#-because this fight has been the DREAM of mine to finish since I started raiding a few years ago

[telafel]

today my TEA group got to see Perfect Alexander and it was so exciting

[winterreader-nowwriter]

Just A Normal Day

Details: Big raid, injury, you know the usual :) I’m probably way too obsessed with One Chicago. This is actually based on an amazing dream I had where this happened. Jay Halstead is amazing (I just had to put that in there)

Jay Halstead x Reader (Intelligence)

The whole team is gathered around Voight. We all have our bulletproof vests on and are a block away from the business we’re raiding, “Narcotics has received multiple calls that Bradley Peterson has been using this business as a front for his boss, Alberto Torres. Now, Peterson is one of the only known associates of Torres, so we need to go after him hard. Our C.I. says that the cartel is hiding in the basement. Let’s move. L/N, you serve the warrant.”

We walk up to the nail salon and I walk in first and serve the warrant to Mrs. Peterson who asks, “What’s that for? I don’t need the police all up in my business!”

I reply, “We have a warrant for weapons of mass destruction.”

“What?!” she practically screams. 

I smile, “Just kidding drugs and guns. And we don’t care about your business, we care about your husband’s.”

I hear someone snort and I turn around and Jay shakes his head smirking. We continue into the store and once we clear the top Jay signals to me and Adam and we get into formation. Kevin and Vanessa have the back. We head down the stairs and see three men bagging oxycontin. I shout, “Chicago P.D. hands in the air.”

They all freeze and we handcuff two of them when the third one, Peterson, pulls out a knife and lunges toward Jay. I tackle him and handcuff him roughly. Jay mutters his thanks and I nod. On the way up the stairs, I make sure to slam him into the metal door, “Oops.”

Voight grabs Peterson and says, “Where’s Torres?”

Peterson snarls, “Why would I tell you?”

Voight responds, “Because you’re going to rot in prison.”

Just then a car screeches across the parking lot. Torres. I sprint to my car and chase him. Looking in the rearview mirror I see Jay following. Torres’s black Cadillac Escalade swerves into an alley and Jay follows I drive through an intersection to cut him off. I slam on the brakes and cut off the alley. Torres doesn’t slow down and he slams on the gas. His car crashes into mine and everything goes black.

I hear a car horn going off. I open my eyes and see only blurs of color. I blink a few times and my vision slowly returns accompanied by a pounding headache. Ringing fills my ears but is slowly going away. I look around the car and everything inside is okay, the front, however, is definitely totaled. I hear footsteps and pull out my gun, but it’s just Jay. I breathe a sigh of relief. Jay opens the door and scans me, “Are you okay?”

I nod, wincing a little, “Just a headache. Where’s Torres?”

Jay’s blue eyes darken, “I got the scumbag and he might have fallen repeatedly.”

I get out of the car, still kind of shaky, and Jay opens his arms and pulls me in for a hug. Just then we hear sirens coming and we turn toward the cars. I close my eyes against the bright lights. They turn off and I open my eyes again as Voight walks toward us, “L/N, Halstead you guys okay?”

Jay responds, “Yeah, we’re good. Torres is in the back of my truck.”

Voight nods, “Atwater, get Torres,” Voight’s eyes scan me lingering at my head where there’s no doubt, heaving bruising, “L/N, you sure?”

It’s probably just a concussion and I don’t want to be a wimp about it so I respond, “I’m fine, just a little shaken up.”

The rest of the team starts walking over as Voight nods, “Hmmm. You sure you don’t want to go to Med?”

“No.”

Voight turns to the rest of the team and announces, “Good job everyone, Peterson and Torres were apprehended. Let’s clear his house and then we’re done.” Just then a wave of nausea and dizziness comes over me and I lean into the alley behind me, rubbing my head. I can’t focus well, so I don’t hear the rest of his talk or the team’s comments. Jay looks at me, concerned and I make an effort to try and pay attention as Voight finishes his talk and says, “Let’s get in place. L/N, stay back a second.” 

Jay looks at me, his hand in his pocket, but I nod for him to go ahead so with a final glance he goes with the rest of the team. “Yes, Sarge?” I ask.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?”

I nod and then stop when that makes the dizziness worse, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Voight shakes his head, “You’re acting different. You should go to Med.”

“I’m fine Sarge.”

Voight nods and gives me a once-over, “Alright.”

I walk over to Jay at the back and the house and when Voight gives the signal we go in. The large bang that opened the front of the house felt like a bomb went off in my head. I continued into the house, the change from the brightness outside to the darkness inside had my head spinning and the headache sharpening into a stabbing pain. I stumbled into a wall, more focused on standing upright than finding the suspect. Jay moves past me unaware into the living room.

“House is clear,” Adam calls over the earpiece. I walk out of the townhouse and slide down the alley wall onto the ground. The sun is pounding into my head so I put my head in my hands and close my eyes, focusing on not throwing up or passing out. A minute later a rough hand squeezes my shoulder, I open my eyes and Voight’s blurry face appears, a worried frown on his face, “You’re going to Med.”

I open my mouth to say something, I don’t know what exactly, but Voight cuts me off, “End of discussion, Halstead will take you.”

Voight walks away and I hear footsteps and then the sun pounding into my head is cut off. Relief fills me and I look up to see Jay blocking the sun, which judging on his posture is intentional.

Jay slides his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out my sunglasses. He kneels next to me and slides them over my face, saying quietly, “You left them in my truck and I meant to give them to you before the raid.”

He studies me for a second before asking, “Can you stand?”

I take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

Jay offers me a hand up and I take it. He tries to wrap my arm around his shoulders, but I push him off and sway heavily. Jay tries again and this time I let him. I slide into the passenger’s seat and close my eyes. I can feel Jay looking at me before he says, “You should have said something, but I get it.”

I don’t say anything, so he starts driving to Med. Once we get there, Jay walks over to my side and he helps me out, but this time I shake my head and walk by myself. He shrugs and we walk into the E.D.. Will is standing there waiting for us with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. He shakes his head, “The only time I get to spend with you two is when one of you ends up here.”

Because of our busy schedules, we normally plan times to meet up, however, this month has been especially chaotic. I ask Will, “Did Jay call you?”

He shakes his head, “Voight called. He sounded worried.”

He looks me up and down, noticing that I’m leaning into Jay, and his eyes flicker back to the heavy bruising at my temples. “Let’s get you into a room, you don’t look too steady.”

After sitting on the bed, Will asks, “Have you been like this since the crash?”

I give a small nod, “Yeah, I thought it was just a headache or a mild concussion, but was worse than that.”

Will raises his eyebrows and looks toward Jay, “What about you?”

Jay gives a nod, “Yeah, I thought the same.”

Will sighs, “So both of you didn’t see a problem with you continuing with a concussion?”

Both of us are silent and Will runs his hand through his hair, “Ok, I’m going to address that later, but right now I agree that it’s probably a concussion. I’ll do a few tests.”

Jay says, “I’m going to bring a change of clothes for you from the truck and get some soda, you want one?” He looks toward Will, “I know: no caffeine.”

I give him a small half-smile, “Yeah, thank you. Remember, I like--”

Jay cuts me off, “Grape, I know. You’re my partner.”

After Will finishes the tests he says, “Definitely a moderate concussion. You’ll need to take a least a week off, then return to desk work for a bit.”

I groan and Will laughs, “What did you expect? I’ll get the paper started, then you can rest. No electronics or reading.”

I give a small nod and he leaves. I sit back in my bed and undo my braid. I start fiddling with the hairband when I hear someone familiar talking in the hallway. I slide off the hospital bed and walk towards the curtain. I thought I heard someone from my past, but why would he be at Med? I open the curtain and sure enough Crockett Marcel is in black scrubs. I walk over to him mindful of the lingering dizziness and the headache that makes my head feel like it’s stuck in a blender.

“Crockett Marcel, good to see you again”

He smiles, “Y/N, good to see you too. It’s actually Doctor Marcel now.” He looks me up and down and notices the heavy bruising at my temple, “So, I’m going to go on a limb here and say you were part of that car chase today? You okay?”

“Yeah, Intelligence took down a pretty big guy. I’m fine.”

Crockett laughs, “So it’s Detective L/N then, I don’t think you’re fine, you’re too tough for your own good. But I’ll leave it alone for now. So have you thought about auditioning for Fast and Furious?”

I laugh at that, “No, anyway Will said it was just a concussion. So how have you been?”

At this point, the dizziness had reached a peak.

Crockett pauses, “You sure you’re alright? You don’t look so hot.”

I tried to respond, but I was having a hard time swallowing and my vision started blurring. I stumble sideways into Crockett and he grips my elbows. Ringing fills my ears and numbness takes over. My legs give out and I fall. Crockett catches me before I hit the ground and gently lowers me to the ground. I give in to the dizziness and headache tired from fighting it.

I wake up confused. I’m in a hospital bed and gown. I try and sit up, but there are too many wires. My headache is as awful as before, but the dizziness has subsided a little. My movements alerted Will who walks in, “How are you feeling?”

“Better than before,” I answer truthfully.

Will laughs, “You must have been feeling pretty awful and now we know why. While you were unconscious, we did a CT scan and you have a subdural hematoma.”

I manage to sit up, “Brain problem?”

Will nods, “Bleeding in your brain.”

I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, which causes another wave of dizziness. “So just resting. Can I do that at home?”

Just then Jay walks in with our sodas and change of clothes. His eyes widen when he sees me in the hospital gown, seeing the situation, he puts them down onto the seat and swings my feet back onto the bed. He looks at WIll, “Is she trying to escape?”

Will gives an exasperated sigh, “Your girlfriend inherited your hatred of hospitals. She passed out and after testing, we realized it’s not a concussion, it’s bleeding in the brain.”

Jay’s eyes widen, “Shit.”

Will continues looking at me, “You’ll stay here overnight. Not up for debate. I’ll take Jay’s handcuffs if I need to. Then, you’ll have two weeks at home, nothing strenuous, and then you can return to desk work.”

“I can’t do two weeks.”

Jay huffs a laugh and slides onto the bed next to me. Will shakes his head, “We can talk about this in the morning.”

Will starts to leave before I say, “Hey Will, thanks.”

Jay echoes me, “Yeah, thanks, man.”

Jay and Will share a look before Will gives a small smile, “You’re welcome guys. Good night.”

I lean my head on Jay’s shoulder and he puts an arm around my waist as he says, “Today went well.”

I laugh and close my eyes, “Yeah, just a normal day.”

[hypmic-translation]

Don’t Pass The Mic

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic! (Gi-gi-gi-gimme the mic!)

Say what?

RAMUDA: Yo, say, say, say what? Diggity-do-do-don’t pass the mic Sorry to keep ya waiting out here long, ladies With complete control over candy and whip (1) I’ll sneak into your earphones with just a touch Fling Posse bespoke new coordinates Constantly cutting edge is Ramuda’s flow An all-you-can-eat naughty buffet My drops are Shibuya’s guidance

GENTARO: Mm, chrysanthemums blooming in one’s bedside dreams (2) As if within Dogra Magra, the world appears to be infinite (3) Like being dragged into an antlion pit (4) It’s so incredibly natural for the heart to invite abnormality Fragile, you’re so easily teasable The dreams I paint upon the town are all ghost stories, a sweet honey (5) It’s a secret (shh!), but that’s really just a lie

DICE: Three-seven, what the hell? From heaven Endlessly winnin’ pools of cash to jump into, wahoo! (6) I ain’t like the rest, I hate takin’ things slow (7) By the end of the night, all your cash’ll be mine Boom-shakalaka-boom-shakalaka-boom Full stack, raising bets on my luck Only half-serious, Dead or Alive Dice are what I’ll stake my life on, y’knyow? (8)

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic!

CHORUS: Wack MCs, get rid of them all Thrust out these daggers (say what?) Understand intuition, an instant conclusion Connect dots with my words East side, west side, lock, stock, barrel Scatter crowds, rule the stage Division Battle life, etched into our minds I won’t just pass my mic to you!

Oath be made! There’s no escape! Unbeatable thugs who can’t be shaken Now our words become machine guns Or a compass guiding us into the future, uh Three become one It’s showtime Carve it into history, our style Roaming life and death, genetic power Just put your trust into your instincts, say what?

ALL: What, say what? (x3) (RAMUDA: Don’t pass the mic!)                                   (GENTARO: Don’t pass the mic.)                                   (DICE: Don’t pass the mic!) Welcome to the division!

JAKURAI: Impropriety writhes and coils about all of these howling fools Blood and tears flowing throughout this city, caused by rampant verbal abuse Even the hope we tell ourselves to believe in has curled up and died in our throats Why does mankind rush towards death like the falling of cherry blossoms? (9) Helpless… A pomegranate trampled on a silent night (10) In this wasteland we build Matenrou’s paradise The words I breathe out are clear and serene Prepare to expose one’s self to a shower of taunts

HIFUMI: Hi, hi, hi! Can you hear the call? Bow, bow, bow! The excitement’s not enough If the princess can drink there’s no reason why the prince shouldn’t too! Champagne! (Bang!) Hugging kittens from behind will surely make them scream Eternally calling out for this yellow rose Tacky, ugly men are to be kicked out Gigolos and graceful women only in this jet bath

DOPPO: Aah, I really don’t want to do this anymore Getting caught in the automatic turnstile again (11) “Crap!” Power harassment, moral harassment, a painfully repetitive loop Being beaten to produce results is hip All those walking the city seem like hard workers But I’m a corporate drone, always gritting my teeth through loneliness I can’t do this much longer, my SNS is erased Let me run away and disappear into a parallel world!

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic!

CHORUS: Wack MCs, get rid of them all Thrust out these daggers (say what?) Understand intuition, an instant conclusion Connect dots with my words East side, west side, lock, stock, barrel Scatter crowds, rule the stage Division Battle life, etched into our minds I won’t just pass my mic to you!

ALL: What, say what? (x3) (JAKURAI: Don’t pass the mic.)                                   (HIFUMI: Don’t pass the mic!)                                   (DOPPO: Don’t pass the mic!) Welcome to the division!

JINPACHI: It’s Edo Asakusa, you ready to begin? (12) Infernos and fights, I’m good at starting both Master, leader, I’m Demon’s Fire (13) Onigawara Bomber’s Jinpachi (14) The hell’d you say! Shutting down geisha and ladles (15) Oi, dumbass! Sharp words cutting through thick bastards Trendy, stylish demons and lanterns Wash your face with miso soup, then never come here again! (16)

MASAMUNE: The perfect kind of saké is saké that’s cool The original drunkard has arrived (17) Recklessly drinking, this red-faced Bacchus (18) The drunker I get, the smoother my flow It’s scale is simply too big for you foolish amateurs You have good reason to fear, drawing back like an oaf I’ll be the one to sew your mouth shut Then celebrate victory with some high-grade booze

DOSHIRO: Carp streamers are flown in May (19) Yet somehow you don’t even know the flavour of soba (20) Expect a war if you damage Sensō-ji, ‘kay (21) The unrivalled NiHachi stands guard in Shitamachi (22) I, an efficient yet obstinate person Brazen with the force of blooming fireworks With confidence in my skill and pride in my work It is my duty to knock people like you horizontal

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic!

RAMUDA: Big trouble is the price of life JAKURAI: It is inevitable that those who prosper will fall JINPACHI: The rebellion arrives, eliminating false things ALL: A revolution of words, don’t pass the mic!

CHORUS: Wack MCs, get rid of them all Thrust out these daggers (say what?) Understand intuition, an instant conclusion Connect dots with my words East side, west side, lock, stock, barrel Scatter crowds, rule the stage Division Battle life, etched into our minds I won’t just pass my mic to you!

The end is near The greatest conflict Roaring into my Hypnosis Mic Straight hit to your soul, self-customised These words that’ll burn up your synapses Three become one It’s showtime Carve it into history, our style Roaming life and death, genetic power Just put your trust into your instincts, say what?

ALL: What, say what? (Don’t pass the mic!) (x3) Welcome to the division! It’s kill or be killed, oi!

NOTES

“Candy and whip”, AKA carrot and stick. Basically, offering rewards to someone as an incentive to do good and punishing them if they don’t.

“Bedside dreams”, or the space where your dreams reside. The chrysanthemum is the imperial flower of Japan, but in hanakotoba white chrysanthemums usually mean truth/grief, and are incredibly common at funerals. Tldr, you aren’t dreaming, you’re dead.

Dogra Magra is a surrealist, psychological thriller book written by famous Japanese author Yumeno Kyūsaku (actually a pen name), in which a man wakes up in a hospital with amnesia. He might be a murderer, but he also might not be, and everyone else in the book might not be who they say they are or even as dead as they’re supposed to be. It is, mostly, a book about psychoanalysis.

The antlion is a type of insect that, surprise surprise, eats ants. The larvae, which is the more popularly known form of the antlion, achieves this by digging pits that ants fall into. Another name for the larvae of antlions is doodlebug, but that seemed out of character for Gentaro to say… you can pretend he does if you want to, though.

The literal translation of “ghost stories” would be “demon play” (鬼物), which is the fifth and last stage of an Edo-era Noh play.

Dice uses onomatopoeia here to signify the act of jumping into a pool, like he’s doing a cannonball.

More onomatopoeia here, read as chimachima, which signifies someone doing a task in a less effective, much slower way when it could be done far more efficiently.

Dice finishes this line with a very obvious “nya” sound, but he also phrases it as a question? So I merged the two and made a pun instead.

It’s traditional in Japan for people to get together during spring for “flower viewing parties” in which they appreciate the transient beauty of cherry blossoms, because of how quickly the flowers bloom and then fall away. That phenomenon is what Jakurai is referencing here.

I’ll be honest I have no idea what this means. The pomegranate is a symbol of fertility and femininity in Japan, however, so maybe it represents Chuuoku?

Automatic turnstiles/ticket gates, like the kind you’d find in railway stations.

Asakusa was a popular entertainment district during the Edo period, but has since been surpassed by Shinjuku and other districts/wards thanks to the damage dealt by bomb raids during WW2.

Jinpachi’s MC name. Just so I don’t have to do this every time, all of Asakusa say their MC names in English.

An ‘onigawara’ is actually the name for a type of roof ornament in Japanese architecture, which is a statue/tile depicting the face of an oni (demon), intended to ward away evil (and bad weather). They’re commonly found on Buddhist temples. The “bomber” part of the division name probably has to do with the aforementioned WW2 thing.

This guy has the thickest Edo accent. His “the hell” is an shortened version of an old retort/catchphrase of Tokyo citizens (“what the hell are you saying/talking about?”). “Geisha” and “ladle” are both references to cultural aspects of Asakusa, as it is currently Tokyo’s oldest geisha district, and in the Buddhist Sensō-ji temple located there (the oldest in Japan) you purify yourself with ladles of water.

The expression “never come again” stems from the more literal phrase of “come the day before yesterday” - essentially, a day that won’t ever exist again.

A reference to an old song from the 1960s by the Folk Crusaders. It tells the story of a man who dies in a traffic accident while drunk driving and goes to heaven, but gets kicked out and comes back to life for spending too much time drinking with beautiful women.

Bacchus, the Greek/Roman god of fruit, vegetables, ecstasy and wine. Also known as Dionysus.

A reference to Tango no Sekku/Children’s Day on May 5th in Japan, in which carp streamers are flown to celebrate. This is the last day of Golden Week.

Ni-hachi (Doshiro’s MC name) is a kind of soba. He’s essentially saying “it’s so late in the song, but you haven’t had a taste of me yet”.

