#the other chaperone got arrested

[ironspiderfics]

this is supposed to be a vacation

for @meilz

by @iron--spider

~

Tony loves this kid.

It’s a montage at the beginning of a movie—Tony was crazy about Peter almost immediately, couldn’t accept it, his own damn daddy issues courtesy of Howard Stark, then he had to accept it because the kid kept trying to die, then things settled, they worked together, then they unsettled and the kid dissolved in Tony’s hands, and a year of heavy-drinking and nearly exploding himself in the lab wound up with all the dissolved people undissolved and the kid back and Tony in a hospital bed. Three-week coma. Whole screaming celebration when he woke up loud enough to bust his eardrums and restart his heart.

But Peter was there. Peter was there. 

Time slowed to a crawl, sped up and slowed down again, and Tony tried to recover. He knew Peter and his friends went on that European trip—he encouraged it even though Peter was worried about leaving after everything. May and Happy chaperoned, and then everyone nearly died because Quentin fucking Beck decided to roll out of Tony’s past to try and kill off someone he loves. He failed, because Peter is Peter, and Fury and Happy shut down the false allegations Beck tried to put out there before he was arrested, and everybody came home.

It’s been about two months, since then. And Tony had just gotten back on his feet a week or so before Peter left, and he’s even steadier now. Getting steadier by the day. 

But he loves this kid. More now, than ever. The son he never had. He loves May, he loves the kids that come along with his kid, he loves everything Peter has to say and everything he doesn’t, he loves keeping an eye on his missions, he loves the way he fits so snug into Tony’s little family. 

And he loves him enough to know when he’s crashing. When his eyes are tired and his patrols aren’t as succinct and punchy as they usually are. When he needs a vacation from his recent vacation. As if nearly being killed by some asshole in London is the vacation any of them need. 

So, Tony makes a couple decisions. 

After all the shit they’ve gone through, what the hell could go wrong with a break?

~

Peter knew Tony was planning something, because he isn’t secretive when he’s excited, and he found out what he was planning when Tony asked if Ned and MJ’s families would mind if he took them out of the city for a few days.

And about a week later, they were heading upstate to Mohonk Mountain House.

And Peter hasn’t been complaining, at least not to Tony, but his tiredness has been bone-deep since he got back from London. Since before that, really. Coming back from the dead can do that to someone, and he doesn’t even like to call it dead, and apparently they were all tiny particle souls inside that infinity stone but it doesn’t matter because that’s a whole other can of worms and he gets more tired and more weary every time he even thinks about any of that. 

He swung right into a wall the other day. Slap right into it. He almost broke his nose again. He feels like that might have been the moment Tony decided on this vacation—Peter could tell by the look on his face when he told him that he’d crossed some kind of line. 

They walk inside the main lobby of Mohonk and Peter keeps hearing Ben’s voice in his head. You’re gonna catch flies, Pete. But he can’t stop gaping at everything. Like…he’s been in a Hilton and this is so much better than a Hilton. 

“This place looks straight out of a Hitchcock movie,” May says, and she knocks Tony on the arm.

Tony laughs, and Pepper turns around, raising her eyebrows at May. “Let’s just hope we don’t have any Hitchcock-type events happen while we’re here.”

“What would that mean?” Ned asks, catching up to the group and trying to whisper in Peter’s ear. “You’ve seen Hitchcock movies. I remember you watched that weird apartment one a hundred times.”

“I love that movie,” Peter says. Rear Window. He never wants his leg to be broken. He knows he’d go insane just like that.

“You haven’t seen Psycho?” MJ asks Ned, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder.

Ned hums a little bit. “No. I know about it though. No crazy Grandmas for me.”

“That’s not what happens.”

Leather couches and tall ceilings and intricate carpeting and columns and everything somehow looks really rich but really comfortable at the same time—

“No,” Tony says, turning around and pointing at them. “No, no, and no.” He points at May too. “No. No Rear Window, no Psycho, no Vertigo—maybe a little bit North by Northwest—no, you know what, no. Not that either. This is going to be the lamest movie you’ve ever—this isn’t even gonna be a movie, there’s no—there’s no plot, this is just—a family video. A home movie. That’s it.”

Family video feels warm, and Peter grins.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“It’s gonna be fine—”

“Absolutely nothing—”

“Listen, I’m hitting that buffet—”

“I’m just gonna sleep,” Peter says, as they approach the huge front desk. “Just the entire time.”

Tony smiles softly at him, and he winks. “You deserve it,” he says, and Peter can tell that he means it. 

They hear crashing, something that sounds expensive hitting the ground somewhere behind them, and they all turn around and see a bunch of employees running around to try and take care of it. A whole big production and two guys trying to hold up a big bear statue that’s trying to fall over.

“Okay, step to,” Happy’s voice says, and Peter hears him before he sees him, and then he breezes by, striding out in front of them. “Let’s go, come on, follow me, let’s get this in the books—”

“Oh, there he is,” Tony says, patting him on the shoulders. “There he is.”

~

Peter and May could never afford a vacation like this. They could never even afford to imagine something like this. Peter feels like they would have charged him if he’d even looked at photos of this place. A big, historic, mountain resort in upstate New York, on the edge of a cliff overlooking a lake? 

But now they’re here. They’re here with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Peter was able to bring two friends. Happy drove them all in a big plush rental van. They’ve got a line of suites on the sixth floor and they had steak and lobster for dinner on their first night. 

It feels unreal. But things feel unreal a lot. Especially things involving Tony, involving Spider-Man. Any of it. Like he’s having a long, prolonged dream before Ben wakes him up for school.

Peter stands on one of the terrace balconies with Tony while the others are arranging activities for tomorrow, and he stares off at the lake and the way the moon hits it. Light rippling on the water. 

“You really think you’re gonna sleep the whole time?” Tony asks, leaning on the railing. “Because nobody would judge you for it. Kayaks can wait. Ballroom dancing can absolutely wait, as can all of May’s Dirty Dancing comparisons, because I can feel them building up, like an aura around her—”

Peter snorts. “No,” he says. “But I probably will mostly just…relax. Take it easy. Just sleeping, no alarms—”

“You deserve it, like I said,” Tony says. “It’s thrilling to me that you’re even giving yourself a break.”

“Look who’s talking,” Peter says, giving him a look. “You were trying to get down to the workshop when your arm was still holding on by one string of muscle.”

Tony’s entire face contorts. “That is a terrible, disgusting image, Mr. Parker—”

Peter snorts again, choking on his laughter. 

Tony knocks him on the arm. “You’re awful, a menace, making fun of an injured old man—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Peter says, swatting him back, and still laughing. “You’re the one who needs—needs this. Like Happy always says, I’m a ‘spring chicken’, I—I can bounce back.”

“I had enough bedrest for the next ten years,” Tony says, and he’s giving Peter that look again. Concern. Like he’s trying to read his mind. “You—I know you like to act like it all doesn’t affect you, but you were going through hell on the daily before that purple asshole snapped his fingers. Then there was all that, and the right after that, and the coming back from that, and me wasting away in front of you—and then Quentin Beck flaunting his dickheaded tendencies on your school trip—that was supposed to be your relaxing time and it got away from you too and I just—like I said, you deserve your time. You need it. Don’t—you’re not selling yourself short if you say you need some rest. You put everybody first all the time, yourself last—you deserve to relax, that’s all.”

Peter blows out a breath. He doesn’t even really try to deny it in his head anymore. He doesn’t try to compare himself to other people who have it worse. He’s tired. He’s beat. He feels older than he is. 

Tony clicks his tongue and looks out at the lake. “I know this place is kind of old, kind of dated, rooms kind of look a little bit like grandma was head decorator, but—I, uh—I’ve got fond memories here. Mom used to bring me, when Howard was, uh…in some of his dicier moments. And sometimes we’d just relax, too. Recover from…knowing him.”

Peter is just kind of staring at him, because it always takes him off guard when Tony starts talking about Howard. They’re close enough now that he hears stories about his personal life all the time—his growing up, his insane college years with Rhodey, meeting Pepper meeting Happy and everything in between, but Howard is still…something they don’t really talk about, past flippant comments about Tony striving to be a better father figure than he ever was. 

“Then I’m glad you brought us here,” Peter says, his voice cracking a little bit. “I’m glad you brought me here.” And in his head he hears I’m glad you brought me back. Because he thinks about that all the time. 

Everyone’s back because of you, Peter. He never gave up on bringing you back. It was about saving you.

Tony looks like he’s about to say something else when there’s a bunch of rustling in the trees below them, and a loud thump, and more rustling. They both peer over the railing, and Peter can see the trees moving, but not anything else.

They share a wary look.

“Probably just a skunk,” Tony says.

“Oh, great.”

“Or maybe a band of feral cats.”

“Okay that’s better. Hopefully not too feral. Like, I hope they’re receptive to petting.”

They keep staring down at the trees, but it all seems quiet again.

~

Tony and Pepper have one room, Peter, MJ and Ned have the one in the middle, and May and Happy are on the end in a single room together even though Peter is refusing to acknowledge what that means or what might be going on in there. Tony mentioned that the rooms were dated, but they feel more like what a royal castle might look like inside, and for the longest time Peter is worried about wrinkling up the sheets. And then eventually it’s Ned’s snoring keeping him awake.

And then, when he’s finally mostly asleep—

“Peter.”

MJ’s voice. Peter’s in the bed with Ned and she got the other huge bed all to herself, but she sounds like she’s right next to him. He turns over onto his side, towards her voice, and then she’s—

On the ground right next to his face—

He startles a little bit, and she grabs his hand.

“MJ what—”

“There’s someone in the room.”

She’s whispering, and his heart speeds up a little bit. What the hell? There’s no way.

“Are you sure it’s not Happy?” Peter asks, as Ned lets out a rip of a snore. “Sometimes he likes to do perimeter checks—”

“It’s not Happy!” she whisper-yells.

Peter blinks, and she’s already pulling the sheets off him and yanking him out of bed, and he feels like he’d be more paranoid if something was actually happening, like he’d feel it pulsing and burning in his head, and she’s tugging on him and they’re stumbling over to the wall and—

“MJ—MJ—”

She flips on the light—

And Peter only sees him briefly—a man, standing over by the bathroom, and Peter barely gets to see what he looks like before the lights go out again. 

But he wasn’t Happy he wasn’t Tony he wasn’t supposed to be here, and Peter’s heart rockets into his throat and he hears MJ gasp and he hears feet moving and Ned is still snoring, and Peter rushes towards where the man was and tries to catch him tries to fight, but he only meets open air. 

MJ yanks the door open and she’s already running out into the hallway, yelling Tony’s name, yelling for Peter to follow her. And the hall light is streaming into their room now, and Peter looks around, breathing hard, trying to find the guy—

Nothing. Nothing.

Nobody’s here.

Ned is still snoring.

~

Tony stands next to Peter while the manager shows them the video footage. He watches their doors, completely still and closed from the hallway cameras, and then he watches MJ race out, and Tony and Happy run in a few minutes later. Followed by Pepper and May a few minutes after that. And then Ned finally looming out into the hallway, still half asleep.

“As you can see,” the manager says. “No one entered the room.”

Peter can feel Tony’s anger simmering beside him, and he takes it as a compliment that Tony is all-in on believing that they saw someone, even though he didn’t see him himself.

“Can I get the outside view again?” Tony asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

They switch to the outside view again, which they’ve already seen about three times. The cameras aren’t great out there, and Happy found out they’re in the process of an upgrade. Peter can see their floor from a distance, he sees a little flash of light that they can’t identify, and then nothing else. No one scaling the building. Not in a way they can see, anyway.

“When will the upgrade be complete?” Tony asks, his tone clipped.

“After your stay, sir, unfortunately.”

Tony huffs, and doesn’t say anything else, and he turns and takes Peter’s arm and leads him to the door. They walk out into the hallway, where MJ and Ned quickly back up.

“Don’t need to listen through the wall,” Tony says.

“Uh, we weren’t,” MJ says. “We were just—”

“Looking at the wallpaper,” Ned says. “It’s—so cool.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says. He moves so they’re in a little circle, and he grips Peter’s shoulder. “Do you want to leave?” he asks, looking around at the three of them. “Because we can leave. We can go somewhere else, figure something else out. Or we can move rooms, we can go down to the Grove Lodge so we can all be closer together—we can do whatever we want.”

Ned’s eyes go wide. “I mean, I didn’t see anything, I was sleeping—”

“It’s fine,” MJ says, fast, glancing at Peter. “I feel like we—Peter and I must have been—I mean, we’re—everything that happened, we’re always thinking about it, and Mysterio was about like—making us think we were seeing things that weren’t there or were there but different—it’s fine. Joint hallucination. Or maybe I made him think he saw something because I was saying I saw something.”

That would normally be a Tony joke cue, but he just looks at her intently. “You don’t have to make excuses,” he says. “I don’t want you guys feeling…unsafe. Despite the presence of, uh—enhanced individuals. Unnamed.”

“It’s okay,” MJ says, and she looks at Peter and nods. 

Tony looks at him too. And Peter knows that if he said anything about being worried, Tony would move them in an instant.

What the hell did he see? 

Were they really just tired?

Did he think he saw something because MJ thought she saw something?

“It’s okay,” he says, slowly, because…he isn’t entirely sure. But MJ seems sure and Peter doesn’t want to blow up the trip if they were just in a PTSD-addled nightmare. It is their first real vacation since that shit with Beck happened, it still feels like a knife in his gut sometimes.

“You sure?” Tony asks, and he shakes Peter’s shoulder a little bit.

Peter looks at MJ, and she nods at him. 

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I’m sure.”

~

They go back to bed after that without any more incidents, but Peter mostly stays awake, staring off into the darkness. MJ is awake too, through a lot of the night, and they text because Ned is sleeping and snoring like there’s nothing wrong and there’s never been anything wrong, ever.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to you either. Nerd :)

Over breakfast, Tony lets them know that Happy is setting up Friday to do sweeps and is doing his own personal perimeter checks.

“I want him to enjoy his break too though,” Peter says, pushing his waffle around on the plate.

“He’s enjoying it,” May says, through a mouthful of eggs.

Peter frowns at her. “I don’t like that. I don’t—I don’t need—”

She shrugs. “Well.”

“Okay, Miss Kiss and Tell,” Tony says, laughing as Pepper sits down next to him. “But it’s good. He’s on it, and I’m on it too.”

“Here,” MJ says, coming back from the buffet and sitting down next to Peter. She puts a cinnamon bun on his plate, smiling at him. “They just brought them out. Ned is trying to barter for more.”

“They can’t deny him,” Pepper says. “It’s all inclusive.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “And after last night, we should be getting extra—I still think they sent someone in to check on something and didn’t want to admit it. I’m not gonna go all I’d like to speak to the manager on them, even though I did—do that—but either way—”

Peter hasn’t landed anywhere on it yet. He keeps trying to think back on it, trying to remember exactly what he saw. His spider sense, newly minted, is usually pretty bang on if something isn’t right, if he feels like he’s in danger, but he’d just woken up, he’s foggy in the mornings sometimes—

He figures his mind was just playing tricks on him. But MJ too?

She rubs his leg, like she knows he's agonizing over it, and he reaches down and holds her hand.

“Okay,” Ned says, walking back over holding a plate. “They let me take five of them. They’re all really warm and gooey, I feel like this is a promising start to the day.”

~

Peter isn’t exactly a spa guy, so he doesn’t join May and Pepper when they decide to go there, even though he feels like it might help him if he ever figured out how to relax. But going there is supposed to help him relax, so how can he ever relax enough to get to the point of going there—either way, he goes out onto the lake with Tony and Ned and MJ.

MJ and Peter both get their own kayaks, and Ned and Tony are in a canoe.

“He wouldn’t get into one of these,” Tony yells. “Honestly, if Happy’s not still doing security shit, he’s probably golfing. He’s terrible at it and he never likes to do it when anybody he knows is around. I’ll message him in a little bit and make sure but that’s probably where he is. Ned. You have to keep that thing on just in case we turn over.”

Peter snorts, looking back at them, and he sees Tony adjusting Ned’s lifejacket on his shoulders.

“Happy’s just afraid of racing,” Peter yells, cutting his oar through the water. “MJ remember when—”

“Yes,” she says, a little out ahead of him, and she’s already laughing. “I don’t even know why he was trying to chase you in New York traffic. While you were swinging in the air above him. You didn’t have any cars in your way, nothing was stopping you—”

Peter snorts again, bending over and laughing a little bit. “He was so mad. He didn’t talk to me for a week. He made me talk to Friday specifically.”

“I gave him shit for that!” Tony yells. “He shouldn’t have been trying to chase you. The gas leak had nothing to do with you. He’s always tossing blame around willy nilly.”

“Yeah he still blames me for the time those columns collapsed on that old garbage building,” Ned says. “A line of code can’t do that, that building was old I didn’t do anything there was no way he should have yelled at me at all let alone for twenty minutes—”

“He’s just dramatic,” Tony says.

“He just gets worried,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder at their boat. And Ned makes big eyes at him, because yeah, uh, they’ve seen why he gets worried. They’ve dealt with why he gets worried. And now, after last night, Peter feels like he’s making himself worried. He needs to stop, they’ve already moved past it, they’re still here, it’s all fine.

“Yeah, I imbued him with a worrying virus that will never be cured,” Tony says. “And now the next generation has to deal with it. Here we are.”

Peter shakes his head, smiling. He’s gotta relax. The sun is shining on the lake bright and beautiful, and May is actually getting a massage for the first time in years and everything is fine. It’s fine. 

He hears Tony chastising Ned again about his life jacket, gently, and Peter starts rowing out and around the outside of the lake. They’re the only ones out here right now, and he wonders how long that’s gonna last. He wonders if that’s something the resort set up, because it’s Tony, because of what happened last night, because Happy’s been intimidating people, and Peter simultaneously appreciates it and balks against the special treatment. But he’s with Tony, he should know it’s gonna happen.

He feels like he’s going a little faster than he should be going based on the way he’s rowing, like he’s really moving along. He glances over at MJ and she’s even further away from him, moving in the direction of the hotel.

“We’re not racing yet!” he yells, and he feels like Happy—constantly worried. But he’s worried about her in a different way and actually starting things with her in Europe made the whole thing worth it in a way, and now they’re together and it’s amazing but he’s just so worried all the time.

And now he’s stopped rowing all together, and he should be slowing down, but he’s still moving. Moving….fast. Maybe even getting faster.

Should that be happening? He doesn’t really kayak. He shifts around a little bit and looks down, and feels a little bit tucked in here. 

“Hey!” Tony yells. “You’re moving like you have a motor on you!”

Peter’s brows furrow, because he is, and he’s not rowing, and he should have lost any propulsion at this point, and he looks up and he sees MJ looking back at him, and she’s not moving anymore, and he glances back and both Tony and Ned look concerned—

And he gets the worst feeling in his chest, like an alarm, like his spidey sense but more warped and panicked, and he tries to get up without toppling over, because the kayak is still moving for no reason, speeding along and it’s going faster and faster. He drops his oar, and balances precariously for a few seconds before he leaps into the water.

Bubbles all around him, and muffled calls of his name—

And he’s only submerged for a couple seconds, because of the life jacket pulling him back to the surface, and he comes up just in time to watch the empty kayak lift up into the air, careening into the forest and disappearing into the trees. 

And he floats there, treading water, staring.

“What the fuck?” Ned yells. “Peter? Peter?”

“Peter!” MJ yells.

“Pete, we’re coming!” Tony yells. “Hold on!”

But Peter is just sort of. Staring. Staring off, at where the kayak disappeared. He stares over there. He stares. 

No thoughts, just. Insane.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Peter asks, his voice squeaking. “Is that—MJ you should probably—you shouldn’t be in there if you’re not, uh, prepared to go—flying—did anybody see it explode? Did it explode? Or did it just shatter, uh, well, wooden—wooden kayak, was it wooden? Or plastic? Either way I bet it’s not a full kayak anymore—”

He feels himself being lifted out of the water, and it’s Tony pulling him into the boat. He doesn’t know how they got here so fast but to be honest a kayak just went full fighter jet on him so he can’t be that confused. 

His shock has him gripped and he just sort of lays there like a rag doll as Tony and Ned pull him up, and he sees MJ rowing over to them. Thankfully, she’s still in her kayak, and it’s not—flying through the air.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, once Peter isn’t in the water anymore. He’s got both arms around him, and Peter is laying against his chest, and Tony is patting his cheek and trying to peer around and meet his eyes. Ned has his hands on Peter’s knees and he’s just staring at him. 

“I just got a defective one,” Peter says, pointing over at the forest. “It’s okay. It was just—a flying one, we didn’t make sure we didn’t get a flying one. I hope MJ doesn’t have a flying one and it’s just not like. On a time delay I don’t know. MJ, just—hurry over here—” He waves her over. He wants her to hurry up. 

“Peter,” Tony says, and he pats Peter’s chest. “Are you alright? Did you twist anything when you jumped out, can you breathe—”

“Are kayaks supposed to do that?” Peter asks, feeling like he can hear his own voice echoing everywhere. “I didn’t think that was, uh, the case—”

“It’s not the case,” Ned says. “No. It’s not. It’s not the case.”

“Peter.”

MJ finally rolls up alongside them—

“I think you should get out of there,” Peter says, pointing at her. “It’s unsafe—”

“Something is going on,” MJ says, and she’s not looking at Peter. She’s looking at Tony.

~

Tony loves this kid, and this is supposed to be a fucking vacation. Tony loves this kid, and he believed him when he thought someone was in his room, even if the hotel was trying to sway them away from the idea. Tony loves this kid, and he just had to watch him abandon his kayak because said kayak was lifting off and destroying itself somewhere on the property. And kayaks don’t just fucking do that.

Tony stands close to Happy, well into his personal space. He’s got his hands on his hips, like a stern stance is gonna bring him any closer to an answer, and Happy sighs.

“I’ve done ten sweeps,” he says. “There’s nothing going on. There’s nobody here that isn’t supposed to be here. We even looked at the remains of the goddamn kayak and I didn’t find anything wrong with it.”

“There was something wrong with it,” Tony says. “It was flying. It was flying, speed wise, without Pete even rowing, and then it was flying, literally, after he had to abandon ship.”

“I know. It was in a million pieces.”

Tony sighs. They moved down to the Grove Lodge after it happened. Nobody told Pepper and May why, because Peter was insisting on not telling May, and he was also insisting on not leaving even though Tony wanted to leave, because if they left then they were leaving danger behind for the poor unassuming Mohonk guests. And if they leave, danger will probably follow them anyway, and Tony doesn’t know what move to make. 

