these dogs’ photos that tells me anything about their health, sure. However, there is plenty that tells me which ones were produced by people who actually care about the standard. Tiny dogs like Yorkies have their own unique struggles with health, so breeding too big or too small will cause problems for the dog and could even contribute to the dog’s early death. Coated breeds like Yorkies also have a specific coat type that’s called for, so breeding away from that coat type creates a coat that’s impossible to maintain. This is painful and dangerous for the dog, and annoying and expensive for the owner, because the incorrect coat type will be prone to matting and either need constant grooming (annoying) or to be shaved frequently (expensive) to spare the dog the pain of mats tugging at their skin.

Bostons have their own unique problems too- with the brachycephalic head, the short tail, the terrier attitude, and the genetics which go into the breed, there’s a lot to balance there. Ignoring that to focus solely on color is a disservice to the breed.

But one thing to keep in mind is that even the Boston Club of America will concede that there are some colors that will appear in responsibly produced litters. Bostons are only allowed by standard in black, seal, or brindle with white markings- solid colored dogs, liver colored dogs, dilutes, piebalds, those deviations from the standard are things that could happen in a responsibly bred litter.

Dogs with white markings will sometimes have puppies without, or with minimal white, or with markings in the wrong place. Because the white markings on a Boston are a type of piebaldism (I think I have the genetics right for this?), too much white can result in a dog that is deaf, blind, or has other amelanistic health problems (because various organs use melanin in their processes). This is also why the standard calls for the white markings to not go over the eyes or ears- it significantly ups the chances for producing a deaf or blind dog. Dogs with too little white aren’t as likely to have any health problems, but does mean that something’s happening to that piebald gene to not show up properly, which ups your risk of having too much white as well.

Any dog who is black can also be red (liver) and any red or black dog can also be dilute (blue, isabella). These are common mutations that have developed to be present in just about every dog breed and are just going to pop up every once in a while unless you are doing a lot of coat color genetics checks (and sometimes even if you do, since we just found a second dilution gene). I’m also about to get a dog from a breed that cannot have any of these colors, as black with tan points and white markings (black tri) is the only standard color. However, reds and blues popping up occasionally are not unheard of, even with the best bred litters. However those dogs are not unhealthy just because they are a different color, that’s simply a dice roll on coat color genetics, and those dogs are generally placed in a home that will not breed them and the breeder will make choices to avoid producing puppies of the off-standard colors again.

However, there are some colors that are not possible within the Boston breed- tricolor (I think) and merle are not possible within purebred Bostons, and that means anyone breeding “Boston Terriers” who are these colors are not breeding purebred dogs. This isn’t inherently a bad thing- there are people who breed mixed breed dogs that are also breeding responsibly- but it is dishonest to say that you are breeding purebred dogs when you are actually working with mixed breeds. People should be honest and knowledgeable when producing dogs. The options for calling a merle Boston “purebred” are either dishonesty or ignorance... neither of which are traits I’d expect in a responsible breeder.

Fawn (with black mask) I believe is directly from a cross breeding with the pug- if I am correct that would put that color also into the “dishonest or ignorant” camp.

Personally I’m in the camp of “if the color is possible within the breed and does not harm the dog then idgaf” which is why if the swissy breeder gets a red girl I won’t mind if that’s the one that comes home (I’m less a fan of dilutes due to the possibility of CDA)- but that’s an argument to be had with the breed club and not on the internet.

I’m also a working dog guy, so in general I don’t really care how a dog looks as long as it’s structurally sound, has the temperament I’m looking for, is relatively healthy with very few issues I need to keep track of, and can do the work I need. This is why I don’t particularly care that my doberman, for instance, does not match conformation standard within the breed- he is bred much more to the working standard and even then has his faults. Chihuahuas are also a companion breed, but after having a young puppy I rescued die from not being bred or cared for responsibly, I decided to go with a breeder that was doing right by their dogs rather than rescue again. In the Chihuahua, this means I’m going to a show breeder. Greater Swiss Mountain Dogs are a working breed without much of a breed split between show and working, so the breeder I went to both shows and works her dogs in various avenues. All three dogs are produced by people who do more than suggested health testing, extensive temperament testing, and a fantastic track record of producing healthy, sound, and sane dogs for their buyers.

[tsuki-chibi]

Can I Come In? (Ladrien June) Day 13: Hand holding

Or read it on AO3: Can I Come In? 

--------

He just needed to be cool.

Adrien repeated that to himself over and over again as Ladybug slipped an arm around his waist. He was pretty sure that it wasn't his imagination that there was a faint blush on her cheeks as she stepped closer and wound up her yoyo, then threw it. His own face felt hot as their feet left his bedroom floor and they were unceremoniously yanked out the window, over the fence, and across the rooftops of Paris.

"Where do you want to go?" Ladybug called out over the wind.

"Anywhere," Adrien said dreamily, completely caught up in the feel of her body against his.

"What?"

"U-um... how about Rouge?" he said louder, knowing without looking that she would be smiling.

It was, perhaps, a risky move: that was the café that Ladybug and Chat Noir frequented often during their patrols. They made excellent coffees and teas and had the second-best pastries in Paris, and they stayed open all night so were an excellent choice for two superheroes out after midnight. Plus, the owners staunchly refused to accept any money from either Ladybug or Chat Noir, which was fortunate because money wasn't exactly easy to carry when they were transformed.

And he didn't know about Ladybug, but Adrien Agreste would attract way too much attention buying coffee and pastries after midnight.

"Sounds good to me," Ladybug said. Her voice sounded a bit odd, but when he turned his head to look at her, she wasn't looking at him. Her nose was wrinkled up in concentration as she unwound her yoyo, pulled it back, and threw it again, all so smoothly that Adrien barely felt the drop before they were rising up again.

Within ten minutes, they were touching down around the corner from the café. Adrien regretfully put space between them and said, "I'll be right back."

He darted away before she could offer to pay, hurrying into the café. What Ladybug didn't know was that he came here sometimes and left a sizeable tip after ordering, hoping to repay the kindness of the owners in some way even if they didn't know that he was Chat Noir. He did the same thing today, placing their usual order and then dropping several bills into the jar when the baristas weren't paying attention. Then he collected his order and hurried back to Ladybug.

"Let's go up to the rooftop," she said, putting an arm around him again. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Adrien said honestly. This was even better than hold handing, especially because her grip was even tighter than before since his hands were full of food and drink. He couldn't hold onto her, so she was doing the work for him and it was glorious. He tried to imprint the feeling of her arm holding him so securely, but somehow so gently, so that he would never forget it.

Up on the rooftop, she let him go and they sat down on the roof. Adrien handed over her drink and then took a sip of his own, relishing the taste of coffee and chocolate so artfully mixed together. It was the sort of pick-me-up he needed after the day he'd had.

"What's wrong?" Ladybug asked, and he looked over at her in surprise.

"Isn't that my line?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I asked first."

That was fair. Adrien sighed. "I'm just worried about a friend of mine. She got expelled yesterday."

"Expelled? That's awful," Ladybug whispered.

"Right? She was really upset... she almost got akumatized. And it wasn't even her fault. She was framed," Adrien said angrily. He hadn't intended to talk about Marinette tonight, but somehow the whole awful story poured out. He told Ladybug everything: about how pushy and demanding Lila was towards him, about how horrible Lila was to Marinette, and about how Lila seemed to have their whole class and all the adults wrapped around her little finger.

Ladybug listened in silence, sipping at her tea, as though knowing that Adrien just needed an unbiased ear.

"But do you want to know the worst thing?" Adrien concluded, suddenly weary. "When Lila accused Marinette yesterday, I couldn't do anything about it. I just stood there and let Lila get away with it again. Now no one's heard from Marinette all day and I'm - I'm really worried about her."

"You are?" Ladybug said, looking up at him, and Adrien nodded.

