#Say I’m on fire with a blade; you’re about to hear my name;; {Aesthetic}

[qirkbrn-a]

Rules: Pick four colors you associate with your muse. Then use the gif search function and search for the color. Post one gif for each color.

Colors: Red, Black, White, Gray

RED

BLACK

WHITE

GRAY

[awesomerextyphoon]

Madripoor Musings

Summary: You’re undercover as Zemo’s Sugar Baby while you’re with the team in Madripoor. You seem to like the position a little too much and Sam gets jealous.

Parings: Sam Wilson x Black Female Reader, slight Zemo x Black Female Reader

Word Count: 1,685

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Warnings: FATWS Spoilers, Smut, Oral (f receiving), Light Choking, Angst, Semi-Public Smut,  Daddy Kink, and Slight Emotional Manipulation

A/N: Ran into another writer’s block so I’m using prompts from this list to get myself out of it. Enjoy!

Back to Masterlist

“So, are we good to go, everyone?”

The four of you were jet-setting in Zemo’s private plane to Madripoor to get info on this new version of super solider serums. Zemo came up with the idea of having Sam go undercover as the West African weapons dealer/smuggler, Smiling Tiger. Bucky returned to his ‘Winter Soldier’ mode and you were to become ‘Miss Erina’, Zemo’s new arm candy/Sugar Baby.

Your backstory was simple: you’ve been with Zemo since before he went to prison living in his many estates and luxurious apartments.

It took some time for everyone to get into character. Sam tried and failed to pull off a Nigerian accent while Bucky kept up his hard glare and glower routine. You and Zemo put on the perfect couple facade with the both of you placing semi-sensual touches on each other’s bodies and showering each other with (sometimes lewd) compliments.

“Oh, thank you for the necklace, Daddy!” you gushed loving the way Sam was fuming. Bucky almost broke his character trying not to snicker.

“Nothing’s too much for you, котёнок/kotyonok (kitten).” Zemo mused as he offered you a coy smirk and leaned in for a kiss.

You giggled as he placed kisses along your jawline, neck, and collarbone.

“We’ll continue this later, киса,” Zemo whispered while winking at Sam.

 ––––

 Madripoor was amazing, to say the least. It was a cyberpunk wet dream with bright lights at various angles and two distinct levels giving off a Black Lagoon/Blade Runner/Ghost in Shell vibe.

It felt like your kind of town.

It’s been like this since the Snap. Your older sister died in a car crash right after Thanos’ victory. Your father and uncle were blipped into the ocean dying instantly. Nowadays, your mother could barely talk to you without crying.

Natasha was dead and Steve fucked off to the 1940s to crush English pussy. Sharon got branded an enemy of the US Government and was forced to run. Some dumbass cracker (you will NEVER acknowledge his name) was given Sam’s rightful shield and mantle of Captain America by the craven, racist US government and had the NERVE to tell you to stay out of his way.

To top it all off, you found out that the US military tortured a man for 30 YEARS in order to ‘make the perfect soldier’.

You were finally in a place that matched how you felt.

“We’re heading into Low Town. Be on your guard, everyone.” Zemo warned as he lifted your chin and kissed you again. He insisted on walking towards your escort.

“Why do I have to wear this again? I look like a pimp!” Sam whined while looking sexy AF in his Ankara (I’m saying it’s Ankara) suit.

“Don’t mind him, Daddy. Sam has no sense of style.” You joked snuggling closer to Zemo.

“We’re not at the club yet.” Sam pointed out, vexed at the way you were clinging onto Zemo.

“We cannot let our guard down, Wilson. Selby has eyes everywhere.”

Sam relented and tried not to look your way. It was tempting due to you wearing an amazing Burgundy Fashion Nova Sugar Free Mini Dress with Black Bow Whoa Pumps. Your curves were out, but not in a shameless manner.

You had class, yet you were a tease.

 ––––

 The ride to Selby’s was nothing short of thrilling.

You were right about the overall aesthetic. Madripoor definitely has the ‘dystopian punk’ feel on lock.

“You look radiant, котёнок.” Zemo cooed as you kissed his neck liking how smiled at Sam and inwardly cackled at Sam’s glower.

 –––––

 Several men and some women moved to make a pass at you on the way to the club. A few audacious men learned that you were Zemo’s the hard way, Bucky made sure of it.

You had to mask your displeasure at how many people were shooting appreciative glances at Sam.

You just hoped this escapade would end soon.

 ––––––

 Zemo advised everyone to aim straight for the bar wrapping his arm around your waist as he strode into the club. Sam and Bucky followed suit slipping into their Apex and Winter modes respectively.

The bartender licked his lips as he looked you over, “Thought Selby told ya you ain’t welcomed here, Zemo.”

Zemo raised an eyebrow, “I know, but this is important,” he eyed several bouncers making their way towards your group. Their moves did not faze the baron. He simply turned to Bucky and whispered in his ear.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to let loose. You could’ve sworn a couple of people were ready to shit themselves.

 –––––

 Selby was...interesting. She/They gave off a pretentious ‘I’m always ten steps ahead’ aura with a bit of fake whimsy. She/They wanted to give you to one of her best clients and keep Bucky for herself/themselves (probably for sexual reasons, didn’t want to pry).

The conversation was going well...until Sam’s phone went off.

Insert facepalm.

You’ve told him time and time again to put his phone on silent and get rid of vibrate. Now he was gonna get y’all killed, but you said,” Fuck it!” and shot her/them and the #2.

The group had to book it and you cursed yourself for wearing non-running heels.

 _____

 Your asses were saved by a guardian sniper, Sharon. You were glad to see her again missing your bi-weekly movie nights and sporadic weekend brunches.

“It’s good to see you, Sharon.” You greeted as you hugged Sharon at the entrance of her High Town pad.

“It’s great to see you, too, even after you’ve destroyed my work.” Sharon lowered her voice while pressing her lips together in frustration and then lust at the sight of Sam’s deliciously thicc upper body.

You couldn’t blame her as you wanted to run your hands and tongue along his planes of muscle.

You listened in on the group’s conversation as you changed clothes seeing Sam’s distress at Sharon and Zemo’s words. They did have a point about how being a hero does ring hollow, but it still hurt to see Sam’s sadness and hurt.

 ––––––

 You found Zemo, bless his heart, dancing like a lost dad on the dance floor and started grinding against him while shooting Sam a sexy pout accentuating your sensually full lips.

Sam, for his part, was trying to look interested talking to a waitress with killer legs. He almost lost it when he put his arms around your waist.

“Let’s see if we can get a reaction out of him,” you whispered wrapping your arms around his neck. He knew that Sam hasn’t been giving it lately.

 ––––––

 Your little stunt lasted for about ten minutes before Sam stomped over grabbing your arm and dragging you into one of Sharon’s ‘private rooms’ after another man got too close to what was his.

“Why did you drag me away like that?!” you shouted secretly turned on by the raging fire in his eyes.

“So you like calling your men ‘Daddy’?” Sam demanded as he backed you into the wall.

“I’m your ‘daddy’ now, vixen.” Sam breathed while lightly dragging his finger up your thighs only to find no panties.

“No panties, huh?” he smirked as he twirled his forefinger around your clit causing you to moan.

“Fuck, I love hearing you moan. Say my name, vixen. Don’t care if Sharon finds out.” Sam murmured against your lips. He effortlessly lifted you in such a way to make you wonder if he got some SS serum. It didn’t hurt that you got to see his muscles bulge underneath his turtleneck as he landed your blessed backside onto one of the tables.

“Eyes on me, kitten,” Sam ordered as he forced open your legs and made his way your slit leaving open-mouthed kisses and love bites in his wake. “You're already soaking for me, baby.” he mused as he gave your slit a long lick.

You could barely keep yourself from moaning.

“Who's your daddy, baby?”

“You are!”

“I’m your ONLY daddy!” Sam shouted and dove in.

You were drowning in ecstasy.

Sam was hitting all the right notes with your pussy. He was always a G at eating you out. Sam swatted your hand away from your mouth, “I want everyone to know who your real daddy is,!”

He kept you on edge for nine excruciating minutes before he finally let you orgasm.

“No time for rest, vixen.” Sam chided as he flipped you on the table ass up with your dress bunched up around your chest,” Are you a good little vixen?” Sam breathed in your ear as he placed kisses along your ear, neck, and collarbone.

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’re damn right I am!” He sheaved himself into you in one swift motion. You moaned in delight at the sensation. He didn’t move no matter how much you begged him, “Tell the world who your daddy is,” he instructed as he slapped your plump ass.

You screamed out his name and Sam started thrusting. He gently wrapped his hand around your neck while demanding you to shout his name. Sam pounded into you at a relentless pace constantly hitting your ‘Cum Dizzy Sector’ turning you into a delightfully orgasmic mess.

Sam was reaching his limit so he played with your clit to make you finish first. You came with what felt like an earth-shattering orgasm with Sam coming with a primal roar not too long afterward.

Both of you were so wrapped up in orgasmic bliss that you didn’t notice Sharon, Zemo, Bucky, and a few other partygoers at the door.

“So, how did go?” Sharon teased as you tried to cover yourself up.

“How much did you see?”

“Hmm,” Sharon hummed while tapping her chin, “Enough for me to close a $19.8M art deal.”

“We’re getting a 10% cut.” Sam barked annoyed with the rest of the group reigning in on his smash time.

“Fine. Get dressed, I got a lead.” Sharon announced while smirking all the way to her quarters.

You smirked at Zemo as you made your way to the exit.

Worth it.

[muffindaddystyles]

dark academia

Note: This's from my "choose an aesthetic and I'll do a harry writing on it." challenge. It's still open. You can inbox me your favourite ones!!!

P.S: It's kinda sentimental and awfully soft full of fluff gave me a bit sinking feeling :( 

TW MENTIONS OF DEATH.

💛

Blood-Rays of setting sun like a pearl shining upon the ocean slants through the slabs on the oak desk Y/N's sitting at studying for her mid-terms. It's Autumn. The library smells of dry lavenders and every often an aroma of biscuits pooled in butter whiffs under her nose as the librarian sitting infront of the stony fire-place relishing onto the treats petting her cat along.

She's drowned into a baggy london's fog grey coloured sweater tucked into taupe pleated skirts and her hair tressed back into a ribbon.

The world around seems cosy and warm to her as the voices billowed to mere soft hushes of rustling leaves, she almost forgot there are people around her when a pair of strong arms came wrapping around her shoulders hugging her ever tight she was never embraced this goodly before, "oof who're you?" She whispers comically akward as he has her face squished into his neck.

"Oops, wrong timeline, love." Meet Harry. He just came here to meet his girlfriend and just realized that they're not dating yet. He has time traveled to her first year of UNI and she might seems a bit off from all the bustle in her life.

He shies away when she doesn't get him and raises her brows in questioning. He's still in awe that in every era she looked beautiful.

"Mhm . . .uhm should go, take it as a free hug from me!" He spins around quickly to scramble away from her due to the embarrassment he caused to himself and not to let her show how flustered he's in her presence.

"Wait!!" She whisper yells following him and stopping him by putting her hand on his shoulder, "Would you like a cuppa of coffee, tea perhaps?" Books in her arms and a tote bag hanging at side.

"Then you could explain me your free hug policy too." His bunny nose twitched and he nods grinning. He looks so snuggly and warm — and all the words Y/N describes as a patchy cottage in the sandalwood forest.

//

"Ah! the chances of me not dying virgin seems less to me now." She jokes when Harry told her he's her boyfriend in future and her heart did a lil dance of having someone this gorgeous, "You're beautiful, candyeyed." He assures her when she thought there were faults in her that nobody seemed to be attracted to her.

Is it the pet name he calls her? She likes it.

"So . . .? You love me then, Harry?" She stirs the tea spoon not meeting his gaze and something hits her hard, swallowing her whole when his sincere voice melted in her ears.

"'Course, love you so much." She frowns taking in the tears at his bayline and it makes her stroke his knuckles, asking him in genuine concern.

"You alright?" He shakes his head sniffling the sentiments back and quickly speaks seeing his hand disappear from under her, "gotta go, bye -bye."

"Will you come to meet me, again?" She rushes and he smiles giving her a flying kiss with puckering lips, "Always candyeyed, always."

//

"You're telling me that my future self wrote letters to me present self?" She gasps with a slack jaw and Harry bobs his head happily, leaning away from the book shelf in her room to walk towards her flopping beside her.

"That's exciting and scary at the same time." She quips with a sigh snuggling to his side and when glances up he's already gazing down at her in utter fondness, "nope, you're gonna do so good." He runs his thumb over her shoulder blades and she almost melted into his touch.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Can I kiss you, my love?" She nods without taking her eyes away from him and they slip shut when Harry cupped the back of her neck bringing her closer to put his plushie mouth on her's and kiss her with reverent that nourishes in his heart everytime he sees her, it'll never die.

When she sees him vanishing she kisses him harder, "don't go this early, will miss you." He showers her in pecks promising her that he'll come to meet her to the day he's alive.

//

"What you mean to say's that I'll die? Is that soon?" Her voice wavers and Harry cuddles her closer to his chest to comfort her. Maybe, it was a bad idea telling her the truth. Indeed it was when soft sniffles and hiccups emitted from her.

"Don't cry baby. It hurts me awful." He sponges lil kisses to the dip of her neck, pinching his breath in his throat to stop himself from crying. He misses her terribly and the bed feels cold without her being in his arms.

"'M just frightened 'n, 'n I don't want to leave you." She sobs. She's a sensitive person. But, who wouldn't cry knowing they'll die early than their 60's or whatever. To divert her attention he shines light upon more beautiful moments.

"We've a gorgeous lil baby boy and he just said his first word! Wanna know what it's?" He chirps and she nods wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, "Mama!!" It makes her inners bursts. She couldn't fathom in million years that she'd be this lucky.

"He's a mama boy then." She giggles but Harry's silence halts her and it all dawns upon her. Too late as Harry lets out ugly sobs from his lungs and it wells up her eyes too, "'m sure you're gonna a good daddy, Harry." He calms himself cupping her cheeks and tilts his chin to kiss her lips.

"I love you so much. Our baby bambi loves you so much." He lays them back under the blankets cuddling her to him and she smiles wet-ly cheek smushed over his chest as she admires him, "Guess his name?"

"Tove?" She asks with a glint of happiness, "Absolutely! I call him tovie-dovie." Their heartbeats in melancholy and sync.

"Tell him, I love him so much."

"Every day, baby. Every day."

//

She writes letters to their baby boy daily, not letting him think that he'll be forlorn of his mother's love. Special ones for his birthday's and flowers tucked in each envelope with a message of kindness and love.

//

She was bringing her tea from the kitchen to her room when she hears thump of footsteps outside it doesn't startle her anymore. Harry keeps on coming and going many times, his visits are frequent now even if they're for some hours. He teases her that she'll forget about him after meeting the one with her present timeline and she always kisses him affectionately with a murmur, "Doesn't matter all Harry's belongs to me."

The cup falls on the carpet and it leaves the stain but she doesn't care as harry stands infront of her with a boy who looks exactly like her and got mellowness of hazel in his irirses, he looks upto his father at the visible shock they influenced her and Harry just cooes at him.

"C'mon bubba mama's waiting to cuddle ye' up." He pats his head and urges him forward. His smile bright as Y/N hunches on her knees and opens her arms to embrace her darling, "Mama!" He toddles excitedly to her and it made her cry more.

The moment he was in her arms she knew nothing mattered anymore and it was worth dying for this bundle of joy in her arms, "Mama." He again babbles caressing his face against her cheek as she hugged him for dear life.

"Tovie turned two and he time travels too." Harry explains and god knows how much effort harry put in to teleport them together at the same timeline.

"Yes, my love, my dear life 'm your mama. I love you so much bubby." She smacks loud kisses all over his soft baby face and he giggles at the top of his chest stopping her. "Happy birthday, Tovis, how bout we celebrate!?" She just kept on kissing her baby knowing that she wouldn't be able to do it after he'll born.

"Love you mama." The poor bug wanted to say this loud for so long.

"Me to bubby, me too."

Harry swipes them two in a big blankety hug and anoggles them tightly to his chest making them laugh terribly loud, "Me too!!" He squeaks cheekily smothering them in kisses and they think they'll figure out how to find happiness.

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 22~

Warning!! The story has a lot of violence and blood.

Chapter 21

*

*

*

---------Part 1---------

Kurama: "Stop! Ibuki-----" 

 Yoshino: "......!!" 

 Kurama pushes me and I fall to the ground. The next moment, I felt a splash of blood on my face.

 I realized it was Kurama's blood. 

 Yoshino: "Kurama...what..." 

 Kurama: "Nn.....Didn't I order you not to get scratched by other men?"

(No! Don’t lie to me anymore...I hate it...)

Ibuki: “That’s a great result. I knew my instincts were good. I’m glad I gave you Yoshino.”

Kurama: “.......”

A ragged breath escapes from Kurama’s clenched lips, and a gust of wind with the smell of death rolls in.

Ibuki: “Well, that’s quite an injury you got there.”

The lightning flashes from across the wind dazzle the eye.

(Lend me the power of the nine-tail fox----)

Ibuki: “I like you. I like people who don’t give up, who struggle in vain.”

The greatsword split the wind and closed in on me as I tried to drown out the alien power.

(Almost there----)

Kurama: “Don’t touch what’s mine.”

Kurama hugs me tightly as he covers me.

Yoshino: “Kurama!”

Kurama: “...don’t...make a fuss...”

Black wings fluttered from his back as he took the brunt of Ibuki’s attack.

His limbs began to weaken and he barely managed to hold on.

(Why are you defending me to such an extent?)

Ibuki: “.....Nnn...”

Ibuki, whose shoulder was ripped open by the tornado, stepped back holding his wound.

(But it’s only a matter of time before he’ll kill us...)

Kurama: “Yoshino, you have to run away!”

Yoshino: “But.”

Kurama: “Hurry up! You have to...”

(I don’t like it.)

Ibuki: “If you, who have trampled on the weak, should be defeated by the stronger, that would be just providence. It was fun, Kurama. You’re good as dead now.”

Yoshino: “Stop!”

Kurama: “!!”

I thrust my palms forward, feeling the lightning and roar with my body.

(Nn...hot....)

Yoshino; “Nnn....nn...”

The unquenchable heat burned my skin and the pain was so intense that I cried.

Kurama: “Idiot....why are you....doing this....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. My body moved on it’s own...

2. I won’t leave Kurama...

3. I told you, I wanna fight together...(+4/+4)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: “No....I told you..already...I’ll fight together with you...”

Kurama: “Tch...No. I will not allow you to put yourself in danger anymore.”

I tried staying on my two feet, but I was too weak....

Ibuki: “It’s a beautiful feeling. Unfortunately, it won’t work against me.”

Ibuki walks up to me through the sand and looks down at me in amusement.

(No....)

I tried my best to resist being picked up by him.

Yoshino: “Nn....”

The palm of his hand pressed lightly against my back, and I became numb. I felt my body slowly losing its power.

Ibuki: “I don’t mind you struggling. But I’m tired and you’re too.”

Kurama: “Let go---Yoshino!”

--------Part 2---------

Kurama: “Let go---Yoshino!”

Kurama crawls towards me on Ibuki’s shoulders and reaches out for my hand.

Ibuki: “Sorry. I gave her as a toy once, but now, I’m taking her away. I wish I could have played with you longer, but now it’s time to say goodbye, Kurama.”

