X-Men: Renewed
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HerpdaDerp
Posts : 538
Join date : 2013-09-24
Age : 28
Location : United States

Oneshot: Extended Family Empty Oneshot: Extended Family

Mon Feb 04, 2019 10:47 pm


From: Lmckay@highmauve.edu
To: neonbitch420@gmail.com, qamarkassab@cottageflowers.com, j@lionsheadpublishing.com, Annabelle.Mckay@nypd.gov

Subject Line: Family Day

Evening,

I hope this email finds you all well and in good health, though I doubt anything to the latter. You are related to me after all, save Qamar. Sam has assured me though that his side of the family is extremely difficult to kill, so I have the assurance that Qamar is at least statistically still alive.

The only reason I write you now is to invite you all to an event my campus hosts, something they’ve very creatively dubbed ‘Family Day’. Sam has insisted I invite the lot of you, despite my insistence that as such successful people, you would be too busy with your lives and unable to attend. He refuses to believe me; I consider it a slight upon all your honor. Come if you are not busy. We of course will have rooms available for all of you.

Qamar, those flowers you sent were lovely, our thanks. Sam and I are looking forward to seeing you again whenever you choose to visit.

Jo, my congrats.

Ann, so proud of your promotion. Your gift from us is in the mail, keep it away from the children. Something specifically for them is also on its way.

Taylor, change your goddamn email. I know you have a school address, please give me that one. I swear I lose ten years every time I have to type this one in.

All the best,

Lazarus McKay


1 Attachment: FamilyDayFlyer.pdf


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Taylor doesn’t hear the phone the first time it vibrates, too wrapped up in the heady rush of too many neon colored drinks and the warm body on top of him. They’re tucked in a secluded corner of this dimly lit bar, his back against the supple, dark leather of the booth. The man he had picked out on the dance floor an hour ago is doing fantastic things with his lips against his own, dragging needy mewls out of him, his body begging for more than he knows would be decent here. Vaguely, he remembers that he has a pretty important essay due in a day or two. But then Dancefloor Man does something mind blowing with his tongue and oh, wow. Yeah. He needs that. Preferably lower, preferably back at his place.

The email notification is ignored as he calls an Uber, voice just a little breathy and dazed as DM moves his lips just a hair lower to allow Taylor to concentrate, at least in theory. They end up making out in the car to the driver’s soft 90’s grunge and the metronome flash of street lights before reaching Taylor’s small studio apartment and falling into bed together. The man takes his lips as soon as they’re through the door and Taylor has the presence of mind to shut it behind the two of them before he wraps his arms around the man’s neck and walks them backwards towards his bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He pulls the man with him and the man goes, climbing up to straddle Taylor’s waist and beginning to pull off both their clothes in a messy hurry to get to what’s underneath.

That tongue is put to better use, Dancefloor Man finally gives him a name to shout muffled into the sheets, and Taylor is absolutely sure he wakes the neighbors anyway.


All in all, a pretty good night.

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He wakes up sore the next morning with something heavy wrapped around his middle. He’s much warmer than he’s used to too. Strange. The heat in this building was shit, and he had forgotten to turn on the space heater that he keeps in his room. Blue eyes blink blearily before a dark arm comes into focus where it’s draped around his waist and everything clicks in just the right way. ‘Oh yeah,’ he thinks with a soft smile. The man wrapped around him is snoring softly, just little sounds that Taylor can feel vibrate through the bare chest pressed flush to his back.

Shoris. That was the name Taylor had dragged out of him last night and boy, Taylor would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way it rolled off the tongue. The man was shorter than he was but stockier, with a little bit of soft pudge around his midsection. Strong enough to haul his ass up the stairs before manhandling him in bed all night, warm enough to not need the heater or thermal blanket Taylor kept at the end of the bed. Spoke with a little accent coloring the edges of his words, the effect subtle enough that Taylor would have never noticed if Shoris didn’t swear in french everytime Taylor got a little creative with his hands. Honestly, he was sold.

‘So sold,’ he thinks. Maybe it was a bit too mushy after a one night stand? Who knows. Whatever. Taylor’ll make pancakes later as a prize for staying the night and send him on his merry way and that’ll be that.

One pale hand reaches out for the end table. His fingers extend and he can feel that oh so familiar burn in them as he pulls the phone through the air towards his waiting hand, the action leaving a bright trail of neon blue that fades slow like the aftermath of a firework. His thumb slides the screen up as he nestles in closer towards the warm body behind him, eyes flicking through the litany of notifications that he had received between now and last night. Candy Crush, Words with Friends, Duolingo begging him to finish a lesson, a multitude of texts from friends, his study group reminding everyone of upcoming deadlines, and finally, all the emails. It’s only now that he takes notice of the email notification from his uncle (though not technically his uncle. Probably only Lazarus knew how they were related, though the bone white hair Taylor had at the ripe age of twenty eight was a pretty good giveaway.).

Family Day, and Laz was inviting his favorite children. Huh.

He’s considering it when Shoris stirs behind him. The hand wrapped around his waist curls to tease gently at the bare skin of Taylor’s stomach, though he’s not sure if Shoris means to; could just be the sleepy stretches of a man just shrugging off sleep. A moment later though, there are lips pressed to the back of his neck that are definitely deliberate. Taylor laughs as he turns towards the man behind him.

It’s slower this time. The kiss starts off gentle and slow with the two of them still chasing the fading remnants of sleep away. It’s lazy, it’s sweet, and when Taylor feels the other man smile against his lips, he just about melts right there.

The phone and the email are quickly forgotten.

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“So are you going to this thing?” Taylor asks the man on the other end of the phone as he pays the woman behind the counter for the blindingly pink colored smoothie he had ordered a few minutes earlier. It was expensive, sure, but it was loaded with sugar, the one thing he needs right now if he’s going to finish this essay on time. There’s a short silence on the other end of the call. Taylor takes the opportunity to take a long sip from the equally shocking purple straw sticking out the top.

“What thing.”

Taylor snorts. Of course. “Laz invited us to something at his university. Family day or whatever. Check your email, Qamar.” Red high tops sidestep someone on the sidewalk in a quick little two step as he listens to Qamar fumble with his phone. “You know how to check it right?”


A long telling silence follows.


“Sam has been on this earth for way longer than you and he still figured out how to work email. It’s the little thing on your home screen that looks like a lett-”

“Shut up, I got it.”

“Do you though?”

“I got it.”

“How can you work Snapchat and not know how to check your emails?”

Qamar doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, humming echoes through the phone as Qamar reads through the email and Taylor walks briskly down the sidewalk towards the library, his large satchel bouncing against his leg. He catches his reflection in the large dark surface of some window and ugh. Probably should have done a little more to get ready this morning; he’d ended up just throwing a old purple hoodie over a button up shirt Laz had gotten him about a year ago. Wild, platinum white hair he couldn’t keep kept sticks up in a strange, fluffy pompadour. A finger pulls at the dark purple bags under his eyes and he makes a face at his reflection.


The accountant behind the window seems a bit confused.