He’s upset, because this was supposed to be a relaxing break for all of them, but especially for Peter, after everything he’s goddamn gone through. He’s upset because this place felt like his place, his haven, a place where he could get away and be secluded and safe, and now something is pursuing them here. Something is trying to hurt them.

“You haven’t found anything?” Tony presses. “Nothing?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Happy says, and he glances back at the front door of the lodge again. “I’m still looking, I’m not giving up, and I think we should be better located down here because we rented out the whole house and I told them not to come in for room service or cleaning or anything. I know we lose the nice high-up view—”

“It’s fine,” Tony says, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s afraid to even be discussing this in public. Anybody could be anywhere listening.

He doesn’t like feeling like he can’t protect these kids. 

“It looks like they’re targeting Peter,” Tony says, as quietly as he can. “And I can’t tell if that’s because of me, that they think—I mean the whole goddamn world thinks he’s my love child at this point, thinks May is my secret mistress or the sister of his secret mother, God knows, I don’t know what the most recent story is. But I can’t tell if they’re targeting him because of me or because of the other thing—”

“And the other thing is worse—the spider thing—”

“I didn’t specify on purpose, Hap,” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Right, right—the innocuous other thing—”

“We’re lucky we got out of Europe with the other thing intact—”

“Yeah,” Happy says, shaking his head, and Tony wishes he had been there with him, had been there period. He would have torn Beck in half had he laid eyes on him. 

Why do they always target people he loves? Why not him? Blow him up. Kidnap him. But he guesses he’s been there already. He guesses they’ve done all that and it’s old hat to these assholes to go to him directly.

But this could be about Spider-Man too. There could be people that know who he is. People always find out, no matter how hard Tony tries, and Peter has made plenty of his own enemies. His own gallery of rogues looking to take him down.

“Just don’t tell May, if she asks,” Tony says.

“Oh, and don’t tell Pepper either?” Happy asks, in that stupid voice he uses to make fun of Tony. Tony glares, and Happy glares back. “They know by now something’s going on. They’re not dumb. They’re just not saying anything. But May will beat someone to death with anything she can get her hands on and so will Pepper, so maybe we should be sticking close to them.”

Tony sighs. “I just wanted—”

“I know—”

“And now—”

“I know,” Happy says. “We’re on it. We know it’s real, now, even if these people won’t cop to anything. I’m in their walls. Literally. Maybe I’m doing some things I shouldn’t be.”

Tony steps up onto the porch. “Don’t even tell me.”

“I won’t. But maybe I am.”

~

“Ned, why are you in here while I’m in the bathtub?”

“She’s in here!”

“I’m dating her.”

“Wow, that’s great,” Ned says, not making any move to get up from his spot on the gold lounge chair. “That’s great, I see how things are going. I see what direction we’re heading in.”

Peter scoffs. He warmed up a long time ago, and he’s getting really pruny, but he doesn’t want to get out just yet. He feels like something is gonna happen if he gets out. Like it’s all gonna start up again and maybe the house is gonna explode or their fridge is gonna grow arms and start trying to fight them or something. 

And he isn’t lazy. He’s always ready to fight.

Maybe he’s a little lazy. But not usually. He thought Europe was gonna be a Spider-Man free trip and look how that turned out. And he thought this was going to be calm and relaxing but now it’s become suspicious. And worrying. And he’s torn between leaving and staying and telling May and not telling May and he doesn’t know if she’s in danger too and sometimes he feels like everybody would be safer if he lived out in Alaska somewhere and nobody knew him.

Peter sighs, and MJ rubs his shoulder. Ned is still giving him that look and Peter ignores that look. He’s never been in a little claw-foot tub like this before. Tony doesn’t even have these in the compound. And a bubble bath? He hasn’t had a bubble bath since he was a kid and Ben was still alive. It almost distracts him from… whatever the hell is going on here.

“We’ve got two more days,” MJ says. “And we’re sticking it out.”

“We’re sticking it out,” Peter says. “I got my webshooters, I guess I’ll wear them if we go hiking tomorrow.”

“Someone is gonna push you off a cliff,” Ned says, raising his eyebrows. 

“We’re all going together, so nobody is gonna push anybody,” MJ says. She leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Okay let’s leave so he can—get out.”

They both get up, and Peter watches as they argue.

“Oh, you’re not gonna help him?” Ned asks.

“Oh, you’re not?” MJ replies, nudging him as they move towards the door. “I thought that was your job, guy in the chair—”

~

They have dinner in the main building, and Peter watches his back. He only jumps once, when someone drops a tray full of plates, and he winces at the shattering and runs over there to help clean it up before they usher him away. They visit the horses in the stables, and Peter checks every nook and cranny to make sure somebody isn’t hiding in there. They watch May and Happy bust into the late jazz class that’s going on in the ballroom and Peter forgets to do anything because he feels like his face is going to catch on fire from all the blushing.

And he remembers to be paranoid when they get back to the Grove Lodge, and he can tell May is suspicious and they’re all watching him like hawks and he gets worried that Tony is the real target of whatever is happening here and he’s just a distraction. 

He can’t let anything happen to Tony. He can’t let anything happen to any of them.

Or maybe nothing is happening. And nobody was in their room. And the kayak was just—Parker luck. Too much strength, or something. 

He wakes up around three in the morning because he can’t stay asleep, and he sits down in the ‘great room’ and stares out into the darkness of the night. 

“Don’t jump,” Tony’s voice says, but Peter jumps anyway, twisting around and seeing him on the stairs. “You jumped! I said don’t jump! You heard me, I said it—”

Peter snorts, shaking his head. “You can’t just tell me not to jump and expect me not to jump—especially if you’re stepping out of the shadows—”

“There’s no shadows,” Tony says, stepping off the landing. “No shadows. I’m fully illuminated—”

Peter sighs. “You can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Tony says, walking over quietly. “Sleep and I, we have a very contemptuous relationship.” He shakes his head. “I just feel like shit because you can’t have a normal vacation. Whatever the hell is or isn’t going on here. You just deserve—Jesus, a full day, at the least, without something happening you have to question.” He sits down next to Peter and lets out a sigh.

“It’s not your fault. At all.”

“I mean—it might be. We’ve seen Europe as an example of very much my fault.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him. “That wasn’t your fault either. You know it wasn’t your fault, idiots blaming you for their own stupidity is not your fault—”

A huge crash outside. It sounds like one of those big weird planters falling over and knocking into the other planters and then it sounds like a bunch of feet shuffling and this isn’t Parker luck, this isn’t a hallucination, this isn’t a kayak doing non-kayak like things—

They both leap out of their chairs. The noises don’t stop and Tony is immediately stepping in front of Peter and holding his arm out, as if to shield him.

“Kid, go back upstairs—”

“No,” Peter whisper-shouts, grabbing his arm as the two of them move forward very, very slowly towards the back porch doors. “You almost died recently—you’re wearing pajamas and a house coat—”

“You don’t even know what a house coat is—”

Another crash, more skittering feet, and Peter focuses—he can hear separate heartbeats from the hearts he loves in this house. Two of them.

“Tony I’ve got my webshooters on—”

“That doesn’t matter you’re wearing pajamas too you’re not prepared—”

And when they’re just close enough to open the door, there’s a flash of bright white light. And Peter closes his eyes against it, and he can feel Tony turning around, trying to block him from it, and it must be more than just light because he hears a loud bang and the windows are shattering and it feels like a cataclysmic boom is pushing them through the air. The two of them fly backwards, and hit the far wall, and the last thing Peter hears before his head snaps back too far is 

GOD DAMMIT ALFIE YOU’RE TWO SECONDS TOO EARLY WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS JUMPING THE—

~

Peter gasps awake. His gasp echoes, and he sits up, and looks around, and he’s…nowhere.

He scrambles to his feet. He’s alone, and he’s nowhere, there’s nothing but blackness and his ears are popping like he’s high up and he sees—

He sees—

A kayak? Flying through the darkness? 

He watches it, cascading like a majestic bird, and he stares at it, and then it just—blinks out of existence. Like it was never even there.

Maybe he’s just dreaming. Maybe he never even woke up and went downstairs and talked to Tony. Maybe none of that happened at all. Maybe he’s still asleep and Ned is snoring somewhere and MJ is saying not beets in the salad in her sleep again and maybe—

God dammit, Alfie, I swear. I swear I’m gonna whack you in the head.

Peter spins around, in the complete darkness. He can see himself, his own body and his hands and his pajamas and his webshooters, like he’s got a spotlight on him. “Hello?” he calls. “What the hell is—whoever that is—”

And then the London Bridge appears huge and massive above his head and he starts to duck, nearly collapsing in on himself, and there’s no way this is actually happening this isn’t real and he shoots a web at it and it goes right through it and it hits—somewhere—somewhere in the darkness, it sticks, it—

ALFIE I THINK THEY’RE BOTH—

I KNOW IT I CAN TELL OKAY I’M NOT MORONIC—

It clicks in Peter’s head. This is someone using Beck’s tech. It’s someone using Beck’s tech. That’s what this is. This is some idiots using his tech and not knowing how to use it properly and—

Peter starts yelling. “Whoever you are, you’re—you’re not good at this—this isn’t gonna work out for you—”

The bridge disappears, and Peter starts running. His spidey sense is going berserk, and he can’t tell where the danger is, what direction, how far. He can’t tell what’s underneath his feet, it feels—crunchy, and a little old, maybe? All he knows is he needs to get the hell out of this illusion. It feels unstable.

He starts shooting his webs everywhere, and most of them fly away without hitting anything, and that makes him wonder where the hell he could be with so much space—

STARK IS DOING SOMETHING WITH HIS AI—

Peter’s heart lurches.

“Tony!” Peter yells, still running, and he holds his hands out and tries to find something, anything, and he shoots webs fucking everywhere, and then—

SHIT—

He runs right into someone. And they push him off, and then he gets a brass-knuckled fist to the face before he can get a hit off of his own. He stumbles backwards through the sharp pain, wrestling with the instinct to just fight even though it’s only darkness all around him and he can’t see who the hell he’s fighting with. 

Instead, he spits out a line of blood and keeps running.

Pulsing, face pulsing, beating with ripped skin and metal—

A massive kayak blips into the air briefly, and then it disappears.

Peter narrows his eyes, shaking his head, and what the hell is with the kayak—

He runs smack into something, like a train going accordion against a wall, and he stumbles backwards again, clutching at his crushed nose and trying to stay on his feet. The punch and the goddamn running into whatever that was has him dizzy, has him mangled and seeing stars in this manufactured darkness and then he hears Tony hollering his name at the top of his lungs—

“Peter! Peter!”

He sounds like he’s behind him—

“Tony!” Peter yells, all nasally. “Tony! Hey I’m over here—”

He turns around, changing his trajectory. And the darkness blips, breaking in large pixels, and Peter keeps running towards Tony’s voice and the darkness blips again, turns bright white, and then—

The illusion, or lack of one, breaks all at once, and Peter can see—

He’s on the roof of the main Mohonk building—he can see the lake, and the forest, and the mountains, settled in the calm of the night that feels decidedly not calm for him in particular, and he skids to a halt because he’s nearly running off the roof—

And he feels someone grab his arm and tug him back, and he spins around and it’s Tony, thank God it’s Tony—

“Hey!” Tony yells, and Peter looks at him and grabs his arm and they both look up and—

There are just two guys standing there. Two guys, both on the shorter side, definitely unkempt, and they’re holding a little gray box and they’re both just hitting it and hitting it and hitting it—

Peter aims his webs and just starts shooting. He feels like he shoots the most amount of webs he’s ever shot. The two guys fly backwards and get stuck to one of the upraised red parts of the roof, and they’re both gritting their teeth and trying to get out like they’re Scooby Doo villains.

“They must be associated with Beck,” Peter says, trying to catch his breath. His entire mouth tastes like blood. “They’ve gotta be.”

“I figured, with their shitty illusion attempts,” Tony says, and he sounds angrier than Peter’s ever heard him. He glances at Peter, starts to glance away, but then he looks at him again, fast, his brows furrowing severely. “Jesus Christ, you’re—bleeding everywhere—”

“Yeah, it feels—it doesn’t feel good—they didn’t hit you?” Peter asks.

Tony takes Peter’s chin gently, tilting his head and wincing. “No,” he says. “They didn’t goddamn hit me—”

“Well, the nose was from—running into something—I think that, uh, I think that’s a chimney over there, I think I ran into it—you didn’t run into anything—”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Oh, that’s great—”

Tony looks like he’s about to breathe fire, and he lets go of Peter and starts stomping towards the webbed bad guys.

“Why the hell would you be loyal to a moron like him?” Tony asks. “Beck? He couldn’t even keep a job at Stark Industries—”

“Yeah, buddy, because you stole his idea,” one of them hollers. They’re both still wiggling around, trying to get out.

Tony sneers. “He worked for my company executing an idea I designed and commissioned and decided to weaponize it when it was created to help deal with trauma and mental health—have you never had a job, an occupation—you know what, I don’t care, I don’t care—”

“Well he didn’t say that, he didn’t say any of that exactly,” the other guy says, the one with the longer hair. “He just said—”

“Nothing he says is true,” Peter yells, wincing when he touches his nose. “That guy is a liar, and a freak, and you believed him enough to follow us on vacation and—screw up every attempt you made to kill us—it was one of you guys in my room—”

“No, that was just testin’, that was just—we was just testin’, it was—you guys acted really dramatic—”

Peter scoffs. “Dramatic?”

And the two guys start giving each other nasty looks, even though they’re webbed shoulder to shoulder. “Maybe if you hadn’t dropped that dart gun in the lobby when they first got here—”

“Maybe if you hadn’t fallen out of the tree—”

“Maybe if you had made the goddamn kayak explode instead of fly—”

“Stop!” Tony yells, cutting his hands through the air like an angry teacher. “Stop. Stop. I’ve never wanted to hear Boston accents less. Stop. You’re arrested. We’ve arrested you.”

“You can’t do that, the Avengers aren’t cops,” the shorter one says. He’s got a tattoo on his neck that says GOLDBARES with a Haribo bear icon and Peter squints at it and he feels like his entire face hurts worse just from seeing it.

“You’ve committed several crimes,” Tony says, still pointing at them. “It’s—my personal security already—”

There’s a click. A very loud click. And both guys clam up real quick.

“What was that?” Tony asks.

Peter’s spidey sense is—ratcheting up, clear into his teeth—

“Tony!” he yells, because it feels like something is coming, and, just like in the Grove Lodge, there’s a big boom and they’re blown backwards by a seismic wave—

And they’re launched off the roof, and it feels like they’re moving in slow motion, through the dead dark of the night and the reflection of the lake, and Peter screams like a moron. He just screams, and then he shoots a web right at Tony and pulls him in with it, and then he shoots a web at the building and swings back around with him. 

They don’t land well, because Peter’s brain is on the backburner and there’s nothing on the front, and they roll in a heap, Peter tucking his face into Tony’s shoulder. When they come to a halt Tony pulls back, sitting up and touching Peter’s cheek.

“You in there?”

“I’m in there. Here,” Peter says, and he feels like he’s bleeding worse, somehow. “Did they blow up? Did those guys blow up? It sounded like they blew up.”

“We didn’t blew up we’re still over here but maybe I wish we woulda blew up because—”

And they start shouting at each other, but Peter tries to tune them out.

“Thank God you brought those things,” Tony says, tapping Peter’s wrist. “Thanks, bud.”

Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head and still just. Laying there. “Oh yeah, no problem. All good, just—completely normal.”

Tony sighs, and his eyes cut to the side. “Any other late traps ready to explode?” he yells, over his shoulder.

They stop arguing with each other. There’s a brief silence. 

“Uh. I honestly got no idea. We just brought the whole bag of tricks, I don’t know. There’s shit everywhere.”

Tony looks at Peter, slowly shaking his head.

“Fantastic,” Peter says. “Wonderful.”

~

“So, you weren’t in there watching us when we were getting our nails done in the spa?” Pepper asks. “I thought it was weird. I told May it was weird. That was these guys—”

Tony scoffs, and he feels like he instantly gets a headache, a migraine—

“Of course I wasn’t—of course—you thought I was just standing there? Staring at you in the spa? You didn’t think that was out of the ordinary—”

Pepper gives him a look, and Peter laughs from the hammock behind them.

“Yeah, when I went to get my nails done later you kept walking in and out,” Happy says. “But I thought you were just—I don’t know what I thought. But then you told me about the kayak thing later and I thought—well—I attributed it to that.”

“Happy went and got his nails done,” Ned whispers, somewhere behind Tony, too. “We could do that?”

“Who’s stopping you?” MJ says, quiet.

“Well, the whole—the whole situation stopped me, I guess, but I didn’t really think about it—”

“I’m glad it wasn’t you staring at us,” May says, standing near the railing and peering out into her binoculars. “Pepper said it was normal, but it was concerning me.”

Tony glares at Pepper, but she just bats her eyes at him like the picture of innocence.

“Sometimes Peter does that to me,” May says. “Just stares at me from behind a Lucky Charms box in the kitchen. That’s how I know something’s wrong.”

Tony snorts, and he turns around as soon as Peter starts protesting.

“I do not!” Peter says, shifting around in the hammock. “I do not do that.”

“It sounds like something you’d do,” Ned says.

“You’ve done that to me,” MJ says, clearing her throat.

Peter huffs, and everyone laughs at him, and Tony tries not to laugh too hard, because this started with his own wife acting like she thinks he’s capable of acting like some weirdo who stands around staring at people.

Tony sighs. He turns around, walking over and peering down at Peter. He braces his hand on the tree his hammock is attached to. “How’s the nose?” Tony asks.

“Broken.”

“It’s not broken anymore, we reset it.”

“It knows it was broken. I know too.”

He’s still got the butterfly bandages on the bridge of his nose, and it’s bruised and angry looking. He’s got a burst blood vessel in his eye, and the white part is dipped with red. Tony feels like shit because he got out of the whole ordeal relatively unscathed. Just a few bumps and bruises. Some whiplash. But Peter broke his nose again.

They hiked up to the Sky Top Tower, and the kids wanted to hang out once they got up here. They all thought Peter had earned the hammock. Happy refused to come, and he’s in charge of the security situation, anyway, so he couldn’t exactly abandon it to do a hike he didn’t want to do. 

They had to clear the whole damn resort out to get rid of any remaining traps and illusions. Tony had to bring in a whole team. Rhodey made fun of him on the phone when Tony told him, laughing for a good five minutes.

And sure, it’s stupid. Those guys are stupid and they had no idea what the hell they were doing, they couldn’t even attack properly. But that’s what happens when stupid people follow more powerful stupid people. They hold grudges. They make up shit in their heads. They cause problems.

And it’s never really funny when Peter is bloody at the end of it.

“I feel like I’m sinking,” Peter says, his brows furrowing.

He reaches out his hand, and Tony takes it, and he pulls him out of the hammock as MJ and Ned push on his shoulders. Peter groans like he’s a hundred years old, and Tony claps him on the shoulder.

May looks away from her binoculars. “How you doing, honeybunch?”

“Fine,” Peter says, letting go of Tony’s hand. “Incredible. Amazing.”

“Just a normal day for a hero,” Pepper says. “MJ, you’ll get used to it, May, you’ll never get used to it—”

“And Ned,” Ned says to himself. “You will be there every step of the way.”

Tony looks at Peter, and he wants to apologize. For all of it, for being a hero at all, for the goddamn radioactive spider at Oscorp and everything that came after. For stupid morons like Quentin Beck, who know the quickest way to hurt Tony is to attack this kid he’s nearly adopted as his own.

He doesn’t know what the hell to say, because Peter wouldn’t accept his apologies anyway. He never would. Peter is just appreciative of every moment. Even if the moments aren’t ideal.

“We’ve got the whole place to ourselves,” Tony says. “How about we have a pie bar when we head back down there? I can tip the kitchen staff two hundred percent when I ask. I don’t think anybody would be pissed off.”

He sees May smiling softly at him over Peter’s shoulder. Trust in her eyes, even after all this bullshit.

“Can there be…at least four key limes?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Four or five,” Tony says, ruffling his hair. “Or six or seven. Depending on the number of ovens in the joint.”

Peter grins at him, still bright and lively, despite everything.

Maybe they can salvage this vacation yet.

#iron dad #iron man #irondad #irondad fic #marvel fic #peter parker #spider-man #tony stark #iron dad fic #works by iron_spider

[chenziee]

Of Pumpkin Pies and Whipped Cream

Another of my @opdilfzine fics! You can find this one in the digital add-on :D You can still grab a digital copy of the zine, aftersales are open until the end of August! <3

[ Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi ]

—————

It wasn’t often that Dracule Mihawk’s transponder snail would ring but when it did… It was a sure sign of a headache coming. 

He wasn’t sure why he should even bother answering when he knew there would only be pointless chatter to be heard but even so, he somehow always found his hand gripping the receiver anyway.

“What is it now, Red Hair?” he sighed instead of a proper greeting.

“Oh, come on, I don’t even get a hello?” the man on the other side of the connection whined.

“No.”

The snail gasped dramatically in response to the curt reply, making Mihawk roll his eyes. And to think this was one of the most powerful people in the world. Ridiculous.

“You’re so mean to me.” Red Hair let out a long-suffering sigh but Mihawk could just hear the shit eating grin that was playing on the man’s lips even without looking at his snail. “How do I even deal with you? I should get paid for still keeping you company.”

Mihawk knew he shouldn’t have picked up.

“I’m hanging up,” he said bluntly, already reaching over to place the receiver back on the snail.

Immediately, the transponder snail’s face twisted with panic, mirroring Red Hair’s expression as the man started fumbling for words. “Wait! I’m sorry! Don’t hang up, please!” he cried, his voice begging.

Despite himself, Mihawk felt the corners of his lips twitching upwards the tiniest bit. It was strange; the man was loud, annoying, and bothersome, interrupting Mihawk’s peaceful and quiet days with a disturbing regularity and yet, Mihawk could never bring himself to tell him to leave him alone. 

If he were to be honest… he’d have to admit that he would even sometimes miss his loud laughter, his stupid grins, and his idiotic stories and even more idiotic ideas. Even the ones that led to Mihawk having to literally drag the man to the Red Force after he would drunkenly whine and cry about how he was so proud of Straw Hat Luffy for hours and forcing Mihawk to throw him at Beckmann. After all, any captain was the first mate’s problem.

Or that one time when Mihawk had to break into a Navy prison to get Shanks out of there after he got arrested for eating without paying—he still had no idea how the marines in that town hadn’t recognised the Emperor.

For some reason, he missed all of that sometimes.

He would never accept Shanks’ lack of appreciation for good wine though.

“What did you call for anyway?” Mihawk sighed finally, leaning back into his chair.

