#Metal Roof Snow Guards

[pennsylvaniaroofer]

EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT METAL ROOF SNOW GUARDS

Unlock the essentials of metal roof snow guards with our comprehensive guide. Everything you need to know about the benefits, installation, and importance of snow guards on metal roofs. Whether it's preventing snow accumulation or safeguarding your property, our expert insights provide valuable information. Trust our guide to make informed decisions about metal roof snow guards and their role in protecting your home. Discover the significance of snow guards on metal roofs and ensure a safer, more secure roofing structure.

[ironcladroofing]

Understand the Benefits of Installing Metal Roof Snow Guards

Snow guards are crucial during heavy snowfall. Learn how these powerful devices can protect your property from winter hazards. Read now to ensure safety, prevent ice buildup, and extend your roof's lifespan.

[buffaloroofers]

What Are The Types of Snow Guards for Metal Roofs?

Explore the various types of snow guards for metal roofs with our informative guide. Whether you're seeking solutions for preventing snow accumulation or interested in enhancing the safety of your metal roof, our expert insights cover it all. Learn about the different types of snow guards and gain valuable information on their installation.Whether you're navigating the need for effective snow management or prioritizing roof safety, our expert guide covers it all. Trust our insights to guide you through the installation process.

[promsong-gonewrong]

I hate you - Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

warnings! : ***drinking, language, alludes to sexual themes & light smut***

words: 6.5k

short summary: Wanda hating you since the day you met leads you to hating her as well, until the night that Tony Stark throws a much needed party.

. . .

Your relationship with Wanda Maximoff has always been more on the complex side. 

You knew she wasn’t one to trust easily, and considering her past with the Avengers, you were very understanding. Losing her family at such a young age, and then her brother and best friend all at once? It was a lifetime of grief that no one should have to experience, and you took pity on the girl when you first laid eyes on her. Her hollow face and sad demeanor instantly drew your attention. 

Part of you thought you might be good friends, especially considering your past. Your hometown had also been Sokovia, though your family moved all around southern Europe. When you came of age, you moved back to your birthplace. Money was incredibly tight, and you fell into some dangerous connections, where you got mixed up in a very wrong crowd. 

Baron Strucker prodded you until you were black and blue, wishing you had just died in the freezing snow underneath a bridge, which had been your current residence before that hellhole. The days spent in that cold and dark cell were some of your worst, but it shaped you into who you became. The roof over your head and money that they had promised you were never in the picture to begin with, but you had been too naive to question their words. Somewhere in that idiotic mind of yours, you found it in yourself to outsmart the men who guarded you and escape, your new power made you able to do things you’d never dreamed of. 

Baron and his men were never able to see if their experiment worked, which is why they had taken in the twins, you assumed. You swore to yourself you’d never return and begin anew, in America. 

And you did just that. 

Soon, you took the attention of Nicolas Fury and his agents and eventually worked your way into being an Avenger. You were now smarter, faster, and more experienced than you had ever been, and you were incredibly grateful to have found a family in the team that surrounded you. 

Contrary to the promise you made yourself, you had to return to your hometown, not knowing you’d also be witnessing its demise. Back in Sokovia, it was pure chaos. Robots and people crowded the streets while smoke filled the air in your lungs. You were breaking the metal soldiers with ease, a simple wave of your hand sent twelve flying into the air, crushed to pieces. You’d seen Wanda in the distance, struggling to hold her own against seven robots. Weak strands of red escaped her hands, but it did little to no damage.

Watching her fall to the ground in despair you quickly ran to her side, obliterating the pieces of metal that surrounded her. Shrapnel flew into the air, and you covered both yourself and Wanda the best you could with a shield bubble, flecks of pale blue swirled deeply. Pulling her off the ground, you dusted her jacket off and introduced yourself with a smile.

“You okay?” You were still holding her arm tightly, noticing the way she trembled. Wanda quickly removed your touch as if your skin burned her. 

“I didn’t need your help,” she said sourly, before brushing past your shoulder. 

“You did though,” you mutter to no one but yourself. Shaking your head, you dismissed her strange behavior and blamed the circumstances around you. 

You had joined the Avengers three years before Wanda, and you’d understood what it felt like to be an outsider to them, especially with the power you harnessed. You were deemed dangerous and violent before you were completely able to take control of what was inside you, like Wanda had been. When Wanda had just moved into the compound in the early days, she seemed like a fish out of water, keeping to herself while agents and higher-ups named her a threat to society.

Soon they’ll calm down, you told her, trying to be of any comfort. You didn’t know it at the time, but your matching accent and similar clothes overwhelmed her immediately, and she only responded with a simple shrug before wandering back into her room.

You knew you didn’t have a desperate craving for validation or to be liked. You were your own person and you tried your best to be the opposite of how you’ve been treated in the past. You were encouraging to your other teammates and didn’t like to get on anyone’s bad side. You told yourself that at least, especially when Wanda was really starting to test your patience. 

The way her eyes avoided you when you entered a room. Her loud sighs of annoyance when you suggested an idea for a mission. How she never made sure to accept help from you again, taking bruises or cuts instead of letting you lend a hand. Over coms, you praised her hard work and complimented her wit only to be met with silence on her end. Even something so simple as existing in the same shared space as Wanda seemed to make her upset. It drove you crazy how she would leave as quickly as you walked in, mumbling some excuse under her breath.

Well over a year had passed since the incident of Sokovia, and you’re one hundred percent certain that the most you’ve ever conversed with her had been the day you met. 

“I just don’t know what I’ve done!” You say, your head in your hands as you lay in Natasha’s bed. She had always been your favorite of all the others, and you had gotten close over the years. She was someone you could confide in, and likewise. You understood each other having been the only other woman to join the team, so Natasha stuck by your side almost immediately. 

“Why does this bother you so much?” Natasha asks, reviewing files on her computer. She had been glued to her screen for over an hour now, responding to emails and going over data she’d been collecting. 

“We are Sokovian, we are similar in our age, we share a home that we lost, and we both fought in that battle. I thought maybe she would like to…” you trail off, rubbing your face. “Confide in me.”

“Is that the only reason?” You can’t see her face but you hear the smirk evident in Natasha’s voice.

“Yes,” you say with some uncertainty. You didn’t know why it bothered you past the point of pure annoyance for her hatred, but you were settled on that answer. 

“I don’t like every Russian I encounter, you know. Some people just aren’t meant to enjoy each other. And your little crush on Wanda seems to be unreciprocated so I’d just leave it if I were you.” Natasha holds in her laughter as she waits for your response. 

You sit up in her bed quickly. “Take that back!” 

Natasha turns around in her swivel chair, folding her arms over her chest. “No.”

“You’re making a joke? Pulling my leg,” you say, laughing now at her absurd suggestion. You had the furthest thing of a crush on that woman. Natasha might’ve just fueled your hatred even more at the mere thought of ever being that close to Wanda. 

Natasha says nothing else as she turns back to her work, leaving you in deep thought. You get up from her bed, confused but determined in your strong opinion. “And for the record,” you begin to open Nat’s door, an amused look on Natasha’s face as she watches you. “She’s proven herself to be nothing but a jealous, power-hungry bitch. I could never love something like that.”

“I never said anything about love, babe,” Natasha giggles, but her smile drops when her eyes land on a figure behind you. You turn to find Wanda wearing a disapproving sulk, standing as close to you as she’s ever been. You didn’t care if she had been listening, you wanted her to. You’ve never heard her talk badly about you to anyone, but her actions alone were enough to justify what you’d just done.

“Excuse me,” you shove your way past her, brushing her shoulder. “Mudak.”

From that day forward, it was now a strong mutual hate, and you were fine with that. 

You no longer offered her any sort of help on missions or around the compound. There were plenty of others to watch her back, and you were wasting your time doing that in the first place, anyway. Wanda was doing just fine on her own, as you watched her take down those around her with pure ease now. She must’ve been training hard, you thought. 

Catching your breath, you questioned why you ever had been so worried for her before, it’s not like she ever acted differently with you. 

You’re reminded of Natasha’s words, and you dismiss that idea quickly. No, it was just because you shared a lost country and you were concerned about how she dealt with her powers, you’re sure of it. 

“Watch out!” Sam yells your name loudly in your earpiece, and a sharp pain takes over your head, sending ringing through your ears. You cry out, feeling blood pool from your head. “On your left!” He shouts again, but you have trouble focusing your vision when all you can see is red, gushing from the wound above your eye. 

“Shit, help!” You groan, as you feel a bullet graze the left side of your body. You quickly send a shockwave to those around you, knocking them to the ground, but it wasn’t enough. More emerge from behind flipped and shattered vehicles, all armed and all shooting at you. Before you can even try to deflect the incoming bullets, a huge burst of red flows from behind you, trembling the earth beneath your feet and immediately obliterating the soldiers that had been firing at you. 

With a flick of her wrist, Wanda shoves your body away from danger, continuing to send bursts of red into the air of the enemies around her. You can do nothing but lay in the dirt and wait for someone to get you, feeling all of your limbs shake from the impact of the bullet that was still lodged into your side. The dirt around you turns warm from your blood, and it is the only thing you can feel now. 

You’re not sure how much time passes before a boot that you recognize as Wanda’s is in front of your vision. “Try not to get distracted next time.” Dust clouds your eyes as she walks away. I hate you, you try to speak, but you can’t move your mouth.

The others gather around you quickly, followed by paramedics from the Avengers compound. 

You never thought you’d live to say it, but you were grateful that Tony Stark was throwing a party. Normally you’d like to unwind with a long bath, followed by reading a book or listening to music. But with the past week, all you wanted was to stop caring about everything, dance, and drink your thoughts away. 

You recovered from your injury rather quickly, but the repercussions from that day hit you hard as well. The mission had completely failed because of your mistake and you compromised the safety of yourself and everyone around you. You always took mission failures hard and blamed yourself for entirely too long. It happened to everyone, even to the best of the team, but it was humiliating knowing Wanda had to take on twice as many soldiers because of you, cover for you, and protect you. Not to mention how you hadn’t seen the men come out of nowhere because your thoughts were consumed by her. But that was a thought you refused to process. 

Your week was spent with the others in long meetings about how to prevent things like this in the future, and to tell you for the one-millionth time just how vital the information that you let get away was. 

So, you were looking forward to forgetting everything that was going wrong at the minute and letting loose for the first time in a while. You danced to the blaring music with Natasha, empty drinks in hand. Giggling and twirling each other around, you eventually tired and went to the bar to rest and continue drinking. 

“Vodka soda, please. With extra lime.” You smile gratefully at the bartender as she begins to pour the alcohol into a tall glass. Except for the long meetings everyone had to sit in this week thanks to you, you were pleasantly surprised to not have encountered Wanda at all these past few days. 

While sipping on your drink, you began to look for her around the room, intrigued to see if she was capable of letting herself have fun. You get interrupted by a face you weren’t expecting to see, but you’re certainly not complaining. Sharon Carter walks up to you wearing a tight black dress, a small smile on her lips. 

“I’ll have what she’s having,” she says lowly to the bartender, who gives a nod and begins pouring her drink. “You look…” Sharon trails off, eyes glued to your chest. Her face flushes slightly, making you smile.

“You’re not so bad either,” you say, bringing the cold liquid to your mouth. The last time you saw Sharon was around three months ago, wrapped in the sheets of your bed. “Nice of you to say goodbye.”

“You have my number, you could’ve reached out at any point,” Sharon laughs, taking a sip of the drink placed in front of her. “I hate these, you know.”

You grinned. 

Whoever wasn’t on the dancefloor was engaged in conversation, laughing loudly with a cup or bottle wedged in their hands. On your fourth drink of the night, you realize you’ve been taking everything in your life way too seriously. You need to drink more alcohol you decide, as you listen to Sharon drone on about what was new with her. You always seemed to fall back into a cycle with the blonde. Sure, she was great and you found her attractive, but you know you didn’t feel anything real for her. She was gone half the time anyway, the only time you ever saw her was at these stupid gatherings. 

But tonight was about forgetting, you remind yourself, downing your soda. Sharon had stopped talking and was now closer than before. With the way she was leaning further into you, it was clear what her intentions were. You’d been with her plenty of times to know how she operated, you’d like to think. Her lips brush your ear, gently pressing a kiss to your neck. Your eyes begin to close as you allow her more access, but they quickly re-open when you hear a sound from across the room. A loud shatter caused Sharon to pull away, both of you looking to see the source of the noise. 

It turned out to be Wanda's glass, looking like she had just shattered it with her hand. She was smiling apologetically at a busboy, who was beginning to clean her mess up. Your mouth parts slightly in surprise, her actions forgotten as you focus on the green dress that Wanda wears. Sharon brings you out of your thoughts by focusing on your neck again. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, biting your lip gently. Sharon nods, staring at your mouth. You tug her arm, stumbling off the bar seat you’d been sitting on. You turn around, noticing Sharon is frozen in place. You frown as her eyes turn a deep crimson, the color draining from her face. 

“I have to go,” Sharon says dryly. She forces a smile before wandering off, now lost in the sea of people in front of you. Wanda. Of course, she would want to ruin yet another moment of happiness for you, like she hadn’t sucked it bone-dry from you enough. If it was somehow possible, you felt every emotion inside you physically snap.

“Oh, I’m fucking done,” you whisper, whipping your head around to see where the brunette was. From across the room, you can see her looking pleased with herself, quickly downing the new drink in her hand. Before you can even think about how things might turn awry, your legs walk you to where she stood. 

You gripped her arm, a light blue glowing from your eyes as you stormed out of the room, dragging the brunette with you. Your nails dig into her skin, and you stumble upon a supply closet door that you push her through. Wanda gasps as you press her against the wall, but she does nothing about the new physical contact. 

"What's your fucking problem?" You gritted through your teeth, squeezing her arms. "You can't let me have anything nice?

Wanda's eyes scan your face, her green eyes look darker than usual. "I didn't want you to sleep with Sharon,” Wanda says as if it were obvious, making you angrier. 

"What is it to you?" You cry, aware of how loud your voice is. You didn’t care if the entire world heard this long-awaited conversation, you were going to say what you wanted, at whatever volume. “I’ve slept with Sharon several times before, and only now you’ve got an issue with it?”

Wanda’s eyes flash with surprise, unaware of that fact. “I-”

“You ruin my day, my mood, you ruin everything!” 

Wanda tilts her head at that statement, watching your chest rise and fall heavily. "Is that so..."

"I hate you," you choke out, looking away from Wanda's eyes. You realize you’d been staring into them this whole time. You let go of her arm, leaving her standing against the wall as you begin to turn away to leave. She catches your grasp again, pulling you back into her orbit, and making you stand where you originally had been. Close.

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Hate me,” Wanda says softly. You’re looking at her in utter disbelief, unable to believe this is happening. Her hand is wrapped tightly around your wrist, warm and firm. You and Wanda have never conversed this much, let alone touched like this before.

“You hate me,” you say slowly, as if you’re trying to make her remember. “What are you doing?” You try to read her eyes, her face, her anything for an explanation of what was going on, what she was playing at. Before you can take another breath, Wanda’s lips connect to yours softly. 

They touch for an instant before you immediately shut it down. Breaking away from her, you’re unable to speak. 