“Oh.” Qamar finally responds. Taylor turns his attention away from the window and back in front of him. A little farther ahead looms the library of his alma mater. “I’m glad they liked the flowers.”

“So?” he asks again. “You going? Cause I’ll definitely go if you go. Without you, it’s a maybe at best.” He pauses briefly at the noticeboard out front of the library: clubs, group meetings, advertisements, one single poster for some... chemistry club? It was buried underneath a few other pages, one that was advertising a local music event. Whatever, he wasn’t into chemistry or anything like it. Nothing interesting.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Think faster Qamar, he sent that yesterday, you know how he is.” Qamar sighs at that. There’s a rustle in the background, must be in the flower shop then.

“I do. Ahh, put me in for a…” he waffles, weighing his options and obligations. “Yes.”

Taylor smiles, bright like the color of the smoothie he’s halfway through. “Fuck yeah, man. I’ll see you then.”

“Language.” the voice on the other end chides before Taylor hangs up. Those red chucks carry him up the stone stairs and into the library where he has every intention of finishing his essay, sending it off early, leaving the entire evening open. An entire world of possibilities.
His phone chimes then,just a happy little ping, and he flicks the notification open.


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Qamar closes out the ‘call ended’ on his screen with a small sigh. He deals with so much everyday: his cousins, the flowers, his business, the tragic loss of loved ones unfamiliar to him and having to pretend that he too grieves, all the while trying to grab the check in their hand and set up flower arrangements he had spent too much time on only for someone to brush against one and knock the whole thing off kilter. You know. Little annoyances.


His finger taps against the dark screen absently. It’s not off, he just prefers it that dark. Prefers everything that dark. The shop around him is a shady oasis of plants of every variety, all of them clumped together in pleasing groupings. Ferns were tucked away in shady corners and nooks that didn’t get very much sunlight, tiny succulents were stacked in small displays in the front windows, and gorgeous handcrafted arrangements sat in the large refrigerated display to be picked up by those who had ordered them. Farther into the store was his workspace and this, this he kept almost entirely dark. It was his space after all, he was allowed to do with it what he wished.


And if what he wished was to live as a quiet, plant loving hermit in a dark cave of his own making then, well. He had that right.


He looks down at his phone again, the poor thing loading Snapchat at a snail’s pace. Time and time again, his cousins and even his uncle had offered to go with him to replace the ancient thing, but he had refused each time. It wasn’t broken yet. He’d use it until he couldn’t and even then, he might wait a while to really commit to a new one. These little boxes aren’t cheap.

Though, he thinks as the app finally loads and the camera pops up. He has been hearing really good things about the cameras on the newest versions. It was tempting, to say the least. He was a man of simple tastes; all he really wanted in life was to take terrible selfies and pictures of his cat and his plants. Which he does. The selfie is sent to Taylor a moment later after Qamar swipes through the filters to find the flower crown.

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Qamar’s elbows deep in an arrangement when his phone buzzes next. He doesn’t notice it at first, what with his face getting well acquainted with the flowers closest to it as he stuffs yet more roses into this mess of a custom order. Some schmuck trying to impress some girl; the man comes in near every week to place horrid custom orders. Qamar can’t bring himself to care very deeply. It’s not like these orders were cheap and they brought in a steady customer, but they lacked… he hums to himself. Subtly. Elegance. Any sense of design. A fundamental understanding of what constituted appealing in this reality.

Finally though, he realizes his phone is buzzing, heralding the arrival of new messages. Probably Taylor, he thinks as he removes himself from the massive arrangement to pick up the phone. It is, as he had thought, Taylor, but the snapchats he receives aren’t of his cousin. They’re blurry, a little out of focus, but he can just barely make out a dark skinned man behind the counter of what’s probably the school library. Darker than Qamar, this man is wearing his hair in long, thick ropes tied back at the base of his neck. Large glasses are perched low on his nose as he leans in to show a patron something, looks like a book in his hand. A dark grey, cozy looking cardigan hangs loose over his shoulders and a dark lavender t shirt.

Qamar stares at the photo a minute more, reading over the caption ‘I saw a man so beautiful I cried’ a few times before sending back his own reply.


Q: ‘Who is this’.

It’s not even a minute later that he gets his response.


T: Shoris.

T: I think I love him??

Q: Ask him out

T: What?

T: No

T: Ridiculous.

Q: Give him your number

T : Qamar. Pls.

Q: Seduce the librarian.

T: Already did tho.

Q: Oh.


Qamar stares down at his phone in the dark. He’s not really sure how to respond to that, he’d always assumed sex was the last step in a long list of steps and branching pathways. He’d never considered that it could come before asking someone out on a date. There’s a long pause before he texts Taylor back again.


Q: Shouldn’t that make things easier though?


Now there’s a long pause from Taylor.


T: What?


‘I mean, if you’ve already slept with him, he probably likes you at least a bit?’ He sends that, following it with another text. ‘Gets rid of some of the awkwardness. Or it might cause it? Who knows’ Qamar sure doesn’t. He was the one who got a little nervous when his date wanted to hold his hand, why was Taylor asking Him about this sort of thing?

His phone vibrates again with another notification from Snapchat. ‘I mean. I guess?’ Qamar watches the man on the other end type, pause, then begin to type again. 'what if I fuck it up? What if I'm coming on wayyyy too strong after a one night stand?’

Qamar leans against the counter of his workstation on his elbows, phone in his hands. The horrid custom order looms large in his peripheral vision, an ominous mass of roses and horribly saccharine sentiment. The name on the card enclosed is different from the one last week, with was different from the one before, and so on and so on.

Q: ‘I feel like it’s not the worst.’

There’s a small pause; Qamar picks at a leaf close to him until the phone on the table vibrates again.

T: ‘I’ll go talk to him.’

Qamar smiles as his fingers tap against the screen. ‘Good for you.’ There’s no response, he can only assume Taylor was either gathering his courage or going up to talk to the man. The man was a mess, but he at least followed through when he put his mind to something.

‘Good,’ Qamar thinks as he rises from his crouch over the counter. The dim phone is pushed to the side as he moves once again towards the custom order lingering large on the workspace next to him. His soft sigh echos through the room. Well. This again. Slender hands raise towards the mess of roses he has off to the side and once again, he begins to meticulously arrange them row after row after row.


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A few days later, Qamar waves to the receptionist of the large office building he’s found himself in. The sight of the tired eyed florist is nothing new to the woman sitting there, and she waves back with a cheery smile of her own. Qamar’s always appreciated the way she makes him feel welcome, especially on days like this. The sun outside is bright and shimmering, reflecting off the tall towers of steel and glass that litter this city like giant sequoias, the air is warm enough that those around him are starting to shrug off their jackets, and it’s a perfect day for tourists trying to see every sight this massive town has to offer.

In other words, fucking oppressive. The lights are too much, the air is too warm, the people around him don’t know how to walk down a damn sidewalk. He had had to throw himself bodily between a few oblivious idiots so that they wouldn't crush the delicate plant he held in his hand. He’s fragile, damn it. People shouldn’t be trying to clothesline him walking down the street.