"Of course I am. Marinette is one of my friends. I don't have many of those, so they're all really precious to me. And Marinette is… special. I just keep thinking that something is wrong." He swallowed hard, staring down at his cup. "And I really wish I knew how to help her."

[ksj-com]

Request #4 Signature Dish

- Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

- Genre: Cooking show!AU, fluff, smut

- Warnings/Tags: slightly anxious reader, famous chef Jin, cooking date, dom Jin, oral fixation, fingering, sex in public place, angry Jin, rough sex, choking, making out, hair pulling, mark making, nipple sucking, ear licking/sucking, juice tasting, slight m. masturbation, cumming on stomach

- Word Count: 4203 words

- Summary: You thought you were lucky when the famous chef, Kim Seokjin slid right on you on a dating app. Both having a great time spending a romantic night together, cooking and talking. What you both didn’t know was that he was going to be the surprise guest judge on the cooking competition you were going to be in the next day. Will your previous date with him get in the way of your dream to become the next best chef, or will his judging be unbiased?

    “Are you serious?!” Emily, your best friend, screeched on the other end of the phone call.

     “Yes! He invited me over tonight!” Jumping up and down in the middle of your living room, your inner fangirl unleashed her excitement. Better to do it now than on the date.

     “Text me when it’s over and let me know how it went! Get ready and don’t look like a roach or I’ll kill you,” she avowed while laughing.

      Both sharing a laughing fit before saying your goodbyes, you found yourself alone with butterflies in your stomach. After work, you noticed that the famous chef Kim Seokjin showed interest in you on one of the dating apps you had in your phone. After texting him while keeping your cool, he asked you on a date at his house where he insisted on cooking you a great dinner. That date was tonight.

     Still dressed in your work clothes, you rummage through your closet frantically trying to find something remotely attractive to your figure. Finally managing to pull out a cute outfit, you fluffed up your hair and touched up your light makeup. You wore a loose fitted light blue blouse tucked into a high-waisted jean skirt with buttons going all the way down. To complete the look you had a simple gold bracelet, super small light brown purse, and white and black leopard print pumps that had a gold chain that traveled up your foot and around your ankles.

     “Don’t be a spaz tonight,” you point to yourself in the mirror. Since you were also a chef, it may be super easy for you two to hit it off. Maybe he could give you some tips tonight on cooking more difficult dishes. And, god, did you hope that he looked just as good as he did on TV. 

     Soon you find yourself standing in front of his house after your Uber drops you off. His house was enormous, wrapping around the end of a neighborhood that looked off to a view of mountains in the backyard. You take a quick breath before your heels click up to his front door and buzz the doorbell. The sound echoes through the house before he opens the door. His eyes light up when he motions for you to come in.

     “You look great!” he exclaimed with a bright smile spread across his face. Meeting your eyes with his made you almost freeze up. He was just as hot in person. His scruffy black hair to his dark plump lips to his tall, broad body. His light blue button up fell loosely around his toned body along with his khaki colored slacks.

     “Thank you,” you blush. He could read your body language that you were shy with him.

     “Don’t be so shy. I’m not intimidating in person like how I am on TV. I promise,” his hand found the middle of your back, guiding you to kitchen.

     His appearances on TV were somewhat comical from the hard-ass persona he created for himself. From yelling insults to cooks that made minor mistakes, he made people scared of him. But, he was known as one of the best cooks there was and that’s how he kept himself going. With that, the gentleness of the touch on your back seemed completely out of character.

     “You can sit down at the counter while I cook dinner—if you’d like,” he proposed by pulling out one of the chairs for you to sit in. 

     “Well I was thinking that I could give you a hand. You can give me pointers and, maybe, I have a few things up my sleeve as well. I’m a cook too,” you say, curious as to what his response would be.

     “I must’ve skimmed over that on your profile! Where do you work?” he sounds impressed.

     “I have my own restaurant. It’s called La Bella Cucina,” you answer, eating up the look he gives you as his eyes travel up and down your frame.

     “Italian...maybe you should be cooking dinner tonight,” he laughs. He walks over to his kitchen to sort all of the ingredients he had across his countertops.

     Scooting over next to him, you observe the ingredients out. “What were you planning on making?”

     His gaze drifts down at you with a look of admiration. “I was thinking of a spring pea risotto,” he states.

     “Piece of cake,” you give him a wink. 

     He ended up agreeing to you joining him. Standing side by side chopping up food, showing each other tricks and tips, and talking about the two different lives you both live. Normally, cooking next to such a famous chef would make you think that you would be a nervous wreck; yet it was so comfortable with him. Soon enough he was scooping the risotto onto a plate and you sprinkled some parmesan cheese on top to finish it off.

     “Wallah,” he smiles at you. Risotto was a more difficult dish to make and he was thrilled that you guys could work together to make such a delicious meal. Not to mention, you both really hit it off while cooking as well. 

     Once he set the dishes on the table, he pours some wine into both of your glasses. The wine had Picpoul de Pinet written on the olive colored bottle. “This wine has a nice acidity that pairs well with the lush risotto,” he sets the bottle aside after pouring both glasses.

     “Thank you for inviting me over to your home. It’s beautiful by the way,” you unfold the napkin onto your lap before sorting out the silverware in front of you. His gentle touch makes its way back onto your hand when he reaches across the table to place his palm over the top of your hand. The gliding of his thumb made your skin tingle under his touch. 

     “Definitely not as beautiful as you...the second I saw your picture I was so taken aback. And then when you said you’re cook as well? You’re amazing!” he enthused with bright eyes.

     “You have no idea what it means for a great chef like you to say that,” you marvel at his words and this whole situation unfolding.

     He shakes his head while raising his glass and you follow to clink against his, taking a sip afterwards. “Let’s eat shall we?” He sets down his glass.

     You both dive into the dish, immediately falling in love with the forkful in your mouth. Instantly the dish became one of your favorites from the flavor and the person you got to talk to while making it.

     “This is delicious,” you both say in unison causing you both to laugh.

•••

     When the night came to an end, you were quite surprised that he never lead you to his bedroom— a bit disappointed too. He opened his car door for you, a kind act you don’t see a lot of guys do anymore these days. As he drove you home, his hand rested on your thigh lightly. The size of his hands and lengthy fingers made your mind go elsewhere. You really wanted to invite him inside your home when you got there, but you figured that if he wanted to he wouldn't have waited this long. He walked you up to your front door and you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at the size difference between your guys’ houses.

     “Maybe on our second date, you can stay the night and we’ll cook breakfast together too,” he shoves his hands in his pockets. For the first time tonight he looked nervous.

     “Second date, huh?” You couldn’t help but smile. He did like you after all. 

     “I would love to, but only if you would like to as well,” his eyes dance across your face, searching for your answer.

     “Of course!” you exclaimed.

     Watching him inch closer to you, the butterflies in your stomach started to flutter immensely. “Perfect,” his voice breathes before his lips press against yours softly. It was an innocent kiss that left you feeling like you were on cloud nine when he pulled away, his hand still cupping one of your cheeks. “Goodnight (Y/N).”

     “Goodnight, drive safe!” you wave goodbye after he walks down your steps. You push open your door and flip the lights on. Standing by the window, you wait until he drives off before you realize that your cheeks hurt from the intense smile pastured across your face. Leaning against your closed door, you squeal from excitement from the kiss that you never thought you would have. You tossed and turned in your sheets for a while that night, nervous for the big day you had tomorrow and the lingering happiness you had from the night before.

•••

     The Uber ride was silent on your way to the film set. Nervousness coursed through your body, leading you to fiddle with your own fingers to occupy your anxiety. Today was the day that you had the opportunity to show the world the cooking skills you had. Hopefully, giving your restaurant publicity to become the best in town. The show you were arriving to was one of your favorites to watch on TV— called In The Flames. It was a cooking competition show where two people were chosen to make up a dish— based off of the theme for the episode— and the chef with the better dish wins $10,000 and a winner title. In this episode, you were going against a master chef named Min Yoongi who was another restaurant owner in your town. Having never met him, you hoped that he did not have the skill level you did.

