#but i could not be bothered to ink it and add in the values so alas

[rivalmelty]

self indulgent au has self indulgent hcs who would’ve thought

[toorumochi]

꒰🖇꒱ 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐮 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚 ♡꙼̈ ࿐ ࿔

I wanted to create an analysis on how Gakushuu would fit the Dark/Light Academia aesthetic and Karma the Chaotic Academia aesthetic as well as add headcanons, some mood boards and much more to this post! I hope you will enjoy! 🕯

At the beginning I was planning to put their mood-boards and explain them, but I found that I would have spoiled it and you guys probably wouldn't have any idea about the context of this whole post, so maybe I'll make a very short (hopefully understandable) introduction:

KaruShuu - College - Couple

bam.

Okay but for real now, the whole context of this is that Karma and Gakushuu go to the same college where they share a dorm room and are also dating which is so much more exciting for the upcoming headcanons I've prepared, wohoo! 🤎

So now you've received the explanation to this entire chaos, now it's time for the introduction to these two and why that specific Academia! Enjoy! <3

First, let's go with Gakushuu 🧡

I've been thinking about this for a long time now, and I ended up with this: That the Dark Academia Aesthetic would fit Gakushuu magnificently so here we are.

Some dark academia key values that I think would fit Gakushuu: caffeine bursts; working for victory (screams Gakushuu); neat handwriting; stacks of old books; oversized but stylish sweaters; scented candles; so much poetry; only black ink pens; chess; visiting museums every weekend; vintage watches (he would steal them from Gakuho lol); existentialism, coffee. a lot of it; handwritten letters to we know who <3

I made a mood-board for him!! :D

I'm not sure if I should add an explanation to every thing on this picture but let's just go with it (I wanted to add so much more things to this but it would overflow and look messy :(()

⁽ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃᵈᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵇᵘᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉˢᶜʳⁱᵖᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ⁱᵗ⁾

•┈┈┈••✦ 🕯 ✦••┈┈┈•

Dried fruit - I feel like he and Karma would have dried up fruits all around their dorm room, and it would smell amazing.

Coffee mugs with fluffy cream on top - He refuses to leave the dorm without a cup of his coffee. He is addicted to it and Karma is concerned.

A net bag - listen. I saw oranges and had to add it. No explanation needed he would just have one and be fancy with it

Candles - he would have so. many. of. them. And each of them would have a different smell, through his favourite is the sandalwood one

Figs - I have literally an essay on "Why I think Figs would be Gakushuu Asanos favorite fruit" written. But to cut it short I think he would be the type to like sweet fruits a lot, and since figs when ripe kind of taste like honey - he also loves to eat them with anything, whether in the form of jam, or with cheese and nuts, or as a snack during lectures when the lecturer is not looking; The figs are just perfect and he could eat them all day long.

That one specific notebook he takes everywhere - he takes it with himself everywhere and anywhere; it's also forbidden to look inside. Even Karma himself is too cowardly to peek inside. However, he once said that although the cover looks like it has gone through two wars, Gakushuu's notes inside are very neat.

Chess pieces - Gakushuu is a god when it comes to chess, he can and will challenge anyone when it comes to chess. He carries some random chess pieces around in his coats or backpacks.

Pen - Gakushuu owns only one pen, reason: Karma loses all his own pens, so when he asks Gakushuu to borrow him one, he would just reply "I only have one" and with that no-one bothers him when it comes to borrowing pens.

Turtlenecks - turtlenecks, always. He wears them with anything and he is still the most stylish mf in the entire campus

Typewriter - he would own a typewriter in their room. Shhh he writes poetry for Karma that he gives to him in the library on their study dates.

•·················•·················•

Karma time!

The academia aesthetic I choose for him is... Chaotic Academia!

I think our boy wouldn't fit the dark nor light academia, so I went with the chaotic academia ;))

Some chaotic academia key values that I think would fit Karma:

top buttons undone; losing so many pens, way too many (I wrote a headcanon about this); notes, books and paper sprawled messily over his desk AND floor; hand written letters, but on the same paper as his class notes; curse words in latin; random things in his coat; socks never matching. ever; messy but good-looking hair; ridiculous Shakespeare pick up lines he tried on Gakushuu; coffee in shot glasses;

Here a moodboard for him! ❤️

(Karmas mood-board is more full thank Gakushuus- I'm so embarrassed.)

•┈┈┈••✦ 🎫 ✦••┈┈┈•

Math notes in literature class - Is there more to add? He would solve equations in his literature class, but right next to the math question would be a latin curse word or a short, very, very chaotic poem

Heavy, black boots - no matter what occasion, he will dress the way he wants; an assembly where they have to dress very formal: Heavy boots, looking like he rode here on a motorcycle with a black jacket. Beneath the jacket? The sweater with the cat on the mood-board.

Outfits - anything BUT the uniform or formal wear

cookies - yes, he might be chaotic but he makes the best, and when I say the best, I mean the B.E.S.T cookies out there. Gakushuu is a big fan but won't admit it to Karma. Karma makes them with fig jam just for Gakushuu, God he loves them.

Stack of thrifted books - he doesn't have the time to buy expensive and new books when there is a book thrift store right around the corner with any book he likes; he has at least 5 stacks in the dorm stacked under their small table they eat/study at. The times they were kicked over on accident is uncountable

lighter - he doesn't smoke, but he likes to light some corners of his notes or letter on fire for a second to make them look 'vintage' or 'cool'.

A tiny bottle of blood - he keeps it in his jacket pocket; no-one knows who's blood it is and it's leaving people in fear

A small bag with all sorts of things - animal teeth he found in the woods, wasabi (a classic), mouse trap, gum, emergency pen (update: he lost it), some random receipts; crushed flower petals ??? and much more.......

Dried flowers - he puts them into his heavy books to dry, and when they are finally all dried up and pretty, he gives them to Gakushuu (Gakushuu then frames them because he thinks they are pretty and he appreciates his bfs' small gestures)

A skateboard used as a desk - Gakushuu does not remember the last time Karma normally sat at the table in their dorm while studying or eating; he is either standing or lying on the floor or sitting on the floor with a hump over the laptop on the skateboard OR he is sitting on the skateboard and the laptop is also on the skateboard and that's the way he works. Oh also sometimes when he is actually sitting on the skateboard while working on his laptop, to annoy him, Gakushuu pushes him a bit so the skateboard is moving straight ahead and Karma goes a few centimetres forward. (Once Gakushuu pushed him a little bit too hard, making Karma lose balance and fall off, it was hilarious)

Skulls - skulls, skulls, skulls. Skulls everywhere! He would wake up in the middle of the night, grab one skull of a shelf, strike a pose (Gakushuu is already half awake and knows what's coming) and quotes the famous "To be, or not to be, that is the question" spoken by Hamlet. After he quotes, he receives a pillow in his face thrown by his lovely boyfriend.

•·················•·················•

Now for some headcanons!

Them skipping classes to sit in the old library between the book shelves to read poems to each other they wrote last night

When they have classes together, they write definitions of words on each other's wrists and arms during lectures

Random mythology facts during lunch leaving the other speechless

Karma being extra dramatic and walking into the lecture room with a loud bang of the door, while Gakushuu just simply gave up on being on time and just kinda trudges behind Karma while holding their two takeaway coffees from the small café by their dorm

There is a deadline on the assignment, but there is also a very comforting soft wind blowing outside in the middle of November and the leaves are falling down and who if not them would go out in long black coats and just take a walk together. It's a MUST (It's also like a reward for their hard work and also just to enjoy themselves <3 )

Writing each other letters in their target language or latin that they pass to each other in class (they sit next to each other, but hey, it's fun ;) ), while their friends watch while sitting behind them in amusement

Analysing poetry for fun

Going on walks and getting excited about old building and castles

Karma making paper planes out of discarded vintage bound books and he is having a throwing battle with Gakushuu who throws them back but there are insults written inside when Karma opens them (Bonus: Insults, but with love)

Going to art galleries together to take pictures by the classical statues with on of them posing next to the statues, trying to recreate the pose of it (Bonus: if it's a two-person statue, they will ask a stranger to take a picture of them posing)

They tend to jump on random trains on the weekend to study

Some Karma Chaotic Academia headcanons:

Calling the big five and Shuu nerds and then studies for 12h straight

Him getting kicked out of the group chat where Gakushuu and some other students are in at least 15 times a week

Doesn't sleep. ever.

Writing absolutely fantastic poetry while being sleep deprived but Gakushuu is still fascinated by it every time

Adds an unhealthy amount of sugar to his drinks - even water the other day, but Gakushuu managed to stop him before he could put the sugar in it; once again, Karma was sleep deprived

Karma constantly arguing with the teachers because disagreeing can be fun and thrilling sometimes

Karma has ink all over his palms of his fingers and if he isn't careful enough, he gets it on his face (also on Gakushuus' when he grabs his cheeks to kiss him, muah 💋)

Baking fresh honeybuns for his boyfriend at 2am because yes

Learning a new curse word in latin everyday because it's funny

He had lost enough pens that could easily be distributed to each and every person in their Uni; that's how many there were

He presses down flowers in his heavy books that he later on gives to Gakushuu on random occasions that either he or Shuu frames

Horrible Shakespeare quotes that make terrible pickup lines is something Karma says on a daily basis to 'flirt' with Gakushuu:

🕯Karma: Love looks not with the eyes but with them mind. And therefore is winged cupid painted blind.

Gakushuu: My eyes are up here, Karma. And you're standing on my foot.

🕯Karma: Do me, or not do me. THAT is the question. (while dramatically standing up while they're having breakfast in their room)

Gakushuu: ...

