#and out of the blue. completely out of nowhere without any precedence

[headfullof-ideas]

When the kids you’ve grown up with, even if you didn’t initially like them, just up and leave on the backs of dragons after that weirdo kid who got exiled, and now you’ve been left behind with your thoughts

Spat this out in about thirty minutes, but i wanted to draw Astrid sulking because i almost made a paragraph in the tags of my last post about her feelings about everything. So i drew this and made an essay in the tags on this one instead (edit: tap for better quality)

[todoscript]

Syndicate — [ 1 ]

Parts | one ; two ; three

Genre | Mafia AU / Anti-Villain AU.

Pairing(s) | MafiaBosses!TodoBakuDeku x Fem!Reader

Rating | Mature

Words | 5.2k+

Summary | Being the lover of, not one, but three influential young men, who are the leaders of the most wanted crime syndicate in Japan, it is no surprise that other eyes are watching you beyond the three’s own.

Warnings | Violence. Cursing/crude language. Guns. Mafia talk/“negotiating”. Lots of fighting. Reader is inspired by the femme fatale archetype. Polyamorous relationship. Characters are aged-up. Sexual undertones/implied sexual content. Possessiveness. Heavily self-indulgent. Written in 3rd POV. Shouto’s “codename” is Mercury (b/c the planet is both half-hot and half-cold lol).

Author’s Notes | Hello all! This is the first ever fanfic I’ve posted on tumblr! Sorry, the idea was lingering in my head until I suddenly felt the burst of energy to start writing this out of nowhere in the dead of 3AM. I’ve written fanfiction before but I’ve never published anything for tumblr so this is exciting.

The air is still, nearly silent apart from the nocturnal creatures that scurry and prowl through alleys, navigating over the dewy darkness between the seams. The moon graces the gloom of the night with its luster across desolated areas in Japan. Business hours have longed past as services are halted until the next coming day. Civilians are nowhere to be found, tucked away in their homes with their lights flickered off.

What remains alive in Japan during this hour is the wind cast through the streets, the scamper of animals in the nocturne, and a low hum of an ebony vehicle driven down roads of street lights.

“Whatever the fuck Overhaul wants better be worth my fucking time, Deku,” hisses a peeved Katsuki Bakugou, leaning against the window of their sleek automobile and looking highly uninterested during the ride. Izuku Midoriya, the young man with the head of unruly verdant hair, nods his head. His expression is mild at his friend’s usual discontented tone.

“Kai Chisaki—the head boss of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza—wants to negotiate with us, Kacchan. Surely it would be advantageous for us to hear him out. If anything we’ll manage to at least squeak some intel from him to reference for later on.” A glint rises in the male’s eyes.

“‘Some intel’ ain’t enough. If they’re gonna drag all three of us out here, then it better be for something good, or else I might have to let off some explosions to satisfy my boredom.” Bakugou’s quirk begins to pop and crack around his palms at the idea of letting loose.

Shouto Todoroki—the third of the trio—sighs exasperatingly at his fellow inflamed mafia boss, running his hand through his red and white tresses.

“Bakugou, I’d advise against it. Knowing the location we’re heading to, your explosions would only cause a ruckus in the area that’d get the annoying heroes involved. I’ve had enough dealing with those fools as it is and we also don’t need the men in blue following after our trail.”

“Shut up Icy-Hot! If this ‘negotiation’ isn’t beneficial to us, I’ll find my own way to make them pay for wasting our damn time!” Bakugou yells.

These three young men—Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, and Shouto Todoroki—are known as the bosses of one of Japan’s most powerful organized crime syndicates.

Notorious, ruthless, and authoritative, these three, despite their youth, have secured a name for themselves within the underground crime world. Aside from their tenacity and skill, the strength of each of their quirks played a large factor in their rise among the rivaling crime groups. They easily snuffed out the weak competition without so much as a sweat, and working under them are other strong combatants, each of them possessing their own unique and powerful quirks.

With everything at their disposal, the Yuuei mafia group quickly obtained a vast, large territory within the capital of Japan—the epicenter of where all the shady deals and disputes occur.

“We didn’t even bring Angel Face with us. What a drag.” Bakugou gruffs. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed, and cushioned behind his head as the lamps flicker past them, the dim lights splayed across the endless road.

“Letting ____ rest was the least we could do after her successful infiltration at the political officials gala,” the middle of the three states matter-a-factly.

“Especially after the rounds she endured even after her mission,” Todoroki adds, vividly remembering the gala dress cascading down her skin and clinging to her body that night, as well as their antics that ensued afterward.

He recalls the beautiful, red formal gown she wore for the occasion, the material hugging her figure perfectly and accentuating her curves in all the right places. God, he prayed that something within him wouldn’t stir at the thought of it again.

They all remembered it quite clearly. It made their fingers itch the very evening of the event, yearning to touch all the dips and arcs that sculpted her body. Her hair, styled up and tied with a matching silk red ribbon, kept the skin of her neck bare and begging to be marked while gold lined her wrists and collar bones. To say she was a goddess that night would be an understatement. The three could barely keep their hands off her before she even left the mansion, let alone attend the gala. But once her mission was complete, she arrived home to be thoroughly loved and lusted, with three young and hungry men indulging in all the divine fruits this celestial being had to offer to them.

The girl they speak of is not only their right-hand woman but also the three’s beloved paramour. Since their journey into coming to power, ____ has been with them through thick and thin and has become an influential asset in attaining their position.

Beautiful, yet dangerous, she proved to be an incredibly powerful fighter in many forms of combat in combination with her quirk, along with having a gift for deception that allowed her to climb her way to the top of the pack. Naturally, the trio found themselves drawn to her, not just for her strength and beauty, but also her passion and ability to mend the spirits of those around her. If it weren’t her, the Yuuei mafia group would not be as intact and well-oiled as it is today.

“Besides, we have some of our best following in the car behind us in case anything suspicious happens,” Midoriya gestures to the similar-looking sleek and dark-tinted car trailing behind their own.

“I very much doubt we need them, but it’s best not to worry Angel too much while she’s resting,” Todoroki murmurs, crossing his legs.

A few more turns and they’ve eventually entered the area of a vacant warehouse located on the edge of Japan near the shore.

The moment their vehicle is directed to a stop, the three bosses exit. Bakugou vehemently slams his door, eyeing the building with a vexing glare.

“Let’s get this shit show over with. This better be good.”

The warehouse is eerily quiet in the dead of the night and smells of salt from the ocean behind it. Spotting them walking to the entrance, the watchmen of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza hastily open the doors enclosing the warehouse. The hinges bear an uncomfortable creaking sound that jars through the silence.

“Oh, he’s here! He’s here! My cute little Izuku is here!” hollers a shrill voice belonging to an all-too-energetic head of messy, bunned-up blonde hair. The said boy blinks twice at her enthusiasm as they approach the lone wooden table situated in the center of the warehouse.

Uh, do I know her? He ponders for a second before dismissing the thought.

A pale man with gloved hands and shaggy auburn hair holds a hand out to halt the girl behind him. “Calm down Toga, we haven’t spoken of negotiations yet, so I need you to be quiet.”

Toga pouts, nearly grasping a silver blade at her side but stills herself for now. In the meantime, she opts to fidget with the tubular machine wrapped around her body.

The three look up to view a small group illuminated by the light fixed above the wooden table. Their eyes swiftly count seven or eight of them surrounding that area, including the ringleader, and likely more hidden somewhere in the darkness around them. After all, any fine and experienced villainous group would know better than to invite the bosses of the most dangerous crime syndicate without being thoroughly prepared for a possible scuffle to occur.

However, for now, they all advance with the notion to talk first before unleashing quirks and violence (well most of them anyway).

“Welcome, welcome. I see you made it to this place without much trouble; you’re right on time,” Overhaul greets the three young men mildly, “Deku, Ground Zero, and Mercury.”

Midoriya walks forward as the center of their entourage to return the cordial greeting. “Yes, it’s nice to finally meet you, Kai Chisaki of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza. Otherwise known as Overhaul.”

“Ah, so you know of me and my cause. It seems our reputation precedes us.”

“Of course. The Shie Hassaikai yakuza has long been in business in the crime world…” Midoriya muses, “Though they’ve wrung out past their former glory. Having since been pushed back into the underground after the rise of heroes.”

Bakugou smirks, close to letting out a snicker at the backhanded comment.

It’s true. While the Shie Hassaikai were one of the main criminal groups running the yakuza underground, that all soon fell and crumbled as the surge of heroes came into society. It was only after the former boss’ grandson, Kai Chisaki, came into power and took leadership that their name grew back into prominence once again, albeit little by little.

“Why you little–” A man donning a long white raincoat and plague doctor mask swiftly appears with a pistol pointed in Midoriya’s direction, none too amused by the remark. However, he’s cut off by a wall of ice erected at Midoriya’s side.

“Watch where you point those toys you little rat,” Todoroki sneers, and the tone of his voice nearly exposes chills to the air.

“Calm down, Chrono. We’re the ones that invited them as guests, thus we need to treat them like so.”

The white-haired subordinate withdraws at the words of his leader, retracting the gun back into the pocket of his coat.

“I apologize, he’s simply on edge over the fact we have some pretty powerful people at our doorstep. You’ll have to excuse him.”

“It’s quite all–”

“Did we come here to talk, or did we come here to fight?” Bakugou barges through, shoving past Midoriya with no restraint.

“I thought this was a fucking negotiation, not an apology fess. If one of your dogs is so edgy, I’d be happy to give him a good thrashing to satiate him if you want,” his raised hand sparks and flickers in the dark, “If not then get to it, Overhaul,” he threatens. Midoriya sighs.

“I think we’re simply all… piqued as to why this meeting was demanded out of nowhere and scheduled for the dead of the night no less, but I’m sure you have some important matters to discuss with us right, Overhaul?” Midoriya reasons, a sly grin on his lips.

“Right, let's get to it shall we?” Approaching closer to the table separating them, Overhaul continues, “First off, I must congratulate you on successfully infiltrating that gala the other night. Not many crime organizations can sneak into a party of that caliber. Especially when it’s so heavily guarded and kept secretive to all suspicious eyes of the dark,” he commends, digging a hand into the pocket of his jacket.

The three exchange quick, wary glances from the corner of their eyes that the opposite party misses.

“You were there?” Todoroki questions bluntly in which Overhaul hums in response.

“Hm, yes. But for different reasons, I’m sure. You see, I’ve been… examining little details of the Yuuei mafia group recently. It fascinates me how well-oiled and efficient you are at running your organization, so I began to ponder: ‘How do they do it?’ Little did I know, the answer all became more than clear to me from what I saw at that gala,” the auburn-haired man drawls, finally plucking out a photo from his pocket and sliding it across the wood under the light.

The moment the three recognized the image, their eyes widened, soon shifting into visages of sheer hostility at the next statement pronounced.

“This girl here? I want her.”

Within the confines of the paper is ____, dressed in the red gown she wore the very night of the gala, a masquerade mask over her features with the purpose to obscure herself in the throng.

The three before Overhaul seethe vessels of wrath.

“What did you just say? Do you even know what you’re asking of us?” Todoroki feels icy and heated atmospheres form on his opposing left and right sides upon hearing Overhaul’s words, sensing the tension rising around his fellow partners as well.

“The girl, I must say, does excellent work at her job. She’s skilled and tactical, having infiltrated many influential organizations and assassinated several powerful faces getting in the way of your mafia group. Such precision, efficiency, and beauty makes her the perfect woman, wouldn’t you agree?” He picks up the picture, bringing it up next to him.

Given the deadly pressure in the air, the next words he utters might be the final nail in his coffin.

“Well, I want you to hand her over to me.”

The nail is hit. There’s a lingering silence before hell nearly breaks loose and the next motions could deliver his soul down the River of Styx.

Fueled by blood-boiling anger and annoyance, Bakugou charges forward to land an explosive hit on the yakuza boss. “LIKE HELL WE WOULD, YA FUCKING BASTARD!” He’s thwarted by a yellow barrier emerging to shield the leader from the attack, courtesy of a henchman at his left side. The blonde jumps back, his hands still crackling and his rage not dissipating anytime soon. “Don’t go spewing a bunch of shit outta your mouth!”

“Now… let’s be rational or you’ll start getting dirt everywhere...” Overhaul dusts off his shoulder before resuming the conversation nonchalantly, “Of course I’ll provide you with compensation. I wouldn’t be so naive as to expect to be given something so valuable without offering payment after all.”

With a snap of his fingers a large, bulky man promptly lays a silver briefcase on the table. The locks click open to reveal wads of cash layering the case to the brim, enough to flabbergast and entice any common citizen in Japan.

“If this amount isn’t enough, I have another briefcase with—”

A jolting sound of the wooden table and metal briefcase breaking beneath Midoriya’s foot is enough to diminish the rest of Overhaul’s remark, signifying their blunt answer to his offer.

“What a waste of a night it’s been. Presenting money to us in hopes that we’d simply hand over our beloved like she’s some prostitute for sale? You're more of a fool than I took you for, Kai Chisaki,” Each word that rolls off Midoriya’s tongue is laced with venom. Such malice is enough to paralyze those who hear it, as if it would be the last statement they’ll ever listen to before hitting the concrete dead.

Reasoning with the trio any further is equivalent to bargaining with the god of the underworld, offering nothing but your knees on the floor and a sad pleading voice, only to be whisked back to the deepest, darkest chambers of hell.

Overhaul simply pauses before following with a long, testy sigh.

“A no then? Alright. Toga.”

The bun-headed blonde pounces forward at the command almost instantaneously, knife in her grasp and ready to swing. Midoriya moves to the side with ease, evading the blade as well as dodging a puncture from a needle. His agility is manifested in green electric currents of aura.

“Ooh, I finally get to cut up and obtain cute Izuku’s yummy blood!” She grins psychotically, keeping both eyes trained on the green-haired boy. “Heehee, I’ve been waiting for this day! Ever since I saw that photo of you all bruised up in a fight, I had to have you all to myself! I just love a man all red and bloodied!” Toga exclaims in utter glee, giggling like a schoolgirl meeting her celebrity idol.

Midoriya grimaces, nearly shivering at her excitement over announcing her neurotic confession to him. Her contorted facade is not earning her any points either. Taking notice of the wary expression that crosses his brows, Toga grins wider.

“It’s OK, even if you don’t like me now, you’ll definitely like me when I get a drop of that girl’s blood and transform into her! We’ll look so much alike, you’ll have heart-eyes for me too!” Her features curve into a look of pure hysteric that leaves Midoriya speechless, so much so it takes a loud blast hurled past him to finally bring his senses back to the conflict.

“Move it, Deku!” Bakugou’s attacks are relentless and powerful, but Toga’s nimbleness prevents her from getting hit.

“Deku, Ground Zero, back up,” Todoroki raises his left hand, the corresponding side flaring with heat before quickly igniting into bright hot flames enough to cover his entire arm. “You lot have some nerve to call us and arrange this abhorrent deal under the guise of a ‘negotiation.’ I’ll incinerate you all for even thinking you could take her from us.”

His quirk is unleashed in a flurry of fire that’s launched toward his enemies.

“Dabi,” Overhaul signals and a lanky man with patched, burnt scars and skin held together by staples and stitches steps forward, triggering his blue blazes to combat the red-orange ones. The infernos collide into a firestorm that soon scatters and disperses due to a power struggle.

“Tch,” Todoroki narrows his brows, annoyed.

“Hm, the brat’s not all talk after all,” Dabi’s expression remains stoic while his hand hovers in front of him, still swallowed by his azure flames. Wordlessly he releases his blazes once more only to be countered by Todoroki’s wall of ice diminishing the onslaught of fire.

On their end, Midoriya and Bakugou are in pursuit of the head honcho Overhaul himself, while attempting to throw blows at Toga along the way.

Now enveloped in energy that increases his strength and dexterity tenfold, it isn’t long until the green-haired young man catches up to crafty Toga’s momentum. With a grunt, Midoriya kicks forward, swinging his foot into the girl’s direction with tremendous force that’s too quick for her to avoid.

Toga braces herself for the impact but the attack never meets. Instead, a yellow shield materializes in front of her to take the blow, a crack now evident on the surface of the saffron safeguard. “Oooh! Izuku’s really out for blood! How thrilling!” she squeals, licking her lips.

“It’s that fucking barrier bastard again! Move over, I’ll kill him!” yells a pissed Bakugou who jumps over Midoriya’s head, running across the top of the manifested barrier. From there, he spots his offender.

Gritting his teeth, he dashes off the shield before it can disappear and uses it to propel himself forward. His palms glow and envelope themselves with heat as he holds them outward.

“Rappa! I can’t conduct another shield so quickly, get him!” Tengai, the one with the barrier quirk, hastens his partner. Rappa zealously swoops in front of him with iron-knuckle gloves ready.

“Oh no, you don’t! Try and fucking dodge this!” Bakugou brings his hands forward while still in midair, “Stun Grenade!” A radiant, gleaming light emits from his palms, effectively blinding all those within his vicinity.

Rappa and Tengai have no choice but to cover their eyes from the intensity of the light, leaving them wide open to strike!

Without hesitation, the ash-blonde creates two more explosions to launch himself forward, spinning in the air and gathering momentum before firing his attack encased in an explosive tornado.

“Howitzer Impact!!”

In an instance, a flash exudes in a fiery burst of nuclear reaction, which releases violent discharges of kinetic energy towards his enemies. The attack hits home, covering a chuck of the area with debris and rubble, and producing a hole on the right side of the warehouse.

Tengai and Rappa are incapacitated.

“Kac— Ground Zero, you went all out didn’t you…” Midoriya mutters while holding Toga down despite all her fidgeting. In a last-ditch effort, the girl draws out the spare knife tucked away in her utility belt, however the young man on top of her knocks it away before she can react any further.

“Toga, am I correct? I suggest you stand down, or I may have to break something to make you cooperate.” Midoriya’s warning exudes a menacing tone, in contrast to his former courteous character and the gentle features adorning his face. Yet Toga does not seem fazed by this.

“Heehee, you’re so cute when you make threats like that…” she giggles, shifting her head ever so slightly to catch glimpses of the male’s appearance. He’s quite disheveled down to his wrinkled suit, unbuttoned collar, sweat glistening on his forehead, and what’s this?

Toga peeks at a single crimson line split on the skin of his cheek with dilated pupils.

“Even though you were so fast, I at least managed to graze you just a teeny-tiny bit! That scarlet cut looks so nice on you, Izuku, aw how I wish I can give you more!” She prattles on and on, beaming over every utterance spoken past her lips. “I did say red is the best color on you, after all!”

Midoriya’s eyes narrow at her behavior, fists clenched and apt to deliver a silencing blow.

“Although… blue wouldn’t look half bad either.”

Unable to express confusion at her remark, he soon perceives a blast of cerulean blue flames aimed and released in his direction, forcing him to jump up to dodge the attack. Toga makes her escape after the fire diffuses, withdrawing next to Dabi. The patched man continues his onslaught on Todoroki and Midoriya.

“They’ve managed to defeat our spear and shield, and nearly took out Toga,” Overhaul’s stance is methodical and calculating, overseeing the fight from the back lines of his unit with a gloved hand beneath his chin. “I suppose it’s time to use that,” he declares.

Chrono briefly glances at him before reaching for a gun in the pocket of his coat—a different weapon from the pistol he pointed at Midoriya earlier. In a container held behind him, he produces a peculiarly shaped bullet, one that takes on the form of a cartridge with a hypodermic needle sticking out on one end.

“Dabi, when these bullets hit, that will be your chance to burn them all away,” orders the auburn-haired man. He raises an arm to prep for the signal as Chrono readies the gun wielded in his hand, positioning his target onto the spiky blonde mafia boss.

“Ha! You think a pathetic little gun is going to stop me?!” While Bakugou exudes confidence and arrogance, his dual-haired comrade is not as keen about the situation at hand.

Why would those fools try to use such a primitive method of fighting at this point? They saw how useless that gun was earlier… ponders Todoroki in the heat of battle, Unless…

“Ground Zero! Be careful! There’s something fishy about that weapon they’re using!” he warns, making the blonde’s expression fix into an irritated glare.

“Shut up Icy-Hot; I know what I’m doing! Why don’t you pay attention to patchwork over there before you get another scar!” Bakugou quips back, eyes never leaving Overhaul. “I’m gonna make this washout yakuza leader regret ever giving us a call to this useless negotiation.”

The man is impassive at the blonde’s threats, lips remaining in a fine line underneath his mask. His arm stays raised next to him for Chrono to acknowledge.

At once, Bakugou’s body launches back into action like a jet engine propelling a rocket. His movements gather more and more sweat to strengthen himself for another devastating assault.

“Pesky thing won’t stop moving…” mutters Chrono, hand continually shifting aim at Bakugou’s unpredictable tumbling. “I’ll just make you sit still!”

On command, arrow-shaped hair pierces through the fabric of his hood and extends straight to Bakugou. His quirk’s versatility and quick instincts allow him to evade the attack to the left with ease. However, it seems Chrono was waiting for that very moment as the blonde is now within his gun’s line of sight.

Overhaul draws his hand down, giving Chrono the signal to finally pull the trigger. A crack of a sonic boom resonates within the single millisecond it is shot. The dart is fired.

The gunshot rings throughout the space of the warehouse. Todoroki and Midoriya can barely register the shot in time to yell out to Bakugou, whose head turns toward the capsule’s velocity in almost slow motion.

Crap..! he curses, unable to move away to escape the bullet in time and preparing to embrace the shot.

However, it never makes its mark.

“Boss! Watch out!”

A gruff voice suddenly makes its debut within the fray, taking everyone by surprise as the newcomer throws himself in front of Bakugou, hardened arms crossed.

“What the—!”

Chrono watches in despair. The bullet ricochets right off the rock-like body of a man with spiked tufts of crimson red hair.

“What the hell? Red Riot?!” sputters a bewildered Bakugou at Kirishima’s abrupt entrance.

“D-Dammit!” Chrono tries to fire again to rectify his failure, but his attempt is in vain. Something muscly wraps around his arm tightly, tossing him away.

“Froppy!” Midoriya calls out to the girl as she retracts her froggy tongue, currently clung to the wall, and camouflaged into her surroundings. She reveals herself into the battle with a small “ribbit.”

“While you guys were inside, a bunch of their goons started surrounding our cars. We knew something shady was up, especially when we heard explosions coming from inside, so we busted our way in here right past them!” Kirishima explains, now standing back-to-back against Bakugou, “Seems like you’re fighting a battle too!”

“I see, so they planned on ambushing all of us if we didn’t comply with their deal,” says Todoroki. He fires more flames in their direction. “How pathetic. They were woefully unprepared.”

“Agreed! Ambushing is no way to fight! Real men would come at us head-on!” Kirishima emphasizes his fierceness through clanking his hardened fists against each other, jagged edges sparking.

“Red Riot! Froppy!” exclaims Midoriya, “Where are the others?”

Asui ribbits before answering, “They’re handling the rest of the—”

“L-Leader..! Leader!” a frantic voice shouts from the entrance of the warehouse, where a ragged up Shie Hassaikai henchman tries to pry inside.

“T-The girl..! She isn’t h-here, she isn’t— GAH!”

His message is interrupted. A menacing shadowy figure looms over the goon like a monster hiding within the dark and throws him back to the struggle outside, proceeding to rampage across the battlefield. Desperate cries leak out but to no avail.

Overhaul discerns the sputtered message:

The girl he so desired was not with them to begin with.

To his dismay, this fight was pointless. If what he sought could not be forcibly taken right then and there, then there is no reason to continue the battle. There was no prize to be won by the end of it all.

Now, he must adjust his plans due to the unfavorable news. How tragic.

At the thought of having lost time, energy, and resources, the yakuza leader pinches the bridge of his nose, utterly furious. There’s a pause in which Overhaul seethes an aura of killing intent over this frustration.

But it eventually simmers and subsides. What happens now cannot be changed, no matter how enraged he is. So he must take logical steps to preserve and remedy the repercussions, which to him was simple:

“We’re withdrawing.”

“What?” Dabi looks at him incredulously, “After all this?”

“Yes, they've taken down our spear and shield, and have wiped out the majority of the soldiers. If what we want isn’t here, then there is no point in staying,” Overhaul’s husky tone bears weight and authority at every word.

“Nemoto, grab Chrono from wherever he was thrown.”

“Yes, Overhaul. What about Rappa and Tengai?”

The auburn-haired man doesn’t so much as spare a glance toward his two defeated subordinates lying on the ground, “Leave them. They’re expendable to me.”

Nemoto nods, going to gather a knocked out Chrono thrown across the warehouse and now lying unconscious atop broken wooden crates.

Midoriya’s fists clenched tightly at the scene, realizing what the yakuza’s next plan of action was going to be.

“They’re trying to escape!”

“Oh, the fuck they are. I won’t let a single one of you bastards leave!” Bakugou bursts into the air, propelled by the explosions from his palms in hot pursuit, with Midoriya catching up thanks to his heightened speeds.

“Sorry boys, party’s over!” Toga intercepts the two using twin knives flung in their direction, catching them off guard. Dabi follows the diversion by gathering a massive amount of flames into his hands before swiftly releasing the kindled energy to erect a blue wall of fire throughout his surroundings.

“Bye Izuku~!” a feminine voice shrills from behind the fiery wall, becoming the last words they hear as they wait for the flames to dissipate, ultimately revealing that their enemies had already fled.

“Those fuckers couldn’t have gone far,” Bakugou doesn’t relent, poised on finding them and having them pay the full consequences of their actions. Midoriya grasps his shoulder, stopping him.

“Let them go, Kacchan. Considering the location they decided for this meeting, they likely fled by boat. We have no way of following them at the moment.”

Todoroki agrees, adding on, “Besides, there are more important things to worry about right now,” he casts his gaze to the wooden table Midoriya had broken prior to the fight transpiring. “For one, they’re after ____ and are willing to go to any lengths to get her. We need to head back to the mansion to make sure she’s safe.” There’s slight urgency evident in his tone. Despite their tenacity, the idea of having their beloved wrenched away is enough to render them even a little bit fearful. Had she been present in the conflict, there’s no telling what could have happened.

“And two,” Todoroki walks off to another site of the warehouse, picking up something dropped on the floor, “we need to figure out what this is.” In his hand, he holds the small capsule bullet that is now slightly dented thanks to the impact against Kirishima’s hardened skin.

The other two examine the capsule briefly until Bakugou decides to take it from Todoroki’s fingers for closer inspection. If Overhaul was so keen on using a gun to do away with them all, despite how inferior it was, then this must be no ordinary bullet.

The three decide to contain the item for further examination for now as they, Kirishima, and Asui make their way outside again. There, bodies of Shie Hassaikai thugs littered the floor after having been thoroughly beaten into submission. Tokoyami, Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, and Kaminari lean against the cars casually but remain attentive after the fight.

“It was quite an ill-planned move to dare to attack us in the night,” Tokoyami’s eyes closed in thought at the havoc he wreaked thanks to the amplified powers of his quirk. Kaminari snickers and boasts with an electric snap of his fingers, “Yakuza didn’t know what hit them, the mafia always stays on top.”

“Excellent work everyone, it seems the henchmen were of no trouble to you,” Midoriya commends the squad, “Now, we must leave before the police arrive on the scene to assess the damage.”

Their six combatants all nod at the order, about to gather back in their vehicle until Bakugou huffs with a final statement before they make their getaway.

“Know that the next time we see those Shie Hassaikai bastards, we will take them down,” He narrows his eyes at the ocean, the moon still hanging above the sky and basking the waters in moonlight,

“without hesitation.”

Ending Notes | Whew.. thanks for reading! For the next part I was considering writing it in 2nd POV since the reader will actually be physically present during the events of the story now, but I’m not sure yet. Please let me know your thoughts and follow if you’re interested in this series <3

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

An old friend - Part 3

Summary: The picnic has come and so the time to face Anthony on what you discovered, but will everything go as planned?

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Other characters: Hyachint Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: slight angst (?), fluff, again some yearning

A/n: This has been quite difficult to finish, I had different ends in mind but none seemed to fit well the flow... I hope you’ll like this! Also, I may post other parts in the future but for now, count this as the final one. ENJOY!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Gif's not mine, credit to the rightful owner

When the time came to attend the picnic in Hyde Park, the day was nothing but perfect: the sun, for the special gathering, had decided to come out of the clouds to honor everyone with its presence and a warm breeze enveloped every figure walking through the gardens or simply resting on the grass with its embrace. Even the London sky didn’t look like its normal self, with no grey clouds all over; just a few white stripes painting the bright blue canva. In other words, the epitome of a summer day.

However, sat under the gazebo playing cards with Hyacinth, Eloise and Penelope, you felt much worse than a rabbit caught under the wheel of a carriage.

"Miss Y/N/L". You turned towards Hyacinth, who was pointing at the cards. "It's your turn"

"Very well..." you sighed, throwing in the space between the four of you the first card that came in your hand. Winning the game was the least of your problems.