He enters the elevator, pressing the button that he’s pressed probably hundreds of times in his longer than average thirty odd years. There’s a smooth drop of his stomach before the polished steel and marble of the little mechanical box starts to ascend up towards his final destination. A quick check of himself in the mirror: dark jeans … relatively clean, spiked boots not tracking mud, white t shirt clean, pastel floral patterned button down thankfully not ripped. He could have sworn he had put scissors through this one, guess it was the other one. Thin fingers tapered in darkly polished, immaculately cared for nails come up to untie and retie the bandanna holding his hair away from his face. The little plant he brought is safely tucked into the crook of his arm until he finishes with one final tug on the knot.

‘Ping,’ announces the door. Qamar steels himself. Everytime he came up here, the lighting was always so damn harsh. He wishes Jo had a different taste in interiors, the place always felt more like some lab than the publishing house it was. The steel doors track open and heavens above, yup, he’s blind.

Qamar readjusts the pitch dark, gold rimmed aviators on his face before stepping out onto the hardwood office floors. White walls reflect the fluorescent light from the ceiling, little cubicles bouncing that same light all over the room. How people work like this, he’s never figured out. They seem happy as he walks past them; a few of the one’s he’s more familiar with even pause in their work to greet him and say their hellos. They’re not a bad bunch. They’re focused, driven, and each of them a bit of an ambitious perfectionist, but he’s had beers with a few of them. They can be fun when they want to be.

His hand reaches up as he reaches the end of the room to open the large glass door there. He can already see who he’s looking for inside, the one that this little plant is destined for. The most successful of all of them and the absolute terror of the literary world: Josephine McKay. A woman ruthless in her chosen profession, capable of tearing her competitors to bits with a well placed word. She had one of the best eyes in the business for what would sell and what could succeed if given the right push and had a habit of snagging promising authors before other houses even heard their name.


Josephine McKay was a lion in a field of house cats, and damn if she didn’t know.


Qamar hears the door click behind him. Jo hears it too. Her pale blue eyes cut across the room towards him. The woman sits at a smooth desk of polished silver metal, fingers still on mouse as she watches him walk in. The massive Mac computer she had been typing on sits idle, her company’s email service open on the screen. The face that meets his is one he’s familiar with: sharp, so sharp; her eyes lined in precise sweeps of black, hair short cropped yet effortlessly styled, silver earrings long lines of silver that just barely kiss her neck as her head tilts.

“Qamar.” a slow, sincere smile spread across her face. “Good to see you again.” She rises from her sleek executive's chair. The movement is just like everything else about her. Smooth. Deliberate. Graceful. Standing, she towers over him; her height combined with her sharp heels make an intimidating combo.

“You did order flowers.” He lifts the small pot in his hands. It’s a delicate little orchid, one that he’s been carefully tending just for her. Jo had a weakness for the particular flowers.

She nods, the smile still on her face. “How else to get you to visit?” She motions to the chair in front of her desk. “Sit, I ordered lunch. A new place, opened recently down the street. I haven’t tried it yet, but my staff assures me it’s at least decent.” Qamar does what he’s told, sitting in the comfortable black chair in front of her desk as she moves around him and towards the door.
Her heels snap against the hard floors.

“Let me go grab it, it should be up at the front.” She says, then she’s gone. Qamar takes the opportunity to set the little plant down on her desk. Leaning back, he swivels around in the chair, more a habit of Taylor’s than his. He wonders how his talk with the librarian went, he’s not heard anything in the past few days. His eyes flick out the window towards the office where Jo is paying the delivery boy; he probably has time to chance a text.

‘So?’ he types out. “How did it go?’


He doesn’t get an immediate response, but that’s okay. Jo walks in with two bags full of takeout that smells better than anything he’s eaten since the last time he visited her. His mouth is already watering as he sniffs at the intoxicating aroma in the air.

“You don’t eat pork so yours is…” she murmurs as she picks up one of the containers, inspecting it for some mark Shoris can’t see. “This one.” she pushes the other bag towards him as she takes the container she had been inspecting. It pops upon in her hands to reveal some sort of sandwich stuffed with dark greens and tender meat. He flicks open the tab on his own to reveal something similar.

“I wanted bacon on mine,” she explains before she takes a bite of her sandwich. It would be almost surreal to see this razor’s edge of a woman chewing on a sandwich were they not (sort of) related and didn’t do this just about every other week. A moment later, Qamar’s halfway through his sandwich and Jo’s wiping her hands on one of the provided napkins.


“Now,” her eyes narrow at him. “What’s going on?”


This, Qamar thinks. This is why he loves Jo. Jo knows everything that’s happening, wants to know everything that she’s not already privy to. Their meetings almost always evolve into family gossip or juicy stories from his flower shop but for once, he thinks as his phone buzzes on the desk next to his remaining sandwich, he has something juicy to offer. He flicks open the phone, aware of Jo’s focus on him. Buttons are pressed, messages are opened, and there. Taylor had sent him a photo.

It’s a selfie. More than that though; Taylor’s posing with a much sharper image of the librarian from the first time he had texted Qamar. Both are smiling, but the librarian is rolling his eyes at the camera. The follow up text Taylor sends after reads ‘he liked me too!’ It’s cute, Qamar’s got to admit, so he flips the screen around to show Jo.

Jo’s finger reaches out to throw up the brightness on the phone. When it’s finally bright enough, she hums quietly, sharp eyes taking in every detail of the photo.

“When did this happen?” she finally asks.

“Like a week ago. Made him talk to the man myself.” Qamar flips the phone around and clicks the screen closed after throwing the brightness down.

“How did they meet?” Is the follow up question.

“One night stand.”

“Scandalous.” Jo laughs lightly. “Good for him.”

They settle into the easy silence of sandwiches after that, only the crunch of crisp greens and crunchy bread breaking the silence. Qamar finishes his sandwich first and pops open a bag of chips. Salt and vinegar, god he loved salt and vinegar. Jo finishes soon after, balling up her trash and putting it back into the bag. She reaches out for Qamar’s and he absently pushes it back towards her to put away.

“You’re going to Lazarus’s thing, correct?,” Jo starts again. She holds out her bag of chips to Qamar, who takes them wordlessly. Qamar nods, mouth too full of chips to really answer. “Taylor’s also coming then, I assume?” Qamar nods again. Jo sighs, eyes flicking towards the screen of her computer. This close, Qamar can see she has the email from Lazarus pulled up.

“I’m still debating it.” She finally admits. “It’s not as if I don’t want to go. I’m just not sure if I can step away right now.” She swivels in her chair so to better look out the window. The day is clear, and this high up, the view of the city is impressive. Those same skyscrapers loom only closer now, less immense now that they’re eye level. This is the view she sees everyday, he thinks idly. Looking out over those buildings, towering over them. Level with the skyline she sits and considers her options with the lingering smell of a damn good sandwich hanging in the air.

“I want to see everyone.” She finally says. Qamar knows then that she’ll be there come family day, even if she won’t outright say she will. That’s the tone he’s heard her use when she tells him about authors she wants under their label, of deals she wants to close. She’s going to get there, no matter what happens.

