#and I JUST- *madly gestures to the first meet thread we have*

[nulltune]

anemone :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ? where does that world view come from   (what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc .) ?

botanical headcanons,   open !   @brawlqueen  ♡

definitely somewhere in between! hakuno has a very realistic view on things, she naturally views things in that very objective and rational manner (which makes sense considering how in canon, she's an artificial intelligence literally made to observe and understand aha-). hakuno sees things as it is and wouldn't delude herself to anything otherwise. she's surprisingly sentimental though, so she'd really be able to understand both ways of seeing it. the world can be cruel and unforgiving, but it can be a place full of wonders too.

i'd say that she's someone who has a very harsh yet honest view of things, but still wants to believe in the good in it! be it the world or people, that's pretty much the general outline of the way hakuno interacts with things.

hakuno's an amnesiac and has stated herself that she has no memories of "living" and no memories of experiencing any "enjoyable thing" (side note: 😭😭 I JUST WANT HER TO BE HAPPY WAAHH) and her life so far has been... pretty tough :,) i do have a general-ish backstory for it (and btw AAA TY LILY FOR LIKING ITT 💞 i hope it was a good read omg 😳💖), but yeah in canon she lived in a literal war for pretty much the entirety of her life! so you can probably imagine that it wasn't exactly the best quality of life, and it definitely is a setting where she'd get a firsthand experience of just how brutal the world is.

but it's exactly those experiences that makes her cherish the small things in life- even something as simple as having a meal with a friend is something extremely precious to her, so i think if she got the chance to properly live, there'd be many things in world that she'd appreciate too 🥹 she'd definitely be the sort that finds all kinds of magic and wonder even with the most basic and normal life methinks because she never had that kind of peaceful experience </3

that said! a key aspect for my hakuno is how disconnected from everything she is, so even with all this, i think she'd have an innate feeling that she does not belong to this world at all. it's also important to note that in canon, this is a legitimate fact! so i do want to make sure that in my portrayal, this isn't just something that comes from hakuno's insecurities, but a true and genuinely undeniable fact about her. she's a nobody with no home or place to belong to. so there's something bittersweet in it, because no matter how much beautiful and no matter how much she wants to be a part of this world, she'd an outsider to it.

i feel like these few line's from a poem (mary oliver's "october") sum it up pretty nicely:

so this is the world.  /  i'm not in it.  /  it is beautiful.

side note: it really explains some other aspects of her character too!! because while she does have a great appreciation for the world and all that, she's completely detached to it. it doesn't matter to her on a personal level, if that makes sense. that's how we get some brutal lines about how the world doesn't matter to her, which is just an instance of her brutal honesty rather than anything outright malicious. you can see this in her interactions with people too!

so hakuno may appear cold and aloof at times, (which is as a result of her just being really blunt i'd imagine avfjsbfb) but she's really someone who's slowly trying to understand her own emotions and be more human. you'll find that she's so incredibly softhearted and sentimental actually 🥺

[mattzerella-sticks]

Enjoy the Present (1k, 14x15 ‘The Last Holiday’ coda, Destiel, Dean, Sam, Jack, & Cas)

(ao3)

Sam had a birthday, Jack had a birthday...

It would only be fitting for Dean to have one, too. It's expected, really. Yet the one Sam and Jack throw him still catches him by surprise. Maybe because he actually agreed with Butters, about having outgrowned birthdays. Or because his thoughts were pulled elsewhere because of some disappointing news.

If it's the latter, than a birthday will definitely take his mind off of that. Especially when it comes time for his present.

           Dean rereads Sam’s message as he walks into the Bunker’s main room. “Sammy!” he yells, “I’m here. What’s so damn urgent that you…” He trails off, catching sight of his brother and Jack, both adorned in festive gear. Tiny cardboard party hats sat atop their heads, colorful party beads hung around their necks, and party horns that announced his entrance. Them, as well as the single balloon tied to a chair and a covered cake platter, reveal Sam’s true intentions. “Oh no,” he sighs, tiredly chuckling, “really?”

           “Yes, really,” Sam says, Jack still blowing madly in the background, “it’s your turn.”

           “But we celebrated Jack’s birthday, like, a day ago.”

           “Three, actually.” Sam pulls the chair back, gesturing Dean forward. He relents, taking the seat of honor. Jack attacks a second after he’s settled, threading the ‘Birthday Boy’ headband through his hair. “Figured that was enough time for you to let your guard down.”

           He rolls his eyes but does not disagree with Sam’s statement. There were no faults that he could nitpick. Dean thought they were more than satisfied with the crash course of holidays Mrs. Butters put them through. That she left before his birthday, Dean hadn’t minded. She was right, in a sense, about how at his age there’s no point in celebrating one. But seeing Sam and Jack do this, it reminds him why he wanted one anyway. Makes him grateful despite the disappointment he suffered earlier in the day.

           Dean won’t focus on the missing space in their group, however. It might be his party, but he knows crying would kill the mood faster than their radar could ping a monster.

           “Well,” he claps his hands, staring at the platter in front of him, “show me what you got.”

           Jack unveils the cake, beaming. “I made it,” he tells Dean, “to return the favor.”

           “You didn’t have to do that –“

           “But I wanted to,” Jack continues, setting the cover aside. “It’s… not the first cake I made today. The third, actually. I hope you like it.”

           The green-frosted dessert slides a bit, top half slanted and unbalanced. ‘Happy Birthday Dean’ scrawled so messily he only knows what it meant given context clues. He swipes a finger across the side, taking frosting and crumbs of cake with him. Of all the cakes Dean saw, Jack’s… is here.

           Dean cannot judge too critically, having his own difficulties with cakes. When making Jack’s cake Dean certainly stumbled. Not greasing the pan enough, batter barely enough for two layers, frosting used as both decoration and glue. It turned out well though. Moist, fluffy, and rich. Dean saw himself baking more cakes in the future, perhaps when things have quieted down. He and Jack can learn together.

           “It looks great, kid,” Dean says, squeezing his wrist. “Why don’t we jab a candle in there so we can get to eating it!”

           Sam clears his throat, wincing. “About that…” he laughs, holding an unlit candle out. “Why don’t we just light it and you blow without having it… ruin the cake.” As if hearing Sam, Jack’s creation sinks further. Depressed at not participating with this tradition.

           Dean agrees, taking the candle from Sam. Jack taps it with his finger, lighting it. “Make a wish Dean!” he says, stepping back.

           A wish. There’s so much on his mind, that he could ask. Past the age of actually believing in wishes, Dean wonders if he should shoot for the stars. A quick end to their Chuck problem. An island retreat where Dean can grow old at. Superpowers and a kick-ass costume and shield. He spends so long thinking, the wax drips and burns his fingers. Chastising him for not taking it seriously.

           Reflecting again on what he wants, the answer is obvious. Dean closes his eyes and blows the flame out. “Okay,” he hands Jack the candle, “now can we dig into the –“

           Creeaaak

           Dean pauses, the front door opening above him. He looks up, on the edge of his seat. Doubtful. Wishing on a candle never works, especially that fast. But Sam and Jack exchanged twin looks that reeked of smugness, like they knew who this guest was. There’s only a short list of people it could be. Dean dare not hope…

           Cas meets his gaze from the balcony, a red bow wrapped around him like a sash. “Happy birthday, Dean,” he says, eyes crinkling from the weight of his smile, “I hope I’m not too late.”

           There’s no cake. No balloon. No party hats, beads or horns. Dean stands with enough force the chair topples over. “Cas,” he says, grin threatening to crack his face in twain. Voice raw with too much feeling. “What are… I thought you weren’t coming back today?”

           It ruined his entire morning. Waking, a voicemail on his phone from Cas about being delayed by a possible lead. Dean knew it was important for their mission, but the rejection stung. He went about in a haze, restructuring for another day without Cas. Holding off on the Dean Cave, the stack of movies he left there pointless without the other man. And why would he wash Baby when Cas promised Dean it’d be something they do together for once.

           The sun, having risen, continued across the sky. And Cas descended the stairs towards Dean. “It was Sam’s idea,” he explains, “that you might… appreciate the surprise. I’m sorry if I caused any undue worry, or stress –“

           Dean wraps his arms around Cas, nuzzling against his cheek. “Glad you’re here man,” he whispers, “every time you leave, the more I want you to come back.”

           “Dean,” Cas sighs, his hands tight on Dean’s waist. “Leaving has become increasingly difficult. Because I’d rather be here, with you, more than anything.”

           This is the moment. He knows it. His bones shake, and skin itches, because all that Dean hopes, fears, and feels has culminated for this brief second where Dean can finally put them all into words and be confident how Cas will respond.

           Except the second slips by. Dean leans back, Sam and Jack invading their space. “So,” he smirks, brows waggling, “you like my present?”

           Another time. There’ll be another chance. When they’re alone and can carry on uninterrupted. Maybe in the backseat of his Baby, heaven knows it’s been years since she’s seen something beautiful and bloodless.

           Dean lays his hands on Cas’s shoulders, smiling. “The best damn birthday present I’ve ever gotten, Sammy.”

[itseivwhore]

|Ezio Auditore x Reader| (Modern)

My house is just beside a little forest,so I often go there almost all the time.But during the Summer I specifically go in that forest to pick up some blackberries that grow there every year.The other day I went there to pick them up…for finding out that there was absolutely NOTHING.I honestly was pretty disappointed.But I enjoyed walking in that forest like always,it was like:COTTAGECORE VIBES CHEEEEEEEKK!!!And why just a mini one-shot with Ezio?I don’t know,most likely because me and my friend have been talking about him A LOT lately ( ;) ti amo tanto),and he was the first one that came in my mind.So sì,have this little little little drabble I wrote just for fun.

°Of sunkissed skin and brown eyes°

~~~~~

Slowly,almost lazily walking side by side,shoulders brushing against each other,the sound of their light,velvety footsteps on the grass was the only sound that interrupted the quiet of that late August afternoon;a fresh breeze moved the branches of the tall trees that flanked them;the sun,shyly hidden behind thick,grey clouds-a presage od an eminent rain-still gave out some weak,warm rays that blended into the treetops,casting a carpet of strange shadows on a soft,green ground.

The wind that there was on that evening carried with it the pleasant and light smell of the last trees in bloom;and it also carried away,and above all,their discreet and silent promises of love,whispered in barely audible murmurs,their happy phrases,their delicate laughters:that quiet breeze led them away,held them and kept them with it,making them slowly dance in the air for a few endless moments,and entrusted them to the dark sky.

They walked together,side by side,talking,smiling,kissing,laughing:fingers touching each other slowly,craving their delicate touches,shiny eyes meeting,the intense gaze of him lost in the soft one of her,looking at her as if she was something unique,rare,ancestral,a precious to treasure:Y/n was the object of a deep and unimaginable admiration for Ezio.

He loved to see her walk,so gracefully,among the tall trees,her hands resting gently on their old dark barks;he loved to see how her h/c hair fluttering slightly when she moved,and how she closed her eyes,being caressed and rocked by the breeze,to say the least;he adored,in a boundless and indescribable way,how the corners of her mouth raised up in a proud and mischievous smile whenever she discovered he was watching her;he adored seeing her e/c eyes litting up with a genuine happiness when she managed to find more blackbarries;he adored how she lowly hissed when some thorns of the tangles stung her.

The young Auditore was totally and utterly enamoured by every little gesture she did,by every word and sound that left her lips,by every aspect of her whole being:he was anamoured by Y/n.He loved her madly,insanely,immensely.

And she loved him just as much:Y/n loved the way he followed her every steps;loved how she caught him-very often too-watching her with a dreamy expression on his face;she loved how the weak sunbeams kissed his tan skin,and how it made his brown eyes became lighter,pools of acient honey;she loved how he always guided her through the old path,his warm,big hand on her shoulder,adoring at how his touch and grip felt firm yet gentle on her skin;she loved to hear his warnings,said with such a caring and worried voice.

They were both glad and happy to be there,on the green hills of Tuscany,undisturbed,together.

It was Ezio’s idea to go and pick up some blackbarries that grew right on some hills,that gave a wonderful view of the vast green fields not far from his villa;and certainly Y/n did not think twice about it,accepting.

~~~

The young woman sharply turned around when she heard Ezio humming loudly:an expression of pure pleasure was on his face,eyes closed and lips wet and dirty with the dark juices of the blackberries he was eating,one hand inside the wooden basket full of those little black fruits he was holding.

“Ezio!“ Y/n shouted,trying to assume a serious expression,but failing miserably in seeing his face.Hearing himself called so loudly,the guy opened his eyes in a flash,finding himself in front of his fiancée.

”Cosa?“ he asked her,raising up an eyebrow,throwing yet another blackberry inside his mouth,a provocative gesture on his part,smiling smugly when the young woman gave him an exasperated look,amusement glistening in his brown eyes.

"I told you that you can’t eat them” she answered him in a calm voice,taking a few steps forward and approaching him,gently taking the basket from his hands,turning around again and resuming on picking up some more blackberries.

“Sì,you told me that I can’t eat some of them…” he started in a nonchalant tone “But you didn’t tell me that I couldn’t eat them all,dolcezza” Ezio replied in a smart voice,stretching an arm out from behind her and taking another little fruit,swiftly taking his hand away when she slightly slapped it.