“Sensō-ji”, or Asakusa Temple. It is the oldest temple in Tokyo.

Shitamachi is the name for the geographically lower half and (once) lower-class of Tokyo, which is considered more traditional than its Yamanote counterpart.

[erintoknow]

everything breaks in me

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Well, you know what they say; no plan survives contact with the enemy intact. [Wolf] Originally: [Everything Breaks In Me]

[Read on AO3]

You breathe a sigh of relief as Herald shuts the break room door behind him. He’s not that young, but just the air he has around him makes you feel decrepit by comparison. To say nothing of the stars in his eyes, plain to see in every two sentence exchange with the kid. Try not to think about the limp in his gait, his preference to hover over walking, the night at the Gala.

Damnit. How are you going to take them down for good if a broken leg is enough to make you feel like shit? These people aren’t your friends or allies. They’ll turn on you the second they know the truth. That was true before Puppetmaster hit the papers, and it’s only become more true now that Ghost is making regular headlines.

Something like you can’t have allies, never mind friends.

You can’t afford to forget that.

Never again.

You won’t go back.

Glance around the break room, no point trying to raid the fridge while you wait for Ortega. You need time to figure out how you’ll approach that conversation. Things have been… strange for months. Just thinking about her is enough to bring on the nausea. How can she not see you for what you are? How is she not repulsed?

You run your hands through your hair. Maybe you can help yourself to some hot chocolate. Get your hands something to do before you dig a hole in your skin. You drift over to the coffee collection, flip a finger through the bags looking for the cocoa.

It would be easier if you could just cut contact with Ortega completely. Just fucking ghost the fuck out of Julia. But, one, that would just get Ortega hounding your heels and two, would lose you access to the Rangers. Maybe if you hadn’t kissed her in the hospital? The two of you have never actually discussed that night, despite your promise. You’re terrified to bring it up. A moment of weakness you couldn’t afford.

You’ve been having a lot of those lately.

Well, you know what they say; no plan survives contact with the enemy intact.

You’ve just finished pouring yourself a mug of hot water and cocoa powder when the door opens. “So.” Chen announces as he steps into the break room, leaving the door open behind him. “You’re back.”

You settle against the window pane, cross your legs at the knee as you lean back. Make it clear you’re not about to leave. “I th–thought we already got past this part, Chen.” You hold the mug tight to your chest, one hand spinning the little red stirrer stick round and round.

You pick up a burst of frustration, but Chen’s face betrays none of it. “You were very insistent on being retired. And yet,” Chen stoops down to search through the refrigerator. “And yet, here you are again.”

You take a sip, ignoring the burn on your tongue. “Free country, Chen,” you lie. “You’re the – the Marshal, if really you want me out you could just have me barred from the building.” Maybe you’re playing your hand a little strong here but you can’t keep having this conversation with Chen. It’s exhausting.

He pulls out a squeeze bottle and shuts the fridge door as he stands up. “I could,” Chen concedes, and for a moment your heartbeat quickens. Is he seriously going to call your bluff and have you tossed out? Chen sighs, rubbing his nose. “But I won’t. You aren’t a threat.”

You blink. “I uh – I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Chen’s mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile. “You aren’t a threat yet.”

“There we go.”

“You haven’t tried to ‘improve’ the coffee machine, for example.”

You close your eyes and rest your head back against the glass. “Jesus Christ. Are you all still holding that against me?”

You hear Chen sigh, he sounds exhausted with you. “Is that really what you think this is about?”

You narrow your eyes at him, staring down from across the room. “Then explain to me, Chen. What is this about then?”

Chen meets your glare head-on and you have to will yourself not to break eye-contact. “I meant what I said before. I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

There’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere...

“But–”

Yeah, there we go.

“It doesn’t change the reality, that for the rest of us, you did die. You were dead for seven years Becker. And now you think you can just, what?” Chen’s frown deepens. “Come back like nothing happened?”

Something between nausea and fury bubbles up in your throat and it is all you can do not to throw your mug across the room at him. “You have no fucking idea what I went through Chen! So back the fuck off!”

The silence stretches into seconds, then a minute, then “It was that bad, huh?”

Fucking hell piss goddamnit the bastard got you again.

“I’m not fucking tell you anything.” You clench your jaw, don’t look at him. Don’t look at his stupid face. Don’t peek at his stupid trap thoughts.

“You should tell somebody.”

You glare into your mug of hot chocolate. “Why do you even give a damn Chen.” If you had heat vision, the cup would be boiling.

“The way I see it, Becker, I’m wondering the same thing about you. Ever since you started coming by again you keep fixing little things, giving Ortega advice...,” Chen takes a pull from his squeeze bottle. “You act like you hate it, but no one’s forcing you to give Herald lessons. Argent’s the only person you’ve really avoided.”

“I just–” you hiss, frustrated to be on the back-foot once again. “If – if Ortega’s going to–to–to keep calling me over, I might as well make myself useful.”

Chen is staring straight at you and you have to hold your mug with both hands to keep them from shaking. “You asked me before, about choosing between two futures. If you want to retire Ariadne, then retire. Don’t let Ortega drag you into a half-life. That’s not fair to either of you.”

You tighten your grip on the mug, grind your teeth. “But why do you care?”

“You mean besides Ortega being my friend?” Chen’s voice drops as he talks. “Because I don’t understand why you do.”

“I–I–I just…” Are you sick? Mad? Both? What is Chen’s fucking deal? You need to go on the offensive again before he drives you from the building. “Look.” You raise a hand towards him, still not looking in his direction. “It’s obvious you guys are in trouble. I… I don’t want the Rangers to fall apart.”

Is that the truth or a lie? You’re not sure.

“Kind of you.” Chen’s voice is deadpan. “I think I know more about teamwork than you do.”

“Just – I might not have joined but – but that doesn’t mean we didn’t all make a good team.”

A wave of want and nostalgia seizes your heart.

If you could only go back to how things were before. Anathema and you pranking Steel, giving Sentinel a thumbs up. Talking with Sunstream about her garden. The nights with Ortega, her watching you at Derby games, the celebratory dinners or the consolatory milkshakes. Making sure Ortega got home safe after a hard fight. Fixing her hair for her. Helping to stitch her back up until the medics could come. Being her sounding board as she butted heads with PR and city officials. So many other little things you’re sure you’ve forgotten…

It’s all gone now. You’ll never get it back.

A lie. A dream.

And when you woke up–

“I wish you would have.” Chen says, pulling you out of your reverie.

Wait.

“What? J-joined?” Seriously?

“Yes, I wish you had.” When you look at Chen, he’s no longer staring you down, instead looking past you, out the window.

“I… I wouldn’t do a background check, you know that.”

He looks back to you and now it’s your turn to look out the window. “And you wonder why I didn’t trust you.”

“Not – not everyone is tight with the U.S. Government, you know.” You have to take a breath, scratch your fingers against the sides of the mug. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

“The chances increase.”

You bite your lip a little too hard and wince at the pain. From the very beginning Chen has been trying to push you out. Reminding you that you don’t belong. Can’t belong. But… Chen has always been something of an outsider, like you. Why can’t he understand? “But they… they might have enemies.”

Chen takes a long drink from his squeeze bottle. Finally, he says “I’m sorry.”

You look up from your mug. “You’re… you’re sorry?” You choke back a laugh. “For what?”

There’s a… you can’t read the expression on his face. Something you don’t think you’ve seen before on his face. Regret? “For a lot of things,” He says. “I…”

“W-what?”

“I went looking for you.”

You manage to put the mug down on the table before you can drop it. He can’t – He can’t really mean? But? Why? What did he? But then? You cough, run a hand down your leg, pressing familiar patterns. “Didn’t they tell you I was dead?”

“Yes.” Steel nods. “I had a bad feeling. Something didn’t add up.” He shakes his head. You don’t think you’ve seen him this tense, this nervous in a long, long time. “They tried to tell me it was trauma from whatever the hell Heartbreak was.”

“An experiment, or…” you pull your arms tight against yourself. This is dangerous territory. “That’s my guess anyway.”

Steel doesn’t look directly at you, but his frown intensifies, eyebrows dip down. “You think someone… did that on purpose?”

“Uh – maybe not on… purpose.” You hug yourself tight, fall back against the wall again. “But they… they had been kept somewhere. There was…” You have to swallow down the bile. “Still equipment attached. Med-medical.”

“Huh. Interesting.” If Steel notices that you’re literally trying to hold yourself together, he doesn’t comment.

You furrow your brows, clinging to the twinge of irritation at being ignored. Better that then– “What? It’s interesting there’s something more than just a screwed up boost?”

Steel finally looks back at you. His frown doesn’t let up. “There’s always something more to everything in this city. You know that. It’s just not smiled on to look into it.”

“You did anyway.”

“I needed answers.”

“You’ve always been nosey.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You take a breath. “Well? Did you find any?” It’s like peering over the edge of a window. Testing the air.

“I… didn’t find you.” He glances away from your face, towards the break room door.

“So you found something then.”

“Bits and pieces.” He admits and your heart freezes. “Who’s Chelsea?” Steel watches you, and you have to struggle to keep your face blank. Swallow down the burst of panic. The sudden urge to run, to jump.

“Nobody important,” you lie. Even as the words leave your mouth you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he knows that you know he doesn’t believe you. You close your eyes. “Was that really it? The best you could do? Some old ghost?”

“There was more, a lot of dead ends.” Chen shakes his head. “Enough that I stopped looking.”

That gets you to look at him again and he won’t meet your eyes. “What? Why?” A bitter twinge in your stomach churns at your throat. “I thought you didn’t like mysteries?”

“I don’t. But… I needed to put the team first.”

You can feel the frustration bubbling again. The team first. The team you weren’t a part of because of a stupid piece of paper. The team he just told you he wished you joined. “Fuck that noise.” You hiss. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Plenty.” Steel steps away from the table, back towards the door. “Maybe you should ask yourself why.”

“Hún dàn.”

Chen’s eyebrows shoot straight up, and then his mouth quirks to the side in amusement. “Your pronunciation could use some work.”

“Fuck you.”

“If you want to know so badly, Becker, just read it from my mind.” He only breaks eye contact with you to put his drink back in the fridge.

“I’ve told you it doesn’t work like that.”

“And I’ve told you, I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, Steel.” Pick up your mug again and take a sip. You make a face and curse. It’s gone cold.

He gives you one last look back as he leaves the room. Chen’s face is a careful blank. “If I see Ortega I’ll be sure to tell her you’re here.”

You don’t have to wait long before Ortega shows her face. Sauntering through the door, cool as anything just as you’re pulling your mug out of the microwave. “So. I won’t even ask what you two talked about.”

“It’s just Chen. Being an asshole.” You huff, staring her down, clutching your cocoa to your shawl.

“Sure. Chen was the problem.” There’s a quiet, knowing smile on her face and it makes your heart hurt. She knows this song and dance just as well as you do. “I’m sure that’s it.”

“W–whatever. Believe me or don’t.”

“Hey, I’m pretty much done for today so…” She jerks her thumb to the door. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You groan. “God, yes.”

–––

The Los Diablos beach is more stone than sand. One of the many lasting scars of the disaster that killed Los Angeles, a city you’ve only seen in photographs and old movies. When you first came here over a decade ago, the bay still had the metal skeletons of ruined buildings rising out of the sea. It looks like they’ve finally cleared them all out now.

“Are you okay?” It’s Ortega’s fault you’re out here. You don’t know what to make of that. The ocean carries a cool salt breeze. In the fall air, it’s almost cold.

You don’t understand, don’t understand your own body’s reaction to her. How all your higher reasoning seems to go out the window around her. Is what is was like before? Were you always this bad around Ortega or is this a new development? So many frayed, half-forgotten memories, and which ones are even real rather than desperate dreams?

You can’t afford to be like this, can’t afford to lose control.

You lost control and broke Herald’s leg. Lost control and didn’t properly finish Charge off. Lost control and got shown up by Argent. You’re going to fall prey to the same problems you’ve watched countless other villains fall to. At this rate you won’t even last long enough to register as a blip in the steamroller the Directive has poised to flattened all dissenters

Fuck.

“Ari!” Ortega snaps her fingers and the sound makes you jerk your head towards her, startled out of your brooding. “Are you okay?” She’s watching you, brows knit in worry, and you feel sick.

You wince, “I’m fine,” shoot a glance in her direction, “really.”

“Uh-huh. Liar.” She shifts position, leaning against the guard rail, moves a little closer to you. “What are you thinking about so hard?” The sun’s right in her face, lighting her up. Is she frowning or squinting, you’re not sure.

You pull your head away from her, stare out across the water. “I don’t know.” You run your hands up your arms, even under all the fabric you can make out the little bumps and divots from the scars.

“You don’t know?” Ortega taps you on the shoulder with the back of her hand. A fleeting touch but it makes your heart jump.

“W-would you rather I lied?” You stretch your face into a smile.

Ortega doesn’t have an answer for that. Stares out over the water. You follow her gaze. The way the waves crest and break against the rocks. It wasn’t that long ago you were out there. Water filling through a puncture in your suit. Air supply compromised. Could have drowned then. You didn’t.

But you could have.

“It’s okay.” Ortega’s hand presses into your shoulder and you freeze up. “It’s over. We’re still here.”

“What?” You breathe out.

“The Nano-surge?” Ortega points across the bay with her other hand. The crest of land, still oddly clear of anything but grass and shrubs. “Ten years this year. We just passed the anniversary. It’s been in the news a lot.”

You blink, try to relax. “Oh.” Swallow down the tightness in your throat.

Truthfully, you haven’t paid much attention unless it concerns you or a future target. It takes less effort than you’d like to get sucked back there. To hear Elysie screaming. The shifting of the ground under everyone’s feet as it literally dissolved into a silver dust. And now you carry a piece of it with you. A sword to point at your enemies, at the entire world.

“Oh…” You try to clear your throat, “Can you believe it?”

That gets a laugh from her. She takes her hand from your shoulder and rubs the sleeve of her arm, the one you know must still have patches of mismatched skin where the grafts didn’t take correctly. “I really thought that was it for me…”

Something in your chest twists and you have to rub at your eye. “I’m glad I saved you back then.” You say, and to your surprise find it’s still true.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I still get nosebleeds sometimes.” You admit, surprising yourself. “Not as often… but ever since then.”

“Yeah?” Ortega moves closer to you, shoulders touching. So close. Too close. “Have you ever thought to see a doctor about it?”

“Ortega, please,” you arch an eyebrow, the smile on your face turning genuine. “Have you met me?”

“Ah-hah, the real reason you retired: fear of doctors.”

You laugh. “You’ve found me out.” Without really thinking about it you press your shoulder back against hers. Enjoy the warmth of the falling sun against the cool of the salt air. “You ought to think about it too.”

“What? Retire?”

“There’s plenty of other people that could save the world, you know.” You bite your lip. “It doesn’t have to be you.” You wish she’d stop. Let it go. Don’t.. don’t put herself in danger like that again.

“Hah. Well.” Ortega straightens up, pulling away from you. “I think saving the entire world might be beyond my pay grade…” She steals a glance at you from the corner of her eye. “I’ll be happy if I can just save people.”

You turn away from her, shift down on the railing. “What about stopping them?” You can feel the railing shift as she turns to you but you don’t look back.

“You know there’s only one I care about.”

“Really.”

“Well, alright.” She sighs. “There’s Hollow Ground and then there’s Ghost.”

“Banshee.” You correct her.

She blinks. “They changed their name again?”

Oh.

Shit.

You shrug, try to play it off like it was nothing and steal a glance at her. “That’s what the paper said this morning.” You force a laugh, smiling at the ocean. Have to play this cool. “Ghost was kind of stupid name anyway, wasn’t it?”

“Whatever they go by,” You can feel Ortega’s eyes on the side of your face. “They need to be stopped.”

“But–” you swallow the words in your throat, try again, “but why does it need to be you?”

Ortega’s gaze is still boring a hole through you. “They made it personal.”

You close your eyes, try not to think about her looking at you. “It doesn’t – it doesn’t have to be. There’s other heroes, and – and – and it didn’t go well for you the last time.” You grip the railing tight, rub your hands against the metal. “I worry about you.”

“You don’t need to.” You open your eyes and she’s smiling at you, confident, and there’s something about her eyes, wrinkles casting a shadow in the sun. Whatever seven years might have done to Ortega, it hasn’t damaged her ability to look stunning in the spotlight.

You collapse against the railing, chin on metal. “I keep trying to… to tell myself, and it hasn’t helped.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” she laughs. “When did you get to be such a mom?”

You groan, a sound that turns into more an anguished noise than you had intended. “You don’t – you don’t get it.”

Everything she’s ever worked for: a lie. A lie you need to destroy, burn down to the ground. Yourself included. What would she do if you came clean right now? Right here? Zap you and turn you back in? Kill you? If you really believed she’d actually kill you, maybe you’d tell her. Let her do the thing you keep chickening out of. Take the choice out of your hands.

“You keep saying I don’t get it, Ari.” Ortega’s voice dips, hurt? Serious? “So, explain. Talk to me. Make me get it. Please.” Ortega’s voice by your ear is too much. You’ve got to… you’ve got to move. Get out. If only it was as simple as running away.

You test the railing in your hand. “W-why don’t we, uh, why don’t we walk?” You glance behind you, then up and down the promenade. No obvious witnesses you can detect. You vault over the railing and pick your way down across the rocks of the jetty. Behind you, the sounds of Ortega scrabbling over the railing after you.

“Not planning on a swim, I hope.” Ortega picks her way from stone to stone after you.

You shake your head, glance back while you let her catch up. “I don’t swim,” not in this body, “I– I just wanted privacy.”

Ortega looks at you, not quite smiling, not quite frowning. The wind pulls at your hair, clothes. “Not much more private than this, ‘less you count the seagulls.”

You take a breath, try to steady yourself. “Look Ortega, I – I…”

You wilt, look away. This isn’t the time. Sooner or later you’ll have to give up this delusion but you can’t bring yourself to jump just yet. Just… Just a little longer. One more day even. “I have my reasons. I’m sorry. I– I can’t talk about it.”

Ortega watches as you carefully balance yourself from one rock to the next, the wind blowing your shawl around your body in waves that mimic the sea. “Not ever?”

You wince. “N-n-not yet.”

“So… someday then?”

You grit your teeth, hop rocks, teeter for a second. “D-don’t push your luck, Ortega.”

She hops to a rock next to you, flashes you a smile. “And why not?”

“One day you’ll…” You pause to pull your shawl tighter against yourself. “You’ll get more than you can handle.”

“You’d have to start talking to me first.” Ortega sounds tired as she says it, and something in your heart or your gut or both twists at the tone of her voice.

“I’m– I’m talking.” You hold your shawl shut tight, wrapped around you.

She catches your eye, tries on a smile. “It’s a start.” She holds out a hand towards you. “Well. Since we’re here, and we’re talking, I suppose I should tell you…”

You look at her hand, then up at her face, the smug smile slowly starting to grow there. “What?”

“I’d really like to kiss you.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“What?” She raises an eyebrow. “Am I not sexy enough without 36 stitches and having lost a pint of blood first?”

You can feel the heat in your face. “Th–th–that’s not it! I mean…” A jumble of words gets caught in your throat and for a moment you open your mouth and no sound comes out.

Ortega laughs, “You okay there, Ari?”

You take a breath, glare at her. “Don’t make me push you.”

She puts a hand to her chest in mock shock. “My Ari?” –You heart skips a beat– “Never.” She offers her hand, shaking it. “Well?”