She watches you intently, reading every expression on your face, imagining the thoughts running around in your mind. So much has just happened in the last ten minutes, and you can finally feel the effects of all of the drinks you carelessly downed. It settles at the bottom of your stomach, along with the newfound nervousness and pit that forms because of the girl in front of you. Wanda’s face is flushed, matching the same color of her mouth. She looks beautiful. 

What she doesn’t expect is for you to lean in, crashing your lips back onto hers. She sighs into your mouth sweetly, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. Your hands make their way into the soft strands of her hair, pressing the back of her head further in, closing your distance over and over. Her hands rest on your arms, holding on tightly, as if you’d disappear at any moment. It’s so hot, the way she kisses you like she knows just what you want, like this was her last chance to have you.

You feel like you gain consciousness when she starts to kiss your neck, holding your head in her hands as she does. Your mouth falls open slightly, breathing hard with her. You remember there’s a party still happening in the next room and the world did not stop spinning the moment she kissed you, as much as it felt like it had.  

Not to forget, several people saw you leave with Wanda, and everyone knows your weird history. After this long week, you didn’t want to have to deal with anything else.  It takes every ounce of strength in you to gently grab her shoulders and push her away from you. Wanda’s fears are confirmed. Her hands still hold your arms as she watches you, confused. 

“I shouldn’t,” you whisper. You don’t stick around to see the pained expression that covers Wanda’s face, closing the door behind you quickly. You find your way back to the party, and so does Wanda who heads to the bar. 

“Back from seven minutes in heaven so soon?” Tony Stark calls out to you, placing a blue colored shot in your hand, and into the hands around you as well. 

“Shut up,” you giggle, downing it quickly. Shocker, you want to forget whatever had just happened with Wanda, again. You find yourself full circle, starting just as you had at the beginning of the night. Another drink, another dance, another song, and you’re completely wasted. The last thing you remember is pulling on Mjolnir’s handle tightly before everything goes black. 

-

The next morning arrives too soon, rays of sunlight peak through blinds and onto your eyes. You roll over, hoping to catch more sleep as your headache begins to burn slowly. You’d deal with that in a few hours, you thought, stretching your arms out in front of you. You’re met with soft skin, and you retract your arms as if you’d gotten slapped. 

Any more thoughts of sleep are forgotten as your eyes shoot open, a full vision of a bare back in front of you, the torso connected to it covered in a white duvet and sheets. Your first context clue is the fact that your blankets and sheets have always been dark blue, and you know the brown messy waves that contrast against the white pillow are Wanda’s. Your heart sinks, remembering what a mess you’ve created as the night came back to you.  

Never mind any of that, you need to get out of here now before Wanda wakes up and you two are forced to talk again. Your face heats up when you think of the supply closet from just a few hours ago. The way Wanda had held and kissed you was permanently burned into your mind, you’re sure of it. “Jesus Christ,” you whispered to yourself. 

After a few minutes of gathering your thoughts, you decided to stick to your original plan: to get the hell out of this room. The last thing you've ever wanted to do was sleep with Wanda, and now here you are, butt naked in her bed. You can’t remember anything besides kissing her in the closet, you were so sure that was it, that you didn’t find her after the party had ended. 

You slowly remove yourself from Wanda’s duvet and search for the dress you had on last night. You pick up the low-cut red dress you were wearing that had been crumpled underneath Wanda’s, your mouth dropping in surprise when you saw that your dress had been ripped open, instead of zipped down the back. 

"I'm sorry about your dress..." Wanda says, startling you. 

"No, it's-it's fine, I can fix it," you stammered, averting your gaze away from the brunette. You heard the sheets ruffle as she began to sit up. You stole a glance at her, noticing her red face as she stared openly at your naked chest. "I'm borrowing one of your hoodies," you told her, and she nodded.

Wanda rubs her eyes with her hands, letting out a small yawn. “You showed up at my door after the party.”

You pull your head through Wanda’s soft hoodie, her sweet scent immediately filling your nose. 

“In case you were wondering,” Wanda adds. You weren’t sure if she’d be happy if you told her you didn’t remember a single thing that you did with her besides a few kisses. 

“Thanks…can I take these shorts too?”

You know you’ve made a huge mistake in venturing out when you find Natasha Romanoff sitting on a chair in the kitchen, eating her toast while scrolling through her computer files. She greets you with a nod, her eyes remaining on the device in front of her.

“You smell weird,” she states flatly. 

“You smell weird,” you say back, poking your head in the fridge for something to eat. After the events of last night, all you’d had to consume was alcohol, and though you could handle your liquor well, you’d completely forgotten to eat. 

Nat takes a bite of her toast, crunching as she talks. “Mm- no, you smell like that fancy shit Wanda wears.” 

“Of course she wears expensive.”

“Damn right.” 

You pop a bagel in the toaster, hands across your chest as you face her. “I’m so tired,” you try to act as natural as you can for being fully dressed in Wanda’s clothes. You knew you should’ve at least tried to cover up what had happened, maybe fled back into your room to change, yet your hunger placed a higher significance. “I’m never drinking again.”

“I guess you’re too tired to tell me what you’re doing in that,” Natasha looks you up and down once before returning to her work. You don’t miss the slight smirk that covers her lips. 

“I just-”

You don’t have the chance to finish before others walk in, Clint takes his spot next to Natasha, and Sam begins to raid the fridge, making you move out of the way. You quickly finish putting together your food before your clothing is recognized by anyone else. Turning around, you almost collide with a pair of green eyes, the woman you’d just had an extremely awkward interaction with earlier. 

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” Wanda replies gently. She holds your gaze for a few moments longer before you decide to head back to your room. She smiles to herself, hiding it from the others as she reaches for her tea mug. She fills it and drops in the bag, before walking to the living room to drink.

Sam’s eyes widen as he turns towards the kitchen table.

“No fucking way,” he whispers loudly to Natasha and Clint, who try to hold in their laughter. 

-

You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t waiting for Wanda to make the next move. Everything about your relationship with her had been flipped upside down. You liked feeling her eyes on you when you’d work out in the training room, or during a long meeting. Chances are when you’d turn your head to look at her, she’d already be looking.

You didn’t talk about what had happened, it was complete radio silence except for body language. The way she let her legs lean against yours in a van, heading to a stakeout location for a mission. The smile on her lips you’d catch when she walked past you, looking to the ground. The day she moved strands of your hair that covered your eyes, in front of the whole team. You wanted to end the tension that had been building right there and then, staring into her soul. 

Instead, you faced the wrath of Natsha’s interrogation shortly after. 

These were incredibly tiny moves she was making, and you found yourself wanting more. 

Wanda had been gone for two long days, making your life stuck in the compound completely dull. Clint was away visiting his family, Natasha was busy working on her files, and the others had been sent away on missions of their own, Steve and Sam had gone with Wanda. It was a rare few days off, but without anyone to talk with or…glance at, you found yourself with mind-numbing boredom. You tried going for a walk with your headphones in, shopping, or reading a book in a local park, but none of it makes you happy. You realize all you’d wanted was a certain someone close.

Your wishes are granted when you get the sign you’d been waiting for when you return to your room, late at night. On your bed rests your red dress from weeks ago at the party, in brand new condition. Hung on a hanger and neatly folded, the red seems as if it’s a deeper color, with additions of tool and length. The low cut remained the same, and you traced the fabric in awe, running your fingers over the smooth material. Your eyes travel to a small note attached to the front. 

I added a little bit to it, I hope you don’t mind. 

Wanda didn’t sign her name, but you knew it would have only been her. You had left her room in a hurry, your ripped and ruined dress was merely an afterthought. You had only thought of her in the time that had passed since the morning after the party.

You fold the note and put it on your nightstand, cherishing her small words. You check her location to see she was still a ways away from the compound, meaning she had sent the dress to your room with magic. An hour passes as you debate what you want to do. This was Wanda’s sign, returning the very thing you’d been with her in, even improving and adding her spin to it. You know you had nothing to top her grand gesture, but maybe you didn’t need to. It had been so long since someone made you feel so special like this, and Wanda of all people.

You lay in your bed with your thoughts, brushing over the dress with your fingers to check if it was real every so often. A small blush creeps its way to your face, re-reading the note she left, and finding yourself smiling at it. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be with her. In whatever way, even if she was in the same room paying you no attention you’d be grateful. There’s no harm in checking, you impatiently decide as you climb out of bed and begin opening the door, only for your heart to swell at the sight before you.

Wanda came to see you first. Her green eyes widened in slight surprise, and she looked like she had heavy words on her mind. Her thumbs play with the hem of her long sleeve, showing you she was anxious to have shown up. You take notice of a small cut above her eyebrow that she hasn’t bothered to fix yet. 

“Did you just get back?” 

Wanda nods. “Ten minutes ago I think.”

That was enough for you to pull her inside your room, kissing her against the shut door. She kisses you back instantly, letting you take full control as she melts into your touch. Her scent was a mix of her signature perfume and salt, filling your senses and making you want to be closer to her. Her hands finally begin to touch you when she deepens the kiss, opening her mouth against you and you gladly accept. Her fingers run along your arms, squeezing gently. She wanted the same thing you did, and you wanted to remember this time. 

You part for air after pressing a singular kiss to her mouth, your hands make their way to her face. Wanda watches you examine her, taking notice of the bruises along the side of her cheek that you didn’t see right away. “How did you get these?” You whisper, your thumb traces the cut above her eyebrow.

“I was distracted.” Wanda smiles slightly, looking into your eyes. You exhale a short laugh, kissing her bruised cheek carefully. 

“Can I?”

Wanda nods, her eyes closing when small swirls of blue extend from your fingertips. Gently, you heal her cut, the deep red turning back into her soft skin. You heal her bruise next, her cheek returning to its normal color. “Better?”

Wanda kisses you, thanking you for your services. You know she could’ve very well done it herself, but you were almost proud she let you help her, even if it was just this small thing. “Better.”

Wanda lets you take her to bed, missing the warmth and touch of your skin. She lays down, resting her head on your pillows as you kneel, your knees digging into the soft padding around you. You kiss her messily, leaning over her. She bites her lip as you remove your shirt, and she fumbles with her own, her hair getting messier when she tosses it to the floor. She smiles playfully when you laugh at her, gently slapping your bare arm. 

The smile doesn’t leave her face when she notices you staring from above. She felt so small underneath your gaze, and she leaned in to kiss you softly. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you whisper against her lips, kissing her again. You could never face her again if you’d told her just how beautiful she truly was. How her wavy hair fanned against your pillow, her soft and pale skin gleaned with your marks all over, her half-moon eyes and curious smile, and the color of her now swollen lips. There was so much beauty to take in, she didn’t even know, she could never see herself from your eyes.

Her mouth parted when you entered her, inching off the mattress that lay beneath her back. You noticed the slight beads of sweat on her forehead and the way her breathing changes when you quickened your pace. You adjusted to what she liked, what she asked you for. You wanted to give her everything you had. 

Your name echoed into your mind as she whispered it over and over. 

-

“I missed you.” You speak during a long moment of silence, lying next to Wanda. Your fingers traced the outline of her hip, spreading to her back and sending chills down her spine. You figured she would be asleep with her face turned away from you, but she proves you wrong by rolling back over. 

An amused smile spreads over her lips. “Did you?” She reaches out to comb her slim fingers through your hair. “I was gone for only two days.”

You nod, closing your eyes under her touch. “I want to ask you things. I feel like I have so many questions…” You begin to feel drowsy, and you mumble something incoherent that Wanda doesn’t understand.

“Ask me things,” Wanda whispers into your ear. It’s the last thing you hear before falling asleep, Wanda’s hand still running through your hair. She watches you sleep peacefully, before joining you shortly after.

After that encounter, your mornings start to change, as do your nights. You wake up and go to bed with the same body by your side almost every night, and when you don’t, you miss her a little too much. As weeks go by, you feel like you could truly be happy with only her , forever. You don’t tell her that, but you desperately want to. 

It turned out Wanda had the best taste in movies and TV shows that you desperately needed to be cultured on, in her opinion. You showed her your CD's and records, letting her listen to all of the music you loved. She cooked for you and lent you her books and clothes, surprising you with her generosity. You spent long hours by her side, sleeping, reading, talking… doing whatever you could just to stay with her a little longer. She did the same, finding peace and comfort in your presence, something she never would have expected from you. 

You trained together and against each other. You were still faster and stronger, but you gave her helpful tips and information that she could discover about herself. And you did normal things, shopping around New York, meeting each other for coffee, trying to be as ordinary as you could be while balancing the lives of being Avengers. You made sure to look out for Wanda more than you ever had, helping her when needed and making sure she could hold her own from a distance. She no longer refused your help, instead took it gratefully. 

You especially loved coming home to her after a solo mission, as she would examine you for injuries carefully. You let her heal your wounds and kiss away your pain, as you did the same for her.

You slept peacefully in her arms and woke up happily to the sight of her next to you. 

One day while you traced patterns on her back as she slept, you realized your biggest hatred had turned into something you were beginning to fall in love with.

-

“Was it just from the day we met?”

Wanda’s eyes narrow, turning her head to think back to the memory. “Sokovia?”

“The robots. When I pulled you from the ground.” You sit up in your bed now, wanting to find something to wear. You’d been with her a few hours now unclothed, and only now you felt the urge to cover up.

Wanda shakes her head, letting out a small laugh. “I was embarrassed, yes, but no it wasn’t just that. Could I have my shirt too?” She watches you get dressed, a small frown wrinkles her face as you toss it to her, seeing you slip on a pair of underwear. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No!” Wanda can’t hide her smile at the speediness of your reply.  “No, I mean, I want you here.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “No, it wasn’t because of the day we met.” The mattress moves slightly when you sit back next to her. You nod, urging her to continue. “You were a reminder of home. My family and my brother,” Wanda hesitates before mentioning Pietro. “Your accent and your clothes… it was a lot for me, back then at least.”

“I wish you told me, I would’ve backed off, or-”

She reaches forward to touch your hand, intertwining your fingers slightly. “And, I hated how you made me feel. I thought maybe if I pushed you away as hard as I could, you’d never want me how I did you. I thought I got what I wanted when I saw you that night with Sharon at the party.”

Wanda’s eyes shine with honesty, and she watches your face carefully as she explains herself. “But I never hated you,” she speaks the most quietly of all her words. “I was... scared.” She shakes her head, embarrassed. “It sounds so stupid when I say it but-”

“It’s not stupid, I promise. I’m not angry anymore…” You trace her shoulder with your free hand softly. If you were sure of one thing, it was certainly that. All the walls you’d thrown over your heart for Wanda were torn down, and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

You allow her to focus on your hand, mindlessly fiddling with your fingers as she speaks. You can only think how you wished you knew, you feel like you foolishly wasted so much time hating her and doing things just to spite her, like a child. As if she heard your thoughts, she connects her eyes to yours, shaking her head. 

“I’m sorry. For all of it. And I understand if you don’t want something serious,” Wanda pauses reluctantly. “With me.” There’s a hint of insecurity in her voice, and you reach out to tilt her face to yours.

“You’re all I want.”

. . .