“Just missed your sweet and kind voice,” Red Hair replied cheekily. “How are the kids?”

Mihawk groaned. “Don’t talk about them as if they’re mine. They just ended up here.”

“But you let them stay!” Shanks argued and Mihawk could just imagine the man reaching over to poke his shoulder.

As if Mihawk had a choice in that matter. Coming home from the war just to find two brats squatting in his goddamned castle, uninvited, with no means of getting the hell off the island after apparently getting launched through the air half-way across the globe—how could he have just kicked them out?

Not to mention he had tried. He gave Roronoa a boat. He gave him directions. He even gave him some food.

All that effort, only for him to come right back after making a full circle around the dead forest.

He would really rather let the kid stay than have to lead him by the hand like a toddler all the way to the coast—or more likely, chaperone him all the way to the next island. He held no illusions about Roronoa’s ability to follow a log pose by now.

“So? How are they doing?” Red Hair prompted after a moment.

Finally, Mihawk let his head fall back, his eyes shutting momentarily as he took a deep breath. “They’re fine. Roronoa’s still got a ways to go but it’s funny watching him struggle. Perona’s at least helping with the fields if nothing else.”

“I still can’t believe the dreaded Hawk Eyes, the strongest swordsman, likes gardening,” Shanks said with a laugh. “You need to let me try eating some of your crops one of these days.”

Mihawk chose to ignore the wink the transponder snail gave him. “You can have one of the fifty pumpkin pies Perona made.”

There was a pause before the snail raised both its eyebrows, the scar across its left eye shifting. “Fifty,” Shanks repeated flatly.

“It was a rich crop.” Mihawk shrugged. “They’re actually decent.”

“Will you add whipped cream and feed them to me?” Shanks asked eagerly.

A beat passed.

“Gacha.”

—————

Mihawk wasn’t expecting to hear from Shanks again for weeks after hanging up on him. They didn’t talk often in the first place but, more than that, the Emperor of the Sea could be nothing short of a brat. It wouldn’t have been the first time for him to get all sulky, going so far as to refuse to even enter the same sea Mihawk was in. This would usually end with Beckmann or Roux unable to handle the whining any longer and just dialling Mihawk’s snail number themselves and forcing their captain to just talk to the reason he was upset.

So, when the man himself appeared on his doorstep late at night only a day later, bottle of wine in hand and a smirk on his lips, saying Mihawk was surprised would be an understatement.

“You said something about pumpkin pie and whipped cream?” he asked with a wink, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at Mihawk with a cheeky spark in his eyes.

Mihawk stared blankly at the man for a moment. What the hell was he saying? Or what was he even doing on Kuraigana Island—or even just in Paradise, for that matter?

“I said nothing about whipped cream,” he responded finally, voice perfectly flat.

“Might as well have.” Shanks just waved his hand dismissively before forcing his way through the door past Mihawk as if the castle belonged to him.

Mihawk didn’t even care anymore.

With a deep sigh, he closed the door and followed after the red haired menace. It was only mildly disturbing how well Shanks navigated the complicated hallways of the castle—the very same hallways that Roronoa still struggled with after a whole year of living there. Had he really visited this place enough times to flawlessly lead the way three floors up, all the way to the cosy little lounge next to Mihawk’s room, chattering away about stupid stuff the whole time?

Thinking back… maybe he had. 

Although he certainly hadn’t come invited, not even once.

“Shoes off the couch,” Mihawk ordered as soon as Shanks threw himself on the expensive piece of furniture as if it were a bed.

“Says the guy who puts his feet on the table wherever he’s invited,” Shanks grumbled—but still took his shoes off.

Mihawk huffed, putting a bottle of West Blue sake on the coffee table in front of Shanks before pouring himself some of the wine Red Hair had brought, then settled into his own chair. “So? That one is mine and I will not tolerate your disgusting, dirty boots on it.”

“Hypocrite,” Shanks said, sticking his tongue out at Mihawk.

The man only rolled his eyes; there was no point in even gracing that with a response. So, instead, he simply swirled the wine in his glass, then took his first sip as he relaxed and leaned back in his chair. If nothing else, he had to admit that Red Hair knew his alcohol; it was good wine. The colour was a beautiful red like garnet, its bouquet had fruity undertones, like cherry and raspberry. It had a smooth, rich flavour, lingering on the tongue for a moment but not overpowering—perfectly balanced.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” Shanks whined when Mihawk didn’t say anything.

“Why are you here anyway, Red Hair?” Mihawk asked instead of answering.

There was a moment of silence, silence that made Mihawk crack one of his eyes open to look at the man lounging on his couch like he belonged there. Mihawk clicked his tongue at the thought—the very notion was ridiculous. 

Instead of dwelling on it, Mihawk took in the expression Red Hair was making right then. He was looking back at Mihawk, a wide, seemingly goofy smile playing on his lips… yet his eyes were serious, as serious as they were whenever someone would threaten one of the Emperor’s friends. Mihawk wasn’t sure what it meant.

But then, Red Hair opened his mouth to finally reply, “I was summoned by the promise of being hand fed pumpkin pie by my darling Hawk Eyes.”

“Again, I said nothing about hand feeding you. Are you a toddler?” Mihawk sighed.

“Yes.” There wasn’t a single hint of hesitation in Red Hair’s voice and Mihawk had to bite his cheek to keep his lips from curling into a smile.

“Then go back to your ship, I’m not your nanny,” Mihawk replied, keeping his voice carefully measured.

At that, Shanks gasped dramatically… and Mihawk knew what he was going to say before he so much as opened his mouth to do so. “You’re so mean to me! Meanie!”

There it was.

“I’m going to cut off your other arm and leave you to bleed out.”

“Ouch,” Shanks said before he burst out laughing. “We were just coming from the East Blue so we were close anyway.”

Mihawk was quiet for a moment, simply regarding the man sprawled on his couch; he took in how relaxed he seemed, more relaxed than the world ever saw him. And yet, his gaze was heavy, the deep scar over his left eye standing out in the dim light the same way it did ten, twelve years ago when it was fresh; when Shanks was just a young man who was barely coming to power. When Mihawk barely knew him.

But now, he knew the Emperor. And he knew him well enough to know when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

"Whatever, it's not like I care," Mihawk dismissed.

“You’re terrible,” Shanks whined. “You’re seriously going to force me to admit I missed my boyfriend? My strong and handsome and oh-so-caring boyfriend?” Boyfriend?

Biting back a snort, Mihawk raised an eyebrow. “I did not ask, much less force you to admit anything,” he deadpanned.

“You just won’t admit you missed me too, will you?” Shanks sighed.

“What a pointless question. If you already know the answer, why do you bother asking?” Mihawk asked in response.

“Let me dream, you ass,” Shanks grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment before a grin took over his face once more.

Mihawk watched impassively while Shanks put his feet on the ground and sat up slowly, giving Mihawk that annoying look of his; the look that balanced on the edge between deathly serious and playful, and that always preceded something getting broken—a plate at best, Shanks’ last existing arm at worst.

And when Shanks stood up, not taking his eyes off Mihawk only to bump into the coffee table… Mihawk could only hope nothing too expensive was going to fall victim to the Emperor and his stupid ideas. So, he simply raised an eyebrow while Shanks cursed quietly, shooting a quick glare at the offending piece of furniture before his eyes turned to his lover—or boyfriend, apparently—with new-found determination.

It took only a moment for Shanks to stand right in front of Mihawk’s chair, staring down at him while Mihawk blinked at him slowly, blankly, one leg thrown over the other as he took a deliberately slow sip of his wine. Waiting for Shanks to make a move, daring him to do anything he might regret.

Like pissing Mihawk off. Or—

Before Mihawk could even finish the thought, Shanks reached out with purpose, his fingers closing around the wine glass in Mihawk’s hand, pulling it away… and Mihawk let him. 

He watched in mild amusement as Shanks brought it to his own lips, taking a sip—one large enough to be considered a gulp and if it was in any other situation, Mihawk would have been offended by the disrespect paid to such good wine. As it was however, he could only smile the smallest bit at the sight of Red Hair licking his lips appreciatively.

“I have to say, I picked a really good one. And I don’t even drink wine,” he said with a small laugh.

“It’s certainly better than the swill you brought last time. Couldn’t have even been called wine,” Mihawk noted. “More like someone dumped a bag of sugar into grape juice. If the people who created that insult of a drink even knew what grapes were.”

“Oh, shut up,” Shank hissed, his face twisting in fake annoyance.

And Mihawk… couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled out of his chest at the sight.

Immediately, Shanks’ expression brightened, a victorious spark in his eyes as if he had just won a hard life-and-death battle and Mihawk rolled his eyes. He seriously could be such a child. Why did he deal with him at all?

He supposed it was one of those things that would never make sense… and Mihawk wasn’t sure he even wanted it to make sense.

He didn’t fight it when Shanks’ knee forced its way onto Mihawk’s chair, wedging itself in between Mihaw’s thigh and the armrest; the man himself leaned forward, towering over Mihawk and caging him in place. It was funny, how natural feeling his warmth against him felt—were it anyone else, Mihawk’s skin would be crawling but with this man, this absolute menace on the world and Mihawk’s life… he didn’t mind it at all.

Instead, he welcomed it. 

He welcomed the warmth. He welcomed the weight on his legs—he wasn’t even sure when he had uncrossed them to accommodate the man who had decided to crawl into his lap as if he were a cat. He even welcomed the way his hands automatically came to rest on the sides of Red Hair’s thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of his pants.

And he welcomed the lips now hovering so close to his own.

Mihawk huffed in amusement; he could only imagine how the world would react to seeing the mighty Emperor of the Sea like this—sitting in his lap, basically begging for his touch, his lips. Too bad he was the only one who would ever see him this way.

It only took a split second for their lips to connect, the kiss hungry and desperate, as if they were trying to make up for the almost three months of separation in that single touch. They moved against each other with practised ease, Shanks’ lips stretching into a smile against Mihawk’s mouth. Despite himself… the gesture made Mihawk want to smile as well.

He let his hands wander, sliding up and down the man’s thighs before moving up, slipping underneath his loose and wrinkled dress shirt until he touched bare skin.

Shanks shivered under his touch, but seemingly determined not to lose, he let his tongue run slowly over Mihawk’s mouth, his teeth scraping lightly over his bottom lip—teasing, without deepening the kiss. Not pulling away even the slightest bit, Shanks started shuffling then, searching blindly with his hand behind himself—until something shattered.

And once Shanks’ hand came to rest against his cheek, the fingers stroking his skin gently before sliding into his hair… Mihawk was reminded of the wine glass that was—had been—in Shanks’ hand, now most likely lying broken into pieces with red wine spilling all over his expensive white fur carpet.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Mihawk said flatly against Shanks’ lips.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Shanks muttered, his breath caressing Mihawk’s cheek while his fingers curled in Mihawk’s hair to scratch his scalp gently, sending shivers of pleasure down the swordsman’s spine.

Gulping heavily to keep his voice level, Mihawk repeated, “You’re cleaning that up.”

“Fine. Tomorrow. But now shut up,” Red Hair hissed before he moved forward once more—only to bite Mihawk’s bottom lip in retaliation.

As if he had any right to retaliate after ruining the fucking carpet.

Mihawk was going to make sure it was either spotless by the time the menace left, or paid for in equal value with whatever means.

But right now, with said menace licking and sucking on his neck, he couldn’t say he cared. Right now, he only cared about those lips, the fingers tangled in his hair, and the soft skin of Shanks’ sides that seemed to be burning under Mihawk’s touch… and Shank's sweet, almost delicate moans as he pulled himself closer to grind against him. 

Moans so quiet that Mihawk could barely make them out—meant for his ears only.

And he was going to make sure he got enough of all of them, enough of Shanks tonight to make up for all the time they had spent apart.

—————

Zoro’s morning started just like any other. He woke up at 7 AM, got dressed and brushed his teeth, then it was straight to his usual twenty minute run around the island. After getting back two hours later, it was time for a quick shower—he didn’t see the point when he knew he was just going get sweaty again later but Perona could get fucking unbearable otherwise. She’d end up complaining endlessly about his sweaty brow, and even being on the same island with someone so ‘smelly’ and ‘disgusting’. He would really rather take a pointless shower than deal with one minute of that so he begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom before he could finally head to the kitchen for breakfast.

He wasn’t surprised to find Perona already sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of pancakes and a steaming cup of tea in front of her, the stupid ugly bear of hers sitting securely on her lap. Hawk Eyes was exactly where Zoro had expected him—standing at the stove, making the pancakes that Perona was happily shoving into her mouth as if they were the best meal she had ever eaten.

Zoro had to wonder just what kind of food the woman used to eat while at Thriller Bark. Sure, Hawk Eyes was a decent cook but nowhere as good as Curly. Zoro wasn’t sure if that said more about Perona's culinary experiences or Curly… but Zoro would be damned if he so much as admitted he might have possibly maybe kind of missed the asshole’s cooking.

Whatever.

“Good morning.” Zoro yawned, grabbing a pancake off of Perona’s plate as he passed by.

“Hey! Get your own!” Perona yelled instead of returning the greeting.

Hawk Eyes sighed, flipping the fresh pancake he was making. “Grab your own plate or you’re not getting any, Roronoa.”

Shoving the rest of the stolen pancake into his mouth, Zoro rolled his eyes, passing by Hawk Eyes to get some water since he was still being unjustly forced to live without alcohol. Soon, he would earn his right to have a goddamned beer, though. He’s almost got it, he was going to turn his blades black for sure. Any day now.

“Any sake in that fridge?” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him.

Zoro frowned, turning his head to the side to look over his shoulder to look at the man standing behind him—his red hair and that scar looked vaguely familiar but Zoro couldn’t for the life of him place that face. He was tall, his uncovered chest sported powerful, well defined muscles, his very presence making it obvious he was strong, much stronger than Zoro despite his missing left arm… but it wasn’t like that had ever stopped him.

“You talk about alcohol in front of me one more time and I’m going to cut you,” Zoro growled, full of annoyance as he slammed the fridge door shut.

“Scary,” the man laughed loudly before side stepping Zoro to get to the fridge.

Zoro simply rolled his eyes, deciding it wasn’t worth it getting mad over not being taken seriously. It was too damn early for that. So, instead, he walked away, taking a plate of Hawk Eyes’ pancakes before dropping into his designated chair opposite of Perona.

“So where are all the pumpkin pies I was promised?” the stranger asked then.

“Pantry,” Hawk Eyes replied absentmindedly while he poured hot water into a mug.

Perona’s eyes widened. “Are you giving out my pies for free?!” she asked, scandalised.

“Thank god. I’ve had enough pumpkin to last me till the next life,” Zoro muttered.

“Excuse me?!” Perona hissed, turning to glare at him instead.

Zoro simply ignored her, turning his attention back to his pancakes; they were sweet and he hated sweet things… but it was still worlds better than having to eat pumpkin pie for breakfast for the third time that week.

“Would you rather I throw them out, Ghost Girl?” Hawk Eyes asked flatly, making Perona puff up… before she deflated, begrudgingly admitting the man had a point.

The red haired man laughed loudly again. “So domestic. What a sweet little family.”

“Shut the hell up, Red Hair.” Hawk Eyes shot back, obviously not amused by the remark. 

“Sorry sorry,” the man apologised… yet his voice was still shaking with laughter when he walked off to drop into a chair next to Zoro at the table as if it were a normal Sunday.

It was only once Perona had to slap the man’s hand away from her plate that something seemed to click in her mind and she froze. She didn’t move at all for a long while, simply staring at the stranger who was trying to steal her breakfast exactly the same way Zoro had earlier… until her mouth fell open and she slammed her hands at the table as she shot up from her chair.

“Shanks?!” she screeched. “‘Red Hair’ Shanks?!”

The man blinked, obviously taken aback by the sudden development. “Uh yeah?” he tried uncertainly.

“Oh my god,” she said, her hands flying up to slap at her cheeks; maybe trying to get herself to wake up from a dream.

Zoro, on the other hand, tilted his head to the side as he looked at Perona, then the red haired man, then at Perona again. Shanks. Why did that sound familiar?

Wait.

“Shanks as in the Emperor?” he asked, voice full of disbelief even to his own ears.

At that, Shanks laughed. It was a full-blown, unrestrained laughter, one that reminded Zoro of his own captain. But Luffy wasn’t there; instead, one of the strongest, most powerful people in the world was sitting next to him, laughing so hard he could barely breathe while Zoro and Perona just sat there, staring at him like he was a mirage—or maybe a hallucination.

Maybe those stupid pumpkin pies had gone bad sooner than they had thought and now they were all suffering from food poisoning? That honestly seemed more plausible that an Emperor of the Sea sitting in their fucking kitchen.

“What is ‘Red Hair’ Shanks doing in our kitchen?! Why?! What’s going on?!” Perona rattled off, seemingly on the verge of hysterics.

“Stop screaming, Ghost Girl,” Hawk Eyes said with annoyance as he approached them. “This is my kitchen, be glad I didn’t kick you out. Here, your coffee,” he added, putting a steaming mug in front of the fucking Emperor of the Sea.

Or more like milk with a splash of coffee. Disgusting.

A soft smile spread on Shanks’ face at that. “Thanks, love,” he said, catching Mihawk’s wrist before he could walk away—

And Zoro and Perona could only watch with wide eyes as Shanks let go of Mihawk’s hand only to continue further up the man’s arm, moving gently over the thin fabric of his shirt until he touched bare skin. But Shanks didn’t stop there—he let his hand move higher still, his fingers sliding behind Mihawk’s neck and tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer… until their lips connected.

It was a chaste kiss, almost innocent—if not for the familiarity of it, and the unspoken intimacy that made even Zoro blush.

Zoro could swear it took a full hour before the two pulled away, Hawk Eyes clicking his tongue in annoyance even while the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

As he stared at the two of them, suddenly he started noticing more. There was a suspicious dark bruise on Hawk Eyes’ neck just below his ear. The angry red scratches on Shanks’ back that he had previously thought were barely healed scars now looked closer to claw marks. And was that an actual bite mark on the Emperor’s shoulder?

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his eyes then caught something white contrasting against Shanks’ red hair and he frowned, squinting slightly at the Emperor. Was that whipped cream behind his ear?

No. 

Nope. Absolutely not.

Zoro decided he didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to know about it. Didn’t want to see it. If he closed his eyes, if he just didn’t look…

It simply wasn’t happening.

But then, Perona’s distressed voice echoed around the kitchen again. “What the hell is going on?” she asked. When Zoro glanced at her, she looked like she was about to stab the two old men with her tea spoon just to get out of this situation.

Zoro couldn’t blame her.

“You see,” Red Hair started, “when two people love each other very much—”

“AHHHHHH! Negative Hollow!!” Perona screamed before Shanks could get another word in.

Zoro would be lying if he said watching the mighty, powerful Emperor of the Sea slump onto the table lifelessly, mumbling something about shrimps and plankton wasn’t satisfying—if completely surreal—but he didn’t even have the mind to appreciate it. He had learnt more about Hawk Eyes than he ever wanted to in the last two minutes and he wondered if there was a way to erase his memory.

As he robotically stood and left the kitchen without a word, heading for another ten minute run which would hopefully last a few hours—long enough to clear his head—he nostalgically thought back to the time when the worst of his problems was Nami threatening to double the interest on his loan if he dared to sleep through another snow storm.

Just one more year, he thought.

Just one more year and he could go on to pretend that had never seen 'Red Hair' Shanks in his life, ever, and certainty hadn't seen him half-naked, with a lazy just-fucked grin on his face in their fucking kitchen.

He could only hope there would never be a repeat of this morning—for the sake of his own sanity and limited ability to erase things from his memory.

#one piece #mishanks #dracule mihawk #shanks #akagami no shanks #hawkeye mihawk #red hair shanks #fluff and humor #fluff #humor #comedy #established relationship #opfanfic #mihawk/shanks #shanks/mihawk #canonverse #during timeskip #zoro #perona #they're Suffering™ #poor kids :( #they did not sign up to deal with these old men when kuma dropped them off at Dracule Daycare #dilf zine #zine stuff #katie pretends to fic

[non-plutonian-druid]

hi taking my opportunity to ask you about your snicket five au

I don't know anything about that universe bc I never got around to reading it but I am very interested

Hello!!! i am glad i mentioned it in that one ask i got bc i got a few people asking me about it!! and i am so happy for the interest, thanks yall so much

TBH i debated how much i wanted to give away since not everything is decided and i kind of wanted to reveal it alongside art i make for it? but that's been slow going, so i shall reveal some of my cards now

first. the posts that exist: five invades elliott's shop and ben gets experimented on (cw for medical horror). Those posts, this post, and any future posts will be under my snicket five au tag

Most of the time I've been assuming people are at least aware of A Series of Unfortunate Events' whole deal, but given that you said you don't have any, I'll explain the relevant bit quickly: Lemony Snicket is the pseudonym of the author, but is also a character within the narrative, researching and telling us the story of the Baudelaire children after their parents are killed by the "villainous" section of a secret society called VFD. He's a very unreliable narrator, and is a part of the "good" side of VFD, kind of. My au is of the prequel series, All the Wrong Questions, which stars Lemony Snicket as a snarky asshole child instead of a snarky asshole adult

A collection of other relevant bits:

VFD, at this point in Lemony's childhood, is divided and the cracks are showing, but has not yet actually Schismed. That happens later.

Daniel Handler (the author) is Jewish, and I know just enough about that to know that it has a huge influence on the themes and texture of both atwq and asoue (things like "the eldritch monster is a metaphor for death, but specifically a very jewish concept of death"), but nowhere near enough to then take those themes and play with them in an interesting and informed way. I wanted to mention it because, lacking the ability to do that part of the series justice, i wanted to at least inform you all about it bc I think the au would be more interesting if i could

VFD is a cult. yes, all of it. yes, even the side that puts out fires.

I actually need to go through and do a ton of work revamping the premise and making events shake out differently, because at the moment it follows ATWQ really closely and I'm not fond of that. Things need to be different! But for the moment, the following is what I have.

Five is an actual 13 year old who has just completed his training with the Commission (a mysterious organization with mysterious purposes but which, in this case, probably doesn't involve teaching a child to murder) and is now an apprentice! He has to pick a chaperone, a word which here means "someone like a mentor except without the obligation to actually teach him anything or really to take care of him in any meaningful way". He picks the Handler, hoping she will leave him to his own devices enough that he can carry out a heist he has planned with his associate and not at all his friend, Delores (who gets to be a real person! good for her).

Unfortunately, the Handler immediately drags him out to a dying town that has the interim name DS, to leave him to his own devices enough that he could carry out a heist in that location instead. Too bad that's not where the heist is planned.