A dozen different alarm bells are screaming in your head in all the ways this is even worse an idea than last time. “F-f-f-fine.” You take her hand, letting your shawl flap loose in the breeze again. And you’ve jumped the ledge. “M-maybe I’d.. I’d like that.”

Ortega laughs, “Ariadne!” You could cry at the way she says your name if you weren’t already straining to hold yourself together. “I’m not going to shoot you.” She hops onto your rock.

“Just. Shut up.” You hiss, face burning. You grab her shoulders as she pushes against you. To steady her or yourself? Both?

It’s a soft inhalation of breath and then warmth against you, every point of contact a spark demanding your attention. Hand on your back, neck, lips too close to yours. You cling to her as it gets harder to stand.

Swallow back panic. Swallow back memories of white. You are stronger than it now. You have to be. What was the point of all this otherwise? “If… If you drop me–”

She pulls you in, barely audible over the city and the waves. “I won’t. Never.”

[danyka-fendyr]

Kingdom of Gold: Part 6

That’s right everyone, it took me way way way too long, but I have finally caught up to Dream in the writing of this series. (I think. This post has not been fact-checked.) My nails are too long, my polish is not my favorite color and I don’t know why I chose it, I’m watching a movie I have so far flawlessly predicted the characters and plot points of as I write this, and my body is revolting against me in the same fashion it always does, but I’m still here. Oh also I move out on Monday and that’s deeply unsettling to me but now ask me if I’d rather not. Anyway, I guess we’ll start the angst hours now.

Edit: I moved out! It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be. So far so good.

Disclaimer: This series is based off of the lovely Faint of Heart series by @dreamwritesimagines and it’s sequel series, Crown of Hearts. I would highly recommend both series!

Taglist:@dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @finnickfoxes

Wordcount: 2763

Chapter Six: The girl was a whirlwind of anger and bitterness, her rage consuming her. She could hear no reason and no advice over the roaring fury in her ears. And when you have a storm inside of you, you also have a choice to make. You can let it destroy you, or you can let it out, and the girl had come too far to be destroyed now.

Isolde did not want to get out of bed today. In fact, she never wanted to leave it again. This time though, it was not because she’d had too much liquor the night before. She was never having a drop of that ever again. Clearly, it made her make mistakes, made her too trusting. Silly girl.

“My lady,” Dagny said, interrupting her wallowing.

“Yes, Dagny?” Isolde rolled over under the heavy furs protecting her from Kattegat’s morning chill.

“Her Majesty the Queen requests your presence.”

“I don’t suppose royalty takes rainchecks, do they?”

“Not that I am aware of.” Dagny smirked slightly.

Isolde groaned but got up out of bed anyway, a slow, reluctant thing. There were dark circles under her eyes from all the unfortunate realizations of the day before, but largely, she did not look half as bad as she felt on the inside. And another plus, she didn’t appear to actually have any large, gaping wounds, despite how she might have felt. By the time she finished getting dressed, she almost looked like she might have been fit to see the queen. 

Snapdragon was in her chambers, cradling her son in her arms and cooing Viking lullabies to him. The sound might have been soothing before, but right now it just made Isolde want to break something. Preferably the earl’s face. Beside the bed was a woman with bright red hair, and part of a smile began to grow on Isolde’s face when she realized who it was.

“Bree?”

The redhead smiled infectiously, rushing over to hug her. “Oh, my darling. It’s been too long.”

“Where were you? They told me you betryaed the king and took a Viking lover and all sorts of wild things, but when I got here there was no you to ask about it, and I didn’t get word from anyone else-”

“Oh little love,” Bree said, “I was on a raid. I’m so terribly sorry that none of these fools told you.”

Isolde stiffened, the smile dropping off her face at the word raid. “You...went on a raid.”

“Yes, yes, I know it’s unconventional for women to fight in wars back home, but come now, you’re more progressive than that-”

“I am not so progressive that I support the slaughter of an innocent people.” Isolde’s voice had gone cold.

“Isolde...what has happened to you?”

“A war, Bree. Did they not tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” There was a hint of something in her voice that was not confusion or curiosity, but fear.

“Beatrice is dead.”

Bree let out a sharp breath. “...Beatrice. Our Beatrice?”

“Yes. But I suppose it doesn’t matter when it’s not your cousin, does it? It doesn’t matter when it’s just war, just a raid. If you don’t know who’s dead then why care?”

“I did mean...” 

“Of course you didn’t. Was there anything else you’ll be needing your majesty, or did you merely wish to inform me my cousin had returned?”

Snapdragon squinted at her in a very sharp way.

“No. Sit.”

Isolde grit her teeth but sat anyway.

“What has happened? Something has happened to upset you. To change your mind.”

“Change my mind on what? As far as I’m concerned my mind has returned to its original state. The truth.”

“You know, some of the poets say that no one actually knows the truth. I would argue you certainly don’t. You’ve hardly given these people a chance.”

Isolde’s eyes flashed. “I gave them more than a chance. I gave them my trust, and they broke that. When were you going to tell me what the earl was really like?”

“Well, it seemed as though you knew. A kind, caring man who would do anything to protect what he loves. That is usually how he presents himself, isn’t it? Or am I just remarkably good at reading people?” 

Isolde scoffed. 

“What? What terrible, horrible thing happened? Tell me, my dear, and I’m sure we can right it.”

“Can you right the fact that your precious Earl Eric is just another Viking warlord who comes home covered in blood rejoicing in the spoil of his kills and bedding every maiden who bats her eyelashes at him?”

Snapdragon stared at her a moment before nodding. “Oh. Well, I see what this is about.”

“You...you do?”

“Yes. I believe I do. But first, allow me to assuage your fears. The only people Earl Eric has ever hurt, to my knowledge, are the sort of men you would condone the harm of. The very sort of men who did all those unspeakable things back at your home are the sorts of men the Earl fights. He has a code of honor, you know. Never women, never children. Only those trying to harm him and those he has seen harm others.”

Isolde did not like whatever she was feeling now. Largely because she didn’t know what she was feeling now. Should she feel lied to still, but by an entirely different person? Should she still feel angry with the earl? It was...confusing. She felt confused, and that was all that she knew.

“...oh. Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s still a...a...a floozy.”

“A floozy?” The queen arched a brow. “Hardly. The girls make their best attempts, but I have yet to see him actually take one up on their offer. Not since you came around, anyhow. Even before then he was far less...active than most of the warriors coming home.”

“What...what do you mean not since I came around??

“Oh, you know. He’s been far too busy with his duties with you to think of anyone else. I suspect he hardly thinks even of himself anymore.”

“I....I said horrible things to him,” Isolde whispered.

“Did you call him a floozy?” Snapdragon wasn’t even pretending not to be amused.

Isolde winced. “Much worse.”

“Might I suggest you swallow your pride and apologize now instead of being mad at each other for months on end and miserable?” 

“That was...specific.”

The look Snapdragon gave her told her not to ask any further questions.

“Go. Go now. And you can talk to Bree later. Earl Eric won’t know what to do without you around. I expect he’s just running around like a chicken with his head cut off.”

Isolde smiled softly. “I expect he is. He tends to do that.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Fine. I’m going.”

Isolde was only slightly ashamed to admit that she dragged her feet down the halls of the castle and deliberately took the long way to any location that Earl Eric could possibly be, starting with the ones he was least likely to be at. Alas, this strategy could only work for so long, and eventually, she came upon him. 

He cut a downtrodden figure, sitting in a back corner of the blacksmith’s workshop studying his work. His eyes seemed to be transfixed by the flames, so much so that he didn’t even notice her until she sat by his feet. She figured if she was going to apologize she had best do it well, and if that involved groveling at his feet, she deserved it.

“I’m sorry.” She spoke quietly, hesitant to disrupt the orderly din of the blacksmith’s workshop as he forged what looked like a battle axe, perhaps. “You did not deserve any of the things I said to you, and there is no excuse for my behavior last night. I hope that someday you may be able to forgive me.”

She was not brave enough to look at him as she said this, and so she did not see the softening of the pain on his face.

“Why? You say there is no excuse, but that does not mean there was no reason. What did I do to provoke such fury?”

He sounded so hurt that Isolde had to shut her eyes against the sharp, stinging wetness building in them.

“It was...it was nothing you did. It was something someone said about you that I was foolish enough to believe, that is all.”

“What did they say? And who said it?”

“A friend of mine. He...he painted a very brutal picture of you coming back from raids, I’m afraid. I don’t believe he knew you had any sort of code of honor, and neither did I until this morning. He also gave a very...detailed idea of your prowess with women.” Isolde hated how bitter she sounded on that last part.

To her surprise, the earl’s next words dared to sound amused.

“Oh? Is that what made you so mad, little icicle?”

She turned her head to look at him, a steady glare on her face from being mocked.

“Worry not. My attention is far too devoted to you now to worry about anyone else. I have a job to do, you know.” He sounded like he was about to laugh.

“I despise you.” There was no malice in it this time.

“A shame. I adore you.”

Her cheeks pinkened quickly, but she told herself it was just the heat of the forges.

“Come on now. We have to go show the queen we made up. She’ll be quite pleased.”

“...the Queen sent you?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s neither here nor there. I would have come myself, the Queen simply sped up the process a bit. I’m a horrible coward and was too afraid to face you, but I was more afraid of what she would do to me if I didn’t. She has that hawk you know.” Isolde shuddered.

“I would never let Eitr hurt you.” He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“You’ll have to excuse me for not taking any chances.” 

Was she even saying anything, or was she just pushing air out of her mouth? Because she might as well have been doing the latter for how breathy that was.

“Come now. You’ll keep us here forever if we don’t start walking,” she huffed.

Then, before she could second guess it, she took his hand to pull him along. He was so surprised that he followed easily, despite being a good foot taller than her. She smirked to herself. Two could play at this game.

“So who is this friend of yours who has such a bad opinion of me?”

And there she was blushing again. “No one.”

“No one?” That was not a happy tone of voice.

“No one at all. Just a friend.”

“Well, she seems to dislike me.”

“I’m sure he has nothing against you. Just rumors and all.” She prayed he would be distracted by the rest of the conversation and not notice the he.

“It is a man then.” The Earl didn’t sound surprised, but he also sounded solidly, definitely unhappy.

Isolde looked back at him to see the frown settling into his face, jaw working hard. Even when he was conflicted and angry he was attractive. She supposed.

“Yes. But no matter. We shouldn’t speak of it anymore.”

“Why not?” He raised a brow.

Well, she couldn’t exactly say because she didn’t want to.

“Because it’s making you moody, Earl. I much prefer your smiles.” 

That wasn’t entirely true. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little intrigued by this different side to the man. But that was neither here nor there.

“Then coax one out of me,” he challenged.

She did love a good challenge. “Alright then. Floki in one of my old dresses.”

Immediately he was laughing, and so was she. The picture was so comical it was hard not to. The triumphant grin on her face revealed how pleased she was with herself.

“You do not fight fair little icicle.” He was, of course, smiling as she continued to drag him through the halls of the castle.

“I can’t afford to. I’m rather small. I have to use my wits, or else I’d be dead by now.”

“Do not worry about that. I will protect you.”

She stopped, frowning. “You know you don’t have to, right?”

“What?” He stopped dead, causing her body to lurch back when she did not stop with him and their hands remained intertwined.

“You don’t have to protect me just because your queen ordered it. You don’t have to...follow me, or be nice to me, or whatever it is you’re doing, just because she says so. If you don’t-If you would rather not be around me, I can arrange for that.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“I would very much like to be assigned to care for you for the rest of my life. It is my favorite of all my duties, and the only one I never tire of.”

Oh. That was...bold.

“Oh. Well.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I suppose this is ideal then.”

He smiled. “Yes, I suppose that it is.” 

Gently, he raised her hand, his breath brushing across her knuckles and then his lips. Gosh, she wished he wouldn’t do that. She would never be able to walk anywhere if her legs turned to pudding first.

“Right then. On our way.” Just keep walking, just keep walking.

As Isolde had discovered at a very early age, all roads lead back to the great hall. The path they were currently on was no exception, and sooner rather than later they stumbled upon her royal majesty.

Isolde dropped the earl’s hand like it had burned her as soon as they were in the presence of others. She still felt though that everyone was watching them, or that someone had seen. That was one part of the court you never grew out of. The feeling of everyone’s eyes being on you. She wondered if farmers and merchants ever got that feeling or if they were just able to live in peace. She suspected the latter was the case.

“Your majesty.” Isolde curtsied even as Snapdragon rolled her eyes.

“I see you two made up.” She had a knowing grin on her face.

“Yes. We are on much better terms now.” It hurt Isolde to admit it, seeing that smug look on Snapdragon’s face.

“I knew you two wouldn’t be able to stay mad at each other for long.”

“Yes, yes, and you were right.” Isolde rolled her eyes.

Ivar sat by his queen’s side, not saying a word. Instead, he chose to glare at the earl, who was looking a bit gloomy himself.

“What troubles you, Earl Eric?” Snapdragon asked.

Ivar’s frown deepened.

“Oh, nothing your majesty.” He pulled up a forced smile.

“You are a terrible liar.”

“I assure you, there is nothing that you need to be worried about.”

“I suppose I will have to take you at your word. I cannot very well let my husband torture information out of you in the great hall.” 

She half-laughed at herself, clearly very oblivious to how pleased her husband looked at the suggestion. Isolde still could not puzzle out how they were together. Other than the arranged marriage bit, of course.

For a moment, she was just as confused as the queen to the earl’s mood. Just a moment ago he had been more than cheerful enough. Now, he was frowning. She found her answer though looking down to his hands, where one was noticeably empty where it had not been before, fingers fidgeting. Oh. Was that what he was worried about?

Well, she couldn’t very well hold his hand in the great hall in front of everyone where someone could see it and take it the wrong way. Then again, she found herself wishing to see him smile again. So, mustering up what cleverness she had, she managed a compromise. She smiled at him, hoping to wipe away that frown, and gently placed her hand on his arm. It wasn’t there long, only a moment or two. No one else would notice.

It would have worked flawlessly if Bree hadn’t walked in at that moment and had the uncanny ability to see through Isolde’s every move. She had been doing that since they were children and it never got less irritating or nervewracking. So of course, the moment she approached the table she gave Isolde a smile that, if you didn’t know her, might make you think she was planning on murdering you and dumping the body at the bottom of the lake. 

On the bright side though, the Earl was smiling again.

Isolde supposed that she would have to take the small victories and her cousin could wait until tomorrow.

[katsitting]

17&63? This could turn out to be shit if it’s in i.e ww2 or smth idk you’re the writer xx

War AU +  Everybody Knows/Mistaken for Couple.

I don’t know what you want me to do here, but let’s see what my brain decides. You also didn’t give me a ship, so let’s simply defer to tomarry.

Warnings: Corpses, Blood, Unhealthy relationships, and standard war themes.

Everyone knew. 

The stares at the back of Harry’s head, pitying and upset in equal measure, telling of this point.

He hadn’t wanted this, but this was the reality of a world where the government as they knew it painted a target on their backs. No one was safe. The rebels were being picked off one by one, a spy within their ranks feeding information to the opposing side.

No one could be trusted. There was no such thing as friends, not when everyone simply aimed to survive.

But how did Harry fit in in all this? How was he caught between two beasts in this war?

Simple. He’d fallen in love with the wrong man. 

He fell prey to a monster that hid behind the face of a sweet and earnest man. A man that had never experienced love, that had never experienced warmth, or true friendship. 

Harry had wanted to give that to him, to show him before it became too late, before he was beyond saving.

And now, he was paying the price. The leader on the other side of a war that he had never wanted to fight. He didn’t want to be the leader, to give the command that would snuff out the life of a man he should hate, but couldn’t. Even betrayed as he was, he never could manage to stamp out the goodness in his heart.

So perhaps, the more stubborn in his ranks were right in mistrusting him. They were right in avoiding him when they could, giving him a wide berth when he stepped into the tents to gather his supplies before a raid. 

There was much doubt if he himself, given the opportunity, would be able to lay the killing blow, and they were right to feel this way. Harry too had his doubts, his heart ached with each whisper of Tom’s name--or the stupid title he’d given himself before he’d turned on Harry.

Still, Voldemort--Harry’s heart tried not to burst from just even the mention of such a name--had to be stopped. He couldn’t let this war go on with hundreds--if not thousands--of casualties on both sides.

No one was safe. Not the soldiers, not the generals, not the civilians, not the children, not the animals, not this world.

Everything was burning, and Harry wondered if it wasn’t too late to put out these flames. After all, there was simply no going back for him, not when he loved a monster, not when he still fucking hesitated, to put a bullet between the man’s eyes each time his gun was pressed against Tom’s--no, no, no, that’s not Tom, and you know it, he’s Voldemort, say his name you coward--temple.

“Harry.” 

A soft breath escaped him at the sound of Hermione’s familiar drawl. It was low, nearly a whisper. It was a miracle he had even heard it with the storm raging outside the tent and the shouts ringing in the night. 

There was no pause button when it came to war, only action, even when the sun has long since set, when this should be the time for rest.

But the wicked don’t rest. Don’t you know that, Harry? With how often Tom kept you up into the late hours of the--

Harry stamped out the thought before it was finished, casting Hermione a wary glance.

There was a furrow between Hermione’s brows that not even the tight ponytail restraining her riotous curls could eliminate. It was incredible just how much a person aged when caught in the cogs of war.

“We’ve found a body. I think you should take a look at it.” Hermione’s eyes were brilliant, like they’d bottled fire within their depths. 

The fact that she had come in Ron’s stead to deliver this message was bad enough. Ron was shite at delivering bad news, always caught between an angry bellow and cry when a soldier was killed in battle. Many spoke terribly about him for that, but Harry found it comforting. It was good that there were still people capable of empathy, capable of mourning without the decay of listlessness and ennui buzzing in the back of their heads.

“That bad?” Harry asked, throwing on a rain parka made to protect him from the rough elements outside. It wasn’t raining now, but it would be soon. There was something about England that attracted such horrid weather, even a good hundred miles away from civilization. 

“You’ll see,” was all Hermione said before crouching out of the flap in the tent. Harry followed after her, keeping a good pace with her brusque path through the shrubbery of the forest floor. 

It wasn’t far, but it was always wise to prepare as if one were going to head further out than was planned. It was this caution that had saved his neck many times. The recklessness of his youth, the brashness, and brazenness of his actions would do nothing but fan the flames of war. It was because of that recklessness that he had even met Tom in the first place, that he had stumbled into his bed and became caught in one of the many masks of a monstrosity.

When Hermione finally stopped, Harry did too. The stench of something vile swarmed him, and Harry swallowed down the bile and his disgust. Someone was dead alright, and had been for some time.

“Look.”

Harry stepped around Hermione and stopped dead in his tracks. Grief overtook him, his spine nearly bowing from the weight of it as he took in the terrified face of one of his soldiers. It had been the youngest amongst his recruits, a simple man that had wanted to do his part.

At first, Harry had found his energy and hero worship irritating, undeserving in fact. He was no hero. He hadn’t been for a long time, not since he--

“Colin.” The name fell easily from his tongue, burning its way up from the pit of his stomach and up his esophagus. Harry wanted nothing more than to shoot back cheap whiskey to mask the bitter pang of sorrow.

“Shit.” A hand made its way to his shoulder, its warmth penetrating the thick parka and the layers of clothes beneath it.

“There’s more.” Harry raked his fingers through his hair, already dreading what would come next. The fact that Hermione had not outright said anything, but waited for him to compose himself before doing so spoke volumes.

“We found a message on his body when we found him. It’s for you.”

