#but both of those seem pretty jarring for a fashion doll

[countdown-til-sanders-take-over]

what would your Wildly Off Topic Doll Accessory be

Band saw with a little crank on the side to make the blade go up and down

[tragedy-of-commons]

dearly beloved

sunday & gn!reader | wc: ~1.3k

Some birds were not meant to fly.

tags/warnings: SPOILERS FOR 2.2, implied/nongraphic animal death, childhood friends trope, kind of a character study, there is humor is you squint, romance is not the focus here

notes: the story quest had the gears turning and i have this to show for it! i honestly just wanted to yap. so. sunday's characterization is loose and i just had fun with this!

Sitting on the windowsill is a cage fashioned from wrought iron. 

Inside Robin’s bedroom—the one you play in almost everyday—it’s a jarring new addition; the dull gray metalwork draws your eyes away from the scattered dolls and books resting upon the honey oak floors. Before your lips curl downwards, the shape inside of the cage catches your attention.

…A small bird chirps from inside.

“Robin!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you from the hallway, “Since when did you get a pet bird? And is that a Charmony Dove?” She doesn’t come running in to answer, so you assume that she’s still held up with dinner. Making your way over, the little dove chirps at you.

It’s so pretty—and you would surely be scolded for gaping like a fish impolitely near any of the Oak Family—but Robin has never been a Judgey-Mc-Judger-Pants like all of those other stuffy adults. 

“So adorable…” You decide to stick your hand between the bars so you can pet the animal. Though it’s beautiful, you’re sure you’d be able to hear its song much better if it could be let out for some fresh air. 

An annoying voice decides to scare the ever-living shit out of you. “It is, right?” 

“F-Fuck! Sunday, you scared me!” you say hotly, jabbing an accusing finger to his chest. “Where is Robin? She doesn’t take joy in my suffering!”

He tries not to smile at your “crass” language—whatever that means. “Mr. Gopher Wood wanted her to continue her lessons instead of playing with you,” Sunday straightens his posture, “She made me come to tell you, so…”

“Are you kicking me out?” You narrow your eyes at him. “Because if you are, I didn’t even wanna be here anyway! Robin is better than yo—”

He facepalms like you’ve seen your mother do. “No, I’m not. I don’t think I could make you leave if I tried. But weren’t you wondering about the dove?”

Your scowl drops into an awed smile, forgetting the whole reason why you were upset. The bird shifts from foot to foot (talon to talon?) on its perch, looking at you with eyes that look like sparkling amethysts. “Yes! When did you guys adopt one? I’ve never seen a Charmony Dove here before.”

Sunday frowns, a serious one, you note. It looks out of place on his face that still matches the chubbiness of yours, but he’s always been the one to talk you out of shenanigans in your ragtag group. He seems older right now, standing like he’s ready to lead an entire lineage while he can barely preen his feathers by himself. 

“That’s because they normally don’t live here. Robin and m—Robin and I—found it outside in one of the gardens a week ago, sick and hurt,” he says, taking a spot at your side while you examine the bird with sympathy. “We decided to adopt it and nurse it back to health.”

“Poor thing…” It allows you to scratch under its neck, cooing affectionately under your touch. “At least it’s looking better. Robin must be so happy to have her own pet in her own room! Did she name it yet?”

Sunday frowns deeper, and he should really stop doing that, ‘cause he’ll get wrinkles. “No, she didn’t name it yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Robin… isn’t really happy about us adopting the dove.” Now that just doesn’t make sense! Robin loves animals, and you both once talked about adopting hundreds of them if you could. You’re about to open your mouth until Sunday adds on quickly, “She says birds are meant to fly in the sky.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” you survey the sturdy cage and how it dwarfs the inhabitant inside. “It looks like it’s in jail like Hanu from the cartoon.”

He flicks your forehead. “Be serious for once.”

“We’re eight!” you cry.

Sunday agrees to show you how to feed and hold the dove properly after you beg him, and the longer you hold fledgling life in your hands, the more cruel the cage seems. You don’t know if birds are meant to do this or that, but you know that their song is louder (and more annoying) when they chirp outside of your window.

Before you leave for the day, he also tells you that he and Robin plan to release the Charmony Dove when it fully recovers. A bittersweet notion that you think fits the siblings perfectly. If Robin is the sun that everyone’s eyes will be on, then Sunday must be the silent moon obscured by the curtain.

The moon lost its sun not long after. Robin’s departure from Penacony was also bittersweet, and you were left with one less friend. Not a week after she left, you found yourself in her empty bedroom, lonely. She did say that you were allowed inside anytime you wanted, and that you both would message everyday. Still, you missed her.

Something else is clearly missing too. The wrought iron cage that normally houses the Charmony Dove you’ve become familiar with is empty. You don’t think it could have escaped; the door to the enclosure is sealed with a solemn air. Sunday would naturally be taking care of the little thing, that much he told you, so where is it?

You get your answer after searching the winding halls for a short bit.

“...I didn’t mention this to you because I knew it would make you upset,” his brow is furrowed again, and you’d tease him for looking like an old man, but something is definitely wrong. “But the dove died a few days ago. It tried to fly, and when it did, it crashed.”

“That’s… what? I thought that you said it was healthy,” you supply, heart clenching.

“I’m sorry. It was, but I guess that some birds aren’t meant to fly.”

You don’t think you’re going to cry. “Why not? It looked perfectly healthy, so why shouldn’t it be able to fly like the others?”

Sunday laughs, “That’s a good question. It’s unfair, isn’t it? If we didn’t set it free, it’d be alive.” Somehow you get the feeling that Sunday isn’t feeling guilty, but instead something else. His eyes are set and intense, as if he’s not talking about a Charmony Dove, but something more than you can’t understand.

It is unfair. Birds are supposed to belong to the sky; that’s one of the first things you learn about them when you’re learning to speak your first words and take your first steps. 

You feel heavy. “I’m glad it, um, passed when it was free, at least.” Maybe he’s acting a bit more down because of Robin leaving—which does make sense. You feel far away from him.

Sunday grabs your hand tentatively. “I wish there didn’t have to be an ‘at least’.”

You squeeze back. “Maybe one day, there doesn’t have to be… does Robin know?”

(You’re too naïve to notice the look of resolve aging his features by the day.) Now he looks guilty—doing that thing where he shifts his weight from foot to foot, “I didn’t want to upset her either.”

It’s silent save for the shuffle of your feet as he leads you out of the room and outside into the familiar gardens. They’re beautiful, filled with freesias, roses, begonias, and even a few unkempt weeds growing in the little abandoned corners. You’d go as far as to call it your paradise.

The reason you’re here reveals itself: a stone marking a mound of dirt that is plainly a makeshift grave. “Is this…?”

Sunday nods, halo dipping in tandem with his head. “It is. Just like the cage, it also needed a place to rest. This time I, um, fashioned it,” he pauses, “But one day, like you said, hopefully there needn’t be an at least. I want to make a world where there isn’t one.”

That sounds bittersweet, you think, plucking a weed from the otherwise flawless grass and placing it on the pillow of earth. 

(You just hope that the boy beside you doesn’t lean too far in either direction.)

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @nomazee

[wakaoujisenhime]

Just once - Choso x reader

Synopsis: At a party you get roped up by your classmate Momo to conduct a summoning ritual for a demon she assigns you. Though unwilling, you still comply and do as instructed. Unfortunately for you, the ritual you hoped to debunk as pure nonsense unexpectedly worked out...

tags/warnings: Choso x reader ✅ blood kink ✅ (slight) blood/knife play ✅ (and for the more sensitive readers a tw.) a more or less detailed description of skin being cut open ✅ more erotic than nsfw ✅

A/N: I just needed an excuse to write for my main man Choso and thanks to @seijorhi and her Deal with the Devil collab I found the opportunity! Please enjoy and make sure to check everyone else’s wonderful works out as well!! (〃ω〃)

.wc 5.4k

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Booming music, colorful and constantly changing LED lights, people who were either drunk or high, in some cases even both, surrounded you. Such a sight wasn’t unfamiliar to you since most university students celebrated their monthly parties in the same fashion. You weren’t a regular participant in these events, but tonight you just wanted to let loose and dance the stress, which had accumulated this past week, away.

After doing what you came for, you went up to the small bar, ordered a drink, and disappeared into the crowd to look for someone you were familiar with. And truly, you spotted two familiar faces in one of the gigantic room’s corners. The pair you were now walking towards consisted of Megumi and Momo. It was truly rare to see these two together let alone see them talking to each other while others surrounded them, but you figured that in such get-togethers nothing was impossible.

“Hi there you two, how are you doing?” you asked the moment you joined their small group. 

Megumi greeted you with a small nod and a rather tortured expression that was most likely supposed to represent a call for help, but before you could find out more about that, Momo took a hold of both of your hands and squeezed them slightly as she said: “(Y/N), you’ve got a perfect timing as always! We were just discussing our summoning plan and we needed one more participant, so pleaseee could you do us the favor and join us?”

To clear up your obvious confusion, the black-haired young man explained to you that the group, which surrounded you, had talked about the occult before they reached the topic of demon summoning rituals and eventually ended up wanting to try different ones out themselves. 

You found it rather funny that someone like Megumi had been caught up in such a talk, but it wasn’t surprising, considering that he had two tattoos, which resembled some kind of triangular runes on the back of his hands, dressed entirely in black, and had a rather dark and gloomy aura that surrounded him. Though many people avoided him, thinking that he was really scary, you knew that he was one of the nicest people you’ve come across and that his mood was heavily influenced by his rather lively best friends who often embarrassed him in public, just so that he could remain by their side.

Momo on the other hand was notorious for her fascination with the occult and supernatural phenomenons in general. Not only was she always dressed in a stereotypical way for those who shared the same fascination as her, but she also preferred to make it known rather than hide it. Threatening people to curse them if they annoyed or attacked her in any way, openly experimenting on self-made voodoo dolls, and carrying various charms with a questionable appearance as accessories for her backpack were some of her many daily characteristic features she displayed. The two of you weren’t especially close, but you were one of the few who understood her true intentions and beliefs that were hiding beneath her many layers.

“I’m not quite sure if I’m the best fit for this...task, maybe you should pick someone else” you finally said with an apologetic smile on your lips, but the blond simply brushed your refusal off with a wide grin.

“Oh, nonsense! There’s no such thing as the ‘perfect fit’ in stuff like that, anyone with an intention of summoning is enough!”

And with that, you were now one of the participants.

After basically being forced to comply, your group sat at a remote table and discussed the upcoming procedures. Throughout the entire talk, both you and Megumi simply chatted with each other and half-heartedly agreed to anything the others asked of you. By the end of it all, you two were stuck with individual books about the entities you were supposed to summon.

“So, who did you get?” you asked after taking a glance at your own rather thin book.

“Apparently, I’ve been given the privilege to attempt a summon of ‘The King of curses’, what about you?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sarcastic way the young man had quoted his book’s title and answered that yours didn’t even have a fancy name like that, and just went by “The Blood Devil”. 

The two of you stayed at the party for another half an hour during which you basically complained about your individual lives and then slowly but surely made your way back home…

——

With a somewhat relieved sigh, you remove your shoes from your feet and throw them in the corner of your entryway. Your hands massage the back of your neck slightly while you slowly make yourself on the way to your bedroom. It was no secret that you were fatigued enough to just drop everything and fall asleep right then and there, but your conscience nagged you like some kind of parental figure, whispering one order after the other until you just gave up and decided to do everything the proper way.

After leaving your bag on the chair next to your desk, you quickly get rid of your slightly sweaty clothes and enter your bathroom to take a much-needed warm shower, in hope that it would help you relieve some tension. And it did.

A couple of minutes later you exit the steamy room and start getting ready for bed. Just as you were about to turn off your room’s lights, the book Momo had given you caught your attention. After motionlessly standing in one spot for what felt like half an hour, you cursed your curiosity and took said book out of your bag, and began skimming through its contents. 

You didn’t intend to read more than necessary, just the first page which warned you of possible risks should’ve been enough, but the moment you had continued past it, it was as if you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. This book that supposedly held dangerous information on how you’d be able to summon some kind of otherworldly entity seemed like some kind of fairytale collection to you. 

The first chapter talked about some kind of man who had made use of a woman and her unborn children, a pretty disturbing and inhuman act that you skipped for the most part. Next in line was a whole chapter dedicated to these nine unborn and mostly undeveloped children, the tragic story of them getting locked up in jars, and how only three of them had managed to gain some kind of stability (if you can even call it that). Finally, the third and last chapter before the entire ‘How-to-prepare-the-ceremony’ segment focused solely on the eldest brother and how he’d successfully escaped his dire fate and had become the being known as the ‘Blood Devil’.