You had spent all night rolling from one side of your bed to the other, playing and replaying every possible scenario in your head, looking for the right way to ask Anthony what you wanted to know without sounding too accusatory. Nevertheless, it was hard to face the man when he was nowhere to be found!

He had just a moment to greet you with a quick kiss on your hand - which, you couldn't help, had made your heartbeat rise as a river during a flood - before being taken hostage first of many beautiful debutants, second of their meddlesome mothers and lastly of some old friends from boarding school.

Right now he was somewhere in the park with them, possibly reminiscing of that one time they put black ink in the professor's shoes... or something similar to that, you imagined. You weren't so sure of what sort of jests could boys come up with.

"Miss Y/N/L". Hyacinth's voice reached you again through the bubble of your thoughts. You put down another card. It took you a second after that to realize that Eloise had no cards in her hands anymore, thus making her the winner.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry" you apologised, putting your left cards back in the deck. "I hope you didn't ask me anything while I was lost in my mind"

"Just if you were alright, miss" explained Penelope. "Did you sleep well last night? You look quite tired"

You sighed. There was no sense in keeping that a secret. "Not quite. Some matters just seemed to be stuck in my head and decided not to leave for the night"

Eloise's eyes sparked in interest. "What kind of matters?" she asked, eating a strawberry.

"Nothing relevant at all" you assured with a smile, but from the look on Eloise's face, you knew she wasn't finished asking.

"No irrelevant matter could keep anyone awake for an entire night" she pointed out. "But I know what matters could..."

Penelope sighed. "Eloise..."

"Family matters" she started, raising her index, "and heart matters". She bent slightly towards you with the Bridgertons' signature smile on. "Which does apply to you?"

You scoffed. "Neither, of course". As you lowered your gaze to the messy deck, the rays of the sun felt suddenly more focused on your face than on anyone else's.

"Heart matters, that is!" Eloise exclaimed with a single clap, her eyes smiling brighter than her grin. "Do we know the lucky gentleman who caught your eye? Or perhaps he is from the countryside? Don’t tell me: are you two secretly engaged?"

Before your cheeks became the same shade of wine, a deep voice intruded the conversation: "You shouldn't badger our guest with your inquisitiveness, Eloise"

Your head shot up to meet Anthony's gaze. Even though your feelings towards him were mixed at the moment, seeing him washed you over with a warm, soothing sensation, as the need of his touch grew within you.

Eloise huffed, standing up from her seat, immediately followed by miss Featherington. "You are a bore, dear brother. I have nothing else to say on this matter". Then, taking Penelope's arm in hers, she walked away, already whispering in her best friend's ear.

"Anthony, do you want to play with us?" asked Hyacinth, already preparing the deck for another round.

Anthony smiled gently at her. "Maybe later" he said, pinching lightly her cheek. "Why don't you go play with Gregory now? I've heard he wanted to see if he could find rabbits near the bushes... or perhaps even goblins"

Hyacinth gasped. "Without me?!". She quickly and clumsily got up in her dress and, after a small curtsey to you, she was running on the grass to who-knows-where.

Now that the cover was clear, Anthony laid down next to you, pointing his elbow on the ground to keep himself up. After adjusting in a comfortable position, he sighed, looking in the direction in which Hyacinth ran off.

"Should you think she'd be angry to find out I lied to her?"

You smirked, taking a card from the deck and fidgeting it in your hands. "About Gregory or the goblins?"

Anthony turned to you, raising his eyebrows. "Both?"

You shook your head, giggling ever so slightly. "You, Lord Bridgerton, are incorrigible: lying like this to your youngest sister... what a rascal"

A corner of his lips tilted upwards. "You should not talk like this to a viscount, miss Y/L/N" he murmured. His hand moved to your arm, his fingers stroking your bare skin, lighter than a feather touch and equally tingling. "I would say it was quite improper"

At this words you moved away from him, just enough so that his fingers could only touch the empty space between you. He searched your face but you were still staring at your card.

"I believe we should talk, my lord” you said, your voice still and steady more than what you expected. “However...", you looked at Benedict and Colin, who had just appeared in your sight and were directed towards the gazebo, "...maybe a walk would be best suited for such matters"

Even with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Anthony nodded, standing up again and offering his hand to help you. You gently accepted and he pulled you up. Nonetheless your feet got caught in the cover, making you lose your balance and ending up in his arms.

"I-I'm terribly sorry" you muttered, raising your gaze to his and finding him already staring at you. The warmth of his hands, steadying you, got past your gloves terribly easily and you found that being there, pressed against his chest, so near to his heart, was the only place were you wanted to be.

You took a couple of steps back, smoothing your wrinkled dress and taking a deep breath in. His closeness was like opium to you: even the slightest hint and you lost your mind; and unfortunately right now, you had to be present.

He cleared his voice, handing politely his arm to you. "Shall we go?". You nodded joining your arms and moved with him on the beaten pathway.

A few minutes passed in complete silence, as you tried to find the right words to start. Apart from sporadic pairs walking the opposite direction, you were the only ones strolling in the park at that time of the day, when the sun shines so bright it could make the blood in your veins boil; only birds kept uninterrupted their concert.

"Are you upset because I didn’t honor you with my presence all morning?" guessed Anthony, raising his eyebrows. “Trust me, I would’ve gladly spent more time with you than with any of my other acquaintances”

You shook your head, a smile gracing your face. "Certainly not, my lord: your family was very kind to me in your absence" you assured him. "Besides I'm not upset... I just want answers to what I've heard"

"And what, pray tell, have you heard?"

You moved your gaze from his; there was no way to sweeten the pot. "I've heard that, in certain circles, you are considered a rake; and" you added, before he could stop you, "that you've been spending time with various women last season, opera singers from what these rumours told me"

"And you believe these rumours, miss Y/L/N?". His voice didn't show any emotions but his muscles were tense as an arp string.

"That is why I'm asking you, my lord. I wish to believe it a lie, but your actions yesterday, as appreciated, had boldness in them... quite like Sir Feversham's"

Anthony stopped in the middle of the path, his jaw clenched. "Don't compare him to me, I am nothing like him”. His dark eyes seemed coal ready to be set on fire. “I would've never forced you into anything-"

"I know". You squeezed gently his arm against your side. "I know that, Anthony. Nonetheless, I’ve been wondering since last night if you consider me just as one of those opera singers and you’ll leave me alone like you did to them: my honor undermined and a broken heart to fix..."

"Do you really think I would do something like that?"

You raised your eyes to meet his. The lump in your throat, seeing the hurt look on his face, triplicated. "Haven't you done it before?"

Anthony clenched his jaw again, avoiding your gaze. Many emotions crossed his eyes before he closed them for a moment. Then, after giving a quick look all around, he started guiding you towards an almost hidden path through the hedges.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked, confused and slightly frightened by the sudden change of course.

He glanced towards you with his lips curved. "You did want answers, didn't you?". When you nodded, Anthony slid his hand in yours. "Then there is absolutely no need to worry, miss Y/L/N, I can assure you that" he whispered, preceding you in that natural maze.

As you followed him, jumping over ponds of mud, protruding roots and avoiding overhanging branches, it felt for a moment like you were back in one of the fantasies you two came up with as kids, exploring the deep amazonian jungle in search of a lost civilisation or a hidden temple behind a waterfall; you couldn't believe they belonged to such a long time ago...

The hedges surrounding you ended abrubtly, opening on a clearing that looked like an illustration from a storybook: the grass, kept perfectly cut in the rest of the park, reached knee height there and, in between the stems, flowers popped out in the vivid green, their bright colours catching your eye.

However what left you mouth agape was the modest pavilion in the centre. Its classic columns, with ivy crawling around them, had almost invisible cracks on their surface, and the marble, if once polished, was now covered with a thick layer of dust and dead leaves. Still, even so neglected, its ruined beauty left you speechless.

"How... how did you manage to find this place?" you asked in a whisper, your fingers caressing the tall grass as you approached the pavilion.

"In the most common and simple way”. At your confused glance, he smiled mischievously. “Hiding from my mother"

“You even hid from your mother, my lord?” you smirked.

“Everything to escape her matchmaking schemes” Anthony laughed before a sad smile appeared on his lips. “Nevertheless, it was years ago, when I was still allowed to act as a foolish young man, from time to time”. He left your hand and started unbuttoning his tailcoat.

As he took it off to put it on the marble bench, your gaze wandered on his shoulders and down his arms, framed by his tight waistcoat and usually concealed under that thick layer of blue velvet.

"Shall we start?" he asked, gesturing for you to sit next to him.

You took a seat and noticed how Anthony was wringing his hands, his body again all tensed up. Without uttering a word - it was his time to speak - you took his hand in yours, stroking your gloved thumbs on his skin.

"I must say" he started, "that the market’s gossip is quite accurate... but still not enough to be a reliable source” - then, after a sigh - “because yes, I am a rake - or at least I can be consirered one - and yes, I spent most of last season at the opera house. However, unlike what those women told you, my only company was one beautiful and indipendent lady, whose name I’d rather keep unknown"

He looked at you, almost asking for your permission. "Of course, my lord, I understand". Anthony nodded thankfully before letting his tongue on the loose.

He told you everything you needed to know, his gaze fixed on nothing, eyes lost in memories that you could only try to picture in your head. Every emotion he’d felt in the past crossed his face as he spoke of every step of the affair, from their first meeting to their very last goodbye. You saw how difficult was for him to remember that latter part, even though months had passed since then. After all, no love can ever be truly forgotten.

"Looking back, I’ve realized only recently that she broke my heart just as much as I broke hers" he admitted, his gaze falling on your joined hands. “She deserved much better than the transitory pleasure I was able to give her... I still slightly regret what we could’ve been, but there’s no use in mourning the past”. He stroked gently the palm of your hand. “I’ve found the present to be an unexpected and more appreciated bearer of happiness”

You blushed as his eyes set on you, a welcome sincerity lighting them. However, there was still something, in a deep corner of your mind, that wouldn't let you enjoy the moment completely.

"Thank you for telling me all about it, Anthony" you said, watching him trace abstract figures on your hand. "But I do have one last question"

He moved your hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on your covered wrist and lingering with his lips on that small spot. "You can ask me anything, Y/N"

After a deep breath, you fixed your eyes in his. "What am I to you?"

He furrowed his brows, confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"I do believe you fancy me" you started, looking away and fidgeting your hands as you spoke, "but I can't quite understand if your intentions with me are honorable or if you're simply using my company to your likings"

Anthony shook his head. “That’s nonsense, I would never-”

"Then do you intend to propose to me?" you asked, a rush of boldness flowing in your veins. “You know me, more deeply than any man I’ve ever met, and I found myself drawn to you in a way I’ve never experienced before... and I believe you feel the same”. He stared at you in silence. "I thought you wanted to marry as soon as you found a suitable lady..." you added, his stillness making your heart ache. "Am I not enough to be your wife?"

"Don't". Anthony cupped your face, his hands warm on your skin. "Do not say something like that ever again. You are not only more than enough, but more than I could've ever hoped to find... your intelligence astounds me just as much as your beauty hypnotizes me and I do believe you shall become one of the most accomplished Viscountess of Bridgerton that ever walked this Earth"

As his words beat in your mind ritmically with the pounding of your heart, you held your breath. "...but?"

"But I've rushed things in the past and burned everything I'd built to the ground, myself included. I don't want to make any mistakes with you, and if that means doing things properly, then be it". He stroked your cheek gently and you unconsciously leaned in his touch. "I've lost you once and I surely shall not make the same mistake twice"

You smiled, tears menacing to roll down your cheeks at any moment.

"Don't cry" he whispered, leaving a light kiss on your forehead and you laughed. His lips were as soft as you pictured them in your dreams.

"Don't mind my wet eyes... I'm just- I've never felt this happy before"

He smiled, placing one hand on yours. "Let's hope this will never change then". You nodded, smiling even wider.

So, as the sun went down and the wind kept blowing, you stayed there, talking, laughing, making up for all the lost time, in that little clearing out of time, and you wished you could stay there forever...

“We should go now” Anthony got up from its place. “It’s getting dark”

Making your way back in the reality it felt like waking up from a long, sweet dream, one that makes you wish you could sleep forever.

Your carriage was already waiting you at the edge of the park. Anthony helped you get into it as the gentleman he was. “Goodnight, miss Y/L/N”

“Goodnight, Lord Bridgerton” you smiled down at him, your hand still in his. “And thank you for the wonderful day”

He smirked and kissed your knuckles lightly, lingering again on the same spot where he kissed you for the first time. “The pleasure was all mine, my lady. I shall see you soon”

“Of course” you whispered not capable of even breathing. Anthony smiled, letting go of your hand as a footboy closed the door of the carriage. Then the coachman incited the horses and you were off in the night.

Resting on the soft pillows inside, you sighed, your eyes fixed on the stars outside the window. “Until next time”

Tag list: @lady1505 @truly-insatiable @littlemissbridgerton @anthonybridgertonsmistress​ @chaoticgirl04 @xceafh @latekate1807 @peoniarose @bridg-09 @michael-loves-chickens​ @beckachicago3​ (tell me if you want to be added or removed💗)

[moogleannywrites]

A Quiet Day [Wanda Maximoff x The Vision]

Summary: Vision hears an unusual, graceful sound as he and Wanda are alone at the Avenger's Compound, and decides to follow it to learn more about it's origins. {fanfiction also avaiable on Nyah! Fanfiction, in Brazillian portuguese.}

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x the Vision

Word count: 1,529

Warnings: fluff and tenderness; Vision learns how to play guitar; set before Avengers: Civil War.

My masterlist ♡

The whole Base was silent.

It was not an ordinary kind of silence, however, and more like a deadly muteness, the kind of silence that usually forego unpredictable moments, both good and bad. A way of the universe to maintain the calm before the storm, or maybe, giving Vision time to be on his own little “mind planet” before the crashing wave that would overthrow him to the shore.

Under curious eyes, he was just a robot in human clothing messing around a lab. A very technological and high-tech lab, whose owner invested a lot to change his and other people’s lifes forever. And Vision, a rather curious sythozoid, was very diligent and studious, so nothing better than some silence to finally concentrate on Tony Stark’s new experimente, which he would like to present soon to a college group.

A graceful sound.

Suddenly, Vision’s sensitive ear heard a distant tone; distant and somehow, close to him. Somewhere within the Base, someone scratched their fingers on the chords of an acoustic guitar of some kind, and the sound, although experimental, drew Vision’s complete and utmost attention. He quickly let go of the screwdriver in his hands and left the lab.

Vision floated around the base. Amid the emptiness of his home, the absence of the usually loud voices and cheers from other residentes, his friends, the music continued on and on. He drifted away, feeling nothing but the lightness of his own body slowly bringing him to the doorstep of a closed room. His feet, wearing fancy human shoes, put him back on the ground, walking forward and draining the whole weight from his body to trespass the door; and, out of nowhere, the one who usually kept his head down finally raised his chin to eye the origin of that lovely sound.

And, heavens, what a view it was.

The analytic Avenger felt his legs drag him away from the spot and further into the room so automaticaly he couldn’t quite prevent (not that he wanted to, at least). A graceful smile preceded the song coming to a sudden stop, and the most ethereal voice kindly said:

– Don’t you know it is polite to knock?

The whole Base was quiet.

Actually, it was not just the Avengers Compund, but the whole area surrounding their complex. The birds had stopped singing, wind ceased it’s rustling, all to admire the beautiful person in front of him. Vision felt his usually complex systems come to a halt as soon as he found his gaze upon her. She wore a long-sleeved grey dress and a black cardigan, with the guitar resting on her lap, covered by black stockings. Vision’s sight was blurry, and he only managed to speak:

– My apologies, Wanda.

It had been quite a short period of time since he started calling her by the first name. At the beginning, he referred to her as ‘Miss Maximoff’. It felt great, and honestly quite familiar, to call her this way. The woman smiled without showing her teeth, a hint of mystery that Vision particularly felt fascinated for, and made a gesture for him to sit beside her, on the edge of the large bed.

– That’s quite alright. I’m sorry if bothered you, however, I got this guitar from Nat last Christmas and... – She apologized, being interrupted by the synthozoid instants after:

– It was no bother at all.

Vision sat on the right corner of the bed, next to the closed door, and gazed upon the instrument. Wanda slid her fingers on a few chords.

– Has any of our companions came back home yet? – She asked, looking straight into his blue eyes.

– I am afraid not, Wanda.

She shook her head.

– Do you mind? – Wanda gave him the acoustic guitar. – I could really use some water right now.

A little confused, Vision took the guitar from her hands and watched the girl get up and walk to the nightstand, pouring a glass of water. It occured to him, by the minute it took her to finish the action, that maybe she thought of offering some, however, recalled the sythetical bodies are unable to have food or beverages. Afraid of annoying Wanda by staring too much, he glared at the instrument.

Should he ask her to keep playing? Or would she feel bothered by having an intruder looking? Maybe it would be best if he took the opportunity to leave. However, it was difficult for them to speak alone, only trading glances and a feel words when their teammates were around. With the complexity of the situation, Vision just took a moment to admire the guitar, a beautiful shade of light yellow and browm with the chords aligned perfectly alongside each other.

He moved one finger and felt the rigid string, getting startled by the immediate sound and amazed by the soft laughter that came along.

– Surprised? – Said Wanda, sitting right beside him, a little closer this time. – I was, too, the first time I played.

– Yes. It is... Beautiful.

– Would you like to play for a little? – She asked, her voice shaking a bit. – I can teach you a song.

Vision mimicked the movement she made before, putting the bottom part of the guitar on his lap, while the upper one touched his navy sweater. Wanda approached him, passing the right arm over his body to point his fingers to the correct string, however, he could only smell the lovely flower scent coming from her hair, a trillion sythetic neurones trying to proccess the origin of her shampoo, with him only being able to think how good was the aroma emanating from her.

Realizing he was a little absent-minded, Wanda said:

– Vizh. – He loved the way her accent sounded by calling his nickname. What a lucky day! – Are you paying attention?

He took a moment to answer:

– Yes, of course, Wanda.

– Good. Now that your hand is in position, just swing your fingers!

And so he did it. The sound did not came out amazing, for sure, but he could hear something. And he could feel something (technically he could feel a lot of different things, yet, this one was distinct). It suddenly felt like him and Wanda were somehow connected by the strings; as if the both of them were a little closer to a knot.

Vision repeated the movement. He took his time to analyze the tone of the song, and to feel the tip of his fingers hurt a little bit by pressing the strings with a little more of strenght to make the music sound stronger. Smiling, he looked directly at his proud teacher, beaming by his side, which made him quite a little happier than before.

– Way to go, Vizh! – She took the instrument from his hands and mimicked the action, sounding a lot better than him. – I could teach you some more, if you’d like.

Shaking his head affirmatively, the synthozoid added:

– I am rather interested in human habits. Perhaps you could give me a few lessons on playing the guitar... If you’d like, of course. I can always go back to studying quantum physics...

– Please don’t. – She laughed, softly. – I can teach you a few more accords later.

Strangely moved by a force he did not quite recognize, Vision passed one arma round Wanda’s waist, looking at her deeply into her green eyes, noticing the light hue of red on the usually pale cheeks when he said:

– Could you please keep playing the song you were playing when I arrived?

She nodded, moving her fingers on the guitar’s neck and finally beginning.

An harmonious sound.

Vision felt himself drifting away by the song, listening to both the instrument and Wanda delicate humming alongside the rhythm, a complete sense of peace around them. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment, wishing, on his very innermost, that it would never end.

Unfortunately, the warm sensation soon came to an end, and he felt himself suddenly wanting more; not only of the song, but of Wanda. Of her company, her lessons on playing the guitar, the silence surrounding them.

– I’m not exactly comfortable playing in front of the others... However, playing for you was not scary at all. – She smiled while facing the ground.

Vision noticed that his arms were still around Wanda’s waist, and she honestly seemed not to mind; so, he gently pulled her closer to plant a kiss on her forehead, to than move his hand and hold her chin, moving her face so she could be under his sight.

– I would love to see you play the guitar again.

Steadily, Vision used both his hands to hold her face, touching the tip of his nose on Wanda’s nose before diving into a kiss on her lips. She muffled a moan before putting the guitar over her bed, feeling the gentleness of the sudden act. It was the meeting of two souls who wandered around the Base, wanting to find each other. Even the fear of their friends returning wasn’t as big as the desire they felt, growing as Wanda threw her arms around Vision’s shoulders, deepening the kiss.

Finally, the whole Base was quiet.

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Cowboy Like Me

It took me way too long and I still wasn’t pleased, so here’s the first version. I’ll post the actual one on ao3 later. This is meant to be a follow up to No Body No Crime, or at least in the same verse.

Dark study with endless rows of bookcases leading to a lively bar is where the strawberry blonde caught the wannabe detective’s eye. She was minding her business, laying low as she came to terms with being left for dead by another scornful lover, though this time she vowed revenge. Life in the big city away from the small town life she grew used to takes some adjusting, but in due time she would slip back into her old ways again. She sighs, she really hoped this would’ve been the last time, but building a relationship based on lies leads to nowhere fast. Perhaps she’s better off on her own, afterall she’s never needed a counterpart to survive, but there’s something about the blue eyed man in the corner that she can’t keep out of her mind. He’s been watching her intently for the past eleven minutes, sick of this will he or won’t he approach her, she settles her tab only to find that it’s already been paid for. She doesn’t acknowledge the gentleman seated on the opposite side of the bar with a gleam in his eyes as he waits half a beat before following her outside of the country club.

She glances around to see these rich folks mingle without a care in the world as some pointless celebration is finished being set up. The tennis court is covered in some tent-like thing to give off the impression of a fun outdoor festival complete with sparkling fairy lights. She briefly wonders if she should enter the premise to find her next victim, but her pride won’t let her until she deals with her ex husband. Still she ventures into the venue to keep up appearances, it’s easy to pretend to be the life of the party when all eyes are naturally drawn to her anyways. The music starts as people partner up to dance, enjoy the good life without any problems to worry about. A tap on her shoulder and she’s face to face with the blue eyed stranger who finally decided to make a move.

“Care to dance?”

“Dancing is a dangerous game.”

“Isn’t life more thrilling with a little danger thrown in?”

“Depends on who you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you…”

“Miyano Shiho.”

She’s not sure what possessed her to give her real name instead of an alias. He smiles then leans down to place a kiss on her hand as he graces her with his name as well. Kudo Shinichi. She seems to be in a trance as she follows him to the dance floor though the other guests shoot daggers at the pair. Seems she isn’t the only one with fans.

That night leads to many more as they fall deeper into the abyss. There’s no escaping their chemistry, not that either of them would even dream of it. It’s ridiculous how love sick he’s made her as she waits by the phone at the airport bar for a call that may never come. Though as soon as the thought appeared in her mind, the ringing of the telephone proves her wrong yet again. He’s never once broken a promise to her, never even told her a single lie, and for once she hasn’t either.

They’re too similar, but also at opposite ends at the same time. It’s strange to think she may have finally found the one, someone to accept her for all her flaws and dark past. It isn’t until after they leave town with her ex husband’s money that she dares to believe this is real. He’s just as guilty as she is, just a couple of bandits trying to turn their life around.

Her reputation precedes her, Shinichi’s spend his entire life tracking the ever elusive Haibara Ai down. He remembers reading all those new paper headlines about the trail of broken hearts and bodies she's left behind, a true fem fatale. Naturally she would be the one to catch his eye, he doesn’t settle for second best, only wants an equal to spend the rest of his life with. At first he only saw her as someone who could be useful to his own alias as Edogawa Conan, he meant to offer her a proposition if he ever met her, but then he fell in love. Shiho is unlike anyone he’s ever met before, she made him forget the original goal of finding Haibara, his plans were ruined and he didn’t care one bit. For her, he would gladly trade in a life of crime just to spend a peaceful one by her side. Who would’ve known, she was the one he was looking for all this time.

He found it strange when she first suggested moving back to the small town she grew up in, how convenient that it was just outside of New York City, where they met. Soon they find themselves caught in an unsolved case the police have stopped caring about, but she wouldn’t give up, this one was personal. This was the perfect opportunity to woo her and win her over! Solving cases is what he was born to do, then after it’s all over, he would tell her the truth and hope she can still accept him.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, what’s on your mind?”

They’re laying together side by side on their bed, he has his arm draped over her waist while she rests her hand on his chest tracing random patterns on his skin. They’re oddly domestic for two wanted criminals on the run, he moves his hand up to stroke her hair. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine he would be happy staying in bed instead of out and about chasing after the next mission, and it’s all because of her.

“Guess I’m still in disbelief that you’re real and you’re here with me.”

“You’ve already gotten me into bed with you Detective, no need for more sweet talk.”

“I’m always romantic, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, that’s why your fan club is still so hung up on you.”

“Jealous?”

“In your dreams.”

“Figures, I could say the same about those men still pinning after you though.”

“The ones that are still alive… have any regrets yet?”

“Not a single one. You?”

“Only that it took so long for us to meet.”

He leans forward to catch her lips in a kiss, he couldn’t agree more, who knows how their lives would’ve turned out had they met before turning down the wrong path. Everything happens for a reason, and if it means leading to each other, he would gladly do it all over again.

[kayr0ss]

The Masterplan (Diakko)

[LWA, Diakko, kind of an AU?, funny, absolutely disastrous, nothing goes according to plan, but their friends are so supportive!!!!! ...car chase??]

Summary: Akko is planning a confession. On the other side of the playing field - Hannah and Barbara are dead-set on their best-friend getting the girl of her dreams.So of course nothing goes to plan. Not even close. It's a complete, fast-paced, adorable disaster. [Modern AU]

--

Akko was on a mission.

She was riding shotgun in Lotte’s car, speeding through the highways of Glastonbury city with the urgency of a government spy. It was finally go-time.

She was finally confessing to Diana Cavendish.

They’ve gone over The Plan three-times over by now—Sucy, Lotte, and herself—and the warm glow of a perfect Friday afternoon felt like an omen for good-and-romantic things to come. The time was nigh—it was now or never.

Now, Akko was no fool. She knew that Lotte and Sucy were only in it so she’d shut up about The Masterplan once and for all, but she appreciated their help nonetheless. And maybe she’d take back what she just said because Lotte seemed genuinely invested in planting the seeds of love and romance.

“Flowers. Lights. Confession.” Akko muttered to herself for the hundredth time, earning an eyeroll from Lotte (who was in charge of lights) behind the wheel.

“It will be fine, Akko.”

“It’s me!” She groaned, throwing a hand up to gesture emphasis. “Anything that can possibly go wrong goes wrong with me!”

“I second this.”

“Thanks for the support, Sucy.” Akko groaned sarcastically. “I ate way too much, way too fast in my nervousness earlier and now I’m bloated and likely ruined my appetite for our dinner!”

“Dinner?” Lotte spared her a sidelong glance, zipping through the highway and causing her passengers to lurch in their seats. “That wasn’t part of The Masterplan. You completely overlooked any sort of food-prep.”

“Kuso!” Akko groaned. “I’ll just wing it! Let’s just get those flowers.”

“Take a left here,” Sucy tapped on Lotte’s shoulders. She was a botanist and therefore assigned to help with the flowers. She made plans to arrange a bouquet with her contact at the local shop, and had reluctantly sworn an oath to forego anything poisonous—with sucked—but it was for Akko, and it was just for one night.

Time was of the essence.

Lotte drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel in anticipation when they came to halt along a stoplight. The Masterplan’s execution was set for eight o’clock, and it was already four-thirty in the afternoon.

Three and half hours.

Set-up their small backyard patio with lights.

Get ready with the best flowers.

And let Akko handle the confession.

Simple. Effective.

Ultimately, disastrous.

 ---

“She said it’d be just the two of you?” Barbara leaned forward, watching with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as Diana paced around her office at the hospital.

“Yes.” The blonde woman had sunk into a trance-like state of thought. Thinking. Thinking at a hundred miles per hour. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

“I—I’m going to confess.”

“Finally!” Hannah practically slammed her fist down the table.

“It must be done perfectly.” Diana said with conviction. “I must get her flowers, and I should at least offer to cover our meal. Do you think she likes Japanese?”

“Likes? She is Japanese! Though she might be sick of it.” Barbara shrugged.

“Or—” Hannah perked up. “—missing it terribly after having stayed in London for so long.”

Curses. They were only at ‘food’ and it was already beginning to get complicated.

“Should I just ask her?”

“No way!” Barbara gasped. “You’re gonna blow Kagari away with a surprise without spoiling anything.”

“She is rather fond of surprises.” Diana stopped her pacing to run her hand through perfect, blonde hair.

“So what’s the plan, Dia?” Hannah urged, already sharing a grin with Barbara.

“Flowers. Food. Confession.”

Simple.

Hannah was already calling the flower store.

 ---

“What do you mean someone reserved them already?!”

Sucy glowered at the shopkeeper, and Lotte and Akko had to physically back away as though she had grown fangs.

“I’m sorry!” The clerk raised his hands defensively. “Like, just five minutes ago!”