     “We’re here,” the Uber driver wakes you out of your overthinking state of mind. When you walk into the building, people lead you to the dressing room where they made you change into a black chef jacket and matching black pants. They placed your hair in a half up-half down style, slapped on some warm brown eyeshadow, and amaranth colored lipstick on your lips. You didn’t have the time to say that you weren’t really feeling the look before you were pushed out to the filming set where you were able to meet your competitor Yoongi.

     You shake each other’s hands, his grip tighter than it should be. “May the best cook win,” his face was deadpan and the opposite of friendly.

     Giving him a warm smile and a nod, you turn away from him immediately after. You had to admit that meeting him gave you an uneasy feeling. Nothing about him seemed welcoming. Winning may be harder than you think today.

     It was almost time for the director to start filming, so you took the remaining time to check out the set. It was a big room with two kitchens next to each other. In the back, there was all the ingredients for any possible dish and in the front there was a small booth with three seats for the judges.

     “Are you guys ready? We’re filming in about a minute,” the director asks, both you and Yoongi nodding in response. The introduction of the show consisted of you and Yoongi sharing your backgrounds in cooking and what it meant for you if you won the money. Once filming the intro was over, you and Yoongi both stood in each of the kitchens.

     “And now we welcome our judges: Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok, and our special surprise judge… Kim Seokjin!” The host, Park Jimin, announces. Your stomach drops as you watch Jin walk towards the booth. His gaze meets yours and you watch him eyes widen and then narrow. Is that anger? You shrink into yourself. “Are you chefs ready to cook all you got tonight?” Jimin turns to face us.

     “Yes!” you both shout back in unison.

     “Tonight’s theme is...date night. Cook up your best dinner for a one on one night with that special someone,” he declares before the timer begins to tick on the huge clock hanging on the wall. You almost laugh from the irony, but then the idea hits you: make what you and Jin made last night!

     Jin’s eyes follow your every move as the timer ticks down to zero. You run to the back to collect all your ingredients and spread them across the counter. “You got this,” you whisper to yourself.

     To begin, you boil water for the peas and heat up the chicken stock while waiting for the water to boil. When the water is done boiling, you try to reach for the peas but they’re not there. Panic smacks you in the chest as you forget how to breathe while you look all over; until you find them buried back in the fridge you pulled them out of.

     “What the hell?” Your face twists with confusion as to how they were put back in there. You remember clearly that you pulled them out to begin with. You look around and catch a glimpse of Yoongi smirking to himself. Sabotage.

     Thankfully, after that the rest of the time went smoothly even though you lost a few minutes searching for your missing peas and, soon enough, you were dishing all three of the judge’s plates. You thought you were done with a minute to spare, but another idea came about when you looked at the wine rack. You ran across the room to grab Picpoul de Pinet wine and three wine glasses. The timer rings just as you pour the last glass, setting down the bottle with a wash of relief.

     “Cut! You guys can take a couple minute break before they try your dishes,” the director instructs. To your surprise, Jin approaches you.

     “So was last night a date or a way you can use me for today?” His enduring presence from last night was long gone as he looks at you with disgust. You stood there dumbfounded and a bit annoyed that he would think about you like that.

     “Excuse me? I didn’t even know you were going to be on this show today,” you stand your ground and cross your arms in front of him.

     “It’s really a shame because I thought we really hit it off,” he huffed, not believing a word you just said.

     “No, it’s really a shame that your ego is that big to think that I used you when I’m the one who helped you with dinner last night,” a ring buzzed through the room, signifying it’s time to start filming again. Jin resorts to sitting back down in his chair and waits for the director to start again. Meanwhile, you and Yoongi stood in front of the judge booth, you avoiding to make eye contact with Jin.

     “Action!” the director yells.

     Jimin’s voice begins right after saying, “(Y/N), let’s start out with your dish. Tell us what it is.”

     “I made a spring pea risotto with Picpoul de Pinet that has a nice acidity that pairs well with the lush risotto,” you quote the exact words Jin said about the wine last night. You smugly smile at Jin, “Enjoy.”

     If looks could kill, you’d be split in half by the way Jin stared at your while sipping the wine. You watch him pick up his fork and scoop a pile of the risotto in his mouth. “It’s a bit bland,” he mumbled. In response, the other two judges look at him in disbelief.

     “I think this dish is absolutely amazing! Great job on the risotto,” Jung Hoseok gives you a thumbs up before taking another bite.

     “Yeah ignore what Jin said… this is excellent,” Kim Namjoon nods his head to assure you. Jin sits there in silence as he rolls his eyes at the judges. 

     “Okay judges flip through your scores and show us what you think,” Jimin tucks his arms behind his back as he watches them fiddle with their number cards.

     “Okay, I think we’re ready,” Namjoon says. They turned their cards around at the same time: Hoseok-9, Namjoon-9, Jin-4. Your jaw drops when you see Jin’s card. You knew that your dish wasn’t bad; his pettiness making your blood boil.

     “Okay that averages out to 7.3! Well done (Y/N). Show us what you have for us Yoongi,” Jimin says. 

     “I made you guys a lobster fra diavolo,” Yoongi watches intently as the judges twirl their forks within the dish.

     “Wow… this is magnificent. Super creamy,” Jin wipes his mouth with a napkin.

     “Yes, it’s creamy, but I think it could’ve used a bit more salt,” said Namjoon.

     “Yeah and the lobster is a bit tough on mine,” Hoseok chews. You bite the inside of your cheek to try to hold the flustered look on Jin and Yoongi. When showing the scores for Yoongi: Hoseok-5, Namjoon-6, Jin-8.

     “Okay and that averages out to 6.3. Congratulations (Y/N)! You are the winner of In The Flames!” Jimin applauds along with the judges. Everyone had a smile on their face, but Jin’s face was stone cold. Yoongi nods, obviously disappointed in the outcome.

     “Thank you for having me on the show,” he says before walking out with his head down. The camera follows him out the door and then pans to you celebrating. The thought of $10,000 made you jump and hug all the judges to thank them.

     When the cameras turn off, you walk back over to Jin. “Looks like I didn’t need your approval to win,” you articulated. Everyone leaves the set but you two.

     “I guess not, but apparently you needed my recipe,” he barked back.

     “Maybe so, but at least I don’t have to lie about the food tasting good,” you laugh, jumping back to sit on the judge booth while still facing him.

     “Who said I lied?” a smile finally cracks his face.

     “The other judges’ opinions weren’t coming from an angry egotistical boy like yourself, so I assumed,” you retort.

     He closes the space between you both. “What did you just call me?”

     “An angry. egotistical. boy,” you eye him up and down.

     “Usually I wait a couple more dates for this, but it looks like you need to be shown a lesson right now,” he pulls the middle of your back against his torso as his body stood between your dangling legs. You couldn’t lie and act like his other hand pulling your hair back didn’t make you pool at the bottom of your panties. The way his tongue traveled up your neck to meet your lips made your eyes flutter closed. Once he reached your lips, he connected his to them in a deep kiss. His plump lips wrapped and pulled yours at a quick pace. Your arms wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss even more, his tongue sliding to lick up your mouth. His grip that he had on your hair tightened along with his jeans resting between your thighs. You could feel it pushing against you, so you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him against you more as you yearned for the pressure. Your bodies pressed against one another when he pulled your head back to expose your neck. His lips roamed around the sensitive skin, leaving marks along the way. He tugs at the collar of your jacket before ripping the buttons off, leaving your chest bare for him to squeeze your breasts. You moan as he dips his head down to suck your nipples raw, licking around the tender area. His hand travels down to slip beneath your pants to rub you hard and quick against your underwear. Your breath hitches from his touch, grabbing his hair and bucking your hips to his fingers. To contain your moans, he connects his lips to yours. The dreadful colored lipstick was smeared on both of your faces at this point.