“I remind you that we need them for the cake.We can’t eat the cake if we don’t have enough blackberries.Simple as that” Y/n explained calmly,her concentrated gaze did not move from the tangle where the berries grew,carefully picking them one by one,for then placing them in the basket.

As she continued to do this,she heard Ezio chuckling silently,and almost suddenly she felt his hands resting on her hips,taking in her curves,humming lowly,endless shivers running along her back when she felt his velvety touch on her body,his hot breath against her skin.

“I would rather eat something else…” the young man purred in a low,sensual and temptalizing voice;and she swore to feel and perceive a smug little smile when he pressed his lips against her neck,leaving a trail of lazy and chaste kisses allong her skin,smiling against the soft flesh when he heard her laughing,writhing under his touch when he playfully bit her cheek.

Grabbing her waist,squeezing them sometimes,he suddenly turned her around,making the young woman face him.She tilted her head to one side in an interrogatory gesture when she noticed that he was looking at her in a confused manner,thick eyebrows frowning in a thoughtful expression.

“I’m worried” he finally spoke,raising his chin up and looking down at her,only the cheerful singing of the swallows interrupting the quite that had suddenly fallen between the young couple.Y/n meanwhile,looked at him with an expression of pure concern,her e/c eyes never leaving his brown ones.

“You didn’t kiss me yet” Ezio concluded in a strong tone,taking an attitude of sorrow,looking at her with a false disappointment,the slight smirk he had on his scarred lips just miserably betrayed his offended expression.On the other hand,she burst into a purely amused laugh as she heard the firm statement of her boyfriend,deteaching from him slightly.

“I thought you were serious!” she exclaimed,looking at him in a surprised way,laughing again:but the young Auditore always kept his seriousness.

“What makes you think that I was not?” Ezio asked her with a determined tone,raising an eyebrow in a smart way,spreading his arms,amazed when he saw Y/n take a few steps back and come back to pick up the blackberries.

“I kissed you some minutes ago” she defended herself,making a vague gesture with her hands,biting her bottom lip when she was sure that he couldn’t see her action:she knew very well that nothing and nobody would stop him to get what he wanted…and she also knew,very well,that Ezio knew how to be persuading.

“I will die” he replied promptly,

his loud voice,his theatrical and dramatic ways;and once again on that late afternoon at the end of Summer,she found herself in his strong arms,swinging gently and slowly from one side to the other,as if he were cradling her.

“Of what?” Y/n then asked,resting a hand gently on his arm around her side,beginning to caress his knuckles,her voice only a light,barely audible whisper for the rest of the world if not for him.

“Of starvation.I need your kisses.Ora” saying that with such need and desire-nowhere close in being malicious-he gently took her chin between two fingers,moving her head to the side,bringing his face closer to her one.And they kissed,slowly,lovingly,soft lips against each other,the hand that previously was on his arm,slided up behind his neck,pulling him closer.

They both deteached from the long,almost breathtaking kiss,him only humming lowly as he pressed yet another kiss on her cheek,purposedly snuggling his bearded face on her skin,closing his eyes when he heard the melodic sound of her giggles leaving her mouth once again in that endless afternoon.Y/n sighed slightly,relaxing,leaning her back against his broad chest,his chin now placed on her shoulder.

“Happy?” she suddenly asked him,looking over her shoulder to caste a small,pleasured smile forming on his lips as he nodded slowly,the arms around her middle just tightening more.

“Tantissimo” he murmured in a low and happy voice,Y/n only smiling more widely every time he spoke in Italian;she loved everything about that part of him:when he would mutter curses under his breath when he was focused,or when he would call her with sweet nicknames that never failed to make her heart flutter;or when,in the heat of the moment,with her between his arms,with his forehead pressed against her own,with a burning flame in his eyes,he whispered on her lips how much he loved her in his language.

But the young woman shook her head slightly,feeling her cheeks heating up at the memories of all these passionate nights.Ezio’s low voice near your her helped her to concentrate again.

“Guarda” he whispered to her in a thread of voice,his arm sliding from around her body,his hand now resting on her waist,squeezing slightly,enough to completely catch her attention.Y/n closely followed his gaze,beyond the hills,where vast green soils alternated with numerous orchards and vineyards.

“There is an abandoned church,beyond that hill…do you see it?” Ezio pointed out to her,stretching an arm out and pointing to what used to be a stone building,erecting,though in its smallness,among the sumptuous and shapely hills,a small tower supported next to the church.

“One day I will take you there” Ezio promised her,whispering this in a candid tone,pressing a light kiss on her cheek.She turned around slowly,her e/c eyes meeting his brown ones,getting lost in these two big cesspools,no longer illuminated by the rays of the sun.She looked at his calm face for a few moments,thoughtful.

“Why not now? Why not today?” Y/n asked,hoping that made her beautiful e/c eyes glisten;the corners of her mouth that rose in a small smile fought between hilarity and seriousness when she saw that,once again,Ezio quickly took another blackberry from the basket.Holding the fruit,he pointed up at the sky:the grey clouds,which used to be just a few dark wads in a bright sky,were now bigger,obscuring the sun’s rays once and for all,thus hiding a magnificent sunset hidden under that thick layer of clouds.

“It will rain soon” the young Auditore explained to her,chewing the little berry fruit with taste,humming loudly,savoring its sweet taste.A thunder growled loudly all of a sudden,the loud sound that,once repeated in deep echoes in that quiet atmosphere,was gradually fading away.

But when Ezio lowered his gaze on her,seeing how hopeful her eyes where,how pleading her face looked,a low chuckle left his mouth,stretching a hand out and carressing her soft cheek with the back of his hand.He slightly sighed,a ghost of a smile tugging his lips up.