“After everything we’ve been through, Hendrick?! I even called that I was coming by!”

“You always buy the weird stuff you know? And besides, I’ve got other roses aside from Ecuadorian ones, I think—”

“Not settling for anything other than the best.” Sucy was determined. “Names. I need names. Who bought them?”

“I can’t tell you—”

“You can and will.”

“Look, I—”

“You two!” Sucy had spun around, locking her eyes with Lotte. “Get back and get the garden ready. I’ll deal with this mystery buyer and follow in a minute.”

“’Deal with’?” Lotte gawked. “How are you even going to—”

Sucy Manbavaran would never be outdone when it came to plants. This was personal now.

“Go!”

 ---

“I’ll pick them up and meet you in a few!” Hannah grinned excitedly. “Barbs, you know what to do!”

“She does?” Diana blinked, allowing herself to get dragged by the wrist towards Barbara’s car in the hospital parking lot.

“You’re not going on a date wearing your scrubs.”

“I had no such plans to.”

“Casual won’t do either!” Barbara nagged, fishing for her keys. “You’ve gotta look drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I—I don’t think it’s necessary to.”

“Shush, hon. I just want you to relax and think Akko thoughts, or whatever.”

“Akko thoughts aren’t exactly… relaxing as of the moment.”

“Fair point.”

“Where to?”

Barbara took a quick glance towards her watch and pursed her lips in thought. “Shopping. Then food.”

“Shopping—?”

“Shut up and get in the car!”

 ---

“She’s crazy!” Akko shrieked. “She had that crazy look in her eyes, like she’s about to poison someone!”

“Well we’re going to have to trust her because it’s five-fifteen and the patio is far from ready!”

Lotte was back behind the wheel, zooming through traffic towards her trinket shop. It was a lot less time than she was comfortable with. Lacing the gazebo with firefly lights and battery-operated teacup candles likely took longer than her mental estimate.

“How are you feeling?” She glanced towards Akko. “You’re looking pale.”

“I—I’m fine.” The brunette said in a contorted voice. Lotte brushed it off as nervousness (which was a rare enough emotion for Akko).

“You sure?”

“Yup!” Akko nodded in determination, steeling her resolve. “Kami-sama, why can’t we just be dating already?”

“Just a few more hours until you are, Akko.”

“If she likes me back!”

“Which she will.”

“But have you seen her Lotte?” Akko began to ramble.

“Many times, yes.”

“How is she even real—what am I doing?! Oh no, oh no, oh no am I seriously going to confess—”

“Breathe!”

Lotte gave her best friend the surest smile she could muster.

“She will.”

 ---

It was now five forty-seven.

“You.”

Sucy narrowed her eyes, staring straight into hazel. She had camped out in the flower shop, figuring that whoever placed such an urgent order would show up any minute to pick them up. True enough, a familiar woman in a white-coat with auburn hair came bursting through, shouting for her order of Ecuadorian roses.

“Sucy.” Hannah sneered, crossing her arms. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Those flowers you ordered are mine. I got here first.”

“No way!” Hannah challenged. “I put in the call. He said they were available.”

“How can that take precedence over a client already in-store and paying on the spot?” Sucy turned her calm but heavy glare towards Hendrick, who was sweating bullets while looking between the two women.

“I already paid!” Hannah pulled out her phone triumphantly, showing the screenshot of an online payment transfer. Sucy cursed herself for not having the foresight to have done so earlier.

“I—I don’t make the rules ma’am.” Hendrick conceded, carefully presenting the lovely bouquet of twenty-four roses to the woman who happened to be Sucy’s friend—if only through the sheer force of Akko’s gravitational-friendship-pull. The poor shopkeeper looked pale, trapped between the two very different yet equally threatening auras.

“I’m leaving. Buy something else!” Hannah had turned around dramatically, stepping out through the door with her hair bouncing through the motions.

“You never told me you had online orders.” Sucy told Hendrick evenly.

“I—It was launched recently.”

“Screw that,” she said with gritted teeth. On whim, she decided to follow Hannah, walking into the street and whistling as loudly as she can towards the nearest cab.

A middle-aged man with a bushy moustache looked up from behind the window. “Where to, missy?”

“No questions!” Sucy jumped into the front seat. “Follow that car—and don’t fucking call me missy!”

---

“You’re being—what?” Barbara shrieked as quietly as she could. Just as Diana entered the dressing room a minute ago, her phone began ringing with Hannah’s photo popping up. “Chased? By Sucy? For the flowers?”

[“Yes! She’s a madwoman! Probably going to blow something up with another potion or—"]

“Don’t call me while you’re driving!” Barbara hissed, looking back towards the dressing room which was slowly opening.

Diana stepped out, looking lovely in a sheer white top and cream slacks. She asked how she looked and Barbara had quickly tossed another top for her to try, desperately trying to keep up with Hannah’s rambling on the other line.

“You look great—love the pants—try this blue one! Come on, come on! In you go, nothing to stress about!”

“Stress about?” Diana blinked, frowning. “Is that Hans on the phone?”

“Yeah, it’s all going swell!” Barbara’s voice pitched a little too high. “In you go!”

“O—Okay.”

She had practically slammed the door into Diana’s face, and with a deep breath she diverted her attention back to Hannah.

“Don’t overspeed, and why are you two having a car chase?! It’s just flowers!”

 ---

“Just flowers?!” Hannah repeated, aghast. “Not when it’s for one of the most important days of our best friend’s life, they aren’t!”

She took a sharp turn at the nearest street, going nowhere in particular if only to shake Sucy off. It was an unfortunately wide road and she was opposite the rush hour lane, leaving it relatively traffic free. She had no intention of breaking speed limits and was forced to stay at seventy. Soon enough, the cab pulled up at her right.

Sucy rolled down the window, looking as worked up as Hannah had ever seen her in their time knowing each other. The driver seemed like he was having the time of his life. “I’ll pay for its price plus ten pounds on top!”

“You think I’m cheap?!” She shouted back, doing her best to keep her driving steady.

“Twenty!”

“You can’t buy me, Sucy! Not for this occasion—not ever!” She grit her teeth and banked towards the left, putting a truck in between them.

Barbara was still in the call.

[“By the nines, Hannah!”]

---

“Whoa!” Akko blinked, head whipping to the side while she followed a familiar-looking SUV speed down the road, seemingly chased by a cab. “Shit’s crazy today!”

“Come on, Akko!” Lotte led her out of the trinket shop’s front and back to her parked car. It took them around forty-five minutes just trying to find the perfect set of lights and the clock was ticking. Akko’s nerves were beginning to fray, and the woman was jumpy, reckless (more so than usual) and generally hyper—

“Akko, be careful!”

—active.

By the nine.

There was a loud thud—and the resonance of something very hard bumping into metal.

That was it.

The Masterplan would have to wait.

Akko ran into a lamppost and passed out with a bleeding nose.

 ---

“I haven’t heard from Akko.”

It was now seven in the evening and Diana was beginning to fret. She and her friends had returned to her flat to get her ready, but she thought the brunette would at least message her. Should she send another text? She did just half-an-hour ago, informing the brunette she was heading home to get ready. Is a call too forward?

Goodness. She shook her head—why would it be too forward? They were by no means strangers. Far from it! She blushed, this whole thing was getting to her and she hated it. Deciding she could very much call Atsuko Kagari whenever she pleased, she slipped out her phone and dialed.

“She has a heart emoji after her name?” Hannah snickered.

Diana ignored it, flushing red. Her phone rang. And rang. But Akko never picked up.

She exhaled in frustration, wondering if Akko had gotten herself mixed up in another form of disaster. It wasn’t a far-fetched assumption. Or did she ditch her? No, she wasn’t like that. Was she?

Her eyes fell towards the navy-blue top she had picked from the store, and then towards the most beautiful bundle of roses she had ever seen.

It looked perfect. Except—

“Did you really get into a car chase for this?”

“Yup!” Hannah raised a fist in victory. “And I won too. Sucy just up and backed off.”

“That’s suspicious.” Barbara narrowed her eyes. “But I still insist you are absolutely insane for pulling that!”

“What matters—” Hannah crossed her arms. “—is I got the job done.”

Diana sighed, growing anxious and excited at the same time. She glanced back towards her phone. “Let’s just hope I get to give them.”

 ---

“A lamppost.” Sucy stared at Lotte evenly. “Unbelievable. I got into a fucking car chase only for this moron to walk into a lamppost.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“It’s Akko. She’ll be fine. Hasn’t she broken like, every bone in her body at this point?”

Well. She wasn’t wrong. They were in the Glastobury hospital and Lotte hoped Diana would be on-duty, but upon asking the nurse’s station she clocked out early for today.

“What did Diana say?” Lotte asked Sucy.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t text her?”

“I thought you did.”

“Sucy!”

“You’re the one with her number.”

“But I—”

“Are you her flat-mates?” A young-looking doctor peered through the door of Akko’s recovery room. She broke her nose—but there was no need for a rhinoplasty and therefore she didn’t need admission. Broken nose aside, Akko was in surprisingly good health, bearing an almost-Olympic endurance which in hindsight explained her ability to recover from seemingly anything.

“Yes!” Lotte nodded diligently.

“Well you can take her home now. This one is crazy—she’s already sitting up after an hour of recovery. But I do need to warn you she’s—uh—”

“She’s?” Sucy prodded, hiding her concern under the guise of impatience.

“High as a kite?”

---

Akko was having a good time.

A good time.

She laughed, her head feeling woozy, her hands moving as though they were floating in water and—it was just so funny! By the nines this was the shit!

Her nose kinda felt funny though. Weird.

“Akko?”

Huh? Is—it’s a friend! Akko grinned. Her best friend! “Oh Lotte.”

“That’s just trippy.” Another voice said.

One eye only? Oh it must be Sucy!

“Your hair—” Akko smiled whimsically. “It’s freaking whack, Sucy.”

“Why does she still sound like herself?” Sucy turned to Lotte.

“I told you to be careful!” Lotte wailed, moving to her side to help her up.

“This is place is so bright.” Akko narrowed her groggy eyes, her head lolling about while she inspected her surroundings. Then she gasped. “Where’s Diana! This is Diana’s work!”

“She isn’t here.” Lotte placated. “And sit down—you’ll hurt yourself again!”

In the snap of a finger, Akko was done laughing and suddenly began to pout.

“I miss Diana.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here any second—”

“She said she’d go hooooome first.” Akko pointed towards her phone, sitting on the bedside of the outpatient recovery room.

Lotte sighed. “Come on, you need to go home too.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Akko asked innocently before leaning in and whispering to the two as though to share a secret. Then she broke into another grin—a charming, lopsided grin that screamed ‘painkillers!’

Lotte looked towards Sucy. The latter just shrugged. “Why the hell not? Saves her the time to go here and she’d know what to do with Akko.”

---

It was now seven-forty-six.

Barbara sped down the highway to the hospital, feeling every bit sorry for Diana who was cradling her head in her palms in the passenger’s seat. Although it was a little funny, and apparently Hannah thought so too, based on the snickering in the back.

“That’s just like her, though!” Hannah finally grinned.

Hannah was right. And honestly, Diana knew she’d be fine. But of course this would happen—and only to Akko. The world wasn’t so kind as to allow the night she finally decided to confess to be easy, right?

Dr. Strenger had dutifully informed her that a patient he recognized as Diana’s friend was admitted for a nasal fracture. All she needed to hear was ‘brown hair’, ‘red eyes’, and ‘lamppost’ and it was enough. Thankfully, it seemed Akko’s recovery was marvelous (unsurprising) and that Lotte and Sucy had accompanied her.

They pulled up into the parking lot and Hannah groaned. “Back to our workplace, yikes. You better do good by that bouquet, Diana! I almost died for that!”

She huffed, stepping into the familiar entry way dressed way too nicely for the hospital and holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers.

The receptionist blinked. A few of the nurses had turned their heads at the sight of her. “Dr. Cavendish?”

“Spare me the comments.” She lamented. “What room us is—ah.” Why was she blushing? In front of her colleagues! “Atsuko Kagari.”

“Oh, miss Akko!”

Right. Between accidents and visiting Diana, the staff knew her by now.

“She came in a pretty bad shape, but she didn’t need to be admitted. Dr. Strenger sent her home.”

“She isn’t here?”

“Actually,” the receptionist tilted her head. “On their way out she was screaming rather loudly that she was going to straight to your place?”

Her—what?

---

“I don’t think this is Diana’s house.”

Sucy elbowed Lotte, the pair of them standing behind a still-delirious Akko who rang the doorbell to a three-story tall apartment. It looked every bit as posh as its red-brick façade suggested. It was imposing. Classical. Nestled in a street of similarly luxurious dwellings that had cars Lotte had only seen in magazines—parked in garages or even right at the streets.

“But this is where Akko directed us to.” Lotte shrugged.

The door finally opened, and they tried so very hard not to face-palm.

 ---

“Atsuko.”

Akko grinned, feeling woozy, and reaching forward to shake the hand reluctantly offered to her. As she’s told herself earlier in the day, she was no fool. She knew she was tripping—her guess was either anesthesia or painkillers—or wait, were those the same things? Or like… not? Huh. She should ask Diana alter and—oh-right-she-was-still-shaking-Aunt-Daryl’s-hand!

“Hello!”

“A—Are you quite alright?” The elder Cavendish tentatively asked, eyeing her nose.

“Oh yah.” Akko waived a hand, giggling. “Lamppost.”

“Of course.”

Akko swore that was a little smile! It was a lot of work, but they at very least didn’t hate each other anymore. Unlike at first. Charming—that was Akko’s middle name! Actually it wasn’t, but—

“It may as well be.” Daryl commented.

Holy shit, did she say that out loud?

“You did.”

“Anyway—” Akko squeaked “—I came to visit Dia?”

Daryl blinked, then looked over to the two friends Akko had brought with her.

“I think you should come inside.”

Akko nodded, the action of it made her still-groggy head spin and eventually she lost her balance, falling forward—

—and getting caught by the wrong Cavendish’s arms. So wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Not this one!

“I’mma take you up on that offer.” Akko mumbled, apologizing profusely while she righted herself.

 ---

A soft 'ping' alerted Diana to a text message.

Daryl Cavendish (1)

“What on earth does she want at this hour?” Diana mumbled to herself, sulking once again in Barbara’s passenger seat. “As if I don’t have enough to worry with Akko—oh by the nines!”

The sheer volume of her voice was enough to make both Hannah and Barbara snap in attention.

8:26 Daryl Cavendish: Diana. Someone very interesting has come to visit, although I’m afraid she forgot your updated address.

“Christ.” Barbara groaned. “That’s at the opposite end of where we’re going. I love you but I’m getting real tired of driving you around.”

8:27 Daryl Cavendish: I look forward to hearing your side of this story. 8:27 Daryl Cavendish: 😉

Diana’s ears turned bright red. Hannah looked over her shoulder to read and outright laughed.

“Just drive, Barbs. Have mercy on Diana’s poor soul.”

---

“She said that?” Daryl’s eyebrows inched upwards every so lightly.

“She totally did! Diana’s a lot cheesier than people think.” Akko smiled smugly.

She had checked her nose via a mirror in the living room, and all she could do was laugh. Cause she didn’t feel like she had a nose. Or an… anything. It was so weird to move her hands around and like, not feel them moving.

Daryl paused for a moment to check at her phone. “Hm. Diana will be here shortly.”

“Yeesh.” Akko grinned, rubbing at the back of her head sheepishly. “I can’t believe I forgot she moved out last year.”

“You helped her move.” Daryl said pointedly.

“I know!” Akko shrugged. “I forgot that too. Head’s all woozy. Having a good a time though!”

“I… am glad to hear that?” The elder Cavendish turned towards Lotte and Sucy. “Are you two alright?”

The two women held up their hands, shaking their heads with jumbled responses of “Yep!” and “We’re fine!” and “Just go ahead and talk!” and “Take your time!”

---

“Well this takes me back.” Barbara peaked up at Daryl’s excessive apartment through the driver’s side window. “Alright”, she elbowed Diana. “Go get your woman!”

Diana looked absolutely spent. But also, a bit relieved. She’ll finally see her—the circumstances didn’t matter. Somehow all this craziness felt just like Akko and after hours of chasing her around she was… just excited to see her again.

She felt a swell of affection in her chest. The same feeling that pushed her to think about confessing in the first place.

“Will—Will you two come with me?”

Hannah clapped her shoulder. “You think after this entire afternoon we’d ditch on you now?”

Barbara grinned at her, encouragingly. “Come on, lover girl.”

“Please don’t ever call me that again.”

---

“Diana!”

Akko practically wept, running across Daryl’s living room (“Akko, no!”) and into the (proper) Cavendish’s arms.

“I missed you todaaay!” The brunette whined.

The reaction was a bit excessive, even for Akko, and at Diana’s confused reaction Sucy had helpfully supplied that she was—“Still high as kite. Painkillers, or whatever.”

Akko pulled back, lip trembling. “You’re so pretty.”

“Th—Thank you. Goodness, your nose!”

“Lamppost.”

“I heard,” Diana said softly, hand coming up to cup Akko’s cheek. She had been so worried. She inspected the wound with such tenderness that she could hear Barbara swooning in the back.

“Ahem.”

Right.

“Aunt Daryl. Thank you for taking care of her.”

“No worries.” Daryl replied with a lilt in her voice, smirking. “I’ve grown rather fond of this one.”

The miracles of Akko’s charm, Diana supposed.

The next thing she noticed was Sucy glowering towards Hannah—and the flowers. Her eyes widened, suddenly remembering their car-chase, and that the entire point of the evening was supposed to be—

“Easy now.” Diana said carefully, intent on alleviating whatever tension remained. “At least we know Akko’s alright.”

 ---

Oh she’s pretty.

What the hell! She’s already in her arms but she’s so so pretty and Akko could just breathe in the smell of her hair and oh Diana is right here!

Never-mind Daryl, and Sucy, and Lotte, and Barbara, and Hannah—Hannah?

Akko blinked, looking towards the auburn-haired woman. Then she grinned. Flowers! The sight of the bouquet triggered what felt like a distant memory through the hazy fog of her mind:

Flowers. Lights. Confession.

Diana.

She gasped.

Akko then suddenly grabbed the bundle straight out of Hannah’s hands—faster than anyone thought she could move.

“Hey!”

But she didn’t care, she pulled on Diana’s arm, urging her to look back towards her—and oh the lights were so pretty in this house—it felt perfect, it really did, the only word that echoed in Akko’s addled mind was:

Confess!

“Diana.”

She said softly, as if in a moment of clarity. She shoved the flowers towards the blonde.

“I love you!”

---

I love you.

Diana’s jaw had dropped.

She said I love you.

All she could see was the blinding grin that Akko was shooting her way and really—really Akko? Right now? In this situation?

But she couldn’t believe that she was smiling back. Because she realized she didn’t care. Akko had just told her she loves her.

This entire day was a disaster.

But she loves her.

She loves her!

Diana wants to say she loves her back. Goodness, when did her mouth stop working? She settled for pulling her closer—keeping her steady, Akko was still a little out of it—but she couldn’t help it. Diana pulled Akko in, cupping her cheek and—and—

Diana kissed her.

It wasn’t easy—she had to do so gently to avoid disturbing the gauze and plaster on top of Akko’s broken nose.

But Akko’s eyes had fluttered to a close so prettily, and she actually kissed her back. They pulled apart—Diana was suddenly aware of the people and their surroundings—and Akko looked up to her. Smiling. Surprised. And then—

Between the blood-loss, being heavily drugged, and Diana kissing her?

Akko’s eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted.

-

fin

-

A/N: Every time I write something I realized I like to focus on singular, detailed moments that are slow and soft. Then I read this hilarious twitter thread about a guy who interviewed George Clooney despite rupturing his gall bladder who got high as kite on his pain killers, and then I throught "That's some big fucking Akko energy", and likewise decided, "what if I just wrote whatever the hell I wanted and get tripping" and here we are

Hope you enjoy this - this is something a bit different for me and I just sat down for like four hours straight and spweded this out, am i ok, LOL

[ourladyoftheironmasque]

A Cross-Time Caper

When Hawk Moth's machinations inadvertently lead to the akumatization of Ladybug, it will take a bunny, a butterfly, a monkey, two ladybugs and three cats to set the world to rights again.

Chapter One of Three 3,564 words

*

It was all still very theatrical, of course. He bowed low, head nearly even with his hips, one arm bent across his stomach, the other extended up and out. The broad grin permanently etched on his face these days was the perfect compliment to his exaggerated manners. “A pleasure as always, Ladybug, but I’m afraid I must be going.” Another paw pad on his ring vanished, leaving him with two. Chat Noir straightened, and drew his baton.

Two weeks ago, this would have gone down differently.

Probably, he would have bowed over her hand. His performance against the day’s akuma victim always informed his flirting. When he was pleased with himself, he was the old world gentleman. He thought it charming to bow over her hand, kiss her knuckles and call her m’lady. Ever hopeful good work would earn him romance, he’d resist leaving her until his ring demanded it. (Or until she teased him so much that he lost his nerve.)

If he had embarrassed himself during the fight, then he’d be defensive. All sass and unearned bravado, the sort that a girl with self-respect just couldn’t let stand in a boy who couldn’t back up his trash talk. He’d call her Bugaboo just to hear her yell at him. That was his other favorite persona—the little boy on the playground who didn’t know how to tell a girl he liked her, so he antagonized her instead. Sometimes she answered his absurdity with cleverness, but more often than not she’d cross her arms and feign annoyance. Chat Noir always wanted attention, but when he was disappointed in himself, he usually tried to goad her into being upset with him, too. A good job meant looking for rewards he wouldn’t find and his easy acceptance of their absence; when he performed poorly, he’d force a scolding out of her if he had to. With hindsight, she’d let him have his way too much. When Chat Noir went fishing for a set down, his partner should have been the one propping him up.

Now she was Ladybug, always.

And she wasn’t the clever one anymore.

Giving up on Adrien and watching him ride off into the sunset with Kagami should have ended with Marinette climbing atop Luka’s white horse. He was sweet, and she liked him. Maybe he was a little too punk rock and anarchy for a beautiful house and three children at the end of their story, but it’d still be a good story. They would be happy together. The disparity of their feelings had left their friendship unbalanced, but if they were together, then Marinette could reciprocate. She could appreciate and support and respect him like he always had her.

But.

Life never wants to follow the path it should.

Her heart, Marinette learned, was interested in hopeless pining exclusively. As for her stomach, well, that started doing flip-flops for Chat Noir. And although her tongue was just as adept at barking out a plan to defeat the an akuma as ever, once that was finished so was her ability to string together a coherent sentence.

Ladybug wished she could say it was because Chat Noir had matured a lot recently. Because he had! Chat Noir stepped up during the battle against Miracle Queen and it turned out quick thinking and strategy agreed with him. There had been more equal division of labor in the past two weeks than the entire preceding year combined. Just in time, too. Without Master Fu to guide them, they were on their own. Ladybug could not have shouldered the burden of the Miracle Box and come up with all the plans and always be ready to wind her yo-yo around Chat Noir’s ankles to yank him out of the line of fire. Saving Paris had never been a game to him, exactly, but he’d enjoyed it in a way Ladybug couldn’t. To don a mask and smack a monster with a stick was how Chat Noir blew off steam. It was his escape from stress. Now even he could not deny the magnitude of the job before them.

The identities of their entire team had been compromised.

The loss of Master Fu’s memory was bad enough, but it also meant they lost their access to Guardian lore and the Grimoire.

The only council they had left was their kwamis, and transformation cut them off from Tikki and Plagg. Ladybug and Chat Noir had always been fond of using the two of us against the world as a rallying cry, but now it was true. And Chat Noir was pulling his weight.

Ladybug wished she could say she fell in love with him because of that. It would have been poetic, somehow. It would have been worthy of him.

But no.

Marinette had a good cry over Adrien—a dozen of them, really—binged ice cream and terrible rom coms with Alya, heard some variation of if he doesn’t see how special you are then he doesn’t deserve you from literally everyone she’d ever met—most in good faith, though the Chloe version was excruciating in it’s backhanded compliments and the Lila version was pretty obviously designed to make her feel worse—and bought a new diary. New pages for a new era. In general, Marinette did her absolute best to put her feelings for Adrien behind her.

If Adrien and Kagami made each other happy, then that was all that mattered, right? Right.

Right.

Right.

Right.

Marinette did her absolute best to put her feelings for Adrien behind her and they went absolutely nowhere because feelings don’t go away when you ask them nicely. But the loyalty to Adrien that had once made the idea of dating someone else feel so relentlessly wrong? That did leave. It turned out the world was filled with people as cute and smart and funny and kind and gentle and charming and vulnerable and brave and good as Adrien. Her heart scamped right up to Chat Noir and went, Well! How about this one? Isn’t he exactly who you’ve always wanted?

And when she tilted her head and squinted, he kinda was.

Only...she didn’t have to squint, actually.

Or tilt anything.

Looking back, Ladybug had probably been half in love with Chat Noir all along. Her dislike of the cute nicknames and attempts to steal kisses had simply been part of the mask. Another means of distancing Ladybug, Ultra-Competent Hero of Paris from Ladybug, Regular Teenager Making Up How to Save the World As She Went. For a while, she even fooled herself! Before Felix, she might have said Chat Noir pushed her boundaries and ignored her comfort zones. But after? The contrast between her playful partner’s irrepressible flirting and the actions of someone who pressed onwards without caring about her feelings could not be sharper.

Looking back, Ladybug had definitely been completely in love with Chat Noir all along. When viewed through the lens of having loved him, their year fighting side by side made so much more sense. It was her own love that she called upon to conquer Dark Cupid’s spell. When Chat Noir wondered if he would have had a shot in a world without Adrien, Ladybug couldn’t imagine one—but Oblivio soon stripped her of her memories, and photographic proof suggested that in a world where she was at least ignorant of Adrien, she would have fallen into Chat Noir’s arms immediately. And then there was Chat Blanc’s timeline. Ladybug could never know what really happened in that twisted world. Chat Blanc had babbled a lot about them being in love, but in the moment, Ladybug had thought nothing of it. It was simply his one track mind run off the rails. But from the safety of distance and a repaired timeline, she started to wonder if Chat Blanc had been more lucid than he let on. Maybe something had happened between them…

And ended with the boy she loved akumatized, Paris a half-submerged hellscape and herself dead.

Rationally, she knew Ladybug and Chat Noir could go get an ice cream at Andre’s together without triggering the end of the world. There must be a step in between their love and the destruction of the city they were charged with protecting. It was a moot point. He had a girlfriend now.

(Sometimes, she was confident she could steal him away if she tried. He’d wanted Ladybug for so long. Surely if she just apologized and told him how she felt, he’d forget all about other girls. But doing that would make her a bad person, wouldn’t it?)

(Other times, it wasn’t right and wrong that stopped her, but the fear that he didn’t care anymore. That Chat Noir would say no, and Ladybug would have to face that she’d lost her chance with him forever.)

“Pleasure’s yours, I mean, nine. Mine. I mean… See you next time, Chat Noir.”

At least the precarious nature of their transformations meant Ladybug was never trapped in a long, awkward conversation with Chat Noir. When she made a fool of herself in front of Adrien, that was agony for hours. Chat Noir only had two pad paws left, and her earrings were not faring any better. He was leaving, and she wouldn’t see him again until they were in the thick of a fight.

He was kind enough to never question her sudden tendency to get tongue-tied. Ladybug knew he noticed. His banter came slower, like he had to make a mental adjustment when her confidence disappeared.  

It was in that beat of silence—the one that used to not be there, but hung over her like the blade of a guillotine while Chat Noir cautiously decided how to respond—a brand new opportunity for chaos that two weeks ago would not have existed, but did today—when she wished a black hole would open up and swallow her whole

that one did.

Sort of.

“Minibug! Kitten Noir!”

It wasn’t a black hole, but the white-blue void of the Burrow. Bunnyx hung half out, arms making sweeping gestures to urge them closer. “It’s go time!”

As far as holes to swallow you up so that you don’t have to confront your own embarrassment went, the Burrow was kind of a lousy one if Chat Noir was invited. “We’re about to transform back!”

“I came prepared, Minibug. I’m sure you both did, too, with snacks for your kwamis.”

Chat Noir tossed Ladybug an uneasy smile. “Bunnyx wouldn’t be here just for chit-chat. We’d better go.”

(He had lately developed an irritating tendency to take his job seriously.)

(The love and support of his girlfriend was so freaking good for him that it was a little grating.)

Bunnyx’s security measures were, unsurprisingly, a pair of bowls slapped over their heads before she ushered them blindly into the Burrow. Well. Ladybug more or less knew to expect that. Chat Noir yelped. It was good to hear his facade drop, even if just for a second. He had come into his own recently, but underneath it all, he was the same pratfalling goofball he’d always been.

“Spots off.”

“Claws in.”