“I’ll see you there then.” He hums. She doesn’t say anything in response.

The two bags of chips are balled and thrown into the plastic bag, the crinkling plastic shifting against each other in the quiet space.

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HerpdaDerp
Posts : 538
Join date : 2013-09-24
Age : 28
Location : United States

Oneshot: Extended Family Empty Re: Oneshot: Extended Family

Mon Feb 04, 2019 10:50 pm
“And now with us is Sergeant Annabelle McKay, the lead detective on the case. Sergeant McKay, what can you tell us about this individual? Should the public be worried?”

“We are pursuing every lead that we have. In any case, the public should still use caution ....”

Jo passes by the television in her apartment, having come home from work only about a half hour earlier. Heels had been swapped for a pair of fashionable yet cozy slippers, her dress pants exchanged for something soft and silky, and a loose cashmere sweater slipped over her shoulders. It’s old, yes, but still as comfortable as the day she got it. Jo sips lightly from her mug as she sits on the large plush couch in front of the tv.

There’s a faint clicking of nails on harwood as the massive form of her beautiful doofus borzoi comes lumbering around the corner from the kitchen. It pads over to the couch, strangely graceful for how odd it looks.

“Tell me you weren't eating trash again.” she murmurs to the dog as one hand reaches down to rub affectionately at her head. The dog, for her part, doesn’t say anything. Jo sets her coffee down on the endtable off to her side, pulls up her laptop, and begins to work to the background noise of the rain outside and her cousin assuring the general public for what seems like the third or fourth time this week.

This was starting to become a routine.

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Miles away, Taylor sits nestled against Shoris. Rain had begun to patter on the sidewalks right before they had reached the doors of Taylor’s apartment and by the time they had reached Tayor’s front door, thunder rumbled loud through the building. Shoris had tugged his jacket off to hang on the hook on the back of the door, Taylor had gone into his small kitchen space to make popcorn and hot chocolate, and the two of them had settled in for the night. Taylor currently had control of the remote and was flipping through channels to find something interesting to watch when he sees Ann on the late night news.

“... pursuing every lead that we have. In any case, the public should still use caution when traveling and always be aware of their surroundings...”

“Interested in the case?” Shoris asks. Taylor can feel the question rumble through the man’s chest he’s pressed against.

He shakes his head. “Not particularly. My cousin.” He motions toward the sergeant behind the podium. Another rumble of thunder shakes the windows of the room, Taylor switches the channel. “Just cool to see her on tv.”

“So cool.” Shoris hums as he leans back into the shitty sofa Taylor had bought from a local thrift store about a year ago. His arm hooks around Taylor’s waist, pulling him back with him. Taylor goes easily as he flips between channels before finally settling on some cooking show. The remote is set down, and Taylor quietly threads his fingers through the hand atop his waist.

They fall asleep like that to the sounds of heavy rain and slicing vegetables.

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The rain pours outside as Qamar leans heavy into the armrest of his worn down couch. In front of him, an old, blocky television plays the evening news at a volume a hair above mute. His hands move in a familiar rhythm as he pulls at the ball of yarn on the floor, unfurling it in long ropes to lay next to him. Soft swishes reaches his ears as he pulls yarn through yarn using the metal hook in his hand, watching as it slowly forms intricate patterns in the round. The yarn next to him is quickly used up, and once again he’s pulling the string back towards him.

“... public should still use caution when traveling and always be aware of their surroundings. This man intends you harm and should be considered armed and dangerous.”

There’s a sudden resistance on the end of the string he’s pulling. His tired green eyes track down to see his cat caught with the string in her claws. Lips tug up in a small smile and he leans forward.

“Come here.” he murmurs low and soothing to the little animal. A moment more, her claws are untangled but she continues to chase the string around the room. Qamar laughs low in the quiet space and settles back into the easy routine of single, double, treble stitches.

Behind him, bright flashes of lightning hit the backs of his curtains, keeping the room blissfully dark.

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“...surroundings. This man intends you harm and should be considered armed and dangerous. We will catch him, and we will keep you safe.”

The cameras on the dusty television in front of him begin to flash as voices raise in a massive din of cresting noise. The sergeant behind the podium raises her hands in an attempt to quiet the flood, but they keep pressing, only falling a little more quiet when she answers a question. She's poised, confident, and in control of the situation.

The man in the armchair narrows his eyes at the bright screen in front of him, eyes tracking the woman on screen as she moves from question to question and does her best to reassure the public. His feet raise to rest on the coffee table a few feet in front of the beat up old armchair. Paper rustles as one booted foot sets with a heavy thunk, then another. Black and white words are barely viable on the newspapers spread there, their titles proclaiming ‘... Mutant Campus?’, “Cafeteria Showdo…’, and on one of the more sensationalist, ‘Food Fight!”.

That bug kid was right, he thinks. Two fingers come up to pluck the cigarette from his lips, smoke seeping into the air from between his lips as he exhales. Kid was so damn right. Shame he had to get locked up.

Oh well. He was still here, and boy, could he cause some collateral.

Outside, rain pounds against the window of this shitty rental apartment. Down the street, the library of the local college looms large, grand and imposing in it's solid stature. He looks out the window, through the rain. In the peripheral of his vision, he can see the hazy edges of the burning stub of his cigarette.


It’s a damn revelation.

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It’s been a month. A month of no attacks, no threats, no nothing. Manilla envelopes packed to the brim with papers, profiles, and evidence are stacked in from of her on her desk. She’s trying to make sense of the attacks, trying to find a pattern to the seeming randomness of the whole thing. Four weeks of nothing,she should be relieved. Instead, here she sits, on her fifth cup of coffee, trying to make a break in this case and potentially catch the guy before he could hurt anyone else.

It had started months ago, with a random attack late at night. Tourists, assaulted on the sidewalk. The whole thing had felt weird, but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing she hadn’t seen. That hadn’t lasted long. The coroner’s report brought back strange results; burn marks, but close range, and explosive in their pattern. That in itself had been odd, but the real oddity had happened when their first witness had come forward.

She was a young woman who had been out walking late at night, not paying attention to anything as she made her way down the sidewalk and towards her home. She had seen a man walking in the opposite direction, face hidden by a large sweatshirt and a hat. Not thinking anything of the encounter, she had continued on. Had continued, that is, until the air behind her had ignited in light and heat. Her body turned as she stumbled back from the blast, soon enough to catch the sight of a charred what had to be corpse slumping to the ground and the man in the sweatshirt running breakneck from the scene. There had been enough sense in her left to call emergency services, but by then it was too late.


The victim was a pile of ashes, and the man had fled the scene.


Ann sighs at her desk, her hand on her forehead. There had to be something missing here, some kind of clue. There was no way she wasn’t going to solve this case and bring this man to justice, but.

She had so little to work with.

“Working late?”

The sudden voice pulls her from her thoughts and she looks up to see one of her detectives leaning in the doorway of her office and (thank god) holding another cup of coffee. She motions for the woman to come in, which she does. Strong steps carry her to the old wooden desk where she plunks down the coffee onto some unimportant paper. The drips off the side of the ceramic mug pool around the bottom edge to leave a light brown ring.

