#yeah they are eating mud pudding

[laxyaklovesloz]

Danny Phantom Revisit Season One

Mystery Meat 3

Tucker got his answer at lunch that day. He and Danny arrived at their usual table with wheatgrass on toast for their meals. Sam seemed positively happy with her food – she actually had a smile on her face.

“This is your brilliant idea?” Tucker asked, holding up his toast with two fingers.

“Isn’t it great?” Sam asked back.

“Isn’t this a little extreme?” Danny pointed out.

Sam opened her mouth to speak, but a hand rested on her shoulder. Everyone looked up to see Mr. Lancer – an overweight, balding, middle-aged man in a light blue shirt and black tie – the vice-principal and English teacher.

“Ah, Miss Manson,” Mr. Lancer said. “The school board wanted me to personally thank you for ushering in this welcome experiment to our cafeteria.”

Tucker’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. “Meat. Near,” he said robotically. He glared at Mr. Lancer who backed away.

“No, no,” Mr. Lancer said. “The rumors about the new all-steak buffet in the teacher’s lounge are completely untrue.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder again and said, “Thanks again,” before walking off.

“Yeah,” Tucker said, glaring at Sam, “thanks again for making us eat garbage, Sam.”

“It’s not garbage,” Sam said, holding up her toast. “It’s recyclable organic matter.”

Together, the boys said, “It’s garbage.”

Danny sighed and looked at his food. He had to eat something, right? His stomach growled in agreement. He took a bite of his grassy toast just as his ghost sense went off.

“Uh, guys?” he said. “I’ve got a problem.” A slop of pudding planted on his head, and gooey liquid ran down his neck. “Ugh!”

“FENTON!” came a familiar, irritating voice.

“Make that two problems,” Danny amended.

A muscular, blond jock grabbed him by his shirt collar and yanked him off his seat. Dash Baxter, the JV quarterback star… and Danny’s tormentor. A thrill of rage he’d never felt before coursed through Danny at the thought of being interrupted. It surprised him more than anything else, and he quashed it down.

“I ordered three mud pies,” Dash complained loudly, “and do you know what I got? Pudding that tastes like mud!” He shoved Danny back into his seat and slid his lunch tray in front of him. “You’re going to eat it. All of it!”

Danny grimaced. He needed a way out of this situation, but all eyes were on him. He still felt the icy cold in his chest which meant a ghost was near. His gaze flicked around the room, searching for an idea. He caught sight of a glowing green woman in the kitchen. That must be the ghost!

“I’m waiting,” Dash said.

Then it hit him. “Garbage fight!” Danny shouted and threw the pudding into Dash’s face.

The lunchroom erupted into a frenzy. Danny dove under the table. So did Tucker and Sam.

“Nice going,” Tucker said smugly. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan,” Danny said, “is to find the ghost I’m sensing. I think I saw her in the kitchen.” To his relief, Dash’s feet ran off in a random direction.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?” Sam asked.

Danny smirked. “I’ll be invisible. I’m going ghost!” The transformation rings passed over him and he felt weightless under the table. Immediately, he went invisible and intangible. “Meet me in the kitchen if you can.” Then he flew off, right through the tabletop.

Getting to the kitchen and finding the ghost took him half a second. She was quite large with white hair that flowed menacingly under a hairnet. She wore the same uniform as the lunch lady she was terrorizing.

“The menu hasn’t been changed in fifty years,” the ghost said sweetly. Then, her demeanor changed to one of rage, and she roared, “Who changed the menu?”

“Leave her alone!” Danny said.

The ghost turned to him, and the lunch lady fled. The ghost had red eyes, jagged teeth, and hideous lipstick. At the sight of Danny, her stance relaxed and she smiled with a closed mouth.

“Ghost child, maybe you can help me,” she said in a syrupy voice. “I’m the Lunch Lady, you see, and I’m looking for the one who changed the menu so I can PUNISH THEM!” She yelled the last two words, showing her dangerous side again.

Danny backed away, trying to look non-threatening. “You don’t need to punish anybody,” he said. “The change to the menu is only temporary. You can go back to the Ghost Zone or whatever–”

“That is unacceptable!” the Lunch Lady growled, lunging at Danny with her fingers, which turned into claws.

“Whoa!” Danny dodged and reluctantly powered up his fist. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The ghost swiped at him again and he continued to dodge. He wasn’t used to being in a fight where he could retaliate, so he didn’t know when to attack. All his training with the ectoray went out the window now that he faced a real opponent.

Eventually, his back was against a wall – literally – so he had to do something. He swung his fist, releasing the stored-up energy at the last second. The Lunch Lady was blasted backward. It actually worked! While she was disoriented, Danny grabbed her collar, turned both of them intangible and flew upward. He didn’t let go until they were safely above the school roof.

“Now leave everyone alone,” Danny threatened, “or I’ll keep hitting you.”

The Lunch Lady glanced at their surroundings, turned invisible, and fled.

Danny wiped his hands together and landed on the roof. “Phew,” he sighed. “Glad that’s over.” He looked around and mused, “So this is what the roof is like.” He chuckled to himself and dove back into the school. He found a quiet closet to transform in and cautiously opened the door. No one saw him, so he hurried out of the closet. He was about to return to the lunch room when a hand grabbed his collar. Not again, he thought and grimaced.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mr. Lancer said.

Dash stood next to him, a smug look on his face. He was covered by food, or what Sam called food. He sneered in Danny’s face and said, “Told ya you’d pay, Fenton!”

Danny didn’t remember any such threat, but it didn’t matter now. Mr. Lancer led Danny to his office, where Tucker and Sam waited. They looked sheepishly at Danny when he walked in. Danny took a seat next to them while Mr. Lancer went over to a set of filing cabinets. Dash closed the door and leaned against the wall grinning.

Silence permeated the room except for the sound of papers rustling in Mr. Lancer’s filing cabinet. Danny twitched in his seat, wondering what was about to happen. Finally, Mr. Lancer turned around, three files in his hands.

“Tucker Foley,” Mr. Lancer said, reading from the first file. “Chronic tardiness, talking in class, repeated loitering by the girls’ locker room. Danny Fenton. Thirty-four dropped beakers in the last month, banned for life from handling all fragile school property, but no severe mischief before today. Sam Manson. Organizing unauthorized protests on school property, also talking in class…” He slammed the files on his desk, making the trio jump. “Why did the three of you conspire to destroy the school’s cafeteria?”

Danny hastily said, “Dash started it! He threw–”

“Four touchdown passes in the last game and is thereby exempt from scorn,” Mr. Lancer said cooly. “You three, however, are not. I’ll map out your punishment when I return.” He opened the door and added, “Mr. Baxter, watch the door.”

Still smiling, Dash followed Mr. Lancer out into the hallway shutting the door again and leaving the trio alone. Danny stood up and paced the room. Another pang of rage entered his mind. Where was this anger coming from? He noticed three computer monitors showing various angles of the school.

“Danny, there’s no use fretting over this,” Sam said. “There’s no way out of this room. What’s going to happen will happen.”

Something caught Danny’s eye and he looked closer at the monitors.

“I’m with Danny!” Tucker said. “We’ve never been in this much trouble before.”

“Our trouble’s not over, yet,” Danny said. He pointed to a view on the screen. “Look, it’s the Lunch Lady! I thought I stopped her!”

“What’s wrong with the lunch lady?” Sam asked, but she and Tucker went over to look.

“Not the lunch lady,” Danny said. “The Lunch Lady! The ghost I fought.”

“Is that a room full of… meat?” Tucker wondered, salivating.

Danny grabbed his friends’ shoulders and phased them through the floor, transforming in the process. They entered the cold storage, where boxes upon boxes of “meat” were stacked from floor to ceiling.

“Sweet mother of mutton!” Tucker said, running over to hug a tower of boxes. “I’d dreamed of it, but… I never thought I’d live to see it!”

“How is it that I have the ghost powers and you’re the weird kid?” Danny muttered.

The Lunch Lady came around the corner, looking innocent. “Hello, children. Can you help me? Today’s lunch is meatloaf, but I don’t see the meatloaf. Did someone change the menu?”

Tucker pointed his thumb at Sam. “Yeah, she did.”

The Lunch Lady’s eyes flared red and she roared, “You changed the menu? The menu has been the same for fifty years!” Green flames appeared around her.

“Get behind me!” Danny said to his friends, who jumped behind him.

Sarcastically, Sam said, “Wow. I feel safe.”

Danny ignored her and floated up to the Lunch Lady. Trying to sound authoritative, he said, “I command you to… go away!”

“I control lunch! Lunch is sacred! Lunch has rules!” The Lunch Lady stopped her tirade to ask, “Anybody want cake?”

Shocked, Tucker and Sam nodded.

The evil aura flared around the ghost again. “Too bad! Children who change my menu do not get dessert!” She raised her hands and meat came out of the boxes to surround her. She directed the meat to encircle Sam and snatch her away. They flew deeper into the meat locker.

“This is the thanks I get for thinking like an individual?” Sam cried out as she disappeared around the corner.

“C’mon,” Tucker said. “For some reason, I feel like I got Sam kidnapped.”

“Maybe because you told the ghost she changed the menu?” Danny snapped. “How about that?”

The two hurried to follow the Lunch Lady and Sam. The towers of boxes wound around like a maze. They followed the Lunch Lady’s voice.

“Prepare to learn why meat is the most powerful of the five food groups!” Then, politely, “Cookie?” A pause… and the angry voice returned. “Then perish!”

Danny and Tucker arrived just in time. Sam was stuck in a pile of meat. Danny stood in front of Sam and pointed at the ghost. “Forget it! The only thing that has an expiration date here is you!” He somersaulted in the air, expecting to land a kick. Instead, the ghost grabbed his leg and he dangled upside down.

“Don’t you see?” the Lunch Lady said. “This is why you need meat! You’re skin and bones!” With the last word, she threw Danny to the side. He turned intangible and landed halfway through a wall. Climbing to his feet and out of the wall, he looked up just in time to see shish-kebabs hurtling toward him. He yelped, and half of him jumped out of the way. His legs stayed on the ground while his torso floated in the air. His two halves were connected by dark wispy smoke, which the shish-kebabs harmlessly flew through. Danny smiled at his new power.

His smile dropped as he saw what the Lunch Lady was up to next. All of the meat swirled around the ghost, giving her a new, monstrous form. With a huge meaty hand, she grabbed Danny and threw him again. This time he went fully through the wall.

Tucker and the newly freed Sam looked at each other.

“Run?” Tucker asked.

“Run,” Sam replied.

They screamed as they headed for the door, but a pile of meat blocked their way and knocked them back.

Danny came out of the wall, holding his head in pain. He had to find a way to stop this ghost! He was running out of energy.

Tucker and Sam ran past him and he looked for the Lunch Lady. She made a fist with her meat-hand and prepared to slam it into his friends. Danny quickly flew to his friends, turned them intangible, and carried them all the way outside.

Tucker and Sam gave him a concerned look. Sam said, “Gee, Danny. Fighting meat monsters, flying through walls… You must be exhausted.”

Danny scoffed, not wanting his friends to know how tired he was. “What? Of course not! What would give you that… idea…?” He couldn’t stop the yawn that overcame him, nor the transformation to his human self. Luckily, no one was around to see it. “Okay, I guess I am a little tired. Too bad it’s only lunch.”

“Correction,” Sam said warily, “after lunch. We’re late for class!”

[n3rdlif343va]

Domestic Victuuri Prompt Challenge: Day 3

EVERYONE! The wonderful @daysinrussiavictuuri is still doing the August Domestic Prompt Challenge, so send in your domestic prompts and take a chance at writing for the posted ones! We all know I have no self-control so I will be doing all of these that I can. Day 3 Prompt is Date Night! 

So here is my contribution: “Date Night In”

The ice crunched with potential danger under Victor’s feet as the air around him stung with the threat of frostbite. Through his heaviest winter coat, he could feel the layer of sweat on his skin beginning to cool while the damp points of his hair were already freezing against his skin. Huddling tighter into his own waning body heat, Victor moved as quickly as he could over the frozen tundra that St. Petersburg had become.

His solo ice time had been drawn out, used as an excuse for Yakov to release all his personal frustrations built up from the day. Yuri had been mouthy, Mila had made Georgi cry, and Victor had been left to feel Yakov’s wrath. Skittering over the treacherous sidewalk, Victor finally reached the front door of the apartment building, heaving his exhausted body inside. Every part of him ached in memory of all his evening jumps.

Entering the elevator, he leaned heavily on the back wall, letting himself have two minutes of pure self-indulgent sulking. Victor knew when he reached the apartment it would be time to shower and get ready for the next part of his day. He had promised Yuuri a date night, a night for the two of them. No matter how terrible he felt, Victor was going to make good on that promise. He would plaster a smile on his face, wrap his body in appropriate clothing and be the fiancé Yuuri deserved. Even if it killed him.

Pausing only a second longer, Victor unlocked the door and pushed it inside, smile pulled brightly over his face. He stopped short when he was greeted with a mostly dark apartment.

Toeing off his shoes and placing them on the rack, he peered around in curiosity. “Yuuri?” he called into the semi-darkness, trying to process the duel glows coming from the middle of the living room and what seemed to be the bathroom.

“I’m here,” Yuuri waved from the living room, smiling from the corner of a flannel blanket and wearing his poodle pajamas. “Come here, Vitya.”

It was the excitement on Yuuri’s face that had Victor stumbling over his own feet, confusion falling behind him like a forgotten wake. Dropping next to Yuuri on the floor, Victor examined the items spread in front of them. A simple brown picnic basket, a bottle of wine, plates, glasses, and two electric candles. Tears threatened his eyes as Victor turned to Yuuri, raising his eyebrows in question instead of speaking.

“I’m tired,” Yuuri smiled, wrapping an arm around Victor’s waist, “and I saw Yakov before I left, so there is no way you aren’t exhausted as well.” Pulling Victor closer and pecking a kiss to his cheek, Yuuri continued. “I know we said date night, but I thought… it doesn’t mean we have to go out… does it?”

There was no way to avoid Victor’s desire to tackle Yuuri to the ground. Once he had placed an uncountable amount of kisses to Yuuri’s face, Victor leaned back and smiled at the most wonderful man in the world. “Do I have time to shower or will the food get cold?” There was part of Victor that didn’t even want to move now that he had snuggled over top of Yuuri’s chest, but he knew he smelled like a landfill and looked worse. A shower was a necessity.

“Food will be fine… and…” Yuuri blushed ever so slightly and then smiled up at Victor. “I already drew you a bath. Yakov let me know when you left the rink. I think I timed it right, so it is ready for you.”

“I love you,” Victor kissed Yuuri several loud times on the lips, “have I told you that lately?” He chuckled as Yuuri laughed below him.

“Tell me, show me…” Yuuri placed a tender hand against Victor’s cheek, “I know you love, it is never a question.” Pulling Victor back down, Yuuri kissed him deeply for only a moment. Breaking the kiss, Yuuri let his head drop back to the ground. “Now, go bathe… you smell like Georgi’s feet after five hours of skating.” They both made matching horrified faces before Victor smacked a kiss to Yuuri’s head and got to his feet with a groan.

Peeling his clothes off, Victor headed for the bedroom, stopping short again when he noticed the bed. “Yuuri…” he whined, looking over the rose petals and the bottle of what appeared to be massage oil. It looked tempting, but Victor knew that his body was prepared for eating, sleeping and not much else.

“I’m going to massage you until you fall asleep. No other intentions. We need rest tonight.”

The tone in Yuuri’s voice was full of blatant honesty and Victor felt an even brighter surge of love. Without a response, Victor finally made his way into the bathroom, finding more electric candles and a fully drawn bath. The scent that rose in the room was lavender and Victor could see the rainbow reflection of the oils in the water. Not hesitating, he sunk into the water all the way to his neck.

It was the perfect temperature and Victor released another sigh, tipping his head back. Their small luggage rack was next to the tub with a bottle of water, two aspirin, a glass of wine and a small plate of cheese and crackers. On the sink counter, Victor could see his own pajamas and a towel hung on the warming rack. His Yuuri had created a tiny oasis and Victor felt the tears stinging his eyes again.

The feeling of being cared for and loved was still very new. When Yuuri anticipated his needs, swooping in when Victor would have forced himself to stay quiet, it still took his breath away. He was used to putting on a show, running himself into the ground for the sake of an image. Yuuri wouldn’t let Victor do that. He knew when Victor needed to be loved and cherished, and Yuuri did it without giving Victor a chance to say no. It was beautiful, and wonderful, and more than Victor could have ever hoped for.

He let the water seep around his body until it turned cold and then he wrapped himself in the warm towel, followed by the cozy pajamas. Slipping socks over his feet, Victor left the now empty food and drink vessels and ventured back to Yuuri.

“What about Makkachin?” Victor asked, snorting when he spied his sleeping dog sprawled over the dog bed.

“We went for an hour walk and I let Makka sniff everything. Then I made chicken and rice for dinner.” Yuuri also glanced at Makkachin’s snoring form in the corner of the room. “I think she is good for the night.” Smiling brightly, Yuuri flipped open the picnic basket, “now, food!”

The meal was simple, rice, chicken and vegetables in heated containers. The wine was sweet and Yuuri’s soft smile was sweeter. Victor could feel the stress and ache from the day melting from his body, letting Yuuri’s story of Makkachin versus the winter birds wash over him in a wave of amusement.

When their dinners were completely consumed, Yuuri collected the containers and placed them into the sink. Leaning into the fridge, he produced two dessert cups that had Victor squinting in the low light.

“Here,” Yuuri handed Victor a small cup before settling down and digging into his own.

Lifting it closer to his face, Victor studied what appeared to be crumbled chocolate cookies and gummi worms. “Yuuri…” Victor raised one eyebrow at his fiancé before smelling his cup. It smelled remarkably yummy, so he lifted his spoon to cautiously dip it in. “What am I about to put in my mouth?”

Yuuri snorted around his spoon, slightly choking at Victor’s unintentional innuendo. “It is called mud. An American tourist’s kid taught my dad about it and he was obsessed with it for a while.” Seeing the alarm on Victor’s face, Yuuri snorted again. “It isn’t actual mud. It is chocolate pudding, mixed with vanilla pudding, with cookies on top and gummi worms. You know, because there are worms in mud…” Yuuri shoved a huge spoonful into his mouth and smiled. “Ish goodsh,” he said through his full mouth.

“This isn’t on a diet plan,” Victor lifted a minuscule bite to his lips, “really it shouldn’t be on anyone’s diet plan.” Slipping the spoonful into his mouth, he crunched the cookies, gnawed the gummi worms and felt the pudding mash it all together. It was the weirdest, sweetest and most wonderful dessert he had ever had. “Changedsh mah mindsh,” Victor said through the huge bite he shoved in his mouth, “we can hash thees every day.” He was quick to spoon every morsel into his mouth, grinning like a child on Christmas with every bite.

Finishing his own cup, Yuuri wiggled closer to Victor. Running an idle hand down the center of Victor’s back, Yuuri placed a pressing kiss to his shoulder. “When you are finished, I’ll give you a massage okay?”

Victor nodded, stacking his empty cup into Yuuri’s and letting his body sag onto his fiancé’s. “Yuuri,” Victor said, out of habit and because he simply couldn’t stop wanting to say Yuuri’s name, “this is the best date night I have ever had.” Victor nuzzled into Yuuri’s neck, humming as Yuuri continued to run a gentle palm over Victor’s back.

“I’m glad,” Yuuri laid his cheek against Victor’s head. “I love you, Vitya.”

Smiling, Victor let his heart get away with doing a happy dance. Love had vibrated through everything Yuuri had done for him that night and the words didn’t need to be spoken. Knowing that Yuuri was speaking them solely for Victor’s benefit made him feel even more valued. “I love you too, my Yuuri.” Victor whispered, content to let himself be loved for the rest of forever.

[sleepless-translation]

Phantom Troupe Drama CD English Translation-Track 13

CD : HUNTER×HUNTER～Next Episode Scene 3 幻影旅団 (Link)

Track 13 さらわれた団長 "The kidnapped Leader" starts at 47.15.

Disclaimer:

This is a fun bonus content from the 1999 anime that I decided to translate because I want others to enjoy it too (´꒳`)♡ Do note that some of the characters might act in an unusual comedic manner.

Summary:

This scene takes place at the Beitacle hotel after Chrollo got kidnapped by Kurapika. The troupe members decided to talk about their boss's bad habit. Killua and Gon are supposed to be listening to the whole thing too (which makes it funnier).

[Nobunaga] Boss…!

[Machi] This is because you’re..dense.

[Shizuku] That’s right. Boss is unexpectedly dense.

[Pakunoda] Yeah. If I don't bring it to him, he'll definitely miss out on his meals.

[Kortopi] He’s also greedy.

[Machi] Rather than greedy, he’s kind of possessive, isn’t he? That time I accidentally ate his pudding. After that, for two or three days, every time he saw me he said "pudding… my pudding…"

[Shizuku] Ah! The same thing happened to me too.

[Machi] Such a mild stalker, that guy.

[Pakunoda] But that part of him is cute.

[Nobunaga] That’s because you coddle him all the time, Paku. He’s always gonna be like that.

[Kortopi] Discipline is important.

[Pakunoda] Discipline..? He’s not a dog.

[Machi] If he were a dog, he would just come back on his own.

[Shizuku] Way better than boss, huh.

[Pakunoda] No way… Boss doesn’t need to be taken out for walks, nor does he wet himself.

[Nobunaga] Paku, you’re not making him look any better.

[Kortopi] More like dragging him through the mud.

[Shizuku] Ah! They’re here!

[Phinks] Explain the situation.

[Shizuku] In my case, it was almond jelly.

[Phinks] Huh?

[Feitan] What talk about?

[Machi] We’re talking about Paku coddling the boss too much, which makes him become more like a possessive stalker.

[Shalnark] I'm having trouble following all this.

[Nobunaga] In short, it's about how Boss sulks when Machi accidentally ate his pudding, and when Shizuku accidentally ate his almond jelly.

[Feitan] Straight up.

[Phinks] I get what you guys are saying. Back then, I had eaten his Azuki bar, then he stood by my bedside for three days and three nights.