Familiarity with her purse made any awkward groping unnecessary. Producing a macaron for Tikki was as natural as breathing. For her part, Tikki seemed to be in awe of what she could see. Marinette heard a tiny “Wow” pass Tikki’s lips and from further away, de-transformed Chat Noir trying to placate Plagg. There was a job to be done. No rest for lazy cats, and no time to explore for Tikki.

“Tikki, Spots on!”

“Plagg, Claws out!”

The Burrow was full of secrets. Bunnyx monitored untold timelines, ushering their lives along the best possible path. Although she had heard Chat Noir transform and knew their identities were safe for another day, Ladybug did not dare remove the bowl. Bunnyx would tell her when it was safe to look.

“That—”

“Don’t!”

“—is the mini-est Minibug I’ve ever seen.”

Ladybug tilted the rim of the bowl back. Bunnyx was glaring daggers at a thoroughly unconcerned Chat Noir. A taller Chat Noir. His shoulders were deliciously broad, and his mop of blond hair was not a smidge neater. What should have been absurd—a grown man in a skin tight cat costume, bell and all—simply wasn’t. He stood with the complete assurance that he belonged in that outfit, and so it looked natural. Right.  

Ladybug eyes darted to the boy Bunnyx had brought with them. He’d also tipped his bowl back, and was staring dumbfounded at his future self.

“I mean it,” Chat Plus Sombre said, looking thoughtfully at Ladybug, “What are you? Thirteen?”

Ladybug bristled. So he was a grown-up, so what? That didn’t mean she was useless. “Almost fifteen.”

“She may be a newbie,” Bunnyx interjected, “but she’s good.”

Chat Plus Sombre held his hands up in surrender. “No need to remind me how fast Ladybug picked up the ins and outs of being a superhero. I’ve been playing catch-up since the day we met. I’m just surprised you went this young, Bunnyx. Isn’t the goal to pick her up five minutes before she quit?”

Quit.

Quit.

The casual way the word rolled off his tongue, as if Ladybug quitting could ever be normal, made her blood run cold. It was one thing if she wasn’t needed anymore. She’d happily hang up her yo-yo if Paris was safe. But it sounded like she’d left Chat Plus Sombre high and dry, reduced to plucking partners out of the timestream in order to keep on fighting.

She was going to quit.

Bunnyx treated the revelation like it was normal, too. “For you. They’re gonna take a quick detour. I found something else in the timestream that needs fixing. We’ll get back on track once Minibug and Kitten Noir have accomplished their mission.”

Chat Plus Sombre frowned at Chat Noir. “I don’t remember being tagged for one of these.”

“One of what?” Chat Noir cried. “And where’s future Ladybug?”

“We can’t tell you,” Bunnyx answered. “It’s bad enough you saw him as it is.”

Chat Plus Sombre shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I don’t remember this at all. He’s definitely gonna get mindwiped.”

“And her?”

Crossing his arms, Chat Plus Sombre acceded the point to Bunnyx. “Okay, since I don’t know my little lady is also gonna get mindwiped, I’ll be infuriatingly obtuse. That suit you better?” It didn’t appear to placate Bunnyx, but Chat Plus Sombre had evidently compromised as far as he was willing. “My Ladybug—by which I mean the Ladybug of my time, attach no further significance—is fine. She’s taken a temporary leave of absence. We—she planned it in advance. No Guardian mindwipe activated. She’s coming back. But since Paris still needs a Ladybug, we take one from the timestream as needed. There’s a gap of about three years between when she made the plan and when she needed it that we usually swipe a Minibug from.”

That felt...reckless. Tentatively, Ladybug said, “I thought time is delicate.”

“It is,” Bunnyx answered. There was a slight air of scolding.

“But,” Chat Plus Sombre interjected, “you’re not replaceable, and the earrings are too powerful to sub out even if just anyone could do the job.”

Ladybug looked away, embarrassingly flattered.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Bunnyx declared. “Better get back on track.”

“She says that,” Chat Plus Sombre added merrily, “but it really doesn’t matter. It’s time travel. She’s gonna drop you in the same nanosecond no matter how much time we spend in here.”

“You can only say that because you haven’t faded from existence.”

Chat Plus Sombre flailed. “Don’t you dare listen to her, Minibug and Mini Me! I’ve stopped existing loads of times! I’m an expert at it! You just—whoosh!” He snapped his fingers. “Stop.”

So the new and improved Serious Chat Noir was not a step away from pointless self-sacrifice. His adult self sounded like it was half-badge of honor, half-hilarious to disappear. “It isn’t funny,” Ladybug said, feeling vaguely faint.

Cat Plus Sombre softened. “You liar, you’re not almost fifteen. That was pure fourteen-and-a-half.”

Ladybug crossed her arms. “Like you can tell. You thought I was thirteen a minute ago.”

“You had a bowl on your head! It’s not fair to judge my level of knowing you-ness by what I thought when you had a bowl on your head. I demand a re-do. Get me another Minibug, Bunnyx.”

“No. Stop.” Bunnyx inhaled. “Here is what is going to happen: they are going to do their mission. We are going to wait here. If they fail, we dip back into time and try again. We’ll do it as many times as it takes for them to get the win. Then, we’re going to go back to our time for the mission we were supposed to be doing. I will not be taking questions.”

Chat Plus Sombre held up a finger. “Not a question. Comment: We broke Mini Me.”

Bunnyx fisted her hands in her hair. “You said you don’t remember this!”

“I don’t. He’s just not having any fun with this, so I have concerns.”

It was a good point. Chat Noir had been awfully quiet. “Can you give us a minute?” Ladybug asked.

Chat Plus Sombre gestured to the Burrow. Yes, it was surprisingly large, but there was no privacy to be found. “Not really.���

“Pretend.” Ladybug shooed Bunnyx and Chat Plus Sombre to the far side of the ...what even was this? Plane of existence? Pocket dimension? Chat Noir sank to the floor, knees up and put the bowl back on his head.

“Kitty, what’s wrong?”

“Him. Me.”

Well, that was just crazy. “You realize you grow up to be Doctor Who, right? Pulling companions from time and space. You should be excited!”

“I’m trying so hard to not be that guy anymore. Looks like it doesn’t even matter.”

“What’s wrong with that guy?” Ladybug happened to like that guy a lot. So much so that seeing him curled in on himself like this was a complete crisis, disastrous enough to forestall all stuttering.

“Were you even paying attention to the way he talks about you?”

“I don’t like how me quitting seems normal to him, but I guess I just don’t understand why we’re both going to think it makes sense someday.”

Chat Noir’s shoulders hunched. “Thought so. He keeps calling you his and you don’t even notice. I stopped doing that.”

“I noticed you.”

“I know the nicknames didn’t mean anything to you, but they mattered to me.”

She should tell him that she missed the nicknames. She wanted to be his lady, his Bugaboo, his everything. But that wasn’t fair to him. He had a girlfriend now.

“Are you really fourteen and a half?”

That it was even a question to Chat Noir struck Ladybug with unexpected force. That level of specificity into their ages was so far into Secret Identity territory that they’d never gone there. Chat Noir didn’t know how old she was. But his adult self could pin it down within a span of months. Chat Plus Sombre knew her better than Ladybug had ever thought she and Chat Noir could realistically know each other.

Ladybug didn’t answer, but they both knew she didn’t need to.

“You quit, and he goes through time looking for different yous instead of just getting a new partner.”

“That’s not his fault,” Ladybug protested. “If I don’t give up the earrings, what else can he do?”

“It isn’t fair. I’m trying, Ladybug. I really am.”

She laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you are. You’ve matured so much. I’ve been really impressed these past couple of weeks. You’ve been awesome, and you shouldn’t look at him and feel like you’re not. Because he’s awesome. You’re still a superhero when you grow up, and a really good one. I’m jealous. I don’t grow up to be Doctor Who.”

Chat Noir eased the bowl back. “Let’s just do the mission and go home.”

Probably, Bunnyx and Chat Plus Sombre couldn’t avoid overhearing the conversation, but the polite thing to do would have been feign ignorance. Yet the moment Chat Noir announced he wanted to get it done and go home (and probably get an ego boost from his girlfriend), the illusion of privacy was shattered.

“That sounded like ready to roll to me!”

“Cross-Time Caper is go!” Chat Plus Sombre cocked one hidden eyebrow. “When are they going?”

Ladybug pulled Chat Noir to his feet and tossed his bowl aside. They followed Bunnyx to the window she beckoned them towards. It was Paris, of course, the beloved skyline marred by a whirling, writhing mass of red hovering in the air near Notre Dame. Bunnyx zoomed in.

The red was…ladybugs? Ladybug bit her lip. Those were her Miraculous Ladybugs of creation, but they weren’t repairing magical damage and disappearing. They were hard at work, diligently crafting something in the sky.

Bunnyx scrolled down, and on the street stood Chat Noir, (a third Chat Noir) staring up at the ladybugs, his face streaked with tears.

“Oh,” Chat Plus Sombre breathed. “This I remember.”

She had a feeling she knew the answer, but Ladybug asked anyway. “What’s going on?”

Grim, he said exactly what she suspected he would: “You’ve been akumatized, m’lady.”

[mobius-prime]

232. Sonic the Hedgehog #164

The Darkest Storm (Part Three): Downburst

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: James Fry Colors: Jason Jensen

With Naugus and Mogul having teamed up, backed up by both of their respective groups of minions, the Freedom Fighters' task to get the Sword and Crown of Acorns back has just gotten a lot harder. Fiona calls out to Sonic that she wants to finish this quickly, and Sonic takes his chance to quip in Sally's direction that he never disappoints a lady, "present company excluded," a comment which just exasperates her though he merely notes in reply that he's just happy to see her back out in the thick of things once again. Sonic and Elias charge Mogul, distracting him and allowing Sonic to grab the crown off his head, but when he tries to give it back to Elias they're both shocked painfully by a surge of energy from the crown. Mogul gloats that the Source has been permanently corrupted to only respond to his own influence, and Sir Connery, outraged, charges forward to engage Mogul in single combat. I can't stress enough that at this point, someone's weird horse fetish (looking at you, Fry) is on full display, as Connery's clothing is strategically damaged to show off his rippling bicep muscles and the manly glare he gives Mogul as he strains to thrust his sword in his direction. It… lacks even the slightest modicum of subtlety. Sonic tries to rush forward to help, but Mogul traps him in a fist made of rock, ensuring that he and Connery can duel it out one on one. However, it turns out Connery didn't even need Sonic's help anyway, because he's got a cool magic sword and the power of righteousness on his side!

With that, Sir Connery's body disappears in a puff of ash, leaving his empty clothing tatters behind. Merlin sadly informs everyone that he used his own life force as a conduit for the energy surge that was able to destroy the sword and crown at once, eliminating the final remnant of the Source of All from this world. A furious Mogul tries to insist he still holds immeasurable power even without the sword, but a voice suddenly booms out over Knothole from the sky, claiming that it does as well. Eggman's fleet of airships has arrived, and within an instant, they blast every member of the opposing team - Mogul, Naugus, the Destructix, and Uma's children. The Freedom Fighters are left shocked at the sudden and total annihilation of their opposition, and prepare for a battle, but turns out they needn't bother.

Look at it, indeed! You would be a complete fool not to attempt to do so at this very moment, when Knothole is vulnerable and its fighting force is already exhausted. But, of course, if Eggman enacted a sudden and decisive victory over his foes right now, then we wouldn't have a comic, would we? And so, Eggman willingly falls victim to the most fatal of villainous flaws, and leaves, intending to return soon on his own terms when conquering Knothole will actually present him with a bit of a challenge. The Freedom Fighters are left to clean up the mess left behind, and give what's left of Sir Connery a proper burial in Knothole's small cemetery. Elias tries to say something in remembrance, but finds that the grief is a bit too much.

Sonic's words reinvigorate Elias, and he gives an impressive speech on the spot, stating that Knothole and its kingdom will aspire to be as brave as Connery was in his final moments, and that his Sword of Light will be passed down the Acorn line as the new royal heirloom. Man, all this would be way more inspiring if Sir Connery appeared in more than four issues and had any personality traits beyond "medieval-esque knight." Sonic, Merlin, Tails, and Knuckles all walk together, discussing how even without the Ancient Walkers, they still have their three chosen successors - Aurora, Athair, and Merlin himself. Their spirits are raised by the thought, but darker things are going down back in New Megaopolis.

…you know, the Egg Grapes may be horrible, awful torture devices and all, but I can't say I really feel bad for anyone stuck in them right now. Well, maybe Uma's children given that apparently they're all still just acting on instinct from their mother's imprinting, but hell, they threw their lot in with Naugus, so I can't really bring myself to care that much. Eggman leaves the room… which gives Anonymous some time to ruminate. You see, their plan went exactly as they hoped, with the sole exception of Sonic's survival. Eggman is now the ultimate power on the face of Mobius, poised to be able to truly win this war and take over everything. A silhouette reminiscent of Robotnik appears on A.D.A.M.'s screen… and the voice of A.D.A.M. quietly reveals himself to be Anonymous, orchestrating everything while hiding in plain sight. That's right, A.D.A.M. has been Anonymous all along! If this seems kind of out of the blue and like it wasn't really planned from the beginning, well, that's because it wasn't. Apparently Romy Chacon had originally intended for a resurrected Robotnik to be Anonymous, but clearly that didn't pan out, and Ian decided to make it A.D.A.M. instead. Far more interesting for Eggman to be betrayed from within, if you ask me, and furthermore, I'm glad that they haven't actually brought the original Robotnik back permanently. It's not often a series' main villain actually dies for real, only to be replaced by someone even worse - I feel like it would just cheapen things to suddenly bring back the original Robotnik for some more shenanigans.

(Unnamed Story)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Josh & Aimee Ray

What? Again?! Yes, just like before, we have another unnamed story! Now, given what the name of the story preceding it in the previous issue was, we can easily deduce that the name of this story was meant to be "Sonic Riders (Part 2 of 2)", but the title never actually appears anywhere in the story itself, so out of principle (and spite) I'm leaving its name blank here. Sonic returns to Knothole after his encounter with the Babylon Rogues, battered and exhausted from having lost his fight with them. Tails and Knuckles are concerned, but he brushes them off, saying only his pride is truly wounded and revealing their plans to attack Knothole tomorrow.

Again, I have to point out how strange and out of nowhere all this is, given that in the game these three only get into Extreme Gear riding in the first place after entering Eggman's competition. Like, Tails just suddenly made some airboards at the exact same time that the Babylon Rogues showed up on boards of their own? Suuure. Well, using them to allow the other Freedom Fighters to keep up with Sonic is a good idea at least. The next morning finds the Rogues waiting in the forest outside Knothole, wondering if Sonic plans to show up, though Jet is certain he won't given how badly they beat him yesterday. However, of course he chooses that moment with Tails and Knuckles in tow, and a furious Jet begins to race with him, planning to trash Knothole purely on principle now and determined to prove that he's the fastest thing alive, not Sonic. The six quickly pair off with their respective foils, with Knuckles and Storm trading punches, Wave and Tails trying to outfly and outsmart one another, and Jet and Sonic focusing on pure speed. And then… it ends! Again with this lack of closure, Ian! The final page even invites readers to "play Sonic Riders on your favorite console" to find out who wins this race, despite such a "race" never taking place in the game.

The good news is that after this arc, Ian seemed to have realized how disappointing and odd these non-adaptions are, and in future issues dropped them in favor of non-canon pre-adaptions called "In Another Time, In Another Place" that essentially act as short ads for upcoming games. These take place, as the name suggests, in an alternate reality much closer to that of the games, and as such aren't considered canon within the preboot universe, thus this blog won't be covering them. That said, as I mentioned before, altered versions of some games are considered to have happened at some point within this universe, such as both Sonic Rush games. Sonic '06 is a particularly interesting case, as while Ian apparently confirmed that it did happen in the preboot 'verse and small references to characters and locations from the game are included in future issues, the very nature of the game's storyline means that everything that happened in it was erased from the timeline regardless. This does mean, however, that Silver, arguably the most important new character to be introduced in said game, exists in this universe, though we won't be seeing him for some issues yet. Don't worry though - when he does appear, he really shines!

[jesawyer]

Unsolicited Opinions on Improvements for Mordhau’s Frontline Mode

In spite of not being particularly good at them, I’ve been a fan of competitive team-based, objective-oriented FPSes going back to Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory and Battlefield: 1942.  When they’re good, they’re great.  The thrill of victory/agony of defeat on map like W:ET’s Fuel Dump is hard to match in either a single player game or a standard DM/TDM environment.

When I saw that Mordhau was coming out with a team-based, objective-oriented mode (Frontline), I was thrilled.  Mordhau’s combat is challenging and I always appreciate when something is...

There are problems with balance (HORSES) and, as with any online competitive game, the in-game chat being a vortex of brain-destroying negative energy, but the developers at Triternion have already discussed plans to address those issues.  And while they’ve also discussed plans to look at Frontline, that’s not going to stop me, who has no experience working directly on team-based, objective-oriented FPSes (other than giving advice on Armored Warfare, I guess... ), from giving my unsolicited opinions on how Frontline could be improved as a mode of gameplay.

I’m an RPG designer, so if anyone reading this wants to dismiss these ideas immediately, feel free.  Take ‘em or leave ‘em, baby!

Things I’m not Going to Address (Except Here)

It’s worth saying things that I’m not going to really dive into because I don’t think they’re problems with Frontline as a mode.  First, weapon balance.  I have opinions on how weapons and weapon costs are balanced in Mordhau as a whole, but I don’t think any Frontline map is made or broken because of overall weapon balance.  Horses and firebombs are sort of the exception here, but Triternion has already acknowledged problems with both, so there’s no point to beating on that billhooked horse.

Second, in-game chat being a cesspool of idiocy.  I mean, it absolutely is, but it’s also 100% unnecessary for playing Frontline.  Because Frontline has a single conflict point at any given moment of the game, it’s really rare that any deep team coordination is required.  And if the mode evolves to require better coordination, it would be better served by the existing voiced in-character quick bark system (which is not dissimilar in overall structure to Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory’s) than by requiring characters to type in / read text chat.

As a reminder, you can disable the chat log entirely from the options menu.  In my experience, it is only an improvement.

Asymmetry

One of the first enormous hurdles to achieving good gameplay balance on any Frontline map is that every Frontline map has either asymmetrical map layouts, asymmetrical objectives, or asymmetrical map layouts and objectives.

It’s hard to un-ring the bell on these design decisions, but it’s important to recognize that when both the layouts and objectives are asymmetrical, it’s significantly more challenging for designers to achieve what feels like (to players) a fair set of challenges for both teams.

On maps where the layouts are close to symmetrical (e.g. Mountain Peak), it’s important to ensure that the final stage objectives feel like they require a similar amount of time, effort, and focus to complete.  Of course, Mountain Peak’s final stage objectives don’t require a similar amount of time, effort, and focus to complete, so whether your team wins or loses once pushed back to their final spawn can feel like a tooth-and-nail struggle (pushing the ram to red) or like you suddenly lose out of nowhere without even seeing the final objective fall (burning tents in blue).

To compare these two objective types, we can look at how they work in games like Overwatch or W:ET.  The ram at red is like an Overwatch payload and other than the fact that it moves, it’s not much different from flag objectives in Frontline.  Blue players stand around the ram and it moves -- unless red players stand in the area and/or kill the blue players in the area.  Unlike an Overwatch payload (or the train car on W:ET’s Rail Gun), the defending team cannot reverse the direction of the ram once it starts moving.  They can only stop it (reclaiming their nearest flag will also halt forward progress).  The ram is easy to track and players from both teams can try to dogpile onto it (or the nearby flag).

In contrast, the tents that blue has to defend are spread out over a relatively large area.  A single red player can throw a torch and light up a tent and there’s not much blue can do to stop it.  Of course, red can just forget to do it, which is a real and separate problem, but all of these problems contribute to making the final objectives feel massively different in terms of the effort and coordination required to accomplish them.

It would probably be easier to change the objectives on Mountain Peak than to try to use map layout as a balancing factor.  On maps like Grad, where the layout is so totally asymmetrical, making the final objectives more symmetrical could help a lot.  Even if both red and blue had to destroy three carts, the layouts of the final objective zones are so fundamentally different that the experience would be inherently different.  And that’s really the goal, right?  That it feels different winning as blue than it does winning as red?  I believe most players would rather have symmetrical objectives that feel more balanced for each side than to have asymmetrical objectives that feel massively lopsided in execution.

Map Refinement

This is related to asymmetry, but is a separate issue.  There’s a lot that could be edited out or changed on each of the existing Frontline maps to make gameplay more enjoyable.  A relatively minor, but significant, change on Taiga’s layout made a huge impact on the viability of blue taking the central flag.  There are two types of map refinements that are important: large scale and polish.

Large scale issues are things like Grad’s subterranean dungeon.  I would argue it doesn’t need to exist at all, but a reasonable argument could me made that having another path into the castle is valuable for red.  Still, it could be cut in half in terms of overall complexity/size and it would still accomplish the same goal.

Another large scale issue is the distance of blue’s spawn from the center of Crossroads relative to the distance from red’s spawn.  Blue’s is quite a bit farther away and their path is obstructed far more than red’s.  Additionally, red horses can (and do, nonstop, every match) run circles through blue’s spawn.  I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect that the base spawn of each team should be blocked from continuous horse access.

In general, looking at each team’s spawns relative to the capture point between them, consider if each team has a similar burden to access the capture circle in terms of distance, obstruction, and vulnerability to enemy harrying tactics (i.e., prior to even entering the circle).  If they don’t, address those as part of large scale map changes.

Polish issues are things like the myriad small collision hangups that exist on almost every map.  E.g. on Crossroads, overhead clearance between the ground and stairs in the central fort, the chunk of debris on the ground just around the NE corner of the base of the central fort, and red’s ramps over the palisade wall.  Making movement collision accurately model every bump and nook and cranny produces frustrating experiences for players.  Smooth out the collision to produce walking surfaces that don’t stop player movement because of minor, almost imperceptible height differences.  If smoothing the collision out makes it differ too much from the world geometry, change them both.

Catapults, Trebs, and Similar Instant Death Machines

Speaking personally, I don’t think these add any value to Frontline.  When I get killed by one of them, 3/4 times I had no indication that danger was imminent and in many situations there was nothing I could to avoid death.  E.g. on Grad, it’s easy for red to launch catapult shot over the wall into the smithy, giving even players who are looking in that direction less than half a second to react (i.e., realize they will die) to the enormous stone sphere as it crests the wall.

If these siege weapons continue to be a part of Grad, Camp, and other maps, please give players an audio/visual cue - regardless of where they’re looking - that death is inbound.

Airstrikes and artillery in W:ET are preceded by colored smoke and distinctive sounds that give players a window of opportunity to get out of the way.  I’m not saying there should be smoke where they will land, but a better audio cue would go a long way to making siege weapon deaths feel less random and arbitrary.  Yes, silent death from a catapult is realistic, but it’s obnoxious from a gameplay perspective and can instantly change an objective from being threatened to being completely cleared.

Better Audio Cues

Players have a difficult time focusing on Frontline.  It’s just human nature.  There’s a reason why Overwatch focuses everyone toward a single payload that they stand on.

Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory used voice of god-style announcements to indicate when major map-critical events were occurring and to tell players what they were supposed to be doing.  At the start of Fuel Dump, the Axis announcer says, “Don’t let them construct the bridge! Construct the command post!”  When the Allies construct the bridge, the announcer yells, “Bridge constructed! Destroy it!” The announcer keeps track of every major game state and constantly reminds the players where they stand on the map.  When dynamite is planted on an objective, everyone in the game is made aware of it and it focuses their efforts on defusing it / ensuring it goes off.  Critically, there is a window in which the defending team can rush to the objective and stop / reverse what has been set in motion.  

In Frontline, when enemies are attacking a flag, players on the defending team don’t get an audio cue until the tide has turned in the attackers’ favor.  But by that point, if a player is not already involved in the defense of the flag, it’s unlikely that they can reach the flag in time to make a difference.  Better and more audio cues about the state of an objective would help focus players more on the objectives than they currently do (not much).

Audio cues can also apply to player-initiated barks being broadcast across the team.  Yes, spam can be a problem, but muting players should be an easy process in any competitive online game.  Mordhau already has a robust set of voice barks, but they’re only heard in proximity to the player and most of them aren’t useful in any practical sense.  Being able to yell for help isn’t that appealing when it’s limited to a 15′ radius around you and everyone in that radius can already see someone feint morphing a maul into your face.

However, being able to call for help or reinforcements and having it broadcast to the team with an on-screen indicator of your location or the nearest active objective -- that could be quite helpful.  Arguably one screen of the commands could be reorganized to only and always be team-wide barks: Hold, Follow Me, Help, and Charge.  Need Healing or Need Repairs could also be added to the list.

Point Scoring and Display

Even players who elect to play Frontline are often awful at actually focusing on the objectives.  A lot of players go into it as though it’s TDM.  How many times have you seen Crossroads end and the losing team has a proud player at the top of the leaderboard with a 50:3 K:D due to running down the enemy team’s spawn with a horse for the whole match?

K:D is a fine metric for success in DM or TDM, but it’s not the point of Frontline -- at least, it isn’t when it’s away from the objectives.  I think there are a variety of changes that could be made to scoring and to the display of scores to help focus people on the objectives.

First, killing and, arguably, dying on or near an active objective should be weighted as more valuable than killing random enemies 75m away from an active objective. Players currently accrue points for neutralizing and capturing an objective, but if the needle isn’t moving, they don’t earn any points for fighting on the objective.  This discourages proactive defense and doesn’t motivate attacking players to push fights into the objective unless the odds are already heavily in their favor.

Damaging blockades (with anything other than firebombs, anyway) and repairing them are tedious, often dangerous activities that arguably do more to aid/hinder access to the objective than killing an individual unit.  Since firebomb damage is being tuned, it may be worth considering increasing the score bonus for damaging or repairing blockades to encourage more players to prioritize taking down barriers before entering melee with people in the general vicinity.

For Frontline, consider highlighting score in a lighter color (vs. K/D/A) and either adding additional stats (healing, capture, and repair/destruction score contributions) or only showing the player’s K/D/A (no one else’s) to de-emphasize the importance of K/D/A.  I’ve seen a lot of posts online where players post screenshots of someone “scandalously” at the top of a Frontline scoreboard with a poor or mediocre K/D/A.   Yes, it’s not DM/TDM, it’s Frontline.  The point is ostensibly about pushing objectives and helping your teammates do that.  The way points are scored and displayed should emphasize that, with K/D/A only being one element.

Supply Boxes and Their Placement

I have pretty mixed feelings about deployable objects in games of this type, but rather than advocate removing any of those things, I’m going to suggest rethinking the inclusion of supply boxes and, if they stay in the game, where they are placed.  Supply boxes are the easiest way to build ballistae and for that reason, where they are placed can have a huge impact on the defensive capabilities of the team controlling the space around the supply boxes.

If the developers’ intention is that ballistae should be used mostly defensively, supply boxes should be placed primarily away from central objectives, and not close to lines of sight that point toward central objectives.  This promotes back-and-forth gameplay across the center, rather than entrenching the dominant team’s position at the center.

Transparency and Tuning in Objective Capture Mechanics

It’s not currently obvious to most players how the capture mechanics on an objective work.  What changes the objective from Attacking to Capturing?  What ratio of attackers vs. defenders are required?  Some UI changes could help highlight exactly what’s happening.

Finally, I urge the developers to think about the timing of captures and how that works with spawning mechanics.  It’s common for a defender on an objective to die, be unable to respawn before the objective is considered “Losing” and, after respawning, be able to reach the objective before it is fully captured by the enemy.

Is this the desired pacing of objective captures?  I would guess that something more forgiving is desired.  Once an objective is “Losing”, if it’s technically impossible for respawning defenders to reach the objective in time to prevent it from being fully captured, it can be extremely frustrating.  Tuning the pacing of objective captures can help make the back and forth feel less hopeless, more satisfying.

Thanks for reading.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 3: the difference between yokai and the fae is like the difference between Pokemon and Ultra Beasts which is “fuck if I know but now I’m afraid that I’m spending too long hung up on the ‘what’s a yokai’ point because unlike Ultra Beasts, yokai are not going to be relevant to the plot moving forward beyond this case”

We’ll call it worldbuilding, and setting the atmosphere of “there is even more than what we know beyond the scope of our main characters,” we’ll go with that.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Ms Athena Cykes, Attorney-at-Law, throws a policeman into Apollo like she’s an Olympic athlete throwing a hammer, and once she’s helped Apollo back off the ground and he’s introduced himself as her coworker – making her zero for two on decent introductions – she grabs him by the arm and makes him sprint along with her away from the scene of her crime. “Maybe he’ll just, y’know, have forgotten that happened,” she says, releasing Apollo halfway up the hill to the manor and letting him gasp for breath. “Just a little bit of head trauma to smooth things over?” She frowns, hanging her head slightly, her eyes turning toward the ground. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s a reflex I have if someone grabs me suddenly.”

