#all of it. from like the games themselves to the politics and graciously talking to strangers who dont speak English fluently

[420fps]

alright one more /pos moment for the mcyts, squidcraft really has highlighted how crazy smart George is. I can't even think of any specific moments right now, but I know that was generally what kept coming back to me the whole time. man is SMART.

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

They Can’t Take That Away From Me (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello again! It is with great excitement that I present you all with the first part of the “Love Goes” sequel! I’m still trying to come up with a name (suggestions welcome lol). 

A good amount of dialogue from Wandavision is used here since it felt necessary to set the story up. Songs used are “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” by Frank Sinatra (1954) and “Lego House” by Ed Sheeran (2011). Let me know what you think!

Summary: What is life like for Y/n and Wanda in the 1950s? And what shenanigans will they be getting into? 

There was an odd sensation of confusion as Wanda looked around the home. Now that you had gone to work she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. Even though you had only been gone a moment, she couldn’t help the excitement that built within her at the thought of you walking through the door again. 

Much to Wanda’s relief, she wasn’t left alone with her thoughts long as an unexpected knock on the front door caught her attention. With furrowed brows she made her way over to the front door and opened it. A hesitant smile appeared on her face as a woman holding a plant smiled brightly back at her.

“Hello, dear. I’m Agnes. Your neighbor to the right. My right, not yours.” The woman informed her cheerfully as she made her way into the home before Wanda could even get a word out. “Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you. My mother-in-law was in town… So, I wasn’t.” 

The sound of laughter floated into Wanda’s ears as she smiled back at Agnes who offered her the plant which she graciously accepted. Agnes began speaking again before Wanda got the chance. “So, what’s your name? Where are you from? And most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?” 

The woman wandered further into the home as Wanda closed the door and rushed over to her, the smile of a perfect hostess never falling from her lips. “I’m Wanda.” She replied politely as she offered her a hand.

Agnes took her offered hand and shook it lightly. “Wanda. Charmed.” She looked around. “Golly! You settled in fast. Did you use a moving company?”

With wide eyes, Wanda turned and placed the plant on the table. “I sure did. Those boxes don’t move themselves.” She replied lightly, the polite smile returning to her face as laughter once again floated around her. 

“So, what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

Wanda waved her hand dismissively. That was something she certainly wasn’t. “Oh no, I’m not single.”

Agnes titled her head slightly in surprise. “Oh, I don’t see a ring.”

Glancing down at her finger for a moment, Wanda furrowed her brow before snapping her head back up to meet Agnes’ eyes. The smile never wavering. “I assure you. I’m married. To a woman. A wonderful woman. A writer at that!”

“A woman?” Agnes asked excitedly. “How nifty! Where exactly is your special lady?” She questioned as she took a seat on the couch. 

Wanda’s smile changed slightly and become something softer as she thought of you fondly. A change she didn’t even notice herself as she settled into the space next to Agnes. “She’s off at work. Meeting with her editor today.” She said, a proud tinge to her voice.

“Well, that’s exciting!” Agnes exclaimed, “It must be a dream to be married to a writer! Maybe she can teach my Ralph a thing or two on how to romance a woman.”

A bashful smile spread across Wanda’s lips. “I can’t speak for other writers, but mine certainly is a dream.” 

Agnes gestured to the round table in front of them. “So, what’s the occasion today?” 

For a moment Wanda merely stared at Agnes with confusion. Until her eyes fell to the calendar on the table which had a heart drawn in the box for the day’s date. The calendar which she oddly hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Well, it’s a special occasion, of course! Y/n must have left it there for me to find.”

Excitedly, Agnes leaned forward. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

“Not a birthday.” Wanda replied with a shake of her head, she knew that couldn’t be it.

In response, Agnes’ own eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Well, today isn’t a holiday, is it?”

“No, not a holiday…”

“An anniversary then?”

“Y-… Yes!” Wanda agreed quickly as she pointed at Agnes in recognition. “Yes, it’s our anniversary!”

Agnes reached out to take Wanda’s hands with an enthusiastic smile. “Oh, how marvelous! How many years?”

For a moment Wanda hesitated, something told her that answer wasn’t a simple one. “Well… it feels like we’ve always been together.” 

“How romantic! So… what do you have planned?” Agnes questioned.

“How do you mean?”

Agnes chuckled as if Wanda’s reply amused her. “For your special night! A young thing like you doesn’t have to do much, but it’s still fun to set the scene!”

A nervous look came across Wanda’s features as she considered Agnes’ words. Before she could reply, Agnes interrupted again. “Oh! I have the perfect article to help us plan!” She said eagerly as she rushed to the door. “This is gonna be a gas!”

Wanda turned away from the door with a dreamy smile as thoughts of spending a romantic evening with you filled her mind.                                           _______________________ “Y/ln!”

The shout startled you, and the clacking sounds that floated from your typewriter ground to a halt as you jumped up and turned towards the sound of the voice. “Yes, sir?”

“My office. Now.” The curly haired man huffed as he turned on his heel to go back in the direction that he came. 

Your desk mate, who’s name you couldn’t seem to remember, why couldn’t you remember, turned to you with a sympathetic smile as he pat your shoulder. “Tough luck, pal. Looks like boss man isn’t in good mood today.”

A tight, nervous smile was all you could muster as you quickly shuffled all your papers into your arms, grabbing your notebook as you left. With hesitant feet you stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

The curly haired man gestured to the empty seat in front of his desk as he lit a cigar. You sat with a nervous smile. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re ready for your dinner with Hart tonight. One of the biggest publishers in town. Sign with Hart, then you’re set for life, kid.”

“Of course, I am.” You replied quickly, even though you had no idea what meeting he was talking about. 

“You better be, kid, or else you’re done. I took a chance on you. Don’t make me regret it.” Through a puff of smoke, he gestured you out of his office which you didn’t hesitate to take.  

Hurriedly you ran over to the phone on your desk, dialing in the only number you knew. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when an answer floated through the receiver on the second ring. “Wanda, darling, I was just calling to see if you were prepared for tonight.”

“Why, of course, dear. I have everything under control.” Came her easy reply.

You breathed a sigh of relief as your shoulders dropped. “So, you know?”

The sound of her light laughter filled your ears, making you smile. “Well, when I saw the calendar I just figured.”

“That’s a relief… I must admit, I am rather nervous.”

After a brief pause, Wanda replied. “Nervous? Whatever for?”

With a quick glance back in the direction of the office, you answered. “Well you know situations like this always make me jittery, darling. It’s a tad nerve wracking.”

“Oh, Y/n. After all this time?”

Nervously you began playing with the cord of the phone, barely even processing her words. “I think there’s a lot depending on this, Wanda. If tonight doesn’t go well, I think this could be the end.” 

Another glance back at the office showed your boss yelling at your desk mate. “Well, it’s just one night. There’s no need to get dramatic.” 

Again, your nerves made it difficult for you to process her words. “With you at the helm, I know everything will go well. Until tonight, my darling. I love you.” 

The smile in her voice was obvious as she responded. “Until tonight. I love you.”

When you placed the phone back on the receiver, you couldn’t help but notice the song playing from the radio, something about a star-spangled man. A thought felt as though it was forming in your mind before the song was abruptly cut out, and a new song drifted out of the radio.

“We may never never meet again, on that bumpy road to love, still I'll always, always keep the memory of…”

                                                ___________________

When you entered your home, you couldn’t help the confusion that appeared at the sight of the clearly romantic atmosphere that was set up. The lights were dimmed, and candles were spread throughout the room.

“Wanda?” You called out hesitantly, placing your briefcase and the papers in your arms off to the side of the entryway. 

The woman in question sauntered in the room with a coy smile on her face. “Hello, darling.” She made her way over to you and draped her arms over your shoulders. “I missed you.” She whispered as she leaned closer.

Any thoughts that had previously occupied your mind vanished as every aspect of the woman before you invaded all your senses with ease. “Wow. Wanda… You look… breath taking.” You breathed out.

With loving arms, you pulled her closer as your fingertips skimmed over the soft and flimsy silk of the dress she had on. Like magnets your lips met in a tender embrace, a soft sigh escaping your lips at the sensation. Wanda pulled you closer fervently as her hands tangled into your hair.

A sharp knock at the front door startled you apart a moment later as your eyes widened with the realization of what you were supposed to be prepping for flooded back. “Hart!” You whisper yelled as you rushed to the mirror to fix your hair.

“Hart?” Wanda questioned in confusion.

“My publisher! I thought you knew?” You quickly turned to her, your confusion matching hers as another impatient knock appeared at the door. “I have to let them in!”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Y/n, no! My dre-“ Her words were cut short as you had already opened the door, you own eyes widening when you realized what she was saying. 

Without thinking you moved behind the man and covered his eyes with your hands, Wanda following your lead as she covered the eyes of the woman standing next to him. “Y/ln, what’s the meaning of this?” The man exclaimed as you looked over to Wanda with wide eyes.

With a snap of her fingers, the beautiful dress she was wearing seconds before was replaced with a much more modest one. You both removed your hands from the guests and stepped in front of them with sheepish smiles. “Well, you see, sir…” you trailed off as you attempted to think of a reasonable response.

“It’s a tradition Sokovian greeting!” Wanda exclaimed, you nodded enthusiastically, thankful for her save.

You smiled nervously, “Yes! It is a traditional Sokovian greeting of hospitality, sir. My wife is from Sokovia.” Nerves began to bubble in your chest which Wanda noticed as she took your hand to steady you which immediately eliminated any feelings of discomfort. You loved her so much.

The woman chuckled lightly. “How exotic.”

“Mr. Hart, this is my wife, Wanda. Wanda, this is Mr. Hart.” You introduced quickly to steer the conversation back to where it should be. “And this must be Mrs. Hart.” you offered your free hand to the younger woman standing next to Mr. Hart as Wanda dropped the other.

The woman took your hand with an amused smirk as she eyed you. “Are you insane? This is my daughter.” Mr. Hart said gruffly, “My wife is out of town at the moment. My daughter has an eye for quality, so I brought her along.”

“Eleanor Hart. You can call me Ellie.” The woman offered, as you uncomfortably took your hand back from her. There was something familiar about her, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Wanda walked off to pull a cloth off of one of the lampshades before taking your hand again. “Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment, sweetheart?”

“Excuse us.” You said quickly as Wanda was already dragging you out of the room. You blew out a candle along the way.

When you both reached the safety of the kitchen Wanda spun around to face you, “Who are those people?”

Instead of answering you asked your own question. “What was happening earlier?”

“Well, it’s our anniversary!” 

A look of confusion quickly overtook your features. “Our anniversary of what?”

Wanda threw down the cloth still in her hands and sulked away. “Well if you don’t know I’m not going to tell you!” 

“That man in there is Mr. Hart, my publisher! My editor set up this dinner for us, so we could discuss publishing my book.” You explained as you gestured vaguely to the window in the kitchen.

A look of realization crossed Wanda’s features as the disembodied laughter floated in the air again. “That must have been what the heart on the calendar meant.”

You took Wanda’s hand in your own, an apologetic look in your eyes. “Darling, this was so romantic to do. The candles, the music, that stunning dress…” You trailed off as your eyes glazed over at the thought. Wanda snapped her fingers in front of your face to get you to refocus. “Right. I don’t want to be unappreciative, but right now…”

“Your publisher and his touchy daughter are expecting a home-cooked meal?” She supplied helpfully.

You nodded sheepishly. “Exactly.”

Wanda glanced over at the table in the kitchen. “Any chance they’d settle for a chocolate covered strawberry split three ways?” Once again, the laughter floated through the air as you winced. “I might have a better idea.” Wanda announced as she ushered you out of the kitchen.

When the door to the kitchen swung shut behind you, Wanda rushed out the back door as you made your way over to Mr. Hart and Ellie so you could attempt to entertain them for the time being. It wasn’t long before commotion in the kitchen caught the guest’s attention which you were able to distract them from.

The second time the commotion began it seemed as though there would be no distracting Ellie. 

“Maybe I should see if Wanda needs help while you and my father discuss business. I sense trouble.” Ellie announced as she made her way over to the closed shutters that looked into the kitchen.

Nervously you stood up as the commotion in the kitchen continued. “Ellie, I insist you don’t-“ The woman kept moving forward though and eventually opened the shutters which you could see into as she was opening them. The sight wouldn’t be one that would be easy to explain as practically everything in the kitchen was floating around Wanda. 

Thinking quickly, you sang the first and only song that came to your mind to distract them. “I’m out of touch, I’m out of love, I’ll pick you up when you’re getting down. And-”

As soon as the song began falling from your lips both of the Harts began turning in your direction, only they seemed to be frozen mid turn. 

“-out of all these things I’ve done, I think I love you better now.” You murmured along to the lyrics that were drifting out of the speaker at your feet as you swayed lightly to the slow tempo of the song. Your eyes stayed locked on the woman in your arms.

The arms that were circled around your midsection tightened as Wanda lifted her head from your shoulder to meet your eyes. The look in her eyes was staggering. You had almost forgotten what oxygen was when Wanda was near. You didn’t care though, you’d happily stop breathing if it meant she was by your side. She was a different kind of air. 

Wanda grazed her palm along your cheekbone. You easily leaned into her touch. “You never gave me a choice, you know?” Wanda whispered even though she didn’t need to.

“A choice for what?”

“Loving you. It’s as easy as breathing. You are a part of me. I’ll never be able to love someone else.” The words fell from her lips so easily and you couldn’t help the way your heart beat heavily against your ribcage as though it were trying to get to her.

Closing the short distance, you connected your lips to hers. “Loving you was never a choice. It was a necessity.” You mumbled against her lips.

Wanda pulled back and just stared at you adoringly. “If I could go back, I would love you longer.” Your brows furrowed, you didn’t know why but you knew the response was out of place. “There’s never been anyone but you. Never. Not before, not now, and not in the future.” Wanda whispered fiercely as the compound around you began to fade and you both drifted away as pieces of the living room began to form again…

Suddenly the Harts completed their turn and stared at you in shock. You glanced up at Wanda in confusion, seeing the kitchen appliances still floating around her. You didn’t know what just happened and you hoped she’d be able to offer clarity.

When you met Wanda’s eyes though they were filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite register… except you could. It was pain. Before you could react, she waved a hand and the shutters closed once again. 

“Golly, what tune was that you were just singing there?” Ellie questioned excitedly, “It sure was nice.”

You smiled politely, unsure how to answer the question yourself. “Just something I heard a long time ago.” 

“A writer and a singer? Your wife sure is a lucky gal.” Ellie replied with a wink

The flirtatious comment made you shift uncomfortably where you stood. “The lucky one is definitely me. Wanda is heaven sent. Perfecti-”

“When is dinner going to be ready?” Ellie questioned abruptly, interrupting the day dreamy look in your eyes as you spoke of Wanda. “My head is spinning.” She added as she leaned on you for support.

Mr. Hart marched over to you as you nervously used your hand to fan his daughter. “Do you hear that? My daughters head is spinning. Generally speaking, I don’t like her head to do that.” You winced. Ellie leaned further into you, forcing you to use your arms to support her.

The lecture Mr. Hart was giving you continued. “You know, I’m beginning to think you aren’t worth publishing. I had high hopes for you after speaking to your editor. From what I’ve seen here tonight, you can barely keep it together. Look around there’s all this chaos in your househo-“

“Dinner is served.” Wanda interrupted as she stood by the table with an uneasy smile, her eyes expressing her discontent at Ellie’s position even if she didn’t say it. 

Mr. Hart turned to eye the table as you breathed a sigh of relief. “Breakfast for dinner, how very…”

“European?” Ellie finished with an entertained smile, still leaning on you. 

Thankful for the lighter shift in atmosphere, you quickly moved away from Ellie and rushed over to the table. “Let’s have a toast!”

Everyone gathered around the table. “To my lovely and talented wife.” You stared at Wanda adoringly as you raised your glass.

“To our esteemed guests.” Wanda countered with a smirk as everyone around the table clinked glasses. “Well, please, eat before it gets cold.”

Everyone took a seat around the table. “So, where did you two move from? What brought you here? How long have you been married?” Ellie rapidly spouted off. 

The polite smile on Wanda’s face faltered slightly as she seemed to ponder the questions. You chuckled nervously. “I think what my wife means to say is w-we moved from-” 

“Yes, we moved from…” Wanda interrupted only to pause in thought.

“And we were married…” You stopped as well to think of the answer, why couldn’t you think of the answer. You picked up a fork to keep your hands occupied.

“Yes, yes, we were married…” Wanda looked at you, confusion in her eyes.

 “Well, moved from where? Married when?” Mr. Hart asked impatiently.

Ellie pushed the food around her plate. She seemed amused at the situation. “Patience, Dad. They’re setting up their story. Let them tell it.”

“Our story…” Wanda began again, a nervous chuckle escaped her lips.

Mr. Hart looked between the two of you in annoyance. “Yes, what exactly is your story? I think it’s a perfectly simple question.”

Wanda stared blankly at the table as you felt a pressure begin to build in your temples. You held back a grimace. 

The walls in the room began to feel suffocating and the dress you had on felt constricting. Your breathing became heavier as your continued to desperately search your mind for something, anything. A memory that existed before this morning. The floor around the table began to splinter slightly as the fork in your hand folded in on itself. 

“Honestly, why did you come here? Why?” Mr. Hart slammed his hand on the table causing you both to jump. Your thoughts were racing as you wracked your brain for the answers to his questions but kept coming up blank.

A large crack in the floor appeared by Mr. Hart’s chair as he fell back, stuck on the edge, frozen in fear.

Ellie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Dad, stop it.” The gap by the table widened as Mr. Hart teetered precariously on the edge, still frozen in shock. “Stop it.” She repeated. 

Wanda’s eyes widened in concern as you vaguely saw wisps float over to the gap but do nothing. The pressure in your head became even stronger as the world around you became more difficult to register.

“Stop it. Stop it.” Ellie kept repeating as she turned her attention to Wanda. Mr. Hart hanging over the gap by his fingers.

“Y/n. Help him.” Wanda said assertively as the racing in your mind came to a halt. You stared at the scene before you in horror. With subtle wave of your fingers, the gap closed as Mr. Hart was once again on flat ground. 

You rushed over to help him. “Let me help you up.”

When he was once again on his feet, Mr. Hart glanced at his watch. “Well, would you look at the time.”

“We better be going.” Ellie added as she stood up.

Wanda looked at them both cautiously, the polite smile making a reappearance, but much more tentative than before. “Are you both alright?”

“We had such a lovely time.” Ellie wandered over to you and shook your hand once again a moment too long, the flirtatious smile returning. 

With an uncomfortable smile, you pulled your hand back and made your way over to Mr. Hart. “You made me proud tonight. First thing Monday morning, I’ll make a call to your editor and let him know we have a deal.”

The final remnants of confusion faded away at his words as you eagerly shook his hand with a broad smile. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Wanda let them both out as you each leaned against the closest object near you and breathed a sigh of relief. 

After taking a moment to collect, you both wandered over to the couch. You easily wrapped an arm around her. “You know, we are an unusual couple.” Wanda stated.

“Oh, I don’t think that was ever in question.” You replied as the disembodied laughter rang out again. 

Wanda leaned into you, “We don’t have an anniversary… or even wedding rings.”

You rubbed her arm soothingly. “Well, today could be our anniversary.” You offered.

“Of what? Surviving our first dinner party?” She questioned with an amused smile.

You chuckled. “Precisely.” 

“And the wedding rings?” She asked.

“Well, couldn’t you make some for us?” You questioned as you held out a hand, smiling when she mimicked your action. 

With a wave of her finger, beautiful rings appeared on both of your ring fingers. “I do.” You said softly before turning your head to look at her. “Do you?”

“Of course. I do.” Wanda replied tenderly as she intertwined your fingers. The disembodied voices cooed.

“And they lived happily ever after.” 

“And we have a happy ending.” Wanda whispered. A brief flash of something flickered in Wanda’s eyes, but before you could analyze she leaned in and lovingly connected her lips with yours in a sweet kiss. . . . . . . . . As the credits rolled there was a brief moment of silence as everyone stared at the screen. “I told you star-spangled man wouldn’t work. This is the 50s, not the 40s.” Darcy said pointedly.

The sound of a soft thud filled the room from Natasha hitting the back of Steve’s head. “I thought it would be close enough.” Steve grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

Fury stared at the screen intensely. “I know that woman, but how did she get there.” He mumbled more to himself than the people in the room. “I think I know someone who we can send in.” He eventually addressed the room.

They all turned to look at him. “Let’s do it. Rogers ideas obviously aren’t working.” Natasha answered as Steve crossed his arms in annoyance.

There it is! Part 1 of the “Love Goes” sequel. This one felt a little constricted by the episode because a lot of it still felt necessary as it introduced the newer characters which is why a lot of dialogue from the first episode was used here. The italicized portion was a memory in case that was a little confusing. Also “Star-Spangled Man” is from the first captain America movie lol. I’m actually kind of excited about this though! As always, let me know your thoughts, they’re always welcome!

P.s. I pictured Emma Watson as Ellie because Emma Watson. :)

[misscrazyfangirl321]

14 for Emotional Compass?? (I don’t know who they are but they sound delightful, like that NAME it’s so sweet)

He has to be careful. 

Politics has always been her game more than his (though she loathes it to her bones, she’s brilliant at it when she needs to be), but he understands enough for this, at least. If he swept her away from every conversation where she was uncomfortable, she’d never accomplish anything, and he’d alienate every last one of their allies. She may hate small talk, especially with the sort of people who think of no one but themselves, but she has to make it, and he has to let her. 

For the most part he sits back, and she runs the show. She smiles graciously as an unfamiliar man with far too many glasses of wine in him rambles on about his latest yacht, because a man with that kind of money to throw away could easily throw some toward the Sanctuary. 

It’s worth it. Probably. 

Will watches the politicians some, but mostly, he watches her. It’s not as if anyone notices; they’re all watching her. But he’s watching for tells, for the faint tightening around her eyes and the measured breaths that tell him it’s pushing her to her limits. Usually that either means that someone’s being particularly heartless, or a guy is being a creep to her. The latter, she can handle well enough, but in this sort of setting, she has to be careful. Breaking wrists doesn’t win anyone any friends, after all.

Tonight, it’s a man who towers over her that approaches, interrupting Yacht Guy without a hint of acknowledgement, and says something Will can’t make out. Magnus lifts her head, a hint of tension creeping into her shoulders, and Will knows.

How does he know, exactly? Hard to say. He’s been a profiler for years, and an observer for far longer. But he’s also her partner, one of the few in the world she trusts, and she has let him memorize her; maybe he wouldn’t have gotten this far if she hadn’t allowed it. Maybe he never would have seen her. 

