#<- by 'jumpsuit' I mean like...the almost robe-like thing I see some of the red uniforms wearing?

[bumblingbabooshka]

Time Travel Episode: Bright, Warm People. [Patreon | Ko-fi]

#TOS #me watching other star trek shows only mean I'll be adding to my doll collection and making them interact with Voyager #like when your sister has a lalaloopsy and you have a barbie but you're playing together anyway #Tuvok #Kathryn Janeway #Spock #Kirk #Bones Mccoy #I almost just put 'bones' as if the tagging system would know where to put that #VOY #st voyager #star trek #comix #bea art tag #Bones would definitely be like 'You can't trust the lives of these men to a green blooded robot who doesn't care if they live or die!!!!' #if Tuvok tried to advise on security matters #Pants: Janeway / Skirt: Kes / Jumpsuit: Seven - B'Elanna #<- by 'jumpsuit' I mean like...the almost robe-like thing I see some of the red uniforms wearing? #Kirk & Kes hook up. That's God's honest truth I'm afraid. #Leonard Mccoy #Janeway

[always-andromeda]

Grim Grinning Ghosts || Timothy Klitz x Fem!Reader

Timothy Klitz x Fem!Reader

Word Count || 4,562

Summary || When Klitz gets confronted at a Halloween party, he tells a lie that spirals out of control. Perhaps this lie can convince him...maybe Halloween isn't so bad after all.

Author’s Note || someone tell me why I suddenly went so feral for this loser? actually, don't tell me. sometimes my brain just fixates on him for little moments and then we get filth like this. enjoy, y'all.

Warnings || smut (MDNI), handjob (male receiving), Klitz is a silly little loser, nothing else I can think of!

Timothy Klitz might not be afraid of ghosts. But he sure as hell is afraid of parties. High school parties, at that. He doesn't remember Halloween being nearly this terrifying when he was younger. Kids had always been mean, that was one thing he could depend on. As long as he wore some nerdy costume, he was sure that he'd face some sort of ridicule.

But high school added a whole new layer. He quickly discovered that when a freshman dresses up as Neo from the Matrix, the Seniors would not hesitate to throw cheese puffs at said scrawny freshman, in hopes that he'd be able to dodge them from a dozen different angles.

Sophomore year wasn't much better. Even though his mother had tailored Jedi robes that fit him perfectly, Klitz couldn't escape scattered comments from drunk upperclassmen that repeated the dreaded line, "I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating. And it gets everywhere!"

He almost gave up completely during Junior year. Klitz never did get his hat back that night; one of the seniors snatched it from off his head and it got passed around the whole night. That had been bad enough. Until he made a complete fool out of himself when he tripped over the comically large scarf, tumbling right into a table of refreshments. That old coat he wore that had once belonged to his grandfather still sat buried in the back of his closet, covered in nacho cheese stains he hadn't been able to get out. 

Yet, here he is, a fully grown Senior, mere months away from becoming a Yale man and still he's pushing his luck in a Ghostbusters jumpsuit. Proton pack in hand and particle accelerator backpack firmly strapped to his back, Timothy Klitz dares to challenge the odds. He's lived through plenty of mortifying Halloweens before; what's one more?

Where he fits in, Klitz never has a clue. Matt had practically tethered himself to Danielle's side on the living room couch, making sure that every guy at the party knows that the girl in the slutty cheetah costume is his. Klitz would've normally stuck with Eli, awkwardly sipping on drinks with him while watching the action. But Eli scampered off...somewhere. Klitz isn't sure about that either. Knowing him though, he probably saw a pair of tits and went running in that direction.

Holding his red Solo cup awkwardly, he sniffs the drink he'd picked up in the kitchen on his way outside for some air. Beer. Cheap beer. He scrunches his nose up and turns the cup to its side, dumping the liquid down onto the grass below him. It was more useful like that.

Only a few people were outside with him. A handful of guys played ball on the grass while a couple girls sat on the lounge chairs by the pool. One of them looks up in his direction and doesn't even try to hide her nasty smile or obnoxious cackle at his costume. She turns to one of her friends seated beside her and begins to whisper something to her.

This was such a mistake, he thinks, I hate this fucking holiday. Before he has a chance to see or hear what the girls have to say about him, he swirls around in the grass, getting ready to flee for his life. If he finds Eli in time, maybe he can pull him away so they can go home. Klitz suddenly isn't in the mood for any ghosts or ghouls of Halloweens that have since passed to come back to haunt him.

That's when he spots you. Sitting on the steps, directly underneath the yellow light bulb that illuminates the back porch is you. You, practically glowing and sparkling right in front of him. There aren't enough words in English to describe how his heart began to pound at the sight of you. A fluffy tulle skirt spills over your knees and you seem to be covered in some sort of iridescent lace that makes your limbs sparkle. Then there's wings; wings that stick out from behind you and frame your angelic figure. 

And then it hits him, you're an angel. You're an honest to god, real life angel right in front of him.

"Hey, beanpole, what the fuck are you staring at?"

Snapped back to reality, Klitz drops the cup in his hand and his head snaps toward the guy now walking towards him. He's dressed in a long, dark cloak and a hood pulled up over his head. But Klits can clearly see his expression, irritated and ready to raise his voice at a moment's notice.

This is it. Her boyfriend is the grim reaper and he's going to kill me.

Death gets closer and points at his chest, vaguely in the direction of where his heart is beating out of his chest under his ribcage. "Are you her boyfriend or something?"

Klitz, frozen in fear, is still able to realize the truth of the matter fairly easily. Death isn't your boyfriend. Death is just an asshole that thinks he can police what beanpoles like him get to do.

So Klitz puts on the strongest voice he can muster. "Yes. I-I-I am."

Death grins cruelly. "Let's see about that, shall we?"

Pounding heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, Klitz's face visibly falls too. The look of bewilderment that forms on him makes Death chuckle before turning to where you still sit on the porch, barely paying attention to how Klitz is now fighting for his life.

Death yells to you, "This beanpole over here says he's your boyfriend?" As accurate as the description is, it still stings more than Klitz would like it to.

Time seems to slow as he sees you stand for the first time, revealing all of your celestial beauty as you float across the lawn to where he lingers. Still, he waits for the same heinous cackle he heard from the girl by the pool to burst through them, shattering the illusion that you're an angel; his angel. He watches you contemplate, practically seeing how you're working the situation out in your head.

He's adorable. That's the first thought you have. Then there's the second: and pathetic. He looks like he's begging to be put out of his misery. He's a little nerd who bit off a little more than he could chew. You nearly giggle while studying his costume for a few seconds. The khaki jumpsuit hides very little of his lanky figure. He's a tall glass of nectar that you'd like to drink up with one sip. Even though you thought it would be cute, being an angel for the night, you felt like doing something terrible to this boy.

Klitz feels guilty for thinking it, but one thought runs through his head: Is this girl dumb? It wouldn't be the first time he came across a girl at his high school who was gorgeous but possessed the intellectual range of a rock. It doesn't matter though. Klitz is sure that even the dumbest girl alive would still reject him. No one would--

"Um, yeah? And what's the problem with that?" Cocking your head and furrowing your brow, your beautiful mouth had finally opened.

"Wait, so what you're saying is…is that this kid…" Death takes Klitz by the shoulder and shakes him. "This kid is your boyfriend?" 

You simply nod this time. Maybe she used all of her brain power with that last sentence. Klitz internally smacks himself, putting a firm cork on the negs at your expense. Dude, this girl just saved your ass from probably being pummeled. Now's not the time.

Death looks confused, eyeing you up and down as if he was giving you a moment to get to the punchline too. But it doesn't come. You smile. And Klitz feels lighter than air.

"Okay...if you say so. Have fun with him." laughs through his nose with a look of disgust before walking off towards the rest of his friends.

"Thanks!" you chirp. Before Klitz has a chance to say a word edgewise, you take a hold of his sweaty palm. Your voice lowers as your gaze shifts to him, "How about we go inside? Find somewhere to talk."

Bringing him back through the screen door at the porch, you lead him past drunk party goers that are scattered throughout the home. Klitz is dumbfounded and so are the few people lining the upstairs hallway. He knows immediately how ridiculous he must look being dragged around by this little angel, an angel who is obviously way out of his league.

Over and over again, he tells himself, this is just a dream. He's not actually at the Halloween party. It's the night before the party and he's lying in bed. His subconscious is simply crafting a worst case scenario just for him to experience. When a loser like him tries to fit in, the universe humbles them. How you plan to deliver that humbling, he can't even begin to guess.

You wiggle doorknobs as you walk down the upstairs hall, staying calm until you get to one that opens for you. You scowl when you realize that it's a bathroom. A tiny bathroom. The light is unflatteringly dim and there's barely enough room for much else besides the bare necessities: a shower, toilet, and a countertop with only a little space that isn't reserved for the sink.

You curse whoever designed this floor plan before sighing, "This'll do."

Klitz feels like he's a million miles away from his being when he questions "What will do?" But you don't grace him with any sort of answer.

Hopping up on the counter, you spread your legs and pat the space on the counter between them. You don't say it but he can hear your honeyed tone reverberating through his skull: come here.

Following the directions of the little voice, Klitz shuffles towards you, eyes averted. He has no clue where to focus them. Certainly not at the dip between your legs that hides beneath the tulle skirt. Certainly not at your chest which is close to eye level for him. And certainly not your eyes. Because he's sure that the second he stares into those sparkling eyes, they'll turn into a demonic crimson fire that scorches him. Already he believes you'd have the power to reduce him to ash.

You'd smile sweetly once more before stepping over the dusty pile of his remains, kicking his proton pack aside with a sneer. He never stood a chance in the first place.

So he stares at a random freckle that he finds on your skin. He keeps it at the front of his mind as he asks slowly, "Why did you lie?"

"About what? The boyfriend thing?"

"Yes," Klitz lowers his voice to a whisper, "The stupid boyfriend thing."

Your giggle plays like a melody. "I thought it would be funny."

That makes Klitz's head shoot up, blood coursing through his veins. You weren't dumb at all. You were just mean. You were playing with him the entire time. Which was probably far worse than if you'd just rejected him outright. He would've found some other way to recover and stroke his ego. With this...there was something different begging to be stroked.

It flusters him and has him sputtering for the words to express his frustration, "Y-you-- you thought it would be funny? To just humiliate me? To lie about that?"

Raising a finger, you start harshly, "Listen to me, kid, I'm not the one who lied first so you can hop off of your high horse and--"

Klitz cuts you off, hating the nasally whine in his voice, "I'm not a kid."

"You sure are acting like one," you cross your arms and lean back. Kiltz's eyes move to your chest, deliberately on display as you glare at him like he's a child. You're almost stunned that you got a nerd like him wrangled into a bathroom and he wasn't on you immediately. It baffles you entirely. But it intrigues you. As much as you don't like arguing with him, it gives you more to work on. You like his sense of pride and the little bit of ego that keeps him from faltering too much. It’s better when there’s tension, you reason with yourself, he’s not one of those assholes just dying to get a feel.

Eyes raising to finally meet yours, he states nervously, "I'm not a kid. I'm a...I am a grown man."

You try your best to hold back another laugh, not wanting to set him off again. You've learned your lesson, he won't be so easy. "Then what do I call you, grown man?" you test out a little tease.

It's a taunt that he takes lightly, thank goodness. "Klitz," then he whispers shamefully, "with a K."

For some reason, that doesn't make you laugh. More than anything else, it feels like a sign. One from your fellow angels above that encourages you to keep going. How often do you get a sign so direct?

"Really? Well, okay, Klitz with a K,” you venture a little further, “What if I didn't want what I said to be a lie?"

This startles him. The lie and the counter maneuver was nothing in comparison to this revelation. "What?"

"Now don't you play dumb on me. A geek like you should be able to read between the lines at least a tiny bit."

You're one to talk about playing dumb, he thinks to himself. In your own way, you do make him burn up. Only these are the flames of embarrassment. Who were you to imply that he was playing any sort of game? 

Still suspicious, he presses his luck. "Why wouldn't you want it to be a lie?"

"I will say...I do like a man in uniform." Hand grazing the front of his jumpsuit, sparks dance in his belly. You're so close to touching his skin that it drives him nuts. As your finger traces over one of the zipper pockets over his chest, he lets out a low, broken moan. He hardly even realizes that he made the sound until he catches your smile again, this time he thinks he sees it curl with malice.

Klitz panics. This is just another part of your game. You're still playing. "If you're just going to mess with me then I might as well go." He begins to back away. "Thanks for nothing."

Your offending hand floats down to rest on his hip. The little amount of pressure keeps him anchored in place in front of the counter. For a second he worries that the single touch will actually make him completely blow a gasket and collapse to the ground. It's all he thinks of. The small force it took to completely own him. If this is even half of what Matt feels when Danielle touches him, Klitz suddenly understands why he lets her keep him on a short leash. Klitz wouldn't ever want to stray from you either. He wants you on his shoulders all the time, the radiant angel from the back porch and the alluring devil that now sits before him.

He doesn't mean for it to happen, but he leans towards you. You seem to pull him in with some strange gravitational pull and suddenly...his face is closer to yours than it's ever been. So close that he can make out individual holographic glitter specks on your glossy lips. Maybe that's what made them so inviting in the first place. Your skirt rustles as you slide forward a little on the counter, pressing into his body more.

"Don't go." You plead gently, "I think you're really cute. And the proton pack...it's a nice touch."

He murmurs, "You know what a proton pack is?"

"Duh. Ghostbusters came out like what, twenty years ago? Of course I've seen it." Your half lidded eyes flicker to his lips.

He feels your thumb slowly run over his bottom lip. "Yeah, it's just that...most girls haven't--"

You cut him off and pull his bottom lip down, watching intently when it snaps back into place. "Don't finish that sentence."

"Okay..." he's hesitant to fully let go of his inhibitions as you lean in too. "But, wait, you're drunk..."

You pause. "I'm not drunk." Then spare a look in his eyes once more, "Are you?"

He blinks rapidly for a few seconds before remembering that he has to answer. "No..."

And then there you are once more, gaze flickering between his glazed over green eyes and his lips, parted slightly in a dopey expression. Like he can hardly believe he's survived this long. "Good." You conclude, before diving right into him.

No more words are left in his mouth anyways. Just saliva as he realizes that he'll probably savor the feeling of your lips on his for the rest of his life. Your mouth is almost sickly sweet with the taste of artificial strawberry but the stickiness of your gloss keeps him in place for a few seconds longer than he should.

Letting your hand entangle with the hair at the nape of his neck, he moans once more when you pull slightly; just enough to get him to open up and let your tongue weave its way in. You let him mewl and cry into your mouth as your hands roam. With your eyes closed, you feel around his chest for the zipper of the jumpsuit.

As soon as he feels the cool air of the bathroom hit his bare chest, Klitz struggles to pull away, taken aback by the boldness of your actions. He looks down at the pale, unblemished, and lanky chest that he's found fault in for practically his whole life. He'd expected to fill out a little more as he got older. Instead, he just got taller; he stretched out until he felt like a funhouse image of a pathetic, ugly boy.

But you look longingly at his smooth chest. Forget the smears of slightly tinted lip gloss that shines on his face from where you'd kissed him; you have new expanses of skin to admire.

Hand reaching out, your thumb rubs over one of his pink and pebbled nipples. He shivers like a decaying leaf in a fall breeze. You continue downwards and hook your hand around his waist. As you drink up his figure, you notice the soft pudge of his belly, rising and falling unsteadily with each jagged breath he takes. Just below that, you see something that makes your eyes go wide.

Under his stomach, you find the waistband of his stark white underwear. You're sure a guy like him probably bleaches the hell out of them; probably has the days monogrammed into the back so when he does the laundry every week, he knows if he's missing a pair. The assumption fills you with a renewed fondness when you notice the bulge beneath the waistband. And it's fucking huge.

Now you make an assumption that you are completely sure of: you're probably the first to touch him. Because he would be far cockier if he knew exactly what he was carrying in that dorky pair of underwear. And, god, you're glad that you're the first. You're glad that you've discovered him now when he's so new to this, so nervous that he's practically vibrating.

"Do you want me to touch you, sweet boy?" You coo gently.

The idea of someone else's hand on him...he has to stop himself from moaning again. His breath is heavy when he replies, "Do you want to touch me?"

And you answer like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the prospect would be a privilege for you. "Oh, Klitzy, I would love to touch you."

He's not sure what he had in mind before, but this seems good enough. He's hardly thinking about anything important when you reach down into his underwear, pushing them down just enough so that they stay underneath his balls, keeping him vulnerable to you. There's no doubts or second guesses or protests. Not even when he looks down and sees the tip of his cock, almost shamefully swollen, red, and already leaking fluid.

Seeing him fully exposed like this only endears you to him even more. You've known this guy for less than an hour and you wish he was above you. You wish that he was kissing your neck and wildly rutting into you, hitting all of the right spots without even trying.

You wish that his large hands would grope at your chest, using your flesh to brace himself for release. You want him raw and wild and untrained, spilling inside of you within seconds and leaving cum dripping down your thighs. You want him to stain the white tulle so that you can smile every time you catch a glimpse of it hung up in your closet. You want to remember the slap of his skin against yours and feel the ache between your legs all over again looking at it. You want all of it and more until you're brought back to the sight of his cock, bobbing impatiently.

As much as you want him, you won't make him fuck you in a dingy bathroom at a Halloween party. A proper angel wouldn't do that to the poor boy. But a proper angel wouldn't let him stand there whimpering either. His elbows begin to wobble nervously with his hands planted on either side of your body on the countertop. He's so patient. Just waiting for you to decide whether you'll have him or not.

So you clench your thighs together and ignore the way you throb when your hand fully wraps around his cock. It's easily the fullest thing about him, so large and thick and lined with intense veins that you can only picture it splitting you open. No. That's not happening right now, you assure yourself and push the image from your head.

Klitz focuses on your hand. There's nothing else he really can focus on. Head tilted back and eyes fluttering closed, he takes in the softness of your hand and the way you're so delicate with him. He only winces when your thumb rubs over the slit of his sensitive tip. The simple movement sends little shockwaves through his body. They only multiply when you use his pre to wet his cock and begin to slowly, gradually jerk him off.

The coil that twists in his belly is so tight that he's sure it'll break with even the smallest bit of pressure. You'd done something irreparable to him. Maybe it's the hit from early that makes him especially dizzy. He doesn't dwell on it though. There's no way he could when you nip at his neck and your tongue drags over his pulse. He can't help but get lost in the scent of your hair as you mark him up and the faint, languid smack of your hand stroking his slick cock. 

You hum softly by his ear before you open your mouth, "I want you to come when I tell you to, okay, baby?"

Your words are so soft, filled with a nauseating sappiness that makes him believe that your outfit isn't just a Halloween costume. You're really his guardian angel, here to give him a handjob to make up for all of his high school troubles. This was his reward for trying so hard year after year and persisting through the taunting and teasing: a pretty girl slowly stroking him and a climax threatening to send him completely over the edge.

He shakes his head desperately, hating that he has to wait but still willing to. He'd never been able to do this to himself anyways. Your hand was small enough that it rubbed over his length torturously; giving him little ebbs of pleasure but just falling short from bringing him completely to heaven.

"Good boy. Very good boy," you praise him. A beautiful array of whimpers and whines spill from his lips, marred and glittery from your kisses. You thought you had looked pretty when you'd done your makeup hours before, but the look of his took the cake. With his mouth hanging open and eyebrows furrowed and focused on trying not to meet his end too quickly, you think he looks gorgeous.

The thought strikes you then that he must be some sort of angel too to let you have him like this. He doesn't beg to be inside you, doesn't beg for you to let him finish, he does what he's told and he does it well, showing you how you've unraveled him entirely. It's a divine ability that you're liking more and more.

You give him some wiggle room and order softly, "Go ahead, make yourself finish." At the simple command he seems to curl around you, grasping at your ass now instead of the countertop. He holds onto you as his hips buck into your fisted hand. His thrusts are sloppy and have no sort of rhythm; just pure lust as he chases his mounting orgasm.

When he sobs and squeezes his eyes shut, that's how you know he's closer than ever, so close that his knuckles go white from how hard he clenches the fabric of your dress.

His teeth are gritted together when you murmur, "C'mon, baby, I know you can do it. I want you to cum now."

One, two, three more uneven pumps later and he bursts completely into your hand, depositing thick ribbons of spend that land on the fabric of your dress. You laugh breathily, getting exactly what you wanted from him. You already can't wait to shove the costume into the back of your closet and keep it as a token of this experience.

You tease, "Looks like an angel just earned its wings." He has no clue if you're talking about yourself or him. Either way, he's got no doubt it applies. You did a good deed and he feels over the moon. Maybe you'll both get into heaven now. At least he hopes you'll be there too. He's yet to sink his face into the bouncy clouds of your thighs, yet to hear your glorious sigh, and yet to taste the nectar of your fruits. God, he wanted all of it and more.

Until the gates to heaven close with a devastating slam. You slip his softening and spent cock right back into his underwear and zip the jumpsuit back up for him, leaving him utterly speechless at the nonchalance and swiftness of your form of aftercare.

Then, you hop off the counter and pat his chest one last time before giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. There's no more lip gloss left for you to leave behind on him; he's almost upset about it. Almost.

Because right after you glide past him and waltz out the door, shutting it behind you, Klitz finally has a chance to look up at himself in the mirror. Flecks of sparkly glitter remain on him. He reaches up to tenderly feel the chapped skin of his lips. That's how he knows it was all real. He was touched by his guardian angel.

#danonation #paul dano #danocel #the girl next door #timothy klitz #timothy klitz x reader #timothy klitz x you #timothy klitz x y/n #timothy klitz smut #klitz x reader #klitz x you #klitz x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

[arickaandherfictionalothers]

Hold on baby. I’m on my way.

(Aricka x Elvis)

*January 31, 1972*

It was a cold night in Tennessee. Aricka Roberts had been sleeping, dreaming of nothing meaningful when she was pulled from her slumber by the phone ringing. She had half an awake mind to grab her robe and head to the phone, all the way downstairs. “H’lo?” She answers.

Silence. Then, “Darlin’?”

There was only one man who got away with calling her that.

“E?” She whispered. “Elvis it’s- it’s 3:30 in the morning, what’s wrong?” He would only risk waking her up if something was truly wrong.

“… she left me, darlin’. ‘Cilla left me.” The words sank in her stomach like stones. Seven words. Seven life altering, heart breaking words.

“Give me thirty minutes. I’ll be right there. You stay by the phone. I’ll be there soon. Okay?” She was already reaching for her shoes.

“No, darlin- it’s early. Don’t put yourself out-,”

“Elvis Aaron, don’t you think I’m gonna be able to sleep knowing that you’re hurting thirty minutes away from me. I’m coming.”

Pause. “…Promise?”

“Of course. Hold on, baby. I’m on my way.” The pet name slipped out unbidden, but neither noticed or seemed to care as Aricka whispered some final assurances to the man on the other side of the phone and hung up, changing into a comfortable outfit and shoes before racing off to Graceland.

Her and Elvis had grown up together, literally a stones throw from each other, and he often spent hot summer days at her house playing in the creek behind her house. When he got invited to the Louisiana hayride, he’d invited her to tag along with his parents; they had done everything together.

Aricka had even been featured in some of his movies and songs as backup vocals or an extra. He had made sure she wasn’t forgotten by his crew, and she’d been the one to design what became the iconic ‘68 comeback jumpsuit.

Now she was going to make sure that her friend didn’t feel alone during this, probably one of the hardest times in his life.

She pulls into the drive and let herself in the mansion- she still couldn’t believe Elvis had just given her a key to his house. Sure as she had expected, he was still sitting by the phone, looking smaller than she’d ever seen him.

Well.

There was one other time she’d seen him curl up so small. Neither of them liked remembering it that much.

He hasn’t seen her yet. She walks right up to him. Sinks down to her knees. Hands on her lap. “… Elvis.” He finally looks at her, and her heart splits wide open. His face was a mess of tears and snot, cheeks red and puffy, but- but that was her Elvis, underneath it all. “Oh baby..” she breaths. And he falls into her, arms locking around her waist, face pressed into her stomach, with one of her hands in his hair, the other resting on his back. “Hon…” she whispers helplessly. “Shh…” She starts humming under her breath- ironically enough it was one of Elvis’s covers, of a song that always made her feel better when she was sad. Maybe it would help Elvis too.

“Up above my head there is music in the air

Up above my head there is music in the air

Up above my head there is music in the air, oh yeah!

And I really do believe, I really do believe

I really do believe there's a heaven somewhere

There's a heaven somewhere…”

“She left. Walked out. Took Lisa Marie with her.” He whispered. The words hurt Aricka almost as much as they surely hurt Elvis. Lisa Marie was the best thing to happen to Elvis, he loved his little girl. “Says I’m strung out.”

Aricka continues running her fingers through the messy strands of hair, which were sticky with gel, “baby that didn’t mean she should’ve left. You need someone to stay and fight for you, not fight you and leave.” She could see Pricilla’s perspective. But that didn’t mean Aricka couldn’t be angry at her. “She’s entitled to her thoughts and you’re entitled to yours and I’m entitled to mine. But communication is a very real thing. If she’s been feeling this way for a while she should’ve said something.” They go quiet for a while. “Baby; this carpet is very plush and soft, but truly I’d love to get you cleaned up and back in bed for a few hours longer. You’re exhausted, and you need to rest.”

“No- don’t go…” the words must’ve been unbidden because he gripped her waist and pressed his face back into her stomach like he was worried saying something would make her run away.

“I’m not leaving you, baby, we just need to get off the floor.” The reassurance came easily, and she ran her fingers through his hair one more time before kissing his forehead. “Let’s go, c’mon, you gotta help me.” She stands first and pulls him with her, and then he properly wraps his arms around her, and she willingly falls into his embrace. “Hey, you. Let’s go get cleaned up.”

They walked upstairs to the bathroom, and Aricka made him sit on the close seat of the toilet. His hands immediately drifted to her hips, keeping a point of contact there. She found a wet rag and began to wipe his face, carefully running her fingers through his hair with her free hand. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. And I’ll be right there. Like I’ve always been.”

Elvis leaned forward, so his face was resting against her stomach again. “Promise.” His hands dig into her shirt, and she sets down the washcloth to turn her full attention to him.

“That’s an easy promise,” she says, wrapping her arms around him. “You know I care about you, EP.”

His arms slid around her waist, securing her there. “Will- will you stay tonight. Just tonight?”

“Was already planning to, baby,” she whispered. “C’mon, let’s get you changed and into bed. Okay? I’ll wait on the bed for you. You go get changed.”

“I’ll find you something too,” he says, and she could see the light coming back- slowly- to his face. “You’re in good clothes.”

“Okay. You do that. I’ll wait for you.” And she did- sat on his bed while he changed, then grabbed her something comfortable to wear. He then reclaimed her hand and lead her back over to the bed, where they both climbed in.

“D’you wanna hold me or you wanna be held?” Aricka asks quietly. Elvis didn’t say a word, just moved so his head was resting on her chest, right where she could tangle her fingers back in his hair. “Okay. That’s fine.” She busied herself playing with the dark strands of hair, something that comforted her as much as it did him. Absentmindedly, she began humming again, but it was a different song this time.

Not much later, the tell-tale signs of his breathing becoming slower and more even told her he was asleep again.

Aricka carefully wiggled free from his hold, slipping a pillow into his arms for the moment, and snuck downstairs to make a quick phone call.

“Ramsey?” Pause. “It’s Aricka. We need to talk.”

~~~~~~

Ramsey: @letsgofoletsgo -!

~~~~~~~

@astralshipper @rosieshipper @hyperionshipping @yeehawselfshipping @tsundere-selfship @callsign-revenge

#Aricka x elvis #love me-love me true #Spotify

[desiraypark]

Ominous (Part 4)

Part I | Part II | Part III

CHARACTERS: Adam Sackler, Brenda “Bree” Sackler, Tako, and Patrice (OC - Tako’s fiancée/wife) CONTENT: Flashbacks, Fluff, Angst, Addiction Mentions, Tough Talk, Sex Implied, Use of the B-word (B*tches)

Tako and Patrice’s Townhome Bree’s Previous Apartment (2BR, 1BA)

FOUR YEARS AGO (Tako and Patrice’s Engagement Party)

“You’re so fucking in love, dude!” Tako exclaimed as she punched Adam in the chest.

Adam laughed as he twisted the cap off a small bottle of water and Tako made herself another plate of food. 

“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re all calm and cool. Leaning against shit like you’re fucking Frank Sinatra.”

Adam shook his head and took a sip of water. Looking beyond the bottom of the bottle, he got a glimpse at Bree in the living room talking with Tako’s fiancée, Patrice. They were certainly talking about Bree’s outfit--a pink and yellow jumpsuit that she’d made herself. The spaghetti-strapped top was split in half--yellow on the left side of her body, pink on the right. Her right pants leg was yellow, the left one pink. The bright, summery colors popped against her brown skin. She’d traded in her eyeglasses for contact lenses for the night, and her curly hair fell to her shoulders.

“See!” Tako beamed. She added a spoonful of sliced strawberries to her plate. “Tell me what she knows and doesn’t know about you before I accidentally spill some fucking beans.”

Tako leaned against the counter beside Adam and he shrugged. “She knows everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Y-yeah. Pretty much.”

“She knows about...you know. The alcohol?”

Adam nodded. “Yes.”

“She knows that you’re a slut?”

“Reformed slut. And she kinda knows...”

“Kinda knows?” Tako asked, popping a cheese cube into her mouth. Adam rotated the bottled water between his palms.

“I wanted to talk about it, but she said she didn’t care. So...”

Tako raised both eyebrows. “Wow. I don’t know if I’m impressed or worried.”

Adam laughed. “Bree is...she’s easily the most easygoing...the most understanding...the most thoughtful girl I’ve ever dated...”

“Well, then. I’m happy for you, kid.”

Adam stole a strawberry from Tako’s plate and softly elbowed her in the rib.

____________________ PRESENT Adam stood at the counter eating leftover spaghetti. Her hair tied in a silk scarf and a sheer robe flowing behind her, Patrice walked into the kitchen, bringing flames with her.

“Why don’t you sit at the table?” she asked coldly. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. 

Adam shrugged. “I’m almost done.”

Patrice closed the robe around her body, covering her silk pajamas. Adam’s eyes inadvertently landed on the red slushy maker that he and Bree bought them as a wedding gift. He quickly looked back down at his plate, and Patrice left the kitchen, leaving her unmistakable heat for him to simmer in.

He’d cleaned his paper plate and dropped it in the trash can when Tako walked by with pieces of bedding in her arm. He turned off the kitchen light and walked into the living room, where she’d placed two sheets and a blanket on the sofa. Then, she placed the Roku remote on top of it. 

“We usually unplug everything at nine, but here’s the remote if you wanna watch TV. Or listen to some music. Whatever.”

“How pissed is Patrice?” Adam asked. 

“PATRICE IS VERY PISSED!” Patrice shouted from their bedroom.

The corner of Tako’s mouth quirked as if you to say “there you have it”. Adam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

Tako tilted her head to the left and Adam followed her past their bedroom, where Patrice was pulling back the covers. They walked past the bedroom of Jason--Tako and Patrice’s eight-month-old son. Adam’s heart began to pound and a lump formed in his throat. This was supposed to be him and Bree, only they would live in a house away from the city.

Adam was happy to commute to work if it meant that Bree could have her own quaint boutique in some quaint shopping district in some quaint town. They were going to have two or three kids, a dog, and a backyard for them all to run around in. He had to make things right. He wanted Bree and wanted the future they’d planned. 

Tako led him into the small home office and closed the door. She sat in the rolling chair and Adam sat in a wingback chair by the door, against the wall. 

“So...who was it?” she asked. 

Adam rubbed his temples. “Jessa.”

“Fuck, dude...”

“Yeah, I know. I fucking know,” Adam groaned, sliding down into the chair. “I don’t know what the fuck happened.”

“I mean, are you still in love with Jessa, or...?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve barely thought about her for years.”

“Is something going on with you and Bree...?”

“No,” Adam mumbled. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. Then, he sat back up. “Bree is perfect.”