(Delores proceeds to try to do the heist on her own anyway, and spends the rest of the series arrested)

DS are the initials that i will be using to refer to the small town of the au. It is replacing a town in the series by the name of Stain'd By the Sea (you'll notice that is a parody of a naming convention in New England, because This Noir Flick Has Lovecraft In It, Baby). I haven't decided what D.S stands for because TUA has unhelpfully not given me anything to work with, but the town is a dying company town that used to manufacture umbrellas. In it, there is a now-defunct school that used to teach the children of the workers/citizens. Like some kind of.... umbrella academy.

(The school is plot relevant in ATWQ too! I'm not just having fun.)

Nowadays, DS is dying and most of the inhabitants have left to set up lives in The City, leaving their children behind to close up shop until things are more stable, which results in Just So Many undersupervised children. Meanwhile, a mysterious villain called the Monocle is doing mysterious villain things.

'Mysterious villain things', at the moment, means committing a series of seemingly unconnected crimes across DS and also reopening the school, saying that tuition is free for citizens of DS! The kids that go there don't come out.

That is our setup; now what are our beloved characters up to?

Luther in this au is an adult (barely). He was a boxer in the city but had to retire after an injury and left to DS where it was quiet. Since then he’s made friends with Allison Hargreeves, an up-and-coming actress who has returned to DS because she feels obligated to help her parents get ready to leave.. Luther lives in a refurbished observatory on the outskirts of town, and  spends many of his mornings at the local diner, Griddy’s, where he frequently sees and occasionally chats with Five. He gets first embroiled in the plot when Five asks him to come along to look intimidating while he solves a mystery. He gets worried about this little guy!

Diego and Patch are approximately 15. Patch’s dad used to be a police officer before he retired, and she and Diego are very unimpressed with the current state of the police department, which is made of two mean and unhelpful people named Hazel and Cha Cha. So they’ve taken matters into their own hands! They’ve set up a detective agency-slash-vigilante-justice and are Determined to solve crime in DS. Diego is VERY suspicious of Five. He definitely knows more than he’s letting on! Why won’t he tell us! Diego does NOT want to be his friend shut up Patch!!

Allison’s parents want to shut down the company they run, but to Allison that’s quitting! She wants to revive it. This, combined with the fact that her plan actually has a chance of succeeding, means that she is a threat to the Monocle’s plan. He needs the town to be dead and full of children that nobody cares about! The Monocle is trying to get rid of her, but with the help of Five and Luther in particular, she’s been thwarting him thus far.

Klaus and Ben are a pair of unsupervised children, but unlike most children in DS they’ve been unsupervised for a very long time. Klaus takes an assortment of odd jobs at different times, and Ben likes to read in the library (and has a giant and obvious crush on the librarian). Normally they're inseparable, but the school recently opened! and its free! Ben has always wanted to go to school. He promises he'll write Klaus every single day.

Klaus hasn't heard from Ben in months. At first he was angry, but now he's getting worried

Viktor's parents run an instrument store. Well. Used to. Now they have left to set up their life in the city, leaving behind what they think is their dutiful daughter to close the store. Viktor's real passion is writing, and he's never seen without his typewriter. I'm not decided on how many people Viktor is out to. Everybody? Only Five because this is a new person to introduce himself to with his chosen name? To Be Determined.

Lila is searching for her father. She will do anything to find him. The Monocle kidnapped him, she’s certain of it. He was a professor of quantum mechanics at a university outside the city and he’s been gone for almost a year. She’s tracked him to DS, and she’s certain he has to be here somewhere. Has Five seen or heard anything about him? His name is Reginald Hargreeves and she misses him so much.

Elliott is a nervous 20-something who runs a nearly-closed television store in town. The character he’s a replacement for is actually a librarian, but I like the aesthetic of the television store, so someone else is the librarian. He has conspiracy-theoried his way into figuring out that the Commission exists, but is wrong in some key way. Five breaks into his house and forcibly adopts him and now the store is Five’s hideout, and Elliott is kind of his adult supervision and kind of thinks Five is an alien. Elliott makes good coffee, is very mousy but likes Five a lot,

Since the librarian man is now a television salesman, we need a new librarian. I nominate Jill! Shes a college student working at the library as part of her internship, except she doesnt have any supervisors on location so shes just… running the place. Five is trying to recruit her for the Commission.

Griddy’s was once run by a woman named Agnes, who has since retired. Now it’s being run by a woman named Grace, who is her… sister? Daughter? Sister in law or niece? Five can't figure it out; everyone seems to have a different idea of who she is. She’s very pretty, and at first seems perfectly normal, but at some point, something about her seems… off. Is she okay? If Five didn’t know any better, he’d say it's like she’s malfunctioning.

While Five is running around solving mysteries and meeting all these people, the Monocle is enacting his evil plan. He’s trying to grow a tentacled eldritch monster called the Horror, and he’s been using kids as dirt to grow little tentacle monster sprouts in. He’s based his operations in DS because it’s a dying little town that no one cares about, full of kids left on their own while their parents move out. He reopens the old school, and promises to educate any of the kids in the town for free (and also inject them with baby horror growing particles). Despite his many experiments, all of his attempts to grow the horror so far have eventually failed and the Horror died before it was big enough to use for world domination or whatever (or even before it was big enough to kill one measly human). But Ben…. Ben has been promising...

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #lemony snicket #i COULD list all the characters i talk about but i dont feel like it so i'm not going to #for the void #i am truly SO happy that my mention of this au piqued people's interest in it #its niche but i love it!!! #i need to do work on the setup bc rn it follows ATWQ too closely which i dont like #i need to twist around the premise enough that the dominos all fall differently #but this is where its at right now #sorry about the delay on replying! and same to the other people who were looking for more #i had to wait for a period of time where i'd have time and energy to write this out bc i knew it would take me a while #and then after i reached a period of time to write it out.... it did in fact take a while to write #snicket five au

[forensicated]

Smiffina Episodes - Episode 348

Roger and Yvonne attend the scene of a RTA where a young boy has been knocked over. The driver is found at the scene after trying to run away. It turns out that the driver stole the car and he insists the child just ran out in front of him. The boys dies from massive internal injuries. If the driver sticks to his story it's going to be a struggle to pin dangerous driving on him as there are no witnesses. The father, Jeff, blames himself because he took his eyes off him for a second to answer the phone. The driver insists they've got nothing on him - other than joyriding and driving without a licence, he refuses to even consider that he was to blame.

Amanda hears Smithy and June talking about Gina and advises Smithy to stay away from Gina because she can't be helped. More likely Amanda's worried more people will find out what she did if people talk to Gina!

Reg is very happy to be leading the anniversary proceedings for the celebration. He 'volunteers' Reg and Lance to help him chaperoning guests and making things run smoothly.

Gabriel is overwhelmed with the amount of stuff to sort out and the whole pretending to be someone else thing which would require a lot of sorting out and a high risk of being caught out. June tells him he's living in cloud cuckoo land and that he's got a bank account, NI number, driving licence etc in her sons name and not his own and that he's claimed everything else of her sons to be his. June tells him that if he doesn't tell Sheelagh then she will. He tries to threaten her and June's far passed the point of actually being scared of him and doesn't care. She gives him a week to talk to Sheelagh. He actually thanks her and promises he won't let her down.

Roger supports the father, Jeff, and is gently and kind and tells him that they're doing everything they can. Amanda however is on the phone to the press as she arrives and tells them that she wants it specifically mentioned that they're doing all they can and that she personally visited the father. She knocks whilst still on the telephone and interupts Roger telling Jeff that they have some concerns with the prelimary findings which means the driver will only be charged with with aggrevated vehicle taking, driving with no insurance and no licence and not death by dangerous driving. Amanda puts her foot in it massively and upsets Jeff, inflaming the situation. Jeff throws her out of the house and in turn Roger too. Amanda then blames Roger for it backfiring int he manner it did!

Smithy goes to Adam's house to speak to him, knowing Gina will have told him nothing. Adam's been working as a volunteer at a homeless shelter to keep him busy as he hates being in the house alone. Smithy updates him on the happenings at Sun Hill, telling Adam that it's like Gina is being forced out by Amanda and that Amanda's lost the respect of the entire station through it as they all know that it wasn't Gina who sent S019 to the wrong house. Adam insists it will be fine as Gina won't let it knock her - but Smithy tells him that it's like Gina has given up and just rolled over. Smithy begs him to return to take the helm but Adam is not at all sure and asks for time to think about it.

Yvonne and Roger have to arrest Jeff for assaulting the driver of the car who killed his son. Amanda tells Roger to release him straight away rather than let him calm down and she demands that Roger makes the driver NOT press charges. Jeff demands that the boy is arrested again and Amanda tells him she hasn't read the file and she can't do that. She tells him it was an accident and that they're all deeply sorry. She's incredibly useless and simply inflames Jeff over again. He screams at her that he wants the man who killed his son brought to justice. She simply tells him they're doing everything they can to help him and escapes back to her office, leaving Yvonne to take him home.

Adam goes to see Gina and she guesses immediatley that Smithy sent him. She tells him she's lost her fight and she's not doing a great deal to secure her job back because she doesn't have the energy to deal with it right now. She 'rememebers' she's got to be somewhere and he leaves. He tells her she's the best Super he's ever worked under and that she's being pushed out for something that isn't her fault. She admits she doesn't want to work under Amanda so is considering her options. Adam tells her he's considering returning and asks if she'd work under him again. She's surprised - but of course she would! She agrees to return to the station for the anniversary do and admits she lied about 'having things to do' and closes the door.

There's a shock instore for both June and Gabriel at the front desk. The Real Gabriel Kent has arrived, asking to see June. It doesn't half confuse Laura however when the man gives his name as 'Gabriel Kent'.

The Fake Gabriel is putting up posters advertising his and Sheelagh's engagement party as Laura arrives and asks him if he's seen June because there's a bloke at the front desk asking for her. "You're not going to believe this, but his name is Gabriel Kent." she tells him. The Fake Gabriel assures Laura he's a bit of a nutter and that he'll deal with it and goes through to see his brother - The Real Gabriel Kent. The Real Gabriel is amazed to see him and shocked that his brother is a police officer and tells him he's there to see June.

The Fake Gabriel (TFG) tells The Real Gabriel (TRG)* they can sort it out but that they need to go upstairs to a private quiet room so it's not played out in front of people whilst TRG gets to know his birth mother.

Outside the station Jeff Clarke is watching it fill up with visitors for the anniversary. Laura spots him outside and asks if he's ok, he assures her he's fine and continues looming.

Reg is running around in old fashioned police clothing, trying his best to get everything set up and ordering the others around to help. Tony has to tell him that the old Sun Hill officer that he'd arranged to make a talk has hurt his back and can't come after 'helping' with an arrest earlier. Reg says he'll drive him to the hospital and that Tony has to take over for him and do the introductions.

TRG is even more confused as he talks with his brother as he wanted to be a police officer and it just so happens that his brother is stationed at the same station as his birth mother. He suggests it can't be a coincidence but TFG insists it is and says that June isn't in that day, what a shame it is considering he came all that way to see her. TRG just smiles, telling TFG that he's now home for good having lost his job and his marriage having ended. He's going nowhere - sending more alarm bells ringing for TFG. TRG asks how he got into the MET after his 'trouble' in the Navy. Laura appears and calls TFG 'Gabriel' which suddenly explains it all to TRG. (cor this is exhausting!) TRG wants to thrash it out, knowing that he's stolen his identity. TRG knows just how twisted his brother is. TFG refuses to let him leave.

Terry arrives back at the station after a covert operation he's been on all day. Amanda tells him he has to show guests around CID. He explains but she won't take no for an answer - he has to show them round now or else. Gina turns up for the anniversary do on Adam's arm, nervous that she might not be allowed in because she's been suspended. He assures her it'll be fine.

Jeff is in the front office with the rest of the people invited, he tells Terry that he's not there for the anniversary, he wants to talk to someone about his son. Amanda is horrified to see him and interupts as Terry wants to take him somewhere to explain the process gently. Amanda tells him that she'll take him to her office and leads him upstairs - telling him he's come at a bad time as it's actually a celebration. Jeff is clearly on the edge but she doesn't appear to realise and just continues upstairs, "It's always best to deal with these things whilst they're fresh." She tells him in a dismissive bored tone.

TFG insists that stealing his brothers life and identity is no big deal and can all be sorted out. "Yes it can." nods TRG. "You're going to tell them the truth." TFG turns it all round to be TRG's fault that this happened in the first place, claiming he just wanted to be like him. TFG claims he's finally found something he's good at and that he's not going to let TRG ruin it. TFG offers to pay him whatever he wants to return to America. "Either you tell them the truth or I do. So what's it going to be, David?" TFG freezes, plotting and he finally agrees that yes, he will resign. "But not now. Everyone's tied up with the do. Who could I talk to?" TRG knows he's playing for time and TFG scoffs. "Who are you going to tell? You just going to grab someone and blurt it out? People wil think you're a nutter." TFG tells him to come back the next morning to speak to June. TRG demands he let him leave but TFG won't let him. "Face it David, your little game is over."

Amanda inflames Jeff's feelings further, telling him that she's very sorry - yet again - but nothing can be done. She asks him to leave... as Jeff produces a gun. "You keep saying you're sorry, but you're not. All you had to do was listen."

TRG charges out of the room with TFG at his heels, grabbing him and telling him he doesn't know where he's going. They come face to face with Amanda being held at gun point and Jeff orders them to stay where they are. "Just do what he says!" Amanda says, terrified.

Next time on The Bill... it's the second live ep!

As an aside, for extra LOLS, each time James Barriscale is in The Bill as Gabriel Kent, he is credited as 'The Real Gabriel Kent' 😂😂

#dale smith #alex walkinshaw #smithy #gina gold #roberta taylor #todd carty #david kent #gabriel kent #james barriscale #laura bryant #melanie kilburn #adam okaro #cyril nri #jeff clarke #stuart laing #amanda prosser #serena gordon #june ackland #trudie goodwin #roger valentine #john bowler #jeff stewart #reg hollis #graham cole #tony stamp #smiffina #smiffinalong #the bill

[selfindulgentfandomstuff]

🐭🐻 a bitch (me) has to know!!!

hii emily!!! tyy!! :D

🐭: What is your favorite scene to insert yourself in that your F/O has? What’s going on in that scene?

I think a good scene I'll describe here is the one where my insert, Emmett, helps convince Matty to let Murdoc work for the Phoenix Foundation as a sort of informant!

This would take place near the end of s3e6 "Murdoc + MacGyver + Murdoc".

At the end of the episode, Murdoc tells MacGyver he'll go back into federal custody willingly, in exchange for his son, Cassian, being cared for properly. BUT, unlike in canon, in my selfship AU, Emmett convinces Matty that Murdoc would be a useful asset in catching other globally infamous criminals that may have worked in the same field of crime as Murdoc.

Matty is eventually satisfied with Emmett's argument for why Murdoc shouldn't go directly to supermax and he is, instead, assigned to live with Emmett at their apartment in a sort of house arrest situation. I say, 'sort of' bc he's allowed to go out, so long as he has a chaperone, that chaperone, more often than not, being Emmett. He's also got an ankle monitor lol

I like this scene bc it kinda begins what i have affectionately dubbed Murdoc's 'domestication arc'. its not really a redemption arc bc his morals are still fucked beyond belief; he'll still kill given a good reason (and what he considers a good reason can be for something as mild as making Emmett sad)- but, Emmett (as well as his deal with the Phoenix Foundation) are able to kinda 'tame' him a bit so he's fit for interaction with the general public LOL

🐻: Villains usually have a hero for an enemy. What happens when the hero ‘rescues’ you from your F/O? How do you and your F/O react? What about the hero’s reaction to you being in love with a bad person?

this question is insanely funny to me (vpos) bc I'd LIKE to say that Mac and the crew were able to rescue Emmett from Murdoc after his initial kidnapping of them- but what really happened was Murdoc basically returned them to their apartment before any real action to 'rescue' Emmett could be taken! (dude felt BAD about freaking Emmett out, put that guy in a Situation!)

it gets funnier bc Murdoc does this MULTIPLE times, each ending the same way: with Emmett ending up back on their own couch, a dopey smile on their face that confused the hell out of Mac and the crew!

Eventually, Bozer catches on and figures out the real reason Murdoc's been 'kidnapping' Emmett and why Emmett seems so content with it: they're falling in love, of all the things! Bozer, who sucks at keeping secrets from Mac, eventually spills. And MacGyver is not a good liar. So when questioned about what's bothering him, he kinda immediately spills as well, to Jack and Riley.

Soon enough, pretty much all of the higher level Phoenix employees know about Emmett and Murdoc's clandestine 'relationship' (i use quotations bc its still forming lol).

Literally everyone knows about Emmett and Murdoc before the two themselves even realize.

#i love you just a little too much #stargirlships #mutuals #mutual tag #friends #friend tag #asks #selfship asks #selfship ask game

[wutbju]

This is a compilation from Brian Fuller's statements to ABC News 20/20 in April 2011. Notice that he's not "standing" with Tina Anderson. He's blaming the Concord police, and he gets caught protecting a sexual predator, Tina's stepfather, Daniel Leaf.

Here's a transcript:

Fuller: I'm supposed to love my children. I'm never supposed to ever do anything out of anger or manipulation, and that's what our people are taught here.

Fuller: We advocate biblical discipline to our children, which is why the Bible has a lot of consequences for children. One of them would be corporal punishment. One of them would be our time. Amounts one of them would be a a lack of privilege. Any form of discipline that's done out of anger or selfishness, revenge or irritation, is out of bounds.

Fuller: Children are a gift from God, and each of my children are my treasures, and this is not pastoring. This is not the way we shepherd our parents. This is not what we teach them.

Fuller: I repudiate any type of abuse on a child.

Fuller: My point is, Elizabeth, there is a junk drawer here with people who are doing really bad, evil on Christ, like things from a pulpit. But just because they're independent fundamental Baptist churches does not mean they're tethered to us.

Fuller: This isn't a network, and it just happens you get educated at places that hold many of the same principles that you're going to use in ministry.

Fuller: That's not love. That's arrogance and, you know, one day he'll stand before the Lord Jesus and. Give an account for that.

Elizabeth Vargas: Bryan Fuller, the current pastor of Tina's former church, Trinity Baptist, claims he was shocked to learn what happened to her and to Ernie Willis.

Fuller: Tina Anderson should have never stood before our congregation. She was a victim. She was a minor. Ernie Willis should have never been allowed to stay in this congregation after he confessed to this crime the years following. It's outrageous that he remained here.

Elizabeth Vargas: Both Fuller and Pastor Phelps blame the police for their lack of action.

Fuller: No one ever followed up on the reports. Our law enforcement is supposed to arrest, is supposed to punish. The police, the Concord Police Department dropped the ball.

Fuller: They absolutely did. We've got a police force at 13 years ago that were delinquent on their duties.

Elizabeth Vargas: So what do you think, Pastor? Should they have warned the congregation about Ernie Willis?

Fuller: Following this situation, he's not before our congregation. He's out the door.

Elizabeth Vargas: You warn members of your congregation when there are sex offenders in their midst correct?

Fuller: That's right.

Elizabeth Vargas: You have two registered sex offenders currently in your church? Do people in this congregation, do families with children here know that these men have been convicted and served time?

Fuller: All of those all of those things are accessible to them via the New Hampshire sex offenders website.

Elizabeth Vargas: One of those sex offenders is Daniel Leaf, Tina's stepfather Daniel Leaf has repeatedly abused children. Don't you think other families here should be warned about that?

Fuller: That's the great point, yeah.

Elizabeth Vargas: Would you like to know before you send your child to some sort of event that Daniel Leaf might be at that he's been in prison a few times for abusing kids?

Fuller: They're chaperoned that people know where they're at our security team whenever they enter the building. So I'm very comfortable with that.

Elizabeth Vargas: Comfortable allowing Leaf to remain in the choir alongside minors. That is, until last May after Tina's case became public. And Leaf was no longer seen singing on Sundays.

#Bob Jones University #Brian Fuller #Positive BJU Grads #PBJU #make pettit prez again #Make BJu Great Again #ABC News 20/20 #Tina Anderson #Chuck Phelps #Ernie Willis #Youtube

[standardprocedure]

I just need to throw this into the world and see what comes back

I’m not sure how to start this…letter?  What is this?  It doesn’t really feel like a letter.  Whatever it is, I don’t know how to start.  I don’t feel safe anymore.  No, not only that.  It’s worse than that.  I feel terrified.  Violated. Paranoid.  Indignant.  Disconnected.  Ashamed.  Lost.  Invisible.

I’m struggling to function in a world where I can, at any time, for any reason or no reason at all, be snatched up off the street, restrained, thrown in the back of a car, and taken to a secure facility to be sexually assaulted and dehumanized.  And all of it is perfectly legal.

I remember that in the days following my arrest I struggled with memory.  Like certain things seemed fuzzy or completely missing.  That’s a common trauma response, or so K*** told me.  It made me feel…unstable.  Like I was struggling to stand on one foot in very high heels.  How could I be certain I didn’t deserve what had happened to me if I couldn’t even remember it?  What if I was wrong?  Have I ever really had a good grasp on reality?  On myself?  What if everything I’ve ever perceived that has hurt me is wrong – what if I’ve always been wrong about everything?  Do I even know what’s real right now?

I grabbed hold of the safest thing I could feel – righteous indignation – and tried to express myself the safest way I knew how: by making a joke of the whole thing.  Even changed my ringtone to “I’m A Thug.”  How hilarious that I got arrested.  And for WHAT?!  The cops are a fucking joke.  The whole thing became a joke; something along the lines of: “Do they KNOW who I AM?!”

About the time that act started wearing thin, it was time to travel.  There was an incident (not really an incident, I guess, but a conversation) at the airport on my way home from Mexico.  I came back with medications, as you know.  I researched thoroughly online and checked dates of articles and posts to make sure I had the most complete, most up-to-date, most correct and comprehensive version of what I was and was not allowed to bring into the United States.  I declared everything, and I politely and respectfully complied with the officer who “escorted” me to retrieve my bag from the carousel.  During this time I was not allowed to make any phone calls or send any messages, not even a “stuck in customs – will be a while” text.  After over an hour of waiting for our luggage to make it to baggage claim, my escort allowed me to send a text to D**** to let him know I hadn’t been abducted (although in a way, hadn’t I?).  FYI this procedure applies to people who are traveling internationally with pets, too.  You don’t have to be carrying “drugs” or an uncured ham to be detained in this manner and refused contact with the outside world.

