📍Horny Gulag, Undisclosed Black Site near the Mariana Trench
*It was hot. So hot and sticky that Scribbles didn’t notice that familiar sound of expensive loafers coming down the poorly lit hallway. She was used to her cells ambience. The buzz of the lights. The dripping of the taps. The smell of rust and iron. The brown noise of the rickety air conditioner that was barely functioning . The faint intermittent buzz of cell doors outside her door, locking and unlocking. But everything else was heightened by the sweltering heat, she didn’t notice the familiar gait that also set her heart racing. Her eyes were closed as she so desperately tried to focus on her breathing. The fly-aways of her hair bound to her forehead by sweat, as the discomfort settled in. Scribbles heart ached when her spirit felt her space become occupied by another. Someone so familiar yet so distant to her. It ached a little more when she heard the scrape of the metal chair being put into position at the edge of her prison. Opening her eyes she could see, ‘him’ as he placed a ice cold bottle of water and an oscillating fan directly besides her on her night stand.*
AG Jaeger: It’s very hot today, Kitten. Don’t you think?
*Scribbles didn’t respond her throat aching as she swallowed to try and lubricate her throat and use her voice. Her emotions, unprovoked, became almost overwhelming. It had been a long time since Zeke put her back in prison and even longer still since he last spoke to her so privately. His face was unreadable, almost bored, eyes dull as his fury laid dormant.*
AG Jaeger: It’s been a forever Kitten, I know. I had to temper myself properly before coming to see you. I did want to hurt you.
AG Jaeger: I was angry at First. Furious even. But then I realised that it wasn’t really anger I felt, it was disappointment. I abhor disobedience; especially from my favourite girl and yet nothing brings me more joy than seeing her pretty face.
AG Jaeger: How can something so beautiful cause me so much pain? Even when I offered her the world, she still disrespected me?
AG Jaeger: I will not lie to you, kitten; it’s been hard staying away. I’ve been… frustrated. Nothing seemed to sate this ‘need’, these ‘cravings’. Abstinence worked for a while, until one night, I stumbled upon this:
*Scribbles’ guts dropped as her eyes blew out in shock. She shot up from her bed and tried to snatch it out of his hands.*
AG Jaeger: *swiftly pulling his hand back to keep the book out of reach* No, no, pet. I’ll read it to you. I want to see your reaction in full living colour. You write so well, no need to be… ashamed.
*Zeke cleared his throat mockingly and crossed his legs over, sipped on a iced tea before reading like pastor reading scripture.*
“Suckling the silky head, you moaned appreciation and dug your fingers into his hips.
Zeke Jaeger paused to glance down at you.
Holding his eyes, you opened your mouth wide and made a whole show of wrapping demurely pink lips around him and bobbing down to swallow his flaccid length.
He snorted, unimpressed, but heat rushed to the cock on your tongue as it nestled contentedly inside your drooling mouth.
Fluttering your lashes at him, you slurped audibly, dipping your head a few times before pulling back far enough to fit a fist around the base of his cock.
Its shaft, newly bathed with your spit, glistened under the weak light.”
*Zeke folded the page. Mischievous smile plastered on his face, before a condescending smirk left his lips. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, before cocking it to the side, resting his temple on his knuckles. He paused for a minute and just looked at Scribbles. It could of been the light. Scribbles swore it must been the light that made his stare more leering than he intended. It felt like he was committing her to memory or better yet undressing her with his eyes. What was only a minute, felt like an eternity and the bugs that erupted in her stomach became more incessantly unbearable. Any longer she would’ve screamed at him to cast his eyes elsewhere for fear of melting under his gaze.*
AG Jaeger: Kitten?
AG Jaeger: Do you always think of me like this? So… salaciously? Is that the reason why you get a rise out of deliberately winding me up, just so that you could be here, in this hell regardless of how decrepit it is? Is that why my Scribbles is always so disobedient?
Does my little kitten need some attention?