He shrugged. “She’s perfect. I don’t know. I don’t know why I did it.”

Tako stared straight through Adam. She folded her arms and tapped her fingertips on her arm. Adam pressed his back against the chair and exhaled.

“We got some coffee and we just started talking. It felt like old times again. We went to my place and talked some more...”

“Your place?!” Tako asked.

Guilt rushed over Adam’s face and Tako held her hands up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“That’s it. We talked some more. I showed her the apartment, you know. The view. Next thing I knew...”

Adam rested his head against the wall and Tako just stared at him. “You want it hard or you want it soft?”

“Whatever,” Adam scoffed. “I don’t care.”

Tako leaned forward against the desk. She gathered her thoughts before she spoke. 

“You talked so much shit about the girls you’ve dated. Hannah, Jessa. FiFi?”

“MiMi Rose,” Adam corrected.

“Yeah, her,” Tako continued. “You talked so much about how much they thrived off drama. You know what I think? I think you thrive off that shit, too.”

“No I fucking don’t,” Adam snapped.

“Then what is it? Tell me? You’ve got a wife who--from what you tell me--has done more for you than all of those bitches combined. She’s fucking hot--she’s the nicest fucking person I’ve ever met. She’s honest--she’s all the shit you claim you like--and you risked your marriage to her for Jessa? I’m just not understanding, Adam.”

Adam ran his fingers through his hair again and stared at the ceiling.

____________________ THREE YEARS AGO

“Ughhhh,” Adam groaned. He wrapped his arms around Bree’s waist as she dug through her closet. “Do you have to go?”

Bree chuckled. “Yes, I have to go.”

Adam nuzzled at her neck as she looked over a green dress. “It’ll only be a few days, babe.”

Bree hung the dress back up and pulled out a burgundy one. Adam groaned again and Bree grabbed a pink dress.

“A few days is too long,” he mumbled. He stood up straight and stepped backward to sit down on Bree’s bed. “I hate being away from you for just a day.”

Bree folded the pink dress over her arm and looked at Adam. She could see the genuine sadness in his face. Then, she walked over to him, placed the dress on the bed, and rested her hands against his shoulders. Adam opened his legs and pulled Bree close--his arms resting comfortably on the sharp curve of her ass.

“Are you serious right now?” Bree asked softly. She ran her fingers through his hair.

“I don’t like separations,” Adam said with a pout. He pressed kisses against the fabric over her navel and took in the sugary scent of her lotion. “I like being around you. All the time.”

“Baby,” Bree said softly. She lifted Adam’s face by his chin. She gazed upon his darkened eyes--noticing the glints of amber as they partially met the light of the ceiling lamp overhead. She kept running her fingers through his hair, thinking carefully about her words.

“I love you.”

Adam chewed on his lips and stared into Bree’s eyes--coffee irises protected by long, thick lashes. “I love you, too.”

“...I don’t want you to...”

“Don’t want me to what?”

“I don’t want you to make a drug out of me,” she said. 

Adam’s eyes stayed on Bree. Finally, he blinked. “What?”

Bree sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

She tried to pull away but Adam pulled her close. “No. I know what you mean.” He kissed her belly again. “I know what you mean.”

Bree bent down and kissed Adam’s forehead. “I’m so proud of you. Things have been so good for you.”

Then, she sat back up and pinched his cheeks.

“You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” she asked in a high pitched voice. Adam rolled his eyes and looked away. “You can survive a few days without Mommy, can’t you?”

A devilish grin formed on Adam’s face and he pulled Bree down onto the bed with him, making her squeal. 

“You’re a fucking comedian, now?" he asked. He locked his legs around hers, trapping her body against his and making her laugh. Suddenly, they fell silent and looked into each other’s eyes again. Bree lowered her head and kissed Adam’s on the lips.

“You’ve gotta bring me some fucking Al Capone merch or some shit,” Adam said. Bree chuckled.

“I am not buying Al Capone merch. How about I bring you a few slices of deep-dish pizza?”

“You know that I’m trying to eat healthy,” Adam growled, squeezing Bree’s ass. 

“I forgot, I’m sorry. Well, how about this...” Bree mumbled, running her finger down Adam’s lips, to his chin, and down his neck. “When I get back...”

Bree reached behind her and pushed Adam’s palm deeper against her right ass cheek. “...I’ll bring you a nice organic treat. You can eat it for as long as you want.”

Adam bit his lips, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nostrils. After a brief pause, he flipped Bree over so that he was on top of her. Her laugh filled the room as he tugged at her pajama shorts.

“I have to finish packing!” she squealed.

“You’ll finish when I finish,” Adam said, sliding down the bed and onto his knees.

____________________ PRESENT

Wrapped in a Christmas-themed throw blanket, Bree sat on the sofa, staring at the television without a single clue as to what was happening on it. She thought about the assortment of desserts that she passed on at the pizzeria. She regretted not ordering an entire pie to bring home. The city lights shimmered in the distance--for she didn’t have the strength or desire to pull down the shades. She wondered where Adam was. Tako and Patrice’s? Ray’s?

Jessa’s?

She shook the thought out of her head. Her eyes landed upon her wedding photo. He wore a blue tuxedo and (much to her mother’s chagrin) she wore a flowing yellow. Bree rose from the sofa, walked to the console, and stared at the photo--he was hunched over and her arms were around his neck as they engaged in a soft kiss. Bree put the framed photo face down, returned to the sofa, and turned off the television.

Then, she fluffed the caseless pillow on the left end of the sofa and laid her head upon it. She curled up in a ball and pulled the throw blanket close to her chin. 

Suddenly, the shadowy figure of a woman formed on her balcony. Bree turned to face the inside back of the sofa and pulled the blanket completely over her face.

[eorzeasntm]

ENTM Tumblr Cycle 11

Round Six: Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, and Legends from Around the World

Whew, that title is a mouthful, but we wanted to ensure that everyone had a chance to pick a story that had meaning to them.  We had a tale from Japan, legends from England and Nicaragua, and a whole passel of Grimm’s tales to bring us full circle.    The judges and the community all agreed that this week’s best fairy tale cosplay was:

Ni’ko Shae for Puss in Boots

The decision to go with a vertical shot showed off those long kitty legs to perfection, and the choice of an action shot in a dungeon (since this round was free style) let the story fully come to life.  Congratulations!

Our guest judge this week was Momoko, the co-host of ENTM Instagram Cycle 2.  Thanks Momoko!  We did a full on judge swap so you can also check out my critiques for IG Cycle 2, Round Two on our Discord channel!

For the Tumblr models, your critiques for this week are below if you keep on reading.

Judge Momoko

Kota:  I love your glam for this!! It really feels like a Hollywood take on what Little Red Riding hood would wear. It’s also very very easy to tell which fairy tale you’re showcasing, so big props to you!! The apples in the opposite corner to you help to add a couple more pops of red to the overall pic and help balance it.

Yomu: I hadn’t heard of this legend before, so first off, I wanna say thank you for teaching me something!! I thought your use of the Nanamo minion was so incredibly cute and creative!! I think the lighting was just a hair harsh on her, though, and we sort of lost all of the cute pink colors on her, but I also thought how you framed the upper half of the pic with bamboo was both a clever way to stay true to the legend and keep it from having too much empty space!!(It might take me a bit to send them all out today, ‘cause I’m at work, but I promise they’ll be sent today

Haila:  This was such a fun entry!! I’d never heard of La Mocuana and had to read about it, but I loooooove monster girls and creepy folklore in general, so I’m so happy you went with it!! After reading about it, I think you fit the story to a T!! I love the expression and how it’s half-hidden, and the colors/filter really tell that you’re by yourself in a dark cave. I will say that your hair blended in a little too well with the background, but other than that, yours was so creative and fun!!

Peaceful:  How creative!! I never would of thought of doing King Arthur, but you really nailed it!! It’s extremely easy to tell which legend you’re replicating. Your picture’s colors are a little dull and faded, which halfway lends to it, but it also makes it a little muddy. However, I think you adding that soft back lighting over your shoulders easily draws the viewer’s attention back to you, which was really clever!!

Adam:  I think your choice in legend was really interesting!! There’s all sorts of aquatic-based stories, and I feel like Sinbad would be a little more difficult to convey, so props to you for choosing something challenging!! I wish I could’ve seen a more dynamic pose/more of the boat you’re standing on, but the soft muted colors in the background are such a nice combination with the yellow pop of your glam!!

Bria:  Beauty and the Beast is my favorite story!! I really liked your glams and how the colors complimented each other. However, it is a little difficult to tell exactly which fairy tale you’re emulating without the title, and it’s hard to see who the specific model in the picture is. But I also thought that your garden courtyard background was a cute way to imply that you’re at a fairy tale castle!!

Luma: Your choice for your story was way too cute!! I never would’ve thought of doing Jack and the Beanstalk, but I’m so glad that you did!! I think that your choice of environment was super cute, creative, and resourceful!! My biggest thing was that I couldn’t see your face, and your glam colors blended a little too well with your background, but I also liked how unbalanced your picture was; it really helped showcase how giant that beanstalk was!!

Ni’ko- Yours was my most favorite picture!! Your glam was so cute (going for that monotone look to match your hair and tail was a really clever way to make yourself look like a cute tabby), and the boots!! THE BOOTS!! The way that you zoomed out the camera to help elongate your legs was such a clever way to bring focus to the main part of your legend in an almost cartoony way, which I’m a big fan of. I think that your weapon choice and overall color palette is extremely well-done, too!!

Judge Ona

Haila: I learned about this folktale when I took Spanish in High School. Our teacher was pretty twisted, but that’s why everyone loved Senora. I was super excited when Kat told the judges that you did this tale, and genuinely LOVE how you captured it! She hides her face and wanders the forests driven mad by betrayal. If you aren’t the vision of mad, I don’t know what is!

I love the color palette here. Sticking with blues, and only a hint of pinks, you create an eerie vibe. With the filter appearing almost translucent over you, it creates an illusion that you are actually the translucent one.  The glamour choice is phenomenal. In the story it says she is dressed in silks, and this is extraordinarily flowy.

My only real critique is that I cannot see your entire body, and although the filter gives a spooky feel, I wish you could have found a cave entrance or a body of water or something to add to the background. Regardless of this, this shot totally encapsulates La Mocuana, and I am so glad you picked something from Nicaraguan culture.

Ni’ko: If you keep changing Ni’ko’s color I will never know who I am looking at.

However, Ni’ko, I love the choice here! I love how you did a non-human fairytale, where your race could be used to your advantage. I love how you are being showy with your pose, as Puss and Boots most definitely was. Sword up, foot pointed forward toward the front of the image and back hand outstretched as if you’re saying “is that all?”. I also LOVE that your glam looks like the humanoid version of the character we all know; it was an excellent choice to do a big jumpsuit instead of flashy armor.

The lighting is well placed, bringing the viewers eye to your face and the rapier, and the decision to battle such a big enemy was an excellent choice so as its size does not compete with you, because much of it lies just off screen from you.

My only real critique here, is that I wish you maybe had a smirk on your face instead of the blank expression here. A smirk would have conveyed that you are about to kick this monster’s behind, and you are a feline, not a knight. I still love this image and genuinely believe it is one of your strongest yet.

Peaceful: I love your choice of story. Sword in the stone, King Arthur before he was king! It’s a well-known tale, and it’s a strong story to try and cosplay. Unfortunately, you took a big chance and it didn’t quite pan out how maybe you envisioned. However, this image has many strong characteristics, and I would like to go over those for you.

First, your use of this emote or action, shows movement in your character. Bracing yourself to pull the impossible sword from solid stone. You have determination on your face and are focused on the sword. The choice of location lends to the story and is the perfect choice. I would try to avoid the large amount of deadspace in the upper right corner. I know you wanted to get Merlin in the shot, but I think you could have done without him, and closed further in on yourself.

Try next time to place a light on your face instead of the rock in the front, make sure to avoid dead space in the image, change the angle of the image so that its not an upskirt shot which often makes the physics of the clothes act funny, and be mindful of the background (that weird little purple light is very out of place. I think you have some very strong elements, and some weaker ones that you can work on for next week! Remember, you can ask Kat for advice and feedback before submitting.

Yomu: Yomu finds a tiny human in a tree and immediately believes that he may have had too much to drink.

The facial expression had me in tears. You are genuinely freaked out by what you have just found. Your emote here shows excellent action and I can feel the same startling feeling that this woodcutter is feeling! I am pretty sure anyone would feel immediate concern and confusion if they were in this situation.

I love the glamour here, as the story is Japanese in origin, the use of a Japanese style robe helps to place the story’s origin. I am a little concerned about the physics of the robe, however, as it falls slightly unnaturally. The spotlight on your minion is perfect, as the story talks of a shining girl 3 inches tall. Also, excellent choice of filter with particle. I do wish, however, there was a bit more blur to the minion, as this close of a shot lends to distortion and pixelization.

Overall this is a strong image and you do a wonderful job telling the story of the woodcutter. I would loved to have seen more of this story. Try to take into account depth of field, and physics next week. Thank you for also thinking outside of the box and giving us a story from Japan!

Judge Wulf

Bria, you and your costar’s outfits are very well color coordinated! Your location choice is also very appropriate, I feel, since that area of Idylshire gives off a very regal and proper feel. I am a bit concerned that you hair blocks your face! You’re the star of this photo, so make sure you’re the one we see the most of! Always remember: when working with a costar, make sure that they are there to support you and make you look good! That being said, I adore the chemistry between the two of you. Can’t wait to see next week’s shot!

Luma, I admire the lighting in this shot. I am a major fan of bright colors, and you’ve really made the greens, browns, and yellows all come together in this forest scene to make it look both awesome and welcoming all at once. Going with a vertical shot was also a very good choice, I believe, because it makes the “beanstalk” look much more large and imposing, and by contrast you come across much smaller! My main note is this: Since you’re kneeling down and facing away from the camera, you do kind of look a little cloaked in darkness upon first glance. This is a simple fix, though! Just make sure to light up your character a bit more! Once again, I’m really impressed by your concept this week!

Ni’ko, the story of Puss in Boots is one of those that I read over and over again as a kid, and I think you’ve captured a very nice look using the equipment and colors in game! The monster looming over you is also an amazing touch, as it makes you look small, and even more true to the tale! I’m very impressed with your shot this week, but if I had to nitpick, I’d say that it’s only a little off that you aren’t looking at the boss’s face, instead looking through them. Like I said, that’s only a small note though! Very good job this week!

 Peaceful, I instantly knew this was the story of King Arthur! Using iconic imagery to give out key details of what you’re cosplaying in a very important part of any cosplay picture, and I’m glad you’re doing that here! The picture is...very dark though. It may be just my computer monitor, but I find it pretty difficult to see your face or other details about the picture. Could this be an issue with the filter? I’ll tell you where all the darkness does work, though: in the forest behind you. The darkness gives the forest a very spooky vibe, and I’m honestly a little unnerved! For the next week, make sure your character is well lit and visible. Good luck! 

Judge Terrini

Adam: I feel underwhelmed by this shot. You're glamour does nicely call to an Arabic pirate, and there's the boat and water and distant shore but it doesn't really draw on the charm of the Legend of Sinbad. He was one of the early Swashbuckling archetypes and you seem very mellow in this pose. A more dynamic pose and angle would have been nice to see here, something swinging your sword or at least looking away from the camera would have been better to capture the sense of something more. This is a myth, a legend, so you want to capture people's imaginations like the story you're drawing from. Also watch your background composition when you go for something scenic like this. The weather condition colors everything to be rather samey and the sea and sky are both similarly rippled and plain so they come across as uninteresting to the eye. Play with angles and don't be afraid to drop things from your concept for the sake of better composition. Play with it.

Bria: This shot is very playful, and I do like the use of colors (love them blues and purples) as well as the fountain backdrop, but as a depiction of Beauty and the Beast it comes across as a reskin mashup of the Disney movie. It might have been nice if you had your guy wearing an ifrit mask or lion mask or something to up the beast factor, or perhaps went for a different scene from the story. When a competition is fierce, you've gotta push creativity to the limit and really be memorable. 

Haila: I'm not familiar with the fairy tale you're spinning here, but still, I'm entranced. The effects and colors you've chosen with this pose tug at my heart, like you're despairing inside a storm of magic, struggling and pushing onwards. This must certainly have been a moving fable, and your depiction here makes me want to know more. 

Kota: I love the colors captured in this shot, and your glamour is so cute! It's really spot on! Taking the picture by the Apple Trees in North Shroud was great to bring that touch of red into your background as well. The angle of the ground is a bit off-putting and it might be nice to have something more to the image on the ground to enhance the theme with more of a "path". There are some fences in that area too that you might have made use of to that effect. Overall, still a lovely shot.

Judge Nadede

Kota Tumet: This is a pretty good image from you this week. I knew right off the bat that you were Red Riding Hood without looking at the caption, so glamour and your setting did it’s job. I like the lighting that you have and very nice use of depth of field that you have going on there. Your composition I felt was nicely put together as well. I do find myself kinda wishing you were able to incorporate the wolf somewhere within your image as it seems like the only thing missing to make this feel truly complete. So far though, to me, this is your strongest image so far. Keep up the good work.

Yomu Kazul:  I have to admit, yours was one of two stories I actually had to look up and read. After reading “Tale of the Bamboo Cutter,” I felt that you did a good job portraying the scene of the little girl popping out from the bamboo. The composition is nicely done and having the “little girl” looking at you helped at least guide my eye up to you and then back to her with you looking right at her. I thought it was a nice touch using Nanamo minion for the little girl instead of a lala as, if I remember reading right, the little girl was just a few inches or so tall when she pops out of the bamboo. So I applaud attention to detail there. My qualm however is when zooming out to get an overall view of the image, your foreground is a bit on the bright side and going back to where your face is in the image, it’s a bit on the dark side. I would suggest try to make the light to where it is a bit brighter towards you and not so bright closer to the audience. Overall, nice work.

Luma Lee:  Luma, while I like the composition of your shot this week, the bottom part where you are at was hard for me to make out. I wouldn’t have thought Jack and the Beanstalk at all just from looking at your image because it was a bit muddled. After reading the description that you had chosen “Jack and the Beanstalk,” it made a bit more sense as to why there is an emphasis on the tree. What I’m having a problem with is that your lighting could use work, especially around your character. With you in the shadows and your outfit is the same color as your background, you blend in a bit too much. I also think a different filter would have worked in your favor as well. So far this is your best shot compositionally for me, just work on the lighting a bit more. Good job.

Adam Evershot:   While this is a nice shot for you Adam, I felt like you could have done more with the story of Sinbad. I find myself wishing that perhaps you could’ve brought in extras to help you with a “crew” of some sort or brought some part of the story to life. I do find the atmospheric lighting of your image nice, I do wish that you could have done a bit more with the lighting on your character to bring you out just a bit more. Just remember when doing a cosplay type shot to find a way to bring out the story of that character more. Overall good work.

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #entm #eorzea's neo talent management

[suitsandstyles]

You Teach Harry How to Knit.

Harry has been begging you to teach him how to knit since you made him a sweater for his birthday and you finally have the chance.

[One shot]

[Fluff, Christmas]

Harry picks up a bundle of big, pink, fluffy, yarn.

“This one should do, yeah?” he asks, looking at you.

You frown and say, “Sorry, H, that one would probably be too difficult for your first time.”

He makes a pouty face and places the yarn back on the shelf giving it a little pat.

“One day, little buddy.” He says to it making you giggle.

You and Harry are at the store shopping for knitting supplies. In the basket, you already have all the yarn and new needles you need to sew some matching scarfs and hats for your family for Christmas, but Harry still has nothing. He has been begging you to teach him how to knit since you knitted him a big, brown sweater for his last birthday, but you hadn’t had time till now. You eye some baby blue yarn and hold it up to him. Harry immediately gets all giddy and says, “That’s my yarn.” You throw it in the basket and head over to the next aisle to get Harry some needles before heading to check out.

Once, you both make it back to the apartment, Harry starts the fire and begins playing Christmas music while you make two cups of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream in both. You set the mugs down on the coffee table and take a seat on the couch. Harry makes his way over with the supplies and takes out your knitting needles. He gets down to one knee and holds the needles out in the palm of his hands like you’re some sort of queen and he’s a lowly peasant.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, whilst though teach a lowly fool the beautiful and delicate art of knitting?”

You giggle at the sight of him and play along by saying, “Is ye sure thou is ready for such a challenging and daring skill?”

Harry looks up at you and says, “I was born ready, love.”

You grab the needles out of his hands and he sits up and kisses you before taking his place next to you. Harry picks up knitting fast. At first, his cast on stitch was too tight so he had to start over, but he got it the second time. He easily figured out the cross stitch and the pearl stitch and jumped up in excitement when he finished his first row. He had a little trouble tying off his ends and he looked so adorable with the crinkle on his forehead as he sat there in concentration. You loved Harry for being so effeminate, it was one of the first things that made you attracted to him. The two of you met at a restaurant while you were both waiting for a table. He was wearing a blue, sparkly, jumpsuit and you couldn’t stop staring at him. Your friend pressured you into going over and introducing yourself, which is not normally something you would do, but you were feeling bold that night.

Harry catches you staring into space and tickles your side to make you snap out of it. After Harry finishes three practice patches, you yawn and decide to call it a night. Harry pouts, begging you to stay up and knit with him some more and somehow you two end up compromising on putting on a movie in the bedroom and letting Harry bring his knitting supplies in so he can ask you any questions before you drift off.

You’re cuddled up against his side and start to doze off during the marriage scene of The Princess Bride. You can feel Harry’s body rocking back and forth from knitting, almost like he was rocking you to sleep.

You wake up the next morning and look over at Harry. He’s still asleep. He must have dozed off while knitting last night. The bundle of yarn is in his lap and he’s still holding one of the needles. He’s still slightly sitting up and there’s drool on the corner of his mouth. The excess yarn pools right over his butterfly tattoo and you can see he started knitting a scarf, it’s about half a foot in length so far. You lean over and kiss his check, stirring him awake. He groans and stretches his arms up.

“Mornin’, Y/N,” he yawns and rubs his eyes.

“Morining, nice scarf so far.”

He looks down at his supplies and laughs to himself realizing he fell asleep like that. He sits up and takes your hand.

“Y/N,” he says and you nod, “I love knitting so fucking much,” you erupt in laughter, “Holy fuck it is so nice and relaxing and its so cool, like I am actually making something right now,” he holds up the scarf, “But babe, I didn’t realize how longggggg it takes! I must’ve stayed up until three because I was determined to finish this scarf after you went to sleep, but I barely even made half a foot! And you, you made me that sweater for my birthday! I can’t even imagine how long it took you to do that one. I mean it’s always been my favorite sweater, but now, fuck, I’d give away one of my rings before I’d let anyone lay a hand on that thing,” he brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses it, “Basically what I think I’m trying to say, Y/N, is I love you and you’re amazing and I fucking love knitting.”

It’s the day after Christmas which is the day you and harry have been celebrating Christmas together for the past three years. Both of you flew to your home towns to spend Christmas with your families since neither of you get to see them often. You and Harry are sitting on the couch drinking apple cider in matching fluffy, pink robes that your mom bought you both for Christmas. Harry was so thrilled your mom knew his favorite color and made sure to call her immediately to thank her. You hand Harry his gift. Inside is a necklace with a pendant that had a preserved butterfly wing in it that you saw back in October at an antique shop and you knew he’d love it. At the bottom of the box was the big, fluffy, pink yarn he had eyed at the store. He jumps up at the sight of the yarn and tackles you on the couch covering you in kisses. He puts the necklace on repeating over and over again about how much he loves it.

Finally, he hands you your gift. It’s a medium sized box wrapped in dark green paper tied with a dark red bow. You smile at the memory of teaching Harry how to properly wrap gifts since he use to think it was acceptable to give gifts in the plastic bags they came in. In the box, everything is covered in tissue paper. The first thing you unwrap is a note card that says

“Agenda for today:

1)   Open gifts

2)   Open another gift in the bedroom ;)

3)   Eat dinner at Y/N’s favorite restaurant

4)   Drive around the big, fancy neighborhoods to see the Christmas light”

You look up and him and say thank you but he just gesturers for you to continue to open. The next item is a locket with a photo of the two of you and the last one is a book by your favorite author. You go in to hug Harry and thank him for the gifts, but he says, “Wait, there’s one more.” He lifts up the tissue paper that’s covering the bottom of the box and it’s the baby blue scarf. You slightly gasp and look up at him.

“Oh no, Harry, I can’t accept this. It’s the very first thing you made, this is way too important to you, I just can’t possibly accept such a special thing-“

He cuts you off, “Y/N” he says and holds your hand, “I can’t possibly think of a better use for this scarf other than for my very beautiful, very important girlfriend that I love deeply. Of course I want you to have the very first thing I knitted, you are that important.”

He takes the scarf out of the box, wraps it around your neck and pulls you in for a kiss using both ends of the scarf.

#harry styles #harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #fluff #christmas #harry styles christmas #knitting #harry styles knitting #harry styles one shot #harrystyles

[ashleyv6661]

Your Guardian Angel-Newt Scamander

Okay, here we go. I figured I’d start with this one. Fair warning, almost all of these are not finished and feature an OC of my own making. 

This is literally so scary to do. 

So my thought with this came from the song “Your Guardian Angel” by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. It’s not finished, but this is what I have so far. There are gaps hanging out in here of places I haven’t finished a thought yet, but that’s okay...Also, it’s long. I mean...really long...like...7,725 words long...so far. Maybe I’ll break it up later, but for now...

I guess trigger warnings should be mentioned? There’s some mention of blood and injury, nothing too dreadful though...Please let me know if there’s something else I should add.

When I see your smile

Rose Keddle was always told her smile could brighten any room. She shrugged off the compliment, blushing every time and rushing away from the situation. She wasn’t one to bask in the spotlight or even the glow of someone giving her a compliment.

Rose was always the first person to help someone in need, regardless of who they were. It didn’t matter to her. If someone needed help, she was there to provide it any way she could. Many people would take advantage of her kindness during school, and even in her adult life.

Tears run down my face I can't replace

Many times when she learned that the help she was providing one person, was to help that individual in hurting someone else, she couldn’t stop the shame and embarrassment she felt. The tears would come and she’d run off on her own. But there was always one person who would notice when she would run off, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Newt Scamander would notice, every time. He was enraptured by Rose and he couldn’t explain why. He was as enraptured with her as he was with all of his creatures he loved to study so much. Maybe it was her startling blue eyes. Or maybe it was the way her red hair seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, or the smiles she gave to everyone. Whatever it was, Newt had a difficult time keeping his eyes off of her when they were in the same room.

Newt chased after Rose when once again she hurried off, tears in her eyes, a bewildered Gryffindor unsure of what he did wrong left in her wake. Newt found her where he usually did, a scarcely used stairwell near the covered bridge.

“Rose.” Newt said softly, moving to sit next to her, throwing his bag down on the ground.

She quickly looked away from him, hiding her face in her hands. She was ashamed to be caught crying, when in reality all she wished she could do was smile to make him smile as well. Rose had always loved Newt’s shy, crooked smile he would send her.

It made Newt’s heart twinge to see Rose so upset, so out of her normal character. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth to provide some comfort, to let her know that she’s not alone.

Rose sniffled and tried her hardest to make the tears stop falling. Sometimes she wondered why she was so kind to people she didn’t even know, to people she didn’t necessarily trust. When she first arrived at Hogwarts, it had been easier. Helping people made them feel good, which in turn helped her feel good and caused smiles to break out across people’s faces. But things changed as she got older, and people started taking advantage of her, but she still couldn’t say no.

A soft white handkerchief was pressed into her hand from next to her and Rose finally looked at the soft spoken boy sitting next to her. He gave her a small smile, to try and maybe bring one out of her as well.

“Rose, maybe...maybe you need to start learning how to say no to people who ask for your help...Maybe try and learn to trust them first?” Newt said, very unsure of his words. He knew that doing anything that wasn’t being kind to someone was difficult for Rose. It was just how she was. “I...I truly dislike seeing you crying because some bloody dimwit used you.” He confessed, his cheeks beginning to turn pink.

Rose wiped at her eyes with the handkerchief before crumpling it up in her hands and looking Newt in the eyes, her own cheeks glowing pink.

“Thank you Newt, for caring...It’s difficult to find that sometimes.” Rose said, her voice scratchy from crying. “But it’s difficult for me to turn someone in need away...But also, perhaps you’re right.” She said quietly, looking away and beginning to fidget with her hands.

“You’re a lovely person who wants to help so many people, but you also need to help and take care of yourself, Rose. All of these experiences are only going to make you stronger, but only if you learn from them. The way that I learn from my experiences with different creatures.” Newt began, trying to pep her up somewhat.

A small chuckle escaped from her light pink lips.

“You mean learning from experiences such as ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have poked that Occamy with a stick’ or ‘Nothing to worry about! Just a small Murtlap bite!’ as the arm of your shirt is soaked in blood?” Rose mocked, a smile coming to her face.

Newt’s ears turned red as a smile graced his face as well.

“Well, maybe not those experiences in particular…” He mumbled, looking down a bit with the smile still on his face. He was elated that he was able to make Rose smile again. It was true what many people had said, her smile could brighten an entire room.

“Thank you Newt, you always know how to make me feel better.” Rose said, her voice back to its soft, soothing tone with a small smile on her lips. The tears had stopped falling and the redness was beginning to fade.

Newt only smiled and nodded, not trusting his own voice at this point. The sun was shining just so on her red hair, causing it to sparkle in the way that enraptured him so much. Was it just the sunlight, or was it simply just her?

And now that I'm strong I have figured out

How this world turns cold and it breaks through my soul

As time went on at Hogwarts, Rose learned how to say no to certain individuals who asked for her help. She refused to aid in anyone’s attempt to hurt someone else. She would always help those who needed it with their homework, particularly in the Hufflepuff common room where she tended to spend most of her time.

Rose spent less time crying, and more time smiling her genuine smile while helping those who truly needed it. She had also discovered that not only could she help others by helping them study or by doing a few tasks for them, but could also help with small injuries they may get. A paper cut here, a bloody nose there, even helping with a sprained ankle. Thankfully, the matron of the school either didn’t mind or didn’t know she was working on healing spells.

Continuing to grow as she did, Rose learned how cruel and wrong the world could be. She toughened her exterior and her resolve when she said no to people, and people soon stopped trying to use her. She’d learned what Newt had asked her to, how trust people before lending her aid. She had learned to trust a few people and actually had started to form a group of friends, something she never really had, save for Newt himself.

There were many days Rose would spend her time with Newt as he studied any creature he could find near, or even in the Forbidden Forest. Rose came along to ensure he didn’t get himself too injured. On the days he did get a little more than a bite or a scratch, were the days Rose’s heart jumped into her throat.

One experience involving what looked to be just a slightly larger than normal spider turned very bad, very quickly.

“Newt, maybe you should let this one go for now...he doesn’t seem very fond of your prodding and poking…” Rose said warily, inching closer to Newt and the spider that was incredibly twitchy.

“It’ll be okay Rose, no need to worry. Look at it’s legs! The hairs are almost razor sharp! It’s incredible!” Newt said, not turning his attention away from the creature in his grasp.

Rose still wasn’t very settled by this. And soon she knew why. The creature had finally had enough of Newt’s examination and lashed out. Newt cried out in pain as the spider bit his arm and thrashed its legs to get away, causing numerous cuts and gashes to Newt’s arms, face, and even his chest.

“NEWT! Oh my god!” Rose cried, running to him and catching him before his head hit the ground. The spider scampered off quickly, happy to finally be free.

“Well, I suppose that didn’t go so well.” Newt said through gritted teeth.

“You don’t say? Goodness Newt. Here, lay still. Let me help you with this.” Rose said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. She couldn’t voice it, but this scared her, seeing her very dear friend in this state.

Newt did as he was told, staying very still and watched with a hazy gaze as Rose removed her robes and rolled up her sleeves, readying her wand. She closed her blue eyes in concentration and started muttering different healing spells. Newt could feel as the cuts and gashes were fused back together, the blood no longer flowing from them.

Once the cuts were closed, Rose opened her eyes again and took a few deep breaths.

“Rose, are you okay?” Newt asked, moving to sit up.