But I was calm and cool and collected.  I fully expected all of this and am confident – well, pretty confident – that I haven’t broken the law.  I sat down in a glass lobby with my bag and a man and his family who had been detained with me for bringing their small dog with them from Mexico.  He and his family disappeared into some room somewhere and then it was just me.   Eventually, my name was called and they sent me over to another room to have my bag searched by two guards.  Two male guards – just them and me, with no female chaperone or other nearby witnesses.

I took a deep breath as the interrogation began.  It was the same questions customs had asked me earlier, out in public.  Where are you coming from?  What’s your final destinantion?  Business or pleasure?  The usuals. Then, “What were you doing in Mexico City?”

“I was visiting some friends who –“

“Friends?  How are you from here but you have ‘friends’ in Mexico City?” asked the young, tall officer, using his fingers to put air quotes around the word “friends.”

“Well, it’s a couple…the husband works for me and his wife is –“

“Works for YOU?  Howso?”

“He’s my employee –“

“Name of the business?”

“**********.”

“And what kind of business is it?”

“It’s a restaurant.”

“Are you aware of the [some kind of code or act or law with a couple of numbers after it] that forbids the employment of illegal immigrants?”

At this point I’m starting to freak out.  I stammer as I try to explain that I have a payroll and HR company to whom I send everyone’s legal documents that keeps me compliant.  They haven’t even asked about the drugs.  Haven’t even touched them, although they have removed literally every single other item from my bag and handled my delicates thoroughly.  

After a little more harassment about what type of visa my friend D** has, they finally get to the drugs.  One thing about the questioning really stood out to me, and it took me a while to realize why it made me so angry.  I explained that Effexor is addictive (and was quick to add that it doesn’t make you high) and I would run out in a month or two but hadn’t been able to find a psychiatrist that was taking new patients, took my insurance, blah blah.  They actually seemed kind of understanding about that – you could tell it wasn’t the first time they’d heard this story.

I said it was particularly hard because I have “kinda shitty insurance” and the older cop – maybe he was about 60-65, probably getting very close to retirement – said, “What, Obamacare?” with a kind of sneer in his voice.

“No, I make too much to qualify for the ACA,” I said, smugly correcting his derogatory use of the term “Obamacare” in my head.  I reminded myself that I have a bitchy face and piss of men and that I needed to be careful or he’d make up a reason to…

“She’s a business owner, remember?” the young cop reminded the old one.  I couldn’t tell if he was being smug, but it felt kind of smug.

“Oh right.  So why not get a part time job or something?  You know, just for the benefits?  Lots of people have to do that.”

“Did you not just hear her say that she runs a restaurant, dude?  Kind of a full time job.”  Maybe the young cop wasn’t being smug about the business owner thing after all.

They ran a search on the names of the drugs I’d brought with me, gave me a lecture that I’m pretty sure was intended to scare me out of doing something that’s 100% legal lest too many of us get wise and start eating into Big Pharma’s profit margins, and sent me on my way.

No harm, no foul, right?  I mean, I was detained for almost three hours despite not having committed a crime, but it’s in the name of national security, so it’s okay, right?  We wouldn’t want anyone coming through with Fentanyl.  I’m sure opioid smugglers tell customs they’re carrying antidepressants and prescription antacids all the time…right?

By the time I returned from Mexico, I was starting to fall apart inside in a way that I couldn’t understand.  I simultaneously wanted to feel nothing and everything.  I felt in a way like I was floating around in my own body and even in my own mind.  Like there was me and then there was ME, and somehow we kind of…like we kept juuuuust missing each other.  I enjoyed the solitude of the dish pit and being able to focus on a simple, repetitive task.  No planning or logistics, no customer service voice, none of the usual anxiety I feel watching the restaurant fill with people and feeling like they’re closing in on me.  That sense of dread I feel watching everyone eat, silently judging me, waiting for one of my servers to approach and say, “Hey B****, B7 is upset that…”. I really, really liked the dish pit.

Two things happened right around the same time that brought my emotional house of cards fluttering to the ground:

I went to court.  Twice.  In two different courts I plead guilty because I didn’t feel like there was any other sane option.  $10,000-$20,000 for a lawyer for misdemeanors that carry penalties of a <$1,000 fine seemed absolutely ludicrous.  I don’t consider lawyers heroes of the justice system, by the way.  There are a handful out there who do charitable work and have justice foundations and act like they really want to change the system, but ultimately you can never trust someone who profits off of injustice. Even those people with the Innocence Project are paying their bills doing what they’re doing – where would they be if they fixed the system that routinely uses questionable methods to incarcerate people of color and the poor?  Out of a job, that’s where.

It stung pleading guilty to the PI charge, but it was the way the prosecutor tried to fuck me on the failure to ID charge that really sent me over the edge.  I specifically asked her assistant (or whoever the fuck that chick was representing her) whether the probation being offered to me was supervised (check in every month, pay $1000, pee in a cup, sacrifice your 4th amendment rights, give the police the authority to show up to your home or business at any time, etc.) or unsupervised (don’t do anything to land on the police radar for 6 months), and she specifically told me that I was being offered Unsupervised probation.  I even signed the paperwork! She took my signed paperwork back to the prosecutor and then came back to me with it about 40 minutes later.  “Oh, so actually, that IS going to be a supervised probation.  There’s some more paperwork for you here that you’ll need to read over and sign,” she said.  Whether they were trying to conceal from me the true terms of my agreement from the beginning or they changed the terms of my deal after the fact because I asked that question remains unclear to me.  Either way, it was shitty and I declined.  I was given a fine higher than anyone else’s in the room – one guy got a $300 fine for possession of marijuana and they dropped a related firearm charge!  Another male defendant a little younger than me with the exact same charge – failure to ID – was let go with a fee of $450, as opposed to my $600.

But the real reason this bothered me wasn’t the disparity in the plea bargains offered.  It was that probation thing.  I let M**** live in my house with her daughter while she attempted to complete DRC, a drug offender probation program in Georgia.  I know full good and well how those things work – they’re recidivism machines.  Eventually they’ll trump up a fake drug test and make you start over, often with new restrictions and added time.  They did this to M**** twice before she was allowed to “graduate,” and I know for a fact she hadn’t been using.  Not even drinking!  DRC is run by a private, for profit company, and they make money off of each DRC enrollee.  Even without private probation programs muddying things up, cash-strapped counties are happy to cycle people in and out on low-level offenses like “violation of probation – failed UI” or “disorderly conduct” because they make safe, easy money that way.

It should probably feel empowering to me that I was able to say to the prosecutor, “Hell to the no, I’m not going to allow you to invade my life and further harass, traumatize, and victimize me.  How much do you want?”  And while I recognize the privilege I have in just being able to go downstairs to the ATM and withdraw $880 to close my case, I just…don’t feel empowered by it at all.  I’m still stuck between having to decide whether I want to hand over my money or my rights to the state because some jackass with a GED and 8 weeks of “training” needed an easy score and didn’t like that I was a head and shoulders taller than him even without my heels on.

D**** and ****’s housewarming party.  D**, E*****, D***, J*****, H******, and B*** all got together for some charcuterie and LIGHT drinking (I had two, and nobody had more than three) at their new home out in S*****.  It’s a little duplex community, so parking is limited, and D**** had taken his car to the nearby Dollar General so B****** and D*** could have the front parking spots and other guests could have the limited number of guest parking spots in the community lot.

Upon wrapping the party at about 10ish (11ish?), I asked D**** to please let E*** drive him to the Dollar General to get his car rather than walking.  “Because, D****,” I argued, “this is a tiny-ass little rural T***** town.  You can’t be Mexican men and walk down the street at night – someone will call the cops on you guys!”  Turns out, the cops had already been called.  I remember the way my stomach dropped when I answered the phone.  I saw black, then white, and my ears were ringing.  I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  I heard the cop say, “You got your license on you?” right before the phone hung up – I had walked outside and was looking across the empty lot between me and them and realizing that I while I could watch everything happen, I couldn’t make it across that field in time to help, to film, to intervene, to protect them – I couldn’t do anything.  I’ve had several nightmares since where I feel that same feeling as I watch something horrible happen while cemented to the ground.  In one nightmare my feet were roots woven deep into the ground as some kind of monster barreled toward me.  In another I was trapped in wet cement (or quicksand, really) on a city sidewalk that was just swallowing me slowly as I watched E*** get snatched into a van that disappeared into traffic.

I felt so vulnerable knowing – for a FACT this time – that police can intrude into our daily lives even when we haven’t done anything even slightly wrong.  And once they’re in your face, they will do anything to justify their presence.  They have these charges like PI and DOC that really just exist to give them the power to arrest people for any reason or no reason.  I realized in that moment that I’m never safe.  I am especially unsafe behind the wheel of a car, but even in my own home I’m not safe.  My husband is not safe.  My best friends are not safe.  My son has two more years or puberty – whichever comes first – and then he’ll no longer be safe.  My employees aren’t safe.

Between these two incidents, I had the epiphany I alluded to earlier when describing my interaction with the DHS at the airport:

I live in a country that hates me.  Under a government that hates all of its people and treats us all with suspicion; as criminals who are guilty and will never be proven truly innocent.  I live in a country where, no matter what I do, it will never be enough.

The first part is just the overall tone of the interaction.  Treating people who are following the law and being honest like they’re fucking criminals.  Right down to accusing me of not really having “friends” in Mexico City and of illegal hiring practices.  It’s fucking bullshit.  And that question about why I don’t have a “part time job, you know, for the benefits” was the most out-of-touch, crusty-ass Boomer fucking shit I’ve ever heard.  NAME A SINGLE PART TIME JOB THAT HAS BENEFITS.  DO IT.  And besides that, the fact that I’m running a whole-ass fucking business ought to be ENOUGH for me to deserve basic fucking health care, but in this shit fucking country and its shit fucking economy, all running a business and providing a livelihood for 35 other people and paying a fuckton of fucking taxes and contributing to the overall economy earns me is the right to live paycheck to paycheck instead of in constant debt.  “Pull yourself up by the bootstraps,” they say.  It’s like the official Boomer motto.  But that’s the thing about bootstraps, isn’t it?  No matter how high or how hard you pull, you’ll still be standing on the ground.  Nothing’s. EVER. Good Enough.

I never stood a chance.  None of us do.  We’re just cogs in a big wheel; helpless little pawns in a game where the rules keep changing.  Have you ever eavesdropped on kids playing competitive games with each other when they’re like, 6/7/8 years old?  There’s always one – M**** was this kid, LMAO – there’s always one who sets up the game and lays out all the rules, right?  And he’s bossy but the other kids just kinda let it slide.  But when he starts losing, he starts changing the rules!  “Nu-huh!  I’m not out!  That doesn’t count because you…you have to…you can’t…it doesn’t count if you didn’t touch the ground with your right hand before you shot your NERF gun!”  Ugh GOD.  Writing this just made me realize that if the US is a playground then the M****s of the world are running it.  That’s a terrifying fucking thought.

Almost immediately following the incident at D***’s, I started feeling panic in the car.  I was on my way to the restaurant and sometime after getting off ** I started this slow-burn kind of choking sensation.  Like my insides were freezing up, and the paralysis was slowly working its way up my chest and into my throat.  I started to feel paranoid, like I was being followed, watched, spied on – like there was an undercover cop just waiting for me to drive by.  I just knew they’d pulled my court documents and figured out where they’d be able to easily pick me up between my home and work.  I could see every camera on every lightpole, every license plate scanner.  I know they pull license plates without cause for their own personal revenge projects because I’ve known more than a handful of cops personally.  Even the best one (G*** ****s) was a deeply flawed human being.  (And racist.)

I put on cruise control at exactly 40 miles per hour and practiced what to say and what not to say in my head.  I went through my mental checklist of anything I might be doing that was even questionable – did I have any of E***’s prescriptions in the car with me?  Any of my own?  SHIT.  I didn’t print out a new copy of my insurance card in June when it renewed.  I know they’re supposed to accept digital cards, but they don’t have to.  That’s “officer’s discretion.”  FUCK.  I’m going back to fucking jail.  I can’t do that, I can’t do this.  Am I driving straight enough?  They can’t pull me over for speeding, but they could say I “failed to maintain lane.”  That’s an “officer’s discretion” kind of ticket that allows them to make literally any and every traffic stop they make “lawful.”  They’ll pull me over for failure to maintain and then they’ll use that and my not having a current printed insurance card as justification to search my car and they’ll plant drugs in my car and then take me to jail and the magistrate will see my recent convictions and deny me bail and I’ll just be their prisoner for however long they feel like.  

They’ll grab and wrench and bruise my arms on the way into county.  They’ll drag me before I can walk even though I’ve done nothing but comply.  They just like using force – you can tell.  Trust me, when you’re in their hands, you can feel a sort of tingling of excitement coming off of them.  Getting to use force makes them feel so masculine, so powerful.  They’re fucking Batman, dude.  Big, Strong, Manly Enforcers Of Justice!  The fact that I can’t get my feet under me as I’m being pulled out of the car by three men serves as their justification – I’m “resisting” at that point, you know – to inflict as much pain as they can without drawing too much attention.

The men stand in the doorway while the women stripped me.  They made it a point – all three male officers – to talk and laugh loudly and occasionally step to the side so I could just see their shoulder, the back of their arm, their gun.  They were reminding me that they were there.  They were so close – two or three large strides could close the distance between us – and there was no door, no curtain, no real protection from them as I was ordered to strip.

“Does your dress have a zipper?”

“No.”

“Then remove it over your head.  Remove your bra.  Let it fall out of your hand onto the floor.  Lift your right breast.  Let it down.  Lift your left breast.  Let it down.  Lift both your arms over your head…”

Her commands sounded like questions sometimes, which seemed to add insult to injury somehow.

“Okay you’re going to turn and face the wall – no, keep your arms above your head – okay now you’re going to spread your legs wide for me and bend at the waist.  Further.  Touch the ground if you can.  Is that as far as you can go?  Okay then reach behind you and I want one hand on each buttcheek.  Spread them wide.  What is that?”

“A tampon.”

“Okay you can stand up and face me and remove the tampon.  Hand it to her.  Now you’re going to squat down like a frog.  Knees apart.  No, knees apart, like a frog.  Yeah, sorry but we’ve gotta see aaaall up in there.  Now cough two times.  If you don’t cough strong enough we’ll stay just like this and you’ll cough until I’m satisfied.  Okay, I’ll let that one slide but the next one better be harder – one more cough?  Okay stand.”

She handed me a set of county scrubs and said, “I know it’s a lot but you ladies are gonna learn how to act in public if you don’t wanna get searched like that!”  The men were still there when I was led out of the doorless room.  They’d gone almost silent during my search and now they stared at me as I was led to a solo holding cell away from the 8 or 10 other women across the hall, who were all celled together.  The female guard had sent me walking out of the room with a handful of tampons, but the bulky, old-school video camera in my cell pointed directly at the toilet, staring full-frontal at me.

Only a few minutes after being put in my cell, I was called back out and taken back to the doorless room.  One of the male cops still lingered at the booking desk.  I was told I had been deemed a “suicide risk” and was instructed – once again – to strip.  We went through the same process I’d endured less than fifteen minutes prior so that I could be put into a different garment – one often referred to as “the turtle suit.”  It’s thick and quilted and green, and it’s two pieces – the front and back of a dress, basically – that connect in a few places with Velcro.  Problem was, they were all worn out and the loop side of the Velcro was too stretched out to hold the front of the dress in place.

I was once again lead past the booking desk and the loitering male guard to my cell.  A few moments after the guard shut my door, my dress fell completely off, leaving me completely exposed as all of the guards – the loitering male included – stared and smirked.  I grabbed up the dress as quickly as I could, and a female guard brought me another one.  It wasn’t better than the first.

This is when I went…black.  I remember bits and pieces.  I hit my head on the walls.  I decided I would make them accountable.  I’d injure myself badly enough that SOMEONE would say, “Hey, what the fuck happened to this chick in the care of M* County Jail?  What the fuck is really going on over there?”  Even if I died in that cell, I’d have been okay with it if that’s what it took for someone to look into what’s really happening in county jails – and I want to emphasize COUNTY jails because not everyone in county has even been formerly charged with a crime, much less convicted!  The typical bootlicker bullshit: “Oh well if you’d just COMPLY!” and “Well, if you can’t do the time you shouldn’t have done the crime!” is bad enough when you’re talking about convicts in prison – people who are still PEOPLE and deserve some fundamental protections, rights, and dignity.  But it’s absolutely horrifying when it’s being hurled at people who haven’t even been charged with a crime.

I was strapped to a chair that tilted backward, so my feet were off the floor and I was facing the ceiling.  I was strapped still everywhere – my ankles, knees, thighs, waist, shoulders, elbows, writs, forehead.  I started to vomit.  I struggled to move my head enough to expel the vomit onto my chest, fighting and spitting to keep it moving forward and up and out of my mouth.  I was choking.  I finally stopped vomiting and started to cry and scream.  Several guards came in and crowded around me.  It felt like maybe as many as six of them, male and female.  Some sounded…administrative.  Maybe even concerned.  Jail nurses, I think.  Others were aggressive like the one standing directly over me in the light so I couldn’t see his face.  He kept yelling, “AAAARE YOUUUU HAAAAAVING A PAAAANIC ATTAAAAAAACCK?”  But I couldn’t make words.  I think I passed out around that time.  The last thing I heard was, “Who fuckin’ cares, she’s just a looney toon.”

I woke up out of the chair and on the concrete floor of my cell.  I crawled to the toilet and threw up a few times.  They came back in and put me back in the chair again.  I don’t know why.  While I was strapped in the second time a man I couldn’t see mashed around on the back of my head and said something about a “hematoma” getting “bigger, but also harder, so that’s a good thing.”  I passed out again.  I remember waking up in the hallway, still strapped into that chair, and I had vomited all over my front again and all the women in the communal cell were staring at me through the window.  There were about six or eight officers around me again, male and female, and I remember the feeling when I became aware that my dress was around my waist.

I was finally booked sometime in the morning, not very long before my release, actually.  That’s when I finally found out my charges.  Nobody’d actually told me straight up to that point why I had even been arrested.  During booking, I was again stripped.  I didn’t have to…show my body cavities…this time, but I had to allow the guard to photograph all of my tattoos.  I was not allowed to touch myself to cover any sensitive areas – hands up! – snap of my naked side – turn! – snap of my naked back – turn! – snap of my naked other side.  Because I had no tattoos on the front of my body, they didn’t take a full frontal nude photograph of me.

“Any tattoos we can’t see?” the stupid pregnant female guard asked me.

“I don’t know you fat bitch.  Is there any part of me you haven’t fucking seen yet?”

“That was really rude.  You really are a rude person.”

I am a really rude person, you guys.

I was taken to medical at that point to be cleared.  Still trying to hold my useless turtle suit on, I was instructed to sit on a standard sized bench.  Two men were led out of a “detox cell” and seated next to me.  I gripped my dress, trying to remember where the weakest Velcro spots were and how to hold it all together for maximum coverage.  The men were called together and left the room, and then I was called over to a desk about six feet away.  The back of my dress fell to the ground as I stood, and I managed to hold onto most of the front until I reached around to try and retrieve the back.  The front of my dress fell forward, leaving my breasts and buttocks exposed as I squatted down and clamored around behind me trying to retrieve the back.  The pregnant guard laughed and said, “I guess it’s good we called those male inmates outta here first, huh?”

A person who didn’t introduce herself or tell me her title or qualifications prodded my head but asked me no questions about it.  I asked if I could have water – I hadn’t been given anything to eat or drink since I’d been arrested.  The pregnant guard told me there was water “in the toilet.”  I didn’t know that the toilets were water fountains.

I had large, visible, swollen bruises on my forehead and the back of my head at that point, but they were only concerned with whether I felt I might kill myself.  Once I told them that I’d wait until I was out of the parking lot, they cleared me for release.  Me and six or seven other women stripped once more, together this time, and put on the clothing that had been stripped off of us upon our arrest.  I helped one girl dress because she was in a cast and sling.  She’d been brought in after being treated at the hospital…her boyfriend dislocated her shoulder in a domestic assault, but when the cops showed up there was drug paraphernalia in the house so they arrested her, too.

And so all of this has led me to where I am now.  Able to remember that night I got arrested in almost the full 20/20 of hindsight and apply some kind of logic to these chaotic feelings I’ve been having.  Able to finally use my words to describe something that seemed just too unreal – and almost able to trust myself enough to accept that it is, in fact, real: 

I’m struggling to function in a world where I can, at any time, for any reason or no reason at all, be snatched up off the street, restrained, thrown in the back of a car, and taken to a secure facility to be sexually assaulted and dehumanized.  And all of it is perfectly legal.  

Because everything that was done to me that night was completely legal.  It was all “standard procedure.”  

It was also sexual assault.

#sa trigger warning #my story #coping #ptsd

[commandervisor]

may the chaperone

#vi watches rwby #strings #rwby spoilers #field trip into a high security military complex #the other chaperone got arrested

[owlbebackhoothoot]

My husband and I are finally getting through Persona 5 Royal after playing P5 years ago and I can't believe I'm only just now realizing what a garbage school Shujin is.

I mean, the whole Kamoshida thing starts us off with a bang, but then it gets worse because, like, every week you find out more and more people knew about the whole thing and were just keeping it quiet for the sake of a fucking volleyball team. Was it in the first years’ welcome packet? ‘Welcome to Shujin, don’t let yourself be in a room alone with Kamoshida unless you’re REALLY FUCKING GOOD AT VOLLEYBALL in that case time to take one for the Shujin team.'

Becky is an objectively terrible teacher. Even excluding the whole maid service thing. She constantly complains about her job, her life, other students, etc. to any student who pauses long enough to listen and all she can think about when the Kamoshida thing blows up is how it’s going to fuck up her life.

Principal Shapes is an objective terribly principal. He keeps dumping his evil responsibilities on a literal teenager, up to and including stopping organized crime in Shibuya?!

Why the fuck is a grief counselor teaching classes???

Everything comes to a boil with the Hawaii trip:

Nobody even seems to remember this trip is happening until a week beforehand, the school included.

The teachers who are supposed to chaperone can’t go because they’re all being questioned by the police, so what does the school do? Cancel the trip? Of course not! Instead of qualified adults, let’s just send the third years to watch over the second years! Jesus Christ, this is literally John Mulaney’s Horses Watching Dogs bit.

Maybe ‘qualified’ was a strong word for the adults because even though Becky specifically bitches about not getting to go because she has to talk to the police, she still shows up in Hawaii to stare at her bikini’d ass in a mirror without locking any doors.