[Machi] You too, Phinks?!

[Shizuku] I see that you have also been victimized by his unexpected side!

[Phinks] Why is the LEADER of the Phantom Troupe that upset over an ice cream in the first place? While he has us at his beck and call at all times.

[Shalnark] Well, that can’t be helped since we're his subordinates, but over an ice cream..? That’s kinda petty.

[Phinks] I know right?

[Pakunoda] Well, Boss is a person who likes ice cream!

[Kortopi] Pudding and Jelly-

[Pakunoda] Those too.

[Machi] That’s why I call him spoiled.

[Nobunaga] He cherry-picks the good stuff after al.

[Feitan] That, I understand. Boss the type to order from the secret menu at a sushi restaurant.

[Shalnark] Now that you mention it, he never eats the crust of a bread, right?

[Machi] That time, he ate only about five centimeters of the middle of a watermelon that had been split in half.

[Kortopi] Who only eats the strawberries on a shortcake?

[Shizuku] Ah. One time he snatched my food that I left out to eat last.

[Pakunoda] That also happened to me…

[Phinks] Not to mention he only ate the burnt rice of a stone-grilled bibimbap.

[Machi] Jeez. Our Boss is really hopeless, huh.

...

[Chrollo] I have no value as a hostage.

════════ End of track ════════

TL Notes & Commentary:

I've seen some people say "Chrollo eats pudding like a pig" which is half true. Kortopi called him 意地汚い, meaning "greedy, gluttonous, and piggy-like." More on how he hogs his food, less on how he eats it.

The almond jelly is 杏仁豆腐. A jellied dessert made of apricot kernel milk, agar, and sugar.

Machi actually says 粘着質ストーカ. 粘着 literally means “sticky”, so he’s really clingy and persistent. I think Machi is so done with danchou, hence the choice of words.

Azuki Bar

[haylanmakesstuff]

First Year Zombie

One year I wanted to do something a little different for Halloween; something distinctly not-pretty at all. My brother decided to be Rick Grimes because everyone kept saying he sorta looked like him. Clearly, this only meant one thing: I was going to be a zombie. I wanted to go crusty and gross. I wanted to make people uncomfortable! 

Here is the finished product, but scroll down for more to see it in stages of creation, and one of brother as Rick Grimes!

First, I had lovely light pink hair, but I wanted to be an old lady zombie -- so that was going to have to go. I had been filming a live action Jem and The Holograms movie, but a pink haired zombie didn’t feel right.

The night before Halloween, out with the pink and in with the grey. 

I ate a big meal knowing that for half the day/night, I wouldn’t be able to eat solid food - which is very hard for me. I started with the application of the internet-purchased prosthetics: the cheek and nose bones, and the two bite marks. All silicon, which I found out I prefer over latex - the quality was astounding.

Then I applied the mouthpiece I handmade out of liquid latex, press on nails I changed to gross teeth, and tissue. All painted with acrylic and alcohol-based makeup. This would be why I can’t eat solid food the rest of the day.

The next two photos are just adding textures to all of my visible skin before painting, using liquid latex and tissue:

More textures and putting on the bottom layer of the costume (a bathrobe will go over top of this)

And then it was all about getting help from Brother to do the backs of my hands (pictured later), and then putting texture on the portion of my legs that will show. Then on to the actual makeup. I used an alcohol-based makeup for most of everything you see. It’s pricey, but dang is it nice and stays on great, too. Don’t forget little details like putting conditioner and Vaseline in your hair to make it look permanently oily, wet, and gross. 

The nightgown, bathrobe, house shoes and socks were all thrifted for very low prices, then distressed with different items like cheese graders, mud, tea, coffee grounds, etc. I wanted to MAKE DANG SURE that I was gross. I wanted to make at least one baby cry on Halloween night. We all need life goals, right?

Well, when I pondered how to be more gross than any other zombie I might see, I considered what would make people really uncomfortable. As always, the answer is poop. So, I made some pudding and used it to stain down the back of the nightgown and robe. Yeah, it was over the top gross, but it also is very realistic if you think about real zombies. 

Finishing up these details, because that’s where the Devil is, the costume was done. Here you can see the detail on the hands, as well as the press on nails I made. Thes are the same set the teeth are made out of, just painted differently. All together from start to finish, the day of Halloween makeup application took about 6 hours since it was mostly done by myself. 

And of course, a photo with Brother, Rick Grimes. These costumes were wildly successful downtown on 6th Street of Austin, Texas that year. Yes, I completed my goal of making MULTIPLE babies cry, but also plenty of adults; not all of them were drunk, which makes me feel great! The downside of this costume was that out of every costume I’ve worn (and I’ve worked at a haunted house), this costume had the most aggressive adult men try to shit talk me, get in my face, bow up for the punch, etc. Which may be unpleasant, but also means it was a very effective costume.  Why so scared, bro? It didn’t help that I stayed in character all night.

This Halloween night was rounded out when The Walking Dead official posted us to their social media pages. Made my night! In fact, we both liked doing it so much, we did another version of this costume for the Halloween after. But that’s a post for another time! 

Happy Halloween! 

Haylan

[salchat]

Someone Furry

Rodney missed his cat.  He missed the way she’d jump up onto his lap and drape herself over his legs, her soft, heavy weight warming him from inside and out.  He missed the feel of her fur between his fingers, the way he could run his hand the whole length of her body from her nose, over her flattened ears, down her soft sides and then, his hand closed to surround it, all the way to the tip of her tail.  He missed her deep, thrumming purr, the chirps and brips she made in response to his voice, so that they often had far more sensible conversations than he ever did with his colleagues.

But most of all he missed her simple presence, her neutral acceptance of everything he did, everything he was; her wide golden eyes that regarded him, not with contempt as some people interpreted the penetrating gaze of a cat, but with all-seeing, all-knowing recognition of him as belonging absolutely and completely to her.

He’d left her.  Of course he’d left her on Earth.  He’d had to.  And he’d known he’d probably never see her again and it had torn a hole in his heart that he didn’t think was ever likely to heal.  Had her feline heart suffered similar damage?  Or did she regard her new owner with that wide-eyed gaze and then jump up onto their lap and present herself for their attention in the way he missed so much?  Probably.  Cats were pragmatists.  It was a fact of life.

Rodney eased out his back and spun around on his stool, unsurprised to find the lab empty.  He stretched up to peer over the top of Radek’s screen, but there were no tufts of wild hair or glinting rims of glasses or exhausted, propped-open eyes.  And no wonder - it was nearly three in the morning.

He yawned, scratched his head, scratched his stomach and then, because there was no one about, he reached up under his shirt and had a general scratch around, chasing an itch that ran from his questing fingers.  He ran it to ground on his right shoulder blade, his left shoulder cracking as he reached behind himself to wipe the itch out of existence with sweeps of his thumb.  Then he stretched himself out again and adjusted his shirt into some kind of order.

Was Sheppard back yet?  No,  He couldn’t be.  It was more than the Gate techs’ lives were worth not to inform him immediately of any updates in John’s status, when he’d given them such very firm, explicit instructions.  Anyway, there was no need to worry, he told himself - again.  John was out doing good works, overseeing both Lorne’s team and Stackhouse’s team while they helped out a village hit by a mudslide.  And what the inhabitants of the Pegasus Galaxy had done before Intergalactic Rescue had shown up Rodney had no idea, but he thought just occasionally they should go back to doing whatever it was they had done before and leave Atlantis out of it, and especially an over-tired, mission-weary, easily-guilt-tripped-into-doing-whatever-you-want John Sheppard.

“They’re our allies, Rodney - they help us, we help them.”

Huh.  Rodney spent a satisfying ten minutes grumbling aloud to himself about a bunch of rustics who’d never have anything useful to contribute apart from a few inferior, knobbly vegetables that tasted of mouldy turnip, so why should John have to bother helping them?  Of course, Rodney had found the problem in their Ancient aqueduct system.  And there’d been that kid who kept hanging around him and calling him Dr Rodanee-sir and bringing him cups of the local drink which tasted remarkably like chocolate milkshake.  But those things were beside the point.  And John had flat-out denied Rodney’s request to go on the rescue mission.

Anyway, he was tired and he missed his cat.  Because sometimes you just needed someone furry, and that was all there was to it.

He went to bed.

In the morning Sheppard still wasn’t back and everyone in the lab was being more than usually stupid and noisy and so wrong that he had to make them all stop what they were doing so that he could enumerate and elaborate on all the ways in which they were wrong, providing each member of his staff with a detailed verbal list that they should damn well take notes on for future reference.  And yes, he would be testing them on their knowledge of their own wrongness at an unspecified future date.

Then Stackhouse’s team came back, exhausted and covered in mud.  Then Lorne’s team, ditto.  Then (and Rodney thought there might be dents in the Gateroom railing from his clenched hands), finally, Sheppard staggered through the Gate, more exhausted and more covered in mud than any of them.

John looked up at Rodney and Rodney looked down at John.  His muddy right hand twitched in what was probably an attempt at a wave conveying his general fineness and that nobody should worry or fuss or do anything that expressed the remotest kind of concern.  It was a pathetic attempt and merely underlined his not fineness and that everyone and most particularly Rodney, should definitely be concerned.

Rodney found himself at John’s side, unsure how he’d transported himself down from the control level - a giant leap over the crushed railing?  Levitation?

Medical staff harried the muddy men and women away, and Rodney followed, at John’s side, not touching him, because… ew.  There wasn’t a square inch of unmuddied skin.  Even John’s eyes were red, as if they’d got mud in too.  And his hair was just unnatural - plastered to his head, showing the actual shape of his skull, which you just never saw, even when he was straight out of the shower because mere water was nothing against the springiness of John Sheppard’s hair.  A couple of times Rodney looked around in case he was shadowing the wrong mud-monster, but no, this brown figure was definitely the right shape and size and seemed to have that slouchy gait, even though its feet were dragging and its arms dangling in abject weariness.

They wouldn’t let Rodney in the infirmary.  And it was Rodney who’d helped install the roomful of showers for just such an occasion as this, when filthy, exhausted teams came back, probably contaminated with all kinds of viruses and parasites, germs and bacteria and no doubt hiding injuries beneath their assorted filth.

So he sat down and waited.  And no, it wasn’t the same as waiting for news when John had been carried to the infirmary, injured and unable to make it under his own steam.  It wasn’t as if Rodney was waiting, terrified, for life-or-death news, biting his nails and chewing the inside of his cheek until it bled.

But he really missed his cat.  And he’d had a bad day - a bad few days.  Which surely must be all John’s fault, because most things were, or at least they were his absence’s fault because you just needed someone like John around all the time for some reason.  Look, he wasn’t going to analyse it, alright?  It was a fact.  And Rodney missed his cat.

And probably Carson would want to keep John here - for observation.  Rodney snorted, spraying bits of chewed up nail onto the floor.  If John needed observing he’d do it - because who better to observe than a scientist?  Observing was what he did.  He’d watch John like a hawk, he’d take notes and draw diagrams, he’d gather data, both quantitative and qualitative, he’d hypothesise and extrapolate.  What more could any medical so-called professional do?

“Yes, you can go.”  The doctor’s long suffering voice followed a round-shouldered scrub-clad figure through the barely slid-open doors.

“Hey, Rodney.”

Rodney stood up, beginning his scrutiny right here and now.  “Your eyes are red.  You need antibiotic drops.”

“Had them.”

“Has that scrape on your face been disinfected?”

“Yeah.”

“The bandage on your wrist - what’s that hiding?”

“t’s just sprained.  Can we get out of here?”

Rodney folded his arms and conveyed through his most steely glare that John had better not try to hide even the most minor of injuries from him or he’d been in a whole shit-tonne of trouble which would make a mudslide look like that time some idiot had knocked over Rodney’s chocolate pudding.

“You’re coming with me.”

He took John’s arm, because there was no way he was allowing a rudderless John Sheppard to drift away from him.  The exhausted man didn’t wriggle away or even protest, which made Rodney grumble angrily under his breath about societies that couldn’t clear up after their own natural disasters and just had to go and impose themselves upon overworked Colonels.

They made it to his room and he let John slither onto the bed and stacked up the pillows around him until he was approximately upright with most of his limbs on the bed.

“This is your room, Rodney.”

“Yes.  It is.  And you’re in it.”

“’kay.”

“Humph.”  Rodney nodded, glad John had accepted his to-be-pushed-around status.  “First you’re going to eat.  And then you’re going to sleep.”

“Yessir,” slurred John.

Rodney boiled some water and made some instant mashed potato, which was one of his preferred food choices in cases of extreme exhaustion.  It was the cheesy mash type, which was his covetously-hoarded favourite, but John looked like a man in great need of a large bowl of cheesy mash.  With a blob of ketchup on top.  Maybe more than one blob.

John smiled a sleepy smile at the ketchup blobs, which may have formed a crude happy face, but that was, of course, a complete accident on Rodney’s part.  The mash was mechanically consumed.  Rodney took the bowl and then pushed a glass into John’s hand, making sure his scraped knuckles curled around it.  The glass contained chocolate milkshake, but only because he’d been thinking today about that stuff they made on the mudslide planet.  He hadn’t gone out of his way to get the powder or the milk.  And absolutely no begging had been involved at the entrance to the hallowed, jealously guarded territory of the kitchen staff.

He sat down next to John, glad that he hadn’t been stupid enough to take his friend back to his own room with its tiny bed.  This way he too could sit propped up by a bank of pillows, which were necessary to support his back while he carried out his purely clinical observations of his team leader.

John drained the glass and he was too tired and too oblivious to wipe away his milkshake moustache, so Rodney did it for him.

Then John smiled another lop-sided sleepy smile, his eyelids drooped and shut down completely and his slumped body slumped even more, slowly slithering down until his head rested in Rodney’s lap.

Rodney missed his cat.  He missed the way she’d jump up onto his lap and drape herself over his legs, her soft, heavy weight warming him from inside and out.  He missed the feel of her fur between his fingers, the way he could run his hand the whole length of her body from her nose, over her flattened ears, down her soft sides and then, his hand closed to surround it, all the way to the tip of her tail.  He missed her deep, thrumming purr, the chirps and brips she made in response to his voice, so that they often had far more sensible conversations than he ever did with his colleagues.

But Rodney had his friend.  He had John, who had fallen asleep on him, his head heavy on Rodney’s thighs, his newly-washed hair fluffy and thick and dark.  He touched the soft strands and they tickled his palm.  Then he ran his hand over and through the dense thicket, from John’s forehead, curving all the way around his head to the nape of his neck where the hairs were short and usually they looked scratchy, but at the moment they too felt soft and fine.  He lifted his hand and stroked again, the hair running through his fingers, dragging and flattening, then freeing itself to spring up into feathery plumes.  Then once again and again, slowly, gently, with a rhythm of love and peace.

And in Rodney’s chest a knot released and something warm and sweet and caramelly-rich blossomed and spread out until his body was as loose and relaxed as John’s.

He missed his cat.  But he had his friend, who he loved and who loved him in return.  And as Rodney stroked and stroked and watched John’s slow, happy rise and fall of deep-sleep breathing, the exhausted man began to snore, in a gentle, thrumming, rumble, which sounded remarkably like a purr.

[stupouid]

Unity (ATLA boys x reader) Chapter 3

returA/N hey guys!! sorry it took so long to get chapter 3! I literally could not find a plot for this chapter, so i decided to skip the desert. 

Chapter 2|Chapter 3

Word count: 3210 words

Chapter 3

The Desert (i am aware that i skipped a lot of episodes I just don’t want it to bee too long)

Traveling with the GAang was interesting. To kill time Aang told Y/N stories of how King Bumi was like as a kid. Y/N was extremely fascinated by these anecdotes, and amazed by how everyone could travel freely throughout the four nations 100 years ago. She wanted to participate in the story-telling too, so she told Aang some of the stories her mother had told her about her travels, and this shocked Aang as well. Soon the two realized that a century ago traveling rules were less strict than they were twenty years ago. 

Everyone in the group was quite fond of Y/N. Katara was grateful to have another girl in the group so she would have someone to rant to whenever Sokka did something disgusting. Aang was grateful to have someone help him locate his next destination, as Sokka and Katara had never been outside of the south pole. And Sokka was grateful that there was someone who would listen to his jokes or agree with his crazy ideas. 

Sokka would be lying if he denied the fact that he was feeling some sort of connection to Y/N. He always wanted to be around her for some reason, and every little thing she did would be engraved in his mind. If Y/N played with her h/c locks, Sokka would save that and think about it when he had nothing else to think about. If Y/N laughed at one of his jokes, he would automatically analyze said joke, and try to make more jokes like that one. If Y/N gave him a compliment on something of his or suggested he do something, he would think about that constantly and change whatever Y/N suggested.

I could say that Y/N felt the same about him, but I would be lying, and fRiEnDs DoN’t LiE. Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Zuko, and wondering how he was doing. She may have not felt any romantic feelings for him, but that doesn't mean she couldn’t think about her friend. 

Weeks had passed and the GAang had a new member, an earthbender named Toph. Y/N and Toph had hit it right away, their personalities instantly clicking. And the similarities in the ways they were treated when they were younger made them closer, if anything. Toph was treated as a helpless, blind, little girl even though she was an extremely talented earth bender. Y/N’s parents treated her well, but Azula made her feel useless since she had no bending. And after Y/N’s mother died, Y/N’s father had neglected and emotionally abused her. So yeah, the two girls had been through a lot. 

As of right now, the 5 teens were walking through the desert, without Appa because he had been taken by sandbenders for money. As usual, Y/N tuned out of the conversation (more like an argument) that was between Toph and Aang about how Toph let Appa go away. 

“I’m going after Appa,” Aang shouted in a harsh tone. He then flew off with his glider.

“Aang! Wait!” Katara shouted, running to the spot where he took off from. Y/N walked over to KAtara and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“We'd better start walking,” Y/N started. “We're the only people who know about the solar eclipse. We have to get that information to Ba Sing Se.” The teens, minus Aang, then started to walk towards the same direction Aang flew off in. 

“You think if we dig out the giant owl, he'll give us a ride?” Sokka questioned. Y/N laughed and punched his shoulder playfully.

-

Sokka, Katara, Toph and Y/N had been walking in the desert for at least an hour now. The sun was scorching hot, and much to Sokka’s delight, Y/N had taken off the top layer of her outfit, leaving her in a tank top that showed off her smooth, s/c, arms. Annoyed by the sun, Y/N took Momo off of Sokka’s back and used his wings to create some shade. Sokka, obviously annoyed because he could’ve done the same, was about to protest when he crashed into Toph. 

“Hey! Can’t you watch where you’re-” Sokka stopped his sentence after realizing what he’d said.

“No.” Toph hissed.

“Right. Sorry!” Sokka replied bashfully. Katara turned around to face the rest of the group.

“Come on guys, we’ve got to stick together!” Katara announced. During the short time Katara spoke, Sokka had accidentally stuck his clothes to Y/N, and was trying to free himself by pushing her away. Luckily for him, Y/N was trying her hardest to help him out too. 

“If Sokka sweats anymore, I don’t think it will be a problem!” Y/N shouted, struggling to get the boy off of her. Toph, who was even more annoyed, pushed Sokka to the ground, separating the two at last. 

“Katara, can I have some water?” Toph asked politely.

“Okay, but we’ve got to try to conserve it.” Katara bended four blobs of water out of her pouch into the mouths of Sokka, Toph, and Momo. When she noticed Y/N wasn’t accepting it, she asked, “Y/N? Don’t you want any?”

Y/N replied with, “I’m fine. Really.” 

“Y/N! You have to drink some! If not you’ll pass out because of dehydration!” Sokka shouted.

“Okay, dad!” Y/N groaned. She accepted the blob of water Katara had bended her way. 

Smacking his lips, Sokka said, “We're drinking your bending water. You used this on the swamp guy! Urch!” Y/N started to laugh, but ended up coughing after registering the taste of the water. Worried, Sokka patted her on the back repeatedly until she wasn’t coughing anymore. 

“It does taste swampy.” Toph giggled. Momo whined at the taste.

“I’m sorry, it’s all we have.” Katara mumbled bashfully.

“Not anymore!” Sokka shouted. “Look!” He walked over to a random cactus plant that was in their path. He cut off a piece and drank the liquid inside.

“Sokka, wait! You shouldn’t be eating strange plants!” Katara shouted with worry, running over to him. Curious, Y/N joined the two siblings. 

“There’s water trapped inside these!” Sokka shouted. He offered some to Y/N, and she took a tiny sip. She instantly felt lighter.

“I don’t know…” Katara started.

“It’s thirst quenching though! If that helps!” Y/N proclaimed. A little juice dribbled onto her chin and Sokka wiped it off. Blushing, Y/N punched Sokka again. He paid no attention to the punch as some sort of trance overtook him.

“Drink cactus juice. It'll quench ya! Nothing's quenchier. It's the quenchiest!” Katara grabbed his drink and poured it away.

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” Katara laughed. “Y/N, will you watch him?”

“Sure!” Y/N answered, still laughing. She grabbed Sokka and lockerd their arms together so he wouldn’t get away.

“Hey pretty lady!” Sokka shouted, dragging out the ‘y’ in ‘hey’. “Are we married?”

Still laughing, Y/N replied with, “Sure. We live in Omashu, and we adopted three turtle ducks. One’s named Toph, one’s named Katara, and the last one is named Aang. Sounds nice, right?”

“Anything’s nice as long as I’m with you!” Sokka sang out with a lovestruck expression on his face. He leaned towards Y/N for a kiss, but she only shoved his head away from hers. “Who lit Toph on fire?”

-

“I'm sorry, Aang. I know it's hard for you right now but ... we need to focus on getting out of here.” Aang had recently joined the group again and Katara was trying her best to comfort the airbender. 

“What's the difference? We won't survive without Appa. We all know it.” This surprised Y/N. In the short time she had known the Avatar, he was always positive, no matter the situation. 

“Aang. If we work together, we can find Appa. Stay positive! Right Toph? Katara?” Y/N looked to the girls for affirmation.

“As far as I can feel, we're trapped in a giant bowl of sand pudding. I got nothin'.” Toph sighed. Frustrated, Y/N turned to her last resort.