[desos-records]

Magic's not allowed in Gotham, but Jason's never been one to follow rules. // Jason Todd helps out the local exorcist.

Jason Todd/Reader

Chapters: Next

Word Count: 1,464

Warnings: some mild violence, demonic possession

-

Jason still liked churches. He told himself it was the architecture, Gotham Cathedral had no shortage of vaulted ceilings, gargoyles, and huge stained glass windows. Its roof was one of the best places to watch the city—high up, plenty of corners and crevices to hide in, no guards making rounds or rogues ready to attack. The bells echoed against the city's metal and glass, the strong notes sounding solemn or joyful, but always reliable.

On pain of death or torture, he wouldn't tell anyone that he liked the quiet most of all. Silence in Gotham often meant something was about to go violently wrong. It was an empty feeling, the second between fire sucking in oxygen and the shockwave exploding. But here, the quiet air was full and warm, something almost hummed just outside his hearing. Even sitting on the roof in the cold air, he could still feel the warmth.

He didn't dare go inside though. He had a thousand reasons not to, namely that he didn't feel like getting another lecture. Bruce was self-righteous enough to last Jason a lifetime. He didn't want to sit under the judgement of the person sitting in the pew beside him. He didn't want to talk about what he believed in or what he didn't.

All Jason wanted was to sit in the quiet and warmth. He could do that from the roof.

On an especially cold night, he sat leaning against a gargoyle, watching the light from the stained glass reflect off the gently falling snow—red, blue, gold, green, and a hundred others swirling in the wind below him. Then the quiet shattered.

"Don't move! It's gonna be okay."

He recognized that voice, its clarity and ability to be kind and commanding all at once. You didn't operate in Gotham very often; your particular brand of justice took you all over the world, but when you did, it meant something had gone very very wrong. Jason smiled to himself anyway.

You didn't keep a secret identity like he did—there was no point when all the bad guys were after your soul—but Bruce had taken to calling you Harbinger and the name stuck. He still preferred your real one though.

Then Jason heard a guttural string of sounds that fell through the air like curses. You spat the demonic language back and Jason caught a flash of golden light somewhere in the Cathedral’s cemetery. Quickly, he shot his grappling gun and swung down, landing in the snow with a soft crunch. Keeping his head down and hood up, shielded by the Cathedral’s shadow, he tracked the familiar sounds of a fight and the eerie echoes of magic.

"No, you'll get out of her right now or so help me God, I will exorcize your head right up your ass."

Jason peeked around a statue and saw you under a cluster of Yew trees, magic sparking from your hands as the golden lines pinned a young woman to one of the trees. A little boy was crouched behind a headstone nearby. Even at a distance, Jason could see how the woman's eyes had turned black. She writhed and snarled at you.

Demonic possession. Your version of stopping a mugger.

You looked a little worse for wear. He saw burn marks in your coat, cuts and scrapes that hadn't yet healed, and something dark and slick had splattered across you—something that was not mud. Even still, he couldn't help the warm buzz he felt every time he saw you.

He wanted to jump in and help, but he knew he wasn't much use while a demon still had its hold on someone. And he'd learned not to distract you while you worked magic.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

You strode forward and pressed a hand against the woman's sternum and the other against her forehead. The weave of magic kept the woman's arms and legs pinned back even as she struggled. You were speaking Latin now and the demon screamed curses in its bitter language. Smoke rose from the points where you touched it.

A shockwave erupted outwards and a thick black liquid, like crude oil, gushed out of the woman's mouth, eyes, and ears, staining the snow. Instead of flowing away, it pulled itself inward, forming a humanoid creature taller than Jason. Looking at it, he felt a deep instinct to run.

The little boy screamed and the demon turned its head. Jason bolted forward. He scooped up the little boy, drew his gun and fired all in the same motion. The demon screeched, more surprised than hurt, and staggered backward. You were there to catch it, your magic tangling itself around the demon. With one final shouted spell, your hands moved as if pulling something apart. The demon shattered into fiery pieces, dissolving into the snow.

Quiet returned to the graveyard. You helped the woman to stand, then turned to Jason.

"I need to get her to a hospital," you said, a phone appearing in your hand with a flick of your wrist and a flash of golden light.

He nodded and set the little boy down. "I'll wait for you on the roof."

A tired smile flickered over your face as you reached out, took his free hand, and squeezed gently. "Thank you," you said softly.

Over an hour later, he heard the whoosh of sudden magic, saw a flash of gold in the dark, and then you appeared across from him on the Cathedral's roof. He smiled and slid off his helmet as he strode towards you.

"Can I assume that won't be the last one?" he said.

You shrugged, pulling your coat tighter around you. "Like rats, aren't they? Where there's one, there's ten more. Best to warn your people."

He stopped a few steps shy of you. If you were surprised to see him, it didn't show.

"How long are you here?" he asked. Longer than last time, he thought, please say longer than last time.

You looked up and over his shoulder, staring at the steeple. "A couple days maybe. Depends on how long it takes to find the nest."

Damn.

"Want some help?"

Now you squinted at him, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "I appreciate it, but it's a little outside your wheelhouse, Red."

He shook his head. "That's what you always say. It's my neighborhood, you know."

"I know. But if I make any more noise, The Bat will stick his nose in it and slow things down." You spread your arms out, twirling your hands like a performer, as sparks danced between your fingers. "No magic in Gotham, remember?"

Jason watched you carefully, paying closer attention to your injuries and noting the weight pulling at your posture, the slight tremor. "At least let me give you a place to crash. You look dead on your feet."

You smiled again, still faint as you looked away from him and dropped your hands. The lights went out. "I'm not so safe to be around at the moment."

"You never are."

You looked him up and down, considering, weighing your options. "Does this offer include take out? I took a little detour through Hell, you see. Hard to get a decent meal down there."

Jason let his smile spread wide and easy as he offered you his hand. "Sweetheart, you got yourself an in-house chef."

Shaking your head, with a scoff that sounded like a laugh, you took his hand. As always, your skin hummed with the magic that coursed through you and, as always, it sent a shiver up his spine.

"Still flirting with death, I see," you said.

He tugged you forward gently, then wrapped an arm around you and lifted his grappling gun from its holster. "Well, you're awful pretty."

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, you draped your arm across his shoulders, pulling the two of you even closer--the only trouble was you smelled of death too, blood and brimstone. But you were warm and radiant and never judged him and he wanted to be those things for you in return, if you'd let him.

There was something there in the space between you, humming like the air around the Cathedral, something magic. But it might break if he spoke it out loud, so he settled for holding you tighter. He didn't flinch from the steady glow of your eyes, inches away from his.

"Charmer," you said, the edge of a genuine smile in the corner of your mouth.

"You said it, not me."

Sparks erupted inside him when you nearly laughed. Then he fired the grappling gun and you both clung tight to each other as you rushed into the air.

[crxmxnzl-c0rpzes]

What if meantor!Ellie x tributer!reader? Like a relationship like Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray??

-----

The other tributes were sleeping on the rocky, dirt covered floor. You stayed awake not wanting to fall asleep because of your overthinking. But your thoughts were interrupted by a voice you knew. It was Ellie, your mentor. You immediately got up towards her. The last time you two were together it was where the hunger games was going to take place. Tributes and mentors were taking a look at the arena but then bombs took place and destroyed most of it.

And now she was in front of you, inches away but on the other side of the metal tall fence. You couldn't bare away from her green eyes. They were mesmerizing. Even though it was dark and the only that was giving light was a street lamp. They still shined.

"Those bombs have changed everything. They blew the walls up. So, that means you can't escape up in the stands." She explained quickly and quietly. She was out of breath and frantic about it, "There's a hole in the floor. You gonna go there. It leads to tunnels. I went there myself." Her eyes darted between yours. You nodded, letting her know you were listening. "So, once you hear that fucking bell ring. You fucking go. You- You ignore everyone else. You just go. You go alone." She continued. Your face dropped at the last three words but you nodded. "Okay, there's a hole" you repeated her words, more to yourself so you don't flip the fuck out. "You don't trust anyone. You just lay low down there until it's safe to come out." She simplified.

You breathe in deeply, "Thank you... For taking care of me." You never thought you'd ever say that towards someone. "I can't let you die" she stated, "You saved me."

The roof came trembling down, electricity started fires, the walls fell down and pillars came with. Who would've known your mentor would be crushed by one.

She screamed in pain causing your attention to dart towards her. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched. "Shit, shit, shit." You repeatedly muttered. You ran towards her and you hands fell to the pillar. You grab underneath it to pull it up but it was too heavy. You looked at Ellie, she was shocked that you stayed to try and help. It made her go silent until she saw a tribute escape. "What are you doing?" She yelled, "The exits open!"

You looked at the exit and watched the tribute run but then you looked back down at Ellie. You tried lifting the pillar again, ignoring her comment on the exit. "Go!?" She continued. You shook your head no, "You got a breathing heart. You're not in these tournaments. Why do you wanna die?" You yelled, barely hearing yourself from the collapsing building. You struggled pulling the pillar up. "Help!" You shouted, praying that one of these stupid guards would come and help.

You looked between her eyes then towards her lips. That's bad. That's really bad. "Is this real?" She interrupted your thoughts once again. "Just tell me, if I'm gonna risk everything. That song?" She questioned you. "That song was payback. That's it." You shook your head, "My ex cheated on me with my friend, used-to-be. They dated behind my back, thought I didn't notice. The mayor's daughter-" "The girl from the reap" you nodded, "was my friend but she had a liking to my girlfriend at the time and I guess my ex would rather have a fucking beaver than me. My friend was psycho, she was crazy jealous and had her Pa read my name on that fucking stage. But now everyone will know what they did to me." You concluded.

Ellie looked down at the ground and bit her bottom lip. She nodded at your words in understanding. She reached her hand into her jacket and pulled out a compact, handing it towards you. "Take this" she whispered quieter than before. She quickly pushed the tiny makeup container into your hands. You frowned in confusion, "No, it's too fancy" Ellie was quick to reply, "No, it's not a gift. What's in here, you don't touch. Fuck, don't even breathe it in because small amounts can kill you. Listen, I know what wars and battles do to you, okay? I've seen it and there will come a time you will need this." She looked between the compact in your hands and your eyes.

Once you finally look up towards her she says, "We all do things we aren't proud of to survive." You clench your jaw and your eyes are widen in shocked and fear. You look back down towards the rat poison in your hands. You're gonna need to use this. You don't want blood on your hands, but it's the only way to survive when it comes to you and one other person or maybe several people.

"We're gonna win this" she mutters. "We're gonna win this together."

----------------

I was listening to Can't Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo and had the inspiration to write this. Thought of making this longer but it's 2AM and I wanted to post this before I go to sleep...

[lastimeexteriors-nebraska]

Can You Install Gutters on a Residential Metal Roof?

If you’re considering upgrading your home with a residential metal roof, you’re likely wondering about the best ways to maintain it. One question is whether you can install gutters on a metal roof. Well, you’re in the right place! In this article, we'll dive into the topic, discussing everything you need to know about gutters and residential metal roofing.

Understanding Residential Metal Roofing

Residential metal roofing has gained popularity for several good reasons. First, it’s known for its durability, often lasting over 30 years with minimal maintenance. Second, it comes in various styles and colors, making it an attractive option for homeowners. However, like any roofing system, it requires proper installation and maintenance to maximize lifespan.

Why You Need Gutters

You may wonder why gutters are essential. Gutters channel rainwater away from your home’s foundation, preventing water damage and erosion. Without proper drainage, water can pool around your home, leading to various issues, such as mold growth and structural damage. Installing gutters can be as important for homes with residential metal roofing as for homes with traditional roofing materials.

Installing Gutters on a Residential Metal Roof

The Installation Process

The process differs slightly from traditional roofs when installing gutters on a residential metal roof. It’s important to consider the roof’s slope, the type of metal material, and the overall design of your home. Before starting the project, here are a few steps you should follow:

Choose the Right Gutter System: Several gutter systems are available, including K-style, half-round, and seamless gutters. Each type has benefits and drawbacks, so choose one that suits your home’s style and needs.

Select Quality Materials: Consider using materials compatible with your metal roof. Aluminum is a popular choice due to its lightweight and rust-resistant properties.

Hire Professionals or DIY: While installing gutters may seem straightforward, hiring professionals specializing in residential metal roofing can ensure a proper installation. If you choose to do it yourself, follow manufacturer guidelines carefully.

Tips for a Successful Installation

Here are some helpful tips to ensure your gutters are installed effectively:

Ensure Proper Slope: Gutters should slope towards the downspouts to allow water to flow freely. A slope of about 1 inch for every 10 feet of gutter length is generally recommended.

Secure Anchors: Use specialized brackets designed for metal roofs to prevent your gutters from becoming loose over time.

Consider Gutter Guards: Installing gutter guards can help keep debris out, reducing the need for frequent cleaning and maintenance.

Maintenance Tips for Gutters on Residential Metal Roofing

After installing gutters, it’s essential to keep them well-maintained. Here are some practical tips to help you:

Regular Cleaning

Cleaning your gutters at least twice a year is vital, especially during spring and fall when leaves and debris accumulate. If trees surround your home, you may need to clean them more frequently. Clogged gutters can lead to water pooling, which can corrode your gutters and your metal roofing over time.

Watch for Overflows

After heavy rain or storms, check for any water overflow from your gutters. This could indicate a blockage or a problem with the installation. Addressing these issues promptly can prevent damage to your home’s foundation.

Trim Overhanging Branches

It is a good practice to trim tree branches away from your roof. Overhanging branches can scratch your metal roof and allow debris to accumulate in your gutters. Ideally, branches should be at least six inches away from your roof to minimize potential damage.

Common Challenges with Gutters and Residential Metal Roofing

Ice Dams in Winter

If you live in an area that experiences harsh winters, ice dams can be a concern. These occur when warm air from your home melts snow on your roof, refreezing at the eaves and causing ice to build up. To prevent ice dams, ensure your gutters are clean and debris-free, and consider installing heating cables if necessary.

Rust and Corrosion

Although metal roofing is designed to withstand the elements, improper installation or maintenance can lead to rust and corrosion. Ensuring your gutters are well-installed and regularly maintained can help prevent these issues.

When to Seek Professional Help

While DIY projects can be rewarding, some situations call for professional assistance. If you’re unsure about the installation process or encounter issues like extensive rust or structural damage, it’s best to consult experts. Professionals can assess your residential metal roofing system and provide the necessary repairs and maintenance.

In conclusion, you can install gutters on a residential metal roof. With proper planning and maintenance, gutters can enhance the efficiency and longevity of your roofing system. Remember to prioritize regular cleaning, monitor for blockages, and trim any overhanging branches to keep your gutters functioning well.

If you're considering upgrading your home with energy-efficient roofing solutions or need assistance with your current system, visit Lastime Exteriors. They offer services tailored to enhance your home’s performance and aesthetic appeal. Don’t wait—take the first step toward a better roofing solution today!

[lastimeexteriors-omaha]

Can Residential Metal Roofing Reduce Ice Build-Up?