“I just am not able to say ‘no’ to you,mh?”

~~~

They immediately arrived in the abandoned church,both of them breathlessly,pants taking their breath away,their chests rising and lowering quickly,their hearts beating wildly,their hair wet and sticky on their faces.It started raining just when they had just begun to make their way to the church;at first walking quickly,and then beginning to run under what had become a downpour,holding hands.

Y/n let go of her hand from his own,starting to slowly walk inside the church,her soft and flush steps resounded in a thousand echoes,breaking against the old dark walls of the church.Stretching a hand out,she started to trace the dirty stained glass of the long,tall mosaics with her fingers,looking with absorbed and amazed air at all that surrounded her.The wild ivy had penetrated through the chipped windows,continuing its path and climbing even the cold walls of that forgotten place,though fascinating in all its decadence.

Ezio,who up to that moment had been bent in two,with his hands resting on his knees to catch his breath,looked fascinated and captured by the figure of Y/n,who had now stopped in the middle of old wooden benches while she was looking at the paintings ruined by the years.He smiled to himself,his eyes did not move away from her even for a moment,observing her intensely.

“I just could take you right here,you know that,tesoro?Mh?” he uttered from all of sudden,smirking with a knowing grin when she turned around and looked at him in an amazed way,his excited eyes wondered all over her body,noticing how her wet clothes hugged her body more.

All thanks to the rain.

“In a church?” Y/n asked in a perplexed tone,raising her eyebrows,gesturing at the place around them,stepping forwards towards Ezio,placing both of her hands on his chest,running them up and down on his broad shoulders,playing with some strand of his wet,dark hair.His hands found her hips,pulling her closer against himself,squeezing them,grimacing a bit as he placed and moved his glance around the church;then lowering his gaze down on her again,humming,giving her an inviting smile.

“It’s deconsecrated.I do not see the problem”

And perhaps Ezio was persuadable enough,with his soft gestures and with his velvet words,to convince her;and perhaps,most probably,in that place which had once been sacred,holy,both the noisy rain and their heated,passionate sounds resounded inside that church.

°*~ TrAnSlAtIoNs! ~*°

“Cosa?” = what?;

“Sì” = yes;

“Dolcezza” = literally,sweetness.Sweetheart/sweetie;

“Ora” = now;

“Tantissimo” = very much;

“Guarda” = look;

“Tesoro” = darling.

[lil-creatorwritings]

So you’ve done Mitsuhide’s route, eh? Do you want to cry even more over his route?

Warning: Major spoilers for Mitsuhide's route, at least until finishing Chapter 10. I have warned you right off the bat, so don't come complaining to me that you didn't know.

Disclaimer! I have no formal education about Japanese culture. I am not Japanese either. I don't know if Cybird did these details on purpose.

So this came around while I was yelling about Mitsuhide's route with @plumpblueberry and she was the one who pushed me to make this post. With the combined history facts taken from ye ole Google search and my brain's overthinking ability as if I had just rolled a natural 20 on a DnD dice, here is potentially more reason to love and appreciate or cry a river over his route! I mean I'd like to think that this is canon but if it's not, then just enjoy this fictional trail of thought with me! Also if you're knowledgeable about Japanese history, culture and the symbolisms in it, please don't murder me if I'm wrong. ;;

So if you've made it this far, I'm assuming that you've done Mitsuhide's route to completion (wherever ending you chose to do first doesn’t matter). I think we can all agree that one of the most loved parts of his route is around Chapter 8, when he climbs up to MC's room to "tease her one more time" and give her a present--the beloved kanzashi (or hairpin in English).

Back then, it was said that it had magical powers to ward off evil spirits and was used as somewhat of a good luck charm. These things have different kinds depending on their shape and about a million designs, from flowers, nature, animals and such. And bellflowers, in the flower language, often mean "affection" and "everlasting love". It can also be given to express gratitude. 

So that's easy to associate--Mitsuhide's telling her how much he loves her and that he'll love her for all eternity with a pretty good luck charm. But another thing about bellflowers is that, as Kyubei says in the next chapter, it is also the Akechi kamon (family crest).

He says that it's an Akechi's way of praying for you. "To wish for your victory, regardless of what trials you face." Mitsuhide has recognized that she's come to rely on him and since he isn't there anymore (at least, for the time being), it's also a reminder from him of how strong she's become as a person. That she'll survive and eventually be able to return back to her time period.

Now at face value, the gesture itself is sweet. Receiving a gift from someone you love is always heartwarming. But that isn't the only thing that I mean.

Remember how in Chapter 5, Mitsuhide surprises us by saying that he wanted to marry her? Of course she doesn't believe him, but I would not be surprised if he was 100% serious. We all know that he's madly in love with her at this point of the story. Plus it's obvious that he enjoyed playing as her husband back in that western village a little too much for it to be fake.

Way back in the Edo period (and I assume even in the Senguko as well), marriages were 99.9% political since they were commonly used to form and solidify alliances. Elders in the family would play matchmaker (omiai) and set a meeting with a potential suitor. Insert classic trope of marrying within your social status and being banned from marrying someone with a lower social status as your family. If the woman is available and the man would like to propose, the next step would be an engagement ceremony (yuino), where the family would exchange symbolic gifts. And these gifts, ranging from dried fish to a special thread to actual money, can also be an accessory.

Like, say, a hairpin. A special hairpin.

It isn't uncommon for a man to gift a woman a kanzashi during the yuino (or outside of it, like just as a legitimate present). It's like an engagement ring, in a modern view. But there's another special detail--its design. As I said, kanzashi can have several designs, which yes, can include a kamon. And back then, when a woman wore a kanzashi with a specific kamon, it's highly likely that it is the kamon of her lover.

And you have to remember that not everything was ready to buy back then! Today, you can buy a ring at any time you want and have it in your hands within minutes or immediately. Things were being crafted from raw materials and were hand made back then, which need time and for someone to put the labor in to making it. Kyubei said that Mitsuhide had already prepared the gift even before they left for the village. He had already decided then, even before he even thought of having the hairpin made for her. This isn't on a whim--this was done with purpose and intent, to follow up on his word to marry her.

So yes, it appears (at least to me) that he had essentially proposed to her with that hairpin. For real.

My mind was blown with that realization too. Because I can't help but wonder--why would Mitsuhide risk jeopardizing his whole scheme and get caught just to deliver it to her personally when he could have tasked Kyubei to deliver it to her? And it is a mere coincidence that he chose a bellflower as a design, which also happens to be his family crest? Mitsuhide isn't the type of person to do something without reason as the route has shown us, so I don't think his choice of design was random by any means. And say, for argument's sake, that Mitsuhide had no deeper intention with the design (maybe he chose bellflowers because it was pretty), why would Kyubei bother to talk to her about the crest, that he had prepared it much earlier and that out of all the things his lord could have asked to be brought to him when he was imprisoned--it was this one specific thing he absolutely had to get?

Again, this is just my personal interpretation and should be taken with a grain of salt. I'm in no way saying that this is canon. I'm not saying that my personal association with the history facts is accurate because a lot of things and meaning change over time. But even if Cybird didn't intend it, I think it gives more weight and meaning to his actions and the scenes that surround it.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Because I need constant validation, here’s the reworked start of that North Bound, Due South.  *strokes it*

    Castiel waited, hands folded at his lower back, eyes straight ahead.  He could hear it all, a susurrus that, if he allowed it, would overwhelm his mind.  It had taken him years of careful training to learn how to narrow his telepathy or block out those around him. Silent as a statue in his rumbled suit, fresh from a red-eye from the East Coast, he knew without even opening those channels, that they spoke of him.  Hard not to when every eye turned his way.  Frowns, confusion, some outright hostility.

    Interloper.  He wasn't one of them.  Beyond the badge, he wasn't them.  It wouldn’t have surprised him to know news had spread of a telepath coming. Gossip had fleet wings, after all. His mouth firmed.  He let his senses thread out slightly and there it was: suspicion, who the fuck is he?, what was Singer thinking?  It began to blur into a swarm of unease.  An oppressive shove against his mind.

        He shut his shields down and shivered. Great.  So, not only was an FBI agent on site, it was an FBI telepath. And much as it hurt, Castiel understood. He could pluck the thoughts of the unwilling and send a healthy man into a drooling coma.  If he chose. Without diligent training, it would be hard to protect against a telepath hellbent on injury.

      He resisted the urge to sigh and rub his forehead.  He’d warned Balthazar this would happen.  When he’d offered his insight, he’d hoped it would be limited to conferences with Singer himself.  Just information based on what they’d gleaned five years ago.  But his director was an ass on a good day; Balthazar probably thought it hilarious that an FBI telepath would be plunked in the middle of Downtown Portland.

      Balthazar, I’m blaming you for whatever arises.  He was tired, his head hurt, and Singer was late.  He only hoped all this disruption would be worth it.  If they could find the killer and stop them before they ramped up again, it would be worth whatever harassment he had to wade through.

      He still remembered the first scene in Nevada.  The most violent death he’d ever witnessed in his career.  Hard to believe he’d see nine more just as horrendous before the year was out.  All telepaths.  All burned out.  What the Portland Police Department likely didn’t know was the killer was likely a telepath as well.  The way the murders were completed, it was as though their minds were hollowed out. Sanitized even.

      That was Castiel’s working theory, anyway.  He had no clear proof given they hadn’t even narrowed down who the killer was. It was possible they’d developed a method of harming telepaths completely.  Or it was a fluke.  But he recalled Dr. Moseley’s remarks on the first death.

      There’s nothing there, Agent. The brain . . . what’s there, anyway, is just shreds.

      He had to wonder at the hate that burned in someone to do something so violent.  He knew that telepaths were largely misunderstood and mistrusted. Even fifty years after the first telepaths began to emerge, nothing had truly changed.  Other than the handful of laws now in place to prevent their mental snooping.  Which, in all honesty, were difficult to enforce given the lack of physical evidence.

      Castiel sighed again.  Not his field, however.  He was an FBI agent, first and foremost.  That he retained the skills of a telepath was just a tool in his pouch.  And a tool he employed very rarely.  The first time he’d read someone’s mind, he’d been thirteen.  Cusp of puberty.  And madly in love with his best friend.  The revulsion he’d read there, when he’d confessed, had scarred him.  To his face, his friend had been kind and understanding. But Castiel had seen the truth. And it never left him.

      He knew what telepaths were and what they represented.  But he also knew that no one but another telepath understood the torment they went through. ��Learning to sort one’s own thoughts from others.  Keeping themselves sane enough to simply go to a grocery store.  

      If the general populace truly understood telepathy, they’d look at them with pity instead of hatred.

      He was drawn from his memories by a steady, heavy tread.  A bearded man in a suit and dress shirt, gun on his belt.  Castiel recognized Police Chief Singer immediately.  The man sullenly following behind, however, he didn’t know.  He looked close to Castiel’s age, perhaps younger.  Tall, brown hair, green eyes.  

      And angry.

      Great.  And knowing it the wrong tact, but hoping to stave off any unnecessary strife, Castiel narrowed his focus on the man.  A whisper of a touch and he could get an idea how to handle this man.  Just enough for that insight to keep him from igniting what was likely a hair-trigger temper given the set of his jaw.

      He blinked.

      Nothing.  Absolutely nothing reached him.  Hands clenching at the small of his back, he tried again, wondering if he’d been distracted.  But no; that void remained.  This wasn’t a block.  This wasn’t someone trained – as many police forces tried – to prevent telepathic intrusion.

      This was a shield.  He focused on the man as he shut off his senses. This man, whoever he was, was an expert at blocking telepaths.  Not trained in a weekend or a month even.  The shield was solid as rock without a crack in place.

      Who the hell are you? Castiel thought.

      Bright, angry green met his eyes as Singer stepped into the office.  Castiel had a moment’s panic that he knew what he’d done.  But the man said nothing and did nothing, other than stay about an arm’s length behind Singer, arms folded and jaw tense.

      “Agent Novak?” Police Chief Singer rumbled.  He held out a hand and shook Castiel’s.  “Welcome to Portland.  Good flight?”

      Castiel smiled wearily.  “Long flight,” he said.

      Singer smirked.  “Sorry for the short notice.  We got a second one this morning.”  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, moving on before Castiel could remark.  “This is Detective Dean Winchester; he’s lead here on the two murders we have.”  He slapped Dean in the chest with the back of his hand.  “He’s been told to play nice with the Feds.”

      Even better.  Castiel forced a smile and held out his hand to Dean. While the shield troubled him, often skin-to-skin contact could work in strengthening his telepathy.  It was also feasible that his travel had worn him down too much, though he doubted that.  “Detective Winchester.  Pleasure to meet you.  I assure you, the FBI is only here to help.”

      Detective Winchester eyed his hand a moment before taking it.  While Dean’s mental block was total, his outward emotion was a simple thing to read. He distrusted Castiel entirely. He let go of Castiel and grunted, “So, what’s a leech doing all the way out West, dealing with us plebians?”  He smirked.  “You get demoted or something?  Snoop on the boss’ wife?”

      Castiel swallowed, internally bristling at the slur.  Tucking it away, he returned to the matter at hand.  The contact with Dean had done nothing to crack the man’s block.  He stepped back, unsettled.  Ignoring the slight from before, he cleared his throat. “Director Miller suspects you may be dealing with a murderer we discovered in Nevada five years ago.  He thought perhaps I could lend a hand.”  He gestured to Singer.  “Your chief did invite me here, after all.”

      “I’m aware,” Dean drawled, clearly annoyed by that.  He looked at Singer.  “Is this really necessary?”

      Singer smacked Dean in the chest a second time, harder given how Dean swayed.  “Quiet.  If he’s got info, that’s good for us.  Keep your tongue still, Winchester.”

    Castiel watched the exchange carefully. While the detective’s expression didn’t change, his tension eased at Singer’s command.  So, Chief Singer was someone Dean clearly trusted.  Which only meant that if push came to shove, Castiel would have to go over Dean’s head to Singer to resolve things.  Not something he’d wish to pursue but at least he had the option.

      Detective Winchester breathed in and out, scowling.  “Huh.” He sighed and shrugged.  “Fine, if the leech is useful.”  He smirked at Castiel.  “Guess that means I’m your leash.”