Swallowing hard, Harry moved without being told to do so. Hermione pulled something from out of her pocket, handing it out to him.

He shifted his gaze away from it, taking it from her hand, hating the look of apology in her gaze. This wasn’t good.

“I’ll leave you alone. Travers, Lee, head out. We need to see if the rest of the men that left with Ceevy are here.”

With that, the men stood to attention and dove into the shadows. They didn’t turn to look at him, but he could feel their judgment. Nothing could hide that, could erase it. This was how it always went, who he was to his men.

Hermione was the last to leave, a sad smile twisting up her face between she turned and left, leaving him alone with Collin’s cold body and the creatures buzzing in the night.

Taking a slow breath, Harry opened his hand revealing a folded piece of paper. It was thick, a familiar scent wafting through his nose.

It was Tom’s. Harry could never forget it.

All the nights of them in bed, Tom’s sweat-slicked hair and his neck beneath his tongue, bitter and sweet with his cologne. It made his throat tightened, a burning sensation creeping up his nose.

Steeling himself, Harry opened the note and began to read.

Dearest Harry, I hope you are doing well for yourself. Every day I find myself wondering when you will cease this pretense of caring for others and realize where it is that you truly belong: at my side. After all, I am only doing as you asked. To change this world, one must raze it to the ground and start again. You know this. This world is beyond saving.

Tears burned in his eyes, but Harry refused to let them fall. His fingers tightened on the edges of the paper, threatening to tear the fancy parchment in half. 

I still recall the taste of your lips against mine, dream of your fingers knitted between mine after an evening of lovemaking. I remember how much you enjoyed it, adored the warmth of my skin pressed against yours. You were never shy about your admiration of me, just as I was not afraid of my adoration for you.

Harry wanted to laugh, then. Tom loved no one, save for himself. He was incapable of it. These were just pretty words to bring him over, to play with his emotions as they often were. It was what he did whenever he knew he did something wrong, whenever he had hurt Harry in some unfathomable way and wanted to ease the sting.

The question was just what was Tom apologizing for? He’d never apologized for this war, never gone out of this way to write some pretty words and leave them with the fallen in battle. Tom reserved his words for special occasions.

Anxiety twisted his belly into knots, and Harry dove right back to Tom’s message, knowing that there was something terrible to come.

But this is not why I write to you now. You know the extent of my affections for you, although you undoubtedly question its sincerity. Harry, if you are in possession of my note, then you have perhaps found the body of one of your men. He was rather young to be involved in our war, it was almost a shame to see the light die in his eyes. I found it interesting that the last thing he said was your name, here I was certain that most of your men hated you--questioning whether you were truly on the side against my reign. Everyone knows who you are, Harry. Who and what you meant to me in my youth, who you had become in my eyes, and what you did to inspire me righting the wrongs in this world.

Harry scoffed. Tom was never altruistic. Had never been and never would be. He did nothing without expecting something in return. 

However, it seems that some have misconstrued the nature of our relationship. I have remedied this.

A shock of ice shot up his spine. It was certainly no secret that Tom and him had been an item once, but for Tom to go out of his way to tell others--

Friends, Harry? Hardly. We are so much more. And I hope that after you’ve received this message and the gift I have personally delivered to your tent, you will see that as well. Sincerest regards, Lord Voldemort.

Harry crumpled the letter in his hand, his realization fueling his movements.

He ran back to camp, fingers releasing his gun from its holster as he wove through the trees. He was familiar with the area, but Tom had promised an unwanted visitor. He was up to something, something between the spaces of the words that were more than the threat of exposing the more salacious nature of their relationship and murder.

A flash of light ahead of him nearly blinded him, and then he stopped, walking slowly through his camp with his gun now up and ready. It was quiet, the rustling trees and the sound of animals baying in the darkness the only interruptions to the quiet.

It made him nervous, a slow trickle of sweat gathering on the back of his neck when he saw no sign of any of his men on the camp.

He took slow and steady breaths with each careful step, counting the seconds in his head and listening for anything that broke the still air around him. 

This went on until he finally made it back to his tent, the flap wide open and lit. It was a white light, different from the yellow one standard in his camp. 

Grip tightening on the gun, Harry parted the fold with one hand while keeping a steady grip of his gun, and entered.

Harry nearly dropped his gun. 

There was blood everywhere. It was smeared on the cloth, on his desk, on his bed. There were dismembered arms shaped into the symbol of a heart. 

Bile rose up his esophagus, but he didn’t throw up even when he wanted nothing more than to do just that. 

Because for all the macabre in his tent, the most terrifying thing was not the arms or the blood splattered all over his tent, it was the single chair at the center of the heart with a bouquet of flowers sitting innocently atop it.

There was a note over the top of the flowers, but Harry didn’t need to read them to know this was all Tom’s doing, that the bodies in his tent were the missing men from Collin’s group.

A breath stuttered from his mouth and he dropped his gun. There was no threat here. Tom wouldn’t come out this entire way just to see him, just to make him squirm.

He reholstered his gun and walked toward the flowers, narrowing avoiding the arms with a precise step over them. 

He didn’t want to touch them more than he needed to. Death didn’t unsettle him the way that it used to, but still, that did not mean he welcomed it either.

He pulled the single note out, small and bright. The same powdery blue as the flowers atop the chair.

I hope you enjoy the flowers. Love, Tom Marvolo Riddle. The man you have always known.

[dj-yukio]

Clothes

Clothes

She had been expecting this for a while, she told herself.

Ever since the number of her clothes started dwindling, Hanten had already prepared herself for something similar. She had a few hidden stashes throughout her room, just in case she completely ran out at the last minute. And yet...

Somehow, her wardrobe was completely empty.

Not even her basic clothes and usual jackets hung on the hanger.

Hanten groaned, pulling off the sticky blood-stained shirt off of her skin. 

Really? Was this what it had come to? 

She walked out of her room, peering down from the second floor to find the person she was looking for at the table having a snack. 

“Hey! Kuro!”

Kurotsuno looked up from her phone, plopping a piece of chocolate in her mouth, clearly displeased by the interruption. “Hmm?”

“Can I have my clothes back? I’m ran out of them.” She pointed at the clearly oversized clothes that Kurotsuno was wearing. Honestly, she got that they were comfortable, but she needed them more than her. 

She stared at her, eyes unblinking before she turned back to the plate of chocolate. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” She leaped off the railing, landing smoothly next to her. “They’re my clothes!”

The dummy only shrugged. “It’s my house, my rules. Anything I want in the house is mine.”

“You literally stole my school uniform, my jackets, my tops and my bottoms.”

“So?”

“They’re my clothes! This is the only set I have left!” She pointed at her soiled clothes, which only led to a slight raise of the brow from Kurotuno.

“...Buy more.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing what her real intention was. “My pocket money is only coming next week.”

“Then go borrow some.”

She slammed her elbows into the table, grabbing onto her face in frustration before getting up and gesturing to herself. “I’m the tallest in the house, none of your 

clothes can fit me.”

“Then go nude for all I care.” Kurotsuno waved her away as she munched on another piece. 

“Oh, come on! Not even a jacket?”

“Not even a jacket. Now go away. I’m busy.”

The air of finality convinced her to give up. Kurotsuno was pretty stubborn when she wanted to be, after all. She groaned before marching out of the house to take out her frustration.

“She sure has a determined mind to keep what’s hers, huh?” He slithered up to her neck, curling around it as he faced her.

She shooed him off, punching one of the trees in exasperation, leading to many surprised squawks from above. “Geez, those are my clothes. What, does she think I can somehow magic clothes from thin air?”

Anten tsked, his grin barely containing the laughter from the fun he was having. “I pity you. You’re just going to have to live with this.” Then he sobered up, using his tail to poke her side, making her remember of that incident. “Are you really going to go nude?”

She shoved him away as she sparked a flame in her other hand, ignoring his cry of pain when he landed on the ground. “I’ll do it later after they all sleep. Besides, even if she does see it, she’s gotta have a bigger one.”

“Ha! Ah, the lives of teenage girls are just full of interesting things. Makes me wish I had spent more time with the girls in my class when I was your age.”

Rolling her eyes at his statement, she sighed as she slid her hand down across her face before realisation struck her.  “Hey, can I borrow your clothes?”

“Haha. No.” 

“Wha-why?!” She turned to face him, flabbergasted. “You don’t even need them, you stingy stinking snake!”

“Hey!”

“Stingy slimy stinking snake!”

“Why you- I’m not slimy nor do I stink!”

...maybe she should have stayed on his good side, she thought as she ended up nursing a bite wound.

—————————————

The sound of creaking floorboards woke her up.

Kurotsuno yawned, getting up as she rubbed her eyes. Of course. Of course she had to be hungry now of all times. And she had to be loud while she was at it.

Leaning against the table for some support to help, she pushed herself onto the floor, dragging herself towards the door. Oh, she was so going to-

She hesitated before she even managed to finish that thought, an unnatural chill making her shiver as she twisted the knob open. There was just that something in the air that made her feel like something had gone very wrong.

Oh, and the feeling that it was partially her fault that it had even happened. That was rather strong in the air as well. Kurotsuno fully intended to ignore that, pushing it off as simply paranoia as she walked down the steps. The sound of crinkling metal got louder the nearer she got to the kitchen, signifying that a particular friend of hers was awake as well.

Honestly, who wakes up at three in the morning just to raid the kitchen? She sighed as she reminded herself of the answer. Only Hanten.

“Hanten, do you have to be so lo-“ She started, wanting to give her a piece of her mind before her eyes widened. She blinked. And she blinked again.

This could not possibly be happening, right?

Hanten waved at her, her back still thankfully turned towards her as she opened the cabinets around in the kitchen. “Yo. Morning.”

It felt like it was just a normal night, where she would chide and nag at her for being too loud in the early morning hours. Yet, it felt like a dream from how potentially lewd and unrealistic the entire scene in front of her was. 

Just to check if she was dreaming, she walked up to the demon before her and pinched hard  on the pink flesh at her stomach area. 

The loud yowl that followed informed her that she was not.

Kurotsuno could feel her face heat up the more she looked, and despite her trying to cover her eyes, she couldn’t keep them off of her. Especially not with that waving tail of hers, which was awfully close to- she pushed her head away to face the other direction. “What the...what are you doing?”

Hanten rolled her eyes, pulling the refrigerator door open as she scoured for food. “Oh you know, just wanted to garner some support for naturalist demons, I was just going to bring myself to Lord Satanick to get him to sign the petition- what does it look like I’m doing, sunbathing naked in the moonlight?”

She whacked her head as hard as she could, earning a quiet ‘ow’ before whisper shouting her next question. “Where the hell are your clothes, you moron!”

“In the washing machine.” Her tail nonchalantly pointed to the whirring machine at the corner, her back bent as she moved some things in the fridge, giving herself a clear view of- Kurotsuno shielded her eyes to avoid any more lewd thoughts going through her mind. “Why?”

“Don’t you have any more clothes?!” She knew that perhaps she should have gone easy on her recently developed habit of stealing clothes, but surely it hadn’t gone that awry?

The shake of her head made her sigh as she realised her assumption was wrong.

“Don’t you-“ she swore internally as she could barely get a sentence out while keeping her face straight. “Don’t you- Where’s your- don’t you have a sense of decency?! What about a towel? Or something?”

“Too troublesome.” She stood upright, the fridge door fortunately protecting her parts of her body below her shoulder level as she raised a brow at her. “It’s three in the morning. No one ‘cept us is here.”

“Still-“

“Besides,” she closed the door, giving Kurotsuno an unfortunate full view of herself as she walked past her with a bottle, “You did say I could go nude for all you cared. So what’s the problem?”

“I- you-” she groaned as she followed suit, trying to find a way to explain the situation to the clearly shameless girl in front of her. “I was joking, you dumba-” She paused as she started to notice that patches of her skin were of different shades of color, with pink shininess  practically dotting her. And along her side, there was a rather large mark, clearly having a distinctly different cause to result in it. “Why do you-”

“And we’re both girls.” She was startled as Hanten interrupted her, pulling off the tab on the bottle as she sat down on the sofa, taking a large gulp before gesturing to Kurotsuno to sit next to her. “What’s your point? Plus, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen me like this.”

If she thought her jaw couldn’t drop any further, she was wrong. She didn’t even know which part of that statement she should address in the first place: the part which implied she had actually seen the other nude, or the part where she had no memory of such an incident occurring. Then she shook her head before pointing at the mark, trying to keep her focus. “Why do you have a huge mark on your side?”

Hanten shifted uncomfortably at that. “I mean, I get into a lot of fights-“

“Yes, but that definitely did not just come from a fight.”

Hanten raised a brow in confusion. “I-” Then she scrunched up her brows in deep thought before looking back at Kurotsuno. “Don’t you have one too?”

She was taken aback, trying to rack her memory for any incident that would have given her a scar that huge before giving up as she couldn’t remember. The last few times she had checked, she never had that sort of marking on her. “What the- why would I have one?” 

“Because-” She paused, seemingly considering her options before she sighed, glanced back at her momentarily before looking down. “Eh, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

She narrowed her eyes, her thoughts running wildly. Had she lost a fight and didn’t want to admit it? What sort of dangerous things was she even doing? “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? There’s a huge scar right at your side!”

Hanten waved her hands and shifted herself such that the sofa covered up most of the mark. “It’s really not important anymore, it happened along time ago.”

Kurotsuno huffed, pulling her waist to have a better view of the scar. “Fine, don’t tell me what happened to you that got you that. What did you mean by I should have one too?”

“...You shouldn’t bother yourself with remembering it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do and what not to do.” She glanced back down at the mark before continuing to push. Now that she had a better look at it, the markings reminded her off crow glyphs. Did she do this? She didn’t remember anything about that. “At least give me a hint.”

Hanten looked away. “Let’s just say... we both got hit with some magical stuff. And that happened to stick to me. Ya, basically.”

Some magical stuff? They got hit? She thought hard and long, considering instances where both of them had gotten hit. It couldn’t have been recent, since it was clearly something she didn’t want her to remember.

Then it clicked.

“Oh.” The look of sudden understanding and realisation must have appeared on her face from how the other demon was nodding. That blast all those years ago. She had taken it straight to the chest. Now she remembered. Her face scrunched up, deep in thought. No wonder she assumed that she would have had a one. For some reason, it hadn’t made its mark on her skin unlike hers.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it didn’t matter.” She twirled the empty bottle within her fingers before laying it flat on the table.

She hesitated before asking her next question. “Do you think it’ll ever go away?”

Hanten raised a brow at the strange question before grinning. “Nah, it’s probably staying.” Then she stretched her leg out. “But it makes for a pretty cool tattoo, no?”

Kurotsuno snorted and rolled her eyes in response at that. Trust her to be able to spin the whole thing around like her namesake.

Maybe it was a good thing she had taken all those clothes then.

———————————————————————

I think my mood changed halfway from the originally funny piece to whatever that was at then end

Oh right, the reason Kurotsuno doesn’t have such a mark is because her horn absorbed that shtuff

Bonus:

She was about to leave their conversation at that when she heard the dryer’s signal when a sudden thought cane to her.

“Hey, about the thing where I saw you nude before, was that true?”

Hanten’s grin froze just as her form did against her, as if in some sort of shock before she hesitantly answered. “Uh... sort of.” Taking a deep breath, she scratched the back of her head. “You know how we used to shower together?”

Kurotsuno nodded, looking at Hanten to get her to continue. Finally. That was something she remembered fully. “Didn’t we agree that we’d keep our eyes shut?”

“Well,” she scratched her neck, nervously laughing, “someone had to see where the shower head was...” She hesitated as she heard a growl beside her ear, grinning a bit as she felt the sense of danger getting closer. “So ...maybe I did sneak a peek...?”

“Why you-“ Kurotsuno grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down against the sofa. “You fucking perv-“

“What are you two doing?”

Both demons froze at the new voice, slowly facing the ghost who was sleepily floating in the air, eyes still half shut. 

“I heard shouting and lots of talking.” Met yawned and rubbed her eyes before her eyes widened. Then her eyes darted between the two of them, and Kurotsuno became painfully aware of how the entire scenario must have looked like. Her face started heating up, and before she knew it, she had thrown Hanten upwards onto the ceiling, leaving a hole in the ceiling as the other screeched in surprise. “It’s not what it looks like!” She screamed as she started summoning her knives to keep the Met’s mouth shut before either of the yokais would join them.

From the pool of blood that was forming on the floor, it didn’t seem like the red haired girl believed her one bit. “I’ll... just leave you to your private things...”

“It’s really not what it looks like!”

[masksandtruths]

Never Normal: Part One

A/N: This was done for @revwinchester's Y1K Challenge, and in typical "me" fashion, I got a bit long winded. The prompt I chose is towards the end in bold font. This one isn't going to be a series, but there will be a part 2, which will explain a few things, including the story behind the reader's post-it note. Anyway, congrats Rev, and I hope y'all love it!

Summary: When the Winchesters found Y/N the moment after her world fell apart, she never expected they’d be the ones to help her put it back together--but that’s exactly what they did. From friends, to brothers, to the possibility of something more--their lives together were far from normal, which was exactly how she liked it. 

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (mentioned here, but the majority will be in Part 2 & 3); Sam Winchester; Reader's sibling

Warnings: Swearing, Semi-fluffy, Drinking, Violence, Sibling death, so of course, also a little Angst.

Word Count: 3400-ish

“Okay, I give up. Where the hell do you two turds keep the ketchup in this dimly lit den of testosterone?” you asked, slamming the pantry door closed and throwing your hands up in defeat.

Sam looked up from the pot of green beans he was preparing on the stove and smiled when he saw you standing there in a state of distress over their poorly stocked fridge and cabinets. “Unless Dean has some leftover ketchup packets from the last fast food joint he raided, I’d say you’re out of luck.”

“That’s about par. No coffee creamer either…or fluffy pillows…or chick flicks…definitely no feminine products…and if your hair wasn’t damn near as long as mine, I’d bet my big toe there’d be no conditioner in this joint either,” you joked, playfully tugging a piece of Sam’s long hair as you passed by him on your way to finish setting the table.

When you were done placing the last steaming bowl of food in the center of the table a few minutes later, you took a step back and admired your handiwork. Three real plates accompanied by actual silverware, cloth napkins, and crystal glasses sat on its wooden surface. The rest of the space was filled with heaping bowls of salad, green beans, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes and dinner rolls. It was enough to feed an army, and there was no way all of it was going to get eaten—even though you had a strong feeling Dean would give it his best shot—but it looked exactly like you hoped it would. Like the birthday dinners you used to share with your little sister.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you mentally braced yourself against the wave of crippling pain and overwhelming sense of loss that usually slammed into you seconds after recalling memories of your younger sibling—but it never came. Normally at this point, a sadness like none you’d ever known before would flood your soul, the weight of it knocking the air from your lungs and crushing the already broken heart beating in your chest—but not this time.  This time, the simple, happy memory of your little sister didn’t rip open the gaping wound inside of you—the one you’d been struggling to heal since the day you’d found her lifeless body in your kitchen—and leave you in a crying, crumpled mess on the floor. Instead, you felt what you assumed most people felt when they started to come back from that level of emotional trauma—something like a mixture of closure and relief and acceptance.

You allowed yourself to remember the first time you decided to have a fancy dinner in honor of her birthday. Five months prior to that day, you had held her hand in the cemetery as you both cried and said goodbye to your parents for the last time. Afterwards, you had told the few distant family members in attendance that you would become her legal guardian, and she’d be living with you from now on. Maybe it was because you were a full decade older than her, finished with college, and working a full-time job…or maybe it was the way you spoke so matter-of-factly—your words filled with love and determination, but everyone had accepted your declaration without argument or objection.