Have you ever experienced the frustration of ice dams forming on your roof during winter? These pesky formations can cause significant damage to your home, leading to leaks and structural issues. If you’re looking for a solution that enhances your home’s appearance and helps manage ice build-up, you might want to consider residential metal roofing. In this article, we’ll explore how metal roofs can help reduce ice build-up and provide you with essential tips for effective winterization.

Understanding Ice Dams and Their Impact

Before discussing the advantages of residential metal roofing, let’s examine ice dams. Ice dams occur when heat escapes a home and melts snow on the roof. The melted water flows down to the eaves, where it refreezes, creating a dam of ice. This can lead to water backing up under the shingles, potentially causing leaks and damage to the home's interior.

Why is this a problem? Ice dams can lead to significant water intrusion, affecting insulation, electrical systems, and even the structural integrity of your home. That’s why finding effective solutions to mitigate ice build-up is essential.

Residential Metal Roofing: A Solution for Ice Dams

The Temperature Regulation Benefit

One of the most significant advantages of residential metal roofing is its ability to regulate temperature effectively. When installed correctly, metal roofs can help maintain a consistent temperature between the attic and the outdoor air. This reduced temperature fluctuation minimizes condensation build-up in the attic, a common issue contributing to the formation of ice dams.

Additionally, metal roofs tend to reflect more sunlight, which can keep your roof cooler in the summer. This reflective quality can also help maintain a more stable temperature in the winter, reducing the chances of snow melting and refreezing at the eaves.

The Insulation Factor

Proper insulation in your attic is vital in preventing ice dams, and residential metal roofing can enhance this. A well-insulated attic will keep heat from escaping, reducing the risk of snow melting on the roof. While metal roofs do not provide insulation, they work harmoniously with insulation systems to keep your home warm and energy-efficient.

Snow Retention Properties

Unlike traditional roofing materials, metal roofs have snow-retention properties. This means snow stays on the roof longer, providing an additional insulation layer. By keeping snow on your roof, you can prevent the thaw-and-freeze cycle that creates ice dams.

Tips for Maximizing Ice Dam Prevention with Residential Metal Roofing

While residential metal roofing has many benefits in reducing ice build-up, there are additional strategies you can implement to maximize its effectiveness:

1. Install an Ice and Water Shield

Consider installing an ice and water shield membrane along the eaves of your roof. This premium layer of protection can help prevent water from infiltrating your home in case ice damming does occur. Many building codes require this in areas prone to ice dams, and it’s a worthwhile investment.

2. Ensure Proper Attic Ventilation

Good attic ventilation is crucial to maintaining a consistent temperature and reducing condensation. Ensure your attic is well-ventilated to allow for proper airflow. This will help keep the roof temperature low and minimize the risk of ice formation.

3. Enhance Attic Insulation

Evaluate your attic insulation to ensure it meets recommended R-values for your climate. Proper insulation will help keep warm air from escaping into the attic, reducing the likelihood of ice dams forming.

4. Consider Snow Guards

If you live in an area with heavy snowfall, installing snow guards on your residential metal roofing can help manage snow accumulation. These systems prevent snow from sliding off the roof all at once, which can be both a safety hazard and a contributor to ice dam formation.

5. Regular Roof Maintenance

Routine maintenance is essential for any roofing system. Inspect your metal roof regularly for potential issues, such as loose seams or rus, that could affect its performance in winter weather. Keeping your roof in good condition will help it function optimally.

Myths About Residential Metal Roofing and Ice Dams

Myth 1: Metal Roofs Completely Eliminate Ice Dams

While residential metal roofing significantly reduces the likelihood of ice dams forming, it doesn’t eliminate the risk. Extreme weather conditions and inadequate insulation can still lead to ice build-up. Combinings are essential to combine metal roofing with other essential r preventive measures.

Myth 2: Metal Roofs Are Noisy in Winter

Many worry that metal roofs will be noisy when snow or ice slides off during winter. However, modern metal roofing systems are designed to be quieter than older models. Proper installation and insulation can further reduce noise levels.

Myth 3: Metal Roofs Are Only Suitable for Certain Climates

Residential metal roofing is versatile and can perform well in various climates, including snowy regions. Proper design and installation allow metal roofs to withstand the harshest winter conditions while providing energy efficiency and aesthetic appeal.

If you’re tired of dealing with ice dams and the damage they can cause, residential metal roofing may be the solution you’re looking for. With its temperature-regulating properties, snow retention capabilities, and overall durability, metal roofing can help reduce ice build-up and protect your home during winter.

While metal roofing offers numerous advantages, it must be combined with proper insulation, ventilation, and additional protective measures to maximize its effectiveness against ice dams.

Ready to explore the benefits of residential metal roofing for your home? Visit Lastime Exteriors today to learn more about our energy-efficient roofing solutions and how we can help you keep your home safe and stylish during the winter months. Don't let ice dams take away your peace of mind—invest in the right roofing solution today!

[pauking5]

Addicting Taste, Chapter 2

~ Under Editing ~

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: Enishi Yukishiro was on a mission to execute his piece de la resistance. A plan to avenge his beloved sister. Until you showed up. Will you be a part of his downfall or will you try to save him?

Pairing: Enishi Yukishiro × fem reader oc

Genre: strangers to lovers, sunshine and sunshine protector, slow burn, a lot of fluff, comedic relief, teasing

Words: 10k +

A/N: Chapter 2 is finally here! I have been kicking my feet and giggling while writing it. Some technical difficulties led to delays in putting it up but I’m glad it’s finally here. Not really proud of it but I hope you like it! Enjoy lovelies.

Previous Next

Running through the precinct would’ve been much easier if you weren’t literally dragged along. Mophead's grip on your hand stayed as firm as metal shackles ever since you escaped from the meeting hall, leaving casualties behind. It's been a while since I went for that big of a killing spree, you thought, shuddering as soon as the words echoed in your head. Though the shuddering chills coiling up your arms in waves might have been from something entirely different, like mophead's hold on your hand.

His hands were cold as ice, enveloping yours like a big snow blanket. They were a very welcome relief to yours, scorching hot and clammy with the adrenaline still pumping relentlessly through you from the previous battle. His long, slender fingers laced with yours, interlocking in a rushed dance every time your hands swung around in tandem, running together through the corridors.

Taking your eyes off his broad, muscular back that was even more defined up close, you looked down at your hands. For some really peculiar reason they fit together so well. As if they were meant to link and hold onto each other since long before. You anxiously waited for the moment he would finally let go. Would your hand would miss the way it felt in his? Would he reach out again?

Despite your convictions that he would separate from you at any given chance, he didn’t seem to want to let go just yet.

Steering clear of the guards gathering by the entrance, you switched places. You were leading him now, climbing up the staircase two steps at once, heading right to the top floor. At the peak where the railing ended, you stopped, beckoning him behind you to check if it was still empty, before you kept going until you reached beneath the very glass window you climbed through.

There was only one small problem interfering with your plan - about three meters separated you from freedom and you were kind of petite sized. There was no way you could reach the window on your own.

Now what? I never think this shit through.

Mophead let go of your hand abruptly, letting it fall roughly at your side. A whine that you struggled to quiet down made its way up your throat from the loss of contact. Keep it together for Christ’s sake. You don't know this man. For all you know, he might be into hand fetishes. Shaking yourself to basic decency and turning off the hots you got for this annoyingly beautiful creature, you turned back to him.

Looking up at the glass window left ajar, his brows furrowed in thinking before a spark of an idea flashed across his face. All of a sudden, he moved back a little, then started swinging his arms back and forth before he propelled his body upwards, reaching high enough to push the window open. Jumping again, with a little more force in his nimble feet, he effortlessly made it through the opening and landed on the open roof. You stared at him in awe, gobsmacked at the strength he displayed. But then again, he did have the aerial arts kind of physique.

Preparing to finally get out of this shithole and get back to your very comfortable and safe abode, you held your hand up for him to help you through. He looked down at you from his spot above and you swore you felt the air shift around you. In the pale glow of the moon, you saw his eyes turn dark, scorning almost, glazed over with a wicked smirk stretched on his lips. It all came crashing down on you as you came to understand the change in his behaviour and why he didn't hold his hand down for you - he used you.

You laid out your plan to get him out of this prison, knowing what would become of him if he stayed the night. Knowing what the commander's men could do to him and where he would end up. Feeling like it was relatively your fault for him ending up in here. All of this only for him to play teammate, use you and discard you.

I've seen this movie somewhere before. It doesn't end well.

“Thank you for your services. I will now be taking my leave,” he says, stretching up to send a mock bow of courtesy your way.

“Motherfuc—,” you didn’t even get to finish as he just turned around and left, leaving you dumbfounded.

You couldn’t believe this shit. You risked your life to right a wrong you thought was of your own cause. For someone you didn’t even know. Just for him to use you this shamelessly.

You made so many bad decisions today. All you wanted to do was help. But as always it backfired on you. Classic helper case - don't do it unless it benefits you. Too late now.

Your short moment of self-loathing turned to full blown hatred towards the grey-haired man. He wasn’t worth your time, your resources, your anger. But he personally made himself a honorary entry at the very top of your hitlist.

If I ever see him again, I won’t hesitate to fucking kill him.

Armed guards made haste to reach the top floor. Alarm bells rang again in your mind, much louder than earlier tonight, to warn you that you had to find a way out and fast. But before you could even think of what to do shots were fired your way.

On the first cock of the gun, you instantly ducked down and looked for cover, scrambling to the floor on all fours. There was a wooden table right next to you that looked sturdy enough to act as a temporary shield so you grabbed its wooden legs and threw it over on the side, moving behind it in hopes it would protect you.

Shots struck in the table top behind you, ringing in your ears endlessly. The guards did not let their cover down and by the sounds of it, more of them joined the frontline.

This was a heavily armed precinct. There had to be leftover guns somewhere. Looking around in a frenzy for anything you could use for defence, you noticed a patch of dark red rapidly forming on your right arm, soaking the material of your sleeve. The newest hole gracing your dress, besides the ones that put organza ruffles through the ends of the dress back at the docks, belonged to a bullet that actually grazed you, just a few inches off puncturing your bicep in a nice gaping hole. Fucking great.

More bullets thundered through your ears, having a battle with your heartbeat to see which one would drown your hearing faster. The moment some of the bullets started piercing through the wooden table, you panicked. You wouldn’t make it out if you stayed there for too long. The wood would splinter and splinter until it would get blown to mere chips of wood.

The strong smell of gunpowder floated right into your lungs, making it harder to breathe in properly. Your eyes flew frantically all over the place for a way out. But there was none - except if you counted jumping off the railing right into the main entrance of the precinct, possibly breaking a few bones - or dying right here, churned by bullets. At that chilling possibility, you felt a familiar feeling creep up on you. Fear. A thrill you haven't experienced in a long time.

The same fear you felt the day you lost your whole world.

“Stay here, Miyu,” your mother's voice grew rough as she pulled you in a haste towards the corner of your room.

“Mom, what's happening?” you asked, starting to feel unease grip you.

Before she could answer, loud shots were fired downstairs in your living room. She brought you in her arms and hugged you closer to her until the blaring gunfire stopped all of a sudden. It was quiet. Way too quiet for the ruckus that ensued mere moments ago.

You were just sitting on the couch on your mother's lap, her gentle hands carding through your long hair, braiding it down in your overnight plaits before she took you to bed. Your father sat perched on the armchair opposite you, browsed the day's newspaper with a tired frown. They've both been working the day away in the atelier, crowded with tons of customers. That left you in the care of the maids for most of the day.

It was all peaceful and quiet, your mother's gentle humming the only thing that could be heard. Until the bloodcurdling scream of a maid coming from the entrance of the house. Your father straightened up from the armchair, newspaper dropping to the floor in heaps. He shot your mother a frightened look before moving his eyes down at you with a grim smile. You didn't see it but you could tell your mother nodded before she hauled you up in her arms the best she could, running breathlessly up the stairs to reach your room at the far end of the hallway.

Pushing you out of her fierce, bone-crushing embrace, she ushered you towards the tall wooden wardrobe in the corner, opening the hidden compartment within it. You were small enough to fit inside. Small enough to hide from whatever had your parents spooked. Small enough to raise her hopes high that you would be safe.

Her delicate hands sat on your shoulders, squeezing you with the weight of something she refused to tell you. But the doom in her pained eyes told you something was horribly wrong and the urgency in her voice only confirmed it.

“Promise me you won’t come out unless it’s me or your father coming in,” she said as she urged you inside. You only nodded in response. "Promise me you'll stay safe."

"I promise. Only if you do too," you said, determined to show her your bravery. She smiled at that, promising the same to you too, though the uncertainty of that promise being fulfilled painted her face in a multitude of shades of worry.

You finally stepped inside the compartment. She took one more hopeful look at you then closed the door, leaning a hand against the flowery painted wood. Lifting your own you placed it on the door, mimicking her.

“Everything will be okay.”

You were confused as to why she was saying that as her eyes were glazed over with sadness. She got up and headed towards the door to your room, halting her steps on the threshold. Before she stepped out of your room she turned to you once more.

“I love you, Miyu.”

She flashed you her biggest smile, as well as you could see it through the small rectangular cracks of the wood.

“Be safe, my little light.”

That was the last time you saw her. The last time you saw your father. The last you saw of anyone you knew on the mansion grounds.

No one came back for you.

Hours later, when you came out of hiding, you went to look for your parents. Creeping slowly from behind your bedroom door, you were met with a strong metallic smell. You took the stairs down, tip-toeing around drops of red liquid that turned into puddles the further you descended. The closer you got to the living room, the scent took up more and more space in your lungs, almost suffocating to breathe in, much like the massacre your eyes were met with.

The bloody scene before you was your nightmares’ favorite. It made sure it painted it for you every night ever since. Or every time you were scared shitless. Like now.

Shaking your head hard to pull yourself back to reality, you tried to figure a way out. This wasn't the time to freak the fuck out. But being unarmed, slightly injured and with your dress turned to a mere cloth, barely hanging on your shoulders, you were absolutely terrified. There was no way you could make it out of here without a fucking miracle. But you learned long ago you were far from being God's favourite, not even in the hundreds lined up before Him. A miracle was a pipe dream.

At least it wasn’t all in vain, you thought. Even if you hated that guy's guts after the stunt he pulled, you were glad Mophead was out of harms way. To know you tried to help a person before you kicked the bucket was enough for you.

If you were to die tonight you wouldn’t really have any regrets. Except the fact that there was so much food you haven’t tried and so many places you haven’t seen yet and by all gods existing your dumplings still waited for you back home. It dawned on you that you didn’t want to die. Especially here of all places.

You sensed the guards closing in on you from behind. Your time ran out. There was no miracle coming. No knight in shining armor putting his life in danger for you. This was it. This was where your life ended.

Preparing to get torn to shreds by the guards or manhandled to a cell to be shipped somewhere preposterously evil for people, you shut your eyes tight and hugged yourself in a comforting manner, rocking back and forth.

At least I’ll get to see them again.

Maybe I can make peace with death for once.

Maybe it'll take me this time.

You waited for the bullets to rain down on you. For strong calloused hands to haul you up and carry you away to your end. For anything brutal, cruel and unsettling to happen. But none of those attacks you expected came. As a matter of fact all firing stopped. All rueful shouting stopped. It was way too quiet.