      Other than a slight frown directed at Detective Winchester, Singer didn’t reply.  Instead, he swatted the man a third time, causing him to swear. “Treat him like a partner, asshole. I don’t give a shit if he can read minds; if he can help, we need it.”  He turned to Castiel.  “He gives you any trouble you’ve got my okay to turn his brains to mush.”

      Castiel’s mouth quirked though he refrained from meeting the detective’s eyes.  “I doubt that will be necessary, sir.”

      Singer eyed him.  “Anyway, got you a room at a hotel near Dean’s building. He’ll take you there.”  He turned to Dean.  “Now.”

      Detective Winchester rolled his eyes and waved a hand in impatience.  “Fine.  C’mon, Agent Leech.  Your carriage awaits.”  Without seeing if Castiel complied, he turned and moved away, heading toward the front of the building.

      After a nod to Singer, Castiel hurried after Dean, unsettled by the strange events.  He’d not expected anything like this.  Of course, most local enforcement agencies disliked intruders like the FBI.  Castiel expected that.  Still, he’d also expected the Portland Police to be appreciative of what he had to offer. They were all on the same side here. All law enforcement officers.  But Dean’s distrust felt stronger than most.

      Personal.

      Then there was that wall.  The dense nothing that met any of Castiel’s attempts to read the other man. That had never happened before.  Even an IQ lower than sea level registered something.  Blocks were little more than evidence that a mind existed.  Patience was all that was required to chip away at it.

      This? This was as though Dean wasn’t even there.

[strwxberrymilk]

“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”

Pairing: Werewolf John Marston x Reader

Word count: 3,362

Happy Valentine’s day! Here’s my fic for the always lovely @littlestarofthewest from the @rdrsecretcupid2020 event!! You said you liked tropes and mythical creatures, so I hope you like confessions of love and werewolves!! 

~

Summer winds danced through the trees, their sunlit branches trembling, gently moved by the warm breeze. Crickets began chirping along with songbirds as the sun sank over the heartlands, calling sweetly to the coming dusk. Creamy wisps of clouds delicately kissed the horizon, beckoning forth a warm glow over the lands, coating cliffs, and wildflowers in its radiance. The Dakota River was turned into liquid gold and the meadows seemed less like grass and more like twenty-four-carat threads waltzing in place. The campsite basked in the golden hour, hushed if only for a moment, by the setting sun. She sat there on an old fallen log, journaling and taking in the half-light of day. The breeze swirled through her hair and onto sun-kissed skin as she tucked wild strands behind her ear. Her pencil scraped purposefully at the paper, marking down her fleeting thoughts as the day came to an end.

Tonight would be the first full moon since she had been bitten those weeks ago. The freezing dampness of Colter was testing in itself, but with the hapless attack from an O’driscoll scout, the journey was frightful. She had been on guard duty when the beast came from the trees, roaring madly, sending spittle flying through the cold air, and clamping its razor-filled maw around her throat. Luckily, the men came just in time, hurdled into action from the sound of the beast- shooting the creature dead and getting the girl inside. There was no mistaking her fate then. In fact, most of the people who ran with the Van Der Linde gang were all too familiar with the curse that would soon befall the young woman, having to deal with it themselves as well. She healed quickly from the wounds, biding her time until the moon would finally rise, uncovered and full. And it seemed that a night full of firsts would arise with the setting sun.

He watched her sitting on that log, basking in her radiance, starry-eyed and captivated by the way that the light caressed her skin and how the dust in the air danced a halo around her. How he longed to be the sunlight on her skin, craving to be sweetly buried in those locks, holding her to him, with full dominion over her body and affections. She was to be his, and his alone- it was what he ached for, what he needed in order to feel whole again. Since the day they met, John Marston had an eye for the lady. Much to Dutch and Hosea’s chagrin, John had immediately imprinted upon her the second their gazes met. This bond that had suddenly drawn the two together held a more significant meaning than john had known at first, only recognizing that she was his destiny after a talk with Hosea. The girl was clueless, however. Merely thinking that the young man just enjoyed her company some. Maybe he thought of her as a sister that needed his protection or a damsel in need of saving- because in her mind, surely this tall, dark, and villainously handsome man couldn’t feel the same way about her. So, she pushed down these hot and blooming fantasies of romance every time she spent a moment with John.

The girl shut her journal with an inward sigh, slouching, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes fluttered shut with a long exhale, worried about the night to come. John was leaned against a nearby tree, watching, spell-bound by her entirety, and just how gorgeous she looked. He pushed off of the rough bark when he saw the clear anxiety in her posture, spurs clinking as he headed towards her. “Evening miss (___),” he called, stopping to stand next to the log. The girl snapped her head up to look at him, her eyes weary and thoughtful. “Oh, hello John,” She quickly looked back at the landscape, feeling her cheeks heat up under his gaze. “What’re you up to?” The question hardly squeaked out from her lips as she nervously played with her pencil, refusing to meet his eyes. John huffed, bringing his hands to rest on his gun belt, turning to watch as the sun made its final descent behind the distant mountains. “Well I noticed you looked worried, so I came to see how you were,” He glanced at her in his periphery, “-Since I know it’s gonna be your first night is all.” He added quickly, mumbling slightly, shaking his head. The girl sighed, swallowing her feelings once more and turned to face him completely in her seat, “Hah, well you’re right. I am really worried John. I-I mean I’ve never gone through anything like this before, especially not alone.” Nervously laughing she continued, “I really am frightened.” John moved to sit beside her, resting with one elbow on his thigh. She could now see his face fully, handsomely drenched in the afterglow of twilight, black wisps falling into his eyes. His lips were pulled into a tight line and his brows furrowed, “(___), I’m gonna be honest with you. It’s not easy. In reality, it will be painful, and damn difficult. It was, even for me.” He placed a heavy hand onto her smaller ones, squeezing slightly in re-assurance, “But you’re a strong, fine woman. You’ll manage just fine I’m sure.” John grinned a toothy smile and chuckled as the young woman laughed as well. “Thank you, John, I- uh- That means a lot to me.” She glanced down before finding herself lost in those coal brown eyes, staring longingly at his scars, tracing down his face and to his lips. A soft sort of tension ebbed between them and through the beginning night, making their silence quite awkward. Noticing this, John cleared his throat and spoke up, “Say, why don’t we go grab some dinner and get you settled?” He stood up and held out a hand to the girl. Smiling sweetly, she took his hand and walked with him back to the center of camp.

They sat together at a table and ate their stew, chatting about things other than their lycanthropy. After dinner, John and the girl rested around the campfire with the rest of the gang, all more quiet than usual out of respect for the girl’s first moon, and by Dutch’s orders. It was easy for them to empathize with her since all first turns are involuntary and happen no matter what, on the first full moon after one is bitten. After a wolf’s first moon, they are free to choose when to turn or not, voluntarily shifting at will, not tied to their beastly form when those bright nights come. After a while, the girl grew more exhausted, feeling hot under the rays of the rising moon, and asked john to bid her goodnight. He walked her back to her own tent, re-assuring her that everything will be alright and that she should try to sleep and get some rest while she can. With a kiss to her delicate hand, He wished her a peaceful first moon. The girl heaved and entered her tent. As the flaps closed behind her, the girl began to undress. She was sweating already, and her clothing clung to her, nearly drenched. Being left in just her drawers and chemise the girl lied down onto her bedroll, panting, exhausted and growing more agitated as time went on.

She slept for a short while as the camp around her calmed to a hush and only embers sizzled where the roaring fire once sat. The moon rose higher into the night sky, stars twinkling sporadically in the deep black depths. Crickets stopped their singing and no rabbit even dared to exit its burrow; the earth knew that it was time. With a gasp, she woke, suddenly and painfully- her skin burned with heat and her chest ached. Pure instinct ran through her veins, as she lifted herself from the ground, stumbling out of the tent and into camp. Nobody was out now, all stowed away, sleeping soundly in their bedrolls. She wheezed as her feet carried her out into the forest. Her heart began to race, every time she waltzed into a patch of moonlight, promptly carrying her faster downhill. Her skin felt like it was on fire, searing deep into her bones, making her cry out in pain. Her yells were the only sound that echoed in the trees, becoming more erratic and desperate as she stumbled towards a clearing in her moon-drunk stupor. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears as she cleared the tree line. Stepping into the moonlight sent waves of chills down her skin, cooling the heat that ached her. The pure ecstasy that direct moonlight poured into her was indescribable. She whimpered as pain overtook her short-lived pleasure, breath hitching as she hunched over. Her entire body was trembling severely, and tears welled in her eyes. Bones began to shift and crack horridly as she writhed in pain, screaming out into the night air. Her once soft and manicured hands grew into large wolf-like paws with long unmanaged claws hanging atop. Her spine elongated and ruptured, stretching and pulling. Her chest moved in the opposite direction, ripping through her underclothes, leaving her bare. The girl’s legs grew longer and bent wildly, breaking and contorting into those akin to a canine. Her bare feet morphed into large paws, making her stumble, catching herself on the ground with her arms. The girl’s once petite frame was now hulking and covered in thick fur. The worst pain was in her face and jaw, cracking and relocating, making her shriek in pain. The moon was at its peak now, casting its midnight rays below into the valley and onto the girl. Her screams turned to beastly roars as the shifting came to its end. Whimpering and writhing in the dewy grass she looked up to the moon. This final action, a gesture of submission and connection sent a rush of primal strength into her. She rose now, standing tall and greeted the moon with a hauntingly beautiful howl. She sang away the pain, tilting her head back and flattening her ears. This is how she was supposed to feel. To be liberated by the moon’s benevolent grasp.

John bolted awake in his tent. He heard her song so clearly, even in his sleep, calling to him. This siren song beckoned him fourth, setting his heart on fire. He threw himself out of his tent, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He knew that the bond that nature had secured between them would call to him eventually, but just how quickly and wholly instinct took over was jarring to him. He scented the air, nostrils flaring, and pupils blown, searching for the girl- his girl. His lanky form bounded through the forest floor, stomping over thickets through the underbrush. Most times he was confident in his will to keep from turning when exposed to the moon’s rays, but when his ears pricked at the again enchanting howl that sang from the she-wolf, her scent drifting back up the hill, he felt his continence slip from his grasp. Stumbling forward he growled as his own beastly form began to manifest, shifting from man to wolf. His once slim torso now broad and coated in inky black fur, heaved deeply as he tried to regain some sort of restraint. With his senses, now heightened, he could feel the girl close by. His massive paws padded quietly as he stalked through the underbrush, head swiveling and ears twitching, looking for an indicator of her location. nose to the wind, his stride came to a stop as the tree line thinned into a clearing. The moment his eyes found her, gaining her bearings in the meadow, he felt more human as a wolf than he ever had before. She stood gazing upwards, her fur sparkling in the moon’s rays, tail waving slightly under her long, muscular legs. A fire sparked in his loins, churning butterflies in his gut- feet carrying him out into the open air to meet her.

She hadn’t noticed him approach, focus fixated on the night sky. His steps broke the silence, causing her to snap her attention to him. The girl wasn’t used to her new senses, nose scrunching as she took in his scent, it was unfamiliar yet known, something she remembered but now dripping in musk. Fear swam down her spine, hackles raised, and ears pinned snarling a warning to the dark-furred male. She backed up slightly, tucking her tail, crouching defensively. The male was shocked, not knowing why she didn’t recognize him. He let out a small sound between a whimper and a bark, ears lying flat submissively, stepping forward. Shadows uncovered the wolf as he slinked forward into the moonlight, head hanging low and eyes locked onto hers. The deep scars that cut into his fur were now visible in the misty silver rays and his eyes, stark red against midnight brows, pierced like a beacon through the air and into her. Her ears flicked forward in question, head bobbing backward. This night could not get any weirder, she thought, she had expected her first moon to be strange, yes, but she knew that face; It couldn’t be anyone but john. She let him approach, stepping closer herself, calling out a quiet whimper in question to the male, ‘john?’ The larger canine broke from his submissive stance, bouncing slightly and happy to be recognized by the she-wolf. His tail began to wag rapidly, and he grinned, ‘I’m here (___), it’s me.’ Along with her demeanor, the tension broke and she sprang forward, closing the gap between them and tackled John to the ground. She laughed in relief, ‘Man am I glad to see you! I don’t know what I would’ve done if some other folks had found me so quick!’ She pressed the bridge of her muzzle to his chin and breathed in a deep whiff of his scent, which became clear to her in recognition of the man whom she pined over. John grunted, out of wind from the sudden hug, and chuckled, ‘well you did look like you were ‘bout to kill me right there. If I ain’t know you, I would’ve tucked tail and ran, you sure showed like a seasoned wolf already.’ The girl rolled off of him, reaching her feet and cocked her head to one side. ‘What’d you mean ‘if I ain’t know you?’ How did you know it was me, not like anyone’s seen me turned before?’ Her brows were furrowed, and she gazed around as if to look for anyone else there with them. ‘well,’ John said, standing up, ‘I could smell you, but really it was that beautiful call of yours. I knew that nobody else could sing so sweetly to me-‘ He stopped suddenly. The words falling out of his mouth far too quickly. John wasn’t quite how to tell her how strongly he felt, but damn he knew it needed to be more romantic than word vomit. John huffed, ‘Anyways, let’s get you back home. Or at least closer to camp. folks around here ain’t used to seeing things like us.’ He gestured back to the tree line and placed a paw at the small of her back. She sent him a smile, her eyes, soft, gleaming gold in the moon’s light. They started into the forest, side by side. ‘And while we walk, I could explain some more things that you’ll start to experience? Having had your first moon and all.’ He questioned, looking down at the girl. Humming, she answered, ‘That sounds wonderful, thank you, John.’