“And what are you doing then, detective?” Ann replies, light teasing coloring the edges of her words. The detective shrugs, caught.

“Same thing, I suppose.” she looks over the pile of files Ann has spread in front of her. “You finding anything new-”

“No,” Ann sighs before the other woman even finishes. “There’s nothing here, just the same evidence, the same interviews, the same eye witness accounts, hotline tips, coroner’s reports. I have so much, but I’ve got nothing.” She grumbles. All these late nights, so many nights of relying on her brother to watch her kid and she’s got nothing to show for it. It’s been so long since she and her daughter have had a night to just be together, and it’s starting to wear on the both of them. Whenever this case became too much to bear, whenever it got to her this bad, she liked to imagine what the two of them would do when it was all over.

“When this is all over,” she starts, leaning back in her chair to voice her thoughts aloud. “I’m going to take all my vacation time.”

“You’ll cripple us, boss.” the detective across from her laughs as she settles in the opposite chair. “I can’t even imagine how much you got stored up.”

“So much.” Ann smiles. “I’m gonna take all my time, and take Charlie and we’ll just… go somewhere.”

“Somewhere?”

“Don’t much matter where. I’ll let her pick, we’ll go wherever she wants. Just the two of us.” She muses. “Maybe we can go camping, haven’t done that in a while.”

“Oh, me and my sister used to go camping all the time, I could get you a whole list of some good spots.” The detective smiles and shrugs. “If you want, Boss.”

“I’d like that very much, Detective. After we close this, I’ll be expecting that list on my desk.”

The woman opposite her smiles, determined. Her fingers reach for one of the folders on the desk and she pulls it towards her. It’s one of the coroner’s reports; she begins to page through it to read over the words once more, looking for any hidden detail. “Y’know,” she says absently after a long pause. “Shenandoah's pretty nice. Think an old girlfriend still works there.”

“After the case is closed, detective.” Ann chides lightly, her own eyes flicking over the words of another open folder.

There’d be plenty of time for gossip once they caught this bastard.

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He leans over the coffee table in his apartment, flanked by two others equally committed to their shared cause, each of their eyes fixed on a large set of blueprints laid out on the too small table. The corners of the plans curl over the edges of the table and flutter whenever any of them move a little too much, but that’s not important.

Nothing is more important that this.

All of their planning, all his work in gathering this information and these people that now flanked him. Everything around him was building to this massive, explosive crest.

He smiles around the lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Ash drips from the end to land lightly on the scuffed hardwood floor underneath him.

Tomorrow. They’ll hit it tomorrow.

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Taylor walks up the familiar steps of the library building, bright red chucks smacking against the cool marble. It’s starting to get colder, the edge of summer fading into fall. A cold snap is looming large in the future, but he can only think of how Qamar’s finally going to happy. The large, leather satchel he stuffs everything in is bouncing against his leg to the beat of his steps. He doesn’t really have anything pressing to work on, but it would feel nice to get ahead of these papers he has to grade for his TA position. Professor Havenstein liked to shove all the grunt work off on him, but grunt work wasn’t so bad when he had a librarian to look at.

One hand grips the handle of the door to pull it open. As he disappears from view, one man smoking in a grey hoodie and lingering at the side of the building turns his head just slow enough to miss the shock of bone white hair.

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Taylor’s bright blue eyes scan the open space of the library floor for an open spot. It’s crowded; one week from thanksgiving break and each professor had crammed as much work as they felt like they could get away with. Taylor would be spending the holiday equally wrapped in grading those papers, working away at his own research, and neck deep all the Great British Bake Off episodes he hadn’t seen yet. Which had become quite a few. One hand comes up in a wave at the man behind the counter he’s come to call his partner. Shoris waves back, his eyes flicking to an open seat near the counter; the desk it’s attached to is absolutely swamped with books needing to be sorted, but the man comes over to clear them when Taylor makes his way over.

Taylor knows a conspiracy when he sees one, and this is just about the cutest. The corners of his lips pull up in a thankful smile, which Shoris returns. Shoris takes the last of the books in his arms (god he’s strong, Taylor thinks briefly as he watches the man continue to stack books on top of his arms), Taylor settles in, and begins to work to the soothing sounds of his meticulously crafted playlist of music.


To be completely honest, it’s mostly ABBA. He and his uncle (?) had that in common at least.


A couple minutes later, there’s a dip in the music as the playlist transitions from ‘Gimmie! Gimmie Gimmie!’ to another. It’s quiet now, so he can hear Shoris’s voice grow stern. Blue eyes flick towards the counter then follow where Shoris is glaring. There’s a man in the middle of the room smoking lazily on a cigarette while he walks through the grand open space. It takes a few words from Shoris for the man to really take notice of the stocky librarian, who regards with a cool smile.

“Cool place you got here.” He says. Shoris tells the man once again to put out the cigarette or leave.

Taylor, for his part, can feel a small shred of anxiety begin to creep unwelcome up his spine. There’s something wrong here, something not quite right. One hand comes up to take out his earbuds and even in his peripherals, Taylor can see some of the other patrons have taken notice as well. Eyes flick nervously between the two men.

Shoris stands his ground. His arms cross over his chest. “Smoking is not allowed on campus, sir.” The word is very nearly growled through Shoris’s teeth.

“Well, hell.” The man huffs. Two hands come up to pull the hood from his face, and Taylor knows from the sudden drop in his stomach and in the room that everyone here recognizes that flesh and blood inspiration for the composite sketch featured on tv near every night. He also knows, and maybe this is just him and his late nights watching whatever’s on tv, that when someone like that shows you their face, well…


They don't intend you to leave the encounter alive.

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Shoris tenses, his eyes widening as the realization settles over him.

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The man smiles as he flicks the lit cigarette out of his mouth and towards the floor.

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Taylor feels the neon blue pull at the tips of his fingertips and deep at his core as his body lurches forwards towards the man in the middle of the room.

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Someone screams, breaking the oppressive quiet of the library building.

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And then the room explodes in a flash of bright fire and electric blue light.


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Ann is moving across the police station’s floor when the call comes in. A massive explosion at the college library, building structurally compromised, multiple victims, suspect still inside. Ann grabs her coat where she left it and runs out with the rest of her detectives, panic that she doesn’t want to feel, doesn’t need to feel rising in her chest.

She knows that’s Taylor’s college. She knows Taylor has a tendency to study there.

She climbs into the car with the same detective that had stayed up with her that night and worked the case. Eyes catch each other, silently communicating what they both know; that this was him, had to be him with the reports of a massive explosion originating from the main area. There’s a enormous potential for collateral damage, hundreds probably at least injured from this.

She doesn’t want to think about the potential death toll.

Sirens sound and they pull out to join the flood of first responders all heading to the same scene.

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Qamar is out in the delivery truck when the radio switches to the shrieking tones of an emergency interruption. The soft funk he had been listening to fades out as a news broadcast fades in. There’s been an attack, the broadcast explains. All non first responder vehicles are required to clear the streets near the university until further notice to allow the first responders to get through.

