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#which is a picture of a frog with a shotgun
imagines4thefandoms · 3 years
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F*K idk what to name this (Leroy Jethro Gibbs x reader
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Word count:4k+ um by bad
summery: Y/n come back from vaca looking different. will it change Y/n and Gibb’s relationship?
requested: no
"So how was your vacation," Ziva asked.
"Great, i saw my family and i only wanted to shoot myself once," you replied.
The elevator doors opened and y’all walked to y’all’s desk. Tony and McGee looked up from their desk and welcomed you back. You walked to your desk behind McGee and put your stuff down. You grabbed your bag of souvenirs and walked over to Tony.
"Welcome back (Y/n)," Tony said. "What did you get me.”
"Tony my nephew is more mature than you and he is five," you said throwing a tie and a baseball to him.
You walked over to Ziva and gave her a purple scarf and match hat. McGee caught the new computer game you got him.
"How this game isn't out yet," ha asked.
"My brother in law works for the company and he owed me a favor.”
"Thanks (y/n)," Tim replied.
You walked over to your desk, grabbed the coffee cup you got Gibbs and filled it at his coffee shop for him and placed it on his desk.  
"Welcome back (l/n)," Gibbs said walking into the bullpen and sitting at his desk.
He threw away his empty coffee cup and looked at the one on his desk. It suddenly got a little too hot so you took of your NCIS hat letting your hair fall from under the hat. You looked around the bullpen and noticed everyone was staring at you.
"What is something on my face," you asked.
"Your hair," Tony stated.
"Oh right. My baby sister is in cosmetology school,” you explained running your hands through your now red hair. “She needed to practice for her test and I drew the short straw. It was supposed to wash out by now but she mixed up her temporary and permanent hair dyes,”
Everyone kept staring at you even Gibbs which was weird but they stopped when Gibbs’s phone rang. Tony and Ziva were looking at Gibbs while Tim and you were grabbing y’all’s bags but when you turned around Gibbs was still looking at you. He grabbed his gun and shook his head as he hung up the phone.
“Lets go. We have a dead marine in a park,” Gibbs said leaving the bull pen.
We all followed Gibbs to the elevator. There was this tension in the air once the elevator doors closed. Gibbs usually was so comfortable around you. The two of you were the closest out of the team; but now he was avoiding you. When the elevator doors opened he couldn’t wait to get out; of course he could just want to hurry up and solve the murder of the marine. Tony and Tim raced to the car to get shotgun but when they opened the door Ziva sat in the seat.
“To slow boys,” she said buckling her seat belt.
Gibbs as always drove while you were sandwiched between DiNozzo and McGee. The drive consisted of  Tony playing with your hair, Tim messing with some gadget, Ziva was asking you questions about your vacation. Gibbs was silent the entire drive but he kept looking at you in the rear view mirror; but every time you locked eyes he quickly looked back on the road. Once you got to the crime scene everyone got out and you put your hair up in a pony tail.
The park contained a large grassy plain, a decent sized play ground for kids, and two acres of trees. The marine was one the bench in his civilian clothes. The marine was Sargent James Brian McMatthews. Aside from the fact that he was dead, he looked heathy. Sargent McMatthew didn’t have any obvious wounds explaining how he died. Ducky pointed out the same thing.
“Jethro I can’t tell you how this poor man died til I get him on my table. You know that,” Ducky said.
“Thanks Duck,” Gibbs said.
Before Gibbs even had to tell you, you decided to look around the area for clues. As you were looking you noticed Ducky call for you. Ducky gave you a hug once you got to him. Jimmy was bringing McMatthews into the back of the Medical Examiners van when he stopped and looked at you.
“Your hair (y/n),” Jimmy pointed out.
“My little sister did this,” you replied twirling your hair around your finger.
“It suits you my dear. I’m curious has Jethro seen your new hair do,” Ducky asked.
“Yes but he has been acting a bit weird this morning,” you informed Duck.  
“Well it’s nice to have you back my dear, but I must go I have an appointment with Sargent McMatthews,” Ducky said giving you another hug.
You went back to looking around the crime scene to look for evidence. While looking around the trees your saw a foot print. You measured the show print and took pictures but before you could look around more Gibbs called you.
“Did you find anything,” he asked.
“Just a foot print about 2 klicks west of where the Sargent was found,” you informed your boss.
He gave you nod and walked away. After about twenty minutes you and everyone else collected all the evidence you could and headed back to the office. This time on the car ride you got shotgun while the three musketeers sat in the back. Tony as usual was speculating on how Sargent McMatthews was killed, while Ziva slapped him because he was insensitive.
“Hopefully since we collected a bunch of clues at the crime scene we can solve this crime fast,” you said to no one in particular.
“Clues,” Gibbs asked looking at you sideways.
“Sorry evidence. I have spent a whole week watching nothing but Scooby Doo,” you said holding your head in your hands.
“Zoinks,”Tony said laughing.
Ziva slapping Tony while Tim was hiding his laugh hoping that Ziva didn’t slap him too. Gibbs looked over at you and gave you a small smile. You could just tell that you were not going to live  this Scooby Doo thing down. At the office, Ziva and I brought the evidence down to Abby while Gibbs when to see Ducky and Tony and Tim were gathering information on the victim.
“(y/n) you're back,” Abby yelled as she ran over to you. “And your hair. It’s hot.”
“I missed you too abs,” you replied hugging her.
“So besides the hair. What’s new Scooby Doo,” abby asked laughing.
“Seriously. Was it Tony or McGee.”
“I can’t reveal my source.”
“My guess is Tony,” Ziva said placing the evidence on the table in the lab.
“Just let us know when you have something Abby,” you asked as you left the lab.
“I always do,” she called.
Once the elevator doors closed Ziva asked you what Scooby Doo was. After explaining that it is a kids show about solving mysteries she let out a small laugh. You laughed along with her. Ziva and Abby have become like your sisters and no mater what happens you can’t stay mad at them.
The two of you joined DiNozzo and McGee in the bull pen. They found out that the sergeant worked at the Pentagon.
“Looks like it’s gonna be a difficult case, RUH ROH” Tony said mockingly.
Gibbs walked into the bull pen with his cup of coffee and slapped the back of Tony’s head. Gibbs told him to stop messing around. Tony then shared all the information that him and Tim found out. James B McMatthews was married with three kids and was a part of something very top secret with the Pentagon. McMatthews has no record, no affair, not even a speeding ticket.
Gibbs’ phone rang and it was ducky telling him that he had some information for him. Gibbs looked at you and motioned for you to follow him to Ducky. As y’all got into the elevator, Gibbs yell ‘Someone tell me what the hell he did for the Pentagon.’ The tension in the air formed again when the elevator doors closed. You glanced at Gibbs from the corner of your eye. You always noticed how attracted you were to your boss but when you joined his team you swore to push that thought out of your head. It helped that he had those Gibbs rules. Rule 12: Never date a co-worker. As the doors opened on the floor the morgue is on you instantly hear Ducky call Gibbs name.
“Hello again miss (y/n). How was your vacation,” Ducky asked now that the two of you were not   at an active crime scene.
“Duck, the body,” Gibbs said before you could answer.
“Right. Well this young man had no visible injuries. No cuts or bruises or even a broken bone,” Ducky said walking over to the body.
“So how did he die,” Gibbs asked monotoned.
“At first glance I couldn’t find any reason for this poor man to end up dead at a park. Upon my second look over the body I noticed this little puncture along his hairline. It seems to be from a needle. Besides that, there is nothing wrong with this man. It’s like his heart just stopped.’ Ducky said covering McMatthews back up.
Before Gibbs could ask ducky if he knew what was in the needle, I got a text from abby saying, ‘I know what was in the needle 😱🎉.’ I showed the text to Gibbs. He thanked Ducky and we headed up to Abby’s lab. When the doors opened on abby’s floor, she was standing right there and grabbed both of our hands and pulled us into the lab.
“First, Gibbs don’t you think that (y/n)’s new hair makes her look hot,” abby asked.
“Abs,” was all Gibbs replied with.
“Fine, later. Well this footprint found at the scene did not belong to our poor sergeant. It’s from a side 13 shoe.”
“The indent looks weird. The pressure of the foot print is lighter at the tip of the shoe then the rest of the print. Who ever was here was wearing shoes that were way to big for them,” you pointed.
“Correct, you get a Scooby snack,” Abby said handing you a cookie.
“You bet I do,” you said taking the cookie and taking bite of it.  
“Can you tell us the actual shoe size of the person who was standing in those bushes,” Gibbs asked.
“how dare you doubt me. No Scooby snack for you. It’s a size 9. Oh and after Ducky found that puncture wound and swabbed the area. The swab didn’t give me anything but I got to thinking of what could have been in that needle so I ran his blood again.”
“And you found a match.”
“Yes I did Gibbs. Batrachotoxin. From this cute little guy,” abby said making a picture of a cute yellow frog pop up on her computer screen.
Gibbs kissed Abby’s cheek thanking her and he stole a cookie before we walked out of the lab. After another slightly awkward elevator ride, we walked into the bull pen and Tony had just hung up his phone.
“Boss, I call about his file but they said they have to personally read us in.”
“Okay. Ziva you look up where a person could get their hands on Batrachotoxin while DiNozzo and I will go to the Pentagon while McGee and (l/n) will to talk to the wife,” Gibbs ordered as he grabbed his gun and jacket.
“I guess the gang is splitting up,” McGee joked.
Before Tony could make another Scooby Doo joke, Gibbs was already in the elevator and Tony had to hurry up because Gibbs wasn’t going to hold the doors for him. McGee and you left after y’all got McMatthew’s home address. When we got in the elevator, you looked at McGee and took a coin out of your pocket.
“Head you drive, Tails I drive,” You said before flipping the coin in the air.
You caught the coin and flipped it on the back of your hand. After looking at the coin it showed that Tim was gonna drive to the Vics house. Of course since Tim was driving it also meant he had control of the radio; which wasn’t awful but after having to only listen to Disney for a week you needed to hear your own music.
It took a while to get to the McMatthews’ house. There were three kids playing in a gated front yard with the front door open. Once Tim pulled up to the house the kids stopped playing and ran inside. One minute later a woman came out trying to find out why her kids ran in scared.
“Can I help you,” she asked walked towards us.
McGee and I held up our badges announcing that we were NCIS. She opened the gate and lead y'all inside her house. The kids stayed inside so Mrs. McMatthews closed her front door. She lead y’all to the liver room and when into the kitchen and brought back two cups of coffee. Before we started talking, one of McMatthews’ daughters came up to you.
“Are you Ariel,” she asked me.
I looked over at McGee and gave him look to let him know that I was gonna keep the kids occupied while he talked with Mrs. McMatthews.
“Yes I am,” I replied to the little girl.
She grabbed my hand a pulled me away. We walked out of the living room and up the stairs to a door with the name Sarah on the door. She pulled me into her room and went to her closet to grab something.
“You’re my favorite princess,” she said holding out a little mermaid costume.
“Why thank you, Sarah.”
“Where is Eric?”
“Oh um he is back at the castle working.”
She nodded her head like she totally understood and then asked you to play with her for a bit. After about fifteen minutes, McGee came into Sarah’s room looking for you. You turned to Sarah and told her that you had to leave. She walked with the two of you downstairs and before you walked out of the door she called out “tell flounder I said hi.”
McGee told you about his conversation with Mrs. McMatthews and how James and some guy named Andrew Ferguson had gotten into a fight two days ago about something at work. On the ride back to the office you and McGee were messing around and speculating what the vic could have been doing for the pentagon. McGee thought it had to do with some secret weapon while you suggested something more plausible (aliens).
“Aliens really, you spend too much time with Tony,” McGee laughed.
Back at the office, you and McGee decide to split up the work. While he looks into Ferguson’s military life, looked at his personal life and tried to figure out what they were arguing about. Gibbs and Tony returned from the pentagon as you were combing through Ferguson’s financial records.
“What did the wife say (l/n)?” Gibbs asked standing in front of the tv.
“She told McGee about a fight the vic got in with a guy names Andrew Ferguson,” you responded pulling up a picture of A. Ferguson.
“We pulled his military records but there is nothing on his record,” McGee added pulling up his military files.
“He doesn’t even have a parking ticket. But I was going though his financials when you got back,” you informed Gibbs.
You were combing though his financials when Tony and Gibbs pulled up the files they got from the pentagon. Apparently Sargent James was on a classified team of people teaming up with the NSA and CSA to monitor a major rebel group in the middle east that has ties to ISIS. Ziva came into the office and let Gibbs and the rest of the team know what she found on the toxin. The name Jonathan Whitlock was mentioned.
You were half paying attention when a weird charge appeared on his account. There were multiple weird changes from a offshore bank accounts. You sent the charges to the tv and walked over to where Gibbs was standing and took the remote from his hands.
“There are some weird charges in Ferguson’s bank account. They started about 18 months ago and if my math is correct it adds up to 150,000 dollars,” you reported clicking though the evidence.
Gibbs grabbed his coat and pointed to Ziva and they left, you guessed, to pick up Ferguson. While Gibbs was out, you went down to see Abby. As soon as you got off the elevator, abby pulled you into her lab and she sat you down in a chair.
“So, how was your vacation and why is your hair red,” abby asked sitting in a chair in front go you.
“It was fun. It was nice spending time with my family. And my little sister in in beauty school and she needed practice,” you explained to abby.
The two of you caught up, and abby told you about what happened while you were away. Which wasn’t much just normal stuff like Tony being stupid and teasing McGee and flirting with Ziva, and Gibbs started another boat. The two of you just sat in the lab eating “Scooby snacks” til you got a text from Gibbs telling you to meet him in interrogation.
You left abby and went to go meet Gibbs. Once you got to the observation room you saw that Gibbs was in there with Ferguson but they weren’t talking. Gibbs looked at the glass and you just knew that he was telling you to go in there with him. You exited the observation room and went next door. After walking into the interrogation room, you took a seat next to Gibbs.
“So why were you and Sargent McMatthews fighting two nights before he was murdered,” Gibbs asked.
“We weren’t fighting. It was just a heated argument. Coworkers do it all the time,” Ferguson defended.
“(Y/n) do you get in heated arguments at work,” Gibbs asked looking at you.
“No I mean unless my coworker does something incredibly stupid,” you replied ignoring Ferguson. “So what incredibly stupid thing did you do,” you asked looking at Ferguson
“I didn’t. I didn’t, ” he responded dragging if hand across his mouth.
Gibbs looked over at you then opened the file in front of him and pushed the file in front of Ferguson. He looked at the papers then looked up a Gibbs. He closed the file and pushed it back.
“I don’t know what that is,” he said tapping away at the table.
“You should. Its your banking records. It shows that there are multiple charges added to your account adding up to 150,000 dollars over the past 18 months,” you said opening the file back up and pointing out the charges.
“My guess is that those are payments from you selling military locations and secrets to enemies in the middle east,” Gibbs said leaning back in his chair.
“And your pal Sargent McMatthews found out. That’s why you two had a ‘heated argument’ two days ago. He found out that your were selling out fellow soldiers and threatened to report you,” you interrogated as your leaned closer to Ferguson.
Ferguson started sweating. Gibbs noticed it too.
“But you couldn’t have that happen so you went to your cousin Johnathan who so happen own a golden poison frog. You extracted the toxins from the frog then injected Sargent McMatthews so he wouldn’t tell your CO,” Gibbs informed.  
“Because of you fellow marines died,” Gibbs spoke angrily almost yelled.
“No one was supposed to die. The information I gave was just supposed to help them transport drugs nothing more,” Ferguson exclaimed. “They promised that no one was going to die. James was gonna tell and if anyone found out I would be labeled a traitor. I didn’t want to kill James he is my friend…was my friend. Everything just got out of hand.”
Gibbs looked over at you and then slid a legal pad across the table. Ferguson started writing his confession. You and Gibbs got up and walked out of the room. The two of you walked back to the bullpen and Gibbs sat at his desk to work on the paperwork and you did the same.
“(Y/n) its nice to have you back,” Gibbs said not even looking up from his computer.
By the time you were done with the paperwork, Tony, Ziva, and Tim has left. You looked out the skylight and noticed that it was already dark. Gibbs got up from his desk and walked over to yours.
“It’s late (y/n) go home,” he instructed putting on his coat.
“I love my family and all but there were moments where I wanted to be here working. Plus I have paperwork I still need to finish,” you responded to him.
“It can wait til tomorrow,” he replied grabbing your coat and holding it out for you.
“I really should finish.”
“Ill buy dinner.”
“Sold,” you claimed grabbing the coat from Gibbs.
A smile grew on his face and he shook his head at your antics. He waited for you to grab your things and then the two of you went to the elevator. When the elevators closed that awkward tension filled the enclosed room again.
“Gibbs are you ok. You have been acting strange all day.”
“Your hair,” he whispered.
“Right I going to make an appointment to fix it.”
“No, I like it. It suits you,” he said standing directly in front of you.
The tension increased ten folds and the desire to kiss him was strong. You cleared your throat and took a step back from Gibbs. He walked you to your car but as you were starting it something happened and the car just stopped working. You turned off the car and just slapped the steering wheel.
“Ill drive,” Gibbs said opening your door.
You got out of your car and the two of you walked over to Gibbs’ truck. The ride to Gibbs’ house was quiet a bit awkward like the elevator but it was the nice kind of awkward quiet. Once you got to Gibbs house he got on his phone and ordered takeout from (favorite restaurant) and ordered you some (favorite meal).
“Abby said your building another mysterious boat,” you inquired as you took off your coat and placed it on the couch.
“Mysterious,” he questioned.
“Come on Gibbs you constantly build giant boats in your basement and you magically get them out. Ergo Mysterious.”
He opened the fridge and handed out a beer and headed down to his basement. You followed him  down the familiar stairs. In his basement stood another damn boat. Gibbs placed his beer on his work bench and proceeded to sand down the boat.
“Ok Gibbs how many does this make 27,” you asked him jokingly.
“I think its actually 28,” he jokingly responds.
“Funny man.”
You walk over to him and just watch him sand the boat. He looks over at you and holds out the sandpaper in his hands. Switching between looking at him, the boat, and the sandpaper in his hand you shake your head.
“Oh no. I don’t want to mess up the boat.”
He grabs the beer from your hands and place it next to his. Gibbs grabs your elbow and pulls you to where he was standing. Standing behind you, he places the sandpaper in you hand and guides it along the boat.
“With the grain,” he whispers in your ear.
You were stick between a rock and a hard place or in this case wood and your boss. Being this close to him made your face turn as red as your hair. His lips stayed within centimeters of your ear as he kept whispering “with the grain”. You couldn’t help it, so you turned your head towards his and you could feel his hot breath on your face.
His lips, in this moment, just looked so kissable but you knew it couldn’t happen. Not with Rule #12. His blue eyes starred into your (e/c) eye. You unconsciously liked your lip then held your lower lip between your teeth. Seeing you biting your lip drove Gibbs crazy. In that moment he couldn’t stop himself. He closed the little space there was between the to of you and pressing his lips roughly against yours.
You could taste the beer off his lips and his scent of sawdust and bourbon filled your nose. He pressed your up against the boat to deepen the kiss while your hands found their way to his hair. This was better than your ever dreamed and you dreamed of this moment a lot. Your hands wondered from his hair down his back then to the button of his polo. He took his shirt of once he felt your cold hands on his lower stomach. After his shirt was off his lips attacked your neck sucking and biting it.
A moan escaped your lips which brought a smile to Gibbs’ face. His hands moved from the boat to the buttons on your shirt. The paste at which he was unbuttoning your shirt was agonizingly slow. But once it was done you quickly took it off. You hands went back to his hair this time you pulled him so close to you, it was like his entire weight was one you; that didn’t matter you liked feeling this close to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. His hands went down your sides to your hips and stopped on your ass. He gave it a light squeeze then grabbed your left leg and wrapped it around his hips. On instinct you did the same with your other leg, leaving the only thing from making you fall on the floor to be the force of Gibbs’s body pressing you against his unfinished boat.
Once again your hands roamed this gorgeous man’s body til it reached his belt. Your took it off and started to unbutton his pants but had to stop when his doorbell rang. He let you down and just stared at you.
“Thats the food,” he said grabbing his shirt and putting it back on.
“Im not hungry anymore,” you replied fixing your messy hair.
“You should eat anyway. Your gonna need your strength,” he said as he went up stairs leaving you gasping at the thought of what’s for dessert.
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aion-rsa · 3 years
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Where in Fiction Would You Spend Christmas?
https://ift.tt/34FuLCB
It’s been a staying-in kind of year. That New Year’s Resolution you made to travel more? It’s gained 20 pounds, started cutting its own hair and is now in a jigsaw club with your neighbour Ken. The only marathon you’ve completed in 2020 is a Battlestar Galactica rewatch. The only mountain you’ve climbed is the metaphorical one it takes to shower daily. That beach trip you’d planned? It went okay actually. You made some bells by selling coconuts to Nook’s Cranny and dug up a bunch of Manila Clams with a flimsy shovel.
For obvious reasons, escape is on our minds this year more than most. So we started thinking, if you had your wishing socks on, where in the collected imaginations of everyone who’s ever dreamt up a film, TV show, game or book, would you spend the holidays? On the holodeck of the Starship Enterprise or roasting on an open fire with The Simpsons, exchanging gifts with Ewoks or witnessing Scrooge McDuck’s transformation from miser to philanthropist first hand?  
To get things started, here’s what our writers picked…
Alec Bojalad would spend Christmas … reveling with the Sterling Cooper staff on Mad Men
If I’m to indulge this hypothetical in which I’m torn away from one reality and thrust into another, one thing is very clear: I will have to be extremely intoxicated to avoid my heart exploding from the stressful terror of it all. Thankfully, I know exactly where in pop culture to go to get absolutely blitzed: Mad Men. In terms of sheer debauchery, a Sterling Cooper Christmas party probably falls somewhere between a Bacchanalian orgy and Valhalla itself. As Don, Roger, Bert, Peggy, and company gather together to celebrate another successful year schmoozing clients and sexually harassing one another, I will don my finest 1960s attire and infiltrate the festive event. 
As Don Draper wonders who this soft-bodied weirdo in an ill-fitting suit is, I’ll catch up with Harry Crane about television. Then I’ll ask to see Bert Cooper’s weird tentacle porn painting. Sometime around my 9th J&B Whisky on the rocks I’ll visit the secretarial pool and beg them to demand better treatment because “you’ree ssssooo strong and eleganttt. Don’t listen to thessseee men. They’re Mad Men.” Hopefully I’ll be taken away to an old-timey hospital at that point, given electroshock treatment, and return back to my own continuity.  
Ryan Britt would spend Christmas… at Deanna and Will’s cabin from Star Trek: Picard
When Jean-Luc Picard uses the spatial projector to zap himself and Soji across the galaxy to the planet Nepethene, the result is a cozy pizza dinner with Will Riker, Deanna Troi and their daughter Kestra. For those who had been pining for more ‘90s nostalgia in this Trek series, the episode ‘Nepthene’ delivered, but with a strong shot of realism. Although Picard was written and created before the Covid-19 pandemic, the idea that Riker and Troi would leave the busy and crowded life of Starfleet, and retire in a remote cabin to protect their family is a choice many have actually faced in 2020. As people around the world have fled pandemic epicenters and tried to put shields around their own families, the peaceful and remote home of the Riker-Trois represents the optimistic ideal of Star Trek with a quiet, and very close-to-home twist. 
Spending time with the Riker-Troi family would mean great conversation, great music (oh the jazz!) and, above all, great food. I would happily put my own family in their ‘pod’ if only so Kestra could teach my three-year-old daughter the best way to construct a bow and arrow, and of course, how to learn that secret language of butterflies. 
Then, after the kids were in bed, having a glass of wine or some Romulan whiskey with Will out on the porch sounds pretty damn perfect. 2020 has been tough. A bear hug from Riker seems like the perfect Christmas gift of all. 
Caroline Preece would spend Christmas… at The Muppet Christmas Carol’s Penguin Skating Party
Ever since young-me set eyes on the ultra-festive world of The Muppet Christmas Carol I’ve wanted to visit. I can’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve than in the cuddly version of Dickens’ cautionary tale, helping Kermit and his co-workers tidy up Scrooge’s office for the holidays, dancing down the snowy London streets and attending the Penguins’ annual Christmas skating party as the ultimate topper to a perfect evening. 
As well as being super-merry and joyous (‘tis the season), judging by Kermit’s performance on the ice, they let anyone take part.
It could just be the general lack of socialising and festive frivolity in 2020, but Bob Cratchit’s hopeful walk home from the office (remember the office?!?) on the night before Christmas has always epitomised the idea that the anticipation of Christmas Day is the best part. Add to that a trip to the market to pick up some singing vegetables, or the cosy Cratchit dinner with Miss Piggy and their gaggle of pig and frog offspring, and it’s a version of old-timey festive cheer that will always hold a place in my heart.