Through the night, the two young werewolves padded through trees and over thickets, conversing quietly. He described his first moon to the girl, and how he learned all he knew from Dutch. How scents work, how to track prey as a wolf, how ranking works. The moon was sinking low now, barely kissing the tops of distant trees. The wind settled into a slow breeze as the caterwauling crickets hushed to a whisper, and twinkling stars began to fade. It was when they got onto the topic of packs and ranking that imprinting came up.  The two stopped just outside of camp. John’s throat was dry as he described the ‘at first sight’ bond that takes place between destined mates. He stated that, ‘It feels like when you’re apart from them, that you’re suffocating.’ The girl was quiet for a long moment before asking, ‘And that you would give the world just to hold them? for even one second?’ She refused to look at him, worried that if she did, he’d know exactly what her question was. John took in a deep breath before exhaling, ‘I never knew how I should tell you this. But I think right now is as good as tomorrow and as any day. (___) from the second I met you all that time ago, I knew that you were meant to belong to me.’ He took the girl’s smaller paws into his and gave them a gentle squeeze, eyes lingering on her face, taking in her ethereal beauty. Even as a wolf, he thought she was the image of perfection itself. The girl was shocked, mouth hanging open. Her head shook as she looked up to meet his eyes. ‘are you toying with me, John Marston?’ Her eyes welled up with tears. In her mind, there was no way that this man, who treated her with such chivalry, who was so handsome, fiercely loyal, and genuine could feel the same way about her that she does of him. John’s eyes looked worried as he pulled her into his chest, claws raking through her soft fur. ‘I always questioned it or dismissed it, but tonight- when I heard you howl- it just solidified it to me.’ He breathed deeply, looking down and stroking her cheek, ‘We are meant to be with one another, (___). We’re supposed the be mates.’ The girl lifted her head from his broad, inky chest and grasped onto the hand that remained on her furred cheek. he stammered mouth opening and closing before finally admitting, ‘I love you.’ She choked out a sigh of relief before returning his confession, ‘I love you too.’ He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers, holding each other tightly in the dying moonlight. His next words were those of ancient origin, that was said between every pair of courting wolves, symbolic and true in meaning. ‘I vow to protect you, love you, provide for you in any way that I can.’ He whispered to her, earnestly. The girl smiled before answering, ‘I vow to serve you, comfort you, and provide for you in any way that I can.’

The pair pulled away from one another as the beginning signs of day spread along the land. ‘we should get you inside before you turn back. You’re gonna be exhausted- just like I was after my first moon.’ John called, taking her hand in his own. In the east, the sun peeked from behind the horizon and songbirds sang to the coming light. The sky was yellow and blue, beckoning day to come once more. The new couple, giddy and spry, traipsed paw in paw into the awakening camp. The only other souls awake at that early hour were Dutch and Arthur, who sat just outside Dutch’s tent, drinking their coffee and talking quietly. They snapped their heads in the direction of the two wolves that came into view. Dutch smiled touched and knowing while Arthur grinned and nodded before taking another sip of his hot coffee. The girl yawned as she carefully entered her tent, John following close behind. She lied down atop the furs and blankets on the floor, tail wrapping around her bent legs, and beckoned John to do the same. ‘Stay with me?’ she asked, humming quietly. He curled up beside her, holding the girl close to his chest, laying his head down just above hers. ‘Always (___), always.’

~

I apologize that i couldn’t get this posted sooner! This weekend was chaotic and i couldn’t get to my laptop. I really hope you enjoyed it, I’m a fairly inexperienced writer and this was my first insert fic. I know it doesn’t live up to your god-like writing skills but I gave it a shot anyways! 

Have an amazing week sugarplum!! <3

[shedreamsofstars]

Cataclysm of the Heart - Chapter 4

Start from the beginning  | Next Chapter

Sonic awoke to total darkness, blinking madly as he questioned where he was. For a split second, he found himself wondering what the time was. Something moved beside him and instinctively, he jumped backwards.

Or at least, he attempted to.

He jumped back with his usual force but came to an abrupt halt as he hit his head, hard and fast enough to see stars flashing before him. He groaned in pain, trying to feel the damage with his fingers only to find his hands were trapped by his side.

Panic flickered within him like static. What was going on?

Oh.

OH.

The base. The laser. The ceiling.

Everything flooded back into focus and he blinked into the dark. With the collapsed building around him, there was not a hint of blue sky anywhere to be found. Who knew how much rubble lay atop of him.

Wait, no,

Not him, them.

“Amy?” he called, remembering he’d lunged for her right before the rubble came collapsing down around them. There was only silence, and then a soft squeak he hoped wasn’t a mouse. “Amy,” he called again, hating that he couldn’t move, couldn’t see.

“Sonic,” a voice called out sleepily. And then, with a little more enthusiasm, as if she too had just suddenly remembered their current predicament. “Sonic, are you okay?”

Her voice was mere inches from his own, and it took all his effort to resist the urge to squirm away from her like he usually did. Not that he could move anyway. “I think so. Are you?”

“I can’t move, but I’m fine.”

That was something at least. The pair of them remaining unharmed was a miracle in itself. “How are we still alive?” he wondered aloud. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but Amy piped up regardless.

“My hammer,” she said. “It stopped us from getting crushed, but it looks like we’re trapped here. If I move it, everything will collapse onto us.”

From what he could tell, she was right. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the handle of the hammer digging into his thigh, and they did seem to be nestled in an air pocket of some kind. An involuntary shiver ran through him as he realised what would have happened had Amy not had the good sense, or skill, to pull her hammer out when she had.

Although, maybe it was all for nothing since it seemed they were stuck down here. Try as he might, he couldn’t spin dash them out of here. Not with Amy so close to him. The risk of hurting her wasn’t one he would ever take, and that meant that all he could do was sit tight.

In a small enclosed space like this, with the pair of them breathing rapidly, the oxygen wasn’t likely to last them very long. Maybe they had hours, maybe they had minutes. Sonic had no idea how long he’d been out to gauge the situation.

“How long have we been down here?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a while, maybe not? I think I fell asleep or something … I can’t remember.” There was a momentary pause in her train of thought before she called his name again, a question in the darkness. “Sonic?”

“What is it Amy?”

“How … how are we getting out?”

Her words were like a knife to the gut. He couldn’t very well tell her the truth - that this was likely it for them. That even if Tails knew where to find them, the likelihood of him getting to them under all this rubble in time was almost non-existent. If he even could that was. Who knew what havoc Eggman was unleashing on the world beyond.

He had to do something to change the subject. Anything to make the sadness fade in her final moments. If they were both to meet ends, then he would let her meet it with a smile at least. He got a bad feeling in his gut at the thought, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. He didn’t know how long they had.

“Amy,” he said after a long while, voice as gentle as silk. “There’s something you need to know.”

“Sonic?” she said softly.

It was a blessing that he couldn’t see her face. It made saying what he needed to so much easier. He almost changed his mind then, realising that duplicity probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. But if he could give her the one thing she had always proclaimed to want the most out of life, surely he could stomach it this once. For her.

“If this is it for us, then … I need you to know the truth. I, uh … I always …,” he paused. Sonic was already picturing the joy on her face, the glitter that sparkled in her eyes as he spoke his next words. “I love you Amy.”

For her.

... xxx ...

“Alright,” Tails said quietly. “I think we’ve done all we can here Sonic. Why don’t you move onto the next block and make a start there? I’ll catch up with you after my meeting with the mayor. I wanted to talk about more efficient ways to deal with…” He looked around sadly at the wreckage of what once used to be a street of homes.

“Alright bud. I’ll see you later.”

Tails forced a tight-lipped smile before hovering off in the direction of the town hall. Sonic began the short walk to the next block. There were already other people around helping to clear the rubble from the ground and Sonic joined in alongside them.

Tails.

Perhaps the only friend Sonic still had left, his brother till the very end. Tails had tried to understand what had driven him to do what he had done and held no resentment towards him, but even that hadn't stopped the sheer disappointment that had fallen over him when Sonic had told him the truth about Amy.

Amy.

Where to start with Amy Rose. The one person who had been hurt the most by him when all he'd wanted was for her to be happy. He would never forget the inconsolable despair that had dawned on her when he'd told her the truth. That everything he'd said was a lie.

He'd wanted to be honest with her when they'd realised that Eggman had failed. He hadn't wanted either of them to live a lie, so why did it feel like he was breaking into a thousand pieces anyway.

As he tossed broken beams and crumbling bricks into the large disposal unit, a delivery truck of some sort that once delivered furniture but now only delivered wreckage to a designated place outside the city, the sound of his name drew his attention.

He glanced around, only to find that the sound was coming from above him. He looked up in time to see Cream flying towards him, landing clumsy beside him. He reached a hand out to steady her.

“Sonic! We can’t find her anywhere,” Cream said breathlessly. He didn’t even need to wait for the rabbit to clarify who she was talking about, there was no way it could be anyone other than Amy.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said calmly, grabbing the rabbit by the shoulders. “Take it easy Cream. Tell me what happened?”

“That’s just it, we don’t know. Everyone saw Amy fight with you, and then she just … disappeared. I haven’t heard from her in hours and I’m really worried.”

Sonic swallowed, thinking back on their argument at the vigil. What was it she’d said again? I'm sorry I'm such a sacrifice for you. Amy knew that wasn’t true, she had to. But even still, something twisted inside him like a knot.

“Have you checked she’s not home, or at that tea shop she loves?” He wasn’t even sure the place was still standing but it was worth a shot.

“She’s not there. Believe me Sonic, I’ve checked everywhere. She was angry and wanted to be alone … I’m worried she’s gone off to do something stupid.”

Now that was a concept he was intimately familiar with. And try as he might to try and convince himself otherwise, Amy was just like him. She’d need an outlet for her pain. And since he was still standing, that meant that she’d likely gone to possibly the only other person in the world she hated more than him.

“I think I know where she is Cream. Go home and wait for me there. I don’t want you getting involved in this.”

Cream bit her lip. “She’s gone to Eggman hasn’t she?” Sonic only gave her a helpless look, hoping they were both wrong.

It took him several stops at abandoned bases before he finally found her, hacking viciously at the bots that were surrounding her. Sonic didn’t hesitate to jump in, reducing as many of Eggman’s goons to nothing but wires and sparks.

“What are you doing here!” Amy shrieked over the noise of the destruction around them. Her eyes were wild with fury and Sonic almost shrank back as she levelled them at him. He turned away while he still could, crushing another oncoming robot beneath his shoes.

“Helping you,” he fired back.

“I think it’s pretty clear I don’t need your help Sonic!” Another bot succumbed to her hammer, followed by another and another as Amy took her rage out on the metal cases that attacked them.

She was breathing heavily as the final robot fell to the ground before her, wires sparking violently, and with no more robots to attack, Amy rounded on him. She stalked up to him furiously, and he got the distinct feeling that she had been holding her feelings back earlier more for his sake than her own.

“You,” she yelled, pressing a finger to his chest. “How dare you try to help me. I have had quite enough of that and I don’t need any more of it.”

“Yes, you do,” he murmured back, half wondering if he had a death wish as Amy’s eyes flared angrily. “You don’t need to do all this to make your point Amy,” he said gesturing around them. “I hurt you, but I did it for you.”

“You don’t care about me, you just like to pretend you do to sate whatever hero complex you have going on,” she said, echoing her own words from the vigil.

“That’s not true,” Sonic said, a thread of anger coming loose. “I did what I did for you, why can’t anybody but me see that?”

The air sizzled with tension and they stared at one another helplessly, realising too late that something was casting a sinister shadow above them. Sonic felt a sudden spark at his back and was conscious long enough to see the shock on Amy’s face before he fell face first into the dark void of unconsciousness.

[azozzoni]

Red Thread of Fate

Request by Anon (it got too long to respond to the ask, soz): There's a supernatural agency in Rome that makes sure lovers meet and get close for long enough to fall for each other. Any obstacles to that are handled by the agents, who gently meddle with reality to steer their humans. Two agents are assigned to Martino and Niccolò. Theirs is a 'red thread' case, with the highest priority. But the agents keep making little screw-ups (not delaying Maddi when Martino is having carbonara with Nico, not keeping Renato busy, etc) that pile up until the red thread almost snaps on Friday night. Now they see both their charges are alone and miserable, and they have to find a way out.

—

((So this got long and a little odd, but okay))

---

“This is bad,” Pip said, flitting around in a circle, and if he had fingernails, he’d be chewing them right now. “Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.”

“What are you on about, Pip?” Pop buzzed up next to him, about ready to smack the other agent for being so annoying. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten paired with Pip for this mission, but he was going crazy.

“The string!” Pip cried, pointing, up at the thousands of red strings criss-crossing above them. Some hummed gently. Others glowed. But the one Pip was pointing to seemed to be vibrating, pulled so tight it was a second from snapping.

Pop’s eyes widened and he buzzed right up to Pip, shaking his tiny little shoulders. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” Pip yelped, wings fluttering madly behind his head. “Who’s the one who didn’t keep that guard busy at the pool?”

“At least I put honey in the fridge instead of forgetting to make Maddalena’s train late!”

“I was overriden!” Pip cried, glowing red with anger. “There was another string on the train.”

Pop didn’t want to hear it. “What are we going to do? If that string breaks, that’s it for them! No fated ending. No way back to each other. And did you forget? We get downgraded to schoolgirl crushes!”

“Not schoolgirl crushes,” Pip moaned, eyes widening fearfully. Schoolgirl crushes took thousands of hours of energy and never had any results. Busy work, that was what it was, and Pop would not be resigned to it. He would fix Niccolo and Martino if it was the last thing he did.

“Pull yourself together, Pip,” Pop said, forcing Pip to stop flitting around in a circle, making him dizzy. He grabbed onto his wing and Pip jerked back. “Maybe it’s not as bad as we think. Maybe the string’s just been up there too long.”

Pip nodded, as though Pop’s words were soothing him. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Pop was not going to be demoted, not because of Pip, and he wasn’t going to lose a red string. He never had before and he wasn’t going to start now.

“Let’s go check first,” he said, calmly, even though he felt like strangling the tiny little agent. Or maybe ripping off a wing. Whichever. “And then we’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, yes, good idea,” Pip said, his nervous fluttering only grating on Pop’s nerves. Next time, he was going to request a different partner.

*

“See?” Pop whispered as he squeezed through the minuscule gap in the window and was nearly knocked off the ledge a second later as Pip came through behind him and practically ran right into him. “He’s fine.”