Regardless, he does see her, and he knows she’s reached her limit. She’ll keep going, of course; she’s stronger than anyone he knows. But it will chip away at bits of her, and for the next few days, she won’t be quite herself. She’ll be more closed off, more guarded. 

Unless he interferes. 

“Doctor Magnus,” he cuts in, approaching her with a smile (she arches a brow at the formality, but doesn’t object, and he thinks she knows exactly what he’s doing), “may I have this dance?”

Her hand slips into his without a glance at the man who’d spoken to her before, and she follows him out to the dance floor. “I’d quite like that, Doctor Zimmerman.”

[tlbodine]

The Horror Genius of Five Nights At Freddy’s

I’ve been playing FNAF: Help Wanted VR on my Oculus Quest lately (a birthday present to myself -- I know I’m late to that party!) and it’s reignited in me my old love of this series. I know Scott Cawthon’s politics aren’t great, but I don’t think there’s any malice in his heart beyond usual Christian conservative nonsense -- and I think he stepped down as graciously and magnanimously as possible when confronted about it. Time will judge Scott Cawthon’s politics, and that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I want to talk about what makes these games so damn special, from a horror, design, and marketing perspective. I think there’s really SO MUCH to be learned from studying these games and the wider influence they’ve had as intellectual property. 

What Is FNAF? 

In case you’ve somehow been living under a rock for the last seven years, Five Nights At Freddy’s (hereafter, FNAF) is a horror franchise spanning 17 games (10 main games + some spinoffs and troll games, we’ll get to that), 27 books, a movie deal, and a couple live-action attractions. 

But before it exploded into that kind of tremendous IP, it started out as a single indie pont-and-click game created entirely by one dude, Scott Cawthon. Cawthon had developed other games in the past without much fame or success, including some Christian children’s entertainment. He was working as a cashier at Dollar General and making games in his spare time -- and most of those games got panned. 

So he tried making something different. 

After being criticized that the characters in one of his children’s games looked like soulless, creepy animatronics, Cawthon had his lightbulb moment and created a horror game centered on....creepy animatronics! 

The rest, as they say, is history. 

The Genius of FNAF’s Horror Elements

In the first FNAF game, you play as a night security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, a sort of ersatz Chuck-E-Cheese establishment. The animatronics are on free-roaming mode at night, but you don’t want to let them find you in your security room so you have to watch them move through the building on security camera monitors. If they get too close, you can slam your security room doors closed. But be careful, because this restaurant operates on a shoestring budget, and the power will go off if you keep the doors closed too long or flicker the lights too often. And once the lights go out, you’re helpless against the animatronics in the dark. 

Guiding you through your gameplay is a fellow employee, Phone Guy, who calls you each night with some helpful advice. Phone Guy is voiced by Cawthon himself, and listening to his tapes gives you some hints of the game’s underlying story as well as telling you how to play. A few newspaper clippings and other bits of scrap material help to fill in more details of the story. 

Over the next set of games, the story would be further developed, with each new game introducing new mechanics and variations on the theme -- in one, you don a mask to slip past the notice of animatronics; in another, you have to play sound cues to lure an animatronic away from you. By the fourth game, the setup was changed completely, now featuring a child with a flashlight hiding from the monsters outside his door -- nightmarish versions of the beloved child-friendly mascots. The mechanics change just enough between variations to keep things fresh while maintaining a consistent brand. 

There are so many things these games do well from a storytelling and horror perspective: 

Jump Scares: It’s easy to shrug these games off for relying heavily on jump scares, and they absolutely do have a lot of them. But they’re used strategically. In most games, the jump scares are a punishment (a controlled shock, if you will) -- if you play the game perfectly, you’ll never be jump-scared. This is an important design choice that a lot of other horror games don’t follow. 

Atmospheric Dread: These games absolutely deliver horror and tension through every element of design -- some more than others, admittedly. But a combination of sound cues, the overall texture and aesthetic of the world, the “things move when you’re not looking at them” mechanic, all of it works together to create a feeling of unease and paranoia. 

Paranoia: As in most survival horror games, you’re at a disadvantage. You can’t move or defend yourself, really -- all you can do is watch. And so watch you do. Except it’s a false sense of security, because flicking lights and checking cameras uses up precious resources, putting you at greater risk. So you have to balance your compulsive need to check, double-check, and make sure...with methodical resource conservation. The best way to survive these games is to remain calm and focused. It’s a brilliant design choice. 

Visceral Horror: The monster design of the animatronics is absolutely delightful, and there’s a whole range of them to choose from. The sheer size and weight of the creatures, the way they move and position themselves, their grunginess, the deadness of their eyes, the quantity and prominence of their teeth. They are simultaneously adorable and horrifying. 

Implicit Horror: One of the greatest strengths to FNAF as a franchise is that it never wears its story on its sleeve. Instead of outright telling you what’s going on, the story is delivered in bits and pieces that you have to put together yourself -- creating a puzzle for an engaged player to think about and theorize over and consider long after the game is done. But more than that, the nature of the horror itself is such that it becomes increasingly upsetting the more you think on it. The implications of what’s going on in the game world -- that there are decaying bodies tucked away inside mascots that continue to perform for children, that a man dressed in a costume is luring kids away into a private room to kill them, and so forth -- are the epitome of fridge horror. 

The FNAF lore does admittedly start to become fairly ridiculous and convoluted as the franchise wears on. But even ret-conned material manages to be pretty interesting in its own right (and there is nothing in the world keeping you from playing the first four games, or even the first six, and pretending none of the rest exist). 

Another thing I really appreciate about the FNAF franchise is that it’s quite funny, in a way that complements and underscores the horror rather than detracting from it. It’s something a lot of other properties utterly fail to do. 

The Genius of Scott Cawthon’s Marketing 

OK, so FNAF utilizes a multi-prong attack for creating horror and implements it well -- big deal. Why did it explode into a massive IP sensation when other indie horror games that are just as well-made barely made a blip on the radar? 

Well! That’s where the real genius comes in. This game was built and marketed in a way to maximize its franchisability. 

First, the story utilizes instantly identifiable, simple but effective character designs, and then generates more and more instantly identifiable unique characters with each iteration. Having a wealth of characters and clever, unique designs basically paves the way for merchandise and fan-works. (That they’re anthropomorphic animal designs also probably helped -- because that taps into the furry fandom as well without completely alienating non-furries). 

Speaking of fan-work, Scott Cawthon has always been very supportive of fandom, only taking action when people would try to profit off knock-off games and that sort of thing -- basically bad-faith copies. But as far as I know he’s always been super chill with fan-created content, even going so far as to engage directly with the fandom. Which brings me to....

These games were practically designed for streaming, and he took care to deliver them into the hands of influential streamers. Because the games are heavy on jump-scares and scale in difficulty (even including extra-challenging modes after the core game is beaten) they are extremely fun to watch people play. They’re short enough to be easily finished over the duration of a long stream, and they’re episodic -- lending themselves perfectly to a YouTube Lets Play format. One Night = One Video, and now the streamer has weeks of content from your game (but viewers can jump in at any time without really missing much). 

The games are kid-friendly but also genuinely frightening. Because the most disturbing parts of the game’s lore are hinted at rather than made explicit, younger players can easily engage with the game on a more basic surface level, and others can go as deep into the lore as they feel comfortable. There is no blood and gore and violence or even any explicitly stated death in the main game; all of the murder and death is portrayed obliquely by way of 8-bit mini games and tangential references. Making this game terrifying but accessible to youngsters, and then marketing it directly to younger viewers through popular streamers (and later, merchandising deals) is genius -- because it creates a very broad potential audience, and kids tend to spend 100% of their money (birthdays, allowances, etc.) and are most likely to tell their friends about this super scary game, etc. etc.

By creating a puzzle box of lore, and then interacting directly with the fandom -- dropping hints, trolling, essentially creating an ARG of his own lore through his website, in-game easter eggs, and tie-in materials -- Cawthon created a mystery for fandom to solve. And fans LOVE endlessly speculating over convoluted theories. 

Cawthon released these games FAST. He dropped FNAF 2 within months of the first game’s release, and kept up a pace of 1-2 games a year ever since. This steady output ensured the games never dropped out of public consciousness -- and introducing new puzzle pieces for the lore-hungry fans to pore over helped keep the discussion going. 

I think MatPat and The Game Theorists owe a tremendous amount of their own huge success to this game. I think Markiplier does, too, and other big streamers and YouTubers. It’s been fascinating watching the symbiotic relationship between these games and the people who make content about these games. Obviously that’s true for a lot of fandom -- but FNAF feels so special because it really did start so small. It’s a true rags-to-riches sleeper hit and luck absolutely played a role in its growth, but skill is a big part too. 

Take-Aways For Creatives 

I want to be very clear here: I do not think that every piece of media needs to be “IP,” franchisable, an extended universe, or a multimedia sensation. I think there is plenty to be said for creating art of all types, and sometimes that means a standalone story with a small audience. 

But if you do want a chance at real break-out, run-away success and forging a media empire of your own, I think there are some take-aways to be learned from the success of FNAF: 

Persistence. Scott Cawthon studied animation and game-design in the 1990s and released his first game in 2002. He released a bunch of stuff afterward. None of it stuck. It took 12 years to hit on the winning formula, and then another several years of incredibly hard work to push out more titles and stoke the fires before it really became a sensation. Wherever you’re at on your creative journey, don’t give up. You never know when your next thing will be The Thing that breaks you out. 

If you want to sell a lot of something, you have to make it widely appealing to a bunch of people. This means keeping your concept simple to understand (”security guard wards off creepy killer animatronics at a pizza parlor”) and appealing to as wide a segment of the market as you can (ie, a horror story that appeals to both kids and adults). The more hyper-specific your audience, the harder it’s gonna be to find them and the fewer copies of your thing you’ll be selling. 

Know your shit and put your best work out there. I think there’s an impulse to feel like “well, nobody reads this anyway, so why does it matter if it’s no good” (I certainly have fallen into that on multiple occasions) but that’s the wrong way to think about it. You never know when and where your break will come. Put your best work out there and keep on polishing your craft with better and better stuff because eventually one of those things you chuck out there is going to be The Thing. 

Figure out where your target audience hangs out, and who influences them, and then get your thing in the hands of those influencers. Streaming and YouTube were the secret to FNAF’s success. Maybe yours will be BookTube, or Instagram, or a secret cabal of free librarians. I don’t know. But you should try your best to figure out who would like the thing that you’re making, and then figure out how to reach those people, and put all of your energy into that instead of shotgun-blasting your marketing all willy nilly. 

You don’t have to put the whole story on the page. Audiences love puzzles. Fans love mysteries. You can actually leave a lot more unanswered than you think. There’s some value in keeping secrets and leaving things for others to fill in. Remember -- your art is only partly yours. The sandbox belongs to others to play in, too, and you have to let them do that. 

If in doubt, appealing to furries never hurts. 

Do I take all of this advice myself? Not by a long shot. But it’s definitely a lot to think about. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go beat The Curse of Dreadbear. 

[moonbeam-writing]

Hi!! Can I request you a Kuroo scenario where he falls in love with the reader one day after seing one of her match for the first time during a tournament ? After running into her a few times, he ends up taking the courage to talk to her (or confessing ? 👀)

— Love at First Sight

๑ Requested by a lovely Anon!

๑ Quick Note: Of course! This is so cute! Thank you for requesting, lovely! <3

๑ Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou (Haikyuu!!)

๑ Warnings: None!

๑ Word Count: 1,500

—

The first time Kuroo Tetsurou saw you, you took his breath away. He had little to no clue who you were or which school you went to, but what he did know is that he wanted to get to know you more. At that moment, though, he had a game to focus on, but his heart was set on seeing you afterward somehow.

However, despite having the game to focus on, he still found his eyes finding their way to you before each set, had managed to pick up the sound of your cheering amongst the crowd, or at least what he thought was your cheering. That part was purely wishful thinking on his end, but Kuroo knew he’d love the sound of your voice regardless of whether or not that was you. At one point during the match, Kuroo had even managed to catch your eye.

He found himself convinced that love, at first sight, was a possibility. He knew that it wasn’t love, at least not yet, but he certainly knew that it was infatuation. He felt this strange pull towards you like he needed to meet you no matter what. Kuroo thought about looking around his wrist or pinkie multiple times throughout the small breaks he had, wondering if the Red String myth about soulmates was true, but didn’t. He didn’t need to seem like he was crazy in front of you or anyone else, realizing that if that were the case, he would have seen the string by now. That one moment of eye contact changed everything.

After the tournament ended, Kuroo nearly missed you. He had managed to just barely catch you on your way out, politely tapping on your shoulder and introducing himself. Your hand felt so small in his as you shook it and your smile practically made his heart stop. The slightly noticeable tint on your cheeks was adorable and Kuroo couldn't help but feel like you felt the same. Of course, you did feel the same. There was something about his wild hair and the obvious passion with the game. The captain that you only just learned the name of had somehow managed to draw you in. Unfortunately for the two of you, you both lived a good five hours away from each other. For the time being, the two of you settled with exchanging names and numbers, hoping to gain the courage to possibly text the other first.

Though it was a few months before the two of you saw each other again, but when you did, it was exciting. It was completely random and purely by chance.

Kuroo had been in town for a game and the two of you had coincidentally gone into the same coffee shop, Kuroo, however, was convinced it was by fate. Any time Kuroo had seen you, despite it only being twice, it was by pure chance and he wasn’t about to question it too much. He got to see you and he wasn’t about to question it. It was bad enough that the two of you were barely able to talk and your texts were hours apart sometimes, so he was absolutely taking advantage of what the world was so graciously giving him.

The entire time you were with him, you felt light. There wasn’t any form of tension in the air, no odd weight on your shoulders. To your knowledge, Kuroo felt the same, or at least, he certainly looked like he did. You were so happy to finally see him again, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Your week had been long and you had been meaning to ask if he’d want to meet up for the last month and now here he was, right in front of you, talking to you. It almost made you feel like a little girl with her first crush, and you weren’t too far off. In such a short amount of time, you were absolutely head over heels for him.

Unfortunately, the time came for the two of you to say goodbye to each other. You saw him off before he left, bringing coffee and a breakfast pastry to him for the trip back. Neither of you wanted him to leave, but he had to.

From then on, the universe seemed to try making it easier for you two to talk, text, and occasionally see each other. In the span of another four months, you were able to see him another two times and now he was asking if you’d come to Tokyo for an upcoming tournament. 

The butterflies in your stomach were intense. They almost always were when you were able to go see him, or he was coming to you, but this time was different. You weren’t sure how or why, but it was definitely different. Regardless, you couldn’t help your obvious excitement.

Everything felt similarly to the last tournament, the one that you met him at, though the biggest difference is that this time, not only were you not going just to go, but you were able to wish your favorite captain good luck before the start. You noticed that this time, Kuroo seemed a bit more hyped up than last time, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were the cause.

Much like the first time Kuroo had seen you, between almost every set, Kuroo’s eyes would look to you in the crowd and every time he found you, your eyes met. It wasn’t much of  a shock, though; your eyes hadn’t left him nearly the entire game, aside from a few close calls in the game. From up in the stands, you couldn’t help but admire him out on the court; all of Kuroo’s strength and determination, and the obvious love he had for both the game and his teammates was incredible to see, part of you was wishing that the current game would never end just so you could keep watching him do what he loved. Of course, with that thought, you also had to admit to yourself that you were stalling a little. You were anxious to find out why today felt so different compared to any other day that you saw him, but luckily for you, it seemed like the game was wrapping itself up once and for all.

Once the match was officially done, you were one of the first people to leave the stands, excited to, hopefully, be one of the first people to congratulate the team, especially Kuroo, on their win.

As soon as you had gotten towards the front doors, the boys were on their way there themselves, all of them exhausted, but clearly amped up from their win. Upon seeing you at the door, Kuroo’s victorious smirk turned itself into a wide grin, seeing his favorite girl right in front of him.

“Tetsurou!” Your voice sounding off against the surrounding noise made his smile bigger as you began to move, meeting him halfway and stepping comfortably into his open and waiting arms. “I’m so proud of you!” You paused for a moment, stepping on your toes slightly to look over his shoulder better. “You guys too! You were all so incredible!” Their thanks was heard, but you were already back to being shoved up against Nekoma’s captain for it to register in your head.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” Kuroo smiled down at you, though you could tell that there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes, which was odd and out of place for a number of reasons. “How long are you going to be here?”

“A few days, nothing too major. Even though they’ve met you, my parents aren’t really all that big on me staying a full week here, ha ha. It’s honestly a miracle they’re letting me be here for a few days on my own.” The two of you shared a small laugh over it, because you were absolutely lucky, but so was he. Kuroo knew he needed to make his move. “Any reason why?”

“Yeah, actually. Um, I know I haven’t known you too long, a bit under a year, really,” you couldn’t help smiling slightly at the rare sight of a nervous Kuroo. It was something you’d probably not see again for awhile. “And it might be a bit difficult because of the distance and all, but I was wondering if you’d possibly want to go on a date with me, and if you had fun, would you want to be my girlfriend?”

The grin that had made a place for itself on your lips was practically infectious as you tightened your grip on him. “Of course! Hell, you don’t even have to wait for the end of the first date, I’d gladly be your girlfriend, Tetsurou.”

Hugging you back once again, Kuroo pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Though the captain was a man of science, he couldn’t help but think that maybe love at first sight was actually real.

[somegirlsnerdywords2]

Anime i’ve Watched

That begin with a O (Part 2)!

Yep this is how i’m going to bring over all the anime and manga i’ve watched and posted about on the old blog. It’s not so detailed but it will have to do. Anything new I watch or read from this point on will have their own posts.

Orenchi no Furo Jijou:

Genres: Comedy, Fantasy, Josei, TV short

Synopsis:  On his way home from school, Tatsumi sees a man collapsed near a lake. When he approaches him, Tatsumi notices something strange: the person in need of help is actually a beautiful merman named Wakasa! Because Wakasa's home has become too polluted to live in, Tatsumi graciously offers his bathtub as a refuge. With a boisterous merman as his new roommate, Tatsumi's normal life won't be returning anytime soon, not to mention Wakasa's aquatic friends—Takasu, Mikuni, and Maki—often show up uninvited, making them all quite a handful for the high school student. As he humors their curiosity for human life, Tatsumi sometimes finds himself enjoying their childish antics, but he will have to keep his cool if he intends to keep up with his daily life and newfound friendship. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8.5/10

Finished airing in 2014 with a total of 13, 4 minute long episodes. 

My Thoughts: A soothing tv short with a fantasy twist and cute guys as far as the eye can see! 

Oshiete! Galko-chan:

Genres: Slice of Life, Comedy, School, TV Short

Synopsis:  At first glance, Galko, Otako, and Ojou are three high school girls who seem like they wouldn’t have anything to do with each other. Galko is a social butterfly with a reputation for being a party animal, even though she is actually innocent and good-hearted despite her appearance. Otako is a plain-looking girl with a sarcastic personality and a rabid love of manga. And Ojou is a wealthy young lady with excellent social graces, though she can be a bit absent-minded at times. Despite their differences, the three are best friends, and together they love to talk about various myths and ask candid questions about the female body. Oshiete! Galko-chan is a lighthearted and humorous look at three very different girls and their frank conversations about themselves and everyday life. No topic is too safe or too sensitive for them to joke about—even though every so often, Galko seems to get a bit embarrassed by their discussions! [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2016 with a total of 12, 7 minute long episodes. 

My Thoughts: Cute art/ animation style. An alright short but nothing amazing. 

Otome Youkai Zakuro:

Genres: Demons, Historical, Military, Romance, Seinen, Supernatural

Synopsis:  Second Lieutenant Kei Agemaki, the son of a famous general, has hidden his extreme fear of paranormal beings all his life. However, when he and two others are reassigned to live and work with youkai in the Ministry of Spirit Affairs, he is brought face-to-face with his worst nightmare. Now with the help of the fox spirit Kushimatsu, he and his fellow officers must learn to work alongside youkai maidens—Zakuro, Susukihotaru, Hoozuki, and Bonbori—to solve paranormal cases. Set in the midst of an alternate version of Japanese Westernization, Otome Youkai Zakuro explores the clashes and unions that can occur when east meets west, local meets foreign, and women meet men. The unusual alliance of the youkai maidens and human officers must learn to work together in a world that is changing around them. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8/10

Finished airing in 2010 with a total of 13 episodes. 

My Thoughts: An interesting (if not a bit cliche) but incomplete anime. Has a manga.... which is also incomplete and updated very, very slowly. 

Ouran Koukou Host Club (Ouran High School Host Club):

Genres: Comedy, Reverse Harem, Romance, School, Shoujo

Synopsis:  Haruhi Fujioka is a bright scholarship candidate with no rank or title to speak of—a rare species at Ouran Academy, an elite school for students of high pedigree. When she opens the door to Music Room #3 hoping to find a quiet place to study, Haruhi unexpectedly stumbles upon the Host Club. Led by the princely Tamaki Suou, the club—whose other members include the "Shadow King" Kyouya Ootori; the mischievous Hitachiin twins, Kaoru and Hikaru; the childlike Mitsukuni Haninozuka, also known as "Honey"; and his strong protector Takashi "Mori" Morinozuka—is where handsome boys with too much time on their hands entertain the girls in the academy. In a frantic attempt to remove herself from the hosts, Haruhi ends up breaking a vase worth eight million yen and is forced into becoming the eccentric group's general errand boy to repay her enormous debt. However, thanks to her convincingly masculine appearance, her naturally genial disposition toward girls, and fascinating commoner status, she is soon promoted to full-time male host. And before long, Haruhi is plunged into a glitzy whirlwind of elaborate cosplays, rich food, and exciting shenanigans that only the immensely wealthy Host Club can pull off. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

Finished airing in 2006 with a total of 26 episodes. 

My Thoughts: Raise your hand if you believe this series deserves a remake!? I would lose it if they remade this series but the original isn’t all that bad either! Worth a watch if you’re a shoujo lover! 

Outbreak Company:

Genres: Harem, Comedy, Parody, Fantasy

Synopsis: Shinichi Kanou is a shut-in otaku with a vast knowledge of anime, manga, and video games. One day, after applying for a job in hopes of escaping his secluded lifestyle, he is kidnapped and transported to the Eldant Empire—a fantasy world filled with elves, dragons, and dwarves. Trapped in this strange land, Shinichi is given an unlikely task by the Japanese government: to spread otaku culture across the realm by becoming an "Otaku Missionary." To accomplish his mission, Shinichi has the full support of the Japanese government, as well as the half-elf maid Myucel and Princess Petralka of the Eldant Empire. Together with this ragtag bunch, he will overcome the obstacles of politics, social classes, and ethnic discrimination to promote the ways of the otaku in this holy land. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2013 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: Not memorable at all. Character design looks nice, very shiny... 