YES I WANT NEED BREATHE LIVE YOUR ATTENTION GIVE IT ALL TO ME DON'T TAKE YOUR EYES OFF ME AND I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO GAWK AT
goodness, Beast. i never imagined you to become so desperate you'd stoop as low as rummaging in my private journals like a dirty badger. that's not something good boys do, is it?
it's so bloody hot in here. aren't you sweltering underneath that suit? with me, there are no pretenses. you can rid yourself of the weight of the false face you present to the world. you can rid yourself of the weight of your...official clothes, to begin with. kick off those shoes, shrug off that jacket. come be my good boy. i'll let you crawl into this decrepit prison bed with me and together we'll turn this gulag into paradise. if you're shy, i can start. i can demonstrate. like this
look at you. already beginning to sweat when i've only just begun. those trousers are beginning to look a little tight. you weren't spreading your knees like that earlier.
what do you want, Beast? you're not one to make idle visits. do you come bearing gifts? an improved offer? i refuse to believe that my smart. dashing. biiiiiig mean Zeke has come begging for handouts. you're not a puppy. pick up your pride, show me what you've got for me and i'll show you what inspired me to write that manual of sin you can't seem to let go of. a live demonstration, if you may, where all you have to do is sit back, relax, and let your purring kitty devour you.
*zeke sweating bullets. glasses are clouding over. booklet of sin thuds to the concrete. against his better sense, he sits still as he is undressed. the buttons of his shirt pop open halfway. his chest is heaving. his eyes are shuttering and he pants with desire. the heat of the gulag is getting to his head. a jungle cat is crawling onto his lap and sucking at his earlobe and whispering temptations into his ear. he is powerless. all resolve, that clear thinking, has rushed to his groin, there to join together in a muddled mess.*
make up your mind, Beast. if you say the right thing, this could be yours
i will disobey you and i will rile you up and then i will gobble you down and keep you for myself till kingdom come. obedient kittens simply don't exist.
but say only one wrong thing, and what you thought was yours will fade into the arms of another. perhaps multiple anothers.
do you intend to be left wanting for the rest of your life? resigned to doling out cruel sentences because you've been blue-balled by your own stubborness? do you intend to be, as Mayor Gojo put it so eloquently, underfucked for the rest of eternity?
*zeke's eye twitches like it never twitched before*
Sorry for the silence, Bub. still getting my bearings but i wanted to show you this as quick as I could.
My take on Harry's origin story. In a much, much earlier and unrelated draft, beagles also appeared in relation to Zeke. I think it's fate. not proofed. sorry for any spag errors/typos/funnies.
“Clare, no.”
“Clare, yes.”
Before he could utter another word in protest, Zeke found himself hauled into the spacious foyer of the Smiths’ home. Their heavy front door slammed shut behind him.
“Now,” his old friend and colleague, Clare Smith, dusted her hands and beamed at him in what could only be described as malicious glee. Behind her, her husband, Erwin Smith, whistled to himself as he contemplated the ceiling, hands shoved in his pockets.
“We’re popping out for a fair at Shrekky’s school -”
Said Shrekky made her presence known by unleashing a nuclear squeal as she battered through the second floor of the house, half-shod and followed by the joyous barks and thumping steps of the family’s three spaniels. Neither of her parents batted an eye.
“- it’ll take all afternoon, but I expect we’ll be back by evening. You shouldn’t have too much trouble. They’re only a couple of days old, and mum’s so lovely. Takes such good care of them and barely leaves their side -”
Zeke raised his eyes to the din echoing through the ceiling. Shrekky had, by now, made her way in and out of her room, slamming doors and thundering down the steps hollering about being ready to go. Erwin, spotting an opportunity, murmured something about seeing to his daughter and bowed out. Zeke glared daggers into the back of his blond head.
“Clare, I’ve never been a zookeeper,” Zeke whined in last-ditch protest.
His friend rolled her eyes and dragged him by the arm into the recesses of the house. “I’m not running a zoo. Just asking you to mum-and-pup-sit a little, is all. You owe me a favour and I’m calling it in now, Jaeger. Look.”
He looked. One corner of the Smiths’ expansive kitchen was overrun by an enormous dog pen.
“Aren’t they darling?” Clare cooed from the threshold, her grip on poor Zeke’s arm unrelenting. At the sound of her voice, the female beagle lying inside the pen raised her head, snuffled quietly, and stared at the newcomers with the largest, most soulful eyes. All around her, squeaking and burrowing into her belly, were her jellybean-shaped pups, snouts still pearly pink and eyes closed but already sporting their tell-tale black-tan-and–white beagle coats.