Kurama: “Ibuki!”

Ibuki: “....Hahaha. I love to watch you dying with that cute face .” (For this, I can’t deny. Because when Kurama glares, it looks incredibly cute.)

As Ibuki said, the light in Kurama’s red eyes is not spoiled even at times like this.

It was glittering and glowing with rage.

Yoshino: “No! Stop---!”

Just as Ibuki raises his great sword-------

???: “How dare you make my Yoshino cry, Shuten Doji.”

Ibuki: “...!”

(This voice-----)

Suddenly, we're surrounded by blue flames and Ibuki turns around.

Ibuki: “-----Foxfires.”

Tamamo: “Correct.”

Yoshino: “Tamamo!”

Kurama: “...why are...you....”

I looked at him in amazement at how much I had missed him.

(Did you come to help...?)

Tamamo walks up to us, his beautiful silver hair fluttering.

Tamamo: “Release Yoshino, right now.”

Ibuki: “No can do, Nine-tail fox.”

With an uncanny calmness, Ibuki distances himself from Tamamo.

Ibuki: “It would be churlish to spoil the fun.”

Tamamo: “According to my aesthetics, no amount of bad taste play can disturb me. I was the first to arrive on the scene when I heard of the raid on the Imperial Court.....Following the trail of the magic, I didn’t expect this.”

Ibuki: “Oh dear, I stayed back for too long. But, how are you going to attack me when I have this woman in my arms?”

Tamamo: “Hmm...what should I do?”

He smiled and nodded his head.

Tamamo: “Let’s just make sure we don’t hit Yoshino, I guess.”

With the words, small foxfires emerge around Ibuki.

(When did you...!)

Ibuki: “Heh, you are really careful, aren’t you?”

Ibuki’s great sword swept away the blue flames that were coming at us all at once.

Ibuki: “.....!”

One of the fox fires scorches Ibuki from the front.

Ibuki: “The rest of them were illusions, huh----I hate you already.”

(Amazing! Such a skill on a spur of the moment----)

Tamamo: “Sorry, I’m so good at concocting spells, aren’t I?”

He snapped his fingers and said in a droll tone.

Then the foxfire floated in the air again......

Ibuki: “You’re blowing, you little fox. You’ll never bring me to my knees with your petty attacks.”

Tamamo: “I suppose so. Trouble is, my power is far from recovered.”

--------Part 3-------

Tamamo: “I suppose so. Trouble is, my power is far from recovered. But....”

He snapped his fingers once more, and all at once, the foxfires exploded.

Tamamo shouts to drown out the sound.

Tamamo: “You’re not the kind of lad who sleeps around here, are you? Kurama!”

Kurama: “You don’t have to tell me that!”

(Kurama....)

The wind whipped up with a roar.

Ibuki: “....You’re a dead man, you know that?”

Cut and bleeding by a blade of wind, Ibuki still smiles thinly.

Tamamo: “Are you ready to give up and give Yoshino to us?”

Ibuki: “No way. We’ll just play our trump card. Don’t just stand there and watch. Give me a hand, Yasuchika!”

(Eh!?)

Kurama and Tamamo: “.......”

In a breathless moment, the space in the shadow of the grove to which Ibuki’s gaze was directed, was distorted.

Yasuchika: “......I hope you don’t try to use it as a convenience.”

Yoshino: “Yasuchika..san...!?”

Yasuchika-san emerged from the distortion.

He had a cold face, unlike the aloofness I know him to be.

Tamamo: “I knew you would come, Yasuchika.”

Kurama: “.....”

The foxfire and the blade of the wind flew towards Yasuchika at the same time.

Yoshino: “Nn....”

The purple light spreads like a net to prevent the foxfire and the wind blade.

I found him holding a piece of paper with an intricate pattern on it at his fingertips.

(Is that...a talisman?)

Yasuchika: “Hi, Tamamo-chin and Kura-rin. Also, fox princess, how are you doing?”

Though he’s smiling, I can’t read his mind at all.

(It’s not like the fear of Kurama or Ibuki. I don’t know what to say.)

Ibuki: “Brilliant, Yasuchika.”

Yasuchika: “In Onmyoji arts, unlike the powers of demons, there is a price to pay for great skill. Ibuki. You know this very well, but you’re playing on the assumption that I’ll clean up after you.”

Ibuki: “I’m doing it for ‘him.”

Yasuchika: “I hate you, because you know I’ll shut up when you say his name....Now, let's go.”

In the next moment, the purple net changes shape like smoke.

Tamamo: “Tch...smokescreen.”

Kurama: “Wait! Give her back to me! She’s mine----”

Kurama tried to run at us from behind a thick smokescreen, but an invisible wall blocked his way.

Yoshino: “Ku..rama...”

(I wish I could be near you right now.)

I want to hold your bleeding body and tell you not to be reckless, but I can’t do that now.

Soon purple smoke blocked the view....

Ibuki: “Sleep for now.”

Ibuki’s voice rumbled inside my head and my consciousness crashed into darkness.

......................

By the time the purple smoke had cleared, Ibuki, Yasuchika, and Yoshino were already gone.

Kurama: “.............”

Tamamo: “Where are you going, Kurama?”

--------Part 4------

Tamamo: “Where are you going, Kurama?”

Kurama stands up, bleeding, and Tamamo stands in front of him.

Kurama: “I’ll follow them. I’ll follow the traces of his magic....”

Tamamo: “I’m sure Yasuchika will be well prepared. And with your body, Ibuki will finish you off....or will you risk your life and stab each other in the back?”

Kurama: “It’s better than being humiliated.”

Tamamo quietly met his gaze, which was filled with icy anger.

Tamamo: “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to endure----but, Yoshino would be destroyed if she knew you died for her.”

Kurama clicked his tongue hearing Tamamo’s words.

....................

(Mmm......)

The shock to the body wakes me up.

Ibuki: “You’re up. Just in time.”

(Ibuki! Where are we-----)

I jumped up in a panic and found that I had been lowered to the ground inside a tent.

Yasuchika: “Sorry to wake you up from your sleep, so early but I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Yoshino: “...?”

Still, with a confused mind, I turn to the direction indicated by Yasuchika-san.

???: “We finally meet, fox princess.” (AHHHHHH MY HEART!!!!!)

(Who is this man?)

In a graceful robe and a mysterious tone.

His quiet beautiful eyes seem to draw me in as I look at him.

Yoshino: “Who are you....?”

When I ask him, he gives me a soft, languid smile.

???: “A lot of people call me Sutokuin or Your Majesty. I don’t really like it, it’s too ostentatious.”

( ‘Sutokuin’....you mean the Emperor who gave up his throne. right?”

Yoshino: “Don’t joke about it! No member of the Imperial family would be here.”

???: “That’s right too. So, will you call me Akihito?”

Yoshino: “Akihito-san?”

Akihito: “Mm. I like it. Hearing ‘san’ next to my name feels fresh. But if you want, you can call me like how you call Ibuki.”

Yasuchika: “.....Akihito-sama. We don’t have time to play games.”

(Onmyoji is supposed to be a high-status profession, isn’t it? I can’t believe that Yasuchika-san calls him “sama”)

As I looked at them in surprise, Yasuchika-san turned to me.

Yasuchika: “Yoshino-san. It’s understandable that you don’t believe us, but.....Akihito-sama is the former Emperor of Hinomoto(Japan)”

(No way...)

Still, in doubt, a new question arises.

Yoshino: “You mean...”

Akihito: “I'll be straightforward. In the eyes of the world, I should have been dead by now.”

-------Part 5--------

Akihito: “ “I'll be straightforward. In the eyes of the world, I should have been dead by now. It’s kind of like the same situation as Yoshitsune.”

Ibuki: “I think your situation is somewhat more complicated than his.”

(It’s too far-fetched to be a lie to make any sense. Then...?)

Yoshino: “Wait, if that’s true....and aside from Yasuchika-san, there is one more person responsible for all this chaos------”

I was surprised.

Yoshino: “Does that mean, the one who made a deal with Ibuki-----is you?”

Akihito: “You’re clever.”

Ibuki: “Isn’t it ironic. A man with the noblest blood in the land of Japan is bound to a demon.” (Ironic and badass!!)

Yasuchika: “It’s not the worst mistake. As for me, I’d kill that demon any day.”

Yasuchika-san replied to Ibuki with a smile.

(Ibuki made a deal with the former emperor...so he got some of his powers as well?)

Yoshino: “Then Akihito-sama....what is your purpose?”

Akihito: “Akihito-sama’...well, there’s nothing that can be done about that now.”

Akihito-sama murmured, unfortunately.

Akihito: “I’m not averse to straightforward questions. I’ve got a grudge against the whole Hinomoto. So I’m going to curse and destroy all of them.”

His voice is so soothing that I’m willing to listen to it forever.

The softness of his speech made it all the more strikingly different.

Yoshino: “....Are you serious?”

Akihito: “Nope. I lied.”

The smile on his face is both deceptive and sorrowful.

(What kind of life do you have to live to make you laugh like this?)

Ibuki: “Don’t scare her, Akihito.”

Akihito: “I didn’t mean to.”

Yasuchika: “Now that the introduction is over, let’s get to the main subject.”

Softly, Yasuchika-san interrupts us.

Yasuchika: “Have the Shogunate and the Rebels reached the battlefield?”

Akihito: “Yes. The advance team is arriving on both sides. I’ve just had private soldiers attack each end of the line and pass on the information. The Shogunate was defrauded by the Rebels, and the Rebels by the Shogunate, who broke their promise to hand over the prisoners.”

(That’s...!)

Yoshino: “Yoritomo-sama and Yoshitsune-sama will be sure of the truth.”

Akihito: “The main body will arrive a little later. Will they be able to control it all the way to the end? All we need is to make a small edge of a big crowd suspicious.”

Ibuki: “If one of us gets carried away and starts a fight, it can quickly spread to the whole of them and cause a huge fire. Because humans are cute but stupid creatures.”

Then Akihito-san turns to me.

Akihito: “What is your name again?”

Yoshino: “....Yoshino.”

Akihito: “Yoshino. I’ll remember you.”

Then Akihito-sama lowered his eyelashes as if he was slightly troubled.

Akihito: “I want to apologize to you. You can hate me all you want. One more curse on me now won’t make much difference.”

(What are you going to me....?)

Chapter 23

[alovesongshewrote]

Swords and Stab Wounds | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You had moved to Arcadia to avoid participating in world ending cataclysms, but fate had something else in mind.  Now you’re helping stop the Eternal Night in some unconventional ways.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x StronglyHintedtobeaDemigodorOtherMagicalCreature!Gender Neutral!Reader]

Word Count:  2,364 approx.

Warnings:  Stabbing, minor mentions of blood, a wee bit of angst, swearing, Archie doesn’t like you (it’s because of the stabbing,)

masterlist

This wasn’t happening.

Nope, nope, nopenopenopenopenopenopenopenope, not today.

You were not okay with this, so you had elected to ignore it.  But that never works, does it?

So, now you were face to face with a great monster beyond comprehension.  The sky was orange, monsters and men were fighting everywhere, and some lady in golden armor was pretty clearly trying to take over the world.  And you had moved to Arcadia to avoid this kind of thing.

You sighed.  This demonic creature of sin wouldn’t wait for you to process everything that had happened today.  It was time for action.  You looked around for something to defend yourself with. There wasn’t much.  Just a few sticks and a fast-food cup.  You wished you had a sword.  Any sword.  There were no swords.  You turned back to the awful horrible abomination advanced above the human mind.  It was advancing.  That wasn’t good.

Before you could decide whether to run, fight, or give up, a boy emerged from absolutely nowhere and struck the thing with a guitar, killing it instantly.  This did not phase you, stranger things have, in fact, happened.

“You alright darling?”

Oh shit, he was talking to you.  And he had an accent.  Nice.

“Uh, yeah, I’m good,”

The boy gave you a thumbs up and ran back into the fray.  You should’ve probably gotten in there too, but also nyeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, no thank you.

As if it had heard your hesitation, the universe decided to make this worse for everyone involved and blow up some various objects.  You couldn’t tell what it was, you just saw fire and smoke.  And then you heard the screams.  As done with war and fighting as you were, you couldn’t stand by and let innocent people suffer.

It was time to go find a sword.

--

Finding a sword was not as hard as it sounded.  There were a lot of them lying on the ground, just none in the spot where you’d been attacked.  T’was inconvenient.  As you fought, you realized that these were probably weapons of the deceased.  You could mourn later, now was the time to- DUCK.

You maneuvered around one of the regular bad monsters (not the colossal tower of pure malice that you’d been saved from earlier,) finding an opening and striking.  Fighting came to you as easy as breathing.  Since you were a child you’d been fighting.  Fighting for your family, your friends, your home.  And now you were fighting again, for the innocent.  When would the forces of evil take a nap?

‘Probably never,’ you thought as you slid under a sword, turning on your knees to slice the back of the creature’s knees.  

Maybe it’s good that some things never change.  Evil always wants to fight, and knees are always a weak point.

You stood, taking a deep breath as you looked at the carnage around you.  Most of it was actually caused by you.  You were very good with a sword.

“Woah,” a voice came from behind you.  You spun around, pointing the tip of your blade at the new opponent, but instead of another rock-thing, you found the boy who had saved you earlier.

You lowered your blade, “Hey,”

The boy walked towards you, taking in the field of rock at your feet, “This is-”

“Different?”

“Nuclear!  Maybe you didn’t need my help after all,”

“Oh, no, I totally did.  I had no weapon and no hope,”

The boy seemed taken aback by your words.  Arcadians probably weren’t this blunt, at least under normal circumstances.  You weren’t sure, you had only lived here a week.

“Alright then, do you-”

“DOUXIE, LOOK OUT!!”  a voice called.  You had no idea where it came from, but you didn’t care.  A monster had appeared behind the boy, and it was ready to strike.  You had five seconds to do something.

And in those five seconds, you did what anyone else would do and you ran them both through with your sword.  It was super effective.

The boy cried out in pain, because, you know, he’d just been stabbed, and the monster crumbled to stone behind him.  Good.  Now all that was left was to take care of the boy.

You withdrew your sword from his abdomen, earning a groan of pain, “You-you stabbed me,”

“Yes, you’re very observant, now let me see it,”

You put your weapon on the ground, not super jazzed about his blood coating the blade.  Oh well, sometimes sacrifices must be made.

You helped the boy lie on the ground and moved your hands above his wound.  You were ready to go, but then a dragon attacked you.

It wasn’t a big dragon.  In fact, it was about the size of a cat.  However, size doesn't really matter when it comes to damage dealt, and this cat-dragon was dealing a lot of damage.

“What the fu-”

“STAY AWAY FROM HIM,”  Oh, so this was an angry cat-dragon.  Probably the boy’s.

“Okay, dude, calm down, I can’t help if you don’t let me,”

“You’ve helped enough!”  Cat-dragon was still not pleased with you.  And was still attacking, so you moved your hands, stopping the creature in mid-air, grabbing it from where it flew.

“Okay, look,”  you sighed,  “I am sorry I stabbed your friend, but if you don’t let me heal him, he will die,”

“Ughhh, thanks for that,”  you wondered if the boy was always this funny, or if it was just the stab wound talking.

The cat-dragon fixed you with a terrifying glare, one that would have turned you to stone if you didn’t have work to do, “I will let you help him, but if you try anything you’ll be burned to a crisp before your body hits the ground,”

It was an impressive threat, especially from such a small creature.  

“Don’t worry,” you said, setting the cat-dragon down, “I won’t hurt him anymore,”

The cat-dragon then turned into an actual cat, curling up next to the boy’s head.  It was then you realized that the creature was wearing some really nice glasses.  You had several questions but now was not the time.

Wasting no more time, you shut your eyes and took a deep breath.  Silently, you placed your hands upon the boy’s stab wound, wincing slightly at the feeling of his blood covering your skin.  You felt bad about it.  There were probably better ways to kill that monster, but you couldn’t focus on that right now.  You had to focus.

And so you did.  And the magic flowed through you.  It was soft and warm, and bright.  You relaxed, letting the spell numb you, calming your nerves, and mending your broken skin.  It felt like a soft fire, lighting your soul ablaze, and taking everything else with it.  And then you felt numb.  The magic was burning through you, and burning out.  Exhaustion began to claw at you, but you bit your lip and persisted.  You were nowhere near finished.

Now it was the boy's turn.  Raising your hands, you let the spell drip from you and onto him.  Hopefully, the magic had taken enough energy from you to spare him from the numb fatigue that tore into you.  God knows you’d already caused him enough pain.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the magic to heal him.  A few minutes went by and his breathing returned to normal.  He would be okay.

And with your positive diagnosis, you let the spell go, releasing the energy into the universe and knocking you over.  You elected to remain on the ground, groaning.  You could hear the cat-dragon-cat talking to the boy.  You should probably say something too.

 “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for that,”

You waited for a moment.  Something else blew up nearby, but you needed a minute before you had the energy to care about it.

“I’m sorry I stabbed you.  I really couldn’t think of another way,”

“Why not let the troll attack me, and if I got hurt you could heal me then?”

“I couldn’t know how bad it would hurt you.  I don’t know very much about what’s going on here.  But I do know that I can heal a stab wound.  A… what did you say troll?  A troll attack I don’t know if I could manage,”

“That’s… fair?”

“Thanks,” you nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see you.  There was more silence, another explosion.  You really wanted a nap.

“So, your cat-dragon talks?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s a shapeshifter, actually.  My familiar,”

“Dope,”

“My name is Archie, however, you may not address me at all, much less by my name,”

“That’s fair,” you said, closing your eyes.  There was a rock digging into your side.  You couldn’t nap here, “I did almost kill your guy,”

“My name is Douxie,”

“Cool, cool, cool, I’m (Y/N),”  you sat up and turned to face him, letting yourself take him in for the first time.  

He was definitely cute.  He was tall with a very nice face and hazel eyes that stunned you for a moment.  His black was dyed blue at the ends, and the ends themselves were so long that they hung in his face.  He had an aesthetic going for him for sure, a black hoodie, skull necklace.  What would that be, cryptidcore?  Dark academia?  Punk?  The metal cuff on his wrist definitely added to the confusion, but it probably didn’t matter too much what aesthetic this guy subscribed too.  Maybe, if one day fate was kind enough to let him forgive you for stabbing him you could ask.

For now, there were more pressing questions,  “So, what’s your deal?  You have a familiar, so you’re either a witch or a wizard,”

“Wizard.  What about you?  Not everyone in this town can run a man through with a sword and heal him immediately after,”

“Good to know.  In short, I’m a healer witch with a sword.  In long-form I was a child soldier sent into a war that I never should have been a part of because of who my parents were,”

“Oh...  (Y/N) I’m... I’m sorry-”

“It’s not your fault, it was a long time ago,”

“A long time?”  Douxie sat up, “So you-”

“Yeah, I’ve been around for a while,”

There was another second of silence while you both tried to figure out what to say next, but that stopped being a problem almost instantly.

“Douxie, I don’t want to stop you from bonding with the witch who stabbed you,” Archie said in a way that made it 100% clear that he absolutely wanted to stop Douxie from bonding with the witch who stabbed him, “But there is still a battle going on,”

“Right,” the wizard stood up now, without any sign that he’d been dying a moment before.  You’d done well healing him. 