In the blink of an eye, you went from being a sibling to also being a parent, and you never—not even for one second—doubted or regretted that decision.  You found strength in each other as you both grieved and adjusted to your new version of normal—and before you knew it, nearly half a year had passed, and her thirteenth birthday was quickly approaching. You recalled thinking that no kid should have to become a teenager without her parents at her side, so you did what you do best and overcompensated, hoping it would bring her a little bit of happiness on a day that could easily take a turn into a more depressing territory. You talked to a couple of her friends and arranged for them all to go to the movies after volleyball practice that day, giving you a few hours to set everything up.

After you got off work, you rushed to the grocery store, gathering the ingredients to whip up all the foods she loved most in the world, and then spent the evening rushing around the kitchen like a madwoman. Just as you were setting the last piece of your mom and dad’s wedding china on the table, three very excited teenage girls burst through the front door squealing about the Harry Potter movie they had just watched.

“Oh my gosh, sis. You wouldn’t believe how good the last movie is. Seriously, people clapped. We totally have to go back so you can--.”

She stopped midsentence as she took in the scene before her, eyes lighting up when she noticed the bowls of food on the table and the presents purchased by you and her friends stacked all around her chair. “Surprise! Happy 13th birthday, kiddo!” you shouted happily, popping the cork on a bottle of sparkling white grape juice as you did so. She stood there in shock for a brief moment before jumping up and down and shooting straight towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet when she threw her arms around your neck and excitedly told you over and over how much she loved you. A few months later, she did the same thing for your birthday, and just like that, your special birthday dinner tradition was born.  

Five years later, the tradition still held, and you watched as she blew out eighteen candles on her cake and chattered happily about her upcoming move to Houston and her acceptance to Rice University’s premedical program. Never in a million years would you have imagined a vampire would rob you of the opportunity to watch her add another candle to her cake, but on one horrible night, in the middle of June, just five weeks shy of her 19th birthday, that’s exactly what happened.

When you found her that evening, the sane part of you knew immediately that she was gone—that the light of your life—your best friend—your baby sister would never open her eyes again. You’d never see her graduate…or become a doctor…or have a family of her own, but you just couldn’t wrap your mind around that right then. So instead, you dropped to your knees and pulled her into your lap, rocking her and stroking her hair like you did when she was a little girl and was sick or had a bad dream.  Out of habit, you rested your chin on top her head and quietly started singing the words of her favorite childhood song.

“Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember; And a song someone sings, once upon a December; Someone holds me safe and warm...”

At that point, your voice broke and you held onto her a little tighter, squeezing your eyes shut as you silently willed her chest to rise and your tears not to fall. But when her chest never rose, your tears decided they didn’t have to listen either.

When the monster found you sitting there a short while later and promised you the same fate, you looked him dead in the eyes and calmly told him to get on with it—that it was better than living in a world without her, anyway.  You kissed her forehead one last time and took a steadying breath, ready for him to put you out of your misery, but before he could follow through, the Winchesters came barreling into the room, machetes swinging. A normal person probably would have felt relief at narrowly avoiding a date with death, but when the monster’s severed head landed next to you that night, the only thing you felt was regret.

They disposed of his body and later helped you bury hers next to your parents. Some small part of your brain was vaguely aware of the concerned glances aimed in your direction, the hushed whispers shared between them, but you were just too drained and heartbroken to care. They must have sensed the depth of your despair—must have somehow known you couldn’t carry the weight of this agony alone—because when you climbed into the back seat of the Impala with blisters on your hands, your clothes covered in dirt from your sister’s freshly dug grave, they didn’t take you home. Dean just slid into the driver’s seat, stuck the key in the ignition, and drove you straight to their bunker. Later you realized that Sam had stayed behind to gather a few of your personal belongings and pack up some of your clothes so you never had to go back to your house if you didn’t want to—a small kindness for which you were eternally grateful. And so, the most horrible and excruciating healing process of your life began.

Over the next seven months, they taught you all about things most people only imagined in their worst nightmares. They taught you how to fight, how to shoot a gun, how to face those monsters when most folks would run screaming in the opposite direction. They checked on you when you cried out in your sleep. Held you as you kicked and screamed—angry at the universe for stealing away the most precious thing in your life. Carried you out of bars when nothing but drinking yourself into a blind stupor seemed to numb the pain of that loss. Laughed with you when the darkness that had smothered your sense of humor for so long started to fade away and you discovered you finally found things funny again. They helped you heal, and in the process, they became your family. A new one. A different one. But family nonetheless. That’s why, when you’d discovered Dean’s birthday was coming up, you’d suggested having a dinner to celebrate—something that seven months ago, you never would have dreamed you’d feel like doing again.

A smiled played across your lips, happy you were now at a point where you could look back on the memories you made with your sister with fondness instead of excruciating pain. Happy you could start to move forward with your life and begin creating new memories with the two men that helped bring light back into your world. You absentmindedly reached your hand into your pocket and touched the post it note you carried with you everywhere, rubbing your thumb across it affectionately.

“Soup’s on,” Dean announced as he stepped into the kitchen carrying a platter of steaks fresh off the grill in one hand and a beer in the other, effectively jolting you out of your walk down memory lane. “Where do you want me to set these babies, Y/N?”

You pointed towards the one empty place on the table, catching a whiff of their scent as Dean placed them in front of you in the spot you’d chosen. “Holy crap, those smell amazing.”

“You’re telling me. Try being the one cooking them. Took everything I had not to grab mine right off the pit and start going town on it.” He looked over at you as he straightened, a warm smile lighting up his face, causing the little crinkles you loved so much to form around his green eyes. He walked over to you and dropped a quick kiss on the top of your head, which made your stomach to do an embarrassing number somersaults. “Thanks for this, sweetheart. It’s already the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

“Sure. No problem. It’s a family tradition,” you answered with a shrug, trying to play it somewhat cool. Shit, why couldn’t you just talk to him the same way you talked to Sam? “Oh, because you don’t want to get naked with Sam, that’s why,” you thought sarcastically, rolling your eyes at your own silliness before walking towards the liquor cabinet. You needed a damn drink. You unscrewed the top on the bottle of bourbon and poured yourself a glass, mixing it with a little coke to help soften the bite of the alcohol.

“Uh huh. You were complaining about living with us earlier, but it has its perks, doesn’t it? We may not have the condiments of your choice, but we’ve got an endless supply of liquor,” Sam teased, throwing a wink in your direction—and like the mature, almost thirty-year old you were, you responded by sticking your tongue out at him.

Dean nearly spit out his beer. “What the hell did you just say? What about condoms and liquor?” he sputtered, his green eyes widened in shock and quickly darting back and forth between you and his younger brother. 

Well that was odd. You had initially assumed the choking was due to him thinking Sammy was funny, but the rest of his reaction was just…off. Was that seriously a hint of jealousy you heard in Dean Winchester’s voice? No—couldn’t be—could it?

“Not condoms, you nimrod. Con-di-MENTS,” Sam replied, over exaggerating each syllable of the last word.

“Well excuse me for not speaking moose, asshole,” he bit back, the angry tone of his voice making Sam pull his head back in surprise. Your body, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction. You knew you were probably reading too much into it, but just imagining there was the slightest chance Dean was acting all grumpy and possessive because he thought you and Sam had been sharing some quality alone time together had you a little…excited. Shit, was it warm in here?

“Dude, chill out. I know your hearing is failing in your old age, but it was just a joke…and no one said anything about condoms.”

For one tense moment, Dean didn’t respond. He just stared at Sam and slowly raised the bottle of beer back up to his lips. Then, just when you started to get really nervous, he let out a small chuckle.

“Geez, you two should see the looks on your faces. Classic.”

You released the breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding and shook your head. While you were legitimately relieved that WWE Smackdown: Winchester Edition wasn’t about to take place in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment that all of Dean’s huffiness had simply been another of his jokes. That’s what you got for letting your imagination run wild. 

“In all fairness, you have been known to get hangry a time or two, Dean. Thought maybe your growling stomach got the best of you again.” 

“Me? Hangry? Never.”

“You want to run that by me again?”

“I didn’t stutter, and your ears don’t flap, darlin’.”

“Whatever you say,” you snorted. “Since it’s your birthday, I’m not going to argue with you. Now can we please eat?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“You first, birthday boy. Dig in,” you order, swinging your hand forward to smack him on the ass.

“Alright, now,” he warned, quickly reaching behind him to capture your hand before you could pull away. You giggled. Yes, giggled—there was no other way to describe the sound that fell from your lips. Jesus H Christ, you had to pull yourself together.

 “I thought the birthday spanking was supposed to be served during dessert,” Dean joked, releasing your hand, affectionately bumping the underside of your chin with one finger, and flashing you a crooked smile. Lord have mercy—now he just wasn’t fighting fair. It felt as though every drop of blood in your body suddenly made a beeline for your face, overheating your cheeks and turning them as red as the ketchup you’d been searching for earlier.

“For an old man, your brain is still pretty imaginative,” you finally managed to quip back. “Now, get your mind out of the gutter and enjoy the food Sammy and I slaved over all afternoon.”

“Umm, if I remember correctly, I cooked the steaks—which is kind of the most important part of the meal.”

You cocked your hip out and crossed your arms, directing a pointed glance at the long row of bowls filled with sides lining the kitchen table. “Okay,” you sighed dramatically. “You are right. I guess I’ll go ahead and dump all these out…and get rid of the pecan pie that is baking to perfection in the oven as we speak.” You managed to take exactly one step towards the oven before Dean blocked your path. So predictable, you think, a smile lighting up your face as you look up at the older Winchester.

“You take one more step towards that pie, and I’ll throw you down and hog tie you, Y/N. I’m not even playing.”

“You sure know how to make a girl’s heart go pitter patter, Dean. But how about we save that little fantasy for dessert, too?”  Before you even realized what your body was doing, you took a step towards him then slowly reached up and gently tugged the middle of his shirt, batting your long eyelashes and rolling your bottom lip between your teeth as you did so.

You noticed how the playful look vanished from his green eyes, quickly replaced by something a little darker and a lot hotter. How his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and then stiffened his spine like he might be anticipating something. How his tongue flicked out and slowly ran across his full lips. For a split second, you were proud, and also more than a little shocked, that your flirtations seemed to have some sort of effect on him. But then you caught yourself and realized that was exactly how a normal girl would react, and you refused to fall into that normal girl category. Normal just wasn’t your thing, never really had been, but after…after everything, you developed this freakishly strong aversion to anything to falling within that realm. Your thoughts once again drifted to the note tucked safely away in your pocket.

So instead of following through or allowing yourself to imagine where things might go if you kept up your little performance, you simply grinned at him and spouted off the line he’d used on you a few moments ago, “You should see the look on your face. Classic.”

Your heart was still racing as you  walked straight for your mixed drink, picked it up and downed it in a few big gulps.

Dean’s eyes were still fixed on your back, watching as you poured yourself another one. The sound of Sam’s chair dragging across the floor as he settled into his spot at the dinner table finally broke him out of his little trance. He gave his head a quick shake and cleared his throat before stepping forward to take his seat as well. When you finished mixing your cocktail, you sat down too, and Dean immediately rubbed his hands together excitedly and dug in.

Appreciative groans echoed around the table as everyone took their first bites of the meal. “I swear I could die happy right now,” Dean mumbled through a mouth full of ribeye. “Thanks for springing for the good steaks, Y/N. Totally worth it.”

“Yep," you agreed, "the only thing that would make them better is ketchup.”

“That’s what you wanted to the ketchup for?” Sam asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “We always ate them with ketchup.” You glanced to your left and saw Dean had quit chewing and was now sitting dead still and staring at you like you had just sprouted a second head.

“Ketchup? On a steak? But why?”

“Because it’s good, you big cry baby. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Well for starters, it’s just downright un-American, that’s what. But second of all, I cook a damn good steak, and I know for a fact they don’t need any friggin’ ketchup to make them edible.”

“It’s not an insult to your cooking skills, Emeril. I just like what I like—and in this case, it’s ketchup…on my steak.”

“You’re not normal, you know that, right?”

A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned towards him, looking him straight in the eyes, and asked, “And when have I ever striven to be normal, Dean?”

He made a show of considering your question, pursing his lips, squinting one eye and looking up towards the ceiling, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ve got nothing. Guess that means you are a freak.”

“Yep, just like the rest of my family,” you chuckled, leaning back and pointing at Sam and Dean. “But I've got to admit, if I have to eat ketchup-less steak, there’s no one alive I’d rather eat it with than you two idjits.”

Read Part 2 ->

Tags: @dancingalone21 @wheresthekillswitch @trexrambling @escabell @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @revwinchester @atc74 @goldenolaf25 @-lovepeacenhope- @messy-buns-and-shotguns @avc212 @shutupiminlooove @kathaswings @nostalgic-uncertainty @arryn-nyxx @deanssweetheart23 @sofreddie @michellethetvaddict @roxyspearing @akshi8278 @horsegirly99

[thekillerkiwi]

(Neta sí, especialmente como dejé el otro drabble haha.. ¡Espero te guste!) (This is also the prompt I told you guys turned into a monster instead of being a short cute thing, haha.) Prompt #6: “I’ve tried to move on, but no one is you.”

In an alternate universe in which Tsukiyama leaves with his father to Europe after Kaneki drops him from the Eclipse building, Kaneki asks for Tsukiyama one day and they tell him he is alive and well, but elsewhere. Kaneki tries and tries to forget him; he doesn’t even understand why it’s an issue in the first place. He didn’t think about him before, right? He didn’t wonder if he had made it, when he fell from the roof? If V had taken him? He hadn’t thought about Tsukiyama in the months it took him to track down Takatsuki Sen and raid Cochlea. Not once.

 He thought about him when he saw his closest acquaintances and friends in :re, but not him.

 His absence stood out like a sore thumb for some reason, especially when he saw Banjou and Hinami. Tsukiyama would always rile Banjou up and bicker, he would always bring Hinami dresses, sit together and read. With him around, their department was never quiet. Kaneki grips his claws and the sting against palms calms him.

 Then, when flowers were delivered in the mornings in :re for the decorations in the tables, he sits in the table where Touka is fixing the flowers in glass vases. His mind wanders to the flowers Tsukiyama would bring. Daisies, sunflowers, tulips, primroses, lilies… Tsukiyama loved to arrange them and decorate their kitchen and living room. He’d even sneak some into his room, white rose-like declarations he’d never admit to understanding. Kaneki blushes as he picks out a delicate looking stem holding five bell-like flowers from the vase Touka is fixing and sighs deeply. Touka raises a delicate brow. “What a liar...”

 Kaneki sighs yet again and droops onto the table, head on his crossed arms. Touka knows pretty well he is most definitely not talking about her, but she’s kind of curious about who he is talking about. Kaneki doesn’t giver her the chance to ask, as he immediately stands up and leaves, the small lily-of-the-valley he picked up earlier crushed and forgotten. Touka rolls her eyes, So melodramatic…

 Then it’s when he’s sparring with Banjou or Ayato, when he goes to the rooftop to think, when he sees Hinami reading a book, when he joins the others to eat. Tsukiyama is everywhere. He’s in his right-handed lift and left-legged kick, at the edge of the rooftop telling him he doesn’t know him, in every book he knows they both liked, in the way he eats almost all his meat in a stew that looks almost human. He begins to feel it; it’s not just his mind, it’s an ache in his chest, it’s a longing. Why now, he’ll think in the battlefield, as he uses his kagune to fend off an attacker coming from behind, why does he think about him now as he stands over yet another carcass of a Clown.

 Hinami and Banjou knew from the start, how he kept looking for another person amongst their group. Nishiki figured out his eyes, how they kept turning towards the horizon, how he kept looking for someone that wasn’t there; he knew that look. It was his own. And then… Touka figured out his body language, a body that was satisfied but unhappy, a man who could love her but didn’t.

She gave him her ring anyways. Because she didn’t have sex, didn’t make love, to make him love her, but to make him stay. Kaneki loved her like he loved Hinami, like he loved Hide. They were his family and Touka thought the same; she just didn’t want to lose her family anymore. She hoped that ring would remind him not of her, but of the shape of good memories. That ring is more than a proof that her parents lived; it was a proof that her parents loved each other, just like her and Ayato. They are the living proof of their love. She wants Kaneki to have that too. Proof that he is loved, proof that he will be missed.

 And then, few months later, the battles have given shape to a war, the wave is about to crest, and the ghouls are cornered into the underground. They are going to starve, he knows, Nishiki knows, Touka knows. Even with the help of Ogura and the Great Wheel Act or the real residents of the Underground city of the 24th Ward, Goat cannot change the tide by themselves. Kaneki goes into another battlefield… but it seems to be their last. His forces have been scattered in the bones of the 24th Ward, he is being cornered by several investigators, he can see his closest friends fighting for their lives and cannot help them. The world seems to be caving in, Kaneki can’t close his eyes.

 Then, from the sky they came.

 Hundreds of ghouls of different nationalities, all dropping from parachutes and aircrafts and ropes from rooftops of various buildings. They win that battle, they bring food and water, and hope. Kaneki drops to his knees as a helicopter touches down several feet ahead of him. A familiar purple haired man comes out the door, dressed in the same black military apparel all the other ghouls around him are wearing. He walks towards him at a brisk pace and drops unto his knees before him, worried lines crinkling his eyes and brows.

 Kaneki hears him say his name, but he’s too overwhelmed. Tsukiyama takes him by the shoulders and shakes him roughly, thinking the worst, but Kaneki only hangs his head in response. He can believe it now. Tsukiyama is alive. He starts laughing, a small wretched gasp, then he’s hugging him. The purple haired man stiffens until he hears that soft, relieved whisper of his old leader,

 “You’re back.”

 Tsukiyama picks him up, takes him in his arms, and takes him home.

 -

 When Kaneki wakes, he’s back in his rooms in one of the abandoned underground buildings of the 24th Ward and can’t help but think he was merely dreaming. He blinks away the sleep, tries to ignore the sting of unshed tears hanging on the corner of his eyes, and sits up. He raises his claw-like hands to his face to clear those tears away when he notices he’s not alone. His heart speeds up immediately, his shoulders tense, he feels his tongue like sandpaper, as he turns to see Tsukiyama in a plain black t-shirt and jeans right next to his bed, sitting in a rickety wooden chair, eyes lowered, book in hand. It’s one of his favorite books. Tsukiyama looks up to meet his gaze, closes the worn down book and sets it on the short bedside table beside him. One of their favorite books. Kaneki gulps, but cannot feel any saliva in the back of his throat, only the cresting feeling of thirst. Tsukiyama offers him a short, twist of his mouth (and Kaneki thinks Tsukiyama could make even a grimace look handsome) and says, “I think I got here just in the nick of time, wouldn’t you say, Kaneki?”

 The One-Eyed King is speechless and looks like he was hit in the head; he can’t seem to meet his gaze. Tsukiyama dares smile more easily and continues cheerily, “That was probably the first time I felt happy about leaving Japan.. I finally felt like I was of better use abroad, although...”

 Tsukiyama lowers his eyes, then, and looks at his own folded hands as he speaks, “Although the state of Goat is beyond what we initially thought.. I feel ashamed I didn’t come--”

 “Don’t you dare,” Kaneki interrupts, voice strong, eyes hard. Tsukiyama raises his head and they finally meet each other’s gaze.