     He fumbled to unbuckle his belt, pants dropping to his ankles when he finally undid them. He didn’t hesitate to slide your pants and panties off as well, leaving you completely naked in the open filming set. He positioned your legs by having your feet up on the table, knees pulled apart, and your pussy propped up for him to enter into. You held yourself up with your arms slanted backward behind you on the table, biting your lip as you watched him look at you with his dilated pupils. Your pussy was dripping for his dick the second you first met him, and now was the time you’ve been waiting for.

     He spread your lips apart with his fingers, moaning as he takes in the sight. “Such a pretty pussy. I shouldn’t have contained myself on the first date,” he curls his finger inside. You whine from him only starting with one finger, but his other hand’s finger pushed into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around it and suck as you watch his reaction. He pulls his bottom lip in his mouth as he watches you. When he curls a second finger inside your cunt, he adds another finger to your mouth as well. As pumps into you faster, you thrust up into his fingers to go deeper. Moans getting muffled from the fingers in your mouth.

     “How about one more finger, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, licking and sucking the lobe.

     You nod and flutter your lashes up to meet his gaze. He moans as he watches you squirm while he slips his third finger in. Instead of adding a third finger to your mouth, he pulled them out to latch around your neck. Squeezing slightly, your moans manage to squeak out as his fingers slam into your soaking pussy. His grip loosens when he slowly pulls his fingers out to stick them in his mouth. He groans as he sucks your juices clean off his fingers. 

     He waited at your entrance with his huge length, wiggling it up and down your folds. Getting impatient, your scoot closer and whine for more. Feeding his ego a bit, he smirks. He’s sure to rub circles around your swollen clit as he inches himself inside of you. Your head drops back from the delicious stretch. Your loud moans echo throughout the large empty room. His breath stutters when he reaches balls deep inside of you. The suction of your tight pussy while he pulled out made him grip on your neck to contain himself. He sucked and nibbled your earlobe as he thrusted into you slowly, enjoying every second of it.

     “Harder,” you whimper. Doing exactly as said, he quickens the pace. The fronts of his thighs smacked into the edge of the table. The position he placed you in made it feel like his cock was being thrusted deep into your abdomen. To get a grip of the immense pleasure, you dug your nails into his shoulders. His hands dropped to your lower back to pull you into him more. As he ground circles inside of you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you pushed your hips up and down his groin. The moans started to become high pitched as you felt yourself growing closer to your high. He took that as an opportunity to push you over the edge by thrusting at an insane rate of quickness. He watched as your mouth opened into an ‘O’ shape and your eyes screwed shut. Your grip on him tightened as you poured all over him still thrusting into you to reach his own bliss.

     Not long after, he pulled out of you quickly. Pumping his length as he laid you down across the table, his load shot and drizzled on your stomach. His moans become guttural as he tugs his last drips on top of you, making eye contact with you when he’s done.

     “One second...they have to have paper towels in this kitchen somewhere,” he picks up his pants before scanning the kitchen. “Ah ha!” he grabs a towel from one of the cabinets and wipes you up gently. Pulling you up from the booth, you now stood in front of each other once again. The disbelief that you just had sex with one of the most famous chefs makes you shy to look at him again normally. He cuts the awkwardness by pulling you into one more kiss.

     “I’m sorry for lying about your dish. I just didn’t want to admit that it was better than mine last night,” he confesses with a laugh.

     You giggle from his words. “I guess you’ll just have to prove your famous cooking to me on our next date,” you nudge his shoulder.

     “Yeah and my manners,” he blushes.

Requested by: I lost the usernames from the rest of my requests, so I’m sorry :(

[fredrickster]

Obligation

A/N: This is a short story I made for a college competition.

Description: After Mitchell Sulvek, a bank franchise owner from Chicago, Illinois, loses most of what keeps him sane and alive from the court, a selfish, sickening idea springs to mind that he feels is his only way out of poverty. His son, Andrew, must take legal action to prevent his father from committing his desperate robbery from his own bank. 

Chapter One: Major Losses

"Your honor, if I may?"

“Proceed.”

Mitchell's lawyer, Tom, stands up and begins to stroll around the front of the courtroom as the judge gives him a hard look. "Now. If you aren't already aware, Mr. Sulvek's possession over the bank of the ALTyler Melk franchise here in Chicago has been running as smoothly as you could imagine ever since it was built over on Eighty-Seven Street. So, as you could imagine, Clara’s attempt at terminating his role as manager of this franchise could easily be seen as irrational, your honor?"  

The judge's hard stare vanishes as his face drops into an agreeing smirk. "Well, as of my own unbiased opinion, I can understand how Mrs. Harding's actions towards the termination of Mr. Sulvek’s role as manager of the ALTyler Melk & Co. franchise here in Chicago can be seen as irrational.”

Members from Clara’s side erupts in supposedly biased disagreement. Clara’s lawyer bursts out of her seat. “Objection!”

The judge pelts his words at her at an almost imitating volume. "Negative Mrs. Bloom. Please remain seated."

A few swears and curses can be heard buried under the breaths of the members from Clara’s side.

With the court session now pushing two hours, the judge comes to a conclusion. “With enough conflicting evidence from both sides. I hear by target all rights and legal custody over to Mrs. Harding. Case dismissed." The loud bang from his hammer echoes through the courtroom, diffusing shared ambivalence through the minds of those in the courtroom. Just by looking at the faces of the Harding family, you can see the euphoria and relief booming in their minds through their smug faces. On the other side, you can see the disbelief and melancholy in the minds of the Sulvek family through their drooping and defeated facial expressions.

While Clara’s side alights the courtroom with gleeful struts, Mitchell firmly swears under his breath multiple times. The divorce is officially over.

Chapter Two: Unlike Father, Unlike Son

Mitchell storms up the stairs of the apartment building to his floor, acting as if he had just been punished by his parents and sent to his room. When he arrives at his door, he pounds it open in frustration and slams it shut. Throwing his keys on the little table next to the front door, he marches into the living room and collapses onto the couch.

The judge’s words flow through his head as if he was being tormented by a bully. This reminder is enough for him to begin throwing his arms about his tiny apartment and forcefully shove the breath out of his lungs through heavy shouting.

Mitchell uncontrollably breaks several items of his through fierce, scalding anger. His bellowing screams scratch at the back of his throat, as he’s being thrown about each room of his apartment by an unknown force.

He collapses onto his bed from hyperventilation, holding his head as if he knew he was overreacting. Mitchell had never been this angry before.

A dilemma promptly appears in his mind. He lost most of his money. He was forced out of his home by Clara; he’s for sure not allowed back in, the court said. However, he didn’t lose his role as manager of the ALTyler Melk & Co. franchise here in Chicago – this is when the evil, most definitely irrational idea fully springs into his mind.

However, if he’s caught for this definite crime, he will most likely spend the rest of his life in prison.

You have to do it. Remember what you lost! This is the only way you’ll ever be happy again!

This devilish thought pollutes his mind. He cannot rid the power it has over him.

Mitchell feels a migraine beginning to form between his eyebrows. The pressure is enough for him to submit to his inner demons.

“That’s it!” He screams, before snatching his keys from the small table and climbing hastily back into his raincoat. After taking one hard gaze around his tiny, trashed apartment for what could be the final time, he sharply turns back and bolts through the front door, slamming it shut on his way out.

Two Days Later…

Andrew’s morning coffee was already half full, or as his father would have called it: half empty. The time was only nine forty-six and Andrew had already begun to feel a little tired, his caffeine addiction was wearing him down, and he knew he had to give it up.

Suddenly, his boss, Chief Phillips, swung open the door to his office with such an uncaring force, that Andrew gazed at him wide-eyed.