“I’ll remember to not do that,” Apollo says, his hands on his knees, trying and failing to recall the last time he ever sprinted uphill, “but I think that’s still a… problem.” Of felony level, or maybe misdemeanor if she’s lucky and the prosecution is charitable to the reflex argument.

“Maybe we can say a yokai did it,” Athena says. “Since there’s so many around anyway and all the locals are talking about that.”

“Yeah, our client’s daughter has already mistaken me for a red-horned demon,” Apollo says. “You might be next to get the yokai treatment.”

Athena tilts her head to the side and stares at him. Her eyes are blue, blue enough that Apollo would have to concentrate to see if they change color. “I mean, your horns aren’t red,” she says, “but I can see where it’s coming from.”

Sometimes Apollo wonders why he bothers. “But we’ve got our client’s problem to sort out first,” Athena says brightly, and Apollo pushes himself back upright. “Did you meet him? Gimme the details, rápido!”

He fills her in on his conversation with Mayor Tenma and all of the village folklore that he’s heard; she shows him a one-sheet special edition of the village newspaper, just printed, displaying a photograph of something resembling Tenma Taro flying through the air. “You don’t think it’s actually a supernatural murder case, do you?” she asks.

“I…” Apollo finds it easier to stare at the manor than to meet Athena’s eyes. “I – of course not!”

Athena raises an eyebrow.

In the manor foyer, they meet the caretaker, a petty pickpocket who tries to steal Apollo’s bracelet and is watching wrestling, or would be if the match hadn’t been postponed after the Amazing Nine-Tails’ failed to show up. They don’t get a chance to ask the caretaker what he saw; Athena chases him off by yelling when he makes a very suspicious remark about their wallets. And she complained about his Chords of Steel.

At the crime scene, he expects to see Ema, powdering the scene with Snackoos and her search for fingerprints, at home amidst the weirdness of the scene – but the familiar lab coat is nowhere in sight. No one is, when they cast their first look around the room, Athena yelping in horror at the feathers and bloody footprints, but before they have any time to investigate, they are ambushed by a man in a blinding white suit. After about a minute of circular arguing and a threat to arrest them, he finally introduces himself as “Detective Bobby Fulbright, champion of our good citizens and defender of justice!”

Yep, he wishes it was Ema here. Ema would just let them into the crime scene, but Athena has to talk circles around Fulbright to get him to concede. And it isn’t that Fulbright is particularly difficult to tie up in knots, either – it’s just another hassle that Apollo isn’t used to and didn’t expect. (He shouldn’t have expected to find Ema on every ridiculous case he takes, but there had seemed a precedent.)

The door in the back of the Fox Chamber is the entrance to the so-called Forbidden Chamber, where Tenma Taro is said to be sealed away. There’s a heavy lock with no keyhole sealing the doors tight, and though he remembers Jinxie mentioning a warding charm on the door, Apollo sees nothing of the sort in the room. Besides one overturned chair, there doesn’t seem to have been a struggle. Beneath the chair lies a piece of bloodied cloth, which they can only investigate when Athena has lied to Fulbright to get him out of the room. “Hey, detective, did you hear?” she calls across the room, and she had barely let Apollo in on her plan before launching into it, but that question coupled with that grin of hers says everything Apollo needs to know. “Down on Yokai Lane, there was a red-horned demon threatening a teenage girl!”

There’s no way he’s going to believe—

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? In justice we trust!”

He rushes from the room, and Athena turns her sharp smug grin on Apollo. “That was… kinda easy, actually.” She isn’t frightening – that isn’t the right word – but she’s clever and clearly has no reservations about picking at a weakness she sees, and she sees Fulbright’s. No wonder Phoenix hired her. “Now we can really investigate!”

“Unless he comes back and arrests me for being a demon,” Apollo says. “Thanks a lot for that, by the way, tossing me under the bus there.”

“¡De nada!”

While they move the chair and scramble to otherwise search the scene, tugging again on the Forbidden Chamber doors, opening the window, and Athena kneeling and nearly sticking her head beneath the coffee table, she explains Widget, the strange little electronic she wears around her neck. Apollo had spotted its screen changing colors and making faces and hadn’t thought much more of it. Apparently it’s a high-tech mood ring that sometimes just shouts things, in combination with a computer, that can also take pictures, and she scans in a three-dimensional visualization of the crime scene “just in case. You never know what comes in handy, and Fulbright seems like a bit of a dunce so who knows if or when we’ll get a crime scene photo.”

“It’s really just all advanced technology?” Apollo asks. “That it can vocalize your mood?”

“What else?” the robotic voice chirps, and Athena nods and continues, “What do you think I’m gonna tell you? That it’s magic?”

She doesn’t plainly laugh at him, but she still looks amused, and Apollo swallows what little pride he has left after a year at the Wright Anything Agency and says, “Uh, maybe?”

“Mr Wright asked the same thing, actually,” she says. “If it was magic, or a merger of magic and tech. I guess it makes sense you’d ask the same! You do work together, after all!”

Once, Apollo would have taken it as a compliment to be compared to Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t feel that charitable now. “But on the subject of magic – you know that Mr Wright is…”

How to describe Mr Wright, anyway? He’s enough of an enigma personally, without the fae factor. And then – fae-adjacent is how Klavier describes him, the riddle of a man who wasn’t stolen as a child, never made a deal, never had it in their blood, and still ended up marked by the handprints of half a dozen fae. They’re petty and scary and selfish; the curses make sense. The whole package?

“Oh, the thing with his eyes?” Athena asks. “Where he can, like, see ghosts and stuff?”

“Sort of,” Apollo says. “Actually not really, but you’ve got the overall spirit of it.” She squats down and picks up one of the feathers, spinning it in her fingers and frowning. “Wait – he just – showed you that his eyes change color and you accepted what he said about why that happens?”

“Well, yeah,” Athena says. She sets the feather down and her mouth twists disgustedly at the blood soaked and dried into the carpet. “I could hear that he’s sincere, everything he said about magic. And now we have a giant mutant bird or a monster committing murder, so.”

“I’d personally consider a giant mutant bird to be a monster.”

Athena hears Fulbright returning before Apollo does and they feign innocence, like they’ve just been examining the alderman’s old wrestling trophies all this time. Apollo almost feels bad for the detective, having been sent on a futile demon-hunt – he doesn’t appear to have connected Apollo to Athena’s words and Apollo is infinitely grateful for it – and arriving back only for Athena to manipulate him into giving up information again. This time, he’s apparently been so confused by it all that he unprompted offers them a warning about the prosecution.

If they were fae, or a witch, fine. If the warning was that there was just some sort of magic, uncertain in origin but obviously present – fine. Fine. (Obviously not fine, but liveable. The kind of thing he’s faced before.)

“A convicted – are you joking?”

Athena winces and claps a hand to the ear that is closer to Apollo. Fulbright isn’t fazed by his scream. “Not at all! By order of the Chief Prosecutor himself, so there’s not much room to question it!”

(Apparently Phoenix’s counterpart over at the Prosecutors Office is as batshit as he is. Wait, isn’t that Edgeworth? Apollo has met him and didn’t think—)

“That’s completely nuts!” Apollo says. He tries to swallow the shout but it still comes out as an indignant squawk. Athena wisely has not removed her hand from her ear and takes a step away. “What justification – even the Chief Prosecutor – a convicted killer—”

(In his head he is already composing a text to Klavier that consists only of question marks. Good fucking luck to Klavier to figure out what he’s referring to.)

“Killer he might be, but he’s also a master of psychology. Who better for the job of proving to everyone that yokai are nothing but figments of the imagination, and no fake creature committed this murder?”

Apollo imagines what Ema would have to say about this: the dead-eyed look on her face, the “maybe it will still be better than working with the fop,” and probably not nearly such a staunch conviction that it couldn’t have been magic. They saw Kristoph collapse together, found Trucy’s mother’s mitamah, and met Gourdy. She knows.

“This prosecutor,” Athena says softly, all her bravado and enthusiasm of barely two minutes ago gone. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Blackquill, would it?”

“That he would be!” Fulbright says, with far too much cheer for the fact that they are discussing the way the Prosecutors Office has been twisted inside and out. “Simon Blackquill. So you have heard of him?”

“Yeah,” Athena mumbles, rubbing her arm like a sudden chill has come over her. “You could say that.”

Maybe when she was studying psychology she looked up prosecutors of her profession, but that doesn’t entirely account for the haunted look on her face, and the way Apollo feels just that much colder, too.

-

“I still wish I had gotten to try on the Amazing Nine-Tails’ mask,” Athena says. “I want to see what kind of magic powers it gives you!”

“That’s probably just a story,” Apollo says. Probably. “And you shouldn’t go around sticking your head in the evidence, anyway.”

The breeze has a bite to it and the shadows are long by the time they make it back to the office. Their investigation found them plenty more clues, none of which piece together, and more testimony leading to dead ends. The manor caretaker, Filch, is lying about something; the mayor’s aide, L’Belle, is lying about even more, brimming with red and an apparent preoccupation with Tenma Taro; and the mayor himself tried to lie and pretend he wasn’t being blackmailed into pushing for the municipal merger. And Apollo doesn’t have Trucy, Ema, and Klavier to count on. He has Athena to count on, as much as he can when she is stepping behind the bench as a barred lawyer for the first time, and they have whatever the hell is happening on the prosecution’s side to battle against.

“I bet Fulbright took it away so that he can get magic powers from it,” Athena says.

“I bet Fulbright took it because he’s the detective in charge of the scene and it might have something to do with the murder.”

“Apollo,” Athena says with a whine. “You are no fun.”

“I’m not supposed to be fun! We’re supposed to be solving a crime!”

She and Trucy would enjoy working together. The trouble is whether anyone would actually get defended without someone to keep them pointed at the goal.

The office door is unlocked as always, but the lights are on and Phoenix, in jeans and a t-shirt and no shoes, is lying upside-down with his legs hooked over the back of the couch and his head hanging off the side, on the phone. Apparently he has given up all concerns on making a good first couple impressions on Athena as her boss in a formal capacity. This doesn’t surprise Apollo. That he complains about having back pain and then continues to sit like this doesn’t surprise Apollo either.

“Yeah,” Phoenix says, his eyes turning toward the two of them and then back to the ceiling. “I know, but you know I’m very good at keeping secrets. Which – no, that’s not my pitch to get security clearance, that’s my pitch for you to just tell me even though I don’t have clearance t—” He sits up slowly, laboriously, and saying nothing, obviously being chewed out by whoever is on the other end of the line. “I know, I know. I get it. I’m just telling you that solving a cold case where I’m not allowed to know much more than the defendant’s name is not going to be a cakewalk.” Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he adds, “But the kids are back and don’t look happy, so I think I should deal with that first. – Uh-huh, yeah. We’ll see. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The phone cracks against the coffee table when he tosses it down. Athena winces. “Hey, Apollo,” Phoenix says lightly. “Athena. I finally caught a cab and got your luggage home.”

“I, uh.” She stands with her shoulders slumped for barely a moment before she pops back up, hands on her hips. “Sorry? Sorry that I can’t lie and say I’m sorry for leaving because I’m not. I’ve never gotten to help with an investigation before, and I got to see a crime scene with all the blood” – why does she sound excited about that? – “and everything!”

“Yeah, I won’t begrudge you that.” Is that sarcastic, or bitter, or does he actually mean it? Apollo can’t tell, still can’t read the man unless he lets him, and right now, Phoenix isn’t letting him through. “Good to get field experience. How’s the case coming?”

“You guessed right,” Apollo says. “Unhappily. If our client isn’t the killer, a giant bird yokai might be, and I have no idea how we are going to indict that.”

“Have you actually seen that yokai, or just some apparent evidence of yokai?” Phoenix asks. Athena taps her necklace and it projects a holographic screen with her crime scene scan. She points out the feathers and bloody footprints with real enthusiasm. Phoenix sits forward, a deep frown sending creases up his forehead. “So it might be a yokai, and it might be someone trying to trick you into thinking it’s a yokai.”

“That’s what the detective believes,” Apollo says. “That monsters aren’t real.”

“There’s also this photograph!” Athena says, shoving the newspaper under Phoenix’s nose, through the projected screen. “Someone saw it flying!”

“Did either of you see that?” he asks, accepting it from her and quickly scanning the front page. “Or anything yokai-like?”

“Trucy’s friend Jinxie who found the body said she saw it fleeing the room,” Apollo says. “And she and Trucy and I all saw -- I think it was probably a person in a Tenma Taro costume? Way back before the murder, during the festival. The village people say that it can steal your soul if it looks you in the eye.”

“That’s bullshit,” Phoenix says, holding up one finger. “I obviously don’t know much about souls” – the frown has returned to his face, his tired eyes turning up to Apollo – “but I’m pretty damn sure it’s not that easy.”

“I’d hoped as much,” Apollo says. Athena now has her head cocked, like an owl trying to listen intently for its prey, the entire year that she hasn’t been around. “Have you ever been to Nine-Tails Vale, Mr Wright? Have you ever seen a yokai?”

“I’ve gone up a few times with Trucy.” He opens up the newspaper but turns it over again too fast to have actually read anything. “Wanted to make sure it was safe for her and Jinxie to be hanging around there, so I’ve looked around and never seen anything – maybe they’re on a different wavelength than fae things.” He grins and his eyes flash blue. “Or maybe they’re just the stories that my grandparents leveraged to threaten me into going to bed.” Athena laughs and Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “No? Neither of you had that experience?”

Athena shrugs. Apollo shakes his head. (Dhurke didn’t need to use boogeymen to keep Apollo and Nahyuta in line. The regime’s very real soldiers were more than enough of a danger to keep them close. Datz was the one with outlandish stories, but those never had a moral or purpose, and Nahyuta liked them because there was absolutely no way he could see what was coming next.)

“So we’re still where we started, not knowing what’s real and what isn’t,” Apollo says. What must Athena think, them talking so seriously about yokai? And Apollo had tried to tell her earlier this afternoon that he didn’t believe Tenma Taro is the killer. “Couldn’t some of the yokai be fae creatures? There’s—” He remembers, a bolt from the blue, one of the puzzles that Trucy dumped on his head with no forewarning. “Like, kitsunes. Isn’t that—”

Phoenix sighs for a very long time. “Yeah. If we try to create taxonomic classifications we’re gonna be here all night. Words don’t actually mean anything, and in my head I put them more on the fae side, shapeshifters of any sort, even kitsunes and tanuki and—”

“Tanuki!” Athena grabs Apollo’s arm. “That’s it, Apollo! The caretaker, Mr Filch – he looks like a tanuki, and in the Fox Chamber there were those statues—” She releases him to turn Widget’s projection of the scene toward the door, the statues, one broken, flanking both sides. “That’s got to mean something! I’ve put it together! I’m connecting the dots!”

“I don’t think you are,” Apollo says.

“I’m connecting them!”

“Hey.” Phoenix shrugs. “Shooting in the dark sometimes gets me somewhere. Don’t bank on it, but you never know.” Standing, he puts his back to them and heads for a bookshelf. “You’ve got some evidence and witness testimony, at least?”

“And no idea how it fits together,” Apollo says, and then, with Athena looking at him and Phoenix here with them, it feels like an admission of failure, a plea for help that he doesn’t need, because he’s pulled it together with only vague advice from Phoenix before. “So same as ever.”

“Oh,” Athena says. “So this is how cases are supposed to go?”

“Maybe not ‘supposed to’,” Apollo says, “but it’s how it always ends up being.”

“If yokai are anything,” Phoenix says, still focused on the bookshelf, pulling one book down, “they’re other strange things that got tossed out of the Court and fell through the cracks.”

Apollo doesn’t know why he thought Phoenix was actually listening to him. It’s a step forward and then two steps diagonally back any time he feels like Phoenix is anything of a mentor or a guide or someone to lean on.

“Exile’s a common enough fae punishment; over the centuries there’s probably been plenty of things that can’t go back to the Twilight Realm but never start to blend in here.”

“Centuries?” Athena repeats. “How long do the fae live? And wait, what’s the Twilight Realm? Do you—” She turns to Apollo. “Do you know what he’s talking about? You’ve been over all this?”

“There’s been some cases where it’s come up,” Phoenix says.

“And he always tells me after the fact,” Apollo adds.

Phoenix doesn’t acknowledge that statement, but he doesn’t try and object to it, either. Athena’s frown is deepening. Apollo doesn’t like this look on her face, the one where she looks like she’s staring straight down into his heart and is disappointed to find out how rocky his relationship with Phoenix actually is. She should get used to that feeling of disappointment that happens around him.

“Twilight Realm is – Faeryland, you’d call it,” Phoenix says. “And I’m not actually sure about their lifespans. I don’t know if they know. Usually they just cut each other down in their prime in power struggles.”

Athena’s entire posture collapses, her hands sliding off her hips and her shoulders slumping. “Oh,” she says. “That’s very sad.” And she’s blinking rapidly, like to stave off tears, and already Apollo has noticed – how could he not? – that she wears her entire heart on her sleeve, ready to show almost every emotion almost all at once.

“I suppose,” Phoenix says. He looks back at them over his hunched shoulders, something sheepish blinking across his face, like he’s never considered that angle. When he turns, he has a book open across one palm. “Mia and her mother wrote a lot of things down,” he says, a statement out of nowhere that maybe, if Apollo is lucky, will tie back to something they were talking about. “Tried to keep track of lots of things, denizens of the Court and exiles and all. Most of it gives me migraines if I look at it, but Mia made some notes in the margins and one of the things I thought I remembered – which I was right—” He squints down at the pages and then raises it toward his face. “Fuck, do I need glasses?”

Athena’s lips are pursed, her cheeks puffed out, a grin and a laugh swallowed.

“Some of the weirdest little things that get thrown out of the Court don’t land properly. They aren’t as humanoid as the true fae, they can’t marry in with humans and fade away – they can’t ever fully physically be here. Not quite corporeal, blinking in and out. And—” Again, he raises the book back to his nose. “And definitely would avoid someone like me who’s rubbed elbows with all seven of the fae royals from the past two generations.”

“She scribbled all that in the margins for you?” Athena asks. “That was nice.”

Phoenix laughs. “Not all of it,” he says. “We talked – a lot, about everything, in the early days.” The sad, wistful look in his eyes is one Apollo has seen a few times before. It’s the softest he ever looks. “Most of that was part of it, but I needed to jog my memory again with any little thing.”

“Oh, yeah,” Athena says. “Of course. Makes perfect sense – that’s psychology.” Phoenix chuckles, but like the wheel of her emotions that she’s already displayed, Athena moves past the cheer of having an answer and getting to name-drop her favorite subject, and once again turns up sadness. “I can’t imagine, though. Losing your home and then just being stuck, just, lingering, and you’re trapped in between and don’t have anywhere to belong.”

“Are you tearing up again?” Apollo asks.

“I wish there was a way to help,” she continues, wiping her eyes, but not quickly enough. “You know? Like even if they’re monsters – were they always? I’d probably be grumpy too if that happened to me.”

Psychoanalysis of yokai is not where Apollo thought this day would end up.

“One challenge at a time, Athena,” Phoenix says. He sets the book down on the bookshelf but doesn’t slot it back into place. “I know you became a lawyer to save people – exactly what you said, that if being a defense attorney was a way to help people, and your ability could help with that, then you knew you had to.” Even while deflating a little at his first comment, a grin starts to spread across her face, and there’s something almost like envy curling tight in Apollo’s chest, that there was something more than a blessing on her eye that drew him to her, that he remembers this about her, cares to remember. “But that doesn’t have to be everyone and everything, all at once. Damian Tenma is your client. Don’t worry about the yokai beyond what ones might have been involved in the case.”

Athena nods, her chin jutting out. “Tomorrow, Mr Tenma,” she says. “And the next day, everyone else!”

Phoenix closes his eyes and his eyebrows raise like he’s trying to roll his eyes behind the lids. “It’s a start,” he says.

[i-see-london-i-see-klance]

Voltron Season 8 - Overall Thoughts and Reactions

Okay so let’s break this down a bit. Into the good, the bad, and the eh???

The Good:

I love that this season took the time to give us some character moments. Moments when it was just people talking about their feelings or just spending time being people. At points it was clunky, but even then I appreciated that they took the time to actually let us see the characters, not just the plot.

The Allurance romance was also really organic to me. It wasn’t in your face, but it wasn’t brushed off once they’d hooked up either. The show gave them moments together, but didn’t make it a major focus. I also loved that, yeah, they loved each other, but it wasn’t one of those true love, destined to be together romances. They loved each other like normal people did. And so when Allura...became one with the big bang(?), Lance was sad, yes. But he wasn’t emotionally destroyed. He was able to move on, which is totally realistic for a relationship that new. Just, slow clap for the writers on that one

Honerva. God, Honerva. She was just amazing. I don’t think the series did a very good job as setting her up as the ultimate Big Bad; she was kind of on the sidelines and in the shadows too much for it to feel completely organic that she kind of took over at the end, but GOD the season worked her up beautifully...well, up until they castrated her character right at the end, but I’m choosing to focus on the good. She was ruthless, she was powerful, she was badass. And her motivation was so refreshing. She was evil, but her drive was love of her family, and my god I loved that. She was amazing this entire season. I ADORED what they did with her.

The character cameos were incredible. I don’t remember that many new characters, if any, getting added, which makes sense because there’s no point in introducing us to new people and expecting us to care about them at this point. The cameos were mostly well used, and I loved how many old characters they managed to cram back in. Most shows make their characters a one off and the fact that Voltron doesn’t was something I loved about this show in general, not just this season. It was sweet to see so many familiar faces.

While I was NOT a fan of the last 2-3 episodes, the last 5-10 min of the final ep actually managed to be really touching and sweet, and I thought it was well done. Allura’s sacrifice kind of came out of nowhere, but at the same time it made sense. She’d been showing off all these fancy quintescence powers since the first season, when it became clear that it was going to require fancy quintescence powers to save the day it’s perfectly logical that she’s the one to do it. And having her have to sacrifice herself to save everything feels more realistic after the extent of the damage that was done rather than have her and Honerva just fix everything and then carry on like nothing happened. It makes her seem less overpowered, even though SHE AND HONERVA ARE TOTALLY GODDESSES YO. And then I’ve always been a sucker for those “where are they now” type endings where we can get a brief bit of final closure when the show doesn’t really have time to spend on the aftermath. And the end results seemed very fitting and in-character for the team, unlike some “where are they now” segments I could mention (*coughDIGIMONcough*)

The Bad:

Ugh so many things

The writing felt all over the place this season, and a lot of details were handwaved or really badly explained. I don’t need an in-depth explanation for everything that’s happening, but too many times the answer the show gave for things happening was “Whoa that’s weird but hey moving on!” and it felt really lazy to me. Worse is there were a few times where they actually acknowledged the gaping plot holes and then never explained them (i.e. Earth’s defenses, Voltron and the Atlas fusing) which just draws more attention to the poor writing. I wouldn’t mind it so much if there had been a precedent for this kind of thing throughout the show, but the only example I can think of where some random superpower shows up out of the blue without explanation was when the Atlas turned into a giant mecha the first time, and it pissed me off just as much then. I get that this is the final season. I get that the stakes have to be raised because this is the climax of the entire show. But if you’ve upped the danger so high that the only way you can make the heroes believably triumph is by giving them random new powers, you have done a really shitty job of writing your climax.

Bringing back the original paladins. Don’t get me wrong, I love the characters, and any extra screen time for Alfor and OG!Zarkon brings me so much joy. But the entire segment felt really unnecessary and out of nowhere. These characters had already gotten their arcs, we already had closure when it came to them. Sure, it was sad. They all kind of died. But there was no need to bring them back. They were really dead and gone. Not to mention having them interact with the new paladins just made it more obvious that they were supposed to mirror the original team, where Lance piloted Blue, Keith Red, and Shiro Black. Blaytz and Allura had pretty much nothing to do with each other, they weren’t foils to each other’s characters, and their interaction was just kind of weird. And while Alfor chatting up Lance was kind of cute in the “meet the parents” kind of way, once again the personalities don’t match. It was awkward and out of place and overall those episodes felt really meaningless and forgettable

A lot of Allura’s actions this season kind of bugged me as well. She did something risky and stupid, starting doing questionable things, and then in the end she essentially faced no actual consequences for these actions. I mean, sure, in the end she kind of DIED, but that wasn’t related to her mistakes so I don’t think that counts.

The meh:

The fanservice. I’m kind of torn on this one because while it’s nice that the show took the time to add in little extras to please the fans who have been with this show all along, a lot of it was really blatantly fanservice. Lance’s altean markings come to mind as an example. They just appear, they never get explained or acknowledged or have any reason to exist or impact on the story. He’s just got altean markings now. And the only reason I can conceive why they added that in was for the fanservice.

The season’s treatment of Coran really irked me too. It was really inconsistent with how it treated his relationship with Allura, sometimes making it very clear that he’s her closest remaining thing to family, and other times ignoring that connection completely. I THINK what they may have unintentionally implied based on when and who was showing the emotions was that Coran cares a lot more about Allura (acting as her guardian when Lance asks her out, weeping in the flashback when Alfor asks Coran to stay by her side) than Allura cares about him (telling Lance on their date that she has no family left at all), which, yeesh. As if I didn’t already have problems with Allura’s writing this season

The lions were a mixed bag this season. I can’t say they had personalities anymore, and I suppose they haven’t for a long, long time but at least they had a few moments here and there where they were acknowledged to be their own characters, rather than just machines. It just wasn’t enough. Remember when Red was actually finicky and temperamental? Remember when the Black Lion actually seemed to care about her paladin? Remember when Blue had sass? The show clearly doesn’t

Overall, did I think this was a good season? Yeah, I’d say it was decent. Not the best by far, but also definitely not the worst. And considering the path the show has taken over the last few seasons, I think we got an ending that was as satisfying as we could expect. It didn’t blow me out of the water, it didn’t change the world, but it met my (admittedly low) expectations. It’s over and I walked away being okay with how it ended, rather than disappointed or frustrated. I’m sure I’m one of many people who will say that the show definitely started out way stronger than it finished, and that it never quite lived up to the potential of the first few seasons, but at least I can say I saw it through, and I did enjoy at least seeing how it ended. But I’m also really glad it’s over, because I think it was starting to wear itself out, and that’s why the quality slipped. It got too big and epic, and it needed to end before it turned into Supernatural, where there’s always got to be a bigger threat. I don’t know if I think the good of the final season outweighed the bad or vice versa; while I think there were more little things and moments that made me happy this season, the problems I had with it were pretty huge. And they REALLY ticked me off. But it’s probably close enough that I can say they balance each other out.

I guess I’ll just say that while I’m kind of sad it’s over, and I wasn’t entirely thrilled with how the series progressed, I’m still happy I watched it and I got to be a part of this fandom and phenomena. Someday I might watch the whole series again, for nostalgia’s sake.

But I also might just stick to the beginning, when all we had was a small team of misfits, and a universe of possibilities :)

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: Weiss/Neon. Ear-licking, fingering, erotic oil massage, grinding, pierced nipple play. Also, invasion of privacy.

Happy New Year everybody!

=Chapter 31

Halfway across the country, Weiss and her date were just getting back to said date's apartment. Over the course of the preceding week, the two had exchanged a few more calls, texts, Skype sessions - and had met for lunch once in between. But this was their third official "date", inasmuch as the lunch had been very chaste and mainly focused on casual conversation.

Also, it had been at a public enough café that they were spotted together, and a single picture of Weiss laughing at a silly face Neon was making made it onto a dozen or more tabloid websites. Other than the novelty of it being two celebrities who hadn't been associated together in any way other than Lisa Lavender's show before, there wasn't much to report, so the story didn't gain much ground – though it would at least nudge them a little further under the microscope.

Today, however, had been more like their first date. Neon had suggested bowling, which Weiss turned down with a "But what about my nails?!" When Weiss expressed interest in going to a natural history museum, Neon made snoring noises until she gave up that plan, as well. Finally, they had settled on an elegant dinner at an Italian place, and a movie.

But as it turned out, the movie had merely given Neon an excuse to tease Weiss mercilessly. Hands wandered and kisses were exchanged in the dark, nearly-empty theater; they had specifically chosen a movie that had been out several weeks in the hopes there would only be a few other people inside, which turned out to be true. Grateful for the solitude, Weiss had even allowed a hand to briefly tease its way up her skirt and along her inner thighs before she pushed it away with a nervous giggle and moved it up to her own waist. Even if she wasn't ready to go that far in public, it didn't mean she hated the attention altogether.

"…so stupid," Weiss was saying as Neon's door swung open and they flicked on the lights. "How are you supposed to time travel in a hot tub? Honestly, it doesn't even make sense regardless of if you turn off your brain and try to enjoy the ludicrousness."

"I know, it was ridiculous! I heard it got a less than ten percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, that says more than enough to me." Neon laughed, tossing her bag to one side and flicking her shoes off in the small hallway, before she waited eagerly for Weiss to do the same. It was quite late, but Weiss had informed her driver, and in turn her father, that she would be out all night tonight. Neon knew that fact just as much as her, that things tonight may take their relationship further along.