“Well, (Y/N), I guess I’ll see you on the other side,”  he extended a hand to you.

You looked up at him.  Maybe this was the start of forgiveness.  That would be nice.

You took his hand and stood.

“See you on the other side, wizard,”  you took a moment, debating whether or not this next move would be a good idea.  It was a bad one, but you went for it anyway, “Bye Archie. I like your glasses,”

You ran off before the cat could threaten your life again.

--

It had been, like, a week, since Morgana and the rock squad had tried to bring Night Eternal to Arcadia, and you were settling in pretty well.

You had finally unpacked all of your things, including your decently sized sword collection, now with the addition of a Gumm-Gumm sword (not the same one that you’d nearly killed Douxie with.  You still felt guilty about that and you’d decided to pick up a new one.)

Now, you were out for a walk near a bookstore.  It looked interesting enough, so you decided to look into the front window, only to jump out of your skin when you saw Douxie on the inside, sweeping away at the floor.  Unfortunately, he also saw you.  So you decided to run.

You didn’t get very far.  The wizard caught up to you almost immediately without having to run.  It was your fault though.  You had run into a dead-end alleyway.  

“(Y/N)!  Hey!  How’ve you been?  I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since I stabbed you.  I’m sorry about that by the way,”

“I mean… I wasn’t going to say that, but you are forgiven,”

“Great!  Now if you excuse me, I’m just gonna,”  You began to walk to the end of the alley, planning on climbing over the wall to get out of this awkward situation, but once again, you did not get far.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

You froze with one leg already on the wall.  Slowly, you turned to face him. “I’m sorry, but did I not stab you a week ago?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see how that interferes with coffee,”

“Why-what-how do you,”

“Are you okay, love?”

“Why don’t you hate me!?”

Douxie blinked and then smiled at you.  Your knees felt weak.  Was that a wizard thing?  Was he doing that?

“You weren’t trying to hurt me, you were just doing what you thought was right.  You have a weird way of doing things, but I respect it.  Archie on the other hand-”

“Will your familiar kill me if I get coffee with you?”

Douxie put a hand to his chin, “He might try, but I won’t let him,”

You laughed at that, just a little, “Good.  In that case, I’d love to get coffee sometime,”

“Brilliant!  Now, do you want to get out of this alleyway?”

“Yes,”

“Okay, let’s go,”

And from there, the two of you had a very nice conversation on the way back to the bookstore where Archie tried to burn you alive.

It was a nice walk though, despite the singed edges on your clothing from the familiar at your destination.  From the sounds of things, you’d get to know what aesthetic the wizard subscribed to very soon.  And for the first time in a long time, you actually looked forward to something.

[badboy-mysweetboy]

One Dangerous Stiff

Eric Coulter× fem reader

Ok..... Hear me out. Thus dude is just mighty fine and he could shove me off a cliff and id smile🙃 enjoy btw this don't follow the plot bro.

Warning: Sad, swearing, cute ending, badass reader

Random tags: @missmarrinette​ @pindragon​ @ericcoulterdauntlessdivergent​ @ericcoultergirl9499​

"So who's it gonna be?" Eric, one of the leaders asked eyeing the new recruits. "Me," I spoke up walking from the back of the group, his cold blue eyes bore into the side of my head as I presented in front of the group. "Is there water? Or a net?" A boy behind me asks, approaching the ledge and turning to the group with a smirk.

Eric's eyebrow raises at the movement. "Boy, I sure hope not." Rasing my fingers in a gun motion to under my chin, pulling the trigger. Lifting my weight from me, the wind throwing my h/c flowing above me as the ledge above me got smaller and smaller. The darkness around it grew to tuck my arms under my head and crossing my legs as if I was on a couch, watching the game. Then my weight was caught in a net.

Landing, my weight shifted as I looked over at a familiar face. "Y/n?" His eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Oh look my least favorite number, how long has it been 7 years? I can't remember." Getting off the net walking away as Four sent up a whistle and another came down. Beatrice, from my old, shitty faction. Abnegation.

As he pulled the net down, their eyes met and never let go. Making gagging noises they caught on before another was sent down. Four kept a gaze on me before Eric leaped down. He walked in front of the group once again as more teens walked in but in all black. Standing in the back I made mental note of the people that stood in front of me, finally meeting with a blue pair already looking at me. Eric's smirk grew into a... Smile. Bouncing my eyebrows, erupting a chuckle. Continuing his speech, my mind wandered to younger days.

"You can't catch me!" A laugh left his lips as my smaller frame tried to keep up. "Slow down!" My younger squeaky voice called out to him, running in between houses and crowds trying so desperately to just graze his skin. Before abruptly stopping being met with a chest, looking up I was met with a scary, familiar face. "Daddy? What's wro-" His hands.

Dug into my arms as he pulled me back to the box-like house, a pair of familiar eyes followed what happened. Screaming and kicking, my cheek stung as my head whipped to the side meeting his eyes once more. "Help me! Big brother, please! Don't let him hurt me!"

Instead of a hero, I was met with a coward, him shaking his head.

But that wasn't new.

But was new was he never came back.

Never.

My body painted in splotches of dark shades, my memories even darker. Daddy.

He blamed me for mom, now brother. Brother never got hit, even though he made me so mad, I'm happy I can protect him from daddy.

I don't know where he went, he was only 9 and I was 7 but I hoped he was safe till 16.

"Follow me." Shaking my head I follow as he mapped out the place to me, "Badass" noticing the grunge military aesthetic. "You're a stiff?" A gruff voice from behind me, turning to see ice blue once again. "What? Happy to see me?"

"Ha ha very funny, but no I meant-" he started, smiling I winked. "I know what ya meant, just giving ya trouble." Chuckling he continued next to me as we were showed the bunking area, " change into new clothes, we burn your old ones in 5."

"Fucking finally" walking into the room while everyone else looked around. Stripping and diving into my new black ones, turning I caught the sight of a neck tattoo before it disappeared behind the wall.

Picking up my old gray clothes and gliding towards the bonfire already made. The heat made me smile. As Four went on and on about new beginnings I tossed my clothes in like it was trash while others held it dearly to their hearts.

"Get over it. It's not like you wanted to stay, throw it in the damn fire so we can move on." I grumbled before shadowing behind the crying group. Passing it. Training. Finally.

Fighting was the only thing I knew after that day with my brother. Relentlessly for 7 years. I built up my strength and got away from the man who hurt me day after day. "What do you got stiff?" A dude was mocking Tris, who was having trouble with throwing a punch. Approaching them and grabbing her hand and pulling her with me. Standing here in front of the bag next to mine, sighing before putting her in the most impactful stance. "Tension here" pointing to her abdomen, "not here" pointing at her stomach. "Weight here, then shift it as you swing" leading her on her back foot to her front. "Swivel your foot with it. Go, right hook it."

Swallowing, Tris did as told and landed a decent punch. Eyes widening she met my e/c eyes, "It didn't hurt." Going to my bag I responded, " because you're the one supposed to give damage not receive-" throwing a hooked punch, "now keep going it hurts less more ya do it, rookie." As my fists met the leather images from childhood flashed in my mind, faces, voices. Every memory leads to a harder punch.

"Y/n and Al, ring now." Eric's cold voice boomed over the cement room, turning to the ring a boy stepped in. Smirking I went in between the ropes and cracked my knuckles. "I can't hit her, Can I fight a guy?" Al asked looking me up and down, Eric's face went from his normal bitch face to disgust. "Really? Just fight her, she has over double your score. Go!" At his command All slowly approaches, scanning his stance I could tell his core was his main focus of strength. Sighing as his fist flew passed my head, grabbing his arm and launched my foot into his side earning a yell of pain. Before twisting the now dislodged shoulder so his arm was behind his back. Laying on the floor at my will, I sat on his back holding the position as I fake checked my nails. "I'm thinking safe word fellas, how bout pork and beans?"

The boy was groaning in pain when he and Eric in unison, "What?"

"I don't know I saw it in a movie. Now, Al, I want you to repeat after me. Four is the worst number." His eyes met mine, "I can't say that."

Pulling his arm farther and farther as he screamed and the group grew as Four and Eric watched me whisper in his ear. "Say It! Or else..." Pulling his arm he yelped, "Four is the... Worse number. Now please." Sighing thinking about it for a second, "I guess so." Getting up and jump out of the ring. Watching Four as his eyes connected to his shoes, walking to the knifes section. Practice, yes I was like a perfected machine but all I knew was to fight.

That's all I've ever known.

Throwing the heavy but not too heavy weapons, the figure of the tall man came back. Making the knives go further... Faster. Until I reached down and no knives were found. Looking up, Eric was holding the box. "Dinner was called 25 minutes ago. You need to eat."

"Why do you care if I eat? You have 45 new robots to program that is eating. I don't eat dinner. Not when I can be here." Never breaking the gaze as my hand refilled with serrated steel, he grabbed my wrist with the blades. " because I like you. And I don't like people, and you're easily the best fighter here. So shower and I hope I see you in the cafeteria, or I'll come lookin" He smirked at the end, "Is that a threat or a promise Eric?" Smirking stepping forward being so close I could feel the hot breath fan over my skin. Glancing between his icy blue eyes and his pink lips I lean in a bit closer dropping the knives in the box, "I guess we'll see then?" Backing away before swaying my hips all the way to the bunks, finding the showers. Peeling the grimy clothes off my body and stepping into the icy water. The colder the better, cleaning the sweat off my skin. I turned the water off and drying off and putting on my bra and underwear.

Walking passed the mirrors I stop in my tracks. I've never seen my self as a whole, damn I'm ugly. Glancing over the scars and abs carved into my skin. Placing the tank and jeans on over the marks, I swiftly make my way to my bunk. Pulling on my boots I hear boots hit the floor growing nearer, “I thought you may have gotten the hint by now but here you are.” Turning and seeing Four, “How’d you know it was me, Y/n?” 

“Because you’re heavy-footed, and you lead with your left foot instead of the average right. Now please excuse me, I’m hungry.” Walking passed him before I felt his hand around my wrist. Stopping in my tracks he let out a heavy breath. “Y/n I’m sorry-” 

Yanking my wrist out of his grip with a cold glare, “No you’re not. You left me alone with that monster for 7 years.

 Not 7 minutes, 

Not 7 hours.

 Not 7 days. 

7 YEARS! Catch my drift you ugly bastard? Even though you ran away every time he decided to punish someone, you’d come back. But at least you came back-oh wait. You didn’t. And really the name Four? Do you really hate me that much? We both know, that’s the time dad got home every day. Leave me alone, Good-Bye Tobias.” 

The cold glare I gave him could kill, another pair of boots could be heard but my eyes never left his. “You were supposed to be my big brother.” In a small whisper left my lips before turning back to the cafeteria. Eric stood at the end of the hallway with a curious look written on his face. “Come on Y/n, I am.” Tobias’s voice echoed, not even turning to meet his gaze. “You lost that title, You haven’t been in a long time. Do what you’re good at. Disappear, Tobias.” Before continuing to Eric as we made our way back.

“Don’t mean to pry but. Tobias? What is he to you?” Eric asked as we sat with our food in front of us. Sitting criss-cross on the bench I look over, “Tobias- I mean Four grew up together. But you would collect that since you heard our argument.” Giving a small smirk at the end taking a swig of water from my cup, he chuckled placing some of the ripped up biscuit into his mouth. “Sorry bout that, but like I said I was gonna come to look for ya. So you’re old friends?” 

Finishing the food in my mouth I answered, “Well not exactly a friend. A friend you can rip off like a bandaid, painful but gone. Nope. To- Four was like cancer, you can’t get rid of it. Somehow, he comes back. But I thought he was gone for good. Shows how much I know.” I chuckle coldly eating a bit more, we sat in short silence. I could see the gears turning. Before the girl from before sat down next to me, a- Tris was her name. “Can I help you?” I ask before plopping food into my mouth, she tugged at her long black sleeves. “I wanted to thank you for earlier, he was being a jerk. And teaching me how to...” She mumbled off, “Throwing a hook? No problem Rookie. Now if ya please, go back to your chair before Four thinks he can sit over here.” I grumble the last part, letting out a heavy sigh when Four plops down across from me. 

Standing from the table I turn and go up the stairs the second Four sat. Clenching my jaw I quickly make my way up the stairs and to the roof, slamming the door shut and grumbling. “Who the fuck he think he is? Walking in like he fucking did nothing? God, I wish I didn’t love him!” I rant sitting on the ledge letting my feet dangle. 

“You love Four?” I heard an angry voice from the doorway, his chest puffed up. Looking over at Eric, “Trust me, not the way you think. Come. Pop a squat.” I pat the cement next to me, he was at my side within seconds. “Then how do you love Tobias?” 

I gulped looking longing at the bright lights against the dark sky, “Tobias is- was my big brother. We had a rough childhood. My dad was an ass, and when my mom ran away he lost it. He took out that rage on me because Tobias ran into the shadows. He left me 7 years ago, I was 7 at the time. I never knew where he went, or if he was alive. I fought to get things since dad was broke, hence to now sitting on a roof with a ruggedly handsome man explaining why I want to kill a number.” I chuckled at the end, Eric watched as I spoke about my childhood.

 I don’t hide it. Because simply I don’t care about my childhood. I won't start crying because of it, not how I was built. 

“Brother? So I have a chance?” He smiled, letting out a laugh I replied. “Yes. Yes, you do Eric.” 

[redrobinhoods]

Age of Heroes | Chapter 9, Homecoming

AO3 Link | 2200 words (approx) | Prologue, Chapter 8, Chapter 10

Chapter Summary: Ahsoka follows Anakin to Mustafar, leaving the 501st to guard the Jedi Temple.

“The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins. It always wins because it is everywhere. […] The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.”

- Revenge of the Sith novelization

Rex stared at his reflection in the mirror. He clicked the flashlight in his hand back on and shined it into the reflection of his eyes. His pupils contracted once more, and when they light was pulled away again they began to slowly dilate to a normal size. The influence of the chip was gone. Rex rubbed his eyes and reached for his comm. Ridge should have checked in by now. His check-in time had come and passed in the last minute and while Rex wasn’t one to berate his men over a minute, it was concerning.

“This is Commander Rex, Ridge come in.” He waited for a response and received none. “Ridge, please acknowledge.” He was already moving to the barracks door. He’d been a fool to listen to Jesse. “Jesse, come in.”

“You don’t sound like you’re asleep, sir.”

“Where is Ridge?”

“Guarding the Temple entrance as you ordered. I’m going over there now for a breath of fresh air. He didn’t check in with you?”

“No. Be careful, Jesse.” Rex had to stop himself from pleading with the man. Jesse was an ARC now, he’d gone through the same training Rex had and more recently at that. He didn’t need a lecture on precautions. Rex made his way to the speeder hanger and vaulted into the one closest to the door. He didn’t hear from Jesse again until he was in the air.

“Rex, they’re dead. If I had to guess, I’d say a lightsaber killed them.”

“I’m nearly there, don’t approach the Jedi alone.”

“I’m going to regroup with the others in the lower atrium. We’ll be there when you arrive.”

Rex landed the speeder outside the door of the Jedi Temple, leaping out before its momentum had ceased. He knelt by his nearest brother, searching for signs of life among the fallen bodies. He found none. But Jesse’s observation had been correct. They were killed by a lightsaber. Rex scowled and drew his blasters before entering the Temple.

---

Ahsoka looked down onto the burning wastes of Mustafar as they landed. In times before, she would have surely said a little quip like ‘why do the bad guys always have to pick scary bases?’ In times before, one of the clones would have surely responded ‘aesthetic.’ In times before, Anakin would have surely laughed at them. But there was no laughter, no jokes, and no clones today. Not for the first time, she reached for her comm and rolled it between her fingers. All she would have to do was press a button and she would know if Rex was alive. Not even that, if she’d reached out far enough into the Force she would be given the same answer. But she did neither. It was better to not know. Ahsoka had always associated fear with the gut-clenching adrenaline rush of falling, but now she could understand fear as a cold dread creeping over her shoulders. She shuddered and pulled her cloak tighter. It wasn’t hers, but it smelled like her clothes anyways. Maybe her men weren’t physically with her, but she still wore their bodysuit and cloak and she knew that they would be there in spirit if they knew where she was.

When their landing gear touched down she dismounted after Anakin, flinching back at the wave of heat that greeted her. While she had sought a hot shower for sensation yesterday, she now found it overwhelming.

“Artoo, stay with the ship.” Anakin commanded as he strode ahead.

Ahsoka looked back and gave the astromech a fond shrug in response to his less than affectionate string of beeps. Once out of R2’s hearing she spoke for the first time in hours. “We’re not going to negotiate with these sleemos are we?”

Anakin stopped and looked back at her. “No. The Confederacy of Independent Systems has refused to negotiate for peace. The Chancellor has ordered us to eradicate them before they regroup and strike against the Republic.”

“Their new superweapon?”

“Our spies indicate that it’s nearly complete. But if we act now, we can end this before we’re drawn back into the war.”

If they didn’t end the war now, more clones would die. Her friends, her brothers, would die if she and Anakin failed. “I understand, Master.”

---

Obi-Wan was reeling from the footage he had just seen. Anakin… it wasn’t possible. He took a small amount of solace that he hadn’t seen Ahsoka at his side, but that was only one recording. But it was just as likely that she was dead, if not by Anakin blade then perhaps at Rex’s hands. He had seen a set of jaig eyes in the periphery of the recording. Of course, when Anakin had fallen, he had brought the entire 501st with him.

Obi-Wan faltered when Yoda stopped before him. He looked up to follow Yoda’s gaze. Between them and the doors stood Rex, dual blasters drawn at his hips, blocking their path. Obi-Wan hadn’t sensed his presence in the building before. He must have just arrived.

“Captain Rex.” Obi-Wan greeted sourly.

“Commander Rex, now.” Obi-Wan took notice of Rex’s missing pauldron. He hoped that Ahsoka hadn’t been killed for Rex’s gain.

“I see. Master Yoda, l would suggest that you take another route to our destination.”

“That would seem wise, Obi-Wan. Meet you at the ship, I will.” Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber as the small Jedi Master went back to a staircase into the lower auditorium they had just passed.

“I don’t want to do this, Rex.” But Obi-Wan knew that Rex didn’t have a choice. Just like Cody. CT-7567 raised his blaster and began firing upon Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan reached into the Force and shoved him backwards, sending him flying across the walkway before them. CT-7567 rolled to his feet and resumed fire before his momentum had ceased. He was accustomed to being thrown by the Force.

“Is that what you told my men before you slaughtered them? That you didn’t want to do it? I saw the carnage you left behind.” Obi-Wan continued to block CT-7567’s shots. He had yet to send any back in the commander’s direction, but he was afraid that that might soon change.

“I didn’t have a choice, Rex.”

“Jedi always have a choice.” Not clones. Clones didn’t get the final say in the matter. Obi-Wan sent a bolt back at CT-7567, knocking one of the blasters from his hands. Using the Force, Obi-Wan sent it over the edge of the walkway. He advanced towards the clone. It was time to end this.

CT-7567 raised his remaining blaster and fired once more at Obi-Wan. They were too close. Obi-Wan made a choice. He swung his lightsaber in an arc, deflecting the blast. For the last time that day Obi-Wan heard the sound of boiling plastoid as a wound opened up from the clone’s waist to his shoulder. CT-7567 fell to the ground with a cry of pain. Obi-Wan kicked the remaining gun aside and advanced on the fallen clone. He used the Force to remove the man’s helmet, he needed to know if he had killed him. With the helmet gone, Obi-Wan found himself staring into CT-7567’s eyes. Except they weren’t. They weren’t the eyes of CT-7567, nor of CC-2224, nor any of the helmetless clones guarding the Temple entry. Rex raised his head to look at Obi-Wan and bared his teeth in a snarl.