“Don’t move Scamander. I’m okay.” Rose said, giving him a firm stare, before sending him a small smile. “Sometimes the healing spells tire me. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Now let’s see about this bite…” She confided, moving her gaze to the still oozing bite on his right arm.

“Are you feeling at all light-headed? Nauseous? Cold?” Rose asked him, trying to determine if there was any venom in the bites of those spiders.

Newt was feeling light-headed, but he didn’t think it was because of the bite. He never truly realized how pretty Rose was, especially with her cheeks tinted pink from working.

“Newt! Answer the questions.” Rose said, poking his forehead to gain his attention back.

“S-sorry. No, no I’m not. I don’t believe there was any venom in the bite. I think he’s too young to have developed it yet.” Newt answered. Rose nodded and grabbed her wand again.

She held the wand over the bite and began chanting a new spell, the tip of her wand turning a warm orange, sending warming waves throughout Newt’s arm, and through his body. After a few more minutes of chanting from Rose, the bite had been closed and the glow went away, but warmth stayed with Newt.

“There. You should be all set now.” Rose said, falling to sit on the ground, feeling particularly weary.

Newt sat up and brought his knees to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees, while watching Rose. She closed her eyes and it was quite obvious how tired she was. As skilled as Rose was with healing spells and charms, some of them were still a bit advanced for her age and skill level. But that didn’t stop her from using and learning them if it meant helping, or even saving someone.

“You know, you truly are remarkable.” Newt said before his courage ran away.

Rose lazily opened her eyes to look at Newt. She rose one eyebrow while looking at him.

“How so?” She asked, moving to sit up a bit more, crossing her legs in front of her.

“Well, you know...you stay so calm, so collected in terrifying and hard situations...you are quite gifted and skilled at healing spells and charms...You are one of a kind Rose Keddle.” Newt said, cheeks beginning to burn. Rose’s own cheeks began to burn as an angry look crossed her face.

“I was absolutely terrified just now! Newt do you realize what could have happened if you were out here alone? If I hadn’t come with you? It could have been a whole lot worse! What if you hadn’t been able to make it out of the forest? Newt you are one of the only people who I truly, undeniably trust and care about. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t able to make it back!” Rose said, getting visibly upset, moving to sit on her knees. She opened her mouth to rant some more but before she could, Newt had wrapped her in his arms, hugging her closely to himself.

Shocked, it took Rose a second to comprehend what was happening. Once it registered, she happily wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him back. This shy, awkward boy who had more of an interest in creatures than his regular studies and any friendships, meant so much to Rose. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, in any sense of the word.

“I’m sorry Rose. I’m sorry I scared you. I promise to be more careful in the future. I won’t be leaving you anytime soon. I promise.” Newt said, resting his chin on her head.

“You better not Newton Scamander. Because I’ll find you and it won’t be a very pretty sight.” Rose said in a timid voice, enjoying the feeling of being in Newt’s embrace.

Rose’s cheeks burned as she came to the realization that she wouldn’t mind being held like this by Newt more often. But of course, that couldn’t happen. He could never feel that way about her. And she certainly wasn’t brave enough to voice her thoughts and feelings about it to him, or anyone for that matter.

Rose wished that she could someday come out and say the feelings and thoughts that had been bubbling beneath the surface, but the thought of rejection scared her more than she’d like to admit.

Newt, unbeknownst to Rose, had the same exact feelings and fears. He wished to be the one to hold her and make her feel better every day. To chase away her fears and worries. He wanted to gallivant throughout the world with her, discovering new creatures and documenting their travels. Spending an adventure-filled life with the shy, timid, beautiful, amazing woman Rose was turning into. But he feared her rejection more than he feared being bit by a large spider.

Perhaps one day, they would realize their feelings for each other.

And I know I'll find deep inside me I can be the one

And then the unthinkable happened. Something so terrible, Rose still had a hard time believing it.

Newt was expelled from Hogwarts. Rose’s best friend, a person she had become so incredibly close to, trusted with everything she was, had been expelled from school, for something he did not do. Newt was too kind of a person, and took the fall for someone else. And it almost cost him everything.

Professor Dumbledore stood up for him, and he was allowed to keep his wand, but could no longer continue his education at Hogwarts. Which, in a way was great for Newt. He was able to continue his studies in magical creatures instead. But he knew he was leaving something even greater behind. Rose Keddle. He knew how alone she was going to be, how heart broken. But this was a decision he made and he had to live with it.

He was given the opportunity to say goodbye to his friends, and especially to Rose.

Rose waited for him outside in the abandoned stairwell by the covered bridge, so that there wouldn’t be any prying eyes. She tried so hard to keep her tears hidden as she waited for Newt to come.

“Rose…” A timid, sad voice hit her ears. She whipped around, seeing a very crestfallen Newt standing in the archway.

“Newt…” Was all Rose could get out before the tears started falling. Newt said nothing, only opened his arms for her, and she rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his middle, as he put one hand on the back of her head and held her close to him.

“I’m so sorry Rose. I didn’t do this to hurt you. I promise. Oh Rose you are such a lovely person and I have been so lucky to have this time with you.” Newt said as he began to rock them back and forth.

“Newt, this isn’t goodbye. Don’t say this is goodbye. We’ll see each other again. We can stay in contact through owls. This isn’t goodbye.” Rose said, her voice thick with tears.

Newt chuckled and held her tighter.

“Of course. Of course Rose. I can’t wait to tell you of all my adventures.” He said, pulling back to look into Rose’s blue eyes.

She smiled at him, and even though their moods may be dismal, it still lit up her face, and the room they were in. It was a truly magical ability, Newt thought to himself.

“I want to go with you one day.” Rose told him, not removing her hands from his sides. He grinned at her and nodded furiously.

“Yes, yes I would like that very much Rose Keddle.” Newt said to her.

Rose’s heart was pounding. Did she tell him?

Newt’s heart was in his throat. Should he say anything?

“Rose...I want you to know...that I will make this up to you...You are so special, such a special girl. So special to..to me. You mean...well what I mean to say is...you mean a great, great deal to me.” Newt stumbled and stuttered through his words before Rose put a finger to his lips.

Her face was beaming with the smile she shared, eyes alight with happiness and excitement.

“Newt, you mean the world and more to me. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for, and this next year and a half of schooling could not go by faster. I look forward to hearing about all of your adventures, and...I’ll prove to you when I am done here, that I’ll be worth taking on your adventures with you.” Rose said, never once leaving Newt’s eyes.

Newt could feel his cheeks burning and he nodded at Rose. He looked forward to this next adventure, and even more so to the adventure of having Rose with him.

“I’m sure you will. But now, I have to go. I don’t want you to get in trouble as well. Stay safe, stay strong Rose Keddle.” Newt said, bringing her in for another hug. Rose tightly wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let go.

“Stay safe Newton Scamander. Use those healing spells well.” Rose said just above a whisper before kissing Newt on the cheek, taking him by surprise.

Rose stepped back from him, a smile on her face as she continued to back away, knowing that if she stayed she would never let Newt leave. There was still too much unsaid, too much unknown between the two of them. But now was not the time.

Newt’s smile reached from ear to ear as he took one last look at the beautiful smiling face of Rose Keddle. Her vibrant red hair, her brilliant blue eyes. He committed the look to memory before forcing himself to turn away and leave the school grounds.

I will never let you fall (let you fall)

I'll stand up with you forever

Dearest Rose,

In case you never learned this in school, rain forests are incredibly hot. And very easy to get lost in. Also, it rains quite a bit. I suppose that makes sense with the name. The creatures here are so strange. Their habits, it’s difficult to make sense of them. But they are beautiful, and so unique. I wish you could see them.

I have acquired a new little creature that causes me more headaches than I’m willing to admit. It’s called a Niffler, and the little bugger loves anything that’s shiny. I’m sure we studied them in school, but to see one in the real world, it’s exhilarating. He escapes my case no matter how hard I try to keep him in. It’s quite frustrating, perhaps you’ll have an idea of how to keep him in there?

Your healing spells have become invaluable to me out here in the field. Earning the trust of creatures is as difficult as I thought it would be, but so worth it in the end.

Only a few more weeks until you’ve graduated, yes? I look forward to finally seeing you again. These letters are wonderful, but nothing compared to a true conversation with you.

I know that exams are coming up, and how stressed you can get around this time. Don’t let it get to you too much Rose. Take time for you, help yourself while you are busy helping others. I’m so proud of who you’ve become throughout the years. You are a beautifully strong individual and I’ll always be here to listen to you, for anything you may need...I mean anything Rose. Anyways...

I hope your studies are going well, and the terrible boys at that school have gotten the hint to leave you alone finally.

I miss you

I hope you are doing well Rose. Talk to you soon.

--Newt Scamander

Rose couldn’t stop the grin that came over her features as she read Newt’s latest letter to her. She looked over the small drawings he had sent as well of different creatures he had discovered. One of her favorites being the tiny Bowtruckles he discovered in Southern Germany. He wasn’t wrong, she was stressing as exams loomed ever closer.

Rose hadn’t picked a career to go into, as she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. She knew two things; she loved to help people and she had an affinity for healing charms and even healing potions. But she had no interest in becoming a matron or a doctor at St. Mungos. She couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck behind doors all day.

Rose did begin looking into healing spells and charms for magical creatures, her search coming up very close to empty, as not much research had been done on the topic. She had been considering asking Newt what he thought about her doing her own research when she traveled with him, but didn’t want to burden him with this thought as he was dealing with potentially dangerous creatures.

Rose did take his advice to heart, making sure to leave time to take care of herself amidst helping her peers study for their finals as well. She studied hard and often, making sure to attend the last few of her classes. She kept Newt’s letters with her in her bag, reading them when she needed encouragement. It wasn’t the same as having his shy, crooked smile accompanying his encouraging words, but it would have to do for now.

Finally when Rose had a moment alone in the common room, the fire dying as a few stragglers were studying away, did she pull out some parchment and her quill and ink to write a new letter to Newt.

My darling Newt,

Your letters continue to raise me up and give me the strength and encouragement I need to continue my studies, instead of trying every attempt to run off and join you in your adventures. They sound absolutely thrilling!

I love hearing about all the wonderful creatures you’ve found. So far my favorites are the Niffler and the Bowtruckles, which are incredibly adorable by the way. I wish I had a solution to your Niffler popping out of your case so often. Maybe I can sneak in a bit of research among my studying.

I’ve been doing other research as time goes on as well, you know, to maybe figure out what I want to do, career-wise. It’s been difficult, I haven’t found anything that suits me very well. Perhaps you can lend your insight? Although please don’t let it distract you as you are out in the field, the less you get hurt the better. I’m glad to hear the healing spells are treating you well! I’ve sent a few potions with this owl, I hope these are helpful also!

I’ve been looking into healing spells and charms and potions that can potentially be used on magical creatures. There isn’t much research on this topic...I’ve been wondering if it’s something worth looking into when I travel with you? I mean...if that’s still something you would like to happen, of course.

Those boys have given up bothering me, realizing that I truly had no interest in whatever it was they were trying to offer. Also, I have far too much studying and research to do to waste my time with them.

I hope you are doing well out in the field Newt, I worry about you being out there alone. Make sure you’re eating! I won’t have you falling away to nothing Mr. Scamander.

I also hope you know how proud of you I am. I am so proud you are pursuing all of your dreams. You are becoming such a wonderful man and individual Newt. I’m happy to be a part of your wonderful life. Just know, I support you Newt. I’m always here for you. Always.

I’m counting down the days until I am done with school! So soon Newt, so soon!

Please take care, very good care of yourself and your wonderful creatures.

I miss you

Until next letter,

--Rose Keddle

I'll be there for you through it all (through it all)

Even if saving you sends me to heaven

Dearest Rose,

I hope this letter finds you well. Things have been getting...difficult to say the least. I could really use your guidance and support and one of your dazzling smiles. I’ve reached a bit of an impasse in my research with the creatures in Scandinavia. As interesting as they may be, they are not creatures of any habit that I have been able to discern as of yet. It’s really quite frustrating.

As far as the research you wish to pursue, I think it’s a wonderful idea! There isn’t much about healing magical creatures because most witches and wizards would rather have the creatures killed and taken care of that way. When in reality, most of these creatures are harmless if you know just the simplest things about them! Take Hippogriffs for example, if you already know that they are proud creatures, and know to respect their space and not just rush to meet them, you won’t run the risk of them attacking!

Honestly, I believe I want to publish a book about magical creatures. How to protect them, care for them, understand them even. A bit ambitious, don’t you think? But I think it would be beneficial for people to have…

By now, you should be just about done with your examinations, and on your way to graduation! I’m proud of you Rose. But more than that, I’m excited to see you again. Of course I still want you to accompany me on my adventures. There is no one else I would want with me.

We must arrange a time and place to meet. Somewhere in Britain, of course.

My dearest Rose, I can’t tell you how excited I am that you are graduating at last. These past two years have been difficult, but I’m glad to have had your support through all of it. I’m glad that you’ve been there for me. It means a great deal to me.

You mean the world to me.

To seeing you soon,

—Newt Scamander

Rose held the letter close to her, closing her eyes as she imagined Newt, hunched over a desk writing the letter to her, a look of distress on his face as he told her about his frustrations. How she wished she could be there to help him now, but she knew it would happen soon. She had one more exam before her schooling would be complete, and she was more than ready to join Newt out in the world.

Her parents were well aware of her plans for after graduation, and were willing to support her, given that she wrote them every now and then. Rose happily agreed to their terms and scribbled a quick note that day to Newt to let him know that she would definitely be joining him on his adventures.

Amidst all of the studying for exams, Rose didn’t have much time for her own personal research. It bothered her, but she wanted to do well on her last exam, and wanted to help others to achieve the same. When she had the chance, she asked the Care of Magical Creatures professor for suggestions on books to get concerning what she wanted to study. The list was short, but Rose would take anything at this point.

When Rose’s last examination was done, and she was finally able to relax for what felt like the first time ever, did she sit down to write hopefully the last letter to Newt before she saw him again.

My darling Newt,

Oh Newt, I have finally finished all of my exams as I write this to you. All of them! No more homework, no more tests, no more school! Now, I can focus on my research while adventuring with you. I have been waiting for this day for so long, and I can’t wait to see you again.

I can’t express how lonely it’s been at school since you left, but I did it! And I did it with your unwavering support of my studies. I don’t think I would have been able to finish if you hadn’t pushed me so hard to stay and study.

And Newt, of course I support you and everything you are doing. I’m sorry you’ve reached such a dead end, but perhaps taking a break from the environment will do you good? Who knows, you may learn something about those creatures from other creatures! We will just have to wait and see.

A book! That’s a FANTASTIC idea Newton! I agree with you, the public should be educated about these creatures. Not all of them are dangerous, especially if you know what to look for. I hope we are able to make a difference in the mind of others with the research we do. Mostly your research of course…

Now as for when and where to meet, June 20 at 1:00 PM, at Kings Cross Station in London, the entrance of Platform 9 ¾.

You had best be there Newt. I promise I will be.

I will be there no matter what.

You will never understand how much you mean to me

To seeing you in two weeks,

--Rose Keddle

Rose quickly ran up to the owlery, found her tawny messenger owl, gave the message to her and sent her on her way for the last time.

Rose had never felt quite so giddy before. She was more than ready to reunite with her best friend and accompany him on all of his adventures. She was ready to get him out of trouble, see all of his accomplishments, learn and grow with him as she studied her own field of magical creatures.

Rose would stand by his side, no matter the cost, or the mutual feelings between them, even if it was the last thing she did.

He meant the world to her. He truly did, and Rose wanted to tell him how she felt about him, but was far too shy to ever do anything of that sort. For now, she was content with being able to see him again.

Newt kept Rose’s letters close by at all times. He re-read them often when he was feeling particularly lonely or frustrated. They calmed him and made him feel connected to the human world on days he felt more like an animal, or days where he spent more time in his case rather than out of it.

Rose’s letters helped him get through more days than he was willing to admit. He always had a huge smile on his face every time her owl would find him, wherever he happened to be in the world at that time. He had stayed mostly in the continent of Europe, choosing to study the creatures closest to him first, before he moved on to the rest of the world. He also wanted to save some of the more exciting locations to explore with Rose.

He thought about her daily. Her striking blue eyes and sparkling red hair...he could still picture the way she looked the day he had left Hogwarts. Her eyes held tears but she smiled for him as he walked away. She was sad that he was leaving, but happy for him at the same time. He remembered the tint of pink in her cheeks and the way the breeze blew her hair off her shoulders. She was always beautiful to Newt, but for that moment, it was the most beautiful he had ever seen her.

The moment he received Rose’s letter, a grin spread across his face and his heart started pounding. He drank in every word and his heart almost stopped when he saw that she actually had put down a date and time.

“June 20...I’ll be there Rose Keddle. I promise.” He murmured to himself, eyes still rereading the letter. The only thing able to break him away from the letter was Pickett who tapped him repeatedly on the cheek.

“All right all right you little pest. I get it, you’re hungry.” Newt said to the Bowtruckle who gave a squeak in response.

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay

June 20 finally rolled around. The excitement surging through Newt’s body was tangible, all of the creatures could feel the excitement pouring off of Newt as he tended to them in the morning. They were a bit more rowdy this morning, but Newt didn’t mind. After close to two years, he would finally have Rose back by his side. He would finally have his closest, most trusted friend with him again. He would get to see her stunning smiles that could brighten even most dark of places and be able to look into her crystal blue eyes. He continuously kept checking the time, watching as the hour hand slowly crept towards 1:00.

Rose bounced around her room at her childhood home, packing clothes, books, parchment, quills, ink, a cauldron and potion ingredients and necessities. Anything she could think of that she might need during this adventure. She was sure to try and limit the amount of shiny things she brought, particularly jewelry, so as to not entice the Niffler. She decided to use her Hogwarts trunk to pack all of her things, she could always shrink it to carry it easier. She was glowing with how excited she was to be seeing Newt again.

Rose couldn’t wait to see his cute, lopsided smile. His beautiful blue-green eyes and curly brown hair. Just the thought of seeing his freckled face brought a blush to Rose’s cheeks. Even after all this time, she still had certain feelings toward Newt that she had yet to admit to anyone else. She briefly wondered if he had met anyone else during his travels, but quickly pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter anyways. Newt was her friend first and foremost. Rose watched the clock as time slowly passed by as she spent the last few hours with her parents. They were proud of her, but wary of her travels. But Rose wouldn’t take no for an answer, she was going and that was that. 1:00, please come faster.

At 12:50 Rose stood up from talking with her parents and hugged them both goodbye. “Take care.” They told her, she promised she would. Her heart was pounding as she put her traveling cloak around her shoulders, tucked her wand in her pocket and grabbed her trunk. She waved to her parents as she apparated away to a secluded part of Kings Cross station.

It took everything in her not to run to the meeting place, trying to appear as normal as possible as she pulled her trunk behind her. Rose’s eyes darted from side to side as she looked anywhere for that familiar head of bouncy brown curls. She quickly came to the meeting place, heart still pounding in her chest even though Newt wasn’t there yet. She looked up at the nearby clock. 12:58. Newt always had a knack for being exactly on time. She hoped that hadn’t changed.

Rose anxiously bounced on her toes as she looked this way and that. The two minutes felt like an eternity to her.

Newt hurried to climb out of his case, seeing that the time was 12:55. He knew Rose would be waiting for him, she had a talent of always being a few minutes early. He closed his case, grabbed the handle and stood. He took a quick second to fix his jacket and vest before apparating to King’s Cross station himself. His heart was in his throat as he moved through the crowds of people towards platform 9¾.

Then, he saw her. Nervously bouncing, causing her red hair to bounce with her, her blue eyes searching the crowds. He stopped in his tracks as a huge smile crossed his features. She was as beautiful as ever and she was here, waiting for him.

Rose took another look at the crowds before she stopped on a familiar, lanky character with brown curls and stunning blue eyes. Blue eyes that were staring straight at her. She couldn’t stop the smile that came, along with the tears that sprang to her eyes. Newt came. He kept his promise and he came.

Newt took a few steps forward before placing his case down on the ground. Rose wasted no time running to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he wrapped his arms around her middle. They were laughing, they were crying, they were happy. Newt picked Rose up and spun her around in the air, the grin on his face hurting his cheeks, but he didn’t dare stop smiling now.

“You actually came.” Rose said to him once he placed her back on the ground.

“Of course I did, Rose Keddle. Anything for you.”  Newt said to her, watching as her cheeks turned pink from the compliment.

“Shall we then?” He asked her and she nodded furiously, moving out of his grip to grab her trunk, he moved to grab his case.

“Is that the case with all your wonderful creatures?” Rose asked as she stood next him.

“Oh yes. I can’t wait for you to see them all. They’re very rowdy today however.” Newt told her as they walked out of King’s Cross Station together, side by side.

Everything felt okay, everything felt right again.

Seasons are changing

And waves are crashing

And stars are falling all for us

Mom and dad,

The world is huge! There is so much to see and I feel as though I’ll never have the time to see it all. Newt and I are currently in the forests of Finland, scouting out some curious creatures that I can’t spell the name of. But Newt I’m sure could. He’s truly brilliant you know. He’s helped me gain more of an understanding of my own field of research I’ve decided to pursue.

These creatures are amazing, I’ve included...

Days grow longer and nights grow shorter

I can show you I'll be the one

The work soon became very exhausting. In Newts case we had acquired several different species, both aquatic and land creatures, even some pixies. They all required attention and to be fed and to be studied. And Rose needed to heal more than a few. Some of the creatures they had acquired were creatures that were rescued from traffickers, or creatures who were found hurt in the wild.

Rose did everything she could to heal the creatures from using and modifying spells to using potions. Newt had helped her find several different plants and herbs that grew in the wild that could be useful for potions and salves. It was a wonderfully close working relationship, and the two fed off of each others energy.

There were many a night when the two would fall asleep in the case over their notes and manuscripts. They would wake the next morning with stiff necks and sore backs, giggle at each other and promise not to do it again.

“We really need to stop doing this Newt. It’s definitely not good for our health.” Rose would say, her cheeks flushed when she would look at a disheveled and sleepy Newt. Was he always this adorable?

Newt would chuckle and agree, both knowing it wouldn’t be the last night they did this. Rose would pull out a small mirror she kept near her workstation and fix up her hair so she didn’t look like one of the creatures they were caring for. Newt would watch in silence, wrapped up in watching her hair shimmer in the dim light and the way her eyes were half shut with sleep. Had she always been this cute?

Some days went better than others. But some days were downright terrible.

“Uh Rose? I think I need your help…” Newt muttered, wobbling towards Rose who was checking on a Mooncalf’s injured leg. Rose looked up and couldn’t stop the gasp that came from her lips.

Newt was holding his arm, blood pouring from it and skin bubbling as though it had been burnt.

“Merlin’s beard Newt! What did you do? Sit down sit down! Now!” Rose fettered, rushing away from the Mooncalf enclosure over to Newt as he sat on the steps leading to the Occamy’s and Bowtruckle’s.

“Did you get in a tussle with the Erumpent or something? Goodness gracious Newton!” Rose asked, moving his hand away from his injured arm so she could look at it.

“Well...something like that...She doesn’t like being pet...don’t pet her.” Newt said, leaning his head on the staircase railing, closing his eyes.

“Newt stay awake or I promise I’ll kill you next.” Rose said sharply, pulling her wand out.

“Yes Miss Keddle…” Newt muttered, opening his eyes and watching her work. Before she cast any healing spells, she summoned her stock of healing potions and set them down next to Newt.

Rose looked through the different potions looking for a specific one. She grabbed a softly glowing purple potion and handed it to Newt before grabbing a red sparkling potion.

“Drink half of that potion, it’ll stop the burning. This isn’t going to tickle.” Rose instructed, watching as Newt nodded and tipped back the contents of the bottle. He gritted his teeth as the stinging sensation of the potion went down his throat, followed by a look of brief relief as he placed the bottle down next to him before Rose poured the red potion over his arm.

It took everything within him not to shout in pain, instead he let out a loud gasp, gripping the railing with his good hand.

“I’m sorry Newt, I’m sorry. I know it hurts. It’ll be gone in a minute, it’s almost healed.” Rose muttered, not taking her eyes off of Newt’s arm. She watched as the blisters healed and the cuts disappeared. Sadly, it did leave a few scars. Sometimes the magic in her potions wasn’t completely strong enough to rid the body of a scars. She tried, and tried, but it didn’t always work out with the magic from the creatures also.

Soon enough Newt’s arm was healed and there was only a small amount of the red potion left that Rose put away. Rose then took both of Newt’s hands into her own as she looked up into his eyes. He looked weary but thankful.

“Newt, we really need to talk about your destructive tendencies. You really need to stop injuring yourself so much.” Rose told him lightly, a smile playing at her lips.

Newt chuckled before squeezing her hands and sitting up more.

“I’m sorry Rose. I know it worries you. One day I’ll get the hang of this and won’t be needing you to heal me every other day.” He joked, smiling at her.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily Scamander. Whether you need me to heal you or not you can’t get rid of me.” Rose said, a smirk on her lips. Newt let out a real laugh this time, bringing a genuine smile to Rose’s face.

“I would never think of getting rid you Rose Keddle. You are too dear to me.” Newt said, not missing the way Rose’s cheeks glowed red at his compliment. Rose smiled at him before standing, removing her hands from Newt’s.

“Right..Now then, to bed with you. And not at your desk this time Mr. Scamander. Actual bed upstairs and out of this case.” Rose ordered, helping the lanky man stand. He only grumbled a vague ‘Yes ma’am,’ before walking over to the hut. He stopped at the door, like he meant to say something. He wanted to tell her to come with him, but stopped himself and hurried away out of sight.

Rose sighed watching after him. Newt Scamander was a mystery and a challenge to Rose. She still battled with the feelings she had for him.

#newt scamander #newt scamander x oc #fbawtf #fanfiction #songfic #please be kind? #literally terrified rn #newt x oc #newt x reader #newtxreader #newtxoc #fantastic beasts

[expectyaytions]

Something Just Like This (part II)

Part A

🌬Winter❄️

“Tall person! Get over here!” She shouted at Sweet Pea over the Christmas music. They were decorating their tree and she needed help with the lights.

“I’m making peppermint Jell-O shots -you know, like you ordered me to.” He shouted from the kitchen, but she could hear his footsteps coming closer.

“I just need help getting the parts I can’t reach.” She handed him the unlit strings.

“So basically you need me to do the whole tree then.” She punched his arm.

“Shut Up - I’m vertically challenged.”

“You mean short.” She was wearing black leggings, a oversized white sweater and a chunky red scarf and currently digging out Christmas balls. “So is Andrews joining us for our Christmas gathering tomorrow?”

She shot him a look.

“No.”

“Was he invited?”

“No.”

“It’s been 3 months! When are you going to tell me what happened?” He whined.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I hate surprises. Just tell me.”

“No.” This time she couldn’t keep a straight face and she laughed.

“It’s not fair! No one knows anything except you. Jughead doesn’t know either! Or Betty!”

“Everyone will find out soon enough.”

“Veeeeee, come on I won’t tell anyone.”

“You said that about Halloween, but Fangs found out.”

“Okay. True, but Fangs tricked it out of me.”

“How exactly did he trick that out of you?”

Sweet Pea just shrugged before bursting out laughing.

“I still can’t believe -“

“It’s not funny anymore.” She smacked his leg from the floor.

“Oh Darling, it will always be funny.” She flipped him off.

-//-//-//-//-

It was the Sunday after Christmas and everyone was back at Veronica’s and Sweet Pea’s for brunch. They had all brought various breakfast goodies and snacks. And spent the late morning swapping Christmas horror stories and sipping eggnog. Fangs was in the middle of telling a story about hows Noah’s niece asked everyone at Christmas Eve dinner where babies came from. “Everyone just kind of went silent until Noah’s grandpa cleared his throat and asked her why she wanted to know. And she said she wanted a little sister. His grandpa then told her what sex was. She was horrified and told her parents they were gross. Everyone was wavering between laughing and being shocked.” Fangs was laughing so hard at his retelling “and then then asked how will Noah have babies if he doesn’t have a wife but a husband? It was an interesting Christmas for sure.”

“Sounds like it.” Betty agreed, “where Noah now?”

“He stayed home for a few more days. His family does this thing for New Years. But I told him I already had plans - right Veronica?”

“You know it!”

“Did you see Andrews while you guys were home?” Sweet Pea asked Jughead and Betty, while looking at Veronica. Her curiosity peaked.

“We stopped by to see Fred, but he wasn’t home. My mom said she thought they might be in Chicago.”

“Did you hear from him Veronica?” Jughead asked her. Veronica had indeed heard from Archie. She knew he wasn’t in Chicago. He was right here in New York celebrating the holidays with his parents and pregnant girlfriend - the one with the peace sign tattoo. He was waiting to tell everyone else. For what she didn’t know. But he wanted to tell her first. So she’d know they were done, for good. So on top of her sadness and anger, she was also harboring his secret.

“Yeah I did. He’s had a good Christmas with Fred and Molly. Says hello to everyone. He’ll be in touch soon.”

“That’s it?” Jughead asked, his teeth gritted. “My best fucking friend of two decades can’t even text me?” Betty put a hand in his knee.

“I’ve invited him and his girlfriend to join us for New Years.”

“Girlfriend?” Betty asked her, making direct eye contact.

“Yup, girlfriend.”

“Wow.” Sweet Pea added and Fangs caught each other’s eye and had a conversation.

There was a bit of an awkward silence, but Veronica clapped her hands and said it was time to exchange gifts. Everyone went to their respective present locations and gathered up gifts. Veronica went to her room, taking the time to exhale through a few tears. She didn’t want to be with Archie, but likes knowing he was always a possibility -well until now. She was alone and she hated it. Dating sucked, it was a lot of rejection, fake smiles and bad kissing. She’d ended up at few guys apartments, desperate to feel a human connection, to feel wanted. But as soon they fell asleep she’d gather her clothes and tiptoe out into the night. She’d hail a cab and feel lonely. The next morning she’d save face and lie to Sweet Pea, or Fangs or Betty - whoever she saw that she was fine. Her eyes flitted to her dresser where she kept two framed photos. One of her high school graduation with Betty, Jughead, Archie and herself in their caps and gowns, arms around each other. The other photo had been taken in May, it was taken at Betty’s graduation. She was in her cap and gown while the other three had their sashes and caps for a photo. Two weeks later Archie told her he thought they were headed in two different directions.

“You okay?” She jumped bringing a hand to her chest.

“Yeah, fine, sorry.” She shook her head away from the photos and looked at Sweet Pea.

“You better have gotten me something good.” She teased starting toward the living room.

“Spoiler alert its a year membership to match.com.” She swatted his arm.

“Better than my gift to you, which is nothing.” He rolled his eyes and he let her get away without asking her more about the Archie Andrews elephant in the room.

“Veronica! You did not!”

“I did! I hope you guys like it!”

“This will be perfect! I need a vacation!” Betty was practically jumping with joy.

“Seriously, France! Skiing in France?!” Fangs was salvaging. “Good thing I got my passport last summer.”

“Same.” Sweet Pea breathed, still shocked at the extravagant gift.

“Only Veronica Lodge wouldn’t let herself be topped at gift giving.”

“It was selfish actually. I really just wanted you guys to go with me somewhere I lived for a getaway. And I invited Toni and Cheryl.”

“Are they coming?” Fangs asked.

“Well, they should be getting the package with details in like ten minutes. I also booked an extra for Noah. But if you don’t-“

“Oh my god, seriously? Veronica Lodge, Marry me?” She laughed.

“I just wanted us to to have a getaway together. Make some memories.”

“Did you invite Archie?” Jughead asked.

“I did. He and Sage can’t come though.” Jughead nodded.

“There’s still something you’re not telling us.” He looked at Veronica for confirmation. She rolled her lips together and nodded. Jughead exhaled in frustration.

“Just leave it Jug.” Betty whispered.

“we’re going skiing in France! And staying at private chalet!” Fangs was squealing into the phone to Noah telling him the good news.”

“And staying for two nights in Paris on each end of the two weeks. Two when we get there and two before we leave.”