Owari no Seraph:

Genres: Action, Military, Supernatural, Drama, Vampire, Shounen

Synopsis:  With the appearance of a mysterious virus that kills everyone above the age of 13, mankind becomes enslaved by previously hidden, power-hungry vampires who emerge in order to subjugate society with the promise of protecting the survivors, in exchange for donations of their blood. Among these survivors are Yuuichirou and Mikaela Hyakuya, two young boys who are taken captive from an orphanage, along with other children whom they consider family. Discontent with being treated like livestock under the vampires' cruel reign, Mikaela hatches a rebellious escape plan that is ultimately doomed to fail. The only survivor to come out on the other side is Yuuichirou, who is found by the Moon Demon Company, a military unit dedicated to exterminating the vampires in Japan. Many years later, now a member of the Japanese Imperial Demon Army, Yuuichirou is determined to take revenge on the creatures that slaughtered his family, but at what cost? Owari no Seraph is a post-apocalyptic supernatural shounen anime that follows a young man's search for retribution, all the while battling for friendship and loyalty against seemingly impossible odds. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 4/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: Cliche, but not in a fun way. I rarely watch anime involving vampires though so that was a bit fun. 

Owari no Seraph: Nagoya Kessen-hen

Genres: Action, Military, Supernatural, Drama, Vampire, Shounen

Synopsis:  Yuuichirou Hyakuya is finally reunited with his childhood friend Mikaela Hyakuya, whom he had long presumed to be dead. Upon their reunion, however, he discovers that Mikaela has been turned into a vampire. Determined to help his friend, Yuuichirou vows to get stronger so that he can protect Mikaela as well as the comrades in the Moon Demon Company. Kureto Hiiragi receives information that a large group of vampires will be gathering in Nagoya, preparing for their assault on the Imperial Demon Army's main forces in Tokyo. Led by Guren Ichinose, Yuuichirou's team is one of many selected to intercept and eliminate the vampire nobles. With the Nagoya mission quickly approaching, the members of Shinoa squad continue to work towards fully mastering their weapons, while learning how to improve their teamwork. Yuuichirou must gain the power he needs to slay the nobles and save his best friend, before he succumbs to the demon of the Cursed Gear. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 3/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 12 episodes. 

My Thoughts: It somehow got a sequel... still lacking. Plenty of pretty people though with little substance...

[ratingtheframe]

“My name is Greta Thunberg. And I want you to panic” - I Am Greta REVIEW

Greta Thunberg sent shock waves around the globe in 2018 after directly addressing the UN about the climate crisis and changing the perception and power of young voices forever.

15 year old Greta Thunberg sits on the pavement out the Swedish Riksdag (Parliament) holding a sign titled “Skolstrejk för Klimatet” or Strike for Climate. It’s a school day so an elderly woman approaches Thunberg and asks why she isn’t at school, to which the teenager replies that there’s no point in preparing for a future that she might not even have. Strong words for a fifteen year old, but words that attracted attention on the street from bystanders, teenagers and eventually the press. Greta began sitting outside Parliament every Friday leading up to Sweden’s election in hope of attracting attention to the current crisis that continues to threaten our planet; climate change. 

After Greta’s address to the BBC outside Parliament, she soon attracted attention over the internet, where actor and ex governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger commended the teenager at her abundance of empathy for the climate crisis and stepping up to the plate to do something about it. Shortly after, Greta was invited to the UN to speak with the General Secretary, Mr. António Guterres. In her speech, Greta commented that politicians have so far done nothing to address the ongoing climate crisis and because they “act like children” it’s up to children themselves to change the course of climate change, starting by addressing the issue globally. And that’s exactly what she did. 

Within days of Greta’s first address at the UN, young people were coming together to protest against the climate crisis, supporting Greta’s enthusiasm and dedication to the climate. Her words were felt in Poland, Belgium, Korea, Italy, France, India, China, The UK, the US; there was not one continent besides Antarctica that wasn’t part of this global movement. Greta went on to speak at the UN several times, and at times grew frustrated at the lack of interest some world leaders and politicians seemed to have with the climate crisis, even after the teenager explained the scientific research that backed climate change. 

Despite Greta receiving praise from the likes of the French Prime Minister Emmanuel Macron and even Angela Merkel, Greta was met with a lot of backlash for her political views. Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump and Jair Bolsonaro all had something to say about Greta’s perseverance and self sacrifices, dismissing the climate crisis as a “hoax” and belittling Thunberg because of her age. Piers Morgan also shared his views on This Morning , labelling Greta as “melodramatic” after her speech at the UN Climate summit in New York. She received a lot of hate over the internet, hate that would be damaging to any fifteen year old let alone one in the public eye. However, Greta never let this stunt her growth, her growth as an activist and voice to a concern that has been swept under the rug for almost five years after the Paris Climate Agreement was passed and never looked over again. 

Greta was invited to the UN Climate Summit in New York in 2019. Beforehand, Greta had been travelling around Europe by train and now she faced a perilous journey across the Atlantic Ocean. Because she believed so strongly in climate justice, taking planes wasn’t an option and instead opted to take a sailing boat from Plymouth to New York; a whole 3300 miles away. It showed true commitment to the cause she was fighting for and her journey across the Atlantic and overall speech at the UN is certainly something for the history books.

I came out of watching this documentary feeling graciously challenged by Greta Thunberg and her movement. She has an infectious dedication to her and despite finding it difficult to engage with children growing up, she comes across as a truly sincere, straight talking person. Her genuineness and bravery at addressing the entire world and exposing them to climate justice is admirable as she sticks by her opinions and focuses on things that truly matter to her. She stated she “doesn’t care about being popular”, referring to how some politicians make promises they can’t keep in order to win favor for their government. 

Not only does Greta speak for climate justice, but also a generation of young people who do feel like outsiders and have been treated in a way that has made them feel excluded from society. I am truly awed by her work and can’t wait to see how she progresses as a game changer in the future. 

I Am Greta is available to watch in cinemas now.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 9: In the Vernacular, Please be my Friend?

Lance and Keith exasperate themselves and each other, but they’re still trying to find common ground to stand on.

First  Previous  Next

Keith didn’t leave their quarters hardly at all for a movement after they were married. With the exceptions of the incident with Iverson and a minor confrontation with the still-angry seamsmaster (they still hadn’t gotten over the gloves debacle), Keith sequestered himself to their rooms. It seemed the alienating dining room and relatively unfriendly, unhelpful guards and courtiers made him feel unwelcome. Who could have guessed?

Despite the pointed comments from his parents, Lance did not press the issue. Adam brought him food, or Lance, when he wasn’t busy. Keith had seemed faintly surprised that Lance had bothered to do it himself. Like the idea of Lance doing something for him just because was an alien concept.

Over time, giving in to the pressure from the kings, he began to acquaint himself with the dining hall, where the royal family immediately began to invite some gaggle of courtiers or another, the library, which stored the entire civilization’s collected knowledge, and the grounds, where he occasionally absconded with some small plant he thought no one would miss.

Lance was alerted to this habit after one of the gardeners caught Keith stealing a golden regent orchid from a greenhouse. Unfortunately for the distressed gardener, the extremely rare and delicate flower was quite happy in their little garden, and thus Lance declared it would stay.

He’d watched Keith spend several vargas lying on the moss, gazing at the shimmering golden petals. He’d fallen asleep with his tail curled around the stem. Lance had made a note about the Galra kit’s curiosity, speaking to Pidge about ways to keep him busy while he eased his way into royal responsibilities.

At any rate, Keith grew somewhat accustomed to living at the Castle of Lions. By the end of the movement, Keith was starting to venture out for more than meals and stealing from the gardens. He’d even attended court with Lance, sitting on his right, holding his hand on the joined arms of their thrones. At one point, Lord Lanval had come forward to publicly apologize for his slight against the princes at their wedding banquet. Keith had graciously accepted, despite knowing the apology was a show.

In spite of all of this, Lance knows Keith wasn’t happy, and he isn’t exactly happy either. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything he can do.

Lance throws himself into his increasing duties, burying himself in the multitude of smaller concerns that his parents don’t have the time or energy for in the current political climate. Rumors ripple through the royal court and eventually the commonwealth about Crown Prince Lancel and the new practices he’s implementing, including adjusting how taxes are set.

Now, thanks to him, taxes are decided based on income against estimated needed expense. Said expense is not being estimated by courtiers, but by newly hired tax collectors, and based on specific criteria set by Lance, Adam, and Pidge. Keith had suggested that the tax collectors be required to wear pocketless uniforms while collecting, to which Lance had agreed.

“Lancel, everyone is charged the same amount on their taxes. It’s equality.”

“Yes, and farmers scrape by poaching the wilds while Lord Lanval hands us the top off his spare change at the end of the decaphob. This is better than equality, Father. This is equity .”

The appraising look he’d received from Alfor and the collection of small gifts from the agrarian population have been worth the hours-long-winded explanation he’d owed his fathers. The detail he’d had to go into had been excruciating. Coran had done his very best to speed things up, but had hindered more than helped. Lance loves him for his efforts.

Needless to say, he’s tired when he returns to their room much later with Keith’s dinner, finding him and Shiro sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. They’re talking softly in Galran. Lance pretends not to understand as he sets Keith’s food on the end table.

“No, he didn’t,” Keith whispers, moving a piece on the board game he’d found in his upstairs loft. Lance has taken to leaving games and puzzles in places where Keith could find them. And any pretty trinkets he thinks the Galra might like. Keith doesn’t seem sure what to make of it, and frankly Lance isn’t sure he knows where the objects are even coming from. Perhaps they're more interesting to Keith as a mystery.

“Truly? That is how Alteans consummate their unions. He should have.” Keith shakes his head, and Shiro’s eyes slide to Lance. “Interesting.”

“He is interesting. I don’t hate him, I think.” Well that’s... marginally gratifying. “You don’t hate the attendant. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like him.”

“You- You shut up!”

“I bet you just wanna eat him up, don’t you? All little and cute like he is.” Lance smiles at Adam as he prances in with the usual sigh and a swing of his hips. Shiro blusters.

“So. Are your fathers, Ancients bless them, stupid?”

“No, they’re just old. The tax system hasn’t been changed since my great-grandfather Mahi was king and it's always been enough to fund the Crown so if it’s not visibly broken, why fix it?” Lance explains. “I think Dad was on board from the beginning. And Father just wants to give me a hard time every now and then. Payback, I guess.”

Adam sighs, datapad clutched in one hand. He pushes his glasses up his nose with the other. “No, he doesn’t. He just…”

“Thinks I’m an idiot?” Lance offers. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith keeps playing with Shiro’s visibly perked ears. They bend back with Keith’s manhandling, only to bounce right back into place. Keith seems to find it very funny, snickering each time they spring forward.

“Lance, you’ve done your best to convince them both that you’re an idiot. Where does this tablet go?”

“It was swiped from the library. Just put it on the nightstand. No, no. The other nightstand. On Keith’s side.” Lance lifts yesterday’s vest from the floor. “I find it interesting that Father buys it, and Dad does not.”

“But not surprising?” Keith asks, briefly glancing at Lance, tugging on Shiro’s ear. The adult Galra seems content with the manhandling. Lance wonders if it's normal to let kits maul you.

“Oh Ancients, no. Dad’s a terrible judge of character, but he knows me too well to be fooled.”

“So King Alfor is a terrible father who doesn’t know his own son?” Shiro asks, swatting playfully at his brother’s hand.

“No, he was just on his own for a long time. After Melinor died, he had Altea, Daibazaal, me and Allura, Coran, and, well. You can guess what happened-”

Keith laughs from where he’s still seated on the floor with his brother.

Lance frowns, turning to watch them. He notices Shiro’s still-perked ears and attentive eyes, fixed on Adam as the attendant begins picking up the trail of misplaced items Lance constantly leaves in his wake. There aren’t that many.

Shiro’s ears are so expressive, their movements as important as his smile.

But Keith... Keith’s ears are mostly stationary, no matter what. They rotate when he hears a noise and they wilt or twitch sometimes, but mostly when he is unsure of himself. Otherwise, they’re just kind of there, like he’s not entirely sure how to move them. That, combined with his generally reserved demeanor, suggests to Lance that Keith doesn’t know how to express himself.

The longer Lance spends with Keith, which admittedly isn’t much, the more he suspects that Keith spent most of his life alone.

It breaks his heart, really. Keith’s actually kind of sweet. He strikes Lance as a gentle soul, and a warm one, when he’s allowed to be. His fond teasing of Shiro regarding his apparent infatuation with Adam stands as a testament to that.

“You should just talk to him.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s stopped looking like he’ll run away if you try.”

“Wait, what? He’s scared of me?”

Keith falters, tries his best to backtrack. “Oh, no, Shiro. Of course not. I’m sure he was just stressed. He’s not scared of you.”

Adam’s absolutely intimidated by the enormous Galra soldier, but Lance isn’t. The man’s adorable.

“Hey Shiro, got any hobbies?” Lance asks. Keith leans over and whispers something that set his brother’s ears aflurry.

“Oh. Um. Well, actually, I like gardening.” Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees Adam pause before going back to fiddling with the bed canopy.

“When he retires, he wants to open an apothecary,” Keith supplies.

“Really? Well that’s very interesting,” Lance says. “Adam here has quite the interest in botany himself, don’t you? Quite the physik, actually.”

Adam smooths over a pillowcase unnecessarily. “Yes.”

“Perhaps you can exchange comunique codes and compare notes. You leave tomorrow night, don’t you Shiro?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes I do, I’m afraid. Royal Advisor Krolia has been doing both her job and mine, so I really can’t stay longer.”

“I see.” Lance notices how Keith’s mood drops drastically with the turn of conversation. “Well please come back and visit when you can. You are family now, and always welcome. Just let us know before you arrive so I can make sure you won’t starve.”

Shiro smiles with gratitude. “Thank you, Lance.” The man rises to his towering height. “I’d best begin packing my things. Keith, you stay here and at least try to be friends with your husband.”

“Shiro-”

“No, Keith.” Shiro lays a hand on Keith’s head. “It will get easier. I promise. But you need to try, too. He is.”

Keith nods, studying the half-finished board game in front of him, now devoid of an opponent. Lance turns to Adam, addressing him in Altean. “Can you give us a minute? It’s tricky to get him to talk, and he won’t if you’re here.”

Adam abandons his fiddling. “I’d best go speak to Pidge if I’m to get that comms code set up. It’ll be valuable to have another source inside the Galra fold. Perhaps the captain will be useful.”

Lance heaves a sigh, sitting down where Shiro had been before. “Hey-”

“Did you know I can speak Altean?” Keith murmurs, studying the game board. Quiznak.

“Did you know I speak Galran?” The two stare at each other for a moment. Then sigh, shoulders drooping. “We have to stop doing this. We have to stop trying to get one over on each other,” Lance says. “We’re the only people we know we can trust-”

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Lance bites his lip. “I trust you. I don’t think you would hurt me. Not at all.”

“Lance, I’ve been trained specially to kill you.”

“And?” Lance shrugs. “I’ve been trained how to kill you . That’s how it is... You know, we could have met in battle. We could have fought each other. One of us could have killed the other. Been celebrated for it. Rewarded.” Keith’s ears wilt. He doesn’t seem to like that idea any more than Lance does.

“What do you want, Lance?” Lance moves one of Shiro’s pieces and hands Keith the twenty-sided die. Keith tosses the die, moves a piece, and on it goes.

“Shiro leaves tomorrow,” Lance observes. The ears droop further, tail limp against the floor. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. See if there’s anything I can do.”

Keith’s quiet for a long time, amethyst eyes dull and downcast. Lance sighs, assumes he’s not going to make any progress today.

“Okay, Keith. That’s alright-”

“My brother is leaving, and I will be alone here. I miss my mother.” Of course. Of course he does. “It- It hurts.” Of course it hurts. Keith’s still a kit. He still has that powerful kit’s bond with his mother, with his pack. “There’s not a whole lot to be done.” Keith pulls out his datapad and dims the lights to nothing. It’s just the fire, no moon to shine through the domed glass roof of the tower above. “It’ll get better, the longer we’re separated.”

“I can get you a comms code-”

“No. Thank you, but that will make it worse. In a few movements, maybe a phoeb, I’d like that, but for now, this is best.”

It’s only later, when they’re in bed, that Lance realizes exactly what’s happening to Keith. Parent-child bonds are powerful things for Galra. Keith’s have remained even as his mother served in battles during the second war. Normally, such a bond fades during a Galra’s final growth.

Now, that bond is being forced apart before its time. Again.

Lance can only imagine what all of Keith’s loss and moving around and such has done to him. He notices the Galra trying to massage his own ears, self-soothing, hears a tiny, smothered chirp. Distressed. He scoots closer, reaches out, replaces Keith’s fingers with his own.

"It's alright, Keith. I've got you."

The Galra tenses for a moment, relaxes. Lance can hear him purring as he settles. He is this kit’s primary pack-member now. He’ll take good care of him. He trusts Keith to return the favor if he gets a chance.

“Keith?” A hum of acknowledgement. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry that you’re still a kit and I’m sorry about your family and I’m sorry that you’re here.”

“If you’re sorry, then help me do better. Make sure it doesn’t have to happen to our children.”

“I swear it. On my life.”

[adverb-slut]

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips (Fanfiction)

I just *clutches chest* really love the boys at Purgatory Hall and felt they needed more spotlight so here they are being big dummies on the road.  Oh, I also posted this on AO3 here. 

Title:

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips

Summary:

On a R.A.D-sanctioned road trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy, the Purgatory Hall boys prove that they have just as many brain cells as the demon brothers (read: none).

Genre:

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

6870

-

Hour 0

Our story begins just outside the gates of Purgatory Hall, where two of its three non-native Devildom residents stood near a rather expensive-looking, immaculately-maintained vehicle. 

The short, prone-to-fits-of-righteous-anger one yanked behind him a wagon, which was piled high with duffel and overnight bags, all made of a stiff white and gold fabric straight from the Celestial Realm.  

The other, older man, who never left home without a mysterious smile and his magic wand, too, tugged the handle of his own luggage—although his was a wheeled backpack which sagged due to the weight of the approximately seven-hundred souvenir keychains from around the Human World that he had clipped onto it.

The pair were waiting for their third friend—who, in every sense of the word, was an angel—as together they were planning to embark upon a new R.A.D tradition, which the Demon Prince Diavolo had appropriately christened—Our Annual Road Trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy (A.R.T C.D for short).  The Caverns of Degeneracy were on the far outskirts of the Devildom, over six-hundred-and-sixty-six miles away from the R.A.D campus, and yet, for some asinine reason, Diavolo had decided that they were the perfect spot for hosting the academy’s yearly Bleeding Hearts Festival.  

(Many of the Student Council Officers and faculty had wagered that the Demon Prince had just wanted an excuse to take a road trip—a phenomenon he had recently been introduced to through one of Leviathan’s video games.)

Diavolo himself planned for his personal driver to ferry him and his butler, Barbatos, up to the Caverns a day early so he could begin preparations for the festival and encouraged all students to find their own means of transportation in order to get to the event on time.

The R.A.D Student Council Officers—all of whom resided in the House of Lamentation—had decided to pile themselves into Asmodeus’ tour bus (he had bought it specifically because once he became a famous DevilTuber, he would need it to do meet-and-greets with his fans and also because it had a “bear-y adorable design”) and drive down together.  

As the Purgatory Hall boys had no modes of transportation to call their own, Lucifer had graciously allowed them to borrow Mammon’s Demonio 666 Lexura (fits had ensued à la the secondborn but were ignored), which both Luke and Solomon now hovered around.

However, as Solomon poked and prodded the vehicle, commenting admiringly under his breath at the paint job, the young angel peered nervously at the sorcerer’s backpack.  

He cleared his throat, bent on sounding as polite as possible—but failing miserably—and said, “Solomon, er—are you the one who’s bringing our road trip snacks?”  He followed this with a silent please say no, please say no, Father please let him say no.

Solomon raised an eyebrow.  “I thought you were bringing them.”

Luke dropped the handle of his wagon.  “No!  I would’ve made some snacks if I had the time but I was helping those,” he gagged, “wretched demon brothers pack using some low-level Celestial Realm magic.”  

“Oh, that’s right,” Solomon said, snapping his fingers.  “I just remembered that I volunteered to make the snacks, but Simeon heard and immediately offered to do it for me.  Then he sent me on a bunch of errands to buy groceries, but it felt more like he was trying to get me out of the kitchen.”  He laughed at the last part and shook his head because there was no way that such a criminally calm angel like Simeon would be that underhanded.  

“No!” wailed Luke, yanking his hat off and clutching it to his chest in despair.  “Don’t you know what this means?”    

“It means you don’t like Simeon’s cooking as much as you let on,” decided the sorcerer with a smile at Luke’s theatrical display.

Luke shook his head so vigorously that Solomon had to hold in a laugh based on how much the angel looked like a chihuahua shaking itself dry.  “For trips, Simeon only makes the most nutritious, most energizing food.”  He screwed up his face in disgust as he seethed, “The most disgusting food.”

“The stuff Simeon cooks for dinner isn’t particularly unhealthy and you seem to like that just fine,” pointed out Solomon.

Luke frowned.  “Yes, b—but I’m talking about real healthy stuff here, so we’ll all have lots of energy throughout the trip!  L—like entire salads squished between two pieces of bread and ‘yummy morsels’ of banana slices dipped in cashew butter and drizzled with mung bean and coconut water paste!”  He gestured toward himself.  “Look at me, Solomon!  I was made for jam-filled pastries and perfectly-iced cakes!  No—not,” he shuddered, “health foods.”

“You’re serious?  He’s really going to bring that kind of stuff?��� Solomon’s eyes widened.  “I guess I should’ve given in to my gut intuition and made some pork pies as backup snacks.  ‘Snackups,’ if you will.”

Luke could feel bile rising up his throat at the thought of Solomon’s cooking.  “Er—no, I don’t think that would’ve been necessary!”  He spotted a figure exiting Purgatory Hall.  “Oh, look, there’s Simeon, now; we can just ask him what snacks he brought.”

“And then burn them,” finished Solomon.

The younger angel gave a scandalized gasp at the comment as Solomon nodded at Simeon, who walked closer to the pair.  

A lone celestial blue suitcase trailed behind the elder angel as he beamed at his traveling companions.  “Is everyone ready?”  Before waiting for an answer, he turned toward Luke with a gaze that was almost motherly in nature.  “And has everyone gone to the bathroom?  We only have a day to drive to the Caverns of Degeneracy and I want to see some of the Devildom sights along the way.  I even brought an instant camera to take pictures.”  

He pulled out from his cape pocket said camera and an enormous stack of printed DevilmapQuest directions and began to rifle through them, trying to decide which of the landmarks and tourist destinations he wanted to visit most.  