“Cody is dead.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” There wasn’t anything else to say. Nothing Obi-Wan could have said would’ve helped. They were far beyond that.

“You killed him.”

“Yes.” There was no point in denying it.

“Traitor.” Rex’s head fell back against the temple floor. The single word burned into Obi-Wan, joining the day’s pain. In a way, it was Rex’s death. The death of the captain he had known before, had fought beside over the last three years. Perhaps Rex’s physical death as well. His hands never reached for the gash across his torso, remaining limp at his side. Obi-Wan didn’t know if that was good or bad, he didn’t want to know how deeply his blade had cut into the clone’s chest. He suspected that either way, the pain of the wound was dulled by the pain of his betrayal. Order 66 was over, maybe for Rex it had been over from before their confrontation, but it didn’t matter anymore. Obi-Wan had betrayed the clones just as they had betrayed him. First Cody, then the many who had stood in his path as he and Master Yoda entered the Temple, and now Rex. “Anakin was right about the Jedi.” The words were soft, not snarled through bared teeth like the others, but Rex’s eyes seethed in quiet rage and pain.

Obi-Wan knew what he should’ve done. He should’ve set his blade into Rex’s heart, watched as his chest stopped heaving and the light left his eyes, watched his pain end. He wished Rex would’ve fought back after he’d fallen, made it easier for Obi-Wan to end his life. But Obi-Wan found himself unable to raise his lightsaber. So instead he turned to follow Yoda out of the ruins of the place he had once called home.

He was nearly to the doors when he heard the anguished scream. He turned back to the temple to see a clone, an ARC trooper, running up a flight of stairs onto the walkway. Obi-Wan’s grip tightened on his lightsaber, but the clone didn’t turn towards him. He stopped by Rex’s body, pulling off his own helmet as he crashed to his knees. “Rex, Rex, stay with me.” The clone pulled his limp commander into his lap, cradling him close. “Not like this.”

Obi-Wan knew the clone. His name was Jesse. Maybe it still was, maybe he was CT-5597 now. Either way, he was fiercely loyal to Rex. Obi-Wan watched for a moment, listening to Jesse’s pleas for Rex to stay awake, to stay alive, hoping to see the commander stir, but Rex remained limp and unmoving in his brother’s arms. Jesse screamed for a medic and that was when Obi-Wan knew he had to go. He had killed enough clones today. Obi-Wan whispered a silent apology before he crossed the threshold of the temple, stepping out of the smoky air into the weak sunlight of Coruscant.

---

Ahsoka stumbled as new wave of agony reached her. Rex. He was alive, and he was in pain. A battle droid took notice of her panic and advanced towards her. She growled and pulled it into the blade of her lightsaber. She should have stayed on Coruscant. She should have stayed with Rex. The galaxy just had to fall apart when she was in the shower.

Another Separatist made a break for the door. She halted his forward momentum and with a few strides was able to strike him down with her lightsaber. Frustration churned within her at their feeble attempts to flee.

“Cowards.” She spat under her breath. She couldn’t imagine the clones giving up and running in the face of defeat, nor even the battle droids that the Separatists employed to do their dirty work. Her frustration was at a boiling point. It boiled over at the next Separatist who tried to run from Anakin. Ahsoka reached into the Force to stop her and the Geonosian stopped in her tracks, reaching for her throat. This time, Ahsoka did not step forward. Instead she squeezed her fingers together and watched the Geonosian’s neck crumple under her power. The Geonosian hit the floor and Ahsoka felt the sickening feeling of satisfaction. For a moment, guilt surged within her as she thought about what the clones or Master Plo would have said, but only for a moment. In her position, she thought, they would do the same.

She stepped forward to prevent the coward Nute Gunray from scrambling towards the doors. He backed into the table instead, looking back and forth between her and the advancing Anakin.

“The war is over.” He tried to plead. “Lord Sidious promised us peace. We only want-.” His pleas were cut off by Anakin’s lightsaber and he fell to the floor.

“Master, Tambor.” Ahsoka pointed to the conference room door that the Skakoan was fleeing through. Anakin nodded and strode after him, leaving Ahsoka alone.

She examined the empty room around her. Or, at least, it was empty if one didn’t count the corpses. A little voice inside her head that sometimes sounded like Master Yoda, other times Master Windu, but often Master Plo, reproached her for her loss of control with the Geonosian. But there was another voice in her head now, a voice that didn’t belong to any being that she knew or had ever heard. That voice purred approval. Despite the heat of the planet, despite the warm cloak that enveloped her, despite the temperature-controlled bodysuit, she felt a shiver run up her spine into her headtail. Then again, perhaps the warmth of the planet and the insulation of her clothing did not matter. It wasn’t a cold shiver, but one of excitement.

[today-we-will-survive]

You’ll See

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff

Warning: none other than Kook being an absolute brat.

Word Count: 1.3K

Requested: @dimpled-gukkie

“Okay, I have two questions for you,” you say as you look out the passenger window of Jungkook’s car. “Okay, three actually.”

You hear the sound of his keys jingling as he turns the car off and pulls them out of the ignition. “Sure.”

“Number one, why are we at IKEA?” you ask looking up at the big blue building.

“You’ll see.”

You turn to face him now, narrowing your eyes at his mischievous smirk. “Okay, number two, why are we here after closing?”

Jungkook undoes his seatbelt. “You’ll see.”

“I’m sensing a pattern here,” you say unclicking your own seatbelt and climbing out of the car quickly to catch up with Jungkook who has already gotten out and is now making his way to the trunk.

“Hey, I still have one more question.”

“I’m not stopping you,” he says as he pulls a backpack out and slams the lid back down again.

You look at what he’s wearing and then down at your own clothes. “Okay, why are we wearing pajamas?”

Jungkook slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder, poking his tongue into his cheek as he reaches forward and snags the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and finger. “You’ll see,” he finally says.

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to smack him right upside the head. Too bad you use it all up then because now his mouth spreads into a toothy grin and suddenly your fist is coming in contact with the meaty part of his shoulder. He shrinks away with a loud laugh then starts toward the giant, darkened store. You hate to admit even to yourself that he looks ridiculously adorable in his black flannel pajamas with the white buttons and piping, shuffling in his oversized slippers toward the store. With a sigh, you trail after him, the sound of your own slippers scraping on the pavement adding to the echo ricocheting throughout the empty parking lot.

If he’s just going to keep saying “you’ll see” you don’t really see a point in asking anymore questions and so you stay silent, waiting with biting curiosity for your questions to at last be answered on their own. Jungkook just trots along ahead of you, singing under his breath happily, his backpack bouncing against his shoulder blades. You kind of wish you’d hit him harder.

As you near the store, the doors at the entrance slide open, which catches you by complete surprise because shouldn’t they be locked for the night? But then two figures come into view and suddenly you feel the pieces all beginning to fall into place. What are Jimin and Taehyung doing here?

“Jungkook,” you say. “Are we spending the night in IKEA?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Aren’t we going to get caught?” you ask catching up to walk beside him.

“By who?” Jungkook asks with a shrug. “Security? They’re the ones letting us in. Hey, my dudes!” He yells raising a hand to slap five even though the two of you are still several yards away so he ends up holding it up for a ridiculously excessive amount of time before finally hitting palms with Taehyung and then Jimin.

“JKaaaaayyyyyy,” Taehyung drawls then leans a bit to smirk at you. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey Tae,” you utter. “Won’t you guys get in trouble for this?”

“Ah we do this all the time,” Jimin says nonchalantly. “Just don’t make any messes or eat so many meatballs that they notice any are missing.”

“How many does it take for them to notice some are missing?” you ask.

Jungkook grabs your hand and pulls you in past his friends. “More than we could eat in a single night,” he says then yanks you forward so he can sling an arm over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Y/N. It’ll be fun. We can pretend to be all domestic with our trendy furniture and hipster aesthetic.”

“I don’t want your friends to get fired,” you say.

“They’re good employees. They won’t get fired.”

“They’re literally doing the opposite of what they’re supposed to be doing as night security.”

Jungkook stops the two of you at the foot of the escalator leading up to the showroom floor. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says, his voice now much lower and more serious. “And the boys’ jobs will be fine. Wanna know how I know?”

You peer up at him through your lashes. “How?”

He leans in close, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Jimin’s dad owns the store.”

When he pulls away again, your eyes are wide. “You’re kidding.”

Jungkook shakes his head, biting his bottom lip to reign in his excited smile.

“Why the heck is Jimin working night security if his dad owns the store?”

“So he can let us in, duh,” he says then takes your hand again and starts pulling you up the escalator—which of course is just a set of futuristic looking stairs since the motor is turned off.

You glance back over your shoulder and catch a final glimpse of Taehyung and Jimin smiling and waving up at you before they disappear beneath the floor of the second story.

The two of you spend the next several hours going from display room to display room, pretending they’re places in your actual home—though most of these rooms wouldn’t fit in your tiny studio apartment. But that’s when you and Jungkook begin dreaming up a life where you own a huge mansion where each of these rooms can reside.

Where you have different versions of one room to dwell in depending on your mood that day. Rooms specifically meant to hang out with specific friends or family members. To watch specific movies or listen to specific music. What a lavish life it would be to have one living room curated with dark walls and jewel-toned furniture where you could sit in a deliberately overstuffed chair and read some moody mystery novel by a fire while Jungkook is right next door, sitting among modern, minimalistic decor and chrome fixtures writing the next hit song.

Your stomach hurts from laughing, your head floating from such over the top daydreaming and at last, you collapse on one of the display beds, the fluffy white comforter billowing up around you as your body sinks into the mattress. Jungkook lands beside you on his stomach, arms bent so his hands rest on either side of his head. You lay there for a while trying to convince yourself that this isn’t a bed in your daydream mansion. That the bed you’re laying on is in the middle of a Swedish furniture store surrounded by other models of beds and has some name that probably resembles an english word that would make you giggle like a child if you read it.

You don’t have a million extremely well put together rooms in your house that you can go to depending on what mood you’re in or what you’re doing. You don’t have custom designed cabinets in your kitchen or elaborate closets in your bedroom. You don’t have an endless supply of Swedish meatballs or fake plants. But what you do have is a tiny, cozy studio apartment and an incredibly sweet, playful, beautiful soul of a person that you get to share your life with.

You let your head fall to the side and you gaze at Jungkook where he lay next to you with his eyes closed. His long lashes brush his cheeks, his dark hair lays in mussed waves over his forehead and his lips are slightly parted, breath coming out in soft snores. He’s tuckered out.

Carefully, you reach over and touch your thumb to the small scar on his cheekbone causing him to twitch a bit in his sleep and you can’t help but smile fondly. Then you close your eyes and hope that instead of dreaming about this mansion you’ve been pretending to live in for the past few hours, you dream about the life you already live with the person you love.

[tsw-story]

Chapter 86 - Icy Hot

The door opened slowly to a silent, unsettling hall. Lucy stepped inside, followed by her two younger sisters, Kali and then Mara. She took lead, as was her way, and although they didn't hear anything, they proceeded with subtlety. The home was small and within an ordinary residential district, and although they did have the means to wipe the memory of mortals that may see them, they were on high alert for the potential owners of such an abode.

Complete and utter silence was impossible for all three of them. Kali, being a master of stealth and trickery, was more than capable, but with all of them combined, their footfalls didn't fall on deaf ears. They suddenly heard the sounds of muffled, panicked voices.

“There's people here,” whispered Mara.

Lucy brought a finger to her lips, and beckoned them farther. They turned the corner to spot two humans tied to chairs, with not only their mouths gagged, but their eyes covered. There was no need for the latter, unless the culprit knew there was something they weren't meant to see. It had to be Anzu's work. She cared that much at least.

Before Lucy could speak, her sister Kali was already behind them. She inspected the two closely and saw no real injuries of note. Around the backs, their wrists were bound with rope. In their mouths, socks. And covering their eyes were shirts wrapped around and tied. It was a man and woman, looking to be about the same age.

She decided to take initiative. Kali removed the socks from both of their mouths. They spat and coughed at the lint on their tongues.

“Who's there? Please, let us go!” said the woman.

Lucy spoke up, and both began to approach. “Relax. We're not the one who put you here. Can you tell us who did? Did she have violet lips and hair?”

The woman nodded frantically. “Yeah. She looked like some kind of demon, as weird as that sounds. I was knocked out, and I don't remember much besides seeing her face, hearing her voice, and ending up here.” Her voice was stuttering. Clearly she was still in some stage of shock.

“And she said she'd be here,” said Kali.

“Why would she do this? Did she know we were coming?” Mara asked.

Lucy proceeded past them. She saw something, that upon realization, was quite obvious. There was a note—a paper tacked into the wall and written in exquisite cursive. She pulled it down and read it over carefully.

“Is that from her?” Mara tried to peer over at the paper as best she could.

“Yes.” Lucy nodded, and spoke with hesitation. “The man wasn't lying after all. She wants to meet. In fact, she knew we'd come here, apparently. Though she'll only show if I go alone.”

The man struggled in his seat. “What's goin on back there? Let us go!”

“You can't go alone... Why do we need to listen to that?” asked Mara.

Lucy stared longingly at the piece of paper. Clearly, she was lost in thought, and she continued to be for a long moment. Finally, she lowered the note, and looked to her sisters with her mind made up.

“She's still our sister. I'll meet her alone, and see her out.” Her eyes turned to Kali. “Let these poor folk go once we're out of sight. Then, you'll wait for me to return. I'm going. I need to find out the truth anyway.”

They both wanted to contest but they knew there was no point. Kali did as she instructed. When the couple were free, there were no devil sisters for them to see. There was nobody at all. Not long after  the tree of them returned to the Demon World, Lucy set off to the destination. There was a meeting scheduled, and it seemed like Anzu has things more carefully planned than they feared, as the time was already at hand.

***

The area was barren for miles in every direction. Rolling dunes of sand spanned out as far as the eye could see, with only small patches of dirt and grass, with the only life being small critters that seemed to be fleeing the area. There was a sense of darkness in the air, and the animals could tell. Something stood in the lands of southwest Saskatchewan that never had before, and it brought a frigid chill to the air around it. Garbed in an outfit similar to Lucy's, though black, purple, with frills of gold, and with a regal flare to the aesthetic, stood a feminine figure with deep purple hair and shiny, purple lips. Her hair ran down to her neck, and upon her head was a pair of small black horns. She had a commanding gaze—piercingly purple.

While Mara stood short with lengthy horns and tiny wings, and had paler skin, Kali had drooping horns with with wide wings, and darker skin, Lucy stood in the middle with red tinted skin. Anzu actually was almost the exact same height as her, but her skin was a more pale grey with a hint of blue, almost like a combination of her other sisters.

Lucy kept to her word, however. She arrived, so it was only her and Anzu, face to face for the first time since before the incidents began.

Two women. One with fiery, reddish-brown hair, and the other with a dark, royal purple. They stared at one another, and exchanged quite a few unspoken words that only old siblings could muster. There were things that needed to be said, but neither could say, so for the moment, they didn't speak it all.

Finally, Anzu spoke. “You came alone.”

“You did say to do that.”

“I guess part of me thought you'd lie, and the whole family would be here to take my head.”

“I still trust you, Anzu. You're my sister. Our sister. Please just come home, and we can talk about this to father.”

Her brow flinched. “You think I want to just surrender to father? I have plans. Ones he's too much of a coward to put into motion. None of you have ever understood, and where has it left us? Running around, being caught and killed, and living trapped in our own world in some kind of pseudo structure. As if we weren't chaotic beings by nature.”

“We might be chaotic, but that doesn't mean we can't have some kind of structure. Without it, everything truly would fall into anarchy. What's the solution? Kill innocent people on Earth?”

“There might have been casualties, but the attack wasn't meant to kill, Lucy. It was to send a message. My plan isn't to kill all humans. Though, what the demons who come do is up to them. I just saw an opportunity and seized it.”

“What opportunity? Helping prisoners escape?”

“Making a deal! Our world is full of beings that want out, and this world is full of beings that want power. The power we have. Why can't we make a deal, Lucy? We need each other. So I spoke with one government power and offered them a deal. Imagine, us having freedom to do what we want, on behalf of those in charge. These idiots already lock down magic like it's something that doesn't exist! These same idiots still want power. They don't know what the hell they're doing around here.”

“They hide magic to keep people safe!”

“Do you truly want wizards and other magical creatures to be oppressed like they are, Lucy? Is that what you wanted for him? What was he called again? The Travelling Liberator. What a tacky name, but I could see what you saw in him. He inspired wizards, and he inspired you.”

Lucy stepped forward with a piercing frustration behind her eyes. Waves of heat bend the light around her body, and flames started to catch the loose blades of grass between the sand and dirt. “Don't bring him into this!”

“After all those years, you actually fell for a human, and look where things went. Thanks to the idiots in charge around here, he was forced to hide, until he was slain in cold blood.”

“Shut up!” she snapped. A rage of flames burst from her body, and shot up into the sky.

Anzu was incredibly calm. Unsettlingly calm. She crossed her arms and continued to speak. “Tell me. Did you really trust me this much? I've never been... part of your lives. All of you. I've always been an outcast.”

Rarely seen like this, Lucy's true inner nature was coming forth. Behind her visage of calm composure—a busy working woman—was an inferno of emotion, like a hidden flame burning at her core. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I want to trust you, Anzu.” Her voice was trembling. “I didn't come here because I want to fight you!”

“Then why did you come here? To talk to me out of it?”

Lucy didn't answer, because it was true.

A swirling mist of sparkling air forms around her body as she started moving forwards. The sand beneath her boots froze with each stepped closer to her sister. “Trusting me is a mistake.”

All Lucy could do was hold back her tears. She saw her own sister coming closer, and there was a look of hostility. It was something she feared, but not something that was surprising. Her own flames burned hotter as she prepared for the worst.

Anzu waved forwards her hand as if she was presenting a well-groomed set of nails, but out of her person came a roaring, frozen wind. It turned the area in front of her into ice, and the effect was hurling itself towards the fiery Lucy.

Lucy roared out, finally unleashing her emotion. Her eyes flared, her sharp, demonic teeth presented themselves, and the fire around her grew as the heat travelled up far into the sky. Upon unleashing such a noise, a vortex of fire spun out from her to meet with her sister's ice. They cancelled each other out, leaving a line of frozen sand to scorched black earth.

“There's not a chance in Hell you're more ready for this than I am, stuck behind a desk all day, so surrender now, or shatter on the ground like everybody else that'll stand between me and my dreams!” Anzu screamed in return.

A torrent of extremes began mixing, devastating the barren land around them. There was good reason all critters fled after all, as it seemed this battle of the elements wasn't going to end without destruction.

[shirtlesssammy]

13x23: Let the Good Times Roll

Then:

Team Free Will 3.0!

Now:

Sam gives the new recruits a rundown on the sorry state of our world. (Extra meta credit to the show for letting Jim Beaver talk about The Shape of Water. I’m pretty sure he was going to be in it but couldn’t due to other commitments. I can’t find that news now, but here’s his tweet about it.)