“Veronica.” Sweet Pea looked pained, “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

“Of course you will! You’re my roommate and friend and you keep me sane.”

-//-//-//-//-

Veronica had rented out a vacant basement space that used to be a club. She hired caterers, a DJ, a bartender and some of her parents party people to help her transform it into a 1940’s-esque speakeasy themed space. She had snacks and drinks ready, she’d open the doors at 10. She’d invited everyone from the office, told all her friends to invite friends and she was hoping for a good turn out. She had reservations at a small, but well known restaurant in SoHo. It was going to be her, Sweet Pea, Fangs, Noah, Toni, Cheryl, Betty, Jughead and unbeknownst to them -Archie and Sage were coming to make their announcement.

They met her apartment - she had rented a limo to take them to dinner and then take them to the club. Sweet Pea greeted everyone at the door as Veronica was still trying to get her make-up right. Noah and Fangs arrived first. She heard them enter and Sweets offered them beers. Betty and Jughead were next, Betty wasted no time barging into Veronica’s room and squealing at how excited she was.

“You’re not even dressed!”

“I’m finishing my makeup. I’m almost done - just need to add my lipstick.”

“Is that the dress you’re wearing?” Veronica turned to see where her friend was pointing.

“Yeah that’s the one.” It was a short royal blue sequin and lace dress. It was simple for Veronica’s usual celebratory dress standards, but she looked forward to how it would shine under the lights of the club.

“I love it. It screams New Years Eve.”

“You look incredible B.” Betty had her hair down in curls and a black jumpsuit. “Very Farrah Fawcett circa Charlie’s Angels.” Veronica capped her lipstick and slid her robe off. She pulled the dress over her legs and up until she slid her arms in the straps she adjusted it and slid on her black stilettos. She grabbed her clutch and her long black jacket and together she and Betty headed to the living room. By that time everyone had arrived and were sipping drinks.

“Hot damn!” Cheryl shouted, Toni wolf-whistled behind her.

“You guys look fabulous!” Fangs announced kissing both of their cheeks. Veronica was nervous about seeing Archie. She was worried about the reactions of Jughead and Betty. She took a deep breath and swallowed a shot Sweet Pea handed to her.

#sweet pea #sweetvee #riverdale #veronica lodge #sweet pea x veronica lodge #southside serpents #veronica x sweet pea #bughead #betty cooper #jughead jones

[ancientbooshartifacts]

A Bit Rubbish

Author: IDeserveYou

Year: 2013

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Naboo/Dennis, Naboo/Saboo, Dennis/Methuselah, Howince, Saboo/Methuselah

Fuck, Naboo thinks wearily, leaning against the kitchen table and surveying the wreckage of his once cosy flat.Why the fuck did I say that we’d throw a Christmas party this year? I should have just bullied Howard into cooking turkey for the four of us as usual. Not let Vince invite half of Camden and then gone mad myself and invited the entire Board of Shamen because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I wasn’t born yesterday. I should’ve known. There is a groan and a loud snore from the sofa. Yeah, and I know you did a good job getting rid of the last few paralytics, Bollo, but if you don’t get your act together with the clearing-up tomorrow, I’ll take back what I said about not getting an upgraded familiar. This place is a disaster zone. I don’t even know where to start. Mechanically, Naboo picks up an empty crisp packet from the table, balls it up and chucks it at the bin. See that? Missed. Story of my Christmas. Story of my fuckin’ life. Dunno why I bother. He snorts. Saboo would say that a lot of the time I don’t. He was on good form tonight, hardly acknowledged my existence except to insult me but why change the habit of a lifetime? And why – he kicks irritably at the crumpled packet, knocking it under the worktop – why did he have to look so fuckin’ hot in that red jumpsuit and Santa hat? That’s Vince’s job, mind you he was rockin’ the sparkly angel look and I didn’t see Howard complaining… He glances along the passageway; the light under Vince’s bedroom door has gone out and all is quiet. All right for some. I know, I shouldn’t begrudge them, they are sort-of my friends I suppose and we’ve been through a lot together, why shouldn’t they get what they want for Christmas? He sighs. C’m’on, Naboo, you plum, it could be worse. You're Naboo, that's who, an' you're self-sufficient. You could be stuck with someone who argues with you the whole time. That bitch of a wife of Dennis’s, honestly, she’s well fit but what else does he see in her? Beats me, always has. She’s never happy, can’t just take the D-Man as he is… well OK, he is pretty hopeless and he can’t take his eyes off a pretty pair of boobs in a tinsel basque, but she didn’t have to hit him quite so hard. Fuck, what was that? There’s a scrabbling noise on the roof, and a sudden thud. Burglars? Better wake Bollo – no, hang on a sec, that click, that’s the latch on the skylight, hear that often enough with those two goin’ out on the roof to snog, but they’re in bed so who was up there? ‘Has – has everybody gone?’ a hoarse and hopeless voice asks from somewhere near the top of the stairs. ‘Most of ’em.’ Naboo detaches himself from the table and clicks the landing light on. Oh, the poor sod. I should’ve known.

‘Dennis? What the fuck were you doin’ on the roof?’ ‘It was cold up there.’ Dennis is shivering, swaying on his feet; Naboo isn’t entirely sure he knows where he is or who’s talking to him. ‘You bin out there all that time?’ Naboo kicks himself for a thoughtless git. It must be two hours at least since the fight, and once the music was turned back on and the drink was flowing again, nobody had bothered to ask where the loser had gone. ‘Yes.’ Dennis’s robes are askew, his peacock feather headdress is bent and crumpled, and there is a blackening bruise on his cheekbone. That wife of his is a bitch. A lean, lithe, snarling wild animal in a gold minidress. She really did hit him hard. Punishing her mate for his roving eye, and then taking her revenge… ‘Come on in an’ get warm, then.’ Naboo gestures towards the kitchen. But Dennis seems to be having trouble focusing. ‘Cold is good. Clarifies the mind. Assists in the rethinking of basic principles and the suppression of the animal passions… Where is she?’ ‘Gone back to yours.’ ‘Very sensible.’ Naboo takes a deep breath, and adds the rest of it, the two words he really didn’t want to say: ‘With Saboo.’ Dennis gives an approving nod. ‘Well, that’s… very gallant of him. Methuselah is not much of a carpet driver at the best of times. And tonight wasn’t exactly the best of times. I’m sure he’ll see her safely home…’ Naboo can’t help shaking his head to try to shift the image still burned into his shaman-senses, the two figures tightly entwined, gold against red, Saboo’s big hands splayed across tanned skin... The Head Shaman’s milky blue eyes grow suddenly sharp. They look at Naboo, and through him, and right to the core of him, and there is no hiding place. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Dennis takes a wobbly step towards Naboo and reaches out, no doubt meaning to put a kindly hand on his shoulder, as he has done many times before. He staggers and almost falls; Naboo grabs him round the waist, and hangs on. Dennis wraps his arms around Naboo, and pulls him into an awkward hug. ‘I didn’t know… I never saw. Never looked.’ Naboo's not quite sure what's happening here; he'd expected to be being sorry for Dennis, not the other way round. But it does feel good to be held by someone. Beggars can't be choosers... ‘Nuffink you could’ve done anyway,’ he mutters into the front of Dennis’s robes. ‘Probably not.’ Dennis heaves a huge sigh. ‘I am somewhat inexpert in affairs of the heart. Otherwise I should not be here now, I should be tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa and…’ Naboo gives him a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Yeah, I know. We’re a bit rubbish at this, aren’t we?’ ‘Naboo, I am grateful for your support. Yes, we are a bit rubbish at this. In fact we are a bit rubbish at many things. Sometimes I wonder whether the Board of Shamen itself is not actually a bit rubbish. Ditto the Head Shaman.’ ‘Oi, Big D, don’t talk like that. We get enough of that bullshit from Tony fuckin’ Harrison.’ Naboo stares hard into his leader’s troubled face. ‘We need you, Dennis. You’re doin’ good. So what, the Board may be a bit rubbish, but that don’t mean it ain’t still got magic…’ Dennis turns his head away; looks up at the landing ceiling. Naboo looks too, and suddenly they are both very still. Stuck to the lampshade by a curling piece of Sellotape, one single tatty sprig of mistletoe droops forlornly among the abandoned party streamers and tinsel, its leaves wilting and its three berries dull and shrivelled. ‘Bit rubbish,’ Naboo whispers. Dennis looks down at him, and their eyes meet. Naboo has no idea whether he is prompted by hope, or loneliness, or pity, or just sheer bloody-minded determination to wring some sort of fucking seasonal cheer out of this fucking rubbish Christmas; but he stands on tiptoe and reaches up to pull Dennis’s head down for a kiss, and as their mouths meet and they lose themselves in each other, he knows the magic’s still working. Well enough to be going on with, anyway. They can worry about the rest in the morning.

‘Can.. can I stay?’ Dennis’s voice is muffled in Naboo’s hair. Naboo squeezes him tight. ‘Course.’ He’s reluctant to move, and break the spell; it’s nice just standing here all wrapped around someone else, someone he doesn’t have to explain or apologise or protest to, someone who understands… His mouth still tingles from their kiss. The Head Shaman is a good kisser: not the most expert Naboo’s ever encountered in his long life, but passionate, sincere, generous. And heartbreakingly desperate for affection. ‘Naboo…’ Naboo loosens his hold a little, and looks up. ‘One more for the road?’ Dennis is smiling, a bit shyly, his lips all pink and full, and it’s impossible to resist kissing him again. This time he doesn’t draw back in alarm when Naboo licks at the corner of his mouth, he opens up and lets him slip his tongue in. Naboo’s careful not to overdo it, breaking off as Dennis’s breathing quickens. He takes the older man’s arm. ‘C’m on, then. I fink Bollo’s kicked all the drunks out of my bed.’ But Dennis still hangs back. ‘Naboo, I am not asking for… I mean, I would not presume… but I would take it as a kindness if you would permit me to wake up just once with you beside me. I have often wished…’ ‘But never asked.’ ‘The time was never right.’ ‘Tis now, though. An’ I’d like that too. But, Dennis…’ ‘I know.’ Dennis strokes a thumb along Naboo’s cheekbone. ‘This is a one-off under exceptional circumstances. You need have no fear that our professional relationship will be compromised by… whatever may or may not happen in the next few hours. Or that I will make demands upon you afterwards.’ ‘I wasn’t scared of that. I just don’t want you to think –’ ‘I don’t think, Naboo. I know this isn’t love. I am well aware that both of our hearts are spoken for. Now can we just go to bed? My feet are freezing.’ ‘Alright.’ There’s a lump in Naboo’s throat that makes it hard to say more. He clicks the landing light off. Dennis wraps an arm around his shoulders and they start to pick their way across the rubbish-strewn lounge, careful not to awaken the snoring Bollo on the sofa. The bedroom’s almost as cold as the landing. Naboo locks the door, sticks the electric fire on, pulls the curtains, switches on the bedside lamp, turns the covers down on the bed… Dennis is still standing just inside the door, staring into space. ‘Second thoughts?’ Naboo hopes not; they’ve made such a good start. ‘No, I…’ Dennis takes a couple of steps towards the bed. ‘Sorry. Tuned out there for a moment. There is, um, quite a considerable residual odour of illicit substances in here.’ He glances uneasily at the hookah on the dressing table. ‘Unsettled me a little. But I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Naboo grins. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not plannin’ to get you high. Not with drugs anyway. An’ I’ve had plenty for today, might need a top-up later but I won’t smoke if I do. I think there’s some hashcakes in the fridge if Bollo hasn’t pigged them all.’ ‘Thank you. That’s… very thoughtful of you.’ ‘Dennis, for fuck’s sake stop bein’ so polite an’ get into bed. I don’t want to be up in front of the Board tryin’ to explain how I let the Head Shaman freeze to death in my own bedroom.’ Naboo puts his turban on the table beside the lamp, kicks his curly trainers under the bed, strips his own robes off over his head and drops them on the floor, and is about to take his trousers off too when a hoarse voice says ‘Stop.’ Dennis is standing on the other side of the bed, wearing only a pair of very small, very purple pants and a rather nervous expression. ‘OK, underwear’s fine, one step at a time eh?’ Naboo pulls the duvet down a little further, and gestures encouragingly at the bed. ‘No, you misunderstand me, I do want them to come off…’ Dennis swallows. ‘But I should like to be the one to take them off. If you would let me.’ ‘Course.’ Heart beating fast, Naboo walks round the end of the bed to stand by Dennis. ‘All yours.’ Dennis sets his big hands very carefully on Naboo’s hips; hesitates a moment, then pushes the waistband of the silk trousers down, and lets go. The fabric slides to the floor, and Naboo steps clear. He can feel Dennis’s eyes on him, looking him up and down. ‘Beautiful,’ Dennis murmurs. ‘So beautiful…’ Naboo shivers. ‘An’ also so frozen.’ He burrows into the colourful pile of duvets and blankets on the bed. ‘Never got used to the climate on this planet… Dennis? You comin’ to join me or what?’ Even stripped to his underpants, the Head Shaman cuts an imposing figure: tall and well-muscled, holding himself very upright as he looks down at the bed. Naboo wants to wrap himself around that big body and warm it up; he wonders what’s holding Dennis back now. ‘You want me to put the light out?’ ‘No.’ Dennis gives an emphatic shake of his head. ‘No, I want to see… to see you. If that’s all right.’ Dennis takes a deep breath. ‘And I have nothing to hide from you.’ He slips the purple briefs down over his hips, and steps out of them. He’s already half-hard… and woah, that is big. Naboo hasn’t got a lot of experience of full-males, whether from Xooberon or from Earth, but you don’t share a flat with Vince Noir without getting the occasional eyeful you didn’t want to see, and since Vince and Howard have been an item there have been a lot more mornings when Howard’s wandered happily into the kitchen in his underpants… Dennis is of similar build and, it seems, similarly well endowed. And now, finally, he’s getting into bed. Naboo pulls the covers over him before he can change his mind. ‘You’re warm.’ Dennis reaches for him and pulls him close. ‘So warm…’ So this is what it’s like to be in bed with the most powerful bloke in the galaxy. He’s shivering and chilled and awkward and clumsy but he feels and smells so good… Naboo presses himself against Dennis’s side, craving the contact and the comfort. This might be second-best, it might not be love, and it might not be what he’d really wanted for Christmas, but still he’s not going to be writing to Santa to complain. Whatever happens. Or doesn’t. Looks like it might, actually. Dennis is pulling him in for a kiss, and this time he’s taking the initiative, slipping his tongue gently into Naboo’s mouth while caressing the nape of his neck in a way that makes his spine tingle. And all the while that big hot hardness is making its presence felt, nudging at Naboo’s hip; either Dennis hasn’t noticed it yet or he isn’t bothered by it, but either way that’s good. Naboo reaches up to touch Dennis’s face; Dennis flinches and draws a sharp breath. ‘Sorry, I forgot about your battle scars… You want me to get you something for that?’ ‘No, it’s fine, I’d forgotten about it too to be honest. And I expect I’ll forget about it again in a minute. At least, that is, if you… Naboo, I know I said I just want to wake up beside you, but do you think… could we…’ The lump in Naboo’s throat is back, and this time he can’t stop it from overflowing into tears. ‘Course we could. You’ve waited so long, and you never put pressure on me… You’re a diamond, Dennis, I don’t know anyone else who’d have done that for me… you’re the best… I’m sayin’ that an’ I’ve bin in love with someone else for years...’ He sniffs, and wipes his eyes on the duvet cover. ‘Sorry, I’m bein’ an idiot. C’m’ere.’ He strokes Dennis’s flat stomach; works his way down to the soft thatch of hair in his groin, and finally wraps a hand around his cock, and starts to work it slowly, up and down. Dennis is breathing heavily. ‘That’s… that’s so good, Naboo… but it’s not… What can I do for you? Do you want me to –’ ‘It’s OK for now. I’m more of a long-term project, y’know?’ ‘But this is all one way…’ ‘Listen.’ Naboo pins Dennis down with a hand on each shoulder; looks into his eyes. ‘You’ve spent three hundred and something years givin’ to me. That’s what you do, D-Man, you give. To me, to the Board, to whoever… An’ I figure it’s time for someone to give somethin’ back, an’ for you to let yourself take it. Let me give you a good time, let me listen to your troubles, let me warm your feet up an’ be there when you wake up in the morning. That’s not one-way, it’s what I wanna do an’ it’ll be a pleasure.’ ‘If you’re sure…’ ‘Course I am. An’ you can see it’s true.’ Dennis heaves a sigh, and relaxes. ‘Thank you.’ ‘No worries. Now, where were we? Aww look, now I’ll have to start all over again.’ Full-male bits do his head in, they’re so robustly masculine but at the same time so terribly vulnerable, all outside the body with nowhere to hide. Dennis’s prick feels heavy and soft in his hand, the skin at the tip like silk. Already it’s stirring, hardening again, and it doesn’t take long before it’s rigid and weeping and Dennis has rolled onto his side and is thrusting against Naboo, seeking release. Naboo’s never known anybody need sex so badly. Not even himself. Dennis is whimpering now, quickening the pace, and Naboo wraps his other hand around him and tightens his grip. A tremor runs through Dennis’s body, and Naboo can feel how close he is; and also that he’s holding back, still afraid that this is unwelcome after all. ‘Let it go,’ Naboo murmurs. ‘It’s OK, I’ve got you, you can come for me…’ And Dennis does, his hips jerking out of control, his mouth buried in Naboo’s hair to muffle the funny little mewling sounds he can’t help making. Naboo smiles to himself. He’s heard Howard make sounds like that, trying to be quiet, but the walls in this place are thin… Vince, of course, has never even bothered trying. Dennis just keeps coming and coming; Naboo holds him and helps him ride it out. There’s wet everywhere, slick between their bodies. It’s sticky and uncomfortable and it smells of wet flour and sex, but Naboo doesn’t care. It’s worth any amount of extra laundry just to see the blissful expression on Dennis’s face as the aftershocks die down and leave him limp and panting. ‘Wow.’ Naboo kisses Dennis on the forehead. ‘That was pretty intense.’ ‘It was… it was… Thank you. Just… thank you. But I’m sorry…’ Dennis squirms in the wet patch on the sheet. ‘If I’d known it’d make such a mess…’ ‘It’s OK, got tissues somewhere.’ Naboo reaches for the box and dries what he can reach. ‘I should…’ Dennis is still trembling and incoherent. ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Naboo pats him on the shoulder. ‘Give yourself a few minutes, yeah? Just rest quiet while I go and get the rest of this off… calm yourself down, do some deep breathing or something.’ It’s cold in the bathroom and he doesn’t linger, just cleans off the stickiest parts of him with a flannel, grins at his nude reflection and flits silently back to the welcome warmth of his room. Dennis is sitting on the side of the bed, staring into space, solemnly doing deep breathing and presumably rethinking yet more of his basic principles. Naboo puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘You all right?’ ‘Er, yes, I think so.’ Dennis focuses on him and smiles. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Or I will be, when I’ve…’ He gets to his feet, a little unsteadily, and heads for the door. ‘I’ll keep the bed warm for you.’ Naboo turns the fire off and burrows under the covers. Oh, so good to be warm, inside and out. He couldn’t possibly have expected tonight to have turned out quite like this. It could have been weird, it should have been weird, Dennis wanting to take him to bed after all this time, but somehow it doesn’t feel weird at all, it just feels… nice. He wonders with a sudden pang whether Saboo and Methuselah are tucked up together too; whether they’re talking about him, or about Dennis. Probably not – probably not talking at all. Not if their passionate embrace on the doorstep is anything to go by. But he doesn’t want to think about that. Change the subject, see whether anything can be done to help Dennis save his marriage. Tap into all that counselling bullshit that Howard used to lap up by the bucketload – and pay good money for, too – back at the zoo. What is it that’s gone wrong? And why is Dennis taking so long in the bathroom?

…….

‘Howard?’ Vince whispers into the darkness. ‘Howard.’ ‘Howard, Howard, Howard…’ Sod it. Vince gives up trying to be gentle about waking his sleeping partner, sits up, and clicks the bedside light on. ‘What the…?’ Howard reaches for him, trying to pull him back down into their warm cocoon of duvets. ‘I can’t get back to sleep.’ ‘I was asleep,’ the big man complains. ‘I was too. But then I wasn’t. And I’m still not.’ Howard sighs resignedly. ‘Why not?’ ‘Well, I had this really weird dream about havin’ ants inside my mirrorball suit an’ they were tryin’ to build a nest … an’ I woke up all itchy.’ Vince scratches and fidgets and peers at himself. ‘No wonder, look, I’ve got all glitter stuck in my bellybutton. Must’ve come off my costume.’ He reaches for a mascara brush and starts trying to extract the scratchy little bits. ‘Oi, stop laughing, tisn’t funny.’ Howard chuckles. ‘Sometimes you have to suffer to be beautiful, little man.’ ‘An’ was I?’ Vince smiles to himself; he saw the expression on Howard’s face when he emerged in his skimpy angel outfit, complete with silver boots and glittery wings and halo. ‘You know you were. You are.’ Howard’s tiny eyes peer up adoringly at Vince over the edge of the duvet. Vince smiles to himself again. Being Howard’s lover is genius. He still annoys Howard a lot, probably as much as he ever did, but these days Howard finds it very hard to stay annoyed for long. ‘I tried to go back to sleep an’ not wake you up,’ he says earnestly, ‘but I could hear ’em doin’ it next door an’… I felt a bit left out of the action, if you know what I mean.’ ‘I have no idea at all what you mean. Hear whom, doing what?’ ‘Naboo and Dennis, gettin’ it on.’ Howard’s face screws up in disgust. ‘Naboo and Dennis? No. No way. You’ve gone wrong, Vince. You must have imagined it.’ ‘Did not.’ Vince is indignant. ‘I heard Dennis’s voice on the landing. An’ I know muffled sex noises when I hear them, Howard. Someone was makin’ sounds just like you do when I’m givin’ you a mind-blowing orgasm an’ you’re tryin’ to keep quiet.’ ‘Vince.’ Howard rolls his eyes. ‘Just because you are having constant sex doesn’t mean everyone else has to be.’ ‘I’m not having constant sex,’ Vince protests. ‘Otherwise, I’d be having sex right now, an’ I’m not. Although I could be…’ He bats his eyelashes provocatively. ‘It’s three in the morning.’ Howard is trying to pretend the eyelash-batting isn’t having an effect, but Vince knows it is, just from the way Howard’s eyes are crinkling at the corners. ‘So? Anytime is sexytime, an’ it’ll help you get back to sleep again.’ Vince trails the mascara brush up the middle of his chest; traces a tickly path around his nipples, and watches the blush spreading over Howard’s cheeks. The door to the next room creaks; Dennis’s heavy tread goes down the hall to the bathroom. Vince puts the brush back on the table. ‘An’ I don’t have glitter anywhere any more, although you might want to check…’ Howard is tempted, he can tell. Vince leans over and whispers in his ear. ‘There were… a few places I couldn’t reach…’ Just as he hoped, the temptation proves irresistible. Howard pulls him down into a fierce embrace and starts kissing him as though it’s been years since they last snogged, not just a couple of hours. And when he lets go of Vince’s mouth, leaving his lips all puffy and tingling from the soft scratchiness of Howard’s moustache, Howard keeps on kissing him, everywhere, pretending to look in all sorts of crevices for traces of glitter. Vince giggles and squirms as Howard works his way down under the duvet and kisses all round the base of Vince’s now rock-hard erection. ‘Nope, no glitter there,’ Howard mumbles, ‘but let’s see about down here, shall we…’ and that gorgeous almost-prickly sensation carries on round Vince’s balls, and behind them, and finally traces round the rim of his hole, by which time Vince has stopped giggling and is breathlessly pleading instead. ‘What, you think you’ve got glitter up there?’ Howard slides a wet finger inside, and feels around. ‘Well, if you have, I don’t want to know how it got there. No, sir.’ ‘Haven’t – got glitter – ’ Vince pants, ‘want – want you in there, Howard.’ ‘What, again?’ Another finger slides in beside the first, gently stretching him. ‘Aren’t you sore?’ ‘Course not.’ A little achy, maybe, but Howard’s always so careful... ‘An’ I know you want to. You – you said you couldn’t get enough of me.’ ‘I can’t.’ Howard has three fingers inside Vince now, and is smiling at him in a way that makes Vince’s insides melt. ‘It still amazes me that I can have any of you, after spending all those years thinking you wouldn’t be interested. And tonight – ’ ‘Last night, now.’ ‘I don’t care what night it is. Was. You just looked so… so sexy as an angel, and you’d gone to all that trouble, and it was all for me.’ Howard leans down for another kiss. ‘So if you want another Northern bumming, who am I to deny you? Even at half-past three in the morning.’ ‘Awww, Howard.’ Vince kisses him back with enthusiasm. ‘I’m glad you liked my outfit. Took me ages to make it, with the wings and the glitter and all.’ ‘I did like it. I liked it a lot. It made me want to… do things. But there were too many other people…’ Vince grins, recalling how Howard’s eyes had followed him around the room. ‘So you just ogled my pumpkin arse and thought about doing things. And when everyone had gone, you took me to bed and did quite a lot of them.’ ‘Yes, but not this… or this…’ ‘Howard, please…’ Vince arches his back as Howard’s fingers find his sweet spot. ‘All right, my impatient angel.’ Howard withdraws his hand, and reaches for the lube on the table. ‘One Northern bumming, coming right up.’ He’s really getting quite good at this, considering they’ve only been having proper sex for a few weeks. Vince had expected it to take years, after all that don’t-touch-me stuff that Howard had had going on, but once across the physical boundary (helped considerably by one of Naboo’s more potent baking experiments) the big man had proved as eager as Vince himself. Possibly more so, if that were possible, which at the moment it surely isn’t. ‘C’m’on Howard, you must be ready by now.’ ‘Can’t rush these things.’ Howard puts the lid carefully back on the tube and puts it back on the table. Vince pouts. ‘Can too.’ ‘Oh, really?’ And Howard lifts Vince’s knees up and back in one swift movement, and slides his perfectly lubricated cock into Vince’s equally perfectly lubricated arse without even pausing to draw breath. ‘Oh yes, look, you were right.’ Howard’s not the only one who can’t get enough of this. The first time was good – if short – and every time since has given Vince exactly the same feeling of breathless amazement, except now it usually lasts for considerably longer and Howard doesn’t keep stopping every ten seconds to ask Vince whether he’s all right. Vince settles into a nice steady pace, matching Howard thrust for thrust, stroking Howard’s chest and brushing a thumb over Howard’s hard nipples every now and then, because he knows Howard really likes that. Howard leans down for another scorching kiss, and Vince wriggles a hand in between their sweaty bodies, so that he can touch himself. ‘I love you,’ Vince says, looking into Howard’s eyes, because he knows Howard really likes that, too, now that eye contact doesn’t make him uncomfortable any more. ‘I love you too, little man.’ Howard must be close to coming, to be talking about love; he still has trouble with that particular four-letter word even though Vince has been saying it lots lately, partly because Naboo told him it might help de-sensitise Howard to it but mostly because he means it. Vince tilts his hips, to take Howard in just that bit deeper, and Howard’s cock finds Vince’s prostate and suddenly Vince is coming all over the place and he can feel that Howard is coming too, and it’s just the best feeling in the world. ‘Oh. Oh, Vince…’ Howard is flushed and tousled and gasping for breath but he’s still very careful as he disentangles himself from Vince and lies down beside him. Vince strokes his hair and pulls the duvet up over his shoulders, then reaches for the tissues to clean them both up. ‘Thanks.’ Howard yawns luxuriously, and nuzzles into Vince’s neck. ‘That was absolutely –’ ‘Shush a minute.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Listen.’ There are noises in the next room. Unmistakable noises of rhythmically creaking bedsprings and someone going ‘Oh.’ ‘Still think it sounds like you,’ Vince giggles. ‘I’m sure’ – Howard yawns again – ‘there is a perfectly innocent explanation.’ ‘Oh yeah? Let’s hear it, then… Howard?’ But the big man is already snoring quietly. Vince lies wakeful for a while, wondering whether Dennis and Naboo are having a nice time and how that is even possible since Naboo doesn’t have bits, although Vince is sure Naboo isn’t a girl. He hugs Howard a bit tighter and is glad both of them are blokes. He couldn’t imagine not having his bits and he can’t imagine Howard as a girl either, although he’d probably still fancy him if he was… There is a sharp cry from the next room, then a murmur of voices, then silence. Naboo and Dennis. Dennis and Naboo. Who would have thought it? Vince had been watching Naboo at the party – a bit concerned that their landlord didn’t seem to be entirely in party mood – and he’d have sworn he only had eyes for Saboo. Mind you, that red jumpsuit was complete genius and a very snug fit, and Naboo wasn’t the only one eyeing it up… and then Saboo went off with Dennis’s wife, very dangerous given the Head Shaman’s track record… maybe Naboo is only sleeping with Dennis to try to persuade him not to cut Saboo’s head off? How is that ever going to work? And what if anything will happen if or when Saboo comes back? Vince yawns wearily and settles his head on Howard’s shoulder. It’s been quite a Christmas. And it’s not over yet.

…….