🕯Karma: Hey, Baby, can Ophelia up?

Gakushuu: I cant do this anymore-

🕯(This one is actually so sweet-)

[Them on a late picnic when the stars are up]

Karma: Midnight would blush at this

He uses literally anything as a bookmark, whether it's a receipt, toilet paper, a ripped out piece of paper (from the same book he is trying to use the bookmark for), literally whatever gets into his hands at that moment

Raising his hand just to correct the teacher when they mess up in their lecture

He performs rituals in class with books and other things he owns, leaving people once again in fear

He leaves annotations in the margins of library books (usually memes)

He aggressively mouths lyrics to blaring music while studying

Fidgeting around with supplies (once he hit the lecturer with a ruler)

Never matching socks, ever

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

God was that the longest post I've ever made? Most likely

Am I tried? Yes

Were the past few hours worth working on this? Absolutely

Do I regret anything? Yes and that is that I didn't add enough stuff to the Gakushuus mood-board 😭😔

If I'll come up with more headcanons for these two, I won't hesitate writing them down and posting them!

If someone has some more ideas for their academia headcanons please comment they would make me so happy 😭🧡❤️

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea

Star Wars, The Bad Batch Pirate!au (Hunter x Reader

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and bothered are asses.

Chapter one: The Sentencing

Fate, you had decided, fucked you over. Which in itself, was not only a very unladylike statement, but was also very ironic. But how fitting for a woman of your time, to want something her whole life only to be told she couldn’t have it by the most infuriating of men. For passion to be pushed into a corset and cinched into fake smiles and batting eyelashes.

Everyone has a value, never mind how little or much, everyone is worth something. And you are worth a great deal to me.

At the time you’d thought your fathers words were a statement of affection, love brought to light by goblets of rum only to settle in your lap as you tended to the fireplace and did your best to lead him into his bed, staggering every step of the way. It was now that you understood his words. The choice of word may have been valuable, but the more accurate synonym, dowry explained his true intentions.

Enter one Lord Volim Nython, a pretentious man with a mind that was far more shallow than his pockets and a reputation to match. What Lord Nython did not already possess, he bought. And what he was without currently, was a wife. He was a man with a personality inked in gunpowder and steel, crushing his enemies in the war that made his predecessors and your fathers fortunes.

A very fitting match. Oh how quaint, the wedding would be so grand, and the children, oh they will be beautiful. The distinct lack of sincerity infuriated you, older women with tea parties akin to that of toddlers and the gloved hands they rest on their chests as they shake their heads at the utmost ridiculous things. While the tautly curled hair stays perfectly in place, rage resided in you at an unfathomable height. But, it was not without its reins, and as its rider, you had to lead your rage onto a path that would result in your success.

You chose this night carefully, knowing that it was on the last of every month, when the money came in from gambling, debts and the crown, that your father quite literally liquified his earnings. You shiver in your nightgown, every fireplace in the house was still burning, and the oil lamps were flickering away, though the household was asleep save for yourself. The main doors shifted open as the intoxicated man made his way in. And you steady yourself before greeting him.

“A good night, I'll take it then?” You ask with a breath of a laugh, wrapping a shivering arm arm around his shoulders and leading him over to the plush sitting chairs by the fire. He waves you off when you offer him water and so you sit on your knees by his feet. Grasping his hands on your own. He regards you with a suspicious look.

“I… I wanted to ask you something.” You start carefully, eyeing his look. The rug is warm from the flame and the way it illuminates his face, you wonder how many times your mother sat with him like this, or how often he looked at her in such confusion.

“Well? Get on with it then.” He slurs leaning further back into the red velvet. Causing you to shift and bunch your nightgown.

“I wanted to ask if, if you thought, the lord...”

“Lord Nython.” He confirms, watching you jump as the fire crackles, your nerves electrified by what you mean to bring up next. And it gives away your intentions before you can ask them. After all, your father may know you better than you had originally thought.

“Do not tell me what I think you are about to do.” he warns tilting his head down so the orange light reflects the way he regards you through his brow.

“I think we could make a better match.” You try and appeal to his motivations. “I think we stand to make a better-”

“I’ve been given offers.” He interrupts, the liquor making him less angry and more level headed as you had intended it to. “No one will wed you for the price Lord Nython will.” He moves to stand, the conversation finished, but you are not, having given yourself a stern word of not settling until you are free from the man's clutches.

“There are richer men outside of Coruscant.” You say with more force than you had intended. The translucent fabric whooshing as you stand. Your father pauses at the helm of the stairs, like a Blurg righting itself after an unsuccessful charge, he is listening.

“Naboo royalty, even a low Alderanian Lord would double Nythons offer.” You take cautious steps forward, hoping that his underestimation of your intelligence works in your favor.

“Those men are oceans away, Nython will wed you tomorrow if the crown gave its blessing.” He counters, but it is not a dismissal.

“Consider this an investment then, the payoff would surely be worth it.” You press carefully, like a healer tending to an inflammation, you palpate the area with caution looking to avoid the most sensitive of the inflamed tissue. Your father huffs.

“Providing you could snag a suitable man.” Hope flickers within you, and it warms you more than the fire ever could, it makes you feel power, and control. And hope, like it does with most, makes you foolish.

“Love is a powerful motivator.”

His booming drunk laugh shakes you, fear flooding you as you realize your mistake. But you were so close! So tantalizingly close to being free from the wretched man.

“You think men marry for love?” You see him wipe away tears of laughter as he sways on the dark oak staircase of your home. “You my dear, are even more dull than I thought.” You shake with anger and anxiety.

“I want to be in love! Like you an-”

“Do not say you mother and I. Ha. You are truly delusional.” He interrupts, taunting you with drunken laughter. Your father never speaks of your mother, and when he did it was pushed aside in favor of something else. But alcohol has a way of loosening tongues.

“I… I-” you stammer, if there was one thing you remembered about your mother it was the love she shared with your father and the stories of growing up and falling into a love so pure with someone it made your heart ache for it.

“We were not in love, she despised me, and I her.” He spits from his place on the stairs. The height difference adds to how small you feel. How his pitiful stare shrinks you and sends chills into your bones.

“I do not under-“ He interrupts again:

“It was an act! Pretend! Meant to fool young girls into thinking they could have a life as such. And even in death she continues to lie to you!” You blink away tears and think, you try to think he is lying, that they were happy, she was happy, and that in his intoxication your father lies.

“She was adamant that we would be in love for you.” He sighs, and drops to the stairs to sit and lean on the railing. “That we would keep up pretences for your sake so that you would strive for such happiness.” With his words it is as if he is taking away the core memories of your mother.

“I will not marry that man.” You have to push the words out, but the meaning is clear enough.

“Yes.” Your father says ever so sternly. “You will.”

“I shall not!” You fight back, hating how your eyes cloud with tears and emotions bubble up. “He looks at me like one does cattle, I am nothing more than a trade deal to that man!” both parties know you are right, from the first meeting when he had stalked around you, looking up and down, tutting here, humming there. Not engaging in any conversation that you’d deem intellectual or interesting. You’d been disgusted then, and you are still disgusted now.

“Please!” Your father wipes drunken saliva from his chin, “Lord Nython is giving us so much gold for your hand in marriage you should be grateful, and a renowned war hero like himself. You will wed that man even if i have to drag you to the altar.” You’re stunned, and horrified, and your father leaves you weeping on the dark oak stairs, a mess for one of the maids to clean up before he wakes in the morning.

Tag list: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st3r @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid

comment to be added!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Black Stork

A bonus imagine that pairs with this one (featuring Yuu taking care of the baby Octatrio).

In this piece, enjoy Crowley being a deadbeat dad. I am so, so happy that I found a legitimate excuse to actually write this into existence.

Happy Father’s Day.

Imagine this...

The last thing Yuu was expecting at their door was Crowley--and not just him, but the three bundles of joy in his arms. His pale skin was covered in bite marks and black smudges, and his crow mask was set askew. He smelled like salt and the sea.

The three infants in his arms were bawling and flailing their chubby little limbs. One of the babies’ fists connected with Crowley’s chin, another chomped down hard on a finger (Crowley yelped), and the third was spitting up dark tears.

The man let out an exaggerated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his taloned hand.

“Um...good morning?” Yuu said awkwardly, unsure of what else would be appropriate at such a time. “Can I help you, headmaster...?”

“Yuu-san! They’re your responsibility now!” Crowley announced, thrusting the infants at the poor, unsuspecting prefect.

The babies jerked at the sudden movement and began screeching even louder. Instinctively, Yuu rocked the little ones gently to calm them down--but inside, they were absolutely seething.

“You show up on my doorstep at 5 am to throw a bunch of your babies at me?!”

“That is precisely it! Oh, how very, very perceptive you are, Yuu-san!” Crowley gushed, not allowing any protests to ring in his ears. “You are so talented, and so wise, and did I mention kind?”

“...You don’t seriously think that will work on me, do you?”

“In fact, I do!” Crowley replied brazenly. “After all, the oh-so-very kind Yuu-san would not miss out on an opportunity to help their beloved friends from Octavinelle, yes?”

“What? Octavinelle...?” Yuu glanced down at the three babies in their arms--and indeed, upon closer inspection, they did resemble the merman trio.

Two of them bore a teal hue to their skin and fins instead of ears, as well as sharp teeth and slimy tails instead of legs. Both Floyd and Jade snapped at the air, looking for something to latch on to. The last child, Azul, bore more baby fat and sported lilac skin, his tentacles poking out from the blanket he was swathed in. Tears trickled down his cheeks, dyed jet black with ink.

“...What did you do this time?” Yuu asked, the disappointment in their voice evident.