“Sokka? Care to share any knowledge as to how we could reach Ba Sing Se?” Y/N was standing next to Sokka’s body, which was lying on the sand with Momo right next to him.

“Why don't we ask the circle birds?” Sokka responded nonchalantly. Groaning, Y/N looked at the sky, only to see four buzzard wasps circling above their heads. Katara grabbed her head in annoyance. 

“Ugh ... We're getting out of this desert, and we're going to do it together! Aang, get up. Everybody, hold hands. We can do this. We have to.” Katara grabbed Aang’s hand and Aang grabbed Toph’s. Katara used her other hand to grab Y/N’s and Y/N used all her strength to tug Sokka from the ground. Sokka stood up and placed Momo on his back. 

-

Y/N was sleeping peacefully next to Sokka when she was abruptly woken up by Katara shouting, “Come on, get up! We need to go.” Groaning, Toph, Y/N and Sokka all rose up from the place they decided to rest. 

“Yesterday my mouth tasted like mud. Now it just tastes like sand. I never thought I'd miss the taste of mud so much.” Y/N was going to laugh but she started coughing again, much like last time when Toph had registered the taste of the water. Sokka instinctively patted her back repeatedly while Katara went to wake up Aang.

“I’m awake,” Aang stated. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

Nodding, Katara responded to the boy with, “Well, we need to get moving if we want to get out of this sand pit.” Aang quickly sat up as he noticed a sky-bison like silhouette floating by the moon.

“Appa!” Aang shouted, trying to get it’s attention.

“Appa‌? But why would Princess Yue need him‌? She's the moon! She flies by herself!” Sokka questioned as he grabbed Y/N’s hand, using it to rub his cheek. Y/N smacked him on the head, obviously weirded out. 

“It's just a cloud.” Katara stated sadly, referring to the sky-bison-like object in the sky. “Wait! A cloud! Aang, fly up and bend the water from that cloud into my pouch.” Aang scoffed, obviously annoyed and agitated, but did as the girl said. When he landed on the ground, he threw Katara’s pouch at her. She looked in, only to be disappointed.

“Wow ... there's hardly any in here.” Aang sighed loudly.

“I'm sorry, okay! It's a desert cloud; I did all I could! What's anyone else doing?! What are you doing‌?!” Katara and Y/N were shocked. Aang had never acted like this before. Katara shook her head.

“Trying to keep everyone together. Let's just get moving. We need to head this direction.” The group walked towards the direction Katara had set them up in silence until Toph tripped and fell on her face. Worried, Y/N let go of Sokka and Katara’s hands to check up on the earthbender.

“Ow! Crud! I am so sick of not feeling where I'm going!” Toph shouted, pointing to the rock-like object she tripped on. “And what idiot buried a boat in the middle of the desert‌?”

“A boat?” Y/N asked. Katara ran over to observe the object.

“Believe me, I kicked it hard enough to feel plenty of vibrations.” By now Sokka and Aang had joined the three girls to observe the object. Aang motioned everyone to step back, and used his airbending to get rid of the sand, revealing a boat like contraption.

“It’s a glider! Like the one sandbenders use!” Y/N exclaimed. Sokka clapped his hand onto her back. 

“Look!” Katara shouted. “It's got some kind of compass on it! I bet it can point us out of here! Aang, you can bend a breeze so we can sail it. We're going to make it!”

-

The five teens had squeezed onto the glider, with Katara navigating and Aang driving it using his airbending.

“The needle on this compass doesn't seem to be pointing north according to my charts.” Katara had stated. Y/N was going to sit next to Katara to help her out, but decided not to. Sokka placed himself right next to Y/N, and grabbed her hand. 

“Take it easy little lady. I'm sure the sand folks who built this baby know how to get around here.” Y/N was obviously weirded out, but let Sokka do his thing. She didn’t want to make him angry, because in his current state, it would result in him doing something extremely annoying. 

Katara gasped. “That's what the compass is pointing to! That giant rock! It must be the magnetic center of the desert.” Y/N turned around to look at the rock that Katara was pointing to. 

Obviously ecstatic, Toph shouted, “ A rock‌?! Yes! Let's go!” Y/N just giggled.

“Maybe we can find some water there!” Katara exclaimed with a hopeful tone in her voice.

“Maybe we can find some sandbenders.” Aang snapped. He guided the glider towards the rock. 

-

“Ahhh ... Finally! Solid ground!” Toph cheered as she laid on the rock, creating a rock angel with her bending. When she was finished creating the angel, she stood up and joined the rest of the group, who were exploring a cave with a gooey substance. 

“I think my head is starting to clear out the cactus juice. And look!” Sokka shouted as he dipped his hand in the mysterious substance, earning a groan from Y/N. He licked the substance and offered some to Y/N, who kicked him in the leg in response. 

“You've been hallucinating on cactus juice all day and then you just lick something you find stuck to the wall of a cave‌?!” Y/N ranted. “Spirits, you really are dense.” Frowning, Sokka wiped the goo off his hands and placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. He whispered, “Sorry.” Y/N just nodded in response.

“I don't think this is a normal cave.” Toph stated. “This was carved by something.” 

“Yeah,” Aang agreed. “Look at the shape.”

“There's something buzzing in here. Something that's coming for us!” Toph shouted. The group ran out of the cave. Toph, Aang, and Y/N screamed as a buzzard wasp emerged from the darkness of the cave. Y/N pulled down Aang and Toph as it flew over their heads. 

Another buzzard flew between Toph and Sokka. Toph used her earth bending to launch a rock in the direction of the buzzard, and the rock nearly crushed Sokka.

“What are you doing? That rock almost crushed me!” Sokka shouted. 

“Sorry! I can’t tell where they are in the air!” Toph replied. Another wasp flew in between Sokka and Y/N. Y/N was going to hit it with one of her many throwing knives but Sokka lightly shoved her out of the way. 

“I got this one!” Sokka told her. Y/N was annoyed, but realized that there wasn’t a wasp and Sokka was still hallucinating. Figuring that it would be funny to watch him smack his machete at nothing, she moved out of the way. Sokka then swung his machete at nothing, and Y/N giggled. 

“Sokka, there’s nothing there!” Katara shouted, obviously fed up with him.

“I guess my head’s not as clear as I thought.” Sokka muttered. Y/N grabbed his arm and dragged him down to her level. 

“We have to get out of here!” Katara shouted. “I’m completely out of water to bend!” Y/N nodded, about to move with Sokka trailing behind her, when a buzzard grabbed Momo.

“Momo! I’m not losing anyone else out here!” Aang shrieked. Full of anger, he took off on his glider in hot pursuit of Momo and the wasp.

“Come on, we’re going down.” Katara told the others. Katara held Toph by the hand as they made their way down a narrow ledge. Y/N was about to make her way to the others by herself when Sokka grabbed her hand.

“Hey! You- you shouldn’t go down alone!” Sokka exclaimed. Annoyed, Y/N traversed the wall and landed on the ground with a backflip, while smiling up at Sokka. 

-

“What are you doing in our land with a sandbender sailer? ‌ From the looks of it, you stole it from the Hami tribe.” A sandbender named Sha-Mo asked Katara.

“We found the glider abandoned in the desert. We're traveling with the Avatar. Our bison was stolen and we have to get to Ba Sing Se.” Katara stated. The man’s eyes widened when he learned that Aang was the Avatar. 

“You dare accuse our people of theft while you ride in on a stolen sand sailer‌?!” Another man stated. Toph’s eyes narrowed when she heard the man speak, and Y/N frowned. 

“Quiet, Ghashiun. No one accused our people of anything. If what they say is true, we must give them hospitality.” Sha-Mo stated. 

“Sorry, father.” Ghashiun replied.

“I recognize the son's voice. He's the one that stole Appa.” Toph cautioned. Y/N’s eyes widened, and she looked at Sokka, who looked equally as confused and surprised. 

“Are you sure?” Katara asked. 

“I never forget a voice.” Toph answered. 

Aang charged forwards toward Ghashiun. “You stole Appa! Where is he? ‌What did you do to him?”

“They're lying! They're the thieves!” Ghashiun defended himself. Aang, obviously agitated, he smacked his staff on the ground, and one of the gliders flew off due to his airbending. “Where. Is. My. Bison! You tell me where he is now!”

“What did you do?” Sha-Mo asked Ghashiun.

“I-it wasn’t me!” Ghashiun tried to defend himself.

“You said to put a muzzle on him!” Toph shouted! 

“You muzzled Appa‌?” At this point, Aang was enraged. Sokka, Katara, and Y/N all looked to each other, with fear evident on their faces. Aang’s tattoos then started glowing as he entered the Avatar state. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't know that it belonged to the Avatar!” Ghashiun shouted.

“Tell me where Appa is!” Aang shouted, with the voices of all the Avatars. 

“I traded him! To some merchants! He's probably in Ba Sing Se by now! They were going to sell him there! Please! We'll escort you out of the desert! We'll help however we can!” Wind started swirling around Aang as he started floating in the air. Sokka pulled Y/N as he booked his way out of Aang’s vicinity. They finally found a spot that would keep them safe from Aang’s sandstorm and Sokka wrapped Y/N in a hug to protect her.

“Just get out of here! Run!” Y/N shouted towards the other sandbenders. Aang dropped his staff and the wind formed a sphere around him. As everyone ran away, Katara stayed put near Aang. The sandstorm engulfed the two, and they braced themselves as the whirlwind swooped over them. Katara managed to embrace Aang in a hug, causing him to calm down. Sokka lifted his arms which were wrapped safely around Y/N’s head and body. 

taglist: @emberislandplayers​ @eridanuswave​ @fandomobsessedlife​ @hopefuloperaangelnerd​ @multi-fandomstan​ @minifruity​ @marylisss​ @iflostreturntoflynnrider​

[mercurryblack]

Chapter 6: Rudyard

Day six: the investigation fruitlessly continues.

❃❃❃

“Any luck today?” Yuen asked.

After six fruitless days of combing over Berilo’s house and garden, LLAC had once again returned to the usual meeting place. By that time, Yuen, Rudyard and Sardion were already waiting for them, and the sun was inching down past the horizon.

Lillian shook her head in disappointment. “Nothing. We searched the house from roof to basement as usual, but we didn’t find anything that wasn’t already marked or mentioned in the initial report.” She informed them.

“Yeah, same here.” Cait added. Under their breath, they grumbled; “This is so not cool at all.”

The search of the garden on the first day had been under pleasant weather, but that was the only upside that they recalled— most of that day had just consisted of crawling around underneath the plants and staring at every inch of grass and dirt for footprints. Consistently, the highlight of each passing day seemed to be their short lunch break.

Sardion sighed. “We’re in the same boat, then. Nothing turned up for us, either— I guess we’ve hit a dead end.” Yaara’s house, in comparison had been spick and span, just like how she organized it. Like Berilo’s, a blood spatter marked the area where she had died, but the house was in better shape than his— the door was still on its hinges, with no sign of lockpicking.

“So, what are we going to do next, Detective?” inquired Rudyard. Despite his annoyance at the lack of any new leads, he managed to keep his tone calm.

Yuen raised a hand to her temple, exhaling heavily. “For now, we should head back to my office. I’m sure the lot of you are hungry, I have some food stashed there. We can talk over a nice meal.” she answered.

Sardion raised an eyebrow. “You keep food in your office, too?”

“Ah, just some Dr. Piper and a few packs of Simple Wok instant noodles,” Yuen replied. “…Er, lots of Simple Wok instant noodles, to be honest.”

***

Yuen prepared some water for the instant noodles on a hot plate, as the group sat huddled in the small space.

“Sorry that this is all I have. Whenever us detectives need to stay for the night, cup ramen and soda become our nectar and ambrosia.” She said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Rudyard laughed, giving Sardion a gentle nudge in the arm. “It’s alright, detective. Truth be told, it makes me remember when I was back in the academy. Sardion, Berilo and I used to sneak boxes of these from the cafeteria to our rooms every once in a while, so that we could have late-night snacks every time we needed to stay up to finish our written assignments.”

“Oh gods, yeah, I remember that.” Sardion said. “And you remember that time Yaara yelled at all of us because we pulled an all-nighter and made the entire room smell like broth? She said if we had just eaten enough at dinnertime like ‘normal people’, we wouldn’t be hungry and therefore wouldn’t stink up the dorm. She was right, of course, but that never stopped us from doing it again and again.” He started laughing along with Rudyard.

“Man, we should try that out, Hattie.” Cait suggested. “Knowing ol’ Branwen, there’s no way that he’ll let me off of that paper just for this assignment, so we might as well have something to eat.”

“Yeah!” Hattie agreed. “We can eat whenever we want!”

Sardion adopted a comically authoritative demeanor. “Hey, hey, bad idea. Don’t do it. And if you ignore me and get caught, don’t tell Lionheart we did it too at our time there. But, if you pull it off and don’t get caught, then you gotta tell us how you did it.”

Rudyard shook his head, grinning. “Man, we must’ve done it ‘til the day we graduated. That grouchy old lady who worked there would always wonder why some of their food was lost, but we never got the blame for it.” He clicked his fingers “Say, you remember the time Hidalgo and Gin found her stash of chocolate pudding and took as much as they could carry?”

“The Great Pudding Robbery of ‘56. How could I ever forget—?”

This time, it was Lillian’s turn to interject. “Wait, Hidalgo? As in Hidalgo Ferrante?”

Sardion turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, he was one of our pals in the academy. You know him?”

“Sort of.” Lillian replied. “I mean, I’m dating his daughter right now.” She explained, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“Wait, no kidding?” Sardion’s eyes widened. Turning to Rudyard, he mouthed ’did you know?’

“Yeah, her name’s Rosario.” Rudyard continued. “Talks about her all the time. Showed me a picture of her once, too— she’s definitely her old man’s daughter, has his eyes.”

As he spoke, Yuen sat down with them, placing the pot of now-boiling water in the middle and gesturing to the box of cup ramen. “Okay, grab whatever flavor of noodles you want. And before we continue with the nostalgia and all that, we should first discuss what we want to do next.”

“But… we still haven’t really found anything. How are we supposed to know our next move?” Amaryllis asked.

“Well, it’s not like we can just sit here until something else happens.” answered Yuen.

“Actually, they could stand to do so.” Sardion suggested, indicating LLAC with a nod of his head. “Not for long, but just half a day should suffice. We need to have clear heads, and that goes double for you, Detective— you’ve been pulling all-nighters trying to connect the dots on that corkboard. We all deserve a moment’s rest before we try facing the problem head-on.” he suggested.

Rudyard pensively nodded. “Sardion and I can carry our own independent investigations during then. We’ll try and reconvene with you in the evening, Detective, and LLAC can join us the next morning. The last couple of days have been a whirlwind, and while I’ve no intention of stopping my search for the killer, I don’t want us to burn out— or you guys, for that matter.”

After a moment’s pause, Yuen nodded in agreement. “Alright, team, you kids get tomorrow off starting at noon, and you two get the morning to make your own inroads. But when we all get back, we immediately pick up from where we left off, agreed?” She remarked.

“Agreed!” LLAC responded in unison.

***

“You know, despite all the preservatives, this stuff isn’t half bad.” Lillian said, shoveling a hunk of chicken-flavored noodles into her mouth. “I can see why people would get addicted to it.”

Yuen laughed. “What, don’t tell me you never ate this growing up? Not even once?”

Amaryllis shook her head as she followed her sister’s example, holding up a cup of beef-flavored noodles. “Aunt Izzy was always pretty strict about what we ate. Sure, we had breakfast cereal and juice and the occasional sweets, but that was pretty much it. Said that we had to follow a good diet, and that taste was one of the first things Huntresses sacrificed in the field.” She slurped some of the broth. “Hope I never have to find out what she meant by that.”

“Mmmllpphh... uhh knww whuhh duhs’ lhhk,” Cait said through a mouthful of noodles. “Than’th fuhh th’ muhhll.”

Yuen nodded. “No problem, kid. Eat up, you need it.”

“RRURRRRRP!” Their conversation was interrupted by a loud burp from Hattie. “Ah, ‘scuse me.” She said sheepishly

“Hah! I’ll have whatever she’s having!” Sardion laughed, countering her with a slightly louder belch of his own.

He barely even finished before the petite girl grinningly returned the favor with an even louder eructation.

“Are you… perhaps challenging me, Miss Lazuli?” Sardion inquired, his face turning comically stony as he repressed the urge to snicker.

Hattie smirked, holding up an unopened soda can. “Mayb—b—buUUUURRRRUUUPPPP!”

“Oh, for the love of…” Lillian groaned at the childish antics of the two. “Okay, saying it right now; I’m not being the judge this time.”

***

“Okay, you two, you know the rules. Whoever burps the longest wins, brownie points for whoever starts the loudest,” Amaryllis recited, holding up the timer on her Scroll, her finger raised just above the screen. “Ready.”

Sardion and Hattie each snapped open a can of soda, looking each other dead in the eye as they did so.

“I must let you know, Miss Lazuli, that I was the burp-off champion of Haven Academy in my time.” boasted Sardion.

“That was a long time ago, old dude. Now, it’s my time to shine.” Hattie shot back.

“Set.”

Both of them raised the metal edges of the cans to their lips, still maintaining their locked gaze.

“Last chance to back out, kiddo.” Sardion said, in a taunting voice.

Hattie didn’t reply, but narrowed her eyes and gave Sardion a thumbs-down.

“Go, Sardion.” Rudyard cheered halfheartedly yet amusedly, who sat on the couch watching the game.

“Get him, Hattie!” Cait crowed.

“Begin!”

Glup, glup, glup, glup. Both Hattie and Sardion began swigging down their cans in one long draught, their eyes beginning to water against the drink’s stinging carbonation. Within the span of a few seconds, they had poured every last drop down their throats, only for their cheeks to pouch as the carbon dioxide came rushing back up their gullets.

“Aaaaaaand… go!”

(For the reader’s own sake, this ridiculous match has been abridged by the author, who apologizes for this shameless, childish, and blatantly filler chapter. If you wish for a much funnier burping match, please follow this link.)

“And… time!” Amaryllis turned off her Scroll’s timer as Hattie and Sardion’s burps died down at the same time. “Geez! Thirteen seconds, not bad.” She remarked, swiping on her CCCT browser. “Says here that the world record’s over forty, apparently.”

“Which one had that time?” Hattie asked, wiping her chin with the crook of her elbow.

“Both of you, actually. Tie.” Amaryllis said, lifting her gaze.

Without missing a beat, Hattie grabbed another can of Dr. Piper and thrust it at Sardion. “AGAIN!”

***

While they continued with their childish contest, Cait, Lillian, and Rudyard were busy talking about some of their older missions. Cait found the pair’s recollection of the Kumoyuri assignment far more interesting than the day’s work, and found the part where Lillian had gotten dunked in mud wildly funny.

Personally, they didn’t find their extracurricular Grimm-hunting work to be as interesting, but Rudyard still politely listened nonetheless. Lillian, having been there along with Cait, only half-listened to them as she poured water into another cup of noodles.

“Oh, man. So there we were, looking right in the eye the largest Boarbatusk I’ve ever seen in my whole life. It huffed, and it puffed, it almost blew us away, but we still weren’t scared!” Cait exclaimed, gesturing with their hands to the best of their ability. “Thing is, it was pretty simple once we got down its attack pattern. Charge, turn around, charge, turn around, snort, repeat. Fourth pass around, Hattie managed to chop off its tusks with Whirligig… uh, her saw-gun thingamabob.” They continued, snapping their fingers as they tried to recall the exact name.

“Whirling Dervish.” Lillian said.

“Yeah, that, thanks Lilly.” Cait said, nodding. “Well, as I was saying, she cut off its tusks and got its face pretty good, and I shouted, ‘Guess you’re just a “Boarba” now!’” They sniggered for a moment at their own joke. “You wanna know why I called it that?”

Rudyard chuckled, bracing for the terrible pun he knew was incoming. “No, I have no earthly idea. Why?”

“Because it lost its tusks. Gettit? Boarba? No ‘tusk’? Cut its tusks off?” Cait grinned, acting as if the wordplay had been anything resembling clever.

“Oooof.” Rudyard groaned, shaking his head despite the grin on his own face. “Bad one.”

“I know, right? I should get an award for my combat banter. S’not as easy as everyone thinks it is.”

“Ignore them.” Lillian said, rolling her eyes.

Rudyard leaned back, taking a helping of his own noodles. Despite his inner tension, the pain he still had in his heart, he felt relaxed and eased by LLAC’s company. It felt nice for all of them to gather like one big family, even facing the stark reality of the next day to come. It would take far more than one good night to heal, but watching his protégé and her team… it filled him with determination.

It gave him strength and determination, seeing the new generation take the reins the old had once held. More importantly, it gave him hope.

[modestfuckup]

Challenge Week-Get Beached 2020

Beach Day

Teen Wolf | Sterek | 3723 (a sequel to Dad Tax) A/B/O Dynamics, past mpreg, Fat!Alpha!Derek, Chubby!Omega!Stiles,

The girls want to go to the beach. Lizzy initiates the begging and Paige, only being three but fiercely wants to be like her big sister, begs alongside her.

“Please Papa? We haven’t been to the beach in FOREVER!” Lizzy claims. Stiles stands in the kitchen preparing lunch. He thinks back in his mind, trying to remember the last time they’d been to the beach. It was probably last summer, he remembers because it was Dustin’s first time there and he hated the hot sand.

“Did you ask Dad?” Stiles wonders, putting the finishing touches on the ham and cheese sandwiches for the kids.

“He’s gonna say yes,” Lizzy argues. Paige stands next to her wobbly on her little legs.

“That’s not a real answer. Go ask him,” Stiles says as he slices the sandwiches into triangles, because only heathens cut their sandwiches into squares. Lizzy huffs with annoyance and turns on her heels to the living room where Derek is. Stiles places the sandwiches on plates, filling the separated compartments with grapes and some pudding. Paige stays with Stiles, knowing it’s nearly time to eat.

Derek sits on the couch, his heavy belly spread out on his lap in front of him, legs spread apart to make room for it. Dustin is with him, curling up to his soft sides for a nap. All the kids have Derek wrapped up around their finger. The TV chatters and Derek watches.