“Sorry for the sudden, unnoticed appearance Officer Sulvek, but I have an early Christmas Present for you: there’s a situation over at the ALTyler bank, possibly a robbery, and I want you to lead the charge.”

“Is this because my dad owns the bank, sir?” He asks while continuing to give him a hard gaze.

“Well… yes, but I also feel as though you should be the leader for once in a while; when was the last time you remember being the leader of anything, Officer Sulvek?”

Knowing already about accepting the role of the mission, he still ponders on the question. “Uhm, not for a while- “

“Great so today’s your lucky day.” He turns and begins to walk out of the office before turning back to face Andrew again. “I’ll meet you outside. And get a move on.”

After shutting his door just below a slam, Andrew releases a mere exhale.

Once arriving at the bank, the doors had already been sealed shut and yellow crime tape had been wrapped around the silver barricades blocking the roads.

Andrew notices a pedestrian sobbing from what he suspected to be related to the incident in the bank. “You alright ma’am? Do you know what happened in there?”

She turned her head slowly to face him. “No. All I heard were… gunshots and… someone screaming in the b-back.” She struggled to speak with the constant sniffing and wiping of tears.

From knowing that his father was supposed to be at work today, he promptly looks up among the heavy crowd of people, scanning for his father.

“And that’s when I followed everyone running out of the bank.”

He decides to look deeper and wider for his father. "Okay, ma'am. Sorry, and thank you for your time." He shoots off into the crowd of people, calling out Mitchell’s name. After yelling only a few times, Andrew comes to a haunting realization.

With all the trouble and chaos his father had only just been through, it’s highly possible that he could be the prime suspect for this incident, out of what he suspected to be retaliation and desperation.

Andrew rams through the crowd and back to his team. He speaks partially out of breath to the Chief and any other by-standing listeners. "Chief, you may not like this… but I need you to let me go in there alone.”

He pauses in shock for a few seconds as he gives him a stunned expression filled with disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

Andrew holds his hands out in front of him. “Sir, please- “

“I can’t let you go in there by yourself. They’ll kill you.”

“No they wo- “Andrew releases a sigh similar to the one he released earlier. “Listen… I believe the suspect could potentially be my father. I’m not even kidding.”

The Chief and another deputy looks at each other in disbelief and confusion. “How can you be sure of that?” The deputy asks.

“He’s supposed to be at work today and I can’t find him anywhere. I just… know it’s him, can I please… go in there alone? He trusts me. Even if he has a crew with him, he’ll tell them to lay off on me.”

The Chief drops a heavy sigh. “If you insist Officer Sulvek, proceed. But if anything even gets close to getting out of control, you call us up and we’ll send in reinforcements.”

Andrew gives a weak nod as he hurriedly marches over to the bank entrance. 

Chapter Three: An Untidy Decision

Taking in his final breath of fresh air, Andrew shoves the heavy glass door to the bank open and immediately calls out to his father. With no returning voice or sound after only a few seconds, Andrew finds that he sped up as he dashes through the main lobby of the bank.

Andrew follows the wide halls within the bank, which lead down to the lower ground. Right after alighting the bottoms step, he notices a drop of red beside the dark green rug rolled out along the corridors. Andrew starts to become skeptical after finding this, and even more after noticing a couple more drops of red further down the corridor, some on the rug this time. Andrew calls out again to his father and right after hearing the sound of his echoing voice bounding between the walls, his ears perk to a sudden clamp of metal slamming against what sounds like a relating metal wall.

While scoping out the source of the sound, the same sound plays again shortly after the first one. With the air being already draining from Andrew’s lungs, he pushes his now weary body through towards the source of the sounds. Andrew runs into the room filled with metal drawers and finds his father. Squatting down in front of the back wall of metal drawers. The familiar sound of clanging metal plays again a third time and rings in Andrew’s ears, as the sound echoes through the small room and out into the corridors.

After looking around for any others and finding no one, Andrew builds up enough courage to speak up to his father.

“...Dad... Why?”

Mitchell slowly turns his head to face him. “I have no choice son. Besides... What have I got to lose anyway?”

Without a word, Andrew slides his gun out of its holster and aims it at his father’s head, standing only a few feet away. Mitchell turns head slowly again to see his only son pointing a gun towards his head.

“Son... I’m your father...”

“I know that.” Surprised to see that his father didn’t equip himself with a weapon of his own, he struggles to command him to go with him. “Now... Come with me.”

"I mean... You may as well just shoot me, Andrew. As I've said: I've got nothing to lose."

After a short silence, Mitchell continues. “Unless you want me to live the rest of my life a bum, or, in this case, in a rusty old prison cell, then I suggest you end it.” Mitchell turns and moves an inch closer to his son, now standing only a few whiskers away from his gun. “Now!” He shouts through the entire bank.

Andrew’s hands tremble. His breathing quickens, and his head spins uncontrollably on his shoulders. His weapon lowers and he begins to walk out of the room.

“I’m sorry son... but this has to be done. For my sake. Think about your family and not just yourself.”

A moment of silence passes before Andrew notices how he’s now out of the room. Andrew knows now what really has to be done. He moves to just outside of the room filled with metal drawers, and immediately lifts his gun and aims it at his father’s head a second time. The sound of the bullet popping out of his gun creates the loudest, most painfully ear-rattling sound he has ever had to handle... the popping of the bullet that pierces through his father’s skull. 

THE END

[shootwinterfest]

Holiday Party by asleepinawell

NEW STORY BY THE FABULOUS, BRILLIANT @asleepinawell - Thank you so much!!!

HAPPY DECEMBER 1st!!!!

Holiday Party by @asleepinawell

          The worst part of Samaritan coming online, in Shaw's very unbiased opinion, was that there were actual serious consequences to some very simple actions that there never had been before. She didn't, to choose a completely random and theoretical example, want Reese and Finch to get killed because she shoved her supervisor into oncoming traffic. It was a very unfair situation.

           “A what?” she asked the horrible man who she wasn't allowed to throttle.

           “The company holiday party, sweetheart. It's tomorrow evening. Our way of saying thank you to all you employees for your hard work.”

           Shaw doubted that someone as unimportant as a junior supervisor in the cosmetics department had any say in giving other employees a holiday party. Not important enough to plan a party, but just important enough to ruin her day.

           “I'm busy tomorrow.”

           “It's a mandatory work event.”

           Shaw's eyes narrowed. “I'm...sick.”

           Her supervisor looked her up and down. “You don't look sick.”

           “About to be sick. Any moment now. And definitely tomorrow night.” This would be so much easier if she could break his nose. He didn't even have the decency to own a car that she could have slashed the tires on for a bit of stress relief, and there were only so many times she could steal his metrocard before it stopped cheering her up.

           Her supervisor sighed and straightened his glasses. “Very amusing. Now you're to be here tomorrow evening at 5pm. No excuses.”

           Shaw thought her day couldn't get any worse than that, but as he was walking away her manager turned back and added, “Oh, and you'll need to bring a date.”

           Shaw ripped the paper off her sandwich. “This has to be illegal.”

           “Which part, making you go to a party, or making you bring a date?” Reese asked.

           Shaw slapped his hand away when he went for one of her fries. “Either? Both? Some part of it is illegal.” She paused, fry halfway to her mouth. “You're a cop now.”

           “I'm not arresting your boss.”

           “I don't think he's the one who planned this party.”

           “I'm not arresting the owners of Macy's either.”

           “It's not a--” Shaw gave up. “Well, you're going to have to come with me then.”

           Reese froze, hand halfway to the fries again. “Me? Why me?”

           “I can't very well take Romeo.”

           Reese scowled, visibly unnerved by this change in course. “You're not even supposed to know me.”

           It was a fair point (and why they were eating lunch together in the subway where no one could see them), but since this entire situation was unfair Shaw didn't much care.

           A devious smile spread across Reese's lips and Shaw's eyes narrowed.