Now that you had reached the end of the introductory phase, the preparations for the ritual awaited you, and even though you hadn’t intended on trying your luck with summoning the same night you had received the book, you decided to just do it as quick as possible so that Momo didn’t feel the need to bother you daily with how far you’d gotten.

Shortly after you had gathered the needed materials and had prepared the requested furnishings for the ceremony. With the booklet in one hand, you once again checked whether everything you needed was fulfilled.

Four candles, a small table, a bowl, a kitchen knife, and some salt...Ok, that should be all

Looking at the items before you, you couldn’t help but wonder whether this ritual had indeed some kind of truth behind it and wasn’t just one of many parodies. 

With this slightly uneasy feeling, you once again took a look at the list.

𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚍/𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚔𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎), 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚕 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝟹𝟶𝟶-𝟻𝟶𝟶𝚖𝚕), 𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚎 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎), 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝)

For a ritual to have such specific instructions, it’s quite...unusual, isn’t it? 

The required items weren’t the only detailed requirements you had to fulfill, secondary things that mainly concerned the atmosphere were also important to consider. Things such as the right room temperature, the dark lighting of the room you’d use for the ritual, the exact sequence of preparing the summoning circle and its unique symbols, and many more were enumerated just below the first bulleted list.

You set your worried thoughts aside, deciding to just humor this ritual and complete it to the best of your abilities, because the satisfaction you’d feel after this summoning ceremony fails despite you doing your best, would be indescribable. And with that, you began preparing everything step by step, double and triple-checking the book for confirmation until everything was ready.

With a sigh of satisfaction, you take a step back to admire what you had just spent half an hour on. You had placed the table in the middle of your room, the red candles positioned on each of its edges, on top of the wooden surface you’d drawn the circle as good as you could with your slightly trembling hand, and lastly, you’d placed the bowl on the floor in front of where you were to kneel with the knife on top of the rim of the receptacle.

Here goes nothing…

You kneeled and put the book beside you. With slightly shaky hands you took the knife and cut a horizontal line along your palm, as expected it stung a little but the pain wasn’t something unbearable. Slightly fascinated by the deep red color of your blood you watched the liquid slowly roll down your hand and drip into the empty bowl, staining its white material. As instructed by the book you poised in that position until your wound started to congeal and that was when you were finally allowed to relax yourself and continue. 

Next up you had to pour the collected blood over the salt circle and retrace its lines and patterns as precisely as you could, which you did. Now that this step was done as well, you looked at the completed handiwork and sighed to yourself, dreading the thought of having to clean all of this up later on.

You took another glance at the instructions and couldn’t help but cringe internally at the next and supposedly final step.

Alright then, let’s get this over with…

“With this humble offering I, (Y/N)(L/N), hereby summon thou. Oh, Devil of blood please, hear this mortal’s desperate plea and allow me to bear witness to thyn unique countenances that thee possesses.”

And with this the ritual was complete.

You remained motionless, waiting for something to happen, but everything stayed the same and you couldn’t help but embrace that internal relief inside of you which was silently thankful for the failure. 

Just as you were about to get up from your uncomfortable pose and begin to clean everything up, the candles’ flames suddenly went out before your very eyes and without your influence. With slightly wide eyes you scanned everything before you. You knew that you had closed the windows before even starting the ritual, so that eliminated one possible reason and at the same time, the most rational one. 

As nothing else happened you decided to simply blame it on your imagination and slight paranoia, but that’s when the faint sound of bubbling liquid ruined that small ray of hope you’d held on to. You slowly looked down at the bowl which was filled with your blood and you could’ve sworn that the deep red substance was slowly rising until it overflowed. 

All you could do was back away from the red puddle which was steadily growing and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“W-What the hell is happening?” you asked yourself in panic as your wide eyes observed the way your blood began forming something, or better said, someone.

The mass before you began to take form and it was then that you noticed the knife which was lying a few inches away next to the inhuman heap.

Driven by nothing but adrenaline you began crawling towards it and just as you were about to reach for the blade, something similar to a hand took a hold of your wrist. You jumped back in shock and fell rather uncomfortably on your bottom as you looked up to the blood-covered thing, watching its appearance slowly contort into that of a human.

And there before you stood a tall man with shoulder-long dark hair, a rather tired expression on his face, and his most prominent feature, a dark stripe running horizontally across his nose bridge. His eyes were focused on you for the first few seconds, then he began looking around as if to take in his surroundings.

“Where am I? …were you the one that summoned me? …what is it that you require me to do?” he asked in a monotone voice, not giving you even a second to collect yourself. Your panic didn’t allow you to form any rational thoughts, let alone answer him properly, and all you had in mind right now was to run away from whatever this person in front of you was.

The man watched how pale your face had become and simply stood there motionless, as you sloppily got up and sprinted out of your room’s door. He cast his gaze down to the knife you had intended to pick up and cracked an ever-so-small smile before leaving the room himself. 

Meanwhile, you had reached your front door and were hurriedly trying to unlock it, but the multiple bolts and your trembling hands were set on making you fail such a simple task. 

When you finally turned your keys for the last time, a big hand slammed the wooden door shut. The weight that pressed against your back made it unable for you to move away, so you simply leaned your forehead on the door in defeat, knowing fully well who had stopped you in your tracks.

I’m finished…

Now that the man behind you had rendered you more-or-less immobile, he decided to take a proper look at you and your body. His eyes traveled slowly along every curve, no matter how small or voluptuous, until something far more interesting caught his eye. Your injured and slightly bloody hand that still bore the cut you had to inflict on yourself for the ritual and even though the wound had begun to slowly close, it was still bloody enough for his preferences.

He removed his palm from the door and slowly let it slide down from your shoulder to your slightly trembling hand. The way his long fingers wrapped around your wrist made you shudder and as if that wasn’t enough, he also had to slowly turn you around so that he didn’t hurt your arm or dislocate your shoulder.

Now that you were facing the man, you couldn’t help but stare directly at him and the way he inspected your wound. His gentle touch contradicted his looks as well as every thought you had about him, but that animalistic glint you noticed in his eyes failed to hide his true nature.

With utmost care he let his fingers glide along the cut and if it weren’t for the unpleasant sting, you wouldn’t have noticed that with this small motion he had peeled off the thin layer of blood, which was trying to close up your wound. Despite your slightly agape mouth, no words were uttered, I mean, how could you? 

The man in front of you had reverted that small amount of red crust to its original liquid form and then by some magic turned it into a wonderful red ruby that resembled a bonbon. His dark eyes peered right into yours and didn’t even waver in the slightest as he slowly brought the red stone to his lips, gave it an experimental lick, and finally swallowed it.

D-Did he just…?

Judging by the satisfied expression on his face you thought that he would finally step aside and at least introduce himself or give you some sort of explanation as to what he just did and why, but no. The way he did nothing else and simply waited for some kind of reaction, annoyed you and it didn't take you long to act accordingly.

 “Now that you’ve got what you came for, would you mind moving out of my way?” you asked in a rather unfriendly tone, one that completely contradicted your earlier fear of this still nameless entity. 

Your behavior not only surprised the man but yourself as well. Summoning a literal demon wasn’t your typical everyday occurrence and yet you couldn’t quite comprehend it. The fear that should’ve rendered you immobile was good to non-existent and you figured it was thanks to his surprisingly tame and innocent behavior, so it was only natural for you to be in the illusion of holding the reins, right?

And that arrogant behavior of yours only escalated further as you managed to push the man to the side and finally get away from your front door. 

Being as naive as you were, you turned your back to him and not even a second later your entire body’s movement was shut down. No matter how hard you tried to move your legs, hands, or even fingers, nothing seemed to work - no, on the contrary, it appeared to you that the more you struggled against this seemingly invisible force, the harder it became for you to breathe.

“If you don’t want to collapse and die, you’ll need to seize all of your movements for the time being,” said the lean man in a low voice, and the moment his eyes met yours, you could’ve sworn that the corners of his lips shot upwards for a split second before he continued, “…since you’re already aware of my abilities, I’ll skip most of it and directly tell you the two most important things you’ll need to keep in mind from now on.”

Without waiting for any type of signal that could’ve represented your answer, he closed the distance between you two, and this time he got so close that you could practically smell him. Contrary to your expectations his scent was fairly faint and by no means unpleasant. If confronted with the question of what he smelled like, you’d have to say it resembled that of burning wood.

You watched helplessly as the man showed you the slightly bloody knife you had used for the ritual and that’s when the long-awaited fear suddenly overcame you. With widened eyes, you followed the blade which was mere inches away from the center of your chest, and the moment you felt the small tip pierce your shirt a silent yelp escaped your lips.

Not fazed by your obvious fear, the man proceeded with whatever he had in mind and moved the knife until it had reached your shoulder, cutting the thin fabric along the way. In response to his cold fingers that glided along your exposed shoulder and collarbone, goosebumps peppered your skin. Your heartbeat quickened and you didn’t know whether this was because of the fear of what he’ll do next or because you were kinda curious about what’s about to come.

Still unable to move a single muscle there was nothing left for you but to watch and feel how the blade was pressed against your skin until it had cut through it. The fact that he’d cut so close to your heart made it hurt more than your harmless cut earlier, but as if that wasn’t painful enough he began to slide the blade up until its tip had reached the top of your right shoulder.

Your throat dried up, muffling the scream you so badly wanted to release. A stream of warm tears ran along the curves of your cheeks and dripped down to your cleavage, where a rather thin but bloody line had split your skin open.

“I can control your blood flow and if I so desire, I can make you move your limbs according to my wishes…to put it simply, by summoning me with your blood, you made yourself my marionette.”

His expressionless eyes followed the many thin blood droplets that oozed out of your wound and just before they were able to stain your clothes with their deep scarlet color, he extended his finger, positioning it mere millimeters away from your skin. Through half-closed eyes, you watched in awe as your blood was being drawn to the fingertip of the man like a magnet and slowly turned into the same gem-like form from before. Your injury still hurt, but as you dared to take a slight glance at it, you noticed that all the blood was gone, sucked up by the finger of the demon, and turned into a shimmering stone that was once again swallowed like candy.

——

Some weeks passed after that surreal encounter and since then you’d been more or less forced to live with the entity you’d summoned. On that night he’d introduced himself as Choso and despite your desire to either send him back to wherever he came from or simply throw him out, neither option was going to end well. According to the man himself, summoning rituals were easier to conduct than the ones to banish demons back into the abyss. You would need to take several precautions into account and in Choso’s case, you’d have to fulfill nearly impossible tasks, such as collecting 20 liters of blood from pure-blooded siblings or finding and freeing one of his many siblings. 

Your second option of throwing him out was dismissed almost momentarily after he’d told you that he can’t survive without consuming someone’s blood; ideally, he’d only have to take a small amount of your blood once a week, but if you insisted on kicking him out, then he’d have to attack random people and since they didn’t summon him, the amount of blood he’d have to take from them would be fatal.

Living with a demonic entity was surprisingly pleasant, but you knew that this was most likely because of the man’s personality and that if you’d summoned someone else, it would’ve most likely ended up way differently.

He was taking his role as the eldest brother very seriously and despite not being part of his family, he treated you very lovingly and even willingly took on most of the homework, but only that which he was familiar with, such as sweeping the floor or washing the dishes. Whenever he behaved like that, you found it difficult to remember the fact that he was some type of devil and sometimes you even caught yourself thinking how you wished he’d stay with you forever. It was good to have someone living under the same roof as you, someone you could more or less trust with your possessions, and someone to lie down next to in the evening.

But despite these few perks you noticed how your health slowly started to deteriorate. Simple tasks such as homework, reading texts, or concentrating during lectures; things you usually mastered almost effortlessly, became more and more difficult with each passing week, and the reason for that was none other than Choso. 

Being his weekly food source didn’t come without any risks. 

He’d warned you that the amount of blood he’d take from you and then consume, won't be automatically regenerated by your body and that if you refused his help, you’d slowly die away. Being the rational human you were, you didn’t believe him, thinking that something like your blood being slowly taken away by him was sheer impossible, so you refused his offer of help even before he’d properly explained it.

A mistake you slowly came to regret.

This morning you had felt as if someone was constantly hitting your head with a thick book, your body felt so heavy that your usual walking speed had decreased drastically and because of it you were ten minutes late for your first lecture.

You figured that your appearance must’ve been quite horrible, since your usually uninterested teacher, Sir Nanami, actually stopped mid-sentence to ask whether you were feeling ok and whether you wanted to go to the nurse’s office for a while. You wanted to brush it off, but as soon as you shook your head, your vision blurred and you felt like you were losing the ground under your feet. Luckily, your seat neighbor Maki reacted quickly and held onto you before you fell from your chair. Anything that occurred afterward was lost to you and the next time you came back to your senses, you found yourself on your bed, wrapped warmly in your blanket.