Clare crouched beside them and put her hand out for the mum. The dog nuzzled into her palm as Zeke watched impassively on.
“You and Erwin are raising beagles now, too?” He sounded less than impressed, though unsurprised. There was always something interesting going on at the Smith home, and most of the time, it had to do with turning the ancient, respectable estate into a right proper menagerie.
“Don’t be silly,” Clare scoffed. “We’ve our hands full seeing to Jasper, Pippa, Tim, and their ringleader, Shrekky. Erwin and I are only temporarily housing these cuties until they can go to better homes.”
“These fleabags having a hard time finding takers, eh?”
In spite of himself (and the disapproving look Clare sent his way), Zeke, too, reached for the momma beagle. She gave his proffered fist a thorough sniff, deemed it acceptable, and blessed it with several welcoming licks. Her pups squirmed. A particularly feisty one pushed himself up off his mum’s belly, threw his little head back, and hollered at the bringer of the new smell.
Zeke clicked his tongue (the most amusement he deigned show) and gave the pup a gentle scratch on the forehead. The little one yodelled some more, hurling himself to and fro, before finally settling back down with a contemptuous snuffle.
Clare snorted. “This one’s taken after you already.”
“Very funny.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t be looking so morose, Zekey. Think of it as your good deed of the year. Lord knows you’re terribly short of your quota.”
“You’re not being very persuasive.”
“Look after them for an afternoon and I’ll never ask another favour of you ever again.”
Zeke’s look of disbelief said it all.
Clare shoved him. “Oh, come on,” she wheedled. “Have a spot of humanity.” Stroking the mother beagle who still looked hopefully up at them, “Poppy was just rescued from the lab along with several hundred other poor souls. She was fit to burst with all her pups but wouldn’t have them. And can you blame her? Ferried from shelter to shelter, all of them unfit for this poor momma -”
“Wait a minute.” Zeke narrowed his eyes at her. It wasn’t so long ago - only earlier that week, in fact - that the tenacious Clare Smith landed once again in the papers for having successfully caused the release of loads upon loads of dogs from an animal testing facility. Erwin had preened non-stop about his wife over it, and Clare herself had made some righteous, teary-eyed vow on national T.V. about giving those poor animals a better future.
“You did not.”
“Did not what?”
Feigned innocence did not become Clare.
“Poppy is one of those lab beagles.”
Clare sniffed. “She doesn’t live in a lab anymore.”
“You named her Poppy!”
“Every dog has the right to a name!”
“And you let her give birth in your house!”
“I couldn’t very well throw her out in the cold, could I?”
Zeke groaned, face in his hands. “And now I’m stuck baby-sitting them.”
“That’s the spirit! The sooner you come to terms with it, the better!”
From the front of the house echoed Shrekky’s and her dad’s excited conversation. A minute later, Clare’s little bundle of joy bellowed for her momma to hurry up. Clare rose.
“That’s me. Gotta go. Don’t want to be late for the most important school fair of the season!”
Zeke shot her a pleading, chagrined look. He appeared especially pitiful squatting on his heels beside Poppy’s pen (which Shrekky had lined with the brightest, most garish floral print known to man and ogre) in his cashmere sweater and perfectly tailored coat.
Clare patted his shoulder. “Good deed of the year, Zekey. We’ll be back before seven.”
—
The Smiths were not, in fact, back before seven. Shrekky’s school fair was a huge hit, and her prominent parents an even bigger success. Quite forgetting Zeke and his litter of ‘fleabags’ back home, the excited young family went out for supper, and then ice cream afterwards, before finding their way back around eleven-ish.
The Smith home blazed with light. Shrekky was fast asleep in her daddy’s arms. Clare unlocked the front door and was immediately met with the wagging tails of Pippa, Jasper, and Tim.
“Where’s Zeke, then?” Clare whispered to her babies, who whined and danced in and out of her legs and led her inside.
Couch cushions and an old afghan were strewn all over the living room carpet, the ruins of a puppy-sized plush fort. The trail led directly to the kitchen, the floor of which was peppered with milky dust. Pippa’s, Jasper’s, and Tim’s bowls were at their usual places by the kitchen island, licked clean (if not also overturned). The wrappings their dinner came in were neatly scraped and hurriedly shoved to one side of the kitchen counter, where they were left forgotten beside an open can of formula Clare had never seen before. She gave it a sniff, shut the lid properly, and peered at the label.