           “Have you seen Root lately?” Reese asked, innocently.

           Shaw was genuinely confused by this change in direction. “Root? Not for a week or two, why?”

           “You needed a date to this party, and…” Reese's smile was a smirk now.

           “Root is not going to be my date, we do not...we don't do that.” She'd biked across a cesspool of a state to save Root's dumb ass onceand now everyone thought it meant all sorts of things that it definitely didn't mean.

           “Whatever you say, Shaw.”

           Reese was limping rather badly when he left the subway later, but Shaw felt a little better.

           Shaw wasn't at all surprised to find Root waiting for her at her makeup counter when she got back from lunch. The nosy AI she worked for had probably sent her here to keep Shaw from murdering someone to get out of this party.

           “I hope you're making some real progress with your super secret war on Samaritan,” Shaw snapped as she walked behind her counter. “Progress, as in the two of you will have blown it up before tomorrow.”

           “Good to see you, too, sweetie.” Root picked a tube of lipstick up off the counter and toyed with it. “What's happening tomorrow?”

           “What, like you don't know already?” The Machine must have told her and now she was here angling to tag along and embarrass Shaw in front of her coworkers.

           Root smiled enigmatically. “Humor me. What's happening tomorrow?”

           Shaw stared at her for a moment, trying to determine if she was stringing her along with the whole pretending not to know thing. But Root didn't look like she was hiding anything--she just looked tired.

           “Nothing. Just a stupid thing I have to do for this dumbass cover identity.” She glanced down the aisle to make sure her manager wasn't watching. The last thing she needed was that annoying little cockroach noticing that Root was a frequent customer. “Why areyou here then?”

           “Just checking in. Making sure you're not doing anything to break your cover.”

           “Well, I'm not. Unfortunately.”

           Root nodded absently. “How's the petty thievery going?”

           “Shouldn't you know all this? I figured the Machine would be giving you hourly updates or something.” There was something else going on here, Shaw was sure. If she hadn't known better she would have said that Root looked sad, but that couldn't possibly be right. “Is something going on, Root?”

           Root set down the lipstick with a decisive click. “Sorry, sweetie. Have to run now. Be good.”

           Shaw watched her walking away. She wasn't even prancing like she usually did on visits here.

           Shaw cursed under her breath.

           “Root, wait.”

           Shaw bruised Reese's other shin when he made a snide comment at lunch the next day. It was none of his business who she took to a stupid party for a stupid cover identity. He kept smirking anyway.

           “That's what you're wearing?” Shaw asked.

           Root smoothed the green dress over her hips. “It's a party, Shaw. Generally one dresses up for parties.”

           Shaw had chosen to wear jeans and a casual shirt and jacket (all black, of course). If she had to go to this thing, she intended to be comfortable.

           “I'm not putting any more effort into this bullshit than I have to.”

           Root looked nice though, she could admit that much.

           “How bad can it be?” Root asked. Somehow she'd moved from a respectful distance away on the sidewalk to walking in Shaw's personal space, but Shaw decided not to say anything about that. Notbecause she enjoyed the line of warmth that was Root by her side or anything. No, it would just encourage Root if she told her to knock it off.

           “It's a mandatory company party in the store we work in all day thrown by a bunch of greedy corporate overlords. How could it notbe bad?”

           “Point taken.”

           The inside of the mall Shaw's store was in was much warmer than the winter air outside had been and she took a minute to enjoy the change before heading to the escalator.

           Root was quiet on the ride down to the lower level. She leaned against one side of the escalator and looked out over the abandoned mall.

           “What's with you lately?” Shaw asked.

           Root arched an eyebrow at her. “What's with me?”

           “Yeah, you're--” Shaw didn't know how to describe it. Moping? Sad? Unusually quiet for sure. It was none of her business, though. “Never mind.”

           Shaw let the silence stand the rest of the way down.

           “Well, this is festive,” Root murmured when they stepped into the store.

           The store was exactly the way Shaw had last seen it when she'd clocked out earlier: an unending mess. Holiday shoppers were the worst.

           “Ah, good, you're here.” It was her annoying supervisor, appearing out of nowhere like an especially persistent mosquito. “Just in time to help clean up for the party.”

           “Seriously?”

           The true purpose of the party quickly became apparent--unpaid labor to clean up the store. She thought about walking out right then, consequences be damned, but instead she gritted her teeth and smiled at her supervisor in an unfriendly way until he cleared his throat nervously and left.

           “The world already sucked without an evil AI. How much worse can Samaritan really make it?”

           Root smiled, her first smile of the night, and leaned down so her lips were almost against Shaw's ear.

           “I love it when you're optimistic, sweetie,” she murmured. “How about a little incentive to play nice and be exploited like a good little gear in the capitalist machine?”

           Only Root could talk about the evils of capitalism in a husky voice and make it work.

           “What sort of incentive are we talking?”

           “It'll be a surprise.” Root's lips brushed the shell of Shaw's ear for a fraction of a second.

           “Fine. It better be worth it though.”

           Root, Shaw realized almost immediately, had no intention of helping. Instead, she perched elegantly on the edge of one of the counters and idly rummaged through the merchandise. Shaw's supervisor came over, probably to try and force her to help, but Root fixed him with a withering stare that made him scuttle away. Shaw smirked to herself as she discreetly kicked the contents of an overturned display behind a counter.

           Once the store was reasonably tidy, the ‘party’ began. There was one bowl of punch and a few plates of cookies that looked stale. Tinny Christmas music played over the store speakers.

           “The Machine owes me big time for this,” Shaw grumbled as she leaned against the counter next to Root.

           “I'm sure She'll make it up to you when She can.”

           “And when will thatbe?”

           Root fell silent again and understanding dawned on Shaw. She felt dumb for not figuring it out sooner. She considered pressing the subject, finding out exactly how little Root could communicate with the Machine now, but something about Root's previous lack of response stopped her. If Root wanted to discuss it, she'd have talked Shaw's ear off already.

           Around them, the train wreck of a party continued to unfold. Shaw's supervisor was noticeably drunk (he must not have realized that Shaw had spiked the punch) and wearing a grimy Santa outfit. The other employees were all in various states of intoxication and all had the grim looks of people trying very hard to survive the next few hours. The highlight of the next half hour was tied between someone locking inebriated supervisor-Santa in a stock room, and when Gary from menswear threw up in a fake plant and then passed out in the aisle.

           Shaw watched Root out of the corner of her eye, and while Root definitely looked maliciously satisfied at the fall of Gary (and Shaw was almost positive she'd somehow been behind her supervisor’s incarceration, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out how), her heart didn't seem to be fully in it.

           Neither of them had budged from the counter Root had taken up residence on, especially since Shaw had kept most of the flask she'd used on the punch for herself. They passed it back and forth every few minutes and by the time it was gone Shaw felt warm and slightly tingly with just the right amount of a buzz. She didn't even bat Root's hand away when she pulled the bottom of Shaw's shirt out of her pants in the back so she could brush her fingers along Shaw's skin. It felt kind of nice and nobody at the stupid party was watching so why should it matter?

           Three times one of the others came over and attempted to make conversation. Root sent the first two away deeply regretting their attempts to mingle, but the third person she just tuned out and ignored until Shaw had to growl at him to shove off.

           “You must be very popular here,” Root mused as she watched Henry from sportswear beat a hasty retreat.

           “They don't pay me to be nice to my coworkers.” Shaw snuck another glance at Root out of the corner of her eye. She looked about as done as Shaw felt, and even though this was the sort of situation where Root would usually turn things excitingly violent or at least orchestrate an escape for them, Shaw had a feeling Root wasn't going to this time. She wondered if maybe this whole charade bothered Root even more than it bothered her.

           “Let's get out of here,” she said.

           “Aren't you required to stay til the end of this farce?”

           “Bathroom break. Come on.”