“S—Simeon!  Why did you have to stare at me when you asked if we all went to the bathroom?  I may be young, but I at least know that I should go to the bathroom before long car rides!”  He then blushed and handed Solomon his wagon handle.  “A—and that being said, I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

As he ran inside, Solomon peered over Simeon’s shoulder at the map sheets and laughed.  “You know, most of these directions are online.”

“I know, I know,” admitted the older angel.  “But reading the directions off of a D.D.D requires knowing how to operate one, and you know I’m not too good at that.”  

Solomon smiled and said, “That’s fine, then.  We three will take turns driving and meanwhile, one of the two who aren’t behind the wheel will navigate.”  

“Haha, you’re aware Luke can’t drive, right?” asked Simeon, turning to give Solomon a look that cautiously strode the line between tolerant and what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you.  

“Well, I guess he’ll be the one giving directions, then,” replied Solomon, without missing a beat.  He couldn’t help but silently add he’ll be doing that, either way.  

As Simeon continued to sort through the DevilmapQuest papers and double-check all the items packed in the messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Solomon began to load everyone’s luggage into Mammon’s car.  He couldn’t help but envision himself playing Tetris as he carefully arranged in the trunk the seven blocky bags that the group had among them—six of which belonged to Luke, who packed as if he were planning to change his clothes at least twelve times a day.    

His own backpack—and Simeon’s messenger bag—would be staying with the trio in the cabin space of the car.  He hadn’t felt the need to pack nearly as many outfits as Luke and most of his bag consisted of medical supplies, while Simeon’s was supposed to be filled to the brim with road trip snacks.

Speaking of snacks, Solomon felt his mouth turn dry as he mulled over the healthy monstrosities that Luke believed the older angel had created in place of actually palatable food.  He turned to Simeon.  “Er, Simeon—what’s on the menu in terms of snackage?”

“‘Snackage?’” Simeon laughed.  He pat his messenger bag and said, “Let’s see, well, whenever I go on long trips, I try to make foods that provide a lot of energy, since we’re going to need it—especially you and I, as we’ll be driving.  Here, I made dried, salted edamame and roasted chickpea trail mix, almond-butter-and-white-bean-stuffed dried dates, and oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls with dried pineapple, coconut, and avocado.”   

Solomon did not like how many times Simeon had mentioned “beans,” for as far as he was concerned, road trip food was junk food exclusively.  He took a deep breath and carefully twisted his mouth into a smile.  “That sounds well … delicious. Ten out of ten.”

“Excellent.  Now, where is Luke?”  Simeon peered behind them toward Purgatory Hall, where a munchkin of a silhouette now appeared.  “Ah, there he is.”  He tossed Solomon the keyring Mammon had tearfully given him the day before.  “Mind starting the car?”

Solomon nodded and after examining the gaudy charms that adorned Mammon’s keys, he clicked open the car and stepped toward the driver’s seat door.  “I’ll take the first shift.  It’ll take us fifteen hours of sheer driving to get to the Caverns of Degeneracy, so we’ll take three-hour turns.”  

As Solomon yanked the car door open, something tumbled out of the front seat.  He jumped back, and Simeon and Luke rushed toward the commotion.  

“M—Mammon?  What are you doing here?” exclaimed Luke.  

Simeon laughed, his brows furrowing in confusion.  “Hoping to hitch a ride?”

Solomon had to swallow his smile when he saw the almost-comical tears that ran down Mammon’s face.  “Did your brothers leave you behind?”

“N— no!  They’d never leave without me, The Great Mammon!”  Mammon hastily wiped his nose before sprawling his hands over his Demonio 666 Lexura.  “I just couldn’t fathom leavin’ my beloved baby for so long!  I had to say goodbye!”

“Speaking of saying goodbye, you do know that Asmo’s bus already left a few minutes ago, right?” asked Simeon.  “I caught a glimpse of them before I came out here and they were already on the road.”

Mammon’s face paled.  “Wh—what?  They wouldn’t! Wait—of course, they would!  Those bastards!”  He immediately turned into his demon form, planted a kiss on his car’s hood, and sped off into the horizon.

“I suddenly understand what the term ‘speed demon’ means,” commented Luke as he watched Mammon’s quickly disappearing form.

“I sure hope he manages to catch up to them,” Solomon said, rubbing his chin.  “Anyway, everyone, pile in.  It’s time to get this show on the road.”

Hour 1

After they had driven well out of the bounds of R.A.D’s campus, Solomon announced, “All right—first item on the agenda—”

Luke raised his hand from the back passenger seat as he strained against his seatbelt.  “—What’s an ‘agenda?’”

“Oh.  An agenda is basically a list of things we have to do,” explained Solomon.

Simeon’s eyes widened in concern.  “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”

Solomon nodded gravely.  “Oh, yes—an unwritten road trip one.  And the first thing on it is picking some tunes.”

Again, Luke raised his hand.  “I have a suggestion!  I have a suggestion!”  From the pocket of his shorts, he drew out a CD case labeled 1001 Hymns to Praise Him.  “This album is my personal favorite.”

Solomon began coughing violently in attempts to cover his laughter, while Simeon smiled and took the CD from him.  “That’s a great idea, Luke, but how about we play this when I drive, and when Solomon drives, he’ll pick the music.”

The sorcerer handed Simeon his D.D.D, keeping his eyes on the road as he instructed, “Here, go to my Akutify account and play my Travel playlist.  Hope you guys don’t mind that I managed to export my entire Spotify account onto Akutify, so we’re going to be listening to Human World songs for now.”

It took Simeon seven tries to carry out Solomon’s orders, but before long, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys blared through the state-of-the-art stereo system of the Demonio 666 Lexura.  

Luke was silent for a few moments before he innocently asked, “I don’t understand, Solomon.  What do they want ‘that way?’”

Solomon shook his head.  “I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”

Hour 2

It didn’t take very long for Simeon to discover the first location on his list of places to visit along their trip.  

“The Maw of Beelzebub,” Simeon breathed, taking in their dark, ashy surroundings from the passenger seat.  “I’ve seen it in pictures when I researched for TSL, but I never fathomed I’d get to see it in person.”

Luke pouted as Simeon exited the vehicle.  “Don’t tell me we’re going to see those dumb demon brothers.”

“Nope,” Solomon said, unbuckling Luke from his seat, despite the vehement protests from the little angel.  “The Maw of Beelzebub is a chain of three volcanoes, actually.  The two smaller ones that form the ‘eyes of Beelzebub’ are active, but the huge, massive one that we’re going to walk across by way of that bridge,” he pointed to a shaky overpass that was suspended over a volcano crater a thousand miles wide, “is dormant.  However, you can still see the enormous pool of lava bubbling inside.  Tourists like to drop things down into it—and of course, it disappears into the molten lava—which is why it’s named after Beel because no matter what you feed him, he’s still hungry as if he’s never eaten.”

“Remind me again, then, why we’re walking across it?”  Luke asked as the trio wandered over to the entrance of the precarious bridge.  

Simeon looked at him curiously.  “Don’t you think it’s exhilarating, Luke?  To be so close to something so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than yourself?”   

The younger angel pondered that for a moment before deciding, “Father is so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than me.  I think that’s enough.”   

Simeon laughed.  “So it is.”  He wiggled his fingers under Luke’s hat to rumple his hair.  “But let’s go see it, anyway.”

 Hour 3

“Psst,” Luke hissed, “Simeon.” The elder angel seemed to be too enthralled by the latest song in Solomon’s playlist, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, to hear him, so Luke reached out to poke his shoulder.

If he wasn’t strapped to his seat by his seatbelt, Simeon would’ve jumped about fifty feet in surprise.  “Ah, you startled me, Luke.  Did you need something?”

Luke adamantly refused to meet Simeon’s eyes as he flushed and muttered, “I have to go.”

“Don’t worry, Luke—there’s no shame in needing to go to the bathroom,” assured Simeon.

“There is when you just went ten minutes ago,” mumbled Solomon under his breath, but he swerved into a gas station, nonetheless.  “I guess we’re due for a tank refill, anyway.”

Simeon put up his hand.  “You paid for the gas last time—let me do it, especially since Mammon left explicit instructions that his car is supposed to be ���fed’ premium gas only.” 

Solomon grinned cheekily.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  He followed Luke, who had already gone into the gas station convenience store.  “I guess I’ll just have a look around, then.”

However, before he got more than a few feet into the store, he heard someone whisper-screaming his name.

“Psst!  Solomon!  Over here!  Behind the candy stand!” 

He followed the voice, only to find that it belonged to Luke, who was very much not in the bathroom and rather ripping open a packet of fruit snacks.

“Whoa, I didn’t know you had it in you to employ the much-loved five-finger-discount,” Solomon said, nodding appreciatively.  “Considering you’re an angel and all.”

Luke stared at him with blank eyes.  “I don’t know what that means, but these were in my pocket from earlier!”  He motioned for Solomon to come closer and poured a few of the gummies into his hand.  “This is my last pouch—eat them fast.  They might be our last bit of yummy food before we have to eat Simeon’s nightmares.”

Solomon bobbed his head, before dumping the fruit snacks into his mouth all at once, savoring their sweet taste.  He gestured toward Luke.  “Do you always keep those on you?”

The angel’s offended gasp could be heard by all the demons in the convenience store.  “I’m a ten-year-old, Solomon!  Of course, I keep fruit snacks in my pocket!”

Hour 4

It wasn’t that Simeon was a bad driver.  It was just that driving in the Devildom (and the Human World) was very different from driving in the Celestial Realm.

Here, in uncontrolled intersections, it wasn’t customary to say “hello” to the drivers rolling to a stop in all directions.  Even stranger, the traffic lights weren’t celestial blue, gold, and white, but rather red, green, and yellow! 

Luke, who had discovered a “2020 Devildom Rules of the Road” manual crumpled inside one of the cupholders, was forced to bark instructions at the eldest angel, all while offering condescending commentary on how imbecilic the rules of driving in the Devildom were.

“Simeon!  Listen to this!  In the Devildom, you have to obey the posted speed limits, or else you’ll get in trouble!” realized Luke.

“Wait—you don’t have speed limits in the Celestial Realm?” Solomon asked.

Luke replied smugly, “No, because angels have the sense to know how fast they should or shouldn’t be driving.”

“Wow, that’s honestly impressive.”  Solomon grimaced as Simeon ran through another red light.  “Remember, if the light is red, then you have to stop.”

Simeon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m so used to remembering that blue means ‘stop.’”

Solomon slunk low in his seat, knowing better than to rile up the angel, who was rumored to have a feisty side when he got angry.  “I just hope the police or whatever they have here don’t catch us for breaking so many traffic laws.”

“What’s a ‘police?’” asked Luke.

“Oh, you know … people who are supposed to make people follow the laws and stuff,” replied Solomon.  His eyes widened.  “Do you not have a police force in the Celestial Realm?”

“The Celestial Realm is a perfect world, Solomon,” answered Simeon.  “We don’t need police.”

Hour 6

Solomon didn’t know that he could get sick of songs.  Sure, he got tired of the “Despacito” remix after the first dozen times it was played on the radio—but he meant real music.  

“Amazing Grace” in particular.

Luke’s favorite album, 1001 Hymns to Praise Him, really should’ve been called 1001 Ways An Angelic Choir Can Sing “Amazing Grace” because Solomon swore about ninety percent of the songs on the album were just renditions of the classic hymn sung by different groups of angels.

And this seemed to bother neither of his driving companions, who crooned along to the choir in heavenly tones—it seemed to be a prerequisite for angels to be divine singers—without missing a beat.  

He hadn’t even known all the words to “Amazing Grace,” but now he could recite all six verses on demand.  He fought the urge to smash the “eject” button on the CD player, but he worried that Luke would throw a fit or Simeon would look at him with a stare so full of disappointment that Solomon would be willing to throw himself off a bridge just to rid himself of its gaze.

But one could only hear the line “amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” so many times.

He had to do something.

“Hey!  I have an idea!” Solomon chirped.  “Let’s make up our own song!”

He had to fight the urge to smack himself upside the head.  Why did he say that?  He had no ideas for potential song lyrics!

“I like that!” Luke pursed his lips, deep in thought.  “Here, let’s have the first lines go like this: ‘Father, You are all that I need!’”

Simeon used one hand to snap out the beat, and continued, “‘Father, listen to my creed!’”

Solomon sighed.

He did not know if this was any better.

Hour 8

“Luke, wake up.  We’re here.”  Solomon couldn’t help but layer on the desperation thick as he shook the younger angel awake, despite the fact that they were in no danger whatsoever.

Luke shot up, trying very hard to hide the fact that he had been drooling all over his shoulder.  He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “What?  Did we beat all the other demons here?  Are the Caverns of Degeneracy as hideous as I imagined?”

Solomon unbuckled Luke’s seatbelt and dragged him out of the car.  He snickered, saying, “We’re not at the Caverns, yet.”  He gestured toward their surroundings, which now consisted of precarious cliffs and rocky crags instead of the open road of the Devildom. 

Simeon stood a few feet ahead of them and turned around, spreading his arms wide in wonder.  “Welcome to Sinner Falls!”

Luke stared at the dark stone formations.  “I don’t see any waterfalls.”

“That’s because Sinner Falls isn’t a waterfall,” Solomon explained.  “You probably better know it as ‘the Abyss—’”

“‘The Abyss? ’  Why didn’t you say so?”  Luke exclaimed, his eyes glittering excitedly.  “The place where demons are tortured for a thousand years during the Millenium has always been one of my dream places to visit!”

Simeon smiled, a little taken aback by the younger angel’s enthusiasm.  “If we’re lucky, we might get to see Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. He’s supposed to be guarding the canyon up ahead.”

“If we see him, do you think he’ll let me call him ‘Abba?’” teased Solomon, even though the remark earned him a kick in the shin and a “He most certainly will not!  How dare you even say such a thing about one of the most high-ranking angels!” from Luke.

“Careful now, Solomon,” Simeon warned, as the trio walked toward the deep canyon amongst the cliffs.  As far as anyone could tell, there was no end to the inky, suffocating blackness that was visible when looking down into it.  He pointed into the canyon.  “This is the Abyss—er, Sinner Falls.  Us angels cannot pass this invisible barrier—” he pressed his hand out to the ledge of the canyon, only for it to smash against some kind of unseen wall, “—but any human or demon who falls down into it falls for eternity, never to come back to the surface.”

Luke beamed. “That must be why it’s called ‘Sinner Falls!’  Because most humans and all demons are sinners!”  Despite this, he grabbed Solomon’s hand to prevent him from wandering too close to Sinner Falls’ ledge (as he was wont to do), because, despite their bickering and mutual pestering, Luke had a soft spot for the sorcerer.

Simeon followed in suit and intertwined his fingers with Solomon as the trio looked down into the great Abyss, wondering if any of their demon friends would be among the many thrown into it one day.

Hour 9

Simeon rifled through his messenger bag, intent on looking for something to eat.  He had made sure to pack plenty of goodies and was pleased as to how nutritious the snacks he’d made had turned out.  He scooped a handful of edamame and chickpea trail mix into his hand and turned to Luke, who was hunched over a map in the back passenger seat. 

“You haven’t eaten anything in over eight hours; aren’t you hungry?”  Simeon offered him the bag of trail mix.

Luke gulped, as he beamed and shook his head.  “N—no, no!  I’m okay!”

Simeon shrugged and held out the bag toward Solomon, who was driving.  “Do you want some?  I can pour it into your mouth if you want, so you don’t have to take your eyes off the road.”

“As titillating as that sounds,” said the sorcerer, “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“I guess that’s more for me, then.”  Simeon poured more of the trail mix into his palm, but before he could eat any of it, he heard a strange sound.

It was a low rumble, but very, very loud.

It almost sounded like … stomachs growling?

He whirled to face Luke and Solomon and scratched his head in confusion.  “Are you two sure you’re not hungry?”

When the pair shook their heads furiously, Simeon raised an eyebrow.  He yanked out from his bag the stuffed dried dates and the oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls.  “So … you two wouldn’t mind if I ate all of the snacks?”

“Yeah, sure, go nuts, Simeon,” Solomon assured.  He winced as his and Luke’s stomaches rumbled in unison.  “You wouldn’t actually have any nuts in that bag o’ treats, would you?  Preferably of the chocolate-covered variety?” 

“The dates have almond butter stuffed inside them,” pointed out Luke helpfully, although his expression was less-than-enthused.

Simeon raised his other eyebrow.  Clearly the pair were hungry but refusing food.  What kind of rebellious spirit had gotten into them?  Didn’t they know that food was essential to oh, survival?   His left eye twitched as he felt a black miasma of rage cover him. “If you two don’t eat, I’m turning this car around.  That’s a promise.”

Solomon exchanged nervous glances with Luke at the normally calm angel’s outburst. “Angry Simeon is scary,” he whimpered.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll see just how scary I can be,” promised Simeon with a smile that bordered downright terrifying.  He plopped an oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean ball into Solomon’s mouth and handed a stuffed date to Luke.  “Now, eat your snacks.”

He definitely didn’t miss Luke’s grumpy, “Yes, mother.”

Hour 11

“Solomon, I hate to complain—” which earned a snort from the sorcerer, as Luke continued, “but do you really have to play that now?”  He gestured toward the sound system, which, now that it was Simeon’s turn to drive, blared 1001 Hymns to Praise Him.  “Seven Lyres is my favorite orchestra and their take on ‘Amazing Grace’ is simply the best!”

Solomon, who had purposely pulled out a reed pipe from his backpack in an effort to drown out the nine thousandth chorus of “Amazing Grace,” sighed and put it down.  He knew he wasn’t an expert in playing the reed pipe—in fact, this was the first time he’d ever seen the instrument, but the racket was so soothing.

“Where did you even get that from, anyway?” asked Simeon.

“Found it in my backpack.  I didn’t pack it, but considering there was a note attached to it that said ‘Blow,’ I think Asmo put it there as some kind of visual innuendo.”  Solomon shrugged.  “Now seemed like as good a time as any to play it.”

 Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully.  “What’s an ‘innuendo?’”

“Something you’re not allowed to make until you’re much older,” replied Simeon sternly. 

Luke seemed satisfied with the answer and held out his palm toward Solomon.  “May I try?”

Solomon handed the reed pipe over and cocked his head.  “You know how to play?”

He received his answer when Luke gestured for him to lower the stereo volume (which Solomon did with immense pleasure) and began to carefully place his fingers over the openings and gently blow into the instrument.

The young angel played masterfully and Solomon would’ve given him a standing ovation if it weren’t for one tiny thing.

“Why don’t you play a different song besides ‘Amazing Grace?’”  he suggested.

Luke furrowed his brows.  “It’s the only thing I know how to play!”

Hour 12

“I don’t like this place, Simeon,” Luke mumbled, yanking his hat over his eyes.  “It looks like something straight from the End Times.”

He, of course, was referring to the town at which’s city limits they stood in front of.  It was one of the last tourist spots that Simeon had wanted to visit, and it was renowned for being one of the Devildom’s most haunted ghost towns.

Solomon nodded.  “I’m with the Chihuahua.  I’m super excited for the end of the world, and even I’m not getting a good feeling from whatever-this-place-is-called.”

“Deathblow Beggar’s Pass,” answered Simeon, ogling the city entrance sign gleefully.  “They say it’s the most haunted district in all of the Devildom.”  He took a step onto the creaky wooden path that led into the town.  “It’s been evacuated for centuries and now, even most demons are petrified to go inside.”

Luke gripped Simeon’s cape so tight, his knuckles turned white.  “Then why do you want to visit this place?”

“Don’t worry, Luke,” the older angel said (avoiding the question, which the young angel noticed), laughing, as he tousled Luke’s hair under his hat.  “I’ll make sure none of the scary ghosts come near you.”

Luke’s eyes widened.  “Sc—scary ghosts?”  He cleared his throat when he realized how incredibly uncourageous he sounded.  “I—I mean I’m not scared of any g—g—ghosts!”

Solomon and Simeon shared a secret smile at the angel’s feigned bravery, and instead of teasing him, Solomon turned to Luke very seriously.  “I strictly deal with demons, not ghosts.  How about you do me a favor and sit on my shoulders to be my lookout in case any of those ghosts try to pull anything?”

“W—well if you need my help, I’m definitely willing to offer it!” Luke blushed as he climbed onto Solomon’s shoulders.  “It’s my duty as an angel to help humans, after all!”

“That’s the ‘spirit,’” Solomon said.  He laughed when he saw the angels’ unamused faces.  “Get it?  ‘Cause we’re walking into a ghost town?”

Simeon laughed stiffly as to not hurt the sorcerer’s feelings before straightening his posture and looking ahead.  He channeled his inner fantasy writer as he declared, “Get ready, everyone!  We must put aside our doubts and fears as we charge forward into Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, where no creature has exited without releasing screams that could curdle the blood of the Demon Lord!  We might not be of this world, but we certainly can brave its most terrifying sites!”

It would have been a very heroic speech if it weren’t for the fact that not five minutes after the trio entered the city limits, Solomon and Simeon sprinted out, with Luke wailing loudly.

“That was the worst ever!” the little angel blubbered, yanking Solomon’s hair.

The sorcerer didn’t even have enough energy to flinch as he panted, “What in the name of all things unholy was that?”

There was nothing but fear in Simeon’s eyes as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath.  “We should’ve known the saloon bathroom stalls wouldn’t be empty.”  He gagged.  “I never want to see millennia-old demon penis again.”

Hour 15

“Simeon, are we there yet ?” asked Luke for the twenty-first time in the hour.

The other angel sighed.  “Almost, Luke.  Just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t you have the map?” Solomon pointed out as he honked the horn in irritation at a slow driver ahead of him.  “Shouldn’t you know where we are?”

Luke fussed with the multitude of papers that were stacked on his lap.  “I only have the stuff for Simeon’s places.”  His eyes opened wide in realization.  “Wait—how do you guys know where to drive if my maps don’t lead to the Caverns of Degeneracy?” 

“Diavolo said as long as we travel along Route 666 until we see the sign markers, we should have no problem getting there,” explained Simeon.  He peered ahead and squinted at one of the upcoming signs.  “And look—that sign says that the Caverns of Degeneracy are ten miles up ahead.”

“I hope we’re the first ones there,” said Luke.  “It’ll be nice to see all the looks on those dumb demons’ faces when we get there before them.”

Solomon pursed his lips.  “Speaking of those ‘dumb demons,’ I wonder if they’re all right.  We haven’t heard from them since we left Purgatory Hall.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Simeon assured.  He let out a laugh as he continued, “Assuming they haven’t killed each other already.  It must be hard having all seven of them cooped up in one small space.”