Louisa Mellor would spend Christmas… with the strippers in Hustlers
This choice won’t reflect well on me. It’s neither edifying nor improving and has a core of savage capitalist consumerism, which is probably what makes it so Christmassy. Midway through Lorraine Scafaria’s Hustlers – a film about a group of strippers who right the wrongs of the 2008 financial crisis by drugging Wall Street guys to run up their company credit cards – there’s a scene that’d make anyone’s heart grow three sizes. 
A dozen lap dancers gather for Christmas in a high-end apartment, their daughters and a grandmother in tow. Dressed in luxe loungewear and chunky gold, their skin glowing like a sucked butterscotch, they swap gifts, smile and sing and dance and thank the lord for their sisters. Expensive elegance is everywhere. Someone gets a fur coat, somebody else a pair of animal-print Louboutins. The woman who dips the dancers’ tits in bowls of ice before they go on stage is given an iPhone 4. Mostly though, they give each other affirmation. Without a natural hair colour, nude fingernail or a man in sight, it’s a dream family Christmas. Picture a Norman Rockwell painting with Jennifer Lopez in gold lamé, a cashmere Santa hat and a balcony bra. Feel-good festive perfection. 
Michael Ahr would spend Christmas… secluded in Hogwarts
Some may have found Harry Potter’s winter holidays without his friends rather lonely, but I can think of nothing more magical than having the vast empty halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry all to myself. Why let the staff have the warm, dry, magical snow that fell annually in the Great Hall all to themselves? Not being of school age myself anymore, I might choose to share a butterbeer (or perhaps a hot buttered rum) with Dumbledore and Hagrid by a roaring fire.
I might even be tempted to make the trip to Hogsmeade to see all the shops decked out with lights and blanketed in snow. I’d still be able to enjoy the comparative solitude without all the kids running around, but I’m almost certain there would be a group of carolers wandering about the square, never mind the singing enchanted suits of armor back at the school. And of course, if I could pick a particular present, I’d choose to receive the same amazing gift Harry received that first Christmas from Dumbledore: his father’s Invisibility Cloak. I’d likewise pass it along as a family heirloom to my own children on some Christmas morning to come.
Jamie Andrew would spend Christmas… in a Deep Space Nine Holosuite
At first, I entertained the idea of spending Christmas in Baltimore with the denizens of The Wire, mainly because I liked the idea of children running up and down the streets hollering, ‘Omar’s coming!’ moments before the shotgun-wielding Robin Hood of the Hood came swaggering down the street wearing a big red coat and a white beard, tossing out bank notes and whistling ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. Then I realised that the chances of me ending up a corpse inside a boarded-up derelict building before the turkey was even cooked were surprisingly high, so I thought I’d try Christmas with Frasier Crane and family instead. Unfortunately, my foreknowledge of Martin’s and Eddie’s deaths would cloud the occasion, and I’d probably spend all night slumped crying in Martin’s recliner, unable to tell anyone why I was so upset without violating the temporal time directive. 
Best, then, to spend Yule time on Deep Space Nine. Christianity and its associated festive traditions don’t appear to exist in the 24th Century, so after saying hello to Sisko and co., and maybe playing a bit of Dabo at Quark’s, I’d probably spend the rest of my time in a faithful Holosuite reproduction of a 1990s Irish bar on New Year’s Eve getting absolutely wasted with fellow Celt Chief O’Brien. Now THAT’S what I call Christmas. 
Juliette Harrisson would spend Christmas… in Narnia
Not, of course, the White Witch’s eternal winter, when it’s always winter but never Christmas, but a regular Christmas in Narnia. It would, of course, be a white Christmas because otherwise, how would Father Christmas come and deliver presents to everyone? So I could spend the season in a snowy woodland surrounded by magical creatures, and be in with a chance of a really good present. Or possibly a sewing machine.
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On the first moonlit night when there’s snow on the ground, Narnian fauns, dryads, and dwarfs perform the Great Snow Dance, with the fauns and dryads dancing around while the dwarfs throw snowballs that don’t hit them (an often forgotten detail from the book version of The Silver Chair!). I would join in, although possibly not throw any snowballs as my aim isn’t that good. Then I’d go back to Mr Tumnus’s for sardines and cake on Christmas Eve and talk to him about his somewhat dubious taste in books (just what is Nymphs And Their Ways about, eh Tumnus?). I’d spend Christmas Day up at the castle of Cair Paravel, eating and drinking like a Queen, and then I’d go visit Mr and Mrs Beaver on Boxing Day for a feast of leftovers and maybe a little light ice fishing.
John Saavedra would spend Christmas…celebrating Life Day with Star Wars’ Poe Dameron 
No one has ever cared so much about Life Day, the Star Wars galaxy’s own version of Christmas, as much as ace pilot Poe Dameron does in the Lego Star Wars Holiday Special. From decorating the Millennium Falcon and choosing the right Life Day sweater to roasting the traditional tip-yip (also known as Endorian chicken), Poe shows there’s something much stronger than the Force in the Star Wars universe: holiday spirit. Who knew the Resistance hero best known for his knack at blowing stuff up had such a soft spot? 
Hanging with Poe on Life Day would mean chestnuts roasting on an open exhaust engine, drinking whatever passes for cocoa in the Star Wars galaxy, hanging out with Wookiees on their homeworld of Kashyyyk, singing festive carols in Huttese, and finding just the right Life Day tree for the Falcon. It’d also mean dancing to the hip tunes of Max Rebo’s drum (the rest of his band is unfortunately no longer with us) and partying with Lando Calrissian, Finn, Rose, Rey, Jannah, Mon Calamari, Jawas, Rodians, Ewoks, and maybe even Chewie’s son Lumpy. If you’re not sold by now, your taste in holiday parties might be bantha poodoo. 
Elizabeth Donoghue would spend Christmas…. at The Office’s Classy Christmas
Dunder Mifflin has many memorable Christmas parties, but Steve Carell’s final festive special includes some of my favourite things about The Office; weird Gabe, Michael’s enduring hatred of Toby, and Michael and Holly’s adorable relationship.
After Toby announces he is taking a leave of absence for jury duty (‘Thank you, Scranton Strangler. I love you. You just took one more person’s breath away’) Michael learns that Holly will be returning to Scranton and demands that Pam’s regular Christmas party must get classy. What makes a Christmas classy? A backwards Kangol-esque Santa hat, a red velvet smoking jacket and a quarter of a jazz quartet of course.
I would actively enjoy watching Dwight take down Jim in their snowball fight (total bully, needs to be taken down a peg or two), get drunk with Kelly and Meredith, dance with Phyllis and Erin and learn more about the enigma that is Creed. And although it is slightly more subdued than their Benihana and Moroccan Christmas parties, I’m sure we could keep the party going at a Poor Richard’s after-party.
Kayti Burt would spend Christmas … on Themyscira
The Amazons’ decision to opt out of the “Patriarch’s World” has always been a relatable one, but never so much as in The Year 2020. Historically, I’m not really a beach person, but Themyscira, aka Paradise Island, has a lot going for it: warm weather, a supportive community, and live sporting events where you don’t have to worry about some drunken dudebro spilling cheap beer on your toga. 
As far as I can tell from the Wonder Woman movies, no one (besides Young Diana, who’s usually working through some stuff) ever seems to be having a bad time on Themyscira. And why would you? The pre-Crisis comics incarnation of the island (which I am going to choose to accept as my holiday canon) includes indigeneous kangaroo-like creatures called Kangas that the Amazons ride like horses. Diana’s is called Jumpa; mine will be called Jimmy Hoppa, and we will explore the island’s cascading waterfalls and cliffside terraces together. In the evenings, I will attend performances at the Themysciran amphitheater with my new Amazonian friends or, if I’m feeling introverted, catch up on my book reading and crossword puzzles.
Listen, I wouldn’t want to spend forever on Themyscira—I’d miss my friends, family, and TV shows (Themyscira doesn’t seem to get a good wireless signal)—but a few weeks (or months, especially as I will be quarantining for my first two weeks) for Christmas 2020? Bring me to the enchanted feminist utopia.
Alana Joli Abbott would spend Yule… at the coven house from the Nightcraft Quartet
Witchkind, as presented in Shannon Page’s Nightcraft Quartet, don’t celebrate Christmas, but they do love a good Yuletide celebration. Page’s witches and warlocks are separate from humans, long lived, and magical. Young witches train in the magical arts at a coven house, living there like a dorm; the adult women of the coven (always numbering thirteen) may be involved in scientific research (like protagonist Callie), medicine and healing, or reading Tarot, and they teach their specialties to the young witches. The coven house is a central place where women gather to live, to practice magic together, to celebrate, and to honor traditional rituals. While Callie’s coven in San Francisco has their problems, the community there is caring and genuine, full of both youthful energy and centuries of experienced witchery. 
One of the perks of editing this series is that I get sneak peeks into parts of the story readers haven’t seen yet—including Yule decorations. Rather than cutting down dead trees, witches coax living fir boughs to weave along the walls and mantles, accented with red ribbon and gold—coins, beads, chains. I can imagine the cozy San Francisco coven house filled with witches all rushing to perform their tasks to make the perfect celebration, some of them convincing the fir boughs to expand in just the right ways while others brew hot chocolate or prepare the feast. I picture them eating in the large hall, voices lifted in joyful chatter, and then making their way out to the grounds beyond the house to celebrate beneath the stars, singing midwinter songs and looking forward to the next year. After months of 2020 with smaller communities and less human contact, being surrounded by such a vibrant, magical group of women sounds like just the right way to end my year.
Rosie Fletcher would spend Christmas… with the Roy family from Succession
Go hard or go home, they say, so since I can’t go home this year, I’m going round the Roys. That is, of course, the family at the centre of Succession, a show peopled by the very wealthiest and utterly worst. Festivities would be held at the home of patriarch Logan Roy. His children and their partners would be obliged to attend. Logan would hire a chef to cook, waiting staff to serve, some of whom he would abuse. I would give them sympathetic “I’m sorry” looks but do nothing, secretly thankful Logan’s ire wasn’t focused on me. 
In all likelihood I would be a figure like Greg (the egg), or Tom Wambsgans – mostly tolerated, vaguely despised and very much the second class citizens of the Roy clan, skulking on the periphery as Kendall, Roman and Shiv compete for Logan’s love and oldest son Connor comes up will another entirely ridiculous life plan – I dunno, maybe this year he’s decided that his next career move is to become Santa Claus. 
The food would be extraordinary. The booze the very finest – how long before, like Greg, I would be claiming the bottle of vintage rose champagne I had just motored through was ‘not my favourite’? And the dinner table conversation would be electric. Electric like an electric shock – sharp, painful, disorientating, unexpected. 
So Christmas has become too commercialised? Fine, fuck it. I’ll take the eye-wateringly expensive gift that’s grudgingly bestowed on me, I will gorge on the finest cheeses known to man and coat my tongue with port made from molten rubies, knowing I am on my way to moral bankruptcy and doing it anyway. Go hard or go home…
Kirsten Howard would spend Christmas… singing along in the closing moments of Scrooged 
You’d be hard-pressed to find a Christmas movie that feels as genuinely uplifting during its climax as 1988’s Scrooged. Bill Murray’s arrogant TV boss Frank Cross, having been visited by the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Future, disrupts a live broadcast of A Christmas Carol to rant openly and honestly at the cast and crew (and eventually you) as he makes a passionate case for a life less invested in exploitation and capitalism, and eventually kicks off a collective singalong of Annie Lennox and Al Green’s version of ‘Put a Little Love in Your Heart’.
That’s where I’d like to be this Christmas. Not just to sing along with Bill, but to be around people immediately swept along by the much-less-explored altruistic route of ‘no fucks given’. 
Also hanging out with Bill Murray, though, of course.
So much of the last few years has been a public race to the bottom of Nothing Matters Mountain, but even if it hadn’t all been so demoralising and forced so many of us to reevaluate our priorities, Frank’s message of redemption in love and living as well as we can, while shrugging off our own heavy expectations of success, still feels really special. 
This Christmas, there is light at the end of the tunnel. We may not be able to grab the nearest stranger and sing “put a little love in your heart!” at them right now, but we CAN carry that feeling with us into 2021. As Frank says: “There are people who are having trouble making their miracle happen”. We can always try and find time to stop focusing on our own for a while and to help them.
David Crow would spend Christmas… chilling with Harold and Kumar
Not many people are aware of this, but A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas is the best Harold and Kumar. It may not have the pop culture cache of their medicinal-fueled quest for mini-cheeseburgers, but it does have something very special, indeed: Wafflebot. If you’ve had the misfortune of living your life oblivious to Wafflebot’s existence, allow me to introduce you to a greater world of wonder and magic.
Wafflebot is the best Christmas present to ever come out of Santa’s Workshop. Displaying an eerily sophisticated artificial intelligence for a toy meant only to cook delicious breakfasts, Wafflebot can make you waffles any time by just popping the top and letting that batter drop. But he can also do so much more! Vaguely aware of the concept of friendship, this brunching Frankenstein can learn how to love and appreciate his owners… and defend them from any threat with scalding hot projectile syrup!
With the ability to serve breakfast, save your life, be manipulated into dangerous attack mode, and learn how to see the real you, all while playing a mean drum solo, Wafflebot would make any Christmas a sweetly warm experience. And then Harold and Kumar, and I could also steal a Christmas tree from NPH or something.
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Masked Mallards, the Multiverse, and Everything else
Chapter 4 The Investigation of John Duck
A couple of Hours Earlier….
It was silent in the car as Elmo drove. He looked to the passenger seat, Negaduck seemed bored and lost in thought. They were no longer in their normal uniforms, didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. Negaduck was in a sporting an unbuttoned expensive coat over a red dress shirt and a loose black tie and pair of torn black jeans. What really caught Megavolt's attention was the pin he wore on the collar of his jacket. It depicted a white rabbit with a frown on its face. He thought Negaduck hated the lagomorphs, then again Negaduck told him that this was his disguise. He never really had a life outside of his criminal activity.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he looked like Drake’s slightly younger brother, but Drake had no siblings. Negaduck had said at one point that the Negaverse was 4 years behind Primeverse.  Oddly enough, Drake dressed that way before Gosalyn came into the picture. Megavolt looked in the rearview mirror. Gosalyn's eyes were still red from her fight she had with father as she looked through her school notes for her homework.
“So, squirt,” He started trying to break the silence. "Any chance you get to dissect a frog today?" Gosalyn continued to thumb through her notes. "No, the school won't let me, not after last time." She murmured. Negaduck snickered. Sputterspark ignored him and spoke again. "Look, kid, your dad just wants what is best for you, that's all." She looked up from what was she was doing. "That's what everyone says, he just wants Quiverquack out of the way so he can feed his ego." She responded.
Megavolt laughed for the first time since the night day before. “That does sound like Drake, but he was way worse during high school and his first few years as Darkwing Duck. He fought with our professors, got sent to the office for starting fights with other students who picked on any of his friends, which was mostly me. Remind you of anyone?” he asked, fully aware of the frequent phone calls Drake got from the school.
Gosalyn blushed but smile. ‘So, what changed?” she asked. Elmo smiled back. “The day he changed; was the day you came to live with him. He bought a house in the suburbs, a thing he swore he’d never do, he loved the city too much. Drake even swallowed his pride and got a stable job with me at Quackerwerks, until they closed down when the robots tried to take over.” They pulled in to the school parking lot. “He may not be perfect like me,’ he said jokingly.” But he does care about you, more than you’ll ever know.”. Gosalyn got out of the car and turned to her chauffeur.
“Thanks, Uncle Elmo," Gosalyn said as she swung her bag over her shoulders. "I needed that." Then she ran up the school steps and disappeared through the double doors. He turned his head to Negaduck, who had a smug toothy grin.” What so funny?’ he asked amused duck. “Oh, nothing,” Negaduck said with a pause trying not to laugh. “Uncle Elmo," he said in the sweetest tone he could muster. “Not a word of this to Bushroot and Liquidator!” Sputterspark said red in the face. “I've my own ego to maintain!”. Negaduck roared with laughter, as they spud off to the warehouse.
  St. Canard Bridge
Launchpad sat up from his chair and rubbed his eyes. He had been studying over Darkwing's case files for a couple of hours and cross-referenced then with Negaduck's ledger. Nothing came close as to the description of the clone. Nor, a way for it to have crossed dimensions without getting on the Magica's train. Due to the clone's age, Negaduck suggested that he was from an alternate future. He got from the chair and paced around. He stopped in his tracks.
After the Darkwing invasion, he and Scrooge McDuck had had a little disagree. McDuck had believed if Darkwing Duck were to continue as he is, he should reveal his identity to the world, be held accountable for his actions, and aid in bring the Darkwing doppelgängers to justice. Launchpad had defended his friend, by stating that Darkwing was not going to get involved in politics again after the Inkblot tried to corrupt him and that most of the clones were under the influence of foul magic from Magica, an enemy Scrooge McDuck was all too familiar with.  
Scrooge made it clear that was that the some that weren’t under her magic was what concerned him. He and his number one inventor Gyro Gearloose were already working on a way to make it possible to travel to different dimensions and timelines and had already begun to work on a prototype-like device. This was worth mentioning to D.W. once they met up again. Launchpad made his way to the elevator and took it down. Maybe Bushroot was having better luck than he was.
He entered the infirmary, the old Darkwing was on a hospital bed nailed to the floor and hooked up to various machines designed to keep him alive and monitor his progress. He was shackled by arms and ankles and had not wakened up. “If only he was this peace when he's awake.” A voice came from behind him. Launchpad turned to address it. "On that, we can agree" he responded. Bushroot came down a ramp in a wheelchair, his body had regrown expect for his legs.
It would be a little while longer before they would grow back. Until then he was wheelchair-bound. "How is he?" Launchpad asked. "He'll live," Bushroot answered, then proceed to make his way to sleeping mallard. "Come with me, I want to show you something,' He said. 'There may be more to the patient than we realized.”. Bushroot pulled out a notepad that he had been scribbling on. “What did ya learn doc?”
“The patient is around 50 years old, which puts him 20 years in the future of our own time.” Bushroot started. “Secondly, we brought him here for medical attention, yet when I was ready to operate on him, his bruises were gone, and the bleeding had stopped. Over the last two hours his stab wounds, given to him by Negaduck via broken shotgun, had cleared up with little medical interference, and bones that would have taken months to mend, have almost healed. There is also this.”
He put down the notebook he was reading from. Smack. Bushroot struck the clone across the face. "Normally," Bushroot said, waving his hand to hush Launchpad who was going to speak against the "doctor’s” treatment of the prisoner. "If a person has been knocked out cold, they would have awakened by now, or be awakened by an outside force or noise. However, as you can see…" Bushroot directed Launchpad to the still comatose duck. "So, what's your point," Launchpad asked trying piece it together.
" Last night, before the truce, Negaduck interrogated him in his way, via brutal beating." The plant scientist recalled. "He had escaped and forced open the door. I was surprised to see the tenacious mallard, in serious need of morphine, able to walk, much less able wield a weapon.” Bushroot grew quiet as remember to sounds that came from that room. “He escaped, but when we did find him this morning, his injuries were healed as if they were never there.” He continued. “The patient must have had time to sleep since then. My theory is, that he exhibits some sort of healing factor when sleeping or in a comatose state, whether or not it is connected to his inability to be made alert, I'm not sure." Bushroot wheeled around the bed near the clone’s head. “This may be why.”
During his time at the University, Reginald Bushroot was paving his way through the field of botany. He was trying to eliminate world hunger by finding a way to make animals photosynthesize like plants. Before he had tested his finding on himself, resulting in the plant duck he is today, he tested on plants and lab rats provided by the University of St. Canard. Each one had a barcode on them. Bushroot rolled the head of the John Duck to the side.
On the back nap of his neck was a barcode much like the ones he had used. “He was a victim of duck experimentation.,” Bushroot explained. Bushroot looked to Launchpad, the larger duck looked pained. Bushroot could also feel sympathy for the clone. It was a violently driven induvial, who tried to evade capture twice and had refused Darkwing’s help when he injured. Bushroot shook his head, the clone was their enemy, had killed Quackerjack in cold blood, and was hell-bent on killing Megavolt and anyone who got in his way. He couldn't afford to pity it.
  The Warehouse
  Negaduck and Megavolt appeared across the street from the warehouse. They had hidden the car at a nearby Hippo Burger, the same one Megavolt had visited last night. The Warehouse was deserted, not a single cop or reporter in sight. Negaduck had flipped through the radio after they had dropped off Gosalyn. The story was dead, not on a single station. He'd almost feel insulted if weren't considering the circumstances. "Looks like my counterpart made good on his end of the bargain,” he said. “Let’s not get shown up.”. He looked to Megavolt, who wasn’t paying attention. The rat was carrying a bouquet of brightly colored flowers he had "bought" from a local street vendor.
They entered through the broken window that the clone made when he had attacked. Negaduck landed on his feet like a cat, while as Megavolt landed on his stomach clumsily. The place was a mess of broken glass, bullet shells, and caution tape. Negaduck looked to the overturned table. Quackerjack was gone, all that was left was a white outline. The feeling came back strong, but after spending some time with Megavolt, he believed he finally placed it. “Remorse." He thought to himself. Did his time in this disgusting reality make him soft? The last thing he did to the clown was snap his arm two and failed to keep him out of harm’s way.
Megavolt made his way to the chalk outline. He stared at it somberly, his eyes were wide and red, but he was not about to cry in front of Negaduck. He placed the flowers near the overturned table. Silence filled the room. Negaduck grabbed his right arm with his left hand and shifted uncomfortably. He scowled. He was not about to let empathy, find its way to his corrupted soul, or ruin his reputation as a psychopath. “Once you’re done with your soapbox,” he said impatiently. “let’s get our gear and ditch this place.”. The electric rodent glared at the rude duck, yet this kind of behavior is what expected of him.
Negaduck scanned the area. There was nothing worthy of note, the police must have been thorough. It was a go thing the Fearsome 5 had stored backup gear in another part of the facility. The duck and the rat weaved their way through the maze of large empty containers, hallways, and stairs until they reach their destination. No one spoke. Negaduck stopped in his tracks forcing Megavolt to bump into him. The iron to their make shifted operational area had blown clear of its hinges, and left mangled on the ground. The pair entered the exposed room.
Everything was in disrepair. Negaduck's Dobermans were making a racket as they yanked against the chains that held them to a pole, Bushroot's lab had been destroyed, glass bottles and paper was everywhere. A trashcan fire was dying out, it was filled with notes, blueprints, etc., or what was left of them. Quackerjack's and Megavolt's equipment were smashed by a sledgehammer, which lay nearby. The mess, however, was organized and was sorted into piles of metal, glass, and plastic.
There was a warped piece of metal in the middle of the room. The piece of art was melted and tied in knots, but it was still a little recognizable. It was Megavolt’s Tron Splitter “What happened in here?” Megavolt blurted. Negaduck waved his hand at the dogs and they fell silent. He examined the trash fire. A crumpled paper that survived the blaze. He picked it up and brushed the ash off. Part of it had been burned off, but for the most part, readable.
 ---------- log.
Prime-verse: 2100 hours
Tron Splitter: destroyed
Eye of Quackzalcoatl: location unknown
Megavolt: at large
--------------lt: at large
Nega-Sc-----: at large
----------------: at large
 A green flash of movement came from under Bushroot's lab and wrapped itself around Megavolt's leg. “Spike!”. The pint-sized flytrap had been there the whole night. Megavolt pried him off his leg. It hissed at the sight of Negaduck, which Negaduck hissed back. Negaduck had gone about and beyond to make Spike hate him. From trying to make him into a salad, to "accidentally" setting his roots on fire. There was no particular reason Negaduck fought with the plant, he had no hatred toward Spike. It was just something he wanted to do. It was just the way things were. Negaduck gave himself a mental sigh of relief. Spike was a reminder that he was Negaduck, the biggest asshole in the freakin world. Nothing was going to change that.
The carnivorous plant slithered up and nestled Megavolt’s arms.” What happened boy?” Megavolt asked the plant. Spike’s vine-like arm pointed to a far wall on the other side of the room. Buckets of paint scattered the floor. On the wall was a symbol. It was a red circle outline with a purple stroke. A maroon duck head with one red eye and one blue. A slash of orange paint divided it in half diagonally. “Looks like the geezer clone, made a pitstop here before he attacked us.” Negaduck said, amused that the Darkwing clone took the time to paint this symbol. The clone, like his goody-two-shoes counterpart, shared the same attention-seeking ego.