Speaking of Haru, I love her but do you think she has what it takes to tell kids slightly younger than her what to do? Makoto, sure, she’s probably a great shusher, but if some Shujin second year walks past Haru with a big old bag of weed he bought off a white guy with dreads down on the beach all Haru is going to do is remind him not to smoke it indoors or the hotel is going to charge them a cleaning fee, and she’s not going to be particularly forceful about it, either.

Look, I have never been a teenager in Japan, so I don’t know anything about high school there, but any trip my high school planned was HIGHLY regimented. Activities for every minute of the day, roll call before we went anywhere, hell I wasn’t even allowed to have a container of Tylenol on me for headaches. Meanwhile, as far as I can tell, Shujin put all these kids on a plane, got them to their hotel, and then just told them to do whatever for four days. Total anarchy. If my school had dumped my junior class on an island thousands of miles away, there would have been a handful of arrests and potentially an international incident, a bunch of girls would have come back pregnant, and a few kids would have disappeared entirely.

This is just the first six months of the game, ffs.

In conclusion, Shujin deserves to be in the news.

#persona 5 royal #p5r #persona 5 royal spoilers

[biffhofosho]

Succumbing to Sybaris | Chapter Four

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

A/N:  I know y’all be wondering, “Bitch, where’s the smut?” It’s right around the bend, I promise, and from there we’re on the bullet train straight to sin after sin. Setting up a good backstory was the only way my conscience would let me do all the things I’m about to do. *is pathetic* In the meantime, let’s add a few more layers of tension because that shit’s delicious and it makes the payoff taste all the sweeter…

Cvr | Tr | Pr | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | Ep

Amber's pen dropped from her lips to the desk as she sighed dramatically, but there was no one around to pity her. Day Four of her probation and, while her partner/chaperone was currently picking up her favorite gyro for her, she had nothing to do but fill out paperwork on their arrest in the Chevron case and sulk.

They had caught one bad guy, but she felt no triumph. Of course, it was hard to celebrate one arrest while she was also essentially on house arrest herself, but it was bigger than that, and she couldn’t deny it. Eight women were still missing, and she knew there would be more—and, no doubt, soon there would be bodies.

True to his word, the captain had transferred Chae Hyungwon’s file to Welling and Cavill, who had surprised Amber by actually following up with her. Of course, most of that was an excuse to lob barbs about trolling cyberspace for her “cut-and-paste kidnapper,” but she had managed to wedge in her leads in between their elbowing. It was something, but it wasn’t enough. She had to wait until she got home to feel any sense of control again.

Every evening, Amber anticipated the tender heart of night when she could slip into the stream of her modem’s whistles and wails and navigate to her usual chat room, the same one she had four nights ago.

He was always there in the sidebar, as present as if he were in her room with her. It was just six letters on the screen, but somehow it was more than a name—it was a whole person now, elegant limbs and perfect posture waiting in a darkened corner.

Like her new handle, chwSUX didn’t participate in the chat even when someone would try to engage him, even when teenage girls would join and flirt. It was eerier than if he’d continued to cast his lines into the open waters. Instead, it was like he could see through the digital window as clearly as a real one, right to the woman on the other side of her androgynous new ShwingShwing screen name.

Last night, he had shattered that window with a chipper notification ring.

He probably sent private IMs to everyone in the chat, but still, Amber had slammed the X with authority and logged off, possibly forever. When she finally forced herself into bed, she’d laid stiff on top of her mattress and stared at the ceiling, praying for the mercy of sleep.

At some point, she had drifted off, only to wake to Hyungwon sitting in the chair at the end of her bed with one leg crossed over the other and both hands in his lap. He didn’t say anything. He just watched her with a half-smile. She should have panicked, but there was no point. He belonged there.

Under his gaze, a warmth washed through Amber’s body, and against all sane judgment, she spread her legs for him under her sheet. Horror stampeded through what was left of her mind, but it couldn’t crush the lust searing its way through every nerve ending.

Hyungwon’s smile widened as her hand trailed beneath the covers down to the waist of her pants. It was wrong. It was wrong. But he was so pleased, and she wanted to please him more. Her breath stuttered and her thighs trembled and her core throbbed as he watched her patiently but expectantly. Amber pulled back the sheet.

Her fingers had just dipped below her waistband when she remembered who the man at the end of her bed truly was, not some charismatic businessman but a beautiful devil.

In the blink of an eye, she dove for her gun, but when she turned back, he was gone.

When she had woken, Amber was exhausted and disoriented. It had seemed so real, but when she looked at the same chair in the morning sun, she found her dirty laundry strewn across it, just as she had left it, and her gun still stashed under her mattress.

Now at work, she slumped over her paperwork looking as miserable as she felt.

“Hey, Amber?” The detective looked up to find Stefanie’s elvish face enhanced with widened eyes. Her voice was buoyed with a hint of eagerness. “There's some tall, handsome guy here to see you. Should I send him back?”

The admin glanced into the lobby and Amber’s eyes followed to where the ethereal apparition of Chae Hyungwon waited with one hand in his pocket. A thrill ran through her at the sight of his cold, steady gaze. His image was as clear as it had been last night in her room, only this time it wasn’t a dream.

“You sure he’s here to see me?” Amber asked skeptically.

“Asked for you specifically. So, send him back?”

Amber didn’t trust that tone. The two women had worked together long enough for Amber to consider Stefanie a friend, but that also meant they’d worked together long enough to know the admin was the office girly girl, with model good looks and a perpetual twinkle of a romantic scheme in her eye.

Amber scowled. “You know he’s a person of interest in the Runaways case, right?”

This dropped the smile from Stefanie’s lips and replaced it with a disappointed frown. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“This one picked me,” the detective muttered as she nodded for Hyungwon to come back.

His walk was so silent and swift that it was almost like he’d teleported to her desk. He loomed over her as he rested his fingertips on the stack of folders in her inbox.

“Mr. Chae, I’m surprised to see you. Are you stopping back on your way to see Detectives Welling and Cavill?”

“I'm surprised I haven’t seen you,” he replied. “You promised you’d stop by.”

Amber forced herself to glaze over the slight scolding in his voice.

“Actually, I was just lending a hand to my fellow detectives. They’re spearheading the investigation, so they’ll be your points of contact moving forward.”

“The two Neanderthals? They're so… square,” Hyungwon said with a furrowed brow. Amber almost didn't catch her laugh before it came out, and he noticed. With a smirk, he added, “Those stuffed suits they brought with them were even worse.”

“You mean Agents Suh and Song? They’re on loan from the FBI to assist on the missing persons cases. They’re good guys, maybe a little formal, but good.”

Hyungwon scowled. “They’re uptight. It’s off-putting.”

“Maybe that’s the idea—to put you off your game,” she offered. “I know from experience that’s pretty hard to do.”

Stop it, Amber, she hissed in her head. That’s coming dangerously close to flirting with the enemy.

“You’re easier to talk to,” he said, his voice an octave lower. “You’re real.”

“I—”

What was wrong with her? He was a suspect, the first person she truly believed knew something about the missing women, but it was like her hormones had overridden her every sensibility. Just the gravel in his voice ignited something inside her she knew should be smothered immediately, and yet she burned to follow him to his car so he could drive her home and do whatever he wanted to her.

And just like that, her fantasies came to a screeching halt. Maybe that’s what happened with the missing women, too. Right now, they could all be in a ditch at the base of Mt. Hood, and they needed Amber to snap the fuck out of it.

“Did you have some information you’d like to share with the Bureau, Mr. Chae?” she said as she scrounged around for a pen and paper.

With a light sigh, the travel agent shook his head. “Not with the Bureau, with you.”

All at once, the air seemed to crackle, and Hyungwon’s eyes shifted their diligent attention from her to the person behind her.

“Mr. Chae, let me show you back to Detective Welling’s desk. He’s waiting for you.”

Amber recognized that firm voice instantly, and her shoulders tightened.

With a slight grin, Hyungwon replied, “That won't be necessary, Captain Wong.”

Neither officer missed the weight of the captain's name uttered without so much as an introduction ever between them—no doubt a clever play suggested by Hyungwon’s puppet master lawyer brother.  

“It’s just a short walk back this way,” Lucas said more firmly, but Hyungwon shook his head.

“As I told them, they can direct any further questions to my lawyer. I'm actually here to fulfill a promise to your Detective Spiros.”

Above her, Amber heard Lucas’s teeth set on edge.

“My appointment calendar as promised.” Hyungwon handed the leather-bound booklet to the detective as she squinted at him.

“I thought you said your assistant was going to fax this over?”

“She was, but since I was already on my way downtown for a meeting, I saved her the effort. And unfortunately, I have that appointment now, and I can’t be late. If you have any questions, Detective Spiros, please feel free to see me. You'll never need an appointment.”

Hyungwon’s insinuations were clear and heavy, and the whole precinct felt weighed down by them. Neither man had anything further to say to the other, and judging from Lucas’s heat assaulting her back, Amber knew she shouldn’t open her mouth either. She let the stare-down conclude with the handsome interloper giving her a polite smile and a knock on the appointment book. The captain waited beside her until the slender silhouette of their adversary vaporized in the blinding sunlight.

As soon as the man was gone, Lucas swiped the calendar out of her hands before she even had time to react and stormed back to his office.

His door slammed in time for Eric to drop Amber’s lunch on her desk. “What’d you do now?”

“Honestly,” she grumbled as she ripped into her gyro, “it wasn’t me this time.”

“You’re the only one I’ve ever seen make Lucas that angry.”

“Think I should be jealous?” Amber teased, but it did nothing to lighten the mood.

She sensed trouble on the horizon the way some people felt rain coming in their knees. It was inevitable and out of her control, and no amount of desk duty could push her out of its path.

Things only got weirder as the afternoon wore on. Lucas had been on the phone for what seemed like hours, and despite having closed the Chevron case, Eric and she hadn’t received a new assignment yet. Amber knew she was on probation, so maybe she was being hyper-sensitive, but since Hyungwon had shown up unannounced, it felt less like probation and more like a blacklist.

“Look at you, complaining about doing less work,” Eric joked. “You should be glad more people aren’t shooting each other.”

“I am, smartass,” she snapped.

“Rather than lament your entire existence, why don’t you call it a day? If you’re lucky, tomorrow there will be another juicy mystery for you to solve, Nancy Drew.”

“Shove it, Nam.”

“Do I need to escort you to your car?”

Amber narrowed her eyes. “You’re in rare form today. No, don’t bother. My other chaperone’s still boring holes into the back of my neck, isn’t he?”

Eric glanced toward the captain’s office and nodded. “Sure is. Okay, well, call me if you wanna shoot some pool or something, or if you want me to set you up with my buddy. He’s free tonight, you know.”

“Do you have a Rolodex of single friends on standby? You’re like an old-country matchmaker.”

“And I’m not even charging for my services. Later, Bro.” Eric waved as he tossed his bag over his shoulder and headed out.

The precinct emptied out quickly after her partner, leaving only a handful of officers waiting to start their beats. With nothing left to do, Amber shuffled her things into loose piles to tackle in the morning and stood up right as Stefanie rushed over.

“I’m so glad I caught you!” the admin said. “I know you’re on your way out, but I have a mother here who wants to report her daughter missing, and Detectives Welling and Cavill are gone along with just about everyone else. Do you think you could take her statement?”

Stefanie’s eyes flicked back to the captain’s office and then back to Amber. Translation: are you allowed to take her statement?

“Of course,” Amber assured. “Bring her back.”

Stefanie nodded and, a few moments later, she returned with a middle-aged woman sporting a very deflated Rachel haircut and yesterday's faded makeup. Her eyes were drawn and red from tears, and her shoulders were hunched under crushing terror.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Detective,” the woman managed as she sat in the chair beside Amber’s desk. Her eyes watched her hands as she wrung a tissue in her lap. “You must get moms in here like me all the time, especially these days, but I don't want you to think I'm overreacting or overbearing—I’m really not. My daughter, Daisy, hasn't called me in two days, and she calls me every day, and what with all the other missing girls—”

She sounded like she was choking on her own words, and Amber reached out a hand to the woman’s wrist.

“It's okay, Ms...”

“Jean Hartley. My daughter is Daisy.”

“Okay, and you haven’t heard from Daisy in two days?”

“N-no.” It came out more as a sob than a word.

“It’s all right,” Amber soothed. “You’re in the right place. So, Daisy calls you every day?”

“Every day,” Mrs. Hartley echoed.

“What about her father?”

The mother shook her head. “He lives in Baker City. They never see each other.”

“Sometimes—”

But the woman cut off the detective with an emphatic head shake. “I already called, but he hasn’t heard from her in months.”

“How old is Daisy?”

“She just turned 20.”

“She’s in college?”

“Yes,” the woman said. “She’ll be a sophomore at PSU.”

“Busy time. Maybe she went on a trip with her friends?”

“She is missing,” Mrs. Hartley asserted.

“I’m not saying she isn’t,” Amber replied with a gentle smile. “I just don’t want you to worry any longer than you already have.”

The woman let out a juddering sob and nodded, though she did not release her stranglehold on the tissue. After a few deep breaths, she said, “This morning, I went by Daisy’s apartment, and her roommate hadn’t seen or heard from her since Tuesday. Something’s wrong.”

Amber withdrew her hand from the mother’s wrist and rifled through her drawers for a tablet and pencil. “Okay, Mrs. Hartley, why don't you start off by telling me a little about your daughter and what’s happened.”

The woman instantly shrank into her seat. Her red-rimmed eyes scanned back and forth as they pared down her memory banks for the most important details about her daughter. “She's been living off-campus in Goose Hollow with her girlfriend Eve and working part-time at a diner in the Pearl.”

At the mention of the Pearl District, Amber straightened. It was a neighborhood filled with all kinds of shady characters and even more transients, a place where people went to or were taken to disappear. It would be easy enough for a predator to look in a diner window for his next target.

“Theta’s Hotcakes,” the mother clarified.

As Amber jotted notes, Mrs. Hartley began to rapid-fire everything she could think of about her daughter. “Daisy was a straight-A student in high school, graduated at the top of her class. Straight-A student in her first year in college, too. She has wonderful friends. She’s never been in trouble—she's never done anything to make me worry.”

“No reason you can think of she’d want to disappear? Sometimes balancing work and school can take a serious toll, especially when you feel pressured to keep up expectations. Maybe she needed a break and just stepped out for a few days?”

The mother’s brows furrowed with indignation. “Detective, I know you have to ask that, but you have to know that I know my daughter. If Daisy was stressed or scared, she would have told me. We don’t keep secrets because we don’t need to.”

Amber had heard that line countless times before but never with such force. Mrs. Hartley spoke with the confidence of a doctor who’d been practicing for thirty years.

“Daisy’s not just my daughter, she's my best friend. I can't get a hold of her, and she hasn’t come home. Daisy’s never not come home, Detective, and with all the other missing girls in this city, I’m freaking out.”

Amber nodded and offered a fresh tissue, hoping to calm the woman, who was now visibly shaking. “Boyfriend?”

Mrs. Hartley shook her head. “No. Daisy’s never been a big dater. Hasn’t even had a steady boyfriend. She was always too focused on her school and her friends, and even now, she keeps saying she doesn't have time. She's been working non-stop before the next semester starts up because she wants to go to Spain with her friends.”

“What about anybody she's seeing casually?”

The woman’s sad bob flared as she shook her head again.

“No run-ins with friends or exes? Nobody with a grudge that you know of?”

“Detective, I'm not trying to be that mom, but I'm telling you my daughter really is nothing but goodness. Her high school class voted her Most Loved by Parents. Look.” Mrs. Hartley dug through her purse and pulled out her daughter's senior picture.

With her shoulder-length blond waves, clear blue eyes, and a sincere smile, she had a classic hometown girl-next-door vibe. Round eyes, round cheeks, and a round face gave her a sweetness where her alabaster skin gave her an innocence. The thought of another girl like this joining the ranks of the Runaways case stoked a fire in Amber's chest.

“We’ll need to talk to her roommate,” Amber said as she handed back the picture.

“Of course. I’ll tell Eve to expect you.” Mrs. Hartley wrote down the other girl’s name and address, and as she slipped it back across the desk, she grabbed Amber’s hand. “Please, please, Detective, find my daughter. She’s all I have.”

“There is nothing we won’t do to bring her back to you, Mrs. Hartley. Count on it.”

Suddenly, the woman leapt forward and gathered Amber into a hug, and the detective felt a sharp pang in her chest for her own mother.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered before she let go and shuffled out of the precinct.

For a long moment, Amber sat at her desk numb. A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind with one repeatedly bobbing back to the surface.

I should have left with Eric.

If she hadn’t met Mrs. Hartley, if she hadn’t seen that girl’s picture, if she didn’t know Chae Hyungwon, maybe she would sleep tonight. Instead, nervous energy piped through her, prickling her fingertips and propelling her feet forward. Everything inside her demanded she slip that report into her jacket pocket and head straight for her study. Somehow, a single sheet of paper weighed more than the whole of the Earth.

Notes in hand, Amber rose with her bag and headed down the hallway where the lights were yellow with old cigarette smoke and the walls looked as sticky as they actually were. It was quiet at the end, and shadows trickled out of the shuttered offices, but she could make out the wall of headshots and thumbtacks webbed together with permanent marker. Even in the dimness, she recognized the missing, with their bright eyes piercing the veil.

As soon as her hand touched the knob, a voice behind her startled her. “What are you doing?”

Amber turned to Lucas and waved her incident report. “Jesus, you scared me. Got another missing girl. Just turning it over to your detectives.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m not always wildly irresponsible.”

“Just most times,” he said with a smile. Lucas was so pretty when he smiled, wild and bright like a flirtatious boy who would love you and leave you just as fast. It had been so long since she’d seen it, and in that time, its brightness had intensified. She wondered if his new girl made him smile like this.

Amber felt the walls constrict—she could practically feel their tackiness pressing against her skin. She glanced back down the hall but saw and heard no one else. The isolation was as dangerous as his smile.

“Well, I have to get going, Cap,” she blurted as her hand moved back to the door. “Eric’s waiting for me at the pool hall with his friend.”

Lies, Ambrosia! Lies! she hissed at herself. Why even bother with the pretense? She wasn’t doing anything wrong, and he was relieved for a change. There was no need for it, and yet the words had come out of her mouth with conviction.

His smile fell away, like a picture shattering against the floor. “You can leave the report with me, and I’ll review it with Welling and Cavill tomorrow.”

The color had left his voice, and now there was nothing—no annoyance or amusement or even anger—nothing but icy professionalism. The walls had moved away but a chill had settled in instead, and all Amber could do was nod and hand the captain the report before she hurried out into the evening air.

Another morning sagging into her coffee cup after another night of restlessness. Amber had managed to stay away from the chatrooms, convincing herself it couldn’t make a difference now that another girl was missing and her cover had been blown, but guilt over abandoning her instincts had plagued her into the deepest part of the night.

When she had finally coaxed her eyes closed, even her dreams tormented her, but instead of finding Hyungwon in her room, this time, it was Kihyun. He had leaned against her door frame with his arms crossed, as though he was both disappointed and daring her, and part of her thrilled at doing both. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would tolerate misbehavior, which is exactly why she wanted to misbehave. If it hadn’t been for her alarm, who knew where his challenge might have taken her.

“You look like shit, Bro,” Eric said as he nudged one of his sugary bribes toward her.

“Thanks for the support, partner,” she grumbled through a mouthful of fat-fried pastry.

“Eh, you technically paid for this support. So, I take it you’re still not sleeping?” he asked, though it was more of a scolding.

“It’s not for lack of trying, believe me.”

“You should have come to Pal’s last night. Jackson was really hoping you’d change your mind.”

A piece of doughnut tumbled out of Amber’s mouth. “Jackson? Oh god, I told you no set-ups.”

“Not a set-up,” Eric assured though the awkward back-of-the-head scratch said otherwise. “Just want my friends to get to know each other. Is that so much to ask?”

“Yes.”

“On the bright, we got a new assignment,” he continued, hoisting up a fresh folder from his inbox. “Looks like an armed robbery downtown, ooh, right next to that Chinese place with that shrimp lo mein you love.”

Amber’s head perked up. “Shining Star? At least something’s looking up.”

Eric perused the file. “Looks like Ellis was the reporting officer last night, and he’s still on duty. Let me grab him and we’ll get started.”

Her partner jogged to the front of the station where the serious-faced officer was already conversing with a few others, including the captain. Meanwhile, Amber stuffed her face with the last of her doughnut and flipped through the newspaper while she waited for Eric to return. Before she could pilfer another treat, Lucas buzzed by her desk.

“Follow me, Spiros,” he ordered without stopping.

After a dramatic head loll, Amber marched back with the indignation of a kid waiting on a reprimand. It was too early for a scolding, especially when she knew, for the first time in her life, she hadn’t stepped a toe out of line.

“I swear,” she blurted the second she entered the captain’s office, “this time I really didn't do it.”

“Have a seat, Detective.” Lucas laced his fingers together on his desk and hummed.

Amber sat down and studied her boss. His eyes were unusually sunken and his skin was drawn. On the counter behind him, she saw a rumpled pile of clothes and an open shaving kit, and on his desk were four mugs and a banana peel, all the hallmarks of a man who hadn’t gone home.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked her that. Probably the day they split, but certainly not since the advent of their strictly professional relationship.

“Just haven’t been sleeping much these last couple of days, but I’m fine,” she replied. “Looks like you haven’t either.”

Lucas nodded. “It’s been a busy twelve hours.”

Silence hung in the air. Amber waited for an order or scolding, but when neither came, she made a move to get up, and the captain shook to life.

“How do you manage to do it?” he blurted.

She raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Find every loophole.”

“Sir, I really don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm temporarily reassigning you to a new case,” he said as he withdrew a folder and flipped it open. “I tried to give it to Welling and Cavill, but your Mrs. Hartley called late last night and specifically requested you work her daughter’s missing persons case.”

Amber knew what that meant. Civilians didn’t request detectives—they demanded them—but even then, no self-respecting police captain would reorganize his detectives to suit them without the pressure of follow-up calls to the right people up the chain of command.

“Mrs. Hartley requested me?” It was impossible to mute the pride in her voice as she took back her incident report from his desk.

“This reassignment comes with another,” the captain cautioned. He handed another file to the detective, this one with a dossier attached for a Detective Son.

Her eyes snapped immediately to the picture of the handsome, impassive face of the other detective in his dress blues. He looked fresh out of the academy in the shot. His face was round and smooth, his cheekbones high, and his brown hair had been combed back into a clean, professional part.

“Sir?” Amber said as she lowered the folder.

The captain nodded as though that was all the clarification she needed. Her heart accelerated.

Lucas stood up from his desk and stowed his shaving kit in his desk drawer as he said, “Detective Son will be on special loan from the North Precinct for your support and assistance.”