           Shaw didn't take them to the bathrooms though. Instead she led Root to the elevator and punched the button for the top floor. Once there, she headed to the back staircase she'd discovered while snooping around and easily picked the look. Being a petty criminal had its advantages if it meant getting away with stuff like this without alerting Samaritan.

           She breathed in deeply when she pushed the door to the roof open. An hour ago she'd been glad to get out of the cold, but now it felt like freedom.

           “Needed some fresh air,” Shaw explained even though Root hadn't asked for an explanation. Shaw liked that about her, that she so rarely required explanations for things Shaw did. It was sort of freeing.

           They both walked over to the edge of the building in unspoken agreement to look out at the city around them. There were strands of little white lights hung everywhere making the whole city glow softly.

           It was windy on the roof and the cold air cut right through Shaw's clothes and made her teeth chatter. Root must have been freezing in that dress, and upon a brief, surreptitious inspection Shaw noted she was definitely shivering.

           “Heads up.” Shaw gave Root less than half a second of warning before tossing her jacket in Root's face. She glared when Root looked like she was about to comment on the gesture. “Next time wear something with sleeves.”

           “I did, but it's downstairs because you didn't tell me we were coming outside.”

           Fair point, but Shaw wasn't about to acknowledge that. “Thought you were supposed to be clever. You could have figured it out.”

           “I suppose there's always room for improvement.” Root slipped her arms into the jacket and wrapped it tightly around herself. “Aren't you going to get cold now, Shaw?”

           “I don't get cold.”

           “Really.” Amused disbelief hung on the word.

           “Yeah, really.”

           She pretended not to notice when Root inched close enough that their sides were pressed together. Clearly Root was just still cold and trying to steal her warmth.

           “You have plans for the holidays?” Root asked after a couple chilly minutes of gazing out at the city around them. “Other than murdering your coworkers, I mean.”

           Shaw snorted. “Holidays aren't my thing.”

           When Root didn't say anything else Shaw wondered if she should follow up on the question.

           “Uh, what about you?”

           “That's not clear yet, but She'll let me know.”

           “Well, you can--” Shaw paused, unsure what she'd been about to suggest.

           Root tilted her head to one side, curious. She almost looked like herself again for a second. “I can what?”

           “Uh, nothing. Wanna go give me that incentive you mentioned now?”

           Root chuckled and led the way back to the door. “Let's get you all warmed up again, sweetie.”

           “So how was your date with Root?” Reese asked around a bite of the sandwich which might be his last meal as a living man if Shaw had anything to do with it.

           She threw a ketchup packet in his face.

           “It wasn't a date.”

           “What was it then?”

           “A...mission, to help keep my identity intact.”

           The ‘mission’ had ended with them using some ties in the menswear department for purposes other than their intended use, which had gone so well that they'd decided to continue things back at Shaw's apartment.

           Shaw had woken up in the middle of the night to find that they'd both passed out before she'd had a chance to kick Root out or at least banish her to the couch and that Root was still on the other side of the bed, cocooned in almost all the blankets and about as deeply asleep as Shaw had ever seen her. She’d thought about waking her up and sending her to the couch, but then she'd thought about the dark circles under Root's eyes and how happy she'd looked when Shaw had invited her back that night.

           In the end, she'd let Root sleep undisturbed and had gone and gotten herself more blankets since Root was a cover hog on top of all her other failings.

           Root had still been sound asleep when Shaw had gotten up to go to work, and in the end Shaw had decided to let her stay that way. At least one of them would be well rested.

           “Just a mission,” Shaw reiterated before diving back into her sandwich.

           “A mission,” Reese repeated. “Right.”

           She threw another ketchup packet at him.

           Root was standing at the kitchen counter when Shaw got home from work (it had been a short work day since it was Christmas eve). She looked up from the note she was writing when Shaw came in.

           “I was on my way out. Sorry I stole your bed. I must have been more tired than I'd thought.”

           “Wasn't a big deal,” Shaw said and was surprised to realize that she meant it.

           “Careful, Sameen, or I might get the impression that you like having me around.” Root smiled and her eyes were mischievous and lit up the way Shaw remembered them usually being.

           Shaw scoffed for the look of things and kicked off her shoes and jacket. At least she didn't have to work for the next day and a half.

           “You off to save the world?” she asked as she watched Root gathering her things.

           “Something like that.”

           Shaw was getting the hang of when Root was being cryptic and when she was just lying to cover up for not knowing something.

           New York City had been in the process of shutting itself down when Shaw had walked home. Not completely, of course, since it wasNew York after all, but most of the shops had been shuttered and people on the streets had been hurrying home rather than heading out. The city streets would be about as quiet and empty as they ever got by nightfall.

           She thought about Root wandering around the empty streets by herself in the cold with only the absence of the Machine to keep her company. She scowled as she watched Root open the door to leave.

           “You could--” She hesitated, because even though she was sure, it still felt weird.

           “Shaw?”

           The tiny hint of hope that Root hadn't quite been able to hide from her voice freed Shaw to act. She walked over and firmly shut the half-open door.

           “Don't make a big deal out of this.”

           Root smiled and Shaw turned away, feeling slightly embarrassedof all things. This was why Root was such a pain in her ass.

           “And don't make a mess either. And this is only until you get a new mission or something, okay?”

           “Of course, Sameen.”

           Root was back to being her irritating self for the remainder of her stay, and, when she vanished the day after Christmas, she left everything in a mess anyway. Shaw sighed and set about restoring order to her apartment. Root had better come back soon and in one piece so Shaw could yell at her.

           Halfway through cleaning, Shaw found the note that Root had left on the counter. The one she'd half-written a few days ago before Shaw had come home had been ridiculous and had hearts all over it. This one just said ‘Thank you.’ in Root's loopy scrawl. Shaw stared at it for a long second and then went back to cleaning.

[quadhouse]

The Island: chapter 2

Lorie stared at the breasts.  She knew she should stop, but she couldn’t.  Not only were these breasts huge, they were right at eye level.  How tall was this woman?  The snapping in front of her face broke her focus and she shifted her gaze up.  It was slow going.  Those breasts really tried to hole her attention.  But she persevered and was rewarded when her gaze met the breasts owner’s face.

“Y-you’re,” stammered Lorie.

“Yes, me,” smiled the woman.  “I’m Annalina Jager.  But I think you already know that.”

Lorie did know who she was.  Annalina Jager was a world-famous Dutch supermodel.  But, three years ago, she suddenly announced that she was retiring.  She then vanished.  Nobody could find her or what happened.  There was a lot of speculation on what happened to her.  But not one of them even came close to this.  She didn’t think anybody would have guessed that she had came here of all places.

“Why did you come here,” Lorie blurted out.  She slapped her hands over her mouth as her face heated from the furious blush.  She had not meant to say that.  Some reporter she was.

Annalina just laughed.  “Don’t worry.  I get that a lot.  It’s usually one of the first questions people aske me when they see me.”

“One of the first questions?”

“Yeah.”  Annalina pushed a strand of her blonde hair back behind a pointed ear.  “They also ask me why I’m a centaur.”

“Why you’re a centaur,” Lorie repeated as she lowered her gaze to Annalina’s waist.  Lorie’s mouth dropped, and her eyes bulged.  From the waist down, Annalina was a horse.  Not a human with horse features.  But a whole horse.  How did she miss that!?  Annalina’s horse body was a glossy white.  Her tail was a golden blonde.  It perfectly matched her hair.

“B-but I thought they only made anthromorphic mods,” stuttered Lorie.

“I’m the first centaur,” Annalina said proudly.  “Already there are people asking for the same mod.  As long as everything remains stable, I won’t be the only centaur.”

“How will you know that everything remains stable,” Lorie asked.  Her reporter’s side was making itself felt.

“Well, when my boyfriend finishes up cooking,” Annalina said.  “We’ll try to get me pregnant.  As long as my body only reacts to the pregnancy, then we’re stable.”