Confused and thinking you died before you felt it, you opened your eyes to find that you were curled in a ball, back propped against the table, still in the precinct. You were still alive and breathing.

Something was weird. On a whim, you turned to peek over the table only for the inhale of breath you just took to celebrate living to get stuck in your lungs at the sight.

The guards shooting at you just a few moments ago were now laying limp on the floor, in heaps of heaps of bodies, littered from the front of the level to halfway in the room. They weren't dead. Probably just knocked out. By who- In the middle of the sprawled mess of guards stood a white mop of hair, doused in the celestial moonlight shining through the glass ceiling.

An angel - your godsent miracle.

Except he wasn’t an angel.

He was a demon sent to torment you specifically straight from the pits of hell.

A guard on the ground lifted his gun to shoot him, almost subservient to your murderous look pointed at him, but Mophead reacted quickly and kicked it away just in time, ending it by shoving his foot in the guard’s face. His back heaved with the breaths he took, stretching broader and wider with each one. Turning around with a huff, he locked eyes with you for the second time tonight, gaze more softer as he took in your state - the sleeves of your dress were ripped, barely connecting to the seams anymore, oddly matching the messy ruffles at the bottom and the way your leather corset sat crooked on your torso. The moment his eyes laid there, you moved it back in place.

Still trembling in fear as you rose up from your hiding spot, your eyes made their way to his, fear gripping every inch of your being morphing back to anger - the slay your enemies in battle and laugh maniacally type.

He left you here all alone to survive on what and with what? Wits and talent? Magic weapons? Wrath? The wrath kind of survival was far behind you.

Glaring at him with a look full of utter hatred, you furiously walked towards the staircase. Just before you reached it, he caught your uninjured arm swiftly, pulling lightly on it to make you turn and look at him. There came his touch again. Much warmer and intense this time. But you weren’t going to give in so easily. That was of course until his hold on your wrist got a little tighter and your eyes snapped to him on impulse.

He looked down at you with an expression you couldn’t really pinpoint. Specks of guilt and something akin to worry swimmed in his eyes. He looked like he himself couldn't decipher what he was feeling. But that look, heavy with burden and a familiar load told you someone else close to him was witness to it before. Someone who probably wasn't walking among us anymore.

That was his problem. You tugged on your arm, willing him to let go.

“Let me go,” you gritted through your teeth, patience running thinner by the second.

“If you go through there, you’ll get yourself killed," he grunted out, voice low and lethal, much like his show of power back there.

Ah, he speaks. Charming. Not.

This scoundrel played and used you and now you were just supposed to forget all about it because he decided to come back and save you as a last minute act of good faith? He doesn't get to play coy and worried. You were no damsel in distress.

But why was he so two-faced? And why was he still holding onto your arm? God damn it. I was probably right about the hand holding fetish.

“Funny you say that as if you didn’t just leave me here to get killed a few minutes ago, after I saved your ass,” you sourly spat out, making sure to spell out the differences between your help plan and his.

That affirmation didn't phase him. But the hand that was holding your arm did let go, instead raising to meet his tangled hair in a frustrated sweep.

He wasn’t put in this kind of a position before. Usually, he couldn’t care less about the people fighting by his side because it always felt better not to. That was just how he was programmed. Go to battle with whoever was willing but not on his conscience because that thing wasn't even working properly and was better left broken and shut off completely.

But he couldn’t just ignore the fact that a total stranger just decided to risk their life for him. That revelation made something snap deep inside of him. Something that wasn’t supposed to crack free just yet - a shred of disgusting humanity. Something he let go of a long time ago.

A few minutes prior

He was on a one-man mission. He didn’t need you, his useless crew, the commander in chief, or anyone else to get in his way. Leaving you here was nothing personal. It was just easy. There was no point for him to stick around any longer.

Turning around from your small form on the ground, he exhaled a breath of relief in the cool air of the night, glancing out at the city. He was out of that shithole and nothing else mattered. Only that his mission was fucked and he had a setback in his plan that he had to take care of. He wanted to get his plan back on track as soon as possible. But as he reached the edge of the precinct roof, ready to take off into the quiet of the night like he was never there, he heard the gunfire. Gravity was suddenly pulling at his feet like iron. He couldn’t move. His instincts weren't letting him.

He heard the shouting around the precinct, the rumbling cocking of guns, the rushed steps around the building from outside and inside. You were left defenseless at the mercy of the dozens of guards.

Just like his sister was that horrible winter day that he wanted so badly to forget. To mend the pain. To bring her back. He couldn't bring her back. But he could save you.

Reality knocked into him and he stumbled, things becoming clearer in his head. You were nothing more than a stranger. But you laid your life on the line for him for some unknown reason.

He couldn’t let you die.

Not if he had the power to help it and by all fucks he did.

Mumbling a quick curse under his breath, he rotated on his heels and started running at full speed, dropping back down in the precinct swiftly and quietly like a leaf on the wind. Looking for you, he caught sight of your body tucked in the corner behind a table, taking cover. You looked scared out of your mind and it was all his fault.

Tomoe would fuck me up if she was here, he thought.

Shaking the eerie presence of his sister, he geared up for mayhem.

The guards stopped firing to reload their guns. He took the opportunity to disarm them. His thought process went haywire as he ruthlessly broke bones with his bare hands, weathering through them like a storm picking up speed.

The only thought pounding through his head as he dove through the armada of men, rendering each one more unconscious and immobile than the previous, was that he had to protect you at all costs.

The mad look on your face and the way your eye twitched told him you weren’t the happiest to see him. Indeed, you felt like plunging your hands down his throat and pulling his balls through just to see him in some serious gut-wrenching pain a little to even the score.

“Look, the only way out is through the roof. You.. saved me…," he pinched his eyes shut with a huff, like the very words he just spoke were an admission that was yet to be shoved down his throat and accepted. "And I saved you," he continued, voice climbing up higher to a much more calm and leveled space. "You could say we’re even now,” he concluded, flashing you a smirk.

Incredulous little shit. He could smirk right now? After all this shit?

You barked out a laugh and simply refused to perceive him. He still acted like he owned the world after everything?

No matter what happens, you can’t just leave people behind. What was worse was that he did it willingly. Like you were just a gun to serve its purpose until you ran out of bullets then be discarded. Normal people don't do that. Dictators and the mafia lords do that. You can’t just jump over it, call it an even deed and shrug it under the carpet so easily.

But you just might. For the sake of it, it would be better if you both forgot about tonight and moved on with your lives like you never crossed paths. Pretend it was all a big mistake and forget any of this ever happened like it was a blip sucked into the void.

You've had enough of everything relating to him. Tonight was more than you bargained for and it took its toll on you more than you liked to admit it. The sweet treats awaiting you and some sleep were the only things able to fix your mood at this point.

Ignoring his coyness, since that was the only thing you could call that previous exchange, you went to the space under the window and pulled over a nearby table. The height of it should be enough to help you reach up. The graze on your arm pulsed, reminding you it needed immediate attention before it got infected, so you hopped on the table right away.

Just as you were about to reach up and pull yourself through, Mophead jumped up ahead of you again. You scoffed, cursing him under your breath. He was just going to leave again.

Godspeed Mophead. Great show to end it all though.

Tapping your heeled boots heavily against the table to test its sturdiness, you were satisfied enough and got ready to jump up. Turning your gaze above, you were met with a hand. His hand. He crouched down and offered you his hand, palm open wide, dropping it as low as it took for you to reach and grab a hold on it. He didn't leave.

You stared blankly at his hand. It’s been an exhausting day to say the least. A lot was weighing on your mind. You genuinely just wanted to get back to your place and send today to oblivion.

But above all else, you didn’t want to blindly trust this man again.

What if he just drops me mid-air or something? Why is he suddenly so keen to help me?

He sensed the inner battle you were having in your head. Hell, if he was in your position he wouldn’t trust himself either. So he tried to ease the tension in the air with another remark, though it came out way worse than it sounded in his head.

“Are you coming today or would you like to redecorate your dress with more bullet holes?”

You grimaced. You couldn’t believe you were attracted to... that. You hated yourself a little for it. But then again. Taste was a weird little thing when you barely get any action as a paid assassin. That is, if you counted strangling someone with your hands or the strength of your thighs.

You shot him a look in warning to not do anything stupid to which he just raised his eyebrows, dropping his hand a little lower.

What was one more mistake tonight?

With a long sigh, your shoulders dropped in defeat and you grabbed onto his hand, letting him pull you up. His big palm closed around yours and with one tug you were going up. He did it so effortlessly, without a sign of struggle, like you weighed nothing. His other hand snaked around your waist for more support as he pulled you through on the roof, raising to his full height.

As he set you down beside the window panel, you caught a different look in his eyes, less icy and more playful, coupled with that irritating smirk ever-present on his face. Does he ever smile normally? Despite the player attitude emanating off him like it was his only charm of goodwill, he was holding onto you so delicately, as if you would break the moment he let go. The way he was unconsciously rubbing circles into your sides almost made you forget why you were mad at him in the first place. This closeness made your previous feelings of hate disappear completely, replaced by something different. Curiosity.

There was something about him that pulled you in like the sea pulls the tide back to her, completely locked in his arms but entirely free to go at no additional cost. You searched his eyes, trying to find meaning behind this strange feeling, unaware that he was doing the same.

Shouting ensued down in the precinct, echoing out to you. Shaking yourself back to the present, you pushed on his chest and separated from him, walking to the edge of the building. Without looking back at him, you took off landing in an alley.

He sat there stunned. Without much thinking, he decides to follow in your steps, keeping at a safe distance right behind you.

You had to take the long way back in order to avoid the troops patrolling around the city. Your wanted poster might not have been drawn yet, but considering Mophead was still on your tail, keeping close by just a few careless steps behind you as if he wants you to know he's following, you were better off being careful than careless.

At first, you thought he was heading in the same way as you, or at least partially. After passing a few trick corners that were definitely not in your way, you caught up to the fact that he was purposefully following you. Getting quite annoyed with him, you slowed down and let him get closer until you felt him stagger to a faster pace behind you. Spinning around on your heels, you took hold of the collar of his kimono and pushed him roughly against the brick wall of the alley.

He was a little taken aback by your outburst. The way your eyes blazed with a spark of anger, small enough to crush to a bare kindle, but big enough to entice to a consuming bonfire with just the wrong word or reaction. He couldn’t help but feel intrigued.

“Why are you following me?”

“I kind of need a place to stay until it breaks for day.”

“And you thought I would offer you a sparkly invite to my place after the shit you pulled back there?”

“I guess I deserve that.”

Fixing him with a sharp glare, you let go of him and backed away, waiting for him to speak of a valid reason on why you should lend your place for the remainder of the night. Sharing bunks with traitors wasn't really your thing.

Before he could answer, you picked up on chatter close by. The patrol guards. Well, shit hits the fan quite a lot tonight.

Mophead heard them too and reacted before you could rush off and disappear, he promptly backed you up against the other wall in the alley, pinning you flush to it. Taking advantage of the shadows masking your faces, he leaned in so close to you that you could feel his breath fan your lips. Your own got stuck in your throat and your heartbeat quickened, rapping against your chest at riveting speed. It didn’t help that his broad arms circled around you the same way a viper would constrict its tail around the body of its victim, squeezing tight just in the right spots to send you reeling into hypnosis before it ruthlessly killed you.

His hold on you felt just the same. A hand came to rest on your lower back, pulling your body closer to his, while his left supported his body, plastered on the wall by your head. An angle so lethal that the slightest dip of his head would land his lips right on top of yours.

You prayed to all existing gods that he wouldn’t be able to see the effect this surprise proximity attack had on you - heartbeat pulsing, rushing, beating loud enough to drown the world out, cheeks flushing the darkest shade of red, breathing coming out in low, quick pants. Wherever he touched, your skin tingled, tensing in knots of flutters. If he noticed any of that, it would just make you look like the biggest fool in the world after you tried so hard to stand your ground.

Metal clanged and jingled, signalling the two guards were getting closer. The minute they turned into the alley, he dipped his head impossibly close to your neck, his lips brushing the open skin on the side of your neck just briefly. Abort ship, abort ship. You sucked in a breath, unable to keep from squirming in his hold as a means to find your bearings before you lost them. A few locks of his gray hair tickled the side of your face and his scent imbued your nostrils, ending you right then and there. Yep, bearings totally lost.

On first inhale, that scent got you dizzy, like the very first hit of opium smoke would affect a beginner. Your hands flew to his arms to station you upright, not trusting your legs to do that for you. On the second whiff, you got a longer, deeper inhale of it, instantly calming down, relaxing every stressed inch of your body. He smelled like a combination of musky wood and jasmine. Sweet and manly. The mix was so addicting that a single whiff of it made your knees weak. The more you breathed that scent in, it completely overpowered you. Your mind screamed at you to be rational and get it together while your instincts wanted you to pull him closer and wedge your nose in the crook of his neck instead.

After the troops passed by and the coast was clear, he slowly lifted his head from your neck, but not without taking his sweet time there. He too was entranced in your rosy vanilla aroma. The familiarity and softness of it swelled his memories, just like your eyes did all night. But he still couldn’t figure out who you were or why his mind worked overtime to scavenge all corners in hopes of finding you tucked away somewhere.

Feeling your back muscles tense under his small, secure touch, he came to learn that he wasn’t the only one being affected. He pulled away from you with an amused tilt of his lips. That pulled you right back to normal away from the haze of him.

“Why do you keep smirking? Are you constipated or something?”

“What?! No?!”

You giggled seeing the outraged look on his face. He’s so funny and he doesn’t even realise it. Or maybe you officially lost it. You didn't know.

The sound of your giggle made something grow in his chest. Warmth. He shook it off as soon as he felt it, distrustful of the unnatural way his chest contracted to it. That was weird, he thought, fully pulling himself away from you.

“Okay," you spoke out of nowhere.

“Okay, what?”

“You can stay over tonight. But as soon as the sun rises you’re out of my sight,” you said with a strict tone.

Not one minute past sunrise. Ass crack of dawn and this would all become a memory in the wind.

“You know, anyone would rave at the opportunity to host me,” he states cockily.

Would they now? What was he? The princess of the people or something?

“Don’t push it, Mophead.”

At that remark, his confident grin fell, replaced by complete outrage.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!”

You took off into the city, with him right behind, running to catch up to you. Unknowingly, a smile made its way on your face.

The empty streets of Shanghai didn't feel so lonely tonight.

You had interesting company to unravel until dawn. Might as well take your time.

Opening the door to your humble home with a creak, you took off your shoes and walked inside, dropping your set of keys on the desk. The room was partly illuminated by the light filtering in from the outside, bright enough for you to see in the small space.

Leaving Mophead by the door to make himself comfortable, you got a change of clothes and went behind the divider in the corner of the room. Your clothes reeked and they weren't exactly wearable anymore. The moonlight shining through the window cast a shadow of your silhouette on the other side of the thin decorated paper as you moved about.

He discarded his shoes by the door, taking in your small abode. A tiny futon was folded neatly in the corner, big enough to fit your form. Scanning over the lightly cracked window on the opposite side of the room, he thought it added an air of vintage to the place, beside the fact that it was abandoned. Your scent was present in the room but it wasn’t that strong, meaning you haven’t been in these parts for a long time. That and the fact that your belongings seem to consist of one bag tucked under the desk only cemented that presumption.