He looked at the remains of the note he had found. “The fool also left a list of targets and items of interest.” he continued as he shoved the note into Megavolt’s hand. “Killing you is only part of his plan. He had succeeded in his first task in destroying your toy.” Negaduck point to the mangled tron splitter in the center of the room. “He’s also is looking for Eye of Quackzalcoatl, a magical artifact. Unfortunately, the rest of the list has been burned away, so we can’t learn much else.” Negaduck tucked the note into his coat. “Didn’t Drak-Darkwing already destroy the Eye?’ Megavolt asked. “Yeah, but the clone didn’t get the memo.” Negaduck answered.
Negaduck released his Dobermans. They bolted outside the door and disappeared down the hall, their barks echoing throughout the building then faded into silence. "Aw, look at them go," Negaduck said sounding like a proud parent. "I hope they bite pedestrians and maul a few children before they get shot down.”. Spike’s vines tightened around Megavolt’s arms and torso as he held him. The flytrap felt safer that way. “you, never gave them their shots, did you?” Megavolt said a little afraid for anyone that met those monsters. “Never even took them to see a vet.” Negaduck retorted. The trio salvaged what they could then headed back to the Mallard Residence.
  Mallard residence.
4:30 p.m.
  Gosalyn opened the door to her house. The only one there was the Liquidator. He was slumped on the couch in a sitting position, head tilted back and passed out. The wall was fixed and had a fresh coat of paint. “I thought he said he didn’t sleep?” she said aloud quietly. “No, but the mutt seems to like it as a pass time.” A deadpan voice came from behind her. She turned around to see the evil duck enter the house followed by Megavolt trying to free his arms from Spike. Negaduck stared at the child. The last time she saw him, he led a hostile takeover the St. Canard Penitentiary and turned it into his personal playground.
Negaduck eyed the broken device on the table. Gosalyn had shattered it when she had shot it with an arrow. She had a knack for causing chaos everywhere she went, such raw talent was wasted in the service of Darkwing Duck, who wouldn’t even let her fight. “I still stand by what I said at the penitentiary, you’ve always been a bad seed.” Negaduck said in a serious tone, as he put a burnt note on the table with the rest of the clone’s belongings. “You could reach your true potential if you came to work for me, and not have to be held back by your Dipwing father.” Gosalyn tossed her schoolbag the floor in anger and marched up to the Mallard twice her size.
“Thanks, but no thanks. In fact, you can take your offer and- “. She colorfully told where he could stick his proposal, causing Megavolt to put himself between the two if Negaduck tried to do anything, but to their astonishment, Negaduck smirked and shrugged. "My offer still stands." He said coolly. Negaduck turned his attention to table cover in the various item obtained from the clone. Gosalyn watch as Megavolt hurried after his leader. She could not understand why any of his men followed him at all. He treats them horribly, and the majority of them could easily tear him to shreds. The dog on the couch murmured something inaudible. “Was he dreaming?” she thought herself.
Negaduck picked up the trench coat. It was made of dark purple leather and the inside was lined with a yellow-orange fabric in its inside. The coat had no pockets and was rather plain, yet the otherworldly Darkwing was able to pull an arsenal from it. The night he captured him at the warehouse captured the first time, they had confiscated his weapons and armor, leaving him only with his clothes and his trench coat. He was able to procure two knives, tear gas, and a chainsaw. His eye flickered.
Negaduck recalled the time he had been reduced to atoms by Megavolt’s tron splitter. He had become an ink-like substance, that imposed his chaotic personality on anyone who touched it. Magica de Spell conducted experiments on it, which eventually led to Negaduck to returning body and soul. One of the experiments was giving an unstable ballplayer, a trench coat that had been tainted by the ink. “One-shot.” Negaduck thought.
Carmichael Q. Anthony was once a rising star in the sport of baseball as a pitcher. However, his fame caused him to down spiral. He developed a severe case O.C.D and felt compelled to never make the same pitch twice. It got to the point where he threw everything but the ball. The monkey was eventually suspended after throwing a puppy at the batter. De Spell gifted him a coat that acted as an endless supply of things to throw, some of which were deadly. From that point on, Anthony did her bidding under the influence of the ink, and gain a reputation under the name One-Shot.
Negaduck held the coat lengthwise and put his hand it, disappearing into the fabric. "I wonder," he said aloud. He searched around the fabric, until his hand wrapped around a metal handle. He pulled out a large claymore, it was way larger coat itself. Megavolt jumped at the sight of it. “So that’s how he did it,” said Negaduck mildly impressed. “He must have nicked this beauty off of One-Shot and used it as his personal arsenal”. Megavolt gave him a confused look. “I thought Darkwing burned it because of its dark magic.” He stated. Negaduck put the trench coat back on the table and tossed the sword aside. “True,” Negaduck responded. “We have to remember, that the geezer clone came from another dimension. He might have got it from another unfortunate baseball-playing monkey."
Megavolt turned his attention to the shattered device. "That is one mystery solve, but what about this," he said directing Negaduck's attention. Negaduck stared at the pile of loose wire and broken grey and green metal. He hadn't the foggiest idea of what to make of it. The John Duck lost its mind after Gosalyn shot it. Gosalyn made her way over to the table, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Hey, I think these wires go together.” Said Megavolt as he reached to put them together. “Uncle Elmo,” Gosalyn said sounding a little worried. “We don’t know what that thing does, we probably shouldn’t- “. It was too late. The small device sparked to life and the green metal began to glow.
Boom. The device of the leaped off the table with energy. Blue lighting came bursting out of it, items in the house were flung around with a violent force as it did so. The lightning formed a distorted circle above. Negaduck recognized immediately what it was, he had seen one since he got cut off from the Negaverse. It was a warp hole. The clone was carrying around technology that could rival S.H.U.S.H. It explained how the clone was able to follow the train undetected; he was jumping through warp holes.
The warp hole was growing unstable, it pulsed and cracked as it began to suck in everything in its proximity. Gosalyn was swept off her and was pulled toward the portal. To everyone's surprise, including his own, Negaduck grabbed the child and tucked her his arm. He used the other to hold on the couch, so he would get pulled in. “Sparky!” Negaduck roared. “Turn it off!!”. Megavolt, who was hugging the table leg, reached for the device to force it to shut done but instead knocked to further down the table by accident. "You idiot!" Negaduck roared in a rage.
A large icy mallet smashed the unstable device. It cracked and popped before it went dead. Smoke rose from under the Liquidator's hammer-like hand and the warp hole vanished. The disturbance had woken him up, the living area was a mess again, he was sure Darkwing was going blame him for it. The front door opened. Drake mallard enter, having had shed his purple uniform and spoke before he saw the living room. “Consider yourselves of the hook,” he said in a tired voice. “So please, for the sake of peace, don’t-“ his eyes fell on the scene that was once was his living room.
It was like a tornado had struck, walls were torn, furniture and appliances toppled over. Megavolt, and apparently Spike, were holding on the table leg as it were the safest place to be. Gosalyn was tucked protectively in Negaduck's arm, and Liquidator was on the table, his hand formed into a mallet. A part of the attic floor finally gave way and crashed on what was left of the coffee table. “Do I want to know who or what caused this?” Darkwing asked as calmly as he could.
The Liquidator reduced his hand to normal size to reveal the broken device, and then the lot of them pointed at Megavolt, who was still hugging the table. Darkwing took a moment to compose himself.” I got a call from Launchpad; the clone has woken up.” He said as he snatched Gosalyn from Negaduck and glowered at him. “Let’s see if he is more willing to talk now.”
 Later…
 “No, I am not wearing it.” Negaduck said stubbornly when Darkwing handed him the blindfold. “I will not allow myself to guided like a blind man, by you especially." Negaduck and Darkwing have already gotten in back into their uniforms. 'It's bad enough you know where I live, the last thing I need is for you to learn where I work." Darkwing argued. They had been at it for the last 30 minutes. Gosalyn sat next to the Liquidator on the couch, both were growing impatient with the bickering doppelgängers. Megavolt and Liquidator had already agreed to be blindfolded, it didn't matter to them much, though it would be nice to know where Darkwing's hideout in the future. Megavolt and Spike had already left with Launchpad, who had come by to pick the evidence they had gathered.
"Look," Darkwing yelled, starting to lose his patience with his yellow clan double. "The only way for us to continue the case is to question the clone himself. We had to take him to the tower for treatment, thanks to you, and we are not going to risk removing him from there. So, you either put on the blindfold and go with us, or you can stay here, frankly, I'm hoping for the ladder." Negaduck went silent for a moment, then he snatched the blindfold out of Darkwing's hand and placed himself on the couch next to Liquidator, defeated.
Gosalyn watched her father rub his eyes. He seemed tired, more than usual. According to the Liquidator, he was the last one to get back to the house today. It had been a while since he went to S.H.U.S.H. on his own, and not because of J. Gander. Hooter summoned him for a job. Gosalyn turner her gaze to the Aquatic dog next to her. His eyes have been locked on Darkwing since he got here.
"Gosalyn," Darkwing said grabbing her attention. She faced her father; they had not spoken since this morning. "I want you to know, that what you did this morning was incredibly dangerous, he could have killed you and you are very lucky." His arms were crossed and he was waving his finger at her, it was an indication of an impending lecture. Gosalyn braced for the yelling. "Young lady….," He began. "That was the bravest and selfless thing I have ever seen, and I have never been so proud of you.".
Gosalyn opened her eyes, her father smiled warmly at her. Out of relief of gaining his approval, the red-haired girl jumped off the couch, and into her father's arms who hugged her back. "Now, don't get me wrong, you're still grounded till your 30!" he said in a fake stern tone. He handed her bow, he had confiscated it from her this morning, with its quiver full of arrows. "You can have this back, but you only if you're going to use it from a distance, as it was intended to be used. Right?” his tone turning serious. The little daredevil looked him dead in the eye. "You can count on me!" she said with determination, yet both father and daughter knew she made no promises.
"Aww…" the Liquidator said forgetting that he for a moment that he was ever angry with Darkwing. Negaduck pointed his finger to his mouth and made a gagging noise. There were times when the Liquidator swore Negaduck had the maturity of a 14-year-old boy. The pair ignored the peanut gallery on their couch. Nothing going to ruin the moment. Negaduck sat up and spoke so only his hound could hear.
“Truce states that we can’t harm the geezer clone and he is going to jail.” He stated. “But I beg a differ. That duck is going to die tonight, he has escaped death by my hand one too many times, I am not going to sit here and let him breathe for another day.” Negaduck was shaking slightly, he hated not leaving a job unfinished and transgressors unpunished. “When He has given what we want as far as answers, I gonna kill him,” he said in hostel tone. “However, Dorkwing is probably aware of my intentions and will be keeping a very close watch on me. “
If I can’t get near him, I want you to put him down. Darkwing can defend the geezer from me and the others, but not from you." The liquidator nodded in agreement. He may not always do so, but the clone still had to answer for the attack at the warehouse. Besides the hound never disobeyed an order from Negaduck and always came through. There were times, though he won't admit it, Negaduck considered the Liquidator to be his right hand. It has always been this way since the formation of the Fearsome 5. Since that day……...
  /-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
  All he could see was him as his body sank to the bottom of the vat of contaminated water. Budd's body hit the bottom of the vial container of his own making. Darkwing was just standing there, just staring at him. The Masked Mallard disappeared from the water's edge and left the hound to his fate. Budd Flood watched the last of his oxygen leave him as it bubbled up to the surface, and he waited for oblivion. However, it wasn't the end of the hound. He found himself alive, somehow, but his body filled the container of his would-be grave.  
After a while, a liquid hand reached out of the vat. Flood pulled his aquatic body out of the vat and fell forming a puddle. “This is my life now.” He thought. Darkwing has no doubt had reported him to the police about his sabotage of competing water company. He was ruined, not to mention was no longer made of flesh. It was his fault, and he was going to make him pay. It took 3 days, but the determined hound learned to control his newfound power. He was no longer Budd Flood; he was the Liquidator.
  -----several weeks later.
  The Liquidator’s head plowed out of the water, and he rested his upper body on a ledge above the water. He was somewhere in the sewers of St. Canard. Darkwing had beaten him again, no matter how much stronger Liquidator was compared the duck. It infuriated him. "Sounds like you’re up shit creek…. Literally” a foul voice said a few feet away. Liquidator looked up to see a mallard. If it weren’t for his canine instinct, he would have thought it was Darkwing coming down to taunt him. However, this guy wore a yellow-orange version of the Masked Mallard’s uniform and his face was full of malice.
Negaduck knelt to the dog's eye level smirking a toothy grin. The liquidator snarled like a dog backed in a corner, he didn't know who this Darkwing look-alike was, but he sensed danger from his presence. "What's the matter?" the duck asked. 'Do l remind you of the one who did this to you? Did Darkwing beat you with a simple kitchen sponge?". The Liquidator extended his body and pinned Negaduck against a brick wall. Half his body was still in the water. "Who are you?" Liquidator demanded. "Names, Negaduck," he said. "I might look like the Purple Blunder, but besides that, we are nothing alike, morally anyway”. The Liquidator glowered at Negaduck, there was something not right. “What do you want?” the hound asked.
Negaduck was still smirking, not caring for the danger he was in. "You're, not the only one with a bone to pick with Darkwing Duck," he spoke in a calm tone. "What if I told you, I was putting together a team of like-minded individuals, who want nothing more to lay waste to St. Canard, robbing banks, burning down a building, etc., and kill Darkwing to boot." Liquidator loosened his grip but didn't let go. He was a crooked businessman, but he drew the line at terrorism. Negaduck continued. "I've heard reports of a monster in the waters of St. Canard. How he came to be." He laughed. "Yet is defeated by a clad purple duck, despite his power in hydrokinesis.". The liquidator growled. "Get to the point." The hound said, he hated long-winded pitches when someone was trying to sell him something.
"I offer you an opportunity," Negaduck answered. "Your power alone can only get you so far, it needs a guiding hand. I can provide that, especially against Darkwing Duck. All that I ask is that join me in my crew of misfits.". The Liquidator released his hold on duck and reformed to stand on the ledge. "I don't need your help to kill the Masked Mallard," Liquidator barked. "Oh really?" Negaduck responded sarcastically." How many times have you ended down here, because he forced you down a pipe? How many more times are you going to have to sit someone's yard, collecting pigeon shit, because he turned you into a statue? How long will it take for you to realize, that you can't beat him, at least not on your own." The Liquidator's body began to boil in rage.
“And what makes you think you can help me? What’s in it for you?” the hound demanded. He was from a world of commerce and dirty business, there was always a catch. Negaduck didn’t flinch a muscle as the Liquidator released him and flooded around him. “Simple really,” Negaduck said his smirk disappearing leaving his face without expression.” I want to make my goody-two-shoes clone suffer, then when I am bored with him, I’ll kill him.” Negaduck paused for a moment. “He is everything I hate in the world, then some. His mere existents makes my blood boil." Negaduck turned his attention to the hound. "However," he said as if he was forcing himself to talk. "I can't do it alone, just like you. So, I am assembling a team of people to raise hell on St. Canard, who has a personal vendetta against Darkwing Duck, and I require a hound."  
The Liquidator's body began cool off from its high temperature, and steam rose with a hiss. Once the steam dissipated, a normal size dog appeared in a watery form. The liquidator stood in front of the Mallard, easily towering him. "Do we have a deal?" Negaduck asked sticking his hand out. Ignoring every instinct that shouted at him to refuse the duck's offer, to stay behind the line he drew for himself, he shook the hand of a devil. He followed Negaduck into the darkness of the sewer and started his new life as a member of the soon to be Fearsome 5.
  Later that same day…...
  Negaduck pushed open an iron door. "Welcome to your new quarters." Negaduck said as he entered the building. He had explained that it was once a factory but was shut down because it failed inspection. It mostly made and sold candy. "Don't make yourself at home Mutty Water, we might move out soon if I can't the smell of chocolate out of the walls." Negaduck had come up with a list of insulting nicknames for the hound as they traveled to the factory. Liquidator wonder if the foul duck did this to everyone he met. No matter. The Liquidator didn't come along with him to be his friend. It was his new mission to kill Darkwing duck, even if it meant being loyal to a psychopath.
Something scurried across the floor and planted itself in front of Negaduck. It was a mutated venus flytrap about a couple of feet tall. It growled aggressively at Negaduck. Negaduck glowered at the bold house plant, then kicked square across the room. The plant hit a cabinet and bounced on to the floor. It pulled itself up whimpering. Negaduck continued on his way without a care. With one final hiss at Negaduck, it retreated down the hall. The Liquidator followed it out of curiosity. The flytrap led him to a small room with no windows and cover in plants. Due to the lack of sunlight, they were undernourished and turning brown, yet everything was in bloom.  
A hand reached out from under a nearby desk and grabbed his ankle. The sudden motion almost gave him a heart attack. "Is he out there?" asked a timid voice from under the table. The hound looked under the desk, and saw what he could only assume was the owner of the flytrap. It was duck/plant hybrid, cowering under the desk. Negaduck had said that he had already recruited someone else, who had suffered at Darkwing's hand. A botanist by the name of Bushroot. He like the Liquidator had gone under an untraversable mutation. Bushroot was in a fetal position, he had angered Negaduck that morning and was hiding from his chainsaw. The hound knelt so he was partly under the desk. He now had another mission in life, other than ridding of Darkwing. "No," the liquidator said calmly and reach out his paw. "But I am."
 /-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
Negaduck and the Liquidator finally had been blindfolded. Gosalyn took the Liquidator and guided him to one of the chairs and sat him in one. She proceeded to sit in the next chair over and pressed the button on the mouse statue. They disappeared into the floor. Negaduck and Darkwing followed suit. His house was now empty, the only evidence that something was there was a destroyed ceiling and broken furniture.
Chapter 5
https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190704477979/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything
Chapter 3
https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190654237374/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything
Chapter1
https://masked-mallards.tumblr.com/post/190578269234/masked-mallards-the-multiverse-and-everything
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thepatricktreestump · 6 years
Text
I Love Her Anyway: Chapter 21
A/N: i’m so fucking sorry this took literal weeks to finish but @loverontheleft sent me a picture of their cat that inspired me and i wrote the most i’ve ever written for this chapter in the past fifteen minutes than i could the past four weeks so yeah thank the cat. anyways this will be the last chapter in this series, yes, and you can bet my ass there ain’t gonna be anymore of that bullshit taglist on my blog anymore so this will be the last time tagging any of y’all in a series so savor it while you can anyways thanks for the love and support you’ve given me through this journey and i’ll shut up now so you can read the damn thing ok
the infamous taglist that took fifteen years off of my life but has now thankfully finally come to its long awaited end: @cupcakesweetness @un-amoosed-padalecki @mtb04308 @dragonqueendany @kitykatnumber @svintsandghosts @greatheromuffinpalace @geekybeauty8793 @galaxy-moon @lugialagia @myaestheticsareshit @yagirlcammmm @wantyoubackpeter @vessyvk @loverontheleft @rupphirerydenphan @uriellybrendon @converse-or-vans @infinityonryro
               By far, the third trimester proves to be the hardest for you. The aches, pains, strange cravings, and constant cranky mood only doubles. Brendon even takes off work a couple days to take care of you, cancelling business meetings and conferences in order to make sure he’s right by your side as you endure all of this. The weekend hits and honestly all you want to do is sleep, but Brendon insists you have to get up. “I know you don’t want to, but it’s important,” he insists. “Please y/n, come on.”
               “I don’t want to,” you whine. “I feel miserable.”
               “I know baby,” he soothes, running a hand up and down your shoulder. “But for me? Please?”
               “If it’s breakfast just bring it to me,” you mumble. “Otherwise I don’t wanna.”
               “What if I told you there were presents involved?” he taunts teasingly.
               “Presents?” you poke your head out of the sheets.
               “Yes,” he giggles. “Lots and lots of presents. All for you.”
               “For real?” you tilt your head to the side.
               “Mhmm,” he grins. “Now come on. You have to get up if you want to see them.”
               He helps you out of bed and leads you carefully down the stairs, and when you see it, you put your hand over your mouth in shock. “Bren-” you can barely breathe. “You didn’t have to, oh my god.”
               “It’s not a third trimester without a baby shower,” Moira gives a soft smile.
               There’s all of the workers are standing there with cheery faces, a plethora of presents, balloons, sweet and salty treats, and a giant sign that reads “Ready for Rhi.” Tears well up in your eyes, it’s almost unreal. The rest of the day follows with opening up pastel colored blankets, pacifiers, bottles, baby carrier, onesies and booties, tiny beanies, rattles, teethers, diapers, and all sorts of other things. Although they’ve reassured you that you’ve thanked them enough, you still can’t seem to stop the praises of gratitude that spill out from your mouth. You’ve never felt so loved or cared for before by a family in your entire life. Brendon holds you in his arms and kisses you, then leads you down a hall, towards a corridor, and towards a door you had always known as the entrance to a guest bedroom.
               “What is this?” you sigh, putting your hands on your hips. “Another surprise?”
               “Perhaps,” he confesses, and you notice the small tug at the corner of his lips that refuse to let him suppress a smile.
               “Better not be anything too surprising,” you narrow your eyes. “I don’t want to go into labor quite yet.”
               “Don’t worry,” he chuckles. “I promise it’s nothing too shocking. In fact, you’ve probably already seen this coming for a while now.”
               You give him a strange glance before turning open the doorknob and having your eyes widen at the sight before you. Baby blue skies with puffy clouds and rays of sunshine paint the walls, little stars dangling from the ceiling, a white crib in one corner and a baby changing station against the wall, wide windows with the perfect view of outside, and a small white noise machine that sits atop a desk. “Oh my god,” you can barely contain your excitement. “Brendon, it’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”
               “I tried,” he shrugs, cheeks showing a tint of red. “I figured we had to put the baby somewhere once it gets out of that stomach of yours.” He crouches down to press a kiss to the bump and then smiles up at you.
               “Oh come here you goof,” you pull him up and kiss his lips, passionate, thankful, soft, sweet. “You know I could never do this without you. And I thank you so much.”
               “Without me you wouldn’t be pregnant in the first place,” he rolls his eyes.
               “Hey,” you pout. “You know what I mean.”
               “I know,” he soothes. “It means a lot. Thank you. I’m glad I can be here for you.”
               As the due date nears, Brendon only becomes tenfold as caring and protective of you. You’re sitting on the couch, binge watching one of your favorite shows on a Saturday afternoon when you feel it. Painful contractions, the fluid running down your legs, and shouting at Brendon that your water had broken was only the beginning of it all.
               “What?” he stares at you, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights, frozen in place as you shouted it to him from the sofa.
               “My water broke, you dumbass!” you scream again, and he blinks twice, then hurriedly rushes towards you, stammering out questions, clearly confused what to do.
               “D-do we call an ambulance? Do I d-drive you there?” he sputters out, staring at you and waving his hands around frantically.
               “Jesus Christ,” you roll your eyes, gritting your teeth as the pain increases. “Well we should probably do something, don’t you think?”
               “Right, right,” he quickly nods, thinking for a moment before scooping you up and carrying you out the door and putting you in the shotgun seat, then rushing towards the driver’s spot and driving to the hospital, holding your hand the entire way there.
               Giving birth was absolute hell, but it was beyond helpful to have Brendon right there beside you as everything took place. Before you knew it, you had a little baby girl in your arms, smiling down at her, tears in your eyes. To see Brendon staring down at his little girl, bright eyes and soft heart, it made you melt. Days passed before you felt well enough and recovered to go home, and even still, Brendon was sure to be right by your side.
               “What about work?” you quip, worried. “You haven’t been in days, Bren.”
               “And miss out on my babygirl being born?” he stares at you as if you’ve asked the dumbest question in the world. “Honey, it’s time I take a vacation for once.”
               She’s got Brendon’s beautiful brown eyes and big lips and your smile and skin. She has small little toes and fingernails and clothes, and being so tiny only makes her even more precious. Watching her grow up is a complete blessing and joy. Rhi is everything you could ever hope she would be. Before you know it, she’s talking and walking and outgrowing diapers. Brendon teaches her to sing nursery rhymes and the alphabet, and you’re sure to do the potty training and manners. Her favorite toy is a little stuffed frog named Ribbit, and you absolutely love when Brendon plays with her, making up silly voices for characters and coming up with creative storylines. Her favorite food is Lucky Charms, but she always picks out the rainbow marshmallows from the box and only eats those ones. Her favorite color is yellow, her favorite Disney movie is Nemo, and she loves to dance. Sometimes Brendon takes both of you into the ballroom and you all dress up and dance to some of her favorite Disney songs, Hakuna Matata ranking as her all time favorite.
               Years pass and Rhi’s about five years old now. Brendon had said he wanted to wait to get married until she was old enough to appreciate and understand her mommy and daddy’s wedding, as well as be the most beautiful flower girl of all time. However, it still came out of the blue to you and you weren’t expecting it at all. To see Brendon get down on one knee, holding out a diamond ring towards you, asking you that four word question that would change your life forever, you couldn’t help but say yes. Both of you decided to tell Rhi together, and when you showed her your ring, she was just as enthralled if not more than you were.