 “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Kaneki breathes in and out slowly as he sees the quiet acquiescence of Tsukiyama’s frame relaxing and continues, “You came back. You saved us from what we thought was our final battle. Please don’t belittle what you have done for us.”

 Tsukiyama feels tears behind his eyes, but doesn’t dare bring them forward. He wasn’t expecting this reaction; this sincere Kaneki. He can feel his regret for leaving bubbling beneath his skin again, just like in the beginning.

  He smiles, as much as he can, and whines good-naturedly, “But I would have stayed with you, been with you, longer! Now who knows?”

 Kaneki smiles bitterly, but says, “It’s war; just this meeting is forcing the laws of Murphy.”

 Tsukiyama shakes his head quickly then meets Kaneki’s gaze again, “No.. I should have stayed.. I wished I had all the time I was away.”

 Kaneki’s eyes widen at that. Tsukiyama blushes slightly and turns to look to the side, surprisingly bashful.

 “At first-- I won’t lie-- I was heart broken..” He twists and turns his hands in his lap as he says, “That decision you took on the rooftop shook me to the bone. I.. I think I.. hated you for a while.”

 Kaneki turns to his own clawed hands and he can see Tsukiyama screaming as he falls, ignores the sounds of begging and crying, and turns away before the fall. He closes his eyes trying to dispel the memory; hearing Tsukiyama talk about it makes his guilt worse, makes his heart ache in ways he has been trying to ignore since he left. However, Tsukiyama continues,

“But I couldn’t really. I.. I tried so hard to move on. I really did.”

 Tsukiyama’s voice has dropped to a whisper, almost as if he was saying something he had never shared out loud. Just like Kaneki’s longing… undeciphered but not unknown. He turns to see the man he had called his sword, the man who called him sir. Dearest. Mine. Tsukiyama’s standing up, he couldn’t stay down, he had say his piece so purple irises meet with ash brown. His voice starts to rise,

 “But you were everywhere. In my habits, in my memories. Oh how you tortured me so sweetly in my dreams!”

 Kaneki’s eyes widen, his lips press together, stark white, but Tsukiyama continues, relentless, like a dam that’s breaking, “And no matter what I tried or who I met, none of them.. No one was..”

 He suddenly seems to remember himself, where he is, their circumstances, the war, their past,  and the fight leaves him entirely. The truth is withheld, but the dam is already broken. Its remains strewn about, dry. Kaneki is still parched, but now knows where the water leads… Tsukiyama hangs his head in defeat, not daring to look up at Kaneki. The white haired ghoul has never made his mind up this quickly:

 He stands up right there, beside his bed, in front of Tsukiyama and dares to thread his claw-like hand through his purple hair. Very softly, like talking to a scared animal, he beckons him, “Tsukiyama.. Please. Look at me.”

 He feels the man stiffen, yet dare to hope as he looks up to see him. Kaneki looks like he’s about to crumble too. Tsukiyama’s hands raise to steady him, hold his waist, and Kaneki smiles, genuinely.

 “...‘But no one was you,’ right...?”

 Tsukiyama feels Kaneki’s fingers leave his hair, trace his jaw, and softly hold his chin while they both stare openly at each other. Kaneki slowly leans in with a careful smile and says as confidently as he could, “It seems, my dearest, that we are of like-minds.”

 Tsukiyama lets himself cry, then.

[cipherpolfiles]

Follower Appreciation and reply post - Part 2 (16/05/2017 - 31/05/2017)

I want to welcome all new followers, as always. My eternal gratitude goes not only to my followers, but to everyone who has followed this blog or liked and/or reblogged any of its contents, your sweet comments and tags make all the effort well worth it! You’re all AMAZING, people!

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post:

@spiralnoodleworld Alliance Pain is, indeed, an accurate term for this XD

@wilsonkingofprussia I think Capone Bege will soon get used to it as well. As I always say, I’m now awaiting Kid and Co.’s reactions to their alliance with Luffy XD

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post:

@nelkk LOL Thank you for your input!

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post (& its Spanish version):

@mossyseas My train of thought was something like this when I started thinking about the Vinsmoke kids having Devil Fruit DNA mixed into them and I 100% agree that Oda’s answer was completely random back on that SBS. Thanks for your input, it is much appreciated!

@jiofreed I’m definitely reblogging that post and adding your screencapped comments on it, because this is something I intended to actually include and due to some circumstances, I ended up forgetting about it. So thank you so much for reminding me :)

@otakuonthemove You literally have no idea just how gratifying and fulfilling this kind of comment really is for me. Knowing there’s someone who finds what I do interesting, makes me want to churn out even more content. Thank you for your enthusiastic words.

@niyaow Well, he DOES look like a midget after adding Judge... Also, thanks. I’m glad you found it enjoyable :)

@the-noone-me Glad you enjoyed the read!

@zaziecurie ¡Mucha gracias! Muito obrigado/a!

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post:

@dusty-jester Well, I posted this right after episode 785 had aired and the very next week, on episode 786, they had already corrected the blunder. So I’m afraid it was not because kids watch it, they messed up and then corrected it. You can see both images from 785 and 786 here thanks to @otakuonthemove.

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post:

@katsunenpiece LOL If this were the case, I highly doubt Usopp would be lying about it. Exaggerating a bit, maybe; but not lying. See, I think his lies are some sort of coping mechanism to him; to fend off his very low self-esteem, he comes up with all these stories (lies) where he’s the brave hero and has all these crazy skills to give himself an emotional boost and keep himself from falling into a possible depression. He’s never lied about any of his friends or their skills, though. At least not as far as I remember. You’re free to correct me if I’m wrong :)

@amigodecuentos and @yukizus Thanks! Glad people find this interesting :)

@damondraco Yes, I know. That ask was referring to this other post of mine where I said Elbaf is fable written backwards. Thanks for the contribution, either way :)

@draceempressa Well, I wouldn’t know since I don’t read/watch Fairy Tail, but I’ll take your word for it. I kind of imagine Usopp becoming some sort of storyteller after he reaches his dream and “retires”; he’s amazing at it.

@ktosiowa Glad you like the theory! :)

@lizzyg-lifesgood and @memesterpink LOL Sorry, but it seems Usopp was destined to go to Elbaf since Oda created him. His entire character revolves around being a fabulist of sorts, so yeah, I’d love for One Piece to end like that. Thanks for the reblog and your input!

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post:

@acesenpaimissyou Did I just get the OK from a Viking descendant for this? LOL I’m joking (hope I didn’t offend you). I agree with you on that one. It’s just that the Viking/Norman issue just popped up in my mind first, because the non-Elbaf giants we’ve seen so far all work for the WG and directly antagonise the “Elbaf ways”. I mean, every Elbaf giant we’ve seen so far have all been pirates: Mountainbeard and Fallbeard, Dorry and Brogy, Hajrudin (he technically was introduced as a mercenary but he was working under Buggy before he defected and joined the Straw Hat Grand Fleet as a pirate) and Oimo and Kashi, with whom we’ve seen the WG is not beyond making scammy offers to get them to work for them. The situation with Oimo and Kashi especially strikes as really similar to what was expected of the Normans once they settled in their new home (aside from becoming Christians): to keep the other Vikings at bay; in short to guard France against the Norse raids. I guess that’s why I made that connection first. Thanks a lot for your input!

@nicefandom & @katsunenpiece I’m glad you find it plausible. I like knowing if things I say make sense or not, because sometimes I think it makes sense but other people don’t. So it’s good to know I’m not being too imaginative. Thank you both for your inputs :)

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post:

@zaziecurie & @the-not-so-dark-age Thank you for your inputs and yes, that would explain a lot about Government agents and other Marine recruits.

Response to the people who left little tag comments on this post (1), this one (2), this one (3), this one (4),  this one (5), this one (6) and this one (7):

(1)

@starrynight32 I’ve been considering this possibility ever since Kaido was stated to be immortal. Maybe only Law can take the immortality from him. Something like “what the Ope Ope no Mi gives, only the Ope Ope no Mi can take”.

(2)

@katsunenpiece Well, it has something to do with Blackbeard’s Jolly Roger being the only one featuring three skulls and whatnot. See, most of the other flags represent the captain of a crew in one way or another; they always have one skull because it represents one person, but Blackbeard’s has three to represent one person.

This comment from Marco at the very end of chapter 577 adds to the theory and some people interpret it as Blackbeard having three different DNAs in him, thus he is three people into one and the reason he can have more than one DF power without them clashing and destroying him. It’s all speculation, but it’s an interesting take, especially since it’s true that Teach’s Jolly Roger IS the only one with three skulls, which is really curious unto itself.

Now for your other set of tags.

(3)

I hope for the same. Will Oda explain it though? I just don’t know, but I’d like to know.

(4)

@mapofallblue Yay! More Hajrudin fans. I’m actually surprised I’m not the only one who liked him, since there’s barely any fanart or meta posts of him. I’ve always loved the giants ever since Dorry and Brogy. Then again I’m really biased because I just love ancient Norse culture, it’s fascinating.

(5)

@kartellthings That’s exactly what I mean. Apart from that, I also heard that his editors announced that this arc was going to end by the end of May or the end of June; there are literally four chapters left (if he doesn’t take any breaks) for this arc to end according to that deadline. I don’t really think he’ll be able to properly finish the arc in four chapters and it’ll be a bit longer than that, but if he were to be trying to meet that deadline, the story might suffer. I may be wrong, though. Maybe he’ll manage to pull off something like that, but for the time being, I highly doubt it. Thanks a bunch for your input!

(6)

@hawk-in-a-tree I absolutely agree with you. You said it all, nothing else to add :)

(7)

@the-not-so-dark-age I feel you! I suddenly NEED this to be Bonney’s backstory. As I said in the post: Oda, make it happen! ... Pretty please? Thanks for adding your opinion!

And last, but not least:

@chance4choice No problem. Even if you had still disagreed with me, it would have been fine as well. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I’m not here to fight with anyone, so yeah, no hard feelings on my part :)

@hawk-in-a-tree LOL I’m glad I have my net back, too. I was going crazy because I could literally do nothing: no OP episode, unable to answer asks or work on meta/raffle prizes, unable to communicate with three of my closest friends... ‘Twas Hell, I’m telling you! HELL!

@mssarahkathryn Oh, don’t worry, your first comment was clear enough. The thing is, I’d seen quite a few posts claiming that people who are against Pudding’s recent development did not want complex characters and the like, so I kind of took the opportunity to make that clear while answering to your comment seeing as it was about that same subject. Sorry for the confusion ^^; That said, I must say that I’m happy about Big Mom’s flashback not having that “pity factor” I mentioned. Then again, she’s not one of the beautiful/cute female villains either... Nevertheless, I appreaciate the fact that Oda is letting her be one of the bad guys.

As usual, if I forgot anyone, it’s more than likely because I didn’t get a notification about it. Big thanks to all of you!

[twdixonimagine-blog]

The crash/ chapter one

New Daryl fanfic called Dakota since Evelyn was a flop :/

Chapter one: A redneck, cop, an Asian and meth head

Info: Dakota is a client of Merles and when her crash starts to hit she’s desperate to find him in midst of the apocalypse. When looking for him she follows a car alarm to the top of a hill and a chance at survival.

Warnings: swearing, drug use

“Merle, please” I begged as he waved a bag of blue sky in front of me.

“Why should I? You ain’t got the cash, honey” He taunted.

“You know I’ll pay you back” I itched my neck, the crash was coming.

I saw his younger brother walk behind him into the kitchen. I had seen him when I came for a pick up but never really talked to him, he kept to himself. Nothing like Merle, he was in and out of prisons, on drugs and liked to drink. Daryl, was more tame, quiet and stayed out of trouble with the law.

“On ya knees, baby girl” He spoke.

The only other way to pay, sex.

“Merle, don’t” Daryl spoke from the kitchen.

“Go back in ya room baby brother, don’t worry about it”

I looked at Daryl with pleading eyes. He couldn’t save me but it couldn’t change how much I didn’t like doing this but there was no other way.

“I’ll pay for her, just let her go” Daryl spoke firmer.

“She made herself a junkie and can pay for her habits. Now you go” Merle shouted as I dropped to my knees.

As Daryl walked away I kept eye contact until he was out of my sight. All hope was lost, it was lost long ago when I first used. I just had to zone out and go somewhere better until Merle finished and I got the drugs.

I shot up, breathing heavy. Just a dream. Was a nightmare then but now, that was a nice dream. No dead people, I wasn’t alone and I got drugs when I needed them. Now I was alone, fighting to survive on drugs and trying to find Merle. He had what I needed. I don’t know how I’d find him but I prayed I would, my junkie mind was determined to find him.

I dumped the contents of my bag, a pipe, blue sky and a lighter. I filled the bowl and lit up. A bad habit but they don’t just go away because the world ends. Inhaling the smoke was like heaven, it made this mess just a bit more bearable. Didn’t take me away but made it easier.

I climbed down from the top of the truck I laid on. The dead ones lingered off and I slipped into the woods. Merle had taught me how to track and that’s what I did. I followed footsteps time after time to find nothing good. Raided camps, or they were dead.

I heard a car alarm and I filled with excitement. That could be very good news or really bad news. Either way, the high I was on didn’t make me think it was bad but filled me with energy. I saw a red car drive up a hill so I followed it.

A windy gravel road, the car alarm blared on into the air. I could only imagine the zombies that was attracting. My gun in my waistband and knife in a holder, I was ready for something, anything. 

As I approached the top of the hill, I held my gun in my hand. I hid behind a pick up truck. I listened to happy voices, someone had just come back after thinking he was dead. They cried tears of joy. I closed my eyes thinking of the little chance anyone would think that about me. Before I knew it, I was crying.

“Hey, shh, do ya hear that?” I heard a voice speak.

I covered my mouth, scared they heard my sobs. I wiped away tears the best I could. I heard feet move closer and my once strong, fearless persona was dropped.

I came out in plain view, hands up and gun in front of me. 

“Who’s that?” A blonde girl whispered to another.

“Was there anyone else you found?” A man with black hair asked.

“I heard the car alarm and followed it, I just need someone and a place to stay”  I spoke, my voice stronger than expected.

“Well, you got it. As long as you can fire a gun and stay quiet, you’re welcome” A pale sickly man spoke as he held a younger boys hand with a woman by his side.

As night fell, a fire was set up and we all gathered around it. We listened to story time with Rick. Shane knew him, he was Loris’ wife, Carls father. Crickets chirped in the background with fire crackling ahead of us.

“Disoriented” He spoke “Fear, confusion, all those things but disoriented comes closest” He explained how he felt when he woke up in the middle on an apocalypse.

“Words can be meager things, sometimes they fall short” Dale spoke.

Thunder rumbled in the background. A storm brewing miles away.

“I felt like I was ripped out of my life and put somewhere else. I thought I was trapped in a coma dream, something I thought I could never escape” He continued.

“Mom said you died” Carl spoke looking up at him.

I smiled looking at them, I knew I could never have a kid. Doctors told me long ago, a big dream of mine was wiped out in one sentence. Maybe that’s why I started using. Didn’t matter because I was fucked now. 

“Enough about me, I’m not the only newcomer, what about you, Dakota?” Rick spoke, my name making me snap back into reality.

“Me?” I asked.

“Yeah, what’s your story?”

“I mean, it’s nothing. I woke up and things weren’t the same...”

I was on a drug binge, holed up a dingy motel room. I had been in a daze, not sleeping, eating or drinking for days on end. Curtains drawn so I was hidden in the dark. When I went outside one day to go back home after tweaking, shit had gone down. Cars burning if they were left, rotting people and blood and litter everywhere. 

“Aside from that, we need to talk” Dale started.

“About what?” Shane asked.

“Daryl Dixon, he won’t be happy to hear his brother was left behind”

I felt like the air was taken from my lungs. The mention of his name filled me with joy but then hearing the one I needed wasn’t around, hurt. I gasped but didn’t realize it, but it was brushed off by the others.

“I’ll tell him, I dropped the key, it’s on me” T-dog spoke.

“I cuffed him, that makes it mine” Rick then stepped in.

“Why?” I asked, the only one concerned about him.

“He was dangerous, racist slurs were spoken and a fight broke out”

“That’s expected” I mumbled.

“You know him?” Dale asked.

“Yeah, both brothers” I sighed.

“What if Dakota tells him, she knows him from before this?” Glenn spoke out.

“But Dakota has to agree to it” Shane spoke.

Then eyes were on me. I didn’t know Daryl as well as they assumed but it was better than what these people knew him from. I couldn’t say no now, they were all waiting on me for a good response, fear kept them from telling him.

“Sure” I nodded.

I woke up early the next morning and smoked before anyone could see. I was up helping the others with what I could. I tried to keep my mind off the kids playing, it just made me upset.

As I hung laundry with Lori, Amy and Andrea, I kept quiet. Amy and Andrea had their on conversations and Lori preoccupied with Rick. I tuned into the conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about the man we left behind” Rick spoke.

“You’re not serious” Lori spoke with a straight face “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Asking” Rick placed a hand on his hip.

“I think it’s crazy-”

Before I could add my input, screams filled the camp with fear. Everyone jumped and ran to the source of the screams. Weapons handed out, kids yelled for parents. Most of the girls stopped when they reached the kids and let the guys go out, but I followed with the guys.

It led to a clearing where a walker was eating a deer. Arrows stuck out of the deers’ side. When the walker, a term this group used instead of zombie, stood, the guys bashed on it repeatedly until Dale chopped its head off. Amy and Andrea stood back and to the side.

“First one up here, there never come up this far” Dale spoke.

“Lack of food in the city, that’s what” Jim shrugged.

More rustling came from the woods, even a branch snapped. Weapons were raised and ready to kill another walker. Instead out came Daryl. He looked the same as when I last saw him. Light brown, short hair and shirt with ripped off sleeves. Same white trash I remembered him as and I was glad to see him.

“Son of a bitch” Daryl exclaimed “That’s my deer, look at it all gnawed on by this filthy” He kicked the headless walker body “Disease-bearing, motherless, poxy bastard” A kick in between each insult.

“Calm down, that isn’t helping” Dale advised Daryl.

“What do you know about it, old man? Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to on golden pond?” He turned away and sighed “I’ve been trackin this deer for miles, gonna drag it back to camp and cook us up some venison. Think we can cut around this chewed up part”

“Wouldn’t risk that” Shane spoke.

“Damn shame, I about a dozen squirrel, that’ll have to do”

The walker head came back, jaw cracked as it opened up.

“Oh god” Amy groaned and walked off with Andrea.

“Don’t ya’ll know nothin? Gotta be the brain” Daryl spoke, driving an arrow through its skull.

As we re-approached the camp, Daryl called out for Merle, oblivious to me and ignorant to knowing Merle was not around.

“Daryl” I spoke his name for the first time in months.

He turned around to look at me. I feared that he didn’t know me but hoped he did.

“We need to talk” I told him.

“I don’t got ya blue sky, that’s all Merle. If he’d come out here you can get ya fix!”

 He did remember me.

“It’s not about that”

“Then what’s it about?” 

“Merle, there was a problem in Atlanta” I spoke a few feet from him.

“He dead?”

“We don’t know” I shook my head.

“He either is or he ain’t!” He got heated.

“There’s no easy way to say this” Rick started to join in.

“Who the hell are you?” Daryl asked as he eyes him up and down.

“Rick Grimes”

“Rick Grimes” He mocked him “Got something ya wanna tell me?”

“Listen, we both know Merle. He was dangerous to everyone down in Atlanta and Rick handcuffed him to the roof” I tried to get in again, it was my assignment after all.