Read on AO3

“Daddy?” Lizzy asks, sitting on the other side of her dad, pulling into his side too.

“Yes baby girl?”

“Can we go to the beach?” she asks, she bats her eyes for effect, but she knows she doesn’t need it.

“Why do you want to go to the beach?”

“We haven’t been in forever and I want to go,” Lizzy explains like it’s the only logical answer.

Derek pretends to think about it for a second, “What did Papa say?”

“To ask you,” she answers.

Derek lets out a little huff, of course Stiles would leave it up to Derek. “Of course baby. How does tomorrow sound?”

“Perfect! Thanks Daddy!” She gets up from her spot and leans over to kiss Derek’s cheek. “Papa! Daddy said yes!” Lizzy screams as she runs back to the kitchen.

The morning is full or preparation for the beach. Stiles packs lunches for everyone, and a little extra just in case.

Lizzy complains about her swimsuit, claiming it’s too small for her, but Stiles knows it fits her fine. “It’s for babies Papa. I’m not a baby anymore. I’m eight !” Stiles thinks it may also be that the suit matches with Paige’s and promises her she’ll get a new suit next year. She isn’t happy with this, and she knows by the end of the day she’ll get Derek to buy her one online.

Paige’s swimsuit is a bit small on her, she’s grown so much, and Stiles didn’t even think to get her a new one. It’s not like they go swimming all that often in the first place.

Dustin’s little swim trunks are way too small.  He’s two now and seeing the little trunks demonstrates how much he’s grown in the past year. Stiles puts him in normal cargo shorts, knowing the child will stay with Stiles and Derek on the towels under the umbrella. Slowly, Stiles packs up the car with their food and supplies. He manages to find some old toys in the garage and throws them in there for good measure too.

The girls are ready to go, so Stiles heads to his own room to change into his trunks and finds Derek on their bed.

“Hey, ready to go?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah, are you?” Derek says, pushing himself off the bed. He stands and his belly is proud in front of him, the shirt he’s wearing has the sleeves cut up, revealing his thick upper arms. It hangs over his belly, and is short enough that the smallest sliver of skin peeks out from under it. The shirt says “Big Fat Alpha.”

“Yeah, I just have to change real quick,” Stiles shucks of his own pants and shirt, digging through their drawers to find his trunks. He finds them, a blue and orange plaid, and shimmies them on. They fit, but they’re tight. The draw string is pulled to it’s limit and the elastic at the waist is pulled tight around his back, causing a muffin top to reveal itself.

“Oh,” Derek says, looking at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles says, pulling a shirt over his head, hiding the array of stretch marks around his belly from when he was pregnant with Dustin. Stiles’ body hadn’t bounced back as quickly as it did after he had Lizzy or Paige. Instead, the baby weight he gained clinged stubbornly to his midsection, but Derek doesn’t think these trunks fit him like this last year.

“You’ve got a muffin top,” Derek says as he moves to where Stiles is standing. He pinches at the overflowing flesh through his shirt. His belly bumps into Stiles back, and he has to really lean forward to place a kiss on Stiles cheek from behind him.

“That’s always been there,” Stiles excuses, turning to look at Derek.

“Hmm, no it wasn’t. These fit you last year,” Derek teases, Stiles can scent his arousal in the air.

“Stop it, we have a day planned with the kids,” Stiles fights, though it’s a lackluster argument.

“Ugh, fine. But when we get home,” Derek motions with his eyebrows to the bed.

“When we get home,” Stiles promises, rolling his eyes fondly.

They both exit their bedroom, and see the girls on the couch with Dustin sitting with them.

“Everyone ready?” Stiles calls. A symphony of excitement comes from Lizzy and Paige, Dustin seems concerned, it reminds Stiles a lot of when he and Derek first met.

They all pack into the car, Stiles in the passenger seat, Derek driving. Stiles gets all the kids buckled in, and secure. He goes over his mental checklist once more before letting Derek drive off. The seat is pushed all the way back, and Stiles can see how much more his belly pushes into the steering wheel. He thinks fondly to when they went to Disney a few years ago.

The beach is crowded, which was to be expected--this is California after all. Derek finds a parking spot and parallel parks the car.

Derek carries Dustin and Paige, each tucked into an arm and his sides. They both laugh as Derek overexaduates a sway in his steps through the sand. Stiles watches and wonders if he’s doing it on purpose or if it's an accommodation he’s doing to not lose his balance on the sand. Lizzy helps Stiles with a couple of the bags from the trunk of the van.

The family finds a nice spot close enough to the water that Stiles can keep an eye on Lizzy and Paige, but far enough that they don’t have to worry about the tides coming up and getting their stuff wet.

Lizzy, naturally, wants to launch herself into the ocean and swim but Stiles manages to hold her back just long enough to get some sunscreen on her. Paige is more patient, happy to wait with her Daddy while Stiles lathers her sweet little face with SPF 50. Stiles sets up Derek’s chair, a special wide set chair that is low enough that it fits under the umbrella Stiles has, but high enough that it’s not on the sand and he won’t get stuck sitting down. Derek plops down with Dustin still in his arms.

Stiles sets up the umbrella, and keeps an eye on Lizzy as she runs in and out of the water. Stiles sets up his own chair and sits next to Derek. Even though Dustin may not spend a lot of time away from then, Stiles still covers him with sunscreen, just in case.

Lizzy comes back and gets page and a few of the toys while they head back to the waterline. The girls dig in the mud, Paige tries to make a small tower, but the water is too wet to keep a solid shape. Dustin stays tucked into Derek’s side. Stiles can see that he’s starting to doze, one of his hands curled into the fabric of Derek’s shirt.

Stiles pulls out a book, and Derek keeps an eye on the girls. Eventually, Lizzy comes and begs Derek to join them in the water. He is helpless to say no. Derek hands Dustin off to Stiles, who fusses as he settles with Stiles under the shade. After a few heaves, Derek manages to stand from his chair, and he gets pulled to the water by an 8 year-old.

From their spot, Stiles pulls out his phone and takes a few pictures. Derek touches the water and sends a sad look back to Stiles, indicating the water is colder than he would like, but Lizzy and Paige have had time to acclimate to the temperature, and haul him in with little pity.

With their dad, they can go farther into the water, both of the girls cling to Stiles, Lizzy on his back, trying to crawl on his shoulders, and Paige bringing herself into the side. Stiles takes a few more pictures, he even gets Dustin to pose for a selfie.

Stiles looks at the pictures, especially the ones of Derek walking--being dragged— to the water. He looks so big . The steady feeding from now three kids did not bode well for Derek’s waistline. Stiles stares at his big ass in those trunks and wonders if those are the same ones from the previous year, they can’t be, they fit him too well. Stiles makes a note that when they get home, while Derek obsesses over the muffin top he knows he doesn’t have, he’ll have to weigh Derek again, it’s been a while.

Eventually, the girls come running back to their spot on the dry sand, Derek walks a few paces behind them. The shirt he’s wearing clings to his body in obscene ways. Stiles wishes he was shirtless, but he also knows that Derek doesn’t like to show off his ridiculously hot bod to anyone but Stiles.

“Papa, we’re hungry!” Lizzy announces before plopping herself on the blanket and bringing a towel around her.

Stiles immediately gets some water bottles for the girls, they chug them after playing and swimming for nearly an hour. Dustin is fast asleep on his chest, so Stiles feels guilty as he tries to move to get the sandwiches out from the cooler. Derek appears and finishes for him, seeing their son fast asleep.

“Boom, sandwich for you,” he says handing one to Lizzy, “one for you,” for Paige, “one for you,” Stiles, “and two for me!” His sandwiches has more meat and cheese in them than the girls’ or Stiles'. They eat, Lizzy talks Stiles’ ear off about what they did in the water (played mermaids, “Daddy was King Triton!”) and what their after lunch plans are (sea shell hunting). Derek finishes Paige’s sandwich.

A man with an ice cream cart comes by, and Lizzy immediately asks Derek if they can get ice cream. Derek silently asks Stiles, but Lizzy is already asking the man for a double scoop chocolate cone. Paige gets the rainbow sherbert, Stiles tells her she’s not going to like it because it’s not real ice cream, but she wants the rainbows. Dustin has woken up and taken a few nibbles of his sandwich, so they get him a small vanilla. Derek gets a triple scoop strawberry, and Stiles ops for nothing, knowing he’s going to eat Paige’s sherbert.

Low and behold, Paige doesn’t like the sherbert. Heart broken, she asks if her Papa wants it, Stiles accepts, Derek lets her steal a few bites from his pink ice cream.

“Daddy, I’m fully,” Lizzy says only one scoop in.

“Can I have some?” Paige asks.

“No! It’s for Daddy!” Lizzy holds the cone to Derek, who is still working on his own ice cream (one scoop left). Paige seemed to understand and backed off, instead asking Stiles if she can have Dustin’s. Derek happily takes it into his other free hand and begins to alternate between the two flavors

Lizzy and Paige run back to the shoreline. Stiles decides he wants to dip his feet in the water and carries Dustin with him. The water is cold, and Dustin does not like the feeling of the cold wet sand, and as soon as Stiles puts him down he’s asking to be picked up again. Paige and Lizzy run around, adding shells into a bucket they brought using a shovel they did not bring.

The splash in the water a bit more, cleaning of the shells as best they can before running back to Derek to show them their excavations.

Eventually, Paige starts to get tired too, and as soon as Lizzy loses her playmate she is ready to go home. Stiles makes a trip to the car alone, leaving Derek with the kids while he carries a bit of their stuff, knowing none of the kids are going to want to walk back to the car when there are dads to carry them.

When they get home, Paige and Dustin are fast asleep in their car seats. Lizzy is awake and talking, but she stopped making sense a while ago and Stiles thinks after a quick shower she’s going to take a nap.

True to his prediction, all the kids quickly shower off the sand and sea from their little bodies and tuck themselves into their beds for a nap.

Once Stiles and Derek get them set, and promise to wake them in a little bit, they go back to their room. Derek lays on the bed, legs and arms spread out, exhausted from the day. Stiles feels the same way. His belly protrudes high into the air, a big ball of soft doughy flesh Stiles can’t wait to rub later. The shirt is still moist, and clings to the rolls that appear on his back. His belly button is a deep void in the middle of the fabric.

“No, come on we have to shower,” Stiles argues, knowing that there is going to be sand in their bed.

“But I’m sleepy,” Derek replies, his voice giving away that he’s not sleepy at all and is in fact just trying to get Stiles to join him.

Stiles doesn’t bother replying, he just goes to Derek’s side of the bed and grabs his hand, pulling gently to get Derek to stand. He does, with a little help from Stiles because of the weird angle, but also because he is getting really big.

They’re shower is big. They just remodeled it and chose to trade the bathtub for a shower the size of a small closet, so they both could fit. Though, Derek takes up more and more space every time. Stiles isn’t upset by it.

The water sprays them, and Stiles washes Derek’s back with a handcloth. Derek washes his hair. Finally, Stiles gets to wash Derek’s big Buddah belly, bare and finally on display for him tos see, touch, and love.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles remembers as he admires Derek and the harsh stretch marks that appear around his belly button, “Is that a new pair of trunks you wore today?”

“Umm,” Derek responds. “No?” He says like he’s not sure.

“They’re the same pattern, but they fit you really well, like too well,” Stiles says, reaching under Derek’s belly, feeling the weight of it in his hands as he cleans the underside.

“I could say the same for you,” Derek says, bringing a hand down from his head to Stiles’ waist, pinching his backside. “Don’t think I have forgotten.”

“Hmmhmm sure,” Stiles rolls his eyes. Stiles leans over, places a hand on Derek’s belly for balance and places a kiss on Derek’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Derek kisses him back,  pushing him back into the wall with his weight.

They get out of the shower, Stiles only moderately aroused.

“When you were playing with the girls, I took some pictures to post on Facebook,” Stiles announces. Stiles shows Derek the pictures, and Derek does look quite big in them. “I’ll make you a deal,” Stiles starts, “I will weigh myself, and if I haven’t gained weight you don’t have to tell me the truth about the trunks, if have gained weight, which I haven’t, we have to weight you and you tell me about the trunks. That way we both get a bit of satisfaction.”

“Deal,” Derek challenges.

Stiles gets the scale from their bathroom. It’s a heavier duty one than normal, Derek having outgrown the last one when he reached 350. Stiles happily steps onto the scale, confident that he is the same weight at his last doctor’s visit he was a year ago: 182 pounds. He’s so confident that he doesn’t even look down at the digital readout, instead, he looks to Derek for his reaction. Derek’s eyes widen as he looks at the scale, then his face gets really red and he looks up at Stiles, pupils blown. Stiles gets a sinking feeling and immediately looks down to see that his belly almost prevents him from seeing the scale but he sees it, the scale reads 215.

“30 pounds!?” Stiles exclaims, flinching when he remembers the kids were sleeping. “But… but-” Stiles looks from the scale to Derek, then back to the scale. There’s a full length mirror in their room, Stiles looks up and sees his reflection. He didn’t look different, or at least he didn’t think he looked different. But now he sees the thickness of his thighs, his rounder face, the muffin top peeking out over his boxers, the elastic cutting into the soft skin more than he thinks it should.

“Told you,” Derek brags, crossing his arms over his belly and settling into his place on the bed.

“Oh my god,” Stiles brings his hands up to his face, realizing that he’s somehow embarrassed by this news. He had no idea. Stiles just didn’t notice that he was putting on weight, he tries to think back and now he remembers he ate Paige’s ice cream when she didn’t want it, he finished Dustin’s sandwich. Most of the time the kids gave Derek their leftovers, but lately, they’ve been giving some to Stiles too. Stiles thinks back and realizes he never fully went back to wearing clothes that weren’t maternity clothes. He never really lost the weight from Dustin so he didn’t really bother with the clothes he wore before. Since the pants are made to accommodate growing bellies, he didn’t notice the pounds packing on.

Derek looks pleased. No Derek looks delighted . “I knew it, I knew you were gaining weight, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

“What? You noticed? Why wouldn’t you say anything?!” Stiles looks at Derek.

“Because you look good no matter what,” Derek admits. It melts Stiles’ heart and he gets off the scale, moving to the bed and kissing Derek’s lips once again.

“Really?” Stiles asks, feeling a little vulnerable.

“Of course. You’re the sexiest person on the planet, and a few extra pounds isn’t going to change that,” Derek promises.

“Aww, thanks Der,” Stiles kisses Derek one more time. As soon as they break the kiss, Stiles starts pushing Derek off the bed. “Come on, it’s your turn.”

Derek stands, and gets on the scale. His belly fully obstructs his view of the readout, so he depends on Stiles to let him know what it says. The last time they weighed Derek, he was just shy of 400, and now the little readout says-

“463.” Stiles says, looking from Derek to the scale. “Holy shit Der, we weighed you 6 months ago.”

Derek just shrugs. “The kids have been home all summer.” Derek steps off the scale, guided by Stiles’ hand to the bed. Stiles lets Derek lay down, adjusting himself in the center. Stiles thinks Derek looks absolutely massive when he lays like this, his whole body just spread out like this. His belly is high, but now that he’s had time to digest to flattens more to the sides. Stiles Straddles Derek’s wide hips.

“You’re such a good dad,” Stiles praises.

“Hmmm, you too,” Derek responds. Stiles hands roam Derek’s belly, feeling the dough in between his fingers. Derek’s own hands roam Stiles back and hips, resting on his newly found muffin top, just above his boxers.  Derek slips a hand under the fabric and cups Stiles’ ass.

“Fuck I love you,” Stiles says.

“I love you too. So much Stiles,” Derek pants out. Stiles can start feeling Derek get hard, his dick still very visible but pressing helplessly against his lower belly fat. Slick starts coming out of Stiles’ hole and he really wants his boxers off now.  

Stiles adjusts himself to try and get them off and then-

“Papa!” the baby monitor on the night stands comes alive with noise from Dustin’s room. Stiles and Derek both freeze, like Dustin can somehow see them.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, his own hardening dick going soft as the moment passes. Derek laughs causing his belly to jiggle and wiggle as Stiles dismounts him and gets off the bed. “Duty calls.”

“Duty calls,” Derek agrees as he pushes himself up and looks to Stiles, who digs through the dresser trying to find a new pair of boxers and a tshirt.

“Paaaappaaaaaaaaaaa!” Dustin calls again, this time louder and longer.

Stiles opens the door to their room, ready to race up the stairs to see what his son needs. He remembers, “Hey wait, what about the trunks?”

Derek’s face turns red again, but it’s faint and hidden behind his beard. “I bought a few bigger sizes last year.”

“I knew it!” Stiles says, taking a couple steps to brag to Derek a little bit more.

“PAPA!” This time it wasn’t just heard on the baby monitor but Dustin’s call rings through the house.

“Ugh… this isn’t over!” Stiles calls back as he turns to exit the room and head upstairs.

Derek stays on the bed and lets out another little laugh.

[smilesthroughfandoms]

Every Single Star vs. the Forces of Evil episode in one sentence or less

I’ll probably post a more in depth-review later this week, as I have opinions literally no one wants to hear but I will proclaim anyway, and then I’ll probably also due a revision of my ‘Past Queens Connection to Star’ post from way back in season 2. Cause that needs an update.

Anyway, enjoy!

Star Comes to Earth: Princess Cinnamon Roll that Could Kill you comes to earth and meets Misunderstood Safe Kid.

Party With a Pony: Spoopy Wardens hunt for the glitter pony while Star gets ice for Marco’s sweaty back.

Matchmaker: In which we learn it was probably a bad idea to give Star the wand in the first place.

School Spirit: Star misunderstands football and Marco tries to get Ferguson to blow his whistle not in that way.

Monster Arm: “Not my bowels! I love my bowels!”

The Other Exchange Student: Star is jealous of the meatball man from Bakersfieldville.

Cheer Up Star: “It’s supposed to be ironic!”

Quest Buy: Very accurate depiction of what it is like to work in retail.

Diaz Family Vacation: Both Marco and Star see new sides of their dads but that’s not necessarily a good thing

Brittney’s Party: Star and Marco party on a bus that Ludo hijacks

Mewberty: Star gets horny and snares boys in her web but not in that way

Pixtopia: Marco messed up and Alfonso marries Ferguson’s rebound

Lobster Claws: “… You can’t eat children.” “Really? Not even the annoying ones?”

Sleep Spell: “Camera Phooone!”

Blood Moon Ball: We’re suppose to ship them now, right?

Fortune Cookies: Love is never the answer kids

Freeze Day: Father Time offers Star and Marco some mud before riding away on his wheel-mobile pulled by giant time-hamsters I am not making this up.

Royal Pain: King Santa Claus destroy mini-golf

St. Olga’s Reform School for Wayward Princesses: Princess Prison sure is a nightma–OH MY GOD ARE THOSE CLUBS?!

Mewnipendence Day: No wonder monsters hate Mewmans so much.

The Banagic Wand: Star still doesn’t get Earth and like all of us, Marco is always hungry.

Interdemensional Field Trip: Miss Skullnick fears the “Big Change” while Marco sends Jackie cat memes

Marco Grows a Beard: Ludo is out, Toffee is in, and Marco will probbaly be terrified of beards forever

Storm the Castle: “SURPRISE!”

My New Wand!: DIP DOOOWN

Ludo in the Wild: Wait, since when did Ludo become badass?

Mr. Candle Cares: “Star and I have recently become smooch buddies… On the lips.”

Red Belt: Marco searches for a meaning in life and Star searches for hammer.

Star on Wheels: *epic remix of Marco saying Star is in trouble*

Fetch: Marco can’t open juice and Star runs away from her problems and sending thank you cards

Star vs. Echo Creek: Star gets high and destroys a police car

Wand to Wand: Both Ludo and Star are terrible at magic also major ship tease

Starstruck: Star and her idol Sailor Super Saiyan destroy a park and Marco is 100002% done with this shit

Camping Trip: King Butterfly has a mid-life crisis and tries to control an eagle

Starsitting: They’re gonna be great parents some day.

On the Job: Buff Dad is best dad and buff babies are adorable

Goblin Dogs: “You might think this line is long, but listen to my goblin song!~”

By the Book: Ludo and Star still suck at magic and Glossaryck is a bigger troll than Alex Hirsch

Game of Flags: And I thought my family was dysfunctional...

Girls’ Day Out: Janna is back and is still awesome btw

Sleepover: “TRUTH! STAR HAS A CRUSH ON MA–” *cue fandom freakout*

Gift of the Card: R.I.P.  Rasticore Chaosus Disastorvayne… He couldn’ get his fucking chainsaw to work

Friendenemies: Star becomes one with Christmas tree while Tom and Marco go on a date and sing a romantic pop ballad.

Is Mystery: Meatfork is apparently a family name and Ludo is really starting to freak me out tbh

Hungry Larry: “He’s still hungry…”

Spider with a Top Hat: He tries and he is awesome and that’s all that matters

Into the Wand: SPAAAAADESS!!!

Pizza Thing: Marco is OCD about mushroom and Pony Head buys skinny jeans

Page Turner: Moon, how did you miss Toffee in the orb he was right there!

Naysaya: Marco is a mood in this episode

Bon Bon the Birthday Clown: Honestly my favorite episode overall

Raid the Cave: Glossaryck is the true neutral asshole.

Trickstar: Weird Al is a treasure and I’ll mes up anyone who makes Marco cry!

Baby: Aw, look at the little deadly baby, I love her!

Running With Scissors: Marco gets a new edition to his shipping harem and she is so cute!

Mathmagic: Why did the chicken cross the road?

The Bounce Lounge: Marco is definitely the mom friend.

Crystal Clear: The Chancellor guy is amazing and Rhombulus just needs a hug and wAS THAT ECLIPSA IN THE BACKGROUND?

The Hard Way: “SURPRISE!” 2.0

Heinous: Oh, so that’s how Marco got all that money.

All Belts Are Off: This is the negative side of “Pro-tag teen hangs out with older adult figure” trope done splendidly

Collateral Damage: Marco how do you not know what a possum is?

Just Friends: I’m fine! *blows up sign to prove just how fine I am*

Face the Music: This song is actually a banger

Star Crushed: Looking back, I’m starting to think the writing peaked at this episode....