“What—”

“He’s already a top-flight detective under Commander Hedbrandh, and he was lead on the disappearance of Jessica Ho before everything went to shit.”

“The first disappearance?”

The captain nodded without breaking stride or looking back as he opened the door and headed into the heart of the station, all without breaking conversation. “He will have some insights that I’m sure even you can’t turn down as you partner up on your leads.”

Amber stumbled after him with an arm out, but as usual, Lucas was out of reach. “Wait, Cap—”

“In the interim, Detective Nam will be assigned in a mentorship role to Officer Ellis, and they can work the robbery investigation.”

“But I—”

Lucas stopped on his heel in the middle of the precinct and whirled around to funnel all of his intensity on the young detective behind him. “You won’t begrudge yourself a valuable resource on your case, nor will you begrudge your coworker the opportunity to get some much-needed experience to move up the ladder, will you, Spiros?”

“Sir, I already have a partner,” she said in a rush before his words even had a chance to make it to her brain. She flushed at the notion that she sounded ungrateful in spite of his consideration to leave her on her lead, but she was desperate to keep the man she trusted most by her side.

“You do,” the captain agreed, “and once this case is over, you'll be back with Nam, but for now, you and—”

“If Detective Son is so great, why isn’t he already working with the Five-O Boys?”

But Lucas was moving again as though he was trying to dodge a harping neighbor on the front lawn. When he was nearly to the lobby, Amber grabbed his arm, and his indifferent façade fractured. His gaze lingered on her hand before they traveled to her frantic eyes.

“Captain. Luke. If this is because of the way things ended—”

He huffed and shook her grip as though she were a mosquito. His voice was dark and sour. “It's really not.”

His steps were longer now, more urgent.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Amber shouted as she stumbled after him. “I know you would never do something like that. I’m just blind-sided, okay? I don’t know this guy, and he doesn’t know me or how I work.”

“Trust me, that’s a good thing. Nam indulges you,” the captain growled and, barely noticeable under the cacophony of keyboard clacks and file cabinets slamming, she made out, “we all do.”

They were nearly to the lobby and gathering more attention with every step until the captain stopped again and sighed.

“You have this nasty habit of getting swept up in these cases, and more than once, it could have cost you your life, Spiros. But thanks to Nam’s mother-henning, you’ve developed this irrational belief that you’re invincible. You trust in this invisible bulletproof armor, but it doesn’t exist. You’re careless and tunnel-visioned, and you need a reality check.”

His words were scalding, and in her head, she tossed the nearest chair across the room in rebuttal.

“I know, I’m lucky. I have an amazing partner and I have you—” She caught herself in time to add, “—as a boss, and I should be grateful—”

“Finally, we agree,” Lucas said as he whizzed through the counter doors at reception. Amber had never seen him walk so fast.

The couple garnered more than a few odd stares. Even for those who weren’t aware of their past, no one in Central could be oblivious to their contentious present. It made up for more than half of all slammed doors on a monthly basis.

“What if we just—”

“My decision is final, Spiros. Detective Son will be here in a couple hours. He can have Nam’s desk in the interim.” The captain’s tone was resolute and his eyes were more unfathomable than the Pacific at night.

“Eric’s— I won’t work with him. I can’t!” she protested.

“You can and you will, or you will be suspended, and you’ll have to call Mrs. Hartley and tell her why you don’t want to help find her daughter.”

Amber gaped at her captain, but there was nothing more to say. Lucas knew it, too, and in another heartbeat, he had disappeared through the precinct doors into a world that had fundamentally shifted.

Wide-eyed and breathless, she glanced around for something to anchor her. Eric was only a few desks over, sitting beside his new protégé, Ellis, watching the whole thing. With red staining her cheeks as though she’d just been slapped, she whispered, “Eric, do something.”

Amber took in his doleful puppy eyes and helpless brow, and she snarled. His words were clear, if unspoken.

He's your problem.

“He’s already talked to you about this, hasn’t he?” she said at last.

Eric nodded. “Right before you. What am I going to do? Say no?”

“I did!”

“How’d that work out for you?” he replied. “If you think about it, Bro, it’s kind of the best-case scenario for everybody.”

“You’re my best-case scenario,” she lamented.

“And I love you for saying that, but, hey, I’m still right here with two very big, very adorable ears for you to bend whenever you want. Plus, you still get to conduct your own investigation into Chae, which, let’s be honest, was probably the least likely thing with the way Welling has been bearing down on the captain since he found out.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she sniffed.

“Do me a favor, will ya?” Eric said, swiveling so he could meet her gaze with his most earnest expression, the one that always made her cow to his whims. “Don’t get carried away with this new partner, okay? You’re still my partner.”

“Duh,” Amber said with a jab of his shoulder. But she saw the tightness linger at the corner of his mouth, and she added, “You’re my only partner. Detective Son is a reluctant resource and that’s it.”

“Okay, so when you crack Case of the Year, don’t forget me in your acceptance speech.”

“Forget you? Eric, I’ve got our couples Glamour Shot on my nightstand. No one could forget a horror show like us.”

As final as everything sounded, for the rest of the day, Amber kept hoping that Lucas would storm back in just as abruptly and announce he’d changed his mind, but the next thing she knew, Eric was collecting his files and some of his items from his desk.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of the rest of those doughnuts you owe me,” he said as he tapped his folders into a pile.

“Wouldn’t dare,” she said, but it sounded as deflated as she felt. “Can’t promise the whole dozen will make it in the long walk to the front though.”

Eric bumped her seat with his hip as he passed and snapped, “They better!”

Amber watched him drop the better part of his career on his new desk, only three rows up from her, but, for all intents and purposes, he was gone. He was already smiling at the perennially stubbly Ellis. He was already making him laugh at his terrible, terrible puns. Jealousy surged over the rising tide of powerlessness, and she chucked a stack of paperwork onto what would be the lackluster replacement’s desk. Which was when she noticed it.

Eric had left one framed picture front and center—the two partners at the Policeman’s Ball a couple years ago. As a joke, they had dressed up like a prom couple, Eric in a tux and Amber in a flouncy lavender number replete with a corsage on her wrist. They posed with barely-contained sarcastic grins and an awkward cross-body handhold.

She didn’t know who the reminder was for—her or the new guy—but the message was clear: “I’m coming back.”

#monsta x smut #novel #succumbing to sybaris #original character #shownu #wonho #minhyuk #kihyun #hyungwon #jooheon #changkyun #lucas #eric nam #nct #kai #detective au #vampire au #1990s #reverse harem #WE GO HARD YO #third person #enemies to lovers

[navy-leader]

(Hi its the villain swap anon again) So is Chisaki still the head of the yakuza in this au or is he just some guy Tenko met and was like 'that one. i want that one.' Or is he like a hero that was chaperoning the camp so they fought there and thats when they met, and if he's still the head Yakuza did he still kill Magne and how did that effect how Tenko felt about him? And if he didn't kill Magne is she still chilling w the league or did she get arrested or get killed some other way?

OH GOD I DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT, SHIT

In the original i think he was meant to be a student but that doesn't rlly make sense cause hes an adult n all. Might be some guy who got roped into all this? Maybe perhaps?

The idea that hes still yakuza leader is p interesting though, but i seemed to have made him a lot more cowardly cause hes based off deku. Maybe hes still head yakuza but a little spineless baby

I dont think he wouldve killed magne in this au and Tenko would still like him, doing that to beloved magne is unforgiveable amongst the league in ANY universe

#asks #villain swap au #this au was just something fun i made @ school n didnt think much of the rewriting of the story #most i did was tweak their backstories but not much outside that

[gospelofme]

Annual Jedi Council Holiday Party

The Jedi Council held an annual holiday party, attendance was strongly encouraged. The younglings had their own holiday party that Master Jocasta Nu chaperoned. Padawans could attend the Council party with their Masters. Dress code was enforced, Masters and Knights being required to wear dress robes. Padawans weren’t required to wear their Jedi attire, but they had to dress nicely.

This year the Council decided to extend the invitation to the clone officers they served alongside. They also extended one to the Senate, since they all needed to come together during the holiday season. Political discussions were off limits however. The Senate had its own party scheduled, but some had confirmed their attendance.

The Jedi Temple had converted a training room into the party room, streamers were hung with the Force and a large table stretched down the middle of the room. Master Yoda supervised the preparations, the table should seat more than enough people.

“Very excited for this gathering I am.” He commented to Master Mundi, who nodded in agreement.

“It’s been a long while since we’ve all come together.” He said pensively. The party was due to begin shortly. As if on cue, Master Kenobi and young Skywalker walked into the training-room-turned-party-room.

“Oh ho ho, nice work Master Yoda!” Anakin exclaimed, looking around in appreciation.

“I agree! Very nice.” Obiwan added.

Ahsoka came in next, wearing a knee-length maroon dress. She was followed by Marshal Commander Cody and Captain Rex. Both officers were dressed in their dress uniforms, black suits with their ranks pinned in their particular battalion colors. Cody and Rex looked a bit uncomfortable, Yoda sensing the unease coming from them. He had a feeling that once more officers arrived, they’d ease up.

Within 20 minutes, the room was buzzing with Jedi, Padawans, Senators, and clone officers. They had each formed their little groups, with the occasional mingler. Yoda needed more interaction between the groups. He looked at the clone officers, Commander Doom was using Captain Keeli to demonstrate how one of his young troopers took down a droid. A couple of the lady Senators giggled when Marshall Commander Cody looked over at them.

The Senators had gathered together near the end of the table. Senator Chuchi however had wandered over to the clone officers, Commander Fox making room for her next to him. She and him spent a lot of time together Master Yoda had observed. At least that’s what it seemed like to Yoda, who had always noticed them interact in some fashion when he stopped by the Senate building. Senator Amidala and Senator Organa had also decided to RSVP. They seemed to be in deep conversation about something. Yoda hobbled over to the pair.

“Not talking politics I hope.” Yoda giggled.

“Oh no Master Yoda, I was just asking Bail if he could get me the name of his electrician. There is a light in my apartment that keeps shorting out.” Padmè explained.

“Oh I can fix that!” Anakin piped up.

“You’re too kind Anakin, but I couldn’t ask you to do that. Besides, I want to give Bail’s friend some business.” She replied with a smile.

Finally they were seated at the table, Yoda had made sure to mix everyone up so that groups aren’t together. The purpose of this holiday gathering was to meet each other. He had Obiwan seated next to Commander Fox and Senator Chuchi (Yoda felt they’d appreciate that), Master Windu was placed next to Senator Bail and Commander Doom. Yoda had seated Senator Amidala next to himself and Master Mundi and so on.

“Commander, I hope your troopers are enjoying themselves tonight.” Senator Bail commented to Doom.

“I turned them loose on Coruscant with Rex’s boys so I’m hoping no one gets arrested.” Doom replied.

“Unlike last year.” Fox snickered. “Poor Thire has never recovered.” He added. Him and Doom laughing.

Yoda loved to hear the clones laugh, it was a sound they rarely got to make.

“10 credits it’s Jesse and Boost!” Commander Ponds joined in.

“Wolffe would kill Boost if he got arrested again.” Master Windu chuckled.

“I’m surprised Wolffe hasn’t already killed him.” Bail said, Wolffe rolling his eyes.

“Unfortunately he’s useful.” The Commander with the cybernetic eye muttered as he chewed his food.

The pleasant conversation continued, Master Yoda choosing to listen rather than join in. Master Windu and Wolffe got into a debate on which Twi’lek restaurant was more authentic. Rex and Senator Bail went head to head with seeing who can toss the most grapes up and catch them in their mouths. It was a tight race until Chuchi wordlessly tossed a grape at Fox who cleanly caught it in his mouth and continued his chat with Master Mundi about the Cerean people. This was how the Great Grape Toss began.

Rex, Fox, and Bail stood up and went to one side of room. Chuchi, Anakin, and Doom went and stood a couple feet away from their respective partners: Anakin and Rex, Chuchi and Fox, Bail and Doom. Yoda smirked and watched the bonding. This is what he wanted. The contest began, the space between partners was lengthened each time one caught a grape. Doom was better at it than Rex had thought. Fox and Chuchi were like a well-oiled machine. Anakin playfully caught a grape that was meant for Chuchi and promptly choked on it. Worried, people gathered around him but he shooed them away, comming Kix. The comm unit beeped its pattern until it was suddenly cut off, Kix’s away message playing. The medic had sent his General to voicemail. Doom shook his head and heimliched Anakin.

“That’s Karma Master Skywalker.” Chuchi chided, Fox nodded. Anakin shrugged. In the end, Doom and Bail took the win.

The dinner was finished and a variety of desserts was brought out, Ahsoka immediately calling one of the slices of cake with a large piece of Jogan fruit. Plo made sure it got to her by floating it to her plate. The young Togruta bounced excitedly in her seat. Fox’s comm unit suddenly beeped and he excused himself from the table, walking a couple feet away.

“What is it Thire?”

“It’s them sir!”

“Who?”

“Jesse and Boil!”

Commander Cody pretended not to hear that as he bit into a piece of fruit tart.

“What are they doing?”

“Well Jesse kept asking me irritating questions and...ok well now I’m pretty sure Boil just mooned me!” Fox smirked and Cody’s shoulders slumped slightly. Everyone could hear Thire’s irritated voice.

“Oh kriff Jesse!”

“That’s what your mom said last night!!” Came Jesse’s faded reply, Anakin almost choked on his cake as he laughed.

“What?! That doesn’t...we don’t even have a mom you moron!!” Thire yelled back. Fox cut off the comm and rejoined the table.

“He can handle it.” He replied cooly.

The gathering continued, chatter and laughter filling the room. Hours passed and drinks were had. Yoda observed smiles on faces that often wore frowns, laugher from mouths that yelled orders to press forward. He watched Ahsoka and Wolffe bond over arm wrestling, Bail being the moderator. Both participants had jokingly declared Plo too biased to moderate. Doom urged his brother on while Chuchi pretended to wipe sweat from Ahsoka‘s brow. They ended calling a tie, with plans for a rematch later.

Eventually the party had to end, none really wanting to leave. But Rex and Cody had to go get Jesse and Boil from Thire’s patrol speeder. Wolffe and Doom had to check to make sure reports were all submitted. Bail, Padmè, and Chuchi had meetings the next morning and needed sleep. Yoda thanked them all for coming, the group making plans to make this an annual gathering. Little did they know that next year wouldn’t be the same.

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #captain rex #obiwan kenobi #obiwan #anakin #master yoda #mace windu #ki adi mundi #commander ponds #commander cody #commander doom #commander fox #commander thire #captain keeli #bail organa #padme amidala #senator chuchi #fox x riyo #riyo chuchi #clone trooper boil #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper jesse #jedi council #star wars fanfic #clone wars fic #annual Jedi council holiday party

[thatoneao3writer]

Long story short, Bad doesn’t get arrested. Right after the last part is probably when Karl shows up, so he teleports onto the ship to see a very confused Tommy, two overwhelmed Green Lanterns, and Skeppy trying to help Bad calm down from a panic attack. Karl isn’t arrested either, because he didn’t break the law, and he probably isn’t on any wanted lists. Tommy and Skeppy, on the other hand, who were basically caught red handed doing crimes, weren’t so lucky.

Skeppy has a hearing, and in the end, he loses his interstellar driver’s license for allowing a minor to drive illegally. This may seem a bit harsh, but knowing Skeppy’s chaotic nature, this probably wasn’t his first major traffic law violation. He also loses his Tommy-chaperoning privileges.

Tommy would’ve gotten away with it for the most part, as, legally speaking, all the blame went to Skeppy for allowing him to drive in the first place. Except for the fact that he accidentally mentioned on of his and Purpled’s “little adventures,” during Skeppy’s hearing. This lead to Tommy actually be banned from going to space except under certain extenuating circumstances.

They try to put Purpled under the same restrictions as Tommy was under earlier; however, this doesn’t actually work, because Purpled has his own ship. Aliens who go around randomly abducting people, like the ones Purpled got the ship from, were probably breaking the law, and thus I’m gonna say that the ship is also equipped with illegal cloaking technology, so Purpled can basically sneak out whenever he wants. The Green Lanterns keep trying to confiscate his ship, and keep failing for increasingly comedic reasons.

-🤺

PS, I’m glad I managed to get this in before I have to go to fencing.

PPS, The au I’ve been working on is a dsmp fullmetal alchemist au. Me and my friend created a new joint blog for it, so none of the posts show up in the tags yet. The blog is @dsmp-au-ideas if u wanna check it out! The fma au is the only thing we’ve posted so far.

They're so petty they tried to get Purpled in trouble jabahussj what children they are XD

(You actually fence?! That's so freaking cool!! And I don't know anything about fma, but I'll go check the blog out! :D)

#karl jacobs #skeppy #tommyinnit #badboyhalo #purpled #ask #fencer anon #ttau

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 5

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

-------

By the time the class landed in Gotham, Marinette and Chloé had enough. Their recorders, which were supposed to serve as damning evidence of blatant bullying, got ‘damaged’ when Lila accidentally splashed the two girls with a drink. Whatever it was, it was sticky, didn’t wash with water, and also ruined their hidden dictaphones. 

Of course, the liar made it look like it was Marinette who tripped her. The class almost hounded her, but they kept their distance not wanting to also get their clothes dirtied. Of course, Lila was occupying the bathroom for the next fifteen minutes, so when she finally left the drink already dried, making it even harder to get rid of. 

When the girls made their way out of the plane to meet with Sabine and their teacher, Lila pushed past them and came crying about how rude Marinette ruined her outfit, which was supposedly incredibly expensive. None of the intelligent people bothered to try and point out that it was cheap mass-produced junk. Alix was visibly conflicted, but also did not speak up in the end. 

“Marinette. I expected better of…” The teacher started, but then she saw both girls were hit worse than Lila, who cleaned most of it in the bathroom. 

“Sweetie…” Sabine started to rethink if a simple murder wouldn’t solve their problem.

“Don’t worry Maman. I can probably salvage it once we ret… get to Damian’s” Mari corrected herself. Luckily, it seemed like nobody caught her slip of tongue. 

“Ugh! Not that creep.” Alya complained. “He gives me shivers.” 

Mari glared at her former friend. She wanted to say something, but her teacher urged them to move. They were put into a small lounge. Marinette, of course, had to run them through a safety course, for reasons. She still did her best, as Gotham earned its reputation as the World’s Capital of Crime. 

When they were finally cleared and the class left the airport, there was a bus waiting, ready to take them to the hotel. Marinette and Chloé were about to board when a limousine pulled next to them. 

“Angel, Bourgeoise…” He greeted the girls. “Since you’ll be staying with us, my father decided to send a proper escort.”

The class stared in disbelief. The guy with a sword was loaded? It definitely looked like it from the car. 

“I bet his gramps just works as a driver and borrowed his work car,” Lila whispered to Alya and suddenly everyone was repeating the lie. “Or maybe even stole it…” 

A blade was suddenly pressed into Lila’s neck, a hair width away from drawing blood

“Tt. I will tolerate many things, but if you try to insult Alfred one more time, your end will be painful.” The class backed away in fear. Marinette immediately went to try and drag the boy away from a very pale Lila, but he wouldn’t budge. “Am. I. Clear?”

Lila was too paralyzed to answer, so he pressed the blade further. Now it was in contact with her skin and a moment of inattention could have fatal consequences. “Am. I. Clear?” He seethed.

“Yes…” She managed to whisper. 

“Tt. Good.” He sheathed his blade just as two security guards came outside to check the commotion. 

“Arrest him! He tried to murder Lila!” Alya immediately screamed. 

“No. If I did, she would be dead. I only explained certain values.” Damian deadpanned. 

The two guards looked between the class and visibly angry Damian Wayne and scratched their heads. They could report it, but they only had the word of some foreigners against the word of the son of the First Citizen of Gotham who was also the fifth richest man in the world. The cameras here stopped working, hence they came out to check what happened. 

“Children. We should be going or we’ll miss lunch at the hotel,” their teacher urged. That was enough for the guards. If the chaperone did not press charges, they wouldn’t bother. 

“But… But…” 

“Lila. Be a bigger person here and apologize to Damian.” Sabine grinned. 

“But he…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” The woman cut her off. “You must show our host some respect.”

“I didn’t…” The glare Sabine sent her and the murderous expression on Damian’s face made the words freeze in her throat. “Fine. I’m sorry Damien.”

“Tt.” Was the boy’s only response. 

Marinette and Chloé were about to leave when Rose protested. “Why are they not going with us to the hotel!?”

“Because as one of the host families, I’m allowed to welcome the students I choose to my house for the stay.” Damian did not care enough to elaborate more. Instead, he just jumped into the back seat of the Limousine. The girls followed, with Chloé going as far as sticking her tongue at the class. 

Once the doors closed and Alfred started the engine, Damian lowered the windshield and leaned outside. “By the way, it’s Damian. Damian W…” He didn’t get to finish because Marinette covered his mouth with her hand and dragged him inside. The windshield closed. 

When the car entered the main road, the girl finally let him go. 

“What was that about, Habibti?” He glared at her. 

“You were about to reveal that you’re the Damian Wayne.” She accused him.

“Tt. It’s time that liar learns who she’s dealing with.”

“It would only blow up in our faces. She would make it worse for all of us, including your family.” Seeing that both her best friend and her husband (still hard to get used to) were looking at her with no small amount of curiosity, she elaborated. “Damian Wayne is supposedly her ‘ultimate price’ from this exchange. She will want to sink her claws into you with all her skill.”

“Tt. She can try.” He huffed. His hand instinctively went to his sword. 

“You do know you are quite murderous for a Robin?” Chloé quipped.

“And you’re bratty for a lady.” 

“Bird-brain.”

“That’s Drake. Spoiled princess.”

“Daddy can afford it so why not? Trained monkey.”

“Grayson. Try harder. Talentless heiress.”

“I’m helping Marinette start her own company. Emo McBroodyPants.”

“Where did you even get that one?”

“I read.” She huffed. “And looks like I won.”

“Tt. As if.”

Marinette just sat back and watched her best friend and lover bicker there and back. It was nice that they were warming up to one another…

-----------

When Sabine finally arrived at the Manor, she was dead on her feet. Alfred was, of course, waiting for her at the entrance.

“Eventful day, Madame?”

“Don’t.” She cut him off.

“I assume it went worse than anticipated then?”

“Where is Tom?”

“Master Tom is in the kitchen. He decided to prepare some baked goods for the afternoon.”

Sabine stormed to the kitchen where she found her husband. He was clearly busy preparing the dough. After a quick greeting, she went to help him. 

“That bad?”

“Worse.” She sighed. “I really don’t understand that woman. How… She cut me whenever I tried to rein those monsters in.”