Dean calls. Apparently, Cas, Jack, and him were on a hunt for a case, and found some Kardashian loving werewolves to take out.

Jack’s still learning (and Dean’s willingly training him. Awww.) While Cas takes out a werewolf outside, Sam, Dean, and Jack take out the rest inside. I love that the lesson about silver bullets doesn’t really apply for Jack, but he still wants to learn. (And, in hindsight, it matters so much that he does learn how to fight like a human.)

Meanwhile, Bobby and Mary take a nice stroll through the countryside, summing up the new world order.

Yay for Rowena and Charlie Thelma and Louise-ing it through the Southwest. I’m a bit more concerned about Ketch “out doing Ketch things.” Uh, that man is a cold blooded killer. Is he redeemed? He. Killed. Magda. (Natasha: And Eileen. Horribly.) And then Bobby and Mary share a look. (Or, as the script says: They eyefuck.) The lovely interlude is interrupted when they see blood and find Maggie, another refugee, dead, head bashed against a rock.

Sam and Dean are back at the bunker, and that whole werewolf hunt was a lesson for Jack. Dean wants to retire -on the beach with Cas. If Jack can hone his powers, Sam and Dean are going to get their well deserved retirement. SOB.

Jack, bby, is having a nightmare though. Dean rushes to his room and they have a father-son moment.

They share a moment of mutual nightmares (and we relive au!Kevin’s death again!), and then Dean gives a wonderful, heartfelt, motivating talk to Jack. It’s such a beautiful moment to highlight that Dean will never stop being a parent, and he’ll never stop caring and fighting for his family. It’s also, I think, a moment that will sustain Jack next season. He’s family, and Dean’s his family, and as Dean says, “we look after our own.”

Sam rushes to tell Dean about Maggie, and cut to them all standing around her body.

Jack takes it personally, but Sam tries to reassure him that it’s not his fault.

Back at the bunker, they start interrogating another refugee. She is shocked to learn that Maggie is dead, and admits that there was a boy that she had a crush on. She probably went to see him the previous night. Jack flaps out before the others.

The boy is named Nate, and he works at the Gas and Go, and Jack is full on rage nephilim. He blasts him, and starts to choke him, demanding an answer to Maggie’s death. TFW bust in and Cas tries to intercede, but is tossed across the room (No Jack!), and then Dean shoots Jack (to get his attention.) Jack, realizing his error, runs out in self-loathing defeat.

Jack starts beating himself up literally and figuratively, and I was tearing up a bit during this scene. He fits so well with TFW --self-loathing and the inability to accept himself and his limitations/uniqueness.

At the Gas and Go, quick thinking Cas gives Nate the FBI cover (with aliases Rowland, Knowles, and Williams, heh. And Dean’s so proud of his quick-thinking husband, he flashes the peace sign. Goober.)

The place starts to shake and lights begin to flicker --and it’s clear an angel is forthcoming. AGH.

Jack is still hurting himself in the forest when Lucifer pops in. BLARG.

Sam, Dean, and Cas make a run for it, but before they can escape in Baby, Michael appears. BLARG.

Dean lights and throws their entire container of holy oil at Michael (aw, I remember when Cas originally obtained it to keep Rafael in a ring of fire) and they hightail it out of there.

Meanwhile, Lucifer lets Jack know that it was Sam that trapped him in the AU world. He tries giving Jack the “we’re not human” speech and tries to convince Jack to leave with him. And then Jack, who couldn’t possibly get ANY CUTER, starts talking about Star Wars and light sabers, and OMG. Season 14: Supernatural in Space!

He also worries about Sam, Dean, and Cas, but Lucifer tells him that this is their opportunity to escape their past, their sins, and start over. Hmmm, I mean, Jack’s made mistakes, but dude, he doesn’t really have a past, or sins. Don’t drag him into your pity party. However, Lucifer sells his plan well enough that Jack agrees.

At the bunker, Bobby and Mary discuss Maggie’s death. Jack and Lucifer come strolling in like it’s nbd. Mary springs into action, telling Bobby to call Sam. Lucifer is here to bring Maggie back to life, per Jack’s wishes. I’m getting a Pet Semetary vibe with this, but it’s all good in the end. (Sidenote: Bobby called Sam - and presumably Dean and Cas - “boys”. Gah.) And before TFW can make it back to the bunker, Jack and Lucifer are gone.

*Mid Episode Aesthetic Break*

TFW slightly panics when they get back to find that Lucifer’s come and gone with Jack. (Like, that old problem again, amirite?) They split up to investigate leads. Sam gets to gently interrogate Maggie and ask who killed her. Eek. She didn't catch an ID on his face...but she saw his eyes.

Cue Jack and Lucifer… They stargaze together in familial bliss out in the woods while Michael starts his assault on the bunker.

Lights begin to flicker and the front door rattles. Sam orders Mary and Bobby to take Maggie out through the garage. Sam, Dean, and Cas await Michael. He busts in, they all pull out their weapons and proceed to...fire fruitlessly at Michael while he floats down from the upper balcony like he’s Peter Pan.

Michael tells them all that they can fly if they’ll only believe quickly gets the upper hand on all three of our heroes. He reveals that he made a deal with Lucifer to get to their world. Luci helped him open a rift. (See? I told you not to let Lucifer stay, Sam.) In return, Lucifer gets Jack and Michael gets everything else. (Lucifer. Dude. I love Jack and hate you... but that's a hell of a lopsided deal.)

Michael gives Dean a little preview of his idea of “saving the world” promising Dean that he will be the first to die – the first person he “saves.” Um. Thanks but no thanks, dickhole. Dean slowly suffocates in Michael's grip and Sam prays to Jack for help.

Jack, that sweet little cupcake, hears Sam's prayer. He realizes that Sam's begging for help and flaps away to the bunker to join the fight.

Dean continues to choke when...WAPOW WAPOW! Jack uses his super nephilim force to knock Michael down. Jack goes full glowy eyes on Michael, twisting his hand into a fist until Michael writhes in agony. “Lucifer, we had a deal,” Michael gasps and Jack turns to Lucifer and asks what that means. (Aw, Jack.) Welp. Lucifer was gonna get the fuck off the planet with Jack while Michael laid waste to Earth. Thus, all the stargazing and romanticizing Star Wars.

Cas is pissed that Lucifer would just abandon ship (why are you surprised, Castiel?) and Sam ratchets Jack’s shock up another level. Sam reveals that Lucifer killed Maggie. Though Lucifer initially denies it, Jack's eyes glow and he compels Lucifer to tell the truth. (Me: Stop thinking about Tom Riddle in Harry Potter compelling people to “tell the truth.” Jack’s a precious smol nougat. He’s no Voldemort! Also me…)

“She saw me and she screamed so I crushed her skull with my bare hands and it was warm and wet and I liked it.” It's somewhat refreshing to hear Lucifer say this because he’s the ultimate spin machine, constantly covering up his misdeeds. However, it’s also so disturbing to hear Lucifer's true thoughts that hide under his smirking exterior.

Jack's face falls. “You're not my father,” he says. “You're a monster.” Lucifer screams in rage. He tells Jack that humans are worthless, and that he doesn't need Jack. In a flash, he slits Jack's throat and sucks out a big wallop of grace. NOOOOOOOO!

Lucifer grabs a weakened Jack and Sam lunges for Jack...and then Lucifer flaps out of there with both of them. Dean and Cas are left alone in the bunker with Michael.

Cut to Sam getting tossed across a church floor. Lucifer kicks Sam, his very favorite punching bag. And he's got Jack just where he wants him. Mustache twirl, mustache twirl.

Back with Michael, Cas demands to know a way to stop Lucifer. Michael tells them that Lucifer is supercharged with Jack's grace...and now he can destroy the universe. Um. Oops. (Does stolen grace slowly kill archangels too?) Michael protests that he can't do anything to stop Lucifer in his “banged up meatsuit.” He coughs pathetically. “This is the end of everything,” Michael says. And damn it all, if Dean doesn't get a really dumb idea lodged in his head.

“What if you had your sword?” Dean asks.

DAMN IT, DEAN

How did we not see Lucifer stealing Jack’s grace? Extracting Jack’s grace to depower him was a plot point last year, and Lucifer using other angels’ grace to power up was used all this season. I think (like always) maybe the pacing could have been better to make it more weighty at the end? Had Lucifer met Jack sooner, and felt betrayed by Jack, and stole his grace sooner so we could feel that power, maybe that would make Dean’s decision more necessary? We know where Dean was coming from with his absolute need to protect his family --at the cost of his own life. They were in a bad spot, but I’m not sure the show made the stakes feel as high as they really were.

Meanwhile Lucifer is playing with his food (aka Sam) when Jack demands that he leave Sam alone. Lucifer's unimpressed and switches his attention to nougat. He punches Jack repeatedly. Father of the year award, here. :(

Lucifer tells Sam that family sucks and Jack being “family” is meaningless. To prove his point, he tells Jack to kill Sam. Lucifer drops his archangel blade at their feet and settles back to wait for the show.

Dean continues breaking our hearts at the bunker. While Cas asks Dean to back down, Dean sells himself as Michael's “sword.” UGH. Michael tells Dean that, were Dean possessed by him they MIGHT have a chance to defeat Lucifer. (Holy shades of Lucifer-possessing-Cas, Batman!) That's all Dean needs to hear. “Lucifer has Sam. He has Jack. Cas, I don't have a choice!” Dean brokers a deal with Michael: Michael can possess him, but he's in charge. Michael looks...very pleased.

Sam and Jack face each other down while Lucifer natters at them. Sam bends down and picks up the blade. Jack looks hurt. Confused. And then Sam tries to hand him the blade so Jack can kill him instead. NOOOOOOO! (Please imagine this in Luke Skywalker’s voice.) Sam’s willingness to sacrifice himself for his adopted son inspires Jack to...sacrifice himself. Jack knows how to end Lucifer’s game. He’ll kill himself! Jack starts driving the blade into his skin when light streams from behind him. It's Dean! Er, Michael! Er, Michael!Dean! 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean’s familiar greeting is assurance that he’s still behind the wheel. He looks to Lucifer. It's time to rumble. Lucifer and Michael!Dean start to fight. Um...in the air? (This is no Crouching Tiger.) Supernatural could have at least given them both swirling capes.

Lucifer begins to get the upper hand and it’s looking bad for our team. Sam runs forward and picks up the forgotten archangel blade from the floor, tossing it up into Dean’s hand. Dean stabs Lucifer with it and Lucifer glows with red fire (still floating) before he finally poofs out. DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD!

Lucifer lies dead on the floor, the embers from his burned wings glowing like stars around his head. (Kudos vfx department)

(Boris: I was really shocked about Lucifer’s death at first (I’ve also held that Lucifer would be the ultimate Big Bad in the end), but they’ve been reversing The End this season and that’s exactly how they ended it.)

Sam experiences intense relief. Lucifer, his torturer, is dead! They're happy...they're celebrating… This is Return of the Jedi and they’re all about to eat a little storm trooper with some fuzzy Ewoks when--

Dean buckles over, gasping. Oh no, we know the signs of an angel/human internal battle. “We had a deal!” Dean shouts and when he lifts his head, Michael's behind the wheel. He looks around casually and then flaps out, leaving Sam and Jack in shock behind him.

Back at the bunker, Mary and Bobby rush back into the library only to find Cas sitting alone on the step. He says nothing. Just shakes his head...

On a quiet street, Michael goes for a stroll. He's purloined some classy new duds so he can walk the world. His eyes glow…

Stay tuned, kids.

You Can Quote, You Can Quote, You Can QUOTE!!!

You shot me.

Wanna lightsaber?

Ginger trouble!

You, me, Cas. Toes in the sand. Couple of little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously. Some hula girls.

It's not about being strong. … Even when we're strong. Man, things are gonna happen. We're gonna make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. But we can get better. Every day, we can better.

I think he thought I'd be trapped over there in “giant litter box world” forever.

Before you died, do you remember anything about the person who killed you?

Daddy Sammy coming to the rescue.

Thanks for the suit.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[warrior-thief-and-intelectual]

Chapter 1

Emily looked up, snapped away from her thoughts by the loud foghorn of the ship coming into the harbor. She had been waiting for a while and slipped into deep thought about her mother’s stories.

“Nervous about leaving for Glorantis?” Sebby asked playfully, trying to lighten the tense vibes he was getting from his friend.

“No, I was just thinking of something. I’m not quite sure what’s awaiting me on the other side of this ocean. What if I find her? What if I don’t? It’s nerve-wracking,” she said.

Sebby sighed. “You need to relax, everything will go just fine.”

Emily kept looking towards the horizon, her long, butterscotch brown hair billowed in the wind. It was pulled from her helmet, more for comfort than aesthetic. Sebby changed his tone, trying a different approach. “Trust me on this, don’t worry! What can possibly go wrong if you just stick to the plan?” he asked.

“But what if it does go wrong, regardless?” she asked as she continued to look forward while the boat started unloading.

“Stop being so dramatic, you’re overthinking this,” Sebby said, she finally looked at him, a glare and a frown drawn on her features.

“This isn’t a joking matter!” she replied.

“Alright! I understand. Maybe you should push all your doubts aside for now at least, and try to focus on the mission at hand?” Sebby proposed while looking Emily straight in her ice blue eyes. Emily’s stern look gradually turned softer as she took a deep breath, “Okay, fine. I know you’re just looking out for me,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll just take your word for it, for the time being, that is,” she concluded. “Great,” Sebby said satisfied, “that will do for now!”

A man suddenly approached the two. “Ready to board the boat ma’am? We’re ready to leave now,” the sailor asked politely.

“Yes, I am,” Emily replied. She started walking alongside the man in the direction of the boat.

“Oh, and Emilie?” Emily paused for a bit. “Promise me you’ll try?” Sebby asked. Turning her head towards him, Emily nodded her head in acceptance, before she continued walking forward.

“Right, I will.”

~*~*~*~

Many hours had passed since they left the harbor, and the sun was on it’s way down. The weather was nice, however, there were hardly any clouds to be seen. Looking outward, Emily was supporting her upper body on the safety banister around the edge of the boat. Even after all this time, she was still thinking. She couldn’t help it, no matter how many times Sebby had asked her not to. She kept questioning things, like what to do when she found her mother. She couldn’t even enjoy the sunset - the ocean was calm, the sun was reflecting off the water, casting an orange glow on the surface.

“Still unable to focus, ma’am?” she heard a familiar voice say. It was the sailor again, approaching her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be steering the ship?” Emily asked him.

“Why? I’m not the only one here on duty,” he answered. “I believe I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Wyatt, by the way. I’ve got some free time at the moment, so I thought I’d look for you.”

“And why me?” Emily asked, followed by a slight sigh.

“Well, the last time I checked, you are the reason we all are here,” he replied, as he, too, leaned against the safety banister. “I’m aware that this entire expedition is regarding your mother,” he then continued. “Didn’t she disappear years ago, if I may ask?”

Emily took a deep breath before answering: “I’m determined to find her, or at least find out what really happened. Honestly, wouldn’t you? You couldn’t possibly be content with just sitting back and forgetting everything if you knew you had the opportunity to find out?”

Wyatt gave what she just said some thought. “You tell me, I’m not actually sure I do know. The way you put it: of course, I would want to find my family. But would I actually do it?” he asked. “You shouldn’t take it for granted, Ms. As far as I’m concerned, I would assume that few people would actually put matters into their own hands in such a situation. It’s a big world. Not everyone would know where, perhaps not even how, to start looking.”

“Well, I know where to start looking. I’m not a hundred percent sure what to expect, but I’m confident it will lead me somewhere,” Emily stated without hesitation, still not budging from her spot.

“Right you do,” Wyatt replied. “Still, you’re asking many questions. Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“More certain than I can be at this point. There’s no point in waiting any further. It must be done,” Emily said. Her determination and motivation put a smile on Wyatt’s face.

“Then we all certainly are on board with you, ma’am,” he said. The sun was on its way down beyond the horizon. He started walking back in the direction from which he came from.

“I should get back, but I’ll surely see you around. Have a great night, ma’am. And may this journey lead you to what it is you are seeking,”

Even after Wyatt had left, and the night was upon them, Emily stayed. Wyatt’s voice repeated itself in her head. Although quickly returning to the present, she couldn’t free herself of a feeling of uncertainty, a feeling she had been pondering over the entire day. And so, after a moment's contemplation, she went inside and crawled into her bunk, at last. She drifted off into deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, exhausted from the day and distress plaguing her mind.

~*~*~*~

She awoke with a start as the boat shook violently and almost threw her straight out of the rough bed she laid upon. As she reoriented herself, she could hear the yelling of the crew tossing orders and information around as the captain desperately tried to hold the boat steady and afloat. The next noise truly woke her from her dazed stupor; a ghoulish, blood-chilling screech that made her skin turn white, and her previously warm body run cold from otherworldly fear. She forced herself to her feet and took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

“I knew there’d be danger when I left, it was naive of me to assume there would be no monsters on the journey-” she mumbled to herself before being interrupted by a flashing pain. “Ow!” she exclaimed loudly, slowly trying to regain her composure.

After the pain had settled a bit, she realized that she was still wearing her armor. She was apparently more exhausted yesterday then she was aware of, and didn’t have the energy to take it off before going to bed. A few hours of uneasy rest in the armor had given her a severely sore back.

However, she had no time to lose. She steeled her nerves, picked up her sword and walked out the door to her room. There was no turning back now.

The second she made it to the stairs leading up to the deck, the door up top swung open violently, releasing a torrent of water downstairs, dousing her in it. If she wasn’t awake before, she most definitely was now. Emily began to run up the dripping steps. The echo of waterdrops and clanking sound of her armor was the only noise she could recall before stepping out on deck. The sky was dark, indicating that is was still in the middle of the night. Before she could think another thought, she was instantly swept off her feet by a powerful wave, and thrown for a loop by all the screaming of the crew trying to hold it together. People were rushing to and from, tying down ropes, pulling the sail, trying to toss out as much water as possible so that the boat didn’t sink, and working with cannons and other weapons at the ready.

“Probably waiting to attack the source of that screech before it sinks us…” she briefly thought as a grimace pulled her features. She moved to stand once again and closed her eyes, trying to drown out the sounds.

Was coming up here a mistake? she wondered.

Emily shook her head, throwing out the negative thoughts. “No, no, I need to help. I want to help.

She opened her eyes again and went towards the captain. Right as she arrived at the wheel to speak to the struggling man did the monster appear, accompanied by a mighty shake of the boat. She stumbled once more at the shake as she looked up at the huge monster. It towered over her, the crew and the boat, or was it the fear coursing through her and the crew exaggerating the proportions? She desperately hoped it was the latter.

And as it raised its dripping, slimy tendril, time almost froze. There were white, hooked claws beneath it that reflected the moonlight and the light of a few torches that still flickered on the boat. If it could smell the fear of the crew, she didn’t know, nor did she want to know. She felt smothered by the permeating stench of dead rotting fish and salty sea water, but it was more preferable than the pulling weight of fear on her back. Some crew members pulled to action and shot at it, the creature letting out a yowl of pain from the heated projectiles that were shot into its gushy, slippery body. More tendrils arose from the depths and slammed down into the boat, Emily narrowly dodging the attack from one of the long appendages. At this proximity, she saw the claws digging into the boat, the wood, keeping the two things attached to one another. And it, unfortunately, confirmed her fears - it was as big as she thought it was.