‘Well shit,’ Qamar thinks as his hands turn the wheel of the car. He guides it into a nearby parking lot and cuts the engine. Bright daylight pools through the front windshield; Qamar closes his eyes against it and leans back in the driver’s seat to listen to the broadcast and the sirens of police, fire, and ambulances pass by. There’s a quiet moment where he thinks about sending a text to the client explaining that the delivery was going to be delayed before he realizes.

‘SHIT,’ he thinks as his body folds forward in a sudden panic. ‘TAYLOR.’

One hand comes up to claw at the handle of the delivery vehicle. Qamar races down the street in the blinding light of the sun, sunglasses crushed underfoot as they fall from their spot pushed up through his hair.

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Jo is standing at the window of her office, sipping her ludicrously caffeinated morning coffee. Polished red nails tap gently at the cardboard sides of the cup as she enjoys the quiet moment she’s carved out for herself here. A moment more, and she’ll have to turn around, head back to her computer, and begin typing again. Emails, edits, meetings; the lot of it will lurch forward in rapid time until the end of the day. Even then, it’s never really the end, is it? She’ll keep writing, still keep working until she eventually dies, and even that’s not certain.

‘Getting morose again,’ she thinks. Her eyes flick down to her nails; they’re slightly chipped from where she’s picked at the polish. Pity, she’d have to get Qamar to go with her to get them done again. Heaven knows that man needs a manicure more than she does.

“Ma’am,” the secretary calls at the door. Jo turns.

The woman looks concerned and upset. Through the glass of her office walls, Jo can see all of her employees turned to face her. Some of them have their phones in their hands, others have articles pulled up on their computers; her own phone on her desk rings with a notification, but she doesn’t answer it.

“There’s been an incident at the college library.”


She’s out the door in her heels a moment later.

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Ann and her detectives arrive at the police line already formed at the grassy edge of the sidewalk in front of the library. Every first responder it seems has arrived at the scene, each of them on a hair’s trigger to act. Ambulances prep for injuries, firefighters are pulling hoses and equipment out, and each of her many officers is placed and poised to advance. But, there’s something strange happening, Ann thinks as she approaches the quiet chaos. Something unusual here.

The building isn’t crumbling. There’s signs of an explosion, holes in the wall, cracks that should have brought the walls to the ground and crushed the inhabitants inside, but none of that is happening. Small fires burn in small piles of loose wreckage but as as whole? There’s so much damage to the building yet somehow it still stands. Silent, staunch. Whole.

Silent, that is, until the double doors break outward on their hinges with a blast of blue light and the horrible sound of creaking metal. There’s the form of a man flying through the air bathed in that same light; he lands hard on the earth about thirty feet in front of the police line, his body tearing through grass and dirt as he skids to a stop. Ann’s eyes widen at the sight.

There are so many puzzle pieces here, all of them familiar to her and yet the picture it paints, she almost can’t believe. She’s a detective though, she’s made a living putting those sorts of pieces together. It stares her in the face, nearly slaps her with the conclusion when she sees the wiry tall figure of her cousin stumble through the broken doors of the library and straighten to his full height.

Covered in soot and what might be blood, Taylor stands at the top of the marble steps. His white hair is mussed and lightly singed, his hoodie torn to reveal the pinstriped button down underneath, and his bright blue eyes are burning with fury. Neon blue light rolls from him in thick ribbons, crackling like fireworks as they fade into the air. He stares down the man on the lawn with that same fury and opens his mouth.


“Motherfucker FUCKED UP.”

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He skids to a stop behind the police line, his eyes burning from the sun and the fire and just the abundance of light. It hurts, he thinks absently, hurts so much but he needs to be here. Ann is up front looking like a general in command of an army and once he blinks the tears out of his eyes, he can see Taylor at the top of the steps of the library, shaky, but standing. ‘Thank god,’ he thinks with a shaky laugh. ‘Thank god, but also what the fuck? This whole situation was so fucked, his cousin is up there after just having kicked the ass of man who intended to destroy a building and everyone in it. Said man was laying in the grass trying to gather the wits that had been knocked out of him.’

There’s a sudden pressure at his shoulder. His head whips around, eyes narrowing into sharp slits as he turns, already so on edge, and… oh. It’s just Jo. She holds her hands up placatingly but says nothing. Nothing really can be said right now. Together, they stand and wait, trusting that Ann has the situation under control.

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Breath in, breath out.

Breath in, breath out.

Breath in…

He gasps, and the building shifts just the slightest amount. God, it had taken everything he had to just keep this whole thing from breaking apart and crushing the people inside, he had spent everything damn near five minutes ago. Yet, here he was, trying his best to breathe right through the pain in his ribs and behind his skull, trying to keep himself from passing out and taking everyone inside with him, trying to play poker with a goddamn maniac when the only cards in his hand weren’t even playing cards. He was trying to bluff with fucking UNO cards when the man getting to his feet in front of him was hiding a royal flush.

“Nice party trick. Didn’t think there were mutants inside.” Hoodie man spits the dirt and blood from his mouth. His eyes stare into Taylor’s, looking almost through him. He can see the exhaustion, the anger, and the desperation there, tracks the faint blue light filling the cracks of the building and binding it together as if it were whole. “But I think that’s all you got.”

He’s a hundred million percent right, Taylor thinks as his eyes narrow into deadly slits. “Try me,” he says instead through ground teeth.

The man hesitates for only a second before one foot moves forward, then another. He’s running at Taylor with sparks blooming in his hands and ready to tear Taylor to burnt shreds.

‘Whelp.’ Taylor closes his eyes, still holding on to the building behind him. ‘I tried.’

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He waits.

The blow never comes.

One blue eye opens just a crack to see why and there, filling his frame of vision, is darkness. Just a mess of black, propped up on short hind legs and longer front legs. Armored and draped in what looks like dessicated plant matter, whole skin the color of dark ink, horns from what should be it’s head curling back towards the spine, it stands in front of him crouched low and growling threatening at the man it just tore away from Taylor. Sections of whatever it is slough off in thick, gooey chunks as it paces back and forth, the dark moss and mushrooms blanketing it’s neck and back bobbing as it does. Multiple rows of teeth sharp as any knife flash in the light as it opens and closes its mouth in a deliberate gesture aimed at the man in front of it.

It’s horrifying, over six feet tall even crouched like this, and most gathered flinch at the sight of it. Even hoodie man takes a good step back.

‘Thank god,’ Taylor thinks with a shaky sigh. “Thanks, Qamar,” he breathes low in the space between him and the monster. The monster, Qamar, huffs out a small breath and dips his head low in a nod.

“Fuckin’ traitors,” The hoodie man mumbles under his breath. “Fucking TRAITORS.” he says louder this time, aimed at the two figures on the steps. “You’re fucking defending them? When they wanna lock you up, kill you, just cause you’re better than them?”

“Listen man,” Taylor huffs. He’s so tired, so fucking tired. “I don’t know what conspiracy forums you’re reading, but…” he pauses to catch his breath; the building slips an inch. Small debris rolls down the side of the building to bounce lightly on the well manicured flower beds underneath. “You really need to do more research on what buildings you wanna destroy.” His singed hair bobs as he shakes his head. “This isn’t the one.”