               “Mommy, that makes you a queen!” she grins ear to ear, gazing at the jewel, which Brendon had conveniently picked out as your favorite kind and style.
               “Yeah,” you laugh. “It does.”
               “See? You got an upgrade,” Brendon smiles. “You know Rhi, before you came along, mommy was my princess.”
               “Really?” Rhi tilts her head to the side, curious.
               “Mhmm,” Brendon giggles. “Yeah, we ruled this castle together and then you came along, and we got all excited, and I started making plans to make mommy a queen.”
               “When do I become a queen?” Rhi wonders excitedly. “I wanna be like Elsa!”
               “You’re not going to be a queen for a while as long as I’m around,” Brendon jokes. “Now come on, we gotta find you a dress for the royal wedding.”
               “Ooh!” she hurriedly grabbed Brendon’s hand and tugged him over to the computer.
               That’s was his magic trick. It worked with you, and definitely with Rhi. You watched as he sat her down on his lap and scrolled through the different dresses on an online boutique, blushing to yourself as you remember doing the same many years ago in his office, perusing the different dresses on his computer screen.
               Weeks passed and Brendon had told his friends and you had told yours. That’s when he decided to bring it up. “Uh babe, are you going to invite your parents?” he wonders aloud.
               “Oh,” you pause upon writing out the last wedding invitation. “I mean, I hadn’t really thought of it. I haven’t seen them in years.”
               “But like… who’s going to walk you down the aisle?” he asks. He pauses. “I mean, it’s okay if they don’t, I respect your decision wholeheartedly, and I’d hate to have that conversation with your dad, but I mean, you’re twenty three now, you’re an adult. What has happened has passed. I think it’s time to heal the wound.”
               “I don’t know Bren…” you hesitate, biting on your lower lip. “I do miss them. I’m just scared I guess.”
               “Write them an invitation and we’ll see how it goes. It doesn’t hurt to try,” he offers.
               “Alright,” you give a soft smile. “I’ll make a special one just for them.”
               “Let me see it,” Brendon prods when he walks into the room hours later, noticing that you’ve finished the letter and begun to seal it up. “I want to read it before you put it in.”
               “Okay,” you roll your eyes, smiling, but nervous on the inside.
               “Dear Family,” Brendon begins. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve seen you last, but I miss you, and I hope you feel the same. Years have passed and I’ve had time to think about it, and I am sorry that I have cut you out of my life. If it is alright with you, I’d like to piece myself back in. The baby’s been born, and she’s a beautiful little girl named Rhi, with cheery eyes and a huge heart. I would love for you to meet her. Not only would I like for you to meet her though, but the other love of my life as well. I know that I haven’t been completely honest with you, and I apologize for that. I promise to now on speak from my heart with sincerity and truth. That includes letting you into my life with no more cover ups. Throughout this entire time, there’s been a man that has helped me through thick and thin, taught me to become a woman, and loved every single particle of my being no matter what. He gave me the most precious gift I’ve ever received, that being my daughter Rhi, but most importantly, the relationship that created her in the first place. In order to meet my Prince Charming though, you’ll have to come to the wedding, and personally introduce yourself to the groom, although I have a feeling you might know him already. Please keep an open mind and an open heart. With love, your daughter y/n.”
               “What do you think?” you ask, scared to know his opinion.
               “It’s perfect,” he nods. “Really, love. I think this will work.”
               “I hope so,” you whisper.
               “I know so,” he kisses you on the lips. “It’s time for you to stop hiding in the shadows, to step out into the light and be seen for who you are, for who we are. There’s no more need to be scared, alright? I’m right here. I always have been and I always will be. And you’ve got a ring to hold me accountable to that promise, got it?”
               “I love you, Brendon,” you smile up at him, unbelievably happy. “Thank you. For everything.”
               “Of course, y/n,” he replies. “It’s not exactly how I thought it would go initially, but looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted it to go any other way. We have a beautiful daughter, so many blessings, and now an entire marriage to look forward to. I love you so goddamn much y/n. More than you will ever know.”
               “Oh Brendon,” you mumble against his lips as you kiss him, then pull away, giggling. “You’ve given me the entire world and more. I think I know you love me.”
               “Well in case you ever forget that I love you,” he kisses you once more on the lips. “I’m going to remind you ever single day of your life anyways. Okay?”
               “I’m more than okay with that,” you can’t help but widen your smile.
               “Now come on,” Brendon smirks. “Let’s send out these invitations and let’s get fucking married!”
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mlovesstories · 6 years
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Scout Was A Secret 6
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Tag List
Ask Box
Masterlist of Masterlists
Word Count: 1200
Warnings: Guns, canon violence, language, kidnapping, rescue, pie
“Dirk is crazy, Sam. He will kill Dean,” Scout said urgently. “How did he even get out?”
“Okay, calm down. Dean knows how to take care of himself. Dirk escaped during intake, apparently. I need you to answer some questions for me.” She nodded. “Was Dirk possessive of you? Around friends or family?”
“In a creepy way, sometimes. He didn’t have social cues.” Scout answered while trying to control her breathing.
“He wants you. That is his whole motivation.”
“So let him have me.” Scout stated emotionless.
“NO! Are you crazy? We would never let that happen, Scout.” Sam was appalled by her willingness to sacrifice herself for her father. “There is no way in hell.”
“Good thing we aren’t in hell then,” she responded with an attitude. “I heard some noise in the background of the call. I think I know where they are.” Scout picked up her car keys and asked Sam if he was coming without using words.
“Fine, but you stay in the car. Where are we going?”
“There is this warehouse that Dirk worked at. Sometimes my mom and I brought him lunch. I heard the noise of the gate opening. It’s the same sound as when my mom and I would open it when we arrived. It’s my best guess.” Scout spouted all of the information at her uncle as she sped down the highway. His eyes were wide at her detective work. He was impressed. Before Sam could respond, however, she began crying. 
“We have to save him, Sam!” Scout screamed to him, showing a side of herself that Sam had never seen.
________
A few hours later, they arrived at Dirk’s place of work. Before Scout could do anything, she was handcuffed to the steering wheel. Her mouth gaped open in shock. 
“Sam, what the hell?!” 
“Don’t be so surprised. You aren’t going. Dean would kill me, and I don’t want you in there either,” Sam spoke quickly. Before she could verbally respond, he was gone.  She yanked at the cuff, but it did nothing to free her. 
—————
“Dean! You okay? Where is he?” Sam ran to his brother who was attached to a pole that came down from the ceiling and went across the room. 
Just as Sam arrived at Dean’s side, he heard a gun cock behind him.
“Well, hello there. Nice to meet you.” A gun was touching the younger brother’s scalp. Sam stood straight up with his hands in the air. 
“Don’t you dare hurt my family!” Scout screamed with a shotgun ready to fire.
“Scout! No!” Sam scolded. Dirk had dropped the gun so that it was angled at the floor. When he started to bring it toward Scout, a shot rang out, and they watched as Dirk fell to the ground with a thud.
The family looked up to see a blonde with a pistol in her hand. The boys’ eyes went wide and their mouths dropped in recognition. Scout noticed their familiarity with the lady who had saved them. They all froze for a few seconds before Dean spoke.
“Scout, that is your grandma. Mary. Mom, meet my daughter, Kansas Laura Carlyle.”
————-
“I’ll clean this up, you can wait in the car, stay warm.” Dean said to Scout and Mary, motioning toward the impala.
“Yeah, I will help you,” Sam nodded at Dean. “Ladies, there are blankets in the car, go get warmed up.” Sam agreed with Dean. “And next time, stay in the freaking car, Scout.”
“Yes, sir. Come on, Mrs. Winchester.” Scout motioned.
————
“Where’s my car?!” Scout walked outside with Mary and noticed the car that she arrived in was not where she left it.
“I had Cas zap it back to the bunker. Hope that’s okay. Cas thought you may be too tired to drive.” Mary stated.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess we can go back with just one car. Here,” Scout handed her a blanket as they both got in the backseat.
“Scout, huh?”  Mary questioned. “That’s a cool name.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this is just weird.  You look the same age as my dad.  Let me guess, it has something to do with supernatural-ness?” Scout’s mind was blown.
“Something like that.  I’m still their mom though.  Trust me.” She grinned.
Sam and Dean climbed back into the Impala after taking care of business. Dean was driving, of course, while Sam sat groggily in the front passenger seat.  Mary was asleep behind her oldest, and Scout was leaning on Mary’s shoulder dozing off.  Dean saw the two ladies conked out in the back and smiled.  He grabbed his phone and took a picture of his rearview mirror which showcased Mary and Scout’s napping positions.  
As Baby pulled into the garage, all four people inside were awake enough to move into the bunker.  
“Scouty, come on, baby.  Let’s go.” Dean nudged his daughter and maneuvered her so that he could help her up.  
“Ugh,” she groaned.  “Can I get my stuff later?  I’m tired.”
“I’ll get it for you.  Go inside and shower then bed, okay?”  He kissed the top of her dirt-covered hair. “I love you, Scouty.”
“Okay, Deanie.  Love you,” she said with exhaustion.
________
“So you’ve been back for a while?” Scout asked Mary.
“Yeah, just been hunting. Found some good hunters to work with, so I’ve been busy.”
As they talked, they walked to the table from the bunker door with a pie.
“Is that…pie?” Dean saw the box in his mom’s arms.
“No, it’s a frog!” Scout rolled her eyes. “What do you think it is?” She laughed.
“Okay, smartass.” Dean watched Mary put the pie on the table with a mesmerized look on his face. Once it was out of her hands, Dean pulled it toward him and put a large piece on a paper plate that he ripped from Scout’s hands. He started eating with large bites, filling his mouth, bits of blueberry residing on his bottom lip.
“DEAN!” Mary and Scout yelled his name at the same time. His attention was theirs.
“Could you eat that any faster?” Mary raised a brow. Scout smirked at the realization that her grandma had the same reaction as herself.
“Uhh, no. No, I cannot.” Dean wiped his face out of embarrassment.
“You’re like Pigpen. Seriously. How are we even related?” Sam retorted. 
“Pigpen?”  Scout asked. 
“A Peanuts character,” Mary answered. 
“Oh. Well, you know you love him though, Sammy.” Scout laughed.
“I don’t know that I would use the word ‘love’.” Sam glared at her, joking.
“You love me, Sammy.”  Dean grinned with pie falling off of his lip. 
“You might love pie more than any of us, Dean.” Scout laughed with a snort.
“Okay, all of you. Just enjoy the pie please!” Mary raised her voice to quiet them all.
“Wow, you really are the matriarch, aren’t you?” Scout asked, impressed.
————
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layce2015 · 6 years
Text
The Wolf Among Us (Bigby Wolf x Reader)
A Crooked Mile:
Chapter 3 (pt.1) Huff And Puff
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The Tweedle Brother's Office
The Bronx
You walk in the office and saw a tall man in an orange jumpsuit and a frog hat, his red hair sticking out of, sweeping the floor. "Excuse me." You said as you walk up to him. The man jumps and turns to face you. "Oh, hi. Deputy (y/n)! Great--Great to see you. I don't know if you remember me...I've, uh, seen you around, but you may have forgotten--"
"I know who you are, Flycatcher. You've worked at the Woodlands for....how many years now?" You asked. "Heh. I think I've lost count." Flycatcher chuckles. "But you know Crane....uh, let me go....recently."
"Really?" You said, shocked, your eyebrow raised. "Yeah, I mean, it's no big deal....So....what brings you here? I mean can I help you with anything? Are you here to see one of the brothers?" Flycatcher asked you. "I was hoping to have a talk with Dee or Dum." You replied. "Do you know where they are?"
"No...they don't really keep regular hours as far as I can tell. Sorry. It's been a quiet night so far. I think the twins are out...Probably working on a case. Sometimes I don't see them for days." He replied. "They have me the job after Crane told me to get lost. He said I was just in the way."
"Why don't you take the night off?" You asked him. "That's nice of you, but...I can't. I still have to clean their office. I can let you in if you want. You can wait for them there...." Flycatcher said as he points to the door on the left, behind him. "Sure. Thanks." You said as you follow him. "No problem." He said as he opens the door.
You two walk in and noticed that the office was kinda weird looking. On the left side of the office was tan colored and very messing looking while the right side is gray and looked really clean and organized and two desk pushed against each other in the middle. "I'm gonna have to take a look around." You said to Flycatcher. "Uh....well, I guess that would be okay." He said, nervously. "I wasn't really asking for permission." You remarked. "Right. You're the Deputy. I just don't want to get in trouble or anything." He said as he walks in the office. "Don't worry, I won't get you in trouble, alright?" You said. "Right." He said, not convinced, and he begins to sweep up the office.
Over to the left next to the desk was some filling cabinets. You walk up to it and mutter. "Let's see if they've got a file on Crane." And you pull out the A-D drawer where there were some files but one of the caught your attention, Ichabod Crane. You pull out that file and saw a couple of papers. On the right was a list of money Crane owed to Crooked Man.
Debt to the Crooked Man/ Consolidated:
$1000 x 12 x 75
Current Payment Plan:
month-to-month
Items procured from the Business Office:
Warlock Fossil.              $3,000
Williams Enigmalith.      $400
Stone Footprint.              $3,500
Stone Books.                    $10,000
"He owes the Crooked Man money?" You said, shocked. "Shit. How was he planning to pay this all back?" Then you look to the left and saw another paper with Faith's picture attached to it 
Request for Property Acquisition 
Daily Task:
Find Compromising Photo.
$500 Bill 
Further details can be found under:
Donkeyskin
"Request for Property Acquisition.....further details filed under Donkeyskin." You read. "Crane hired them to look for a photo? Why did he want it back so badly?" You asked as you put the file back in the drawer. Then you pick up the file in the front, which has Beauty's name on it. The file showed her picture and a list of money she owed along with a small sticky note attached to it that said:
Georgie has an interest.
Wait till CM gives go ahead.
Put Squeeze.
"Beauty's in debt to the Crooked Man? Shit." You mutter as you set the file back into the drawer. Then you look in the back and found the Donkeyskin file. You pull it out and open it. There was another picture of Faith with a list under it 
Stole a photo from Crane (lovely!)
Find it at all costs
Easy Job
Possible Leads:
Her apartment 
Lawrence 
Woodsman
Lily
The hens at the Pudding N' Pie
"So that's why they were at her apartment....and the Woodsman's place." You said as put the file back. "Find anything?" Flycatcher asked. "Not what I need." You replied as you close the cabinet. "I know these guys can come off....abrasive at times, but they aren't so bad once you get to know them. And they really care about helping people. They're kind of loud, at times. But you get used to it." Flycatcher said as he continues to sweep. "How do you mean, they help people?" You asked him. "They're detectives. Anyone can come in here with a problem and they'll do their best to fix it. The way Dee explains it....it's like if someone at their cat, they could hire them to, you know, track it down. Or like sometimes....they get packages for people....they can be like couriers, you know?" He said.
"For who?" You asked.
"All kinds." He replied. "Come to think of it, I don't really know where they keep them....anyways, I'm just saying... you just don't know them like I do."
"Sure, Flycatcher." You grumble, shrugging. You walk over to the desk on the right side and noticed a box of cigars but with it was a small key. "You know about this?" You asked as you hold up the key. "Nuh....no." He replied, quickly. You roll your eyes as you see an inbox with a letter inside of it. You pick it up and began to read it. 
Dear Brother Dee,
I think we should get ourselves a dog 
Sincerely,
Brother Dum
"He actually mailed this?" You asked, confused. "They do have their quirks." Flycatcher replied. "This is pointless." You muttered, annoyed. "See, I knew you wouldn't find anything. Anything of interest, anyways....They're detectives. Like I said." Flycatcher said. "I haven't found anything yet." You said.
"I'm just saying--"
"Look, just trust me on this. Tweedle Dee and Dum are not nice, they're not helping anyone." You said. "Well, they helped me." He said. "Okay, great, they helped you. That's one person. Now....please, just...let me concentrate here." You said and you see the inbox on the other desk with another letter in it.
Dear Brother Dum,
I hate dogs and you know it!
Sincerely,
Brother Dee
"Couple of freaks." You muttered, angrily. "Wh---what i---what if you're wrong about them?" Flycatcher asked you as he stops sweeping. "I'm not." You replied. "They're misunderstood, sure. But that doesn't mean everything people say about them is true. I mean, you know, like when I think about it, you, Bigby and the twins aren't that different. You and Bigby help people....and they help people...not that it's any of my business, but...."
"Is that what you think?" You asked him, angrily.
"(Y/N)...?"
"Shit!" You muttered. "There's something here, I know there is, there has to be."
"Why would there be anything to--"
"Because they're lying to you, okay, Flycatcher? That's why. They aren't detectives! They shot at Bigby and my sister!" You shouted, angrily. At that point you felt a searing pain go through your head and everything began to go black and you start to fall forward. Luckily, Flycatcher caught you before you hit the floor. You groan and shake your head slight as you vision comes back. "(Y/N), what happened to you..." he asked you as he helps you stand up. You rub the back of your head then glared at Flycatcher. "You wanna know what this is?" You said as you pointed at your head. "This is them showing up to Lily's funeral with fucking shotguns and throwing me against a concrete pilar!"
"I--I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I--I didn't know..." he said, slightly scared. "And it doesn't matter if they're really good at hiding their shit. But they're involved, alright! In all of this! Do you get it now?" You said, still angry. Flycatcher looks down, feeling horrible, and your anger fade away as you see the sad look on his face. "I didn't mean to..." you said, calming down, as Flycatcher walked past you to the other side of the room and points at the other filing cabinet.
"There's a door behind this file cabinet. I don't know what they keep back here, but....it might be what you're looking for. That key you found should work." He replied. You look at him then pulled the key out of your pocket. You walk over to the cabinet and see a key lock under the shelves but above the drawers. You insert the key and turn it. There was a click and you pulled the side and it opened like a door. Inside, you only see a flight of stairs that leads down to the left. You and Flycather glance at each other before both of you go down the stairs. 
In the room was full of shelves that carried boxes and packages. A work bench was off to the side with a scale and a phone. "Woooowww." Flycatcher mutters as he walks up behind you. You walk to the shelf on the left and noticed an instant coffee can, with a label that said Crooked Man, and grabbed it and open it. Inside of the can was a note and a roll of cash. The note said:
I'm sorry. I know I'm late. Trust me. I'm working on the rest of it. I'll get it to you soon, I promise.
Sincerely,
Ichabod Crane.
"Who was he sending money to?" Flycatcher asked you after you read the note aloud. "Crooked Man." You replied him then see another side note. "Care of the Lucky Pawn? Do you know what that is?" You asked him, who shrugs. You pocket the money and set the can back on the shelf then look through the shelf.
"Is that what you needed?" Flycatcher asked. "I don't think so, but it's interesting. There's more going on here. I still need to find the witch though." You replied. "What are you looking for exactly? Maybe I can help." He said as he tries to look through the shelves. "Anything about Crane...or the witch he was using. Something." You said and you pick up another coffee can that had a tape over the lid that had Butcher written on it. "What is this stuff?" You asked and, once again, Flycatcher shrugs.
You look at the bottom shelf and see a package with the label that said J.D. on it. You set it down then see a really small compact package and you pick it up. "Hey....(y/n).....do you think, after all this....do you think I could come back to the Woodlands? Since crane let me go....I mean, I can still work here, but....I don't think I want to now. I don't want to work with bad people, you know?" Flycatcher said.
"Well, Crane is gone now....I can't see why you couldn't come back to The Woodlands." You replied. "Really, that would be....Thank you!" He said, appreciatively. "Come by the Business Office. I can't make any promises." You informed. "Right. Of course." He said, smiling. You open the little package and saw a strand of (h/c) hair. You gasped and said. "It's my hair."
"Your hair? Why w--"
"We found my hair like this inside Lily's glamour." You said and you see a name label on the lid of the package. "Aunty Greenleaf. This must be the witch Crane was using." 
"I guess Dee and Dum were getting your hair for Crane and sending it to her?" Flycatcher said, questionably. "That's not a pleasant thought."
"There's no address on it." You said as you look through the package. "So--So what now?" Flycatcher asked. "I should tell Snow about this. Maybe she can find a record on this Aunty Greenleaf....unless Bigby found something at the Trip Trap." You said. "I think I saw a phone over there." Flycatcher said as he points at the desk. You smile at Flycatcher and said. "Thanks." And you pick up the phone and dial up the Business Office. "You're welcome, Deputy." Flycatcher replied. 
"Business Office, this is Snow White." Snow greeted in a slightly annoyed tone. "Hey, Snow." You said. "Oh, it's you." She said in relief. "Sorry, I've been answering angry phone calls for hours. People want to know where Crane is. How'd it go with the Tweedle Brothers?" 
"No address, but I got a name for Crane's witch. Aunty Greenleaf. You heard of her?" You asked. "No....I'll get Bufkin started looking for her record, but it might take sometime." Snow said.
"Have you heard from Bigby?" You asked her. "Not yet. He should already be at the Trip Trap. I'll try to call him there, if I get time." She replied.
"And Snow...I found a note with some money attached. Crane has been embezzling from Fabletown." You informed. She let's out a sigh and said. "Of course. Because why half-ass being a complete sleazeball. Do you think this is tied to the murders?" 
"I think it's connected. Maybe the girls found out about it? I don't know." You said. "Mmmm, maybe..." Snow mutters. "I'll head back to the Office so that we can wait to see if Bigby has found anything." You said. "Okay." She mutters and you hang up the phone and began to head out.
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chasholidays · 6 years
Note
Prompt: Bellamy is there for Clarke through the loss of her dad, Wells, Finn, Lexa & pretty much everyone else in her life ever.
Bellamy is eleven when Octavia comes home and says, “Clarke’s dad died.”
His reaction is kneejerk, automatic. “No he didn’t, O. That’s not not what die means.”
“He did so! Mrs. Park told us. They were in a car crash and her dad died and Clarke got hurt so she isn’t going to be in school for a while. We made a card for her and everything.”
He swallows hard. “Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” she says, and he knows that’s true. He thought she might not know what she was saying, but that’s different from lying. If she’s sure, and she seems to be, then it must be true.
“I know, I’m sorry. That’s awful. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Nothing happened to me. But I was thinking we could go visit, maybe?”
O and Clarke aren’t exactly best friends, but Clarke’s been over a few times, and Bellamy likes her well enough, for an eight-year-old. She’s no more annoying than any of his sister’s other friends. Even a little less annoying, sometimes.
“Do you know what hospital?” She shakes her head, and he nods. “Okay. I’ll come pick you up from school tomorrow and ask Mrs. Park if she knows about visiting and stuff. They might not want anyone to come by yet, it’s probably really tough.”
“Okay. Thanks, Bell.”
“Sure.” He gives her a smile. “What do you want for dinner?”
Mrs. Park appreciates his concern, but as she expected, he says it’s probably not a good idea to go visit yet. Maybe in a week.
So Bellamy comes back, obedient, a week later, to ask if she thinks Clarke might be ready for visitors.
“We just want to make sure she’s not alone.”
Mrs. Park smiles. “I believe her mother said she was home. Let me just give her a call for you.”
He feels a little guilty, going to Clarke’s actual house; he doesn’t know her mother, and even though he’s escorting his sister, he can’t help thinking he’s a little out of place.
The woman who opens the door looks a little young to be her mother, and her smile is weary. “May I help you?”
“I’m Bellamy Blake,” he says, “and this is my sister, Octavia. She’s in Clarke’s class at school. We just wanted to check in, if she’s ready for visitors.”
“Let me go ask Abby,” says the woman, with a smile. “I’m sure Clarke will be happy to see you.”
It feels like a lot of checking in, but he guesses he can’t really blame anyone. It must be pretty tough.
Clarke’s mother smiles, shakes both their hands and thanks them for coming by, says Clarke hasn’t had many visitors yet. Her arm is broken and she’s shaken, but she’ll be happy to see some friends.
Bellamy lingers outside the door at first, awkward, but Octavia tugs. “Come on, Bell. Don’t be weird. Hey, Clarke,” she says, soft.
Clarke looks up from her book, eyes a little red, but smile steady. “Hi, Octavia. Bellamy. Thanks for coming.”
O nods. “Mrs. Park told us what happened. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” she says, looking down at her hands. “How’s school?”
She and Octavia talk about friends and school for a while, and Bellamy lets his eye wander, checking out the room, as large as his and his sister’s put together, full of books and toys and love.
Pictures of her dad, too; they look like they’re close.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Octavia asks, and when Clarke gives her directions, Bellamy finds himself suddenly alone with Clarke.
She looks about as uncomfortable with the whole thing as he is, so he shifts closer. “What were you reading?”