He gestured down at where Martino sat on the couch, his friends laughing and playing video games around him. Pip buzzed off the window, and Pop followed, fluttering onto the arm rest and peering up at Martino.

“He doesn’t look fine,” Pip said, and Pop frowned at the lines on Martino’s face, the downturn to his mouth.

Martino’s phone pinged, the screen lighting up. Martino yanked it up, too eager, only for his face to fall when he read it.

“Is it him?” Gio asked, turning immediately to Martino, controller loose in his hand.

Martino shook his head, tucking the phone away. “Just a notification.” He sighed, and Pop pressed his hands to his face. This was a disaster. “I told you he wouldn’t. He has a girlfriend.”

“Why isn’t he texting back?” Pop demanded.

“I thought he broke up with Maddalena,” Pip said. “I made her phone die so she couldn’t contact him after the pool.”

Pop turned to him. “Which phone did you turn off?”

“The one that looks like a tiny blue brick.”

“That is Niccolo’s phone, you idiot,” Pop said. “He didn’t text Martino back all weekend.”

“Oh,” Pip said, face falling.

“We have to fix this,” Pop said, grabbing Pip by the arm and hauling him up, back to the windowsill. “We have to go find Niccolo. Come on.” Together, they squeezed out the window and dashed off into the night.

*

They found Niccolo at the train station, rereading Martino’s words on his tiny phone screen.

I’m at Gio’s aunt’s house. Don’t come here if you don’t want to talk.

“What’s he waiting for?” Pip asked as they stood on the ticket machine, watching Niccolo pace in front of them, as though he wasn’t sure what to do.

“We need a sign,” Pop said, looking around, trying to think. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers and a brochure appeared in his hands, a picture of a beautiful lake on the cover with the words, “Where all your dreams come true” underneath it.

Flitting down, Pop dropped it just behind Nico, darting back up to the machine to watch as Nico turned around, pausing as his eyes fell on the brochure.

Stooping down, Niccolo picked it up, staring at the cover, brows creased.

“Do you think it’s enough?” Pip whispered, clutching at Pop’s wing, and Pop shook him off.

“Have a little faith.” He watched with bated breath as Niccolo stared too long at the paper, and Pop could almost feel the string stretching, tightening. If he didn’t… if Nico chose not to… It was goodbye red strings and hello celebrity crushes and boys with ugly haircuts.

Finally, Nico looked up and stepped swiftly over to the ticket machine, as if he’d made up his mind.

“We need an express,” Pop said, snapping his fingers, and an express train popped up on the screen. “Leaves in four minutes. Perfect.” A train whistle blew in the distance.

“Should we check on the string?” Pip asked as they followed alongside Nico as he ran for the train, sliding in just before the doors shut.

“No,” Pop said firmly, settling in on the seat back behind Nico. “We’re going to see this through.”

*

They followed Niccolo all the way from the train station to the house where Martino was still inside. Through the window, Pop could see the boys lounging around, the table covered in beer bottles.

“Knock!” Pip hissed in Niccolo’s ear, even though Niccolo couldn’t hear him.

Nico hesitated a second before raising a fist and knocking on the door. Pop watched as Martino pushed himself up, staring out the window, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of Martino.

Pop squeezed his way inside as Martino yanked Elia off the couch.

“You have to leave,” Martino hissed, shoving Elia towards the door. Pop pushed the table aside so that Elia didn’t trip over it and land flat on his face. “Everybody go, now!”

“I want to meet this guy,” Gio said, craning to look out the window, but Martino was already shoving him and Luca towards the back door.

“Please, Gio, just for tonight,” Martino said, pleading with his eyes, and Gio made a face.

“Okay, but you owe me,” he said, and Pop shoved the boys’ shoes toward the back door, stopping the door from slamming shut on Luca’s face and giving him a bloody nose, which would have surely put a damper on the evening.

Panting, Pop flitted back to the window, watching Martino yank his sweatshirt straight and take a deep breath before opening the door.

Pip zoomed inside, grabbing onto Pop’s wing and holding on for dear life. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Shut up!”

Martino and Nico stood in the doorway, neither saying anything for too long, and Pop’s heart began to beat faster, a nervous pounding inside his body.

“Hi,” Nico said finally, and Martino hesitated. Pop could hear his own heartbeat now, and he didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous with a charge. No one had ever taken this much work before.

He blamed Pip.

“Hi,” Marti said at length and they didn’t move from the doorway.

“Say something else!” Pip whispered, practically vibrating, starting to glow blue.

“What are you doing here?” Martino asked, still frowning, still looking unhappy somehow. Pop didn’t understand it. Nico was there. He’d come all that way.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Nico said, chin falling down but his eyes drifting up, almost hopeful.

Martino nodded. “I did.”

Nico tried for a smile. “I know you know about Maddie. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Martino asked, taking a step closer, and Pop thought his heart might explode from the anxiety these two were causing. Maybe he should have been in the schoolgirl crush division.

Nico raised his head, meeting Martino’s eyes. “For being confusing. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to be with you.”

“What about Maddie?” Martino asked, and Pop shuddered at the tension filling the room. These two were certainly not making his job easy, and neither was Pip, practically crushing his wing.

“Will you let go?” he hissed, pushing at Pip.

“It’s over with Maddie,” Nico said, swallowing. “For good.”

Pop felt the electricity in the air, the crackle, the hum that filled the room two seconds before Martino stepped forward and kissed Nico, dragging him inside, stumbling over the step.

Pop darted forward and pulled Martino’s shoes out of the way as they walked backwards, keeping them from falling. These two were going to be the death of him, or his career. Whichever came first.

“We did it!” Pip cried, bouncing around on the windowsill. Pop let out a breath, deflating slightly and turning from where Niccolo had Martino pinned against the wall.

“We did,” he said, relieved. He knew when they got back, the string would be fine, maybe even humming if they were lucky. And their jobs would be safe for another day. As long as Martino and Niccolo didn’t do anything stupid, their string would be fine, and that was just how it should be.

[whatarubberchicken]

AU YEAH August - 13 - Fake Dating

@auyeahaugust

Again, I am late. I have no excuses, other than I needed a couple personal days.

Part 1 - Part 2

Of Sun and Sea – Part Three

“So, does your dad know you’re a mermaid?”

Marinette—Princess Marinette—snorted in laughter. “Since he had to sign a marriage contract with the Sea King to marry my mother, yeah,” she said drolly.

“You know, for a mermaid, you’ve got a pretty dry sense of humor.”

She rolled her eyes at him, then continued rifling through a large chest of clothes, looking for a change. She’d taken one look at him standing outside her door, and decided he was in no condition to meet her father. “Here,” she said, tossing him an undershirt.

Adrien took it, marveling for a second at its quality. It was certainly better than what he was currently wearing, especially since it wasn’t stiff from the sea water of yesterday’s adventure.

“Should I be worried that you have men’s clothing in your room?” he asked jokingly. She made a face at him and tossed him some pants as well.

“Making clothes is a hobby of mine,” she explained, bringing over a gorgeous green vest with gold and black trim. She held it against him, measuring for a moment, before nodding and handing it to him. Adrien gaped at the fine material. His father would be so jealous!

“Once I get your measurements, I can make you something even better.”

“This-this is beautiful,” Adrien murmured, tracing gold threads. Unless he was mistaken, the cut of the fabric and the emphasis of the lines would make his shoulders appear broader and his waist small, maybe even making him look taller! And the color would accentuate his eyes. He’d certainly be able to keep his head high wearing this! “You’re really talented, princess!”

Marinette blushed and waved him to a corner that was obviously her dressing area, complete with divider for privacy. “Just go get changed,” she said, turning away. “We need to go meet with my father and tell him what happened.”

Adrien obeyed.

“So, when you’re not swimming around in the ocean and saving hapless men from drowning, you make clothes?” he quipped, trying to put her at ease with more conversation while he changed.

“It’s relaxing.”

He gave a little laugh of his own. “Seriously? My father’s tailors always looked nervous and on-edge whenever I saw them.”

“Hmm,” she said, obviously thinking about something. “Does your father yell at them? Threaten them? Tell them they were worthless?”

Adrien blinked as he pulled his new shirt on. Every time, actually. Huh, he’d never really thought about it until now. Father had certainly never complemented their work. It was either “acceptable” or not.

“When did you meet my father, princess?” he joked.

“Never,” she said seriously. “And I probably never will. But we heard enough from our spies to figure out what kind of man King Gabriel was.”

Adrien finished dressing and stepped out. “You spied on us?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Marinette gave him another dry stare. “My father wasn’t going to marry off his only daughter to someone we knew nothing about.”

Adrien had to give her that. His father had probably spied on her family as well.

She stepped up to him and adjusted his vest, so it sat better on his shoulders. “It’s why we didn’t put in a bid for your older brother,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “While he’s not as bad as your father, I’d heard that he could be a bit… disagreeable at times.”

“Felix isn’t—!” Adrien paused, because yes, his brother could be a bit of a jerk when he felt like it. “That’s why you wanted me?” he asked glumly. “Because I’m someone who’s nice? Someone who’ll let you walk all over me all the time? That’s what you want?”

“Honestly?” she gave a little giggle and looked up at him again, eyes shining. “I didn’t think your father would agree to it in the first place! Especially not when I insisted we live here instead of your country. I thought making a choice would get my father off my back about marrying. And then, when mean-ol’-King-Gabriel came back with a ‘no,’ I could go back to my swimming and sewing. You were supposedly the Golden Child. The Apple of his Eye. The prince whom Gabriel had locked in his palace, never to share with the rest of the world.”

Adrien found himself gaping at her again. It was true, all of it. He’d been locked up all his life. It was why he hadn’t complained when his father had announced his engagement to a princess he’d never even seen before. He’d been so happy to just get out of the palace….

“But, now that you’re here, I’m going to have to change my plans somewhat,” Marinette added.

“Please don’t send me back,” Adrien pleaded instantly.

She blinked at him, a bit startled. Then her face softened and she smiled.

“No, I’m not going to send you back, Adrien. Then Papa will just try to find me another prince to marry. I certainly don’t want that,” she shuddered.

“What do you want?” he asked, genuinely curious.  

“I want to see the world and have adventures,” she said, her smile growing. “I don’t want to be some shut-in princess in a tower. Even with my hobbies and patrolling the bay, it gets boring.”

He laughed, surprise and delight flooding through him. “I gotta warn you, the peasant life is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Only if you do it without a plan,” Marinette countered, playfully tweaking him on the nose. She gestured to the ring on his hand. “Master Fu told me about your misadventures at the inn.”

“Master Fu?” Adrien asked, bewildered. The princess’s eyes sparkled with laughter.

“The old begger man. He’s actually a powerful sea god who works for my grandfather, the Sea King. He likes to do tests on potential champions to see if they have what it takes to become a ‘hero for the good of the kingdom.’”

Adrien stared her for a second before holding his hand up to look at the ring again. “And I… passed?”

“According to him, even when you were at your lowest and had nothing to gain from it, you were still unerringly-kind and courteous to all,” she nodded at him appreciatively. “High praise, especially from him. I’m willing to bet that ring he gave you is no ordinary ring either, but I didn’t get the details on that.”

Someone rapped on the door and Marinette quickly stepped away from him. Adrien blushed when he realized just how close they’d been. He certainly hadn’t minded at all!

“Yes?” the princess asked, opening the door.

“The group you asked about just made it into the Great Hall. They’ve been asking for an audience with your father.”

“Delightful,” Marinette grinned. Adrien was suddenly reminded of his old stories where mermaids ate people. “We’ll be right down, but don’t introduce us. And send for some more guards and the prison warden.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the guard said, also grinning. He set off to do her bidding at a quick pace. Marinette motioned for Adrien to follow her and took his arm as soon as he stepped into the hall.

“Err, should I be worried?” he asked, wondering what plans she had in store for him now. They headed down the hall.

“Of course not,” she assured him. “Just remember to smile.”

“Smile?”

“Yes, because we’re dating and madly in love.”

Adrien sputtered a bit. “Wh-what?? But we’re already engaged! And we just met!!”

“They don’t know that. The first thing they’ll try to say is that you’re a fake. So, if I’ve already met you before all this and I ‘would know my prince anywhere,’” she battled her eyelashes at him, gazing up at him adoringly, “then, not only will their story not stick, but my father will catch on to what really happened without me having to reveal myself as a mermaid to the whole court. Plenty of people know unofficially, but nobody actually says anything, to keep my mother and me safe.”

He pondered her words for a moment. Her reasoning was solid, but still….

“They? Who’s ‘they?’ Who are you trying to trick?” he asked, just as they made it to the Great Hall. She nodded towards the large throne in the middle of the far wall.

There, in front of the king, was a familiar group weaving a loud story of how the prince they were supposed to bring here had suddenly flung himself into the ocean, how they’d tried their hardest to find him, how the captain himself had dove in after the poor boy, but there was just no saving him, boo hoo hoo…. But could they please keep the prince’s belongings as payment for their journey, since evil King Gabriel certainly wouldn’t pay them and would probably have them hanged if they tried to go back to their own country? Oh, woe is them, to have to start off fresh in a new country and nothing to show for all their gallant efforts….

“Oh, my sweet, sweet, savage Ladybug,” Adrien whispered, bringing Marinette’s hand up to his mouth to kiss. “You are ruthless.”

Marinette giggled. “Careful, now, my unlucky prince. I’ve been told I might eat you.”

Adrien fought his own laughter down. “But, my lady, I’m not made of bread!”

The princess’s whole body shook with suppressed laughter and she had to compose herself before gesturing to the herald.

“Ready for the show?” she asked, curling her arm around his own a bit more than necessary, and leaning her head on his shoulder.

Personally, Adrien didn’t think there was any need for a show. He was already madly in love with this girl who’d saved him, teased and joked with him, and offered him a life full of laughter and adventures. His heart was racing just being in her presence. But he was also determined to follow her lead, wherever that would take them. So, he nodded, and allowed his face to wear the dopiest I-am-so-in-love-with-the-girl-next-to-me smile as they stepped into the Great Hall properly.

“Announcing Princess Marinette and Prince Adrien Agreste!”

[thewoundupbird]

Random Drabble Series pt. 5/?

Her shoulder itches against the scratchy fabric of the old hanbok as she stands with a line of girls outside the camp.  The old branding scar still bothers her even though it had been a few years since Master Oh had pressed burning iron against the shoulder of a six year old.  Number 22 barely remembers who that girl is thanks to the plentiful beatings of Master Oh.  