“Oh… Hand me the pin.” He interrupted himself. Sabine gave him the item, which she already had in hand when he started speaking. 

“I’m not sure if I can survive until school starts again. And even then there will be occasional afternoon trips. If it continues, I might just… I will get a jam. You did bring it?”

“I’ve put it on the counter,” Tom replied while still preparing the dough. “And don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll get better.”

“I hope so…”

---------

In the evening, Marinette, Chloé, and Sabine were introduced to the Batcave. It was indeed impressive, but Sabine was mostly interested in the training ring. She would lie if she didn’t want to test herself against the famous Batman. And she didn’t fancy committing crimes to do so. Well, for now. The class was making it more and more appealing.

“So you’re the girl that tamed Robin?” A redhead in a wheelchair rolled over to Marinette. 

“Tt. Shut up, Gordon.” Damian managed to spend a beautiful afternoon without any teasing from his family. Sadly, nothing could last forever.

“Come on baby bird. After the show you gave us on Christmas Eve, you can’t expect us to just drop it.” Dick was there, smiling cockily. 

“As much as I too want to tease that couple, I hoped for some sparring matches.” Sabine decided to save the teens. For now.

“Well, Madame, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Who’s with you?” She asked once Nightwing entered the ring.

“Um… I didn’t think you wanted a team match?” He replied, slightly confused. 

“No, no. I just thought I would have some challenge.” She smiled brightly. She was dressed in a dark-pink judoka and wooden sandals. 

“I… want.” Cass chimed in. She gracefully jumped into the ring before turning to Dick. “Alone.”

“Of course Sweetie. But I won’t go easy on you.” 

“Did not… expected.” 

The two women watched one another, neither moving from their spots. Both seemed relaxed but ready to react. Cass was first to start circling, with Sabine following. Neither could find any obvious flaws to exploit. Finally, Sabine lunged forward, only to jump to the side before getting in Cassandra’s range. The girl didn’t lose the bit and with a quick spin kicked her aunt, only to be deflected. Sabine tried to capitalize on the opening, but Cass followed her failed kick with another, launching herself in the air. Her target ducked low before trying to deliver an upper-cut punch toward the flying girl. It did connect, serving to push her back. She used the momentum to get some distance before landing on her hands and doing a double backward cartwheel and ending in a ready stance. 

“Not bad, Cassandra. I’m impressed. That boy would probably already be crying on the floor.” Sabine smiled genuinely. There was no need for banter between them. 

“Weakling.” The girl blew Dick a raspberry. 

Two women watched each other for a moment. This time, it was Sabine who initiated the actual fight. She delivered three quick punches that Cass blocked, but it created a small opening. She tried to deliver a side-kick to the girl’s head, but her opponent had the same idea. 

Their legs clashed by the shins. Sabine landed her leg firmly on the ground, but Cass once more lunged in the air, trying to use the momentum. She did two more kicks that her aunt blocked before she tried to put the older woman in a grip. Sabine, seeing the attempt, jumped back and tried to grab Cassandra’s hand, but instead, the girl spun around, delivering a powerful kick to Sabine’s side. 

The woman felt the kick, but she used the opportunity to timely grab her opponent’s foot and twist it. Cass, to avoid an injury, also had to spin in the air. She managed to attempt a kick before falling on her stomach. Her kick did force Sabine to let go of the foot to avoid having her head hurt. The girl quickly jumped on her feet, just in time to block an open-palm strike, which was followed with a kick. She did not get to respond, because Sabine made a low-sweep. Cass jumped in the air, only to find herself pushed away by another open-palm strike that, this time, connected with her chest, pushing the air out of her lungs. 

The woman followed Cass in the air, so she did not get a chance to stand up before getting pinned and rotated on her stomach. The grip that Sabine used effectively made it almost impossible to get out of before her aunt delivered a mock game-ending strike to her head. 

When Sabine stood up and helped her niece, both were panting heavily. It did not affect the accuracy with which the older of them made a back-kick, right below Jason’s belt. 

“Next time you try to sneak on either of us I will hit harder.” Sabine didn’t even bother to turn around and watch how the man curled on the floor, crying. “Good fight.” She focused her gaze on Cass, who blushed slightly.

“I lost.” 

“Well, depends on the criteria. You got the first hit, which is often decisive. And an achievement.” The woman cheered her with a broad smile on her face. Cassandra couldn’t help but also smile. “We could both use some more practice. I definitely would’ve taken you when I caught your foot and if you capitalized on the initial advantage you could’ve ended the fight.”

“It is an honor… training… with you.”

“Thank you, my dear. I also enjoyed it.” Sabine then turned to the gobsmacked group. The fight must have looked more impressive than she thought. 

“Did you just… defeat Cass in less than five minutes…?” Tim asked, unable to form a smooth sentence.

“Well, Sandra always said that I was the better one in unarmed combat. She does rock with swords though. And you should’ve seen her in that club in Tokyo. She’s definitely the dancer of the family, or rather was. I enjoy Cass’s ballet more.”

The great moment was interrupted by Batman speaking to everyone over the comms. 

“Suit up. We’ve got a hostage situation at Gotham Plaza.”

“For the love of Kwami… Please tell me it’s not my class.” Marinette groaned. 

“Tt. Of course it’s them.” Damian pulled his phone, showing her a live feed from the news helicopter. On the rooftop, there was a clearly visible group of teenagers, surrounded by goons with guns aimed at them. Near the edge stood a guy in a two-color suit. Half white and half black, with a red and black tie to complete the mad image. Half of his face was badly damaged and purple. 

“If Batman doesn’t show here to save his precious sidekick soon, we shall see if the little birdie can actually fly.”

Everyone who met Lila groaned. 

“I assume we can’t just let him deal with her?” Marinette asked hopefully.

“Sadly, Angel, it would be bad for our image.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“The two of you are sitting this out.” Batman walked into the cave, already in his suit. “We can’t risk any of them recognizing you two and it’s too early for Ladybug and Chat to appear. It would be too easy to associate their appearance with you two coming to Gotham.”

Seeing Damian’s irritated face, Marinette decided to intervene before she had a fight on her hands “Let’s do a movie night. I’m sure you have a theatre room somewhere in here.” 

Immediately, the boy brightened. “No Bourgeoise?”

“I think Chloé has other plans for the evening.” She nodded toward where the blonde was talking excitedly with Cass, trying to convince her to train her.

“Good.” Damian offered his hand and the two left the cave.

“Damn! I didn’t get the chance to tease him about the proposal.” Jason looked really dejected. 

--------

Masterlist // Next

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #maribat #maribat au #marinette dupain cheng #maridami #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #damienette #arranged marriage AU #batman #BatFam #miraculous dc #mlb #mlb x dc

[improvidence318]

i said screw it so here it is

howdy howdy, this is the anon with the 20’s lingo sheet. i don’t have a tumblr (though i wish i do tbh) and realized that i don’t know how to work shit on tumblr, so i’m just sending in the sheet through a text post. i am highly aware of the amount of power i’m bestowing upon you and honestly couldn’t give a damn

A

ab-so-lute-ly: affirmative all wet: incorrect And how!: I strongly agree! ankle: to walk, i.e.. “Let’s ankle!” apple sauce: flattery, nonsense, i.e.. “Aw, applesauce!” Attaboy!: well done!; also, Attagirl!

B

baby: sweetheart. Also denotes something of high value or respect. baby grand: heavily built man baby vamp: an attractive or popular female, student. balled up: confused, messed up. baloney: Nonsense! Bank’s closed.: no kissing or making out ie. “Sorry, mac, bank’s closed.” bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl beat it: scram, get lost. beat one’s gums: idle chatter bee’s knee’s: terrific; a fad expression. Dozens of “animal anatomy” variations existed: elephant’s eyebrows, gnat’s whistle, eel’s hips, etc. beef: a complaint or to complain. beeswax: business, i.e. “None of your beeswax.” Student. bell bottom: a sailor bent: drunk berries: (1) perfect (2) money big cheese: important person big six: a strong man; from auto advertising, for the new and powerful six cylinder engines. bimbo: a tough guy bird: general term for a man or woman, sometimes meaning “odd,” i.e. “What a funny old bird.” blotto (1930 at the latest): drunk, especially to an extreme bootleg: illeagal liquor breezer (1925): a convertable car bug-eyed Betty (1927): an unattractive girl, student. bull: (1) a policeman or law-enforcement official, including FBI. (2) nonesense (3) to chat idly, to exaggerate bump off: to kill bum’s rush, the: ejection by force from an establishment bunny (1925): a term of endearment applied to the lost, confused, etc. Often coupled with “poor little.” bus: any old or worn out car.

C

cake-eater: a lady’s man caper: a criminal act or robbery. cat’s meow: great, also “cat’s pajamas” and “cat’s whiskers” cash: a kiss Cash or check?: Do we kiss now or later? cast a kitten: to have a fit. Used in both humorous and serious situations. i.e. “Stop tickling me or I’ll cast a kitten!” Also, “have kittens.” cheaters: eye glasses check: Kiss me later. chewing gum: double-speak, or ambiguous talk. choice bit of calico: attractive female, student. chopper: a Thompson Sub-Machine Gun, due to the damage its heavy .45 caliber rounds did to the human body.  chunk of lead: an unnattractive female, student. clam: a dollar coffin varnish: bootleg liquor, often poisonous. copacetic: excellent crasher: a person who attends a party uninvited crush: infatuation cuddler: one who likes to make out

D

daddy: a young woman’s boyfriend or lover, especially if he’s rich. daddy-o: a term of address dame: a female. Did not gain widespread use until the 1930’s. dapper: a Flapper’s dad darb: a great person or thing. “That movie was darb.” dead soldier: an empty beer bottle. deb: a debutant. dewdropper: a young man who sleeps all day and doesn’t have a job. dogs: feet doll: an attractive woman. dolled up: dressed up don’t know from nothing: doesn’t have any information don’t take any wooden nickels: don’t do anything stupid. doublecross: to cheat, stab in the back. dough: money drugstore cowboy: A well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women. dry up: shut up, get lost ducky: very good dumb Dora: an absolute idiot, a dumbbell, especially a woman; flapper.

E

earful: enough egg: a person who lives the big life

F

face stretcher: an old woman trying to look young fella: fellow. As common in its day as “man,” “dude,” or “guy” is today. “That John sure is a swell fella.” fire extinguisher: a chaperone fish: (1) a college freshman (2) a first timer in prison flat tire: a bore flivver: a Model T; after 1928, also could mean any broken down car. floorflusher: an insatiable dancer flour lover: a girl with too much face powder fly boy: a glamorous term for an aviator For crying out loud!: same usage as today four-flusher: a person who feigns wealth while mooching off others.

G

gams (1930): legs gatecrasher: see “crasher” get-up (1930): an outfit. get a wiggle on: get a move on, get going get in a lather: get worked up, angry giggle water: booze gimp: cripple; one who walks with a limp.  Gangster Dion O’Bannion was called Gimpy due to his noticeable limp. gin mill: a seller of hard liquor; a cheap speakeasy glad rags: “going out on the town” clothes go chase yourself: get lost, scram. gold-digger (1925): a woman who pursues men for their money. goods, the: (1) the right material, or a person who has it (2) the facts, the truth, i.e. “Make sure the cops don’t get the goods on you.” goof: (1) a stupid or bumbling person, (2) a boyfriend, flapper. goofy: in love grummy: depressed grungy: envious

H

handcuff: engagement ring hard-boiled: tough, as in, a tough guy, ie: “he sure is hard-boiled!” hayburner: (1) a gas guzzling car (2) a horse one loses money on heavy sugar (1929): a lot of money heebie-jeebies (1926): “the shakes,” named after a hit song. heeler: a poor dancer high hat: a snob. hip to the jive: cool, trendy hit on all sixes: to perform 100 per cent; as “hitting on all six cylinders”; perhaps a more common variation in these days of four cylinder engines was “hit on all fours”.  See “big six”. hood (late 20s): hoodlum hooey:  nonsense. Very popular from 1925 to 1930, used somewhat thereafter. hop: a teen party or dance Hot dawg!: Great!; also: “Hot socks!"  Rarely spelled as shown outside of flapper circles until popularized by 1940s comic strips. hot sketch: a card or cut-up

I

"I have to go see a man about a dog.”: “I’ve got to leave now,” often meaning to go buy whiskey. icy mitt: rejection insured: engaged iron (1925): a motorcycle, among motorcycle enthusiasts iron one’s shoelaces: to go to the restroom ish kabibble (1925): a retort meaning “I should care."  Was the name of a musician in the Kay Kayser Orchestra of the 1930s.

J

jack: money Jake: great, ie. "Everything’s Jake.” Jalopy: a dumpy old car Jane: any female java: coffee jeepers creepers: a term of exclamation jitney: a car employed as a private bus. Fare was usually five-cents; also called a “nickel.” joe: coffee Joe Brooks: a perfectly dressed person; student. john: a toilet joint: establishment juice joint: a speakeasy

K

kale: money keen: appealing killjoy: a solemn person knock up: to make pregnant know one’s onions: to know one’s business or what one is talking about

L

lay off: cut the crap left holding the bag: (1) to be cheated out of one’s fair share (2) to be blamed for something let George do it: a work evading phrase level with me: be honest limey: a British soldier or citizen, from World War I line: a false story, as in “to feed one a line.” live wire: a lively person lollapalooza (1930): a humdinger lollygagger: (1) a young man who enjoys making out (2) an idle person

M

manacle: wedding ring mazuma: money milquetoast (1924): a very timid person; from the comic book character Casper mind your potatoes: mind your own business. mooch: to leave moonshine: homemade whiskey mop: a handkerchief munitions: face powder

N

neck: to kiss passionately necker: a girl who wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. nifty: great, excellent noodle juice: tea Not so good!: I personally disapprove. “Now you’re on the trolley!”: Now you’ve got it, now you’re right.

O

off one’s nuts: crazy Oh yeah!: I doubt it! old boy: a male term of address, used in conversation with other males. Denoted acceptance in a social environment.  Also “old man” “old fruit.” “How’s everything old boy?” Oliver Twist: a skilled dancer on a toot: a drinking binge on the lam: fleeing from police on the level: legitimate, honest on the up and up: on the level orchid: an expensive item ossified: drunk owl: a person who’s out late

P

palooka: (1) a below-average or average boxer (2) a social outsider, from the comic strip character Joe Palooka, who came from humble ethnic roots panic: to produce a big reaction from one’s audience percolate: (1) to boil over (2) As of 1925, to run smoothly; “perk” pet: necking, only more; making out petting pantry: movie theater piffle: baloney piker: (1) a cheapskate (2) a coward pill: (1) a teacher (2) an unlikable person pinch: to arrest. Pinched: to be arrested. pinko: liberal pipe down: stop talking prom-trotter: a student who attends all school social functions pos-i-lute-ly: affirmative, also “pos-i-tive-ly” punch the bag: small talk putting on the ritz: after the Ritz Hotel in Paris (and its namesake Caesar Ritz); doing something in high style. Also “ritzy.”

Q

R

rag-a-muffin: a dirty or disheveled individual rain pitchforks: a downpour razz: to make fun of Real McCoy: a genuine item regular: normal, typical, average; “Regular fella.” Reuben: an unsophisticated country bumpkin. Also “rube” Rhatz!: How disappointing! rub: a student dance party rubes: money or dollars rummy: a drunken bum

S

sap: a fool, an idiot. Very common term in the 20s. says you: a reaction of disbelief scratch: money screaming meemies: the shakes screw: get lost, get out, etc. Occasionally, in pre 1930 talkies (such as The Broadway Melody) screw is used to tell a character to leave. One film features the line “Go on, go on – screw!"  screwy: crazy; "You’re screwy!” sheba: one’s girlfriend sheik: one’s boyfriend simolean: a dollar sinker: a doughnut sitting pretty: in a prime position skirt: an attractive female smarty: a cute flapper smudger: a close dancer sockdollager: an action having a great impact so’s your old man: a reply of irritation speakeasy: a bar selling illeagal liquor spill: to talk spoon: to neck, or at least talk of love static: (1) empty talk (2) conflicting opinion stilts: legs struggle: modern dance stuck on: in love, student. sugar daddy: older boyfriend who showers girlfriend with gifts swanky: (1) good (2) elegant swell: (1) good (2) a high class person

T

take someone for a ride: to take someone to a deserted location and murder them. tasty: appealing teenager: not a common term until 1930; before then, the term was “young adults.” tell it to Sweeney: tell it to someone who’ll believe it. tight: attractive Tin Pan Alley: the music industry in New York, located between 48th and 52nd Streets tomato: a “ripe” female torpedo: a hired thug or hitman

U

unreal: special upchuck: to vomit upstage: snobby

V

vamp: (1) a seducer of men, an aggressive flirt (2) to seduce voot: money

W

water-proof: a face that doesn’t require make-up wet blanket: see Killjoy wife: dorm roomate, student. What’s eating you?: What’s wrong? whoopee: wild fun Woof! Woof!: ridicule

X

Y

You slay me!: That’s funny!

Z

zozzled: drunk

  have fun.

#it's the 20s slang list #thanks dude #submission

[spiras-stargazer]

Hannibal/Will fic ideas dump: Part 2

These fic ideas are very flushed out so beware the are longer. Basically I don't have time to write them. I used to write all the time and now with no where to go, the stories haunt me.

1. Dracula Hannibal - Humans and all other manner of 'kin, coexist together peacefully and are overseen by a council, with representatives from every group keeping the peace. Hannibal once sat on the council being the original Vampire, but has since left to let others handle the task. He doesn't even like to admit it himself but for the last century he has noticed a dramatic decline in his strength no matter how much blood he drinks. He accepts his time is drawing to a close and he prepares to quietly fade away as all creatures evidently do, when a man(?) comes knocking at his door. "Sorry to bother you Count Lecter. I'm Special Agent Graham. I am here at the request of one of your...daughters." "And what was her request?" "To save your li- to give you my blood." "And what do you get out of fulfilling her request?" "An answer to why I keep hearing your voice in my head Count Lecter."

2. Reaper Gene- Years ago a deadly plague covered the Earth. Using combination of faith, science and magic, humanity stopped the plague but they went too far. All death stopped, but injuries and pain didn't. Bodies still had to heal, still aged but death doesn't come. Eventually the Reaper Gene is discovered. To die, someone with the gene has to make skin to skin contact with the person to end a life. Even so, the gene is incredibly rare. Every known current murder is tested, since regular people, even if they have the gene, can't stomach death easily. Hannibal, who is in jail but not yet sentenced has the gene. In light of his now rare talent, he is pardoned but to receive that pardon he is forced into the now humanitarian service of ending lives. But death is a lonely business. No one wants to be around the only thing that can kill them. Hannibal spirals into a depression working long hours and only just barely taking care of himself. After 3 years, killing alone and miserable, Will darkens his doorway. "I need you, Hannibal." "Get on the list like everyone else. I owe you no favors." "I said I need you, not your...skill." "You cannot pay the fee for my service, whatever your need is Special Agent Graham. Now I have work to do-" "What's your price?" "Unbreak my heart."

3. Abigail AU- After catching Freddie at the Hobbs house, the officers on site do a thorough extra sweep of the house and arrest Nicholas Boyle for trespassing. Abigail is seen by everyone as a victim, forced to help her father to stay alive. After she completes her therapy, Hannibal extends an offer to adopt her, if she is agreeable to the idea. She knows Hannibal is using her mostly to spend time with Will ("You just need to ask him out Hannibal.") but free college, a mansion to live in and lots of time with dogs she doesn't have to care for all the time is hard to pass up. And if Hannibal's cooking tastes familiar who is she to judge?

4. Teach Me - After they've fallen off the radar in a small cuban port city but still in the process of reconnecting and recovering, Hannibal starts helping out at a small Cafe, and Will starts offering boating and fishing courses across the street at the Marina. Hannibal is thrilled because he loved hearing Will teach his FBI classes, and so he takes the opportunity to bring Will an early lunch everyday, just to listen. Will doesn't catch on and instead changes his schedule thinking they could spend some time together. Hannibal takes the change in schedule as Will doesn't want him hanging around so he just brings Will his food and leaves. Will takes this as the other man's rejection and he starts pulling away from Hannibal at home. Will starts offering personal one on one classes to stay busy and preparing for Hannibal to leave him and be on his own. Hannibal starts spying on Will and he catches him with another man, close to Hannibal's age, flirting and sharing soft touches. Hannibal snaps and kills the man before he realizes what he's doing and he falls to his knees before Will. "You are the cruel siren I deserve, but you do not have rocks below you to end my suffering against." "'Cruel siren'?! Hannibal! You lured me in and then got tired of me!" "Never!" "So you didn't start ignoring me when I specifically made time so we could share lunch together?" "What? You made it clear you didn't want me at your classes!" "I made it so you didn't have to be bored listening to me!" "I came early specificly to listen to you teach!"

5. Bride Hannibal- Hannibal of course wanted a big fancy wedding, but now being a well known serial killer and having Will 'that would require me to be social' Graham as a partner, Hannibal quietly decides to just try and be happy with what he has, since Will actually loving him back was more than he could have hoped for. Will can tell something is off with Hannibal. He's been toying with the idea of asking Hannibal to marry him and for once he wants to be seen. Hundreds of people, staff and friends, a live video stream...he wants the world to see him, happy for once, with his dangerous and handsome husband. He knows Hannibal loves a party and must have ideas but every time Will gets the wedding conversation started Hannibal contributes but is despondent or at least isn't contributing like he usually would. Will eventually stumbles across a scrap book in Hannibal's study filled to bursting with scraps of fabric, magazine clippings, recipes, vows...so Will secretly sets to work on the Wedding they both obviously want.

6. Arranged Royal Marriage- Prince Hannibal (late 20's) has never felt the sting of cupids arrow. His father, worried for their country's growth and prosperity and his line, summons every proper suitor far and wide to Lithuania to finally get Hannibal married. Thousands of suitors arrive, thinking if they don't find a match in Hannibal they can find a match among the other guests. Hannibal finds all the parties and events enjoyable but non-productive and sneaks away at night to the royal gardens. One night he finds another man in his usual spot but decides to stay as long as the other man isn't there for conversation. They spend a surprising easy silence together and Hannibal is shocked to find himself feeling drawn to the man even with no words yet spoken between them. Unfortunately for Hannibal, by the looks of the man's simple attire he is likely a royal servant or a chaperone, not a suitor. But the man, King William Graham of the Lakeland realms, Father of Wolves, is a suitor...he's just not very good at communication, or at being Royalty. As interesting as Hannibal is, why would a prince like him choose a fisherman and houndsman King like Will?

#hannigram #hannibal #spoilers