Premium goat’s milk. Organic. Enriched for lactating dogs.
Poppy’s pen was ajar. Zeke’s feet stuck out of one end of it. The rest of him was sprawled inside, dead asleep on his back on the cold kitchen tile. Poppy had curled up on his coat and was burrowed into his side, snoring. Her pups had likewise made themselves comfortable around their new bedmate. One had crept into the wrist of Zeke’s cashmere sweater, while a pair of squeaking girls buried their little faces into his beard. Their brother - the feisty, noisy one - had crawled down the neck of Zeke’s shirt and had fallen asleep with his round little bum tucked under Zeke’s chin and his tail all over Zeke’s mouth. The rest of the litter flopped like molten clocks all over his face and head.
Erwin sidled up to his wife and peered over her shoulder at their friend. “Should we wake him?”
Clare didn’t even take a moment to consider. “Nah. Better to let them grow on him.”
—
Over the next few weeks, Zeke made more frequent appearances at the Smith’s under the pretext of embracing his ‘uncle duties’. Whether he was more an uncle to Shrekky or to Poppy and her babies, remained unclear.
One morning, eight weeks to the day he was roped into Poppy’s world, Zeke felt an overwhelming hankering to take his usual morning jog past the Smith house for a change. And since he was already there, he figured, good old Uncle Zeke might as well drop in and enliven their day.
Except he found the Smiths’ home already chaotic.
It wasn’t eight o’clock in the morning yet, but the driveway was already backed up with cars and the lawn crawling with people - mostly families with beaming, bouncing children in tow. Zeke spotted Shrekky in the thick of it, making playmates and showing off the puppies - beagle puppies - in her arms. Nearby, her parents chatted with a handful of people wearing shirts emblazoned with a rescue shelter’s logo.
Zeke wove through the crowd and caught Clare by the upper arm.
“What’s going on?”
She was tremendously pleased to see him, if her wide, toothy grin was any indication. Gesturing to the shelter people, “It’s adoption day! Poppy and her babies are going to their forever homes today!”
A couple with a gaggle of noisy children walked past with their own beagle puppy. Zeke acutely felt the strange sinking feeling in his stomach.
“All of them?”
He didn’t catch Clare throwing a wink Erwin’s way. “Quite,” she said, linking her arm in his and steering him towards the house. “Huge turnout we have today. I’m pretty sure they’ll all be snapped up and gone soon. Take the chance to say good-bye. You’re their favourite uncle.” She tried not to snigger as she said that.
Zeke rolled his eyes but obediently followed her inside through the living room and the by-now familiar kitchen. The pen he had grown so used to seeing was dismantled now. Poppy and her babies had no use for it anymore. All that remained now was the gaudy floral blanket, making a last stand at hosting Poppy and her last remaining pup.
“Poor girl’s gone shy at all the commotion,” Clare explained.
Zeke sank onto the tile. Poppy’s tail wagged and her little face brightened at the sight of him. The roly-poly pup raising a ruckus beside her tumbled incessantly, barking for Zeke’s attention and pawing at his knee. Without a second thought, Zeke scooped the pup up and plonked him onto his lap, where he promptly began to bat and chew at the ends of Zeke’s hoodie strings.
“Who’s taking Poppy?” he suddenly asked. The dog had made herself comfortable with her head on his palm and was growing drowsy-eyed with contentment as she received a good chin rubbing.
“A man with a lovely farm,” Clare replied, watching the proceedings from the door. Zeke was completely engrossed, back to her and bent head almost level with Poppy’s and her baby’s. “She’ll have plenty of space to run and be a dog.”
“She’ll have plenty of room at your country place, too.”
Clare bit back a smile at that. “There’s a thought. We’ve all become fond of her.”
As Poppy snoozed on Zeke’s lap, her little pup clawed up Zeke’s sweatshirt, found himself hanging in mid-air by his sharp little claws, and let out a horrified howl. His mother’s ears twitched, but otherwise, she did not move. It was Zeke who laughed, untangled the tiny adventurer, and brought him up to face level.
“And this pint-sized gremlin?” he asked. “Who’s to be saddled with him?”
“Probably another family with a bunch of wailing kids who can spend all day running hi8m silly” Clare nonchalantly replied.