Naboo is just about to get out of bed and go and see whether Dennis has fallen asleep in the bath, when he hears the door open and shut and the key turning in the lock. Then a very chilly Head Shaman is clambering in beside him, and Naboo stops thinking and just concentrates on warming him up again. Over the sound of Dennis’s teeth chattering, Naboo can hear faint giggling from the other side of the wall. So those two are at it again… Dennis rolls onto his side, his breath tickling Naboo’s ear. ‘Naboo?’ ‘Mmm?’ ‘I’ve… well, I’ve washed and everything, and I thought perhaps…’ Blimey, he’s hard again already. ‘You want more?’ ‘Only if you… You see, I asked, and she said no, and ever since I’ve wondered whether I should have persisted or whether it’s something a man can do without… I need to know, Naboo, and I don’t know anyone else I can ask.’ ‘Ask what?’ Naboo is beginning to suspect that communication issues may be at the heart of the Head Shaman’s marital problems. ‘Well, I’m not certain of the correct terminology, but would you…’ Dennis buries his hot face in Naboo’s shoulder. ‘With your mouth,’ he whispers. ‘You’d like me to blow you?’ ‘Yes.’ At last, a straight answer to a straight question. This feels like progress. And the idea of it is already turning Naboo on, more than he’d have expected it would. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever…?’ ‘Don’t laugh, but no. Nobody ever has. My wife refused point-blank, the one time I asked, and she won’t let me, umm, reciprocate either. She never lets me… There’s so much I want to give her, so much she needs, but I can’t find the way to… I can see, you see. I can see into the heart of her, but she hates me for it.’ ‘I don’t hate you for it.’ Naboo strokes the back of Dennis’s head, tracing the lines of his shamanic tattoos. ‘An’ maybe she doesn’t either, maybe she just finds it, I dunno, a bit scary or somethin’? Anyway, listen, we can talk about that later, right now we’ve got some important research to do.’ He rolls Dennis onto his back; leans over and kisses his nipples, nibbling and teasing until they’re standing stiff and proud and Dennis is making funny little noises again. Then he takes his time over kissing his way all down the middle of Dennis’s stomach, in the direction his arrow-shaped blue markings are pointing, into his very clean groin, and then up his shaft… Dennis groans. ‘You OK there?’ ‘I’m fine. Please, don’t stop, please…’ Naboo grins, and puts his head down again, planting tiny kisses on the soft folds of Dennis’s foreskin, drawing it back little by little until the shiny purple head is revealed in all its glory. He swipes his tongue across the smooth surface, tasting salt and sex and Dennis, and it’s all very strange but very good… and Dennis doesn’t need to know that Naboo has never gone further than this before… It’s a tight fit and it’s straining his jaw, but it’s all in there, or at least quite enough of it to be going on with. Naboo puts a hand round it so he can’t take it in too far, and choke. He doesn’t want to give Dennis any excuse to stop: that hot, hard flesh against his tongue is one of the most arousing things he’s ever felt. To judge by the sounds Dennis is making, it’s quite mutual. Naboo moves his head slowly, up and down, and licks at the ridges and folds of Dennis’s cockhead; he cups the other man’s balls with his free hand, feeling them drawing up and tightening in response. ‘Oh.’ Dennis arches his back. ‘Oh, that is… I never imagined… But you’d better stop, I’m going to –’ Naboo lifts his head briefly, just long enough to make sure his jaw’s still working and say ‘I know, an’ I don’t mind, I want you to.’ Dennis shudders and gasps as Naboo returns to his research. ‘You want me to… Oh. Oh…’ Well, they do say be careful what you wish for. One more lick, and Naboo’s mouth is flooded with thick, sweet, earthy-tasting come. It takes him by surprise, and he’s swallowed the first lot without giving it a second thought; he rolls the second mouthful around his tongue, deciding that he rather likes the taste, before swallowing that too and carefully sliding Dennis’s softening prick out of his mouth. The big man is sobbing quietly. Naboo crawls up beside him, and holds him tight. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘She - she made me feel dirty for asking,’ Dennis chokes. ‘She said it was disgusting – that I was disgusting…’ ‘She’s wrong there. Both times.’ ‘But doesn’t it taste –’ ‘No, it doesn’t, it just tastes of… well, you. Like this.’ Naboo kisses him, very gently. Dennis resists at first, then gives in and opens his mouth, and they kiss until it all tastes the same, and Dennis’s tears have ceased. Naboo lies back on Dennis’s shoulder and lets Dennis stroke his hair in a soothing rhythm. A shaman could fall asleep like this… ‘Naboo?’ ‘Mmm?’ ‘What do you taste of?’ Unexpected, this is. Naboo props himself on an elbow and grins. ‘You really wanna know? Here.’ He runs a finger through the wetness in his groin, and brings his hand up to Dennis’s lips. Dennis licks cautiously, then opens his mouth and takes Naboo’s finger in, caressing it with his tongue, sucking at it as though it were a cock, not just a finger. So that’s what it feels like… Naboo moans and rocks his hips, and Dennis slides the finger out and kisses Naboo’s mouth, tasting of both of them. Then he’s kissing Naboo’s throat, and his collarbone, and his aching nipples, and his navel, and right down over his un-male mound and between his thighs, Naboo unfurling like a flower in sunshine, opening and softening as Dennis licks and strokes and looks. ‘Could we…?’ Dennis asks softly. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I’d really like…’ The D-Man certainly has stamina. His wife doesn’t know what a lucky woman she is. Or perhaps she reckons you can have too much of a good thing… Naboo, on the other hand, will take as much of a good thing as he can get. ‘I’d like, too. If you can get three fingers in then yeah, it’ll be fine.’ A wet fingertip pushes cautiously inside him, and Naboo has to concentrate very hard on thoughts of Tony Harrison in order not to come right then and there. The second finger finds his major sweet spot, making him gasp and wriggle. ‘Does that hurt?’ ‘Do I look like that hurts?’ Dennis stills his movements and looks Naboo very solemnly in the face. ‘No, actually, you don’t. You look like… as though that was very nice indeed and you wish me to continue.’ ‘Spot-on, it was an’ I do. Please…’ By the time Dennis has worked a third finger in beside the other two, Naboo is dripping wet and open and so turned on he can hardly stay still. ‘Are you…?’ Dennis leans over and kisses him. ‘Ready for you? You bet. Here, stick a pillow under my arse, it’ll make it easier for you.’ ‘Do we require, um, lubrication?’ ‘Have you felt what’s goin’ on down there? If I get any more lubricated I’ll float away.’ Dennis smiles, slicks himself with his wet hand, then kneels between Naboo’s parted legs and works his cock carefully inside. It’s a tight fit, but it does fit, and as they start to move together Naboo realises that something has changed. Dennis is no longer clumsy with need but confident, relaxed, in control. The D-Man doing what the D-Man does best: giving. He kisses him and their eyes meet; Dennis is looking right into Naboo’s soul. The milky-blue of Dennis’s eyes clears and darkens, and suddenly Naboo is looking right into Dennis too. Oh, and he is loving this, just loving it. Being able to give Naboo such a good time and at the same time just enjoy himself. This is what he wants for him and his Methuselah. And now he has hope that it might somehow be possible. A fragile, trembling hope… Naboo has to close his eyes, or he’ll start crying again. ‘It’s all right. I just wanted you to see…’ Dennis strokes Naboo and soothes him, then starts thrusting into him in a slow rhythm, touching all three of his sweet spots in turn as that big hard full-male prick slides smoothly in and out. He takes Naboo right to the edge, to the point where the pleasure becomes almost painful in its intensity and Naboo is whimpering helplessly. Then he leans down, his moustache brushing Naboo’s ear, and whispers, ‘Come for me.’ With a sharp cry, Naboo lets go, his climax surging through him and washing away years and years of pent-up frustration in a flood of come and sweat and tears. He’s adrift, and would be lost if Dennis’s big hands weren’t holding him; he clings to the other man for dear life until it’s over and he’s washed up and sobbing and weak, but so very, very happy… ‘You were right,’ Dennis says, as he cleans Naboo up with the remainder of the box of tissues. ‘It does make one afraid, letting someone else see one’s innermost thoughts. It requires a high degree of trust, and that’s not easy.’ ‘’S good though, yeah?’ Naboo smiles at him. ‘Yes. Yes, it was. But then I’ve known you for a long time.’ Dennis sighs. ‘Whereas my wife…’ ‘If it can be like that with me, it can be like that with her too.’ ‘I hope it can, but I can’t see how.’ Dennis shakes his head. ‘Don’t give up on that hope. There has to be a way.’ Naboo yawns, and stretches out under the covers. ‘I need to sleep on it, but I’m sure I can come up with something. We can talk it through in the morning.’ ‘Naboo, I –’ ‘Still think we’re a bit rubbish?’ Dennis laughs, and hugs him. ‘So what if we are, we had a good time, didn’t we?’ ‘We certainly did, Big D,’ Naboo murmurs, snuggling closer. ‘And I’m not giving up hope.’ Dennis reaches up to click the light off. ‘It’s still Christmas. And we’ve still got the magic.’

…….

As always, Naboo’s shaman-senses wake him just before his radio alarm clock clicks on; only this morning he reaches out and clicks it off, instead of lying there listening to Xooberon FM. Beside him, Dennis is still peacefully asleep, sprawled on his side with one arm tucked around Naboo’s ribcage. Naboo has the feeling his boss needs all the sleep he can get. Although… Most of Dennis may be peacefully asleep, but one particular part of him isn’t, it’s wide awake and nudging into Naboo’s hip. Naboo shifts his position a little, to give it more room. ‘One more for the road?’ Dennis murmurs sleepily. ‘And good morning to you, too, morning glory.’ Naboo wraps a hand round Dennis’s cock. ‘Sleep well?’ ‘I – Oh, that’s good, yes, I did, thank you. You?’ ‘Like a log.’ Naboo tightens his grip; strokes Dennis’s arse with his other hand. ‘Didn’t even dream.’ ‘Nor did I… Naboo, what are you doing?’ ‘Goin’ a bit too far?’ Naboo takes his hand away from Dennis’s ring. ‘Sorry. Should’ve asked first.’ ‘That’s, um, a bit personal. I mean, I know you and I… we… last night… and I’ve thought long and hard about my basic principles, many times. But I don’t –’ ‘You don’t need to explain.’ Naboo leans over and kisses Dennis into stammering silence. ‘But I can do this, yeah?’ And he strokes the furred ridge behind Dennis’s balls, pressing in deep, knowing there’s a sweet spot in there somewhere. ‘Yes, that’s… that’s fine. That’s… Oh.’ Yup, there’s a sweet spot in there alright: right there. There’s a knock on the door. ‘Bugger off, Bollo,’ Naboo calls, ‘shaman business. Go an’ put the kettle on.’ ‘OK boss.’ The gorilla’s shuffling footsteps go away down the corridor, and there is a clink of crockery from the kitchen. Naboo takes Dennis’s prick into his mouth until it’s slick and gleaming; reaches a hand down to prepare himself, which doesn’t take long since he’s still pretty relaxed after last night. Then he kneels astride Dennis’s hips, and smiles down at him. ‘You wanna top from the bottom?’ ‘I… how did you know?’ Naboo shrugs. ‘My shaman-senses were tinglin’.’ ‘Your shaman-senses, Naboo, are particularly highly attuned. That’s one of the reasons I appointed you to the Board… Oh.’ ‘Fuck now, talk later, yeah?’ Naboo seats himself comfortably and tightens up a few key muscles, feeling Dennis twitch inside him in response. ‘That sounds like a good plan to me,’ Dennis says gravely. ‘I may not come this time – batteries take a while to recharge, y’know? But that don’t mean I won’t enjoy it.’ ‘I sincerely hope, Naboo, that you will. Enjoy it, I mean. This might be the last time that we…’ ‘Shush. Think of it as the first time that we… do it this way up.’ Naboo moves his hips gently, carefully, following every hint Dennis’s body is giving him. The Head Shamanic Markers are standing out dark and clear on Dennis’s pale skin; Naboo traces the blue curves with his fingertips. ‘I remember when they put those in, you asked me to stand witness at your markin’ ceremony an’ everyone thought it was a condition of my gettin’ on the Board…’ ‘Everyone except me. I knew you would do it anyway. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like that.’ ‘Like what? You barely flinched. I was the one who almost passed out. But I couldn’t look away. An’ they’re beautiful. Thought that at the time. Still do.’ ‘Thank you.’ Dennis arches his body into Naboo’s touch. ‘Sensitive too, eh?’ Naboo is smiling now, and Dennis smiles back, and they move together, easy and gentle and affectionate, with no more need of words. And to Naboo’s delighted surprise, he does come, right when Dennis does, and although it’s a low-key affair compared with the epic dam-burst of the night before, it’s still a magic moment with the two of them perfectly in tune, and Naboo never wants it to end. Afterwards they lie quiet for a long time, Naboo’s head pillowed on Dennis’s shoulder. ‘That was nice,’ Naboo murmurs, when the silence has gone on long enough and it’s time to start talking; start trying to help. ‘That was… something else my wife will never do,’ Dennis admits sadly. ‘Even though I know she’d… reach a climax more easily that way.’ ‘Ever thought that perhaps that’s why not? Maybe she’s scared to let go an’ show weakness. Or she’s holding out on you to make you feel inadequate, prove she’s got the power…’ ‘Or maybe both.’ Dennis sighs heavily. ‘You wanna talk about it?’ ‘Well… I suppose it might help. Didn’t you say you used to do counselling as a sideline, when you worked at the zoo?’ ‘Yeah, but it was mostly for that ballbag Howard, an’ he ain’t exactly complicated. I’ll do my best for you though.’ ‘I don’t know where to start.’ ‘Start at the beginnin’, then. When you got married. What was it drew you two together?’ Dennis thinks about this for a long time. ‘She’s like you.’ ‘In what way is an extreme sports calendar model even slightly like me?’ Naboo’s all at sea here, he hadn’t expected that particular answer, he was expecting a candid admission that Dennis had simply fallen for a fit body and a nice pair of tits. The Head Shaman’s brow is creased in thought. ‘Self-sufficient, or pretending to be, but a loner, in need of support.’ Another long silence. ‘And, of course, she does have a fabulous body and the nicest pair of tits I’ve ever laid eyes on.’ Naboo nods. ‘She’s a stunner alright.’ ‘With a core of fire, but so fragile… she won’t admit it… she wants the world to see her as a successful career woman in her own right, and I can’t blame her for that –’ ‘You jealous of her career?’ ‘No, I’m very proud of it. But she doesn’t believe me when I say that. And the other Board members seem to think I just wanted her as a trophy wife, to prove my virility.’ ‘When in fact the reverse was true.’ ‘I’m afraid so. And I didn’t see it at the time. I was… flattered by her attentions…’ ‘And didn’t see that she wanted you as a trophy man, one of the most powerful blokes in the galaxy, to underline her successful status.’ ‘She really did want me. Physically, I mean.’ Dennis sighs. ‘At least, she used to like me being masterful and waving a big sword around, but the novelty’s worn off now. Besides, I couldn’t keep doing that all the time. The body-count was unacceptably high – it was causing the Board all sorts of public relations issues.’ ‘I fink…’ Naboo takes his time finding the right words; he could very well be wrong here. ‘I fink she made the mistake lots of people make about you – she didn’t see that you do actually have real power as well as the symbolic position. She thought they’d just put you in charge of the Board because you were a pushover, and that you’d be a pushover as a husband as well. An’ when she found out you could see right inside her head…’ ‘She hated it. I told you.’ Dennis heaves a harsh, painful breath. ‘So she’s pushed you away because she’s scared of being close to you.’ ‘Of being close to anyone, I think.’ Well, that’s something Naboo can sympathise with. He hugs Dennis a bit closer. ‘So… Is all the girl-chasing just due to frustration? Proving that you still got it even though your wife refused to recognise it?’ ‘I suppose so,’ Dennis admits reluctantly. ‘It’s more of a habit, one I’ve never broken. I suppose I was being selfish – I never really thought it would do any harm. She goes to launch parties and photo shoots with all manner of young and handsome men…’ ‘Revenge?’ Naboo asks quietly. ‘I hadn’t thought of it in that light, but yes, I suppose so. And last night was more of the same.’ ‘You mean Saboo?’ Naboo stammers a little over the name. ‘Yes. And I assure you, Naboo, I won’t go after Saboo with a sword, whatever I find has transpired when I get home. You have my word, I will leave him in one piece. The Board of Shamen needs him. And you need him.’ ‘Yes, well…’ Naboo tries hard not to think about just how true that is. ‘What about what you need, though?’ ‘That’s not important.’ ‘Bollocks.' Naboo props himself on an elbow, and looks hard at Dennis. 'It’s the most important thing of all, and the whole reason you’re in this mess. Listen, you love her an’ you want her back, right?... Right?... Dennis, look at me.’ It takes a while for Dennis to turn his head and meet Naboo’s gaze. ‘I do love her. As well as… want her.’ ‘An’ you thought because she’s into extreme sport that she’d be into extreme sex as well, and she isn’t.’ Dennis shakes his head sadly. ‘She’s afraid of… anything even slightly unconventional.’ ‘But she wants you, yeah?’ ‘Yes. I can see that she wants to have sex with me, very much. But then she shies away from it. I have never really comprehended the workings of the female mind. I don’t understand.’ Naboo kisses him chastely on the cheek. ‘I think I do. It scares her. Like you said last night. To have really good sex with someone you really have to trust them – it’s like takin’ your skin off and letting someone else see your insides – an’ she don’t trust you.’ ‘I’ve tried…’ ‘Yeah, but think about it. You spend a lot of time away on shaman business an’ she knows fine well that that usually means you’re getting’ wasted with us lot. You run after pretty girls at parties whether she’s there or not. She don’t feel secure. She can’t see inside you. If you want her to know what’s really goin’ on in there, you’re gonna have to let her in.’ ‘I’m not sure I can.’ ‘Course you can. You did it for me, you can do it for her too. You have to do the hard thing, big man, an’ tell her who you really are. Show her. And then trust her to make the right decision.’ Dennis puts both arms round Naboo and holds him tight. ‘Naboo, you’re right. My wife and I need to start again from a position of honesty, and you’ve shown me that that may in fact be possible.’ ‘As well as releasin’ the tension, eh?’ Naboo nuzzles into Dennis’s neck. ‘That too. It should render the discussions… less complicated. And it was everything I ever hoped it would be. I – I don’t know how to thank you.’ ‘No need. Listen, Big D, you’ve been the best friend and nearest thing to a parent I ever had.’ Naboo can feel himself welling up now. ‘If... if I could love you I would, you’ve always stuck by me and bent the rules for me, to save me…’ ‘I think we saved each other, actually.’ Dennis pats him awkwardly on the back. ‘Come on, now, there’s no need for tears, didn’t you say we should look on this as the first time and not the last?’ Naboo sniffs, and wipes his eyes on the duvet. ‘Yeah. An’ it was a fuckin’ good first time an’ all.’ ‘Magic,’ Dennis says firmly. ‘It was magic. And it always will be.’ There’s a knock on the door. Naboo sighs. ‘Bugger off Bollo, I told you –’ A loud and derisive gorilla-snort makes the doorhandle rattle. ‘Yeah, yeah. Shaman business, Bollo’s hairy arse. Bollo boil kettle six times. You two coming out for breakfast or should Bollo just make lunch now?’

…….

‘Morning.’Vince looks round from stirring a big pan of porridge on the stove, and grins at Naboo and Dennis as they come through the kitchen doorway. ‘Good morning,’ Dennis says politely. ‘All of an hour left of it,’ Bollo grunts, ‘Bollo not know why he bother.’ He thumps the teapot down in the middle of the table. Howard is hovering nervously at Vince’s elbow. ‘You need to turn the heat down, Vince, it’s going to burn…’ ‘Give over, ya big fuss-pot, it’s fine.’ Vince’s grin grows wider. ‘Sleep well?’ ‘Um, yes, yes, thank you.’ Dennis seats himself gingerly on one of the kitchen chairs and pours himself some tea. Vince giggles. ‘Yeah, it sounded like it.’ ‘Vince,’ Howard hisses, ‘I don’t think that’s –’ ‘Ah.’ Dennis frowns as he adds milk to his mug. ‘You… you heard, then.’ ‘Course we did.’ Vince hands the porridge pan over to Howard to dish out, and plonks himself down at the table next to Naboo. ‘But it’s OK, we didn’t mind. Sounded like you were having fun… ’Spect you heard us, too.’ Naboo puts his head in his hands and thinks very hard about memory-wiping potions. Vince pats him on the back. ‘Aww, Naboolio, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us. Isn’t it, Howard?’ 'Er...' Howard is blushing. ‘Secrets not possible in house with walls this thin,’ Bollo mutters. ‘I see no particular reason to conceal the truth on this occasion,’ Dennis is saying earnestly. ‘After all, we are all friends here.’ Naboo shoots Bollo a warning glance before the gorilla can say anything else. ‘Have some porridge, Dennis.’ Howard brandishes the pan. ‘And, um, maybe change the subject?’ ‘Before Naboo sinks through the floor, you mean?’ Vince is laughing, but his touch on Naboo’s shoulder is kind. ‘And make another mess for Bollo to clean up.’ Bollo slops milk into his bowl. ‘Mmm, Vince, this good, you getting better.’ ‘Cheers.’ Vince leans over for the tin of golden syrup. ‘Here you go, Naboo, sugar rush, just what you need.’ He ladles a generous helping onto Naboo’s breakfast, and a still more generous one onto his own. ‘You’ll get fat,’ Howard warns. Vince sticks his tongue out at him. ‘What, with all the exercise I’ve been gettin’ lately?’ ‘Thought we was changin’ the subject.’ Naboo takes a spoonful of syrupy porridge; lets the sugar start to do its work. ‘You guys hittin’ the sales later?’ ‘Maybe,’ Howard says. ‘There’s a late-nighter on at Top Shop and I know Vince had his eye on a few things...’ Vince and Howard – well, mostly Vince – start chattering on about clothes and glitter and shades of brown; Naboo catches Dennis’s eye and says quietly, ‘You OK?’ ‘I’m fine.’ The big man is looking thoughtful. ‘Just… getting my ideas in order. It’s going to be a challenging day. But at least I started it with a good… um… breakfast.’ And then they are both laughing quietly, while Bollo rolls his eyes and licks the last of the golden syrup off his fur. ……. ‘Well, there you go. Bit dodgy, but it should get you home.’ Naboo unrolls his magic carpet onto the pavement outside the shop, and pokes at its threadbare fringe with the toe of one curly trainer. ‘Won’t be needin’ it for a few days, just send it back whenever, it’s got a homin’ device that usually works…’ He looks up and meets Dennis’s eyes. ‘Crunch time.’ Dennis’s voice is quiet, but resolute. ‘Yeah, I know.’ Naboo reaches up to touch Dennis’s cheek. ‘Best of luck.’ ‘Thanks. Er, how about… um… one more for the road?’ It’s a long, sweet kiss, and so hard to break it off, but finally Naboo pulls away and slaps Dennis on the back. ‘Go get ’er, big man.’ ‘I will.’ Dennis smiles down at him. ‘Thank you for everything, Naboo. And don’t forget…’ He steps aboard the carpet. ‘Forget what?’ ‘It’s still Christmas,’ Dennis says, and he looks as though he was going to say more, but he has to sit down rather suddenly as the carpet takes off with its usual jerk. Naboo watches it rise unsteadily into the grey sky; the steering takes a bit of getting used to. Should get it fixed really. The street feels very empty when the carpet finally disappears over the rooftops. And the cold air is making Naboo’s eyes water a little. Heavy footsteps come down the stairs behind him, and he’s pulled into a warm and hairy hug. ‘Shaman business, eh? Good thing you lock door, Bollo didn’t need to see. But Bollo glad you had nice time.’ The gorilla looks long into Naboo’s face, and ruffles his hair. ‘Come on inside. Bollo go and put kettle on again. And light up bong. It nearly time for Boxing Day special of Peacock Dreams.’ As he climbs back up the stairs, Naboo makes a mental note: never to even think about upgrading his familiar ever again. It’s nice and warm in the lounge; the TV is on, and the two humans are already comfortably settled on the sofa. Which is no longer an island in a sea of rubbish and empties. Someone – all three of them, to judge by the smug smiles on their faces as they see that Naboo has noticed – has done a hasty but thorough job of shovelling the crap into binbags and piling the dirty plates and glasses in the sink. And someone has even pushed the Hoover across the carpet – almost certainly Howard, since Bollo always says hoovering sets off his asthma, and Vince has no idea how to turn the thing on. ‘Cheers guys, ’preciate this,’ Naboo mumbles. Vince exchanges a meaningful glance with Howard, and puts an arm round Naboo as he sinks into the cushions beside them. Naboo makes another mental note: to raise his employees’ wages and stop calling them ballbags so often. The hash pipe is lit, the familiar theme music is tinkling, Bollo has shoved them all up the sofa so he can squeeze in at the end as well, and they’re all just drifting off nicely when the doorbell rings. ‘Bollo, go an’ see who it is, would ya?’ Naboo says sleepily. The gorilla grumbles his way to the window, and peers down into the street. He turns back to them, grinning. ‘Well? Who is it?’ Vince asks. ‘Anybody we know?’ Naboo takes another drag of the pipe. ‘Go an’ let ’em in, Bollo, we’re just gettin’ to the good part.’ Bollo grins still more. ‘Bollo not going. Naboo should answer it.’ ‘Why me?’ ‘Trust Bollo.’ And Naboo finds himself being hauled bodily out of his cosy seat and propelled to the door. ‘I gotta good feeling about this,’ Bollo stage-whispers as he shoves Naboo out onto the landing. Naboo doesn’t share the good feeling. It’s cold and draughty on the stairs, and he really doesn’t want to talk to anybody at the moment. He really should have got that entryphone fixed, he thinks, as he opens the door… Oh. Fuckin’ hell, it’s Father Christmas. ‘What –’ Naboo swallows hard, and tries again. ‘What are you doin’ ’ere?’ Santa sweeps off his pointed hat and makes an elaborate mock-bow. ‘I’ve come to make your Christmas dreams come true – actually, no, that’s a total lie, I’ve just come to bring your carpet back.’ Naboo rubs his eyes. This can’t be happening. The visitor taps one fleece-booted foot impatiently. ‘Look, this suit’s got no insulation. I’m freezing my arse off out here. Are you going to invite me in or are you just going to stand there gaping like a stranded goldfish?’ He jams the hat back onto his black curls, and stands there waiting. His silky red jumpsuit is indeed not designed for a wintry climate: it clings tightly to every line and curve of his tall body. The fur-trimmed belt knotted about his waist has slipped down, sitting low over his hips, the tasselled ends dangling down one thigh… He shivers, and takes a step closer. ‘Naboo, you plum, get a grip. Or at least get out of the bloody way.’ He actually wants to come in? No, this definitely can’t be happening. But just in case it is… Naboo opens the door a bit wider, and stands aside. ‘Um, yeah, come in, sorry, we were just chillin’, er, it’s warmer inside.’ He’s not sure whether any of what he’s just said made sense, but he’s hugely relieved when Saboo comes in anyway and dumps the rolled-up carpet in the hall. ‘There you go. One manky rug. With the Head Shaman’s compliments.’ ‘Cheers,’ Naboo says cautiously. Perhaps this is really happening. Saboo kicks the carpet closer to the wall, out of the way. ‘Dennis said you might be needing it. Thank fuck he didn’t make me fly here on it, doesn’t look airworthy to me.’ ‘Don’t knock it,’ Naboo says indignantly, ‘it works fine.’ ‘Does it now.’ Saboo’s lip curls. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.’ Naboo searches desperately for a safer topic of conversation: one that won’t involve Saboo telling him he’s rubbish and that he’s never liked him. ‘If you didn’t fly, how did you get here?’ ‘By amulet. Dennis lent me one from his personal collection.’ ‘Bit unconventional.’ Amulets are powerful artefacts; shamanic law decrees that they should only be used in emergencies. ‘Since when has that ever stopped the D-Man? I think he just wanted me out of the way so he could get it on with his wife.’ ‘They’re back on speaking terms?’ Naboo hopes fervently that Dennis has succeeded in his mission. Saboo rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. She was still asleep on the sofa when I left. But to judge by the way he was looking at her... Anyway he couldn’t wait to get me out of the house, said you’d be needing help to sort things out after the party, and burbled some nonsense about it still being Christmas.’ A small flicker of hope lights itself up in Naboo’s mind, like a single fairy light on a tree. ‘It is still Christmas.’ ‘Like I give a toss. Christmas is over-rated, if you ask me.’ ‘Didn’t you get what you wanted, then?’ Saboo aims another vicious kick at the rolled-up carpet. ‘No, I fucking well didn’t. Blasted woman. I spent half the night playing the therapist, having my ear bent about how impossible her husband is. And now apparently I have to be Dennis’s errand boy and your home help. Still in this embarrassingly ridiculous costume. Well, the least you can do is make me a cup of tea now I’m here…’ He stomps up the stairs, still complaining. ‘Honestly, Naboo, you are completely hopeless. Dennis was right about that, at least. Look at this place, it’s a tip.’ Naboo can’t even defend himself; he’s reduced to speechlessness at the sight of Saboo’s scarlet-satin-clad arse going up the stairs in front of him. ‘And as for that…’ Saboo isn’t finished yet. But the flicker of hope in Naboo’s mind is suddenly strong enough to illuminate several Christmas trees at once. Including the stars on top. Because Saboo has stopped dead on the landing, looking up at the light. ‘Oh, that takes the cake. It’s pathetic. It has to be the most rubbish bit of mistletoe I have ever seen.’ ‘Don’t knock it,’ Naboo hears himself say as he reaches the top step, ‘it works fine.’ Saboo snorts. ‘Does it now.’ He turns round and looks at Naboo with a challenge in his eyes, and a hint of laughter twitching the corner of his mouth. Naboo lifts his chin defiantly. ‘Course it does.’ That flicker of hope is now a blaze of certainty. Dennis is behind this. Dennis has never let him down yet… ‘Would you care to prove that ridiculous assertion?’ Saboo is grinning openly now; the sparkle in his eyes is more of an invitation than a challenge. Dennis, you diamond. This is really happening. It really is. And it’s still Christmas. Naboo stands on tiptoe and flings his arms round Saboo’s neck. Saboo’s mouth meets his with a hunger and sincerity that drives away all remaining doubt. ‘Why –’ Naboo gasps, coming up for air, ‘ – why didn’t you say?’ ‘Why didn’t you?’ Saboo takes Naboo’s face between his hands and gazes at him in a way that says this is all he’s ever wanted. ‘Fair point,’ Naboo concedes, and then Saboo is kissing him again, and Naboo doesn’t care if they never do anything else, because this is just perfect, and it’s turning out to be a magic Christmas and not a rubbish one after all. Saboo picks him up bodily and carries him through the lounge, to the accompaniment of wolf-whistles, cheering and applause from the others on the sofa. Naboo gives them a two-finger salute behind Saboo’s back. ‘Excuse us, gentlemen.’ Saboo can barely keep a straight face. ‘We’ll join you later. But right now Santa has a couple of late Christmas wishes to fulfil.’ He’s still laughing as he kicks the bedroom door shut.