Could they call it a relationship now? Sure, there was a lot of kissing, and making out, even a dry humping session last time they ended up here and somewhat in the movie theatre; more than nothing. But was that enough to consider the two girlfriends? Still, Neon seemed unconcerned. Whatever their status, they were going to have a lot of fun tonight.

“ Yeah, oh well; we made our own entertainment. ” Stepping out of her heels, she sighed and padded into Neon ’ s living room, throwing herself on the couch and deflating like a balloon with a slow leak. “ Ooh … I must be getting old for my age or something. I couldn ’ t go clubbing now even if I wanted to. ”

"Old?!" Neon protested, soon taking a seat right by her side and lifting her feet to the edge of the coffee table so she could relax fully. Yet again, she threw her arm around Weiss, bringing her in close just like she had all through the movie. "I'm three years older than you, pipsqueak! If you're old, then what am I?"

"Grandma Moses," Weiss giggled, nudging her with her arm and propping her own feet up next to Neon's, sighing in contentment as she absently gazed at twenty pedicured toes. Bizarre how she could need this so much without having even the slightest clue she did; just a friendly presence. One she could flirt with when she was in the mood, and could stop when she wasn't. No strings, no expectations. Perfect.

And it seemed Neon was just as pleased as she leant in toward her, pressing a kiss on the top of her head as they lay side by side. A hand started to brush up and down her arm gradually, just idly petting.

"Well, you got a bit handsy with this grandma in that movie, huh?"

Pursing her lips, she hissed, "Oh, shush. I was going for maybe second base, maybe - but you wanted to strip down and make the sticky floors even stickier! Are you out of your mind?!"

"Nothing wrong with a little grope in the dark." She smirked, pressing another kiss on her head once again. "And besides, you feel so amazing that it’s really hard not to wanna make floors sticky."

A long moment passed. Weiss inspected her fingernails, checked her phone. Then she finally muttered, "Fine. It was pretty exciting, I guess."

This time, when she pressed another kiss in, Neon remained close to her ear. Her breathing could be felt right against her skin, especially when she whispered, "Things can get exciting tonight, if you want."

Then Weiss faltered. "Oh… can they?" But she cleared her throat and attempted to regain the carefree mood. "You really want in my skirt, don't you? Shameless."

Rolling her eyes, Neon moved her efforts from Weiss's ear to her neck instead, beginning to plant kisses every so often against it. She allowed her spare hand to land on Weiss's leg, gradually petting that as well as her arm.

"Can you blame me?" she allowed herself to whisper, slowly pushing the skirt upward with each pet. "When what's wearing it is such a plate full of yummy?"

"W-well…" Flattery was doing the trick. Smiling even while Neon caused her to tremble, she glanced over and whispered, "Guess that would be a pretty dumb thing to blame you for."

Neon only continued to pet, continued to look into the blue eyes. This time, she waited for Weiss to make the first proper move; after all, Weiss was the one who always became nervous after a while, the one who pulled away. Which was fine, but Neon assumed letting her lead would ease it.

Weiss felt the shift in the atmosphere. Desire spiking deep within her, reaching out for the nearest available target. In this case… her hand found its way to Neon's thigh, returning the same gesture. One she had been enjoying, despite all of her many and varied fears. Nothing else had changed about her reaction to the nibbles at her neck and ear, but this was a small start.

Those nibbles and licks only continued. Neon really was like a cat at heart! But all the while, she never stopped the petting, never stopped bringing her in closer toward her. She wanted to make it known that she wanted her, even if she wasn't making the moves.

Well, except for one. As she leant back up to Weiss's ear again, this time she went right in, seeming like she was about to whisper. She wasn't. Instead, her tongue wriggled its way inside, right against the entrance of the ear canal. She knew from her own experience it was a fantastic way to drive someone crazy by barely doing anything.

"A-AAAHHH!" Weiss burst out, drawing back and away. Not completely off her couch, but enough so that the tongue was not anywhere near her ear. "You… wh-what was that?!"

Drawing herself back, Neon was still wearing that cheeky smile of hers when she giggled, cheekily licking her lips. "What, you didn't like it? That used to be an insta-wet move for me."

"NO!" she answered immediately… even if it was only partially true. The unorthodox action had definitely flipped some switches, but she was far too taken aback at the very notion of doing that to someone to feel them properly. A tongue? In someone's ear?! The very idea set her skin crawling, both in good ways and bad. Then again, her own tongue had been equally-unscrupulous places before.

But that reaction only made Neon laugh even louder, releasing her from her grip so she could reach up to the ties in her hair, starting to pull them out so it would flow free instead. Different tactics. "Alright alright, we'll try other stuff instead then."

"Good. I mean, is that really something you want done to you? My tongue in your ear?" This question had a slight sarcastic tone to it, but if Weiss were honest with herself, she was very curious about all the things Neon seemed to be into.

Once her red hair was free again and she began running her hands through it to neaten it down, she giggled softly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Hey, can’t explain why, but it just feels really good. Kinky and weird, but good. Most of the girls I've been with were the same."

Something about seeing Neon with her hair down was oddly… enchanting to Weiss. The girl was too much of a partier to wear it any way other than fluffy twin tails, but when let out of their trapping ties, they became a singular orange cloud, just resting on her shoulders. Noticing that set her at ease, for reasons she couldn't quite figure out.

"You're so gorgeous," she found herself whispering out of nowhere.

Tilting her head, Neon shrugged her shoulders. "Tell me something I don’t know ." And then she leant in toward her again, softly whispering, "And I can be yours. Here, or the bedroom, or anywhere you want."

A determined look settled over Weiss’s pale features. She didn't want to be afraid to find out where life would lead her anymore, what she was missing out on because she had to stick to rules that no longer seemed to apply. So she leaned in and flitted her tongue very briefly into Neon's ear. Just enough to feel that it had truly happened before she drew back again, watching for her reaction.

In that very small moment Weiss's tongue was in contact, she shivered, eyes closed as she let out a small moan. Of all things, this was something that she would moan at? It seemed crazy. But then again, Neon lived for crazy.

"Really?" the white-haired diva half-gasped out of shock. Then she shrugged. "I mean… I guess everybody has to like something." Then she leaned closer and wrapped her arms around her gently, nuzzling her mouth closer to the little ear. Her lips barely breathed, "Do you want me to do that again?"

No verbal response. Just frantic nodding. She wanted it again, definitely. So much so that one hand fell to the back of Weiss's head, petting the hair to keep her there.

And so Weiss did as she was bade. The salty tang of skin mingled with a slight tinge, one that she didn't mind as much as she had expected to. Calling it "pleasant" would have been a lie, but it was a tolerable act… and the strangely rigid contours of Neon's tiny ear were enough to send a chill down her spine every time the surface of her tongue ran over them. This shouldn't feel good to both of them, should it?

"Oh…"

Another strange moan was coaxed from her as she gripped Weiss's hair even tighter, eyes remaining closed all throughout the teasing. Heat started to spark already from the small movements and flicks of her tongue, the warm wetness that shouldn't be there. She even found herself biting her lip purely to prevent any moans being too loud.

When Weiss drew away, she left a soft kiss on Neon's cheek as her hand came to rest on her exposed midriff. An excited smile played across her lips, one that hinted at so many things…

"That was, um, unique. And you sounded like you really enjoyed yourself there, buster… did you?"

"I did," Neon confessed, leaning into Weiss's touch all the while. Anything she could get, she would be satisfied with. No matter what form it came in. The hand she had in Weiss's hair was beginning to scratch lightly as she was starting to think of more ideas. "How about we continue this in my room?"

Something about that request irritated Weiss. Made her want to challenge Neon's plan, to alter it - but not in the way she had before. Not by running away, hiding, denying both of them the enjoyment they could have. Just changing the nature of their game a little. Maybe it was her competitive nature rearing its head.

"How about instead… we don't?" Weiss sighed directly into Neon's ear… as her hand drifted down to her thigh and slid up under her skirt in one fluid, swift motion.

Having to bite her lip to suppress her reactions again, Neon looked downward to what Weiss was doing. Hands were now under her skirt, and gradually gaining height to square in toward their goal. For someone who hadn't done this before to her knowledge, Weiss sure was brave. She parted her legs further, showing she wanted more.

But fondling wasn’t new for Weiss, even if this particular territory was as yet unexplored . Encounters with Yang had already proven to her that she was a lot more at ease with teasing someone else than letting them tease her. And she was going to do just that; her fingertips glided over the thin fabric of Neon's underwear, pressing into her obvious wetness through them.

"Lace? Wow, you're really putting out the welcome mat."

"Again, can you blame me?" she asked, continuing to relax into the sofa more and more as Weiss had her way with her. But after a while of toying with the lace, she thought it safe to assume that Weiss liked it. A lot. So she whispered, "You don't even have to take them off, just push them aside if you want."

"What if I tear them off?" But she was only joking. Her fingers edged the panties aside…

And for the first time in her life, Weiss Schnee felt labia that were not her own. Luckily for Neon, she had been "practicing" with the pictures of Yang still on her phone, torturing her own flesh once or twice a week when she became too restless to keep her hands off of herself. Though at first she had been so ashamed of that fact, hating that she was needy and had no willpower, now she was glad for the experience. It would make it that much easier for her to give the gorgeous example of femininity beneath her hand the pleasure she deserved.

"Hmmh…" No protest at all from the adventurous redhead. In fact, from the feel of things, she had been waiting for this for a long time. Wetness was a complete contrast for Weiss, since where there would be rock hard arousal was only the softness she was beginning to touch. Nothing to pull about and jerk at, only lips for her to gently entice.

Though Weiss wasn't as gun-shy as she might have been before her own solo experiments, she did take a moment to recover. Her breath was shaky as she breathed in and out, closing her eyes as she got used to the sensation. Neon's silky lips. Right there, right up against her index finger. And her middle finger now, she was moving them back and forth… pressing up into them, amazed at how they could be almost identical but with subtle differences. And how odd to not be able to feel it herself! That was the primary thing throwing her off so much.

But the everlasting 'hmm' coming from Neon was telling her she was doing something right. Especially as she began to push her hips that bit more forward against the movements. She couldn't get enough, and continued to lightly scratch at Weiss's scalp as their play continued. The breathlessness from her Weiss was able to tell quite a lot; was she a complete virgin? Did she and that ex of hers never go this far? Somehow that prospect was making it even more exciting as Neon's breath got faster as well.

Of course Weiss did know what she liked on her own body. Simple math: if she transferred those tactics onto another body, they should have the same effect, right? That was her hope, anyway, as she traced a finger up to press gently against the clit that was just beginning to emerge from beneath its protective hood, firm and ready to be lavished with attention.

"Ho- boy!" That certainly increased the volume! While before she was content with simply panting and quietly moaning, now those moans had gotten louder, far needier . Yet another difference between her and Yang, it seemed; while she was loud from the beginning, Yang was usually far quieter, only moaning in unison with her breathing and truly yelling when she was close, or even at her limit. All different experiences for her, and there were more to come.

Encouraged by the moans, Weiss leaned closer as she continued to tease the nub of flesh, fingertip moving in a small circle. This time, she poked the tip of her tongue deeper, teasing the rim of the canal inside Neon's ear.

"Hah! Ah! Oh my god! Yes!" The grip on Weiss's hair became so much tighter as she called out. Her legs also twitching lightly. All these sensations, there was just so much for her to encounter. And she loved it! How on earth was a virgin girl this good, it made no sense! But Neon was beyond caring. "D-don't stop — Weiss, you're too good! Too good to me!"

The fingers picked up in speed, trailing up and down the entirety of Neon's wetness, dipping down into her fragile lips and then up again to the nub. She remembered how Yang had teased her the most… and considering Neon probably had tons more experience in this area than she did, she would simply have to use every iota of knowledge she had.

"Ready for more?" Weiss breathed as two of her fingertips began to slide very slightly past the entrance, edging the skin aside.

"Yes! Yes, I'm so ready…" Yet again, this was so different to Yang. Not just their bodies, but the very reactions themselves. Neon was like Weiss, very vocal… sometimes too much. Yang would have just nodded, or showed signs that she was okay for everything to continue. However both of them would have done what Neon was doing, pushing herself up against the fingers as best she could needily.

Which sealed the deal quite easily; Weiss didn't hold back and only pressed her fingers in harder, until she began to squeeze in past the barrier of lips. To feel the insides of another eager wetness. It was incredible! Since she had first discovered she was somewhat attracted to Yang, she barely had a few opportunities to mentally entertain the possibility of touching another vagina before finding out Yang didn't even have one. That had been a relief, at the time; she had still firmly believed she was only meant to please a "male" organ, and doing anything else was taboo, unnatural, insane. Finding the one girl who just so happened to have the equipment that meshed with her own was a blessing.

And now here she was, thrilled to death that she knew how to make Neon moan, where to apply pressure that would shatter her senses. Satisfied that she wasn't just some horribly unfortunate lesbian-who-only-handled-dicks. Now she knew that genitals didn't matter to her; she only leaned toward the fairer sex, and could go wild on them no matter what they had in their pants.

Suddenly gasping when she felt fingers penetrate her entrance, Neon found her legs twitching, eyes rolling into the back of her head. Those slender fingers were doing wonders, brushing against her inner walls each time she felt them beginning to push in and out. More moans fell as she arced her back into the movements, still trying to keep ahold of herself. But she was failing.

"Yes! Yes, thaaaaaaat's it!"

"Mmhhh," Weiss moaned against her ear, tongue entering again as she began to curve her fingers in, groping for that spot Yang had managed to find within herself. Had to be in there somewhere. A flutter pierced her heart as she worried she'd never find it, that she was too virginal, too inexperienced with all this …

Until there was another gasp, and an instant spasm of Neon’s body. That was it, that was the sweet spot! Her spare hand quickly grasped the nearby cushion, gripping so tightly she swore her nails would puncture its surface. But Weiss wasn't letting up, she was fingering and touching that spot over and over again.

"Oh my God!" she moaned out, gyrating her hips in unison to Weiss's moves. "God, Weiss! Keep going and I'm gonna… be close soon!"

Pressing her palm right up against her clit with every thrust up and into that throbbing spot inside of Neon, the white-haired novice felt like she had graduated early. This was clearly a hidden talent that had been inside her all along – or at least she lucked into being decent at it. She raked her teeth against the shell of the ear, hoping to drive her as wild as she could before the moment of release. To make it all the heavier .

But she pulled away just enough to growl, "Come for me, you glowstick-waving rainbow cunt!" before her tongue stabbed deep into her ear again, writhing back and forth.

The surprise of such a harsh word, and the stroking of two of her most pleasurable spots was enough to do the trick, and make Neon Katt quiver with pure joy. Finally, her moans became a screaming as she shook in pleasure, felt her insides trying to clamp down onto those fingers and milk them for all they were good for. Along with her hand pulling at the hair rather firmly.

Once she was done, she went slack against the sofa, panting heavily as she released the handful of hair, eyes only just beginning to open. But even then, they were filled with stars.

When she felt the body she was plying go limp, Weiss's lips moved gently across the expanse of a cheek toward lips, taking them very gently before she pulled back, both with her face and her fingers. Then she smiled a very knowing, very self-assured smile.

"You were pulling my hair and flopping all over the place, Neon. I must not have messed up too bad."

Still coming down and settling into the afterglow, Neon could only let out a weak laughter, reaching up to cup her cheek instead and keep her close. "You went a little crazy on me yourself," she whispered. " ’ Glowstick cunt ’ ? Wow, harsh."

"Oh…" Though she hadn't felt flustered at all in the entire time they had been enjoying each other, she did now; her cheeks reddened and she added, "Um… I was trying out that whole 'dirty talk' thing on you. Was I supposed to warn you first? I'm sorry!"

"No no! It’s fine, you… hah…" Still gasping for breath, she pressed her lips against Weiss's again for another kiss while she recollected herself. "You just surprised me! I thought you were against swearing and all that stuff. It was kinda hot, to be honest."

Slowly, Weiss let the smile return, kissing her back as she giggled. "Okay. I tried to tell you that I'm not very experienced, I'm making it up as I go." Then she raised her hand to her lips and flicked the tip of her tongue against the wetness lingering there.

"Not very experienced?!" Neon laughed as she looked toward what Weiss was doing. Incredible, she was going to lick off her essence like a pro.

"Hmm? Something wrong?" Another long lick, this one taking its sweet time as she sampled Neon's wares. Truth be told, it was almost as delicious as Yang, if in a completely different way; sweet and thin instead of heady and thick.

"I-I… well… you…"

This was new. The girl who wouldn't shut up, had been rendered speechless. All she could do was keep catching her breath and watch with wide eyes as Weiss lapped everything away, sending a fresh wave of warmth down below. In all honesty, it was doing the same for Weiss. She had been able to keep her own arousal at bay throughout sending Neon into throes of ecstasy, but now? Now they had done that, finished her off… and only one of them was left.

"Mmm, that was fun," she breathed as she lowered her hand, the sweet tang lingering on her lips as she turned and sat down on the couch. Her entire posture was suddenly tense, anxious. "You sounded fantastic, by the way - a true vocal performance from Neon Katt."

"Why thank you." She couldn't help but giggle to herself, reaching her hand down to pull her underwear back into place before she sat upright again. There was a slight smirk on her face as she looked back toward her, that same mischievous glint in her eyes. "And how about… I repay you somehow?"

Rolling her eyes, Weiss tried to play it off as a joke. She knew Neon was completely serious, of course, but the last time she had let herself try Neon's brand of repayment, she had bolted; avoiding that at any costs would make her a lot less panicky.

"You can repay me by making this weird crick in my neck disappear with your magic glowstick," she finally scoffed.

Although Neon was giggling again, raising a hand to her lips, she did begin to stare outward into thin air, deep in thought for a moment. "Actually," she began, a small smile forming on her face, "I can do that, easy."

"Your glowsticks aren't magical, sorry," she chuckled, turning to look at her… and pausing, her head tilted when she caught the expression on her face. "What?"

Grinning, Neon got back to her feet again, turning around and holding out a hand toward her guest to help her up. "You remember what I said about my past on Lavender's show, right? That I was a masseuse before this?"

That got Weiss blinking, though she did allow herself to be helped to standing. "No, I guess I must have missed that part… a lot was going on that day. Napkins with notes on them, just crazy stuff."

"Well, I guess that ’ s true." And then straight back to the point. "But yeah… If you want a massage, totally fine by me. I have some oils and stuff in my room, if you ’ re down?"

"Really? Oh… wow, you're legit, aren't you?" Shrugging her shoulders, she said, "It's been a while since I had a good shiatsu, so I guess… yeah, if you're sure you don't mind? This is supposed to be a date, not your worknight!"

"It ain't work if it’s for you , dummy," she giggled, taking Weiss's hand as she pulled her with her back toward the hallway, heading straight toward the bedroom. No playing around with Neon; she got straight to business.

She pushed open the door to a small room, with the main features being the circular bed that sat against one of the walls, and the desk and dressing table against the opposite wall. Unlike Weiss's, there was plenty of decoration; mostly rainbows and stars all over the place, but it certainly made it seem homey. Made it seem more Neon.

"I love your room," Weiss sighed, even though she had glimpsed it through her doorway once before. As she stood there, she said, "So, um… how do I do this? On the bed, or do you have a massage table thing?"

"Well I don't massage people regularly anymore, so having a table would be pointless," she joked, however flicking a couple of switches on the wall turned the main lights back off again, leaving only a few much dimmer lights around her bed and the desk on. Light enough to see, but dark enough to set a relaxing mood. And to show off the painted rainbows as Neon intended: glow in the dark.

Walking toward the desk, she pulled open a few of her drawers as she called back, "Bed's fine, but if you want me to do it right, strip to your undies."

"WHAT?!" Clearing her throat, she tried to save face, at least marginally. "Um… I mean, uh, well, I knew that. Normally you do, don't you? I’m just not normally dating the masseuse." Then, as she reached behind herself to unzip her dress, she asked, "And do you have the traditional white towel to drape over me once I'm exposed for your professional needs?"

Pulling out one bottle from the drawer, she looked back toward Weiss with a small smirk. "I think that's optional in these more… personal circumstances."

As Weiss fought with her zipper, which was being distinctly uncooperative, she read the label once Neon had come a bit closer. "Apricot kernel oil? I didn't even know they made oil out of that!"

"Oh you'll be surprised what oils you can get." But she tilted her head when she noticed that Weiss was struggling, putting the bottle down on the bedside table. "Want a hand?"

"If you could, thanks," she sighed in defeat, turning to face away from her friend. Or whatever she was to her. "Sorry about this. Um, how long did you study massage?"

Quickly taking the zip in one hand, Neon gradually eased it downward, continuing to chat as she got her ready. "A year or so. I was naturally talented at it, but actually found that while I was working I'd be singing at the same time. One day I just got the right client who was connected in the industry; he gave me my big break, asking me to perform at a small function. Just to see how I handled the limelight."

"Just like that?" she asked as she felt cool air hit her back. "That's so lucky… I'm glad, though. You're really good out there." Then she let out a little chuckle. "I know I've been a little judgmental of your methods before, how you're always simulating sex acts and things like that on stage, but I guess just… partly, I'm jealous that you have so much more freedom to do whatever you want. No squeaky-clean image to maintain."

"Yeah, sure; just have to act like a slut and suppress my true sexuality. But I get what you mean." She helped slide the dress down Weiss's body, admiring her bare back for a moment, using this time to gently stroke her hand up and down one of her arms. "See, this is what I don't get, though. If the squeaky-clean image isn't by your choice, then who's?"

The temptation to stop speaking was strong. In fact, she was already halfway through saying "None of your business" when she cut it off in the middle of the third word, trying to soften her tone. "I mean… sorry, I didn’t mean to snap; this is a sensitive topic. You didn't do anything wrong." Stepping free from the dress, she raised her hands to cross over and touch her own shoulders, shielding her small chest from view before turning around.

"It's… my father. He's a decent man overall, but very conservative and a little tyrannical. Manages my entire professional and professional life, and my equally-tightassed sister picks up whatever slack he leaves. So I'm a little boxed in."

"Ah… wow, a regular mafia of music." Now Neon was beginning to understand. Of course, Yang knew from day one what background she had, having been given a brief introduction in her interview. But for Neon, she was learning as they went. Weiss had her chances handed to her on a silver platter; Neon had to build her career up from scratch. But at least her situation was slightly more flexible.

But then she was starting to think about other things. Like the video, the song; what it was about. "So… that viral video your pal Ruby put out… did he approve?"

"Not really. Of course, he was of the opinion that people were 'reading too much' into the lyrics — not seeing what he didn't want to see, and I let him believe his own fantasy. But he was also mad that I didn't keep a better eye on my 'unpolished material'."

"Yeah, I can understand that." She finally paced back, enough to allow Weiss to lie down. There were a lot of questions she had, about her father, about why the video even came to be… and about the other girl in it with her. But those could wait. Especially since she could see Weiss wasn't ready to answer them.

"No, you can't… and thank your lucky rainbows for that. He's just…" Sighing deeply, Weiss crawled onto the bed, closing her eyes at the soft feeling of the cotton sheet. All of the other blankets and pillows were wadded up in the corner, far away from her. "You have to put up with that Adam creep, which sucks, but at least he's not your father. Maybe someday you can get away from him completely."

"Yeah… maybe." She was beginning to agree. Sensing Weiss would be in no mood for her to be teasing, she grabbed the bottle again from the table and knelt by her side. Now she was there, she could drizzle the oil on her back, and then begin to rub it into her shoulders. After the "AAAHH!" of the cold fluid first landing on her back, Weiss lapsed into silence.

"But you don't need him much longer, you know," Neon continued. "I mean, that snippet of a song has got people going crazy… If you and that girl got together, wrote a whole album, you could get any recording contract you wanted – without his help."

After nearly a minute of rubbing, Weiss finally grunted, "I can't get ahold of her right now. She's, um, on vacation."

Beginning to press her thumbs into the shoulders, Neon worked away at the tense muscles she was finding there. All the while, she had no idea this subject would be such a deep one, one that would spark old memories. "Cell phones are a thing though, right?"

"To some people," she grumbled – but immediately afterward, let out a long, low groan of relief. "Ohhhhhh, God … wow, that's incredible…"

Starting to smile as she edged gradually closer to her neck to try and loosen that as well, Neon continued to work the oil all over her back. Her client seemed to instantly give, but it was a noticeable difference. "Geez! You really were tense…"

As the subject of Yang ebbed away, so did Weiss's stress, and she squirmed very slightly to get more comfortable on the bed. "And your hands… are magic, Neon! Oh wow… can't believe you stopped doing this, even if it's because you can sing rings around me…"

“Don’t be dumb; your pipes are as good as my pipes.”

Gradually she worked her way down Weiss's body, along her spine and slowly toward her hips. Anywhere she could reach, she would take care of, continuing to lather her body in the sweet-smelling moisture and working it into her skin. And Weiss kept up the groans of relief when she wasn’t sighing like a happy little kitten.

"Maybe I still got it," Neon giggled. "Or maybe it's just because it's you and me."

"Maybe, mmm… do you…" Her voice trailed off in a weak, contented laugh as she flipped her head from one side to the other. "Nah. This is great, never mind."

"No no, go ahead," she encouraged, continuing to work with her hands even as she leant in toward her, whispering. "I'm listening."

Another gust of delight, this one higher and turning into a groan toward the end. "Ooh… can you do my legs next? All that stage practice, dance moves… you probably get what I mean…"

"Oh, is that all?" she asked, as though it were no big deal whatsoever. In truth, it wasn't.

And that was proven as she crawled downward toward the legs in question, lathering them in the fluid and then immediately working into them with her thumbs. But it could not be denied, hearing Weiss groan in pleasure from her actions was spurring her own heat again. Maybe this would eventually lead somewhere yet.

"Ohhhhhhhh, yeah," Weiss bleated, one of her calves angling up, toes curled tightly inward before the leg fell limp again. "DAMN! Oh, I needed this! I needed it bad!"

And her noises were becoming very nearly sexual; just barely in front of that line, and occasionally darting across it before coming back to the platonic, massage-only side. Either way, Weiss was enjoying herself more than either of them had anticipated.

"Hmm, you really were tense." Continuing to make her way downwards, she smiled back up toward Weiss. This could be the perfect chance for them to try things again, for her to attempt to return the favor for those throes of pleasure she'd had a quarter of an hour ago. Testing those waters, as she finished on one side, and was going to move on to the other, she whispered, "I also provide… Intimate services…"

Partly due to the fingernail that brushed the sole of her other foot, and partly the proposition, Weiss shivered all over and let out a noise that sounded like a goat in heat. Then she kicked Neon very gently with the non-trapped leg.

"Silly… but I'll keep it in mind." When thumbs dug into the arch of her foot, she groaned, "NNnnnnnNNhhhh, that's criminal! You can't be this good with every part of the body, it's not possible!"

"Oh but it is." She giggled, continuing to knead into the flesh with her thumbs, grinning as she watched the woman below her completely come undone. Although when the sighs were becoming rather suspect again, she began to smirk, continuing to whisper sweet nothings.

"Are you sure I can't do more for you?"

"Well…" She was contemplating, as hard as that was made by the thumbs gouging into her feet, moving up her other calf. "You… you're already doing so well, but do you do… front-massages? Is that a thing?"

"I can make it a thing." Neon then took a few steps backward, watching her movements like a hawk as she stepped out of her own skirt. "Turn over."

Two words had rarely brought Weiss to such a standstill. She would be showing far more of her body off if she were to roll onto her back… but on the other hand, this was her idea. Slowly but surely, she did turn, and lay rigid as a board with her arms pressed up against her sides.

Now the redhead could just about see it all. Last time she was here, she saw her petite diva with a bra on, so not to this full extent before. Now she could see things to the full, the small mounds of her chest, the smooth stomach… everything but what her panties were covering. This was going to be just as much a treat to her as it was going to be for Weiss.

Before pressing hands inwards, she leant downward to press a kiss against her stomach. "Beautiful."

Another shiver. This one seemed to be due to the nearness of Neon's lips, how she was lingering so close to a certain region… but she was covered entirely. No real cause for alarm. Therefore, she followed up that shiver with a whispered, "Thank you" before trying her best to relax.

"Now then…" She began again, leaning upright as she grasped the bottle once more, holding it above her. But now there were choices to be made. Choices that could make this experience even more extreme. "Would you like for me to be sat here still? Or…" The next movement was gestured as she stroked Weiss's outer thigh. "Do you want me to straddle you?"

The further coating of her leg with oil convinced her. "Straddle me. I… think it should be easier for you to oil me up if you're like that." Her arms twitched again; they wanted to shoot up and cross over her front, to shield her nakedness from the other woman, regardless of how much she also wanted her to drink it in with her glittering eyes. So many conflicts inside of her …

As she wished, Neon slipped a leg over Weiss's body, straddling her hips just as she was commanded. Yet again, the fabric of their underwear was meeting again, grinding against one another just as it did their second date. But Neon couldn't focus on that. For now, she squirted more of the oil onto her hands, and began to rub it onto her shoulders, kneading in with her thumbs each time just as she had with her back. This time, they could maintain eye contact.