“I did nothing of the sort!” Crowley insisted. He coughed into a hand, then added quietly, “...This time, at least. Ashengrotto-kun and the Leech twins simply got caught up in a bit of an Alchemy accident!”

“Okay, so why isn’t Professor Crewel looking after them?”

“He is brewing an antidote as we speak! However, it is a tedious and time-consuming process. The potion will not be ready for another day or two. As headmaster of Night Raven College, I graciously took it upon myself to take care of these three until that antidote is ready.”

“Then why are you giving them to me?!”

“Is it not obvious, Yuu-san?! I am busy with my other tasks as headmaster! I cannot possibly hope to add childcare to my already lengthy list of duties. That is why it now falls to you!”

“I did not sign up for this!!”

“You will if you wish to demonstrate to Ashengrotto-kun and the Leeches how much you value their safety and wellbeings!” Crowley quipped, shaking his head. “Why, you’ve seen the extent of my childcare abilities! Imagine what kind of terrible fate could befall them if you allow them to remain in my nest!”

Yuu’s stomach sank as realization set in.

As much as they hated to admit it, he was right. The babies had been crying when Crowley brought them to Ramshackle. He was so incompetent, so lackadaisical--if Azul, Floyd, and Jade stayed with him, they would be absolutely miserable.

Perhaps Crowley would forget to feed or clean them. He would leave them unattended to shovel small objects into their mouths. And if the twins ganged up on Azul...

Yuu frantically shook their head, shooing away such morbid thoughts.

“...You’re right. Fine. I’ll watch them.”

Crowley broke out into a massive, toothy grin. “I expected nothing less from such a responsible prefect~”

Yuu maintained his gaze and glared.

The headmaster chuckled nervously and turned around with a wave. “Well then, since you seem to be all set here, I’m off to sample new dishes in the cafeteria! Farewe--!!” Crowley’s sentence was cut off by Yuu tugging on his cape as he was beginning to descend the stairs.

“HOLD IT!” Yuu cried, holding on with a tight grip. “Where’s the child support?”

“Excuse me? Child support?” Crowley’s brows knitted together in confusion. The phrase tasted foreign on his tongue. “What is that?”

“Um, money,” Yuu explained. They did their best to simplify the definition, since it appeared the concept was brand new to Crowley. “You know, like...extra funds to help pay for things babies might need.”

The headmaster cocked an eyebrow. “What sorts of additional things would be needed?”

“Food, diapers, baby powder, rash cream, toys, gentle bath products, blankets. They need lots of things.”

“I...I see.”

An awkward silence permeated the crisp morning air.

By this point, the crying and the thrashing of the Octavinelle trio had died down. Worn out from sobbing, they now drifted off to sleep in Yuu’s warm embrace. Soft breathing was the only sound that greeted the dawn of a new day.

Crowley cleared his throat.

“...Everything appears to be in order. I now take my leave.”

“What about the child support?” Yuu demanded--but their voice was a harsh whisper, for they did not dare to disturb the resting twins and Azul.

“I really must be going now, Yuu-san!” Crowley declared loudly. “Those fairy cakes won’t eat themselves, you know!”

His volume caused the prefect to release their grip on his cape, step back, and flinch. In Yuu’s arms, the three babies shifted slightly, their faces contorting in mild discomfort before settling back into a spell of slumber.

What a bastard! He’s doing that on purpose!

“The child support,” Yuu tried one final time.

“Good luck! I will swing by with the antidote when it is ready!” came the headmaster’s casual reply. Already, he was quarter of the way down the steps of Ramshackle--and he didn’t even bother passing a glance back over his shoulder.

“CROWLEY!!”

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Now facing an internal battle between her heart and mind, Samantha faces her fears and searches for the truth. Will she accept the past? Will she listen to her heart? Or will she let her memories get the best of her?

Chapter 10 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : Roach - A SurPRICE Visit

What is this o.O

The Heart knows what the Brain Doesn't

Samantha Coleman

141's High Value Individual

Task Force 141 Base - General Shepherd's Office

The base was quiet. Everyone else fled off to their mission and all Samantha could think about is Alex. But why? Maxine told her he wanted to meet him, but Alex told her it's because she dropped her pendant. Whose story is she going to believe in? She could feel her heart beat differently ever since she saw him with General Shepherd. Her whole body except for her brain reacted to his presence. She even felt weak after slapping him, it's like her brain commanded it but her hands wanted to disobey. Who is he?

Maxine passed by with an apple she got from the kitchen counter.

"Sam, you okay?" she asked, biting the fruit and sitting in the chair across from her.

"I've been thinking… about how you knew Alex and how she knows me…" she sighed, it was relieving to let out all her bottled thoughts, especially that now they're both alone.

"Well, we met in a bar. Had a few drinks then showed me a photo of you." she said, holding her hand.

"I honestly believed he did know you and tried to lengthen the conversation, just so I know he's good enough and knows a lot. He actually aced the test but he was very drunk when I told her to meet again. After that He showed up the next day and I had to work. Whatever happened after my shift was- ow." she interrupted herself because of a minor pain from recalling her memories. She still hasn't been able to remember all of them, even after a lot of sleep.

"Yeah. That's about it on your side. Mine's just that… He looked creepy, his eyes felt like he was looking for me in a weird way and so I ran. After that life continued. You went on a leave and I resumed working." She supplied, staring at the grey walls of the mess hall.

"I wish I'd remember where I went on that vacation. It'd be cool." Max commented, crunching on another bite.

"My heart… beats differently when he's near. It's like he's really familiar." She whispered.

"Oh. Someone's been struck by the Cupid. He is attractive though. Without those ink, he'd probably be your type." Max teased, winking at her and nudging her. Samantha was serious, though.

"Look. I admit my heart feels something for him. It's a mix of guilt and longing. But why would I long for someone I just met?" She sighed and dropped her head on the table, groaning as her mind and her heart battled against the inconsistencies.

"Look. It's not too crowded here. Maybe we could do some research by their library!" Max suggested, creating finger guns and humming the Mission Impossible theme song as she stood up and went to the library. Samantha chuckled.

"So we're spies now?!" She placed a hand on her forehead as she followed her wacky best friend.

Maxine typed down Alex on the search bar, his public profile appeared and they began reading his file. It was all basic ideas, Nationality, Height, his name was redacted and they couldn't bypass it so they just ignored it and headed to the next term.

"CIA Agent Alex helped locate and detain CIA Mole." Samantha read with her mouth. Maxine quickly clicked the article and photos of her appeared on almost every page.

Unlike Maxine, these notes didn't hurt her mind except it hurt her heart that she treated him that way, after all this time. He was there to save her. He located you through Maxine to save you from the same captors that played with your brain months ago.

"Ooooh. It says here you two were safely housed in a remote safehouse for almost a month. Really Sam? Maybe something happened within that time? Can you please remember how he looked underneath those clothes. For me?" she giggled. Samantha knew she was joking but it was an honest possibility.

Could it be that she fell for the guy that saved her and sat with her for almost a month? Or the two of them fell in love? Her heart was racing as the possibilities overloaded her brain, her cheeks started to blush as her thoughts consumed her. This wasn't her mind talking to her, it was her heart. It's reminding her of Alex.

"Oh. Shit." Maxine muttered and Sam snapped back to reality, putting her hand on Max's shoulders and looked into the screen once again.

Due to a special favor promised by Samantha's father, he has authorized to apply an MK Ultra procedure to her, whose main intention is to Alter her memories of the IP Address along with the events that happened prior to kidnapping.

"You agreed to forget him?" Max looked at her, a frown formed as she started to console her.

"I guess so… Maybe something happened between us." She sobbed. She didn't want to cry, but the realization set in on her. They met, they bonded and she forced herself to forget him. No wonder Alex felt sad after being slapped.

"I want to ask him about us." Sam said with determination. Maxine liked the confidence but was also concerned about her feelings.

"What if you wanted to forget him, that's why you did it? Would you be ready to feel the sadness all over again?" Maxine asked. Samantha paused for a while. She made sense but her gut is telling her to push through her initial plan.

"I'm sorry Max, but I made my choice. I have to know everything about us, Whatever it Takes." she said.

"I'm here to support you. After all, you're the only memory I have left. They took everything. I don't know why but my memory began when I moved in. That's where my story started. Maybe there's a reason for it so, here I am for you. You're my family." she said, hugging her tight.

"Well, you could add a few more people in your family." she smiled.

"Yeah. It's full of tough looking brothers ready to protect us. And one soft Gary." she noted.

"He is a sweetheart, huh?" Samantha asked, getting a hint of something else from her.

"Well, he talks a lot and he gets me sometimes. It's a shame he's always out there saving the world." Max chuckled. Samantha froze.

"I know you want this to work..."

"This is our proposed digital art for our ad…"

"... and I know in my heart that I do too…"

"The colors need to be more vibrant!"

"...but I can't live loving you with worry in my heart..."

"I'm staying a little bit longer, See you tomorrow!"

"... and I don't want to be the reason that you'll stop saving the world. I know you want that. It's your job to. It's what you built your whole life to become..."

Her head started projecting two realities, it confused her. Which was right and which was wrong? She knew the work one was right, but the memories she just made right now while crying in front of Alex made more sense. Which was real? Which was fake?

"Sam! You okay?" Maxine snapped her fingers and Samantha blinked rapidly.

"I'm going crazy Max." she panted.

"What's wrong?" she consoled.

"My memories. They're all wrong. Why did I agree to this?" Samantha continued breathing heavily.

"Well, for starters. It's to forget that IP Address you memorized as a kid."