His eyes landed on your moving shape behind the divider. He watched your outline dance around the material decked in white and blue cranes and other traditional motives. Each move you made, from the swift throw of your damaged dress over the top to putting on a new blouse, made him feel as if he was watching his own personal puppet show in the light of the moon and the night.

He’d seen women stripped bare before, but this felt different. Your body was fully protected by the paper screen and you still managed to have an impact on him. He wasn’t the type to let his gaze linger on someone for too long. But you stole almost all of his attention tonight. Almost a blink too much.

He moved his eyes away in a plea for his brain to stop cooking up nonsense. He settled on going back to scanning the room, reaching the small desk on the other side.

Just as he landed eyes on a bag with what looked like food, his stomach growled lowly in hunger. You heard it just as you rounded the divider and snickered to yourself. Maybe sharing the little baozi dumplings you had with him wouldn't be so bad.

You moved towards the bag, tearing open the paper. The miniature pastries were idly waiting for your return and though cold they still looked appetizing enough to your stomach.

“Are you hungry by any chance?” you asked him sheepishly.

“No,” he replied firmly as he took a seat on the floor, folding his arms over his chest.

His stomach seemed to have a mind of its own as it disagreed with its owner. It made sure to growl a bit louder this time, as he tightened his arms over it to silence it.

“Here,” you offered him one of the bigger dumplings as you mirrored his position on the floor.

“I’m good.”

“Just take it,” you pushed, extending the dumpling once more, growing tired of his ‘I don’t need your help’ antics. It wasn't so bad to just accept things. Especially food. Delicious one at that.

“I said I’m —,” you cut him off by shoving the soft dough in his mouth.

"You're welcome," you grinned, grabbing one for yourself.

His cheeks puffed up, not moving in the slightest to munch the delicacy or spit it out. He looked nothing short of adorable as he stared daggers at you. Slowly, he gave in as the dough broke into pieces when you shoved it in his mouth. The savory flavor of marinated chicken met his taste buds. He tried to hide the moan of satisfaction that crawled up his throat as he munched on the dough, but the way his features relaxed gave him away.

Shaking your head at his childish behaviour, you continued sorting through the dumplings, preparing a few more assortments.

Pushing two smaller ones his way you saw him hesitate again. But he eventually picks them up and takes a cautious bite out of each one. One of them had egg custard filling and the other was with red bean paste. He definitely couldn’t hide his reaction this time as he sighed softly in content.

“This one tastes like the ones my sister used to make,” he spoke in a hushed tone as he chomped down on the egg custard one, eyes darting to the rest of the dumpling, sitting safely in the palm of his hand.

He suddenly got transported to a time where she was still around, happily rolling the dumpling dough on the counter in their kitchen back in Edo. A time where it was just the two of them against the world. He hasn’t really told anyone else about her before. Here he was, sharing pieces of himself with a stranger.

The way the words came out, like a cherished memory made its way back to him, had you soften. You were surprised by his openness. You could tell that it wasn’t that easy for him to open up. You had to trust people to do that... which meant that he trusted you in some sense.

He didn’t know why he suddenly disclosed such personal information to you. It was weird. How he felt so comfortable with you in such a short amount of time. But it felt good being in someone’s genuine company in a while. You offered up your place for the night, your food though it wasn't a lot, and your kindness to him. You even put your life on the line. Compelled gratitude or sheer idiocy of it all, one thing was for certain - that he owed you.

“Thank you. For the baozi,” he paused, his eyes trailed back to you, “and for helping me out there tonight.”

You almost choked on the dough you were eating. Not necessarily the words themselves took you by surprise, but the sincerity he delivered them with. It was far from the apology you expected after he acted all high and mighty that he didn't need saving. But you were happy with the words of gratitude he offered.

“You’re welcome,” you said, turning back to munching.

From the short time you’ve been honorary teammates, you gathered that the man in front of you was a wild mix of hot and cold. Both mysterious and really insufferable at the same time. But like everyone, he had his moments where the rough edges didn't cut as icy.

The moon struggled to get her light inside your cramped room, curious to inquire about the personal exchanges between the two of you. She had to remain content with the little light that she managed to glare through, as the both of you sat in a comfortable silence.

“Enishi Yukishiro.”

You looked up at him. You don't just go around throwing your name in these parts especially. Not when the hunt liked to chase anyone. Not when the authorities could imprison you. Being a nobody, a simple passerby, saved your life.

But he just gave you his name, meaning that on some level and by some fucked up confidence, he placed his trust in you.

Should I give him mine too?

He looked expectantly at you, waiting for you to return the gesture. Could you trust him?

You were both strangers to each other. But he was to be gone from your life as soon as the first rays of the morning sun shone lifted on the horizon.

It wasn’t like him knowing your name could do you any harm.

Right?

I hope he won't make me regret this.

“Miyu Hikari," you replied, speaking your full name for the first time in years.

You spent the night talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He opened up a little more about his sister. You could tell she meant a lot to him from the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips and how he caught a liking to the egg custard dumplings, which you picked up out of the mix and gave to him.

He didn’t tell you what happened to her but that he was on some sort of mission to avenge her. When you wanted to ask more about what he meant by it he shifted the conversation to you.

“Enough about me. Tell me more about you.”

About me?

It's been a while since anyone really wanted to know about yourself. So long that you had to pause to gather your thoughts in order.

“Well, I’m originally from Yokohama. My parents used to be tailors for the rich people coming down from Edo,” you said, remembering the pride that came with the Hikari name.

“What are you doing all the way here?”

You weren’t sure what to tell him.

‘Oh, I'm just hunting down the mafia that took my parents’ wasn’t exactly an adequate response to playing twenty-one questions.

“I’m just doing some… jobs.”

Okay, that didn’t answer it either.

He wasn’t that dense and could tell you weren’t comfortable elaborating, so he didn’t press any further. You felt thankful for that.

It was weird to say the least. You both talked without actually mentioning anything too important and kind of not really saying anything at the same time. Getting to know each other without passing the deeper threshold of things.

Timid rays of sunshine peeked in through the cracked window, silently making their way in the room. You didn’t even notice the time went by so fast. The night was over in a blink.

I guess it’s true what they say about good company making time stand still.

“Well," he piped up, getting up from the floor to dust his pants. "I should get going."

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Not just for coming back for you. For killing that loneliness creeping up on you every night. You hoped the feeling was mutual at least a little.

“No. Thank you,” he said as he gazed at you with that soft look again. A look that would melt you if a smile was there too.

He slipped on his shoes as you got up to see him out. Waving at him, he bid you a wordless nod and headed down the stairs, rushing out before it got too bright outside. To get in and out of the building, you had to go into the jewelry shop. It was a hassle but at least you were protected from possible intruders this way.

Closing the door behind him, you leaned you back against it, feeling like you were left in a daze. It’s been a long night and you could feel the after effects taking a toll on you. You would love to just lay down and sleep for the rest of the day. But your thoughts wandered back to the man you just bid goodbye to.

You still couldn’t remember where you've seen him before and it kind of drove you up the wall. Those eyes specifically. Dark and filled with so much sadness and pain.

Why am I so stuck on him?

Crazy thing to be thought all things considering - that he was a ruthless thug and he nearly got you killed - but you wished you got more time with him. Maybe you could find out more about his past and you would eventually remember him at some point. Figure out why his presence was so familiar but not.

In some twisted way, the gods heard you because just when you moved away from the door, someone barged in nearly taking the door down. Turning around with your heart in your throat, you were met with a breathless Enishi, eyes pinched closed, leaning his back on the door. You let out a breath of relief.

“Enishi? Did you forget something? What are you -”

“Grab your things,” he directed sternly.

“What?”

“The guards are here. They were just circling the shop as I reached downstairs. They found us.”

We’re so fucked. Royally, utterly, by all means, fucked.

This was bad. Disastrous. You’ve literally been in this hideout for just a little over a month. It was so hard to find a place to stay because your jobs weren’t exactly consistent in location. But this one was a really good one in terms of access to the whole city. Undetected, under the radar access to everything. All of it compromised now.

Fuck's sake.

Saving the freaking out for later, when you were hopefully still alive and safe, you grabbed the bag and started stuffing whatever you found at hand inside, along with your guns and the rest of your hidden ammunition in the bag, moving to quickly get your boots on.

“Is there another way out besides the front door?” asked Enishi, surveying the room for an escape route.

You paused after lacing your boots. The front door was an escape route... A shitty one at that. However-

Your eyes darted to the window in a flash. Without thinking too hard, you grabbed a cloth you found laying around, bundled up your fist in it and swung back to punch the already fractured window hard. The glass cracked, breaking completely and fell on the other side.

“I guess that works too,” he said, shock and amusement present in his voice. He sauntered over to the window and studied the distance to the ground. It was about four meters but it looked... doable. Even if it wasn't, it was your only shot.

Not wasting any more time, he got up on the ledge and jumped through the window first, landing narrowly on the ground in the small alley behind the shop. You threw your bag over and got up too. But as you were about to jump too you froze, just now noticing the free fall to the ground. The distance was way too big, huge, and there was a possibility you could crack your skull if you weren’t careful.

“I, uhm," your voice wavered unsure. "I think I’ll stay here,” you laughed nervously.

This wasn’t like the precinct building. That was a normal two meter jump anyone and their mother could execute. This... this was double the distance. A drop to a hard surface with absolutely nothing to cushion your fall. Except if you counted Enishi’s big mop of hair.

You didn’t need to do the math to know that if you missed the landing that was it. Life ended there. Falling and splitting your body into pieces everywhere.

He sensed your fear as you were slowly pulling yourself back inside and called your name.

“Come on, it’s not that big of a jump,” he tried to convince you, pointing at nothing in particular to make a point.

“Not that big? My brother in Christ, it is HUGE! I'm not a praying mantis able to float to the ground like you did.”

“I’ll catch you,” he tried to reassure you that he had it handled, but the nausea crawling up your throat by the second didn't calm your boat at all.

“From four meters above ground? What if you don’t and you drop me? What if I break my neck? What if I break your neck?”

His patience was wearing thin. If he wasn’t practically indebted to you for taking in him for a night and even feeding him what little food you had, he would’ve left ages ago. But he came back to get you out of harms way because he had a weird feeling knowing that danger was headed for you. He almost left again. Almost. Until his chest squeezed in discomfort just like the night before, with every single step he took growing the distance wider. A pull of his conscience he hasn't had this strong, ever before, and the more it pulsed in him the more he started to hate it.

“I promise to try to catch you. Now get your ass down here.”

You looked at him and tried to get some courage. Your ghost would have a lot of fun haunting him if he failed to catch you and that somewhat comforted you. Or not. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, you closed your eyes, trying to inhale and exhale slower. This was not the time to hyperventilate.

I can do this. I'll be fine. If not, it's his fault. Yep, that works. Okay.

Whirling around to face the room, your back to the world behind, you threw one last look at the hideout and let go of the window sill. At first, you couldn't really tell you were falling. You felt light as a feather. Up until you felt your blood pounding through your ears, blaring and erratic, rattling your whole being. Then you realized you were free falling and the adrenaline in your body kicked in and you started freaking out. You tried to scream only to swallow it right back.

The only thing you could do was watch as you got further away from the window and closer to the ground. You squeezed your eyes and brought your arms to your chest, preparing for impact. An impact that never came.

As scary as it was, it all ended fairly quickly. The wind replaced the roaring beating in your ears, whooshing lightly around you. You weren't dead. That much you concluded from the strong hold around you. The more you calmed down, the more you felt conscious of the muscular arms holding you safely above ground. At the smell of his scent, still as fresh as last night, you relaxed completely.

Enishi caught you. He did right by his promise.

Opening your eyes, your face was just a few inches away from his. Breathless, heart pumping adrenaline all over you in tingles, you searched his face finding nothing but worry from his furrowed brows to his piercing gaze. The longer you stared the less air your lungs took in. He was breathtaking, this up close. His eyes turned dark, consuming the blue hue on the edge of his pupils the more he looked down at you in his arms. You were safe. Shaking, but safe from anything that could hurt you.

If he didn’t stop this staring contest he would be in serious trouble.

The sound of hurried steps and yelling above snapped both of you back to the real world. Placing you back on the floor, you quickly dusted your clothes, fixing your blouse. You ran to your bag that got separated from you mid-air and chucked it over your shoulder. Then you both took off into town. You ran as fast as your feet could take you, following close behind him.

After wandering around for a while, you spotted a large cart with apples, hauled by two horses. A man that looked like a farmer just sat down to start it. Enishi noticed it too and rushed over to the man while you caught your breath, leaning over on a wall. In no time, Enishi was back with surprisingly good news judging by the hopeful grin he gave you.

“He’s gonna give us a ride,” he said.

A ride? To where? Ah, that doesn't really matter right now. Anywhere else but in this damn city would be great.

“Alright," you agreed, pushing off the brick wall behind you.

You hopped on the back of the carriage, setting your bag next to you. Enishi joined you on the other side before bidding the farmer to take off.

The cart left the inner Shanghai city walls, heading towards the countryside. You passed woods, lakes and the hills climbed higher the more distance you put between you and danger. Puffing a long breath out, you leaned your back against some bags filled with apples. The events of the last day were catching up to you faster than you could recall. You couldn’t deny the fact that your body needed rest, close to begging for it. You were safe now. Nothing was going to hurt you. Dropping your head back with eyes closed, you let the light swaying of the cart lull you to sleep.

After making some small talk with the farmer, Enishi noticed you dozed off. He shuffled in next to you, careful not to wake you, falling back against the sacks of fruit in the same position. His head turns slightly to just look at you. You looked so peaceful while you slept. Without a worry in the world.

Seeing you in the light of day did something to him. Something irreparable. The more he gazed down at your lashes, your soft, silky hair, the more bewitched he felt. Your chest rose up with small breaths while his struggled to carry air inside. He couldn't make sense of this feeling, why you had him so entranced.

The wind blew and a stray lock of hair fell over your eyes, sprawling to cover both of them. Your nose twitched, tickled by the soft ends hanging on the bridge of your nose. He felt compelled to sweep it away. Letting his calloused hand ghost over your cheek, he reached and plucked it between his fingers, tucking the strand gingerly behind your ear. He had to control himself from stroking your soft cheeks that sat puffed up as you slept. That urge was not normal to him at all.

Turning his head away from you, he fixed his gaze to the road disappearing behind the carriage. Then he closed his eyes for a while too.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been asleep until a hand shook your shoulder gently. Stirring awake, you opened your eyes to an early autumn sunset.

“We’re almost there," he says from your right.

When did he move so close?

You nodded in acknowledgment. Patting your cheeks to wake up, you leaned forward and stretched your arms above your head to relieve the ache in your muscles a little. He looked at you from behind, unable to help the trace of a smile playing on his lips. You looked so small and adorable as you just woke up.

The sunset colors blended into wild orange and vivid reds as you admired them with a small smile. The aura around you felt calm for the first time in forever. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the beautiful sunset before you or the man sitting next to you that ensured your safety. It didn’t really matter. You would love to feel like this everyday.