“We can only hope,” said Luke solemnly.  He paused for a moment as he shimmied as far as his seatbelt would allow him and peered over Solomon’s shoulder to look at what was going on in the front seats.  He pointed at the gear shift. “What does ‘D’ mean?”

“I’m not supposed to say that word in front of you,” answered Solomon as Simeon simultaneously replied, “Drive.”

“Oh.  What does ‘R’ mean, then?”

Simeon replied, “Reverse,” before Solomon could say anything.

At the elder angel’s preemptive glare, Solomon widened his eyes and innocently said, “I was going to say ‘reverse,’ as in ‘Uno Reverse Card.’’”

Luke turned toward the dashboard.  “What’s ‘E?’”

“I feel if I say ‘Evanescence,’ Simeon is going to yell at me, so I’ll just go with ‘empty,’” pouted Solomon.  

“Empty what?”

“Gas.”

“So … since that line-thingy is almost at ‘E,’ that means we’re nearly out of gas?”  

“Yep.”

Simeon turned around to cover Luke’s ears at Solomon’s next sentence: “Holy shit—we’re almost out of gas!”

The older angel’s eyes promised murder as he stared at the sorcerer, before directing his stare to the fuel gauge.  “We’re running on fumes.”

“We need to refuel, stat.  Simeon, grab my D.D.D and look up the nearest gas station,” directed Solomon.  “I always forget that Mammon’s car is a gas-guzzler.” 

“What should I do, Solomon?” asked Luke, eagerly awaiting orders like a baby soldier.

The sorcerer nodded, deadly serious.  “Sit there and be cute.”

Luke pouted as Simeon—with surprising speed—brought up a log of the nearest gas stations on Solomon’s D.D.D.  “There should be a station three miles ahead.”

Solomon frowned as he analyzed their fuel gauge.  “I’m not sure we’ll make it.”

“We have to!” cried Luke.  “How will we ever beat those demons if we don’t even make it to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”  

“We’ll have to trust that Mammon’s baby is strong enough to get us to the gas station, then.”  Solomon stroked the dashboard as if trying to offer the vehicle some kind of encouragement.  

And as the car’s fuel began to peter out, Simeon and Luke began to cheer in chorus, “You can do it, Mammon’s car!” while Solomon exclaimed, “You’re a fierce, strong woman who doesn’t need any man to tell you that your fuel gauge is empty!”  

After an eternity (okay, it was more like five minutes), the Demonio 666 Lexura finally eked it’s way to the first pump at a Demobil gas station. 

As the engine sputtered out, the trio let out a cheer, and Solomon and Simeon shared a hug in the front seat.

“Thank Father we made it!” exclaimed Luke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car.  He pat Mammon’s car.  “Also, thank you for getting us here, even if you belong to the scummiest demon in the Devildom.”

Solomon grinned and turned to Simeon.  “You spotted the gas bill last time, so I’ll do it now.”

“Are you sure?” asked Simeon.  “My TSL royalties are huge, even after I’ve tithed my ten percent.  I’ve got no problem paying.”

“Nah, it’s fine—you can go stretch your legs.” With that, Solomon exited the car and began to work the gas pump.

Simeon nodded and together with Luke, walked toward the attached Demobil convenience store.  By the entrance stood a higher-level demon, who appeared to be selling bouquets of fresh flowers.

The vendor, who had noticed the pair exit Mammon’s car and had seen Solomon get up to pump the gas, called to Simeon, “Flower for your Mister?”  He gestured toward the white-haired sorcerer. 

Luke gasped, absolutely scandalized, and huffed, “Simeon would never settle for a human!” while Simeon chuckled, replying, “I’m sorry, he’s not my ‘Mister,’ but I’ll take a bouquet, anyway.”

After exchanging Grimm for the flowers, Simeon and Luke strolled back to the Demonio 666 Lexura, where Solomon was just closing the fuel tank. 

“Simeon bought you flowers!” announced Luke.

The angel nodded as he handed the sunny bouquet to Solomon.  “It matches your wand.”

“How did you know gerberas are my favorite?” laughed Solomon.  “These are great—thank you.”  As they all piled back into the car, he carefully arranged the flowers in one of the cupholders and beamed, because God,  sometimes the angel was so nice. 

The group drove in silence for a few moments before Luke commented, “I didn’t know gerberas smelled like … salt?”

Simeon sniffed the air.  “I think that’s the sea.  After all, the Caverns of Degeneracy are right along the beach.”

Just as the angel spoke the words, Solomon pulled right into a parking lot that was situated right next to miles and miles of black sand.  

Luke cheered, kicking his feet at Solomon’s seat excitedly.  “Yay!  We’re here!”

Their road trip had finally come to an end.

Destination

After wandering the beach for a few moments, the trio eventually found themselves at the mouth of the Caverns of Degeneracy, which turned out to be several huge caves filled with glowing pastel stalactites and stalagmites.  Hellfireflies twinkled in the air, while friendly gentlemanbugs strolled about the cavern floor.  Some kind of glittering pink moss had been used to adorn the walls with the words, “R.A.D Bleeding Hearts Festival 2020.”

In the middle of it all stood Diavolo, who was discussing the festival decorations with Barbatos.

As soon as he saw the Demon Prince, Luke raced up and, bobbing uncontrollably, asked, “Are we first?  Are we first?” 

Diavolo let out a hearty laugh.  “Welcome you three!  And first for what, Luke?”

Solomon sauntered up and answered, “To arrive.”

“Luke’s been very anxious to know if we’re the first ones here at the festival,” elaborated Simeon, placing his hand on the younger angel’s shoulder.

“You make it seem like it was a competition to get here first—which, yes, you three are,” said Diavolo.  His eyes lit up.  “That’s an excellent idea, though!  Next year, we’ll make the R.A.D C.D a contest to see can make it to the Caverns the fastest!  First place will get a coupon for teatime with me!”

Luke wrinkled his nose.  “Teatime with you?  That sounds—”

“Incredibly fun,” cut in Simeon smoothly.  He turned to Diavolo.  “Have you gotten any word from those seven demon brothers?”

Diavolo grimaced.  “It seems that they’ll be late.  Beelzebub ate all their road trip snacks immediately as he entered Asmodeus’ tour bus, so they had to stop for food at every fast food restaurant they could find because he still wasn’t satisfied, Belphegor kept falling asleep at the wheel, and Mammon got so many speeding violations and every time the police showed up, Asmodeus tried to seduce his way out of their ticket, which only earned them more fines and lectures from Lucifer.  It’s comic-con season, so of course, Leviathan had to stop at every convention center along the way, and unsurprisingly, Satan’s road rage forced him to get into out-of-car fights with every driver he encountered when he was at the wheel.”  He sighed.  “They managed to turn a fifteen-hour trip into a twenty-two hour one.”

Solomon smiled as he said, “I guess we should’ve expected that.”  His grin grew even wider as he gestured toward his traveling companions.  “Meanwhile, we did all fifteen-hours of driving—courtesy of me bending the speeding rules quite a bit when there was no traffic— and saw some of the sights of the Devildom along the way.”

“Oooh, did you manage to get any pictures?” asked Diavolo with an excited gleam in his eye.  “I always want to travel around the Devildom but never get the chance.”

Simeon nodded as he pulled out from his messenger bag some of the pictures he had asked fellow tourists to snap with his instant camera.  He handed them one by one to Diavolo and beamed at the goofy scenes.

The first one was from when they stopped at the Maw of Beelzebub: Solomon teasingly dangled Luke’s hat over the bridge’s railing while the young angel cried and stomped on the sorcerer’s foot in retaliation.  Simeon, meanwhile, tried to rescue Luke’s hat.

The second photo showcased Solomon sitting at the ledge of Sinner Falls with his feet swinging over the bottomless canyon.  Luke and Simeon posed obnoxiously as if they were going to fall into the Abyss, even though as angels, they were unable to.  

The final picture was the only one he had from Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, and it was of the trio crouched in front of the sign that spelled “Enjoy your stay at Deathblow Beggar’s Pass!”

Diavolo examined the images wistfully.  He sighed as he handed the photos back to Simeon.  “You three looked as if you made some fun memories.”

The angels and the sorcerer exchanged contented glances and chorused, “We most certainly did.”

[toothlessturtle21]

Cold Blooded

So as some of y’all know, I’m a fanfic author, so I figured why not publish some of my oneshots on Tumblr? So, here’s the first one in a (maybe) series of oneshots being posted. Enjoy!

---

Jay's talking gets him into a lot of trouble, sure, but when he's faced with a mob boss who wants to work with him to resurrect his dead father, his chatter might be his only weapon. (Mafia AU) (tw: kidnapping, guns, mentioned death)

All of his life, Jay had been told that his excessive blabbering was annoying. His friends and his family were not safe from the chatter, everywhere and all the time. And god forbid  that he was nervous, because butterflies in his stomach seemed to equate to words spewing from his mouth like a fountain. So when he found himself tied up and blindfolded after a nasty run-in with some gang members, what else was he supposed to do?

"So, uh, what kind of wood is the chair I'm in made of? It feels pretty strong, but I also can't see the color to make any guesses," Jay quirked his mouth, and one of the men nearby grumbled, having put up with his incessant rambling for the better part of the hour. "Is it grainy? I can't really tell through my pants, but if it is you guys should really sand it. Splinters are no joke, even if you're wearing gloves. They always wait until you're least expecting it and then ouch, there's wood in your hand."

His company was silent, perhaps hoping that he would shut up if left unanswered. After a few beats of silence, Jay tapped his feet on the floor, an uneven rhythm that was in no way musical. He tried to think of some beat to mimic that would take his mind off of his situation. He hummed some jingles, some pop songs, and even snuck a little bit of some showtunes in there before a harsh slap to the cheek stopped him, causing Jay to cry out indignantly.

"Hey, I'm just messing around! What's the big deal anyway? You guys are the ones who nabbed me off the street, why should I listen to- mmph!"

A hand was slapped over his mouth very quickly, accompanied by a sharp shh. For once, Jay decided to listen, and heard another man in the room on the phone.

"Please sir, he's driving us insane, can't we just..."

Silence for a few minutes. Jay's heart raced at the thought of there being a man higher up waiting to get his hands on him, despite his current situation already being pretty undesirable.

"Wait, really?"

Muffled words from the other side of the line were audible now, and the man with him laughed a little, obviously relieved.

"Thank you, boss! We'll get him to you right away."

And just like that, Jay was in the air, the chair he was tied to lifted by some thug, and he squawked in surprise as he was gripped roughly by strong hands, the grunts talking amongst themselves as they brought him along. Finally, they stopped, and set him down onto a tile floor, judging by the sound of the legs hitting the ground. One ripped off his blindfold, and they immediately scurried away, leaving Jay to blink his eyes like a newborn kitten to adjust to the light.

"Ah, so you're the famed Ninja of Lightning. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Walker."

Jay finally found his sight, and discovered he was in an office, of sorts. The walls were a circle, bookshelves lining the room, except for the one area where a cabinet full of guns stood. The furniture was elegant, smooth curves and a sleek black sheen to everything made for a very intimidating look.

What was even more intimidating, however, was the figure perched on top of the desk at the far back. He looked to be young, black leather clothes contrasting with his stark white hair, combed back into a feathery undercut. Clear blue eyes stared the ninja down, and Jay felt his skin crawl under the scrutiny.

"Oh, don't tell me they harmed your vocal chords on the journey over, I've heard so much about your jabber," The man slid off the desk, striding over with quiet steps. Now that Jay was closer, he was quite tall, most definitely taller than himself.

"No, they didn't," He managed to squeak out, clearing his throat afterwards. "And how do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things," The man shrugged. "For example, I know that you were born and raised in a trash heap, your favorite food is blackberry pie, and your name is James."

"If you know so much about me," Jay's cheeks burned from hearing his birth name and from the insult towards his parents' livelihood. "Then who are you?"

The man thought for a moment before answering, almost as if questioning himself. He seemed to finally decide on an answer after a few tense moments.

"Call me Snake."

"No offense, but you don't really don't look like a Snake," Jay blurted, and the man raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I mean, you have a pretty blue, black, white color scheme going on, and snakes are usually green. You seem more like an Spider or Shark to me than a Snake. You don't give me slimy vibes."

"Thank you for the feedback," Snake nodded, stepping back a little. "I suppose I will keep that in mind for the next time I have to choose a persona to give to strangers."

"Was that a joke I heard?" Jay asked, and Snake's expression never wavered. The blonde looked at his gun cabinet for a split second before returning his gaze to his hostage.

"So, Mr. Walker, it has come to my attention that you are especially skilled in robotics, correct?"

"I mean, yeah, but-"

"What do you normally create?"

"Small robots, mostly. Y'know, can sweep things, stack bricks, charge phones, and..." Jay trailed off, mentally slapping himself. "Actually, it's none of your business what I do. You're the one who organized my kidnapping, I'm not telling you anything!"

"Hm, just as we were doing so swimmingly. Very well then," Snake walked away, returning to his desk. He once again avoided the chair, choosing to stalk Jay from his desk like a bird of prey.

"Also, consider changing your name to Falcon. Still fits better than Snake."

"I thought we had moved on from my name, James," Snake smiled amusedly. "Although Falcon does have a nice ring to it, thank you. Perhaps I will keep that one in mind."

He pulled his legs up, crossing them on his desk. It was then that Jay noticed the portrait sitting next to his knee.

"Hey, who's in the picture?"

Snake's expression darkened, and Jay's heart picked up once more at the thought of his last words being so lame.

"Perhaps you don't understand your situation. You are in no position to be asking questions, especially ones about my personal life. As far as guests go, you have been treated rather graciously, Mr. Walker. Although I do consider myself rather forgiving in the face of insubordination, I too have a limit."

Jay went quiet, at least for a few moments, but a sudden bird cry followed by a black shape swooping past his face made him shriek, and Snake laughed at his expense. He held out his arm as a black bird rested on him, and Snake gently took the note from its mouth.

"You really are quite entertaining. I might keep you just for that."

"Usually my jokes are a little more thought out than- wait, what do you mean by keep-"

"Hush, I am trying to read, James. Do be polite."

You could hear a pin drop as the man read, cool blues scanning the page. He bristled as he hit the bulk of the letter, presumably receiving bad news.

Snake scoffed, and snatched a lighter from beside him on the desk. He lit the flame, and held it up to the paper.

"Burning letters is so much safer than texting, wouldn't you agree? Plus, fire can be oh so fun to play with if done properly."

"I'm not really a big fan of fire. I guess I just don't like heat."

"I would be inclined to agree. Ice is often much more effective, anyway. It is a silent killer, with much less destruction than fire."

"Um, killer?"

"I run an organized crime ring, do you think I reached where I am by playing nice and holding hands?"

"How did you weaponize ice?" Jay asked, and then quickly backpedaled. "Uh, sorry, no questions, I'll stop."

"There are many ways, but I will indulge you with my personal favorite," Snake released his bird, the avian flying out the small window it had come in from, and stalked towards Jay. He touched a gentle hand to his bound arm, and Jay felt his breath quicken at the contact.

"I am the master of ice. Blood is half water. If I were to concentrate right now, I could freeze your veins and arteries, leaving you stiff like a doll. My ice does not melt easily, and so it creates a wonderful display if presented properly. Of course, the victim would need to be positioned correctly, but that is beside the point."

"You're sick," Jay strained against his bonds, suddenly comprehending the danger he was in. "Is killing people a game to you?"

"Not necessarily. If I kill by necessity, then deaths are quick and painless. If they have wronged me greatly, however, I enjoy watching them writhe to the best of their ability as they feel their blood freeze under my grasp."

"Then why am I here? I haven't wronged you, as far as I know, and I'm not already dead. What do you want from me?"

"I want your expertise. I am interested in your abilities. You are skilled at creating artificial life, James. While I have trained myself in many areas, capturing the essence of a living being is something I've yet to grasp."

All of a sudden, the puzzle pieces clicked in Jay's head. The color scheme, the white hair, the obsession with birds and robotics, and the ice all suddenly brought back memories that Jay forgot that he had.

"...Zane?"

The blonde smiled sadly, and then let out a small, hollow laugh.

"Ah, so you do remember. It's been a while, I know."

"Yeah, since we were toddlers."

"Are your parents well?"

"As far as I know, yeah, they're pretty good. How about your dad?"

Zane scowled, resting his chin on his hand.

"Dead. Killed in one of your little endeavors fighting Garmadon. Tasteless, really. My father deserved a death more fitting of the great mind he was than rubble crushing his body."

"I'm so sorry," Jay bit his lip, dread filling his bones. "So, uh, you're a gang leader now?"

"In a way, yes. I was already rising to power when he died, and his passing only drove me further. And now we are here," Zane gestured to the Lightning Ninja, still tied up. Jay's fingers twitched from their bound position.

"So why didn't you tell me your name off the bat?"

"What would be the point in that? None of the men under me know my name, so why I would I tell a stranger?"

"Fair, I guess. So why am I here?"

"Considering that you killed my father, I feel it is only right that you bring him back too."

"I'm the master of lightning, not a necromancer!" Jay writhed in his bonds. "And I haven't killed anyone. You're insane!"

"I'm not insane, I'm insulted you would think that way," Zane frowned. "You recall how I told you that my ice was especially cold, correct?"

"Yeah? What's that got to do with anything?"

"I have his body frozen downstairs. My ice takes an incredibly long time to melt."

"You what?" Jay shrieked. "I'm going nowhere near a frozen corpse!"

"You won't need to," Zane reassured, although his tone was anything but lenient. "I have brought you here for your mechanical skill. Together, we can bring my father back to life."

"And if I say no?"

"I have a cabinet full of guns to my side as well as the power to freeze your blood, and you're tied up at my mercy. We may have met in our earlier years, but familiarity has never stopped me from killing before."

"Uh, okay, noted," Jay said hurriedly, annoyed at himself for forgetting his situation. "So you want me to help you bring your father back to life by building him a body? But what about his memory?"

"You leave the software to me. You're here for the hardware."

"Ok, ok," Jay nodded slowly, although his mind was going a mile a minute trying to figure out how to escape. "Can you untie me though? I can't exactly build if I'm stuck here."

"You just called me insane and have been nothing but resistant this whole time. Why would I let you roam?" Zane sneered, crossing his arms. "However, I can release you to some extent, since you will be working for me."

And with that Zane untied and retied him so that his hands were still bound, but had enough wiggle room to work. Zane kept a length of rope knotted around the middle, to prevent the Lightning Ninja from breaking away.

Jay's cheeks burned at the thought of being led around like some pet, although he supposed his captivity could have been more humiliating. At least Zane was holding him by the wrists and not by some borderline kinky rope collar.

"What, don't like it?" The blonde laughed genuinely, albeit a little cruelly. He glanced over Jay, almost as if reading his mind. "I could change the positioning, if you'd rather. I was trying to spare you some dignity."

"No, it's fine," Jay looked down and away, refusing to make eye contact with the man currently holding him on a leash.

"James, if we're going to be working together, you need to be able to look at me."

"Don't call me James."

"Why not? If you call me Zane, I feel as though me calling you James is just as personal. Although I do request that you call me Snake in front of the others. I have worked for a long time to reach my status, and I would hate to have my persona crumbled by one pesky ninja."

"Fine, I'll call you Snake, just don't call me James."

"You are in no position to bargain, but I suppose I could allow you this one reward."

"Don't call it a reward, I'm not your pet," Jay hissed, and Zane raised an eyebrow threateningly. Jay gulped. "Sorry."

"Now then, shall we get started?" The blonde purred, and Jay bit his lip to stifle a snarky comeback. His stomach decided to respond for him in the form of a growl.

"Uh, actually, do you have any food?"

"Pardon?"

"I haven't eaten in a while, and nerves makes me extra hungry once I stop feeling anxious. Do you have anything to eat?"

"I'll have someone grab some food for you."

"Thanks," Jay said quietly, and silence fell over the pair, Zane staring off into the distance as if calculating something. "I really am sorry about your dad. I remember him being pretty nice."

"The last memory I have with him is the day before he died. He was telling me about his newest plans for building a robot capable of passing the Turing Test. It was shaping up to be a wonderful project, I would have loved to have seen it."

"Yeah, that would've been really cool. I wish I was better at programming, y'know? People like hardware and stuff, but it's really the code that makes a machine cool. Like, I wish I had a fraction of the capability that your dad had. Wait, if you're planning on bringing him back, that must mean that you're pretty good at coding too, right?"

"I suppose so. But what does this have to do with resurrecting my father?"

"If you miss him more for his inventions than his company, maybe you shouldn't be bringing him back."

Zane didn't say anything, but his eyes bore holes into Jay's head, blue iris filled with cold fury. If looks could kill, Jay's blood would already be solid. Just as Jay was about to backtrack and retract the statement, sensing that it did way more harm than good, Zane yanked Jay towards the side of the room, holding fast to the rope while rifling through the cabinet holding his guns.

"Z- Zane, wait, what are you-"

"Shut up."

The room was silent except for Jay's panicked breathing and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Zane pulled out a handgun, the sleek black barrel glinting in the low light of the room.

"Are you religious, Jay?"

"N- No."

"Then pick a god and pray."

Zane loaded it quickly, and pulled Jay closer before he could react, pressing the weapon against his forehead. Jay felt tears form in his eyes, the realization that he was about to die making his muscles spasm and he kicked out, landing a hit on Zane's knee but also handicapping himself, his shaky limbs betraying him as he fell to the floor.

"No-! Don't, please, I'm sorry, just please don't shoot!"

"Too late. We cannot work together, and now that you know who I am I cannot leave you alive."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise! I don't want to die!"

"Neither did my father, and yet you still killed him anyway."

"I- I think I understand why you want him back."

Zane kept the gun pointed at his head, but allowed him to continue.

"You feel like you have no one left for you. Sure, you have your cronies and whatever, but you're just lonely. And you don't have to be," Jay offered, and squeezed his eyes shut just in case the next feeling he knew was a bullet going through his brain. Seconds passed, and nothing happened. The rope around his wrists was still pulled taught in Zane's grasp, but nothing changed.

After a few more moments, Jay slowly opened his eyes to see the gun still pointed at him, but the expression on Zane's face had changed into one of uncertainty.

"What do you mean I don't have to be? I have nothing left."

"You're the master of ice, right? I'm sure Sensei wouldn't mind another student, if you're willing."

"You- you want me to join you?"

"Okay, if I'm being honest, maybe not. You did just almost shoot me. But maybe you could make some friends. It wouldn't do any harm to lower your guard a little."

Zane looked away, and the hand holding the gun shook.

"Damn it," Zane muttered to himself, voice broken, and roughly untied the ropes holding Jay's wrists together. "Just go."

"You're letting me leave?"

"Just get out before I change my mind," Zane mumbled, throwing his gun down on his desk and sitting with his head in his hands. "You're right."