“What…happened?” you asked half loud, not expecting an answer, as you slowly sat upright, leaning your back on your bed’s headboard and letting your eyes roam around the familiar surroundings.

“You lost consciousness during your class,” said a silent and gentle voice, “thanks to our…contract, I felt that you were close to collapsing, so I followed the scent of your blood and when I found you, I took you back home.”

While you were processing the information you were given, Choso slowly walked towards your bed and kneeled next to it, placing one of his hands on top of your own, softly caressing it in the process. You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at the gesture and sighed as you imagined how he must’ve entered your classroom, ignoring everything and everyone and simply coming to your seat, taking you in his arms, and leaving, as if it’s the most normal thing to do.

“I told you to be careful, didn’t I?” His sudden question caught you off guard and all you could do was look down in shame. Seeing you look so sad and crestfallen reminded Choso of his younger brothers and he instinctively reached for the top of your head with his free hand and softly petted it a few times before caressing it. Being comforted by a demon-like that truly did wonders. For once you ignored the fact that it was partially his fault and savored the moment.

“I know that you didn’t want to hear about it, but in view of your wellbeing I’m obligated to tell you about a way you can minimize the harm done to you” he paused and took a short breath before continuing, “if we make a proper deal with each other, I’m allowed to share a portion of my blood with you and that will make up for the amount I’m taking…but it’s not risk-free.” 

This time it was you who had to take a long breath, a futile attempt to make your heartbeat calm down. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you that a deal with the devil contains several risks, but the fact that Choso was willing to tell you about them, relieved you in a way. Before reluctantly accepting his offer you requested a more detailed explanation for your own mind’s peace. According to his words, the danger of consuming a demon’s blood was very addictive, and if not done properly, the human risks becoming entirely dependent, meaning, they would prefer blood instead of real food or water. 

The thought of not being able to eat and drink what you loved scared you of course, but the wish to gain a sense of normality back in your life prevailed and you eventually caved, telling him that you’d agree to his terms and drink his blood just once and never again…

At first, everything seemingly worked out. Your focus was back and you could once again dedicate yourself fully to university and friends. You were happy…but not for long.

One week passed and your throat began to feel raspy and dry. Accompanying these uncomfortable feelings was the undying urge to constantly drink something and whenever your drinking bottle was empty, you’d get really nervous and start nibbling on your lip. But the worst part of it all was how you’d caught yourself, thinking about wanting to bite Choso and lick the blood right out of the wound like some kind of vampire.

“What the hell is wrong with me..?” you thought to yourself while you gently let your hand run along the man’s head. He looked up at you for a mere second before he continued to enjoy his “meal”. A small and barely visible blush adorned your cheeks as soon as you realized what kind of situation you found yourself in right now. 

The man, whose head you had just caressed, was kneeling between your thighs, a small portion of your plush flesh between his teeth. He bit down until they pierced through it and drew blood. All the while your eyes followed every ever so small movement of his’s until the big red droplets of blood caught your attention. The two of you observed how they slowly grew larger than Choso’s teeth marks and finally began dripping down your slightly raised leg.

With an unexpected smile, the man bent down and licked the blood from your skin before it stained anything. Your breath hitched for a moment and usually, you’d either look away or close your eyes while he got his weekly portion, but this time you couldn’t help but downright stare at him as he sucked on your small wound. It shouldn’t have surprised you to see someone enjoying themselves when they eat, even if that someone was a supernatural entity, but this was the first time you had properly looked at Choso while he consumed your blood and for some reason, your heart started beating faster than ever before. 

You bit your lower lip as you watched how his slightly longer tongue slithered over the bloody marks on your thigh and the way he sometimes planted a soft kiss on it made you shiver from pleasure. Your body became gradually hotter, resulting in you having to breathe harder, and the slight red that had tainted your cheeks had now taken on a deeper shade.

“C-Choso…I need your blood, please” you stuttered out of nowhere in between your labored breaths.

At the mention of his name all of his movements seized and the man’s eyes slowly moved up to your reddened face. After what felt like minutes of pure silence, he let go of your leg, licked his lips, and removed the scarf around his neck. 

While he was getting himself ready for you, you looked at his pale skin and the black markings, which resembled Kinesio tapes that athletes sometimes used, running along it. 

Your impatience got the best of you and without wasting a second you got on your knees and faced him while he began looking around for something. Meanwhile, you were unable to focus on anything at all. Your eyes wandered from his face, down to his neck, along his collarbone and shoulder, and then back to his face yet again.

That something he searched for turned out to be the knife you’d used for his summoning ritual. He handed you the blade with the same stoic expression as always, but instead of taking it, you slapped it away and next thing you knew, you had wrapped your arms around his torso and had buried your teeth deep inside of his shoulder’s skin. The only reaction you got from him was a simple flinch as a result of your sudden embrace and nothing more, no sound, no sigh, nothing. 

But as of right now this was the last thing that occupied your mind, all you wanted to do was drink this man’s blood and finally quench the thirst you’d been suppressing for so long.

“That’s it, (Y/N)…satisfy your thirst…give in…don’t be afraid, it’ll only do you good” he cooed seductively in your ear as he let his big hand softly glide along your back.

With a devilish smile, he listened to the hungry way you lapped up the blood from his multiple shoulder wounds that you’d inflicted within a matter of seconds.

Satisfied by your behavior, he gently patted your head and closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of your wet and slightly rough tongue. 

If it weren’t for your indescribable hunger, you would’ve noticed the red glint in Choso’s usually dark and soulless eyes…

Now, you’re mine…

[mask131]

AHS look back: S1 opening credits

Let’s begin with the opening credits of the first season! Since I now know the season pretty well I want to check back what I can make of the opening (since the opening is always tied to the main story)

# We’ve got several shots of a creepy abandonned basement at night - for obvious reason since the basement is the “dark heart” of the house. It is interwoven with shots of jars filled with pieces of flesh and organs, and bloody surgical instruments - several of those jars have babies in it, humans or animals (disturbing call back to the works of Doctor Montgomery and the birth of the Infantata). The basement becomes extra-creepy when it is suddenly filled with chains like some sort of Hellraiser dungeon... 

# Many have interpreted the descend into a hole in the ground of the basement as a reference to either the Infantata’s hiding place or Violet’s fate - both could possibly be true since the point of view (which has a flashlight) descends into the hole like the vermine exterminator did ; and you can see an old child toy/doll on the ground of the hole. 

# Several old-fashioned pictures of babies and children (babies, children, motherhood are an important theme of the season) - but most of these pictures are behind broken glass or are burning (highlighting the dark fate of babies and mothers in this series. The importance of fire is notable, since it is what destroyed Larry’s family and later Larry himself). Others are negatives (which is also hinting at the devilish nature of the baby around which the season is soon centered)

# The fire is also seen dancing in front of the dead babies and organ-filled jars, and in front of ancient pictures of adults, also with broken glass (against, hinting at the dark past of the house)

# We see several times pictures of a bride, and one of the objects in the creepy basement we explore in the openings is a bride’s white veil, highlighting the themes of unhappy marriages and broken vows. 

# We’ve got shots of what seems to be either a person or a mannequin covered in a plastic tarp, in the basement, hinting at the fate of some victims of the house.

# A person runs, barefoot, inside the basement - and then we’ve got hands holding hedge clippers. Later the hedge clippers reappear, appearing on a chair in the basement - before in a flash a man whose face is hidden by some sort of mask brandishes them as weapons. We actually know from the audio commentary that this importance of the hedge clippers, and the idea of a killer with hedge clippers in the basement, all come from a deleted storyline that was originally included in the first season, but scrapped to let the rest of the story breathe more. Closeups of the hedge clipper, bloody, are seen later.

# A white child dress falling into darkness - remember the Infantata’s outfit? 

# We see the shadow of someone moving, though we don’t see the person. We know it is somewhere in the basement. Possibly just a creepy element, or maybe a reference to how most of the time you hear or feel the ghosts without truly seeing them.

# A neat shot of the skeleton of baby siamese twins, fused together at the head. What better way to actually make a sly nod to the twin pregnancy at the center of this season? 

# As the fire devours the old-fashioned baby pictures, you realize that these ones have the children posing eyes closed, and that some are... in a coffin. Because yes, as it turns out, between the pictures of the living are pictures of dead baby and dead little girls - no need to go deeper into the idea of babies, dead children, and the living and the dead mixing up. 

# As the fire devours everything at the end of the credits, be it pictures, surgical tools or jars, one can wonder why so much fire... Sure it is very important to Larry’s story, having destroyed his family and life twice, but still... And then you notice that, in the final flames, there is a shot of a cross, and at the very end one of the babies in the jar starts moving, as if woken up by the flames. That is when you realize that the fire is visibly a symbol of the devil, or at least the devilish influence (fire = hell), and of how it actually is implied to manipulate the events of the season to lead to the birth of a baby. 

There, this all I could find. Tell me if you think I missed anything!

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the light in the piazza

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: love at first sight trope

summary: sergeant james barnes of the 107th meets a woman in while stationing in florence. inspired by the song the light in the piazza 

I don’t see a miracle shining from the stars, I’m no good at statues and stories, I try. That’s not what I think about, that’s not what I see, I know what the sunlight can be ...

Wishing, wishing is a funny thing. When you wish for something you always think of the end goal of your wish, you never wonder how the universe will grant you your wish, in what conditions. It is not like you wish upon a star with a whole essay and plan of how your wish should be given, you just wish for it. Some wish for love, some wish for fame, for glory and riches, but no one wishes for something in a specific way that won’t guarantee the bittersweet hand of the universe. 

James had been the most recent victim of wishing carelessly. In this case, James wanted to travel, wanted to leave Brooklyn and see those places that were somehow always plastered in the highly stylised adverts stuck of the walls of his dead beat neighbourhood. He left Brooklyn, he had travelled. He had seen England, Ireland, Scotland and most recently Italy. The consequence? War. Suddenly, all those dreams of becoming the man in the airplane drinking expensive champagne and travelling to European dream lands were misshaped into flying in army airplanes and going to camps where hope was something that had begun to disappear.

The Italian base camp was no different. The soldiers were tired, those with wives and families only mumbled their names at times, the single ones had began to get tired of the nurses and girls that would come to entertain and help the tropes and those who had someone waiting for them back home had started to believe it was time to say goodbye. Hope was running low, but not for the Howling Commandos. No. Their motto was ‘as long as there’s a bar and you get to sleep another night, there’s hope’, but James was starting to lose hope. 

Today however was the day James lived by. Free day. They got to do whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased. James used this day to go sight-seeing, grab some postcards from his sister and try and rejoice in the twisted wish that had been granted. Florence was no different, he was walking around the piazza del duomo, looking at the view and how stunning it was. He stopped by a small shop, looking at the painted small postcards, offering the clerk some money and turning to face the middle of the piazza to return to the camp until he saw a small straw hat with a green ribbon wrapped around it fly aimlessly in the wind. James carelessly grabbed it from the mid air, wondering where the owner was. The owner of the hat wasn’t far as he saw a girl rush through the crowd dressed in a fancy outfit. He had seen something similar in the fashion magazines his sister would bring home. The new look, if he remembered. Hers was a shade of sunny yellow with green accents which matched the ribbon on her hat. 

She stopped in front of him, a look of uneasiness yet relief on her face. He finally could get a good look at her, along with the fancy and expensive dress, she had white gloves on adorned by a pearl bracelet on her right wrist with matching white lower pumps. Her hair was pinned back, showing the pearls on her ears and the camera hanging from a tan piece of fabric. 

      - Penso che ... uhm, I, how do you say ... cosa di testa? - James Barnes was a hundred per cent that he completely butchered the Italian language. Head thing? What was he thinking? 

      - You’re American? - the woman asked, noticing the slight Brooklyn accent in the middle of what was the worse Italian pronunciation she’d ever heard in her whole life. 

      - Oh god, you speak English. I have your hat. - he was nervous. Why? He did not know. He did not know why he was tongue tied in both Italian and English in front of the most polished woman he’d ever seen. She couldn’t be older than him, he actually thought she was even younger considering the lack of an engagement ring on her finger. 

     - Thank you so much. - she gave him the sunniest smile, sunnier than the dress she was wearing. James handed her the hat which she held with both hands in front of her abdomen. - My mother would kill me if I lost another hat. 

     - God thing I was here then. - god James sounded like Steve. That’s it, his power did not work outside of Brooklyn. 

     - I’m Y/N, by the way. - she extended one of her gloved hands and James wondered if his hands were good enough to hold what looked like the most softest piece of fabric he’d seen. 

     - James Barnes. - he shook her hand, a bit hypnotised with her. She had to be the prettiest woman he’d ever seen and he had some many women before.