Safety was a luxury you didn't have. A right that was taken from you before you could protest for it. The smallest bit of it meant the world to you. Even if it came from a stranger.

The carriage came to a halt in front of a big mansion, sheltered between dense camphor trees and a grey stone wall running wider than your eyes could see. The both of you hopped off and thanked the farmer.

Enishi took off through the gate like it was his own. You followed in his steps. Walking further inside, you passed a path of greenery until you reached a fountain. The lower level held the basin. The water in it was a dirty brown, still as a lake, seemingly sitting unused in more than a while could encapsulate. The upper held a sculpted angel you recognized to be cupid, all carved in pale grey stone.

Stolen by the visuals, you forgot about Enishi. You rushed after him to catch up as a lot of questions swarmed around in your mind. Most of them surrounded his job, that he didn't tell you too much about. Or his life. What kind of life he led?

Any way you turned it, there was no way he was the owner of this place. As you got closer to the front door you noticed three men waiting by, coming closer to greet him. They looked like they busied their time counting money and beating up people who inconvenienced them in the slightest. You glanced down at their swords with a nervous gulp. Maybe they even sharpened their blades for fun.

“Welcome back, boss,” said one of them, bowing his head in respect. He was smaller in stature, wearing what looked like an expensive fur coat. Western clothes. He eyed you suspiciously through the monocle on his right eye, then turned back to Enishi.

Enishi spared him a mindless nod and walked inside the mansion. Stepping right behind, you couldn’t help but marvel at the architecture of the place. If the exterior was beautiful, the inside was ethereal. All kinds of color schemes climbed the walls, from red and gold to the most beautiful sage green you’ve ever seen. The space was even decorated with antiquities and traditional Chinese art. Furniture carved from the most alluring shades of wood. Paintings of all kinds of landscapes, vases, sculptures.

This wasn't a mansion. This was a whole palace.

The aesthetics of the place charmed you, distracting you from the elephant in the room. Upon remembering your confusion, you snapped out of the trance induced by the scenic interior.

Wait.

Hold the fuck up.

What does monocle guy mean by... ‘boss’?

Just as you turned to the center of the room you entered after Enishi, you spotted a desk littered with guns, from small pistols to hunting rifles. The walls going around the room were ticked with swords of both Chinese and Japanese making. Maps marked with all kinds of locations were haphazardly discarded on every table.

Studying everything around you at full speed, from the arms to the burly men gathering inside one by one, you came to a conclusion that made the hairs on your arms raise with chills.

Spinning around to find Enishi looking right back at you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“You... You’re the boss of the Shanghai mafia?”

Next

Thank you for reading! As always comments and reblogs are welcome :)

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #3: Tempest

“Cutting it close there, traveler. Blizzard’s right on your heels, no?” The guard’s voice reverberated behind her metal faceplate. Locke didn’t miss the way she sized him up through the gap between faceplate and coif, icy blue eyes flicking up and down. Though her eyes lingered on his weapons, sympathy tinged her gaze as she appraised him, wet and half-frozen as he was.

“Inn?” he inquired through chattering teeth.

“First building on your left. I recommend you get a hot bath as soon as you can.” She motioned toward a nearby stone structure, tall by Locke’s reckoning but utterly dwarfed by the tower of stone, glass, and light looming over the settlement. Some sort of device, a long tube mounted upon the parapet, crowned the tower. A cannon, he supposed. “And welcome to the Observatorium.”

Locke sniffled, muttered his thanks, and marched past.

Closer to the inn, he spotted a familiar wagon set off to one side, wind and snow batting at its canvas roof. It seemed Sosonado had made it to safety. Good tidings, if only because it meant Locke would be paid. He hoped the chocobos who’d pulled the wagon were being kept somewhere warm.

Locke shoved the double doors open, a gust of air following him into the room and banging the doors against the stone before he pushed them shut again. The noise drew the nearest eyes to him, but not much more than that.

The common room, small though it was, was a whirlwind of activity. A varied throng of patrons — civilians, travelers, off-duty guards, and men and women wearing tall hats — crowded the hearth and spilled out from there, seated in the nearest chairs and leaning against the closest tables. They were absorbed in their own conversations, a mess of tangled chatter Locke wasted no time on unraveling.

“He loaded his firearm! ‘Six bullets,’ he told me. ‘One for every pair of these scoundrels.’ I know, I know! An impossible feat!” a voice, all rasp and gravel, recounted.

Locke glanced in the direction of the storyteller. At the center of the little audience, standing atop a round table and waving a mug about the size of his torso around as he told his tall tale, was Sosonado. Dark, spiky hair in disarray, drooping mustache and mutton chops matted together and wet with ale, but whole, happy, and thriving with his audience, captive as they were by the budding snowstorm.

Looks like he’s doing just fine. A job well done indeed.

“The gunslinger leapt from the wagon.” He hopped several Lalafell-sized strides, a pantomime of Locke’s own leap earlier that day, beer sloshing from his mug and onto one of his spectators. The unfortunate man’s yelp was drowned out by Sosonado’s impassioned narration. “Before his feet even touched the ground, bang! Two, nay, three Butchers slain with but a single single shot!”

Locke shook his head and squeezed past several of the onlookers, as well as a harried server balancing a pair of trays, to reach the bar. The bartender there looked no less vexed than the server, gesturing at Sosonado with slender, calloused fingers.

“A bell ago it was eight of those Blue Butchers. Before that, six,” she scoffed. “I reckon this gunslinger will have killed twenty of the wretches with an empty musketoon before the night’s— oh, dear, did you get caught out in the snow?”

Locke dropped onto a stool and almost sighed at the sudden sense of relief. Finally off his feet. “Yep. You sell baths? Hot, preferably.”

“Package deal with renting a bed, usually. I’m afraid all of those are spoken for, we’ve got quite the crowd on account of the storm coming, but we’ll get you a bit of privacy and a tub regardless. Free of charge.”

Locke nodded his appreciation. “And food?”

A smile flickered across the bartender’s round features. “Don’t get too greedy, food and drink will cost you. But I’m no swindler, they’ll be cheap enough. Nice blade like that, you can afford a bowl of stew or two here, yeah?”

She nodded toward the gold filigree handle of the gunblade peeking out from his shoulder. Locke spared it only a glance, noting the flecks of ice melting along its length. That probably warranted maintenance.

“Sure,” he grunted. “Bath first?”

“That seems wise,” she agreed. “Fiocant! Prepare a bath upstairs for Mr…”

“Teabrook.”

“Mr. Teabrook! And loan him some clothes, would you? Poor thing looks like an ice sprite fell into a vat of red dye! No offense.”

Locke wiped his nose against his sleeve. “That bad?”

“Pretty bad,” she admitted. She motioned as a server returned and traded their empty tray for custody of Locke. “Here he is. Fiocant will take care of you.” Fiocant was a raven-haired Elezen fellow with traces of a paunch beneath his tunic and enough height to have a tendency of looming. He acknowledged Locke with a small dip of his head. “If you’ll follow me.” Locke slid off of the stool and began to take a step, then he caught himself. Seki always said that one thing, didn’t he? His pro-verb? Good done to others is… uh, good. That didn’t sound quite right to Locke, but it made sense in a circular sort of way. So he dug through his new gil pouch and set the largest of the coins on the bar. “Thanks.” He hurried off before the bartender could reply, loping across the common room to catch up to Fiocant. A gust of frigid air met him as Fiocant pulled the doors open, reintroducing them both to the snowstorm outside.

“Wait, wait!” Heads turned, eyes following Sosonado’s wild gestures. They fell on Locke, more numerous and curious than before, and any reluctance to leave the warmth of the common room behind evaporated. “That’s him, that’s the gunslinger! Hey, mer—” Locke swung the doors shut and followed Fiocant up the stairs to the second story. He took them two at a time, his path made just a little easier by the Elezen’s larger feet and heavy boots. The journey took all of a tick, but he couldn't pass under Fiocant’s arm and into the room quickly enough.

He found himself in a set of conjoined rooms, each smaller than the common room below but furnished in its same plain, practical style. Fiocant stepped into the next room, and Locke left him to it, beelining instead to huddle before the nearby fireplace. He kicked off his boots, peeled off his socks and right glove, and shoved his digits forward, just shy of cooking them. Heat washed over them, and feeling crept back in, a dull ache to replace the numbness.

“The tub is in the other room,” Fiocant announced, filling the doorway with that looming physique of his. He removed a crystal from his pocket, hues of red glimmering beneath the surface and stepped forward to offer it to Locke. “Do you know how to use this?”

“Kinda,” he responded.

“Mm,” Fiocant hummed, his lips in a line. “Well, if you’ve forgotten, just apply a bit of will to it whenever you’d like to reheat your water, yes?”

He dropped the crystal into Locke’s waiting hand. It was warm to the touch, like a coin that had been left out in the sun. “And do enjoy your bath. There’s a change of clothes in the other room for you as well.”

Locke waited only long enough for Fiocant to step aside. Then he was off, scurrying through the adjacent chamber and into a little room large enough to hold a wooden tub, a bucket, and a clothing rack. He didn’t bother waiting for the door to finish shutting before he began to disrobe, casting aside layers of damp cloth and leather and his metal vambrace and spaulder. The room was a flurry of noise, wet thumps and ringing clangs and the splash of displaced water as he dropped into the tub, warmth washing over him from toe to jaw before he sank further into its embrace, letting it chase away the chill on his cheeks and in his ears. Only his left arm remained above the surface, its wooden exterior thrown over one side of the tub, fingers dangling limply.

It was with reluctance that he resurfaced for air. He combed his claws through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and shifted in the tub until he was as sprawled out as he could manage, heat and aches crawling across his body, weighing his limbs down. His gaze wandered, tracing the stonework before settling on the window.

Snow danced in the air outside, swaying to the hectic beat of the shutters and the baying of the wind. It was the first song he’d ever known, before even his mother’s lullabies. It was his constant companion in the forest and the mountains, his only company through the lonely years every Wood-warder experienced.

Locke sank lower into the water and let the storm’s song carry him off to sleep.

[interdimensionalburnout]

>Berri's posted another new video. This one is somehow more AND less dramatic than her execution of Devil Redd, to boot. She's posted up across from the quarry-lake-turned-prison-moat, looking down on the blurry little blob of a prison from well beyond the Rings of the Dead, the burned-out part of the city that the magistrates use as a buffer between the prison and the rest of the area. The city naturally rises up a reinforced cliff as it climbs northward, and looking south from the roof of an old clinic is as much about looking downwards. In the light of day, in this distance, the black, brackish water makes it hard to distinguish between water and prison wall.

>It's cloudy out, with strong winds blowing southwards over the cliffs. Small snow-flurries occasionally pass between Berri and the camera drone, hover behind her. Berri's fur-lined, brown leather duster billows around her legs, neck-length, copper-blonde hair bounces wildly in the wind. She's holding her sheathed weapon in her hand, its belt wrapped around itself several times.

>There's smoke billowing out of the center-most part of the prison, and a small swarm of floating ships hover above it, the inevitable crackdown on a crippled prison that Berri predicted, but the whipping of the wind blots out any noise beyond the rooftop. Berri leans down, placing her hands on her knees and taking a deep, dramatic breath. Standing back straight, she lets the breath out slowly, and says, "And now, we begin." Her arms go out wide, in triumph.

>It starts with small white light.

>It's a burning, intense light, one that starts slow, barely red in the distance, as if metal was being superheated, like the filament of a bulb. That's when the camera drone zooms in on the prison, taking a few frames for the resolution to crisp-up. As the details emerge from the pixels, the wall has begun to glow like the sun, seemingly bulging out, like the solid steel and concrete were little more than wax. Whatever is happening to that outer wall circuit, it's worse on the other side, where the light is somehow stronger, the billowing smoke of countless fires flying away against some greater heat.

>Then there's the explosion. Berri was good to her word, and destroyed the old, outdated reactor, a common and dangerous generator of power, unique to the galaxy she calls home. The chamber housing all of the reactor's most volatile components might be invincible, she said, but not from all sides, and still to good to her word, the explosion is directional. The outside wall, facing Berri to the north, is vaporized around the epicenter, and then blown away for a mile in both directions.

>But even that pales in comparison to what happens beyond the wall. Looking down from on high, the outward wave of chaotic, alien energy is truly devastating. It turns the inner circuit wall, divided from its outer counterpart by a deep trench, into so many scattered atoms, but the cone of decimation doesn't settle for one wall. The entire prison is shattered, the courtyard is gone in an instant, the central watchtower, the prison's "town hall," is hurled through both wall circuits in massive chunks and pieces, followed quickly by those two walls. Debris the size of buildings are hurled southward in massive arcs, shattering the Magisterial Front Gate, the draw bridge, and the central base of the perimeter guards. First comes the shockwave, then comes the masonry, with burning white light on its heels, quickly turning to golden fire.

>The epicenter of the destroyed reactor gives a gold flash out of the white light, before a secondary shockwave of golden, flaming air shatters the day. A plume of golden-brown smoke rises from the outerwall, a pillar that trails off after the island itself. An island now split in half, sloughing off itself into the poisoned moat below. The clouds above have split in the face of this disaster, the dull-blue sun above looking on dispassionately through the gap. The video is virtually unwatchable for twenty seconds, but it captures every detail, as the walls rapidly melt into a glass-like substance, the ground instantly shining in its new state.

>The camera zooms out as the shockwave, felt in ALL directions, if not evenly, finally reaches Berri. The winds are halted, a true feat of power on this stormy planet, and then turned around, rebuffed by the vicious, cruel heat that makes it even up the sheer cliffs Berri stands atop. Her hair whips behind her, her coat billowing like cape, revealing capri jeans and flip-flops, in 20F degree weather. The ships above the prison, many of which her maintaining positions while deploying soldiers, are simply gone from the sky, fiery little pock-marks in random craters around the Dead Rings, knocked from the sky as controls were wrenched from hands, regardless of competency, as computers choked on the EMP, joyriding along with the first shockwave.

>As the blast gives way to settling flames, as the winds of Gilded fire finish running wild through the local parts of Argossia, Berri's arms drop to her sides. One slides into her duster, withdrawing a black packet of cigarettes, a lighter forced in between the box and its plastic wrapper, while the other one holds onto her sword still. She seems satisfied with her work, her face a contented, if strangely disinterested grin. The camera cuts as Berri tucks her blade under her arm, cupping the air around the cigarette in her mouth, trying to flick the lighter to life in the face of a resumed winter wind. She's walking to the roof-entrance, off to who knows where.

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire [Part 15]

Continuing from...

-----

"What are you doing?"

Loose stones ground underfoot as she tested the ground outside the embrasure. There wasn't much of a foothold, only a few inches, but a few inches would be more than sufficient… "What's it look like?"

"Trying to get yourself killed."

Z scoffed, narrowly dodging an attempt to grab her as she pulled herself up the craggy rock face to climb onto the narrow roof of the casemate. Below her, Adze spit an angry-sounding electronic noise, followed in short order by Hatchet's heavy footsteps.

"Z?"

"Yeah?" She perched at the edge of the roof, rifle resting across her knees.