“Frog and Toad Are Friends,” she says, holding it up. “My dad used to read it to me.”
“Yeah, I used to read that to O when she was a kid.”
“You’ve been taking care of her for a while, right?”
“Forever, yeah. She’s my sister.”
“And you guys don’t have a dad.”
“No.”
Clarke nods. “But you’re okay.”
It feels like it might be too strong a word, but–they are, right? Most of the time. “You will be too,” he says, because that feels like what she’s asking. “I’m lucky, I don’t remember when my dad died, but–you’ll be fine. Eventually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, smiles a little. “If you ever need–someone else to talk to. I’m around. I know you’ve got plenty of people, but–”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”
“I mean it,” he says. “If you ever want an older-brother type, I’m around.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling a little. “I’ll let you know.”
He doesn’t really believe it, and he doesn’t hear from her for years, honestly forgets about her, for the most part. She and Octavia drift apart as they get older, moving to different friend groups, still in classes together sometimes, but not friends, not really.
It’s five years later, at the end of his sophomore year, when he leaves work at the deli on main street to find Clarke waiting for him, this small, scowling form leaning on his car, arms crossed over her chest as she pretends not to be watching the door.
“Clarke, right?” he asks, once he’s remembered her all the way.
“Hi.”
“Either you’re waiting for me or you didn’t know whose car this was,” he remarks, and her mouth tugs up at one side.
“I was waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember when my dad died?”
“Yeah.”
“You said I could come to you if I needed someone to talk to, and I do.”
His first reaction is that she must be incredibly hard up, but that’s not really a constructive thing to say. And it’s not like he’s unwilling to help some poor kid who needs some company. If she is hard up, that just means she really needs it.
“Okay. Driving, walking, sitting?” At her frown, he clarifies, “Where do you want to talk?”
“Oh, um–driving is fine. If it’s–if that’s okay. Sorry, I know this is–really weird.”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” He unlocks it. “You can even have shotgun.”
She snorts, soft. “Wow. Generous.”
“Don’t say I never did anything for you. Anywhere in particular you want to go?”
“Not off the top of my head.”
It should probably be weirder, but Arcadia isn’t that big a town, and he does know Clarke. And she’s probably going to do all the work here.
“I’m just going to drive around, then.”
“Thanks.” She waits until they’re in motion before she says, “I had a fight with my best friend. Which I obviously couldn’t talk to him about, because the fight’s with him, and if I tell my other friends, they’ll get involved.”
“So you want an impartial third party?”
“Pretty much. And I saw your sister and that reminded me—you offered. Sorry it took me so long to take you up on it.”
“I’m amazed you remembered.”
“It was a shitty time,” she says, sounding like she’s forty, not thirteen. “You were nice to me.”
“And now it’s another shitty time.”
“Not nearly that bad. Thank god,” she adds.
“So what happened?”
“He told me he liked me. Like, you know. As more than a friend. And I told him I didn’t like him back. And I guess he was pretty sure about it?” She sighs. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even—I don’t want to date anyone yet.”
“No?”
“How old are you again?”
“Legal to drive you. Sixteen.”
“I assume you remember how stupid dating is in middle school. It lasts like a week and all you do is hold hands and maybe get a couple bad kisses in.”
“Wow. You’re jaded for thirteen.”
“I don’t want to screw up my friendship with Wells for that.”
“Maybe it would be better.”
“Maybe. But I don’t like him like that.”
“If he’s your best friend, I doubt you lost him,” he finally says. “Yeah, it’ll be kind of awkward for a while, and getting rejected sucks, but—he’ll probably get over it.”
“I know. I still feel like I did something wrong.”
“You didn’t. It’s not your fault you’re not interested in him.”
“Is this just what you do? Brother for hire?”
“If you were my sister I’d probably be threatening to beat Wells up. Which would suck, I like Wells.”
Clarke snorts. “You know Wells?”
“He’s in the Latin club.”
“Of course he is. I like him too, just not—“
“For dating. I get it.”
“Thanks for listening.”
“Like I said, any time.”
She moves up to high school next year, and they nod when they pass each other in the halls, talk if they happen to be in the same place for long enough.
Her sophomore year, she comes back from the summer with her hair cut short and dyed red in one patch, and she learned to dress to accentuate her body type instead of hiding it, which he feels like an asshole for noticing, but it’s really noticeable. Clarke Griffin got hot is a popular topic of conversation, even among seniors.
Which is probably why he hears when she starts dating Finn Collins, and why when he hears that Finn died, suddenly, in a car crash, he goes to her immediately. Without even thinking about it.
Her mother opens the door this time, not the family friend from before. “May I help you?”
“I’m a friend of Clarke’s, I wanted to—“
“Oh. Yes, of course. Let me see if she’s up for company.”
“It’s Bellamy,” he tells her. It feels like it might make a difference.
He doubts she remembers him, but she smiles anyway. “I’ll let her know you’re here, Bellamy.”
The way up to Clarke’s room is the same, and he didn’t realize before how stuck the memory was in his brain, how much it stayed with him. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time.
The door is ajar, and he knocks softly before pushing it open. Clarke’s eyes are red, but dry, and he offers her a small smile.
“Thought you might need someone to talk to.”
She throws herself at him, shaking with tears like a dam is breaking, and he just holds her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, saying words he doesn’t actually hear himself.
He’s not sure how long it takes for her to cry herself out, but she says in his arms even after, taking the comfort, and it’s not until she pulls back that he lets her go.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, before she can say anything.
Her laugh is still watery. “Can I thank you?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
"You’re welcome.”
They’re mostly friends after that, albeit in a strange way. He makes sure to check in on her for the first few weeks, and he keeps checking in for a while after that. Some of his friends tease him about it, flirting with the hot sophomore, but it’s not really like that. Maybe if it wasn’t his senior year, if he wasn’t already into college, he might try something, someday. Once the pain had faded.
As it is, she comes to his graduation and kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for everything, and he says, “I’m still available for long-distance conversations, if you need them.”
He means it, like he always means it, but he doesn’t really expect anything. They’ve never been the kind of friends who just chat. But the first week of his freshman year, Clarke Facebook messages him to ask how college is going, and suddenly that’s a part of his routine. She’s a junior this year, starting to get into looking for colleges and full of questions, but that quickly turns into casual conversation.
“When did you and Clarke Griffin get so close?” Octavia asks, when he comes back for spring break and makes plans to hang out with her.
“Just kind of happened,” he says, with a shrug.
They don’t see a lot of each other, even when he’s home, but they still chat almost every day. She talks him through his breakup with Roma sophomore year and brags about finally getting to help him with a breakup for a change. He helps her work through a bisexuality crisis a few weeks after that, and then he goes through one of his own when he gets a crush on and somehow manages to date a guy the year after that.
Her senior year of college, Lexa happens, and he kind of wonders if that’s it for her. It seems pretty serious.
She calls him when they break up, a first for them, and he’s so shocked he nearly drops the phone. “Hi?”
“Hey. Lexa and I broke up.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
“I kind of saw it coming.”
“Yeah.” They’d talked about it, but he’d mostly been rooting for them to make it. Except for the small, mostly ignored part of him that still thinks Clarke is kind of pretty and kind of amazing and kind of one of his favorite people in the world. “Still.”
She sighs. “Yeah. But we were going different places, and that was–it wasn’t negotiable for her. She’s moving to California and she doesn’t want to do long distance. So–we broke up.”
“I’m sorry. Are you still thinking you’re going to come to Boston?”
He thinks his voice comes out even on the question, like he doesn’t think about it all the fucking time and wonder. She certainly doesn’t seem to think it’s weird, just says, “That’s the plan, yeah. I’ve got an interview in a couple weeks, can I crash on your couch?”
“Yeah, always. Any time.”
She comes down a few times, and he never says anything, never makes a move, but he’s so aware that they’re both single now, that she’s moving to his city, to his neighborhood. That she’ll be close he could see her whenever he wanted to.
He helps her move into her new place and she buys him a pizza, and he doesn’t kiss her, spends a week aware, all the time, of how he isn’t kissing her.
Then she shows up at his door.
“Hey,” he says, cautious.
“Hey. I need to talk to you about something?”
“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay? What happened?”
“Miller’s not home, right?”
“On a date.”
“Okay.” She lets out a break. “I think I’m in love with you. And you don’t have to be–I know you probably still think I’m your second screw-up little sister, but I thought I should double check in case–”
“I don’t,” he says, and kisses her.
“You’re not going to have anyone to talk to if we break up,” he tells her, a few hours later, when they’re cuddled together in his bed, warm and sated and close.
She yawns and kisses his shoulder. “I know. I’m not worried.”
“No,” he admits, with a smile. “Me neither.”
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wallpaperpainter · 4 years
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Five Various Ways To Do Dragonfly Rock Art | Dragonfly Rock Art
His award-winning bug carve consistently catches kids’ eyes at the Big Fresno Fair. It appearance a dragonfly-eating frog and a praying mantis all fabricated of atom metal.
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“That’s aloof area metal. Some of it was roofing,” Estes said.
When he retired in 2000 and took up adjustment four years after the clutter became art. An old disabled weapon became a latch.
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“The gopher’s had abundant so he shoots the buzzards. I don’t apperceive area I appear up these account but there’s a snail,” Estes said.
At the age of 75 Red Estes lives by a simple motto: “Don’t booty activity seriously. You’ll never get out alive.”
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A Bear Returns to Brooklyn (Post 122) 12-30-15
It was a Christmas where I thought about keepsakes and their value quite a bit.  I guess my understanding of keepsakes has formed that something is really a keepsake only when its personal value exceeds its monetary value by a factor of ten. For instance, the keepsake that reminds me most of my grandfather is a sales trophy that he won years ago selling Electrolux vacuum cleaners door-to-door in Boston.  He never gave me the trophy, it was in my parents’ house and it was not displayed prominently … with pretty thorough justification.  The statue is in the shape a gilded man like and Oscar with arms extended on high as if he is displaying a heavy weight champion belt, except he is holding a vacuum, one of the old-fashioned kinds that you pulled along behind you until eventually the plug pulled out of the wall.
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Certainly the trophy is saleable; I have watched enough episodes of American Pickers to know that there is a market for oddball relics of the prosperity boom of the 50’s, but  I won’t be packing it off to Dayton, Ohio or wherever Antiques Roadshow holds their next swap meet disguised as a soiree. I know I am not depriving Natalie of a year’s tuition to Notre Dame or Ohio State, by keeping the statue.  It means more to me than the $20 that Mike Wolfe or Frank Fritz would offer due to its outstanding funkiness monetized.  Nor will the statue ever probably bask in the soft glow of a recessed spotlight as the centerpiece of my mantle, but neither will it languish in a box in the attic.  Each time I spy the Electrolux Oscar as he resides like a gargoyle on a bookcase above my desk, I will think of my grandfather fishing with me on his dock in Winter Harbor on Lake Winnipesauke in New Hampshire.  In my mind I consider the statue to be a major award, more modestly displayed than the ill-fated leg lamp in A Christmas Story.
My few keepsakes and their importance to me made the bear in the basement a problem to my conscience like the buried pulmonary organ in Poe’s story The Telltale Heart.  The keepsake bear has no place of suitable prominence in my home currently with nothing promising in the near future either.  I don’t have a lot of places to display a large-sized stuffed animal that was probably very special to my wife, but about which I had no knowledge whatsoever.  He isn’t a giant grizzly by any means.  Overall he is about the size of Natalie’s American Girl doll.  The most obvious and easiest cop-out solution would have been to add the bear to Natalie’s bounteous collection of stuffed critters.  She offered to house him several times, but her room is already near bursting with curios.  Natalie could outfit an entire battalion with various pellet filled frogs, over-stuffed ursine playthings and dolls or all sorts.  All of them are named and cherished, but they are legion. This bear had been particularly loved by Pam and he didn’t seem to deserve second-teamer status, like Kobe Bryant as an eighth man.
The bear had all the signs of being special to a kid, despite the fact that Pam never told me his name or relayed anything about his origin and history.  The bear had a tag that identified him as a Knickerbocker product.  That the tag was still affixed was truly wondrous because the bear was well worn.  His pelt was looking pretty spotty; he would have been a good candidate for a fur club purveying whatever treatment the Donald or Joe Biden have procured for their cranial rugs.  On the whole, though, that wasn’t the big problem.  The bear looked to have suffered what they termed in the navy as a sucking chest wound. His back left side rib cage had been kind of blasted to shreds by shotgun  so that the best emergency treatment option would have been wrapping him in Saran-wrap or a plastic bag to continue minimal lung function until a corpsman or a priest arrives to provide a better solution.
Anyway, no sheet of cellophane was necessary for the bear, as he had been sewn back together by a seamstress of rudimentary skill that could only have been a ten year old Pam.  A dog must have gotten a hold of Pam’s treasured toy at one time or another, which is exactly the dilemma I worried about if we brought him up into the house.  The bear was safe from dog attack in his plastic container residence in the basement utility room, but he might as well have been in a stuffed animal morgue.  I do keep some keepsakes for the kids there that I don’t feel are necessary to display continuously:  Wonder Woman lunch boxes, school memorabilia, souvenirs from long ago trips and old clothes that were once favorites.  The bear, on the other hand, had been a first teamer of some sort.  Each of my children has had a special stuffed animal, but never have I seen one as worn out as this bear.  There had been a lot of love poured into this particular keepsake, by a very special person to all of us.
Pamela bear is the only keepsake that I would put in a higher class.  She is Natalie’s bear, but only by inheritance.  With Pam home under hospice care at her last Valentine’s Day, I bought her a pink bear that smelled like the chocolate that she loved but could no longer eat.  Short of items to give to a six-year-old girl at the passing of her mother two days later, I gave Natalie the pink bear that had sat in bed with her mother as she slept her last few hours away before leaving us for a better place.  Pamela bear has been Natalie’ constant bed companion ever since and it shows.  The bear in the basement had been loved on the same level.
In the weeks after Pam’s death, I sent a few things to her sisters that I thought they might have wanted. A carving of her name and a Garfield doll that all of our children had tried to steal from Pam at one time or another.  Pam was an eldest child and considered here stuff to be her stuff, so I always imagined that her sisters probably had an eye out for Garfield as well.  I imagine that the little stuffed animal sits somewhere special in Pam’s sister Annette’s house where it catches her eye occasionally and reminds Annette of her sister Pam at the age when they grew up together. For so much of their adults lives the sisters were separated by miles and commitments that didn’t exist in their little four bedroom house in Brooklyn, Maryland where they had just been close family, not far-flung siblings.
I guess that connection through time was what finally convinced me that the bear should travel back to Maryland to Pam’s other sister Stephanie.  So I packed him up last Saturday along with Natalie’s, Stephen’s and my overnight bags for the six hour pilgrimage back to Kramme Avenue near the Annapolis snack bar where I first met Pam and began our life together.  It seemed the right decision:  either store the bear, risk the bear to Natalie and her doggies or return the bear to someone who would recognize him immediately.
As expected, Stephanie provided the name for the bear and stories about how an elder aunt had tried to separate Pam from her bear and blanket as officious adults sometimes do.  Stephanie let me see her imitation of the scowling freeze stare that Pam used on any of her siblings that attempted to touch the bear, blanket, Garfield doll or any other possession of their eldest sister.  
It is a pretty universal visage that I am sure my older brother used on me once upon a time.  It interested me greatly that the bear’s name was the same one that my oldest boy called his own favorite bear that remains in its own plastic container in the utility room of my basement.  I guess I will now consider the remaining animal who Walt Disney like awaits rediscovery to be Bear Bear Junior going forward.  As for Bear Bear Sr., in my estimation, the decision to repatriate Pam’s bear to Maryland was the right one.  I think Stephanie will cherish the keepsake because she has few reminders of Pam.
This ends my discussion of the Christmas of the Keepsakes. Some would chide me for even bringing up all this materialistic stuff in a column about Christian family life, but I don’t really see it that way.  Although we are cautioned against collecting material possessions, I think that refers to more worldly items.  In the Catholic faith images, relics and sacramentals are very important not because of their earthly value but because they draw our soul towards what they are spiritually connected to.  Stephanie will not worship Mr. Bear Bear Sr, anymore than I worship my Electrolux trophy, and neither of us are likely to worship our family members that have the Pilgrim Church to assume their places in the Church Triumphant.  It is helpful for us to think of them still because we all remain parts of the Body of Christ together.  By keeping the trophy where I can see it, I maintain a stronger bond to my grandfather than I would otherwise hold.  My pictures of Jesus and Mary work likewise.
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puppyfluffpasta · 5 years
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Stranger’s Help
I was driving with my best friend Jeff and we were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, when we decided we were sick of each other and started bickering, blaming each other for everything. He’d yell at me, telling me it was my fault the gas meter was broken because I accidentally kicked it, but it was such an old car that’s break anyway, and it was so small I probably couldn’t even get in with out kicking something, and being cramped in there for a cross country trip was not the best idea, but we were on our way still and it was too late now. He’d call me “Mikey” which he knew I hated because I preferred Mike, or even Michael now that I was mature and trying to be a real adult at 25. But you didn’t hear me calling him “Jeffy” whatever, it was stupid and we both knew it. The lack of air conditioning made us both sweating grump machines and we were fighting like an old married couple, which subsided for a moment until... walla, the car stopped moving. It sputtered for a moment, and wouldn’t start again as we looked out at the completely abandoned highway (we hadn’t seen a car for hours probably because we were out in the absolute middle of nowhere.) and we both knew our only chance, as we hadn’t been even remotely close to a gas station, and our phones were both completely dead the next state over, we realized we were fucked.
We yelled a little more, until we realized in unison neither one of us were going to start trekking out alone, so we decided we better just lock up the car, leave it on the side of the road and start walking with the little bit of water we had (about a 16 oz bottle each half full) and beg some person to help us, anyone to help with anything.
After a miserable hour or so of walking through dead grass and over hills, we eventually found a little fence, and in the distant was some little wooden cottage, in a strangely forested part of that area, where we thought there was deserts and plains only for states around, but here was this strange vibrant little place of trees with some kind of house in the middle. How quaint, and how goddamn lucky. We ran over, just hoping for even a glass of water, and eventually I knocked on the door. I’d do the talking, since Jeff was awkward, and usually tried to come onto any female, which could very well be who answered the door to this feminine little cabin, and that might get the door slammed or a shotgun pulled on us in these parts.
Eventually after a minute or two of waiting hopelessly, as we just hoped there wasn’t lights left on for some reason, some curtains moved in a window and someone quickly peered out, but we couldn’t make out what they looked like. I think it was a woman.
And what a woman it was... the door creaked open confidently, I waved through the window when I could, and returned a similar wave as I saw a little woman with a coy smile behind scarlet sharp lips, sleek green eyes glowing from behind long, dark locks of hair. She couldn’t have been over 30 and she was drop dead gorgeous, wearing all black with long sleeves dressing long pale fingers with long sharp black nails. She simply smiled at us and said “Yes?”
I stumbled over myself trying to not freak out at how beautiful this stranger was, I’d ask her to marry me she was so drop dead gorgeous. But I kept it to “Our car ran out of gas some ways from here, sorry to bother you, um, can we just get some water and maybe a phone to call for a tow? Or do you happen to have any gas on hand?? Anything to help please.”
She looked I’m not sure how, maybe annoyed, maybe infuriated, maybe happy to help, but said “So there’s no one else with you?” And I replied “nope just us two. That’s all. Please we mean no harm, were begging you!” I said with a nervous smile as Jeff pleaded with me.
“Hmm, why should I help you two? What are your names. Let’s see if I like your names.”
“Well I’m mark, or mike. Mike.” I stumbled like an idiot.
“And Im Jeff!” My friend said overconfidently while stretching out his hand to shake her hand. She grabbed it, but in a way as if Jeff’s hand was dainty, just grabbing the tips like you would a young woman. It made me laugh a little to see him emasculated like that. But then this woman looked dead serious at me and said “I’m Persephone. It’s a Greek name. Now Mark. Jeff. You say you beg for my help? Let’s see you really beg.” She didn’t smile she said it firmly as if it was a command. “Get on your knees, both of you, I want to see you beg, come on.” She snapped and smiled and suddenly I think we both felt an immense need to to get on our knees and beg, but we didn’t want to look too silly and looked at each other. “Uhhh” I think we were both a little scared and a tiny bit aroused, and we decided maybe at once if we should just play along. I kinda laughed and said “um like this?” Smiling and got on my knees, Jeff following. “Please, please help us. We’re begging you.” I shook my hands in prayer to her and tried to remember her name... persa phonee? That’s not right. Then as if she could read my mind she said “You can just call me mistress. Say, please mistress, please help us”
And at once giggling me and Jeff said “please mistress. Please help us” and we smiled as we tried to not get slight boners. Then she broke her serious stride with a sharp smile
Like a knife, and said “get up now, let’s go inside. I’ll get you something to drink. Come on in,” and she turned around showing off a plump tight butt waddling ahead of us as we followed in like baby ducklings. This girl was going to be fun I think.
We stepped inside and I immediately noticed how much bigger it looked inside, stairs leading down to more rooms and halls under neath the ground level it seemed. Woah, cool. And I made out so many strange pictures and objects around, some new age type stuff like crystals and stones, little talismans, and lots of bones and strange objects. Me and Jeff taking it all in, she pointed to the couch and we both sat, excited to see what happened next. Would a threesome with Jeff be too gay? Too weird? Would one of us demand to be alone with her if she liked us? We’re we in trouble? We looked around at all the stuff in the house, rams skulls and different trinkets, old books. She was in the kitchen or other room fixing up water it seemed like, taking a moment, as Jeff turned to me and whispered pointing to some
Symbols carved into the wall “I think she might be a witch dude. Hope you don’t get turned into a frog” and I elbowed him to shut up. She was definitely into the whole witchy Aesthetic, she even had a broom in the corner like an old witch’s broom for god sake.
Then the woman returned with a tray with three glasses of water, she set the tray on the table in front of us and we tried to play it cool that we were dying of thirst and we gulped down the impossibly refreshing water about as quick as we could, almost choking on it.
Jeff broke the silence with “So I’m sorry, how do you say your name again?” Oh god, don’t be rude we just got inside, you idiot.
“It’s like purse, Eff, oh knee. But like I said you two can just call me mistress. Miss Percy is fine too for now.” She said as she stirred her drink, perhaps not just water.
“Well thank you Miss Percy.” Jeff said.
Then she assumed a more motherly tone: “You know, you should really sit more proper, cross your legs, one knee over the other.” He kinda laughed and tried it, not really comfortable as he was being asked to sit like a lady, another stab at him. Ha.
She continued: “You know you have such high cheek bones, such a thin figure. Such small proportions, you really are blessed with such a body.” Jeff was drooling at her compliments, he knew he’d stay here as long as he could. He might let me take his car, but I was jealous, we were getting help and out of here soon, were not here to make friends really. We gotta get home eventually.
“You on the other hand. Michael. You are so broad shouldered, so muscular for someone that doesn’t seem to try. Your essentially the man most men wish they were aren’t you?” She was stroking my ego for sure now, with manlier compliments than Jeff’s weird things.
“Both of your potentials shall be unlocked soon, you two will make the most excellent little pets” she said as she smiled sipping. What a creepy lady. I figure she was joking, but trying to flirt at the same time? Dammit I’d really have to share her with Jeff. This is not something I planned at all. then suddenly I noticed something, I was swelling, I was getting a little taller, I looked at my otherwise loose t shirt, and noticed it was tighter, my Muscles were bulging like they never had before, it was like I was flexing as hard as I could without even trying. I touched my body and felt so much dimension, I was getting more manly by the second, wow, what the hell was going on? Was I hallucinating? Was she inside my head? Then I thought about the fact we just drank some mystery water she gave us, some kind of potion. Uh oh.
“Mikeyyy??” I heard a shrill cracking voice come from where Jeff was sitting as I noticed hair stretching down past his ears now, his face thinned and supple, lips luscious and eyes big as the lashes seemed longer than ever, his dainty hand lifting up to his quickly swelling breasts, his shirt stretching and pants bulging as his body feminized, I saw her panic as she grabbed her crotch feeling a very foreign thing where their penis quickly seemed to retreat inside their body. She let out a shriek of fear as she looked down at her entirely female body.
The witch started again “Like I said, you two will make great pets. I own you now. You’re in my possession, and this is only the first of many spells you will be experiencing. Now Jess, and you Michael, tell me thank you for your new bodies, these are much more suiting to you. You both look absolutely stunning.”
Jess started crying as she pawed herself trying to find any semblance of masculinity or familiarity it that now tiny soft body. I said in a now deeper, richer, more manly tone: “Hey, let us go now! What are you trying to do to us? What did we just drink??” I stood up aggressively to walk out, ready to fight this demon woman with my new found stature, and I pulled up the now completely emasculated young lady beside me as if I was rescuing her.