     - Are you a soldier? - she noticed the mossy green suit he was wearing.

     - Sergeant, actually. We’re stationing here for a few days. 

     - Me and my mum are visiting. My dad is here on a business affairs and we thought to come and say hi. 

     - That’s a nice camera you got there. - suddenly he realised he was staring to intensely at her chest where her camera was resting. God, was he spastic? She pulled the tan string over her head, holding the camera with the hand he had just shook. - I, me and my friend Steve have this jar we put quarters in every single day to try and buy one of those. 

     - Do you wanna take a picture? Maybe to send home?

     - Really? - his eyes lit up like a child during Christmas. - No, I don’t want you to waste your film on me.

     - Well, you did save my hat so the least I can do is give you a free picture.

     - No, I don’t even know how use it. 

     - It’s easy. - she handed him the camera, standing by her side. - You look at this little window and find something you wanna take a picture off, spool the window and press the silver button. 

     - Are you sure it’s okay? - he asked, looking at the scenery through the small window of the camera. He slightly shifted the camera to face her, catching her staring at the church in front of them and clicked the silver button, she flash making her slightly turn her face to the ground. - That’s a heavy piece of machinery. 

     - Dad says it’s the future of fil ...

     - Y/N! - a much older woman dressed in a more fitted burgundy dress with a matching burgundy hat rushing towards them. - I’ve told you several times not to run off, what if someone kidnapped you? Or worse, robbed you?

    - Mum, this is Sergeant Barnes, he saved my hat. This is my mother, Margaret.

    - Oh thank you so much. Unfortunately, we have an appointment, I’m sorry we have to ...

    - What appointment? - Y/N interrupted, returning the camera to its resting place against her chest while placing her hat on top of her perfectly brushed and pushed hair.  

    - Let’s go, Y/N. - her mother turned on her back, walking straight ahead expecting her daughter to follow. Y/N gave him an apologetic look, knowing how her mother was when her plans got ruined and when she talked with someone she did not deem worth their time and attention. 

    - Wait, Y/N ... - James carefully grabbed her wrist, as not to alarm her mother who was walking with a might. - Where are you staying? I’d love to take you for dinner. 

    - I’m staying at the Grand Hotel. Go through the back. - she smiled at him before rushing to follow her mother wherever she was going, an ever so slight blush settling on the apples of her cheeks. 

Night couldn’t come earlier, the hours that once seemed like seconds took years to pass by but night eventually came and he found himself standing at the back of the Grand Hotel. It was a huge contrast to the front of the hotel, mostly filled with employees smoking or making out with the daughters of their clients. Speaking of which, he saw her come through the back door wearing a dress in the same shape as the yellow one except in a floral pattern, with a pink ribbon wrapped around her waist. 

    - Y/N. - he raised his hand calling for her attention. - You look beautiful. 

    - Thank you. We have two hours until my mother wakes up and realises I’m gone. 

    - I only need a hour ... Oh god why did I say that?

    - I have your picture by the way. - she opened her little bag, searching through it to hand him a black and white slightly sepia coloured photo. He smiled at it for a few seconds, realising he was now one of those army soldiers who had a picture of a lady in their pockets the whole time. - Where are we going?

    - I have no idea. - he started to walk the beautifully lit streets that made him forget they were in the middle of a war period. - So, Y/N, where do you live?

    - Well, right now we’re in London but next year we’re in New York. It always depends on where dad has business. 

    - Hey, I’m in Brooklyn, maybe you could come and visit me. My mum makes the perfect Sunday dinner and my sister can be less annoying than she normally is when there’s guests.

    - I’ve never had a Sunday dinner.

    - What? No way, doll. Do rich people not eat dinner? Is that why you’re all so very rich?

    - No, we normally have a very late supper with some hors d'oeuvres and wines. 

   - Well, you don’t know what you’re missing.

   - I guess I’ll have to take you on that offer then.

   - And you can meet Steve. He’s pretty scrawny but he has some fight left in him, probably would win the war if they allowed him. 

                                         PRESENT DAY (ENDGAME)

Bucky stood on the sidelines as he watched the funeral go through. He felt dirty, he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be watching the funeral of the person he caused the most pain to. The worse however was Steve, he knew what he was about to do, he knew what he was about to go to. Sam was a great guy but Sam was not enough to make Bucky want to stay.

His hands went to his pocket, taking the worn out picture he had gotten from the museum, the picture of her. The picture had grown old, so had him and so had she, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday. No one could steal that memory, the memory of her kissing his cheek goodbye before she got back to hotel, the memory of the sun hitting his skin when he took that picture. 

   - It’s been 80 years, Buck. Wanna tell me about her? - Steve patted him on the shoulder. Bucky just smirked, turning his head slightly to stare at him.

   - No, I don’t think I will. - he used the same sentence Steve normally used when speaking about Peggy which always drove him off the wall.

   - You should come. 

   - I don’t think the James that she’s expecting is me anymore. 

   - If it doesn’t work, you can always return. What else do you have to lose?

He stepped with Steve onto what he thought looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, his eyes still on her picture as they stood in New York. He knew where she lived, she had wrote to him a few times during the war so he knew where to find her. Steve gave him a sympathetic smile, hugging his friend before they went their way. He wondered what she’d think or how he was going to explain the metal arm or the hair. 

James found himself standing in front of her home, fist coming to knock on the door. A slight commotion could be heard outside the door as the slight sound of heels was heard from inside the house. He thought about leaving, this was a bad idea, no, this was a terrible idea. As he was about to leave, the door opened. He saw her standing there, a blue dress on, hair free from any tight hair dos. 

   - James? - she questioned, recognising that face anywhere. 

   - Hi. - he didn’t know exactly what to tell her or how to say hi after all those years. The person he saw in his dreams at night was standing in front of him.

   - You know, it’s extremely rude to leave a lady waiting so long. - she leaned against her door. 

   - My apologies. - just like that he was that hopeless soldier in Florence. 

   - Y/N, who is it? - a man dressed in a dapper suit joined her by the door.

   - Oh, daddy, this is Sergeant Barnes, the soldier I spoke about. 

   - Oh, the hat guy. Come in, we’re having brunch and there’s always space for another one. 

He took her hand, walking into her home. 

Sometimes the universe puts you through one hell of a ride, but it eventually grants you your wish.

[eurosong]

My ESC 2019 ranking

Hey there, folks - after a lot of deliberation, I’ve decided upon my ranking of this year’s songs. I feel quite passionately about this year’s field, as always, and make some trenchant remarks, but a lot of them are tongue in cheek, and no shade is intended on those who like the songs I don’t or vice versa. Here’s my ranking with my thoughts on why I put each song where I did.

41. Croatia – The Dream I try to find a redeeming quality in every song, but sometimes the task proves impossible. This ironically-named nightmare of a track sounds like a poorly-produced early 00s track that tried to straddle the line between classic and futuristic and failed at both. The usual things that I hear in its defence are that Roko has a good voice, and that the Croatian segment is better. To the first point, maybe, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that the voice doesn’t shine through the scream mode of most of the song; to the latter point, if you know some BCS, you’ll know that the Croatian language bit is as cloyingly cliché as the English part. Some people are saying that this could be a surprise qualifier. If that happens, I will shed tears of blood.

40. France – Roi If France don’t change their national final system to equalise the jury and televote more after this year, I don’t know when they will. Destination Eurovision had a bunch of good songs, but thanks to the power of a Youtuber’s fanbase, one of the least remarkable and most cloying songs got the nod instead. Roi is an unabashed hymn to self with the most criminal franglais abominations (rhyming beaucoup with boo, really?) to which I’ve ever been subjected.  Now it’s supposedly got a chance of winning thanks to a gimmicky staging, which I feel uses people as props. I wouldn’t even mind the antipathetic performer and cringey, self-centred lyrics so much if the tune were interested, but it’s equally empty and pompous.

39. San Marino – Say na na na Well, this song certainly does get me saying nah, nah, nah. I do not get the amount of good will for it, as I neither find it a good track, nor enjoyable ironically like Who we are or Chain of lights were. It’s a “party track”, but the party in question is the kind I want to flee where the food is bad, the music is obnoxious and overbearing and the ambiance is that of an uncomfortable throwback. Bewildering how this is considered a worthy qualifier.

38. Moldova – Stay I swear Eurovision has songs like this just to be able to detect extra-terrestrials, because if anyone says this song is their favourite, and they’re neither Moldovan nor Romanian, then it confirms to me that they are aliens because this is banality writ large. Three minutes of contradictory and cliché rhymes (“it’s now or never, it’s forever”. Ok then mate), dull music, little progression, an oddly unpleasant vocal and even a staging that comes second-hand.

37. Finland – Look away My impulse is to look away from this song indeed – a dated slice of repetitive, oddly downbeat despite being uptempo EDM slathered with a simultaneously overwrought and undercooked social message and brought to us by an uncomfortable duo who look like two acquaintances whose fishing trip got interrupted abruptly and they had to cook up a Eurovision song last minute. There is nothing about this I like at all.

36. Israel – Home The one faintly interesting thing about this song is the remarkable wailing in its first few seconds, but they removed even that. This has to be one of the most maudlin songs I have ever heard, delivered gratingly. A friend of mine nicknamed Kobi the “Joystealer”, and the name is very apt. I feel like all the joy in the world is out of reach when listening to this lament, which is syrupy and bitter at the same time, like a coarse cough medicine. The “I am someone” has to be one of the most cloying lines of the entire year, too.

35. Estonia – Storm Estonia having to resort to sending a croaky renta-Swede to sing a budget Avicii b-side in front of a Windows XP screensaver with lyrics that imaginatively rhyme “this” with, well, “this” is like seeing someone who had always dressed elegantly having to resort to sporting torn, worn, ill-fitting hand-me-downs that were already out of fashion when bought first hand. This land of song and art can and should be doing so much better.

34. Montenegro – Heaven The fact this ironically infernal song is not just not bottom but also almost avoided my bottom 10 just goes to show how deep the bottom is this year. Sounds like Podgorica’s 56th best sixth form choir got some cassette tapes of bad late 90s R&B-lite, got a donation of a dodgy Casio keyboard and, at the last minute, got their granddad to do a bit of fiddling, mixed it all together and the result was this chaötic hot mess on ice. It’s a shame, because these kids seem genuinely nice, and they don’t deserve to be lumbered with the albatross around their neck of this song and the resultant cast iron “last in the semi” result it will achieve.

33. Switzerland – She got me There’s little separating the female attempt at a duego and the male one for me. Luca radiates a smug energy that annoys me more, but the song is a smidgen less generic, but then using the same dancers as from Fuego made the decision easier. I’m not sure what she got him, but it certainly wasn’t a grammar book, as the song is filled with bizarrely affected ungrammatical English, because I guess it’s uncool to properly conjugate.

32. Cyprus – Replay It seems almost self-parodising that Cyprus lamely returned to try to catch lightning in the same jar with a song that is entitled, and feels like, a giant replay. Fuego was an encapsulation of many things I really don’t like at Eurovision – a lyrically empty song with limited musical merit or memorability that got a lot further than it would off the basis, mostly, of staging. This year, the staging is worse and the performer is less charismatic. If it does as well, I will be astounded.

31. Norway – Spirit in the sky What if Aqua came back – perish the thought – and, for their comeback single, took a rejected b-side from the late 90s of theirs in their typical bubblegum style, but injected it with a dreadful attempt at joik and an aesthetic inspired by their newfound animal spirits? It would sound something like this bizarre Norwegian song, whose victory over En livredd mann still bewilders me. It’s a bit infectious, but so are many diseases, and part of the reason that it buries itself into your mind is because of its pretty flagrant lifting of last year’s “Monsters”’ chorus, which in itself was all too familiar. One of the year’s biggest cringefests for me.

30. Lithuania – Run with the lions Take a guy most noted until now for screeching in the world’s worst falsetto whilst pretending not to sing, while a drag act that barely qualified as a baroness let alone a queen wás pretending to sing, also badly. Give him a song that advocates running alongside large carnivores who’d probably find humans an attractive snack. That combination should at least be interesting, but it’s one of the dullest propositions of the year. The only real interesting thing is that dodgy falsetto making a reappearance. It’s pleasant enough but forgotten instantly.

29. Russia – Scream Russia confined themselves to a few fruitless years in the desert with the Samojlova charade, and now they look to return to ESC superpower status by bringing back the guy who won them the public vote back in 2016. Their logic in trying to go one step further, though, was rather flawed. Concentrating on winning over the juries, they took for granted that the public was going to enjoy this rather melodramatic effort as much as they did You are the only one. I doubt they will, and I doubt the jury will be much swayed from last time. Musically, its orchestral touches represent a step up from YATOO for me, but it is let down by the emo lyrics and some bombastic staging.