BATTLE FOR MEWNI EDITION!!!!!

Return to Mewni: This is… just an exposition filler. Not much else to say….

Moon the Undaunted: B4! B4! B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4 B4!

Book Be Gone: Seriously, did Glossy take trolling lessons from Alex Hirsch this is hilarious!

Marco and the King: This is the  “Pro-tag teen hangs out with older adult figure” done slightly better

Puddle Defender: Aw, look at the little buff babies, they’re getting so big!

King Ludo: The mime stole the show.

Toffee: Yeah, I think the writing peaked somewhere around here...

Scent of Hoodie: Huh, so Ponyhead can be written as likeable, who would’ve thought?

Rest in Pudding: The colors are not doing the censors any favor here, huh?

Club Snubbed: I literally yelled “Phrasing!” whenever they dropped the title

Stranger Danger: Is she the new antagonist of the series? I can’t tell

Demoncism: Tom is a wonderful baby boy and Ponyhead is written as likeable, part 2!

Sophmore Slump: *sobbing* Jackie deserved better, dang it!

Lint Catcher: I’m starting to wonder if there is any competant authority figure in Mewni

Trial by Squire: I think the writers were all like” You think these guys will ship anyone with Marco?” and decided to test that theory.

Princess Turdina: I got more lore out of this episode than I thought I would.

Starfari: Welp, she makes me uncomfortable.

Sweet Dreams: *Sailor Moon-ing intensifies*

Lava Lake Beack: Proof that this fandom will ship anyone with Marco at the slightest inclanation

Death Peck: Rich Pigeon is my new favorite birb and Ponyhead is written as likeable for the third time

Ponymonium: Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Night Life: The writers made so many new ships they had to get rid of an old one!

Deep Dive: “Chicken butt”

Monster Bash: Well, that explains the cheekmarks.

Stump Day: I think they just made an episode based around a picture from that bookcover.

Holiday Special: *insert every cheesy Christmas/Holiday episode trope here*

The Bog Beast of Boggabah: The title is fun to say and the episode is average at best.

Total Eclipsa the Moon: Seriously, I’m supposed to think she’s an ultimate villain.

Butterfly Trap: In which we are all Sean, don’t lie we were all him at the end

Ludo, Where Art Thou?: Dennis is best brother, hands down.

Is Another Mystery: *sniff* I got more emotional over this episode than anyone else did and I’m not sure how I feel about that

Marco Jr.: I… I just… Why? What’s the point?

Skooled!: Epic advertisment fakeout combined with wonderful character development and lore with a shock ending makes a 8/10 episode.

Booth Buddies: Old Man McGucket ships Starco, proceed to react accordingly

Bam Ui Pati!: Ponyhead is kinda likeable in this episod–nevermind she’s back.

Tough Love: Oh man, it’s happening! It’s happening guys here we go!

Divide: We are going to war everybody–And they’re all dead. That was quick.

Conquer: They should have paid Alex HIrsch to voice Glossaryck at this point, it’d be more in character for him.

Butterfly Follies: Proof that someone will always complain about politics no matter what.

Escape from the Pie Folk: Is anyone else disturbed by the fact that he kinda resembles Eclipsa more than Festivia?

Moon Remembers: I was expecting a freakout but was pleasantly surprised

Swim Suit: I’m starting to get a bad feeling about Rhombulus

Ransomgram: Why is everyone in this dimesnion hot?!

Lake House Fever: She’s a good mom

Yada Yada Berries: They missed an opportunity to have a Seinfeld actor guest-star, just saying

Down by the River: I’m glad that she can relax

The Ponyhead Show!: And Ponyhead is offically no longer likeable, can someone toss her into an abyss please?

Surviving the Spiderbites: SpiderSlime is canon proceed to react accordingly

Out of Buisness: How did this place go out of buisness???

Kelly's World: Man, they’re really setting these non-Starco ships up to fail, huh?

Curse of the Blood Moon: Pfft, yeah, sure, Starco won’t be canon at all!

Princess Quasar Caterpillar and the Magic Bell: I think Ludo has the most consistent character arc out of the entire show’s history.

Ghost of Butterfly Castle: Moon, Star is your daughter and Star supports Eclipsa, why would you not tell her?

Cornball: This episode has a heartwarming lesson that I hope more people come to realize

Meteora's Lesson: I’ll take any Toffee scenes I can get

The Knight Shift: I honestly don’t remember what happened n this episode

Queen-Napped: Seriously, can someone please dropkick Ponyhead into an abyss?

Junkin' Janna: The JanTom interaction I’ve been waiting for

A Spell with No Name: These types of episodes stopped being charming awhile ago

A Boy and His DC-700XE: I think Tomco has more ground to stand-on then Starco at this point

The Monster and The Queen: Don Panchito voices Globgor! There’s hope for this show yet!

Cornonation: They’re the best couple/parents/anything around!

Doop-Doop: I honestly think Rick just put Morty through some flux-capacitor or something

Britta's Tacos: Hey, remember these people that we suddenly brought back? No? Me neither!

Beach Day: This feels like a Season 1 episode and it’s nice

Gone Baby Gone: I want a TV show aout them now! Disney, please!

Sad Teen Hotline: Mr. Diaz is way to invested in Star’s love life.

Jannanigans: Hello last minute Janna character development!

Mama Star: So that’s how Mewni came to be--and I don’t care anymore

Ready, Aim, Fire!: Let’s get that finale ball rolling people!

The Right Way: Ok, that spell is actually pretty badass.

Here to Help: There, Starco’s finally canon will you guys just shut up now!

Pizza Party: Moon you idiot you ruined everything!

The Tavern at the End of the Multiverse: Toffee was right all along... I think we all knew that in some way

Cleaved: I expect nothing substanial and that’s what I got

[huilian]

Herding Birds (And Bats)

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Summary:  It was not even December, and here Dick was, knocking on Jason’s safehouse. He came to Jason first, because the week when Dick normally started to call, text, and generally badger his siblings to come home for Christmas Jason might not even be on Earth. So, Dick had to get to him while he was still, thankfully, in Gotham.

A/N:  Merry Christmas, @spacenightwing! Hope you enjoy this!

(Part of Batfam Christmas Stockign 2018 @batfam-christmas-stocking)

It was not even December, and here Dick was, knocking on Jason’s safehouse.

He came to Jason first, because the week when Dick normally started to call, text, and generally badger his siblings to come home for Christmas Jason might not even be on Earth. So, Dick had to get to him while he was still, thankfully, in Gotham.

“Jay! Jay, open up!”

Nothing. Well, Dick was not going to be deterred by that. He knew for sure that Jason was at this place; he saw him coming in a few minutes ago himself. He just had to knock harder.

“JAY! If you don’t open this door right now, those photos will come out right this instant!” Thank god Dick kept the photos of a lanky, awkward, barely thirteen-year-old Jason. It was very, very useful to him now.

“What, Dickface?” Dick found himself staring up to Jason’s face. God, he was so big now, wasn’t he? He was taller than Dick, now.

“Yearly reminder to come to the Manor for Christmas.” Dick very carefully did not say ‘home’. Jason would never go if he called it home.

“No.”

“Yes. You don’t want to disappoint Alfred, do you?”

Jason’s eyes squinted. Dick knew he played the Alfred card every year, but to be honest, it worked every year, so who was he to question it?  And the old butler truly would be disappointed if Jason didn’t show up for Christmas.

“Come on. You can even choose, Christmas Eve dinner or Christmas Morning breakfast. You don’t even have to talk to Bruce if you don’t want to. I promise you’ll still get your presents.”

Jason sighed. “Fine. But it’s only for Alfred, you hear?”

“Yeah, Jay. Just come, okay?”

Jason closed the door. Dick had to make sure that he reminded Jason again two weeks before, three days before, and the morning of. Oh well. If that’s what it takes.

***

The next one Dick came to was Tim. He did not just come to Tim, he came to Conner, Bart, and Cassie too. He even bribed Tam Fox with an assortment of coffee and toffee to keep Tim’s schedule for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day clear.

He did not actually have to talk to Tim. Between the four of them, they were sure to have Tim in hand. But he wanted to talk to Tim. It has been ages since Dick actually have a conversation with Tim.

“Timmy!”

“Hey, Dick.” Tim did not even look up from his laptop.

“Just wanted to remind you, you still have to come to the Manor on the 24th and the 25th.”

“Okay.” Still not looking up from the laptop. This requires drastic measures.

“Also, my clothes are on fire.” No, that’s not drastic enough. Not for this family, anyway. Think, Dick, think. Ah, of course.  “And Damian is messing with your tablet.”

“Okay.” Silence. Dick was content to wait. Tim was bound to notice sooner or later. “Wait, Damian is messing with my tablet?” Bingo. Finally, Dick got him to look up from his laptop.

“For someone who managed to outsmart Ra’s Al Ghul, you’re really out of it, aren’t you Tim?”

“Is Damian messing with my tablet or not?” Tim was looking around the room, as if he was expecting Damian suddenly pop up with a ruined tablet. Which, Dick had to give to Tim, Damian would probably do if he was actually here.

Dick decided to save Tim from his misery. “I don’t even bring him here, Tim”

“Oh, okay.” Back to the laptop. At least now Dick got him to listen. Even if it’s only with half an ear.

“You still have to come to the Manor for Christmas though.”

“Ugh. Do I have to?” Tim threw his head back. Right now, he did not look like a CEO of Wayne Enterprises; he did not look like the fearsome Red Robin. Tim looked like an eighteen-year-old kid sulking at being forced to go to a family meeting.

“Yes.” Dick resist the urge to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Fine. Alfie will make that pudding I like, right?”

Dick wrinkled his nose. “Only you liked that pudding, Tim.”

“But he’ll make it, right?”

“Maybe you should ask him yourself.”

Tim tilted his head, as if the idea of it was unthinkable.

“Come on. Ditch the office for a while, Tim. Let’s take my bike to the Manor. Harass Alfie for a bit.” Dick gave in to the urge to ruffle Tim’s hair. It was longer than usual. Tim was due for a haircut.

What. What the hell, mind. Oh god. He was turning into Bruce.

Tim saved him from his sudden terror-filled realization by saying, “Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?”

“You know I can’t resist riding your bike, Dick.” Tim smiled his shit-eating grin.

“Hey! I didn’t say you’re going to be riding it!”

“So why am I holding the key?” Tim held the key up in his hands, taunting him. Damn, the kid is getting good at this. Dick didn’t even realize he was being pick-pocketed. Then he ran towards the elevator.

“Tim!” Dick chased after him.

In the end, Dick was just this shade of faster than Tim. He was taller, after all. And not wearing dress shoes.

They spent the entire ride to the Manor laughing at each other. It was a good day. (It was the best interaction they’ve had in a while.)

***

Dick knew he couldn’t change Cass’ mind if she didn’t want to go to the Manor for Christmas, but he liked asking her anyway.

“Cass?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you coming to the Manor for Christmas?”

Cass looked down and adopted the ‘thinking’ pose, with one hand on her chin and another crossed on her chest. Dick knew then that Cass would come. Cass was teasing him, which means that she would come. At least, Dick hoped she would come.

Cass spent a few seconds in that pose, then said, “Yes.”

Even though Dick had guessed that she would be coming, it was good to have it confirmed.

“I’ll see you there, then?”

Cass nodded.

“Don’t come covered in mud and other… more questionable things again, though.”

“It was one time!” Cass cried out in indignation.

“Sure, Cass. Sure.” Then Dick ran out of the room before Cass could tackle him to the ground. The fact that he made it out meant that Cass let him got out, which means that Dick had to be careful of a prank for him in the future.

Well. What’s one more prank, right?

***

Do you and the old man want to come to the Manor for Christmas?

No, sorry. We have our own thing. Thanks for the invite though.

Sure thing, Babs. Have fun.

***

Jay, don’t forget. Christmas at the Manor in a three days.

-

Jay.

-

Jay, I’m serious.

-

I’m telling Alfred.

Fine, I’m coming. Don’t be a dick.

***

It was a spur of the moment thing, Dick inviting Steph to the Manor for Christmas. They were patrolling together, in one of the rare moments that Dick patrol Gotham now. Nightwing and Spoiler make a good team, much like Batman and Batgirl. And Dick was hit with the sudden realization that this girl had been as much a sister to him as Cass.

“Hey, Spoiler?”

“Yeah, N?”

“You have anything to do Christmas Eve?” As much a sister she was to Dick, and to Cass and Damian, and whatever she was to Tim now, Steph had a family of her own outside of the Bats. If she wanted to spend Christmas with her mother, Dick could hardly begrudge her that. God knows the rest of them didn’t have the chance to spend Christmas with their mothers.

“No, not really. Mom has a shift that night. Holiday nights, better pay, you know.” Steph shrugged, like she didn’t particularly care. But this was Steph. Steph loves celebrations. There’s no way that she didn’t care about celebrating Christmas. Plus, Spoiler’s mask only covers the bottom part of her face. Dick could see her eyes.

(In hindsight, it was not a good tactical decision to have masks that didn’t cover the eyes. But Dick wore a leotard for the first five years of crime fighting. Like all the Titans and Babs like to tell him, he didn’t have a leg to stand on good tactical decision regarding costumes.)

“You want to go to the Manor?”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Who’s cooking?”

“Agent A, of course. Put the rest of us in the kitchen and the Manor will burn down.”

“Point.”

“So, coming?” Dick wished she would come. Dick really wished she would come.

“Sure.” Steph smiled. Dick smiled back. It was always good to have more people at the Manor for Christmas.

***

Dick didn’t have to call or badger Damian into coming. He was already living in the Manor. Alfred will make sure he was on the Manor on Christmas.

***

Now, for the man of the hour himself. Bruce Wayne. Dick didn’t have to make sure Bruce was in Gotham. However, he still had a job to do. Bruce still wants to go patrolling on Christmas Eve.

��B! It’s Christmas Eve!”

“So?”

“So you should be at home, celebrating Christmas with your family!”

A grunt.

Okay then. Thankfully Dick had done this dance for years now, he knew what to do.

“Fine, go patrol if you want. But the cave is already in lockdown, and I have locked you out of every safehouse you own for tonight,” Dick said flippantly. He was confident he got every single safehouse. After all, Alfie helped him lock B out.

Another grunt.

“Admit defeat, B.”

A sigh. Dick knew it meant that he had won. He smiled.

“Come on, everybody is already waiting in the dining room.”

***

“Give that back!”

“Nu-uh, short stack. If you want it, you take it.”

“Can you guys shut up!”

“Oh, Timmy is pissed. He’s pissed, Steph. Whatever should we do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jay. Maybe we should show everyone these photos, it could make him loosen up a bit.”

(Jay? When did Steph become so familiar with Jason?)

“Photos, you say, Brown?”

“Ugh. Kill me now.”

Even before they got into the dining room, Dick could hear the arguing that ensues inside it. Bruce looked at him. Dick looked back.

“It’s your kids. You’re the one who decided to keep adopting more kids.” Dick pointed out.

“They all keep coming,” Bruce grumbled.

“Come on, old man. What’s the worst they can do?” Oh no. The moment that word went out of his mouth, Dick wished he could take it back. The worse his siblings could do was very bad indeed.

An explosion went out inside the dining room. Bruce glared at Dick as if saying, see? Dick sighed. What even could they use inside the dining room to create an explosion?

“The worst they can do is level Gotham to the ground,” Bruce said under his breath. Dick wished it didn’t come to that.

“Well, let’s hope they haven’t destroyed the dining room. It’s not even 8pm yet.”

Bruce didn’t reply. He stared at the door as if the door was the weapon that would be used to execute him.

Time to bite the bullet, Dick guessed. He opened the door.

All in all, it was not the worst it could be. Not one plate or silverware or item was out of place. The ones out of place were his siblings.

Cass was perching on the tallest cabinet. If she stood up, her head would touch the ceiling. As disapproving as he was, Dick was quietly proud of her for being able to climb that high.

Damian, on the other hand, was stuck on the ground. Literally. His shoes were abandoned in one place, while his socks were in another, and he himself was stuck on another place. The glue seemed to be… mashed potatoes? How?

Jason was wrestling with Tim on the ground, but miraculously they managed to steer clear of any breakable objects in the room. There were scorch marks around them. Must be from the earlier explosion, Dick thought.

Steph was standing on the table, steering clear of Tim and Jason, while mixing something with the food already on the plate. Wait. Was that how they managed to create an explosion?

Why were his siblings like this? All Dick wanted was a normal dinner where they could be a family together. Dick sighed, then shouted, “HEY! Cut it out, all of you!”

All heads turned towards him. “Christmas is a time to be together, guys.” Here he paused and glared at each and every one of his siblings.  “Whatever ‘together’ I can get out of this dysfunctional group I’ll take.”

“This is being together, Dickface. Are we not in the same room?”

Dick was about to retort when a voice came from the kitchen. “Master Jason, please refrain from speaking profanities again. And do get up from the floor. It is unbecoming of you.” Jason’s expression changed so fast it would have been comical, had Dick not been so grateful that Alfred was here. “Master Tim, you too. Get up from the floor. As for you, Miss Cassandra, come down from the cabinet, please. Cabinets are not for sitting.” Cass smiled sheepishly and quickly climbed down. “Miss Stephanie, do kindly dispose of the chemical in your hand. I believe it is an exploding hazard.” Steph stopped in her tracks. “Last but not least, Master Damian, try sliding of it, instead of lifting your foot.”

“It doesn’t work!”

“Then kindly be patient. I will return with a dissolver.” Alfred put the pie he was holding when he came in on the table and promptly went out again. Nobody dared to move when Alfred was out, except for Bruce. Bruce walked towards the head of the table, sat down, and put his face in his hands.

Dick spoke up. “I hope you’re all happy now. You all pissed off Alfie.”

“No profanities, please, Master Dick. Master Damian, here is the dissolver. Drip a few drops into that… concoction and you should be fine.”

Damian grabbed the dissolver and made quick work of the glue sticking him to the floor. Otherwise, nobody moved.

“Well? Are we having dinner or not?” Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Dick said. “All of you, sit down.” Nobody moved. When they were not asked to move, they all wreck havoc. But when they were asked to move, nobody moved. Typical. “Sit down, all of you!”

Bruce chose that moment to say, “Sit down.” Dick was beginning to feel happy that at least someone was on his side when he realized Bruce’s error. Bruce spoke in the Batman voice.

See, the Batman voice worked well in the field, but outside of it? Not so much. They all even made a point of doing the opposite of what Bruce said. Dick took a deep breath.

Pandemonium ensued.

***

All in all, it was not the worse Christmas Eve dinner they have had. At least this year nobody was hospitalized.

[pinkletterday]

A Stitch In Time Ch1

Pairing: Oliver Queen/ Barry Allen

Rating: Mature

Tags: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, so much angst, some bad jokes, Oliver Queen' trauma conga line, Oliver and Iris friendship, alt Arrow Season 3, untagged plot twist.

Summary:  Oliver hadn't expected his world to come crashing down when he had sent his boyfriend off to  see the Particle Accelerator launch. All he can do now is hold on to faith as Barry sleeps on - until he witnesses a miracle. 

He should have known that even miracles come at a price.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Oliver knew it was a bad idea to start necking in public view at the metro station but he couldn't help himself. They were lucky it was late and the other stragglers waiting for the eleven pm train were few. Besides, this was the last taste and feel of his boyfriend he was going to get till New Year's and he already looked unfairly adorable in his peacoat with his windswept hair.

"You are so bad at getting rid of me," Barry laughed as Oliver kissed his way down his jaw. 

"Yes," he murmured, licking the shell of Barry's ear, pleased at the shiver it elicited, "that's clearly what Im trying to do."

"Cant stand the sight of me already, huh?"

Oliver cupped his face and kissed him deeply. They were both panting when he drew away, thumb tenderly brushing the kiss-swollen lips. "You have no idea."

Their breath misted between them as leaned their foreheads together. "Mmm. This is a terrible plan," Oliver grumbled. "I hate sleeping without you."

"Hey, It's just for a few days," Barry pecked his lips soothingly. "Should be enough time to break the news to Joe about who I'm dating -"

" - I'm sure he'll be thrilled -"

" - and smooth things over so that when you fly in to meet him at New Year's, he'll be willing to give you a chance," Barry grinned at him. "I mean, he'll grunt and glare and do his whole cop Dad routine but he won't -"

" - go for his gun?" Oliver deadpanned.

"Don't be so dramatic," said Barry, pulling him firmly in by his coat lapels. "Joe's not unreasonable, just protective." 

Oliver quirked a brow. "You forget. I have some experience with dating the kids of cop Dads."

"True," Barry nodded solemnly, "but your experience is coloured by having dated both kids at once."

"Touché," Oliver conceded, "I'm sure that will be a point in my favour when it comes up." 

Barry titled his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Are you actually afraid, Mr. Scourge of Starling City?" 

"Is that my new nickname? Shame, The Arrow was kinda cool."

"No, but seriously," said Barry, entwining their fingers in reassurance. "You have nothing to be afraid of. My Dad likes you and so does Iris. You'll win over Joe too, in time."

Warmth suffused him, as it always did, at the unwavering faith in his lover's eyes, banishing the winter chill. He raised their interlocked hands and pressed a kiss on Barry's knuckles, reflecting that softness back at him. "I hope so. I want to be someone you can take home to your cop Dad."

"You should have thought of that before starting a career in vigilanteism," said Barry dryly. 

"Definitely a misstep, I see that now," Oliver nodded. 

They grinned at each other, insulated from the night's chill in��their own small pocket of warm happiness, surrounded by the sludge and sleet of the city. A tendril of fear curled in Oliver's chest, some part of him still paranoid and disbelieving that he got to have this at all. 

He cradled the side of Barry's face, protectiveness rising. "Be careful," he told him seriously.

"Of what? Central is not the crazy town full of masked criminals and crimefighters," Barry rolled his eyes and raised a brow pointedly at him. "Besides, it's a little rich coming from the man who nearly coded in the Arrow Cave two nights ago. You're the one who needs to take better care of yourself."

"If I do, will you stop calling the foundry that?," said Oliver, resigned.

"Nope," Barry kissed the palm that cupped his cheek, eyes dancing.