"Hey, woah," Jay couldn't believe his own actions even as he performed them, but he walked towards his captor and rested an easy hand on his shoulder. "I mean, thanks for letting me go, but take care of yourself, alright? We may on opposite sides here, but I'm sure you can be a nice guy if you set your mind to it."

Zane looked up, gaze weary.

"I'm not sure about the truth of your statement, but I appreciate the sentiment. Goodbye, Jay. Perhaps this will not be our last meeting."

"Maybe not," Jay pat him once on the shoulder before walking away, finding his way out pretty easily. Sure, he could run back to his friends and storm Zane's hiding spot if he wanted to, but something told him that would just end up with Zane putting a bullet through his own head instead of Jay's. As he was greeted by the cool night air, he decided on two things.

One, he needed to go back and talk to Zane again sometime, as he was still sure that there was a good guy down there somewhere. And two, never before in his life had been so thankful for his chatter.

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommates AU

Dean Winchester had it all at Wichita State University — a second chance, a future devoid of his father, and a roommate-turned-best friend who understands him inside and out.

But his father dies, he fails out in his second semester, and Castiel Novak leaves without so much as a goodbye.

Three years later, Dean has picked up the pieces. He works at the most trusted auto-shop in Lawrence, he’s putting Sam through college. Dean thinks it can’t get much better than that.

Then Castiel Novak gives him a concussion, and everything falls apart. Again.

Chapter 2 is up on AO3 (and below the cut)! Tumblr chapter masterlist here.

Classic Rock and Other Foreign Concepts

Three Years Earlier

Castiel Novak was ready for his second chance. 

Sure, the name “Wichita State University” held no cache, and sure, it was only two hours away from home. But it was a full ride, it was free of old high school acquaintances. It was enough. 

Castiel stood at the door of his empty dorm room, hope blooming in his chest as he regarded the dingy bunks and linoleum floors. 

He didn’t have much in the way of belongings, so moving in was quick and easy, even by himself. Castiel made his bed, hung up his limited outfits in the dresser, and filled his desk with his books and paper. Only one thing remained in his suitcase — a picture of his family, two Christmases ago. Castiel took it out and looked at it for a moment, before deciding to place it on his desk. 

He decided it might be a good idea to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. That was sure to calm down the inevitable anxiety that his first trip to the showers would bring. Castiel strolled down the hallway, doing his best to stay out of the way of all of the other freshmen moving in on his floor. 

After successfully discovering the bathroom and the water fountain, as well as narrowly avoiding an awkward encounter with two giggling girls who were apparently intent upon introducing themselves to him, he returned to his room with a sigh.

Castiel moved to his desk and opened his computer. He pulled up his course schedule, reviewing it again, despite having already committed it to memory. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be difficult, he thought, with financial accounting, economics, and an intro to business. The other days were more interesting, holding philosophy, creative writing, and nineteenth century British literature. 

Castiel was about to read the class descriptions for the millionth time when a loud thud and a grunt interrupted his thoughts. He stood up, fast, almost knocking his head on the bottom of his bed. Castiel got to his open door just in time to almost run into someone. 

“Shit! Watch it, man!”

Castiel found himself face to face with… Plastic storage bins. The man holding them shifted to reveal a mild scowl. Castiel cleared out of his way, and the man set the three boxes down. 

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered. 

“You’re fine,” the man grumbled. “Sorry, long drive.”

“Dean Winchester, I presume?” Castiel said, cautiously. He had seen his roommate assignment online weeks earlier.

“Damn straight,” Dean said, and he offered a hand out to Castiel, who accepted it graciously. “Sorry, man, I’m terrible with names. Have we met?” 

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied, then added, “We haven’t met, but the website informed me of your name and email address. I emailed you a few weeks back.” 

Dean nodded. “I definitely didn’t respond. Sorry ‘bout that, I kind of haven’t had access to the internet in… Well, it’s a long story. Anyway, good to meet you.” 

“You as well. Do you need any help unpacking?” 

“Least you can do after nearly killing me.” Castiel tensed, but then Dean clapped him on the back. “Kidding. Help would be great.”

Castiel moved to unpack the box nearest him, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No! Uh, not that one. No offense, but that’s the most important thing I own. Give me a second, you can start on this one.” 

Castiel tilted his head in inquisition, but Dean said nothing more, just got to unpacking the bin. Castiel set to work on the second of the three, first grabbing the sheets to make the bed. 

When Castiel had finished with Dean’s bed, he turned to see Dean had set up a record player and a pair of bookshelf speakers on the floor. 

“Behold,” Dean announced. “My prized possession.” 

“A record player?” Castiel asked. 

“Not just the record player,” Dean said. He went back to the box, which Castiel could now see was filled with vinyl LPs. “The whole collection.”

“It’s quite impressive.”

“Fuckin’ A-right,” Dean said. “Here, you like Zeppelin?” 

“Embarrassingly, I have no idea who that is,” Castiel said, blushing.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! No way! Oh man, it’s time to educate you. How have you survived this long Zeppelin-less?” 

“My father was strict about music.” Castiel felt suddenly very nervous that this, combined with his near-toppling of Dean moments earlier, would have him solidly fixed on Dean’s bad side. But Dean was flipping through his records with animation, as if Castiel’s ignorance was a game to be won. 

“That’s utter bullshit,” Dean declared. “Here, listen to this.”

Dean put on Led Zeppelin IV. Castiel turned back to the plastic bins, intent upon doing something while the record played. He was quiet as he worked, setting up first an ancient-looking coffee maker, then a small, LCD monitor. Dean unpacked his clothes, quietly singing along to the music.

“Do you need help with the rest?” Castiel asked when they had finished, assuming there had to be more than just those three boxes. Dean chuckled quietly. 

“Nah, this is it. Thanks for the help, Castiel.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but only said, “You’re welcome.” Dean had brought even less than he had. 

“That’s a weird name, by the way,” Dean said, turning the volume down on the speakers. “Castiel. It sounds kind of --” 

“Ancient?” Castiel supplied, and Dean nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s adapted from the name of an angel in the third book of Enoch.” At Dean’s blank look, Castiel added, “Christian apocryphal lore. My parents are very religious.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you…?”

“Haven’t been to church since I was fourteen,” Castiel finished. “We are very different, my family and I.” 

Dean nodded. “That them?” He asked, pointing at the picture on Castiel’s desk. 

“Yes,” Castiel said. 

“That’s a lot of kids.” 

“Yes, there’s five of us.” 

“Road trips must have been fun,” Dean said.

This actually got a laugh out of Castiel. 

“I’ve only got one. My kid brother, Sam,” Dean said.

“How old is Sam?”

“God.” Dean rubbed his face, considering. “I guess he’s fourteen now. It’s weird — I feel like I can never see him as any older than, like, eight.”

“I can’t say I understand,” Castiel replied. “I’m the youngest.” 

“Damn, that must suck, four older siblings. What’re their names?”

Castiel picked up the picture. “The boy on the left — he’s the oldest — that’s Gabriel. The other is Bartholomew. The redhead is Anna. And then there’s Hannah, she’s just a couple years older than me.” 

Dean nodded, moving to his record player. He pulled a small, worn piece of paper from the inside. 

“This is old as hell,” he said, showing Castiel the picture, “but that’s my dad, and that’s Sam when he was… ten, maybe?” 

“It’s just the three of you?”

“Yeah, my mom died when I was, like, four.”

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to --” 

“No worries, man,” Dean said. “Long time ago.”

There was an awkward pause that made Castiel want to open his computer just to look preoccupied, but Dean spoke. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t get over this name stuff. I can’t be roommates with a dude named after an angel.” 

Castiel felt his entire body deflate. Day one, and just his name was already making things difficult. “I’m… Sure there’s a way to switch roommates. But, what’s wrong with being named after an angel?”

“Dude, I was totally joking,” Dean said, putting his hands up defensively. “I’m not switching roommates — unless you’re secretly a vampire or something.” Castiel smiled at that. “And there’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not into the whole religion thing. Makes me feel weird. Nah, I’ll just have to call you something else. Any suggestions?” 

“I’ve always just been ‘Castiel.’” 

“Man, haven’t had many creative friends,” Dean said. “Cas it is, then.” 

“Cas?” Castiel replied. He considered the new nickname. Castiel actually found it strange that no one had ever thought of it before, now that he had heard it. “I suppose it is a great deal shorter.”

“Easier to say, too,” Dean said. “It fits.”

Castiel smiled tentatively. “Sure.” 

The music faded, and Dean flipped the record to the B-side. 

“What do you think so far?” He asked. 

“It’s certainly different than what I’m used to. In a good way,” Castiel added. 

Dean beamed at him. “Awesome. I have more in here, too, and it’s not just Zep. Mostly the classics — the Stones, Rush, AC/DC… And a shit load of grunge, too. Man, wait til you hear Alice in Chains…” 

Castiel smiled at his animation. “Music is important to you?” 

“Dude, I couldn’t function without music. I feel like every time I listen to a song I like, I find something new that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled to himself. “Sorry, I’m geeking out about classic rock.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, and he found that it was true. “I feel similarly about books.” 

“You like to read?”

“Immensely.” 

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I read Vonnegut in high school, and that was cool, but other than that and Harry Potter I think I’m pretty hopeless.”

“I will,” Castiel said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, even though he knew Dean was simply saying the polite thing. He had learned by now that when people asked about him to talk about the things he liked, they were just being nice. 

Dean asked Castiel which end of the hall the bathrooms were on, and excused himself.

When he returned, Dean clapped his hands together. “So,” he said. “I gotta ask you the Freshman Questions.” At Castiel’s confused look, he elaborated: “You know, the two things you ask everyone for your whole freshman year. Where are you from, what are you majoring in?” 

Castiel nodded. “I see. I didn’t know there was a procedure.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment. “It’s not — I was kinda joking.” 

“Oh. Right,” Castiel said, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’m from Guthrie — it’s a small town in Oklahoma, just a few hours south of here. And I’m studying accounting and creative writing.” 

“Guthrie… I’ve driven through there, on our way to Oklahoma City for a job my dad worked once,” Dean said. 

“It’s not very impressive.” 

Dean laughed. “Nah, not really.” 

“What about you, Dean?”

“I’m from Lawrence — it’s northeast of here. And I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna major in,” he said. “I’m not really… Well, Sam is the smart one. That kid is gonna kick ass when he goes to school. I’m kinda just here to…” Dean trailed off. 

“Experience it?” Castiel suggested. Dean shrugged. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Why accounting? I get the writing thing, you said you like books — but accounting? I feel like those two don’t mix.”

“They don’t,” Castiel agreed. “But I don’t want to be a starving author. I do want to be able to take care of myself.” I want to be far, far away from everything I’ve ever known. I want to leave and never look back.

“Fair,” Dean said. “I don’t know about you, Cas, but I’m starving. Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“Sure,” Castiel said with a smile.

 The next day, in his first creative writing class, the professor asked each of them to share their major, their hometown, and a fun fact. He called, “Novak, Castiel?” 

“Double major in accounting and writing. I’m from Guthrie, Oklahoma. I suppose a fun fact is that I’m named after an angel, but you can just call me Cas.” 

[queensdivas]

Hidden Blade Chapter 1

Y’all I’ve been to excited for this because I loved this movie with a passion. (Nothing beats Bohrap btw but damn 6 Underground was awesome not just because of Ben. Though he really made the movie even better.) If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters please hmu! 

Please enjoy and I’ll see you guys in the next chapter or one of my updates. I’m on a train ride to London from Edinburgh so it’s about five hours. I plan on getting a crap done this ride so you might be seeing multiple updates! 

Enjoy! 

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Governments should always be in fear of who they govern over..those who are being governed should never be living in fear of who they are ruled over. Yet we live in a world where those in power abuse it badly so they can live the lavish life of the vices, greed, lust, and even the gluttony of having everything at their feet. Those who suffer under those sadly are living in a society in fear, hate, and uncertainty of whether they’ll be okay by the end of the day. 

That’s where I come in. 

You have to start somewhere small in order to cause a chain reaction. That lovely snowball effect. I start small by cutting off the suppliers resources, such as their plants, dirty shacks, and even the old warehouses. Once the resources are extinguished, I then move up to those in high up positions in order to really cause the rolling to begin. 

Yet I was given an opportunity to do a little more good with a lot less strings attached. Who doesn’t love a little more freedom. But what I was offered was complete freedom and who wouldn’t want complete freedom. 

You ever played the Assassins Creed games? I like to consider myself a walking version of that except no magical abilities, no special creed, or even a long line of ancestors that are meant to look similar and only the first three or four games nailed the similarities. Not the point. For those of you who’ve never heard of those games, imagine someone who's able to scale an entire flat building, stand on top of a metal cross, and even have some really cool equipment to help get the job done. We’ll be getting to those a little later. 

My name is eight. The Assassin. 

What’s the difference between a Hitman and Assassin you ask? One gets paid to do any form of killing for money, the other one does it for either political or religious reasons in this world of ours. But you both kill people? True. Never declared myself a saint anyhow in this world so shush! Story time! 

I pulled up to one of the abandoned planes to turn off my 4runner and climb out. Love the whole abandoned airfield look for the hideout. Really gives that fast and furious sort of vibe. How many movies are in the series anyhow? 

A ram truck came pulling up next to my 4runner as I began grabbing all my junk to hopefully store somewhere that was a little more secure than my new apartment here in California. Keeping a bunch of ropes, weapons, and my vast amount of foreign fruit would get me busted and I certainly love my Nectarine! 

“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one brought into this little adventure.” He appeared in front of me as I swung my duffle bag right on my shoulder. I closed the door as I turned to see him all dressed in american/military gear. An American soldier? Real power move.  

“Glad to see we got ourselves a soldier. Eight.” I held my hand out to him as he shook it. 

“Seven. At Least according to that dude.” He pointed as one came out of a tiny airplane and smiled. 

“Weird to see you not looking like a GAP model.” He showed up at my apartment in Israel looking like he walked out of Sunday church for some god knows reason. At first I thought he was apart of Jehovah's witness but as you can see we’re about to kill some mother fuckers.

“Ah really funny. Come meet the rest of us oh so lovely fellow campers.” We walked into the base as a women with blonde hair was reading a map while another woman was reading what looked like some sort of medical book. 

“Ladies this is seven and eight our newest batch of newbies. The one reading the map is two and in the cap is five. Not sure where the other two are but I imagine they’ll be showing up sometime soon.” I gave them a small wave as I put my bag on the ground next to the large table. 

“Look who finally showed up. Four this is seven and eight our eyes from the sky.” He tossed his hoodie down on the table as he gave us a small smile. The last member came into the room which is what I’m assuming was three. 

“There’s this trick that we all do to get through our day. We take a box and into that box, we place all the horrors of the world, all the wrongs humans do to one another. And then we close the box and pretend it doesn’t exist. Only some of us spend too much time inside the box. We’ve lost our ability to pretend. We know there’s too much unfinished business in this messed up world. Our job as ghosts is to do the dirty work the living can’t or won’t. And we do it from here. This is our haunted house. It’s a lot like the Batcave, except it’s nothing like the Batcave. Seven, eight. You’re dead. You’re gonna be restricted to cities that you’ve never visited before. People that you’ve never met. All of course your fellow ghost, none of whom you’ll know by name, only number, for safety, and so no one gets too close.” I mean. All we need is a butler, some random child to say “geez guys” and I think we would be set. 

“So basically what we’re doing is a sense of a justice league but with no moral codes?” Asking as One nodded. 

“Yes. Except Wonder Women uses guns and Batman is okay with killing people.” I..okay that works. 

“Each one of us has our own little gifts we bring to the table and now that we’ve required you two, we now officially have a set team.” 

“We’re like the A-Team but on steroids except Mr. T is this guy.” The Spainard commented as everyone just stared him down. 

“In your vast dreams.” One commented.

“Will we be required to wear matching rings?” Asking which made I believe his name is four chuckle a little. 

“Funny. Alright c’mon I wanna show you two something.” We all followed him into another room where a wall covered with nine pieces of paper with a single roman numerals on each one. 

“This is our target hitboard. These nine fuckers have been placing too much shit inside the box. So now they answer to us. Target number one: this prick. The Dictator of Turgistan Roach Alimov.” I walked over to his photo and began studying the guy. Radiates small dick energy already from all the work I’ve done over there, kind of like Kim Jong-Un except he doesn’t flaunt his money. 

“God I’m really craving french fries. Can we finish this over at Luckies?” I believe he’s three asked the group as I began walking past the other eight pieces of paper as I lightly saw their faces. Efrain Gracian. He runs the largest drug cartel in Mexico and has been killing a shit ton of innocent people in their villages. Oh my god they put Kim Jon-Un on their target list hell yeah. 

“So we plan on just killing all these pricks because they keep shitting on their countries and the rest of the world?” Leaning against the wall facing them as one nodded. 