28. Belarus – Like it When I first heard this song, where “you gonna like it” is repeated approximately 14 thousand times, my first impression was “no, I certainly am not going to.” It’s a bizarre stream of non-sequiturs dolled up with a technicolour assault to the eyes. I’ve softened to it somewhat, in part because of a reimagining of the lyrics as being a call for help after getting drafted into Eurovision by Lukaszenka, but I’ll still be stunned if it qualifies.

27. United Kingdom – Bigger than us I had a Freudian slip a few days ago when writing the “Undo my ESC” post – I wrote “Bigger than us” as “Better than us”. A fair swathe of the year’s field very much is more remarkable than this anodyne X factor winner’s single which seems to be aiming for 19th rather than first. Michael is a likeable character, but unfortunately that doesn’t come across too much in his live performance, most notable for him flapping around his arms as though they were on fire.

26. Iceland – Hatrið mun sigra Musically, there are elements of this that are really up my street. Decent throwbacks are rare, but the 80s’ techno ambience of the track is pretty good. I just wish it were not accompanied with a disdainful hauteur and the OTT attitude of a bunch of sophomore arts students who’ve just discovered irony. The last thing the world needs now is more hate, ironic or not.

25. Sweden – Too late for love Sweden made one step in the right direction this year – they’ve sent a man rather than an overgrown embryo, and someone with a bit more humility than Grosso last year. It’s a much better song for me than the past two attempts, but that’s not saying much – manufactured gospel has little soul, and there’s a charisma chasm here only partially filled by drafting in American mammas to sell the song as something more than what it is.

24. Poland – Pali się This is one that I wish I liked more. It’s middle of the pack for me. I like the fact that there are clear heritage influences but find the song itself to be rather too linear and the voices too shrill – and I am a fan of white voice.

23. Macedonia – Proud I had high hopes for Macedonia as I adored their artist, Tamara’s, imperious Brod što tone back in Skopjefest 2014 – a song that frankly got robbed of representing Macedonia. Where BST was subtle and poëtic in its message, Proud, which I regret wasn’t in Macedonian also, is rather too much on the nose for me and sounds a little like a charity single. This is augmented by the rather basic video which reminded me a little too much of Bebe’s “Ella.” Nonetheless, it’s a nice composition and well sung.

22. Spain – La venda Spain this year had a selection that they called “eurotemazos”. It’s difficult to translate, but Eurobangers, smashes or hits all carry a shade of the meaning. As soon as I heard that, I knew it was an ill omen, and indeed, the list of songs was full of bad attempts at bops and a few soporific ballads-by-computer. La venda was the best of a bad lot. Miki has energy but the song is completely inconsequential.

21. Germany – Sister Germany have once again invited disaster by inviting Chaosmeisterin, Barbara “Wild Eyes” Schönberger back to compère the national final. The end result was this inexperienced wildcard (when will you ever learn, Germany?) clinching the win with two gals who’d never met before this year singing about sisterhood in a group called S!sters with their song Sister. This is hotly tipped for last place in the final, but I feel it has sóme merit. The verses, and especially the bridge, are lovely, and seem to be building to something great – until we get a really generic, squawked chorus where the two non-sisters try to outshriek one another.

20. Australia – Zero gravity I’ll never get over the fact that we could have had something truly Australian in all senses of the word for once, and instead we got this. It’s catchy but repetitive and rather gimmicky, and I lament that it will qualify over better songs thanks to a rather cringey staging gimmick.

19. Belgium – Wake up This truly is a musical coitus interruptus. The moody verses get you in the mood, building a sense of urgency and direction, only for everything to get abandoned without warning with a very dreary, incongruous chorus. “City Lights” this ain’t, and it’s a shame, as it’s still decent, but could have been so much more satisfying.

18. Czechia – Friend of a friend Some countries take decades to find their niche at the contest. It seems like Czechia has found theirs in the space of a year and a bit, and found a particularly narrow niche. Field a cutesy lad with a retro-inspired, somewhat catchy but also somewhat problematic song inspired by infidelity. Last year’s “Lie to me” was written from the perspective of the cheated; this year’s, from a potential cheater who spends half the song listening with his girlfriend to his neighbours having noisy sex and the other half protesting he barely knows the female neighbour anymore. Truly weird.

17. Denmark – Love is forever This song reminds me of one time I was by the seaside and got offered to try a freakshake. It was one of the most OTT sweetest things I’ve ever had in my life. I enjoyed it, but it’s something I could only enjoy on an annual basis. This song is much the same. It’s bringing the Gallic cuteness where France failed, and the fact Leonora looks into your soul unnervingly whilst singing just adds more interest to the song for me.

16. Azerbaijan – Truth Azerbaijan bring a halfway decent song for the 2nd time so far, by my count. This is nowhere as near as good as “Skeletons”, but still strong. I like the atypical lyrical matter and the fact that the Symphonix crew created something contemporary but wearing Azeri traditional influences on its sleeve. The unplugged version of this is even better.

15. Netherlands – Arcade Perhaps I would enjoy this more were it not for the intense amount of hype, the hubristic arrogance of many people in thinking the win is already in the bag, and the amount of condescending barbs flung my way on other corners of the net for not considering this some transcendental masterpiece that deserves to win more than any other song. It’s not in the same league as the oft-compared, timeless Amar pelos dois for me. It’s a nice, heartfelt song – albeit one that relies too much on a head voice that I find rather unappealing – and it has a few clever turns of phrase, but I will never understand why this one has been singled out when there are several songs I consider more moving in this final.

14. Georgia – Sul tsin iare This song has really grown on me. It has an incredible, almost scary intensity and was written on an epic, orchestral scale. It feels like the music to the climax of a war film. I felt what it meant before I understood the Georgian. I particularly love the chorus backing Oto and the staging that matches the song’s drama.

13. Hungary – Az én apam I expected a lot of things from a Joci Papai return, and this song only delivers some of them, but it’s a song worthy of enjoying in its own right. If Origo was fire and had an undercurrent of hurt, Az én apam is water, but is warm in its own right. It’s a nostalgic song with the same poetry I expected of Joci.

12. Latvia – That night Latvia’s song has been criticised for not being very impactful, and it isn’t, but therein lies its charm. It’s a low-key, saudadic effort that beautifully occupies three minutes. It is the kind of track I imagine listening to whilst, and which makes me imagine as a result, driving down a long, lonely road at night in the rain. It’s hushed, it’s delicate, and it sounds to me like petrichor smells.

11. Greece – Better love Greece is sending something very atypical from them, almost as an allergic reaction to doing so badly with the more ostensibly ethnic “Oneiro mou” last year. I’d be disappointed, but this is really quite good indeed, a very professional and rounded effort that has produced a soaring, anthemic song. Katerine’s voice has a beautiful, dark and deep huskiness that imbues a certain quality too. My only problem with this song are the careless lyrics that seem like a compilation of Instagram clichés.

10. Ireland – 22 My dear Ireland sneaks into my top 10 for the first time in a few years thanks to a full-on earworm of a song that has become one of my most played tracks this year. This song is very simple, but sometimes unassuming simplicity is elegant. It’s got a retro, blue-eyed soul feel and is at once nostalgic and catchy. It deserved a lot better than the slot of death to which Björkman consigned it.

09. Malta – Chameleon Malta getting into my top 10 for the first time since 2014, with a song that is even more contrary to our expectations of Maltese songs than “Tomorrow” was. This song is aptly named, as it is an explosion of colour – not just in the clever video, but also, the music itself is so vibrant and fun. The only part I don’t like is the rather cliché bridge, because both the drop-based chorus, the slow build of the verses and the exuberant post-chorus are really good. GIVE ME X I’M A Y is one of the lyrical memes of the year and is infectious. From beige to a rainbow; well done, Malta.

08. Slovenia – Sebi Slovenia are on the money for the second year in a row. Whilst “Hvala ne” was an in your face, high-octane buzz of a song, this year, we’ve gone in the completely opposite direction: a very contemplative, intimate song that imbues a sense of peace and harmony. What they do have in common is some of the best lyrics of the year. In Sebi’s case, the text is graceful in its effortless simplicity and minimalism. It feels like the only thing that matters during those 3 minutes for the song’s performers are each other, which creates a particular atmosphere indeed.

07. Albania – Ktheju tokës When I heard the venerable Festival i këngës, Albania’s selection process, was essentially going to revamp itself, I was worried that it would lose its magic, but in the end, I needn’t have so much. For the second year running, the best song by far won – a song full of dramatic potential. Thank heavens they left the song in the wonderful mellifluous Albanian language and did not dig out the song’s heart with a needless revamp. I hope Shqipëria can keep this trend and momentum up. Ktheju tokës is a heartrending song about immigration and divided families, inspired by true experience, and performed with power and style by the enigmatic Jonida.

06. Armenia – Walking out Another country for whom I have a lot of time at the contest is Armenia, who always tend to bring something different to the show. I was initially a bit confused by their effort this year because of its abrupt stops between different parts of the song which at first sounded rather jarring. Now, this, and the great variation in tone and style between the verses, the gentle bridge and the ferocious choruses are part of what make the song for me. Srbuk has charisma and a fierce set of pipes. All these elements have made Walking out one of the major earworms of the year for me.

05. Austria – Limits The first time I heard this, I was underwhelmed. It’s a nice song, but it is lacking a bit in instant impact. Nonetheless, something about it demanded repeated listens; with each one, my appreciation for this confessional, Kate Bush-inspired slice of heartrending emotion grew exponentially. I am hoping that the live performance will give it the instancy it needs to bring to life how exceptionally good a song this is. It’s up there with the very best in terms of the lyrics. It’s so personal, so intimate, so searing and one of the most underrated tracks of the year. 04. Serbia – Kruna Pretty much everyone who knows my ESC predilections knows I am a huge fan of Serbia. They generally stick with their own language, and bring songs that highlight their rich musical traditions. My support isn’t categorical – I despised “Beauty never lies” and felt let down by last year’s style pastiche, though I felt Balkanika were wonderful contestants – so this year, I was relieved to see them back at the height of their powers with an unassumingly lovely ballad, performed with power and purpose by the mesmerising Nevena. It’s a song of few words, and it feels like every single one was weighed out carefully to pack the most meaning. Delightful.

03. Romania – On a Sunday One of the biggest surprises of the season for me has been Romania. I had no interest in their national selection, and was nonplussed when this won, albeit grateful that it beat two truly dreadful frontrunners. My first impression was that it was an odd but catchy song, and that it was weird and a little funny how the grown woman singing it seemed to throw a tantrum in the middle of the performance. Something about it made me listen again, and again, and again – and then the amazingly theatrical and imaginative video came out, which added to my appreciation even more. It’s a really emotional song, which somehow invigorates rather than saddens me, perhaps because of the bewitching power of Ester’s performance. She delivers this with an unbelievable intensity and has such a singular voice. I fear for its chances because it’s not the most accessible song – but I really hope this will at least qualify.

02. Portugal – Telemóveis I remember my first reäction to this well. I was confused and a little perturbed – it seemed like the rantings of a madman over highly dissonant, if rather bewitching, music. It stuck in my head, though, and very soon, the confusion grew into appreciation and then full on love for probably the most singular, sui generis offering of the entire year. This is a song that sounds timeless but futuristic; that could not have been composed by any other country, but which blends influence of fado with sounds from the subcontinent, the near and far east and what seem to be other planets. The text – all too often dismissed as “lol he’s singing about cellphones, how random lmao” – is a deep, introspective, metaphorical look at mortality that is gushing with saudade. The fact that this, the most forward-thinking proposal of 2019, might not even qualify is scandalous; it should be in it to win it.

01. Italy – Soldi As much as I adore Telemóveis, there’s a song that I love even more. The first time I saw Soldi performed live, it was like a punch to the gut in the best possible way. This song about a deadbeat dad and how money can tear a family apart is just one example of how Italy is brimming with exceptional lyricists. I’d translate some of my favourite lyrics, but firstly, I find every line to be powerfully moving, and secondly, the English can’t quite do justice to the perfectly measured rhythm and cadence of the original as well as the emotion. On top of that, musically, it’s one of the freshest tracks of the year, with super modern production but symphonic touches. Who thinks of making a trap-inspired song, but with an orchestra? Italy, that is who, and I so, so hope they finish this barnstormer of a decade for them with a much awaited win.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

War of Attrition: Chapter 18

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. You visit an old, dangerous person, knowing full well that you might not come out of the confrontation alive. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of: past torture, death, blood, weapons. Allusions to PTSD. Word Count: ~4,704 A/N: Not dead, I promise. Finally out of school, though.

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Bucky’s smile was melancholy, too, the destruction of the city a fresh horror in his mind, along with the fear of losing you. Again.