After another round of bullet fire, she watched as the creature started to tear at the deck of the ship, the hooked tendril pulling at the wood, creating holes. She could only imagine what the other ones were doing to the hull of the ship. She briefly studied the muscles on the long tendril contracting. She stood to her feet and tightened the grip around her sword, a fairly thin and polished silver blade that reflected the present light wonderfully as if it was blessed by the god above. It was lightweight and sharp, and she had practiced enough that the blade was like an extension of her movements, precise and strong.

She moved quickly into action once her plan was formulated, raising her sword above her head and swiftly bringing it down to sever the tentacle from the creature. The unearthly, ear-shattering, ungodly screech that followed shook her to her core. Everyone froze, fearing the attack that followed because chances were it wouldn’t leave till the ship was sunk, and everyone dead.

“Shi-” she was cut off by the need to run away. But there was nowhere to run, she was stuck on a boat, probably in an ocean with tons of other monsters and she didn’t know how far away they were from shore. Desperation hit her faster, and more powerful than a lightning bolt.

The boat shook wildly from the attack, with no intervals. She could feel in her toes, the ground giving in beneath her. They were sinking, the cold, dark depths had to be getting closer. It was not stopping anytime soon, Emily knew.

She frantically looked around, trying to figure out where would put her furthest from the water, and therefore safe from the slashing limbs of the enraged creature, whose screeching and that of the crew’s terrifying yowls would probably cling to the reaches of her mind for the rest of her life. In the chaos surrounding her and clouding her mind, she didn’t notice one of the loose masts swing towards her until the momentum threw her off the boat. The hit made her vision blur as she flew into the water. The creature seemed preoccupied with the float in front of it. She spent the remains of her energy getting and clinging to a large piece of driftwood that crossed her tunnel-vision. All she could see before she fully blacked out, and was met with the cold depths that she was floating in both figuratively and literally, was the monster ripping more holes into the boat as she slowly, but surely, drifted off.

[qirkbrn-a]

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSES AESTHETICS ?

REPOST! DON’T REBLOG.   BOLD any that applies to your muse and italicize any that kind of applies to your muse. feel free to add to the list.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 . red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade. amber. tan. copper. bronze. magenta.

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 . fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. darkness. shadows. nature. aether. quintessence. blood. life. death. light.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 . claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. neck. back. shoulders. legs. freckles. unseen bruises. canines. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. fingernails. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. piercings. tattoos. athletic. hair. fur. sleek.

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒 . scythe. fists. legs. sword. dagger. spear. lance. bow & arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. baseball bats. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. claws. teeth. stealth. strategy.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 . gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. rose gold. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. opal. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 . grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. lavender. petals. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadow. valley. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. snow. mist. pond.

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 . big cats. wolves. foxes. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. crocodiles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. doves. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. penguins. deer. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. monkeys.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃/𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 . sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. vodka. beer. coffee. sake. tea. water. spices. herbs. apples. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. mangos. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. lollies. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. surf ‘n’ turf. burritos. tacos. pizza. ambrosia. eggs. milk. ramen. chips. ice cream.

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 . music. art. water colors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. CDs. records. vinyl's. cassettes. piano. strings. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. bells. exploring. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. sleeping. climbing. running. jogging. parkour. studying. video games. comics. manga.

𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 . lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. ankle boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. beanie hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. mittens. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. straw hat. visor. eye contacts. makeup. ribbons. hoodie. sweater. converses. tennis shoes. boxers. briefs. boxer briefs. shorts. cargo. cropped pants. crop top. cuffed pants. overalls.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. growth. decay. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. mirrors. pets. diary. journal. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. suffering. family. friends. strength. comrades. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. village. depression. longing. sloth. pride. envy. wrath. greed. gluttony. lust. melancholy. stuffed animals.

Tagged by: swiped from myself cause the brainrot here is real Tagging: Steal !!!!

[kenjinasagi-blog]

“Its the little things.” - A look into Final Fantasy through the eyes of a 13-Year WoW player.

Hello everyone, Often do I talk about why it is that I quit World of Warcraft after 13 years of nigh-uninterrupted subscription in favor of Final Fantasy XIV. Though with this post, I hope to set the record straight and give examples in one concise post that aim to explain it a bit more fluidly. This will mostly cover the visual aspects of the game, though if you don’t know the epic score that is expected with every Final Fantasy game I would suggest looking that up yourself.  As the title suggests, most of it is the little things. Details that WoW lacks. And while the argument can be made that “They’re two different games.” there are some parts in here that are so disappointing. Things that make Blizzard just look lazy in comparison.  I’ll be starting with some of the larger details and eventually move on from there to the nuts and bolts that really make this game stand out. I hope you enjoy the read, and consider joining up with us on the Mateus server. One of these spells is not like the other:

This is likely to be one of my favorite talking points. One of the greatest things about FFXIV is the casting animations. Not one class ability animation is shared between two classes. Red Mage abilities are cocky, confident and the Black Mage just seethes with raw power. Class fantasy is something oft talked about with Blizzard when these guys just nail it. Just look at how as I cast Fire IV, you see the sound barrier breaking as the energy leaves my hands to turn into the explosion that it is about to become:

And whats more? Most of the abilities even for the same class don’t share an animation either. While the Red Mage ability ‘Fleche’ has you bring your arms up to call upon swords of ice to pierce your target, ‘Contra Sixte’ has your character vaulting off of their own blade to get up into the air and send a blast of energy straight down at a target. Ninjas when they use their finishing abilities physically jump onto the shoulders of their enemy, no matter how large, just to jab their daggers into its throat. This isn’t even my final (fantasy) form!: I did say that I was starting big, didn’t I? In WoW, I have never in 13 years experienced a fight where I was awestruck at its magnitude. Every single one of them lacked impact, even as we faced down Argus’ world soul to free the Pantheon did it not feel truly breathtaking. This is where Final Fantasy shines. So many of its boss fights, especially in Heavensward and Stormblood are so ridiculously creative and unique. I’d like to present one of my favorite examples: Susano, Lord of the Revel. He is someone faced around level 63 as part of the leveling experience where you and 7 others need to best him in combat. After taking a bunch of damage, he disappears into the floor... only to emerge as a 10 story tall monolith made of water, to which he rips a massive sword out of the ground and proceeds to attack the tank with it.

Alright, sounds par the course. Tank takes damage, fight goes on. Right? Wrong! Your tank engages Susano in a clash of blades, parrying and holding back his massive sword with their own weapon while the raid destroys the sword. And after his second swing when the force of the shattered blade strikes the ground it leaves a broken tear through the middle of the ground for the rest of the fight. This was a leveling boss, and I was blown away by the sheer scope of the encounter throughout. 

Home is where SE’s heart is: We’ve wanted it. We’ve asked for it, and eventually we were answered with... Garrisons. While this is a feature that has only recently gotten a lot of love from the developers, the housing system in FFXIV is robust. The way that you design your apartment or house is limited only by your imagination (and a generous item count). You can create anything that you set your mind to, memorable places with character and many different themes from coastal shanties to Eastern diners. I won’t spend a lot of time on this part, its something that you need to see for yourself. And it won’t even cost you a raid tier. ;)

Hide Helm? No thanks: I’ll begin with one of the first things that I noticed when playing this game as it was one of my largest minor gripes about WoW because it, to me, is the penultimate sign of indefensible lazyness that has become Blizzard’s commonplace; Hats and helms. Have you ever put on a really cool looking hat in WoW only to find that your character suddenly has all of their hair chopped off? It ruins the look, and for me makes me almost never want to show helms because of how atrocious it can appear. Final Fantasy not only shows hair under their hats, but it does it differently for every single one of the massive amounts of hairstyles in the game. To where it looks natural, and like that particular hairstyle has been put under the hat.

And for my long-eared friends, such as the Elezen, Miqo’te and the horned Au Ra? Your ears don’t just clip through the armor that you’re wearing. Look closely below and you will see that extra stitching has been added on to make the ears coming through seem natural, like it is meant for that. And even those that don’t do this have armor that comes out over the ears and looks like it was bolted onto the original design, with rivets and all.

The Aesthetic: Yes, I know. The most pretentious and overused word of 2018. Though I would be doing this game a great disservice by not mentioning it. Look at how the rain falls in Kugane which is one of the main cities, the ground becomes slick and players’ cloth armor looks like has soaked through. Even going inside of a building can you hear the rain falling upon the roofs above.

Or how about when fog or a blizzard sweeps through Coerthas, reducing visibility and feeling so natural and real:

When your hair and robe billow in the wind, and outfits look natural and intricately designed. Chestpieces aren’t just either one solid mass, or a body-covering robe. You have jackets, and coats that aren’t just made for casters. And the robes don’t always cover the body, but they always compliment it. And what’s more? Your legs don’t even disappear when wearing them.

Again, Class Fantasy: Some of the issues that show WoW’s age are also related to how stiff and symmetrical everything feels. You run with a staff the same way you run with a sword, the same way you run with an axe. With FFXIV’s design, every animation is different. Here we see the Samurai sprinting animation which fits them, the blade out to the side while their other hand holds the sheath:

And if you don’t like the way your character poses in their idle stance?

Then just change it! All it takes is using /cpose and you can change everything from the way that you hold your weapon, to the style that your character sits in chairs with.

Once more, with feeling!: The game’s engine is extremely smart. Are you doing /hug to a female Au Ra, or Miqo’te as one of the towering male Au Ra? He will kneel down to bring his arms around her. Is she standing on a chair and closer to his height? He won’t kneel down, because he doesn’t need to. Your character will look toward their target, and even some of the emotes change based upon whether you’re targeting something/someone or not. You laugh differently when you’re sitting down than when you do standing up and if you don’t think that’s the tightest shit ever, get the hell out of my face.

At last, the end: In all, Final Fantasy XIV is a labor of love and every single bit of it shows so prominently in the details that they put into this game. From the moment that they decided to rebuilt the failed 1.0 game from the ground up and relaunch it, they have proven themselves over and over again that we, the players, are who they do it for. This is a game that is constantly evolving, growing even larger with every new patch, it has story moments that will make you cry (unless you’re a heartless monster and make it through The Vault’s ending cinematic) and deliver big budget film or novel quality writing. And just in case you haven’t been convinced that this is a project with heart and soul put into it; Here’s something from just last month where Naoki Yoshida, the director of the game and man responsible for rebuilding it dropped by on Mateus, the server that I play on, just to hang out on the E3 Stream and be bombarded by the love, respect and thanks that the players do not owe, but willingly give to him. Show me Chris Metzen walking around Stormwind and I’ll eat my keyboard. My name is Kenji Nasagi, and I’m a switcher.

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

Tatiana/esme for coffeeshop au? Only if you feel like it of course!

Oh, I feel like it. I most certainly feel like it.

with your hair down, a Tatiana x Esme fic

 read more like this on ao3 • or my tumblr masterlist

One morning Esme came to work, unlocked the front door, and found a dark-haired woman just sitting there on the edge of the front counter, heel-clad feet swinging back and forth, doing something on her phone. Evidently bored, but holding herself with the feline grace of an aristocrat, clad head to toe in clothing a sleek white pantsuit whose professional effect was absolutely ruined by the black lace crop top she wore underneath.

“I want a croissant,” she said. What accent was that? Russian?

Esme rubbed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all. “We’re not open until six-thirty,” she said. “How did you get in?”

“Two almond croissants. And a quad macchiato.”

“I don’t want to call the police.”

“Then don’t.”

Esme let her massive purse fall to the floor with a thud. “It’s too early in the morning for this. Tell me who you are, or I’ll kick you out myself.”

Without changing the position of her head, the woman looked up. Esme froze. A lesser woman would’ve stepped back. Suit or no, there was nothing civilized about those green eyes. They were purely feral, and nakedly interested.

But then the woman blinked, and it was if a blade had been sheathed. “That’s the level of dedication I like to see in my workers,” she said, giving Esme a sardonic smile and then returning her attention to her phone.

“Your?”

“Check your email.”

Esme pulled out her own phone, and sure enough, buried under an assortment of unasked-for grocery store coupons, sales advertisements for kids’ clothing, requests to schedule parent-teacher conferences, and the occasional chain email from Linda, there was an email from corporate that congratulated Tatiana Petrovna on becoming the youngest person to ever own a Moody’s Coffee. In the email there was a photo, unquestionably of the same woman that now sat on the countertop, with her curly hair swept up into a bun and her flawless face set in a smug smile.

Esme picked up her purse and made her way behind the counter. “What happened to Bob?”

“Who’s that?”

“The previous owner.”

“Dead.”

Esme felt like she should say something about that, like: oh, that’s too bad, but it wasn’t really. He’d been an old, unpleasant, and incompetent. Besides, Tatiana clearly didn’t give a damn. In fact, from this angle, Esme could see her phone, and it was perfectly obvious that Tatiana was just continually swiping left on a wide array of people, mostly uni students, a few professors.

“Two percent, skim, almond, soy?” Esme said.

“Do I look like a vegan to you?”

“That only eliminates two.”

“I don’t care.”

For one sweet moment, Esme fantasized about making the macchiato with half and half instead of milk, or better, just putting a glob of sour cream in a cup with espresso, but then, employment. Employment was good. Or if not good, then at least necessary.

“Skim it is,” she said.

Twenty minutes later, the croissants came out of the oven piping hot. Esme slid them into a brown paper bag, and handed the bag, along with the macchiato, to Tatiana.

Tatiana hopped off the countertop and landing so smoothly that her suit remained immaculate, unstained by even the smallest fleck of macchiato. “Tell Hansen she gets a ten percent raise if she doesn’t fuck up.”

“Tell her yourself,” Esme said, but by then Tatiana was already half-out the door.

In the weeks that followed, Tatiana showed up randomly, never at the same time, never eating the same thing, and wearing a succession of increasingly exquisite clothes, verging on couture. On the very same day that Esme’s oldest stepchild, Katie, got her first period, stained the backseat of their car, and cried about it all the way home, Tatiana showed up at Moody’s Coffee wearing Louboutins. That had Esme feeling some type of way. Nothing positive.

There were other changes, too: the old uniforms of ugly green polo shirts and black pants were replaced by graphic tees and jeans; the menu shortened but the list of weekly specials grew; the corporate décor disappeared overnight, replaced by cozy, eclectic, bean-bag-and-lamp style pieces. It all seemed utterly suited to the aesthetic of a hip college town, but utterly antithetical to Tatiana’s aesthetic in all its red-lipped, stiletto glory. But she clearly didn’t disapprove; the Saturday after the renovations, she appeared before even the bakers, somehow having managed to discover a way to lie languorously, elegantly even, across two beanbags with a bottle of wine and a massive Russian tome.

About three weeks in, Esme showed up to work an afternoon shift and Tatiana was behind the counter, leaning against the back wall, phone in hand, but watching with keen interest everything that poor Carter and Fiona were doing.

“Move,” Esme said.

“Why?”

“The three o’clock classes get out in ten minutes, and I won’t have the time to be reaching around you to get at the rack of syrups.”

“Mm.” Tatiana moved back into the corner and stood so still that in the midst of the rush, Esme forgot she was there at all, until a girl in a Canada Goose coat leaned over and tapped Tatiana on the shoulder. Now this, Esme wanted to see. If only because she loathed every fool who bought an $800 jacket when a $150 would do.

“Hey. Are you the manager?” the girl said.

“The owner,” said Tatiana, slightly through her teeth.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause trouble, but she misspelled my name.” The girl pointed at Fiona, who, bless her, looked petrified. “Sorry,” she said.

“What’s your name?” Tatiana had a way of making every word sound desultory, but it didn’t stop the girl a bit. She barrelled on.

“It’s not Claire, C. L. A. I. R. E., it’s Clare, C. L. A. R. E.”

“Ah.” Tatiana stared at her, magnificently, transparently bored.

“So?” Clare said.

“Would you like me to do something?”

“Tell your employees to spell my name properly, maybe?”

“I really am sorry,” said Fiona.

“Alternatively?” said Tatiana.

Clare’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Alternatively…” With the flick of one finger, Tatiana knocked over the cup, and it tipped over sideways, spilling a hot brown stream onto the girl’s winter boots.

The girl took a step back, and Esme could see the precise moment when denial turned to rage. “You know what? I’m going two blocks down, and I’m getting it from Starbucks! I’m getting everything from Starbucks from now on!”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Tatiana. Her red lips lifted in that feline smile. “Starbucks will be closing soon. I hear the building’s been cursed.”

The girl looked over at Esme, as if seeking reassurance that this was all a practical joke. Esme smiled a placid and flat-eyed smile right back at her. Clare left.

The next day, there was a plaque up on the wall with Tatiana on it. The bio underneath might have been printed in a cutesy font, the swirl of midnight blue might have been well in keeping with the whimsy of the coffeeshop, but there was no amount of design that could render Tatiana’s sheer magnetic arrogance and beauty into something friendly. Even in a photo.

That plaque got plenty of use. Tatiana showed up during every rush, morning, noon, and night, for nine days straight, expertly weaving between the workers and taking orders just like the rest with a smile about a hundred watts too bright for comfort. Clack clack clack went her heels on the tile. Her misspellings became too aggressive to be mistaken for a mistake. At every complaint, she pointed at the plaque.

Pay improved. A few people vanished, without any clear confirmation about whether they’d been fired or just quit. Esme didn’t complain. She found she was enjoying the reign of this new tyrant, even though the tyrant’s benevolence was still an open question.

Even after that nine-day sprint, Tatiana occasionally showed up during the rush. Sometimes she jumped in, doing everything from cappuccinos to taking out the trash; other times, she demanded (and received) free pastries.

“She’s so rude,” said Carter, late one Friday night, at closing.

“That’s exactly why people love her,” said Fiona.

“I’m just scared of her,” he said.

“She’s like a neighborhood cat that only bites,” Fiona added. “It’s fun for them. It’s a bit of personality.”

“But how long before we start losing customers?” said Esme.

“I don’t know, but month over month sales have gone up by six percent,” said Hanson. “I think it’s working.”

“We’ll see,” said Esme.

Except the next week, the Starbucks two blocks down closed and Moody’s got even busier.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Fiona gripped Esme’s arm hard. “Look. That’s the guy.”

Esme peered over the counter at the blonde man picking up a copy of the Wall Street Journal in the corner store opposite Moody’s Coffee. “You’re kidding.”

“Who?” Carter craned his neck.

“That’s the only man I’ve ever seen Tatiana swipe right on. There have been four women, and one man. That’s the man.”

All three stared breathlessly until he disappeared down the street.

“He was tall,” said Fiona admiringly.

“Not that tall,” said Carter.

“You’re five foot seven, what would you know about tall?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“He seems rich. Like sugar daddy rich. Do you think Tatiana has a sugar daddy?”

“Why would she need one?” Esme said.

“Why indeed,” said Tatiana, appearing as if by magic from the back room.

Fiona and Carter scattered.

“You might enjoy it,” Esme said.

“Mm, the long game’s much too much work, and men are not dependable. Take it from me, Esme, all meat tastes better when you’ve hunted it yourself.”

“Spoken like a true heiress, with no spouse, no parents, and no children.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong.”

Tatiana was right, of course, but Esme couldn’t bring herself to say it, so she just gave Tatiana one last look and turned back to the whipped cream.

Nobody ever saw the blonde man again.