Saboo puts Naboo down on the bedroom floor, takes a pace back and looks at him. ‘Well. What now?’ A delicious shiver runs through Naboo; he’s not used to being looked at like that. He could easily get used to it, though… ‘Erm, how about a re-run without the audience? And then we can unwrap our Christmas presents.’ ‘Sounds like a plan to me.’ Saboo puts his hands on Naboo’s shoulders, and bends to kiss him again, carefully this time, as though afraid he might break him. Naboo licks at the corner of Saboo’s mouth until his lips part; the other man lets out a small, needy whimper as Naboo starts to explore him with his tongue, tasting and caressing, letting him know just how much this means… It means everything. Everything, just to stand there and hold and be held in return, to feel Saboo’s heart hammering under the flimsy red material, to hear his own pulse loud in his ears. Saboo is shivering slightly and his body is taut with excitement; he smells of sweat and leather and a faint waft of perfume… Methuselah’s perfume. Naboo’s heart twists painfully inside him, and he pulls away. ‘Saboo…’ The name feels strange in his mouth. ‘What is it?’ So hard to say it, when it could wreck everything. But not saying it would be ten times worse. ‘There’s… before we…there’s somefink I have to tell you.’ ‘No, you don’t.’ Saboo smiles; his big hands are gentle as they stroke Naboo’s back. ‘Dennis already did. And it’s all right.’ ‘You – you don’t mind?’ Saboo shakes his head. ‘Why should I? You didn’t know I’d be coming back. Hell, I didn’t know I’d be coming back. And I can’t blame you for taking a bit of comfort when it was offered.’ Naboo buries his burning face in Saboo’s chest. ‘Wasn’t just comfort,’ he mumbles. ‘We had sex…’ ‘I know. But I wouldn’t be standing here if you hadn’t. I’d be a decapitated corpse in Dennis’s front room.’ Naboo shudders. ‘Stop it.’ Saboo pulls him close. ‘Don’t think about it, it didn’t happen. Don’t…’ But Naboo can’t stop shaking, it’s all too much, his world has been turned upside down and he hadn’t smoked nearly enough weed before that doorbell rang. ‘Sorry, ’m havin’ a panic attack…’ His voice sounds wavery and too high. Saboo takes his hand, tows him across the room and sits him down on the bed. ‘Little one.’ His voice is gentle; Naboo has never heard him speak like that to anyone. ‘I know, it’s a big change and it’s been a long time coming. But there’s no need to panic. Take a deep breath and count to ten. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.’ He sits beside Naboo and strokes him as though he were a scared small animal, touching him without haste, without demands, soothing away his fear. Pretty soon Naboo is completely relaxed again, his curly trainers have joined Saboo’s snowboots on the floor, and the two shamen are lying on the bed wrapped around each other, kissing deep and slow. Saboo’s big body is warm now, and he’s not troubling to conceal his arousal, not that that costume has much potential for concealing anything anyway. Naboo can’t help pressing closer and closer, until Saboo pulls away, props himself on one elbow and grins. ‘Would you like your present now?’ ‘But I’ve been bad,’ Naboo says seriously. ‘That’s not what I heard.’ Saboo puts a hand on Naboo’s cheek. ‘I heard you were very good indeed…’ That smile is infectious. And it seems that Saboo is genuinely prepared to take last night’s events in his stride. Naboo plucks up courage to untie the furry belt from around Saboo’s waist and and draw it out from under him; growing bolder, he reaches for the zip tag at Saboo’s throat. The zip comes open with a faint ripping sound. Naboo keeps on pulling gently, mesmerised by the gradual revelation of Saboo’s brown skin, his neat nipples, the curling dark hairs around his navel… ‘Hey.’ He gets to his knees to ease the red suit off over Saboo’s feet. ‘I like your giftwrapping.’ ‘I thought you might.’ Saboo stands up and turns round, slowly. Now that is the sort of package everybody should find on (or preferably in) the bed on Christmas morning. It’s a red patent leather posing pouch with a white fur trim and a very small thong, and it’s only just managing to do the job for which it was designed… Naboo stands up too, all breathless and light-headed, and reaches for the very small clip that is struggling to hold it all together. ‘Not yet.’ Saboo shakes his head. ‘I think it’s my turn to unwrap something, don’t you?’ Without waiting for a reply, he lifts Naboo’s robes off over his head, pushes his trousers down and turns him round, his gaze burning Naboo’s shaman-senses. ‘Oh, that is beautiful.’ Saboo’s voice is a hoarse whisper, and the raw longing in his words makes Naboo’s skin prickle all over. Saboo reaches for him; strokes a thumb over one taut nipple. ‘Cold in here.’ Naboo grins; the air is cold, but that’s not what’s giving him goosebumps. ‘Soon warm you up,’ he says, and reaches again for that stupidly small clip. It gives way stupidly easily, and the thong falls to the floor. The room goes very quiet. Saboo stands still, trying not to shiver, watching Naboo watching him. His heartbeats are shaking his body, his erection standing proud. And it’s an erection that anybody would be proud of, perhaps not as big as Dennis’s but strong and straight and elegantly shaped and very, very hard. ‘Can I…?’ Naboo asks dreamily, and puts out a hand. Saboo tuts impatiently. ‘That was the idea, you Christmas pudding. If I didn’t want you to, then I wouldn’t have let you take all my clothes off, would I?’ ‘S’pose not.’ Naboo moves a step closer. He can feel the warmth of Saboo’s body, hear the soft sounds of his breathing, smell the musk of him. This is the best Christmas present ever. ‘Your hand’s cold,’ Saboo complains, as Naboo reaches up to caress his throat, his chest, his lean ribcage. Naboo grins. ‘I know how to warm it up.’ He strokes down the black curls on Saboo’s belly, reaches that glorious hot hardness and wraps his cold hand around it… And Saboo is coming. There was no warning, but he’s gasping and shaking and spilling warm and wet over Naboo’s hand and over both of them; Naboo can do nothing but hold on, aroused and surprised and a bit anxious. Abruptly Saboo pulls away; turns his back. ‘That never happens.’ He sounds angry. Embarrassed. Naboo doesn’t know what to do, this isn’t how it was meant to be. ‘I don’t mind.’ He touches Saboo cautiously on the arm. ‘There’s plenty of time to get it right.’ ‘I wanted it to be perfect,’ Saboo snarls. ‘Not fucking humiliating.’ He looks down at himself, his chest heaving. Wordlessly, Naboo passes him the new box of tissues that someone – Bollo, presumably – has thoughtfully placed on the bedside table. Saboo scrubs at his damp groin, curses, and hurls the dirty tissues angrily at the bin, without looking round. No, oh no, this can’t all be going wrong already. There’s a lump in Naboo’s throat; his body aches with tension. At any moment Saboo is going to grab his clothes and leave, and this Christmas dream will be over. The magic has to be still working, it has to be… Saboo stands with his back turned for what feels like about ten years before he heaves a huge sigh and chokes out: ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I’m not.’ Weak with relief, Naboo stands behind him; puts his arms round him. ‘You’re here, an’ I never thought you would be… an’ it was a compliment, I didn’t know you wanted me that much.’ ‘Neither did I.’ Saboo is shivering, his skin clammy. ‘Come to bed. It’s too cold to discuss it out here with no clothes on.’ Naboo takes Saboo’s hand and pulls him across the room; he doesn’t resist. Oh, and Bollo’s put clean sheets on the bed as well. Truly a familiar in a million. Naboo tucks them both in and lies quietly beside Saboo; when the shivering finally stops, he lays his hand over Saboo’s, linking their fingers together. ‘Thank you.’ Saboo’s face is still turned away. Naboo leans over and kisses him behind the ear. ‘Ready to start again, then?’ Saboo meets his eyes and smiles, a bit shyly. ‘I suppose so, if you are.’ ‘Course I am.’ Naboo grins. ‘You plum.’ ‘Oi, that’s my line.’ Saboo pins Naboo down by the shoulders and kisses him on the mouth until they’re both breathless and Saboo is hard again. ‘Well?’ Naboo looks up into Saboo’s dark eyes. ‘D’you want to…?’ Saboo looks away. ‘Actually, you know, I’m not sure, not yet.’ ‘This is sure.’ Naboo strokes a fingertip along Saboo’s rigid prick. ‘And I am too now.’ Saboo fidgets uneasily. ‘Well, yes, I know, but we haven’t… there hasn’t been time. We hardly know each other.’ ‘Bollocks, we’ve known each other for three centuries.’ There’s an ironic twist to Saboo’s mouth. ‘Yes, as professional colleagues who don’t like each other very much. Not as…’ ‘Lovers?’ Naboo goes on stroking, the hot skin satin-smooth against his fingers. Saboo half-laughs, and buries his face in Naboo’s shoulder. ‘I’m just not certain we’re ready to have full-on sex yet.’ ‘Because I was with Dennis last night?’ ‘No, that’s not it.’ Saboo rolls away, and stares at the ceiling. ‘I meant it when I said I didn’t mind. And it’s up to you how quickly you recover. If you say you’re ready, then you’re ready.’ ‘But you’re not sure that you are.’ ‘No, I’m not, Naboo, I’m not sure at all.’ Even though they’re not touching, Naboo can feel that Saboo is tense all over as he struggles to explain himself. ‘It’s not that I don’t want you. I do. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. But…’ ‘ ’S’alright, I promise not to laugh.’ Naboo does his best to ignore his own rising worry and disappointment, and just listen. Perhaps it’ll be something he can do something about. ‘You’d better not fucking well laugh. It’s not funny.’ Saboo hesitates, clears his throat, and plunges in. ‘Alright, I’ve only ever done it once, and that was with a woman, a long time ago, and it was an utter disaster. And… I’ve never seen a thirdsex before except in textbooks.’ ‘An’ you don’t deal with unfamiliar situations well, they make you nervous, an’ that makes you get angry an’ behave like a total ballbag. I know that from bein’ a professional colleague of yours that you didn’t like very much.’ Naboo is relieved; this is something he can do something about, and he’s going to start right now. ‘Gimme your hand.’ ‘What for?’ ‘So I can show you where to start, OK? The stuff that the textbooks don’t tell you. Thirdsex ain’t so different really, it just looks a bit unusual.’ He kisses Saboo on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, take your time, an’ if you’ve got questions just ask ’em, I don’t mind.’ He lies down again, flat on his back, and waits for what seems an age until he feels Saboo lay a hand on his stomach. ‘Now what?’ Saboo sounds nervous; his fingers are cold. ‘Naboo, I don’t – ’ ‘Shush.’ Naboo takes hold of Saboo’s wrist and guides him further down, until his palm is cupped over the slight mound that covers Naboo’s internalised genitals. ‘So smooth,’ Saboo murmurs, moving his hand cautiously from side to side. ‘Is that… good?’ Naboo shudders and arches his back, unable to keep still. ‘What do you think?’ ‘I don’t know quite what to think. Not sure thinking has much to do with this. What happens if I… Oh.’ ‘Yeah, it’s wet. Can’t help it that you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, can I? It’s OK, keep going, there’s only one way in and you’re half way in already.’ Naboo keeps his own hand over Saboo’s, guiding and encouraging him, until Saboo’s long fingers, warm now and slippery, are inside him and pressing up against… With a sudden shrill yelp, Naboo comes on the spot, keening and whimpering and totally unable to help himself. To his surprise, Saboo keeps his hand there through the aftershocks, despite the flood of warm stickiness spreading over his wrist and between Naboo’s thighs and down onto the sheets. ‘That never happens either,’ Naboo says faintly, as Saboo withdraws his hand and looks with amazement at his wet fingers. Saboo just smiles at him, and suddenly they are both laughing, and when they stop laughing and look at each other, Naboo has an idea. ‘Got it.’ ‘Got what?’ ‘The next step.' He rolls over onto his side, facing away from Saboo. ‘Don’t turn your back on me. Please.’ ‘I’m not, don’t worry, you get the music when I’m doin’ that. No, look.’ Naboo parts his thighs, and spreads the slippery wetness over them. ‘One step short of goin’ all the way… but it’ll feel just as good.’ ‘In there?’ Saboo sounds intrigued. ‘Well, that’s a new one on me, but I’ll try anything once.’ ‘’S’nice,’ Naboo reassures him, ‘an’ I can touch you too, an’ we can stop anytime you want –’ ‘You must be joking.’ Saboo pushes carefully into the space between Naboo’s legs. ‘Why would I want to stop this?’ Naboo feels around until he’s holding Saboo’s wet, hot cockhead lightly between his fingertips, stroking and caressing as the other man thrusts against him, pressed tight against his back and his arse. He can feel Saboo’s balls down there, the slight tickle of hair, and it’s all strange and a bit uncomfortable, but it’s completely magic and Naboo can’t think of a reason he’d want to stop, either. ‘Oh.’ Saboo picks up the rhythm, his prick hardening, sliding smoothly back and forth. ‘Oh, that is just beautiful. I can’t…’ Naboo tightens his grip slightly; thrusts back against Saboo’s big warm body. ‘So it’s OK then?’ ‘Little one.’ Saboo nuzzles into the curve of Naboo’s neck. ‘It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I never… wanted… anyone… the way I… oh, Naboo…’ And then he’s coming, into Naboo’s hand and all over his front and… sorry Bollo, that’s another sheet that’ll have to go down the laundrette later. Afterwards Saboo lies limp and heaving while Naboo cleans him up. The theme tune to ‘Colobos the Crab’ comes drifting through the door: someone’s turned the volume up on the telly. Naboo smiles to himself as he wonders when that happened, and whether it was Howard or Bollo who muttered ‘we don’t need to hear this.’ Saboo stretches out on the dry side of the bed, and pulls Naboo down beside him, comfortably entwined, skin to skin. ‘I think, maybe, next time…’ ‘We can go all the way?’ Naboo kisses him chastely on the cheek. ‘Only when you’re ready for it, there’s no rush and I’m not giving you marks out of ten. An’ there’s lots of other ways we can get to know each other a bit better.’ ‘I’d say we’ve made a good start.’ Saboo pulls him just a bit nearer. ‘I’d say you were right,’ Naboo agrees sleepily. ‘Even though it was a bit rubbish?’ ‘Don’t knock it,’ Naboo says, ‘it worked fine.’ Saboo chuckles. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ ‘Thanks…’ Naboo’s eyes are closing. He rests his head on Saboo’s shoulder and surrenders to the closeness and the warmth and the happy feeling of having everything he ever wanted. He hopes Dennis is feeling like this right now too… A touch on his cheek rouses him from a blurred dream of red leather and warm white fur. ‘What…?’ ‘Sorry to wake you,’ Saboo mutters in his ear, ‘but I need to… and I haven’t got any other clothes… You got a dressing gown or something?’ Naboo wriggles out of the complicated tangle of limbs they seem to have formed in their shared sleep. ‘Cloak on the back of the door,’ he mumbles. ‘Bit exotic, isn’t it?’ Naboo looks up and grins. ‘Suits you though. An’ don’t worry, it’s machine washable.’ Saboo wraps the swirl of glittery purple-and-blue fabric around himself and shuts the door behind him. Naboo snuggles down under the sex-scented bedclothes for a spot more kip. It seems only seconds later that Saboo is shaking him awake again. ‘Naboo…’ ‘Now what?’ ‘I didn’t have any breakfast. Is there anything to eat in this place?’ Naboo sighs, hauls himself out of bed and pulls his robes back on. Now he comes to think of it, he’s pretty hollow himself; this morning’s porridge has finally worn off. ‘Not in here, but there’s stuff in the kitchen. What time is it?’ ‘Half past three in the afternoon.’ ‘Lunchtime,’ Naboo says cheerfully. ‘Let’s go and see what the others have left.’ Saboo’s face falls. ‘Do we have to go and join them?’ ‘Why not?’ ‘They’ll take the piss.’ ‘Well, yeah. But let’s face it, they don’t get a lot of other entertainment round here, they have to make their own.’ Naboo goes to stand face to face with Saboo; takes both his hands. ‘Don’t worry, they’re on our side.’ ‘Even that familiar of yours?’ ‘Bollo’s happy if I’m happy,’ Naboo declares stoutly, ‘an’ I am happy… I got exactly what I wanted for Christmas, in the end.’ ‘So did I, little one.’ Saboo leans down to kiss him softly on the mouth. ‘So did I.’’

…….

It’s a beautiful Xooberon spring day: the suns high and clear, the blue fronds of the featherpalms fluttering and rustling in the ocean breeze. Naboo drains the last mouthful of his purple cocktail. Fuck, that’s good.  Good to be warm, good to be back home, good to be at a party... and this is quite some party. Way better than that Christmas disaster, although that did turn out OK in the end. I suppose. Good thing we didn’t invite all this lot, though... The gardens of the Head Shaman’s official residence are thronged with people of all sizes, shapes, genders and colours. It looks as though the entire Shaman Academy has turned up, and then there are all Methuselah’s friends, fans, photographers, stylists and hangers-on... many of them young and handsome men, or pretty girls, but today Dennis and his wife have no eyes for anyone but each other. Dennis looks great, don’t think I’ve ever seen him so relaxed and confident. And Methuselah is much less scary when she’s smiling, and now she’s grown her hair longer that flowing dress suits her, even though it’s sort-of brown... the sort of colour that Howard would’ve chosen. There’s probably a name for it, I’ll have to ask him. Naboo glances across the lawn to where Howard and Vince are standing by the fountain. Howard has a big daft grin plastered permanently across his face; occasionally he glances down at the ring on his left hand, and then at Vince, as if either of them might disappear at any moment. Vince is in his element, of course. He loves parties. He’s chatting away to anyone and everyone, his hair immaculately root-boosted and feathered and tinted (it took him a week), his hand never letting go of Howard’s arm. ‘They look happy,’ a gruff voice says in Naboo’s ear. ‘That good to see.’ ‘Yeah.’ Naboo turns and smiles at his familiar. ‘Yeah, it is...’ ‘Bollo!’ a high voice squeaks. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages. Come an’ meet the girlfriend.’ A bat is flittering round the gorilla’s ears. ‘Not now, Chrissy. Now not a good time.’ Bollo’s face creases into a worried frown. ‘Go on, ya berk,’ Naboo tells him. ‘I’m fine. Saboo’ll be back in a minute, he won’t wanna miss the boss’s speech. Say hi to Barry for me.’ ‘Alright then.’ Bollo shambles off towards a bunch of bespectacled, red-haired shamen whose familiars – all airborne – range from the tiny bat to a twelve-foot red dragon. And here comes Saboo making his way back from the bar, his tall figure weaving gracefully through the crowd. A little twinge of anxiety gnaws at Naboo’s insides. Bollo isn’t the only one who’s worried. Saboo’s been so quiet lately. Something’s on his mind. Didn’t pick up on it for a while, what with all the excitement of Howard and Vince announcing their engagement and then Dennis convening this gathering. Maybe when the party’s over I might suggest he and I stay on here for a couple more days, spend some time together, maybe rent one of the cabins by the beach and just enjoy the warmth and the quiet. Perhaps Saboo’s just in need of some downtime: there’s been a fuck of a lot of organizing to do on Dennis’s behalf to get this event to actually happen. The big man may be magic, but he’s hopeless at practicalities... ‘Whoever suggested we let Tony Harrison run the bar must have been out of his fucking mind.’ Saboo is fuming as he hands Naboo another glass. Naboo giggles. ‘Yeah. You were. I remember that planning meeting. Parts of it anyway... Cheers.’ Saboo smiles as they clink glasses, but he won’t meet Naboo’s eyes. Naboo takes a deep breath. ‘Saboo...’ But he is interrupted by a squeal of feedback from the loudspeakers of the public address system. ‘Is this thing on?’ Dennis’s voice booms anxiously. Dennis and Methuselah are standing hand-in-hand on the terrace in front of the house; Dennis is peering at the microphone in his hand as though afraid it might bite him. Methuselah whispers something in his ear, and he smiles. ‘Ah. Apparently it is. Ladies and gentlemen and all those in between – Friends – I bid you welcome.’ There is a short silence while the Head Shaman rummages through the pockets of his voluminous ceremonial robe and produces a crumpled handkerchief. ‘Ah.’ He wipes his brow and puts the handkerchief away again. ‘I had, um, written a substantial speech for this important occasion but I, er, seem to have mislaid my notes.’ ‘Well, there’s a surprise,’ Saboo mutters. ‘But no matter. Now that I see you all, I realise that what I have to say is actually very simple.’ ‘Like you, D-Man,’ Tony cackles. A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd, but Dennis is unperturbed. ‘I am a simple man, yes. And I am simply very fortunate to have so many friends, and most fortunate of all to have such a beautiful and patient wife. My dear’ – he turns to her – ‘you were generous enough to give me a second chance. A new start. In token of which I would like to renew the vows we made when first we bound ourselves to each other – the vows I bent and broke and brushed aside – if you are willing – ’ He chokes a little. Naboo brushes away a tear. I was a part of that bending and breaking... I’m just glad I was part of the mending as well. Methuselah puts a finger to Dennis’s lips. ‘Of course I will. A new start, yes. Leave the past in the past, and with all our friends to bear witness, let us remake our bond. Where is our Moderator?’ The ancient ex-Head Shaman shuffles forward to officiate. Just as well the secular ceremony is short and simple. Poor old sod doesn’t look as though he’d make it to the end of anything long and complicated. Needs a trip to the Fountain of Youth if you ask me. Everybody cheers as Dennis and Methuselah seal their re-made bond, first with a formal kiss, and then with a much longer and more informal one. I remember how that feels... Naboo sighs, and looks away. He can see Howard and Vince holding hands and smiling; Vince notices him watching them, and grins. Then Methuselah takes the microphone and steps forward. ‘Thank you, Dennis. And thank you all for being with us. I will not waste much of your time. I know some of you have serious drinking to do, don’t you, Tony?’ She waits for the laughter and catcalls to subside. ‘We have one more announcement to make. Another new start. My Dennis and I, we are expecting our firstborn in the autumn...’ Whatever else she was going to say is drowned out by a burst of cheering and applause from the audience. Then the band is playing, the champagne is flowing, and Dennis, looking proud but slightly stunned, takes Methuselah’s arm and leads her around the garden, circulating through the crowd of guests, accepting their congratulations. Even Saboo is smiling. Dennis looms up beside them; Naboo hugs him, hard. ‘Nice one, big man. Listen, lemme know anytime you need a babysitter.’ Saboo snorts derisively. ‘Seriously,’ Naboo says, giving Saboo the finger behind Dennis’s back, ‘I’m a bit of an expert, I ’ad to rear those two human idiots over there, remember? Six soddin’ weeks of changin’ nappies an’ four-hourly feeds before I found an incantation to get ’em back to their proper ages... so anytime, just call me, OK?’ ‘Thank you,’ Dennis says gravely. ‘No worries.’ Naboo hugs him again. ‘So happy for ya...’ Dennis feels big and warm and solid. He feels like coming home, like safety and comfort... Dennis takes a step back, and looks down; his voice is pitched for Naboo’s ears alone. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Dunno exactly.’ There’s no point lying to someone who can see right through you, literally. ‘Man trouble?’ ‘Somefink like that.’ ‘I thought so. Could see it from across the room.’ Naboo looks up into those knowing pale-blue eyes. ‘You got any magic to fix it?’ Dennis smiles gently. ‘You don’t need magic. It’s very simple, Naboo. Just ask him.’ Before he can explain what this pronouncement means – if he even knows himself – Dennis is hailed by someone else, and lets Naboo go. Ask Saboo? Ask him what’s wrong? But he might deny that anything’s wrong at all, in which case he’d be lying, and then we’re stuffed; or worse, he might actually tell me what’s wrong, and it might be something that can’t be fixed... Saboo puts a hand on Naboo’s shoulder. ‘Oh, dry up, you idiot, this is supposed to be a happy day.’ He snorts again. ‘Never thought the D-Man was parent material. Nor the D-Man’s woman, come to that.’ ‘Just shows that even the perfect Saboo can be sometimes wrong,’ Methuselah says drily from right beside him, making him jump and look sheepish. ‘I’m sorry,’ he stammers, ‘I – I didn’t mean...’ Naboo winces, waiting for the inevitable blow to fall. But she is laughing; patting Saboo on the arm. ‘I am not offended, I never thought of myself as mother, either. Even I can be sometimes wrong also. Now, if you do not mind, I should like to borrow your Naboo for a short while, there is something I need to discuss with him. No, not about last Christmas’ – she laughs again – ‘do not look so dismayed, I meant it when I said the past is in the past. I need to ask a favour, that is all. Naboo, if you will please come with me...’ ‘Sure.’ Naboo shrugs. ‘Whatever.’ He thinks he hears Saboo mutter something at the same time: ‘he’s not mine,’ perhaps? But there’s no time to ask, Methuselah is taking his arm and leading him firmly out of the crowd. ‘Somewhere quiet,’ she says, ‘let us try the rose garden. This way.’ Naboo follows her through a gate in the hedge and across a green, sunlit lawn edged with flowering rosetrees. I wonder what the fuck this is about. I know she said the past is past, but...We haven’t talked about that Christmas party, ever. Better try not to say the wrong thing, or she might lose it and hit me. My glass is empty, too... I wonder whether I’m going to get another drink or a decent smoke anytime soon... There’s a double seat under an archway at the far end, canopied with heavily scented climbing roses; Methuselah sits down and motions Naboo to sit beside her. ‘I know I said this was not to talk about last Christmas.’ She plucks a leaf, twirls it nervously between her slender fingers. ‘But... I do want to thank you, Naboo, thank you for saving our marriage, for showing my Dennis how to be honest with me.’ Naboo sighs inwardly with relief. She’s not going to hit me, then. ‘I’m glad I helped, but I didn’t really do anything.’ ‘No.’ She shakes her head vehemently. ‘If it were not for you, we would be separated by now, and this baby that is on the way, he would not be on the way, he would not exist at all.’ ‘That’s... quite a responsibility.’ ‘It is also a wonderful gift.’ She is smiling now. ‘And in appreciation, we would like to ask you, will you stand mentor to our son when he is born?’ Well. Wasn’t expecting that one. That’ll offend a lot of well-connected Xooberon nobility who will have been hoping for the honour. And am I really up to the job? But if it’s Dennis’s choice... ‘I – well, yes, course I will, but – there’s plenty of other shamen who’ll do a better job, I mean, I don’t even live on-planet and I’m not exactly...’ ‘There is no other shaman who has such a link to our family. No-one else we would rather ask. You gave Dennis such good advice. I am certain you will do the same again when it is needed.’ ‘I’ll do my best.’ Naboo is slightly choked. Must be the perfume from all those flowers. ‘There is something else also.’ ‘What?’ ‘We would like to name him for you, if you have no objection.’ Naboo chews on his bottom lip. ‘Depends which name. The universe don’t need two Naboos, an’ I’m not bein’ mentor to a boy called Roppity-Poppity...’ ‘But Randolph, that is a good name, a fine name.’ ‘Yeah, that’d be OK, I s’pose.’ ‘Thank you. It is settled, then.’ She puts a hand over her stomach. ‘Randolph it is.’ Then she giggles. ‘I am very pleased, but Dennis’s family will not be. They are so traditional, they disapprove of him marrying extreme sports calendar model, and every firstborn male is always named Dennis. Father, grandfather, great grandfather, Dennis, Dennis, Dennis... But not this time. This time, we break tradition... Oh.’ She catches her breath suddenly. ‘You OK?’ ‘I’m fine. Just the baby kicking, I think he hears us. You want to feel him?’ ‘Well, I –’ I do want to feel, I want it very much indeed, contact with that small new life that is somehow in some weird way linked with mine. But touching the Head Shaman’s wife... might that be crossing the line? She grasps his wrist; places his hand on her belly. ‘There. Can you feel him?’ ‘I can feel...’ Yes. Yes. The kicking comes again, and oh, I can, I can feel it, can feel everything that’s going on in there, every twitch and heartbeat and... Blimey. ‘What is it?’ She’s looking anxiously into his face. ‘Naboo, what can you feel?’ With regret, he takes his hand away, and is surprised to find his cheeks are wet with tears. ‘I fink, you’re going to be able to make Dennis’s family happy too.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean...’ He sniffs, and wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his party robe. ‘There’s two in there. Twins. Two boys.’ Methuselah’s eyes are wide. ‘Are you certain?’ ‘Absolutely. So you can call one of ’em Dennis after all. The big one.’ ‘Dennis Junior and Randolph.’ She is laughing with sheer delight. ‘Randolph and DJ. Oh, Naboo, this is wonderful, we have to go and tell Papa Dennis right now.’ ‘Make sure he’s sitting down first.’ ‘Do you think your Saboo would stand mentor to DJ?’ ‘Dunno. S’pose we could just ask him.’ Just ask him... oh, fuck, of course, how could I be such a blind numpty? I know what Dennis meant now, the question I’ve got to ask Saboo, should have asked him already really, cos he’s been waiting for me to ask it, and hopefully he’ll say yes to her and yes to me and then everything will be all right... ‘Come on, then.’ Methuselah jumps to her feet. Naboo takes her hand, and together they run back through the sunlit rose garden.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #saboo #naboo #naboo the enigma #naboo/saboo #naboo/dennis #dennis the head shaman #dennis/methuselah #saboo/methuselah #howince #vince noir #howard moon #vince noir/howard moon #vince/howard #howard moon/vince noir #bollo

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 10

-----

After going and checking on Abby for lunch and finding her at dinner still running around nauseated, Holtzmann was getting concerned. 

She hadn’t eaten a meal or snack since the day before yesterday that hadn’t come back up. Abby wasn’t saying much, but Holtz expected she would probably not want to be so well acquainted with the bathroom.

When Holtz reappeared with chicken noodle soup and telling her wife that she had gotten it for her, Abby looked amused over her well-worn copy of Tobin’s Spirit Guide.

“I’m not sick Holtzmann.”

“But you can’t eat anything much. So, soup. Besides, you like soup.”

“I tried a couple more crackers?”

“Abby. That’s not actual food. How many years did you make me eat actual meals?”

“Not the same thing. And I tried your Pringles by the way. That didn’t work either.”

“Have you managed to keep down any water?” Abby made a face at that. Holtz took that as meaning that it had come back up along with everything else.

“You do this one more day and I’m taking you to the doctor for dehydration,” said Holtzmann pointedly. Abby sighed.

“Fine, hand over the chicken soup.” Holtz handed her the takeout container and a spoon.

“The finest chicken noodle soup on the block, courtesy of Al’s Diner.”

“Hopefully Al was not too heavy handed with the fat and salt,” grimaced Abby. She opened the plastic and styrofoam container and looked inside. “It has celery and carrot. And onion.”

“Veggies are good, Abs.”

“I’m just not used to seeing vegetables in my chicken noodle soup,” she said lightly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with them.” When Abby didn’t make a face, Holtz was relieved. And apparently, so was Abby.

“I would have never thought diner soup would be this delicious.”

“It’s called you are hungry,” said Holtzmann. “Seriously Abby, I’ve eaten more than you have.”

“I want more of your mac and cheese,” Abby whined, picking up a bite of the chicken.

“I’ll make some more later when you can stomach it.”

“Yes, but this doesn’t help my craving now,” said Abby. She seemed surprised at her words. “Oh geez, I want bacon and abhor it at the same time.” Her nose was starting to wrinkle up.

“Don’t think about it,” said Holtz. “Eat.”

“Why aren’t you eating dinner?” said Abby, gesturing at Holtzmann.

“Well...” said Holtz, looking sheepish. “I was going to eat leftovers, but I didn’t want to eat them in front of you.”

“Go get your food, Holtz. You can join me on the couch.”

“Are you sure?” asked the blonde.

“No, but I’d rather have your company,” said Abby.

“You’ve got built in company right there,” humored Holtz as she went into the kitchen.

“They don’t even have fully formed and functional ears yet, Holtzmann. They’re only about the size of a peppercorn.”

“But you can talk to them,” said Holtz. Abby heard the microwave start. “Erin came up to the lab and apologized to me about telling. I told her it wasn’t necessary.”

“She wasn’t thinking. I think she forgot that it’s still early and there is always the risk of miscarriage.” Abby grimaced at that. “We’re not exactly the ideal age for childbearing.”

“Are you really worried about that Abby?” frowned Holtz.

“A little,” she admitted. “I don’t want to lose them, Jills.” Holtz was quietly happy to see Abby already attached to their child, even if they were making her sick to her stomach constantly.

“Then eat some more,” said Holtz. “We can’t have you and the baby going hungry.” She came and sat down on the couch, keeping her plate as far as she could away from her wife.

“What if it’s an ectopic pregnancy?” said Abby suddenly. “And my fallopian tube bursts? We’d lose the baby... I’m 44, Holtz. Miscarriage rates go up with every passing year.”

“You’ve been reading pregnancy articles online this evening, haven’t you?”

Abby sighed. “Erin with her... phone call put the thought in my head again. My practitioner had already warned me of the risks, but when I told her we were determined, she didn’t see any reason why we couldn’t try.” She paused, frowning. “I really didn’t want anyone to know except for us till my second trimester. By then the rate of miscarriage goes way down.”

“It can’t be helped Abs,” Holtz stated. “But I think it’ll be good if we tell your mom and dad and brother now. And my dad is going to freak that I’m even remotely thinking about children, much less actually having one.”

Abby sighed and leaned her head against Holtzmann’s shoulder.

“Do I really have to tell my mom face to face even though Erin’s already technically told her? Because you know what’s going to happen.”

“That a lovely 68 year old woman is going to gushing over the fact that her only daughter is having her a grandchild?”

“She’s going to become insufferable,” said Abby, muffled. She had buried her head in Holtz’s red robe. Holtzmann laughed heartily.

“Just wait till we all get to see each other again. I think Erin put the thought in her head that I’m transgender this afternoon, which I might add, was an excellent joke. She dealt her hand well.”

“Oh hell,” said Abby, groaning. “Why did I want my former best friend back in my life again?”

“Because she jumped into a portal to another plane to save your ass?” said Holtz sassily, mimicking Patty jokingly. Abby laughed at the impression.

“I suppose she’s worth keeping around,” said Abby, rolling her eyes.

“Oh she is,” said Holtzmann with a smirk. “I can’t wait to see how this is going to work.”

-----

Holtzmann ended up on a call the day Abby had her confirmation appointment. The call itself had taken only about thirty minutes and had only required two of them. Holtz and Patty came back to find Erin talking to a tall woman with short brown hair, looking pleased. She shook her hand and turned to leave. She was surprised at Holtz and Patty’s sudden appearance. She nodded to them and left after giving them a glance over at their uniforms.

“Who was that?” asked Holtzmann.

“One of our prospective employees,” said Erin. “That was Beth. She seems really nice.”

“I think we startled her,” said Patty.

“I told her that we were the only ones here,” said Erin. “Probably why.” Holtz frowned.

“Abby’s not back yet? We’re supposed to leave for her doctor’s appointment in about 15 minutes.”

“Not yet,” said Erin. “She needs to text me back though. The printer messed up the printing of our logo and now it’s going to take another three weeks instead of two for the new pamphlets and business cards. I was wondering if she wanted to try another printing company instead.”

“Trials and tribulations of owning your own business,” said Patty. Erin nodded glumly.

“Something the matter?” asked Holtz. She had sat down in the chair across from Erin’s desk, putting her feet up on the corner.

“Do you remember when things seemed less complicated? Like six years ago when we first started.”

“Back in the days when we were completely broke and working for ourselves?”

“I’d almost take an apocalypse over real life,” muttered Erin.

“Wouldn’t we all,” said Patty. She looked at Holtz.

“What? I’m in the beginning of my own personal apocalypse.”

“I don’t think your spouse being pregnant counts as the world being in danger, Holtzy.”

“Have you met Abby, Patty?” Holtzmann didn’t notice when Patty stepped off to the side a little and Erin looked up with a knowing smirk.

“I have, and I must say Holtzy, it was nice knowing you.”

“Whaaaaaaat--?” said the blonde. She looked up and saw Abby standing behind her, looking straight down and glaring at her, arms crossed.