She started laughing maniacally as she pointed to the door, which had vanished from sight and was now one of the only blank walls in the house. I shuttered as I realized what a mistake we had made by coming here. There was no escape.
“Look whatever you want, just change us back and let us go!” Jess said as she stomped in all her incredibly feminine glory. I had never realized how girly Jeff was until right now. He really did make a very convincing girl already, and it had been maybe one minute.
“Shh!!” Percy hissed as our lips slammed closed painfully, our tongues swelling until our mouths were completely full and useless, making no noise.
“You two are my playthings. My dolls. My slaves. Whatever I feel like. Do you realize you are lucky you are even both human still? I promise you won’t stay that way for long, I’m going to have to do a lot of breaking on you two, I can tell. And dont worry we have all the time in the world. This is going to be a truly magical experience. Now. Go ahead and nod if you are going to shut your mouths, do exactly as I say, and with a smile, you understand?” I nodded in tears starting to form in my eyes in pure terror. But then, my tongue stopped, shrunk down into my mouth to normal size and we stood there in shock.
“Now get on your hands and knees.” She snapped and we didn’t even have to try, we were instantly brought into our hands and knees doggy style. Then just like dogs, she pulled out two collars to place on us. One a red one with a gold buckle, and a pink sparkly one with a silver buckle. We both frowned hard and sobbed a little as she placed the pink one on Jess, and the red one on me as we felt glued to the floor in that position. Then she handed me a knife.
“Don’t get any funny ideas okay. I can turn you into a toilet and you can spend the next hundred years swallowing mine and, pretty little Jessie here’s waste?” I believed her and shivered as I held the knife like an alien toy not sure what to do with it.
“Cut her clothes off. Get her naked.” The witch bellowed at me. I looked over into my friends big blue, innocent looking eyes as she looked at me in fear and disbelief. Tears filled her eyes but her soft little hands touched my now larger, gorilla like hands and she said “It’s okay. Just do it. Let’s see what I look like now. I trust you.” I really had to hide the fact through all this horrifying mess of a situation that I was really turned on by what looked like my friends blonde twin sister telling me she trusted me enough to get her naked, and my dick flexed a little bit in excitement. If I got a boner our friendship was going to get way to weird, and while it was normal for her even though she’s actually a guy that’s my friend Jeff, was more normal than the hunkified gayness of your male friend declothing you. But I took the knife, and cut her/his shirt off. Two good sized tits bounced out from their prison and I saw my friends birthmark reminding me behind these gorgeous boobs that this was my friend still. I gazed into those pointy pink nipples for probably too long and then snapped out of it, cutting down the pants and pulling them with ease, I was so strong now. Then those gorgeous smooth legs that now jutted from Jeff’s tidy whiteys she pulled her underwear down so I wouldn’t have to and pulled her feet out of her shoes to take all the clothes off, until a hot blonde naked girl was in front of me in only a collar and socks. My dick was at least half erect now. She looked down at her body in disbelief, down at the pink lips that were now her vagina. She touched herself fearfully and said “wow... I’m hot.”
The mistress giggled and commanded to me, now, hand her the knife. I complied and Jess with caution took the knife from me as we looked into each other’s eyes, barely recgonizing each other, but we knew somewhere in their was our annoying travel buddy. Then she cut my shirt off, cutting me a little bit because she was too eager. “Ow!!” I yelled as a tiny cut was formed on my now well defined abs. We were both taken aback by my incredibly toned body, i looked like a goddamn male model. I saw her tiny hand touch my abs slowly and i did the same in amazement. Maybe my change wasn’t so bad. I just felt sorry for Jeff. But then i realized she was really getting into feeling my abs and seemed more, hungry than amazed. What was going on? She pulled her hand away as she noticed, and then turned her head away in disgust. “UGH no... dude... i can’t do it” this incredibly girly little voice tried to speak like her former self would.
“Oh you’re pretending you don’t want to see more?” The mistress mocked Jess’s confusion. “Your new little body is pulsating with hormones, and I could sense your two’s horniness the second you walked up. I know you want to see how big the potion has made your friends cock. I’m making you do it. Don’t worry, it’s not because you want to, it’s because I’m forcing you!” She knew something stranger than we wanted to admit was happening to us. I was so horny, and couldn’t tell erect I was as that nervous little hand cut away as I sat in awe, my underwear and pants cut before I could say be careful, and an elongated, more chipper form
Of my member plopped out, fairly erect, a big boner that was maybe 10 inches long, very wide and very tense and veiny. It was literally pulsing it was so hard. Jess’s tiny little face made a gasping “O” and looked at me. It was the biggest dick I’d ever seen in person, my god. It wasn’t as sexual as it was astounding. All right. I was definitely well endowed now. Jess stares at it like it contained the meaning of life, I stared at her staring at it and wretched at the guilty thought of those sweet bulbous lips wrapped around the head of my cock, God please suck it it needs it, I’ve never been so horny in my life. But god, what was it like for her? Him I mean?
“I think you’re drooling a bit hun, I bet you’ve wanted to fuck your friend for a long time, now you just have the, equipment, ha.” She laughed at us in our awkward states as I noticed something below Jess dripping just a tiny bit. She was so wet she was dripping. This witch was trying to make a porno out of us. But it would be gay. And we were straight. This was too weird, we denied our alien bodies and flared at the mistress, we refused. We wouldn’t do anymore for her, she could kill us, we wouldn’t be her sex slaves.
“So why don’t you put it in her mouth. You know you want to.” She teased as Jess yelled “No! Get it away! I don’t want it near me! You’re trying to rape me! I’m not even really a girl!! You’re gay!” This shrill female voice told me. “No no I’m not!! Jess I mean, Jeff listen! Let’s get out of here! We can take her! Let’s fight her!” I said desperately. Then as we heard another snap, we were forced by an invisible force down on our hands and knees.
“Now, if you two are not going to behave, I better put you in your cage.” She walked over, heels clicking against the ground, and tapped with her fiendish nails a black metal cage, big enough for both of us. A cage? Like dogs? We couldn’t even stand up straight in that thing?
“In now. NOW!” She yelled as we sat there In resistance. She walked over and twisted Jess’s nipples hard as I was trapped in place and she screamed out in pain, but oddly it sounded tied with pleasure. Maybe i was just still horny dammit.
She whimpered and scurried into the cage like a dog as i stood, she could twist my nipples all she wanted, I wasn’t going to budge. Then she stomped behind me and I felt claws grip into my balls like they were going to tear them right off. I got the message and scurried in as well.
“Take your shoes and socks off, no clothes except a collar.” She ripped my socks off as well as Jess’s. Great. It would be cold in this metal cage and we didn’t even have socks to keep our feet warm. She smacked my ass with something hard on the way in, and the door locked behind me as I bumped into Jess’s nude body, she tried to back away so it wouldn’t be any weirder than it was.
“Listen you two are going to spend the night in here. I know you can’t resist coming inside her little Mikey, you’re gonna fuck her any second I can tell. Just know when you finally do get your semen inside her, I’ll reward both of you. I want her to swallow that cock like she wants to deep down so your real transformations can begin. And don’t act like you’re not willing. When come is in her mouth and in her vagina, don’t worry you can’t get pregnant, not yet at least, but you will be a little slut like your heart desires. Both of you will be. You’re my little toys now. I’ll let you out when there’s cum inside of your holes, got it? Goodnight!” She smacked the cage assertively and waltzed out leaving us trapped together in this tiny cage, barely able to stay at opposite sides to keep from cramping each other.
We stared at opposite sides of the room in anguish as we tried to wriggle the lock free. God dammit. In a cage. Worse than jail. Some crazy bitch keeping us captive. Great.
“This sucks... what the fuck man...” I heard Jess say as she played with her sore tits, still amazed at her new body. “I know... this is too fucking weird... how do we get out of here?” I still had a raging boner, but I tried to pretend it wasn’t there. Jess kept staring at it. “Can you put that thing away!” I blushed, “well sorry! Okay! You’re a naked girl and i can’t control this big old thing.” She crossed her arms and said “well... can’t you just like... jerk off real
Quick.” What?? Was she serious? “Ew! Like right in front of you? That’s too weird.” She looked upset by this “well, i mean, it’s pretty weird that it’s just like, standing at attention menacingly.” I responded “well hey just you don’t have one anymore.... don’t be jealous of this thing” i said with a little bit of pride grabbing it at the base, but i felt like just touching it I was about to cum all over the place.
“Well for one thing, you are not cumming inside me like that crazy bitch said...” I was appalled. “I didn’t say I was going to!! What the hell? I’m staying in my corner.” I turned around. “Oh now you’re gonna show off your muscular butt, cool thanks” she said angrily as I layed opposite trying to keep my dick from grinding into the ground or steel bars, maybe ready to explode. Then she poked my butt. “Get that thing out of here!” She said as she poked it two or three more times, seemingly touching it just to touch it. I tried to recall my friend again from this crazy girl now taking his place. “Dude stop touching my ass you’re gay.” Then she giggled, touching me again, “you’re gay!” But she sounded playful and excited. Uh oh. What was happening? “Ugh why couldn’t you get turned into a girl. She wants you to fuck me. Can you imagine? Weird. Too weird. God how does this thing even fit those things you know what i mean.” She spread her legs touching her pussy, it was still so wet. She wasnt fooling me, she was as horny as i was. She pulled the lips and showed the right little opening, pulled the hood up showing a swollen little clit. “That’s where my dick went. Look. Haha.” She poked it playfully like a toy, and rubbed it a tiny bit, pulling her hand away in fear after letting an out of character moan like she just felt the most immense pleasure for a second. “Woah.. haha sorry.” I just laughed. What was it like to have a clit? I had an idea. “Okay look, this is fucked up. But obviously we’re stuck here, we can sit here horny and fucked all night or we can just play with our new junk facing opposite ways, and get it over with right?” Jess didn’t know what to do. “Umm okay, if it sounds good to you. Well I just am gonna kinda lay on my back and... ohh mmm.” She started already. She found the clitoris and was not leaving it alone. I saw her hand spidering about with her new package and she wasn’t too shy, as a finger slid inside herself, my dick pulsating in jealousy as I watched her play with herself. “What you’re just gonna watch me? Start touching that anaconda, don’t make this weirder than it has to be.” He/she was right. I should just get it over with. I really needed to jerk off anyway, so I started pulling my hand around the base, and started grooving up and down slowly, and god did I need to do that. I was so hard I just kept going, watching her fingers touch herself when my eyes were open, I figured hers must be closed, but when I looked over, her eyes were staring down at my dick. She really liked watching me. I kept doing it and tried to look muscular doing it, look cooler and more macho. As I got closer and closer i all of a sudden noticed a hand lightly touching my side. Jess was now entirely attentive towards me jerking off, not even really touching herself, as if she gave up trying to get off on her own. “Ooh you’re good at that.” This sultry, sensual womanly voice escaped this girl, it was as if my friend had completely corroded and this porn Star was now here with me. I didn’t fight it. It just felt so good to finally masturbate. “Hey. I got a crazy idea. What if I helped you a little.. like if we just put together....” i rolled over and she was practically already crawling into my dick, her pussy inches away from the head when I stopped stroking. Then i didn’t resist as I watched her little hand grab the base of my dick and move it towards her little pussy.
“Oh god here goes... this thing is huge and...” She plopped it into her and i just about came from how good it felt. This was the nicest wettest, softest, tightest pussy i had ever felt in my life. And just the head was in. “OH GODDDD MMMMmmm” i heard let out uncontrollably as she glides her pussy over my cock, it flexed as it eased into her impossibly tight little orifice. We were officially fucking. I grabbed her boobs and squeezed and she moaned harder and I filled her more, thrusting and thrusting. She seemed like I was going to rip her in half , screaming and moaning I couldnt tell if I was hurting her or pleasing her as she moaned and moaned but I just kept fucking for dear life as she humped into me more and more as I did into her, and I felt her hands claw my ass as she clenched into it and pulled me further and further into her, until I felt the big climax coming. I was going to shoot the fattest load of my entire life, and I just said like a dumbfound baby “uh ah, I’m gonna come I’m gonna come.” And she screamed “COME IN MY FACE!!” I pulled out, ferociously jacking off and her open mouth and closed eyes begged for it as she convulsed from the hard fucking, and what looked like a whole cup full of semen erupted into her face into her mouth as she licked it up taking a finger full and slurping it into her mouth. I watched in awe and total brain dead euphoria. She looked so beautiful covered in my spunk. She took a finger full of come and shoved it back into her pussy. Letting out a sensuous “mmm....” “She said I can’t get pregnant right? Haha” and she laid her sweaty head onto me, the soft hair feeling nice, but I felt so raw from
Having just fucked my friend so hard. And the reality set in, i just fucked Jeff. And Jeff loved it. And was now cuddling with me and touching my naked body. I had to shove her away.
Jess said slightly offended: “What what? What’s wrong baby...” I had to push her away. This was fucking too weird now. “Jeff... remember it’s me mike?” “Ugh.... you’re always so boring... killing the moment... you just fucked the shit out of me... I’ve never felt anything like that in my life god that was good. I know it’s you Mikey. I don’t even care whats happening, that felt amazing. I thought the cum would be weird but like... I didn’t care in that moment... it tasted sooo good. Like it tasted salty and weird but like, it was so hot. I just lost myself. I haven’t felt like that... ever... that was amazing. Thank you.” She stroked my torso again and I almost slapped her hand away.
Jess just layed back and looked up into space. She realized what had happened. “Oh god. Did I want to fuck you? I really didn’t but. You got so hot... god I don’t even like guys... but oh my god I loved that dick... Mikey’s dick... what the fuck. Dammit. Just like the mistress said. That bitch knew we would fuck. We’re really under her control. I put your jizz in my mouth. I’m so fucking gay. That’s not normal. It’s this stupid body I have tittles for an hour and I already act like a dumb slut. God I’ve never felt so emotional!! Being a girl sucks!” I kinda sat for a moment. “Well you seem to have enjoyed it earlier.” Jess growled a bit. “You don’t get it. You don’t have a pussy. You don’t understand what a cock feels like in your pussy, it’s otherworldly, it’s meant to be. Like fucking a girl with your dick is cool but this is like... I don’t know this is all I have right now anyways but that was... wow... I just... you really don’t feel like cuddling like, at all? That’s all I want to do lemme lay on you asshole!” She scooted closer to me and I tried not the cage to sink to the furthest corner away... “look... your clingy. You’ve dated clingy girls. You’re being one of them. Chill out. I don’t wanna cuddle you.”
“Oh but fucking me is fine? Goddamit! I feel so used! You just wanted to fuck me
The second I looked like this! You didn’t even fight that witch! No wonder girls hate men so much you’re all assholes! I’ve had a pussy not even a whole day and I already hate all men! Fuck you!” Wow. Jess was really a woman inside and out now I think. This was bizarre. But maybe I was being a dick. We’d already passed the point of no return. But I wanted to get out of here, not consider each other’s feelings. We’re trapped by a psychotic witch and she’s wanting to cuddle. Crazy bitches.
Eventually I fell asleep, and of course I woke up in the middle of the night to this little blonde girl all over me, head on my chest snoring away. Dammit. I just ignored it and went back to sleep. Then I heard something. We both jumped awake, almost hitting our heads on the roof. A loud drumming on the roof of the cage rattled around.
“Rise and shine slaves!! I heard your little night you too had. I knew Jess was a little slut, say ‘yes i am mistress percy’” jess just said “fuck you”
“OH! THIS kind of behavior will not be tolerated, let me tell you something, you don’t want me to fuck you. When I fuck someone, they really get fucked. Do you really beg me to fuck you? You little slut.” So then i had the bright idea to join my new fuck buddy.
“I agree, fuck you and go fuck yourself then” I said to this witch as she glared and squatted down to show us her rageful eyes. I then got very scared.
“I think you two are going to have a better use for those dirty mouths, they can get a lesson in cleaning. First off, you little sluts are going to lose your most precious parts.”
My dick shrunk away, I grabbed at it and it completely sealed up and shriveled up, not into a vagina, just smooth like a ken doll. Then I looked at Jess and her pussy sealed up like a Barbie doll. Oh god. We were in over our heads.
“Now first off, get out here...” she opened the cage and we crawled out submissively, dying to get our precious new organs back ASAP. We both secretly were terrified of not fucking again. As nauseating as this all was that sex was life changing.
“And stick those tongues out, clean the bottom of my boot, first you Mike on the left, then little Jess on the right. Go ahead.” We both resisted but looked in each other’s eyes for some solidarity and sort of stuck our tongues out a barely touched the bottom of her boot. It was gross but really just tasted like leather.
“Keep licking.” And we started moving out tongues more and more, but still not much. Then a hard whip snapped across the both of us and we whimpered, licking more gallantly and fearfully. “Every inch of my boots or I’ll shove that broom over there up both your asses, and you can decide with one of you gets the bristled half.” We licked and licked and tasted some dirt and strange flavors on these filthy shoes, it was so gross and I didn’t feel like we were actually cleaning anything, and my gut burned in humiliation.
“Now, untie my boots.” We followed her directions and untied them
“Pull them off.” We pulled off her high heeled boots and uncovered a womanly, stale smell of feet as she wasn’t wearing any socks, but black shiny toenails shined on white soft looking feet, she raised the sole up to our faces and a black crescent of dirt was caked on the bottom of her foot, it smelled bad and looked really sweaty. Neither of us could stomach licking that thing. “LICK. MY. FEET, or else!” She yelled at us as we shivered, too disgusted to follow the orders. Then she snapped. We were frozen, I couldn’t move a single inch of my body. In a strange way, I had been shaking and tense this whole time, and being paralyzed sort of made me feel strangely calm in a way I hadn’t in a very long time, maybe ever. But the searing terror of the situation made it different.
Jess with her loud mouth yelled out again, “fucking gross! Fuck you get us outta here!”
The witch laughed. She looked at me. “You can thank your friend for your fate now, open wide.” My mouth ripped open, so wide I felt the corners of my mouth ripping away, it hurt and I felt my body crumbling, depleting and flattening. What the hell??
I looked over the best I could and saw Jess’s body melting away as her mouth grew freakishly large, and the sweaty foot pointed its toes at her face, rubbed its grossness all over nose and slid into her gaping mouth, until she pushed down, and her mouth was gagged with her foot, becoming a neat little black sock with the faint screaming face of Jess choking down her foot. Oh my god!
“Now for you.” The wet foot brushed my face, the smell staying everywhere it touched on my face as it rubbed whatever grossness it was roasting up inside those boots and wherever she walked all over my face, and the taste was ungodly as she slid her foot deep into my mouth, stretching me out as I tasted the top of her foot, the filthy bottom, the heels, the wrinkles full of dirt, the whole foot filled my entire everything and all I could do was suck on this disgusting thing as it filled me. Then she took a step, and the weight of a thousand tons came down, distorting and deforming me as it wiggles its vile toes on my tongue. The dirt crescent definitely had a bitter taste, but the salty footyness and odor like rotten fruit made every inch equally disgusting. I wonder how bad Jess was feeling for getting us changed into socks, then as the world plunged into darkness, as we were returned into the humid, hot sweaty boot, the smell became more complex and pungent, and I believe we both started crying as we sucked on every step of this witch. We could hear projected from our owner above. “Why!! You two make such excellent socks! I’m going to have to show you off you my witch friends around here! Now, you might think this area is quite barren, but underground you see, we have a whole community and I’d love to show you just how cruel some of my friends can be. Maybe I need to change you into some nice shoes and lend you to some friends! Or maybe you two would make a better couple buttplugs? Oh that would smell worse than being under my sweet little feet wouldn’t it?” She ground her toes down into me, squelching as sweat squeezed from the sole and between the toes into me to be absorbed. Fucking disgusting! Oh god!
“But listen here slaves, our journey is simply just beginning.” My consciousness became a blur as the violent steps and foot stench became a disorienting mass of sensations, I was violated and contorted as I sucked on a wet foot.
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gunmetalgaze · 4 years
Text
#SL #NoGoodAnswers
Written by @GunmetalGaze and @OffKeyDeviant
Mentions @ToTheGrahve
*****
Xhex: [Tonight is my last hope of finding any lead on the missing male. I hate approaching the Brotherhood under the best of circumstances, and these are far from the circumstances I would choose. Who's missing? A male. Any name? Nope. Friends? Yes, but I can't  find him either. How do you know he's missing? Lash took him. Yeah. Great. I need something more. Anything. All I have is a timeline backed by some closed circuit security stills. None of my staff have heard anything, but they can't identify the best people to ask. Letting my senses thread out, I skim minds for anyone who any glimpse of either male. Spotting a pair of civilians I haven't spoken with yet, I ease my way through the crowd. Settling in beside them, I check the sightlines around me before giving a smile just large enough to expose my fangs. It may be widely known that this club is run by vampires, but there are a lot of humans on staff too. Pulling out the pictures of the male and his friend, I roll my shoulders, the sense of being watched most likely a symptom of my paranoia, and the alcohol still running through my system. Same old, same old. "Never seen either one, are they dangerous?" And my refrain, "of course not, I need to ask them a few questions." Leaning back against the bar, I watch the two scurry off with their drinks. Rolling my shoulders again, the single bottle of Spirytus behind the bar catches my eye. I'm probably killing myself, using that poison to sleep, but knowing Lash was so close has me on edge. And it may be one I throw myself off of.]
Adrian: [Heading back that pre-dawn morning without the trainee to that mansion, filled with males larger than any human bodybuilder hadn't been appealing in the least. Grahve was a grown boy by anyone's standards (boy I say, because 'm old enough to be his great grand-something x1000) and if he had chosen to drown his broken heart between a pair of legs at the end of the night who was I to demand any different of him. Only, I felt I should have. 
When Grahve didn't show up the next evening, hungover and ready to get his lead hot on the target range, I figured he wasn't ready to do the walk of shame because it became clear when two more spectacularly built males charged through the "I'll fucking kill anything that so much as looks in my direction". Qhuinn and the hothead kid, Crhistopher. Enough rumors, true ones at that, floated around that all three of them had been intimately involved. And the static that preceded either male was enough to power Caldwell for an entire winter with energy to spare.
Which explains why, without mincing words Grahve bolted that night. I'd learned a little about -not- getting between a bonded male and his mate. The King and Queen were the prime example. Blind or not, his highness could circumcise an atom with his fangs if it bounced amorously close to his female. Talk about pucker factor. 
Keeping my distance was only a tiny reason that found me back at the club. Balls in one piece, check. Asshole the usual diameter, check. Much as I like a good rim job on occasion, one from the King isn't on my bucket list. K, thanks. Folding my wings and letting them fade back to where they came from, I'd purposefully set down in the shadows a block away and remained invisible as I had every day and night when I arrived. I watched all the incoming and outgoing people, humans and vampires. I listened to their conversations. 
Between the two and my constant vigil, I still learned nothing new. Except that a particular woman, not too tall, lean muscled and with the demeanor of an electrocuted, pissed off wet cat, was the constant body in the place. Even the bouncers were rotated through, not the same faces every night but regular enough to look familiar. They treated the woman with the utmost respect and she did the same back. Working girl had been quickly ruled out, which left few choices that were further narrowed down when I caught sight of her frog-marching a drunk out the door. 
Head of security, perhaps? Only one way to find out, I thought as I slipped past the line and into the club. The darker hallway near the back rooms would give me the cover I needed to drop the invisible cloak without raising all kinds of "WTF's!" Conveniently slipping into the men's room when a half drunk man staggered out, his pants halfway to his ankles.. hmm, half moon out tonight.. and waited a moment before showing myself in the reflection of the mirror. 
Satisfied I'd been alone, I pushed back out the door and made my way to the bar, assuming the role of patron while keeping an eye out for a particular female.]
Xhex: [The lure of the bottle still isn't strong enough to pull me from my jobligation. No matter how much I don't want to deal with the drunk tripping on his trousers outside the private washrooms. Rolling my eyes, and my shoulders, I push off from the bar like a swimmer pushing off from the wall. I don't care about the humans scattering out of my way any more than the swimmer minds the water. I am fresh out of good manners tonight.  Too fucking bad my guys are on point, and have the drunk redressed and on his way to the door before I can drag him out. Spinning on my heel, I run right smack into the back of a large male, and every sense in me lights up, because my nerves are jangling. Threading a push at the mind attached to the offending expanse, I pull up short as what is in front of me registers. Not Lassiter, but just as bad.] Jesus fucking Christ! Is Caldwell holding a convention for you guys?
Adrian: [Waving off the barkeep after shotgunning a few rounds and idly turning to lean back around to face the writhing wave of over n' under sexed bodies, frustration was beginning to consume me on an epic level. Giving up on the trainee wasn't an option, and as much as I'd have liked to peruse a few more other 'heavenly bodies' to drown off my own deeper issues, finding the kid was taking point. I'd give in to temptation later, after we saved the world. Not all angels were… angels. 