This sexual harassment training video had to have been made in the eighties. At first, Esme thought she could tolerate the old graphics and the quasi-elevator music, but then the man in the example said honkers and she burst out laughing.

“Let’s just get through this,” said Hanson grimly.

“No, she’s right,” said Tatiana from the back, at her most sardonic. Hanson flipped on the lights.

“How long have you been here?” said Fiona.

“Too long.” Tatiana walked to the front of the room. “I’m taking over this education. The video’s far too complicated. It’s a simple calculation. Sexual harassment is just a flavor of bullshit with very specific consequences: if you do it, you lose an ear. If you don’t, you live your life.” She produced a folding knife and opened it up. “Bullshit.” She closed it again. “No bullshit.” Opened it “Bullshit.” Closed it. “No bullshit. Now let’s have a demonstration. Who wants to be sexually harassed today?”

The workers at Moody’s Coffee were almost acclimated to Tatiana to the point where the production of a knife and a few threats of bodily harm surprised no one. Still, only Esme raised her hand. She had really developed a taste for Tatiana’s nonsense.

“Are you sure?” said Tatiana, with a hint of amusement.

Esme leaned back in her chair. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“Esme Shelby,” Tatiana said, “The uniform replacements were worth every penny, if only because your tits were absolutely wasted behind those old baggy green shirts.” She turned to the workers and flipped the knife open. “Bullshit. You see?”

“Not sure I’d call that bullshit,” Esme said.

“For the purposes of your education. Now, let’s try a different kind of compliment. Esme, great job today. You really impressed me by getting every order out without a single spill.”

“Snore,” said Esme.

Tatiana flipped the knife closed. “But it wasn’t bullshit. Everyone’s ears stay attached.”

“Kind of mild, wasn’t it?” said Esme.

“What?”

“Your bullshit example.”

“You’d like another?”

“Sure.”

Tatiana stared at her directly. “Esme, every day that I come into this shop, I think to myself: I hope her husband has the stamina of an Arabian horse. Because if I were him, I would make it my personal mission to eat that pussy every single day, and twice on Sundays.”

“Oh, he’s been dead two years now.”

Tatiana, for once, had nothing immediately ready to say.

“But thanks,” Esme added lightly. “He did have a fantastic tongue.”

“I think you’ve got your point across, Petrovna,” said Hanson severely.

“Class dismissed,” said Tatiana.

It was soft and sunny despite the dreadful cold, and during an early afternoon lull, Esme was the only one behind the counter. Having already wiped down the counter, she fell into a reverie. It was broken all too soon by Tatiana saying, sounding for the first time a little anxious, “Did that woman just leave her baby behind in a fucking coffeeshop?”

Esme looked over the counter. Yes, there was a baby in a big black plastic carrier. Fussing. Oh, this was not good. Esme knew that sound. “They’re going to start crying any second now.”

“What do I do?”

“Just talk to them.”

Tatiana leaned over the carrier. Lit like that by the sunlight coming in rays through the windows, she could’ve been a Madonna. But then she spoke. “Ultimately,” she said, “I think you’ll find that life is far better without any parents.”

The baby began to cry.

“Jesus, not like that,” said Esme.

Tatiana shot her a scowl, then turned back to the baby and made her voice a shade softer and several notes lower. “Hello,” she said gravely. Then she blew gently into the baby’s face.

The baby started crying harder.

“Fucking hell. Switch,” ordered Esme, coming out from behind the counter as Tatiana, chagrined, did as she was told. “What was that?”

“It usually works on horses,” Tatiana said.

“On horses? What, have you never seen a baby before?” Esme picked the baby up and cuddled it close. It quieted down a little.

“I’ve seen them, of course, but they’re always other people’s babies.”

“Have you ever held one?”

“I couldn’t.”

“The mum’s not going to care whether it’s you or me. If she comes back at all. And they’ll be fine, as long as you don’t drop them. They’re old enough to hold up their head. Aren’t you?” Esme cooed. “You’ve got a good strong neck.”

The baby considered this, then sneezed into Esme’s shoulder.

“Tatiana, come here.”

Tatiana hesitated.

“It’s the best feeling in the world, come on. Come on.”

“Fine.”

Tatiana held the baby gingerly at first, like it might bite her. The baby looked quizzically at her with their enormous brown eyes.

“It doesn’t like it,” Tatiana said, trying to give the baby back.

Esme stepped away. “Just relax.” Rifling through the diaper bag, she found a soother neatly labeled Christie May and a cup of cereal labeled the same. But no kind of return address anywhere.

“Pardon me.” There was a customer at the counter. Esme’s old statistics professor, to be exact. Damn.

“I’ll be right with you,” she called. “Here.” She passed the soother to Tatiana. “Stick that in her mouth if she starts crying again. Pat her on the back a little too, babies like that.”

Esme had three customers to get through after the professor, but when another lull came, she looked over and saw Tatiana dutifully patting away. After a little while, the baby opened her tiny mouth in a big O of a yawn.

Peace reigned in the coffeeshop, or at least until the door swung open.

“Oh! Hello. Did you make a friend, Christie May?” the mother cooed, making a beeline for the baby and taking her back from Tatiana as if nothing had happened. Tatiana made a face of disgust.

“She was crying,” Esme said. She figured it was better to speak than to have Tatiana say anything.

“Say bye-bye to the nice lady! Bye bye!”

A muscle twitched in Tatiana’s jaw.

“There’s a daycare center just three blocks down Division Street,” said Esme.

“Oh, I know,” the mother said airily. “But I was only gone for twenty minutes. Wasn’t I, sweetheart? Wasn’t I?”

The baby gurgled.

“See?” said the mother, as if that proved something. She put the baby in the carrier, picked up the diaper bag, and headed for the door.

“I’m calling Child Protective Services,” Tatiana shouted after her.

“Well?” said Esme.

“It was alright,” Tatiana said grudgingly.

Esme rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Esme blinked blearily awake against the punishing morning light. Pounding head, dry mouth. What was this? A flashback to her undergraduate days?

“Here.” One syllable, but the voice was unmistakably Tatiana’s. A glass of water was shoved in Esme’s face, and Esme accepted it.

“Where are the kids?” she croaked.

“At your father’s house. It’s Saturday.”

“I thought it was Friday.”

“It was, but now it’s Saturday.”

“Oh Jesus.”

Tatiana was sitting on the nightstand, sipping apple juice from a kids’ juicebox and looking entirely unsympathetic. Esme went back in her memory to try and figure out if she deserved any of this.

“We got drunk last night,” Esme said.

“Yes. Kids were at your father’s, and it was your night off.”

That sounded about right. Tatiana had closed up shop with her, then offered to share a bottle of rum. That much made sense. “Okay.” Esme set the empty glass down, tried to dig deeper into her memory. “Did I drink vodka?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why did I drink vodka? I hate vodka.”

“No, you like vodka. When it’s mixed with grapefruit juice and rum and curaçao.”

“What?”

“Get dressed.”

“Nnf.” It was all too much. Esme buried her head in her pillow, only to have it yanked out from under her head. “Why?”

“We have to go to the city. There’s that Christmas dinner with your in-laws.”

“Oh, fuck.” Esme sat up. “We?”

“You invited me to come along, last night. You said, and I quote: ‘I want to see the look on Tommy Shelby’s face when I roll up to his stupid mansion with a woman richer than he is on my arm.’”

“That does sound like something I would say.”

“And then you said you wanted to find his knighthood ribbon and flush it down a toilet.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“But you want to.”

“You’re not going to do it either.”

“But I want to!”

“You’re not coming.”

“What, you’re going to make the four-hour drive all by yourself?” Tatiana rolled her eyes. “Hurry up and meet me out front, or we’ll be unfashionably late.”

“Tatiana.”

“Mm?”

“Did we have sex?”

“While you were that drunk? Of course not, it would be cheating you of the full Petrovna experience.” With a wink, she shut the bedroom door behind her.

Thanks to the gift of single motherhood, Esme could sleep anywhere, anytime, for as long as she was allowed, so when Tatiana shook her awake, she found herself in Tommy’s neighborhood. God, the place was horrid, with its wrought-iron gates, manicured lawns, and unfiltered bullshit.

“We’re half an hour late!” Tatiana chirped. “This will be good.” She got out of the car. Esme stumbled out after her.

“Wait, shouldn’t we coordinate on–”

Tatiana had produced a garment bag from the trunk of her car. “It’s the holidays, Esme. Did you think I’d come underdressed?” She passed another bag to Esme. “Or that I’d let you?” She opened the car door. “Go on, the windows are tinted for a reason.”

Esme wanted to argue, but this was her only good dress, the same dress that she’d worn to the last Christmas dinner, which Polly would undoubtedly notice. And she was curious.

The bag turned out to contain a sleeveless dark blue sequined number and a matching set of diamond chandelier earrings and a necklace. Damn. Esme had been expecting something more like a shirt with a middle finger printed on it, but come to think of it, this was better. This was much better.

“How’d you pick the fit?” she asked, when she emerged.

“I’m observant.” Tatiana disappeared into the car and came out wearing a cream-colored dress embellished with seemingly dozens, maybe hundreds of tiny pearls. And a fur shrug.

“Good job Ada’s not coming, else you’d get an earful for that.” Saying it was really an excuse for Esme to poke the fur as they walked towards Tommy’s house. It was just as soft as it looked.

“I can take on all comers.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you’ll have your hands full with Polly and Tommy. And Arthur, if he gets offended.”

“And Linda.”

How much had Esme told her while drunk, exactly? Oh well, it was too late to find out. “Definitely Linda,” she agreed.

“We’ll have a good time. It’s always easier to ruin a party when you’re not the host.”

Tatiana rapped on the front door as Esme looked over the big white architectural monstrosity in front of them, with its stupid balcony and its myriad of windows.

“I hate this place,” Esme said.

“I’ve stayed in larger summer homes than this,” Tatiana said. And somehow, that did make Esme feel better about it all.

The door was opened by none other than Tommy himself, in his customary suit, looking every inch as infuriating as the last time she’d seen him, which by no coincidence was the last dinner.

“What, no butler?” said Esme.

He cleared his throat and gave Esme a meaningful look. “We’ve had trouble with servants before.”

She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “You’re always having trouble.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he said.

“Tatiana, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is Tatiana.”

“Her brother-in-law,” said Tommy, sticking his hands in his pockets. For a second, Esme forgot that bringing Tatiana along was only a prank, and got more than a little annoyed that he wouldn’t just shake her hand.

But Tatiana tilted her hand and gave a lovely smile. “Her sugar daddy.” With that, she handed over the fur to Tommy, as if he were a footman, and swept down the hallway, latching onto Esme’s arm.

“What was that?” Esme murmured under her breath.

“Thought you said you wanted a rich woman on your arm.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s perfect. What better way to annoy them than to go over their heads?”

To be fair, there was nothing Tommy liked less than a competing power. And even if it wasn’t true, it would be delicious to make him think for a moment that the only hold he had on her (the trust he’d put together for the children’s college education) was no longer relevant.

“Just eat your food and enjoy the show,” said Tatiana, and then it was the dining room, and introductions.

Tatiana was at her most charming through the fourth course, and then, sometime during the fifth, Polly put down her fork and said, in that deliberate, clear voice that Esme hated: “So, Tatiana, what is it you do for work?”

“I sell coffee.”

“Ah.”

“And jewels. Art, books, cheese. Used to sell vodka. But now I only drink it.” She smiled brightly. “And I’m getting my master’s in psychology.”

“What is that, the study of psychos?” Arthur guffawed.

“Yes.” Tatiana didn’t look over; she and Polly were engaged in some sort of a staredown that left Esme on the edge of her seat and also possibly a little horny.

“Jewels?” said Tommy, breaking it up. It was the first he’d spoken for quite some time.

“All kinds,” said Tatiana, and all right, Esme did not care for the way her voice seemed to have dropped half an octave down.

“And what did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t.”

Tommy pushed his chair back from the table, stood, and left. The east wing, Esme thought; his office. Maybe making a call. Maybe–

“Bathroom?” said Tatiana.

Polly pointed down the west wing. “Four downs the hall.”

“Thanks.” Tatiana got up and went in the opposite direction. Right after Tommy.

Polly was halfway out of her chair to follow when Esme said her name.

“What?” Polly snapped.

“There’ something I need to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“These mushrooms. They’re perfect. Could you share the recipe with me?”

“You know we have a cook,”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Esme said.

Finn, in a desperate attempt to rescue the situation, sallied forth. “Aunt Linda, have you seen any good movies lately?”

And then it was nothing but the most stilted of small talk while Arthur got drunker and drunker and Esme and Polly sniped at each other, until Tommy and Tatiana returned, Tommy with the faintest traces of bruises beginning to form on his neck, and Tatiana wearing lipstick two shades darker than the one she’d been wearing when she left the table. Less like scarlet, more like blood.

Esme had to hand it to her; she knew how to crash a party. Even Arthur, seven drinks in, looked absolutely horrified. Esme found herself feeling nothing but proud. And maybe a little jealous.

“What did I miss?” said Tatiana.

Tommy didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and was instead focusing all his attention on chewing a piece of beef.

“Oh, nothing much,” said Esme. “Finn wants to go see the latest Batman movie.”

When they got to the car, Esme collapsed into laughter. “So?” she said, when she had finally caught her breath. By then, they were on the highway. “Did you fuck, or did you fight?”

“Yes.” Tatiana glanced over. “Are you jealous?”

“Why?”

“He’s an eight.”

“He’s a five, and I bet he’s a rotten lay.” Childishly, Esme hoped this would yield some details.

“I can see where you’re coming from,” said Tatiana thoughtfully, fishing a cigarette from her purse with one hand. “Widowers, especially the sad ones, can be a drag. So weepy.” She lit the cigarette. “But if you get the right one, it can be delightful. They fuck with such desperation.”

“Ah.” And there it was, the core of the annual Shelby fight: there were too many empty spots at the table where the people they loved should be sitting, and hating each other was easier than thinking about it.

“Hey.” Tatiana caught her before she could slide too far down into that particular pit of horrors. “Cheer up. I got you something.”

“What?”

“Look in the zipper pocket of my purse.”

“Is this…?”

“I dub thee Lady Esme Shelby, Duchess of Cappuchino.”

“You know what?” Esme pinned Tommy’s knighthood ribbon to her dress. “I think I’ll keep it.”

“Merry Christmas, Esme.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Esme didn’t see Tatiana for two days, and then she showed up at closing, just after Carter had left and Esme was the only one in the shop.

“Hey,” said Esme.

Tatiana sauntered up to the counter. “I got you something.” She slid three envelopes across. In the first were two season passes to the orchestra. In the second, a key. In the third, cash. All in different denominations, twenties, tens, fives, ones. Nonsequential, too. Esme checked.

“You said Katie wants to be be a flautist,” Tatiana said. “So, orchestra.”

Esme looked up. “What is this?”

“Am I not your sugar daddy?”

“I thought that was a joke.”

“I could take them back and get a refund. But put it all together, and it’s still not enough to buy a bottle of 1811 Château d'Yquem.”

“No, I’ll take it.”

Tatiana smirked.

“What?”

“You’re proud about money with Tommy, but not with me.”

“Among his casualties, whether he admits it or not, is my husband. Among your casualties is nobody I care about.”

“You assume I’ve caused deaths.”

“I find it better to assume guilt than otherwise, at this point. Anyways, nobody who wears a five thousand dollar dress is innocent.”

Tatiana appeared to absorb this. Esme could see the wheels turning in her head. “What are you doing on Saturday?” Tatiana said.

“Why?”

“I could find you a babysitter.”

“And?”

“You could find out what’s underneath the five thousand dollar dress.”

Esme couldn’t read her. “Is this because widows fuck with such delightful desperation?”

“No.”

“Is this because you’re experimenting with becoming a sugar daddy?”

“No.”

“Is this some long-con sexual harassment example?”

“Esme. This is only because of you.”

Esme searched her green eyes for a hint of laughter, but for the first time, there was nothing but honesty. That was more terrifying than all of Tatiana’s bullshit smiles put together.

Esme leaned over the counter and kissed her.

Her hair was just as soft as Esme always imagined, and she licked and bit at Esme’s lips just the same. But it was good in ways Esme had never thought of, had not felt in a long, long time.

“You look different with your hair down,” Esme murmured, finally.

“I look different with my clothes off, too.”

“I’ve got kids at home, a babysitter that can’t do overnight. And in-laws that I can’t get rid of, and some other people that make me stick close to home, always get paid in cash, and keep my pictures off the internet. You know that?”

“I do. That’s what this is for.“ Tatiana tapped the second envelope. “I know when you’ve got a day off. I’ll be waiting.”

That was a good, dramatic moment for her to walk out, but she kept standing there, looking at Esme like a fallen angel, all lipstick and bad decisions, and Esme couldn’t help it. She kissed her again.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, dwyn5002!

November 14 - Claire Temple/Daisy Johnson soulmate short for @dwyn5002

Written by @ozhawkauthor

A sharp shrill from her phone jerked Claire out of a deep sleep. Groaning, she grabbed for it, brought it to her ear.

“Lo.”

“Claire, it’s Matt.I need your help.”

“Because of course you fucking do,” she sighed, pushing herself to sit upright and reaching to turn on the lamp. “What is it this time, and where are you? Where’s the wound?”

“Back of the left shoulder, a bullet. Lodged in the shoulder blade I think.”

“Yeah, you won’t be able to pull that one out. You need a hospital, Matt.”

“It’s not me that’s wounded. And a hospital’s out of the question. Buzz me in, Claire.”

Her doorbell chimed at that moment and she cursed under her breath before climbing out of bed. “Who is it? Please tell me it’s not that Punisher guy.”

“No… he’s smart enough to wear a Kevlar vest.” There was a distinctly sarcastic note in Matt’s voice. “It’s an old friend, actually. From my childhood.”

“From the orphanage?” Phone held to her ear, she pushed the button to let him in the front door, starting turning on lights in her apartment. “Don’t tell me two of you grew up to be vigilante superheroes.”

“Okay then.”

“Wait, two of you really did grow up to be vigilante superheroes?”

The phone went dead just before a light tap sounded at her apartment door. Claire dropped her phone on the table and hurried to open up, surprised to see Matt carrying a slight young woman dressed all in black.

“Put her there,” she gestured at the couch, which she’d already prudently covered with a large towel. Far too many superheroes had bled on the damn thing. “So who is she, and why can’t she go to a hospital… oh, never mind. I see. Fantastic, you’re bringing me actual wanted criminals now.” She frowned as she got a good look at the girl’s face. “Agent, or former Agent, I should say, Daisy Johnson.”

“She was Mary-Sue Poots when we were in St. Agnes,” Matt said, laying Daisy carefully on the sofa, on her left side. “Which was a name the nuns made up, because she didn’t have one. She took the name Skye later on, but apparently she eventually found out where she came from and Daisy Johnson is her real name.”

“And she killed the Patriot.” Claire scowled down at the unconscious girl, her arms folded.

“Don’t believe everything you see. That footage was faked.”

“According to her, I presume?”

“You do know that I can tell when people are lying, right?” Matt sounded tired as he pulled off his mask. “Are you going to help, Claire, or am I going to have to dig that bullet out on my own?”

“Ugh, I can’t let you do that to the poor girl. Who shot her, anyway? I thought she could deflect bullets and stuff?”