Clearly, it was a struggle for her, but Weiss eventually managed to close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of bliss her new girlfriend was gracious enough to bestow upon her. Those hands worked miracles! Letting out mewling sighs with every breath now, she relaxed into the motions as the hands began drifting down in the direction of her chest a little at a time.

And eventually, she was massaging around the petite mounds. Delicately kneading her fingertips into them, purely just for pleasure and pleasing her girlfriend this time. That's what they were now, right? Girlfriends? Maybe it was the right word, it certainly felt right for Neon to use at least.

Once satisfied she had been coated in the sweet-smelling oils, she moved her hands inwards, starting to grasp and grope at her modest assets. Weiss arched her back up into the touch, a shaky gasp erupting as she felt palms on her peaks, taunting and invigorating her flesh. Again, Neon knew exactly what to do to get her going… and she was probably using every last shred of that knowledge to persuade her to let go and let God - even though in this case, God was a glowstick-waving redhead with tattoos and glitter on her cheeks. Very marginally, for the first time, she began to feel like their relationship might really work out after all.

If she could get over the fears that she had. Speaking of which, Neon was gradually beginning to explore. Shuffling herself down Weiss's body, she was straddling her legs instead, leaving her stomach and what was below exposed. It was covered with her panties for now, but as one hand began to trail toward them, it appeared that barrier wouldn’t hide her for much longer.

Within seconds, there was a discernible change in her breathing. Fingertips getting close to the waistband made the muscles of her stomach clench, her own hands grasping at the bedsheet. The conflict within her was like a raging storm; should she let this happen, or resist?

"Do you want this?" Neon asked, trailing a fingertip over the top of the band. It was both to fall into their play, and so she could genuinely find out. She needed to hear Weiss say it before she continued.

Both of her well-oiled shoulders shrugged. "Maybe. Do you?" Then she smiled bemusedly. "Like I really have to ask that."

"I wanna repay you." Neon continued to trail her fingers over it. Even though she was smiling, she was worried it would be a repeat of their previous two encounters. Anything to avoid that was a smart idea in her book. "But I need to hear you ask me for it."

"Yeah," Weiss sighed, eyes closing for a moment as she suppressed a reaction to the way the girl on top of her insisted on getting the okay. She knew it had been all her fault, that she was the one holding both of them back from enjoying each other so completely. That guilt was crushing. "Yeah, just… I'm sorry in advance if I'm nervous, but I really do want this. I promise."

"Thanks… I just don't wanna put pressure on you, okay? Well, not the bad kind." Finally, the moment had arrived. She trailed her hand upward and then dipped down into the band, slowly trailing further and further down. Through the patch of sparse hair, then eventually, toward the lips themselves…

"A-ahh!" she breathed as her body seized, her head tossing to one side and eyes screwing shut. This was more like it! Though she would have been fine if nothing more than petting and massaging happened, there were needs that had been going unmet. Having someone to tend them again was… nice. Exciting, but also comforting.

There was another comfort in all this. Weiss's first time with Yang, she had to get over a huge obstacle; her body confidence. Before, it took forever for her to work up the courage to allow Yang to look or touch her down there. But Neon wasn't even exposing it. She knew just how to get someone based on feel alone. It said enough about her skill, how much she had practiced; but also unintentionally served Weiss’s needs.

Two fingers trailed their way between her lips, venturing up and down the wetness she found there, gathering the moisture. "Ohh, Neon…" Her lips slowly turned into a vague smile. It had taken some effort of will, but she was going to enjoy herself. A beautiful girl was touching her intimately, teasing her body, and it was ridiculous for her to ignore that just because of a few old hang-ups.

"Weiss," she responded, her voice in a much lower tone as she purred in delight at what was happening to the woman below. It was more than enough of a response to get her going again – but no, this was Weiss's turn, and she was going to make it every bit as good as what she had received on the couch. Unconcerned for if the oil would stain her clothing, she laid herself on top of Weiss's body instead, pressing her lips against her exposed neck over and over as she continued to grind those fingers. Gradually, as she was getting into it, she felt her hips thrusting forward into it as well, in unison with her finger's movements.

So much of this was too familiar, too reminiscent of how things had been with- but no, not now. This was Neon on top of her, Neon who was worming fingers up against her vulnerable petals and kissing her neck. Neon whose shirt she was yanking off over her head frantically, in an effort to bring them closer, to make their activities more intimate.

"S-sorry," she breathed shakily once she realized there was an obstacle to taking it off one of the arms, letting the shirt hang from Neon's elbow awkwardly.

Neon instead giggled at her, stopping the movements of her fingers a moment as she came back into her view. "I get it. You want to see the ladies again, huh?"

Biting her lip, Weiss nodded. "I… want to see them… to feel you." Her face was burning up, almost as much as the flesh Neon couldn't resist sliding her fingers through continuously. She wanted to be with Neon so much more than she had expected — to feel something besides regret and loss. And she was past the point of worrying about how the other girl would react to her thinking that way, past holding herself back.

Neon drew her hand out, quickly using that time to shuck her shirt and toss it to one side, then to throw her bra atop the growing mound of clothing. Straight away however; she returned to what she was doing before. She pressed herself right up against Weiss's body, eagerly delivering more and more kisses to her neck. This time, Neon's own set of breasts was pushed up against her, the pointed piercings could be felt up against her chest as her fingers got straight back to work. She was on a mission, and was going to get there.

To Weiss's surprise, the steel of the piercings wasn't as cold as she'd been expecting. Already warm from being trapped up against her chest, there was only the sensation of rigidness that didn't belong next to the softness of her peaks. Weiss raised a hand to tease one again as their hips bucked, weighing it in her hand, pushing the stud from side to side.

Neon hummed contentedly, pushing her hips up against her repeatedly in unison with her fingers. Slowly, painfully so while she was gathering what she needed. But finally, she was trailing her hand lower, beginning to circle her entrance over and over. For Neon, she knew to save the best until last, which meant Weiss would have to wait if she wanted the sensitive nub played with.

The other hand suddenly shot into Neon's fluffy cloud of hair and gripped hard, dragging her down for a heated embrace, devouring her mouth with recklessness and need. And as she kissed her so hard… she also nodded. The orange-haired vixen could be felt smirking in the middle of the kiss as she did so right back, instantly allowing her tongue to find Weiss's as she passionately embraced her. No more waiting.

And below, two things were happening at the same time. The fingers dove into her, pushing back and forth along the inner walls over and over again. And her hips… Those hips kept moving in unison with the diving fingers, almost like that was the force that was pushing her in and out. Like they weren't her fingers at all, but a part of her to only function for this purpose.

Something about those motions were familiar… but Weiss again chose not to delve too deeply into that thought. This was Neon she was within the here and now. And she gratefully arched her back and moaned aloud into the other mouth as she was destroyed with a pair of fingers that had obviously been down that road many times before.

They must have done. Given that in such little amount of time, they were curling to find that sweeter spot, massaging it with every thrust forward, every gyration of her hips. It may have been such a different person, but the actions almost mirrored Yang's. Her kiss with Weiss intensified, just as it would have if it were Yang. She continued to massage and touch Weiss's breast with her spare hand, just as Yang would have. And then her moaning was beginning to get louder and louder in Weiss's mouth – again, as she would expect from Yang.

"Nnhhhh!" she groaned into the lips above hers as that vulnerable cluster inside of her was assailed over and over, turning her into a writhing, orgasm-mad mess. No longer able to keep toying with Neon's chest without hurting her somehow, she abandoned that to reach up and dig her fingernails into her supple back, to cling for dear life. She was so wound up that it couldn't take much more of this before she was screaming into the ceiling.

"Hmmmhh…" Neon disengaged from her lips, and instead began to kiss and nibble at her neck over and over again, continuing to push in and out, back and forth with her hips. Weiss was close, so close. And she was going to send her rocketing there. Extending her thumb to rub against the cluster of nerves above as well as thrust against those below, she was prepared for Weiss to finish. So she whispered to her again, "Go on, you want to. You wanna come for me. Come for me, Princess!"

Oh, how that thumb pushed her beyond her limits! Losing all control of her body, she arched up into the hand that was punishing her body so completely, the lips laying waste to her neck and the words of her lover spurring her onward, coaxing her out of the shell just enough to let herself relish the climax crashing down around them.

"YES! FFFFUCK YES, HARDER! That's right, that's- I'M- I'm g-gonna- ohHHHHHHHH, YAAAAAANNNNGGG!"

As she felt Weiss's orgasm roll over her body, felt the muscles clamp on her fingers over and over again, Neon pumped her fingers a few more times, milking her lover's orgasm for all it was worth. Yet another satisfied customer it seemed, making her grin with joy.

That was until she was starting to realize something… That wasn't her name Weiss had called. Nor was it just Weiss yelling out profanities to try and control herself. Weiss had called out another name. From how it sounded, another woman's name. What did that mean?

She let Weiss have the last remnants of pleasure before she gradually eased away, drew her fingers back out of her body. Allowing a few moments for Weiss to regain her breath before she asked.

"What's a Yang?"

"A wha…?" For a few glorious seconds, Weiss just reached up and caressed Neon's cheek as she gazed up at her gratefully, trying to get her breath.

Then it hit home: she had said that in their final moments. Done the unthinkable and mentioned her ex during sex.

Fuck.

And she was still laying there, nearly nude next to a half-clothed goddess whom she had insulted by calling the wrong name out, who looked only politely interested instead of horribly offended, the way she should have been. This was all wrong. The entire situation had gone from beautiful to terrible in less than ten seconds, and it was all. Her. Fault.

Upon seeing Weiss's expression begin to shift, Neon was growing increasingly worried herself, backing away slightly and tilting her head. It seemed that really was true, from Weiss's reaction. That it was another name rather than a pure noise of passion.

But maybe she should give her the benefit of the doubt. "Are… you okay?"

Tears began to sting Weiss’s eyes, and she had to get away. Though she had told herself she wouldn't run again, this time she had done worse than just being uncomfortable; she had slighted Neon in a really profound way, and it might not be something she could take back. Never before had she felt like such a whore .

"I'm… gonna need a minute," Weiss whispered as she pushed up from the bed, facing away from her. She took two breaths, the second one beginning to sound suspiciously like a sob as she added, "Excuse me," and headed out and toward the bathroom.

And for a moment, Neon was left on her own in the bedroom with nothing but her own thoughts, and an all new worry. If that really was a name, who was it? Was this 'Yang' a threat to her and Weiss's blossoming relationship? Or was Weiss even dating this person without telling her?! No, that couldn't be it. She wouldn't have been this upset if it was cheating; more scared and trying to make excuses.

It was getting more and more confusing by the minute. Until there was a faint buzzing she could hear, coming from the mound of clothes on the floor. Probably her agent trying to get contact with her at the worst of times again, like she usually did. But as she scrambled to try and find her phone, she didn't find hers.

She instead found Weiss's. And curiosity was getting the better of her. Quickly looking back around to the door to check, she unlocked the phone; not even a password or anything. Maybe she could find out who this Yang was through here. She felt bad, but after that name slipped out she felt like she had to see what she could see.

Though everyone knows what they say about curiosity…

Weiss’s phone background was a simple picture of a beach at sunset, a palm tree arching overhead. Lovely, exotic, and common; the kind of thing you set as wallpaper when you first buy your phone. As it turned out, the incoming text was from someone named "Ruby" — that friend she had mentioned in the interview.

Hey Weiss, hows it going with Neon?? Im so excited for you, maybe you can introduce me to her on Skype!! : D

Neon found herself smiling at such an adorably supportive message. It was good for her to see that Weiss had someone who seemed to know about who she was as a person, and about her sexuality. It made her feel rather special even to know that Weiss had told someone about them, even if it was one person.

She decided not to go through the rest of her text messages. Even if she wanted answers about her potential competition, she wasn't going to go that far to get them. That was Weiss's life, very private conversations. But maybe there was a photo. Scrolling to the photo album app, she was welcomed by a few photos of her and a smaller girl with glasses and dark hair. That seemed to fit the description of Ruby, at least.

"Cute," she muttered to herself, beginning to scroll upward to see what else was there. “I’d tap that if I wasn’t with Weiss.”

The next few were of Weiss and a cute blonde girl with distinctly Asian features; the one from the impromptu music video. They were just selfies, like any girl would take with her friend. She had a few of her and Weiss on her own phone. But as they progressed, they started changing gradually. Sitting closer, glancing at each other more. One of her sleeping, looking entirely peaceful.

Next she saw her wearing a gorgeous traditional dress, looking both elegant and bashful. Was this at a wedding? Had Weiss been a bridesmaid or something? That would make sense if Weiss had feelings for her and now they were no longer in each other's lives.

That was when she found pictures she would regret seeing. Blondie in the nude, being toyed with, teased… a pale hand that could only belong to her Weiss doing the teasing. And among those pictures was a video file.

Which turned out to be even more graphic than the pictures. Not only was there an ice blue length pounding into her — and into somewhere she had not been expecting — but there was another aspect to the woman in the video she discovered that was not readily apparent in all of the other pictures.

She was a DUDE. Well, that was inaccurate, and she instantly felt bad that it had been her first thought, but there was definitely something between her legs that came as a complete shock to the snooping woman. All that time, Weiss had been dating a girl, who dated a girl… who didn't have what most girls have. Which would explain some of her reticence to try new things, even though she was comfortable with others. This helped slot in several more pieces of the puzzle that was Weiss Schnee.

"You have… no idea how sorry I am about what happened just now, Neon,” said diva began as she returned to the bedroom, wrapped in a bath towel and still looking completely ashamed of herself – and as Neon jumped, closing the gallery app and dropping the phone onto the bed. “Seriously."

Neon felt caught. It was deadly obvious what she had been doing, and she belatedly felt like a terrible person for snooping – even if she felt like she had a good reason to snoop at the time. Competition. But perhaps she could get away with not telling Weiss of the erotic video she had just witnessed on her phone, and merely blame the ridiculously red cheeks on her coming down period from their play. Or that she was just caught with Weiss's phone in her hand the once.

"U-um… Ruby messaged you," she answered honestly, but then patted the bed for her to sit down. "But um, I just… I have a few questions? If that's okay?"

A flicker of anger passed over Weiss's face when she realized what she had interrupted, but given her own slip-up during their sexual encounter, she didn't have any room to point fingers. Yet she didn’t sit. She remained standing, entire body language guarded. "Alright. I wish you had let me check for messages myself, but… yeah, go on. Questions like what?"

"Oh I didn't…" Sighing rather than arguing any further, she ran a hand through her hair. She could cover what she was doing halfway through the conversation, if the questions led to it. "Okay… this… Yang," she began cautiously. "Is she the chick on guitar?"

"Yes." There was no use in hiding anything anymore, despite how each word stole yet more light from her eyes. "She was my bodyguard, who became my best friend… and yes, we ended up writing that song together."

But Neon knew better. She didn't need to have seen the video to piece things together. Pictures of Yang in a beautiful dress, then of her sleeping, the meaningful glances… They all told her that Weiss definitely had feelings for her somewhere. And another gesture told her that those feelings were returned. Something that wasn't in the phone.

"Your necklace in that interview… the yellow guitar pick. That's something she gave you?"

Again, she shrugged her shoulders, but her voice was more strained when she went on. "Why not? Friendship bracelets exist. Why not… friendship necklaces? Is that so crazy?"

"Weiss…" She spoke more softly this time, enough to try and get her to look at her. But the expression wasn't that of someone who was going to joke and be childish about the situation like she would have expected. It was one of sympathy. She wanted to try and show that she was willing to listen.

"What do you want me to say? That all the rumors are true? That Yang and I had a- a torrid love affair, that we fucked like rabbits during the entire tour?! Is that what you need?!" Tears were already sliding down her cheeks, but her voice only got louder, harsher and less stable. "Well, what's the point in telling you that?! It's not a story that has a happy ending! And it has nothing to do with you and me! It's just… history now, that's all! Just…"

She crumpled to her knees in the middle of the floor, sobbing and unable to continue. No longer willing to sit around and do nothing, Neon got up from the bed and knelt down by her side. There were no more words she could say, nothing that would make the situation any better for the one she cared about in question. She wanted answers, but wanted to show Weiss she cared about her more than she needed those. So she only petted her back gently, giving her that time to cry that she so desperately needed. Judging from how abrupt it was, she hadn't been able to do this with anyone.

The first sign that Weiss was recovering came when the arms came up to grip Neon tighter; she at least could acknowledge there was another person there now, that she needed her there. Wet eyes pressed against her neck as she sobbed and shook, as her fingertips stabbed into her naked back. Clearly, she was somewhat broken… but Neon would only find out why a few minutes later.

"She left me," Weiss finally forced herself to growl out between racking, awful noises. "I d-don't know why, I don't know what I did, b-but she left, and she won't even answer my calls or anything! I c-can't- nobody would tell me anything, I don't understand! I th-thought she lo- I thought she loved me!!!"

The words hurt Neon. She'd heard break up stories all the time, but all had reasons for the split somewhere. At least reasons the other party could safely say. Cheating, not working out, even abuse, she'd heard it all. But for Weiss, there was no explanation whatsoever. One-day Yang was there, the Yang which she seemed to share an emotional bond with judging by some of the pictures; the next she was gone, out of her life. Without even a goodbye, from the sounds of things.

Stroking her back, and trying to keep herself from crying with her, she looked downward. What could she say? She had a few theories of why, but a lot related to that intimate video. It seemed she would have to admit to seeing that if she was going to ask.

"So um, this Yang… Yang isn't exactly a girl like you and me, right?"

"She… what?" Drawing back and swiping at her red-rimmed eyes with one hand, she asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well… okay, guess I gotta fess up." She was blushing red raw again as she ran a hand over her face, starting to tremble with fear. "After I checked the message, I, uh… glanced at your pics to see if I could find who this Yang possibly was. And I found a… um… very nice video…"

That had the poor, distraught girl looking like she had been slapped. "You… what? You looked through m-" Instantly, she was jerking away from Neon's grasp. "Oh my God… oh my God, oh my GOD, I can't believe you did that…"

"I'm sorry! God, I really am, I just… I didn't think. I was just trying to find out who Yang was, why you were calling her name when I fucked you. I got really jealous, I… guess I didn’t even notice it until… right now." The realisation flooded her with shame. But she knew she deserved it, she deserved Weiss’s anger, for her to react as harsh as she did. All she could do was apologise.

"If I ever catch you on my phone again, I'll…" But she didn't even have enough fight in her to finish the likely-empty threat. Instead she just crumpled further, turning away. "Shit… I really messed up - you found out about Yang, th-that wasn't supposed to- I've been thinking I should set a password for my phone, but I never… I'm so lazy, and stupid…"

"Hey, I'm not gonna tell anyone. About you or about Yang. Promise . But y’know, that got me thinking…" She didn't attempt to pet Weiss again. Not after that. She didn't deserve to touch her. But Weiss did at least deserve the theory. "You said your dad's pretty conservative, right? Could it… could he maybe have found out?"

"No… no, I don't think so. He would have said something to me… my sister knows, but she already threw it in my face, so that's out." The white-haired girl's voice was flat and emotionless as she stared off toward the corner of the room. Her hand pressed into her mouth for about ten seconds as she breathed hard through her nose, then she lowered it. "I… appreciate you not telling anybody about Yang. Even if she's… whatever happened, I promised myself I wouldn't put her in danger by outing her. And I intend to keep that promise. Not going back on it just because I’m hurt by her dumping me."

Nodding to herself, Neon was only just starting to smile slightly. After a moment or two, she even let out a soft laughter, looking toward her bedroom window as she stared out blankly. "God though, I'd have never have guessed. I mean, that video, she looked so great. Had me fooled; hell, had the entire nation fooled."

"Had them fooled? How?" After a second, Weiss's forehead wrinkled up as she crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you trying to say, exactly?"

"Well, you know, that she's a tranny and all." Wrong move. Neon was clearly in the same boat Weiss was in when she first learnt who Yang was; meaning well, but saying all the wrong things. And this was getting worse. "Like I had no idea… Does this mean you're bi, then?"

But of course, Weiss also remembered how she had been back then, and only sighed wearily. "Listen. Yang isn't like that; she's not wearing a costume. She is a real live woman, just… got born differently than we did." Then she threw up both hands, adding, "And what's so great about vaginas, anyway? They bleed a few days every month and get yeast infections! I'd swap mine out for a dick if I could!"

"Hey, whoa whoa whoa, I never said anything about it being bad!" She held up her hands, waving them back and forth to show she meant no harm in what she said. "It's a great dick, seriously! And if she likes having it, then… yay! But I'm just saying, I'd have never have guessed she was born a boy. She looks great, for a trans… person?"

"She looks great for a person ," Weiss continued to correct stubbornly. But mentioning Yang's looks only made her feel more depressed, and she ran a hand through her hair. "God… you sure walked into a minefield. I'm on the rebound, and the last girl I was with had a totally different body… and I don't know, I'm really into you but I can't seem to… to move on, and…" More tears fell, but this time she wasn't quite falling into the pit of sorrow the way she had before. Just grieving, yet again.

It was only now Neon was leaning toward her again, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her closely, gently petting her shoulders. She had far more answers this time, but at what cost? Her possible girlfriend was so hung up over another woman, still grieving over answers she never got. Was it something she could even cope with? That either of them could? She would have to tread very carefully here. A part of her could tell that deep down, Weiss still loved this girl. Still wanted her. But she wasn't here. And unless she was going to turn up out of the blue, Neon could feel reasonably secure in her new relationship.

But it was still a possibility.

"Look…" she began, leaning back to wipe away one of the stray tears from Weiss’s cheeks. "I can tell she meant a shit tonne to you, that you're really broken up about this. And no matter what happens, you can talk to me about it, okay?"

"But you shouldn't have to! Sh-shouldn't have to pick up the pieces of me, I should… be ready to be with you right here, right now, all the way!" Weiss leaned up and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry I'm still so hung up on her, b-but I really like you, okay? That's not changing!"

"You don’t have to do that," she insisted, wiping away another stray tear. One of her own fell down her cheeks, over the little heart shaped tattoo specifically. She couldn't help it, all of this was emotionally draining. But what kept her going was the knowledge that if this was hard for her, it would be so much worse for Weiss. Finally making sure she was looking into her eyes, she spoke softly and genuinely.

"We all have baggage, okay? It took me well over a year to get over my first girlfriend. And you're doing completely fine! But I want you to know…" She swallowed. This was getting to a more difficult part. If she was this hung up over Yang and the possibility of her returning was still there, she needed for Weiss to know. "If… you want to slow things down, or even pump the brakes until you feel less, um, weird… It's fine with me. We'll still be friends, no hard feelings, no worries. I'm not saying you gotta, but the option is there."

Weiss's reaction was not what she had been expecting – since she had been expecting to get dropped right away. Especially because of her snooping; she wouldn’t blame her in the slightest. Instead, those baby blue eyes got even wider, and she began to hyperventilate. She was shaking like a leaf as she drew away from her, curling into a ball on the floor. She was whispering something over and over, but it wasn't easily distinguishable until Neon leaned slightly closer.

"Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me…"

It plucked at Neon's heartstrings to see Weiss like this, so terrified of being abandoned. She may have been one to speak about baggage, but this was something new altogether. The question was, would she be able to handle it? Weiss was so hung up on this other girl, so hung up on this Yang, that everything was in the air. She may never get over it if they never found out why, or she could leave her in an instant if Yang returned. It may never work out at all. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to do her damn best to help her however she could in the time they had.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered into her hair as she cradled the shivering diva close. “Neon doesn’t bail on friends. Pinky promise.”

[polarisstop]

True detective season 1 episode 1 full

Worse still, Hart's distracted by troubles at home his philandering has caught up with him and he's sleeping on Cohle's couch as a result. His attempts to infiltrate the biker bar where Cohle is making contact with an Iron Crusader named Ginger are laughable, and rightly rebuffed. Hart, meanwhile, seems entirely out of his depth in this environment. As hinted at in the interrogation scene last week, Cohle is a convincing actor, but there's a sense at times here that he's getting into the role of his biker alter-ego (he goes by the name of Crash) a little too much there's a relish to the way that he tells Hart about Mexican cartels' grisly execution methods that suggests an attraction to the high-risk thrills of the outlaw lifestyle.

Cohle, of course, applies the same meticulous attention to detail to undercover work as he does to investigation, altering himself physically (using inking cayenne to make his arms look needle-marked) and psychologically (extended staring matches with himself in the mirror, presumably to get into character). Cohle was heavily involved in the gang during his long period undercover in narcotics, which gives him an "in". The reason for the sudden deviation into Texas? Hart and Cohle have connected Ledoux to a Texas biker gang called the Iron Crusaders, for which he exclusively cooks meth (a little like Jesse and the neo-Nazis in Breaking Bad, but without the slavery aspect). Here, too, he is patient: after focusing on the limpid blues, greens and greys of Louisiana in True Detective's opening trio of episodes, Fukunaga – ably assisted by cinematographer Adam Arkapaw – gradually swaps them for the nocturnal, firelit griminess of east Texas's biker gangs, with the dread slowly ratcheting up as we move closer towards the encounter in the projects. Fukunaga directs all eight episodes of True Detective, a level of involvement unusually high for TV (I can only recall one precedent – Robert Altman directing the entirety of HBO's political satire Tanner '88 – but let me know otherwise), and that long-form role allows him to be understated where one-off directors might feel obliged to be showy, keeping visual flourishes to a minimum in the first three episodes of the season. But let's not overlook the less flashy aspects of Cary Fukunaga's direction, which in their way are just as impressive. It's a moment that feels like the True Detective equivalent of College from The Sopranos, or The Wire's "fuck" scene: the point where you find yourself completely hooked. Of course, any reservations over that detour have long since dissipated by the episode's climax, an uninterrupted six-minute tracking shot following Cohle and his biker captive through a roiling neighbourhood riot. Instead, we're taken out of Louisiana and into east Texas, a move that has the potential to be momentum-sapping, or even feel like padding – a means of stretching out the mystery for another week. Despite last week's teasing final shot, the elusive Reggie Ledoux is still nowhere to be seen. Very little forward progress is made in either the original investigation into the murder of Dora Lange, or the 2012 interrogations. On paper, Who Goes There has the potential to be a frustrating hour of television. Read Gwilym's Mumford's episode three recap here.

If you have seen further ahead in the series, please do not leave spoilers. Please don't read on if you haven't watched episode three. Spoiler alert: we are recapping True Detective after UK transmission.

[callmeakumatized]

Bad Luck Under the Mistletoe

(( This is a belated birthday gift for @the-lazy-workaholic-blog! (Gall I hope this is the right person, haha! If not, happy birthday anyway! XD) It’s not the best, but...I hope it brings a smile to your face. (3

Read it on Ao3 for some background info on the PV verse. ))

They were everywhere, ranging in size from little sprigs to huge bunches. Some were tied up with velvety red ribbons. Others were unassuming, hidden in hands or hastily taped above doorways or in hallways, a cheeky surprise ready to spring out on unsuspecting passersby.

Félix didn't dislike the holiday season, per se, but there were certain…traditions he could live without. Most traditions, actually. And while mistletoe in and of itself was, for lack of a better word, annoying, the most frustrating part came along with one Bridgette Cheng.

When Félix had walked into school at the beginning of the week to giggling girls, red cheeks, and mistletoe everywhere, he expected to be immediately accosted by his blue-haired classmate. In fact, it was usual, a daily occurrence, the harassment in the form of concert tickets or adoring glances. But as the morning dragged on, Félix found himself seated in the classroom before Bridgette even made her appearance.

Giggling preceded her, as it normally did. She entered the doorway, but Melodie, her arm-in-arm companion, pulled her back for a moment, placing an exaggerated kiss on her best friend's cheek. Felix flicked his eyes away, ignoring the friendly exchange, and ignoring the twinge of something unrecognizable and unwelcome that made him want to scoff. Scoff at himself or at Bridgette and Melodie, he really couldn't decide. In their dash to look anywhere but at the giggling friends, Félix's eyes happened upon the mess of green and white tied above the classroom door. He sighed inwardly.

"Good morning, Félix!" Bridgette piped brightly as she passed his seat on the way to her own.

As was usual.

And he ignored her. Just to keep with their daily routine.

(At least this time he didn't roll his eyes. It was Christmastime, after all.)

At the end of class, Félix, who had already packed his bag in favor of a hasty retreat, bolted for the door. His plan could have worked. He could be a mile and a half away from every girl in his class, let alone the one he was most anxious to avoid. In fact, Félix was sure it would have worked…if not for Plagg and his cursed bad luck.

The astute blond-haired boy had made it as far as the door, but no farther. A loopy stray thread that should not have been there caught soundly around the door handle. The sound of the rip stopped him in his tracks more than the pull itself. Another tug and a glance down at his situation, and Félix knew he was in trouble. Panic manifested itself as red in Felix's cheeks, and he scrambled as "calmly" as possible to free himself before the rest of his classmates could make it to the door. Within moments there was laughter; more and more students started to realize the predicament high-strung Félix Agreste had found himself in.