"But why did they change the recent ones too? Did I decide that my time spent with Alex is worth forgetting? Did he break my heart or did I break his?" She sighed. She knew for herself that she was unable to love again because of her loss, but what if Alex made it right for her? Alex did something that helped her move on? That's why her heart felt yearning for him?

"Sam. I'm no love doctor but if this really bothers you, you should talk to him. I have no idea when they'll get back but I'm looking forward to your resolution." She patted her shoulders and gave her a soft hug. Samantha felt like crying, but why?

~

After a while, Samantha actually had the courage to ask about Alex's whereabouts. Word has it that he's being redeployed to Germany to investigate another alleged Augustus base and that they had no idea when he'll be back.

This worries Samantha because they already heard about a transfer of authority, which in simple words meant : You're leaving the base. And that meant she won't see Alex anymore.

Maxine and Samantha sat on their beds at the infirmary to recover once again, both of them fell quiet as the news they got started to bother them. They already got attached to the people in the base and were sure that they're going to miss them. All they could do is hope that the team gets home before they leave the base.

“You think Alex will be okay?” Samantha shifted her sleeping position to Maxine, who was still awake humming to soothing melodies. Maxine shifted to face her too and smiled.

“You’re worried.” She teased, making her smile and giggle.

“Well, my heart told me I have to worry…”

“That’s normal. And don’t you worry ‘bout a thing… He’s a tough guy, remember? He’s trained to survive such harsh conditions. That’s what his file said, right?” She reminded Samantha, giving her an assuring smile. Samantha shrugged off her worry and closed her eyes. She started to imagine what it felt like being with him, based on information from his file. She can’t help but smile at her crazy idea. She felt like a teenager all over again, obsessing herself on fictional characters she watched on TV, since she could only base his personality on words alone. But she did remember how his cheeks felt, from the slap, and placed her palm on her cheek as well. It felt like he was with her and her heart felt excited as she awaited for his return.

Next Chapter : The Berlin Tower

NOTIFICATION SQUAD MY BELOVED ❤️

@smokeywhalee @enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

[stillness-in-green]

When MVA/MLA Arc gets animated, what will you be looking forward to the most? What (canon-compliant) additions and/or changed do you want or think Bones should make, if any?

There’s--a lot.  Does that surprise anyone?  There’s a lot.

o  I have been foaming at the mouth for voice actor announcements for almost a year now, particularly for Trumpet, Geten and RD.           Trumpet’s superpower is literally his voice!  I mean, nothing about that statement requires that voice be particularly entrancing, but it certainly seems like it should be, right??             Geten is a boku-type in the manga, but that was literally the only hint foreshadowing his pretty boy face through 21 solid chapters of Pure Feral Gremlin.  Everyone was shocked by Geten’s face reveal!  How do you maintain that surprise value with an actual voice actor in the mix?  Do you not even try?  Do you play up the disparity--in which direction?  I can’t wait to see what they do.           And Re-Destro!  Re-Destro requires so much range!  From his peppy, silly businessman persona, to the urbane commander, from the overeager yes-man to the raving zealot--who on earth do you get to believably cover all that ground?  I can’t even begin to guess, but I am living in anticipation of that article going up on ANN or the official Twitter sources.

o  I’m also much looking forward to getting official coloring on Trumpet and Geten.  Skeptic seems pretty straightforward--black, black, more black--and RD and Curious, we have color art for, but I wonder if Trumpet will also be all black clothes, to go with that dignified politician image of his, or if he’ll get some color to pep him up a little.  What color are those tinted shades of his?  His eyes?  The wicked-cool Sevens Loud?           I assume Geten is all wintery shades, but it’ll be great to confirm which ones.  I mean, we all assume he’s white-haired to better annoy Dabi with family parallels, but what if he turns out to be platinum blond?  And are his eyes blue?  Gray?  White?  What color is that awful parka?           Also, Re-Destro’s stress powers.  Having been writing them as black since at least August--Rorschach test blots are generally black, after all, and they’re the clear inspiration--I would much like it if the anime would have my back on this.  They made Destro’s mask a dark cinnamon brown, though, so I’m prepared to be unpleasantly surprised in this matter.

o  Predictable MLA adaptational choices aside, I’m also eager/anxious about how they’ll handle Spinner’s narration.  What I really hope is that they actually straight-up hand him ALL the narration duties--not just the stuff he dictates directly in the manga, but also e.g. the name and quirk explanation material that Present Mic normally gets, or the previews that are always handled by Deku.           The opening and closing sequences are another big structural thing, of course--based on the flashed snippets of Hawks and Endeavor in both our current and the previous OP, I’m expecting we’ll see at least a bit of something referencing the upcoming internship arc (which I expect to close out the season), but I hope the villains just walk away with the closing entirely.  I want my slice of life villainy ED, dangit.

o  Another thing I’m eager/anxious about would be Kotarou, and the Shimura flashback generally.  There’s a brittle edge of to Kotarou that I really love, and I hope he manages to keep it in the anime, despite the anime being generally not so great at moments that I would describe as “delicate.”  For example, I’d like it if he doesn’t get a super deep voice, and if they could manage to keep his pretty face, and capture how deeply bitter and tired he looks in the scene where he’s reading the letter Nana left him.           Also, I hope they keep the little montage bits and, crucially, the changes of clothes the family goes through.  We see Tenko in no less than five, possibly as many as seven, different T-shirts through the course of that flashback.  It seems like a small thing, but it’s one of the factors that makes me skeptical that AFO gave Tenko Decay, when so many days clearly go by between the opening with the man at the door and the tragic end.  It’d be nice not to see too much resurgence on that just because the anime can’t be bothered to come up with more than one outfit for the Shimuras.

I have enough issues with the anime’s usual adaptation choices that I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high on the actual content of the episodes.  The staff is diverting too much of its major talent to the movies (BAH) these days for me to expect the whole season to look all that great, and it’s never been particularly creative or daring outside of its climactic sakuga-heavy fight scenes anyway.  I’ve also long had a bone to pick with its scoring decisions, and am already eyeballing the climax of the RD/Shigaraki fight and imagining the minor-keyed terrifying dirge I fear the anime will play there, at the moment that Re-Destro (and, shortly afterward, Spinner) are supposed to be experiencing something akin to religious awakenings.           There’s also the issue of the violence and gore--judging by how the anime handled the scene where Shigaraki and Compress maim Overhaul, I have some severe reservations about how much blood they’ll be allowed to get away with, particularly in the scene where the League brutally decimates that CRC group and, of course, Shigaraki’s backstory.  I’m looking at MVA to serve as a preview for how all the same issues will be addressed in the War Arc.

That bit of pessimism aside, as to what I’m hoping they’ll add or change?  Well, off the top of my head.....

o  I would love to get a full episode devoted to the time the League spends fighting Machia.  Not that first tussle, but the six grueling weeks in the mountains.  There’s so much you could add there for character building and atmosphere that Hori didn’t so much as montage through.  Where was their food coming from?  How’d they pick out places to pitch camp?  How much access to news from outside did they have, and how frequently?  What were the circumstances in which Gigantomachia “told them himself” about his great sense of smell??  Stuff like that!             I don’t think we’re at all likely to get this--honestly, the series of late has had enough of a problem with trimming bits and pieces that I’m as worried about what they might cut as I am hyped about things they might add--but the one thing that gives me some hope is the training camp arc.  Specifically, the moment 1-A first gets to the Pussycats’ forest, they get jumped by earth golems, a fight that the manga off-panels entirely, but the anime spends a modest amount of time on, giving the kids a little bit of time to show off their moves and such.  I’d love to get something equivalent for the League.

o  On a similar note, I wouldn’t turn it down if they fleshed out some of those running street fights a bit.  One obvious thing comes to mind: there’s a weird jump in the manga between Skeptic and a horde of his golems being all but on top of Twice at the beginning of 233 and then that fight just--doesn’t happen.  There’s no mention of it at all.  I think the suggestion is that either Machia’s appearance or the tower going down interrupted it--Skeptic breaks off from his fight the same way Geten and Trumpet do theirs, shifting focus to protecting Re-Destro--but it’d be nice to see the anime touch on it.

o  It’d be nice to get a bit of expansion on the nature of the bullying Spinner endured.  We’re told he was, but was it limited to verbal?  Did he get beaten up a lot?  Was there an online element?  Deku’s our only other reference point for “bullied kid,” and whatever one might think about the story’s development of Bakugou’s mentality, it’s been made clear in retrospect that there was a lot more too that than just the matter of Deku’s quirklessness.  I’d love to know how Spinner’s bullying looked in comparison (not least because of some of the theories about Spinner and Deku needing to come to some kind of accord to free Shigaraki from AFO).

o  Make the Villa (both here and during the War Arc) look more realistic.  By which I mean, I know Horikoshi is capable of drawing interesting and lived-in interior spaces--he has an entire chapter dedicated to it in the 1-A dorm room contest, after all--but he normally doesn’t bother much with it.  At UA, it’s not too distracting, because we know good and well that that whole building is probably maintained by Cementoss anyway.  Ditto places like Tartarus (intentionally, dehumanizingly barren) or the League’s post-Kamino hideouts (abandoned homes and industrial spaces).  But the Villa?            For heaven’s sake, it’s called a mountain villa.�� It has a clear reception desk on the ground floor; it’s obviously some sort of high-end hotel, if not an outright resort or rentable retreat lodge.  Speaking as someone who’s worked in one, places like that don’t look as fuckin’ bare as the rooms we see there always seem to.  For fanfic purposes, I’m happy to go on telling myself that e.g. the pool and the bar and the restaurant(s) and the gym are in the building Cementoss doesn’t tear in half, but it’d be nice if the anime could class the whole place up a little, maybe put some real furniture and decor in the rooms that are in use.  (Yes, I know this is a ridiculous nitpick.)

o  This is less a change and more a correction, but for fuck’s sake, BONES, give us white-haired Shigaraki.  The climax of Deika is a solid time for it, given that it’s obvious in the manga that Shigaraki’s hair gets paler in Deika--you can see it in the way Horikoshi inks it (which is to say, the way he stops inking it)!  I think if we ever get white-haired Shigaraki in the anime, a somewhat better time as far as narrative justification goes would be when Shigaraki gets out of the tube in the War Arc; you could easily justify it as a side-effect of the surgery.  Still, I’d rather see it here.  I want white-haired Shigaraki, gleaming and brilliant through the scattering ash in that crater, a veritable angel of sacred destruction.           Honestly, more than anything, the crater sequence is the one I hope I love.  It’s probably my favorite single moment in the entire manga, as Shigaraki wins over Re-Destro, Spinner and Gigantomachia in the same moment, and finally comes into his own.  If they can at least nail that, I’ll consider myself pretty satisfied.