“That’s… that’s good,” he said finally, looking up at you with what could only be adoration.

Your smile turned a little lighter- a little more genuine- and you nodded. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Bucky was quiet next to you as you walked down the street. He hadn’t talked since you got on the boat to Japan, having long since realized there wasn’t a point in trying to talk you out of your latest endeavor.

Not that you blamed him. Your idea would almost definitely end with you and Bucky being killed or heavily wounded. Still, your conscience didn’t let you sit still after what you’d remembered a few days ago.

A small clearing. Cherry trees blossoming, petals bright even in the gloom of early night. Blood seeping into cherry wood floors. Two smiling faces looking up at you in black and white. Flashing claws of bone. Bucky’s pained groan and steely gaze.

Between the tiny glimpses and uneasy feeling in your gut you’d long suspected you’d done something as the Soldiers, but then you’d woken up in a cold sweat a few weeks ago and told Bucky everything you could before your mind lost the memories again.

The next two weeks had been spent yelling and fighting and eventually you put your foot down, saying you were going to apologize to Logan face to face, regardless of the possible outcomes (most of which, if you were being honest with yourself, entailed ending up in a pool of your own blood).

Bucky twitched as someone turned onto the small street you were walking down, jarring you back into the present. The area was so low-tech that you hadn’t bothered with the nano skin, relying on clothes and sunglasses to keep your enhancements hidden. You had a sinking feeling that trying to hide your true identities would only incense Logan further, and you needed every advantage you could get if you wanted more than a snowball’s chance in hell of getting out.

You reached out for Bucky’s hand nearly without thinking, the action subconscious at this point.

“Why’s he gotta live in the middle of nowhere?” Bucky muttered as soon as the civilian was out of earshot. He was still as annoyed about the whole affair as he had been the entire last two days.

You glanced at Bucky for only a second then quickly returned to scanning the area for threats. “Can you really imagine Logan living in the middle of a busy city?” you asked quietly. Bucky only huffed out an annoyed sigh but all that did was make your lips quirk up in a smirk. “‘Sides, this works out better for us anyway.”

“We stick out like sore thumbs,” Bucky countered, annoyance clear as day in his tone.

You shrugged, gently jostling your intertwined hands. “Maybe. I figure an area as pretty as this gets tourists, even if it is a bit rural.”

Bucky’s steel blue eyes finally turned on you, disbelief barely noticeable in the set of his jaw and the lines around his eyes. “They don’t even have electricity out here, Doll.”

You bit back a smirk. “That’s why it took us so long to find ‘im, though. Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

“You’d go insane within the week,” Bucky said flatly, obviously guessing where you were going with that line of thought.

You fought the urge to pout and gently nudged him with your shoulder instead. “Not if I set up next to a river and made a hydro-electric dam for myself. Or finally finished my portable nuclear reactor.”

Bucky’s gaze turned worried and perhaps a shade frantic. “Please don’t do either of those things. I’m beggin’ ya.”

The Brooklyn accent slipped in whenever you caught him off guard and you couldn’t help but smile whenever it returned with a vengeance like that. “Fine, fine. This is our turn, anyhow. Gotta be on alert now.”

Bucky’s face turned stony again and you missed the light in his eyes that had been there just a moment ago as he stared down the narrow dirt road. He was nervous, but you knew his fear wasn’t for his own well being. It was reserved for you.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze which he returned. In perfect synchronization you both stepped forward and began walking down the road.

The farther you walked, the jumpier you and Bucky became. Even with your backscatter vision and Bucky’s enhanced hearing you were loath to underestimate the short, angry man.

The cabin came into vision without incident, though, and a quick backscatter peek inside told you he wasn’t home.

You stopped at the edge of the clearing, skin prickling uncomfortably as your scattered memories overlaid with the present. The house that Logan had built was eerily similar to the one he’d shared with his wife (Itsu. Japanese. Married Logan in 1946. Skilled swordswoman. Pregnant. Clean kill; slash to the throat and stomach. Weapon: Katana.).

You shook the clinical thoughts from your head and tugged Bucky to a stop. He looked down at you warily. “Not here,” you said, answering his unasked question. He nodded, but didn’t relax at all.

“How long do we wait?” he asked eyes darting around the clearing.

You frowned and tried to ground yourself more firmly in the present by leaning against Bucky, who stilled marginally at the contact. “As long as it takes,” you whispered as the image of a happy, young Japanese woman in 40′s clothing flashed in your mind.

The first sign was Bucky tensing next to you, going so still he could be mistaken for a statue. You flicked your eyes to backscatter without hesitation, eyelids closed as you searched every direction, not that you had to look very hard.

Logan was frozen maybe two hundred feet down the path, nostrils flaring and brows drawing low over his eyes.

What surprised you, though, was the metal attached brutally to his skeleton. You’d heard the rumors and scavenged what information you could on the Weapon X program (only to shut it down if you found any traces of it, not that you’d been successful in either capacity). Still, seeing it in person- well, mostly in person- was something else entirely.

You tensed and stood slowly. Bucky was already on his feet and staring down the road at exactly where Logan was, though you knew vision of him would still be blocked by the trees. Any second now Logan would charge through the trees and rip you and Bucky to shreds with those wicked metal-covered claws.

Logan drew a deep breath and you knew if he was any harrier than he already was you’d be able to see his hair stand on end. As it was, he was even tenser than Bucky.

The two of you had barely been able to run away last time and that was before he’d been infused with adamantium. You’d both had a few upgrades between now and 1946, but you doubted that’d mean much in the end.

When he stepped forward calmly, almost serenely, you couldn’t help the surprise that leapt to your face. The sudden change in expression made Bucky glance down at you and, while he looked confused by your reaction, he didn’t relax at all.

In fact, his confused frown only turned into a glower once Logan walked into view.

He paused as soon as he laid eyes on the two of you, dark brown eyes assessing and less hostile than you’d expected. He was maybe a hundred feet/thirty meters away, so close you could reach him in a second if you used your cybernetics.

He looked you and Bucky up and down and you fought the urge to flinch under his stare. The last time you’d seen him he was trying to kill you, and you couldn’t even blame him. You’d just murdered his wife and unborn child, after all.

The silence stretched on for what felt like a small eternity. You’d had so many things you’d wanted to say the moment you saw him, but everything seemed inadequate now that you were looking at him, the weight of your sins bearing down on you like a physical weight.

Then, “Guess I owe Romanoff ten bucks.”

Your eyes widened in shock and even Bucky shifted next to you. You opened your mouth to ask... something, anything... but Logan was already turning away from you and walking towards the house. The old fashioned doors didn’t even have a lock; he merely slid the bamboo doors open and stepped inside, pausing only long enough to take his shoes off.

You and Bucky stared after him in stunned surprise, not expecting that sort of reaction in a hundred years.

“You comin’ in or what?” came a gruff, half-yelled question from inside the house.

Bucky looked at you, uncertainty narrowing his eyes and making that ever-present tension return twofold.

“I doubt you two came from god-knows-where just to sit out there and gawk at my house like a coupla idiots.” He sounded even more annoyed this time.

Your legs moved of their own accord, not having listen to any conscious command from your mind. The house loomed over you as you walked closer but you didn’t dare stop now, afraid you’d turn and run if you stopped to think for a moment.

Bucky was silent but you knew he was following you; he’d already agreed to do this with you, after all, no matter what came.

The house was traditional in nearly every sense of the word. The flats you’d been wearing came off instantly (you felt more comfortable without shoes on, anyway) and Bucky’s muddy, scuffed boots followed a half second later. You used backscatter to find Logan and tilted your head in the right direction so Bucky would know where to go.

You’d half expected to find a TV or refrigerator or microwave, but every modern appliance was missing. The sitting room Logan was in had a tatami mat floor with a single low, long table and a few pillows for sitting. The floor and table were nice, obviously hand-crafted with care, but the pillows were old and raggedy.

Logan was already sitting at the far end of the table, looking almost lazy as he leaned against it, though his eyes were sharply assessing as you and Bucky appeared in the doorway.

“So? Who am I talking to? The Barneses or the Winter Soldiers?” he asked, tone carefully neutral, almost disinterested.

You winced and opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. All of those hours spent agonizing over what you’d say, how you’d apologize, and now that you were finally here-

Logan scoffed and reached into a small box on the table. Bucky shuffled, obviously expecting a weapon, but your hand on his arm stilled him instantly.

“Guess that answers that,” he said flatly. Logan pulled out a long cigar and cut it with the tip of a metal-covered claw, which peeked out of the skin between his knuckles and flashed ominously in the low light. The sharp edge disappeared back into his skin, though, and you and Bucky both relaxed ever so slightly. “Sit down, assholes,” he said gruffly as he placed the cigar between his lips and lit it with a match from a book he pulled from his pocket.

You and Bucky exchanged a glance. You could tell from a split-second assessment that he was still unsure about how this would end. But... if Logan was going to attack he would have by now... right?

A second later you stepped forward, tugging a reluctant Bucky with you. You sat at the opposite end of the table from Logan, who was watching the two of you closely.

You settled down on a lumpy pillow and Bucky sat down next to you, forgoing a pillow in lieu of being as close to you as possible. You could tell he didn’t like having his back to a door, but the walls were made of paper and thin wood- it wasn’t like you couldn’t make an escape in any direction if the need arose.

The silence stretched on again, with neither you nor Bucky able to come up with a coherent sentence. Logan puffed quietly at his cigar, seemingly content to let the two of you stew in silence.

“Y’know, if I got cell service out here I woulda called Rogers and Romanoff by now.”

You and Bucky froze again, eyes widening slightly. It was Bucky who managed to talk first. “You’ve been- They contacted you?” he asked, not quite able to keep the fear out of his voice.

Logan let out a long exhale and you fought the urge to wrinkle your nose at the smoke. “They thought you two might come knockin’. Guess they know you better‘n ya think.” That made both you and Bucky clam up, unsure of what to say next. This wasn’t going how either of you thought it would. When it was clear neither of you would speak any time soon, Logan let out an annoyed huff. “I don’t have enough saké for this...” he muttered, running a rough hand down his face. When he looked at you again, his eyes were a bit harder. “And I don’t got all day, either. Speak up or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You frowned and reached for Bucky’s hand, needing the comfort it provided to get you through what you were about to say. He met you halfway and gave you a gentle squeeze that bolstered you enough that you were able to find the courage to speak, though your gaze was fixed on the table.

“How much do you know?” you asked, almost fearing the answer.

Logan puffed on his cigar and took his time responding. “Natasha and Rogers handed me a file. Told me everything they knew, which I’m guessing isn’t even the half of it. Still, there were enough damn nightmares in that folder that, for the first time in seventy years, I didn’t wanna kill ya.” Your and Bucky’s gazes flicked to him then, surprise lining your features. Logan took one look at you and scoffed. “Don’t go gettin’ all doe eyed, ya damn idiots. You’re way too old and badass to be lookin’ like that.”

Your mouth twitched up in a sort of aborted smile, but your frown returned with a vengeance. “We’re sorry. I know words can never make up for what we did... what I did-” Bucky made a distressed, angry noise beside you, but your gaze was glued to Logan. “-But we are.” You scooted away from Bucky and got on your knees, then slowly lowered your forehead to the ground, hands set on either side of your head. A second later you felt Bucky shift next to you and you could glimpse him mirroring your position out of the corner of your eye. Lowering his guard like this in front of Logan must have been killing him, but he stayed doggedly in place.

For a second, there was only the sound of Logan smoking his cigar, but you didn’t have long to wait. “Dogeza? Really? Get up, you fucking idiots,” he sounded irritated and conflicted.

You raised your head at the same time Bucky did and immediately gravitated back towards his side. His arm was around your waist a second later and you practically melted into his side.

Logan was glaring at the two of you and you fought the urge to grab Bucky and run. He seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke again. “I know what happened wasn’t your damn fault. That much was clear.” Another pause, then, “A lot of shit happened after that night. The kid lived, then tried to kill me at least a half dozen times. I got experimented on. Fell in love a few times. Got married to a woman who wanted to kill me. Joined the X-Men and dealt with their bullshit for a few decades...” he trailed off, annoyance obviously growing by the second. He blinked once or twice and seemed to refocus on you and Bucky. “Point is, between what’s happened to me and what Rogers and Natasha told me... I ain’t gonna hold it against you.”

You knew you were staring at Logan, slack-jawed, but you couldn’t help it. Never in a million years did you expect this response and- “But how, Logan? I killed her and she-”

Logan’s face turned thunderous. “If you could go back right now- to that night- would you do it again? Slit her throat with her own katana and leave her to die in a pool of her own blood?”

You flinched as if struck by a physical blow, memories flashing behind your eyes. “No-” your voice failed for a second and you had to swallow thickly. “No, I wouldn’t- I don’t want to-” Your words failed you again and you barely registered Bucky pulling you to his chest.