Taking a stance that he tried not to make look too much how he felt – a martyr – Félix brought his chin up and looked away from the tittering students. They passed by, some making little faces or jokes, a few girls blushing by him with smiles before being pushed away by Melodie. And then Melodie herself, the bane of his existence next to Bridgette, had the gall to pull him down and plant one on his cheek. He shoved her away as quickly as he could, and was mortified above all else by his own blushing.

"Heeeyy," she drawled out through her light and airy laughter. "Maybe you need a kiss or two, Agreste. Could lighten that mood of yours." She broke into renewed laughter when Félix made a show of wiping the kiss from his cheek. He didn't think his brow could furrow any lower.

(Or his cheeks get any redder…)

Deciding he should probably try to untangle the mess he was in before berating his good-for-nothing Kwami, Félix turned to fiddle with his sleeve. He could see Melodie out of the corner of his eye while she traipsed haughtily backwards through the throng of passing teens. He didn't miss the way she looked passed him before clearing her throat, or the way she smirked when she caught him glancing up at her. As soon as she had caught his eye, she winked, before losing herself in laughter again, and he lost sight of her through the crowd. Probably off to meet her best friend…

Her best friend…

Bridgette. Where was Bridgette!?

No…no, no, no, no…!

A tugging on his sleeve brought his attention to the blue-haired girl in question.

Bridgette was there.

Bridgette was there. With Félix. Under that blasted mistletoe.

Cautiously, Félix looked down at the girl. She wasn't looking at him – something he was not used to – but rather was scowling down the hallway toward Melodie's lost form. There was barely a blush on her cheeks, and the sight was so bewildering, Félix couldn't help but just stare down at the small girl in surprise.

Another tug on his sleeve brought Félix's attention back to what Bridgette was actually doing.

What was she doing?

Oh. His sleeve was free. Well, it's obviously easier for someone to get someone else's sleeve out. He was caught. He was one-handed. It wasn't like he couldn't have done it himself, the nerve of someone even thinking that –

Wait, then what…?

Bridgette was quiet. Something new, something foreign, and Félix, who, granted, was normally quite reserved felt lost in the silence. He watched her, slightly entranced by the way her hand moved with the needle and thread. How she had the right color to match his shirt…he wouldn't even try to process, only try not to roll his eyes. Again. And mull over his disaster in peace. Etiquette would say to thank her. Good breeding taught him to try to make some sort of conversation.

Félix only looked away.

Was he really surprised that she had matching thread to his favorite shirt? No. What was surprising was the way she had swooped in to save him, how she knew him well enough to know he'd refuse her help if she had asked…but also how the stupid hole would have bothered him had it remained the rest of the day.

Maybe he was reading too much into this. But he didn't think so.

Bridgette pulled her hand from the inside of his sleeve where her fingers had apparently been to help with sewing shut the hole. How he had missed her flippin' hand up his sleeve, Félix didn't know. But he sure felt the skin-to-skin contact now. Where they were silent before, Félix had now completely frozen under the sudden feel of her. He couldn't think clearly enough to panic at this new development of…of feelings, or something like it. He could only turn back to her and watch as she finished the ministrations on the fabric there, caught off guard at the blue eyes staring up at him suddenly after the last snip from her tiny scissors.

"There you go, Félix."

And with that, she was gone from his side. Félix watched, tight-lipped, as she went back to her bookbag, the gentle way she put her tiny sewing kit away and packed up the rest of her things. He thought absently how she must have fished out the kit and come to him first before bothering with any of her things. And he was still watching when she smiled sweetly at him, approaching his waiting form under the door frame.

Waiting.

What was she waiting for?

No, wait…he was waiting.

What was he waiting for?

An atrocious thought entered his mind at this question.

Am I waiting for her!? Here!?

In the millisecond it took his brain to process a lifetime's worth of feelings, Félix, still watching Bridgette as she came closer and closer (had time slowed down or something!?) could only come to one conclusion: Maybe.

Maybe he was waiting for her.

And…maybe Melodie was – gall, could he even think it? – right.

And maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

And then Bridgette was there, and she was pressing herself against…not him. She was passing him by, back pressed against the door frame on the opposite side of him. Her eyes only flicked upward once and her cheeks reddened slightly, but she never looked at him. Instead, her eyes had bored into the plant hanging above them as if the poisonous berries had dishonored her, her entire family, her cow…

And then she was gone, rushing into the crowd of students who had busied themselves in more fruitful pursuits, like not watching the person who thought you were the love of their life walk away from said proclaimed love interest while he stood blankly under the mistletoe.

Félix could only register two thoughts as he kept his eyes on the blue-haired beauty – GIRL, blue-haired girl as she bobbed bouncily through the crowd.

1, Bridgette had avoided a perfect opportunity to kiss him under the guise of holiday tradition.

2, Félix was, to his ultimate horror, extremely disappointed.

qpqpqpqpqp

It didn't stop there, either.

The rest of the week continued in the same way. Plagg pushed his bad luck onto Félix every time he found himself under the mistletoe. Although he had avoided anymore ripped clothes, he had tripped multiple times, stepped on gum sticky enough to trap his shoe, had his backpack opened and its contents spilt, and, the most embarrassing of all, getting stuck in the plant itself. Somehow, through some "miraculous" circumstance, he had built up enough electricity to produce enough static cling to pull his gelled hair straight up into one of the infernal weeds and had to endure Bridgette reaching up past him to untangle himself.

(She smelled good. It was just a fact.)

What added greatly to his mortification in all of these instances wasn't the fact that Bridgette seemed to appear out of nowhere every time something like this happened, nor that he found himself in such predicaments that he needed to be "rescued" and she was always there. It was that every time they were caught under the mistletoe, Bridgette Cheng would run away from him like he was going to burn her.

The girl obviously liked him still. (Right?) She had brought him Christmas cookies, invited him to parties she had to know he would never go to, and even invited him to her own home for Christmas Eve (something that he actually had stared at her for a full minute after she asked before declining). After all this, after all of the requests and the offers and the gifts, there was one invitation she had yet to extend, one that his answer was, much to his chagrin, leaning more and more toward acceptance.

It was this frightening thought that left Félix motionless in front of his locker on the last afternoon before the holiday break.

"Merry Christmas, Félix!"

Félix jumped, Bridgette's sudden presence jarring him roughly from fleeting thoughts into abrupt reality. In place of his usual scowl, though, Félix looked down at Bridgette with wide eyes at the present she extended to him. After a moment of blank staring, he blinked into reality again when Bridgette shook the brightly wrapped gift under his nose.

"Merry Christmas, Félix," she repeated, voice softer now. A blush lit up her eyes in an almost feverish way. The sight wasn't not pretty. This thought process wasn't not unpleasant either, and Félix, much to his growing mortification, felt a blush start to grow on his face. Again.

Trying to push through the embarrassing betrayal of "feelings", Félix gingerly reached out and gripped the present. Their fingers brushed (oh my gosh, how cliché could this get!?) at the transfer, something Félix may or may not have done accidentally on purpose.

Bridgette's eyes flicked up to his at the contact, but before he could even thank her for the present, he found himself looking instead at her retreating form.

Félix frowned at this…but it wasn't out of anger. He sighed, turning his attention instead to the package in front of him.

Etiquette told Félix to wait until he was home before carefully taking the paper off the box in his hand.

Félix tore into the gift like a madman.

His heart was hammering against his chest as he pulled out the silky blue material. He reached the end of the soft fabric, and realized, with fondness, that he held a scarf in his hand. He looked around and found no one watching him, no one still in the school when the promise of hot chocolate and Christmas break loomed happily around them…so he wrapped the scarf around him, pulling up the fabric momentarily to nuzzle into it. His eyes closed in unrepressed mirth.

It smells like her.

With a contended sigh, Félix opened his eyes again.

And found Bridgette Cheng standing there, watching him.

From the look on her face, she had been there long enough.

Neither teen moved; neither one seemed to know what to do. Félix was fighting the urge to either pull the scarf up over his eyes and walk away or strangle himself with it. But the blue eyes looking back at him kept him locked in place.

"That's a nice color on you, Félix," Bridgette finally said, breaking the silence and saving him again.

"Did you make this?" he asked, bypassing the compliment as always.

"Yes."

Her voice sounded breathless. The tone of that one word sent an unsolicited warmth into him, down to his toes. Félix shifted his weight.

"I knew you could sew, but I didn't know you could knit so well." The warmth spread to his cheeks at his own admittance, matching that of his companion. Though he didn't think it would highlight his eyes so well as it did hers. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, as he tried to remind himself over and over again. The scarf was nice, it was well made – beautifully made. This was not a compliment, just a fact. "Thank you, Bridgette."

There it was. Bridgette's face exploded, the pink in her cheeks flushing her skin to her ears and down her neck. It was low, and selfish, maybe, but knowing he was able to put a pretty girl – no, Bridgette wasn't just a pretty girl, she wasn't just any girl – to put Bridgette into this state gave Félix some sort of sick gratification. Although he fought the smirk trying to jump onto his face (how very Chat Noir of him), he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from twitching. With this new confidence, Félix finally lowered his hands from his new scarf, the covering falling comfortably around his neck.

Call it the circumstance. Call it repressed anxieties manifesting through unresolved tension. Whatever the reason, Félix continued to feel quite Chat-like. He forgot himself for a moment, but knew he probably wouldn't regret it later, and took one long slow step to close the distance between himself and Bridgette before leaning on one of the lockers.

A question burned on his tongue, had been there all week, and he finally found the opportunity to voice it.

"Is there a reason you've been avoiding the mistletoe all week?"

Bridgette took a small step back from him, and he mused that it was probably the first time in her life that she had done so.

"I-I haven't been," she almost whispered.

Now Félix couldn't fight the smirk any longer. He was a cat in this moment, prowling toward his prey. Moving himself away from the locker door, he took up the scarf in his hand, fingering the edges lightly, and took another step toward Bridgette.

"Let me rephrase," he started, stopping again at her hunched form and putting an elbow out to resume his lazy lounging. "Is there a reason you've been avoiding being stuck under the mistletoe with me?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. The answer seemed to shock both parties momentarily. Félix blinked a few times while Bridgette shook her head, seeming to regret her answer as soon as she had said it.

"No!" she finally said loudly. "I mean…yes?"

Etiquette told Félix to back off his questioning. He shouldn't have put himself in this position in the first place.

Hot dang, she's adorable.

"Why?"

Félix almost flinched at how desperate that sounded. All semblance of Chat Noir was gone. The mask of Félix Agreste had started to crumble as well, and he hated it. He hated the vulnerability of being just himself. But something in him needed to know, needed to know why this (disgustingly) sweet girl who took (advantage of) every opportunity to just be nice to him suddenly avoided him like the plague.

Because…if he was being honest with himself (which he hardly ever was), he didn't think he would be able to handle one more person he lo – cared about – walking out of his life.

So he had asked the question. But now that it floated in their shared air, he was afraid of the answer. The vulnerability must have shown from somewhere – his tone, his face. Bridgette studied him for a moment as her own color lost its feverish quality in lieu of something closer to normal. Her long hair swayed when her head tilted to the side in a look of worry. The look in her eyes made him turn away.

Something warm touched his cheek. The soft pressure of a hand fought softly against his intense urge to bolt, to get as far away from this as possible. Instead, Félix met Bridgette Suddenly-Too-Close-For-Comfort Cheng's eyes again. She dropped her hand from his cheek, but it didn't go back to her side, as if she hadn't wanted to lower it in the first place.

"I never want to make you do anything you're uncomfortable with, Félix." A smile touched her lips for a moment before it passed, but the small touch of emotion seemed to fly into her eyes, making them sparkle with suppressed feeling.

Now, there were a lot of things he could have imagined this girl saying. A. LOT. This – THIS – however, was nothing even his subconscious could have dreamed up.

"I…" Felix wanted to say something. But just wanting to say something and actually thinking of something to say were not wholly connected. "That's not what I was expecting?"

She starts to lower her hand now, but he takes it instead, holding it in both of his. She's trembling.

"I-I guess I'm full of surprises."

She sways on the spot, maybe a little closer to him. Maybe he gets a little closer to her.

"I hate surprises."

"I know."

She's so close…he can smell her now, the crispness of green apples, the warmth of vanilla, the sugary sweet of berries. Her eyes are heavily-lidded. Her breathing is labored.

(Or was that his?)

"I…don't hate you though," he whispers to her. She shudders under him when he brushes his fingers across her cheek.

"I know," she answers simply.

The answer surprises him.

I didn't.

Félix didn't like many things about the holidays. But he decided in that moment, that some traditions were worth the trouble.

  Fin!

  Bonus:

There was a brief fleeting moment when Félix thought of his insecurities, his vulnerability, and his gosh darn inexperience. The pause was torture, but he couldn't make himself push any farther. A small sound of protest came from Bridgette.

"Félix, I-" she shuffled uncomfortably under him.

Hold still, darn you, he thought, reaching both hands to either side of her head to keep her still. Can't you see I'm trying here!?

"Félix if you don't kiss me right now I'm going to pass out."

Oh.

Inexperience forgotten, Félix dove in.

And if he thought Bridgette Cheng smelled good…well, she tasted even better.

Two minutes – two hours? – and Félix shifted his weight to try to get more of this going on. One hand slipped into Bridgette's hair while his right hand tentatively reached out to her waist. As his hand reached down to find purchase at the small of her back, a physical shock wove through his body. The sound of metal clinking and then rolling down the hall broke the two teens apart, their combined heavy breathing making Félix want to forget about everything and just…gall, just go in and keep kissing her until –

His ring.

His ring was…it was gone.

But…that's not possible. The only way his curse would be gone is if…if he…if he kissed….

"Ladybug?"

 Bonus Bonus!:

"Ah, c'mon, Bridg! It's just me! Hey, thanks for freeing me and all, but I didn't do it on purr-pose I promise!"

Bridgette had collapsed in his arms, a high-pitch whistling sound the only confirmation she was still alive.

But…he should have known better.

Because unconscious or not…she was still Ladybug.

And at the sound of his punderful pun…she reacted on instinct.

…And, uh, punched him in the face.

[crystalxfrost]

Mirror to Salvation

I don't like looking at myself in the mirror because I've never really liked how I look. I've had low self esteem my whole life, so I actively avoid my reflection most of the time. I could use expensive makeup or name brand cosmetics to "fix" my appearance, but I've never really had anybody to show me how to use those things and was always too shy to ask, so I don't bother trying; I'm positive that whatever I try to use will only make me look like a clown anyway. So when I need to get ready to go out, I usually just pull a brush through my hair and throw it back in a braid or a ponytail and bam! I'm ready.

The only time I ever look in the mirror is the occasional three-second scan for missed random dirt or leftover dippy eggs from breakfast. However, I am extremely familiar with my reflection and my person, having spent so much time alone with it over the years, so it was something of a mighty shock when in the course of getting ready to go pick up my friend Nathan from the library down at the Square, I lifted my eyes to my mirror and saw a complete stranger in perfect mirror image of my own pose and gesture.

I blinked hard, then squeezed my eyes shut tightly and shook my head to make sure I wasn't crazy or seeing things, then opened my eyes, expecting to see my own boring reflection again. But no, the strange woman was still there in my mirror, just staring at me.I leaned forward, now both afraid and intrigued. The woman was stunningly beautiful in comparison to myself: long curly blonde hair sat perched like a golden waterfall over the shoulders of a tall slender porcelain-skinned woman with large sapphire-blue eyes. She was dressed in a black business suit and carried a small blue purse over her shoulder. I'd seen her everywhere. I'd seen her nowhere.

As I leaned closer, forgetting myself in more than a little bewilderment mixed with fear at the sight of this woman there in the mirror where my own reflection should be, something large and fast swung into view from beyond the right edge of the mirror and smashed against the side of the blonde woman's head. I shrieked and jumped back in horror as her head simply disintegrated into a bloody mass of pulp and raw flesh as whatever that thing had been blew her head right off her shoulders. Blood, lots of it and packed with bits of brain matter and fragments of skull, splashed up against the mirror and I cowered, screaming, eyes screwed tightly shut, fully expecting the wave to bathe me in its disgusting carryings. But no warm wave came.

Shaking and still cringing with the extent of my stress, I looked up at the mirror and slowly rose from the floor where I'd been sitting, praying that whatever horrific thing had just happened was now gone from my view. To my surprise, I was greeted once more by my bright blue myopic eyes behind their plastic blue Walmart frames and my messy un-perfect totally REAL hair attached to my own very real head. And never had I been happier to see my own face.

I would have stayed to muse more over the horrible thing I'd just seen, but I was pulled from my walking daymare when my watch beeped. I glanced at my watch and swore loudly to myself; if I didn't leave now, I'd be late. I paused briefly for one last cautious look in the mirror as I threw on my jacket and sighed in relief when all I saw was my own boring reflection. Sparing no more time for musings, I grabbed my keys and was out the door.The drive through the city to the Square was a lengthy one, my attentions now no longer on the horror my mirror had just shown me, but on the asshole drivers and cranky I-hate-Mondayers in a rush to cut me off on their way to whatever hated job they catered to. Thankfully, at this time on a Monday, the Square was mostly deserted with plenty of ideal parking, so I quickly selected a spot and pulled my Cadillac in.

The Square, which sat in the very center of town, was overshadowed by the city's historically monolithic public library. It was a wide open smoothly paved expanse that boasted its own walking path, multiple benches under artistically shaded canopies, and a huge lighted marble sculpture of a knight brandishing a wicked sceptre. This sculpture was normally very impressive, but this time it was surrounded by scaffolding. The talk was that a large crack had surfaced in the narrowest part of the sceptre's handle due to age and the city had been tasked with its repair, yet no workers could be seen anywhere amidst the crowds of people that bustled across the Square going about their days.

It was under this huge sculpture that I normally met Nathan, usually Wednesdays and Fridays since on those days, he let his 17-year-old sister Natalie borrow his car for driving class. This spot had been our designated meeting place for quite some time now and we both knew it well, had spent many a fine day as children playing on and about the feet of the massive statue.

As I stood there under the shadow of the statue, the sunlight disappeared briefly as ominous clouds covered the sun, and I shivered, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. I couldn't shake the ominous feeling of doom that had crept into my mind and nested there. To take my mind off the oppressive notion of impending death, I decided to watch the people instead.

During times of incredible boredom, of which there tended to be many, I liked to watch the denizens of my city walk past and create life scenarios based on their appearances. Here was a rather stout pissed-off looking gentleman in a stiff three-piece suit; he was a farmer by trade but just came from the funeral of his great-great-aunt Bertha in his only good suit that he hated and the old bitch didn't leave him shit in her will. There was a windblown woman with wild hair and a tired expression in jeans and a thick sweater; she'd spent her only day off this week shopping for food so she could feed her three starving cretins and gluttonous bossy husband to keep them quiet while she cleaned. And here was a tall slender blonde woman in a very expensive black business suit talking hurriedly on her cell phone, her small blue purse swinging back and forth as she rushed along on her way.

Wait a second...

The vision my mirror had shown me slammed back into my thoughts, and I panicked as the vision hit me a second time. I looked around wildly, trying to keep the woman in my view and watching for any wayward objects. I watched her bustle right past me even as a deafening crack ripped the silence. Time seemed to slow down as I automatically craned my neck up to gawk at the orb in the king's sceptre that even now was falling, the crack had given way after all this time and the huge marble ball was falling from the sceptre.

I watched as the ball, suspended only by a few thin strong cables in case of this very thing, dropped fast out of the sky, caught at the last second and came swinging down like a wrecking ball, and with something like dulled horror, I realized that the ball would clap the woman directly in the side of the head...just like in my vision. I struggled to reach her, shouting, and just as she turned around, I tackled her to the ground. Her mouth, which had likely been poised to yell at me for interrupting her important phone call, froze in a solid O as the huge marble ball swung safely over us on its cables through the exact spot where her head would have been, mere feet from where we now lay, me panting with fear and exertion and her with fear and the steadily growing realization that I had just saved her life.We stood up, awkwardly brushing off our hair and clothes. She just gaped at me then. "You...you saved my life. That ball would have..."

"It would have smashed your fucking head like a sledgehammer on a watermelon," I snapped, reeling at the unexpected viciousness of my words but finding myself unable to stop. "Maybe next time you should get off your fucking phone and watch where you're going!" Then I spun on my heel and stalked away without a single glance back, much to her shock.

Back at my own home, after dropping Nathan back off at his house, I closed myself in my bedroom and bawled my eyes out in loud unbroken unhindered sobs, the day finally taking its toll on me. I was upset over the statue finally breaking after all these years, exhausted and sore from tackling the woman to the ground, and sorry as hell for the way I had spoken to her after I'd saved her life. I chalked it up to stress I'd never before encountered until a new thought pushed its way through all the rest like a fresh spring daisy: my mirror, my plain old thrift store mirror that I'd had for years, had shown me a life to save. Maybe I could save someone else, bring some form of purpose to my boring little existence.

From then on, every single day I was given a new life to save, a true vision of gore or other means of death always preceding the encounter. They always turned up wherever I happened be no matter where that was; I never had to actively seek out these people. Hell, I didn't even have to know their names. I saved a suave business man from a drug deal gone wrong, a single mother of four kids from an armed robbery, a black woman from drowning at the local pool. And every time, my mirror showed me the way.

Soon I became something of a local celebrity. When asked how I knew about these deaths and how I knew to be there at the right time, I always answered with the truth, that I saw it in my mirror. The rumors began to swirl that I was psychic, that I could see the future, that I was a witch...that I could stop death. All the big talk shows wanted me to discuss my experiences on air with them, one after another. People now recognized me as a person, and for quite a good deed too.

Weeks came and went, then months. I received hundreds of thousands of fan letters from those who wanted me to predict their deaths, dozens of phone calls from alleged directors and producers who saw potential in my weird abilities for the next big prime time or big screen. I never answered any of them; my mirror only showed me who it wanted me to. And still I continued to save life after life, every day one more unknowing soul my responsibility. I took every challenge, all against the better judgment of my own aching and battered body. And I never once realized that this enormous responsibility was killing me slowly.It came to a head one morning, several years later, after another long night where I'd saved a whole family from their burning house, everyone but the fucking dog. I stood in my bedroom in front of my mirror, eyes closed, feeling emotionally and physically drained, my body resisting every movement with a sharp outcry of pain. I barely even felt the thing I now held in my hand; my mind didn't quite fully register the weight of it.

I wearily opened my eyes, expecting to see yet another perfect stranger in my mirror, but this time I only saw myself. I saw my exhausted eyes, the grays at my temple, the lines that aged my face, and all at once the tears began leaking down my cheeks as I realized that quite simply, I was tired...tired of being responsible for other people, tired of pushing myself so hard...tired of being tired. All this attention, fame...I'd never wanted this.

As I gazed back at my reflection, I smiled in spite of my tears as I watched my reflection raise the gun to its head and pull the trigger. My only thought as my arm echoed the motion of my reflection's was that out of all the lives I'd saved, how ironic that the only life I couldn't save was my own.

[celestialnocturnes]

A Typical Monday in March

Mondays always meant one thing: commuting back to my dorm and getting ready to battle another week of heavy workloads. I usually take the ride on afternoons, but that day I woke up early to catch the Fairview bus. The afternoon that was to come would be a busy one: online exam in Linguistics, org dp shoot, and review for my upcoming long exam in Microeconomics. Was I ready? No, but I just had to get through the day.

The moment I got off the bus, I knew that I had to satisfy my hungry stomach although it was only 20 minutes before the exam would start. I was on a strict budget that week so I used my mobile app coupon to purchase a Big Mac. I wanted to have something that I could eat while taking the exams, plus I couldn't afford to be wasting any more time. In fact, I was giddy to take that Linguistics exam. I've spent a week working on phonetics, phonemics, IPA transcription, and history. The confidence I exuded was unparalleled not only because of how ready I was, but also because I loved studying for it. For a college student who was placed in the wrong course, that feeling was everything.

To my frustration, that Big Mac took longer to prepare than I expected. By the time I took the tricycle to my dorm, the exam was to start in 5 minutes. I got off the corner of Salvador street and had to face the scorching heat and the uphill path to my dorm. It almost felt like a punishment because I was carrying a heavy bag that was too much for my petite figure. The sight of the rusty green gate of a three-storey peach building brought me comfort. I headed straight to my upper bunk and laid down, albeit for a short while because the exam has already been sent to our emails and I had to start working on it. I felt immense exhaustion and thought that a little caffeine boost would help, so I opened my Foodpanda app and ordered the coffee recommendation from a friend.

While waiting, I began skimming through the exam. Quite manageable, but I was already 20 minutes late. I set up the table, or rather, the wooden chair which I used as my table. The cold touch of the floor seemed to give me a slight jolt, but it wasn't until the arrival of my coffee order that I began to work.

The first few minutes of the exam was easy, but as I went on with the items, my internal frantic screams fueled my stress. I wasn't even sure if I answered the items correctly, but the time pressure was more powerful. In the end, I managed to finish it albeit my submission was five minutes late because of my dorm's subpar internet connection.

Next order of business, org dp shoot. I looked at the mirror and a haggard face looked back at me. Naturally, I tried to make her prettier because I don't want a bad photo. This was, after all, my first DP shoot for the org that I'm applying for.

My hair was hanged loosely and I had to comb it every few minutes just to keep it straight. I was wearing a sky blue long-sleeved cropped top, a present from my friend that I remembered swearing not to wear because my high school self was utterly conservative. Huh, in her face.

To complement that cropped top was a black flowy skirt that I always enjoyed wearing because I felt so kikay in it. White shoes, of course, was the staple footwear because it was perfect for almost every outfit. In my home college, it was kind of our foot uniform. I put on some light makeup to freshen up my exhausted face and when I was quite satisfied with how I looked, I put the final touch: a pair of blue dangling earrings that I bought from a UP Fair booth. I was going for pastel blue at the time because it was the theme of the shoot.

Upon my arrival at the PAGASA Observatory (aka my favorite place on the campus), my co-apps were already there prepping. It was such a refreshing sight to see them after the stressful events that preceded. I was comfortable with these people, and I hoped that they were with me too.

There were quite big things to look forward that week: Sidewalk Astronomy and our Apps' Night. Admittedly, we weren't ready for the latter but I was positive we'd get through it! The panic was there, though.

When it was my turn to take my photo, I felt the surge of shyness dominate me. It was always like this every shoot. Suddenly, I was no longer comfortable in my own skin. My coffee prop gave something for my awkward hand to hold on to, so that was one tick off the list. I just had to figure out a proper pose. In the end, I just leaned on my good angle and hoped that my outfit and makeup would do the trick. The shot turned out to be quite satisfactory to my surprise.

After the shoot, we decided to grab something to eat. It was already nighttime by then and the pictureeque supermoon was up in the sky. Our two co-apps were nowhere to be found, but we kept on walking around the campus. I couldn't remember what specific food we were looking for. All I knew was that I enjoyed walking and talking to them, even though the stroll was to no avail because we ended up going back to the observatory with our stomachs still empty. The final resort: delivery.

Unfortunately, we weren't complete that day. It would have been a special experience to dine with all my co-apps in the observatory. Next time, I guess. After eating my dinner, I decided to cotninue my Macroeconomics probset. I knew that the observatory was a place for rest, but I really had to do it. My academics knows no boundaries, sadly.

The time has come for us to tidy up our shoot setup, so we climbed back to the moon deck. Before that, we took a group picture which was quite difficult to take because we were a lot for an incomplete bunch. It was an adorable shot, though.

Goodbyes are to come, but the day hasn't ended yet for me. I was bound to spend the night on another favorite spot: the College of Science library. I went with my two other co-apps who also studies there almost everyday. I even took an IG story of us going back to our "home."

When we found a table to settle on, we began to do our homeworks. I once again felt the internal panic because I still had to review for my Microeconomics exam which was bound to happen the day after our Apps' Night. Pretty bad timing, I must say.

To our surprise, classes were announced suspended about an hour later. Everyone in the CS lib heaved a collective sigh of relief and some were screaming out of joy. Same, guys, same. I finished off my probset just so it would be one less problem.

The day ended with us riding the e-jeep and finally going back to our dorms. It was midnight by then and I was getting kind of used to trudge the dark streets of KNL, but my heart was aggressively beating. I could have sworn I ran just to shorten my agony.

Okay, a week without classes. That should be enough time to get back on my academics. Maybe we could even prepare better for our apps night. Now, we just needed to rest for a few days.

Fool.

The weeks turned into months of isolation and struggle. It may seem like an ordinary day, but to me it felt like a new beginning that ended abruptly. My life pretty went downhill after that, and so did the country and this world. My heart aches at the fact that the end is still not clear in sight. I miss my life before all these happened.

Tomorrow, a new year is to begin, but I will keep on yearning for that typical Monday in March – the last vivid memory of a life that used to be. Alas, to be free and blissful once again.

Happy new year!