[talesmaniac89]

Mementos

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean looks back on all the treasured memories he’s shared through a life lived by your side; lived loving you.

Triggers: Angst, loss, death, hurt, heartbreak

Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour

A/N: Italic dialogue is sentences Dean remembers the reader saying.

---

“The many little reminders of why this is all worth it,”

That’s what you’d called your little tin box treasure chest when you first showed it to Dean. The thought of that first little look into your world brought a small smile to his lips as he reached for the container on your bedside table. Slightly scratched and worn from many years on the road; the faded vintage lunch box was to you what a photo album was to others. A collection of moments, of the good things in your life.

Following the print on the side, Dean easily found the little dented latches holding the lid in place and pushed them open. They opened surprisingly easily, considering the age of the box. Though he knew it shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, you’d visit your memories hidden below the tin lid often enough that the lock didn’t have time to stick. 

The small smile still on his lips, Dean upended all your little treasures onto the bed he shared with you. Green eyes brushing over the random assortment of things as he let himself a moment to linger on the many memories. 

Your life with him was there; resting on satin sheets. 

You always loved collecting little trinkets, your fortune you called them. Pictures, mementos, even things that to others would hold no value, they were your legacy. The most valuable things you owned.

When you’d first joined his brother and him, there was still no Men of Letters bunker. You’d had no home, and no place for a lot of personal belongings. But even then you’d had the vintage Wonder Woman lunch box that he carefully set down on the bed to lift the scrap of white among the many trinkets. 

Looking down on the printed name on the business card, Dean allowed himself a small chuckle at the memory. The printed ink and the title ‘Agent Young - CDC’ easily painted a picture of the day he first met you in front of green eyes.

---

He’d been hot on the trail of a witch with a penchant for the biblical; causing her victims boils and other nasty plague-like symptoms with her creative little hex bags. Sammy had headed to the latest victim’s family while Dean checked out the coroner’s office to see the latest case with his own eyes. 

And there you were, (Y/H/C) hair in a loose bun and bright (Y/E/C) eyes looking curiously up at him the moment he stepped into the room. 

At first he’d just thought you were the coroner. Well, if he was completely honest with himself, his first thought had been 100% dedicated to how beautiful he thought you were. But once he worked through his mental tongue-tie and found the breath he’d lost somewhere along the curve of your neck; he’d easily slipped back into his CDC persona. 

Handing you his card, he’d introduced himself as Agent Young with the Center of Disease Control. Before quickly spouting some nonsense about how he believed the whole thing was some bio-attack. Fearing that if he let himself get lost in your eyes he’d forget his whole background story and let the truth slip.

You’d smiled at him, (Y/E/C) eyes shining and a teasing eyebrow raised as you lifted his card between two fingers and barely glanced at the name. Then you’d laughed and… Hell, he’d been a goner from that first beautiful sound. 

“And why is Bobby Singer’s number on your card Agent Young?” 

After calling his bluff, and introducing yourself as a hunter on the case, Dean had surprised himself. Normally he would’ve suggested you step back and let his brother and him handle it. But there was something about the determination in that slightly crooked smile and the challenge shining in your eyes that had stopped him in his tracks. And before he’d even realised what he was doing, he’d invited you to join him on the hunt. 

You’d seemed wary at first, but after a proper introduction, you’d readily joined him to take down the witch. The Winchester legacy working in his favour for once as your eyes had lit up in recognition once he dropped the fake name and reached out a slightly trembling hand to shake yours. Feeling like a goddamn teenager again. 

And from that first hunt, seeing you move in on the witch and the near perfect synchronised way you’d worked together with him, Dean had been unwilling to let you go. His hunting invitation evolved into an offer to stick around, just for a little while longer, with the Winchester brothers. So, you’d joined Sammy and him on the road. After maybe just a tiny bit of convincing from his side.

Smiling to himself, Dean let the card drop from his fingers letting it fall gently down on the sheets again as he reached for a very familiar coaster. It was torn at the edges and stained from the humid drink that had been resting on top of it that night at the bar. The night he finally worked up the courage to kiss you. 

It was, what… Six, maybe seven months, after you joined them. He’d made up some stupid reason to bring you to the bar. Hell, he couldn’t even fully remember what it was anymore. Just that Sammy had rolled his eyes at him behind your back as you watched him, all curious eyes and careful smiles, while he fumbled his way through his made-up reasoning. 

He’d brought you out, put on your favourite song on the jukebox, and he’d tried so hard to be charming. Even though you’d laughed off his cringey attempts with sparkling eyes looking up at him over the tumbler glass against your lips. 

Flipping over the cardboard coaster in his hands, he remembered how he’d torn his own to shreds, just to keep his nervous fidgeting fingers occupied. Then you’d looked at him, challenging him with that same raised eyebrow and same beautiful laugh. Placing your glass down on the coaster, ice cubes shifting in the glass as you let your teeth graze that plump bottom lip that he’d come to crave. 

“What are you waiting for, Winchester? Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He’d kissed you then. Shitty 80s pop had replaced your favourite song on the jukebox and his nose had bumped against yours in a way that wasn’t exactly suave. But it had still been perfect. The faint taste of whiskey and peppermint on his tongue as he smiled against your lips and shut you up with a hand in your hair and a greedy mouth stealing your laughter. Everything else falling away once he deepened the kiss. 

Letting his teeth graze his bottom lip, chasing that taste of you, Dean spun the coaster in his hands again. Careful not to rip it further as he gently placed it down next to a movie ticket stub. From your trip to the cinema on your first date. 

God. He’d hated that movie. And you’d known it. 

Which was exactly why you’d made him go. Just so you could watch him squirm uncomfortably in his seat as the people on the screen spouted overly sappy romantic lines at each other. You’d had the whole cinema to yourselves. The movie was just that bad. You’d kept up the charade for a full five agonising minutes before you’d finally turned to him with a teasing grin, not even bothering to whisper as you leaned over the armrest of your seat, just an inch away from him. 

“I didn’t pick the worst movie available to actually watch it Dean. Now stop your whining and kiss me you stubborn idiot,”

You hadn’t had to ask him twice. The moment you’d leaned in close enough for him to smell the sweet scent of your shampoo, the rest of the world had fallen away again. So, he’d given up on even pretending to watch the movie, and drowned in the taste of you instead. 

He’d probably seen fifteen minutes of that movie all in all. Yet it’d become his favourite. All because of the peppermint sugar breaths and deep tastes of your lips shared on the back row of the empty cinema. 

Letting his hand hover over the ticket stub, he gently pushed it aside to lift out the photograph hiding under it. It was your favourite picture, and his too. The two of you, together. You’d been going out for nearly a year when it was taken. 

His arms around your waist, your head flung back in unrestrained laughter and the open road behind you. It was just an ordinary day, on the way home from another ordinary hunt. But you looked so happy, and Dean… With his eyes on you shining in pure unadulterated adoration, was so madly in love. 

Turning the picture over, he saw his own chicken scratch handwriting staring back at him. The same words that littered the bed on endless little notes he’d left you. A hundred little ‘I love yous’ written on motel room notepad paper, the back of pictures, receipts and scraps of paper from around the bunker. 

He’d made a habit out of leaving you a little note, a tiny scribbled love letter, whenever he went out after a close call with a werewolf. Just something for you to add to your treasure box. A reminder that you held his heart, even if it one day stopped beating. Dean had a similar collection of notebook paper love notes in the bedside table drawer on his side of your shared bed. 

Reminders of a love that no words, no ink on paper, could ever fully explain. 

He let his fingers follow the sharp cut of the letters on the back of the image. Yeah… That was it. That was why this picture was his favourite. It was the day he first told you he loved you. When he finally found the courage to speak the words after nearly a year of loving you through gestures, stolen breaths and nights lost in your heated skin. 

“Took you long enough Dean, I’ve loved you for a long, long time already,”

God, how he loved that picture. God, how he loved you. 

Raising the photograph to his lips, he let them ghost over it in the faintest trace of a kiss before placing the picture back down and picking up the envelope with his name on it. He didn’t need to open the envelope to know what was hidden there. Tear-stained paper and pleading words. 

You’d written that letter when you thought he was lost to you during a bad hunt. He’d been out of it. He barely even remembered anything from that hellish week past your whispered sobs and desperate prayers. But it was you, your hand on his on the hospital bed and your constant voice in his ear, that had made him fight his way through the darkness to make it back to you. 

The letter was your response when he’d asked you to speak to him again. After you’d been stubbornly ignoring him for nearly a week. Three pages filled to the brim with worried anger and anguish over the many possible futures he’d narrowly avoided. You’d been unable to speak the words out loud without crying, so you’d written them down instead. Only to still stain the paper with your tears. 