Logan’s face returned to something a little more neutral. If you weren’t mistaken, his deep brown eyes were a little sad. “Yeah, well, there’s the answer, right? Wasn’t you; wasn’t your choice.”

Bucky was running his hands gently over your arms, an obvious attempt to ground and comfort you. Your eyes, however, were fixed on Logan’s deceptively relaxed form. “But I did it,” you breathed. Now that Logan had all but forgiven you, you found yourself at a loss. Why didn’t he hate you? He should. You should have just stopped talking and taken what he gave you, but you almost needed his hate. You deserved it.

“Yeah, you did.” His voice was carefully neutral, not accusatory, just stating a fact.

“Then why?” Your voice was strained, your mind unable to process what was happening.

Logan sighed, wafting a large plume of smoke into the room. “Nah, we’re not gonna talk each other in circles all night. I’ve said my piece and you’ve said yours.” You stared at him, wanting to say more, but he continued speaking before you could. “How’d you find me? More of your tech mumbo jumbo?” 

The sudden change of subject had you reeling and Bucky recovered before you.

“Wade,” he said hoarsely.

Logan looked truly annoyed now. “Wade? As in Wade Wilson?” he growled.

Bucky’s smile was more of a grimace. “The one and only.”

“And how the hell does that bastard know where I am?” He looked peeved at the very prospect.

You shrugged. “Dunno. I asked if he’d seen you around lately and he said he’d- and I quote- ‘ask Tin Man to call in a favor with Wheels’.“

Logan groaned, took the cigar from his mouth with one hand, and ran his other hand down his face in exasperation. “I hate that kid. Doesn’t know when to shut up... S’pose he could be worse, though...” The look on Logan’s face was a little haunted and you wondered, momentarily, what Wade had done to him. When you’d talked to him a few weeks ago Wade had been polite to a fault, if not a bit weird. You’d had trouble keeping up with whatever he was talking about, but the moment you’d asked for help locating Logan he’d said “Whatever it takes to help move the plot along! You haven’t had a new chapter in weeks!” You’d stared at him as though he’d grown a second head, but he got on his cell phone and within ten minutes you had Logan’s location. One long drive and a nauseating boat ride later and you were in Japan.

Logan groaned and nearly bit his cigar in half. “Shit, I need to move. I just finished the damn tatami, too.” He ran a hand over the mats covering the floor, scowling at them as though it was somehow the floor’s fault.

You grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know how else to find you.“

Logan waved a hand, dismissing your apology. “It’s done now. Didn’t plan on stayin’ here forever anyway.” He reached the end of his cigar and snubbed the end against his palm, wincing only slightly before placing the small, gently-smoking end on the table.

You shifted nervously, unsure of what to do now that you’d more or less gotten your thoughts and feelings across to Logan. Bucky ended up deciding for you and stood, extending a hand to help you up once he was on his feet. You stared at the paper wall, trying your best to avoid Logan’s assessing gaze and Bucky’s concerned looks. “We’ll... be on our way, then. We don’t want to impose any more than we already have. Goodbye, Logan.” You turned to leave with Bucky following closely behind, but Logan’s gruff voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

This was it. This was when he unsheathed those deadly sharp claws and tried to kill both of you. You tensed and turned around slowly, not wanting to startle Logan into attacking any sooner than necessary.

“I’m sorry.” Logan’s face was twisted into a grimace, as though the words hurt him to say.

Those two words shocked you so thoroughly that your arms dropped limply to your side and you felt your shoulders slump. You knew your mouth was open and your eyes were wide but you couldn’t do anything about that just then.

Logan’s dark eyes met yours and you could tell it was him that was having trouble keeping eye contact now. “I shoulda looked for you. Both of you.” He glanced up at Bucky, who shifted restlessly next to you, likely caught even more off guard by Logan’s declaration than you, as they’d never really gotten along. “By the time Dugan told me what happened, Rogers had already put the plane in the ice. I knew it was suspicious that we hadn’t found either of you, even if it was in the middle of nowhere. I was one’a the only people who probably coulda found ya, and I didn’t. Didn’t even try. I shoulda-” he growled, and reached into the cigar box, prepping his next cigar in a flash. Barely a few seconds later he had the fat cigar in his mouth, scowl lining his brow.

“Thanks for saying that, Logan, but it ain’t nobody’s fault but Hydra’s.” Bucky’s voice was the softest you’d ever heard it when speaking to Logan and the shorter man glared at him, probably feeling as awkward as Bucky had felt at Logan’s words.

“And Logan?” you said with a small frown.

“Mm?” Logan grunted, brown eyes flicking back to your face, brow quirked ever-so-slightly in question.

“If you ever want to talk- or need some backup- you got two people who understand and will be more than willing to help.” You tried to give him what you hoped was a kind smile, though happy expressions were hard to make unless it was Bucky eliciting them.

“Not that we’re exactly the picture of mental health,” Bucky added dryly.

That, at least, drew an amused snort from Logan. “You and me both, pal,” he said gruffly. “So, what? You gonna give me some piece of crap cellphone with your number in it, too?” When you raised an eyebrow Logan rummaged around in one of his jacket’s pockets, eventually managing to extricate an ancient flip phone. He held it in the air and waved it once before shoving it back in his pocket. “Rogers gave it to me in case I managed to get a lead on you two.”

That made you frown and you fought the urge to fry it to pieces; that would almost definitely lead to a fight between you and Logan. However, you had a hunch that you were eager to prove. “But you’re not gonna tell them anything.”

Logan sighed out a puff of smoke. “Nope.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side and regarded Logan with a quizzical expression. “Why not?”

It was only after he took another puff of his cigar and blew it into the air that he responded. “Because you don’t wanna be found.”

You and Bucky stared at him for a moment then exchanged disbelieving glances before returning your gazes to him. “Just like that?” you asked with a small frown. It was too good to be true. All of this was. Neither of you were that lucky. Hell, Logan wasn’t that lucky.

Logan’s gaze turned hard. “Guess there is one more part. If you two go off the rails again it’ll be my duty to stop you.”

You felt your blood run cold at the thought. As far as you knew, the number of people who could stop you and Bucky could be counted on your hands at this point. One of them was definitely Logan.

It made sense, though. He was honorable. By letting you go now he was at least partially responsible for anything you did from this point onward. If Hydra got a hold of you again or if both of you regressed... he’d hunt you down.

“That’s fair,” you said after a pregnant pause, mouth in a hard, grim line. Bucky shifted restlessly next to you, upset at the prospect but knowing that, ultimately, it was probably for the best. “I don’t think either of us would want-” you bit your lip, eyes once again falling to the mats.

“If we become the Soldiers again, that’s for the best,” Bucky said quietly. You glanced at him, but he was staring Logan dead in the eyes, jaw set grimly.

Logan nodded once to him before his eyes flicked to you, features softening a bit. “Go on, then. I’d offer you a room fro the night, but I know you’re itching to get outta here.” The words could have been harsh, but they were said with just a bit too much fondness for them to come off that way.

“Thank you, Logan,” you said earnestly. Bucky nodded his agreement, blue-grey eyes tumultuous.

He barked out a laugh. “That’s not my real name, y’know.”

You frowned, not in on the joke that had made him laugh. “I wasn’t aware ‘Logan’ was a false name.”

Logan’s grin turned a little smug. “Name’s James.”

That drew a startled laugh out of you and even a glance at Bucky revealed his lip shad turned up in a begrudging smile. “‘Course it is...” he muttered, not quite managing to sound annoyed.

Your laughs quieted after a moment, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. Unspoken comments about how rare laughs came these days and how young you sounded when you did hung stale in the air between you, but you put on a small smile. “See you ‘round, Jimmy,” you said, tossing him a wink you hoped was playful and not flirty before turning and heading for the door.

Bucky snorted and you could hear Logan groan. The guys didn’t speak for a second (you were sure you’d be able to hear them through the paper-thin walls if they had), but after a pause, Logan grumbled a “See you, bub,” which was the closest you’d ever heard Logan get to sounding fond when it came to Bucky.

Another pause, then, “Be safe, old man.”

An annoyed grumble. “I only got thirty five years on ya, ya fucking shithead.”

You couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. That was so close to how you remembered their interactions being back in the day that it nearly shocked you back seventy years. The sarcastic response you were half expecting didn’t come, however, and Bucky was beside you a moment later, taking his time to lace up his boots carefully while you waited just outside the door, watching the area for any threats.

“Ready to go?” he asked a moment later as he stepped up beside you. His blue-grey eyes searched your face for any flicker of emotion that would set off warning bells, but for the first time in a long time, your head wasn’t a complete mess. Or, at least, you had one burden among hundreds taken from your shoulders.

“Yeah, Buck. Let’s go home.”

Next Chapter

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[delightfully-daisy]

CHARACTER SHEET: DAISY AUDREY ELOISE CANARD

And she's been living on the highest shelf... Oh, and they come unstuck Lady, running down to the riptide Taken away to the dark side

[TW: sexual assault mentions; eating disorder mentions]

STATS

Birthday: 14 January 1995

Hogwarts House (Primary): Ravenclaw

Hogwarts House (Secondary): Hufflepuff

Myers-Briggs: ESFJ

Enneagram: Type 3

Height:  5’4

BACKGROUND OVERVIEW

Mother: Lilian Ophelia Marie Harcourt Canard

Father: Jacques Didier Canard

Mother’s Occupation: lawyer—business law

Father’s Occupation: stockbrocker

Family Finances: quite wealthy—combination of old money on both ends, as well as parents’ own ambitions and finances

Birth Order: middle child

Siblings: Nicolas Etienne Jeannot Canard (24); Andre Leon Charles Canard (19)

Other Close Family: Aunt Cecile on her dad’s side (who has a girlfriend and is like super cool and a movie producer); she has another aunt on that side who has two kids her and Nic’s ages but I don’t have my notebook on hand so I cant look up their names oh well; Lilian is an only child

Best Friend: Clarke

Other Friends: Annette Grant, Hermes Petros, Toulouse Bonfamille, Stanley Schell, Abby and Tabitha

Enemies: Tito? Lol she thinks so :C

Pets: a cat named Sabrina! Her family also has two dogs named Gigi and Fifi

Home Life During Childhood: her parents were both very busy, but she and her siblings were very close and her dad made a huge insistence on family time when they were together; to this day they have a designated week in late July and winter where they go on vacations together; she’s very close with Nic and her dad; Andre can be a bit of a brat; she clashed with her mother a bit growing up but she’s starting to understand her more

Town or City Name(s): Paris, France

What Did Her Bedroom Look Like: very nice and spacious, big windows with a nice view, she has a canopy bed, everything is in pastel colors, lots of whites and pinks—nothing too loud, everything soft like a Rococo painting, a big walk-in closet, a nicely lit vanity, the artwork in there is carefully selected, everything has its place

Any Sports or Clubs: did newspaper also probably a creative writing club; used to fence and do ballet, but quite around 13/14 years old

Favorite Toy or Game: loved paper dolls

Schooling: one last semester at Pride U; probably did some pretty expensive private school in Paris

Favorite Subject: Composition, Art History

Popular or Loner: Popular!

Important Experiences or Events: was sexually assaulted at 17, her then-boyfriend lied about it and harassed her for months after

Health Problems: undiagnosed anxiety, lowkey makes herself throw up after eating sometimes also

Culture: French

Religion and beliefs: Raised Catholic, she wants to believe in a benevolent God but does not really like the Catholic church; she wants to believe in the goodness of people

 PERSONALITY

Bad Habits:  worries, limits her food intake a lot haha, has a tendency to keep her emotions inside before lashing out, cries a lot

Good Habits: uh, organized, keeps up with her fitness, ambitious, kind-hearted (in her own way), stylish

Best Characteristic: determined—once she sets her mind on something or someone, she will not quit

Worst Characteristic: scared—her number one limitation in life is that she is too scared to take chances/take risks/do anything without security

Worst Memory: the whole sexual assault thing and also the night she broke up with Tito

Best Memory: oh gosh, probably getting her bike back

Proud of: not much lol, uh maybe her fashion sense, she’s like really insecure though and attributes all her successes to other factors, poor bby

Embarrassed by: e v e r y t h I ng have you seen how much this girl blushes

Driving Style: she’s a fantastic driver—fast, daring, drives stick-shift in heels, cuts tight corners on her motorcycle, she’s fab, best driver of my characters (except maybe for Eva, but that’s cuz Eva has heightened reflexes lol); does have a tendency to speed, but doesn’t do it except on isolated roads

Strong Points: determined, hard working, kind-hearted, stylish

Temperament: gosh im not sure its like a mix of sanguine and melancholic

Attitude: outwardly, confident and determined; inwardly, really fuckin’ anxious and insecure about everything

Weakness: she’s so insecure and not good with criticism and she’s soft little flower it is easy to crush her

Fears: everything—not being good enough is the main one though

Phobias: see above lol

Secrets: not too open about the whole sexual assault thing for obvious reasons, also he like harassed her for months afterwards

Regrets: every romantic relationship she’s ever had because it makes her seem stupid and heartless and foolish

Feels Vulnerable When: uh always? When she’s being emotional, tbh, since she’s been told to restrict that

Pet Peeves: people who assume she’s dumb, people who assume she’s shallow

Conflicts: oh gosh where to begin—the fact that she wants the world to be this good, ideal place where she has the ability to help it, but the reality that class differences/prejudices in other areas are very real and very hard to overcome; her own desire to do more with her life, but knowing that rejecting her family’s values would not be good, and she really loves her family; navigating being a soft woman in a world that otherwise respects hard, sharp ones

Motivation: She wants to be successful and to make a change in the world.