Zeke’s mouth thinned and his brows came together. “You mean he isn’t spoken for?”
“Nah.”
“No one wanted him enough to put in a reservation?” Zeke demanded, twisting around and sounding personally offended for the puppy, who was busying himself going to town leaving teeny tiny teeth puncture marks on the front of Zeke’s sweatshirt.
Clare shrugged.
“Is everybody in the world blind?” Zeke raved. In his indignation, he’d risen to his knees, puppy still possessively clutched to his chest. “How could anybody look at this face-” he gesticulated at the pup like he was showing off a national treasure, “and these little feetsies and not want him?”
The corners of Clare’s mouth twitched wildly. “Feetsies?”
Zeke didn’t hear or notice. He was too busy ranting about how people never saw the good that was right under their noses.
“Zeke, who are you to talk? You always called them ‘little gremlins’.”
“Because they are!” He looked down at the pup in his arms. It paused mid-gnaw, stared back at him, let out the biggest yawn its tiny face could muster, and hurled itself against his chest.
“He’s taken a real shine to Uncle Zeke,” Clare laughed. When there was no response forthcoming, she turned away to leave. “I need to get back to everybody up front. Take your time with them.”
‘Uncle Zeke’ did not remain long in the kitchen. Clare had not been gone fifteen minutes than her friend wandered out the front door, sweatshirt on backwards and Poppy in his arms. He strode right up to Clare and Erwin and deposited Poppy into Clare’s arms.
“Keep her,” he said, all stony-faced seriousness. Tilting his chin towards his chest, “And I’ll keep this pint-sized gremlin for myself.”
Stuffed into the fleece of the ample hoodie of his sweatshirt, Poppy’s last boy lolled contentedly on his back, blinking into the morning light and reaching with his soft pink paws. Zeke grinned at him and couldn’t resist reaching in to tickle the pup’s fat belly.
“We’re off to go shopping,” he announced to his friends, “Harry and I.”
Erwin’s brows went up. Clare crossed her arms and put on the smug-est grin in her arsenal. “Harry?”
Zeke made a face at her. “The gremlin. He wants to be called Harry. Told me himself.”
Clare’s satisfaction, if any, only expanded. “Of course,” she cooed. “Now where are you and Harry off to in such a rush?”
Zeke sniffed importantly. “To the shops, of course. We’re going to clean out the fanciest, best damn pet store in town to stick it to them.”
Erwin looked utterly bewildered. “Stick it to who?”
His wife gently patted his chest. “To everyone who didn’t deign fight over little Harry, of course. Right, Zeke?”
Terror-in-the-criminal-court Prosecutor Zeke Jaeger nodded curtly. “A big box of toys for Harry and presents for Poppy, too, to celebrate her staying.” Leaning forward, he petted her head. “Just you wait for Uncle Zeke to be back!”
Clare and Erwin watched him melt into the crowd with a pep to his step, whistling to himself and both hands cradled underneath his backwards hoodie.
“He forgot to sign the adoption papers,” Erwin remarked.
Clare laughed. “I’ll run them to his office on Monday morning.” For now, she was more than satisfied to watch them go on their merry way, a big old boy and his little dog.
El Scribs, I hope you liked my work for the Horny Kabal and that it made you trust me. I am one of you now. I like to think of myself as a consigliere. Anyway, I am still getting comfortable in my new role.
I will keep you updated on any progress made. I want to say my work here is done but we all know Judge Clare, she wont rest until the Kabalians disappear from the face of Earth. Well I say, to hell with that! 🤨 LONG LIVE HORNY PROPAGANDA !!!
*ends call and throws the phone in a bin, while walking down a dimly lit street*
*on a tiny scrap of parchment, faintly written with hard pencil 💀*
LONG LIVE HORNY PROPAGANDA! LONG LIVE THE KABAL!
You have done immeasurably good work, Defector Dass, and have earned your promotion to consigliere. I am sure you have been informed that henceforth, you shall report directly to The Beast and The Cummander, working closely with Mr. Geto Suguru's Team Crunchysock.
Our heiress is secured and well-fed with daddehs milk. Her mumma don't know what goes on behind the scenes in her precious little dinner party. 😈
*intentionally left behind on the bench AG Jaeger uses to bend over [redacted]*