‘I can’t do this without you Dean Winchester. So don’t you ever scare me like that again.’

He’d always been extra careful on hunts after that letter. No more living like he was invincible. Not when he knew how it would hurt you if he got injured. Not when every tear hit him like a bullet; shredding his heart and leaving him gasping for breath.

Gently putting the letter down, a small furrow in his brow at the thought of ever hurting you, he let his eyes glide over a few other items, taking it all in. The wrapping paper from the charm bracelet he gave you for your birthday, a dart you’d stolen from the Roadhouse after you finally beat him in darts one night, a mix-tape that you’d made for him for the road, then created a second copy of for your box of treasures… 

So much of his story with you was there, right in front of him. 

Smiling, Dean reached out for the small blue velvet box that was nearly blending in with the blue satin of the bedsheet. The small box had weighed heavy in his pocket for a good few months before he finally worked up the nerve to ask you to marry him.

He’d stumbled over the words, nearly shut the box on your fingers and the ring had been a little too small… But even with all that you’d still said yes. And made him the happiest man in the whole world as he slid the small diamond ring halfway down your ring finger and promised to get it fixed. 

“I don’t need a ring Dean, I just need this… Us,”

Wetting dry lips, Dean slipped the empty box into his pocket. Just needing to feel the weight of it there for a little while as he let his fingers touch against one of the wedding invites you’d painstakingly created by hand. It had been a small enough wedding, but you’d been so beautiful that day. 

Dean could feel his vision blurring as he found the picture from your wedding day carefully hidden in between the pages of the invite. Just like they’d grown warm and wet from watching you walk down the hallway of the bunker. Filled with candles and flowers for the occasion; the soft light framing you in your wedding dress. You’d been the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.

You were always the most beautiful part of his life, his day. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean let his thumb trace your smiling face in the picture, your eyes looking up at him from where you were wrapped up in his arms. The look of pure awe on his face in the picture mirrored in every other picture he’d taken with you since. An awed reverence at finally finding heaven in your smile; of finally being allowed a slice of that apple pie happiness.

There were just so many memories. A lifetime of love through little trinkets, scribbled notes and smiling pictures. All nestled among the satin sheets. Tangible reminders of how much he loved you. Of how much you loved him back. 

Pushing his hand back into his pocket, Dean let his fingers play with the empty ring box there again, feeling the velvet against calloused fingertips. His other hand gently dropped the picture of your wedding day to reach for the chain around his neck, where the ring that had once been nestled in the blue velvet was now hanging. Right next to your wedding band. 

Taking a shaky breath, he forced himself to look away from your treasures and back to the Wonder Woman lunchbox that had been your treasure chest. You’d kept that vintage piece of comic book history safe for so long, and all your little treasures too. But he needed the box now. 

The trinkets, the memories, they didn’t matter if you were gone. You were the real treasure, not these little reminders of moments. After all, the best part of any memory was that he got to make it with you. 

Pushing the pile of moments to one side; he opened the tin box and picked up the bag he’d dropped next to the bed he’d shared with you for the last many years. His jaw strained as he forced himself to keep back the tears. He was breaking the many promises littering your bedsheets, but Dean Winchester needed you. 

Even if that meant replacing the fortunes in your treasure chest with graveyard dirt, the bones of a black cat and a picture of himself. One of the few he had without you. Even if that meant finding a crossroad smelling sickly sweet of yarrow flowers and giving up his own future, just to make sure you got one. 

Because you were the only thing that was genuinely good in Dean Winchester’s life. And if you stayed gone, then there were no more reasons left to fight. No more memories to make.

---

Tags:

Dean Winchester Stories: @ria132love​ @woodworthti666​ @defenderrosetyler​  @akshi8278​

Forever tags: @deanwanddamons​ @winchest09​ @hobby27​  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @sea040561​ @donnaintx​

---

[inforapound]

With Our Eyes Shut Ch.1

This is my first TLK fic written in celebration of @geekandbooknerd;s 1,000 Followers Celebration. Congratulations you!!!. Prompt in bold. I have played with the series time line here. Expect historical and series inaccuracies and I had no idea who to tag so I can add or delete you easily. Just let me know. 

Pairing - Sigefrid and OC      Chapter - 1 of 4   

The board sliding back to unlock the thick door startled the captives sitting on the floor of the dingy barn. Shushes and frightened gasps greeted the fair-haired Thurgilson as he walked in and eyed the huddled bunch. They were to be slaves to the heathen Danes and would soon learn that being cut down, like so many of their loved ones, would have been a blessing.

The siege had been fast, and the death count high with only a small number of women spared by the wicked brothers. They now had control over Beamfleot and planned to stay, establish and plot.

“Can anyone here read and write?” the Northman asked in a stern, thickly accented voice.

When no one responded, irritation flashed across his face, his kohl-lined eyes and long goatee making him look like some ghoul from a children’s fable.

“I will ask only once more.”

Reaching down, he grabbed the closest woman yanking her to her feet. Squealing like a piglet, she held up her shaking hands as if to signify she was helpless. The truth was, they all were and he knew it. Pointing his dagger at her face, he glared back at the captives, his cool blue eyes scanning them... waiting.

“Who. Here. Can. Read?” 

It was clear, his patience was gone. Most averted their eyes but some glanced at one another as if also seeking the answer, desperate for the barbarian to set his sights on anyone but them.  

“Shame,” he uttered, looking back to the woman, tightening his grip on the neck of her dress, making her cry out again.

Movement in his peripheral pulled his attention to the far corner. Pushing up to stand, a girl, a woman really leaned against the wall. She did not say a word but her terrified brown eyes met his just long enough for him to know that he had his answer.

----

“Sigefrid,” Erik stressed his name as if to make his point. “We must keep our eye on the greater plan. To have this knowledge will give us the advantage of surprise.”

“So will my blade running through their skulls.” The dark-haired Thurgilson grinned, seated on the former Lord’s chair, “Surprise!” he laughed loudly, raising the incased knife affixed to his forearm up into the air.

If that was not a simple enough response to his brother’s suggestion that they learn the Christian language, he snorted and sucked snot down from the back of his nose, spitting a ball of phlegm onto the wood floor beside him.

Crossing his arms, Erik waited, knowing Sigefrid was not yet through.

“We do not need to read or write to raid and kill, Erik. We will settle here, enjoy what this bountiful land has to offer, and prepare to take out the weak king. We can speak their horse piss language, that is enough.”

“True, but would you not care to know what this says?” Erik held up the small scroll in his hand. It had been taken by two of their warriors who intercepted a messenger leaving Winchester. “Would it not be of value to know when and where their armies travel so we can better position? What if the black scratches on this parchment say that Alfred will soon be on the move, perhaps leaving his walled city to visit Mercia. On the road, he would be ripe for an ambush, brother. Just think...”

Always the less methodical out of the two, Sigefrid was passionate and impulsive, rash and at times his anger flared but now, he responded with silence knowing he would eventually agree with his younger brother. But not yet.

Roughly clearing his throat, he snorted again. “I will join the lessons,” he spoke slowly as to exaggerate his concession, “Once I have taken a shit. Unless I do it there,” his dark brows shot high and he flashed his straight white teeth, “welcome our tutor with the task of wiping that scroll across my dirty ass.”

“By the looks of her, you’d enjoy that,” Erik chuckled.

Emptying his cup in one go, Sigefrid’s dark eyes scanned the hall, “More ale!” he roared.

----

The main building was not large, ten modestly sized chambers; six on the ground level, surrounding the main room, and four upstairs, evidently used by the previous and now dead Lord and his wife. Sigefrid would never understand why these Christian nobles did not share chambers with their wives. The only thought he had was, perhaps, it was less awkward on nights when humping the help. But domestic life, in any culture, was lost on him. He had never experienced it and did not plan to live that long. Wanting to reach Valhalla in his prime, it would be a warrior’s death for him and Erik was there to marry and breed, carry on their family’s bloodline.

Dark and handsome though, he was a self-proclaimed ladies man, always having his pick of the women. Felt them powerless against his bravado and charm and rarely went to bed without wetting his dick. Like killing, variety for him was the spice of life and Erik would tease that for Sigefrid, excess was the best show of success.

As much as he grumbled at the notion of learning the Saxon’s written word, he knew Erik would not lead them astray. Preferring to approach battle in a straight line, he charged at any target, whereas his baby brother touted strategy, suggesting that the zig and zag of tactical ambush would spare them men. Despite the glory of dying with a weapon in the hand, Sigefrid did recognize the convenience in keeping their numbers stable. They had set up shop in Wessex’s back yard and Alfred’s land was theirs for the taking.

----

No crude or threatening comments came from Sigefrid when he first saw her. No jeering eyes or aggressive words. Nothing. He just looked at her standing frozen, alone, in front of them, her large brown eyes incapable of hiding her fear. He guessed in any circumstance she was likely a quiet little thing but there, before him and Erik, she had every reason to be afraid.

There was something in the way she watched them that he liked; an anticipation that reminded him of a baby doe, afraid, yet curious and seconds from fleeing to its mother. But there was no mother there to protect this girl... or woman. He could not tell how old she was, certainly younger than him, younger still than Erik.  

Jerking his head, he lifted his blade, motioning for them to get on with the ridiculous charade, emphasizing his resistance with a loud grunt as he lowered himself into a chair at the table.

For privacy, Erik had chosen one of the upper rooms which had obviously been used as a meeting or council room. It consisted of a table with eight chairs, a fireplace, and daybed. It was not a large room or particularly bright but was situated next to their private chambers which meant it was sectioned off from others.