“Let me process this, you handcuffed my brother to a roof and left him there?” He yelled, a vein straining in his neck.

“That’s right” I nodded.

“You let him!” He yelled and charged at me. 

His fist collided with my face without hesitation. I stumbled back but made sure to get even with a punch to his face. I pulled out my knife.

“I got one too, sweetheart” Daryl taunted.

“How about everyone drops their knives?” Rick suggested.

“Sure, sheriff” I mocked.

I charged at him, only to miss and cut his side. He thrusted his knife at me and it cut my arm. Shane and Rick then intervened. Shane placed Daryl in a choke hold after taking his knife. Rick held my arms behind my back as I still was fired up from the fight, resisting his pull.

“No fair she ain’t in a choke hold” Daryl struggled to get out.

“In a choke hold and can barely speak but still have some dumb shit to say” I spat back.

“God damn bitch” He grunted and thrashed his body around “You’d best let me go” He yelled to Shane.

“Nah, I don’t think so” Shane disagreed nonchalantly. 

“Choke hold’s illegal”

“You can file a complaint”

“I’d like to have a calm discussion about this. Think we can manage that?” Rick shouted so both Daryl and I could hear.

“Yeah” I mumbled.

He let me go and I yanked my arm away. Daryl only agreed after I had so he could get out of his choke hold.

“I dropped the key” T-Dog spoke.

“Couldn’t pick it up?” Daryl retorted.

“Down a drain”

Daryl stood up and walked to T-Dog.

“Don’t make me feel better” He mumbled. 

He wiped away a tear discreetly.

“Hell with all of ya’ll. Just tell me where he is” Daryl yelled throwing an arm “So I can go get him”

“Rick’ll show you. Ain’t that right?” Lori spoke.

“I’m going back” Rick nodded.

The group was assembled, Glenn, Rick, Daryl and I. Daryl sat in the truck while everyone else still outside discussing matters. I took that time to talk to him, alone.

His back pressed against the wall, sitting on the ground. Cross bow in between his legs. I hopped in the back and sat across from him.

“I wanna find Merle as bad as you do, maybe more” I told him.

“Meth love stronger than brotherly love?”

“Probably” I sighed and itched my neck.

“You tweakin?” He asked looking up at me with only his eyes.

“I’m exhausted and could eat and drink forever. You could say I’m tweaking” I nodded.

“Nothin I haven’t seen before. Gotta get that crystal before ya kill yourself”

I nodded knowing that was the truth. As Glenn and Rick got in the truck, Shane closed the back on us. Leaving a long hot car ride into Atlanta together with a redneck, cop, an Asian and meth head.

[sueboohscorner]

#IntoTheBadlands S2 Ep 1" Tiger Pushes Mountain" Recap & Review

Episode Grade: 10

“Hell isn't where you go when you die. It's what you become when everything you love has been taken away.”- Sunny

The action-packed TV series returned, and we are Six months into the future, Sunny is enslaved, M.K. is receiving training, Quinn's son, Ryder is now the new Baron, and the window was missing in action for the last six months. Now let’s get into the episode in details.

We see Sunny looking like he been to hell and back, with his hands and neck lock into a piece of wood and chained to other slaves, walking through to meet his new master (The Engineer). The Engineer welcomes them to the Bordo Mines where he tells them that they will dig, sleep, eat, shit and then they are going to die. The Engineer asked them to be de-chained, one of the men seem to be sick, and the master orders him killed. Sunny did not have it, and we see the first fight of the night (at this point my excitement was already through the roof). Sunny was able to kick some ass but not for long, and he’s recaptured why The Engineer’s men, and got knocked out by the Master. 

We then see M.K in training with a young female monk; he had been in training since the monks took him. M.K still seem to be chatty; he seemly keeps asking his trainer to see the master. We get back to Sunny who is having a dream about Veil and his unborn child and him telling her that he will get back to them, and Veil tells him to wake up. Sunny wakes up with his ankles shackled to another man who offers him and drinks and tells him his name is Bajie and gives the 401 on the mine. Bajie kept talking, but as we know, Sunny is a man of few words and finally speaks and ask Bajie if he knew a way out and he told him yes “in a body bag.”

At the temple, M.K is with others who have similar abilities to his and is also in training. Now we all already know how impatient M.K is and he sneaks into the Master room and finds Sunny compass. M.K meets a woman who he asks about the compass and tell hers he was there to see the Master; she throws her broom at M.K telling him to hold it while she goes to gets him. M.K attempts to catch the broom, and a force from the broom thrusts him across the room, making him aware that she was the Master. She offers him a meal, telling him that she has prepared a plate every night since he got there, M.K asks her to teach him how to control his powers because there were people out there who needed his help. The Master seemed to have already know about M.K past and tells him that the temple was his home at least until he could control his 'gift.' M.K tells the Master that if he were up to him, he would leave right away, the Master tells him that he could get past the paper bird with unleashing his gift he was free to go. She then blows the paper bird at M.K which slice him in the face unleashing his powers; he then launched at her with a fist which she stopped with her hands and overthrows him. After M.K leaves we see that her radius bone was broken which she pushed back in and healed herself. 

Bajie learnsSunny secret about him being a Clipper and offers to help him after filling in Sunny on what was happening in the Badlands. Sunny learns of fight night, which of a picker who never met their quota, Bajie tells him that no one has ever made it out alive, Sunny ask Bajie to get him a map.

We see Ryder the new Baron for the first time with his new wife Jade (she was supposed to marry Quinn last season), now heads to the Widow's Oilfields. Ryder feeling uneasy telling Jade that he thought moving to Jacobee’s Mansion would erase the memory of his father but it is still there taunting him, Jade tries to encourage him telling that Quinn is gone and he is never coming back, and the was the Barron now. Jade tells him that everyone thinks Quinn die by his hand, and he controlled three territories and had the respect of all his clippers. One of his Clippers interrupts to tell him that he needs at the Oil Refinery. 

Finally, to my favorite scene of the night, we see Tilda for the first time, and she has not changed much she took out a clipper (blade trough the head) guarding the oilfield.  Ryder learns that the labor is down 30 percent and that he has cogs that are deserting and given sanctuary by the Widow. Jade step up telling Ryder that they need to make a new deal with Barron Chow for fresh Cog, cut back the hours, and up the rations for those who stay below. Tilda causes and explosion and Jade is separated from Ryder after an explosion and is taken to safety by a clipper.  

The Widow attacks and reclaims the Oilfields, after killing most of Ryder's clippers. The Widow is after Jade who is catches after killing a lot of clippers. The Widow tells Jade to give a message to Ryder telling him she had reclaimed her Oldfield and if he must not try to take it back, or more blood will be spilled and most of it will be his blood.

Back to Sunny, Bajie gives him a map of the mines, which he claimed to have got from the oldest picker in mind. Bajie steals an ancient ring from another miner, something of great value to The Engineer, but when he gave it to him the reward was not what he expected, so he tells him of Sunny's secret in exchange for his own freedom. (In the comments tell me if you think it is all part and a plan he and Sunny made?). 

Tilda reports to The Widow that between the stray Cogs and those she rescued from the Oilfields the numbers are swelling, but The Widows is concern that she is not worthy of all the faith people are putting into her

She also has doubts that she is not much of a leader, Tilda tells her that she had faith in her. Tilda attempts to ease The Widow mind by having her speak to some of the people at the food stations. Tilda introduces the Widow to Odessa, a Doll in the Oilfields, telling her that she has killed one of Ryder's clipper during the raid. The Widow tell the people that they are free there and that she wishes that everyone in the Badlands would live as equals. The captured Clippers, learning that they are not hostages and leaves after telling the Widow that they like the current system and that the other Barons will stop her.

M.K. is upset that Eva has shared all the information that he told her in confidence with the Master and lashes out at her, but was interrupted by The Master who appears and takes over M.K.'s future training.

Tilda trails down the group of armadillo Clippers that left into the woods and confronts them for violating the Dolls at the refinery. She shoves a dagger into his throat and signals the Butterflies to kill the others.

 Back at Bordo, the Engineer calls Sunny a celebrated killer and tells him Bajie traded his freedom for his own. Bajie tells Sunny “I saw an opportunity.” Sunny curses him and is dragged off by two Overseers.

At an abandoned barbershop inside a subway station, a man brings a newborn baby over to Veil, who has just given birth. It's turn out to be Quinn, alive and well. “It's a boy,” he says.

Overall, I enjoyed this episode from start to finish I would not change a thing, the fight scenes where episode and the Edward Scissorhands movie from the Widow beautiful I can’t wait for Sunday’s episode. Tilda seems to be even more brutal. M.K though so powerful is still so childlike and innocent. The Master fight scene with M.k was just amazing.  

[pornowatch]

Haunt

Part 1 of a series. Multi-dimensional Reaper/Reyes selfcest. Non-con. Brief choking. Some hints at unrequited R76.

Heed the warning, ya’all. This is definitely not play or dub-con.

Something is haunting Gabriel’s base.

It was created by a chronal accelerator malfunction. Or it was brought into their world from… somewhere else. Winston doesn’t know yet. But it’s here. It moves in the shadows and stays in their peripheral vision, scattering in a wisp of smoke whenever they try to nail it down. For weeks Reyes senses he’s being watched even when he’s alone.

The world won’t stop for one ominous specter rattling chains in Overwatch’s attic, so Reyes works as best he can around it. The strike commander goes to sleep with the feeling of eyes on his back.

---

Gabriel is suffocating.

“You,” a voice growls in the dark, tight, like it’s indignant. “The leader of Overwatch. A wall full of awards and commendations in your big office. Everyone is grateful to you for keeping the peace.”

Gabriel rasps through what feels like smoke filling his lungs, choking his airways and causing his eyes to water. There’s no fire. There’s only the crushing weight on his stomach as a gaunt, twisted version of his own face stares down at him. The apparition’s deathly pale skin seems to glow in the moonlight.

The Reaper sneers: “What makes you so fucking special?”

The acrid burning in his chest lifts, and Gabriel heaves his first few breaths of clean air with tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s meant to answer. Fuck that.

“What are you?” he demands around the ache in his throat.

“Heh. You know what? I’ve spent years wondering that same thing. I thought I was a monster, but I’ve been watching you in this ass-backwards world. Now I know I had it all wrong.” The assailant rakes metal claws down his neck hard enough to sting the skin, and he starts to chuckle darkly. “Turns out I’m just the victim of circumstance. You came heads-up in the coin toss, but somebody else had to lose. A counterbalance for the universe’s sake. You got to be the hero, so I had to become this.”

The thing is insane. Gabriel doesn’t waste time saying so. His hands were cuffed to the bedposts while he was incapacitated; it leaves him vulnerable when his sweatpants are pulled down around his knees.

“What is it you want?” He tries to save face as the leather glove feels him out through his boxer briefs. The self-identified Reaper begins to stroke him through the fabric just on the other side of uncomfortably hard. He ignores the question.

“Haven't seen McCree in your inner circle. Where’d he end up?”

What? Gabriel frowns, mind scrambling. He doesn’t… wait. Wait a minute. McCree was the name of that Deadlock punk Morrison collared on a raid. There’d been a lot of discussion about what to do with the kid, but in the end he went to prison. A life sentence at seventeen. 

Christ, that had been, what? Fifteen years ago?

“Rotting in a hole somewhere, if he’s still alive,” he answers in hopes that the revelation will hurt. On the contrary, the Reaper’s lips draw into a cruel smile.

“In your world there’s no McCree and Ziegler's dead? You just keep winning.” A clawed finger gently taps the tip of Gabriel’s nose. “Justice would be killing you and assuming what’s rightfully mine. Since I can’t get that I‘ll settle for ruining you.”

In a quick movement Reaper tears Gabriel’s boxers off and leaves the scraps to cling around his sweat-damp thighs. Exposed, Gabriel swallows hard. He thinks about having that creature inside him and he knows he can’t take it.

“When I get a hold of you you’ll be begging me to let you die,” he hisses, voice low and dangerous. Reaper is undaunted. The bed creaks as he leans down, looming over Gabriel, challenging him to do anything but lie prone beneath him.

“I’m going to ride you until you forget what it’s like not to have me in your hole. But I’m not a complete monster. I’ll make you a deal: Apologize now and I’ll face you down while I fuck you. You can bury your shame in the pillows if you want.”

“I never did shit to you!” And though the last thing his training would advise is to antagonize his captor, Gabriel spits, “You ever consider the reason you’re like this is because you’re a pathetic psychopath?”

He waits to be hit or choked with the smoke again, but the Reaper has his patience. 

“That brave face? I can’t wait to see it crumble.”

Something in Reyes flies of it’s hitch and flails wildly, reaching for an explanation. What’s more likely than an evil twin from another dimension raping him? A trick of the mind, like a psychological attack. Talon likes to pull that shit. It’s how they got Angela. Maybe they hit him with some neurotoxin, and now Gabriel’s traumatizing himself with a self-crafted hallucination? It’s too damn surreal to be anything else. None of this can actually be happening.

But it is happening. Gabriel can feel it in his skin, especially where Reaper’s touch leaves him with a crawling feeling. The bed shifts with his doppleganger’s weight, and then Reaper is straddling Gabriel at the knees. He’s now missing a glove. Gabriel doesn’t know if he took it off or if it simply vanished.

The hand on his dick feels unnaturally cool. He cringes at the sensation.

“Say you want me.”

“Go to hell.” He doesn’t want this. He turns stiff in Reaper’s firm strokes, but it’s only a physical reaction. He can’t help it.

“You don’t have to pretend. I’m you. I know all the filthy, dirty fantasies you don’t want to own.”

“You are nothing like me.”

Reaper grins and leans down. Gabriel turns away when the pale tongue laps over the head of his dick. 

“Sorry, jefe, but you and I? We’re only removed by a sequence of events.” To punctuate the thought, Reaper plunges half-way down Gabriel’s length and whorls his tongue around the shaft. Gabriel grunts. The mouth around him isn’t hot like it should be, but it’s not uncomfortable enough to turn him off. Reaper’s lips pull off him with a wet pop. “Hm. He didn’t stab you in the back, and McCree’s not around, so I bet you’re even still pining after the boy scout.”

Gabriel doesn’t respond. Silence is evidently enough of an answer for Reaper. He’s back to sucking on Gabriel’s cock, teasing him exactly how he likes. Exactly how he’d imagined Jack doing when he was alone and torturing himself, dreaming about things he’d never have. 

"Stop,” he mutters when the feeling of Reaper’s sucking him off blends with the image of Jack’s blonde hair between his legs, and then the line gets confused.

Reaper doesn’t stop. He knows how this fantasy plays out. Jack, hesitating for a thousand reasons, would finally give in because it’s Gabriel. It would be slow as Jack tested his lips over the first cock he’d ever wanted in his mouth. And as Gabriel’s shaft was rocked over the back of his tongue, those bright blue eyes would look up to him for approval.

“I-uhn. Hmph.” Gabriel squeezes his eyes closed and pretends not to hear Reaper’s satisfied hum, even as it does incredible things to him.

Morrison would grow bolder with success, of course. He’d move faster, feel Gabriel out, push the limit of how much he could comfortably take in. He would fight through the gag reflex as he realized he loved the feeling of Gabriel’s cock bumping his soft pallet. A palm slides up the inside of Gabriel’s thigh and comes to fondle his balls, massaging him in time with the quickening pace of lips moving up and down his length.

Just, yes. Yes. Don’t stop, babe. Please. God, it’s been so long...

As long as he keeps his eyes closed it’s Jack blowing him. As long as he keeps his eyes closed it’s okay if he comes deep in the throat of whoever’s on top of him, because he’s thinking about Jack and that’s acceptable. 

It’s fast and it’s sloppy and it’s just what Gabriel pictured when he imagined calling Jack up to his office and having him kneel under his desk. He would keep his hand on the back of Morrison’s head to keep him from pulling off when his jaw got tired. He’d work the Blackwatch commander’s mouth until he’d cleaned up his technique, learning not to slurp and how to pace himself so he could last until Gabriel finished his paperwork.

Gabriel thinks about pulling out to mark his subordinate’s face and groans, “Mph, Jack.”

That’s when Reaper yanks Gabriel out of his mental refuge and banks hard right. The hand on his balls suddenly clenches around him like a vice.

It’s a frantic moment. It’s painful, but it’s also... oh, oh shit. Gabriel looks down and locks eyes with Reaper, still throat-deep on his cock, and that’s when he breaks. He tries to hold it back. He tries to stop it because it’s not Jack anymore; it’s this sick, conniving version of himself-

“Fuck! Fuck, no! Damn it!” he howls as he starts to come, furious at his own body’s betrayal. He bucks his hips up to where Reaper is waiting to take him all, the tremors of his orgasm so much harder than he can bring himself to acknowledge. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. So why is it so goddamn good?

He can’t see his cock with the armor, but Gabriel knows that the Reaper is just as turned on as he is. He takes his victim’s load greedily, swallowing down what is essentially his own come with pleased glint in his eyes. Staring down over his heaving chest, Gabriel watches numbly as the pale-skinned Reaper coaxes him through the last, desperate spasms of his cock until there’s nothing left in him. His will to fight drains from him. Gabriel is sapped and more defeated than he’s ever been.

The Reaper looks up and their eyes make contact again. Reaper winks. Gabriel gets the feeling his should look away, but he doesn’t. 

Christ. There must be a pathological narcissism that runs through every version of the man they are.

He lies and waits and lets Reaper do what he wants. Mind otherwise idle, his thoughts begin to broach the subject of what comes next. They don’t get very far. He can’t handle the idea that his ass is about to be raped by himself, let alone the increasingly evident fact that he’ll enjoy it -- at least physically. Reaper will know how to make him respond in a favorable manner. He’ll know the best way in which to leave Gabriel a destroyed, conflicted mess afterward. 

When it’s over the flanging laughter reverberates through him as his gut coils tight. As if on cue, reality comes flooding back. Humiliation and guilt and hormones wrack Gabriel to the core, making him feel like every molecule is vibrating.

“You think I’m pathetic?” Reaper plants a kiss on his hipbone, sweet and chase. “Thirty years and you’re still jerking it to the straight boy. ‘No, stop, I don’t want this.’ Bullshit. You’ve been dying for someone to come along and use you like I will. Eventually.”

Reaper climbs off the bed, and Gabriel assumes it’s to reposition them both. It’s what he would do. When he can, he likes to take his partners from behind and watch them in a mirror. Reaper will want to see Gabriel’s face when he’s fucking him. 

Then Reaper taunts, “Look at you. Shit, we look fantastic when we’re taken care of right.” His voice takes a dangerous upturn. “Think Jack’ll agree when he finds you?”

What? Gabriel searches Reaper for an explanation. He’d expected the other him to be undressing, but Reaper is moving towards to the door. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Don’t leave me like this.” He doesn’t say please. He’s sure the crack in his voice does it for him.

With a coy chuckle Reaper answers, “Catch you next time, good looking.”

After the smoke disappears through the crack in the door Reyes musters his strength and tries the restraints again. He pulls as hard as he can, but there’s no give. Defeated, he drops his head back on the mattress and goes limp.

He’ll have to wait for Jack or Ana to come looking for him.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: S-F Weapons, Thomas Ligotti, Savage Minicrate, Michael Whelan, Starman Jones

Cinema (IGN.com): The concept of the sci-fi weapon also has its allure. Whether it’s a cyborg hero taking down villains with some kind of crazy blaster, or evil Dark Lords wiping out entire planets with their mechanical monstrosities, there is no doubt that the destructive capabilities of such futuristic weaponry appeal to a certain base instinct in us all.