"Care to explain what you're doing out there?"

"Keeping watch. It's easier when I can see more of my surroundings."

It's probably easier on the others if I'm less visible, too. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Is that the only reason?"

"It's the only one that matters, I think." Z sighed, then, "…Don't worry, I'll come back down when the shooting starts, I just don't want to get caught off-guard or, y'know… be a distraction."

Biting cold wind sent flurries of snow whirling around her, and a blanket of muffled silence descended over the world. For a long moment, all she could hear was her own breathing.

Then, "…very well."

"It's not personal, Hatchet, I just…" she let out another sigh, heavier this time; "I know things are touchy right now. I don't want to cause trouble for you."

"You are no trouble, little sister, but if you feel safer staying out of sight, then by all means, keep watch from there."

"…Thanks, brother."

Brother. Brother… The second time she'd said it, and the word still felt foreign in her mouth; she rolled it around on her tongue as she settled back against the rocks, trying to remember if there'd ever been a time when it hadn't felt like an abstract concept. The closest thing she'd ever had to a brother before now had been…

…Well…

The less said (or thought) about K now, the better, honestly.

He was gone long before he died, so deep in the weeds that he never would've found his way back even if he WAS still alive. Z sighed to herself, checking her rifle for the twentieth time. Fucking propaganda. Fucking Super Earth…

(Treason, treason, treason, every thought more treasonous than the last.)

"Stop it," she hissed to herself, thumping the heel of her hand against her forehead. "You're off that leash now, stop keeping score-"

Easier said than done, though.

The scrape of metal against stone interrupted her train of thought, and she looked up to see a Trooper - distinctive scratch marks on left shoulder, no mismatched optics, that's Bolo - hauling himself up onto the ledge to perch nearby. She could hear Adze bitching from inside, but he made no move to join his brother. Not yet, at least.

"Too crowded indoors?" She asked dryly.

He let out one of those short, stuttering laughs, only briefly glancing in her direction. "I thought I would see what the fuss was about," he replied haltingly; he clearly wasn't as used to speaking English as Hatchet, or even Adze or the Commissar. "The view is nice. Not sure it is worth the effort."

Z had to stifle a scoff, pressing her sleeve to her face for a moment. "I like being able to see the whole battlefield and having something solid at my back, that's all."

"Tch." Bolo shifted slightly, folding his legs neatly beneath himself; "…can I ask questions?"

"Not like I have anything better to do at the moment. Fire away."

"You have combat experience, yes? How much?"

"Worried you're gonna have to carry me?" She smirked, letting her head roll back and looking up into the slate-gray sky. "Eleven years, virtually all of it on the terminid front. Got really good at killing Shriekers and Stalkers in particular, but they were all fair game. Rest assured, I can hold my own."

"Never doubted you for a moment," he laughed, "but Helldivers are not bugs."

"Course not, they're even dumber," Z snorted softly, almost smiling. "It's the combat meth, you know? Makes 'em crazy."

At that, Bolo threw his head back with a laugh that sounded more like a distorted version of a Berserker's cackling than the usual electronic stutter.

"Ah, you really aren't bad at all. Adze!" He leaned forward to speak over the edge, "Bu kızdan bir nedenden dolayı hoşlandığımı biliyordum!"

Z just covered her face to stifle a quiet laugh of her own as the two Troopers briefly conversed, and when Bolo finally sat back once more, she was happy to let things lapse into companionable silence and just watch the snow fall. For a while, he seemed happy with that, too.

"…One more question," he spoke up after a few quiet minutes.

"Hm?"

"Where are you from?"

She blinked once in surprise, turning her head to meet his eerily unwavering gaze.

"I…"

Before she could answer, though, she was interrupted by Adze's appearance as he clawed his way onto the ledge and promptly situated himself between them, shouldering his brother aside with a growl and a staticky, hissed "Meraklı olmayı bırak!"

"Everything okay there, Adze?"

He huffed so hard that steam billowed from his vents, still glaring at a snickering Bolo. "Don't entertain my brother's foolishness, you'll only encourage him."

"Ondan hoşlandığını biliyordum."

"Kapa çeneni!"

"He wasn't bothering me," Z snorted, trying not to smile; "but it's nice to know that you care, Two-Tone."

"I do not," he visibly bridled at the implication, fixing her with a withering glare that had her smothering a giggle.

"Uh-huh, course you don't."

The three of them settled into a quiet, uncertain sort of camaraderie after that, neither overly chatty nor too aloof. In that way, they kept each other company as the morning crept on.

Every once in a while, Z would catch movement in her peripheral vision when someone - or several someones - would break from whatever they were supposed to be doing inside the base's walls to peek down at them. Or at her, most likely; she never acknowledged them, just let them think they were stealthily snooping until their Commissar caught them and set them back to work with a harshly-barked order.

And so the hours ticked down, from five, to four, to three, to two…

Z sucked a breath in through her teeth, shifting her grip on her rifle as she kept her gazed fixed on the sky. Everything felt suddenly oppressive, with an underlying hum of electricity that made her increasingly anxious and uneasy as the last hour ticked down.

It's kinda like the countdown to deployment, isn't it?

Except this time, the objective would be much, much different.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, focusing on keeping her wits about her and not giving in to the urge to get up and pace. For all her cavalier attitude towards the situation, Z forced herself to admit that… she was afraid. Terrified, even. She would never say it out loud, but…

A sound like rolling distant thunder through the clouds, and she rose to one knee, rifle at the ready as she scanned the sky for signs of their inbound targets.

"Think it's showtime, boys," she breathed.

Adze and Bolo rose to their feet, and she could hear other Automatons scrambling to battle stations behind the walls. A buzzing sensation filled her skull, spreading out into her limbs as time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Breathe.

You can do this.

You HAVE to do this.

It's the only way to truly slip the leash.

Overhead, the sky began to boil as dozens of high-speed projectiles plunged towards the snowy desert below, resolving from hazy orange glows into brilliant points of fiery gold that hit the ground in a harsh cacophony of resounding BOOMS that she felt through the stone and concrete as she quickly tallied the numbers up in her head.

"…One hundred and twenty bogies in the weeds, 9 o'clock to 4 o'clock," she breathed, watching the developing battlefield light up as the Helldivers began to call down their arsenals; "guessing there are more from five to eight, can't worry about them right now, though."

Shouldering her rifle, she drew a bead on the nearest cluster of blue beams; beside her, Adze and Bolo did the same.

This would be so much easier from the ground.

At least in a Terminid fight, she was up close and personal with her targets, and fog or dust could only do so much to conceal them.

Diffuse silhouettes moved in front of the lit beacons; she drew a bead on the nearest cluster, and managed to pick off three figures before the lights darkened and they were lost to the snow once more.

"Shit." Z hissed, looking up again before glancing to the side; "...Adze."

He lowered his rifle a fraction as he turned his attention to her, an unspoken "what?" hanging between them.

"Be my eyes," she said hurriedly, "I can't see through this snow at this distance, but I know you can. Just point me in the right direction so I'm not wasting all my ammo."

Adze stuttered out something she didn't quite catch, but when he turned his optics back towards the battlefield and began rattling off adjustments, she listened.

And she joined her new comrades in opening fire.

[gordonengineswifenirmal]

I’m mourning again, and it’s odd. I recently found out a cousin died. That’s not who I’m mourning for. She was a botch who stole my grandmums house. It’s that house I mourn for. I spent many years having memories attached to that house. It was apparently pulled down earlier this year. I had heard that it’d become dilapidated. It hadn’t been well kept up for years, but it held many fascinating secrets. It was built between 1900-n the 1930’s. Real estate sites say 1900. Grandmum claimed there was a fire in the house, n there was nothing left but the foundation. The foundation itself had mysterious dates etched into the bricks. There was a secret walled off area in the basement, and you could hear the nearby creek flowing under the house. In my father’s old room, there was a small hidden cubby hole like room. A wee hideaway room for whatever. It was worked into what he had as a closet, along one wall.

https://home.howstuffworks.com/eccentric-home-passageway.htm#:~:text=The%20house%2C%20therefore%2C%20had%20to,there%20were%20plenty%20of%20routes.

Not enough space to fit your body and stand up or walk about in, but you could stash things in it. I believe it had a small door too. I forget now. After dad died, I used to go up into the sweaty, dusty attic, and travel back in time for hours. The steps leading into the basement from the back side of the kitchen were rickety, and scared the feck out of me. The steps leading upstairs did too. There was once a banister along the walls, but it was removed long ago. Once you got up there, granny’s room was to the left, n dads to the right. Going into either required that u crawl, because standing up was kind of u safe. There wasn’t much footing. The house had old metal work, wood panelling all over. It once had old faucets that fascinated me. I remember too that it used to have these metal things on the roof for years, near the edge. They were snow guards, and most likely antique.

https://myfixituplife.com/what-are-snow-guards/?amp=1

The bathroom was to the back, where Grammy had storage and the front door. She also claimed that a woman had fallen down the steps leading from upstairs, and died long before they moved in. I don’t know what was true and what wasn’t. It seems all of these secrets were buried with the place.

The place was eerie as all hell, but it also had charm. It fascinated me. It hadn’t been updated or renovated in ages (if at all). I’m sure there were other hidden relics that I’m sure I didn’t notice. I’m sure it had large and plaster walls, was held together with old fashioned glue, and other antiquated methods. I’m also very much interested in the stories it held. It was situated in an area that in modern times, was more out of the way. Until right around say between 1999 and 2000, our old apartment stood across from it. That building was a once stunning old farmhouse, chock full of its own charms. It had also been left to degrade, until it was pulled down, shortly after me dad’s death. I believe it may have been built around the same time, maybe slightly before, but I don’t really know. I’m trying to find out a proper date, which is proving ever challenging. I’d love to keep the memory of these places alive, even though the actual building is gone.

[bellafarallones2]

the winnebago speaks

My wheels settled easily into the dust and gravel of Eastwoods Campground & RV Park. There was snow on the ground, and the lowest bough of the tree above me almost brushed my roof. I liked how quiet it was.

You rarely stayed in one place long, before Kepler. We traveled together from Oregon to Florida and back, and so when we stopped in Kepler I was expecting to leave the next day, or maybe the day after.

My Indrid: you have not taken me to a mechanic in fifty years, the fifty years we have been together, no. The saffron magic of Silvain has flowed through your hands and into me, no need for oil changes or wheel rotations. My tire traction is always impeccable. The faux-leather of my steering wheel is stained with the sweat of your hands. I am not like a human, whose cells regenerate; I wear the evidence of every touch forever.

That day you sketched frantically, huddled over my tiny table with a mug of hot eggnog at your elbow. And when you’d drawn the ruins of Leo’s General Store you hurried out the door to the payphone on the other side of the campground.

You looked so cold as you talked on the phone, shoulders huddled, the wind pressing into you.

Whenever you are away I call out to you. I say, here I am, here are my four space heaters humming, here is my metal door to keep the heat in, here my little booth and formica table, here my microwave and hot-plate, here my refrigerator, here my ragged carpet, here our bed. Here we are.

Sure enough, when you were done on the phone you hurried back inside me, folded your knees to your chest as you sat on the sofa with your sketchbook, pen-tapping nervously. 

That was the first time you drew Duck Newton, standing authoritatively in the light of the Pizza Hut sign, though I did not recognize him then. And after you’d drawn him, when your visions had shown you whatever you were looking for, all the tension in your muscles ran out at once, the pencil dropped from your hand, and your head drooped backwards.

“I can’t believe they managed it,” you murmured, wonder in your voice.

–

The next morning three humans arrived. This was unusual. You rarely entertained guests, but these three you opened the door for an instant before they knocked. A gray-haired man in a loud tie, a young woman with dyed-red hair and scorch marks on her jean vest, and a man in a park ranger uniform who you couldn’t quite take your eyes off of. 

You spoke their words as they did - I love when you show off. You offered them mugs of eggnog. You tore down dramatically the drawings you’d hung on my wall, and announced that the funicular was going to crash. 

The three humans - the Pine Guard - left again, and you paced. My corridor, such as it is, is long enough for you to take five steps before turning around, and you took those five steps back and forth for almost an hour. 

Then, after the disaster was averted, you fell into a restless, twitching sleep. 

I am the cocoon you curl up in, your pale limbs soft like the flesh of an insect newly eclosed.

Sometimes on moonless nights you climbed up onto my roof and took your glasses off, spread your wings over the weather-worn metal. I keep the secret of your true form faithfully, just like I keep all your secrets, the things you murmur when you are alone in bed, and the many futures not-to-be. 

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 76

The dramatic irony that Ed says he never wants to see a giant Philosopher's Stone when he's seen two of them.

Ed's determination to not kill doesn't accept loopholes. Just because he's not the one doing the killing, doesn't mean he's fine with letting someone be killed.

I looked up the two Ishbalan words mentioned in the chapter. "Rasayana" gave me an alternative medicine system based in India focused on lengthening a person's lifespan and invigorating the body. It originally combined Alchemy of metals with preparation of tunics from plants. It's still practiced today as a form of botany-based medicine.

As for "Aurelian", all I could find was Roman Emperor Aurelian who ruled from 270 - 275. During his reign, he reconquered lands that had been taken from Rome's control. The French city Orleans, and by extension, the US city of New Orleans are named after him.

Back to the story, May brings up some details about Xingese Alchemy philosophy. An immortal is a perfect being and gold is a perfect metal. Both ideas may stem from the myth that Alchemy came to Xing by an immortal with golden hair and eyes.

Winry mentions Ed and Al have those hair and eye colors. At this point, there's no reason to think otherwise. Amestris and Xing have the same myth about the origin of Alchemy. The only difference is where they came from. And that difference is purely due to their geographic position to Cselkcess. Father is the Philosopher from the East who taught Amestris Alchemy. Hohenheim is the Philosopher from the West who taught Xing Alchemy.

The story ultimately takes place in a very contained part of the world. We only know the names of the surrounding nations of Amestris and we only know Amestris is always at war with them. Xing is the only other nation we know has Alchemy so I wonder if Cselkcess was the only place that had discovered Alchemy or if other places around the world had created their own variants.

And Winry's little comment is a little nudge to tell us that Ed and Al are half-Cselkcess.

Why is Scar's arm still bandaged? Shouldn't May have fixed that?

Either Kimblee did or did not realize that wasn't Alphonse and both possibilities are hilarious.

I understand Jelso and Zanpano's chimera forms being custom-made to counter Scar. They're both long-range specialists. One can pin Scar in place while the other can shoot him from a distance.

But the other guards abilities don't make as much sense for this operation. Their heightened sense of smell has definitely helped them counter snow blindness, but they're abilities are entirely incompatible with the mission they're on. I guess Central was not going to trust Briggs and chose two chimeras who could kill under the cover of a snowstorm.

I'm confused about the part where Ed falls down the mine shaft. Did he walk into it, hit his head on the way down and then crash through the roof of the building at the bottom?

I swear, everyone in FMA seems to have taken at least some college classes. Kimblee's guards know the materials used to make dynamite and the chemical components of Ammonium Nitrate.

At the start of the chapter, Miles warns Ed that his soft heart will one day get him killed. And the chapter ends with Ed very nearly doing that.

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