It was Erik’s suggestion that they understand the language from the basics up, outlining his wish to start with their alphabet and from there learn to read. Taking paper torn from one of the room’s many books, the girl, with a shaky hand, dipped one of the feather quills Erik had gathered into an ink pot and began writing out two copies of the Saxon’s alphabet.

It was quite a sight, sitting across as her trembling hand replicated the markings, her eyes looking like they fought themselves to stay fixed on the paper. As anyone would, she sat pensively as if expecting to be bit and it made him think of her, for the second time, as that little deer and them as two hungry wolves.

Watching, he wondered if her rosy cheeks were caused by fear or if her work, at whatever she did before their arrival, had her out under the sun. She had the slightest dusting of freckles and he guessed that if she were to smile, her cheeks would even dimple. The thought made him grin as he could not imagine what reason she would have to smile in her current predicament; a slave to the Danes, young and pretty, everyone she knew either dead or being worked like a mule.

Inhaling he let his impatience be known, sighing loudly and only mildly aware of some internal debate he was having; his mind slow to connect with his body’s response to the woman in front of him, loving how her small hands rushed to finish knowing he was staring.

Placing the quill down, she turned the papers for them to inspect. Straightening in their chairs, their expressions became serious, both looking unprepared for the complexity of the rows and rows of ruin-like symbols.

The men picked up their delicate feather quills, fumbling to find a position in their large hands that were more accustomed to wielding weapons and spilling blood. Sigefrid dropped the quill immediately, scoffing in an outright refusal and shot his brother a look.

“Dear brother,” he groaned, watching Erik’s earnest face, his eyes fixed on the paper below. “I feel like a fool.”

Not replying, Erik dragged the quill across the thin paper, holding it with his other to keep it in place. The tip cut through the delicate parchment from the heavy pressure he was unintentionally applying.

Looking back to the girl, Sigefrid’s eyes met hers for just instant before she lowered them again to the table. He suspected she had been looking at the knife strapped to his arm where his hand had once been. Not saying a word, he continued to study her, a mild thrill moving through him knowing, again, that she could feel his stare.

“You know I have never bothered with slaves,” he spoke in Danish. “I have no interest in bedding Christian farm girls.”

“Hmm,” Erik replied, his tongue sliding back and forth across his lower lip in concentration.

“If I want a hump, there are twenty Dane women downstairs insane to ride my cock,” he spoke slowly as if enjoying the sound of his own voice. “By the looks of her, she would not be able to handle such a beast.” He smiled at her downcast face deciding she really was quite beautiful; almost irritatingly so. “But you know what I think, brother?”

“I think you will tell me,” Erik answered also in Danish.

“This one,” he jerked his chin in her direction. “I think she likes me.”

“It helps that I told her she had to teach us or she dies,” he glanced up to her quickly but kept on with the quill. “She will do what it takes to survive. They all do.”

“What do you think?” Sigefrid chuckled, his white teeth visible through his thick black beard. “Should I make an exception? Teach her about glory holes?”

Startling, the girl looked up, spooked, as if she had just heard her name called for execution.

“Did you understand that?” Erik looked up with round eyes, asking in English but she did not answer.

Frowning, Sigefrid leaned forward in his chair, “Did you?” 

Not waiting for her to respond, he shot up from his chair and stalked around to her side, placing his hands on the table and the back of her chair and leaned down. Instead of fleeing or crying, she squeezed her eyes closed, her body rigid as if waiting for a blow or to be dragged from her chair.

He brought his face closer to hers. “I asked you,” he spoke slowly, his accented voice oozing with threat. “Did you understand?”

“A little,” she opened her eyes, causing Sigefrid to look over at Erik.

Raising his hand, Erik signaled for him to give her a moment.

“Girl, how do you know our tongue,” Erik asked, his voice less aggressive.

“I know only a little.”

“Who taught you?” Erik probed and her eyes skitted around the room nervously.

“Maybe a blade to the throat will stir your memory, Saxon,” Sigefrid warned, dragging out the title.

Her eyes flashed back to his.

“I am from Frankia,” she uttered, sounding almost apologetic.

This made Sigefrid’s head cock to one side as he noticed that her voice did, in fact, have a different sound.

“That does not answer my question,” he leaned closer, by chance catching a glimpse down the bust of her dress.

“My father!” she rushed. “He was an interpreter.”

“For who?” Erik asked.

“A noble family in Paris.”

“Was he,” Erik said more to himself, his voice sounding as if his mind was already reeling with possibilities.

“Very interesting,” Sigefrid added leaning over her a little more, the crease between her heavy bosoms holding his eye. “Where is he now? We could ask for his help to understand their walled city. It has never been breached. Fools have tried but...”

“My parents are both dead,” she cut him off. “Nearly two years ago.”

“How?”

“My father was traveling to Northumbria on business and took my mother and I...as the trip would have had him gone for so long. We were robbed on the road; I somehow got away into the woods and hid.” She looked down into her lap, clearing her throat before continuing. “Their throats were cut.”

“Were they Danes?” Erik asked.

“I do not believe so.”

“They were no Danes,” Sigefrid scoffed. “Danes would not have let her escape.”

“Your father taught you other languages?” Erik asked, wanting to keep the girl talking.

Nodding she answered, her eyes staying fixed on her lap, “French, of course, English, the two languages of Ireland, some Arabic, I can understand some Danish but I cannot speak it well.”

The brothers exchanged glances, their eyes coming alive.

“This might be your lucky day,” Sigefrid smiled, straightening to stand.

“Or ours,” Erik looked up at his brother. “What a shit idea this was,” he smiled and picked up the paper in front of him, ripping it into pieces and making Sigefrid laugh.

“Do as you are told,” Sigefrid spoke abruptly, making her flinch, “and we will kill you last.”

----

Days went by and Sigefrid entered the same room where Waylen now waited, standing guard; the girl was on the far side of the table, evidently wanting to keep some obstacle between her and the enormous Dane. Sigefrid had sent him to fetch her from the kitchen and escort her up to the meeting room. Pausing, he watched her, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him; he could have sworn she looked mildly relieved when he entered. Not surprising, he decided, as she was all but dragged into a private room by the hulking, young warrior.  

Nodding he motioned for Waylen to leave, kicking the door closed behind. Turning his attention back to the girl, she shifted awkwardly under his gaze, clutching her apron, her expression almost expectant.

“I have been thinking about you,” he tapped his sheathed knife against his forehead. “I am too suspicious of a man to allow one slave to hold so much wisdom. Too cunning for us to become reliant on your,” his eyes narrowed, “cooperation. So..” he sucked air through his teeth, “the lessons will continue.” Dropping his chin, he eyed her from under his dark brows; she did not react but he could see her thoughts moving behind her large brown eyes.

“You will teach me... alone. This will be a,” he paused, thinking of how best to phrase it, “surprise for my brother. I will have Waylen fetch you when I want, and you will tell no one. And…despite my better judgment,” he hesitated, for an instant questioning his own thinking, “for your discretion, I am going to protect you. Hey?”

Her reply came by way of a subtle nod but the message was still clear, yes.

Next Chapter 

@naaladareia @geekandbooknerd @oddsnendsfanfics @hecohansen31​ @waiting4inspiration​ @kittybites-94​  @ceridwenofwales​ @mdredwine​ @gearhead66 @ceridwenofwales @whenimaunicorn @laketaj24 @xbellaxcarolinax @medievalfangirl​ 

[mousehole5000]

wow i made this draft on november 1st i really took a break from this huh anyway tgcf chapters 121 - 142

i realize now this coffin scene was inevitable. feel kinda weird about hua cheng  back and forth from Teen to Big Man but it is very funny that theyre having their “dude dont look at my boner” moment while in the jaws of a water dragon

pei ming: why didnt you guys make a bigger coffin so you didnt have to squish together like that? xie lian: haha yep!! anyways what brings you here?

“In the grand, spacious centre of the entrance hall sat a person. And this person, dressed in all black, its face snow-white—was a corpse! Instantly Xie Lian shut the doors soundly.” - king of minding his own business.

okay this is where i stopped putting notes here for a while but i did save some in my e-reader so here’s some of the highlights

“Guzi used to have a good sleeping form, but perhaps with his cheap dad’s bad influence, now he was also spread out on top of Qi Rong’s stomach like a dead fish. Lang Ying himself was curled neatly in the corner, and was covered by a few shirts. Xie Lian lifted the blanket covering Qi Rong, suppressed the urge to smother his face, and covered the two small children.” - xie lian funny moments. also it would be really funny if qi rong redeems himself by learning love through these misfit chiildren and it might actually endear me to him but i hope that doesnt happen

Every heavenly official was yelling, and even Ling Wen was throwing a fit. “DON’T THROW EVERY BIT OF USELESS INFORMATION MY WAY, HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK I HAVE TO GO THROUGH EVERY DAY? DON’T YOU ALL KNOW TO USE YOUR BRAINS A LITTLE BEFORE ASKING ME?!” - ling wen marry me right now

“An expression like “seen a ghost” that only mortals experienced was now showing on his face for the first time. Shi Wudu’s pupils shrank to the smallest they could, and he blurted, “You’re still alive?!” “I’m dead!” He Xuan said coldly.” - okay everythings going tits up rn but i did laugh

i did see spoilers re: ming yi/he xuan reveal + shi wudu’s fate beforehand so i dont have a genuine reaction other than oh shit