“Gaaahhhck!” said Holtz, rocking the chair as she scrambled up. It made a loud clacking noise as it hit the floor. Erin was laughing as Holtzmann finally stood up straight, glancing between Patty and Erin. She flailed her arms at the both of them.

“Couldn’t either of you have given me any warning?”

“But what would have been the fun in that?” said Erin. “Hi Abby.”

“Hello Erin,” greeted Abby. “And I did get your text. I say keep the old one, but demand that they give us a refund on this order and a discount on our next one. If they don’t, then we can shop around.”

Erin nodded, grinning.

“You coming?” asked Abby to Holtz. Holtzmann looked down at her jumpsuit with a whine. She still had on her work clothes and boots.

“Can I change at least?”

Abby turned and started walking towards the front door, ponytail bouncing.

“Abby.... Abbbbbbby... Abby!!!”

Both Erin and Patty hadn’t stopped laughing as Holtz jogged after her.

-----

Holtz did manage to change before going out, although she had a half of mind to stay in her work jumpsuit. Then everyone would step out of the way. But then, she’d need proton pack, which she was not carrying around any further than she had to. They were seated out in the waiting room at Abby’s doctor, and her wife was trying not to be nervous beside her. Holtzmann took her hand.

“All they are going to do is take your vitals, draw blood, and confirm the last date of your period. You know this,” said Holtz softly. “Your first prenatal appointment isn’t for another couple of weeks.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m not looking forward to dragging up every little detail about my medical history and sexual history and just ugh,” said Abby. She looked disgusted.

“Details or nausea?” asked Holtz.

“Both,” said Abby automatically. She sighed. “I just really want to go back home and go to sleep.”

“You can if you want,” said Holtzmann. “No one’s stopping you.”

“Work?” said Abby, making a face.

“Abby, Erin and Patty are not going to care if you’re tired.” “God, I’m exhausted all the sudden,” said the brunette. “And the only thing I’ve done this morning is showered and met with my editor for breakfast."

“Did you eat?” asked Holtz.

“Alright Mom...”

“Abby, seriously.”

“One piece of toast with apple jelly and two forkfuls of scrambled eggs. And a cup of coffee I relished in.”

“Good,” said Holtzmann with a nod, looking relieved. “It’s a start.”

“I don’t know, I’m the end of the world apparently. Your own personal apocalypse.”

“Abby, you know I was just kidding.” The paranormal investigator crossed her arms and glared more at her wife.

“If the situation was reversed, you’d be making the same joke,” said Holtzmann pointedly.

“Yes, but I’d be making a better one,” smirked Abby. Holtz grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

“Abigail Yates?” said a voice. Holtz looked up and saw a nurse holding a chart and looking around.

“That’s your cue, Abby.”

“Do I have to? My stomach was actually starting to settle down with the whole not moving.”

“Do you want that nap?”

“More than I need air.” They both got up and started walking behind the nurse. Holtzmann nudged her wife’s shoulder playfully.

“Though hopefully not as much as you need me.”

“The divorce papers are sitting in your lab,” smirked Abby. Holtz laughed, clapping her hands.

“Good, I can always use more flammable objects to keep around for when I get bored.”

Abby sighed dramatically, side-eyeing Holtz. “And why did I marry you again?”

“Because you’re the only person who knows my deepest darkest secrets and I need for you not to be able to testify in court,” said Holtz, squeezing her hand. “Come on.” She gestured to where the nurse was standing by a set of scales.

-----

Erin’s cell phone lit up and she frowned as she looked at the name and number.

“Hey Holtz, what’s up?”

She heard a sigh on the other end of the phone.

“What are the statistics on committing murder and actually getting away with it? I need to know before Abby comes back out of the bathroom so she won’t have to be a witness to her wife acting irrationally.”

“I don’t know the exact numbers, but I would imagine very low.” The redhead frowned, sitting back in her chair.

“Something the matter?”

“No... not really. Abby’s general practitioner had to make a sudden trip out of town to see an ailing family member, so one of her partners in the practice was doing her appointments. He ran the blood test, which was all well and fine, but after talking to Abby and my ghostly self, he got it in his head that the pregnancy is ectopic. I don’t think he quite believed that Abby could be pregnant and something not be wrong. If I could call out a medical doctor on trying to shame their clientele in the name of health, I so would. Ageism, lifestyle, and... you get the picture. So he sent us to a nearby hospital to have an early ultrasound done since they do not have that sort of equipment on site.”

“And...?” said Erin, coaxing Holtzmann to continue the story.

“Nothing. Baby is firmly planted in Abby’s uterus. Fully formed little hurricane in the making in there.” She seemed to pause. “We have pictures.”

“That’s great Holtz,” said Erin, smiling. “And now you know that everything is alright.” “Yeah, it is relieving,” Holtz said over the phone. “But now I’m just annoyed that he freaked out Abby over nothing. Sending us to a hospital was the last place she needed to go considering the doctors have already explained before that she was considered high-risk because of her age and weight.”

“Is she okay?”

Holtz sighed. ‘You know Abby. She’s trying to take it all in stride now. But earlier when we were waiting at the hospital, she was in tears. She already feared this.”

Erin shifted the phone to her other ear. “As much as I’d like to bash him for being an idiot and you and I will definitely be doing that later, he was just doing his job. He had a worry, and he pursued it. If it had been an ectopic pregnancy, then he probably would have saved Abby a lot of pain from a possible rupture and surgery, not to mention a lot of grief for the both of you from losing the baby. That would be the worst part, I would think.”

“There is that side to it, isn’t there? The flip side of the coin.”

“Go be joyful,” said Erin. “And send me a picture of the ultrasound.” Erin smiled a little when Holtz didn’t say anything further. It wasn’t but just a few seconds later she got a text from Holtzmann with a picture attached. It was a standard black and white ultrasound, but it was Abby and Holtzmann’s baby. She couldn’t stop grinning as she looked at it. And Holtz hadn’t been kidding. It really did look like a fully formed eye in the middle of a hurricane. She was surprised however that Holtz hadn’t sent a sound clip from the Scorpions with it. But then she figured the air guitar would come later once they got back and she had clarity of thought.

“Kevin! Patty!” she yelled.

“Yes Boss?” asked Kevin from his desk.

“Come here a minute,” she said. Patty poked her head out from the stairwell.

“Something up?”

“Come see the baby,” she said, grinning.

“It’s a circle inside another circle,” said Kevin, turning his head a little to look at Erin’s iPhone.

“It’s Abby’s ultrasound,” Erin explained. “The doctor was worried it might be ectopic. So he had an ultrasound ordered just to be safe.”

“But it’s not, right?” asked Patty.

“It isn’t,” said Erin. “Fully attached where it’s supposed to be.”

“So they can do ultrasounds that early?” said Patty. “I thought you didn’t get your first one until like, 20 weeks.”

“Maybe in special cases?” shrugged Erin.

“Well, any kid that is in anyway Holtzy’s kid would be a special case,” smirked Patty.

“How old is the baby?” asked Kevin.

“Five to six weeks?” said Erin. “I think.”

“I didn’t realize babies started out as little circles,” said Kevin.

“No, it’s not---” began Patty. “The baby is in a special sac, which is circular. It’s inside there.”

“Oh!” said Kevin. He looked at the picture again.

“Kind of cool to be able to see into the body and see something growing.”

“It is,” agreed Erin. The phone rang and Kevin ran off to answer it.

“You never told me what Cheyenne said about you two having kids now by the way,” Erin said to Patty.

“As much as she’d love to physically have kids, I think we’re going to adopt sometime in the future,” said Patty. “Although, I don’t know...”

“Be a foster parent,” blurted out Erin. “You know, older kids. Show a kid that they can have a home.”

“That’s not a bad plan,” said Patty, nodding. “Teenagers though...”

“They need a home too.”

“Can we just shut down the containment unit and release all the ghosts instead?” said Patty hopefully. “That I could handle better.” <– Prev | Next –>

#yatesmann #ghostbusters 2016 #descendants fanfic gb

[scribefindegil]

Fisherman’s Knot Chapter 16

[Ao3]

[Title Songs]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5][Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15]

Content warning for abuse. 

Many thanks to @thesnadger for betaing--always, but especially for chapters like this where I throw them at her shouting “I’m too angry at my own villain to tell if this is good! Help me!” She is the best. 

Also thanks to @marypsue for helping me work out Serinam’s motivations and the plot snarl I was stuck in so I could stop worrying and actually write this thing.

We Sang Them Up The Beach

“You’re going to a party?”

“Well, not really a party, it’s—”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Mabel glared out from the laptop screen, hands on her hips.

“We just decided last night, pumpkin,” said Stan, his tone somewhere between soothing and defensive.

“Yeah, but do you know how much I could have done since last night? Grunkle Ford needs a makeover, and Nuala needs an advanced course in Humaning, and where were you planning to get an outfit for her, hmm?”

Stan looked across the table at Ford and gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “At . . . a store?”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “You two are hopeless at fashion. No offense, but I think it’s time to bring out the big guns.”

She pulled out her phone, dialed, and stood there tapping her foot while it rang.

“Yes, hello. Pacifica? We’ve got an emergency!”

Nuala stood awkwardly in the center of the cabin wearing her sealskin and one of Stan’s Hawaiian shirts while Ford took her measurements. It felt strange. They had plenty of measuring equipment on the boat, but it was for anomalies. Experiments. Not people.

From a split video window on the laptop screen, the Northwest girl watched judgmentally. The fact that “judgmental” was clearly a default expression that had been drilled into her since birth didn’t make Ford feel any less scrutinized.

“Are clothes always this complicated?” Nuala asked. She wriggled and made a face as Ford wrapped the measuring tape around her hips.

“Only super-fancy awesome sparkle clothes!” said Mabel, at almost the exact same time that Pacifica said, “If you take your appearance seriously they are.” She was scrolling through something on her hot pink phone. “We’ll have to go off-the-rack, and plus-size is a challenge, but I’m sure we can find something suitable.”

“Aww, Pacifica!” said Mabel. “You’re like her fairy godmother!”

Perhaps it was some issue with her webcam, but Pacifica seemed to go very red all of a sudden.

“Whatever,” she sniffed. “I’m only doing this so you’ll owe me.”

Ford let her walk him through the rest of the measurements. It made him almost nostalgic for the dimensions where they had machines that could just scan your body and spit out clothes in exactly your size, even though his experience with them had mostly involved disguises and prison jumpsuits. He finished taking the circumference of Nuala’s bicep—first relaxed, at Pacifica’s insistence, and then flexed, at Stan’s.

“Wouldn’t want to go up against you in the ring!” said Stan. “Once you figured out how fists work you’d be a powerhouse.”

“Fists are silly,” said Nuala, shrugging away from Ford and the tape measure. “Can you bite in this ring?”

“Eh,” said Stan. “That depends on how much you care about things like ‘rules’ and ‘consequences.’ Now, when I was a kid—”

“All right, she’s done,” Pacifica interrupted blithely. “Now you.”

Ford blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

Mabel flapped her arms at the screen. “You’ve gotta get fancied up, too, Great Uncle Ford!”

“No, but—I . . . we have a suit already . . .”

“What, that thing your brother wears? Pu-lease. It should have ended up in the rag bucket like twenty years ago.”

“It is a little . . . vintage,” said Mabel apologetically. “And it’s got that weird old-person smell, like moth balls and disappointment. Sorry, Grunkle Ford, but I think Pacifica has a point.”

“Well, obviously.” They really needed to see about color-correcting the screen—Pacifica’s face looked to be about the same shade as Ford’s sweater.

Speaking of which . . . they’d had to dress Nuala in the thinnest shirt they had before Pacifica would accept any of her measurements. There was no way she’d let Ford keep the heavy woolen turtleneck.

He tried anyway. “Can’t you just measure over . . . ?”

“Not if you want it to fit, which is the entire point of measuring.”

“What about the height thingies?” said Mabel. “You can start with those, at least!”

And so Nuala, fumbling at first to hold the tape measure, took down Ford’s height and the length of his trouser legs and several other things that seemed increasingly awkward and unnecessary. He let his mind turn to more important matters than the length of his inseam.

The fundraiser began at six thirty. That gave them nearly ten hours—more if they were fashionably late—to make their preparations. The plan was simple enough. All Ford needed to do was convince B—Doctor Smith. He’d use the name tonight but he didn’t need to yet. He’d convince Doctor Smith that the two of them were equally unprincipled, and then broach the topic—hypothetically, of course—of where a man might hide a sealskin. And then, well, either it would work or it wouldn’t. There was no sense in trying to plan too far ahead. There were too many ways the future could have splintered by then. It was like trying to trace the edge of a fractal—all those tiny little curves that blossomed out into their own universes if you followed them too far.

Something tightened around his neck. Something cold and hard and—

“I’ve got ways of making you talk! It’s only a matter of—”

“No!”

Ford jerked forward and for a moment the collar tightened, snapping his head back, and then the pressure released and he was free, his hand flying to the blaster at his hip even though it was too small, much too small—

“Ford! Hey!”

Something tightened around his wrist. But it wasn’t shackles. There was give to it, and a familiar shape, a thumb on one side and one-two-three-four fingers on the other and—oh.

Oh.

The world clicked back into place like a slide advancing in a projector. Stan slowly released his hold on Ford’s wrist. Nuala stood frozen, still holding the measuring tape in one hand.

She’d been measuring the circumference of his neck. Of course. And of course he’d panicked and lashed out because he couldn’t even be fitted for a suit without ruining everything—

Stan spoke. “Hey rich kid.”

Pacifica bristled, but she looked almost relieved to have someone to argue with. “You know what my name is, old man.”

“Yeah, sure. Just, uh, why don’t you tell me what else you need and we’ll get back to you. I think my nerdy brother over here needs more coffee so he doesn’t fall asleep on his feet again, yanno?”

Pacifica looked unconvinced, but she shrugged nonetheless and listed off the remaining measurements. Stan scribbled them down, his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

“And get them to me quickly,” the girl snapped. “I haven’t got all day.”

“Thanks, Pacificaaaa!” said Mabel, wrapping her arms around herself the way she always did when she wanted to hug someone at a distance.

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome. I guess. Whatever.”

*

Ford took the neck measurement himself. The tape stretched taut across the band of paler skin that circled his throat while his hands brushed the raised Lichtenberg figure scars that stretched down across his chest almost, but not quite, to his heart.

They had looked like fractals in the days immediately after Weirdmageddon—faint, barely-visible traceries of red branching across his body. But now they were faded. Simplified. Codified. No longer like the blossoming of universes, but like a stemma, a series of imperfect copies built from a million possibilities.

All the possibilities were imperfect, Ford knew. But they never felt that way until they existed and he could see exactly how flawed they were.

He marked the tape with his fingernail and pulled it away until he could read the numbers.

*

The day went by too quickly. Before he knew it Ford was standing in the hotel room they’d rented for the night, his hair damp from the shower and his skin, scars and tattoos and all, scrubbed clean. He pulled the robe tighter around himself and stared at the suit the Northwest girl had picked out for him.

He hadn’t worn a suit since Weirdmageddon.

“You need a hand?” asked Stan. He was sprawled on the other bed, twirling his ridiculous stolen pen between his fingers. “Sorry I can only offer you the one. But hey! After tomorrow this arm can stop being such a slacker.”

Tomorrow. Right. They only had one chance at this. Otherwise Stan would have to go to the hospital alone, and that was unacceptable.

“You’re sure McGucket isn’t gonnna secretly hide a flamethrower in the metal bit or anything?” Stan continued. “If I’m turning into some anime cyborg pirate I should at least know in advance.”

“No flamethrowers,” said Ford. “I promise. You’ll be the world’s most boring cyborg.”

Stan chuckled. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and his face scrunched up. “Think we should go check on . . . ?”

He indicated the bathroom door with a toss of his head. Nuala had been inside for a long time. They could hear her singing quietly in a strange, nasal language. The garment bag and boxes of accessories that Pacifica had procured for them—the number seemed excessive, but Ford knew very little about how women dressed—sat unopened on one of the chairs.

He stood and rapped gently on the bathroom door.

“Nuala?”

The noise stopped. “Yes?”

“Um . . . are you decent?”

“At lots of things! What do you mean?”

“It’s  . . . an expression . . .” Ford winced. “Are you ready? Or nearly?”

The door opened and Nuala peered out, her sealskin wrapped tight around her. The handle of Stan’s hairbrush was sticking out of the tangled tresses massed around her shoulders.

“I don’t understand how you make your hair do things,” she said.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have bitten the hairdresser,” remarked Stan.

“She touched me,” snapped Nuala with a curl of her lip. Ford sympathized.

“Well, you can’t go to a fancy do looking like your hair’s going to eat the cutlery.”

“It should,” muttered Nuala darkly. “I hate cutlery.”

Stan laughed. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, come on then,” said Stan, pointing at one of the chairs. “Let’s fix it.”

Ford left them to it and went into the bathroom to get dressed. He didn’t hear any shouting or snarling, which was a good sign, but he was still surprised when he stepped out and saw Stan gently working a comb through Nuala’s hair. She was smiling, and Stan laughed at whatever she had just said. He’d been expecting . . . well, not carnage per se, but certainly a much tenser scene.

Stan looked up and grinned at him. “Looking good, Poindexter,” he said. “Glad to see you still clean up okay.”

The suit was uncomfortable in the way that anything that wasn’t his usual sweater and coat was uncomfortable, but he had to admit that it fit well. It was just stiff, made him stand tall instead of letting him curl up inside it if he needed to. It smelled new and sterile.

“Grab me the conditioner, would you?” Stan asked. Ford brought it and watched with surprise as Stan slowly worked the product into Nuala’s hair and teased out the knots until it was smooth.

“When did you learn how to do this?” Ford asked.

Stan smiled. “Mabel. Went swimming in the lake and turned her hair into a rat’s nest. I said we should just cut it—lost cause, right? But she wouldn’t stop singing until I sat down and helped her comb it out. Darn kid. There!” He removed the hairbrush and set it to the side. “Now you don’t got an accessory-eating monster on your head. Huh. Come to think about it, maybe that’s an idea I should run by Soos.”

He sat back and stretched his one working arm. “You want it up?”

“Will I look more human?”

Stan considered the wild waves of hair that cascaded down Nuala’s back to pool below her hips. “Probably.”

She gave a small, stiff nod. “Then yes.”

“Can’t do anything fancy,” Stan said. “I’ve been a lot of things in my time, but never a hairdresser. But at least we can braid it.”

Ford, who had been adjusting his tie in the mirror, blinked. “We?”

Stan wiggled his fingers. “I got one hand, genius. Come on.”

It was an odd process and Nuala laughed at them as they argued about how to start. On their first attempt they split the hair unevenly and the braid looked sad and lopsided. On the second, Stan and Ford couldn’t match their tension—the braid curved to the right and Nuala snapped at Ford for pulling too hard. But the third time, as Nuala relaxed and Ford found the rhythm, it was almost soothing. Cross the strand over the middle, pull it snug but not tight, then wait for Stan to do the same and swap off which strand they were holding. There was a rhythm to it. It helped him breathe.

Finally, her braid held in place with a piece of knotted twine, Nuala gathered up her things and went to get dressed. Ford sat on the bed and pressed the receiver into his ear. Nuala would be wearing the ring this time, they’d decided. It was more . . . fitting for the roles they were playing.

Stan nudged Ford with his uninjured arm. “Hey. You all right?”

“I’m fine.” Maybe if he said it enough it would turn out to be true. There were universes like that, where reality bent and twisted around spoken words and the native populations sang their cities into existence. But here the words fell flat and lifeless.

“Okay,” said Stan. “Sure. But, uh, somebody once told me that it’s okay not to be all right. And I think maybe he had a point. Just saying.”

Ford breathed in deeply and then let it out. One-two-three-four-five-six.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said. “But it’s misplaced, I assure you.”

Stan shrugged lopsidedly. “Suit yourself. Or don’t. I mean, technically you had to get suited by a preteen because you don’t know anything about clothes.”

“Ha ha.”

From the bathroom, they could hear Nuala arguing with Mabel on speakerphone. “There’s no point to these socks! You can see through them and they don’t have any colors!”

“Just . . . be careful, all right?” said Stan.

“I’m always careful,” Ford said.

Stan laid a hand on his back. “Ford. Bro. Don’t lie to me. I know you, and I don’t think you’ve ever been careful in your life.”

“Then what’s the point of insisting that I try?”

“I don’t know. Wishful thinking?”

More dialogue drifted out from the bathroom. “And you wear these all the time? What is wrong with your species?”

“I guess . . .” Stan fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling tiles. “Remember that this isn’t a solo mission. Nuala might not be able to use a fork, but she could take someone out.”

“And I can use both forks and firearms,” said Ford. “We’ll be fine. I’ve handled much more dangerous missions on my own.”

“And how many of those didn’t end up with you hog-tied and thrown in Space Jail?” asked Stan. “I’ve done more dangerous things on my own, too, but they sucked. Even when I did make it out okay. I’m . . . look, I’m not saying you can’t do this on your own. It’s just . . . it’s nice that you don’t have to.”

The suit was perfectly hemmed and there were no loose threads for him to pick at. Ford dug his hands into the paisley-patterned blanket stretched across the bed and twisted a corner of it between his fingers.

*

It felt like only a few minutes before Mabel called Stan’s phone to let them know that Nuala was ready.

“She’s very nervous and a little bitey, so be careful,” Mabel warned them. “Also we had to lie about how women’s clothing works, so pretend that you’re super uncomfortable and don’t have any pockets, okay? Don’t worry I know it’s gonna be great love you byeeeee!”

Nuala didn’t respond to the first knock. After the second, Ford tried the handle and gently pushed the door open.

Nuala was standing in front of the mirror, still as a figurehead. She looked out of place against the white tiles and the harsh fluorescent light, like a looted artifact on display in a far-away museum.

The girls had done their job well. Nuala’s dress was made of some deep blue-gray fabric that turned to lace at her knees. The back and the sleeves and the neck were white lace, delicate as sea foam. Her earrings dangled and dazzled like they were trying to hide the fact that they were clip-ons, and she wore a heavy silver chain around her neck. Ford’s eyes should have been drawn to the pendant that hung from it, but he found himself staring at the chain instead. It wasn’t tight, but still he wished that he could just unfasten it and fling it away.

“Lookin’ good, kid,” said Stan from behind him.

Nuala jumped. “I am . . . nervous,” she admitted.

“It’ll be fine,” said Stan. “You look beautiful.”

Nuala stared at her reflection in the mirror. She touched her hair, the long braid they’d tamed her wild tresses into, the neckline of her dress and the heavy pendant dangling from her throat.

“I don’t want to look beautiful,” she said quietly. “I want to look like me.”

*

Stan made sure to give Ford his Mabel Hug for the day before they headed out. It still wasn’t quite as tight as Mabel herself would manage, but it was tighter and longer than usual.

“I’ll be fine,” Ford said, his face crushed against his brother’s good shoulder.

“You’d better be!” Stan gave a final squeeze and then stepped away, clapping Ford on the back.

“Nuala, I’m counting on you to look after this nerd, okay?”

“Got it!” The selkie headbutted Stan’s shoulder in affirmation.

“And I want you to take these, just in case.”

He produced a set of brass knuckles and slipped them into the purse Nuala had slung over her shoulder. Ford suspected that Mabel had been behind that particular purchase—it was shaped like a surprised-looking fish and had scales made of glass beads and sequins.

“Don’t worry,” Stan said before Ford could protest, “They’re my best pair. Totally reasonable accessory for a fancy shindig like this.”

Ford decided that it wasn’t worth arguing over.

*

The next thing he knew their taxi was pulling up outside the aquarium. Ford tapped his fingers across his knees. One-two-three-four-five-six, over and over again.

“You give her the ring yet?” came Stan’s voice in his ear.

Right. That. He’d been putting it off—foolish, since it was their lifeline if anything went wrong—but it made the charade seem more real. He knew they were only pretending, but still, it felt like another chain. Like a contract that he was on the wrong side of.

He took the pirate ring from his breast pocket and turned to Nuala.

“Your hand?”

She offered him both of them. It took her a moment to relax enough that he could slip the communicator onto the ring finger of her left hand.

Nuala wrinkled her nose. “It feels wrong,” she said.

“I know,” said Ford, pulling his hands away and running a thumb along the scar tissue at his wrists. “I know.”

*

The venue was . . .

Big. Big and bright and full of people and full of noise. Ford searched desperately for a corner while Nuala stood stiff at his side, holding on to his arm with all her might. He suspected her grip would leave bruises. He didn’t care.

He piloted them through the crowd toward the balcony at the far end of the room, snatching a drink from the tray of a passing waiter as they went by. He’d meant for it to be a simple prop, something to keep his hands busy, but before they were through the balcony doors he found that he’d already downed it.

No matter. Perhaps it would calm his nerves.

Or perhaps it would ruin everything. He could already feel the evening branching out of his control, likes cracks spreading in a sheet of ice.

There wasn’t much he could do. Just hold on to the best timeline he could make and not let go. There were universes where this worked, Ford was certain. He just needed to make sure that he was in one of those.

They’d made their way to the railing and were leaning over, Nuala taking in great gulps of sea air from the harbor. He could feel her relax as the salt spray brushed her skin.

If only it were that easy for him. He could feel the prickle of watching eyes—and of course there were people watching, that was what happened in a crowd!—and had to fight the urge to spin around so he could keep them all in his sights.

He wished he’d been able to bring his blaster. He felt naked without the familiar weight at his hip. He felt lost without the weapon to ground him. Without any of the things he usually had to ground him. His blaster. His sweater. His coat.

His brother.

But Nuala was there, and she was squeezing his arm, not with the death grip she’d used earlier but with a steady pressure that should have been comforting. And she was saying something—something about going back inside—and Ford tried to smile and nod at her, tried to turn and steel himself and brave the noise and the light and the eyes for her sake if nothing else—

The empty glass fell from his hand and tumbled over the railing. He’d forgotten that he’d been holding it. It fell as if in slow motion into the harbor below, glinting in the light, until it entered the water and disappeared with barely a splash.

“Um,” said Nuala. “Just checking—is that something we’re supposed to do?”

Ford shook his head. “No, no—it was an accident. Ignore it.”

She looked disappointed that throwing glassware into the harbor wasn’t a normal part of high society, and Ford supposed that he couldn’t blame her. It would certainly be more entertaining than the interminable small talk they’d have to endure.

But lurking on the balcony wasn’t what they were here for.

He turned, and braced himself, and entered the fray.

*

He could pretend. Sometimes. For a moment. He could pretend until whoever he was talking to asked about Nuala, and then he had to remember who he was playing.

At least he’d gotten some practice in before Doctor Smith arrived.

Ford would have recognized him even without Serinam by his side. His thin, severe face looked exactly like the photograph that Dipper had found. Everything about him was exacting, from the cut of his beard to the cut of his suit. Ford found himself suddenly grateful for Pacifica’s insistence on the quality of his own suit; Doctor Smith didn’t look like he would give the time of day to someone in ill-fitting clothing.

Ford set down the glass he was holding and laid a hand on Nuala’s shoulder. She’d been facing the balcony, and as she turned he heard the sharp intake of her breath. For a moment she locked eyes with Serinam, and then the other selkie looked away.

Nuala took his arm. There was no doubt by now that he had bruises forming. Ford leaned into the pain, let it ground him. He tried to hide the emotion in his eyes. It had been too long since he’d needed to act like this. Not just pretending he was fine when he wasn’t—that was automatic and instinctive and had been a habit for as long as he could remember. But just . . . not letting himself feel things. Locking them away in the back of his mind with the other things he couldn’t dwell on. That was harder.

He plastered on a smile and stepped forward.

Doctor Smith noticed Nuala before he noticed Ford. His eyebrows rose momentarily, and then he smiled, tight and smug and predatory.

Bill Cipher hadn’t had a mouth, but if he had he would have smiled just like that when Ford first ran to confront him. He would have smiled just like that when he plucked Ford from the rubble of the tower after his shot went wide. He would have smiled just like that the first time he saw Ford sleeping, an eager little pawn ripe for the taking.

And Ford wasn’t afraid. There was no room in his head to be afraid, no room for anything except the hot, boiling rage that filled him so completely he was sure he must have smoke pouring off his shoulders as he forced himself, excruciatingly, to smile back.

Doctor Smith crossed over to them so Ford didn’t have to move, didn’t have to worry that if he released the tension in any of his joints his fist would fly of its own accord right into the center that horrible, horrible smile.

Not yet. Not yet. He had to stay calm. Had to pretend. He’d lied to Bill Cipher in the end, hadn’t he? He’d lied to Atlantis. He could lie to Doctor Smith.

“Pardon me, but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure . . . ?”

There he was, right in front of them.

“No,” said Ford. “I don’t believe you have.”

“. . . Well,” said Doctor Smith after a pause. “I’m Bill Smith, and this ravishing creature is my wife Sarah.” He smiled indulgently at Serinam. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Some response seemed expected, so Ford nodded. “Yes.” Most people would probably have meant it, but Ford remembered the heartbroken look on Nuala’s face.

“You gotta introduce yourself, bro,” came Stan’s voice in his ear.

Right.

���Dr. Stanford Pines. Pleased to meet you.” He felt like he might choke on the words.

Dr. Smith held out a hand and Ford bit the inside of his lower lip as he took it. He’d avoided handshakes when he could, even before . . . even before Bill Cipher. There, he could say it.

Bill Smith had a firm handshake and long, slender fingers, and the handshake meant nothing except perhaps, apocryphally, as a demonstration that both parties were unarmed. What a lie that could be.

As Ford drew his hand back, Dr, Smith caught and held it.

“Oh, do excuse me. May I?”

Ford looked across at Serinam. He was hardly the most anomalous out of the group that night, or the most likely to be dehumanized for it. He nodded.

Dr. Smith turned Ford’s hand over in his own, flexing his fingers and gently squeezing his knuckles. The touch filled him with a crawling horror entirely out of scale with what was actually happening.

“Fascinating!” said Dr. Smith at last. “Fully functional postaxial polydactyly! I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an extra digit so well integrated! Do you have full range of motion?”

Ford rolled his fingers while Dr. Smith watched, then hid his hand behind his back.

“Oh, I apologize, you must think me incredibly rude! I didn’t even let you finish introducing yourselves! And who is this lovely lady here?”

Ford swallowed. Mirrored Dr. Smith’s smile as best as he could. Leaned into his friend as if asking for forgiveness.

“My fiancée, Nuala.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Dr. Smith. He took Nuala’s hand in his and raised it to kiss her fingertips. She shot Ford a look of pure panic and gripped his arm tighter. Ford kept his expression carefully blank, but squeezed back.

“How long have you been, ah . . .” There was that smile again as he looked Nuala up and down. “. . . Engaged?”

“Not long,” Ford replied. “We met when I was doing research in Labrador. We’ve only been back on the mainland for a few weeks.”

“What type of research?”

“My work is focused on . . . anomalous phenomena. Investigating the scientific nature behind strange tales . . . legends . . . folklore . . .”

“Ah.” Dr. Smith smiled and smiled and Ford bit his tongue to keep from screaming. “I dabble in such areas myself. Not my main area of study—I focus on North Atlantic pinnipeds—but Sarah here has such a personal connection to the folklore. Since we met I admit I’ve found the field quite . . . captivating. She really opened my eyes.”

A muscle twitched in Serinam’s neck as she stared woodenly at the floor. Apart from those first few seconds of eye contact with Nuala, she’d barely looked up.

“What about yours? Does she share your passion for the unexplained?”

“Nuala has little interest in academics, I’m afraid,” Ford found himself saying.

“Oh, I’m sure she makes up for it in other ways,” said Dr. Smith with a smirk. “Brains aren’t everything.”

“Indeed!” replied Ford vehemently, certain that the thing he was agreeing with wasn’t actually what Dr. Smith had meant and equally certain that he wasn’t going to let himself think about it.

“Calm down, bro,” said Stan in his ear. It was comforting to have his brother’s voice muttering to him, drowning out the sounds of his own thoughts. “You can punch him later. I know you’re thinking it cause I’m thinking it too. Just take your time.”

Ford snatched a bite-sized pastry from the tray of a passing waiter. Nuala reached out to take one of her own and Dr. Smith pursed his lips and frowned at her. Without breaking eye contact, she grabbed two of the pastries and shoved them into her mouth. Ford was grateful they’d been able to convince Mabel and Pacifica not to introduce the selkie to makeup.