Something of the lingering worry must have shown in his eyes however. His partner's face softened. "Don't worry, Oliver. I'm just going to watch Harrison Wells give a speech, witness the revolution of science as we know it and then go home with Iris and eat Joe's Christmas turkey. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?"

The distant rumble beneath their feet announced the arrival of the train. "Barry Allen, if there's one thing I've learned about you over the past year," he said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth, "it's that if there's trouble to be had, you'll find it."

...

He was on the island again, stones scraping and bloodying his bare feet as he scrabbled up the rocky slope from the beach. Barry grinned at him in excitement from above. "Oliver, hurry up! We have to catch the man in the lightning!"

Storm clouds menaced from overhead and dread sank deep into his bones. He tried to climb faster with little progress. "Barry, it's not safe!" he yelled, but the wind that buffeted his face carried his words away. "Wait for me!"

Barry merely waved and disappeared over the hill. Oliver belly-crawled to the top to see him running through the trees, too far for him to ever catch up, but he had to try.

"Barry, please!," he called as he ran, jumping over tree roots, struggling to keep him in his sights as the driving sheets of rain obscured his vision. Thunder split the air, drowning his cries and Barry continued to out-pace him, his carefree laughter ringing eerily throughout the forest.

Something caught his foot and he tripped, falling face-down in the mud. He twisted around, trying to free himself, and came face to face with Shado.

She had emerged half-way from the earth, covered in mud and silt, her once-beautiful face sunken and waxy in death. "You left me to rot," she spat at him, "now you're going to stay with me."

He twisted and kicked out in horror but her grip was a vice around his ankle. Lightning speared down from the sky, striking the tree above him with a deafening crack. He rolled out of the way in time to avoid the enormous branch that crashed to the ground, crushing Shado back into the earth. "No!" he cried. He had never meant her to die again.

Lightning flashed once more and suddenly Slade stood over him, a huge sword pointed at his chest. An arrow was potruding out of one eye, blood streaming down his face. "You killed her, kid," he snarled. "You killed her again.

His elbow sank into the silt as he scrambled backwards - and then the rest of him was also sinking, trapped. "Oliver!" Barry's voice echoed above him as the bog dragged him down, the rain pelting into his mouth, choking him, "Oliver!"

"Oliver. Wake up."

He shot upright with a gasp, hand ready to land a nerve-strike to the other person's neck a split second before he recognized Iris. Trying to calm his breathing, he put his hand down slowly, heart juddering against his ribs.

The hospital room was dark except for the light above the bed, illuminating Barry's unconscious form, the quiet only broken by the steady beep of the heart monitor and the susurration of the ventilator. Iris was eyeing him in concern, dark curtain of hair brushing his arm as she leaned over him. 

"Hey," Oliver rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Eight. Dad'll be back soon. I came straight from work. Did you eat anything?" she asked briskly, bustling around the room.

Oliver shrugged, wincing at the now-permanent kink in his neck. "Grabbed something from the hospital cafeteria. Surprisingly good pudding cups."

She gave him an unimpressed look and handed him a Jitters pastry bag. He stuffed a croissant into his mouth gratefully.

"Have the doctors been? Anything new?" She leaned over Barry worriedly, pushing his hair back from his face as though searching for signs of change.

"Not since you called this afternoon, no."

She sighed, then forced a bright smile. "So," she said, dragging a chair beside him. "Did you two have fun today?"

"Oh, yeah. We had a busy morning," said Oliver, forcing an answering brightness in turn, "I helped the nurse give him a bath and a shave. Don't get me wrong, I love the man, but scruff is not a good look on him," he shook his head ruefully.

Iris giggled. "Yeeah. Barry just can't grow facial hair. It's the bane of his life," her grin turned wicked. "Did he tell you about the time he came home from college with a moustache?"

"No, really?" Oliver snorted in surprise.

"It was awful. He looked like a used car salesman from the seventies," she said in glee. "Dad and I couldn't keep a straight face. He was so mad!"

He put his pastry down to look seriously at her. "Please tell me you have pictures."

'Pfft, please. I ran for the camera the moment he walked in the door." Iris broke into fresh giggles at Oliver's admiring expression.

"You are an evil person."

She gasped. "You hear that Barry?," she said in mock offence, "He's calling me evil. You gonna take that lying down?"

They both froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Then burst into almost hysterical laughter.

"Oh my God," Oliver buried his face in his hands, "that was awful."

Iris swatted his shoulder, still shaking with mirth. "Excuse you, it was an amazing pun. Don't you think so, Barry?"

"You see?," Oliver leaned toward Barry conspirationally, "Evil."

They subsided, smiling. Iris took Barry's hand. "You think he can hear us?," she asked wistfully, playing with his limp fingers, "The forums say they can hear and understand sometimes but can't respond -"

"It's a Scale 3 coma, Iris. Brain activity in that state usually indicates complete unconsciousness." He had, in the last three weeks, researched the subject with a diligence he had failed to apply to any of his abortive careers at Ivy League universities. He knew Iris had too.

"Doesn't mean he's not dreaming," she said stubbornly, "I know the doctors say it's unlikely because he doesn't have a sleep-wakefulness cycle but they also don't have a clue why he's flatlining and seizing at the same time..."

There was another pause, both of them holding their breath. They had fallen into a pattern of not talking about the seizures more than necessary, first beause they were terrifying but also out of an unspoken shared superstition that the mere mention of them would precipitate an onset.

But the moments went by and Barry continued to be still, the heart monitor beeping steadily.

Oliver finally broke the silence. "Well, if he can hear us, he's probably horrified at how much blackmail material we're going to be exchanging while he's getting his beauty sleep," he said, teasing a wan smile out of Iris. "And pretty bored, cause I've been reading QC's financial reports and quarterly projections to him."

"Wow. Sounds riveting."

"He thought it was a real snooze, actually," said Oliver solemnly.

Iris broke into a peal of laughter. Oliver grinned back, pleased with himself, before his eyes fell on the doorway where -

- Joe West was standing frozen.

"Detective West," he stood up from his seat, heart sinking. Well damn. After three weeks of painstakingly gaining the man's grudging approval too.

Iris turned around quickly as well. "Dad, we were just -"

But a smile was creasing his normally forbidding countenance, turning into a grin that transformed his face into a sunshine warmth that reminded Oliver of Barry's own. "A real snooze," the detective repeated, giggling.

The laughter that rippled among the room momentarily alleviated the pall that hung over it. For a few minutes they sat around Barry and chatted easily, occasionally talking to him too. It felt as though they were sitting in the Wests' living room having the normal family conversation he and Barry had envisioned during the holidays. Before the Accelerator explosion. 

Unfortunately, it was short lived.

The machines suddenly went haywire the exact same moment as the hospital lights started to flicker and die.

"Oh God, not again!"

Barry began to convulse and jerk on the bed. Oliver raced to hold him down but he kept thrashing like some ghastly marionnette pulled by invisible, torturous strings. Dimly he could hear Joe calling for help and Iris crying Barry's name over the terror drumming in his ears. The medical team streamed into the room, pushing him away and he let himself be shunted outside, reduced to watching helplessly.

"Barry!"

Iris was being restrained by a nurse, still shouting. Oliver watched numbly as Joe pulled her into his arms, face as haggard with shock as he felt. She buried her face in her father's chest and fell apart, the way he didn't know how to do anymore.

...

Henry Allen's face was always hopeful whenever he saw him. Oliver tried not to resent him for it, because having to extinguish it every time was awful.

"Is Barry -?" It was the first question that passed his lips the moment he picked up the phone, almost before he sat down and he slumped and aged a little more every time Oliver shook his head wearily.

But like his son, Henry was resilient of spirit, composing himself in short order. "It's been a while, Oliver," the man's smile and tone betrayed no accusation but Oliver still felt a stab of guilt.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, Dr. Allen," he rubbed the weariness from his eyelids. "Barely had any time between Barry and my mother and wrangling the board at Starling."

"That wasn't a complaint. Just concern. And when are you going to start calling me Henry?" the older man asked in mock-stern humour.

Oliver huffed a laugh and relaxed. "Sorry, Henry."

"You shouldn't worry about me," Henry's blue eyes were painfully understanding, "Iris has been stopping by regularly, keeping me in the loop."

"I'm glad. She's been amazing," said Oliver warmly. Because she really was. But he had come to talk of a less pleasant topic. "Speaking of in the loop, Harrison Wells has spoken to Joe."

Henry's jaw tensed. "What does that man want?"

No one who loved Barry had much sympathy for the architect of the Particle Accelerator explosion, paralyzed and humiliated as he was. Even Henry Allen, as kind a man as had ever lived, couldn't forgive what he had done to his only child. Oliver hadn't thought he was the kind of man who would want to deck a man in a wheelchair but his knuckles itched every time he saw him on TV. Only the thought that this was probably how many Starling residents felt about his mother sobered him.

Still, objectively speaking, Wells's plan seemed pragmatic. Oliver didnt need a medical degree to know that the doctors were at a complete loss and with every seizure they came that much closer to losing Barry. 

Henry mulled this over at the end of his explanation. "What do you think?," he asked Oliver.

"It does make sense," he said begrudgingly.  "Barry's not getting better. We can't not try everything we can. And it would make me a hypocrite to begrudge someone trying to find redemption for a terrible mistake."

"But what do you think?"

The fact that Barry's father had grown to value his judgment so much never failed to catch Oliver off-guard and humble him. He looked the older man directly in the eye through the dirty glass that separated them.

"I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

Henry searched his face for a long moment. Finally he jerked his head in a nod of understanding. "But you'll be watching him?"

Oliver's own jaw tightened. "You can count on it."

***

"You have to come home."

He ignored Felicity, continuing to stare at Barry's lax wrist in his hands, feeling the pulse beat humming-bird fast and thready, always seeming thin enough to dissolve.

She sighed. "I know you don't want to -,"

"I can't," he interjected firmly

" - but it's been five weeks. The Mirakuru is still out there and we still have no clue who the man in the skull mask is even though Digg and I have been shaking down as many known drug dealers as we can in the Glades. Isabel Rochev has been hounding us with calls...," Felicity sighed again, and this time he could hear the exhaustion in her own voice. A gentle hand laid on his shoulder. "The city is heading toward some kind of implosion, like with Merlyn last year. We can't let that happen again."

It was too much. Then let it implode, he thought savagely. Why do I have to be the one to save the goddamn city. What makes me so special? Haven't I paid enough for my family's sins?

His grip on Barry's hand tightened convulsively. The truth was that he was terrified to let go for fear that the tremulous thread anchoring Barry to life would snap. He should have known it would end this way. Should have known better than to hope, should have pushed Barry away when he had the chance before he let him down too...

"Why would you want to be with me?," he asked, searching Barry's eyes that still looked at him with such steady faith. "I failed the city. I failed everyone." Especially you.

"You didn't fail everyone. We helped people. You gave people a chance to save themselves. Gave them hope," Barry cupped his cheek tenderly. "Gave me hope."

"It wasn't enough," but Oliver couldn't help turning his face into the comfort of that hand. "I wasn't enough. I'm no hero, Barry."

"Maybe not. But what you are is a good man willing to risk everything to keep people safe," said Barry. "Maybe that's what the city needs, more than a hero. And for that," his hand curled around Oliver's, "you will always be a hero to me."

"Oliver," Digg's urgent voice made him look up sharply. "There's been a bombing downtown. Three people dead. We have to go back now."

Oliver nodded and stood up, making himself release Barry's hand.

I'm going to try and be the man you deserve.

He felt the shift from Oliver Queen to the Arrow as he squared his shoulders, emotion replaced by cold calculation. "I need to call Iris. Felicity, find out all you can about the bomber. Digg, get the jet ready. We'll plan en route."

***

"How's Barry?"

Felicity had the answer automatically ready for Oliver's habitual question almost before he had finished clattering down the stairs to the Arrow Cave, Sara at his heels.

"Still stable. At least according to the video feed," she waved at the monitor that displayed the STAR Labs cortex, where her friend was hooked up to a depressing number of machines. "I feel kinda bad about hacking into that. Cisco and Caitlin really do seem to be doing their best to take care of him."

"I'm not willing to take any chances," said Oliver, hanging up his bow and divesting himself of his quiver almost carelessly, his eyes trained on the screen.

A derisive scoff sounded behind him. "Well that's a big fat lie."

Felicity tensed as Oliver rounded on Sara. The small blonde was unfazed by his looming. She continued to put away her gear without looking at him, ire emanating from her own movements.

He turned around in time to unfortunately catch Felicity sharing a nervous glance with Diggle, who immediately adopted his stolid dealing-with-Oliver's-dramatics stance.

Oliver took a deep breath and cocked his head with an even expression. "Something you want to tell me?" he said, with that "definitely-not-bristling-I-am-a-calm-rational-human-being" demeanor he used when defending some exceptionally stupid decision.

Diggle, as usual, opened with the reasonable tack that invariably put Oliver on the defensive. "Oliver, we know how hard this has been on you. We care about Barry too. But it's been three months -"

"I'm not giving up on him!"

"We're not asking you to!" Sara exclaimed. "But you're being sloppy! You're distracted, you're barely rested, you're taking stupid risks and getting hurt more than usual, which is really saying something," she accentuated her point by slapping her glove against his chest. Felicity flinched. Oh boy.

"I'm doing the best I can," Oliver gritted mutinously.

"Don't you get it, Ollie? You don't have to give up on Barry but you're not helping anyone like this!" Sara got right in his face and Felicity inched her chair further back into the safety of her computer bank. "Slade's got us like sitting ducks, Roy's out of control and whatever issue you're having with Moira right now, our families are in danger! Starling needs you!"

Colour had risen in Oliver's cheeks, his eyes glinting dangerously like he was about fire right back at Sara. But then the fight seemed to deflate right out of him. He slumped, the sheer exhaustion he was fighting a losing battle with weighing down his broad shoulders. It made Felicity's heart hurt. "I'm already doing all I can think of," he sighed, running a hand over his face, "what more do you want me to do?"

Sara stepped back. Her expression had softened but her voice was still stern and unyielding. "If there's anything I've learned while I've been gone, it's that to protect people you have to focus on what's in front of you. You can't have your head in Central City if you're going to fix the problems here," Felicity winced a little at her bluntness. "Otherwise you'll lose both."

***

Despite years of yearning for its comfort, the Queen mansion had never really felt like home after he had returned. Now it was merely a hollow shell preparing to pass into the hands of strangers, his failures dogging him with each echoing footstep. 

"Thea is out there hurt or worse because of one person - and it's not Slade Wilson," Roy's eyes burned in his gaunt face. "I believed in you."

"How could you not tell me Malcolm Merlyn was my father?" Thea's eyes were full of accusation and betrayal as she curled into herself. "I believed in you."

"I'd say they'd lost faith in your leadership, but that would imply there was any," said Isabel snidely, vicious victory sparking in her eyes. "Maybe you should have focused a little less on your...evening activities."

"Your father had a weakness for beautiful, strong women."

Even his own room felt like it belonged to someone else, except for the framed picture of himself and Barry sitting on the mantlepiece.

They were both wearing ugly Christmas sweaters that Barry had insisted were traditional, snuggled on the couch in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. Barry was wrapped in his arms with a look of supreme contentment on his face while Oliver pressed a tender kiss to his tousled head tucked under his chin. He had spent that night at the mansion for the first time, smugly relishing making love in the bed of Oliver's adolescence. Waking up to Barry's drowsy half-lidded gaze had filled him with a contentment he hadn't known was possible.

"I'm so happy I'm frightened," Oliver confessed, his face buried in Barry's neck.

"Why are you frightened?" Barry reached back to card his fingers through Oliver's hair.

He tightened his arms around him. "Of what would happen if I lost you."

Barry turned around to face him, smile sleep-soft and sweet. "You could never lose me."

But you lied, thought Oliver, bile rising in his throat as he stared at the picture in his hands. You left me too.

The rage he hadn't realized had been simmering just beneath the surface suddenly blazed white-hot. He hurled the picture at the wall and swept an arm across the entire mantlepiece, clocks, curios and pictures joining the shattered frame on the floor.  The memories of failure and betrayal chased him one after the other as he destroyed every memento in the room in a red haze, kicking, ripping, smashing.

The room was littered in glass shards and debris when he was finally spent, sliding along the wall to drop limply onto the floor. At his feet, Barry's and his happy smiles gazed up at him from the broken frame. 

***

Oliver had had this nightmare many times before, replaying that night again and again until he was crying for it to end. But those had taken place in the darkness and freezing wind of the island, the pale torchlight illuminating Sara's and Shado's terrified faces before Ivo shot Shado in the head. Sometimes both her and Sara. Over and over.

Now the harsh beams of the truck's headlights and Oliver's own concussion made everything swim in amber, and the voices begging for their lives belonged to his mother and sister.

"Choose!" No. This was just another nightmare. It had to be. Please God. Please.

But the ropes cutting into his wrists felt very real and part of him knew there would be no merciful awakening from this, any more than there had been the last time. 

"Let me make the right choice now! Kill me! It's me you want!" he pleaded desperately, ignoring Thea's and his Mom's renewed cries. I can't take this anymore. Please stop hurting them. Let me die and be with Barry. Let it all end.

"I will kill you," sneered Slade, drawing his gun from his belt and cocking it. "Only more slowly than you would like. I confess, I enjoyed how much pain you've been in watching your lover die by inches," he gloated over Oliver's face and the thought of the deranged man standing over Barry's unconscious form sent ice through him, "But it wasn't enough. Despite everything, you still keep clinging to a strand of hope, however thin. Hope that I can never have." Slade straightened, turning back to his mother and sister. "No, Oliver. I need you to taste true despair. I need you to suffer by my own hand, not just fate's."

"And so...," he laid the barrel of the gun over little Thea's head in a mockery of benediction, ignoring her face soaked in tears. "Choose."

"Please," Oliver choked. "Don't."

"Choose!" Over his mother's head this time.

The fury erupting from his chest was a living thing, searing across his veins, raging to rip Slade's throat out, to feel the satisfying crunch of his neck breaking, to stab an arrow clean through his other eye socket with his bare hands. Yet, the ropes still held.

"CHOOSE!"

But Moira was struggling to her feet, head held proudly aloft despite the arms wrenched behind her back.

"Mom?" No. No no no no no. "What're you doing?"

"There is only one way this night can end," said Moira, voice steady through a throat raw with tears. She turned to Slade, composed and dignified even with the sweat and grime streaking her hair and face, "we both know that, don't we, Mr. Wilson?"

Oliver heard himself and Thea pleading as though from far away. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He suddenly remembered his Dad in the raft, pointing the gun at his own temple. 

"Close your eyes, baby!" Moira implored, but Oliver was transfixed.

Slade seemed taken aback. "You possess great courage," he said deferentially, lowering his gun and turning away. For one wild moment, it seemed as though she might be spared - but then he saw Slade's hand grasp the hilt of his sword.

Thunder rumbled, reverberating the ground beneath his feet. Oliver remembered distantly that there had been a storm on the island that night as well. 

Thea screamed as Slade whirled around, the blade flashing silver.

And the world turned gold.

The flare of incredible light seared his eyes, static raising every hair on his body. A moment later, a sonic boom knocked him sideways as something immense cleaved the world in two.

Oliver was only stunned for a bare moment before his reflexes took over, rolling him to his feet almost in the same motion. He shook his head, clearing his vision to see Slade fallen against a tree some ten feet away, trying to struggle to his feet. His mother and sister were nowhere to be seen except for the ropes on the ground.

Panic thudded wildly in his chest. "What did you do?," he yelled at Slade, "What did you do to them?"

But the other man's seemed just confused as he staggered around almost foolishly.

"Thea! Mom!" Oliver yelled. He suddenly realized his hands were untied.

Slade seemed to finally regain his bearings and rounded on him, his face a rictus of fury. "SEARCH THE PERIMETER!" he roared into the darkness. "BRING THEM TO ME!"

Something gleamed on the ground a few feet away. A bare flicker of Slade's eye confirmed that he had seen it too. Their eyes locked on each other for a milisecond before they both lunged sideways for the gun.

Oliver's knee landed in Slade's gut the same time as Slade's armoured knuckles caught him in the jaw. Stars burst across his vision but he hooked his ankle around the other man's leg without a moment's pause. They rolled around in the dirt, scrabbling for the weapon until Slade managed to pin Oliver to the ground, closing his preternaturally strong hand around his throat.

He knew what it was when he felt it this time, the earth rumbling beneath him a second before gold light filled his vision, incandescent enough to blind him through his eyelids, to burn him - but it only enveloped him in a gentle warmth before the world tilted.

The ground under his feet turned to pressurized air, locking him in place as the rest of the world rushed past in a blur, a tidal wave giving the illusion of being dragged into the sea. But he was not grasping for breath and his eyes did not sting; he was engulfed in a warm, secure bubble as the golden rods of light streamed on either side of him, of them, a masked person with lightning eyes -

- and suddenly it all stopped, slamming the breath from his lungs, the ground hard beneath his feet. The thunder clap rang in his ears before he had finished falling to his knees.

It had all happened between one blink and the next. He grasped the earth, disoriented. Only it wasn't earth at all but concrete.

"Whoa, easy there," said an oddly vibrating voice. A gloved hand laid on his back. Oliver flinched and rolled away from it, gaining his feet again.

A tall, almost lanky man in a form-fitting suit was silhouetted against the backdrop of...city lights? They were on a rooftop?

"Who are you?" Oliver demanded, falling into a defensive stance despite still fighting nausea. "Where are we?"

"We're on the roof of Verdant" said the man again in that mechanically resonant voice. There was something oddly familar about it. "Don't worry, your mother and sister are safe. I left them at the Glades precinct. Captain Lance will take care of them."

Oliver noted that the man had gotten Quentin's designation wrong but there were more pressing concerns. "How did we get here? Where's Slade?"

"Deathstroke is, uh, taking a small nappy nap," said the man, airily wiggling his  fingers. "I knocked him out, picked you up and ran you here. Don't worry, it wasn't a bridal carry."

"You carried me?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm pretty strong. The speed also helps a lot," he shrugged in what seemed like self-deprecation.

"That's not possible."