The bump and grind matched tempo with some techno beat screaming through the speakers I didn't really hear. Raking a hand through my hair and dishing a less than heartfelt grin at a few ladies that managed to draw my attention for more than a cursory glance. Youd'a thought finding the female head of security would stand out a little more, I mumbled to myself, eyes scanning the crowd in methodically.
As if on cue, my skin prickled and I felt myself shoved forward. This was no bump into by a tipsy patron, and I didn't need to see to confirm; I -felt- it.  Wiping the unease off my face and slapping on a small grin, I turned, prepared for whatever was to go down.. ]
"Didn't expect you to have a sunny disposition and roll out the welcome wagon," I countered, the female's aura like nothing I'd encountered before. Par for the course, like I hadn't expected to be thrown into a den of vampire warriors after being forced to play a game of life and death at His whim. So it wasn't all that surprising that she neither felt human or vampire. And thank fuck she didn't have that telltale feel of demon. I shuddered internally at the intense relief there was only one demonic bitch to worry about.
"N' by the way, m' name's not Jesus, but many have mistaken me for him at certain times, but that's a story for another time" I quipped, still feeling out her aura. I'd ask Lassiter later, for now I needed whatever information I could get from her on Grahve's last known minutes here. My tone now serious.
"M' looking for info on a friend of mine. In private would be best." Wouldn't do any good to dish out all the details in the middle of the bar floor where it was possible one of those Lessers-whatever could be skulking about and overhear.]
Xhex: [Glaring at the angel, I consider telling him that Lassiter wore that joke out already, but it's probably a waste of my breath. Locking eyes with the male, I pull my watch up, and snap into it.] I'm off the floor. Nobody comes near my office for anything less than a dead body, clear? And call off inquiries about the two men. [My earpiece is filled with a staccato of acknowledgements. Addressing the dark haired male again, my hands twitch with the impulse to drag him to my office. Clearly, he has no clue the hell he abandoned his friend to, but I still want to wipe the grin from his face.] Follow me. [I growl, not even remotely civil, but the roiling in the pit of my stomach has only intensified. One step closer to finding the missing male is also one step closer to Lash. Whose picture is face down on the desk in my office, where I might finally get some answers. The most direct path to privacy happens to be through pretty much everyone, and I thread my way with all the subtlety of a cannonball, not once looking to see if the angel is following. If he doesn't, I'll have an excuse to go back and drag his feathery ass up the stairs. Not that I've ever seen Lassiter's feathers, but the stereotypical image has to come from somewhere. Leaving the door open, I settle into the chair behind my desk, schooling my features and letting my senses stretch out as much as they can with my cilices on. As soon as the male crosses the threshold, I start in, even as I gesture to close the door.] I'm Xhex. I run security here, and I have had every employee looking for anyone who can identify you or your friend for a week. Start. Talking.
Adrian:  HE must have had the humor of a rag doused in gasoline when he created the head of security, because she gave off the feeling the slightest bit of friction would light her fire in the worst way. 
Giving the lady (which I used the term figuratively because I was applying it based on assumption-yes, hypothetical gender fluidity and all that) a nod, I followed in the wake of parting bodies, as if the ebb and flow were used to the interruption. Nor did I hesitate at the 'open door and close it behind ya' ass' policy. Which I booted shut with a solid click behind me. This convo was attended by invitation only. 
The sparsely decorated box I'd just locked myself in had all the personality of a jockstrap and thankfully it didn't smell like one. A simple desk and chair, occupied by the lovely snap dragon I'd followed in, and a tall file cabinet were the only pieces of furniture herein. No windows, which explained why no cute little desk plant, and only one door. Also windowless. 
Cozy. Not. 
A moment more and I settled back against the door, both for feeling of something solid behind me and knowing it was my only exit.
"Not m' fault your boys at the door don't check IDs," I mused aloud before getting serious, noting the photo quality paper face down on the desk.
"N' my friend has been MIA for said week. Last I saw him, he was drowning himself at the bar, n' 20 minutes later he vanished." No need to describe any details on what I'd been doing in that 20 minutes, fairly sure there'd been no lack of cameras in the dark yet fully public hallway. 
Throwing out my angel senses and listening to them closely, I figured out what I'd already guessed, that this creature in front of me wasn't human. Her aura screamed she wasn't full vampire either and that I needed to tread carefully.
"No calls, no messages, no paper trail on him. I came back here t' see if you had any surveillance footage I could look at," I spoke with dead calm, because something told me whatever was on that photo held the answer I was looking for.
Xhex: Interesting for you to say no paper trail. Nobody knows who you are. Nobody knows who your friend is. So, I have no names, no next of kin, and no connections whatsoever to run with, when a male gets knifed and abducted outside the back door of this club. [Leaning back in my chair, I kick up my feet, and hook one boot heel under the lip of the desk. Rocking slightly, I catalogue what little I know of the whole clusterfuck I find myself in the middle of, watching the angels's face for any twitch or tell.] There is surveillance, so I know that a week ago, you left your boy for some action. That's when his life went to hell. The male that picked him up is painfully well known among vampires, but not his whereabouts. For your friend's sake, I hope he's dead. Lash loves to break his toys. [Kicking up my chin, I use my boot heel to push the photo across the desk, and the motion to cover as I swallow repeatedly. My own stint as Lash's captive plaything threatening to overwhelm me, it takes an effort to bring myself back to the here and now.] So tell me, angel, do I need to contact someone about Fade ceremony arrangements, or is your friend a fighter? 
Adrian: [As each word came pouring from the head of security's mouth, all I felt was nauseated. Knowing that I'd all but delivered Grahve to be this Lash's midnight snack was enough to spiral me into a week long visit to the demon bitch after his body was recovered. If it was recovered.
Reaching for the graciously offered print, I fought to keep my expression neutral, noticing the way the female seemed to be struggling to keep something  from fighting it's way to the surface. Something to do with whomever was on the other side of that photo, perhaps? Must have been a doozy given the way everyone reacted around the hardass outer shell she wore like those painted on leathers she was sporting.]
"You'll have t' forgive the lack of formalities, m' name's Adrian, and my friend is one of the Brotherhood's trainees. Grahve. So we're not exactly the kind t' have next of … wait, you said knifed?"
[Sliding the paper to the edge of the desk and flipping it over, all that sourness in my gut threatened to redecorate the tiny, suddenly claustrophobic space with leftovers to spare. Grahve, taken out back and slaughtered like an animal.. all because I'd stepped away to get a piece.
Shoving the bile back down, the blondish kid in the photo had the comical look of a maniacal, psychotic killer. He looked more like he should be the poster child for an episode of The Addams Family.
Staring hard at the image, each breath punched holes in my chest at the thought of what the trainee had gone through based on the female's report. How much more he could be suffering; the mental hurt with whatever drove him out of the house in the middle of a lockdown had to have been hard enough to endure. Being stabbed? On the nightly, but it was usually during a fight that was begging to happen and then with a laugh and wave the trainee would hobble himself to one of the docs for a quick stitch and be back out before a hot cup of coffee could go cold.
Being already compromised emotionally and liquefy his comprehension and balance and this.. fuck comes along?
God. Damn. It.]
"He's a fighter!" [The paper in my hand crumbled to the size of a golf ball, fingers curled and gathered it in a barely controlled shaking fury, the sound unheard as the muffled ringtone assigned to Vishous screeched in my pocket. Digging the device out and hitting answer, eyes not leaving the female camped back in her chair.]
"Little busy..." [Vishous' voice was sharp and to the point, his words another dig at trying to evacuate my last meal. Eyes narrowed as I turned to the door, ending the call.] "I'm on it." 
"The trainee is holed up in a hotel, could be a trap with this Lash holding him there," I mumbled, glancing at the female while waiting an eternity for the text for the hotel.]
Xhex: [Shit. One of the Brotherhood trainees? Could I be any more fucked? At least my end will be quick, if Wrath demands my life for losing one of his trainees. Then again, this may be my chance to take Lash out of the equation, even if I go too. Opening my mouth to respond, I snap it shut as the angel, Adrian, pulls out his phone. As the angel speaks, my course is set. Kicking back from my desk, I snag my jacket that contains a pitiful selection of weaponry, and lament the lack of time to remove my cilices. But the only path to Lash, without getting shut out of Brotherhood business, is getting ready to march put my door.] I'm coming with you. If it's not a trap, Lash has been compromised somehow. [Darting in front of the angel, I look straight up, keeping my voice level.] Your friend? He's not going to be the same. He may have only been held a week, but he may very well wish he'd died. [God knows most nights, I wish that I had.] So are you sharing that address, or making me follow?
Adrian: [Eternity had never drug its feet so slowly before. Brother Tattoo Face was going to get an earful when all this was said and done, makin' my ass wait. While in the split moment it took to end the call and bring up the message board, the female moved faster than a cat after a mouse to stand between me and the door. Call me sexist for this but if it had been a male jumping between me n' the door, it'd have been the wrong move 'cause I'd have plowed over his ass like I was aiming to create roadkill.
She made sense and that stalled me for a fraction to consider. Either way, I was bringing the trainee home.]
"Keep up, n' don't get caught." [That was all I had time to say as the alert I'd waited a mini-millenia for cracked the silence.]
"Got it, bad side of town… an' m' familiar that hotel." [I tipped the screen so Xhex could read the address. It was the same hotel Jim burst into and triggered one of Devina's 'silent alarms'. No longer waiting or into playing nice, I pocketed the phone and reached around Xhex to open the door. Marching out I spoke low to avoid anyone else getting any funny ideas of following us.]
"I go in first, trust me when I say no one will see me unless I want 'em to."
Xhex: [The crack about not getting caught knocks the wind out of me. Fuck that right out the window. If I get caught again, I will take my own life. It's not like I believe all that bullshit about the Fade anyway. Scanning the screen that gets tilted my way, I nod once, knowing the area well. Like I know most of this city. This angel might not know me, but if he's in the Brotherhood's sphere, he should have a clue or two about my kind.] Pretty sure he can pick up on me, even when I use my symphath tricks. If your ability keeps you off his radar, more power to you. All I want is a shot. I owe that fucker. [Pulling my wrist up, I brief my boys that I'm out for the night. A chorus of affirmatives comes back at me, and not one single question. I regret that I'm stuck with my cilices hampering my bad side, but this angel is not slowing down for hell or high water. So neither am I.]
#NoGoodAnswers #BondedBrothers 
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topfygad · 4 years
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Fiji’s Treasure Island | Nat Geo Traveller India
Volcanic jungles, underground cooking and sunrises that torch the ocean—Taveuni is residence to tips of time.
  In Fiji, coconut is the tree of life and all components of the tree and fruit—shell, leaves, meat, milk, husk, water, and oil—are honoured in every day use. Picture by: Don Mammoser/shutterstock
Chapter 1
Damaged Clocks and Different Magic Issues
When it occurs, I’m using shotgun with the lengthy blue kaftan of the Pacific rippling within the rear-view. To my left, I’ve the hills of Taveuni island, a knocked-over chessboard of taro timber, plantains, and hot-pink hibiscus the scale of beagle ears. I’m tracing the Lavena Coastal Stroll—a five-kilometre path that winds previous seashores and villages, all the best way as much as the island’s rainforests. It’s reflexive, the stray tear down the cheek. Embarrassing too, as a result of Duncan Osborne, my drive-around mate for the day, catches me flick it away. “I’m not unhappy. Simply very, very blissful,” I mumble. “I get it. You’re feeling fortunate to see magnificence,” he nods. I do know it’s a matter of seconds earlier than his mouth curls into the fluorescent Fijian smile one can anticipate anyplace within the archipelago of 330 islands.
It’s been half a day since I’ve set foot on this South Pacific speck. 16.8414° S, 179.9813° W, because the map tells me. The truth that the volcanic ‘backyard’ island is documented in coordinates is necessary. It tells me that the sights and sounds that introduced out weepy existential woman aren’t a part of an enchanted sleep. I am transferring round a landmass that appears like an infinite tree tunnel. These fields of pineapple, combed school-ready by the ocean breeze, are actual. The crimson ginger blossoms, and the prayer circle of periwinkles by the lagoon too, exist. “They filmed Return of the Blue Lagoon right here,” remarks Duncan. I’m not shocked. A lot of Taveuni wears the look of a trickster that’s managed to short-change time. Look within the path of pawpaw and wild mango timber gnawing out of hills, and you understand how.
Time, for its half, has pulled a quantity on the island. As we roll previous backpackers’ shacks scattered with divers, Duncan mentions that the 180° meridian and the Worldwide Dateline reduce by means of Taveuni smack dab. Which suggests technically, Taveuni is suspended between at present (west) and yesterday (east). The islanders comply with uniform time, however you may make your method to a hilly ledge in Waiyevo—Taveuni’s administrative centre—and stand between two no-frills plaques marking this uncommon limbo on land.
The author clambered over mossy boulders, tailing information Paul (backside left) to succeed in the Wainibau falls; Sunrises (proper) listed below are like dwell theatre, lashes of pink hammering the sky; A plaque (high left) marks the Worldwide Dateline splitting Taveuni between at present and yesterday. Images by: Sohini Das Gupta (man), Don Mammoser/shutterstock (signal), Picture courtesy: Taveuni Palms Resort (seashore)
There’s rather a lot to take in, and two days to my identify. For now, I’m content material to lock eyes with the island solar that’s marinating my brown pores and skin browner by the minute.
  Chapter 2
Summer season within the Rainforest
I go away Duncan and his automotive on the fringe of land to take a ship to the beginning of the hike in Bouma Nationwide Heritage Park, which protects over 80 per cent of Taveuni’s land, together with its rainforest. (I’m slicing brief the six-hour-long Lavena path to cram in different experiences.) My companion on water is native information Paul, who’s unfazed by the afternoon swell that flings our vessel round. I’ve made the error of exhibiting up in flip-flops, so once we clamber over rocks stained with lichen, they really feel chilly and moist as a frog’s tongue below my toes. The path strikes by means of knots of coconut palms, breadfruits and monster ferns, the greens darkening as we’re sucked into the forest’s sunless abdomen. The place the stone cracks disguise wildflowers, my heels tickle. A free step sends me hurtling, and jungle mynas cackle. However between a sighting of the “very shy, very uncommon” orange dove, and the water’s xylophone upping its quantity, a bloody toe appears acceptable.
Paul grants me huff-and-puff time, dragging his stride to accommodate second glances at fallen frangipanis. Once we come to the bend past which the mighty Wainibau Waterfall rages, I don’t need to transfer. It’s that outdated longing to delay what might transform a quantum second; stretch it out, so you may hold it round somewhat longer. However like solar by means of gin-clear water, my second passes, and I wade in. “Can’t swim properly?” “Can’t swim,” I yell by means of the mist that levitates between us; Paul has already made his method to the deeper finish of the rock pool. When he comes again for me, I’m positive he’s misunderstood. “Can’t,” I shake my head stupidly. “Journey my again and don’t drag me down.” And identical to that, I’m piggybacking a person I’ve met lower than two hours in the past into the gaping swirls. He deposits me on high of a boulder, Spidermans up the ridge and wrecks the water with a—splunk!
Waterfalls (high) curtain a world of island flora resembling breadfruit, taro and guava timber; The tagimoucia flower (backside left) grows solely in Taveuni, on a single highland ridge beside Lake Tagimoucia; Hold an eye fixed out for birds resembling collared lory (backside proper), Taveuni silktail and the very uncommon orange fruit dove. Images by: Kristen Elsby/Second/Getty Photos (waterfall), BIOSPHOTO/Alamy Inventory Picture (flower), Picture courtesy: Taveuni Palms Resort (chook)
A ship trip again to Duncan and a fast automotive haul leads us to Bouma’s different huge path of the Tavoro Waterfalls. A 10-minute stroll by means of flatland floras lets me linger on the first and the largest of the three cascades alongside this route. Right here, within the achy afterglow of swims, I hearken to the lore of the Tagimoucia. Fiji at giant boasts some 800 species of crops discovered nowhere else on the earth. However the ruby-and-milk flower embossed on the nation’s FJD50 notice is treasured for rising virtually solely alongside the shores of Taveuni’s Lake Tagimoucia, untouched at an altitude of over 2,600 toes. My disappointment at not seeing the volcanic crater dissolves when Paul tells me that the flower makes a fleeting look by means of November to January. Like all good legends, the legend of the Tagimoucia has a number of variations. In a single a lovelorn princess escapes to the highlands when the person of her selection is vetoed by elders, slipping into drained and tearful sleep (tagi: cry; moce: sleep). One other remembers somewhat woman who lay crying by the waters after being scolded by mother and father—the tears of the broken-hearted reworking into Fiji’s proclaimed nationwide flower.
That’s one too many unhappy girls for my liking, however I notice the identical cynical enchantment that passes over me when Paul factors to a white horse within the wild and says, “Look, it brings good luck.”
  Chapter 3
The Little Lady in Kingston City
Once I first meet Una, she is working round in a frock that holds all the colors of a tropical fruit platter. I ponder if the eight-year-old is aware of how a lot she resembles Moana, Disney’s warrior princess from Polynesia. Duivosavosa, a rural settlement in northwest Taveuni, appears to be made of 1 big household. The patriarch Invoice Seru walks me by means of it, declaring painted, triangular homes that belong to varied brothers, nieces, cousins and nephews. I’m cautious to not pry, however crosses and rosaries hanging from asbestos partitions inside trace at Taveuni’s historical past—a wartime turnaround of religion from paganism to Catholicism within the 19th century. Tiny islands, it will appear, have sufficient room for outdated gods to exist alongside new ones; ditto for outdated traditions. I’m now aware about the island artwork of coconut husking, leaf basket weaving and lovo or earth-oven cooking.
Invoice’s brood of 9 youngsters and sixteen grandkids rallies round, guiding me by means of their self-sustained life. When prawns fished out of the village stream are dunked in palm-squeezed coconut milk, I inform a gaggle of aunts and grandaunts how my lunch tastes rather a lot like chingrir malaikari, an East Indian staple—and eyes widen. Lunch additionally consists of candy potatoes, yams and tapioca, steamed lovo-style. The prepping of lovo, a subterranean cooking technique widespread within the Polynesian islands (hangi in New Zealand, umu in Samoa), is sort of the spectacle. Earth is dug up, and inside it, white sizzling stones entrusted with the job of cooking feast-scale meals. The meals, something from powerful meat to vegetable or fish, is bundled up in banana and pandana leaves and positioned over coals. “You may cook dinner an entire goat, an entire pig or an entire buffalo in a single hour. You may cook dinner an entire elephant too, however no elephants in Fiji,” Invoice howls at his personal humour.
Because the chords of Fijian farewell tune “Isa lei” fall from the guitar, Una monkey-hugs me for causes identified solely to her. I ask the guitarist, considered one of Invoice’s daughters, if she will play one thing acquainted. A stanza of “Jamaican Farewell” and a few wordless goodbyes later, my coronary heart is down. The top too, is popping round, as a result of Duivosavosa, by some afternoon spell, has became my Kingston city.
  Chapter 4
Rainbow Underneath Water
A cultural tour of the Duivosavosa village acquaints one with island music (high left) and speciality delicacies resembling lovo (high proper) or earth-oven cooking; Diving within the Rainbow Reef (backside left) off the coast of Taveuni comes with prize sightings of technicoloured reef fish, and corals (backside proper) within the form of cabbages. Images by: Sohini Das Gupta (meals, folks), Picture courtesy: Taveuni Palms Resort (diving, corals)
Don’t thoughts the pleasant sharks.” Aaron Peckham is a positive teacher however I worry shark jokes aren’t going to assist my case. Neither will the clunky fins glued to my toes, however that one’s on me. I’m on a speedboat parked alongside the Rainbow Reef, a globally famend dive website within the Somosomo Strait, between Taveuni and Vanua Levu islands. If my first-ever snorkelling expertise should be within the open ocean, I’d as properly do it within the comfortable coral capital of the world, with a grand witness of over 1,200 species of fish. The prospect of assembly a Nemo or Dory down there makes it higher, however reef sharks? Thanks, subsequent. With restricted water expertise, my religion is tied to the rope I’ll seize onto, which in flip, will stay tied to the boat. There’s additionally the diving masks and the life jacket. And there’s Aaron, who waits patiently as I sit on the starboard sounding like a phlegmy dragon. Respiration by means of your mouth, it will seem, isn’t simple.
With a tug of jacket and a squeeze of lungs, I’m in. Pushed up virtually instantly, I can’t wait to look again. Within the few splintered seconds I’ve seen what might be Dalí’s underwater gallery and I want extra. Recent visions glide in entrance of my goggles. Right here, an anthia the color of Alphonso. There, a ballet class for sea anemones. Clumps and clumps of sea followers. Leather-based corals that movement like dervishes. Cabbage-frilled laborious corals. “As above, so under,” I breathe, grateful for the chaos. A lot of the fish I can’t determine, and there are such a lot of. Fats, fearless ones that transfer in violet shoals, solo-tripping introverts that keep away from eye contact. When it’s time to return up—we’re reduce brief by a change of present—Aaron laughs at my indignation. “Have a look at you, mermaid.” Mermaids I don’t find out about, however again on the boat, every little thing I’ve seen down there appears far out already, like folklore fading into time.
On land, I’m out of time. I’ve not seen all of it in any respect. I’ve not entered the Holy Cross Catholic Church, with partitions of baked coral, and stained glass shipped by French missionaries. I’ve not picked up taro fritters from the shack that brags longitudinal rights to being the ‘world’s first store.’ I haven’t even watched a recreation of rugby, commemorated as Fiji’s “fourth faith.”
However that’s alright. As a result of I’ve felt Taveuni. Water, earth, air and all.
Rugby, dubbed Fiji’s “fourth faith,” is equally fashionable amongst youngsters and adults. Picture courtesy: Mark Snyder/Fiji Tourism
Getting There
There are not any direct flights from India to Fiji. Flights from Mumbai, Delhi and Bengaluru to the gateway metropolis of Nadi on the archipelago’s Viti Levu island contain a number of layovers at Southeast Asian cities resembling Singapore and Hong Kong, or stops in Oceanian capitals like Melbourne, Brisbane and Auckland.
There are two or extra direct flights to Taveuni day by day from Nadi Worldwide Airport.
Free entry visas are granted on arrival for a keep of as much as 4 months to nationals of choose nations, together with India. Travellers should possess a sound passport and a ticket for return or onward journey to a different nation they’re authorised to enter.
Keep
The writer stayed at Taveuni Palms Resort (doubles from $1,635/Rs1,14,700 together with all meals, actions resembling reef snorkelling and kokonda cooking class, and taxes; www.taveunipalms.com) and Taveuni Island Resort & Spa (doubles from $625/INR 43,600 together with all meals, return transfers to the airport and taxes; https://ift.tt/2MRhcqz). The Lavena Coastal Stroll and motorised boat actions often come at extra prices.
It’s endorsed to discover Taveuni’s pure and cultural experiences with the assistance of resort guides, as there are restricted choices of impartial tour operators on the island.
Tip
Whereas travelling to villages resembling Duivoisavosa, it’s advisable to decorate modestly (lined knees and arms) and chorus from sporting hats as an indication of respect to native customs.
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newssplashy · 6 years
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World: Romney wants in again. There is one catch.
COTTONWOOD HEIGHTS, Utah — Mitt Romney never could resist a race.
Since dawn, half-marathoners had been whipping through a mountainside fog here, a short drive from the home he keeps, some 2,000 miles from the office he wants.
Romney stood just beyond the finish line, bopping in his jeans-and-flannel finest, smiling back at the runners like a distant relative at a wedding, waiting to be greeted. “Well done, well done, congratulations,” he said, handing medals to participants who may not have won in the end but plainly tried their hardest.
He clapped and shoulder-patted. He whiffed on a high-five. He studied the fingers of a woman unlocking her cellphone to take a picture with him, and guessed at the pass code. “Seven-six-four-three-nine-nine!” Romney shouted.
He laughed. People seemed confused. The camera clicked. Mitt Romney was back.
Six years after a presidential election defeat that loved ones expected to end his political career — and nearly a quarter century (and four campaigns) after his wife, Ann, swore she would “never” abide another run — Romney wants in again.
By January, he will almost certainly be a U.S. senator, representing a state his ancestors helped settle. He will return to the grand political arena where he is happiest, friends say, after years in semi-exile. He will matter.
The question is how.
Will he be a vocal check on President Donald Trump, a man he once labeled a “phony” and a “fraud”? Or a mostly deferential Republican in a capital full of them?
So far, his campaign has leaned toward deference, disappointing some admirers (and even more Democrats) who hoped he would re-emerge chiefly as an unswerving Trump critic with gravitas — at last banishing the reputation for equivocation that dogged his presidential bids.