“I say we finish this thing at Luckies. I’m really feeling a shitty beer to set the mood of introductions.” One began walking out of the fort as everyone else followed except for me as I looked at the wall again. Figured there would be less on the board in all honesty. 

~~~

I slipped into the booth with myself facing the middle of the window and the inside of the restaurant, seven sitting to my left while four was on my right. To think that I’m now officially dead and I cut all my ties off when I left home so no funeral. Bet they thought I was already dead anyhow so this works nicely. 

“So what do you bring to the table?” I was asked as I tossed my car keys on the table. 

“The soundless steps of a killer is what I bring to the table. You guys make a shit ton of noise if I think I know who you are. I’m assuming you guys we’re the one destroying Florence?” His eyes widened a little which makes my assumption correct cause these fuckers really had fun in Florence. 

“Florence was an absolute disaster.” He stopped talking as the waiter came to the group. 

“A round of Heineken for everyone. Then whatever else they want.” I ordered as everyone smiled a little as they began ordering their preferred drinks. 

“Figured you’d be a good match since you graciously just bought us all drinks. So if you’re a soundless killer, who have you eliminated?” You can thank the new democracy in South Sudan, and ending an entire sex trafficking operation in Chad. Both we’re super difficult to achieve but damn I did an awesome job. Both were run by major cunts obviously and took months of planning to even get close to them. 

“Who do you think got rid of the cunt from South Sudan?” Seven looked over at me then leaned across the table. 

“You killed Zafir Bahri?” Seven asked as I nodded. 

“Yup. Yet it was one of my most difficult assassinations since I had to make a break for it in the countryside. Kind of stuck out like a sore thumb till I made it to a reservation station.” The waitress came with the first round of beers. Four took a big gulp of his beer then sighed. 

“Alright if we’re going to show off what our past selves have done. I got the chance to steal a 5.0 carat ruby necklace that had two smaller diamonds that were about 4.2 carats that was about 100,000 dollars worth.” Yet he’s sitting here in an American restaurant drinking some shitty beer and eating high heart attack food? Sounds about right. 

“And here you are in America drinking Heineken and about to eat a very greasy double cheeseburger. Cheers” I grabbed my bottle as he did for us to clink our bottles together. Four seems super chill actually and now I’m kind of curious how he pulled off that heist. 

“So. What’s the absolute best thing about being dead? I mean you don’t have to pay taxes anymore.” Seven asked the entire group as they all had an inner conversation with themselves about the best part of being deceased. 

“No more dmv lines, no more shopping for Christmas.” Christmas has always been stressful for my old life and I didn’t even celebrate it!

“Or backstabbing girlfriends.” Raising my eyebrow at four. Damn someone broke his little heart. I’d play the worlds saddest song on the tiniest violin but not sure if he would get the reference. 

“They should make an “Out of office” reply for dead people. Sorry I’m away from the planet right now. I’m fucking dead.” That’s a bit much but if it makes her feel better about being dead then let her do her own thing. 

“No more tax, no more criminal records, no more getting arrested by the pigs just for being naked and or just the usual stuff. You know, being naked, getting drunk. Casual stuff.” How is being naked casual? Since when is being naked considered casual in any standard? 

“Umm. How is being naked any form of being casual?” He took a drink of his beer as he licked his lips.

“Ya know. Just walking around naked on your balcony or even on your front porch. It’s a casual thing.” I..I still don’t see that as a casual thing. Around the house yes because oversized t-shirt and underwear is always a comfy.

“Is that like when Jersey people say it’s a jersey thing?” Before he could answer One chuckled a little. 

“Guys. You’re all wrong. The best thing about being dead is the freedom. I mean, we’re all gonna die. May as well do it while we’re alive, right? When you’re young, you lock yourself into all of these bad decisions. Marriages, mortgages, and all that kind of stuff. But you die. It’s all escaped. Poof! Gone! From that point forward, all that matters is what you choose. The point is that we should bring seven and eight behind the curtain. You wanna hand me those over there?” Three handed him a bunch of plastic cups as leaned a little more forward on the table. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see him quickly glancing away back at the demonstration. Guess he’s kind of cute, not exactly sure how getting involved with people on the team is viewed. Rather avoid the whole situation. 

“Alright here. A little deminsation, no technology. So this is how to stage a coup in three not so easy steps. Alright you got a country, Turgistan right? These are the people, nice people, going about, doing their thing. Then you got the four generals, cuatro cunts, very bad guys. But there’s one worse guy. That’s the piece of shit dictator, right there at the top.” Sounds about right. That was basically the entire set up in South Sudan. 

“Don’t forget his brother.” Brother? Oh yeah, the guy has a brother that basically has been isolated or off the face of the earth at this point. Gotta love it when Governments hide those wanting a better world, or hiding sick pedophiles when they fake suicides so they don’t go to prison or end up being executed. 

“Democracy loving brother.” So we’ve got a shitty dictator and a loving democratic. Of freakin’ course!

“He’s the key. So we’re gonna hit the four generals. They’re gonna lead us to the brother.” 

“You kill top Generals, you fuck the dictators day.” Three shoved a few French fries in his mouth. 

“Can confirm.” I took a big gulp of my beer as I leaned back against the booth.

“Second thing we're gonna do is free the brother. And the last thing we’re gonna do is we’re gonna say goodbye to piece of shit dictator and hello to democracy loving brother.”

“It all goes down in four months, El Dia de los Muertos, The Day of the Dead.” Kinky.

“Oh that’s it?” Seven and I looked at each other for the both of us to nod in approval of the plan. 

“Um well that’s pretty simple ya know. The cups.” I took a drink of my beer as I began mentally seeing the whole plan in my head. 

“Wonderful presentation.” We’re gonna die aren’t we?

“So we’re all gonna die?” At this point I say that’s a hard yes. 

“Not me.” What confidence she has because there’s something about her that just kind of scares the shit out of me. Must be something federal in her former life.

“She’s not, we all are. Painfully.” Peachy. Real fucking peachy. But hey I’m already technically dead so this works out perfectly in the end. Just when my body shows up at someones house or is found floating on the coast, going to be quite a headache trying to figure out since I’m already dead. 

Maybe I should be more optimistic with this new life. Could be worse. I could be stuck in a work camp in Siberia. Maybe we just see where this goes and if it doesn’t end well I just disappear into the unknown. Sounds like an absolute plan! 

Taglist:

@bonafiderocketqueen @filmslutt @imjustboredso @intoanothermind @4lendow-norris @wickedholland 

@takemetoneverland420 @art-flirt @intoanothermind @raylan-c

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

A period drama featuring an ancestor of Bastien Lykel of TRR

At last Elizabeth visits her future home, Laxton manor, seat of the Lykel family

Word count 3015

Apologies for the long gap between posting chapters. No warnings, just mild fluff

7 An Impressive Location

‘Are we there yet?’ Amelia asked for the tenth time, and Lady Charlotte sighed as the carriage bearing them bounced along the rutted country roads.

‘For goodness sake young lady, pray do not ask again. Walker is sitting with the driver and will tell us when Laxton comes into view.’ she snapped. Elizabeth, Amelia and their parents and Morag, who was acting as Elizabeth’s chaperone, were making their way to her fiancé’s country estate in East Lothian, south of Edinburgh. The maid Jane had gone ahead with their luggage.  They were to stay for a month, and she would see the place that would become her home once she was married at a date yet to be decided. After that, they would visit her father’s estate and John would in turn see the manor where she and her sister had grown up. Sir James planned to gift a farmhouse and some land to Elizabeth as part of her dowry, and as elder sister she would eventually inherit his estate, leaving the Edinburgh townhouse for Amelia.

The countryside was lush and fertile, and crops of all kinds grew on the rolling green hills. Herds of cattle were raised closer to the city to supply it with fresh milk and other dairy products, but further away, grain and vegetables were grown. Game of all sorts were hunted in the copses and woodland and moor.

Elizabeth was just as excited as her sister, but being older knew how to present a calm countenance in front of her parents. John had gone ahead to arrange things for his guests, and it had been agonising not being able to see him daily. Very soon, they would not only enjoy each other’s company but would be under the same roof for a whole four weeks. She would meet his mother, and hoped to make a good impression. Lady Margaret had spoken of going to live with her widowed sister some twenty miles way once Elizabeth and John were married but she was still eager to be on good terms with her.

‘I’m starving, did we bring anything to eat?’ Amelia complained

‘Now Melly, remember the last time we went to our estate’ Elizabeth said ‘We had to stop twice for your upset stomach. I’m sure John will have something for us when we arrive, but you mustn’t ask – it’s not polite’ Amelia pouted and settled back into the padded seat. It wasn’t long before they heard Walker call out from the driver’s seat that the manor was in sight. Amelia straight away leaned forward to the window.

‘Oh Lizzy, it’s wonderful’ she cried. Elizabeth felt herself a little peeved that her sister had been the first to see her potential new home, and she also leaned to the window to take a look. Her stomach lurched and her heart fluttered to look along the driveway to a pale umber stone building of some two stories with dormer windows in the roof. As they drew closer, she saw the porchway, housing a great oaken door. To either side of the portico there were four tall narrow windows, and the windows of the story above that were smaller, indicating that the ceilings were lower and that the ground floor housed the grandest rooms in the house. To the left of the main building was another wing projecting forward, and well kept flower beds sat under the windows.  

The carriage drew up in front of the door where John stood with a middle aged woman and an older man, dressed simply, so denoting their rank of servants. They slowed to a halt and John stepped forward as Walker jumped down from beside the driver to open the door. Sir James alighted first, shaking hands and exchanging greetings with the Captain before turning to assist his wife.

‘Sir James, how good to see you . I trust your journey was comfortable’

‘Tolerably so, Lykel, it is good to feel the ground under my feet’

‘You have met my manservant Lewis’ John said ‘And here is Mrs Lewis, my housekeeper. They will see to all your needs while you are here.’ Lady Charlotte had alighted and nodded graciously.

‘What a delightful property you have’ she smiled ‘I can see Lizzy will be very comfortable’  

‘It is at your disposal, Lady Charlotte’ he replied ‘My home is your home’ He stepped forward eagerly as Elizabeth appeared to descend. Boldly he placed his hands either side of her waist to swing her out onto the ground. She suppressed a cry of delight, and beamed at him adoringly.

‘Lizzy’ her name fell from his lips with happiness ‘We are together again’ They stood holding hands and gazing at each other for some few seconds, oblivious to all else until Amelia spoke up.

‘Is no-one going to help me out?’ she complained ‘It’s a long way to the ground’ John tore his gaze away from his fiancée.

‘Of course, how amiss of me – allow me, Miss Amelia’ he said, offering her his hand to support her as she stepped down to join the rest of her family. Morag appeared, and Walker helped her down as they started toward the door.

‘Well’ John said ‘I expect you are tired and hungry. Allow me to show you first to the dining room, and then to your rooms to freshen up before we serve luncheon. My mother will attend when we eat’ He offered Lizzy his arm and led them all inside, where they marvelled at the hallway and the grand staircase up to the first floor. Family portraits and landscapes hung on the walls, and pieces of fine furniture supported vases of fresh flowers which scented the air. The polished oak floor was crossed with an intricately patterned carpet, and the ceiling rose up beyond the ground floor with a painted plaster frieze running around the top of the wall. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. It gave an impression of comfort and harmony as well as wealth and stability.

Elizabeth’s eyes roamed the hallway as John lead them to the dining room, which had a view of the grounds to the back of the manor and featured a long dining table and chairs, and an elegant sideboard on which a few dainties were already displayed. Amelia looked longingly at the display, but Lady Charlotte glared at her. She whimpered slightly as John lead them back out into the hallway toward the stairway.

‘I’m sure you’ll all want to freshen up before we eat. My mother will join us – please, take as long as you need’ He indicated the first door which opened onto a large bedroom put aside for Sir James and Lady Charlotte looking out onto the front of the property, and carried on down the corridor, showing them all the two smaller rooms put aside for Elizabeth and Amelia, whose eyes grew large.

‘A whole room to myself?’ she gasped, as at the townhouse she and her sister shared a room. Then her face dropped ‘How will I sleep without Lizzy there?’

‘We can move a cot into your sister’s room if you like’ John conceded, but Lizzy laughed

‘You always sleep well in the countryside, Melly’ she exclaimed ‘It’s so much quieter, and the fresh air will invigorate you so you’ll be tired at bedtime’ She smiled ‘But you can always come to me if you can’t sleep’ She indicated the bed, which was big enough for more than one. John cleared his throat. It was plain to Lizzy that he wanted to say more, but he glanced at her parents and widened his eyes at her to indicate that he might explain when they were alone.

The girl’s rooms looked out over the rear of the property, which overlooked the gardens and orchards and the fields beyond, where cattle and sheep grazed. Woodland stretched to the horizon and the blue sky sported a scattering of clouds. The sun was shining and the day was warm and pleasant. John left them to unpack the trunks that the servants had just brought up It wasn’t long before they had done so with the help of Jane and one of John’s maids. They went to their parents’ room together and knocked, to find that they also were ready. Lady Charlotte insisted on them entering the room so she could inspect them to make sure they were presentable. Elizabeth bore the indignity as the butterflies danced in her stomach at the thought of meeting her future mother-in-law.

At last she met her mother’s approval, and the four of them left to descend the staircase, her parents arm in arm leading the way and the two sisters following dutifully. Her legs felt shaky as they entered the dining room to find John standing at the window talking to a tall elegant dark haired woman dressed in black. Lewis announced them, and John turned, beaming. The family fanned out so that they formed a row facing them. His mother turned also, a cool expression on her face that changed into a polite smile.

‘Ah, the Dalgleish family’ she said ‘how charming to meet you again. Sir James, Lady Charlotte’

Sir James bowed and Lady Charlotte dropped a small curtsy. The two families were equal in rank although Elizabeth’s family had more land and property. The widow came across to greet them as the two girls curtsied and bowed their heads respectfully. She extended her hand for Sir James, who took it and bowed his head without kissing it.

‘Charmed, madam’ he said ‘I’m sorry to have finally visited your home after Sir Walter’s death. We had many an interesting political discussion’ She smiled sadly and went on to his wife, who took her hand politely and bowed her head.

‘So sorry for your loss’ she said sympathetically. ‘May I present our daughters, Elizabeth and Amelia’ Elizabeth was glad her parents had presented themselves first and remembered the recent death of Sir Walter, as it had quite gone out of her mind until she had seen her dressed in black. She felt Lady Margaret’s gaze turn to her and she dropped a deep curtsy, looking at the ground before she straightened, hearing her mother introduce her as if from a long distance away. She felt faint, but was grateful to feel a firm steadying hand on her elbow as John came to her side.

‘Mother, this is Lizzy’ she heard John say warmly.

‘Lady Margaret’ she said firmly although inwardly she quaked, as the Duchess’s expression was solemn ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’ The widow looked her up and down critically, and the flicker of a smile came to her lips.

‘Likewise my dear’ she replied ‘I look forward to getting to know you better.’ She turned to her sister ‘and this must be Amelia’ she said pleasantly ‘You share a name with my own sister’ she smiled as Amelia dipped into another curtsey.

‘Your grace’ she said timidly. John cleared his throat as the introductions came to an end.

‘You must all be hungry after your journey’ he said brightly, indicating the table, laden with food. Lady Margaret sat at the head of the table, with John on one side and Sir James on the other. Lizzy was seated next to her fiancée, facing her mother. Morag sat next to her mother where she could keep a close watch on her, and Amelia sat next to her sister. She felt stronger now that she was no longer standing, and her stomach growled in sympathy with Amelia’s. She had had little appetite that morning when she left Edinburgh, and the food was enticing. Even now, Amelia was eyeing the platter in front of her longingly.

John indicated the table, and his mother helped herself from a bread basket in front of her. All of them started to select food and pass dishes between each other politely. It was not as formal as an evening meal, but there was protocol to be followed, and all waited for their host to begin eating. There was silence as they followed her example as she bit into the fresh bread and yellow butter. There was cold meat of every kind, boiled eggs and some salad vegetables and preserves as well as scones, cream and jam and fresh fruit. Soon Elizabeth felt stronger as her empty stomach accepted the morsels she carefully and politely consumed.

‘It is a great pleasure to meet my son’s intended’ Lady Margaret said ‘How are you finding Laxton so far, Miss Elizabeth?’ She swallowed and smiled as brightly as she could as she answered

‘I like it very much so far’ she replied ‘I look forward to seeing more of it’

‘Tell me my dear, how do you think you will cope with running the household when you are married?’ Elizabeth thought for a moment before speaking.

‘Of course Mama and Papa have striven to teach me as much as they can about household management, but I am sure every place is unique. I would be pleased for any advice you might be able to give me, Lady Margaret’ Lizzy said. The older woman nodded sagely.

‘Of course I leave a lot of the day to day business to the staff’ she said ‘but I have particular standards as to the appearance of the house and grounds. Of course I am sure you will bring your own personal touch to the estate’

‘Lizzy is very artistic’ her mother cut in ‘I noted the flower arrangements in the hall and in here – they are exquisite’ This brought a smile to their host’s face.

‘I directed the staff exactly how to set them out’ she said ‘I’m happy that you find them pleasing’

‘If the flowers are from your garden, I am eager to see around the grounds’ Elizabeth said enthusiastically.

‘John’s father was very particular about the flowers. He supervised the head gardener and had a rose named after me’ Amelia’s eyes grew wide.

‘Oh how romantic’ she burst out, earning her a glare from her mother, but Lady Margaret smiled at her softly.

‘Indeed it was’ she replied ‘Dear Walter presented it to me on our wedding anniversary but two years ago’ She sighed and her expression became melancholy and all were silent for a moment. It was John who spoke next.

‘We will have a tour around the gardens after we have eaten’ he said ‘You must see the hothouse – you will be surprised as to what Mellors grows there.’ Sir James nodded sagely

‘I have yet to find a head gardener who lives up to expectations’ he said ‘I would dearly love to have a hothouse, but I simply can’t find anyone good enough to plan and cultivate properly’

‘I will ask Mellors if he knows of anyone’ John promised. The rest of the meal was relatively relaxed, although it seemed that their host found it taxing to make conversation. She was polite and attentive, but did not seem to warm to any of them. Elizabeth hoped that was due to her recent bereavement, and not a poor opinion of the family. At the end, she rose and excused herself, saying she was too fatigued to go around the gardens. Elizabeth saw a shadow of disappointment on John’s face, and she found herself speaking up.

‘I would stay and keep you company if it you would find it acceptable’ she said hopefully, genuinely wishing she could break through the Duchess’s melancholy. She smiled wanly in answer.

‘Bless you my dear, I only wish to be alone and rest’ she said ‘Perhaps we could spend some time alone tomorrow if I have more energy.’ Elizabeth nodded, and John stood, taking her hand. He took them to the drawing room to sit and rest a while before going outside. The room was spacious and elegant with a selection of comfortable easy chairs and couches. The grand fireplace sported a large ornate mirror, and the room was adorned with vases of flowers and fine examples of furniture. Heavy curtains were drawn back to show off the view of the gardens, and John engineered to sit close to her and converse while Morag kept watch.

‘Mother is still grieving’ he explained ‘She has been somewhat morose as you may imagine, but she’s glad to have some company, even though she may not show it.’

‘It must be very difficult for her being alone’ Lizzy replied. She looked around the room. ‘Laxton is a fine place’ she said, smiling ‘It’s difficult to imagine myself as mistress here’

‘Is it very different to your father’s estate?’ John asked. She furrowed her brow as she thought.

‘Father’s estate is larger it is true, but the house is not as fine as this manor’ she conceded. He took her hand and squeezed it.

‘I would be happy in a fisherman’s hut if you were by my side’ he said. She laughed

‘As would I’ she said ‘Though I fear I would not have much use for my ballgowns’ She leaned closer to him ‘You know that I would like to travel when we get married’ she said quietly.

‘I am making plans’ he smiled ‘I can’t tell you all, but I plan to take you to London to begin with’

‘Oh how exciting’ she breathed ‘do you think your mother would remain here until we return?’

‘I believe so’ he said ‘But first we must set a date for the wedding. When you have seen around the estate, that is what we should do, if you are pleased with what you see’

‘I am pleased with what I see already’ she murmured, fixing him with her gaze ‘Looking around Laxton is but a pleasant diversion’ Before he could answer, Lady Charlotte spoke

‘Perhaps you would take us outside, Captain Lykel. I am eager to stretch my legs after our journey’ He rose and inclined his head politely, taking Elizabeth’s hand and placing it on his arm.

‘Of course, if you are ready – please follow me’

[afterreign]

lovers is plural pairing: implied akeshu/shuake, background ann/shiho & ann/mika beta reader: @jubilantscribbler a/n: no p5r spoilers summary: The Phantom Thieves, an infamous name that empowers the young and instills fear in the corrupt, hold their most important meeting yet. Just who is Takamaki Ann, code name Panther, dating?

Today, Akira is not nervous. There are no battle strategies to discuss, no infiltration route to go over. He is free, not having to relentlessly plan out solutions for all of the potentially bad outcomes that could come to fruition in their next palace escapade.

(Although, he should do that, Morgana’s incessant pleas to sleep be damned.)

No, today is a day he can breathe easy. Today, he is confident.

Akira slides a 100 yen coin.

“Ann is definitely going out with Shiho.”

The response between the Phantom Thieves—sans Ann, of course—is mixed.

“Dude,” Ryuji deadpans, “for real? We’re makin’ bank, yet you’re only gonna bet, like, a coin?”

The weight, or lack thereof, to Akira’s wallet disagrees completely. “It’s fair,” he reasons, internally stomping away at the compulsion to present how truly empty his wallet is to everyone else. “Plus, we’re still high schoolers. College funds and stuff.”

The word “college” attracts the local student body president like a moth to a debt-filled flame. Ugh, third years. “While I would agree that saving up for college is admirable,” Makoto says with a laugh, “I believe we need to backtrack a little.”

Akira sucks in a breath when the brunette places an unwrinkled 1000 yen bill on the table. Makoto’s eyes shine a little. “I am placing my bets on… Mika-san.”

“Thank you!” Futaba, the resident shut-in, erupts, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m glad there’s some common sense here.”

This, of course, ensues verbal chaos. Ryuji, lovely Ryuji with a heart of gold, slams his hands down on the table, protesting all of Futaba’s points. (“Have you seen her look at Shiho?!” the blond exclaims. “Hell, I want someone to look at me like that!”) Futaba spouts something about common media tropes and otome games and other concepts that fly right over top student Akira’s head. Makoto is somehow the mediator and instigator in all of this, proudly showing the group a selfie Ann and Mika took not too long ago. Haru smiles, looking a little too apologetic for wear, before presenting an even more recent photo of Shiho and Ann going on a stroll at the nearby park. And Yusuke, passionate as ever, presents their close-knit group a highly detailed pencil drawing of Ann and Mika looking deep into each other’s sparkling eyes, and okay, this is getting weird. Possibly bordering creepy, and—

Akechi is sitting there with a pained expression masked poorly. He is sipping his coffee cup. It has been empty for the past ten minutes.

“—I feel inspired gazing upon two colleagues enraptured with one another,” Yusuke finishes confessing. Akira, admittedly, hadn’t caught the earlier half. A none the wiser Yusuke nods sagely, eyes closed. “There is no doubt in my mind… Ann and Mika-san must be together.”

“But,” Haru starts, “I can’t help but see Ann and Suzui-san in a relationship. Is that odd? I haven’t had any time to talk to Suzui-san lately, but when she attended Shujin, the two seemed close.” A fond smile crosses the third year’s face. “I can’t help but be a little jealous actually!”

Akechi politely raises his hand. His laugh sounds like it’s being played straight from his TV interviews. “Aha, well. I see everyone is getting along today. But… considering we are not discussing anything Phantom Thieves related, do you mind if I go along my way and head home?”

Everyone rightfully ignores him. Akechi remains stuck in the table booth, likely resenting the fact he came in the first place.

(Akira almost feels bad for him. Almost.)

“Well, that’s that,” determines Akira. He’s not sure what he’s actually determining, though. There is a tone of finality in his voice, and Akira simply goes along with it. He glances at both sides of the booth they’re huddled in and surmises his thoughts aloud. “Me, Ryuji, and Haru think Ann is dating Shiho. Makoto, Yusuke, and Futaba believe she’s dating Mika.”

Ryuji looks pumped. “We need a tie-breaker!”

Makoto frowns. “You… are aware that we’re taking individual bets, correct? It doesn’t matter if one ‘team’ has more people than the other.”

“Matters to me,” grumbles Ryuji, and Akira pats him on the back.

Out of the corner of Akira’s eye, he catches Haru’s glossed lips making a perfect little “o.” If the thieves were in some classic cartoon, Akira has no doubt in his mind that one of those thinking light bulbs would be flickering just above a bed of curly locks, a stubborn screw you to the laws of gravity. “Oh, Akechi-kun!” Haru turns to the detective, a curious look on her face. The light bulb is all aglow. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Call it a hunch, but Akira is sure that Akechi is swimming in many thoughts by now. Just… not anything helpful. Instead of voicing out the worst of the worst, the brunet smiles a pleasant smile. It’s strained all the same. “Well,” he begins, “before I give you my answer, mind if I express my own questions?”

Futaba minds, apparently. She groans and dives her head between the safe space of her arms. Some of the others restrain themselves to do the same.

“Is it not strange that all of you are placing bets on Takamaki-san’s love life? Does this not feel all a bit too personal?” inquires Akechi, arms crossed. Despite how light his tone is, his stare bores straight into Makoto’s eyes, judging. “I’m especially surprised that you are participating in this as well.”

Akira always felt that there was some camaraderie between Makoto and Akechi. Hair color and motivations aside, both are at the top of their grades, high marks on all of their exams. The two teens are cunning and have a similar interest in law and speak softly when it matters most. They’re arguably the most mature of their group, but… they slip.

Right now is not one of those times.

Makoto doesn’t flinch. “You… must not know me well then, Akechi-kun,” she states. “I admit that once the rest of the Phantom Thieves proposed—” Makoto quickly waves a hand at everyone. “—this, I thought it was… immature, at first. But I soon came to understand that we do this because we care about Ann.”