Now Dr. Smith was looking at him disapprovingly, almost pityingly.

“Nuala!” Ford snapped. “No more!”

She bared her teeth, about to shoot back some angry remark before she remembered and lowered her head.

“It does take a considerable amount of time and resources to train an ambassador animal,” said Dr. Smith calmly, the apparent non-sequitur belied by the curl of his lip as he looked at Nuala. “Of course, some are more co-operative than others.”

“You seem to have experience of your own,” said Ford. “Maybe we could discuss it? Or at least compare notes on our respective folklore research.”

“Absolutely!” said Dr. Smith. “I have several other groups to check in with, but then . . . perhaps we could retire to my office with a little of this very fine wine and have a chat. And I’m sure that Sarah and . . . what was her name again?”

“Nuala.”

“Nuala! Of course. I’m sure that Sarah and Nuala can find plenty to talk about. I remember when we first were married, how difficult she found it to acclimate to the mainland. But everything’s perfect now, isn’t it darling?”

“Yes, dear,” said Serinam. “Perfect.”

*

Ford enjoyed more than a little of the very fine wine as they waited for Dr. Smith to return from his rounds. It was probably a terrible idea. He decided that he didn’t care. As the alcohol took hold of him the fractal patterns of the multiverse blurred away until he was left with only the present and the liquid, honeyed glow of the future. Future, singular. Whatever happened, he only had the one.

He snuck appetizers to Nuala, too sure that they were being watched to let her take them on her own. He’d take one from every tray they passed and then palm it off to her when no one was looking. It was the only apology he could manage under the circumstances.

“It’s okay, you know,” she muttered to him as they took another break on the balcony. “Do whatever you need to make Billsmith like you until Serinam’s safe, and then you can help me eat him.”

“Um,” said Ford. “Pass. But thank you. But cannibalism really isn’t in my plans for the evening.”

Stan laughed in his ear.

“Suit yourself,” Nuala growled, biting into a canape.

*

If it had belonged to anyone else, Dr. Smith’s office would have been comforting. It was full of the clutter of academia—overflowing bookcases and post-it-covered papers with chunks of bone and baleen used as paperweights. Even with his limited computing knowledge, Ford could tell the clunky monitor on the desk was an old model. The ancient conference stickers were beginning to peel off its grimy sides, and the keyboard balanced precariously on a stack of manilla folders. The top drawer of the flat files in the corner sat half-open, revealing oversized charts and sounding maps.

It was cozy. Or it would have been, if it weren’t for the man there with him.

“So, Stan,” said Dr. Smith, pointing him to the desk chair. “Do you go by . . . ?”

“Stanford,” said Ford, taking a seat. He and Stan had discussed the possibility of pseudonyms, of introducing himself as Stan or Filbrick or something that was even less him, but Ford had protested. He’d have to tell enough lies already. As Stan always said, you used as much of the truth as you could. Used as much of yourself as you could. Compartmentalized. Ford was Nuala’s friend. Stanford—Dr. Stanford Pines, PhD—could be removed. Not the way that Dr. Smith was, never like that, but close enough to pretend.

“Fair enough.” Dr. Smith extricated the office’s other chair from the mounds of books and dragged it over. He fixed Ford with a fascinated grin. “So tell me, Stanford. How did you manage to land a selkie?”

Ford took the glass of wine he was offered. “How does anyone? Location. Research. Luck. I caught her sleeping. She nearly savaged me when she woke, but I’d already gotten her skin in safe-keeping, so I came away with only a few minor scars.”

Dr. Smith laughed and clapped him on the back. Ford fought back a shudder.

“Luck is right! You know, I wasn’t even looking for them when I left on the expedition. Didn’t think they were real. It was Sarah, if you can believe it, who found me! Said she wanted to make a difference. Study science, save the ocean. And here’s the best part; she gave up her skin herself! She wanted to follow me but she was worried about getting it through customs. Well, you know how closely regulated marine mammal parts are in this country. It was easy to take it back with the rest of our samples and then hold onto it for safe-keeping.”

“Safe-keeping?”

Dr. Smith chuckled. “Well . . . safe-keeping, study. They’re not that different, really.”

“So if she asked, would you give it . . . ?”

Ford knew the answer, but he still had to ask. Dr. Smith cackled. “Of course not! Are you mad? Lose a wife and a research subject in one fell swoop just because she asked? She hardly does anymore, anyway. You know, it was months before she even suspected.”

Doing his best to ignore the stream of increasingly creative invective in his ear and the sting of bile in his throat, Ford paused and took a sip of the wine.

“It sounds like a much smoother start than my situation, certainly,” he said.

Dr. Smith waved a hand dismissively. “She’ll come around. I’ll be very interested to see your data. Especially long-term; Sarah insists that humans and selkies can’t have children together, but I don’t know if I believe her.” He raised one eyebrow. “See how it works out for you. The possibilities for study with an inter-species child—”

Ford choked on his wine.

In a way it was a blessing, he thought as he doubled over. It gave him an excuse to hide his face.

“It’s okay,” came Stan’s comforting voice. “It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. We’re gonna get you all out of there and then we’re gonna make that bastard wish he was never born. Yeah, that’s it, kid.”

He must be responding to Nuala as well. Ford knew she was close, close enough for the pirate ring to pick up Dr. Smith’s words. He’d need to be careful when they left.

He straightened up, still coughing into the sleeve of his suit.

“I had no idea that the thought of procreation was so alarming to you,” said Dr. Smith with a smirk.

Ford did his best to return the expression, sure he was ending up with something more like a death rictus.

“As I said, I’m early in the process of assimilation. Nuala is . . . temperamental. If she ever finds her skin . . . well, I hope you’re able to find my reports since I most likely won’t be around to send them.”

“All the more reason for you to hide it well.”

Ford drained the dregs of his glass and set it on the desk beside him.

“Perhaps that’s one thing you can help me with. She’s tenacious. I keep it under lock and key, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. What precautions do you take?”

“You’re asking me where I keep it?”

“How you keep it, at least.” Ford thought his voice sounded steady enough, even as the hand Dr. Smith couldn’t see drummed rapidly on his thigh. One-two-three-four-five-six, over and over.

“I’m sure you’re aware of how imperative it is that this remain a secret,” said Dr. Smith. “For both of our sakes. There are others, even other men of science, whose fear of the unknown and obsession with the petty façade of morality would prevent them from understanding.”

“Of course,” said Ford, while in his ear Stan muttered, “Please someone break this chump’s nose for me, I’m begging ya.”

Dr. Smith smiled and poured Ford another glass. “And where do you keep Nuala’s skin?”

“There’s a safe built into the floor of my boat.” He sipped his wine and fed the other man imaginary details until he seemed satisfied.

“And you?”

“Well,” said Dr. Smith. “The best place to hide a book is in a library.”

There followed an extended shuffling of keys—one from Dr. Smith’s pocket, which unlocked a desk drawer containing a huge ring of keys, one of which unlocked yet another drawer, and then finally, with a small and pointed key that looked like it could have belonged to a post office box, Dr. Smith unlocked the lowest of the flat file drawers.

It was filled with sealskins.

“Which one—”

“You can’t tell, can you? That’s the impressive part.” His eyes flashed. “I ran a DNA test on it as soon as we got back and it came back 100% harp seal. Ran one on Sarah, too, and it said 100% human.”

“Well, yes, magic isn’t encoded in DNA,” said Ford. “It’s an entirely separate system! The scientific instruments in this dimension don’t pick it up at all! What you need—”

Stan was shouting at him to shut up and Dr. Smith was looking at him hungrily. Ford clamped his mouth shut and panicked.

“What I need?”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. It’s entirely hypothetical. I was just . . . carried away by scientific excitement and said something that is not true! It happens. Occasionally.”

Dr. Smith stood and stalked towards him, smiling the same way he’d smiled at Nuala. Ford was frozen in place. One chance, one future, and he’d messed it all up. Ruined everything because he didn’t know when to just stop talking.

Bill Smith grabbed Ford by his wrists and pinned them to the arms of the chair, his grip tight and his nails digging into the flesh of Ford’s arms. He stepped uncomfortably close until his impeccable suit and his predatory smile was all Ford could see, and then he leaned in further to meet his eyes.

“Why, Doctor Pines,” he said. “I do believe there are some rather crucial things that you’re not telling me.”

#araxie writes #fisherman's knot #abuse cw #growing up is optional #the next chapter is half-written and it involves hugs if that helps at all

[getothefashion]

we’re counting down our picks for the top 10 best looks at the 2020 Grammys for this list. we're taking a look at the most memorable looks at the 62nd annual Grammy Awards - More Fashion Article For You: These Men fashion trends will take place in 2020 Fashion Week London Trends in 2020 This Great Herbal Lotion Made From Cannabis Joe Jonas with His Wife Sophie Sophie Turner and Joe Jonas getting the Jonas brothers back. together is one thing but having the jiae sisters all under one roof had us over the moon attending. The event with nick Jonas with his lovely wife Priyanka Chopra was nothing short of ravishing in her Ralf and Russo gown. if we had to single out one power couple however it would have to be Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner.  The husband and wife apparently decided to color coordinate for the red carpet with black ensembles joe looked positively dapper in his multicolored jacket and pants. while Sofie stunned in her Louis Vuitton minidress, we're not sure which accessory we’d rather have in our wardrobe. joe's bomber jacket or Sophie's Christian Louboutin heels well both, all we know is that these two couldn't be more adorable.  H.E.R for the second year in arrow, this R&B artist scored an impressive 5 Grammy nominations. Gabriela Wilson is also known as her arrived in a bold squared robe reminiscent of the foxy 1970s wrapped up in a gold belt. Wilson’s dress gave the effect of her coming out of a garden of exotic plants with psychedelic colors popping out everywhere.  she topped off the look with an updo, but it was Wilson's aviator shades that stood out above all else sure. Sunglasses have always been Wilson’s signature, but it's not every day that she wears Shirr lenses giving us a good look at her radiant eyes. Gwen Stefani Gwen Stefani attended the Grammys with her boyfriend Blake Shelton. and the couple immediately showed off their fun-loving energy. Stefani's beige and white ensemble seemed understated from afar, but once you looked closer at her strapless Dolce & Gabbana mini dress you could see it was ornamented with white seashells.  Though it seemed like a bit of a joke, Shelton reportedly started collecting shells after meeting Stephanial most four years ago, while Shelton didn’t gather every shell displayed on the dress. Shelton confirmed that some of the shells came from his personal collection. the shells may some significant waves but the dress itself also made quite the splash looking as scrumptious as a cupcake. Stefani rounded out the outfit with a pair of thigh-high boots number seven. Billy Eilish Billy Eilish in addition to receiving six nominations Billy Eilish set a record as the youngest artist to be nominated in four of the main Grammy categories at age 17. Eilish is known for her eccentric fashion sense and while it may be an acquired taste her Gucci suit was perfectly on-brand in attendance with her brother producer of the year Finneas.  Eilish complimented this daring look with black gloves lengthy green fingernails and a pair of dark sunglasses. practically sweeping with winds for album of the year Best Pop vocal album record of the year song of the Year and Best New Artist we can expect to see a lot more of Eilish on the red carpet in the future the party is anything but over.  Bebe Rexha we can see why Bebe Rexha said that this Christian calendar feels like a strong woman. The past Grammy nominee was the very definition of power in this striking color and matching. Sophia Webster heals what really tied the outfit together, though was the sheer top listening under the suit, on the whole, this ensemble managed to strike an unlikely balance of alluring yet.  commanding catching all eyes in the room and making us simultaneously want to wear this every day at the office but also, every night on the town wrecks have kept her hair in loose short waves to really let the clothes shine. Camila Cabello  Camila Atelier Versace dress was a bit on the Gothic side but, Camilla Cabello nevertheless beamed with life on the red carpet. the Cuban American singer's black dress was adorned with crystals. which was an ideal match for her diamond necklace reportedly worth 2 million dollars.  Though we're L’Oréal makeup look was actually affordable for us normal folk. in a departure from her usual hairdo, the seniorita co-singer stepped out with a set of banks, that suited the rest of the ensemble quite well. it's a look that shook things up while at the same time fitting Cabello to a tee. Rosalia The Spanish singer behind el marketer and Best New Artist nominee Rosalia almost matched the red carpet in her red leather ensemble. of course, she by no means blended into the background on the contrary Rosalia was on fire in this Alexander Wang outfit.  which was distinguished with a stylish belt under the belted top was a fringe skirt and a pair of sandals as stunning as the dress. might have been it was photo Sonya's nails that had everyone raving the flamenco artist. essentially turned her fingertips into sharp silver diamonds grabbing everyone's attention. Billy Porter it's just not an award show unless Billy Porter shows up in a dramatic getup and the post is once again turned plenty of heads with his Grammys look. we almost didn’t recognize Porter as he was hidden under a giant hat with a remote-control fringe veil, oh and naturally, the veil consisted of 70,000 crystals.  The Hall went flawlessly with the rest of Porter’s ensemble a gleaming blue Baja East jumpsuit right out of the disco era along with a silver spider bracelet and Judith Lieber handbag. Porter strutted down the red carpet in coach boots that had been decked out in over 9,000crystals as much as we love this look. Twitter means to come out of it are going to keep us alive throughout the whole year. Lizzo few stars shined brighter at this year's Grammys than Lizzo. not only did the artist lead the nominations with eight in total but her Versace gown practically broke the Internet. Lizzo paired her dress with a matching fur boa and purse channeling Marilyn Monroe in diamonds were definitely,  Lizzo's best friend that night accessorizing with a shimmering necklace and earrings. The dress was also reportedly inspired by music legends Diana Ross and Cher Lizzo wore.  A wedding dress in the music video for truth hurts but, this is the gown that any bride would die for. she wasn't done slaying us with her sartorial choices though opening the award show with a Bebe Rexha powerful performance in Christian Siriano, then opting for a flapper-inspired silver dress. which went nicely with the gold of her three Grammys any timely so does anything I applaud she's a motivational Queen. Ariana Grande okay well, we would also totally wear this as a wedding dress, Ariana Grande’s bluish-gray Giambattista Valli gown was a three-tiered the masterpiece of fashion, after missing the Grammys last year amid a disagreement with producer Ken Ehrlich. we were all eager to see what Grande would wear for her big return.  Grande certainly made a grand entrance with this epic ensemble, complete with matching gloves and her famous ponytail. upon seeing Grande in this dress. stylist LA Roche reportedly broke down in happy tears, honestly, we'd probably have a similar reaction if we spotted someone in such a marvelous gown.

http://getothefashion2.blogspot.com/2020/01/celebrity-fashion-grammy-2020.html

#fashion #women #style #mens #fashion shop #beauty #skincare

[salty-dracon]

SECRET Agents- HARP

My dumbass brain: what if Flurry... AI... and Nick’s friend... 

Nick Kronus is given an assignment that his father says only he can complete. To that end, Nick is given a set of fake medical symbots- and a new friend to aid him. 

--------

Come to my office as soon as you get home. Don’t drop your stuff off. We’re going somewhere. 

Nick’s eyes widened at the text. He clicked off his holophone and leaned back in his chair, listening to the car rumble by. 

“Everything okay back there, Mr. Kronus?“ the chauffeur asked. 

“Everything’s fine,“ Nick said. “Long day.“

There was a pause between them. 

“How was your day?“ Nick asked. 

“Pretty good.“

More silence. Nick didn’t mind that it lasted until he finally reached Kronus Tower. 

The elevator took Nick up to the top floor. The walls were clear- it gave Nick a clear view of everything on the floors. On the lower floors, workers were collaborating over projects, some enjoying donuts and gossip as they looked over spreadsheets. A group of women was handling plants and laughing amongst themselves. Right, Nick thought. It was a break hour. In two minutes, he thought, glancing at the time, everyone would be back to work, silent, as always. 

The elevator stopped on the top floor. Nick walked out into the usual hallway, carrying his backpack with him. He gave a quick glance at Oliver’s office, with its red mahogany door, before continuing down to his father’s office, at the end of the hall. His footsteps made little noise on the carpet, but this time, he was sure to avoid making any. 

He opened the door at the end of the hall. 

Standing on the far side of the room, in front of his desk, was his father. To his right were a man and woman in lab coats, one of them holding what appeared to be a clear box about one-third full with blue liquid. Nick stared at it for a few seconds. The moment he looked away, he could have sworn it pulsated. 

“Enter, Nick.“

Nick walked in, still holding his backpack. “Hey, Dad.”

“You’re probably wondering why I called you in today. And where we’re going.“

“Yeah.“ Nick glanced at the cube again. Once again, the moment he looked away, it pulsated. 

“I... was not the first to lead Kronus Tech. As you know, the company was originally created by your grandfather, Marvin Kronus. To run the company in my grandfather’s stead meant that I had to get used to my duties as his successor as soon as possible. My singlehanded goal was to ensure that this company further prospered and grew. That was what my grandfather expected of me- and what I expect from you.“

“Yes, father.“

“I had to make certain sacrifices. What others would consider inhuman or illegal by the laws of man, I ignored in the name of greatness. And this is what it’s gotten me. Our company is far-reaching, creating technology, symbots, and computers for people all over the world. There is not a single person on Earth who our technology hasn’t touched. You are going to ensure that it stays that way as CEO of this company.“

“Yes, father.“

“And this,“ his father said, pointing to the cube, “is step one.“

Nick watched as the liquid inside the cube pulsated again- away from his father. 

“It... doesn’t like you very much, does it?“ Nick asked. 

His father threw him an angry look. “This is a set of medical symbots. It’s supposed to help you with your anemia- or so you will tell anyone who asks. They actually aren’t medical in any shape or form-”

One of the scientists interrupted him. “Wrong, sir, they have basic healing abilities.“

“Shut up.“ Kronus narrowed his eyes at the scientist that spoke before turning back to Nick. “They are actually loaded with almost a thousand different hacking programs, designed for almost any piece of hardware. Construction equipment, computers, even other symbots. They’re activated by touch, and they work hand-in-hand with a suit we have prepared.“

“Illegal symbots?“ Nick asked. “You can’t be serious. You know I have to do blood work for school.“

“The symbots won’t allow themselves to be captured in a bloodstream. You don’t need to worry about that.“

“But aren’t nonmedical symbots illegal? You know, just like superheroes?!“

“Superhero, huh?” Kronus put a finger on his chin. “I guess that’s one way to put it. You’re going to be a superhero with these things, and fight for Kronus Tech.“

“Why?“ Nick asked. 

“Like I said, you need to do your part for the company. Just like I did mine. And these symbots-” he pointed to the symbots- “are step one.“

“So... my life’s constantly going to be in danger, and I might die.“

“Yes.“

Nick crossed his arms. “Frankly, this is ridiculous. You actually want me to die for Kronus Tech?!“

“Not die, of course. I’ll give you all the backup you need to complete your assignments. But I expect you to do your part. You’re my son, and I believe you have the capabilities.“

Nick stared at the symbots in the cube before laughing. “I can’t agree to this. I mean, symbots?!“

“You have to do this, Nick. I did.“

“You never risked your life!“

“I have the power to disown you if you don’t comply.“

“You wouldn’t!” Nick shouted. “I’m the only son you have, and you’ve invested way too much in me to abandon me now!“

“Clearly not enough, then. I mean, I’d lose time, but I’d prefer a son who would obey me over rebel, especially at this crucial time. You have the makings of a leader- who better than you to lead our armies into battle?“

“You’re crazy.“ Nick shook his head. “You’ve gone crazy.“

“Nick, this is your final warning.“ His father’s voice was emotionless. “You will consent to these symbots now.“

Nick had heard his father speak like this before. He knew that it meant that he, for once in his life, was dead serious. Nick squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Yes, father.“

“Good.“ Kronus turned to the scientists. “Begin the proceedings.“

Nick kept his eyes closed as he felt a large needle enter his back, and felt cold liquid metal enter his bloodstream, mixing with his own blood. 

“Integration level is at 0%,“ one of the scientists said.

“Should we not have put the AI in there?“

“AI?“ Nick asked. “What AI?“

“Oh, there we go. 2% and counting.“

Nick felt his fingers grow cold. He opened his eyes and stared at them. The red of his palms had turned almost purple with the new blue symbots in his bloodstream- and heavy with the metal and silicon. 

“Ten percent.“

Nick’s spine snapped back. The cold was traveling around his ribs now, and his legs. 

“Twenty.“ 

Nick expected more pain, but suddenly, it all subsided. 

Nick opened his eyes. Everyone in the room was gone- save for a person Nick had never seen before. A man in a white robe sat on his father’s desk, legs crossed. In his hands, he cradled a blue harp. He work a mask that resembled a jaguar’s face and fangs. Nick realized with fear that his head, was, in fact, the mask- whatever flesh would have formed his chin and mouth was melted into the mask at an odd angle. 

“The AI?“ Nick asked. 

“HARP.“

“Huh?“

“That’s my name. HARP. Hacking/Acquisition Repository Program.“ He strummed his harp. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Nick.“

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want you here.“

“I know.“ HARP stood up. “But I’m in your bloodstream now, so we’ve got to work together. Not that we couldn’t be friends or anything. But, we’ve gotta get along, wouldn’t you say?“

“Stupid AI.“

HARP’s jaguar ears flattened against his skull. “Hey, stupid is one thing I’m not. I’m an Artificial Intelligence. Intelligence.“

“If my dad intends to use you, inside me, to cause trouble and do more illegal things- I mean, society’s rules were created for a reason-“

“I’m an AI for a reason.“ HARP kneeled down, his ears pricking foward. “I’m not some Notepad Editor. I’m proud of my abilities. And like hell I always follow these meatbags’ rules.“ He placed one hand on Nick’s shoulder. “You are master, and I am servant. My feelings are of no consequence. If you want me to go against him, believe me, I’d be more than happy to help you.“

“For now, I think we need to obey him.“

“And obey we shall. I too think it’s a good idea, given my analysis of the situation. Very well, let’s wake you up.“ HARP snapped his fingers. 

Nick blinked. He jolted awake. 

“Integration level 100%.“ The scientists backed away. “How do you feel?“ 

Nick stretched his arms up and around. He glanced at his hands and moved his fingers in and out, realizing that they were more flexible than before. “Better.”

“Integration is a fast process these days, so we’re glad you don’t feel any pain.“

“Actually, that’s just the pain meds they mixed in,“ HARP said, in his ear. “You’ll be sore for a while, but you’ll be fine afterwards.“

“Now, to go along with those symbots, we have a suit.“ Kronus pressed a button on his desk. Next to him, a section of the floor unfolded, and a mannequin wearing a blue and black jumpsuit rose out of the ground. “These work seamlessly with your symbots, allowing you to hack anything you touch. You can also hack anything you see using this neuroconnective hairclip.“ Kronus pointed to a shiny silver object shaped like a snowflake, clipped to the mannequin’s head. 

“Okay, that’s cool and all,“ Nick said, looking over the suit, “but what exactly do I do with them? How do I do my part for the company, or whatever?“

“Kronus Tech is threatened by an organization of superheroes that works outside of the law. They are called SECRET, and they are vigilantes that act in the name of their so-called justice. Their justice means attacking our company to find evidence of illegal activity.“

“And?“

“There’s a spy within the company. Root them out and bring them to me.“ Kronus smiled. “That will be your first assignment. One more thing. Do not breathe a word of this to anyone if you can help it. That includes Perch. I know you two are close, but it’ll be a problem for me if he finds out.“

“Yes, father.“

-------

“Good day, Nick.“ Mr. Perch waved to Nick. He was sitting at his desk, typing on a laptop.

“G’day, Mr. Perch.“ Nick sat at his usual spot in Mr. Perch’s room before pulling out his homework. “I’ve got some precalc to handle and an essay to write for Friday.“

“You’ve got your hands full, then. I presume you went to speak with your father?“

“He wanted to make sure I was still interested in running the company.“

“You have a sort of singleminded enthusiasm about it.“ Perch smiled.

“Yeah.“ Nick opened his laptop. “So, let’s see. I have the outline all set... “

“You’re talking out loud?“ HARP’s voice whispered to him in one ear. 

How do I get him to shut up without saying anything? Nick thought, as he pulled up the essay outline. 

“Like that. I’m an AI, not a meatbag! If you think, I can read your mind. Anyway, I already know your rough schedule, so you’re probably going to sit here for a couple of hours before-”

“You look pale.“

Nick gasped and turned in the direction the voice came from. Perch was kneeling next to him, staring at his cheek and eyes. Nick hadn’t heard him walking over, nor did he have an inkling of his presence until he spoke. 

“Have you fallen sick?“ 

“N-No?“

“You know it’s not good to lie.“ Perch pressed his hand against Nick’s forehead. “You’re burning up. You might have a fever.“

Come to think of it, HARP has been giving me a huge headache... 

“Hey!” HARP shouted. 

It’s the SYMBOTS, not YOU! Seriously though, I have such a bad headache...  

“It is taking its toll. That guy’s right. Maybe skip the essay and just go straight to bed.“

“You’re right.“ Nick stood up. “I should go home.“

“Here you are.“ Angel helped Nick stand. “Make sure you get plenty of fluids and electrolytes, okay? And get all the rest you can. Don’t overstress.“

“I’ll be fine, sir.“ Nick dumped his books into his shoulder bag. 

“Okay.“

Nick slipped his laptop inside and walked towards the door. He was about to turn the doorknob when-

“It’s not good to lie, Nick.“

“You are such a bad liar,“ HARP growled. 

“I’ll be fine, sir.“ Nick smiled. “Don’t worry.“

“If your father ever gives you any trouble, come talk to me. You can always trust me.“

Nick closed the door behind him. He quickly walked to the elevator. As it started moving down, he gave a breath of relief. 

“Bwahaha!“ HARP laughed in his ear, his laughter almost sounding like strumming chords. “What was that?! ‘I’ll be fine, sir.’ Is that how you get out of everything?!“

“I’ve never had an AI in my head before!“ Nick argued back. “Listen, it was by sheer dumb luck that he didn’t notice.”

------

As Nick argued with the AI, Mr. Perch laughed to himself. He leaned back in his chair. 

“My poor, sweet Nick, having to put up with his father’s silly games. What are you doing, Kronus? Pitting him as a spy against me?“

#secretagents

[readbookywooks]

5 R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, yanks a strip of Fabric from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it. "Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent. "You're just so hairy!" Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them. Venia makes what's supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. I've been in the Remake Center for more than three hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he has no interest in seeing me until Venia and the other members of my prep team have addressed some obvious problems. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the Muff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting. I don't like it. My skin feels sore and tingling and intensely vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch, and no objection has crossed my lips. "You're doing very well," says some guy named Flavius. He gives his orange corkscrew locks a shake and applies a fresh coat of purple lipstick to his mouth. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Grease her down!" Venia and Octavia, a plump woman whose entire body has been dyed a pale shade of pea green, rub me down with a lotion that first stings but then soothes my raw skin. Then they pull me from the table, removing the thin robe I've been allowed to wear off and on. I stand there, completely naked, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet. The three step back and admire their work. "Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Flavius, and they all laugh. I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District Twelve." This wins them over completely. "Of course, you don't, you poor darling!" says Octavia clasping her hands together in distress for me. "But don't worry," says Venia. "By the time Cinna is through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!" "We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" says Flavius encouragingly. "Let's call Cinna!" They dart out of the room. It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. And yet, in an odd way, I know they're sincerely trying to help me. I look at the cold white walls and floor and resist the impulse to retrieve my robe. But this Cinna, my stylist, will surely make me remove it at once. Instead my hands go to my hairdo, the one area of my body my prep team had been told to leave alone. My fingers stroke the silky braids my mother so carefully arranged. My mother. I left her blue dress and shoes on the floor of my train car, never thinking about retrieving them, of trying to hold on to a piece of her, of home. Now I wish I had. The door opens and a young man who must be Cinna enters. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they're grotesque. But Cinna's close-cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black shirt and pants. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help thinking how attractive it looks. "Hello, Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol's affectations. "Hello," I venture cautiously. "Just give me a moment, all right?" he asks. He walks around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every inch of it with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. "Who did your hair?" "My mother," I say. "It's beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," he says. I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying desperately to look young, someone who viewed me as a piece of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of these expectations. "You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before," I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever-changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life. "Yes, this is my first year in the Games," says Cinna. "So they gave you District Twelve," I say. Newcomers generally end up with us, the least desirable district. "I asked for District Twelve," he says without further explanation. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." Pulling on my robe, I follow him through a door into a sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast. Cinna invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. I try to imagine assembling this meal myself back home. Chickens are too expensive, but I could make do with a wild turkey. I'd need to shoot a second turkey to trade for an orange. Goat's milk would have to substitute for cream. We can grow peas in the garden. I'd have to get wild onions from the woods. I don't recognize the grain, our own tessera ration cooks down to an unattractive brown mush. Fancy rolls would mean another trade with the baker, perhaps for two or three squirrels. As for the pudding, I can't even guess what's in it. Days of hunting and gathering for this one meal and even then it would be a poor substitution for the Capitol version. What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment? I look up and find Cinna's eyes trained on mine. "How despicable we must seem to you," he says. Has he seen this in my face or somehow read my thoughts? He's right, though. The whole rotten lot of them is despicable. "No matter," says Cinna. "So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes," says Cinna. "As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district." For the opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry. District 11, agriculture. District 4, fishing. District 3, factories. This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of coal miner's getup. Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It's always dreadful and does nothing to win favor with the crowd. I prepare myself for the worst. "So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" I ask, hoping it won't be indecent. "Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," says Cinna. I'll be naked for sure, I think. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal," says Cinna. Naked and covered in black dust, I think. "And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cinna. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" He sees my expression and grins. A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I'm in a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But it's the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow, and red and the matching headpiece that define this costume. Cinna plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. "It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says. But I'm not convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city's center. My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then braided down my back in my usual style. "I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the arena," says Cinna dreamily. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman. Despite this morning's revelation about Peeta's character, I'm actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all. His stylist, Portia, and her team accompany him in, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we'll make. Except Cinna. He just seems a bit weary as he accepts congratulations. We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Cinna and Portia direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other. "What do you think?" I whisper to Peeta. "About the fire?" "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," he says through gritted teeth. "Deal," I say. Maybe, if we can get them off soon enough, we'll avoid the worst burns. It's bad though. They'll throw us into the arena no matter what condition we're in. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle." "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" says Peeta. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," I say. And suddenly we're both laughing. I guess we're both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we're not acting sensibly. The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin. The tributes from District 1 ride out in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items for the Capitol. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites. District 2 gets into position to follow them. In no time at all, we are approaching the door and I can see that between the overcast sky and evening hour the light is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out when Cinna appears with a lighted torch. "Here we go then," he says, and before we can react he sets our capes on fire. I gasp, waiting for the heat, but there is only a faint tickling sensation. Cinna climbs up before us and ignites our headdresses. He lets out a sign of relief. "It works." Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" Cinna jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something up at us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures. "What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city. The crowd's initial alarm at our appearance quickly changes to cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!" Every head is turned our way, pulling the focus from the three chariots ahead of us. At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire off the flowing capes. Cinna was right about the minimal makeup, we both look more attractive but utterly recognizable. Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand. I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock. As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first names, which they have bothered to find on the program. The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement. Cinna has given me a great advantage. No one will forget me. Not my look, not my name. Katniss. The girl who was on fire. For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. Surely, there must be one sponsor willing to take me on! And with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon, why should I count myself out of the Games? Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, give it a delicate sniff, and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the giver. A hundred hands reach up to catch my kiss, as if it were a real and tangible thing. "Katniss! Katniss!" I can hear my name being called from all sides. Everyone wants my kisses. It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. "No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." "Okay," I say. So I keep holding on, but I can't help feeling strange about the way Cinna has linked us together. It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other. The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish. The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. But I can see on the screen that we are getting way more than our share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center. The doors have only just shut behind us when we're engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they babble out praise. As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all. Then Cinna and Portia are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes them with some kind of spray from a canister. I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands. "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," says Peeta. "It didn't show," I tell him. "I'm sure no one noticed." "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you." And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

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