“Only if she sees them coming,” Matt said as she snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up scissors to cut off Daisy’s jacket and shirt. “She was kicking ass and taking names when a ricochet off a fire escape hit her in the back off the shoulder.”

“It slowed it down,” Claire murmured, peering at the bloody hole she’d exposed. “Which is why it didn’t go through. She’s lucky; if it hadn’t lodged in the scapula it would have gone straight through her lung. Pass me that Tupperware box on the kitchen counter.”

Matt picked it up and placed it down beside her. He knew it contained her surgical tools, kept sterile inside the plastic container. She flipped open the lid, selected a pair of forceps.

“You’d better hold onto her. This might wake her up.”

Matt settled to his knees, grasped onto Daisy’s forearm and placed his other hand on her ribs. “Now don’t be mean on purpose,” he suggested with a light note of teasing in his voice.

“Pfeh,” Claire snorted at him before beginning a careful probe. She could feel the edges of the bullet, smashed right into Daisy’s shoulder blade. Gripping on with the forceps, she wiggled gently. “Damn… this is pretty stuck.” Wiggling harder, she finally felt the bullet move, shifting slightly in the bone… just as Daisy screamed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Claire yelped, stumbling back, forceps still clutched tightly in her hand, the bullet clamped firmly in between the jaws.

“Easy, Daisy, you were shot,” Matt said, keeping his voice low and steady as he held Daisy down. “We’re with a friend of mine. She just removed the bullet. Remember? I promised I wouldn’t take you to a hospital.”

One dark eye peered at Claire from behind a fringe of wavy black hair, examined the forceps in her hand. Daisy had been pushing up against Matt’s grip, but slowly, she let herself go limp again.

“Fucking hurts,” she muttered. “Doesn’t she have any local anaesthetic?”

“I’m sorry,” Claire apologized again, dropping the bloodied bullet in her trash and putting the forceps in the sink to wash and re-sterilize later. “I don’t. And now I’m going to have to stitch that wound closed, too.”

That dark eye surveyed her for a few seconds before Daisy’s head jerked in a small nod. Returning to kneel down beside her again, Claire picked up a packet of sutures and ripped it open.

Daisy didn’t make so much as a sound as Claire carefully pulled together the ragged edges of the wound and stitched them. Fortunately it had been a small-calibre bullet, and travelling slowly with the ricochet, hadn’t made nearly as much mess as a direct hit would have done. She made tiny, careful stitches, taking her time, hoping to minimise the scarring.

“There,” she said finally, picking up her scissors to cut the final suture. “You’ll be able to wear a bikini again one day and nobody will ever know you were shot.”

Matt laughed, releasing Daisy and stepping back. “Trust you to worry about the aesthetics!”

“Trust the blind man not to realize that appearances are important to a girl,” Claire shot back, and from the couch, Daisy chuckled. Using her good arm to push herself upright with a grunt, she smiled at Claire.

“That said, he’s more perceptive than most men, which is tragic,” Claire tipped her head towards Matt. “I’d still advise you against getting involved.”

Daisy’s dark brown eyes widened, and she laughed more freely, stopping with a wince when her shoulder obviously pained her. “Trust me, that’s never going to happen,” she said.

Claire froze in the act of peeling off her soiled gloves, spun around. “What did you say?” For a moment, she wondered if Matt could have told Daisy… but then, even though they’d been lovers, he couldn’t have ever seen her soulmark. She knew there was no texture or raised surface to the words.

For answer, Daisy pulled down the cup of her bra, over her left breast, and showed Claire the single word written there… twice. Sorry, sorry.

“Matthew, get out,” Claire said faintly.

“Both of your heart rates are going crazy, what have I missed?” Matt’s unfocussed stare swung between them.

“Soulmates. Now get out.”

Matt actually looked surprised, but he was a smart guy. He scooped up his mask and headed straight back out the door with a “You know how to reach me,” tossed over his shoulder, leaving Claire and Daisy alone, staring at each other.

Finally, Daisy patted the couch beside her. “Will you sit down and talk to me? I don’t even know your name.”

“Claire… it’s Claire. Temple. I’m a nurse.”

“Matt said he had a friend who was a nurse, who would patch me up.” Daisy fumbled tentatively for Claire’s hand, pressed gently on her fingers. “Thank you.”

“I was a bit doubtful when I recognized you,” Claire confessed. “But Matt says you didn’t do it and he…” she ran down, unsure just how much Daisy knew about Matt’s abilities.

“You can’t successfully lie to Matt,” Daisy said. “Because of… what he is. I should warn you that it’s pretty hard to lie to me, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… at least, once I’ve gotten to know people a little bit. When you speak, the sound is caused by vibrations in your larynx, right? And vibrations are my thing. So I can tell when the vibrations change, which they do when someone is lying. Even if it’s in miniscule ways. Even if it’s by omission, sometimes.”

Daisy looked a little bit uncertain how Claire would react to that revelation. But Claire had never had any intention of lying to her soulmate, even by omission. She smiled at Daisy, squeezed her hand in return.

“That is so cool.”

Daisy’s grin was wide, relieved. “So how do you know Matt?” she asked.

“Fished him out of my Dumpster one time.”

“... That is a story I need to hear.”

Claire giggled at Daisy’s avid look. “Not tonight. Tonight, I want to hear your story.”

Daisy sighed. “It’s long and messy and complicated.”

“Sounds like I should open a bottle of wine.”

“That,” Daisy rolled her head back against the back of the couch, “sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Good thing I have a bottle of red in the kitchen then, huh?” Getting up to fetch two glasses, Claire brought the bottle back as well. Daisy’s fingers sought her again as she sat down, and Claire took her hand, feeling the strength in that fine-boned hand. Meeting Daisy’s eyes, she smiled. “I’m so glad Matt brought you here. Not glad that he had to, obviously, but that I finally got to meet you.”

“You too.” Daisy took a sip of her wine, sighed, and nestled deeper into the couch, wincing as the stitches in her shoulder pulled. “So… I guess I should start with the Nazis who kidnapped my mother and murdered her… and my father who brought her back to life again.”

[02blessings]

chapters: 1/1

words: 2.5 k

rating: G

additional tags: datekou gen, tortoise puns, aone and futakuchi friendship, nametsu mai roasting futakuchi kenji

“She was just here! I don’t understand-” Futakuchi turns his pockets inside out as if Speedy could be found hiding inside them- “how- what- why is she so fast?”

Or, Futakuchi likes to think he’s pretty quick on his feet. Not as quick as Aone’s tortoise, apparently.

Check it out on AO3 or below the cut!

Takanobu has heard a lot of untrue statements come out of Futakuchi’s mouth.

It was Shibayama’s idea.

No, don’t change. That shirt looks good on you, Moniwa.

I’m not scared, you’re the one who’s scared.

You’re doing great, Koganegawa.

Kamasaki is my favorite upperclassman.

Of course I remember Pantalons’ real name!

I don’t care.

But no statement has ever been as completely, unequivocally false as when Futakuchi told him, “You have nothing to worry about, Aone. Speedy and I get along great.”

In response, Takanobu had reminded Futakuchi that Speedy - and Russian tortoises in general - don’t “get along great” with anyone, as they tend to be distant with strangers. Speedy barely acknowledges Takanobu as anything more than a walking tree that supplies lettuce on most days, and they had been together since he was a child. Futakuchi had agreed that that may be true for Aone and the common masses, but he knew for a fact that he was superior to the general population, especially when it came to pet tortoises. Some might even call him a Tortoise Magnet. His words, not Takanobu’s.

So when Takanobu had to leave for the weekend to visit family in Tokyo, he asked Futakuchi to babysit Speedy. Because he trusted him and believed he was completely qualified for the job.

Well, sometimes Takanobu was untruthful as well. He had actually asked literally everyone else he knew to watch Speedy, but they had all been busy. He even contacted someone from Aobajousai, Iwaizumi Something, because he had seemed particularly responsible during their last match against each other. Iwaizumi had replied that he was going to be busy that weekend “watching another scaly reptile,” which Takanobu interpreted to mean he was either partaking in a Godzilla movie marathon or babysitting Aobajousai’s setter. Or both.

Eventually he had settled for Futakuchi, who was free because despite acting the opposite, Datekou volleyball was his social life. But Takanobu wasn’t worried at all.

Another lie. He was starting to wonder if he was in denial.

“Have fun on your weekend. Let loose, go wild, do something you wouldn’t want the team to see pictures of. But make sure you send us the pics anyways. I’ll take good care of your turtle.”

“Tortoise.”

“Semantics.”

Takanobu sighs and hefts his luggage onto his shoulder. He kneels down in the grass next to Speedy’s outdoor enclosure, draping his arm over the wire fencing to rub the top of her pale green shell the way she likes. He glances over his shoulder to see Futakuchi hovering his pointer finger over the needle of one of Takanobu’s prized cacti, muttering “don’t be a coward” to himself. Takanobu closes his eyes to allow his brain to reset, then gives Speedy a stern look. “Don’t give him too much trouble,” he whispers to her. She slowly looks up at him, and he swears he can see her smirking.

He decides to leave his phone volume on the highest setting just in case he gets a call from Futakuchi, or the fire department.

Takanobu stands next to Futakuchi, who is now letting Takanobu’s mother’s Venus fly trap eat his finger. He waits until Futakuchi turns to look at him, and Takanobu is willing to admit that he enjoys Futakuchi’s slight recoil from the intense expression on his face.

“Alright, alright. I promise I’ll be really responsible and I won’t do any of the things I’m considering doing. Get going already, you’ll miss your train.”

Takanobu stays still.

Futakuchi sighs. “Fiiiine. The emergency numbers are on the fridge, Speedy’s feeding schedule and food is on the kitchen counter, and more instructions are in your room.” And then, because he was Futakuchi, he added, “And I know how to use Google. So. Bye, now.”

Takanobu realizes that if Futakuchi hasn’t changed his behavior in the two years they’d known each other, he wasn’t going to change in the five minutes Takanobu had left before he was officially late for his train. He accepts the fact that his weekend will be cut short and backs out of his house, pointing warningly at Futakuchi until the front door closes.

“So, Speedy. Come here often?” Kenji snickers at his own joke and looks around the garden that she calls home. The edges are lined with a mix of Aone's cacti and his mother's flowering carnivorous plants, and Kenji is a big fan of the aesthetic. “You’ve got some pretty sweet digs here. This might be bigger than my bedroom. Definitely bigger than Kamasaki’s bedroom, the proletariat.”

He refers to the instruction sheet Aone left him, and decides that he has enough time to watch some TV before he has to feed Speedy. He eyes her as she meanders across her enclosure, pushing aside blades of grass taller than her. He suspects that she might be watching him as well, but he brushes it off as inevitable - not even beasts could resist all of this - and heads back into Aone’s house.

Slinging himself over the back of Aone’s leather couch, he turns the TV on and begins scrolling through the channels. “What’s with this Pokemon nerd shit? I’mma still watch it though, I’mma still watch. But only to make fun of it!” He yells the last part just in case Speedy is judging him.

Kenji sinks deeper into the couch. “You know, Speedy, you kinda remind me of that little blue turtle Pokemon. What’s it called again?” Kenji knows what it’s called. It’s Squirtle, it’s his favorite, and he has three plushie versions on his bed in assorted sizes. He’s just not sure if Speedy can be trusted with the knowledge that he still loves Pokemon.

“Hey Speedy, if I was a Pokemon, which one do you think I’d be?” Kenji yawns and props his feet up on the glass top of Aone’s coffee table. “Don’t say Magikarp.”

His head slides to the side to rest on a brightly patterned throw pillow. He watches as Ash orders Pikachu to use Thunderbolt on Team Rocket - how violent of Ash, he always knew he respected him - and whispers “it’s super effective” as they blast off. The last thought he remembers having was whether he should rewind the show to sing along with Team Rocket’s song or just wait for the next episode before he falls asleep.

“Shit.” Kenji sits up from where he had slid off the couch and onto the floor in a room that was significantly darker than he remembered. “Oh no, the turt- tortoise is going to kill me.”

He rushes to the kitchen to grab some lettuce for Speedy, checking the clock. He was thirty minutes behind her feeding schedule, and he was unsure if that was a noticeable difference for a tortoise or if that counted as, like, a second in tortoise years.

The back door slams behind him as he stumbles into Aone’s garden, piles of lettuce clutched in his hands. “Speedy, please don’t tell Aone, I’ll give you a carrot if you don’t talk- wait. What.”

Speedy was nowhere to be found.

“Nope. Noooooope. Nopity nope.” Kenji retraces his steps back into the house, waits for the world to fix itself, then goes back into the garden. Speedy is still missing. The lettuce falls from his hands.

He paces back and forth across the garden and does some quick calculations in his head. Assume that tortoises are slow, carry the 1, multiply by 2...Kenji concludes that there’s no way the tortoise got out of the garden. He begins searching under the bushes and behind the flowerbeds, even climbing the tree just to be safe. There’s no sign of Speedy.

“She was just here! I don’t understand-” Kenji turns his pockets inside out as if Speedy could be found hiding inside them- “how- what- why is she so fast?”

Kenji is beginning to panic, so it’s understandable that he makes the worst possible decision and calls the one person who actively enjoys watching him suffer.

“Futakuchi Kenji. What did you do now?” Nametsu Mai greets him. Kenji is stung that he didn’t even get a hello this time.

“Nametsu Mai. What makes you think I did anything- okay fine, I lost Aone’s turt- tortoise.”

There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the line, and then Nametsu is laughing at him. Kenji is disturbingly used to the sound.

“Did- did she go too fast for you? You must be a little...shell-shocked,” she grits out.

“Come on, this is serious-”

“No, wait wait, I have one more - Aone is turtley going to lose it when he finds out.”

“I’ll have you know, Speedy is a tortoise and she’s beautiful. Are you going to help me or not?”

Nametsu’s laughter cuts off abruptly. “Can’t. Aone actually asked if I could watch his tortoise this weekend, but I let him know the managers are having their monthly get-together where we swap stories. Mainly about you.” Her voice moves away from the phone as she talks to someone in the room with her. “What? Yeah, it’s Futakuchi. Tell Hana she was right, we owe her money now. He didn’t even last the night.” She moves back to the phone. “I have to go, Futakuchi, but I won’t tell Aone yet. Call some of the team. Actually, call all of the team and tell them exactly what you told me. See you Monday.” Kenji hears her yell “Yachi! You and me, Rainbow Road, right now!” before the call ends.

He takes a deep breath and scrolls through his contact list.

“Thank you all for joining me on such short notice,” Kenji says to the assembled group. He crosses his arms across his chest, only flexing a little bit. “I’ve called you here today to complete a very important mission.”

The long-suffering faces of Moniwa, Obara, and Pantalons look up at him from where he ordered them to sit on Aone’s living room floor. He likes to feel tall sometimes. Kenji had called Kamasaki and Sasaya as well, but Nametsu had probably gotten to them first because when Kamasaki picked up Kenji had been unable to say anything over the full minute of laughter he heard from both of them before they hung up and blocked his number. Kenji had decided against calling any of the first years, in order to maintain what little respect for him they still had.

“Don’t you think we’re wasting time talking when we could be looking for Speedy?” Pantalons asks wearily.

“Yes. Don’t interrupt. As I was saying, we’ve gathered here for a very important mission - Operation Ghost in the Shell.” Kenji pauses to let his joke sink in. He spent ten minutes working on it. He unfurls the poster he spent another ten minutes working on. “I’ve outlined a plan for us to cover the most ground in Miyagi before Aone gets back. It involves Moniwa getting a pilot’s license, a horse, and several pairs of rollerblades.”

“I don’t think Speedy made it any farther than a mile, max,” Moniwa says hastily, paling at the prospect of taking a test for a pilot’s license. He hadn’t even studied.

Futakuchi thinks for a second. “Don’t interrupt, but that sounds like a good starting range. We should split up and search the entire block.”

“I’ll take Obara, then. Onagawa, you go with Futakuchi,” Moniwa says, rising from the ground. Kenji revels in the fact that he’s still taller even when Moniwa is standing.

“Huh? Who’s Onagawa? Pantalons, you come with me. Moniwa, stop giving orders. I'm captain now,” Kenji leads the way out the front door, pointing imperiously down Aone’s street while Moniwa grabs Obara’s arm and speedwalks in the opposite direction, attempting to hide his laughter at the horrified expression on Pantalons’ face.

“Futakuchi. Give up, please. It’s time to call Aone,” Pantalons calls up to him. Moniwa and Obara stand next to him, Moniwa’s hands fluttering in panic. Pantalons had called them for help after Kenji started to make rash decisions when Speedy hadn’t been found immediately.

“No, he’s with his family! I’ve got this under control!” Kenji pulls himself up using another branch. He’s almost to the top of this tree, and then he’ll be able to see all of Miyagi. Kenji - 1, Speedy - 0, he thinks gleefully. She can’t hide from him now.

Kenji is preparing his victory speech to be delivered on speakerphone to Nametsu and the rest of the managers, when the branch he’s standing on snaps. Obara’s terrified screech almost makes him laugh hard enough to lose his grasp on the branch above him, but as he carefully looks down, he realizes he’s still alive but now stuck in a tree.

He pulls himself up to sit on the branch that saved his life, grabbing his phone and dialing Aone’s number. He picks up on the first ring.

“I just unpacked.”

“Hellooooo to you too, big guy. How’s the weather in Tokyo?”

“You lost Speedy.”

“I lost Speedy.”

Aone sighs. “I’m on my way.”

Kenji hangs up, then starts dialing the fire department.

Kenji - 0, Speedy - 1.

Aone enters the house quietly and makes his way to the backyard without pausing to say hi to Kenji, which was honestly really rude of him, it’s not like Kenji lost Speedy on purpose-

“You didn’t lose Speedy.”

Kenji stops in the doorway to the garden, Moniwa and the other second years peering over his shoulder. “What.”

Aone kneels down next to the enclosure and pushes aside a mound of dirt and- oh. Speedy’s head pops out and she turns surprisingly quickly to look directly at Kenji. He swears she’s smirking at him.

“I’m going home,” Moniwa says, turning immediately towards the front door and walking out of Aone’s house.

Obara and Pantalons sigh in unison, patting Kenji on the back and saying goodbye to Aone before following Moniwa out. The garden is silent for a moment as Kenji focuses intensely on the foliage. The first stars have started to appear, stark against the blue-black of the sky, but the edges of the horizon are still a soft pink. He thinks it makes the garden look even more disgustingly quaint than usual.

“It’s on her instruction sheet.”

“Huh?”

Aone offers some lettuce to Speedy. “Russian tortoises like to burrow.”

“Oh.” Kenji scuffs his shoe on the ground, avoiding eye contact with Aone and Speedy, that judgmental rock-lizard. “I’m...sorry you had to leave your family.” There. He said it. He hopes Aone isn’t recording this to send to Nametsu.

“It’s okay. I don’t like my cousins,” Aone replies, stroking Speedy’s shell as she munches on her lettuce.

Kenji brightens immediately. “So I did you a favor then!”

Aone doesn’t respond, which Kenji typically interprets as a yes or a no, depending on whichever answer would best suit him. This time it’s a yes for sure.

“Well, in that case, you’re welcome.” He settles on the ground next to Aone and reaches over to pet Speedy. She appears to appraise him, her eyes narrowing before allowing it to happen. Kenji beams at Aone and nudges his shoulder while gesturing wildly at the tortoise. Aone acknowledges them both with a small smile.

“Told you we get along great.”