“And it’s fun!” adds Ryuji. Yusuke is beside the blond, humming in agreement.

“Ann is always looking out for our feelings,” Haru explains, smoothing out her skirt. “Think of this as if… we’re looking out for hers. Ann is one of my dear friends, so of course, I want to support her in a happy and healthy relationship.” Graciously, she covers a giggle behind her hand. “Although, I do think we get carried away.”

Murmurs of agreement surface between the team. And of course, Akira knows this isn’t about money. This isn’t about who’s right or wrong. It’s about Ann’s infectious laugh, about her overflowing sympathy for other people. It’s about Ann because Akira cares about his friends, and he wants the best for her—

“But are we not certain that Ann is dating Mika?” Yusuke asks, pure confusion in his voice.

—but he can still think his friends are factually wrong.

Before the debate has a chance to start up again, Akechi cuts in with a clean, “First, let’s get that tie-breaker vote in, shall we?”

“Oh, now he cares,” Ryuji scoffs.

Suddenly, Akira hears a small gasp. He turns his head to the not-so-mysterious source and finds a shocked Futaba gaping at no one in particular. “We forgot to ask Mona!” she yelps, startling everyone else from the calm. The shut-in whips her head away from everyone and begins shouting at the staircase. “Hey, Mona! Mona!”

For once, Akira is glad Sojiro decided not to stay and make the gang lunch.

It takes a few moments before Akira hears the creak of Leblanc’s wooden stairs. Slowly, Morgana’s nose peeks out from behind the rails before his head and his furry body follow suit. He moves down each step, one careful paw after the other, before dragging his dark tail across the white tile floor and hopping onto the table.

Oh, the bespectacled boy thinks belatedly.

Morgana is sulking.

Triangular ears are flat against his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” the feline-but-not-really says with a sigh.

Ryuji makes a low whistle and leans back into his seat. The booth does not bother to budge. “Damn, and I thought you liked talkin’ about your ‘Lady Ann,’ Mona.”

Akira does not miss Morgana’s withering look. In an effort to placate him, the teen reaches over and strokes Morgana’s favorite spot on his head despite the not-cat’s silent protests. Akira then leans over and speaks low into Morgana’s ears. “You don’t need to be here if you don’t want to. I know you wanted to skip out since…”

The silence speaks for itself. Morgana looks at him, and the former appears deep in thought, tail swaying as if searching for answers. Eventually, the tail comes to a halt. “Thanks,” he purrs, and Akira isn’t entirely convinced if it’s intentional or not. “But I got this.”

Akira feels a tug at the corners of his mouth. Satisfied, he leans back, watching Morgana take center stage.

“As someone who knows Lady Ann the best,” Morgana declares, chin held high, “I think it’s important that we consider other options. What if she isn’t dating any of them?”

Leblanc’s resident dyed blond groans. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you like her!”

“Am not!”

“Uh,” Futaba butts in, “are we gonna ignore the fact that none of us updated Mona on what we’re talking about, yet he still responds like he’s been here?”

Morgana seethes out an impatient “I live here,” while Akira says effectively the same thing, only with a switch of the pronouns. Okay, that didn’t work. Clearly, Akira needs a new plan—one that involves less bickering with an animal so they don’t all look insane when an innocent customer decides to walk in and witnesses the incarnate of chaos and more… amicable relations. More bets, perhaps.

Curiously enough, it’s Haru who takes the reins, sending Akira a small smile before speaking up. “Maybe if Mona-chan understands why we think Ann has a significant other, he can decide for himself.”

Akira may be a heathen, but God bless Haru.

As Akira is internally singing his praises, the conversation thankfully segues back to Ann and a hyper analysis of her love life. Futaba mentions how she first found out about Ann’s secret romance after forgetting to debug the café. (Akechi then sends Akira an alarmed look the latter chooses to dutifully ignore.) Haru continues that line of thought, recalling Ann’s inquiries regarding the language of flowers and the like, and Akira makes sure to ignore that tinge of jealousy stirring in his stomach even though he knows that Ann knows his hard work in memorizing a bunch of flower symbolism for his job in the underground mall.

He sighs and mentally sweeps his slight envy under the rug. Priorities, Akira.

It’s not until Makoto clears her throat and poses the daunting question of “So, do you believe us?” to Morgana that all eyes fall back on the not-cat, waiting patiently.

The sway of his tail falters. “... Yes,” he bites out. Morgana’s face contorts like he’s devoured a lemon. “Guess this is what you unrequited love, huh?”

Luckily, Ryuji has the decency to stay quiet as Haru breathes an apologetic “Oh, Mona-chan…” and pets the not-cat’s torso.

The group falls into an almost comfortable silence, save for Morgana’s drooping ears that nearly makes Akira leap forward and shower him with many affectionate head pats. Akira otherwise lets his mind wander. He drifts between the scent of Sojiro’s curry ingrained in the dark walls of Leblanc and his daydream of a flustered Ann grasping the hands of a faceless lover, rotating from Mika to Shiho to a mixture of the two’s features. The arch of the rival model’s groomed eyebrows and the doe eyes of the ex-Shujin student are rolled into one.

Features, Akira absently thinks, and for some reason, his eyes linger on the jaunt of a certain detective’s chin, the curve of his lithe neck, the way he carefully tucks a chestnut-colored lock behind his ear. His eyebrows, not unlike Mika’s, are furrowed. Dark, gloved hands hold a gray smartphone that is definitely not bugged by someone that rhymes with Fakura Sutaba, and hazel eyes—red, if you catch them when the glint of the sunlight hits them just right—are fixated on the screen.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when Akechi of all people, the same Akechi who never dares to back away from a challenge, continues the conversation, not bothering to look up from his phone.

(But it does come as a surprise, oddly enough. Because Akira, jolted out of his daydream and thrusted into reality, is looking, and he feels like he shouldn’t be.)

“Have we come to a conclusion about our findings then?” Akechi questions, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Pardon me,” Yusuke voices, “but I assumed you held no interest in Ann’s love life like the rest of us.”

Akechi, lo and behold, bears another classic (read: fake) smile of his. “I don’t particularly. However, it seems like you all are stumped, and I do enjoy a good mystery. After all, I am a detective, aren’t I?”

Akira resists the urge to point out how the unknown identity of Ann’s girlfriend is a far cry from a good mystery, much less anything more than petty gossip when not discussed amongst friends. Instead, he motions the brunet to continue with a flick of the wrist.

Finally, Akechi looks up. “Have any of you considered the antithesis to Morgana’s hypothesis?”

Ryuji frowns. “The… what?”

“I believe Akechi-kun is talking about the opposite of what Morgana initially thought,” clarifies Makoto. “Which means…”

The gears in Akira’s head turn by the end of Makoto’s unfinished remark. His mind swims around antithesis and Ann and the underlying yet unknown connection between the two, trying to grasp at a lost thread he’s determined to find. (Anntithesis! his brain unhelpfully supplies a beat later before he dismisses it completely.) He thinks back to what the group assessed before: selfies, flowers, the like. Selfies, flowers, the like.

Selfies.

… Were they selfies?

Akira is backtracking now, attempting to recreate the images Makoto and Haru had shown the rest of the group earlier in his head. He closes his eyes and thinks. Mika and Ann’s picture can be excused as a selfie, sure. The two were pressed close together in the photograph, shoulders bumping and heads tilting inward to stay in frame. A part of Ann’s arm was cut off from where they took the picture. Sly smirks on both of their photogenic faces.

By all means, it’s a regular, old photo. A selfie, likely.

Then, what about Ann and Shiho’s? Akira recalls Inokashira Park as the backdrop of the image, an abundance of green flooding his vision. He’s quite familiar with the area, too; jogging with the former track star there whenever his body can endure the brutality of cardio is one form of torture Akira will never forget.

If he recalls correctly, the photo was awfully similar to its counterpart. Heads inclined towards one another, shared smiles, and⁠—

Ann and Shiho were holding up peace signs, both pairs of arms visible in frame.

It’s a cliché to gasp. Akira knows this and does it anyway because one, he is surprised and two, he loves being dramatic. The act earns a rather bemused look from Akechi that’s immediately disguised as a roll of the eyes.

The rest of the thieves follow suit as realization dawns on them. Makoto nods. Futaba blinks. Ryuji’s jaw drops. Haru, polite as ever, raises a hand to mask the shock evident on her face. Morgana’s eyes go and widen to the size of Kamoshida’s golden medal, round and shimmering and unbelievable.

Yusuke is the last one to come around, and he barely manages to gather his bearings in time to ask, “Can it truly be…?”

A delightful ping rings in the still air.

“See for yourself,” Akechi says, voice breezy, and slides his phone down on the table.

-

“Do you think they’ve seen your Instagram post?”

Shiho asks this while peering over Ann’s shoulder, watching the likes accumulate at a rapid speed. The end of her ponytail brushes against the blonde’s nape. Ann struggles to suppress a giggle.

“Oh, maybe?” It comes out unsure, reluctant. Ann taps her chin. ”But my phone hasn’t blown up with text messages yet. And trust me, I would know when my friends saw it.”

The other model waves it off, nonchalant. “They’ll figure out soon enough anyway." A pause. Then, Mika sighs. “Looks like the entire population of Tokyo will, too. I don’t know why you wanted to do this, but I’m sure our agency is going to love capitalizing on it…”

“Ugh, agency shmagency!” Ann, who has no concept of personal space when it comes to these two, gathers both of the girls in her arms and gives them a tight squeeze. “How can I hide away my two amazing girlfriends from the world?”

Mika rolls her eyes, but the dust of pink coloring her cheeks gives her away. “Is she always this corny?”

Shiho snickers. “Oh, one hundred percent.”

[minsugapie]

Now You See Me: part 28 (3512 words) - rap sex

• • • • • •

You’re a content creator that is wanting to change up your brand a little bit.

Yoongi is a faceless musician. Well, he’s two people at once. He’s Agust D online and while performing, but he’s Min Yoongi in real life.

Who will he be to you?

• • • • • •

PART 27 // PART 28 // PART 29

masterlist

• • • • • •

tags : @dixonsbugaboo @mayumioutloud @minhyukstealer @pocketfullofsuga @pwinny00 @rjsmochii @yoonglemickdoongle @live-2-fangirl @cherryicy123 @vernooope @okaysoplshelpme @thebleuprince @minyoongone @original-internetmonster @princesskimnamjoon @waddlingmyg

• • • • • •

With the best outfit that you were able to conjure up from your closet on a budget, you walked into the bar with alone. Everyone was going to meet you there.

You were easily the easiest person to impress, and although you had already seen Yoongi perform before, you were sure that you were going to be amazed, no matter how much you wanted to avoid him and hide your feelings from the world. After what Jade had told you about their relationship compared to your relationship with him, you knew that you wanted to at least tread lightly in the waters of Min Yoongi.

She basically flat out told you that Yoongi liked you, but other than the kiss in the hallway, you weren’t sure that he even liked you. People could kiss other people without wanting to actually be with them. You’d been played by guys in the past. It happened.

And then there was the fact that you were still unsure about seeing Hoseok again. Your father had made it clear that he wanted you to marry him (I mean, you already knew before but still). You’d barely breached the subject with Hoseok on game night, but you just couldn’t see it. Why would Hobi be in love with you of all people. He deserved someone good, someone positive.

The bar was already dark and foggy, but you couldn’t tell whether it was a fog machine or simply a bunch of smoke from vapes and joints. You thought it was probably the latter. It even smelled a little ripe in there, a mixture of alcohol, sweet JUULs, and MJ. Along with the smell, the air practically felt sticky, the temperature already hot.

The search for your friends was brief. Tae and Hobi were always the loudest, currently making a fool of themselves amongst your newer friends, Jimin and Jungkook. Jade was yet to make an appearance. You distantly wondered if she was keeping Yoongi company until he went on stage.

Speaking of the devil, he was clearly not with the group because this was his performance, but you wouldn’t have minded just getting a glimpse of his surely mask-covered face. You’d very nearly forgotten that he was Agust D here and not your Min Yoongi.

Your Min Yoongi. Even the thought was bordering on problematic. If this night didn’t go as planned or even head in a remotely positive direction, you’d be crushed. The only reason that you’d agreed to go was to clarify and/or solidify what was going on between the two of you. If he didn’t make any sort of move. You were going to. You had to.

Looking around, you were happy that there were more people here than the last time. He’d been rapping here for a few years under his alias, but no one had put two and two together. With the release of “Seesaw”, he’d finally revealed to the online community that he was a musician that not only played Piano and got people to sing on his tracks, but also that he rapped. It had surely increased the crowd for this show. On the way in, there was even a lineup at the door. You were able to just walk in, thankfully, because he’d still put your name on the list. He had told you on multiple occasions that he would never take your money if you came to watch him because just your being there was enough of a reward for him.

The greetings from your friends were almost lost to your ears because you were craning your head to see if Yoongi was possibly walking around, visiting with other people. It was quite obvious to everyone that you were not here to see them. You were definitely here to see the man on your mind.

“Hello, earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved his hand in front of your face when you were staring directly into the drink that you’d picked up from the bartender on the way to the already full table of guys. You were clearly only here for one thing.

As much as you loved them all and enjoyed their company (most of the time), you were not up for any chit chat. Frankly, you were still trying to pull yourself out of your depressive state, and you were also not entirely sure that you were ready to meet Jade yet.

After stalking her profile, you were 100% sure that she was both prettier and a better person overall than you were. You’d never seen someone spread so much love and happiness. The only rival that you could think of would have been Hobi.

“Sorry, Chim. I’m just a little distracted,” you answered, spinning the bottle of alcohol in your hands.

“You’re just nervous about having to talk to Yoon about the kiss, right?” Jungkook piped in from beside you. From the corner of your eye, you saw Hobi look at you and frown. He then quickly looked at Tae, but your brother just shrugged. Hobi was always so protective, just like a brother would’ve been.

“H-how do you even know about that?” You stuttered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear in embarrassment. Yeah, you kissed Yoongi, but you just assumed that he was not much of a gossip and wouldn’t have told anyone. You were clearly wrong.

“Your guy told us. He also may have revealed that he was nervous about you meeting Jade,” Jimin slyly admitted, putting his arm around your shoulders.

“Because she’s his ex, and he still hangs around with her?” Everyone, including your brother were surprised that you didn’t have a bigger reaction than that one. Your eyes wandered to the stage, only to find it still lifeless and unlit.

With a sigh, you listened as Jungkook continued, “Yeah…how do you know that?”

“Jade and I have been texting a little bit here and there. She initiates the conversations, but I can’t not answer her.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Jimin announced with a huge smile. “Jade is walking this way.”

“Sorry, but who exactly is Jade?” Hobi asked, completely unaware that she was coming up right behind him. You were completely astonished at how pretty she was. You wondered how it was physically possible to be born that way.

“I’m Jade,” she whispered in his ear, causing him to jump and fall off his chair. While he was seated on the ground, she smiled at him and politely took a seat in the chair that he was occupying. Turning to me, she beamed. “You must be Y/N! Yoongi has to me so much about you!”

You couldn’t say the same.

“Hi,” you replied, not being able to take your eyes off her hair. It was literally curled to perfection.

Once Hobi finally got up at the floor, you could see him shifting his eyes from you to her, wondering what exactly was going on.

“I’m Hoseok,” Hobi introduced himself with a bow.

Jade graciously took his greeting and then commented, “Oh, so you’re Hoseok…”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He started, but all of the lights suddenly went out and everyone’s head turned to the stage.

You instantly stood up and walked closer, nursing your drink on an open potion of the floor. A few more people joined the space, filling it quickly. Jimin and Hoseok came and stood on either side of you while the other stayed back and kept the table.

Yoongi slowly walked onto the stage and took the microphone that was waiting nicely in the stand. Absentmindedly, you wondered what Yoongi and Jade had been talking about backstage. You were in such a daze that you completely forgot to ask.

He was wearing a cap and a mask under his chin for hiding his identity. It was a special request to keep the lights down to avoid anyone seeing his face through the shadows. It didn’t matter to you any way that he came. To top it all off, he was sporting ripped jeans and a jacket —typical. Did he even own anything else?

The performance was similar to the last one, except that there were a few new songs. After the first few songs, you again confirmed that the man was meant for music. Agust D’s performance was truly hype. He got the crowd into it and talked about so many difficult things like depression and social anxiety.

You realize then that you are definitely in love with Yoongi. How could you not have been? Maybe you’d even been in love with him for a while, you weren’t too sure. You’d been talking for months, and he was the only person you’d thought about in weeks. He captured your full attention, even when you weren’t with him.

His passion was a large factor of that love as well. When the beat for “Agust D” rolled in, you can’t look away, you’re entranced. The people you’re with all noticed this. It wasn’t long into the song that Yoongi’s eyes found yours. You were surprised that he found you with all the people in there. You were hidden behind a couple really tall guys and their girlfriends, and when he focused in your direction, they were quite excited.

It wasn’t until they realized that he was not looking at them but at you. It was the fastest part of the song, and he just kept looking at you and walking closer to the end of the stage and towards you. The people in front of you parted slightly to give him a better view of you. Your cheeks reddened at the intensity of his rapping. Just thinking about how fast he could move his tongue made you think back to the kiss. You wanted his tongue against yours again.

When you realized that you definitely should not have been thinking about that right now, you brought your hands to your cheeks and covered them with your hands. You felt a pair of hands on your back push you forwards slightly, but you wouldn’t budge. It was Hobi, and you didn’t notice that after he nudged you, he backed away, clearly distancing himself mentally and physically from you.

This moment was yours and Yoongi’s. It felt like there was nobody else in the room, but also felt so intimate that you were sad that there were many people all around.

His gaze never leaves your face for the rest of the performance. It’s his closing song before the second artist came on, so when the song finished, he was breathing hard and clearly sweating. His eyes were still on you as he pulled up his mask, trying to hide his identity from the prying eyes.

The bouncers were very strict on not having flash photography either —they would hunt you down. It was basically an unwritten agreement that when people came, they would just not post videos and keep the performance to them.

“What?” You asked, finally being able to breathe again. You hadn’t noticed, but your breath became uneven and hard when Yoongi was performing for you.

“He totally just had rap sex with you.” Jimin’s voice was even and sure when he looked at you.

What the hell was rap sex?

Yoongi was still staring at you

Rolling his eyes because he could clearly tell that you didn’t know what he was talking about, he continued, “I shouldn’t need to explain this, Y/N…In fact, I’ll just let you figure it out on your own.” You didn’t need to know what Jimin was talking about. All you knew for sure was that just the words sex and Yoongi in the same sentence made you flustered. They were making you flustered and hot.

Yoongi bowed, thanking the crowd one more time before exiting the stage. You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him now, but you knew that you needed to reign in your emotions and get yourself together or else only gibberish would come out of your mouth.

Making your way back to the table, you were still flushed and had to get yourself together. People were sure to comment on your state. Plus, if you wanted to hold your own in front of Yoongi, you couldn’t be looking like you were. So there you were, standing awkwardly around the table, waiting.

It seemed like hours until he made his way to your table. You hadn’t participated in any conversations with your friends, opting simply to nurse another drink and wait for Yoongi. You had no idea what you were going to say to him or how you were even going to react when he finally said a word to you.

He greeted all your friends and Jade before going to stand between you and Jimin.

“Hey,” he said, taking quick sip of your drink. You looked at him like he’d grown two heads. This guy hadn’t spoken to you in ages, and there he was, acting as if you were together, or at least that you had been talking.

Biting your lip, you answered, “I enjoyed your set.”

When the tension between you two was able to be cut with a knife, Jimin nudged you into Yoongi’s arms. Instead of being bashful about it, your brain allowed to to simply put your arms around his waist and embrace the contact.

He didn’t hesitate to hug you back before moving his mask under his chin and whispering, “I’m really happy that you came.” Quickly putting his mask back on, you didn’t realize that you’d be so affected by everything that he said and did.

Yoongi’s breath on your ear tickled and sent shivers through your body. His sweat smelled sweet, and you only want to run your fingers through his damp hair. There were many other people around, so obviously that would have to be saved for another time.

******

Hoseok and Jade were sitting on the other side of the table, observing their two friends, relishing in the unrequited love of it all. They were happy for the two of you, they really were, but taking it from their perspective. It would fucking suck.

“Ugh, I hate love,” Hoseok grumbled, pushing away from the table. Jungkook, Jimin and Tae had left, going to watch the second performer on stage, so it was only the four of them at the table.

Jade looked at him like she’d never seen him before. “Why do you hate love? I hate love.”

“I’ll get us some drinks and we can talk it out.”

When Hoseok made his way back with two bottle of soju in hand, he started, “I’ve been in love with Y/N since the moment I met her. She was 14 and I was 12. It was all too much for me, especially because her brother is my best friend. She’s liked him since she first met with him at the coffee shop. I’m sure of it.”

“Similar story, bro. Agust D and I have been best friends since birth and I’ve always had a crush on him. He’s been thirsting after her since he received her first message. JK and Chim didn’t help because they clearly think she’s hot.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in love with each other now.”

“Honestly same. Did you see that performance? I’ve seen him perform many times, and that was something else”

“…It really be like that sometimes.” It was a thought that they both shared; a thought that shaped the generation.

******

Neither you nor Yoongi realize what exactly was happening between Jade and Hobi when you asked, “Are you going to let me go at all?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” But he loosened his grip and simply let his arms drape around your shoulders comfortably. You liked being there. You’d never been this close to him for such a long period of time.

Looking at him, you still couldn’t get Jimin’s comment from earlier out of your mind. So when Yoongi pulled back to walk towards his friends in the crowd, you stopped him by grabbing his arm. The action surprised him, and what you about to do was something that you’d never have done with anyone before you’d met him.

He looked at your concentrated face in question. There were people everywhere, but you didn’t care when you pulled his mask back down under his chin and asked, “Why haven’t you tried to kiss me since the first time? Why did you not talk to me about it? You seemed so sure that you wanted it to happen then, and now I’m just confused if you act-”

Yoongi grabbed your hand and started dragging you away from all the people and into a corner of the bar that you weren’t sure that you’d ever seen before. It was a deserted corner that looked like it was never visited. Actually, when you stopped talking, Yoongi wasted no time in connecting your lips once again. The kiss this time was urgent and hotter than it had been int he hallway of your place.

He tasted sober this time, still vaguely damp from his performance when you took off his cap and placed it lightly on your head. You ran your fingers through his hair like you wanted to earlier, and he took that opportunity to get you good. With a groan that literally turned your insides into mush, his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

Yoongi’s skin was soft under yours. With every movement of his lips, you realized that he wouldn’t want to talk about anything, so asking him about that rap was out of the question…for now. Soft movement paired with everything else that was Yoongi —his sweat, his smell, his taste— had you wanting more, needing more. After this, you knew that you’d never be able to be friends with the man. Being friends would simply be too painful. You’d never be able to see him again without wanting a kiss or a touch. It almost scared you how much your desire for him had increased in the days that you hadn’t spoken.

You gently pushed him back until he hit the wall, and absently, you found yourself grinding down onto one of his legs, straddling it. Your kisses became sloppier, open mouthed, and needy with every grinding movement into his leg. Whatever it was that you were doing, it felt good. No matter what it was, you knew that Yoongi was able to make you feel good.

You weren’t even sure that he was fine with what was happening until his hands gripped your waist and aided the movement, crouching lower to give you more access. You could even feel his quad muscles flex between your thighs. He pulled back, looking into your eyes, watching your facial expression as he helped you grind down. It felt better than good because it was infinitely better than touching yourself. Even though you were fully clothed, you’d get off in minutes if he kept it up.

Yoongi’s lower lip was taken between his teeth as he watched you more. His eyes did flicker behind you to see if someone was a coming or watching, but the coast must have been clear because his eyes then travelled down the length of your torso to where you were grinding against him.

Your breathing wasn’t even, trying to focus on the feeling, but you decided that this was neither the time, nor the place that you two should have been doing this. You didn’t want to have to clean yourself up in the bathroom, and you didn’t want Yoongi to have to deal with a boner in the middle of the bar (although you were sure that it was too late).

When he noticed your movements slowing down, his eyes went back to your face. “Let me take you home later,” he whispered, lips brushing yours and hands moving from your hips to feeling down your body and around your butt. He squeezed gently, pulling you closer to him.

The brushing of his lips on yours was enough to drive you crazy. There was no way that you would ever be able to deny this man what he wanted that night. “Mhm. All right.”

“Well, then let’s go join our friends for a little longer. I’ll buy you a drink, and then I’m taking you home. Don’t even think about not finishing what you started,” his tone was clear and low. He was definitely turned on and wanting.

His words excited you. A smile grew on your face, and then you suggested, “How about one dance, too?”

It took him a moment to answer. He didn’t seem like the type to want to dance in a bar, but you knew his answer was solely for you. “Fine.”

Hand in hand, you lead Yoongi away from the dark corner and back into the visible bar, unaware that there had been people that noticed.

• • • • • •

LET’S GET IT, FAM...in case you didn’t get it, they are having sex tonight. But I didn’t write it. I can write the smut if you want me to. I won’t say it’ll be the best, but I would try.

Hope you enjoyed ✊🏻🤓