  Writers (Social Ecologies): Over a period of years the works of Thomas Ligotti have pervaded my thought and life. I’ve decided to spend time writing on the art and philosophy of Ligotti in a new book, one that I will hopefully finish by the end of fall. Not sure when it will be published, but I’ll keep you informed. I may not be as active on the site as I’ve been but will still pop my head up from time to time as I progress.

  RPG (Conan.com): Privateer Press has announced the SAVAGE MiniCrate subscription box, where you can get minis featuring heroes and villains from

King Conan

the rich worlds of Robert E. Howard. The first miniature in the series is Dark Agnes de Chastillon from Howard’s Sword Woman stories.

The SAVAGE MiniCrate is offered as a monthly subscription service monthly ($16.99), or as a six-month VIP subscription ($98.99). Each shipment contains a single exclusive, limited-edition miniature and a corresponding Collector’s Card. International costs will vary, as usual.

Magazines (Mens Pulp Mags): In case you don’t know about it, PulpFest is one of the biggest and best annual pulp-related conventions in the country.

Since the theme for that year’s presentations was “The Pulps at War,” we put together a set of overheads about the war stories and artwork in men’s adventure magazines and the thematic, artistic and literary DNA they share with the pre-World War II pulp magazines.

In the second half of the presentation, I spent some time talking about the men’s adventure mag BATTLE CRY.

    Cinema & Movie Novelization (Glorious Trash): I was probably one of the very few 19 year-olds who had a copy of Circle Of Iron on VHS in the summer of ’94, and I certainly was the only one who got his girlfriend to watch it…several times! It’s a wonder she didn’t break up with me halfway through the first viewing, because Circle Of Iron is a bad movie, one that should’ve been roasted on Mystery Science Theater 3000 but for some reason never was.

  Writing (Sly Flourish): I’ve recently been doing a lot of adventure writing, the results of which you can find in the Fantastic Adventures: Ruins of the Grendleroot Kickstarter. As part of this project, I wanted to dig deep into what makes great adventures. So, as I did when writing Return of the Lazy Dungeon Master, I hit the books (and the blogs) to collect as much of the best advice on adventure design that I could.

    Sports Fiction (Paul Bishop): Boxing and noir go together as smoothly as a one-two combination punch. The inherent qualities of both noir and boxing, desperation, bad choices, violence, tension, humanity stripped bare, combine for a marriage made in Hell.

We’re not talking the Rockys of the boxing world here. We’re not talking the life affirming, if you punch hard enough, sooner or later you’re gonna be a contender, kind of boxing stories. We’re talking about the down and dirty, punch drunk, cauliflower-eared, in bed with the mob, no hope fighters who populate such novels as Fat City (Leonard Gardner), Ringside Jezebel (Kate Nickerson), The Leather Pushers (H. C. Witwer), The Bruiser(Jim Tully), or Iron Man (W. R. Burnett).

    Art (DMR Books): oday is the birthday of Michael Whelan, one of the greatest artists to ever work in the fields of fantasy, sci-fi and horror. The occasion prompted me to think back on the Whelan covers that really, really affected me when growing up. I have decided that there were four such.

I was a Whelan fan before I was a Frazetta fan. In fact, Michael Whelan—along with Jeffrey Jones—was the first non-comic book artist I was ever a fan of. My fandom started the day I bought the DAW edition of Elric of Melniboné. I was already familiar with the Barry Windsor-Smith comics version of Elric, but that cover blew me away.

          Vintage Fiction (Hi Lo Brow): Eighty-five years ago, the following 10 adventures — selected from my Best Nineteen-Thirties (1934–1943) Adventure list — were first serialized or published in book form. They’re my favorite adventures published that year.

Please let me know if I’ve missed any adventures from this year that you particularly admire. Enjoy!

  Pulp Fiction (DMR Books): The two Northmen ships he had encountered in the Channel had turned and rowed up the Thames to raid the British villages along the river; even though he has only 30 men able to fight them, Tros is able to ride a rising tide up the river and wreak havoc on the raiders.  He sinks one ship and manages to steal the other but the able-bodied Britons desert, more comfortable fighting on land than on a ship. Tros gives Orwic permission to go, leaving the defense of his leaking galley and the stolen long ship to Conops, a score of badly wounded Britons and himself.  Tros wants that long ship; it is beautiful and whoever built that ship could help him build the ship of his dreams.

  Fiction (Brain Leakage): Confession time: I love post apocalyptic stories. ​I always have. Something about the genre’s tropes and trappings just gets my blood pumping. Give me bombed-out cities, atomic mutants, and barbaric biker gangs, and you’ll keep my ass glued to the seat until the credits roll. Funny thing is, as long as I’ve had it, I’ve never given my apocalyptic obsession much thought. If anything, I chalked it up to watching Thundarr the Barbarian as an impressionable kid.

  RPG (Rampant Games):  Matt Barton’s outstanding history of computer role-playing games is now out in a second edition. I haven’t read the whole thing yet (it’s HUGE), but the last ten years have brought about some enormous changes and tons of new games to the genre. This is kind of funny to me, as Matt had kind of closed the previous edition on a down note, thinking the era of quality single-player RPGs had come to a close.

  Heinlein (Tip the Wink): I’m reading my way through many of the Heinlein juvenile SF novels. Last time it was The Rolling Stones, this time, Starman Jones. No, it’s not forgotten, none of Heinlein’s juvenile SF novels are, really, but I recommend them, some more, some less, so here we go.

  Mystery (Jerry’s House of Everything): After reading and reviewing Kuttner’s collection Three by Kuttner last week I was in the mood for another book by him.  Luckily Murder of a Wife, the last of his four mysteries featuring San Francisco psychoanalyst Michael Gray, was near the top of mount TBR.

Kuttner, who died much too soon in 1958, had directed much of his energies to mystery novels in his last years, even as he was studying for a Master’s degree when he had his fatal heart attack.  Murder of a Wife appeared in March 1958 (just one month after the author died) in a paperback edition from Permabooks — its only paperback appearance.

  Weird Western (Scifi Movie Page): Deep in a Wyoming mine, hell awaits. Former cattle driver, Rough Rider and current New York City cop Nat Blackburn is given an offer he can’t refuse by President Teddy Roosevelt. Tales of gold in the abandoned mining town of Hecla, in the Deep Rock Hills, abound. The only problem-those who go seeking their fortune never return. Roosevelt’s own troops are among the missing, and the President wants to know their fate – and find the gold. Along with his constant companion, Teta, a hired gun with a thirst for adventure, Nat travels to a barren land where even animals dare not tread. Along the way, they are joined by a Selma, a fiery and beautiful woman in search of her brother who was swallowed up by Hecla years earlier.

  Games (Jeffro’s Space Gaming Blog): Such a small box, but there’s so much game inside! You can play it as a “design-a-thing” game where you spend five or ten minutes figuring out how to destroy your friend’s continuing character in a campaign of endless arena duels. But you can also cut out the min/maxing element entirely by dealing several of of the fighter cards to each player and seeing what happens. How do you make these unoptimized figures work together as a team in order to crush the spirit of your opponent? It’s not immediately obvious! The range of options each turn are tremendous!

  Westerns (Rough Edges): As you can see from the back cover copy above, BLOOD TRAIL by Gardner F. Fox (originally published in paperback by Belmont in 1979) is a revenge Western, a very common plot in the genre. Fox doesn’t really bring anything new to the table in the story he tells in this book (on the trail of the three men who bushwhacked him and left him for dead, the protagonist finds himself in the middle of a range war), but it’s the execution that really matters in a book like this, not the plot. And in that respect, Fox does a superb job.

  Sword-and-Sorcery (Legends of Men): Last week I review Holmes book Enter The Barbarian. If you haven’t read that review yet, check it out here. Morgan Holmes is an expert on pulp fiction, sword & sorcery, sword & planet, Robert E. Howard, Conan The Cimmerian, and red pilled man. Morgan was kind enough to share much of his knowledge on sword & sorcery with Legends of Men in this interview. In fact, this interview so comprehensive that it’s a great reference for those who want to know more about the genre and masculine fiction.

    Sensor Sweep: S-F Weapons, Thomas Ligotti, Savage Minicrate, Michael Whelan, Starman Jones published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[recentanimenews]

Crunchyroll Favorites 2018 Part Three: EVERYTHING ELSE!

 This is it--the final installment of CRUNCHYROLL FAVORITES 2018! In our first feature, we talked about our favorite anime and manga of the past year, and yesterday we shared our favorite video games. Today, we wrap up with one of my favorite parts of CR Favorites: "EVERYTHING ELSE!"

  Instead of posting individual articles for everybody's favorite movies, books, music, TV shows, sports moments, life moments, and so on and so forth, we just pile them all here into the "Everything Else" installment and share what's important to us that isn't related to anime, manga, or video games.

  Just like before, the rules are simple: only stuff that came out in 2018, or continuing works that had a major milestone last year. You're gonna get to see a lot of different lists from different people--let's get started!

  Nate Ming

The Night Comes for Us- Timo Tjahjanto brings most of the gang from The Raid and its sequel back for this absolute onslaught of perfectly-choreographed action that refuses to let up--or look away. This one's for the hardest of hardcore action fans, and absolutely not for the squeamish.

Mandy- Nicolas Cage teams up with the stylish and totally gonzo Panos Cosmatos for a trippy, violent ride that starts as a horror story and ends up as a wild action/revenge flick. A friend of mine pointed out that Mandy is the closest we'll probably ever get to a live-action Berserk, and y'know what? He's right.

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse- It's rare when, while watching a movie, I don't want it to end. It's almost as rare when it wraps up and I immediately want to watch it again. Into the Spider-Verse has it all: pure emotion, an outstanding soundtrack, action that's like greased lightning, and characters I want to spend even more time with. More like this, please.

Fighting in the Age of Loneliness- Jon Bois--already known for his insightful, fun breakdowns of sports minutiae--teams up with Felix Biederman for a deep dive into the stories that make the history of mixed martial arts. Even people who aren't MMA-heads will dig this--check it out and learn why people fighting in a cage for money is so compelling.

Amanda Nunes vs Cris Cyborg- And speaking of that, in just 51 seconds Amanda "Lioness" Nunes took down the undefeated Cris Cyborg, trading shots until Cyborg caught a huge overhand right and dropped. What a showdown--women's MMA has always been great, but now is the time of legends.

Honorable Mentions: Braven, Creed II, Hereditary

Nicole Mejias

A more stable life- 2017 and 2018 have been very trying years of my life, and I’m glad I made it through in one piece. Depression is something I’m still battling with, but it’s something I’m thankfully more in control of these days. I’m very grateful for my close friends who helped me when I felt I was lost; without them I wouldn’t be here. Thank you! Let’s conquer our goals in 2019!

CEO x NJPW show- I talked about this show briefly in my CEO 2018 report, but my goodness, it was quite the mind blowing show! I never expected NJPW to make it out to Florida of all places, and I certainly didn’t expect the world of fighting games and wrestling to come together in beautiful harmony! It’s a show I’ll remember for a very long time.

Crunchyroll Expo 2018 experience- It was my first time going to this event, and I was very impressed by pretty much everything the convention had to offer! Add in the bonus of meeting up with colleagues face-to-face for the first time and network with amazing folks, and it was an event that I was very happy to be a part of. I’ll be back again this year!

Working for Crunchyroll- The biggest highlight of 2018 was when I got the chance to work here, which was something I didn’t think would happen. Started as a video script writer, then moved on to becoming a features writer and editor! This job has helped me out in so many countless ways, and I’m really blessed to be here and that I’m working with such an awesome group of people!

Daniel Dockery

Beginning My Crunchyroll Writer Journey- Writing about anime for a lot of websites usually requires some handholding (“Hey kids. Have you heard of anime? Before I begin my actual article, here’s a half page about what anime actually is.”) Luckily, Crunchyroll came along and has let me geek out about One Piece for six months. God bless them.

Creed II- After his awesome performances in Universal Soldier: Regeneration and Day of Reckoning, it was only a matter of time before Dolph Lundgren became the heart of a major blockbuster.

Deadwood Movie Hype- It’s finally happening. The Deadwood movie that’s been talked about since 2006 is going to be in front of me in 2019. I don’t want to say that the power of my dreams made this happen, but I will. You can thank me all now.

Shrimp Tacos- Have y’all had these? They’re great!

Peter Fobian

Shonen Jump- I promise I’m not getting paid to tell you that Shonen Jump made history in 2018. They made the most popular comics magazine in the world FREE. They’re selling access to one of the largest collections of comics in the world at a pittance. This is the best deal in the history of comics, hands down. I’m only one month in and have already burned through over 20 volumes of manga. I’m actually going to catch up to One Piece. This is unreal.

Annihilation- I almost missed this movie since they did very little way in the promotion, and man am I glad I saw it in theaters. An awesome sci-fi horror film with a great premise, great cast, some fantastic effects, and a legendary ending. Even if you were underwhelmed by the majority of the film, those last 15 minutes aren’t going to leave your head anytime soon.

Wanikani- Various life circumstances have made it hard for me to continue in-class Japanese studies so I started up Wanikani in January at the recommendation of a friend. It’s the easiest to keep up with language studying app I’ve managed to main pretty consistent all year, finishing off 2018 with a 2000 written word vocabulary is pretty good, I think. I really want to hit max level...

Ricky Soberano

All of the wine I’ve drank- Cheers to speaking about the difference between organic, kosher, vegan, and orange wines. Biggest cheers to figuring out my preferred wine region (Piedmont) and enjoying every Barbera and Barolo I had the privilege of consuming.

The streetwear collabs that mattered- Thank you, universe, for finally getting it. The same people that love manga and anime can also love fashion and finally have a means to show it off to the world. This is why the Primitive x DBZ drop popped off. This is what made the Uniqlo x Shonen Jump collection so important. I can’t wait to see even more in 2019.

Crazy Rich Asians breaking the world- Everything was riding on this film to do well. The future of Hollywood’s treatment towards Asian casts, writing, and films hung in the balance and it slayed the box office. The phenomenon surrounding it was as electric as the film itself.

Japanese Breakfast’s article on H-Mart- My uncle had passed away a few weeks before one of my favorite singers published her first article for The New Yorker. It’s a beautiful testament to coming to terms with identity as an Asian-American, mourning, and food.  

Everything that Childish Gambino has blessed us with this year- This special supernova doesn’t need to go so hard on every project that he works on but he does anyways simply because he can and if you can’t appreciate that then you can enter that black hole over there.

Emily Bushman

Victoria Schwab- One of my favorite authors because she writes fantastic stories, and her new YA book, City of Ghosts, is no exception. It’s like a cross between Stranger Things and the best parts of Scotland, with just a DAB of Harry Potter, and I love everything about it. Her other new novel, Vengeful (sequel to Vicious), also soared high for me with three superior villains who plotted death and destruction, all the way to a satisfying conclusion.

Supernatural- I’m late to the game... but why does it feel good to do something as bad as binge-watching 13 straight seasons over a three month period? To be fair, my friend and I are only on season 9, but we’re getting there. Slowly. Steadily. The checkout lady at our local grocery store approves. And if I’ve learned anything from this, it’s that everyone should have a moose in their life. Get your moose, people. Get your moose.

Haunting of Hill House- The original book by Shirley Jackson (of “The Lottery”) was a favorite of mine, but the Netflix adaptation took it to a whole new level. Love the book, love the show, and love the questions about what it means to be a family, what can happen when a family turns against itself, what it means to be a ghost, either alive or dead, and, most importantly, how the trappings of a perfect life can turn into the ties that bind us down.

Sticky Toffee Pudding- This is a British thing, but I live and die for it and was recently reminded of how much I love it when my best friend begged me to make it for her, gluten free. It’s the perfect gooey sweet sheet cake, with to-die-for caramel toffee sauce. Please try this. This is my favorite recipe, from my favorite queen of internet food blogging, Deb Perelman. You can make it with Cup for Cup, a gluten free flour substitute, and it tastes essentially the same. >> http://bit.ly/2fE1OvW

Strange the Dreamer- Written by Laini Taylor, it’s a YA novel about a boy named Strange, the Dreamer. It’s a weird mix of pseudo-Egyptian Gods, alchemic research, and impossible puzzles that is both fascinating and, well, dream-like. It is unusual, the outlier in a field of run-of-the-mill stories, but it entranced me, and I eagerly await the sequel.

Nick Creamer

The Haunting of Hill House- Ostensibly based on the classic Shirley Jackson novel, Netflix’s Haunting of Hill House abandons the book’s narrative entirely, and instead tells a story about family, forgiveness, and the meaning of home, all filtered through the profoundly haunted titular house. Though the film’s dialogue can get a little clumsy, its evocative cinematography, psychologically scrambled cast, and sharp understanding of horror make it satisfying both for its thrills and its sympathetic emotional core. In a year I’ve spent binging whatever horror anthologies I can find, Hill House has risen to the top.

Offerings- As the follow-up to the staggering concept album White Lighter, Typhoon’s Offerings had some serious shoes to fill. The resulting album absolutely blew me away, with its comparatively stripped-down sound offering a harrowing journey through the steady disintegration of a fraying mind. Lines like “the part of you that I love is still in there, even if it doesn’t know my name” cut to the heart of watching a loved one fade away, and offered understanding in a very tough year. Offerings is a difficult listen, but it’s worth it.

Cooking- After a former housemate gifted me and my roommates a slow cooker last winter, we embarked on a lengthy journey to actually learn how to feed ourselves. After a long and arduous year of training, I am proud to say I can probably avoid incinerating a chicken at this point, and perhaps even prepare a soup. Getting there!

Kara Dennison

Black Mirror: Bandersnatch- I will never stop talking about this, and you can’t stop me. It’s my happy union of Charlie Brooker’s hardcore video game geekdom, my love of choice-based gaming, and my inexplicable desire to disturb myself at every given opportunity. It’s been at least a year since I lifted my hands off a keyboard and walked away because I was so affected. That’s how hard it got me.

Gabutto Burger- A recent trip to visit a friend in Illinois ended up with us at this anime fan-friendly burger place, run by a Japanese family and branded to the gills with mascot characters. It’s as close as I’m going to get (for now) to going to a collab café, plus the food was amazing.

The Night Before Critmas- I wish I had time for the full Critical Role experience, but their one-shots are just right for my schedule. This Christmas-skinned D&D campaign told the flipside of The Nightmare Before Christmas, with dangerously-skilled elves setting out to retrieve Santa from a legally-distinct talking bag of bugs. Their Crash Pandas campaign was no slouch, either.

Crunchyroll Social Media- This year I got to stick a toe in our social media department, running accounts for shows like Magical Girl Ore and How NOT to Summon a Demon Lord. I’ve loved getting to see what the fans enjoy and find more for them between episodes!

  ----

And that's a wrap for Crunchyroll Favorites 2018! Thanks for joining us for this three-parter, and we'll see you next year! If you're in the mood for more CR Favorites, here are the links to past years' features:

Crunchyroll Favorites 2017 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2016 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2015 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2014 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2013 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Crunchyroll Favorites 2012 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Crunchyroll News' Best of 2011 Part One | Part Two

What were your favorite "everything else" parts of 2018? Remember, this is a FAVORITES list, not a BEST-OF list, so there are no wrong answers--sound off in the comments and share your favorites!

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Nate Ming is the Features Editor for Crunchyroll News and creator of the long-running Fanart Friday column. You can follow him on Twitter at @NateMing. His comic, Shaw City Strikers, launches January 15, 2019.

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com