Oliver swallowed, thoughts racing. He had to find a way to get off this roof and he needed answers. But how do you escape something this fast?

"Isn't it? I thought you said you were more ready to believe in the impossible than most people." I've spent my whole life chasing the impossible. His heart stopped.

"Who are you?"

The man stepped closer to him so Oliver could see his face more clearly in the blazing glow of the city that suffused the evening sky. He wanted to take a step back but his feet were again rooted to the ground as the man ducked his head and pulled back the mask. Barry smiled tentatively, hair tousled and cheeks wind-flushed. "Hey."

***

Either Oliver had forgotten how beautiful Barry was when he was awake or Slade had hit him really hard and he was now hallucinating.

"You. You're not-" his throat was closing. "You're not real."

Not-Barry looked at him gently. "I promise I'm real. See?" He took off a glove and reached out a hand between them. Oliver stared at it. The long slender fingers and slim wrist were so familiar, he reached out to touch it almost without thinking.

The other man's eyes were tender and his smile tired but sweet as ever, dimpling his cheeks. The hand, soft and warm, slotted neatly into his own, fingers intertwining in sense-memory.

"It's me, Oliver," he said, stepping closer. "It's really me."

Oliver touched the man's face as though in a dream. He traced the planes of those cut-glass cheekbones, the shadows cast by his sweeping lashes, the freckles around his eyes, the plush pink lips. They gently brushed his own open mouth and he was suddenly surrounded by the scent of rainstorms and honey beneath which he could sense the taste and feel that was uniquely Barry.

"Barry," he breathed. "Barry."

Oliver grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him forward for a furious kiss that made him grunt and stagger in surprise. He fisted his hands through those soft chestnut waves, holding Barry's head in place to sweep his tongue deeper into his mouth, starving for his taste, his touch, his moans driving him even more delirious.

It was an eternity of bliss and yet not nearly enough when his lover broke free. He caught Oliver's wrists, panting. "Oliver," Barry leaned their foreheads together, both their breathing ragged. Oliver's blood pounded in his ears. He only realized he'd been crying when Barry brushed the wetness away with his ungloved thumb. "Oh Ollie," he murmured sadly.

"Are you dead?," Oliver choked out. His vision blurred with tears but he let them brim over, afraid to blink.

"Are we both dead? Is this heaven?"

"What? Ollie, no," Barry huffed a laugh and turned his face into Oliver's hand to kiss it. "We are both very much alive."

"But I need you to listen to me," his grip on his wrists tightened urgently, those wonderfully awake and alert eyes pinning his own with startling intensity, "I don't have much time. First off, I'm not really back."

Oliver's heart sank and he pulled Barry impossibly closer, running frantic hands over his body searching for damage. "What do you mean?"

Catching his hands again, Barry turned Oliver's chin up to face him full-on. "To understand what I'm about to tell you," he spoke careful and clear, "you need to believe in the impossible. Can you do that?"

Oliver laughed incredulously. "I don't need to believe, I just saw it."

"No, there's more to it. Listen," he took a deep breath, "I'm from the future."

"From...the future," repeated Oliver blankly. This somehow seemed to make perfect sense, in that surreal way the twists and turns of a dream seemed perfectly reasonable.

"Yes. The me of right now is still in a coma at STAR Labs," said Barry. "I'm going to wake up in a few months and I'm going to have these powers."

"Powers? Like...turning into lightning?"

"No, but I am lightning fast and I can generate my own lightning bolts...eventually." Something tight flickered over his expression but he shook it away and refocused. "The point is, I will develop my powers over time until one day I accidentally time-travel."

"Absolutely nobody can find out what really happened here tonight, not even me. I need to find out about my powers by myself and you can't tell me or anyone until one day, I have to deliberately choose to time travel for the first time," Barry cupped Oliver's face in his hands, almost vibrating with urgency. "You have to promise me."

Oliver was still struggling to get a grip on reality. "But why?"

"Because that is how it happened before and now must be again," said Barry. His face was inscrutable. "Anything else will create a paradox. Promise me."

"I promise. I won't tell anyone." He still didn't have the slightest idea what Barry was saying but he would promise his soul to have his partner back like this, warm, responsive, alive.

He couldn't make himself let go of him though. He wasn't sure he knew how. "But - Barry, there's so much happening in the city right now - I need you. I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Oliver, you can do this," and there was that immovable trust in Barry's eyes that he had been starving for, making his heart soar and humbling him to his core at the same time, "It won't be easy but you're not alone. Trust in your family and your team. They have your back. You can save the city and you will beat Slade."

The band that had constricted his chest for months finally loosened, allowing free breath. "You really believe that?"

Barry smiled. "I don't have to believe it. I've already seen it."

It suddenly struck Oliver that this Barry was different in a way that had nothing to do with the mask or the powers. There was an invisible weight on the slope of those broad shoulders. Even his smile was not the full-blown beam of sunshine he was used to, some sad shadow pulling at the creases of his mouth and eyes, and the furrow of his brow. There was a battered and bowed gravity to him that Oliver recognized.

What happened to you? What made you so much like me?

Perhaps Barry had seen him reading too much in his demeanor. Stepped back uncomfortably, he pulled Oliver's hands away. "I have to go," he softened at the sound of distress that escaped Oliver, hands scrabbling to pull him back. "This is real, Ollie," he framed his face in his hands again, eyes as tender as they were intense, "I promise. I'm going to wake up."

Oliver swallowed past the knot in his throat and nodded. "Okay. I believe you."

"And I believe in you," Barry gently pried his hands loose and Oliver, with a Herculean effort, let him.

He stood at the edge of the building, silhouetted in shadow and scarlet against the liquid yellow-gold of the city. Electricity crackled at his feet, spidering up his body which Oliver could sense vibrating with power even at this distance. Almost a demi-god, an entity that belonged to a place and time Oliver could not hope to follow. 

A sudden desperation gripped him. "Barry," he called, "I love you."

Barry gave him that soft, sad smile over his shoulder. "I know," he said, lightning sparking in his eyes.

Oliver was braced for the sonic boom this time. He watched in awe as the red-gold comet blazed across the city into the horizon before disappearing into a vortex of swirling blue light.

Now that... is really cool.

Bonus deleted scene

Chapter 2

[lovemesomesurveys]

Just say yum, yuck, or any other reaction to these foods... Fruits Banana? Yum. Bananas are my favorite fruit. Orange? Eww. I hate oranges.   Red apple? Meh. They’re okay. Green apple? They’re okay. Mango? Nah.

Pineapple? Nah. Honeydew? It’s okay. Pretty basic. Papaya? I’ve never had one. Strawberries? They’re good. Especially covered in chocolate. Blueberries? I like blueberry muffins and waffles, but I don’t eat them by themselves. Blackberries? I don’t think I’ve had an actual blackberry, just blackberry flavored soda. Apricots? Ew. Peaches? They’re okay. Plums? Ew. Lychee? Never had it. Doesn’t look appealing. Watermelon? It’s good. Refreshing. 

Kiwi? Nah. Lemon? I like lemon flavored things and juice on stuff, but I’m not just eating a plain lemon. Lime? I like lime juice on tacos and stuff, but again I’m not eating a plain lemon. Pears? Nah. Vegetables Broccoli? Yes, one of my faves. Cauliflower? I like it. Cauliflower garlic mashed “potatoes” are really good. Potato? Loveee.  Asparagus? Ew, no. Carrot? I like them raw dipped in ranch. Cooked carrots are disgusting. Bell peppers? No. Peas? Nooo. Green beans? I like ‘em. Onion? In certain things. And onion rings. Mushrooms? Nooo. Celery? Nah. Beets? No. Tomato? Yes Pumpkin? No. Eggplant/aubergine? No. Avocado? Yesss. Sweet corn? Just regular corn. Zucchini? No. Cucumber? No. Radish? No. Dairy 2% milk? Noo. Skim milk? Noo. I use soy or almond milk. Butter? Yes. Margerine? Yes. Greek yoghurt? Blech, no.

Vanilla yoghurt? Meh, not a yogurt fan. It’s a texture thing.  

Blueberry yoghurt? ^^^ Strawberry yoghurt? ^^^ Cheddar cheese? Yum. Swiss cheese? Yum. Gouda cheese? No. Blue cheese? Ew, no. Havarti cheese? I don’t think I’ve tried it. Fetta cheese? Yum. Camembert cheese? I’ve never even heard of that. Whipped cream? Yum. Sour cream? Yes. Gotta have that with my burritos and tacos. Chocolate milk? Nah. Banana milk? Yum. Coffee milk? Yum. Meats T-bone steak? No. Not a steak person. Scotch fillet steak? ^^^ Minced beef? No. Corned beef? Eh, it’s okay. I only ever have it on St. Patrick’s Day. Chicken breast? No. I like chicken, but I’m really particular about what kind and how it’s prepared. 

Chicken wings? Boneless, yes. My fave. Chicken legs? No. Roast chicken? No. Duck breast? Never had it, don’t want to. Diced ham? No. I’m so picky, I only like spiral ham that’s cooked in the oven.  Bacon? No. Pork chops? No. Pork sausages? Yes. Roast lamb? No. Turkey breast? Yes. Salami? Yes. Love a turkey and salami sandwich or salami and cream cheese. Bologna? Yes. I love me a bologna sandwich. Beef sausages? No. Chorizo? Yum. Veal? No. Seafood Skipping this whole section cause I don’t like seafood at all. Crumbed fish? Steamed fish? Smoked salmon? Shrimp/prawns? Clams? Mussels? Balmain bugs? Tuna? Calamari? Crab? Lobster? Raw fish sushi? Breakfast foods Peanut butter? Yes. Honey? Yes. Marshmallow fluff? Yes. Poptarts? Yep, my faves are the strawberry frosted and the brown sugar frosted. Waffles? Yum. Pancakes? Yeah, but I prefer waffles. Toast? Yes. Scrambled eggs? Yes.  Fried eggs? Yes. Poached eggs? Yes. I just love eggs. Sausage biscuit? Sure.

Oatmeal? Yes, with condensed milk, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Eggs Benedict? No. Muesli? I had to Google that, but no. Granola? Granola bars. Meals Grilled cheese? Yum. Egg salad sandwich? Yum. That’s sounds good right now. Pesto chicken pasta? Without the chicken. Alfredo pasta? Yeah. Mashed potato? Yummm. With lots of gravy. Ricotta and spinach tart? Yum. Beef and black bean burrito? Nah. Cheesy quesadilas? Yum. Add some shredded chicken to it and it’s even better with sour cream and guac. 

Pepperoni pizza? Nah.  Nachos? Yum. Beef ravioli? Yum. Potato salad? Nah. Couscous? I’ve never had it. Omelette? Yum. Chicken schnitzel? Never had it. Hot dog? Sometimes. I have to be in the mood. I had one the other day for the first time in a long time. Indian curry? No. Beef stroganoff? No. Chicken stir-fry? No.

French onion soup? Never had it. I like French onion dip with chips, though. haha. Cheeseburger? Sometimes. It’s another thing I have to be in the mood for. I’ve had a couple recently, though. Dessert Pecan pie? Nah. I’m not a pie person in general, though. Apple pie? No. Cherry pie? No. Pumpkin pie? No. Tiramisu? It’s okay. Cream donut? Nah. I don’t like filled donuts. Jam donut? ^^^ Chocolate fudge? Yum. Tapioca pudding? No. Red velvet cake? Yum. Chocolate mud cake? No. Too chocolately. Cheesecake? Yesss. Fruit salad? No. Chocolate mousse? No.

Creme brulee? No. Brownies? Yummm. I’ve been wanting brownies. Christmas pudding? Never had it. Not a pudding fan, though. Lemon souffle? Never had it. Chocolate chip cookies? Sure. Chocolate croissant? Ooh, Jack in the Box actually has that right now and I tried them yesterday and they’re quite delicious. Drinks Cola? Yes. Lemon-lime soda? I only like when I’m sick. Orange soda? No. Apple juice? No.

Grapefruit juice? No. I don’t like any juice. Blackcurrant juice? Never had it, don’t even have a clue what that is, but I’m gonna say no. Raspberry iced tea? Sure. 

Peach iced tea? Nah. Lemon iced tea? Sure. I haven’t had iced tea in a long time, though. Black coffee? With flavored creamer or cream and sugar. Cappuccino? Flavored one, yes. Americano? Haven’t had one, actually.  

Cookies and cream iced frap? Haven’t had one, but I bet I would like it. Mocha iced frap? ^^^ Iced coffee? Sometimes. I’ve had a few lately cause it’s been so damn hot. I much prefer hot coffee, though, and drink that majority of the time. Coconut water? Noo. I don’t like coconut flavored anything. Wine spritzer? Nah, I don’t drink. Pina colada? ^^^ Bloody Mary? Never had one, doesn’t sound good.  Whisky old-fashioned? Nopeeee.

[panda-noosh]

Hello!! Could you write me something super cute and adorable with Carl from TWD?? Thank you!!

Enjoy!

  Beingsafe was boring. That was one thing you had come to learn in yourtime at Alexandria.

  Beingsafe was boring because you had nothing to do. You had nothing toworry about, no problems to solve, no food to look for. It was allgiven to you. You were currently sat at the table eating rice pudding– how long had it been since you'd been able to do that?

  Youweren't ungrateful for your safety. You would take being safe andbored over unsafe and occupied any day, but it was moments like thesewere you couldn't take your mind off of the woods. The woods you onceused to basically live in, scavenging for food, killing walkers,hiding in bushes. The woods used to be your place – you and Carl'splace, at least.

  Itused to be the place you and him could escape to and do stupid stuffwithout getting yelled at for being careless, even though that wasexactly what you were being. You used to have foot races in thebrambles, letting the moss skid up until one of you fell and theother would stop and panic for a moment before the laughter wouldsettle in and you'd fall beside him, holding your stomach.

   Youmissed those days, oddly.

  Yousigh as you take a final spoonful of your rice pudding beforedeciding to donate the rest of Judith, who sits in her high chair atthe side of you, slapping the tray in front of her. You place thebowl in front of her and watch as her chubby hands pick up the spoon,a giggle escaping her before she places it in her mouth.

  Yousmile at the sight. Shewasthe reason you weren't ungrateful for your boredom. Keeping her andeverybody else safe was main priority, whether it robbed you ofthrill or not.

  “Ihope that's been cooled down,” you hear from the doorway. You lookup, instinctively reaching for your knife before you realise itwasn't there – you had left it upstairs.

  Ohyeah, youthink. Safe.

  Michonnestands with her hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised as she looks atJudith who munches away at her rice pudding happily, clumps of itsliding down her chin and landing on her white onesie. It was only9am. She wasn't long awake.

  “AndI also hope you don't expect me to wash her clothes after she getsthe food everywhere. That's your job.”

  “I'ma full time student,” you point out, referring to the work loadsuddenly thrust upon you by Deanna. “Remember? I don't have time tolook after a baby.”

  “Andwhere is this school work you're meant to be doing?” Michonnequestions.

  Youlook in front of you as if in doing so, a pile of papers willsuddenly appear.

  Michonnesighs. “None of us expected you to follow the school rule anyway.Carl isn't either.”

  “Notsurprising,” you say. “I've forgotten how to write, so I'massuming he has too.”

  “Notlike you'll need that particular skill anyway.” Michonne smiles atyou over the lip of the glass she has pulled to her mouth, freshwater dazzling the inside of it. You are half-tempted to tell her offfor drinking too much – you used to only be allowed single sips ofthe water you collected, because that was what you had to do –collectit.

 Itwasn't just handed out to you for free. You used to have to make asingle canteen of water last for a week between multiple people.

   “Whereis Carl?” you find yourself asking, suddenly craving adventureagain. If you can't go past the walls, you'll find your ownentertainment inside them.

  “Upstairs,”Michonne replies. “Why?”

  “Ineed to talk to him.” You stand up, hearing Michonne grumblesomething about how you had left her with Judith before your marchingup the stairs and pushing open Carl's bedroom door.

  Hefumbles with the pencil in his hand almost as soon as you burstthrough the door, broken hinges making a noise so loud he clearlywasn't expecting it.

  “Putyour porn away, Grimes,” you exclaim, earning a loud laugh fromMichonne downstairs. Carl looks over at you, his one good eyenarrowed. “We've got things to do. Come on.”

  “Thingsto do?” Carl questions. You tug at his arm, pulling him away fromhis desk which is littered with comic books and a single pistolplaced on top of them all. You can see it's loaded – you don'tbother to ask why he has it.

  Youdip into your room before you leave, collecting up your knife forsafety measures. You push it into the holster before you're grabbingCarl's hand again and dragging him downstairs and out the back door,into the fresh air of Alexandria.

  “Doesmy dad need us to do something?” Carl asks.

  Youshake your head. “No, of course not. He's probably off somewherebeing a Vacation Dad. You don't need to worry.”

  “He'snot a Vacation Dad.”

  “Imean, he basically is now. I saw him at Deanna's party in that buttonup shirt.”

  “Ohmy God, it was awful. I was so-”

  “Sh!”

  Carlgoes to say something, no doubt a smart comment about how he's olderthan you so he can do whatever he wants, but you don't let him say itbefore you're sprinting towards the gates as if you're in a JamesBond movie, adding in the odd roll across the street for specialeffect.

  Carlasks what you're doing on a continuous loop until you've reached thewooden walls. You press a finger to your lips, doing one final rollbefore you bound up and press your back to the wooden panels whichare separating you and the dead at this moment.

  Youcan hear them scratching against the wood, growling, begging to belet inside for their next meal. It sounds all too familiar and youfeel a shiver run down your spine at the memories of what it was likeoutside these gates. The constant running, the death, the fear. Itall feels so fresh, even though it no longer was.

  Safe,youforce yourself to remember. Safe.

  “Y/N,what are you doing?” Carl hisses, lowering his voice to a whisper.“Why are you hiding?”

  “I'm not hiding,” you reply,tugging him into the gate beside you. “I'm being – I'm being akid, okay? I have a chance to, so I'm taking it. Now, have a footrace with me or I'll stab you in the leg.”

   “What kind ofkid can make that kind of threat and mean it?”

  “Akid who's killed enough people to know what artery to aim for.”

  Carlhollows out his cheeks, shaking his head at your reply though heknows it's true. The both of you know it's true.

  “Fine,”he replies, finally. You smile as he presses his foot to the gate,you mimicking his actions as you get into starting position. You canfeel your adrenaline running before you've even set off, a sense offreedom that you haven't felt in a long time. Because finally, it'syou and Carl – just being two kids doing what kids do.

  Kidsdid.Youweren't entirely sure what kids do nowadays.

 Die.Kids die nowadays.

  Youshake the thought from your head as Carl yells “GO!” and suddenlyyou're firing yourself forward, foot kicking you off of the fence andvolleying you forward. For a little while, you're in the lead. Youradrenaline is running, but the further you move, the more it diesdown, leaving you a panting mess long before Carl has even broken asweat.

  Youfight to keep up with him, never too far behind him. Your toes clickwith his heels a few times, causing the both of you to stumble as youround the parting of grass, hearing Morgan and Sasha's cries ofcheering for you when they see the both of you. It was probably agood sight to see – you two having fun. You two smiling, and notbeing the depressing teenagers you were forced to be.

  “Isee the finish line, Y/N!” Carl yells over his shoulder. You groan,using the last bit of your energy to propel yourself forward-

  Youwent forward just a little too much.

  Yourfoot clips with the back of Carl's once again, and in a single momentthat you can barely remember happening, you're falling through theair and landing with a thumpontop of Carl's legs as he himself tumbles to the ground.

  Acry of pain escapes you as Carl's heels dig into your back. It is acry which is quickly replaced by a laugh – one of disbelief thatyou, a person who had survived nearly two years in a zombieapocalypse – couldn't keep upright during a foot race.

  “Forfucks sake!” Carl exclaims, rolling over which makes his heels diginto you even more. You flinch away from him as he finally lays onhis back, your own body moving from his heels to his knees where yousprawl yourself out on his lap, laughter still escaping you. “You'rethe worst at this.”

  “Yousay that like you won.”

   “I was winning.”

  Youroll your eyes, covering your mouth with one hand as you look up atthe sky above you – and suddenly, everything seems peaceful.

  Youdon't know how to describe it, but it is. Suddenly, it's just you andCarl laying in the mud together, your head on his lap with his ownarms resting on your shoulders, wiping the dirt from your jacketwhich was already stained and ripped enough as it is, having survivedOutside of the Gates.

  Thesky is blue for the first time.

  Thesky had always been blue, of course. That was what daylight was, butyou had never seenit asblue. Never seen it as peaceful or comforting like you were meant to.It had always been just sky.

  Now,as you look up at it, it's peaceful. It brings serenity to you andyou find yourself hugging Carl's torso as you appreciate the sight ofit for the first time since the world collapsed around you.

  “Youlook peaceful,” Carl whispers, suddenly. You hear his voicevibrating through his chest and a smile pulls at your face before youcan stop it.

  “Alwaysso good at compliments.”

  “I'mserious,” he says, chuckling. “Who would have thought that doinga teenager thing would make you so peaceful.”

  “Wedidn't really do a teenager thing. We had a foot race.”

  Carlgoes silent for a moment. It's only for a few seconds, but it feelsdrawn out – the kind of drawn out that only appears wheneversomebodies in deep thought, or they can't decide on something. Itseems like forever, but it's not.

  Itwasn't forever, but it felt like it.

  Itfelt like forever before he had grabbed your shoulders and waspulling you up to straddle him. You yelp, resting your hands on hischest to stop yourself from falling forward completely, and inseconds he had leaned up, capturing his lips with yours.

  Theshock takes a moment to pass – another moment which feels likeforever but is only a couple of seconds long. Seconds filled withdebate and confusion – confusion which quickly goes away as soon asyour hands find his hair and you trail your fingers through them inthe way you had always wanted to but never had done.

  Younever could. Being unsafe took a lot away from people.

   Carlrubs small circles into your hip bones as he holds you tightly, hismouth pressing to yours as if you were his safe place and you werethe only one who could make the sky look peaceful, or could make themornings look bright, like you were the only person who he could havea foot race with at 9am on a Wednesday morning whenever everybodyelse was being adults.