The man doesn’t appear to agree. He yells and runs forward, hands blooming again in that bright light. Taylor can feel Qamar flinch but he still charges forward, one long arm catching one of the man’s hands and forcing it back. He catches the other blast in the ribs; the screech that echoes through the open space is ear piercing.

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Ann watches as her cousin’s torso is shredded from the blast. The black of his chest drips onto the grass, dripping thicker than any sort of fluid. It sloughs off in solid chunks of muscle, organs, and decayed flesh. Everyone stops, transfixed by the gruesome sight of the interior of a monster slowly sliding out through fractured ribs and onto the ground. Sickly splattering is the only thing heard for a moment, before dark blood drips from the burnt cavity slow like the thickest molasses.


Drip.

Drip.

Drip.


Qamar seems frozen as hoodie man wrenches his hand free from his cold grip. “Not so tough,” he laughs, but it’s shaky. “Not so freaking tough, now.” One step back from Qamar, Hoodie man turns towards Taylor, whose knees are visibly shaking from the effort now. Quick steps take him closer and closer to the psychic, hands sparking one final time.

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Ann holds her men back, there’s no clear shot but damn if she isn’t going to try herself. She runs forward, past the police line with her gun drawn.

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Jo watches from the sidelines, knowing full well there’s nothing she can do to help and hating every moment of it. Out the corner of her eye though, she spots a man, standing farther away from the crowd, also wearing a pale grey sweatshirt. On a hunch, she slips away from the crowd, fading easily into the chaos surrounding her.

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Qamar’s body stands frozen in the middle of the field. Slowly though, the flesh surrounding the hole begins to knit itself together in stitches of mold and mushroom. That same dead, necrotic flesh that sloughs off him when he moves shifts to cover the wound.

Dark, claw tipped fingers twitch.

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Taylor prays. Taylors prays and dredges up what little power he has left to try and defend himself, but all he gets for his efforts are some half hearted sparks that dance across his fingertips.

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An axe breaks through the open doors to narrowly miss Taylor’s clipping off Taylor’s ear. It takes the brunt of the new blast, disintegrating in the bright flames. Shoris follows, also looking worse for wear. He’s burned in the same way Taylor is, with his dreads lightly scorched and his cardigan in shreds around his shoulders. A roll of his shoulders, and the poor sweater falls to the ground beside Taylor so that he now only stands in a dark grey tank top.

The air at his side shimmers similar to how Taylor’s powers leave behind glittering remnants before a shape appears in what was previously empty space. It grows, elongating until it’s a solid mass in the man’s dark hand. A massive intricately detailed battle axe, identical to the first, now fills the space underneath his curled fingers.


“I told you the first time,” Shoris growls as he winds the axe back. “Fuck OFF.”


The axe connects, the back of the blade pushing hoodie man back and off the stairs. Catching himself on the stairs, he growls and sparks again, but something catches him from behind. The large, dark hand that does pulls him back from the shoulder before slamming him into the ground. There’s a sickening snap as hoodie man’s spine cracks against the hard earth.

The two men on the top of the stairs flinch at the sound. “God, that sucks.” Taylor mutters quietly before turning to Shoris. “Also, babe, I’m so fucking turned on right now, I can’t believe you never told me you could do,” his eyes flick to the axe in Shoris’s hand. “That. It’s emotional whiplash, god.”

Shoris just laughs.

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Ann sees the man go down and skids to a stop to motion to the mass behind her to move in. Police and paramedics race to the building around the three mutants. Slowly, those still inside are evacuated, and the building empties under Ann’s orders. Those in need of medical attention are ushered away to the ambulances waiting in the wings, while those unscathed are pressed in by the journalists that have accumulated during the fight.

Ann walks across the grass towards the broken man on the ground and her two cousins. The whole area is scorched and burnt, with pockets where the earth had been torn up. She passes by the crater hoodie man had left when Taylor had thrown him out the door, past the pile of guts Qamar had left when he’d blown out his torso, and finally to the snapped man at the foot of the stairs.

Hoodie man had planned for a lot, but he probably hadn’t counted on an eldritch horror, sudden axes, and the mess that was Taylor McKenzie.

“God, you guys.” she sighs. “Everybody’s out, Taylor, by the way.”

“Thank god.” Taylor sighs. The light around the building flickers like a fluorescent going dark before it disappears completely. There’s a shudder, then a screech before the building buckles. Cracks open like bleeding wounds, like the gaping hole that had crippled Qamar not a few minutes earlier. The sickening corpse of the school’s massive library crumbles to the ground behind them, echoing the mess of the cafeteria at Highmauve.

Taylor buckles forward like the string that’s been holding him has been cut, right into the waiting arms of Shoris. Together, the four of them pick their way through the mess of the library lawn and towards the ambulances, Shoris carrying Taylor and Qamar still limping four legged next to Ann.

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Jo tracked the man to a nearby alley, where she watched him and a second man open a duffel bag to pull out what looked like uniforms. Paramedic uniforms.

‘A contingency plan,’ she thinks. ‘Backup in case their boss got his ass handed to him.’ Which, it was looking like he was going to. She guessed they panicked when they had seen Qamar enter the fray. She could only assume that they both had powers that would prove useful to this backup plan and as such, were more likely support oriented than combat oriented like their boss.

Good. This would be easier then.

Her heels click against the alley’s pavement as she begins to walk towards the two men in the back of it. Heads raise in twin movements as they hear her approach, her figure looming large against the fading afternoon sun.

“Lose your way?”
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avatar
HerpdaDerp
Posts : 538
Join date : 2013-09-24
Age : 28
Location : United States

Oneshot: Extended Family Empty Re: Oneshot: Extended Family

Mon Feb 04, 2019 10:51 pm
Qamar leans over the workstation in his workshop, typing on his new phone. It’s so much nicer than the other one; the camera’s a fucking dream. It’s not the camera he’s messing with though, it's the email. He’s finally gotten around to answering his uncle (?) in the positive, letting him know that he’ll be there for Family day. He might not be able to participate in any of the games, what with him suddenly losing a good portion of his internal workings a few weeks ago, but he’d at least like to see his family.

In a non-violent situation. Maybe sit for a while? He’s been doing a lot of that recently. The doctor he had seen had just shrugged as he wrapped his torso in bandages, claimed that everything looked fine and that it might be a few weeks to a couple months before all that lingering soreness went away. Personally, Qamar was just glad to have a spleen.

The email is sent and Qamar turns back to the one constant in his life: Cassanova and his fuckton of roses.

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Jo sits on her couch, her wonderful borzoi curled up next to her. For once, she’s taken the evening for herself; no emails, no editing, no meetings, no work. Just this bottle of wine and plenty of Say Yes to the Dress. She’s learned tonight that she’s a big fan of Vera Wang and that tulle is the devil. Sh’d never buy a tulle dress, she thinks as she takes another sip of her wine.