“When your boyfriend finishes cooking?”

“Yeah,” Annalina answered with a smile.  “He’s undergoing his mod.  It’ll be another eight months before he’s finished.  Then, if he proves stable, we’ll try to get me pregnant.”

Lorie was stunned.  She was, possibly, talking to the mother of a new race of beings.  One created here on Jonathan’s island.  Sure, it was inspired by legends.  But legends were meant to inspire people.  A sudden thought popped into her head.  “How did you get here so quietly?”

The centaur pointed at her hooves.  “I’m wearing rubber booties,” she said.  “They really cut down on the noise.  I know they’re not horseshoes.  I just can’t stand the thought of someone hammering nails into my hooves.”

Annalina looked around.  “Look,” she said.  “We can stand her talking if we want.  But I think Sarah and her daughter have places to be.”

Startled, Lorie turned toward the two tiger people.  She had forgotten about them.  “I’m sorry Sarah,” she said.  “When I saw Annalina, I completely forgot about you.”

Sarah waved the apology away.  “Don’t worry.  I understand.  She is a shock to first time you see her.  And we can wait on you.  I’m still upset that there was nobody her to meet you.”

“There wasn’t,” Annalina asked.  “I was told there would be somebody here.”

“There wasn’t,” Sarah growled.  “I’m thinking about going to the center and give them a piece of my mind.”

“I have a better idea,” smiled Annalina.  It wasn’t a nice smile.  “I’ll tell Charlette.  That’ll teach them not to ignore visitors.”

Sarah laughed.  “That’s a wonderful idea,” she said.  “That will be a lesson they will not forget.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Lorie said.  “I know that reporters aren’t welcomed here.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sarah firmly said.  “They did when they didn’t have anybody here to meet you.”

“That’s right,” said Annalina.  “As for reporters not being welcomed here, you were invited by Jonathan himself.  So, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Now that we have that settled,” Sarah said as she rubbed her hands together.  “Let’s get those bags moving.  I’m sure Lorie would like to get settled in before she begins interviewing people.”

“Did they at least unload your luggage,” Annalina asked Lorie.

“They did,” Sarah answered for the reporter.  “They’re on my cart.”

“Good.  Then we can get going.”  The three women and one girl started walking.  Lorie, being the only unmodified human, started to fall behind.  She couldn’t match Annalina’s speed, or Sarah’s and Crystal’s stamina.

“This won’t do,” Annalina said when she noticed Lorie falling behind.  They were only halfway to the admittance center.

“I’m sorry,” Lorie said.  “I’ll speed up.”

“No, you’re a guest,” Annalina said.  “I have something else in mind.”  With that, the centaur grabbed Lorie by the waist, lifted her, then placed her on own back.  “There.  Now you can ride.  You do know how to ride horses, don’t you?” Lorie, sat, frozen on Annalina’s back.  Until she started to slip.  Then she scrambled to keep her seat.  “No,” she said nervously.  “I’ve never ridden a horse before.  Are you sure I should be on your back?”

“As I’m the one who put you there,” Annalina said.  “Yes.  If anybody has a problem with it, they can take it up with me.  Or Charlette.  I’m sure she’ll love to know why I’m carrying you.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Lorie said.

“Again, you’re not,” Sarah said.  “In the early days of furry mods, reporters got a bad rep with us because most of them put their own slant on the interviews.  They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand why people would want to modded this way.  They kept trying to make us look like a cult, or a bunch of loonies.  Or worse, sex addicts.  That’s not to say a lot of furries got modded so they could have sex as their furry self.  But furry culture is more than that.”

“I don’t understand furry culture,” Lorie said.  “And I freely admit it.  I also don’t see anything wrong with it.  You’re not causing trouble.  Most of you just want to live your lives in peace.  As long as you do that, you’ll have no problem from me.”

Annalina nodded to what Lorie had said.  “If anybody’s causing trouble,” she said.  “It’s those who aren’t giving you a chance.  How many gave you dark looks or jumped to the wrong conclusion on your trip over?”

“Most of the passenger and just about all of the crew,” Sarah answered when Lorie didn’t.  “The first mate even tried to blame her when my Crystal scared her.  Like most people wouldn’t scream when they wake to a tiger in their face.”

Annalina snorted, then laughed causing Lorie to hug Annalina’s body with all four limbs.  “She didn’t,” the centaur gasped.

“She did,” giggled Sarah.  “Of course, when Lorie screamed, Crystal learned why you don’t get that close to a sleeping person.  Especially when you look like a tiger.”  Lore and Crystal looked at each other and blushed.

Thirty minutes later, Lorie was shaking her hand in wonder.  Once the group had gotten to the admittance center, Annalina became all business.  She had the employees quaking in their boots.  She ripped into them about their poor service.  They were running around trying to placate the centaur, but she wasn’t having it.  She even threatened to bring Charlette into it.  Lorie didn’t know who Charlette was, but she could tell that the mere thought of the woman getting involved terrified the people at the center.

Now the group was walking toward the island’s center.  Lorie wasn’t walking.  She was riding Annalina at her insistence.  There Lorie would be staying in the suite of rooms set aside for her.  Unless they came here for modding, visitors were put in rooms scattered around the island.  Since Lorie had been invited, she got to stay in the resident area.  “Don’t you think you were a little rough on them,” Lorie asked Annalina.

“No,” Annalina replied.  “While you may be a reporter, you were invited by Mr. Bellsworth.  That alone should have told them something.”

“She’s right, you know,” Sarah said.  While she and Crystal could have gone ahead of the others, she decided to wait for them.  The smile she had while Annalina was berating the employees told Lorie why she decided to wait.  “You have been very polite this whole time.  The only person I’ve seen you ask questions is Annalina.”

“Speaking of,” said Annalina.  “Where are your tools?  You don’t even have your phone out.”

“Because I’m not interviewing anybody,” Lorie answered.  “I only planned on interviewing Jonathan.  And I’ll do that at when he’s ready.”

“So the questions you asked me?”

“Those were me trying to understand you,” Lorie said.  “I don’t know why any of you want to be the way you are.  Some furries have tried to explain it, but I just don’t get it.  In a way, you remind me of some strippers.  Some of them have get huge breasts, or butts, to fill a niche.  Others do it because they see it as part of their job.  But, you don’t have that particular motivation.”  She sighed.  “You puzzle me.  But not as a reporter.  I try to keep my professional life and my personal life separate.  That way, I’ll only report the facts.  Hopefully, unbiased.”

“Well, you have my vote,” Sarah said.  “If more reporters were like you, furries would have a better reputation with the general public.  As it is, most think we’re a bunch of freaks.  I’ll admit, there are some of us who the rest would rather just disappear.  But all groups can say that.  The rest of us, are just normal people who just want to live our lives.  We just happen to have fur and other animal features.”

“You know, I can arrange for you to be able to talk to others beside Jonathan,” Annalina said.  “If anyone can give an unbiased report on us, it’s you.”

“That’s up to you,” Lorie said.  “And anybody who decides to talk to me.  I will not force anyone.  I’m a guest here.  But why would you do that?”

“Because our story does need to be told.”  Annalina said.  “With what you said, I believe you can do it.  I want to help you do it.  I’ll talk to Charlette and see if she approves.  If she does, she’ll talk to Jonathan and convince him to allow it.  That is, if he’s against it in the first place.”

“Alright,” Lorie said.  “You’ve pricked my curiosity.  Just who is this Charlette you keep mentioning.  Just her name is enough to scare people here and now I hear she may be able to change Jonathan’s mind.  How can she do that?”

“I thought you knew,” Annalina said.  “You went to school with both of them.  Didn’t you?”

“Both of them?”

“Jonathan Bellsworth and Charlette Alberton,” Sarah said.  “Charlette is Jonathan’s wife.

Lorie fell off Annalina’s back.