“What is your name?”

“It’s-”

Blinding pain and a mouth full of blood.

“I said what is your name.”

“I-I don’t remember.”

She tries to steel her expression as a short rich looking man stares at the line of girls, a perfumed handkerchief pressed against his nose and mouth to lessen the stench of them all.

“Are they girls or beasts?” he grumbles to Master Oh as he gestures toward them with his purple silk robes.

“A little bit of both,” Master Oh replies with a wicked grin full of black rotting teeth.  Number 22 shudders and she hates how that evil smile widens.  All the girls standing with her shiver.

“But, Master Oh, are these really the best you have?  Whoever we choose must be able to connect with the crown princess and gain her trust.  These slaves look like they can barely pass for being human.”

Number 22’s jaw clenches and she thinks that none of them are really human at all.  Humans at least have names.

“I think you would be surprised, sir, with how capable these girls can be.  You realize that during the time that they will serve this crown princess they will be continuing their training of martial arts.  Their potential is second to none.”

The man coughs into his handkerchief and surveys the girls again.

“They will have to be capable of killing the crown princess that they serve.  These little things can do that?”

Master Oh cackles and those black teeth shine.

“That and so much more, sir.”

The man sighs and mumbles something to himself before pulling a folded fan from his sleeve.  Number 22 watches curiously at the way the wooden lacquer gleams prettily in the sunshine.  A part of her wants to reach forward and feel if it is as smooth as it seems.

And then the man’s eyes lock with hers and she ducks her head quickly, feeling a flush in her cheeks.  She’ll get a beating for this, she’s sure of it.

Suddenly smooth wood taps lightly at her chin, forcing her to look up.  She realizes the man has chosen her, one hand firmly pressing his pretty handkerchief to his mouth and the other stiffly pointing that beautiful fan at her.

“I want this one,” he mumbles through the fabric.  And Number 22 shivers.

*****

“And what are you supposed to be?”

“Her most loyal servant.”

“But where do you loyalties actually lie?”

“With the Noron faction, sir.”

Number 22 swallows as Sir Hong stops in front of her.  They are walking to the crown princess’ home, days before the official marriage ceremony for her first introduction as one of Lady Kim’s palace maids.  The preparation for this day has been a blur of endless training on palace manners, condensing what some little girls learned their whole lives into a month.  But Number 22 takes the training as similar to holding a sword.  Each bow and curtsy has to be precise and perfect or your head would be lost just like in a fight.  

“I’ve adopted you now and any mistake you make will cost me my head as well as yours.”  Number 22 bows her head as she tightens her grip on the overcoat she had pulled over her head to hide her face.  

“Yes, sir.”

“Father.”

“Yes… Father.”

Number 22 stops behind Sir Hong as he pauses in front of a gate.

“It was by a stroke of pure luck that the crown princess’ father sent his daughter’s application to the King.  They were practically paupers and now they’ll have everything.”

Number 22 says nothing as she drops her eyes to her leather slippers, foreign and far too extravagant for her own feet.  

“Your name will be Hong Byulyi.  Master Oh, gave me your old name from before.  Remember this and do not be afraid.”

Number 22 lifts her head as the gate opens and Sir Hong looks over his shoulder.

“Come Byulyi, let’s meet your new mistress.”

*****

Number 22 watches as Yongsun smiles softly at her embroidery.  Her curiosity overwhelms her and she cannot help herself.

“My lady,  what makes you smile so?”

“Because I’m almost done with this.”

“You have made many ribbons, my lady.  What makes this one so special?”

Yongsun pouts as she examines her handiwork.  

“Does this ribbon not look pretty?”

Number 22 straightens and glances at the silk.  It is a typical long strand of dark blue fabric dotted with small bunches of purple and red flowers.  Strangely at the edge of the ribbon is yellow thread bunched together in some sort of strange shape.  

“Do you like it?”

Number 22 tilts her head and leans closer, trying to see the strange shapes at the edge of the ribbon when she realizes just how close she is.  Pausing she tilts her head and sees Yongsun, a breathe away with a face flushed so red it is like she has a fever.  

“Are you alright, My Lady?” Number 22 asks curiously, watching the way Yongsun’s eyes darted this way and that.

“I-I’m fine! But the ribbon!” Yongsun eagerly waves the piece of fabric in front of Number 22’s nose.  “Do you like it?”

Byulyi leans back, ignoring the soft sigh from Yongsun.

“Yes, it’s very pretty.  But… what exactly are the things at the bottom?”

“Things?”

“Yes the… things with the yellow thread?”

And Yongsun’s face turns red again as she ducks her head.

“They’re… they’re stars.”

“Oh… I see.”

“It’s because you said you liked stars didn’t you?  That’s why I put them on here.”

“Why would you put something I like on a ribbon?”

Yongsun’s mouth puckers into a pout.  

“Because this is for you!  I was making you a ribbon.”

“You were going to give me… a gift?”

“Yes! But you obviously hate it so I should just…”

“No. No I want it.”

Number 22 reaches forward and gently holds Yongsun’s wrist, stopping her from flinging the ribbon into her desk.

“But you didn’t even like the stars…”

“I’ve never had a gift before.”  Something hammers in her chest and Number 22 is confused by why her heart feels heavy.  This is important she realizes dimly as she looks into Yongsun’s wide brown eyes.  Everything feels a little dreamy with the way the light from outside colors the room in the sleepy sunlight of springtime, softening the edges of everything.  

“Byul-ah, will you take my gift?” Yongsun asks gesturing at the ribbon on the desk.  

And Byulyi just smiles.  

*****

The Prince paces restlessly in front of her, his white sleeping robes open to reveal his chest and his pant ties loose.  He holds his sword, polished to a nearly impossible shine in his left hand while he gestures madly with his right.

“Do you know why I have called you here today?”

Byulyi swallows any sharp retort, instead bowing her head.

“I do not, Your Highness.”

She hears the sound of steel swing toward her but she forces her instincts to stop herself from ducking away and picking up whatever weapon she could find to fight back.  

The sword is pointed at her forehead, the tip barely touching her skin.  If she leans forward she’d have a bloody cut that’d inevitably scar.

“Your Highness?” she asks calmly.  Just by the way he is standing she can tell he would easily be disarmed.  

“Tell me why you think I called you here.”

“I do not know that, Your Highness.”

The prince’s face twists into a maniacal smile and he throws back his head and laughs as he reaches for the bottle of liquor on his lacquer study table.

“They say I’m crazy you know,” he rambles with a grin, pointing the sword lazily at Byulyi as he takes a generous swig from the porcelain bottle.

“My father… my father has always hated me since I was small.  Never had a chance to prove myself…. prove myself to HIM. HE NEVER LET HIMSELF LOVE ME THE WAY HE SHOULD HAVE!  He… he…”  The prince’s eyes were wet with tears and he looks at her like the little boy he was.  Byulyi can almost forget yesterday and the way Yongsun had screamed as he had brought a head of a decapitated eunuch, like a cat proudly dragging a mouse to its master.  

“Your Highness.”

“I know. That you love her.”

“Your Highness?”

The prince smiles darkly and dropped his sword with a clatter and rushes toward her.  He grips her collar and he is too close with his breath hot and smelling like madness and rice wine.  

“I see your eyes.  I see the way they follow her.”

Byulyi’s jaw twitches and she fights the urge to twist his wrist and flip him onto his back.

“Whatever do you mean, Your Highness?”

“Is there… is there a part of you that hopes that I’ll die? So that you can have her all to yourself?”

“Your Highness. What are you talking about?”

“She is quite wonderful you know.  If I wasn’t so stressed by my father maybe we would have more children.  Yongsun… Yongsun is so soft and her taste-”

Byulyi doesn’t realize that she has the crown prince on his back with her hand on his throat until she hears the shatter of the porcelain wine bottle.  She sees him smile up at her like some idiot and she wants to just squeeze and squeeze until she can’t see his triumphant eyes anymore.  

“I won’t tell anyone,” he teases with a giggle. “But only because no one would believe me if I did!”

Byulyi staggers tripping on her skirts and collapsing next to the prince who still lies on his back grinning at the ceiling.

“You can go, Court Lady Hong,” he cheerfully says after a long silence.  “Get back to my wife safely.  I’m sure she’s terribly lonely without you!”

[beatricethecat2]

backstairs affairs

I scribbled the bones of this when I was desperate for a break while on a crazy work deadline. Now that I’m free(er), I’ve honed in on it as a fun thing to finish, as it’s a truly a silly piece of fluff. It could use more shaping but I'm putting it up anyway.

Timeframe: Vague mid/late season 4. Instinct never happened. Leena’s still with us. Claudia’s Caretaker. B&W are an established thing. Sorry for typos!

////////////////////

Myka enters the B&B dressed in full winter regalia, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold out. She drops her keys in a bowl in the foyer and begins brushing snow off her jacket, but slows to a stop as a low, muffled groan draws her attention. When the groan swells in volume, she jettisons her jacket and boots and hurries down the hall to the living room.

“Stop moving," she says, eyes scanning a horizontal Helena as she shifts on the couch. "Let me help you.” She kneels down and gently lifts Helena’s arm, the one in a sling, then rearranges the blanket and pillow underneath. “Where's Claudia?"

"Caretaker," Helena says, her non-restrained hand wafting in the air as if blown upward by a puff of wind, then flopping down limply, as if the wind abruptly stopped.

Myka meets Helena’s gaze, but Helena’s eyes never fully focus, instead loll past her towards the glowing screen beyond. Myka looks over her shoulder to see what’s there.

“What are you watching?"

“Some nonsense Claudia put on. ‘Easy to follow in my condition,' she said."

“Why’s the sound off?"

“Is it?"

Myka looks at Helena and quirks a brow. Helena is on hardcore painkillers, but she's too fixated on the show to not notice the sound's missing. She twists at the waist toward the TV and watches for a few beats, then turns all the way around and sides to the floor, leaning her back against the couch.

As the action unfolds, she sees why Claudia put his show on. “Easy to follow" has little to do with it; the sultry-eyed, pouty-lipped, shoot-from-the-hip protagonist swaggering across the screen has more. When Helena returned from astrolabe duty, it became quickly apparent there was a type of show she’d become addicted to: the female fronted police drama. Not only the show itself but a specific female character, always wronged in some way and fighting tooth and nail for what’s right. Such a stereotype in this modern age, a cardboard cut-out to fit into a plot, but Helena said the repetition fascinates her, each heroine’s motivations different in some way. Claudia says it's because they remind Helena of Myka, but Myka sees little resemblance.

In this instance, an attractive, dark blonde is dressed in a too-casual-for-this-event but hot-for-her dress and is holding hands with an with an impeccably suited, broad shouldered, roguishly handsome man that accents her nicely. They chat with each other while walking down an ornately decorated, red carpeted hallway, into what looks like an office or den. The man closes the door and abruptly pins the woman to the wall in what first appears to be rough flirtation, but the shot cuts to her wrists, which strain to break free as he cuffs them too tightly. He sneers as he speaks and the woman laughs at whatever he said, then she knees him in the groin. A fight ensues, one over dominance rather than escape.

“That’s impossible in those shoes,” Helena huffs, breaking Myka’s concentration.

"You wear heels in the field sometimes."

“Boots, darling, not stilettos."

“That's a stunt double anyway."

“Really?” Helena says, craning her neck and squinting as if it will allow her to see the switching of bodies. “How disappointing. And misleading to those choosing a career in government.”

Myka snickers, and pulls a corner of Helena blanket around her shoulders. They fall silent while watching the scene continue.

The woman is overpowered, and tied to a chair, then beaten while being questioned by the man. During a lull in the interrogation, she hangs her head and spits blood from her mouth, then looks up and smiles devilishly at her captor. Just then the door busts open.

"Oh, no. Not Johnny No-face again,” Helena mumbles.

"Johnny who?"

"Claudia’s moniker. Stereotypical male stepping in to save the day. Love interest of the pretty blonde."

"You think she's pretty?” Myka says, focusing the blonde. Blood drips from a cut on her forehead, but her hair is somehow perfectly arranged.

“I find her eyes expressive, captivatingly doe-like. Quite like your own."

“My eyes aren’t…they’re not doe-like,” Myka says, turning toward Helena.

“Lost in an emerald sea so deep, I’m wont to look away.”

Myka knows Helena is talking about her, not the blonde, but still…where is this coming from? Helena's gaze is glazed over, but the look in her eyes is adoring enough it elicits a half smile from Myka.

Satisfied with Myka's gesture, Helena's eyes drift back to the TV, and Myka turns around, analyzing the scene in front of her. The interrogator now lies in a lump on the floor, unconscious, while Johnny No-face talks to the woman, still bound in the chair. She studies the woman for a minute, then looks at the man.

"Is he more your type?” Helena asks.

Myka flinches. Damnit! The last time they went through this, it was awkward enough for a lifetime. No need to rehash.

The blonde holds up a pair of handcuffs, and from the look on her face, she broke out of them before the man arrived.

"Look, she was handcuffed. She seems pretty capable otherwise. She would have gotten out on her own, without the dude.”

"Like you would have, had I not interfered?"

Myka flinches again. Not the change of topic she was hoping for. “We’ve gone through this," Myka says, wondering what in her tone set Helena down this path.

“I saved you from that artifact."

“You fell down the stairs and took me with you. And I fell on top of you. Now your shoulder's dislocated, and your ribs are bruised. We’re lucky things weren’t worse.”

Myka braces for an argument but Helena's attention flicks back to the screen. She studies Helena, thinking “lack of follow through” is an attribute to add to the list of side effects from Helena’s drugs. Not that she's complaining, it’s just odd.

On the TV, the pretty blonde now sits at a table, surveilling a long haired brunette stationed at a different table, spying on a bottled blonde in a lab coat, camped out at yet another table.

“Intriguing,” Helena says.

“Who’s the brunette?”

“The blonde’s notes on her are written in Cyrillic.”

“Which blonde?”

“The pretty one."

"Talk about stereotypical,” Myka huffs.

"What if they’re lovers?”

“Who?”

“The brunette and the pretty blonde."

“Not on a show like this."

“Why ever not?”

“Uh…” Myka’s mind fills with a flurry of lame but institutionalized excuses. “There’s the Cold War for one. And the blonde's probably dating that guy...”

“Johnny No-face.”

“Yeah. So she wouldn’t…well, typically…switch teams.”

“How unfortunate,” Helena grumbles.

Helena slumps down in the couch, obviously disappointed by Myka’s statement. Myka worries that in Helena’s mercurial state, a familiar diatribe may be on the horizon, the one on how disappointing the twenty-first century's been where sexuality’s concerned.

“Why don’t we make up stuff. Like, play the parts ourselves. I'll be the blonde; you be the brunette,” she says, purposefully steering the conversation somewhere else. "I’m...defending my country, while you’re…stealing secret plans."

“You’ve already indicated they’re meant to be enemies. I’ve no desire to portray such roles.”

“Couldn’t they be enemies and lovers?”

Myka shifts and looks up at Helena, utilizing the doe-eyes she’s been told she’s in possession of.

“Da,” Helena says, and smiles dozily, draping her good arm around Myka’s shoulders.

“Don’t do the accent,” she says, cringing at the sound.

“I’m meant to be Russian, and I not?"

“Yeah, but, it’s…just, don't.” Myka hadn’t realized Helena feigning an accent would chillingly remind her of Emily Lake.