  Butthat's not what you and Carl were. As mature as you were – forcedto be – you weren't adults. You were teenagers, and that's exactlywhat you wanted to be in this moment. You just wanted a second to actyour own age.

  Hepulls away all too soon, your lips chasing his before he presses hisforehead to your own, tilting his head back so you can't swoop in formore. You pant, letting your hands fall onto his shoulder again as hestraightens himself up so you are straddling his lap and he issitting comfortably.

  “I– I don't – I – What – Why? I can't -”

  “Sh,”Carl hums, and the noise comes out rugged and deep. “That was –That was a teenager thing to do, right?”

[the-revisionist]

prompt!: 17) things you said that I wish you hadn’t - Caroline/Gillian

 Thank you for the prompt, @ylizam!

PG-ish, angst-lite, nothing too heavy, just a lot of swears as usual (as the title indicates). Oh, and post-series 4. 

the master class in fuck-ups

Perhaps it was too good to last. Or not good enough. Eitherway it doesn’t matter, Gillian thinks—she was bound to fuck it up one way oranother.

She’s paced back and forth on the path from the barn to thehouse about twenty times this morning while the judicious sky spat rain at her,and when the rain stopped and she got bored with the path she circled theperimeter of the barn as if she were a soldier on night patrol, seeing monstersand enemies in every twitching stalk of grass, in the hulking shuffle of boredsheep, in the reflection of every mud puddle. Phantoms all. Who she reallyfears is in the house making tea and preparing lunch—Caroline, who had arrivedearlier this morning. They are to spend a rare day together without familyabout in pursuit of leisurely eating, drinking, talking, and—under whatcurrently passes for normal circumstances between them these days—shagging.

This occasional falling-into-bed-or-whatever’s-convenientstarted nearly four months ago, during a propitious weekend when children werewith their respective fathers, parents were on a “theatrical retreat”—whateverthe fuck that had meant, Gillian couldn’t be bothered to figure out because whileher father was telling her about it she was too busy watching Caroline’s graceful,sensual stretch as she rose from the dinner table—and beautiful young shagbuddies were finally out of the picture because apparently Olga’s considerable patiencewith the likes of Caroline had finally been exhausted. It seemed inevitablethat years of mixed signals and missed opportunities, several bottles of wine,a perpetually chilly house, and an extremely boring nature documentary on sea spongeswould yield over the following months an embarrassment of intimate riches:  two blissful nights in Caroline’s bed,clandestine snogging in motor vehicles, frantic awkward dry humping on couches,innocuous-looking sleepovers that provided cover for sneaking out of masterbedrooms at dawn, and dozy looks across dining room tables.

Caroline seemed more than content with the state of affairsand Gillian thought it was grand too, if only because it played to herstrengths. She excelled at sneaking around; indeed, if stealthy romanticrendezvouses had been a subject at school, she would have had a first everytime. But when it came to fucking it all up, she was no mere student: She was amaster at the craft. In this fictitious academia she would be the teacher, thementor, the wizened professor—well, by now she would be Dean of TwatbrainCollege, sniffing her disdainful, gin-addled way through master classes withaspirant fuck-up students, casually dispensing gems of self-sabotage: If you ever have the opportunity to sleepwith the ex of someone you’re infatuated with, by all means, carpe diem, carpetosser.

The most important lesson, of course, she would save forlast: Nah, see, when you’ve got it goingon with a wonderful, kind, beautiful, intelligent person who’s made it prettyclear she’s in no way, shape, or form prepared for anything remotely seriousrelationship-wise, you need to drink about four Jagerbombs, grab your shitmobile, and after midnight call her on some ridiculous pretext and thencasually let drop that you love her.

As perfectly executed last night. She doesn’t even rememberwhat she had been rambling on about, or how the conversation turned in such away that she started talking about feelings—of all the horrible fucking thingsto talk about, even sober—but drowsily and drunkenly the dreaded I love you spilled out of her mouth andinto the velvety night, where it was greeted with digital silence. Then sheremembers going into a panic and babbling about cake. Caroline eagerly took upthe subject matter, recalling a perfect chocolate cake her mother made for hersixteenth birthday and this was, quite possibly, the nicest thing she’d eversaid about Celia. This morning Gillian woke with despair lining her mouth likecracked leather and an unsurprising urge for the perfect seven-layer cake she’dhad at a tea shop the other week while lunching with Gary.

Arriving later this morning Caroline had been awkwardlypolite, a throwback to when they first met and were, for the sake of theirparents, desperately trying not to eviscerate one another with sarcastic barbs,sneering commentary, and furious eye rolls.  Gillian wasn’t certain why she had even botheredcoming, but while Caroline bustled about in the kitchen as if she actuallyowned it and excelled at small talk, Gillian reverted to numpty mode, stammeredan excuse—actually, it was a melodramatic declaration of the sheep need me!—and bolted for the sanctuary of the barn.

And that is where matters stand: she, pacing around outsidelike a hungry wolf—indeed, it is a sad commentary on the state of things whenthe shepherdess  sees herself as a wolf—andCaroline inside and reigning over her bloody kitchen.  But when she’s completed another lap aroundthe barn she comes out toward the house and sees Caroline standing at the edgeof the stone wall, the very same place where they’ve sat dozens of timestalking, where they first spoke honestly and kindly to one another. She lookslike a painting, with her bold stance and blonde hair whipping defiantlyagainst the sickly white and slate gray of the sky and land: woman versusvalley.

Summoning a sliver of courage, Gillian sucks in a lungful ofair and walks over.

At the sound of her trundling Caroline breaks communion withthe land and turns around, smiling inscrutably in a manner that, Gillian knows,is the result of ruthless self-training for so many years.  “Tea’s ready. Came out to get you, but Icouldn’t find you.”

“Sorry. Just, ah—checking on things.”  Gillian shuffles, kicks at a stone that she’sbeen kicking at and apologizing to for as long as she’s owned the farm. Sorry, stone.

Then Caroline softens slowly, almost imperceptibly, so thatwhen she smiles again—ruefully, this time—Gillian once again feels the drunkenlovestruck fool she was last night and quickly looks away.

“I’m the one who should be saying sorry,” Caroline says asshe squints at the horizon.  “I’m sorry Iwas weird last night about the—the thing you said.”

“The thing,” Gillian echoes.

“Yeah, the thing.”

“You mean, the, uh, oh—” Gillian groans and her voice leapsup into a register of frustration typically reserved for the male of thespecies. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Mischievous, Caroline says, “You don’t want to say itagain?”

“Well, no, I mean—I, I m-meant it, but it makes youuncomfortable—”

Caroline interrupts gently. “It doesn’t. But that isn’t thething I’m talking about. Because I love you too—it was just what you saidbefore that—”

Gillian blinks wildly, thinks she has misheard, thinks thestone precipice wobbles like pudding under her feet. “Come again?” She shakesher head vigorously. “Wait, wait. What—what did I say before that?”

It takes a moment for Caroline to summon it up; she has toclose her eyes for several seconds and then stare out at the landscape again. “Yousaid, ‘I would die for you.’”

“Oh.” Regrettably it all comes back to Gillian now, thatgreat river of drunken hyperbole leading up to the simple, salient statement offact: You know you are very important tome, right? I would do anything for you, I would fight every battle for you, Iwould die for you.

“It unsettled me a little—well, a lot. You know? Just thethought of losing someone important again. Just like that. Like—you know. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.”

Speechless and beyond mortified, Gillian now wishes the wallwould collapse and the valley consume her whole. Fearing tears, she pinches thebridge of her nose.

“Hey.” Caroline steps closer, touches her arm, and pulls herinto a hug. “Don’t be upset—there’s nothing to be upset about. It’s all right.You said nothing wrong.  I know it’s justa figure of speech. And I was thinking about it on the drive over and realized Iwas looking for anything to focus on, to pick at other than what you were actuallysaying. You understand? I’m not ready for any sort of big, grand—romance or relationshipor whatever right now, but I do love you and you make me happy, what we havetogether makes me happy.”

“Oh.” Gillian pulls back and stares at her. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

This affirmation comes so casually and confidently thatGillian’s chest tightens and she struggles to breathe properly. She paces in a tightcircle and, hoping to catch a breath, bends over a little. Fucking figures, shethinks: I’ve inherited my father’s weakheart and now I’m going to have a heart attack and die after she says she lovesme and after I said the stupid thing and now she will be completely traumatizedfor life, now there’s epic fucking up for you, I have reached the nextlevel.  

“Are you hyperventilating?” Caroline asks unhelpfully.

She’s staring at dirt and pebbles and Caroline’s ratherexpensive and shiny new hiking boots. Considering that the only place Carolinehikes to is Sainsbury’s, it seems unnecessarily twatty.  “Reckon that’s the correct term for it, yeah,”she manages to say between a bout of heavy, laborious breathing.

“I’m not going to have to take you to A&E, am I? I’vegot coq au vin in your wretched oven—if I don’t watch it carefully it’ll burn.”

“Coq au vin?” Gillian wheezes.  “I’m not—the bloody queen, why would you makes-something fancy—you are so f-f—ridiculous.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorryfor trying to do something nice for you, and please stop hyperventilating.”

Gillian straightens and, finally, catches her breath. “Shit,wish you hadn’t said all that. Think I need a lie-down. Or a glass of wine.”

“It’s not even noon.”

“All right, all right, just some whiskey in my tea then, I’ll beright as rain.”

“That’s not any better.”

Gillian rolls her eyes. “Aw, fuck off and stop nagging me,woman!” she shouts while stomping toward the house, leaving Caroline alone toconfront the Yorkshire panorama.

Indeed, Caroline folds her arms and glares at the stubbornlygray sky and hills, which are as immutable, infuriating, and starkly beautifulas that goddamn woman who is still muttering and trudging up the muddy pathway.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes.” She sighs and heads to the house.  There’s a coq au vin that needs tending.

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #36: Business.

Written: 2/2/2017 (#37 was NSFW, so it was skipped)

Confined in his cubicle, working never seemed like a valid option to Glen. Why spend the day filling out forms, looking over data, profiting margins, or whatever the hell he was supposed to do, when he was guaranteed to never be fired as long as he kept baking treats for his boss? Staring blankly at his computer, he had three windows open at the same time. One was a video detailing how to make home made caramel, he didn’t trust some store bought ingredients, another was a recipe for cheesecake, and the third one was a spreadsheet that somebody emailed him, but he mostly forgot that it was on the screen. He looked at the clock he hung on his wall, always a little lopsided, but whatever, apparently he had to wait a whole hour until it was his lunch break. Getting bored of all of cooking information, he cracked his knuckles, folded his arms over his desk, and rested his head down, closed his eyes, thinking about the show he watched last night (what was its name?) over and over until he drifted off.

“Hey.” He shot up, looked around wildly, did somebody catch him nodding off? He eventually spotted a plain girl with thick glasses, peeking her head over his cubicle. “Whats your take on the spreadsheet?” Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands, he mumbled something about them being cost effective. For some reason this wasn’t enough for her to go away, and he was confused about what she wanted. Not knowing that he had large red marks on his face, from sleeping at his desk, he turned to his computer, opened up the file, nodded at the screen then nodded at her. She was more confused than he was, “So… is it fine? Should I email it to corporate or..?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely send it, great work like always.” He tried staring at her until she went away, and after thirty seconds of uncomfortable eye contact she finally dropped down and disappeared from his little world. Putting his hands behind his head, he reclined and smile, confident about another successful maneuver at work. Almost dozing off again, he realized that it might be break time, but his excitement was ruined since he still had twenty minutes left to go. Why’d that girl bother waking him up then? The phone rang so he picked it up and placed it back down onto the receiver. “You’re doing great today,” he said to himself.

After ten minutes of him taking notes on making carmel, he felt a presence behind him, spun around in his chair, and saw a stumpy, frog looking man in a mint green, short sleeved, button up shirt with a mud color tie and pants. The guy just stared for a while, so eventually he had to take the initiative. “What’s going on?” The words came out awkwardly, but in his head it sounded very calm and professional.

The odd man reached his sweaty hand into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and took a little while to unfold it. Glen really wanted to turn away from and ignore this man, who was he anyways? Why was he being such a hassle, didn’t he have a job to do? When the paper was finally unfolded, and the frog man smoothed it against the outer wall of the cubicle, he presented it to Glen. It was another dumb spread sheet. “Did you approve this?”

Not sure at all, he confidently said, “Yes. Yes I did. It was very professional and met up to the standards that we hold here at-” Shit what was the name of the company? He couldn’t think of it, so instead he waved his hand out in front of him.

“What?” The man seemed taken aback, and-while sweating from his brow, causing little wisps of hair to hang down-he quickly reviewed the paper in front of him. “But… None of this makes any sense, the numbers are all wrong.” He held it back up and pointed to a section in the bottom right corner, “And-and I’m pretty sure this is a menu.” Glen scooted his chair forward, not bothering to get up, and stared directly at the paper, which was at his eye level, and it read: turkey club with extra guac, rose-butter ice cream served with caramel sauce, pastrami served over a bed of warm rice and salmon, a cup full of warm soup, chocolate pudding filled with gummy worms and topped with crumbled german chocolate cookies, and so on. It made him hungry, so he spun around and moved his chair over towards his computer, maximizing the window with the cheesecake recipe. The stumpy man lowered the paper, waited for Glen to respond, but after waiting some time he cleared his throat.

Hearing this, Glen turned around, surprised, and then remembered the man was there. “Oh, you need anything else?”

Flustered, the man threw his hands up into the air, “You need to fix this!” He didn’t know why he was even dealing with this problem in the first time, or why it was even so complicated.

Annoyed, Glen snatched the paper from the man, grabbed a pen from his desk, wrote a bunch of random numbers over the menu, and then handed it back to the man, who hurried to examine the changes. Before the guy could realize that it was still probably wrong, he stood up, exclaimed, “Well, its break time for me”, grabbed his coat, and walked towards the exit of the building, whistling, wondering where he was going to eat for lunch.

However, when he was close to the door, the girl from earlier stepped into his path and blocked him. Seeing her full self he could tell that she was plainer than he thought before, wearing some drab, grey attire of a cardigan, button up, and skirt that all seemed to blend into each other. “Herman's upset, I thought you said the sheet was okay!” She seemed pretty pissed at him, but who the hell was Herman? Was that the man who kept bugging him earlier? What the hell did she want from him?

Trying to calm down the situation, while still being as business like as possible, he shook her hand and said, “Don’t worry, the problems solved, the stars have aligned.” Then he briskly walked out of the office before she could have a chance to respond. Why was any of this his problem anyways? The sooner he could get some fresh air and something to eat, the better.

Two blocks down from the bland office complex was a burger joint that would make any burger you wanted, as long as you brought everything other than the patty or bun. It was probably going to go out of business soon, so Glen was trying to get as much out of it as he could before that dreadful day. When he walked in, belling ringing, he saw, like always, that there were no customers and the owner, a tall, Vietnamese man with a thick beard and no eyebrows, was watching the television he kept on the counter. When the owner saw Glen approach, he immediately stood up, beamed, and asked, “So what did you bring into day, Mr. Business?” It was the name Glen had given him as a joke, but after being called this multiple times he started to wonder if the man thought this was really his name, but he sort of liked being called that so he never bothered to check. He put a lunch box-one from his childhood that was faded blue, with a worn off picture that he couldn’t even remember what it originally was-on the counter and slid it over to the owner, who opened to it, laughed, and pulled out: a can of dog food (wet), various mint leaves, sliced salmon (in a smaller container, above an ice pack), and a small hunk of smoked Gouda. “You’re really trying to test me, huh?”

“Well, I figured I might as well see how great of a chef you are, before, well-” After saying that he just looked at his shoes, embarrassed that he even brought it up. After a month of visiting he never talked about the fact that the place might close, but now it felt so weird to say it.

“Before what?” The owner seemed genuinely curious, and studied Glen’s face. “Are you sick or something, what’s going on?”

Waving his hands in front of him to dispel any sense of worry, Glen tried to explain, “No no no, nothing with me… I just figured your business wouldn’t last long is all, well, since there’s never anyone here…” He felt shitty that he had to explain it, especially with the implication that he was a big successful business man, while this restaurant owner was a failure in that sense. The owner met this with a laugh.

“No, I wont go out of business for quite some time.” Collecting the ingredients in his hands, he moved towards the back and fired up the stove, smiling the whole time. “A lot of money comes through here, I don’t even need customers. All I need is for my benefactors to stay in business, my wife to cook the books, and I’ll still be here. Hell,” laughing as he tossed a patty on to the stove, it sizzled, “I’m probably going to die here. Now,” he held the bag of patties in one hand and looked Glen in the eyes, “Single or double?”

“Double, like always.” The owner nodded and tossed another onto the stove. “Uh.” Something wasn’t making sense, “Who are your benefactors? What do you mean by-”

A look the owner gave, one that said “You should know”, made Glen shut up. He took a seat at the counter and fidgeted with his hands. “Do you really not know?” When the owner asked this he didn’t even bother to look up, and was starting to put some dog food and the salmon onto the stove. “I thought you worked in that business complex down the way.”

“Yeah, so? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Huh. Well, let me finish this up and I’ll tell you a little story.”

The owner’s story:

Well, I heard some rumors about the building from the people who set me up with this restaurant, but I guess its probably not true. You can’t trust those guys very much, but they keep me in business and all I have to do is help cook the books and look the other way, so why should I bother to question them? Oh yeah, the story.

About two years ago, I was a struggling chef working in some chain restaurant, the one with the striped walls and the carnival food, but every day it crushed my soul. When I was young I always expected to be this big chef, where I could have a restaurant that proved my skills, with no menu, where every day customers would come in to challenge my abilities, and every day I would keep showing my skill. I wanted to become a legend. Now, working in a chain restaurant is no way to show your skill. All it really does is hurt your back and give you just enough to give by. It seemed like that was what my life was just going to become.

One day, we get this new kid, supposed to be a new line cook. His arms are covered in gang tattoos but that’s nothing to be surprised about, you would be surprised to know how many chefs in those places have criminal records. However, after working with him, showing him the ropes, chatting with him on smoke breaks, I start to learn that he’s not really interested in working at the place very long. He seemed like a good enough cook, so it surprised me when he said that. The weird thing was, he said he was a talent scout, and he liked the way I was able to serve up meals. He talks about how he’s got all of these big connections, and needs somebody to lead a small restaurant, and wants to see if I’m good enough. So, that night, he put me to the test and I tried really hard to impress him, because if he was telling the truth I was going to get out of that shit hole and make something of myself, even if it was on a small scale. If he was wrong, all I did was waste a little bit of my time and the guy got a good meal. No big deal.

I made him a Monte Christo, but I remember I substituted the meat inside for some fresh fish we had for the meal of the week, and I made up this sauce to go with, and the guy took one bite, went outside to make a phone call, and then he comes back inside and tells me we have to wait a little while. I didn’t know what was going on, so I just shot the shit with him for a little while, until there was a knock on the back door. It was very precise, it had to be a code. The guy opens the door and three men walk in, two big guys who are all tatted up like the line cook, and some older man in a suede suit who doesn’t say a word, walks right over to the sandwich, eats the whole thing, wipes his mouth with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket, and he told me I had the job.

Next thing I know, I’m out of that shitty restaurant, I tell the manager where to shove it, and the mob guys get me this restaurant, which at the time was just a vacant lot. They tell me that I get to design it, because it has to seem like I’m the owner, so its gotta look like its mine. This was great. They tell me they don’t give a shit about the menu and I get to make whatever, but I have to feed them whenever they decide to come by. This is also great, and because of this I keep some ingredients in the back since I don’t ever expect them to bring their own. They tell me that I gotta launder money through here, and I’ll get a small percentage for helping the money flow through, which is also great.

“Wait,” Glen was finally finished with his burger, every scrap, which he had been so determined to finish, and could finally speak, “So this place is a mob front.” The owner nodded, happily. “And you’re just sayin’ this out loud? That’s cool to do?”

“Well,” the owner scratched his beard, “You’re the only one in here, and you work at that shady office, so you probably deal with this stuff often. Plus, if you told, you would have to find somewhere else to eat lunch at.”

Glen nodded, these were very good points, but something bugged him. “Why do you keep talking about my work like that, what’s your problem with it?”

The owner narrowed his eyes and  gave a skeptical look, but when Glen proved to be genuinely curious and ignorant, he finally answered. “Well, from what I heard, that building is just a front, a black site for shady government research that goes on.”

Glen laughed and shook his head, “No its just a normal business, we.. Uh…” What did they do there? He started to get sweatier than the stumpy man who was bugging him earlier. What the hell did they do there? Without saying a word, he put a twenty on the counter (the meal only cost $10) and hurried out of the restaurant, marching towards his work. Waiting at a crosswalk, cold wind blowing in his face, he checked the time on his phone. Only five minutes left in his break. Looking at the buildings around him, he noticed none of the buildings stood out, they all seemed to blend together, and wondered how many of them were potential fronts.

When he walked back into the office everything seemed calmer than he had left it, and there were no signs of the people who were harassing him before. Maybe the problem, whatever it was, had blown away. The path to his cubicle was clear, but before he walked down he noticed his boss watching him from the glass wall of her office. She beckoned him in, he lowered his head and walked over. What did she want? Was this about the situation from earlier? Was she just hungry? Opening the door to her office, he noticed that she was starting to pull the cord that moved the thick, black curtains to block the view of the glass wall. He sat in the low, black vinyl chair across from her desk, she sat in hers.

A full minute passed before either of them said anything, the whole time she stared at him while he looked at his hands in his lap. Finally, she broke the silence, “Why do you look so guilty?”

Cautiously, he said, “I thought I might be in trouble for the situation earlier today.”

“With the spreadsheet?”

“Yeah, that one.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied his face. Her chair was tall, black leather, meant to appear more powerful than the guest chair, which only made her seem more intimidating than she naturally was. “You know I like that you cook for me, but that wont keep you safe.” He had to put in a lot of effort to keep his eyes locked onto hers, they seemed cold and dead. “You know how many people died because of your little slip up?”

“Wait, died?” He became too startled to begin to hide his worry. “How did that happen? Aren’t we just an accounting firm?”