Short Term Goals and Hopes: Graduate, get a good job somewhere in a big city.

Long Term Goals and Hopes: Rise to the top of her career, hopefully get married at one point.

Sexuality: bisexual

Exercise Routine: goes to spin class three times a week, does a barre class twice a week, weight training the other days, very committed exercise schedule

Day or Night Person — Day.

Introvert or Extrovert — Extrovert.

Optimist or Pessimist — Pessimist, though she tries to be optimistic to other people.

LIKES AND STYLES

Music: girly pop, MUSICALS—she’s a huge musical gal, sings in the shower all the time. Loves taylor swift, knows that its problematic to love taylor swift, but does so in that well #feminism way that’s also lowkey problematic ahaha. Her iTunes is mostly musicals and pop and some classical music too, she likes ballet music.

Books: classics and romance novels; also some trashy YA romance; went through a John Green phase in her high school years; her favourite book is The Bell Jar. She also reads those like “Oprah Book of the Month” club books and enjoys them. Gets most of her reading list from bestsellers lists.

Magazines: VOGUE aka the Bible; also Cosmo and Marie Claire and other high-fashion magazines; whatever the French equivalent of Time is, but also Time; started a subscription to the New Yorker whilst she was in NYC and keeps up with it

Foods: has a sweet tooth—loves chocolate. Chocolate-covered strawberries are her favorite. She thinks she can handle spicy, but she can’t really.

Drinks: Margaritas are her cocktail of choice; she loves champagne and lattes

Animals: cats! Also she loves swans and thinks its so romantic that they mate for life, but she won’t admit that lol

Sports: follows Formula One racing tbh and also fencing

Social Issues: Feminism! (she’s like lowkey a bit of a white feminist) Magick Rights! (lowkey also a bit of a problematic activist in everything; she’s trying though) Also involved in environmental issues!! (she works on a turtle fund thing with Stan)

Favorite Saying: “I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.” – Audrey Hepburn

Color: Pink!! Any and all shades! Also likes a nice rose-gold. Fond of pastel colors in decorating.

Clothing: Has a very classy, preppy style; lots of skirts and blazers; usually always in heels; most everything is designer and high-end; she takes pride in her style; she also dresses more on the conservative end, but does own a few sexier pieces

Jewelry: very classy, never overdoes herself with jewelry; simple pendants and studs

Games: played the Sims a lot, played racing games with her brothers, Mario Kart fan too

Websites: Instagram—also has a finsta bc she’s hip; tumblr; Pinterest

TV Shows: Downton Abbey, Sex and the City

Movies: The Devil Wears Prada!! (Also Titanic)

Greatest Want: To be successful and make a difference in the world

Greatest Need: To overcome her fears

CURRENTLY 

Home: lives in Castle Suites in a very luxurious one-bedroom flat

Household furnishings: everything is impeccably decorated, lots of pastels and golds, there’s a big window in the living room (which has like white furniture and soft lights everywhere, big white rug on the floor, lots of throw pillows), her room has a big bed with lots of pillows and her closet is organized by type of clothes and colour

Favorite Possession: her car

Most Cherished Possession: her motorcycle

Married Before: Nope.

Significant Other Before: Tito (rip); asshole French boyfriend, Michel

Children: n/a

Relationship with Family:  huge Daddy’s girl, but Daddy is also very busy and not super around all the time and she doesn’t really confide in him; very close to older brother, Nic, sometimes they feel like they are the only people in the world they can trust; younger brother has a strained relationship bc he can be kinda douche but they love each other; relationship with mother is---complicated, they are very similar and often butt heads because of their differences though and Lilian thinks she knows what’s best etc etc and Daisy is just starting to see her mom in a new light

Car: BMW, she also has a motorcycle

Career: journalism student, editor-in-chief of campus magazine: Social

Dream Career: editor in chief of a fashion magazine that also has like a huge philanthropy side

Dream Life: said career, has not given much thought to the like actual life part of it, but ideally she’d like to be married to the love of her life and have two kids as well

Love Life: uh imma get back to you on that

Hobbies : reading, dancing (she loves dancing), driving, sketching fashions, cleaning (lol), amateur baker, used to be a fencer, writing (she used to write short stories but has not in a while)

Guilty Pleasure : those trashy Harlequin romance novels….

Sports or Clubs: Social, PrideU’s premier campus lifestyle magazine; probably involved in like journalism clubs

Talents or Skills : she’s a great dancer and a fantastic driver; also a good writer

Intelligence Level : she is great auditory learner, very sharp and quick to pick up what she listens too; writes the best out of my characters; reads a lot too; not great at sciences or math, but she tries her best and the hard work pays off; a fan of history, but only as it relates to cultural stuff (wars bore her); the most emotionally aware of others of my characters, can read people well

Finances: wealthy—parents are wealthy each from their individual families and from their own careers, pay for their children

[loose-leaf-teacanons]

[KnB fic] Exorcist AU, cont.

Yep, still working on this fic. Takes place right before Kuroko’s teapot call. Proper posting order, what’s that? XD (C&C is much appreciated, btw)

Season of Spirits Rating: G Part: ?? of ?? (KagaKuro starter is here, tag is here) Characters/Summary: The vague beginning of an explanation for how Kagami ended up working as Kuroko’s spiritual bodyguard. Starring Kagami, and Midorima’s amazing customer service.

Kagami was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake.

To tell the truth, he wasn’t even sure what had compelled him to take down the flyer from the pin board at the local supermarket in the first place. “Help Wanted,” even when it was written in the flowing, elegant script of a calligraphy scroll, was a vague posting by anyone’s standards. “Contact Uncommon Essentials for details.”

Except Uncommon Essentials had no contact info. No phone number, no e-mail address, let alone an online presence. All it had was a street number in one of the older districts, but it didn’t even show up on Google.

He was pretty sure the sensible reaction would have been to shake his head at the flyer and move on with his day. Why he had taken it down from the board and kept it with him, he couldn’t say. Why he’d decided to set out in search for a weirdly named shop that somehow managed to elude even the all-seeing eyes of the Internet, he knew even less.

Maybe he could blame it on the fact that this was the first job ad that didn’t come with a waiting list for applications. Or a disapproving secretary that put him on hold as soon as he tripped over his admittedly nonexistent keigo.

He’d felt a small spark of optimism when he finally flagged down some locals who were able to make Uncommon Essentials seem less like a drug-trafficking ring run out of somebody’s basement and more like a legitimate store with a sign out front and a cash register on the counter.

Though it was a little weird that the people who seemed to know where it was were, without exception, gray, bespectacled and hard of hearing, which made him worry he’d somehow picked up a job ad from fifty years ago. At least, they all seemed to swear by “Midorima-sensei’s” shop, which gave Kagami some hope that maybe, the ad was not as shady as all that, and he was about to apply  at a pharmacy or an old-fashioned sundry store.

He had also, from the descriptions, begun to imagine “Midorima-sensei” as rather like his customers – gray, bespectacled, and mostly deaf.

As it had turned out, only one of those things was true.

Uncommon Essentials was neither a pharmacy nor a sundry store. In fact, Kagami couldn’t have guessed what it was, since the whole thing seemed to defy business sense, good taste, and probably several laws of physics besides.

Behind an unassuming dark wood and paper-screens facade, a visitor was immediately railroaded into a maze of rickety shelves, the path forward quickly obscured by the gloom that seemed to be lurking everywhere, spilling out from dead-end corners. All the shelves were packed so tightly with items of no discernible purpose that someone with Kagami’s build had to squeeze sideways through a cornucopia of what could only be described as the most random crap on the planet.

For every somewhat expected earthenware jar with a faded label, daruma doll set, silk flower arrangement, kabuki mask and lacquer fan, there was at least one set of big-eyed UFO catcher dolls (including a bizarrely life-like bright pink llama), several common houseplants (both real and plastic), a miniature slot machine, a giant wooden durian, collapsible umbrellas with cat and dog ears, individually packaged single stockings (the hell?), the whole palette of maiubo flavors, a scale model of the Titanic, at least one shelf stocked entirely with toy frogs, and a stand with creepy animal-headed walking sticks.

Even more surprising than that, though, was that apart from the poor lighting and sheer age of the shop, everything was spotlessly clean, to the point where Kagami felt like he should have taken off his shoes by the entrance.

After half an eternity of trying not to bring the whole maze crashing down with a careless movement, the shelves and chests of drawers gave way to a wider space that looked more like a traditional herb shop, with boxes of tea and pickled ginseng root lining the walls.

At the very back was a high wooden counter piled with boxes and packaging materials. An ancient punch-register stood off to one side, though at this point Kagami was more surprised that this collection of someone’s private weirdness was getting enough customers to warrant one at all.

As if summoned by the ungracious thought, a surprisingly young-looking man emerged from between the cardboard and paper wrapping, cradling a life-size emperor penguin plush.

Before Kagami could open his mouth to say hi and state his business, though, the young man’s look of put-upon disgruntlement morphed into the kind of glare that nobody gave to anybody unless they were hoping to start a fistfight.

“I’m not sure how you got past the wards,” he said stiffly, pushing his glasses up his nose with a practiced flourish of disdain, “But this place is not for your kind, as should be perfectly obvious.”

Getting bounced around between two different cultures had taught Kagami to ignore a lot, from the dumb white kids who thought repeating their uncle’s 1950s-era slurs made them cool, to the stiff-necked teachers in his last two years of Japanese high school who had him pegged as a troublemaker from day one and insisted on making jabs at his American upbringing.

But this was the first time in his life that he found himself being referred to like a pest control problem, and he felt completely justified in shooting this job opportunity into the wind.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The asshole had the nerve to blink, as if Kagami being rude right back was just that much of a surprise.

“You…” He squinted a few times, shook his head as if to clear it, and muttered, “Hmm. How odd… It seems I was mistaken.”

And just in case Kagami had any illusions about maybe getting an apology, or at least a modicum of courtesy, the asshole added, “Still, I would appreciate it if you could vacate the premises as swiftly as possible. Your presence is rather upsetting to this shop.”

Somehow, Kagami stopped himself from balling his hands into fists. “Are you for real?!”

The asshole blinked again, like everything coming out of Kagami’s mouth was somehow a revelation. “Oh. Hm. It would seem you’re unaware… that’s strange. As should be perfectly obvious.”

Yeah, no. Screw this job, Kagami decided, marched up to the counter, and slapped the flyer down in the only free spot, which just happened to matched the paper size exactly. “Oh yeah? Well, if it’s so weird for me to be here, maybe don’t go posting vague crap where anyone can see it.”

The asshole frowned. “You’re here about the––?”

“Yeah, no, don’t bother. I quit. Have a nice fucking day–��

“You cannot quit a job you haven’t even been hired for, as should be perfectly obvious,” the asshole said, surly once again. “And besides, I’m not the one you want to tell that to, ridiculous as it is.”

“The hell is your–!”

“Here.” The asshole slid a piece of precisely folded paper across the counter. “You may discuss your grief about the hiring process with them.”

Kagami wasn’t sure why he took the paper instead of telling the pompous bastard to fuck himself in the most vulgar street slang in two languages. Perhaps it was the sheer weirdness of the whole situation, some kind of morbid curiosity on this part.

Maybe it was just that he felt he’d already wasted so much time, he at least wanted to tell off the person responsible for gating themselves behind obscure shops and insufferable bastards who spoke fifty percent cryptic bullshit.

He didn’t think it had much of anything to do with the little tug he felt when he unfolded the paper to reveal a set of directions in the same flowing style as the job ad.

“Now then, if that is all, kindly be on your way, please. I have actual business to attend to,” the asshole said, and turned away just in time to miss the rude gesture Kagami directed his way.

Whatever the job was, he had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to be paid enough to put up with any of this.