"Let’s watch some more,” Myka says, placing her hand over Helena’s and lacing her fingers through. They look back at the screen in tandem and see the brunette and pretty blonde sitting at the table together, conspiring over something unknown.

"They've met time and time again, throughout many empires and continents. They're destined to be together; intimately acquainted, yet their superiors haven’t a clue they’re involved.” Helena's voice deepens and formalizes, her words sounding like a voice over from a movie trailer.

Myka absently nods at Helena and studies the pair on the screen. They’ve tracked down the man, the one previously knocked out by Johnny No-face, and have tied him to a chair.

“Do you think I could be a spy?” Myka asks.

“You? No,” Helena scoffs.

“Why not?"

“You’re far too earnest."

“No, I’m not."

“You’d never perform a bludgeoning such as that.”

“She’s just slapping him around a little….oof,” Myka says, squeezing Helena’s hand and closing her eyes as the brunette shoots the man in the knee.

“That’s why you could never be a spy."

"I’m not going to shoot someone just to get information."

“You’ve never been tempted?"

“Well, Pete, but mostly to shut him up.” Myka laughs at her own joke, and her laugh ends in a snort.

The blonde and brunette smile at each other as they talk, their body language much friendlier than before. They divvy up papers found in the (now dead) man's (shot) open briefcase.

“After this, they'll tumble madly into bed, and Johnny whots-its will all but forgotten,” Helena says.

“TV doesn’t work that way,” Myka laments, shaking her head.

“One can dream,” Helena says, tensing her arm around Myka’s neck, hugging her close.

As the show cuts to a secondary plot thread, Myka's gaze wanders towards the coffee table.

"How many pills did you take?” she asks at the sight of several open bottles.

"All of them."

“Helena!"

"Claudia disbursed them before she...”

Helena’s arm, the one in a sling, lifts as if to waft in the air at the mention of Claudia. Myka places her hand on top and guides it back down before it rises too far. In the process, she turns her wrist to check the time and scowls at her watch. It’s too early for drugs. No wonder Helena’s out of it.

“Marvelous inventions, these pills, much better than opium."

“Opium?"

“You’re marvelous as well. Much prettier than that pretty blonde." Helena lifts up and leans forward to kiss Myka but jerks back in pain before she reaches her target.

“Easy there,” Myka says, fussing with Helena’s placement on the couch. “You just got out of the hospital."

"Did I? I can’t recall."

Sooo out of it, Myka thinks and smiles while completing Helena’s kiss. She settles back into place in front of the couch and reorients Helena’s good arm where it previously was resting and turns her attentions back to the TV.

“Wow. That was quick. The Russian’s dead.”

“No,” Helena says, sounding genuinely concerned. “Let’s hope our heroine's allowed time to mourn the death of her timeless lover."

“Uh-uh,” Myka says, squinting at the screen. “She’s not in Europe anymore. South America, I think."

“These spies are certainly…well…traveled,” Helena says, her words slowing as she yawns.

“So are we,” Myka says. “And we serve our country, just like them. But I like our job better."

Helena’s hand goes limp and slips from Myka's shoulder, falling to rest over her chest. Myka glances up at Helena and smiles; she’s fallen asleep.

“I like coming home to you, even if you think you saved me when you didn’t,” Myka says. She threads a lock of Helena’s hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead.

When she turns back to the screen, the pretty blonde is "getting it on" with Johnny No-face. She missed that transition, not that she really cares, but for some reason, she finds the proceedings hard to watch. Maybe it’s the way the scene is cut, or the lack of chemistry between actors, but the whole scenario looks forced upon the plot. She clicks the remote to read the show summary, and it begins, “In this fifth and final season....”

Typical, she thinks, and turns off the TV.

“I don’t know what I’m going do with you when the drugs wear off,” she says, quietly, as she turns toward Helena. But you’re so adorable right now, asleep, I don’t care. Helena makes a tiny, equally adorable noise as if responding to Myka's thought, and Myka combs her fingers through Helena's hair.

Maybe we’ll play spies one day, just for fun. You’d have to be English, though, like, 'James Bond’ English, without the sexist and trope-y stuff. And I could be…does Canada have spies?

[incomplete-nano-stash]

Time Wolf - Chapter 8

               One thing Stephen absolutely hated was crying himself to sleep. It never felt comfortable, certainly not suitably manly. It felt very immature, but all the same the sleep was welcome. Stephen slowly moved his arms and legs, finding them comfortably wrapped in blankets. He dared to open his eyes.

               He was in a comfortable bed, in a darkened room. Vague shadows on the walls let him know that it was a child’s room, as he saw shelves with toys and books, and a large poster of a group of cartoon characters. He took a deep breath, turned his head, and spotted the figure sitting next to him.

               “You’re awake,” Laricia gently whispered, a smile on her face.

               Stephen groaned slightly. “I guess so.” He sat up, every muscle in his body feeling on the verge of cramping. “How did I get here?”

              Laricia sighed. “You kind of cried yourself to sleep.” She reached over and brushed hair away from Stephen’s forehead. “You’ve been asleep for the better part of a day. We’ve been taking shifts keeping an eye on you and distracting the Wolf soldiers.”

               Stephen nodded. “I can understand that.” He rubbed the muscles of his neck. “What about my TX-31?”

               “It’s still safe, in the basement.” Laricia reached for the table next to her. “Here, drink this. Dr. Bea thinks you might be dehydrated.”

               That wasn’t too much of a stretch. Stephen took the glass and chugged it, feeling his stomach cramp slightly. How long had it been since he had drunk anything? “Thank you.”

               “You’re welcome.” Laricia stood up and opened the closet. Inside, several matching large outfits hung, all similar to the outfits that everyone in this time wore, single-piece jumpsuits lined with circuit markings.

               “Can I ask you something?” Stephen coughed to clear his throat. “How did you come to be with Underwood … um, Ian … and wind up marrying him?”

               Laricia sighed, pulling a suit from the closet. “It’s a long story, I’m not sure how interested you would be …”

               “Laricia, I’m a time traveler. I don’t care how long the story is, I’m interested.” Stephen’s voice took an almost playful tone. “So tell me, what’s the story?”

               She looked almost bashful in the low light as she returned to the side of the bed. The chair reappeared from the back of the suit, allowing her to sit down. “Well, it starts about eight years ago or so. I had some … trouble at home. My mom had just died, and my dad and I were coming to blows on a daily basis. We were virtual enemies living under the same roof.”

               Stephen nodded, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “That can be rough.”

               “You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, one thing led to another, and pretty soon Dad was confronting my best friend, preventing her from coming to visit, making her life a living hell along with mine. Finally I decided enough was enough. I left home. Left everything I had behind, just up and ran out in the middle of the night and never looked back.”

               “Does he miss you? Do you think he does?”

               Laricia smirked. “I wish. More like, does he even notice I’m gone? I doubt that, very much. He spends too much time with his work, too much time controlling everything and everybody around him, that he neglects those close to him. Truth be told, that’s one of the reasons why my mother died, because he couldn’t control her.”

               Stephen put a hand on her shoulder. Laricia seemed to jump at the gesture. ”I can understand that. My parents didn’t get along, so they divorced, and I had the same kinds of conflicts with my mother.”

               Laricia smiled gently. “Thank you for the sympathy.” She placed her hand on Stephen’s. “I just … I’m not sure how much you’ll have if I tell you everything, so you’ll forgive me if I leave it at this?”

               “Of course,” Stephen nodded. “It’s your story after all, I don’t have any right to ask you to make yourself uncomfortable.”

               “I appreciate it.” Laricia smiled and stood up, the chair retracting into her suit. “Now, we need to get you dressed for the time period. Here.” She held the suit up for Stephen.

               Stephen sat up gently in bed, allowing the blanket to fall off of his body. To his surprise he was shirtless. He lifted the blanket gently and quickly discovered he was pants-less, too. “Oh God, I’m naked!”

               Laricia looked at him with her head skewed slightly. “Is that a problem?”

               “Well yeah, I don’t want to be naked in the room with another man’s wife!” Stephen felt himself blush madly.

               “It’s all right. Nothing I haven’t seen before, trust me.” She pulled the rest of the blankets off of Stephen, who scrambled to cover himself. “Here, take this and put it on.”

               She tossed the suit to Stephen, who instinctively raised his hands to catch it, covering himself up with the crumpled mass of fabric. When he felt fully covered, however, he allowed himself to truly feel the texture of the suit. It felt … metallic? “What is this?”

               “Oh, we never told you about this. It’s the Model 85NF adaptable life-suit. It caters to every need you have, thanks to the fibers being impregnated with 70 million nanomachines per thread.”

               Way beyond what they could have conceived in his time, Stephen thought. Just as he did, the suit seemed to melt on his crotch, eventually crawling over every exposed inch of his body. He involuntarily stood up, feeling the creeping sensations tickling across his buttocks, eventually leaving him totally encased in the suit.

               “Now just a minute …”

               “Neat, isn’t it?” Laricia seemed way too happy about the suits. “Now you have every need whenever you need it, apart from food of course.”

               Stephen gave a concerned look toward Laricia, then ran his hands up and down his body. The nanomachine fibers felt almost like cotton, except for the vaguely metallic sensations they sent through his fingertips. Experimentally, he lowered into a slight crouch, and was highly shocked to feel the machines re-adjust and create a chair for him, just the right size, much as they had created one for Laricia.

               “Amazing.” Stephen smiled for the first time in a while. New technology always did that to him.

               “Isn’t it?” Laricia took Stephen’s hand. “Come on, we have breakfast for you downstairs.”

               Laricia wasn’t kidding. A huge breakfast spread lay on the table before him, with eggs, pancakes, waffles, bacon, sausage, oatmeal, and an unidentifiable blue mass in a bowl. Stephen entered a crouch and once again felt the chair form off of his butt. That would take some getting used to.

               Ian and Dr. Bea entered the room, sitting down at the table themselves and digging into the meal alongside Stephen and Laricia. For nearly twenty minutes, the four of them ate in silence, trying to fill their bellies to account for the emptiness of the time.

               Stephen finally raised a question above all of the munching. “Dr. Bea, you mentioned revenge in the car. What do you want revenge for?”

               Dr. Bea nearly choked on her bite of waffle, then swallowed hard. “I want to get to Mr. Rockford, it’s the only reason why I’m at Wolf.”

               Ian and Laricia looked at each other knowingly, as Stephen questioned again. “But why?”

               Dr. Bea’s face grew cold. “He killed my husband. The bastard used my husband as a test subject when he created the upgrade to the TX-31.”

               That suit was starting to look like the root of every trouble in this future world. “Okay, he only told me the positive while I was trapped in his office. Would someone mind telling me how much the TX-31 completely screwed over society? I think I have a right to know.”

               The three residents of the time period shared glances, but finally Ian spoke up, his face clear and eyes focused on the time traveler among them. “Stephen, this account is entirely secret. Anyone knows that you know this, you’ll be dead, so keep it under your hat. Got it?”

               Stephen nodded. “On my honor.”

               “That’s a good Boy Scout,” Ian chuckled. “Now then, he probably showed you the debut of the TX-31 at a defense industry conference. That’s in May of 2044. By the next year, orders for the TX-31 surpass anything Wolf Technologies has ever seen, and they need to expand their operations in order to meet the demand. So they build facilities in four cities. In addition to their original plant here in Boulder, they build a northeast plant near Boston, a northwest plant in Seattle, a southwest plant around Phoenix, and a southeast plant in Alabama. All five plants are producing TX-31s by the end of 2046.”

               Stephen felt his blood chill. He tried to ease the sensation by grabbing more pancakes.

               “The problem that occurs is that Wolf Technologies is taking TX-31 orders from all corners of the globe. Including filling orders for opposing sides in armed conflicts. As a result, every war has at least one time brigade on each side.”

               “You told me about the time brigades,” Stephen interjected.

               “Yes, but I didn’t tell you their tactics. The time brigades are supposed to go back in time, find world leaders, and assassinate them. They do this by going back to the origins of the units that rise to confront them, thereby eliminating their resistance, and then traveling to do the deed. And you can probably guess what weapon they use to do it.”

               Stephen shuddered. “The upgrade?”

               Dr. Bea nodded. “Eventually, so many world leaders have been neutralized in this manner that the world has no government at all. Anarchy reigns. At least for a few months, until … well, you step in to create order once again. You call for an international stockholders meeting for Wolf Technologies, during which you outline your plans to govern in the absence of legal governments.”

               “The proposal is unanimously passed,” Ian continued. “Eventually, the Wolf Technologies CEO is installed as essentially the king of the world. Once in power, you manipulate things to stay in power. The very first thing you do is confiscate all technology that could possibly be militarized. That includes every stray TX-31 suit out there. That’s not to say you get them all, though.”

               Dr. Bea nodded again. “A few pockets of resistance to the Wolf Technologies power grab hid away a stash of TX-31 suits and plotted to go back in time, attack Wolf Technologies, and prevent the creation of the TX-31 in the first place.”

               Memories flooded back to Stephen’s mind. The attack on the facility … were those the time travelers, forming a time brigade and trying to prevent all of this? “I assume, then, since we’re here, that the attacks are unsuccessful?”

               “We’re not sure,” Laricia pipes up.

               Stephen gave a confused look. “But … we exist here, right?”

               “That’s true,” Ian responded, “but how do we know that this timeline isn’t an alternate one? How do we know that there aren’t multiple timelines out there, each one with a different outcome to that attack? We don’t. So we continue to live in not-so-blissful ignorance of any existence in which Wolf Technologies was struck down before its prime. Nobody here will ever know how the attacks go. No one will see the success.”

               Stephen smirked. “So while we’re living in Schrödinger’s Universe, what are we supposed to do to stop … me?”

               “That’s the problem,” Dr. Bea contributed. “The two of us are the smartest of the rebels left, and we haven’t got a clue how to proceed.”

               “We were hoping a third perspective from an engineer would help.” Ian stood up and placed a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “We need you, Stephen. Help us.”

               Stephen sighed, looking around the room. Laricia looked about ready to cry. Dr. Bea, while not explicitly pleading in her face, was nonetheless concerned, awaiting an answer. Closest to him, Ian’s eyes took on a dark air of desperation.

               The time traveler sighed deeply. “You got me.”