It was only two years ago, as Trump neared the Republican nomination for president, that Romney stood behind a lectern some 10 miles north of here and said the kinds of things a politician cannot generally take back:
“Dishonesty is Donald Trump’s hallmark.”
“He’s playing the members of the American public for suckers.”
“Very, very not smart.”
Romney said Trump must be stopped for the good of the party and the nation. He predicted recession and global tumult. He insisted that, as the Republican nominee for president in 2012, he would not have accepted Trump’s endorsement had Trump behaved then the way he was behaving as a candidate.
But about all that.
Few would conclude that Trump has changed much — rampaging, tweeting, inventing preferred realities, upending the G-7 economic world order. But for Romney, the circumstances have.
As past Trump antagonists like Sen. Ted Cruz and House Speaker Paul Ryan — Romney’s former running mate, leaving Washington just as Romney hopes to arrive — seem to have concluded for themselves, admission to the head table of Republican politics in 2018 carries a membership fee: making peace with the president, however unpleasant.
Romney, it seems, can live with that.
Addressing donors and business leaders at his annual retreat Thursday in Park City, Utah, Romney — whom some allies hoped might challenge Trump in 2020 — predicted that the president would be re-elected “solidly.”
He has praised Trump on policy (“we’re pretty much in the same place”) and accepted the president’s endorsement without delay.
Pressed on his past criticisms at a debate last month, Romney acknowledged no contradiction or reversal. “I’ve known the president for a long, long time and the president has endorsed me in this campaign,” he said, “which shows he respects people who call ‘em like they see ‘em.”
The evolution began with Trump’s election. Shortly afterward, as Trump weighed options for his first secretary of state, he considered Romney, who made pilgrimage to New York to dine on frog legs with Trump in a public show of harmony.
Whether Romney genuinely views the president any differently now is not clear — and not particularly relevant to his supporters. What matters, they say, is that he is back in the scrum.
“He doesn’t feel quite as fulfilled as he did,” said Mike Leavitt, former Utah governor and a close friend, “when he was right in the middle of the mix.”
Romney has been known to speak unprompted of past presidential losers, and their free-fall to irrelevance, remarking that Michael Dukakis “can’t get a job mowing lawns,” or borrowing a classic from George McGovern and Walter Mondale as his own: “All my life I wanted to run for president in the worst way,” Romney told a crowd recently. “And that’s just what I did.”
He has also recalled his late father, George Romney, in professional winter, when he struggled even to secure meetings after three terms as Michigan governor and a failed presidential run.
This Romney’s fate will be different. He is insisting on it, betting on a state that views him fondly as a Mormon leader and logistical hero of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.
“When we began in Iowa, I’d have to say, ‘I’m Mitt Romney,'” Romney said in a brief interview at a festival. “'So, who’s that?’ I’m a little better known here.”
“Makes it easier,” Ann Romney said.
But not that easy. In April, Mitt Romney fell short at a state party convention that could have given him the Republican nomination instantly, leaving him to fend off a challenge from a state legislator, Mike Kennedy, before the June 26 primary. Romney appears to be in little electoral danger, though, with high approval ratings and a healthy primary lead in a deep-red state.
Less clear, through a spitting haze on a soggy Saturday morning, is exactly why the Romneys want any of this.
He is a career executive — now 71, though he looks 55 on his worst day — applying to sit in congressional gridlock. He is a statesman-patrician from a very different Republican era, poised to become a junior senator. He is a man with a beautiful home in a beautiful state with a beautiful family, angling for a return to the Mid-Atlantic at the expense of endless ski days and scream-cheering for his granddaughter at high school water polo.
“I sink,” Romney said, explaining why the sport impresses him so.
“Some people can’t float,” said Ann Romney, his wife of 49 years. “He cannot float.”
But neither can he fade, those close to him say, if he wants to live without regret — a through-line in dozens of conversations with friends, relatives and former advisers. They cite no shortage of motivations for his candidacy: his Mormon faith and its emphasis on service; the memory of his father; his irrepressible ambition, coaxed by a family-wide conviction that he is a singular leader of his times, if only the voters could see it.
“Everyone is running out of a burning building. Mitt’s running in,” Ann Romney said in an interview. “This is Mitt, runs into burning buildings.”
That morning, Ann Romney had come along to see the runners, too, traveling shotgun in their 2002 black Chevy pickup and taking her place at the finish. A few feet away, her husband seemed exultant, chatting up a peer from Brigham Young University’s Class of 1971, suggesting best practices for medal distribution to volunteers, spotting a gentleman in a hoodie from his former city.
“Red Sox!” Romney called out, grinning and pointing. He was floating, or at least faking it well.
Ann Romney looked over and smiled, her focus meandering as the athletes passed. She used to run 10Ks herself, she said. She always regretted it in the moment. “While I’m running, it’s like, ‘Why did I do this?'” she said.
Romney laughed, and then stopped laughing. This seemed to remind her of something.
“Yeah.”
— With His Wife’s (Eventual) Blessing
In 1994, Mitt Romney had set off on his first brilliant political gambit — trying to beat a Kennedy in Massachusetts — when an adviser handed the family a novel to read: “The Last Hurrah,” about a politician who hangs on too long.
“A couple days later I saw Ann and she said, ‘I can’t believe he lost in the end! That was so sad!'” the adviser, Charley Manning, recalled. “Her belief in Mitt was just so total that she thought somehow in the end, he would win.”
He lost to Sen. Ted Kennedy by 17 points that year. It is unclear if the book ever made it to the other side of the bed. “Ann read it,” Manning said. “I don’t know if Mitt ever did.”
Days before that election, with her husband dozing beside her on a campaign road trip, Ann Romney had told a Boston Globe reporter, “You couldn’t pay me to do this again.”
Eight years later, she was the first lady of Massachusetts.
Then came 2008: “I need to write myself some notes,” she said at the end of it, after Mitt Romney lost the Republican nomination for president. “Just to remind myself, ‘If you’re tempted, the answer is no.'”
And 2012: “We’re done,” she ruled, as her husband prepared a concession speech on election night. The family believed her this time.
And yet here they are, hugging distance runners in a parking lot.
Mitt Romney has told associates it was his wife who gave the nudge, comparing her view of politics to her efforts at childbirth.
“Every time after my mom had a baby, she was like, ‘All right, that’s it. No more. Never having another kid,'” said Josh Romney, one of their sons. “And then a year would go by, and she’d kind of forget about all the pain.”
They have five boys, one for each campaign.
After the loss in 2012, the family settled in the Salt Lake Valley. Ann Romney wrote a memoir about her struggles with multiple sclerosis and helped to open a center for neurological diseases in Boston.
Mitt Romney appeared at peace in relative obscurity, friends say, though whenever he would inch back into the public consciousness, the megaphone he retained pleased him. “He was surprised that he could still get on any TV show,” Josh Romney said.
He flirted briefly with a run for president in 2016, before reconsidering. The Senate opening, with Orrin Hatch stepping away after seven terms, made him think harder, with bipartisan encouragement.
In fact, a funny thing had happened to Romney when he receded from view: People got to know him better. A documentary in 2014, “Mitt,” captured shades of character that his campaigns never could, for all the millions spent on messaging. He was warm, self-deprecating, cleareyed about his weaknesses. Romney had long been such a stylistic throwback — a man whose idea of profanity was “H-E-double-hockey-sticks,” edging into a theater of insults — that his earnestness qualified as refreshing. He does not swear. He does not drink. He does not age.
“People need to see the real Mitt,” said Fraser Bullock, who worked with Romney at Bain Capital and as a top lieutenant for the 2002 Olympics. And the Senate campaign, friends believe, is a last chance to do it right.
They do not fault him for de-emphasizing his past rejection of Trump, observing that he has not explicitly disavowed the remarks, either. Romney recently told NBC News that he does not consider Trump a role model for his grandchildren.
“He’s not running against Donald Trump. He’s running for Mitt Romney,” said Thomas Rath, a former top aide on his presidential campaigns. “I haven’t heard him say that he withdraws his previous reservations.”
— A Family Thing
“Look at the ducks. Look at the ducks. There’s a duck! There’s a duck. Hello, ducks.”
His wife was freezing, damp babies were crying, and Romney was admiring farm animals.
“Hello, ducks,” he said once more, as if a response was forthcoming, admiring the petting zoo at a festival in Vineyard, Utah.
Ann Romney was asked if it was fun to be on the trail again. “It’s part of it,” she said. “It’s just” — she held for several beats — “part of it.”
The rhythms of a state-level race have long been more familiar to Mitt Romney, who in his youth watched not only his father’s runs but a Senate bid by his mother, Lenore, in 1970.
While his wife looms largest in his life and decision-making, former aides and advisers say Romney’s aspiration to live the lessons of George Romney cannot be overstated. When he debated Barack Obama in 2012, Romney scribbled a single word atop his notes to anchor himself: “Dad.”
“His dad’s legacy weighs into every decision he makes,” Josh Romney said.
After George Romney left office in Michigan, his son recalled in 2014, he grew “quite frustrated” at his diminished relevance, saying that Washington was “the fastest place to go from ‘who’s who’ to ‘who’s that’?”
Mitt Romney plans to avoid a similar coda. He has already spoken in private about serving two terms. He hopes to join the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, among other assignments. And he has told supporters he wants to become a leading voice on fiscal discipline and immigration policy — about which he has said he is “more of a hawk” than the president.
“He’s hesitant to even bring up his name,” Josh Romney said. “He doesn’t want it to be about Donald Trump.”
Nor do the voters, in a state Trump lost decisively in the 2016 Republican caucus, seem especially inclined to make Romney talk about him. At the festival, Romney fell into conversation with firefighters, a sheriff, a former volunteer on his presidential race. “Wish I’d have won,” Romney told the man. “I apologize.”
After some 30 minutes, the Romneys returned to the parking lot. Romney was asked how the gathering compared to the Iowa State Fair, a summer mainstay of the national political calendar.
“This is colder,” he said, looking at his wife. Ann Romney smiled. It was time to go.
The pair hopped in the family pickup — just the two of them — and Mitt Romney steered them back into the fog.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
MATT FLEGENHEIMER © 2018 The New York Times
source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/06/world-romney-wants-in-again-there-is_11.html
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FBI Knew Nikolas Cruz Was Stockpiling Weapons And Wanted To Kill
Florida governor Rick Scott is calling for Christopher Wray to step down from the top spot at the FBI after the agency admitted to ignoring information it had received about Nikolas Cruz from a source close to the shooter.
‘The caller provided information about Cruz’s gun ownership, desire to kill people, erratic behavior, and disturbing social media posts, as well as the potential of him conducting a school shooting,’ said the FBI in a statement on Friday.
The agency went on to state that this information, which came in over their Public Access Line, should have been classified as ‘a potential threat to life’ and the Miami field office notified about the information.
Those protocols were not followed however for reasons that are still not clear, and on Wednesday Cruz shot dead 17 people.
‘Seventeen innocent people are dead and acknowledging a mistake isn’t going to cut it,’ said Governor Scott.
‘We constantly promote “see something, say something,” and a courageous person did just that to the FBI. And the FBI failed to act.’
He then stated: ‘”See something, say something” is an incredibly important tool and people must have confidence in the follow through from law enforcement. The FBI Director needs to resign.’
His anger was shared by many of the friends and family members who attended funerals for loved ones on Friday soon after the FBI shared this news.
Trouble: The FBI released a statement on Friday revealing that a call came in alerting the agency about Nikolas Cruz being a possible threat in early January
ArsenAL: ‘The caller provided information about Cruz’s gun ownership, desire to kill people, erratic behavior, and disturbing social media posts,’ said Cruz
Signs: That same caller, who contacted the FBI on January 5 via their Public Access Line, also shared their belief that Cruz might conduct a school shooting
Shock: Governor Rick Scott of Florida is now calling on Christopher Wrey to resign as director of the FBI and parents of victims voiced their anger at funerals(friends and family arrive for the funeral of 14-year-old victim Alyssa Alhadeff)
‘We are still investigating the facts. I am committed to getting to the bottom of what happened in this particular matter, as well as reviewing our processes for responding to information that we receive from the public. It’s up to all Americans to be vigilant, and when members of the public contact us with concerns, we must act properly and quickly,’ said Wray on Friday.
‘We have spoken with victims and families, and deeply regret the additional pain this causes all those affected by this horrific tragedy.’
This marks at least the third mass shooting in the past two years that was carried out by an individual the FBI had been alerted too but opted not to further investigate.
Omar Mateen was known to have possible terror ties when he massacred 49 people back in 2016 at Pulse nightclub in Orlando and Esteban Santiago walked into a field office in Anchorage, Alaska with a loaded handgun to report having terrorist thoughts just days before he killed five at the Fort Lauderdale Airport.
Attorney General Jeff Sessions also announced on Friday that he would be launching an investigation into how both the FBI and Department of Justice handle report and tips moving forward.
‘I have ordered the Deputy Attorney General to conduct an immediate review of our process here at the Department of Justice and FBI to ensure that we reach the highest level of prompt and effective response to indications of potential violence that come to us,’ said Sessions. his includes more than just an error review but also a review of how we respond. This will include possible consultation with family members, mental health officials, school officials, and local law enforcement.
The first tip in the Cruz case came back in September when they were alerted to comment made by YouTube user ‘Nikolas Cruz’ proclaiming his desire to be a ‘professional school shooter.’
At the same time, he was posting photos to his public social media account which showed off an arsenal of weapons, including multiple semi-automatic guns.
YouTube vlogger Ben Bennight alerted the FBI to a comment shared by Cruz on one of his videos back in September when the boy wrote: ‘I’m going to be a professional school shooter.’
Bennight revealed that the FBI was quick to respond to the concerning statement, arriving at his office the very next day to find out if he knew anything about the young man.
No go: ‘Seventeen innocent people are dead and acknowledging a mistake isn’t going to cut it,’ said Governor Scott (above on Thurs)
That was after he called a local field agent, revealing that his initial attempts to send in a screengrab of the comment failed when the email address he found listed on the federal agency’s website came back with a domain error saying that it did not exist.
He finally heard back from the FBI on Wednesday, when they called with some additional questions after 17 people were murdered at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.
On Thursday, Special Agent Rob Laskey revealed that the agency was unable to learn anything about the person who posted the comment.
‘No other information was included in that comment which would indicate a time, location, or the true identity of the person who made the comment,’ said Laskey.
‘The FBI conducted data reviews, checks, but was unable to further identify the person who actually made the comment.’
‘The FBI just left my house in regards to this situation and let me give you a little bit of backstory back in September or 2017, matter of fact on September 24, I sent a screenshot of a comment on one of my videos,’ said Bennight in a video posted to his YouTube channel on Wednesday.
‘Now people keep asking me which video was it, I don’t know … I screenshot the comment I hit the report button and reported it to YouTube.’
Bennight stated that YouTube quickly removed the comment, though Cruz’s account on the Google-owned, video-sharing website remained active through Wednesday night.
The problems began when he tried to reach out to the FBI.
‘I found an email address tips at fbi.gov, sent it to that email address, I immediately got back a domain error basically that email address didn’t exist,’ revealed Bennight.
‘So I looked up the number for our local field office and called him and left a message.’
Bennight continued: ‘Well the next day I had two FBI agents standing in my office taking down the information, taking down taking copies of the screenshot and asking me questions that of course, I couldn’t answer.’
He went on to discuss how people leave upsetting and angry and ‘heinous’ comments on his page all the time, but this was a different situation.
‘What I did think was, you know, this comment said “I’m going to be a professional school shooter,” and I knew that I couldn’t just ignore that so a screenshot of the comment.’
The FBI was then back in touch again on Wednesday.
‘I think we spoke with you in the past about a complaint that you made about someone making a comment on your YouTube channel,’ said an FBI agent who identified himself as Ryan Furr in a voicemail received by Bennight on Wednesday.
‘I just wanted to follow up with you on that and ask you a question with something that’s come up, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ring.’
Bennight said that FBI agents were at his home by 5 pm while lamenting the fact that he could not offer more information to help with the investigation.
He also said that he believes the FBI and YouTube handled the situation as best they possibly could at the time.
‘I’m not sure that there’s really anything the FBI could have done with that information other than keeping an eye on somebody,’ said Bennight.
‘So I don’t know, I’m not here to judge, I’m just here to share my experience. And I hope that everybody involved can start the healing process soon.’
Bennight then closed out his video by stating: ‘You never really heal from this kind of wounds, but anyway I’m gonna end that here. That’s all for now. Ben the Bondsman signing out.’
(Parkland residents attend a vigil for the victims on Thursday)
Students who knew Cruz have also been speaking out, including one young man who wrote: ‘Nick attacked one of my friends once. He brought shotgun shells to school and made many threats against others. He had an instant full of pictures of dead animals that he killed.’
The teen, who wrote that his parents had prohibited him from giving interviews, added: ‘Mental illness needs to be recognized or things like this happen. People I know are f***ing dead.’
Cruz has not been attending Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School at the time of the massacre, having been expelled for disciplinary reasons during the 2016-17 school year.
It was at least the third time that Cruz had been forced to leave a learning institution, and came at a particularly difficult time in his life.
Cruz, who has a younger brother Zachary, lost his mother Lynda back in November as a result of complications from the flu.
The 68-year-old mother-of-two developed a case of pneumonia shortly after checking herself in to receive treatment for the seasonal sickness.
On Instagram, Cruz could be seen holding firearms, ammunition and the semiautomatic AR-15 rifle he likely used in the attack.
That weapon was legally obtained said the family’s lawyer Jim Lewis.
Another photo shows several guns, including rifles with scopes, laying on a bed. Another appears to show a frog that had been killed.
His father Roger died of a heart attack back in 2005, just a few years after he and wife Lynda adopted Nikolas and his brother Zachary.
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FBI Knew Nikolas Cruz Was Stockpiling Weapons And Wanted To Kill was originally published on Austin Daily Globe
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July 4, 2017 From the Talking Stick Resort Arena in Phoenix, AZ Your hosts are Vic Joseph and Corey Graves
Titus O’Neill is backstage on his phone talking to Akira Tozawa. He does Chris Tucker’s “Do You Understand the Words Coming out of my Mouth” bit and keeps stopping to talk to Ariya Daivari and Mustafa Ali then mocks Tozawa’s chant and does the gator bark to pump everyone up.
The announcers run down the show as we will see Jack Gallagher vs. Tony Nese and Rich Swann vs. TJP.
Titus is now in the ring, which is set up with a “Titus Worldwide” platform and pictures of both competitors in Sunday’s Cruiserweight Championship match. Titus puts over Tozawa but Neville comes out to the stage. He laughs and tells Titus he is a charismatic leader. However, the problem is that all of what he’s doing with Tozawa is nothing more than a fantasy then shows us a clip of last night when another Titus client, Apollo Crews, got destroyed by Braun Strowman. Neville then accuses Titus of feeding his clients to the monster as the crowd chants “You’re not Strowman” to Neville, who tells Titus he only cares about money. Neville says he can either prove him wrong and show compassion by forfeiting the match or he can sit on commentary and watch him destroy Lince Dorado tonight, which will be a preview of what happens to Tozawa this Sunday.
I liked how Titus pumped up the crowd. Neville was excellent here as he accused Titus of purposely giving his clients false hope, which gets them hurt, so he can make money. Neville’s heel work is so, so great. 
Neville vs. Lince Dorado
Titus joins on commentary. Neville works a side headlock on the mat as Titus says he looks out for his clients best interest. Lince gets two with a sunset flip then hits a dropkick. He lands on his feet after a German suplex attempt and uses another pinning combination for a nearfall. Lince takes Neville down with a monkey flip as Titus rags on Joseph. Neville blocks a monkey flip in the corner but Lince takes them both outside then hits a hurricarana off of the apron. Neville sidesteps a charge and sends Lince over the steps the brings in near the table and rams Lince’s head before staring at Titus, who is yelling at Neville that Tozawa will beat him on Sunday. Back inside, Neville points at Titus then hits a powerbomb before putting him away with the Rings of Saturn (3:57) **.
Thoughts: Good action while it lasted. They gave Lince some hope but at the end Neville was put over strong. Neville constantly staring at Titus throughout the match was great.
Swann is backstage and asks TJP why he requested this match as they are friends. TJP says he thought about what Swann said about taking shortcuts and that he will go back to what made him win the CWC and thought some friendly competition would help. They shake hands after that as Swann leaves while TJP finishes taping his wrists.
We are shown a clip of last week when Brian Kendrick dressed up as Gallagher and called him a pathetic joke before attacking him with an umbrella during their match.
Tony Nese vs. “Gentleman” Jack Gallagher
Nese got a tan this week. He overpowers Gallagher to start but Gallagher comes back with several rolling pinning combinations. Gallagher works a side headlock but Nese picks him up and hangs him in the ropes. Nese lands some punches then hits a body block for two. He then places Gallagher in the tree-of-woe and hits a dropkick before kicking Gallagher in the face while doing crunches. Nese puts Gallagher in a backbreaker submission then squeezes him together but Gallagher escapes. He hits Nese with a knee smash and a dropkick before getting two with a suplex. Gallagher tries an armbar but Nese locks his hands then lifts up Gallagher but that is turned into a sunset flip for a two count. Nese takes out Galagher’s knee and lands on his feet after a moonsault and clutches his knee in the corner. Nese tries a sneak attack but Gallagher was ready and headbutts Nese before putting him away with a shotgun dropkick (6:02) **3/4.
Thoughts: Good action as Gallagher does not let Nese take advantage of his gentlemanly nature and gets the win as both of these guys have a victory over each other. Nese is an underrated talent who has been delivering in the ring while Gallagher is one of the most over guys in the entire division.
 After the match, we hear music and on the screen we get the “History of Great Britain” as Kendrick is dressed up as someone from colonial England then lists off all the times the British lost battles and wars, comparing it to how Gallagher will lose to him as he wants to get Gallagher out of the company. I have no idea what they are going for here with Kendrick dressing up but it did not work at all.
Highlights from last night on RAW with Cedric Alexander beating Noam Dar then telling both Dar & Alicia Fox that he is done dealing with him.
We now see the trainer backstage with Dar, saying his neck is fine and he does not need a neck brace. Fox comes in as Dar tells us how tough it was without her but now that she is back he can win the Cruiserweight Title. Fox asks him about Cedric but Dar says its finished. However, Fox says its not over until Cedric literally quits 205 Live. She smiles on Dar’s shoulder as he can’t believe his woman wants this to continue. This awful feuds needs to end. If I’m Cedric, I am going up to Vince and saying he will bulk up to get out of this division and away from Dar & Fox, the albatross around the neck of 205 Live. Its currently the worst feud in wrestling today.
TJP vs. Rich Swann
The match starts off with Swann working the arm. TJP takes Swann down with a headscissors and works that on the mat for a bit. Swann hits a dropkick after a fast-paced Irish whip sequence then teases a dive outside and instead mocks TJP’s dab. Swann takes TJP down with a drop toehold then grabs an armbar. TJP then backdrops Swann to the floor and goes out for the attack but instead rolls back inside to give Swann a chance to get back inside. Swann just beats the ten count then TJP applies an armbar. He pulls back both arms as he yells at Swann to give up. TJP appears hesitant as Swann seems hurt then goes back on the attack after Swann shoved him back. TJP gets two with a slingshot senton then uses a Muta Lock. Swann is able to reach the ropes then TJP stands back before pulling him back into the center of the ring. Swann flips out and hits a pair of clotheslines before taking TJP off of the top with a hurricarana. Swann gets two with a rolling frog splash then comes back with a Falcon Arrow for two. A “this is awesome” chant breaks out as Swann goes to the middle rope. He flips off then TJP hits him with a forearm and starts to show off but is drilled with a roundhouse kick as both men are down. They have a reversal sequence that ends with TJP hitting a chicken wing gutbuster for two. He sets up for the Detonation Kick but Swann rolls off his shoulders so TJP puts on a knee bar. Swann reaches the ropes and lands as few kicks but runs into a spinning heel kick then both men kick each other down. They get up as TJP lands a pair of uppercuts then have a pinfall reversal sequence that ends with Swann getting the win (12:12) ***3/4.
Thoughts: Excellent match. They are doing something interesting with TJP as he is currently a conflicted character as he is fighting the urges to take these shortcuts but wants to win in the worst way while not hurting his friend. Anyway, the action here was tremendous and I did expect a turn by TJP at some point tonight but it did not happen. This is a match to seek out.
After the match, Swann extends his hand then TJP hugs him and walks away, clearly unhappy over losing. Swann celebrates on the ring
Final Thoughts: Overall, a good show tonight. The main event was great and they’ve built up the Cruiserweight Championship match at Great Balls of Fire well too. Sure, the Dar & Fox/Cedric feud is one of the worst in recent memory and I have no clue what they are trying to do with this Kendrick/Gallagher feud but the action on this episode was better than usual.
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