‘Oh,’ she thinks as she remembers something. She had forgotten to reply to Lazarus’s email. In all the confusion and chaos of these past weeks, she had totally forgotten. Honestly, she was surprised Lazarus hadn’t sent her a follow up email. Her phone is pulled from it’s spot on the end table, she starts it back up, and begins to type out that yes, she will be at Family Day and that she looks forward to seeing everyone again.

With that done, she pours herself another glass of wine and settles back into the couch to watch someone with a fifteen hundred dollar budget insist on a Pnina Tornai.

“Good fucking luck,” she says as she grins low at the tv.

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“Hold up,” Shoris is in near stitches. “What is your email?”

“Neonbitch420,” Taylor deadpans. He’s curled up against Shoris underneath the thermal blanket, the two of them having paused the movie when Taylor remembered that he still needed to send his uncle (?) an email to tell him he was coming. “Thought about adding an ‘lmao’ after the 420, but I figured it would be overkill and he might not get it.”

“Do you actually use that for anything?” Shoris asks.

“Nah,” Taylor hums back. “Just him, he hates it.” He pauses his typing, looking between the phone in front of him and Shoris behind him. “You think he would mind a plus one?”

“I would love to come, thank you.” Shoris leans his chin on the top of Taylor’s head.

“What if I wasn’t inviting you?”

“Rude.” Shoris smiles on top of Taylor’s head, eyes tracking his typing.

‘...and I’d like to bring my boyfriend along, if that’s alright. He’d be hella great at games, trust me.’

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“You got everything?” Ann shouts into the house from in front of a pile of suitcases. There’s a small answering ‘yes’ from upstairs but when her daughter comes back down, she’s holding onto her favorite stuffed animal. It’s a lizard Lazarus had gotten for her long ago, and it was the first thing that the squirt had latched onto.

“Thought you said you got everything!” Ann laughs. Her daughter puffs up, holding the stuffed lizard tighter.

“I can’t forget Spots! He’s gotta see the sights too!” she seems almost offended at the thought. Ann shoos her daughter out the door, Spots and all.

“All right, all right, go put him in the car. I gotta do something real quick.” Her daughter bounds off as Ann pulls pulls out her phone and the email notification she had found that morning from Lazarus. Family Day, it sounded like a wonderful change of pace from the chaos that had been her life recently. Would be nice too to spend some time with her strange, extended family. She owed them a hell of a debt for knocking the piss out of that man, Jo had even found accomplaces that had been planning to steal the man away so that they might try again later. All in all, it had wrapped up nicely.

She looks towards the van on the street. Her daughter is already in the passenger’s seat with spot pressed against the window. She raises the lizard’s hand in a little wave; Ann waves back.

‘We’ll be there.’ she types out.

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Lazarus walks into their bedroom, nose in his phone as he flicks through all four of the emails he had gotten back from his children, albeit very late. Even Jo, which was very unusual, usually she was the most punctual with her replies. He had almost started to worry about the four of them. His walk stalls as he begins to type out a response to the four of them, leaving him adrift in the middle of their room between the door and the bed.

A door opens off to the side of the room; it’s the one that leads to the small bathroom attached to their bedroom. Sam emerges then, filling the small door frame with his massive presence. Clad in only a pair of cartoon patterned sweatpants, he watches his husband typing in the middle of the room for a moment with a small smile on his face before walking over to place a heavy hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. He guides him to their bed like that, Lazarus’s fingers still tapping softly against the bright screen.

“They finally reply?” He asks, voice low in the small space. Lazarus hums a yes. “I’m glad.” he says as he pulls Laz down with him to sit on the edge of the bed. Dark fingers come up to twist the hair tie out of his bun, a few pencils coming loose as his hair spills out over his back. With that done and the pencils tossed off the bed, he flops back onto the bed to close his eyes and listen to the quiet padding of fingertips against glass.

After a moment, they stall. One final tap, and the email is sent. Sam cracks an eye open to catch Laz looking over at him. He’s always loved his husband, always will, but it’s nights like this that Sam’s reminded just why. Underneath that polished professional look, there’s this man; the man that got too distracted typing on his phone, the man who loved to buy Sam sweatshirts just to steal them to wear later, the man with the tired eyes and the warm smile just for him. Sam smiles back, sincere and stillso smitten. But. He also can’t help himself.

“See something you like?”

Laz smacks him in the face with the nearest pillow. Sam laughs underneath the fabric and feather down. He can feel Laz climbing up the bed and settling on his side of the bed.

“No,” he hears as he pulls the pillow off his face.

“You love me.” Sam turns towards his scowling husband.

“Doubtful.” Laz grumbles, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.

Sam reaches out with one hand to grab gently at the other man’s pale wrist and pulls. Laz goes willingly, settling flush against Sam. “You know,” Sam starts. This close, Laz can feel the words reverberate in his husband’s bare chest. It really shouldn’t get to him after so many years together, and yet. “And I really hate to accuse you of this, but I think you’re lying.”

“Oh yeah?” Laz smiles slow. His face tilts towards Sam’s, close enough that he can count the freckles and pock marks that dust Sam’s cheeks.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” Sam murmurs. Their lips brush for one brief moment before Laz gets greedy and leans in the rest of the way. Sam moves against him for one glorious moment before breaking the kiss. Laz is confused until he catches the knowing grin on Sam’s face and oh, that shit.

“I hate you.” Laz grumbles. Sam just smiles his smug smile. “I really do. So very much, it’s a wonder I could even stand you this long.”

“Evidence points to the contrary.”

Laz chooses to shut him up them, catching his lips once more in a bruising kiss. Now that the game is up, Sam moves against him in just the right ways before rolling the two of them so that Laz is above him, pinning him to the mattress with his weight and legs against his sides. Calloused hands sneak their way underneath the large hooded sweatshirt Laz had taken to wearing recently to grip at whatever pale skin he can reach. Laz groans loud against his mouth as Sam finds just the right spot, before realizing it’s just a tight muscle. He frowns.

“You really fucked yourself here, you hurting?” He knows Laz sits in a chair all day slumped over essays. That really can’t be good for his back. Laz, from his position on top of him, hums noncommittally. Sam pushes a thumb against the muscle again, kneads it just the right way to loosen it a bit and Laz groans loud into the crook of his shoulder.

“Okay, maybe it hurts.” he mumbles, low enough that Sam wouldn’t have caught it were he not right next to his ear. Sam laughs low, but keeps kneading at the knots in his husband’s back until he hears Laz’s breathing even out into the easy rhythm of sleep. With that, he lets his hand settle against Laz, pinning the man on top of him before he closes his own eyes.

‘This,’ he thinks before he drifts off. ‘This never gets old.’

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From: Lmckay@highmauve.edu
To: neonbitch420@gmail.com, qamarkassab@cottageflowers.com, j@lionsheadpublishing.com, Annabelle.Mckay@nypd.gov

Subject Line: Re:Family Day

Evening,

Despite the late response, I’m glad you are all able to attend. We’ll be looking forward to the event and your presence there. Plus ones are invited as well, we always have plenty of rooms.

Taylor, I swear to God, I will disown you if you don’t change it.


Sincerely,

Lazarus McKay
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