“He slowly enunciated each word. “I won’t touch your fate. But, here in this place, chop off your brother’s head for me.”  CLANG! He threw a rusty blade onto the ground. Shi Qingxuan stared at that blade, his eyes wide. He Xuan continued, “Then, never show yourself before me again, and I will pretend you’ve never existed in this world.” - okay idk what else is going to happen but rn im concerned that this is like the 2nd biggest ship. i guess we’ll see?? i mean i am really curious whats going to happen to them. shi qingxuan keeps calling he xuan “ming-xiong” and i... sad

shi wudu im not really invested in you as a character but these next two bits... interesting

“If I don’t die but have nothing, then that’s truly a fate worse than death. If I’m not the Water God, I can’t take care of you. I won’t even be able to protect myself. I’m scared that we won’t even last two days…TAKE IT!” - damn. something about the wealthy losing everything and not knowing how to live without it bc thats their entire life and identity

“EVERYTHING I HAVE TODAY, I FOUGHT FOR MYSELF. I WILL FIGHT FOR WHAT I DON’T HAVE. I WILL CHANGE FATE I DON’T POSSESS. MY FATE IS UP TO ME AND NOT THE HEAVENS!” - okay so the whole committing spiritual fraud by tormenting a man and his family to get your brother a cushy title thing aside this was kind of badass. heretical? possibly. but still. also is he intentionally riling up he xuan so sqx doesnt have to kill him? if so damn...

also okay as long as im here im just gonna say it. the choice that he xuan gives shi qingxuan is fucking brutal but i actually think its probably as fair as it could be. sqx didnt know about or participate in what happened to hx but they did benefit from it greatly while hx lost EVERYTHING and i can understand he xuan’s thinking of “if you really feel bad for what happened to me then you have to make a sacrifice and understand the suffering and this is as clean as its going to get” and theres a bit where sqx is trying to beg for mercy but cant get the words out which im guessing is bc theres no good argument!! what happened was fucked up!!

“When Pei Ming saw that reinforcements had arrived, he didn’t appear particularly delighted; instead he threw the sword into the ground, then rubbed his nose and said, sounding grim, “You all just had to come just as I finished making these, what the heck.” - pei ming making coffins chopping down trees with his sword i love it #wastehistime2k17

“Xie Lian brought that basket of eggs along, and gave them away as souvenirs from the mortal realm. Many who received the eggs were overjoyed; some deciding to eat it along with their own blood, and some proclaiming they would hatch an eight-foot monster.” - GHOST CITY GHOST CITY

“Placing the brush down, he blew lightly at the ink and smiled. “If I like something, then my heart will not have room for any other, and I’ll always treasure it. A thousand times, a million times, no matter how many years, this will not change. This poem is the same." - thats nice and all but king... get therapy. i actually have further thoughts but tbh i dont want to put them into words bc they are simply too personal! moving on

didnt take any notes but somewhere in here was the bit with mount tong’lu opening and hua cheng losing it and kind of um. hm. that scene. thats another trope i really hate tbh i dont care for it as a way of including physical intimacy between characters and idk if it really ever adds anything but whatever moving on

The Half-Maquillage Woman - kind of interesting monster idea bc women and aging…. yeah. however i think this would be a lot stronger if there were a) more girls and this was b) discussed or illustrated at all prior to this moment. still interesting that its included knowing the author is a woman tho and there’s been comments on how ling wen is perceived vs pei ming. this book does keep giving me hope for interesting female character arcs i really want it to deliver something

quan yizhen..... i get u

lmao i have a note on a bit with lang ying that says “please dont be hc in disguise” and..... my clown nose was on but at least i knew that. for real this is bothering me how much he’s just. always. there. i know he’s a lead but we didn’t really need him around for a lot of this. oh well.  okay now to my current notes

“Yet it was precisely because it wasn’t cooked that it had to be eaten quickly. Once Xie Lian cooked it, it wouldn’t be edible anymore” - fucking fantastic

“Xie Lian hugged his belly. “Of course! Only after having met you did I rediscover that it’s such a simple thing to be happy, hahaha…” Hearing this, Hua Cheng blinked. Xie Lian’s laughter quieted a bit, realizing what he just said was a little too revealing.” - okay i know i said what i said about being tired of hua cheng being everywhere but... the line…. the fact that theyre laughing together…. :pleading:

“It’s not,” Ling Wen said. “At least, I believe, there will definitely not be another in history who can create a dish called ‘Incorruptible Chastity Meatballs’” - and truer words were never spoken

“I, DO NOT WORSHIP GODS. “I, AM GOD!” - this was every bit as badass as i hoped but no one told me it was immediately followed up by a little bit of the ol dinner theater fjalkdsfjsd. also puqi shrine noooooooooo

“Xie Lian sighed as he thought, “Qi Rong has taken Guzi away, who knows if the poor child was eaten or abandoned. Wind Master...... ..... who knows if Black Water took him away. Pray they’re both safe.” yeah hey are we going to fucknig. find out what happened to the child???

and yeah i dooooont really care for the age regression? thing thats going on. i just dont like that trope tbh. but tiny hua cheng whipping out his fat ghost king wallet in the store was funny tho. it is really funny that hualian are just like wandering around some random towns while the heavens are in an uproar. i guess theres not much else to do but its funny

“Me too, me too. You all know of my shixiong, right? Talented, with an infinite future! He only had one small vice: he loved playing women. Decades ago, a little prostitute ghost seduced my shixiong and sucked him dry into human jerky, and that Hua, Hua, Hua, that ghost king dared shelter her.” - yes omg give me the forbidden hua cheng lore i love this for him for real it goes along nicely with xie lian’s principles about giving another cup. god i love shared values

“Hua Cheng poked again, and a small hole appeared on the wall, as if the wall was made of tofu.” - how’d he do that. why is this a ghost king power. its useful tho

*me shaking qi rong when he pops up* WHERE IS THE CHILD

mu qing fu yao is here okay im happy now. once again no one has a good grasp on their secret identity and i love that. this inn has descended into chaos and im delighted and im glad lan chang is back

“The good ol’ kitchen was suddenly squished and crowded, loud and noisy. Fu Yao was chasing that fetus spirit leaping up and down, Lan Chang was chasing after Fu Yao like she had gone mad. Half of Qi Rong’s face changed shape by the way Xie Lian was pressing him down on the chopping board, his back turning into a target for those yellow talismans Fu Yao hurled while being observed by a crowd, and Lan Chang would step on him from time to time.” - this is pure chaos. i love that mu qing was in that room when the mob checked and he didnt say a word didnt open the door just sent out a talisman as a warning. king your disguise is transparent

“Xie Lian remembered the way Feng Xin laughed until he was hoarse when he first heard that verbal password all those years back, and couldn’t help but feel nostalgic, even though it wasn’t the right time.” - awwwww omg im emotional about this... faithful friend feng xin laughing at xie lian’s stupid joke password and remembering it!!! ;_;

“They have, but they’re not effective,” Feng Xin said. “Usually they’re the most diligent in scorning the Palace of Ling Wen, like they could do the job way better if they had the position. Now that we need them to take up the task, not a single one can do even half of what she does.” - typical... typical typical typical

also emotional about the fact that feng xin contacted xie lian at all.....

also!! emotional about lan chang as a mom and wanting to help out sick lil guzi.....

xie lian forcing “fu yao” to let him help “his general” is making me.... what is friendship if not playing along with your buddies little shenanigans while also making them accept your help

“Someone like Mu Qing, even though he’s narrow-minded, petty, sensitive and skeptical, has a bad personality, constantly guessing, doesn’t say nice things, likes to nag, always offending people and has a lot of people who dislike him, has no friends, can remember small, unimportant details for a long period of time…” ”Xie Lian went on in one breath with a straight face, but in the end he concluded with, “...But I’ve known him since we were kids, after all, he’s still got principles.” - XIE LIAN PLEASE AFJDLKSFJDL omg ive seen this quote before but i figured he was talking to someone else not actually to mu qing himself fgjasdkfjsl. god thats amazing. hey im gonna help you out because i care but i will roast you first <3

waaaaaait so is lan chang aka jian lan that girl from book 2 we took a page to talk about and then disappeared? that has to be it why else would we have stopped to discuss her

“Jian Lan spat on his face, then choking his neck, she slapped him twice again. “WHAT SHITTY SUPREME! YOU SURE KNOW HOW TO BLOW YOURSELF UP! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, THINK YOU’RE EVEN WORTH TO BE THOUGHT OF AS EQUALS WITH THE OTHER THREE SUPREMES? WHAT ARE YOU EVEN GOOD AT? YOUR THICK SKIN? OF COURSE I DARE HIT YOU!” - oh this feels so good i cant lie. YES GET HIM!! CHOMPING AND VIOLENCE YES!!!!

okay this description of cuocuo.... im... that sure the hell is a creature

this book is so entertaining bc i already saw spoilers for the feng xin/jian lan/cuo cuo reveal and yet i could never have predicted the circumstances that brought it about. imagine being feng xin. the heavens are in an uproar and your only friend/enemy has been jailed for possible fetus spirit-related crimes but he escapes along with this female ghost who keeps causing problems. you figure “fuck it lets see if dianxia kept his old phone number” and he has but then he hangs up on you. you’ve got fuckall else to do so you go find him. mu qing is there but he’s in his disguise the two of you were using so you could watch over his highness while staying aloof. you think you see hua cheng only he’s a chiild for some goddamn reason but who knows at this point. the female ghost is also there and theres a fetus spirit climbing trees and biting your arrows in half. you realize the female ghost is your ex and the little demon is your son. it bites you. what do you do

amazing that despite everything going on everyone is still playing along with the “fu yao” persona when it would probably be easier to drop pretenses at this point. then again tbh if i could explain my actions to my friends while pretending to be a third party.... i probably would so.. carry on

“With all his devotees gone, only Feng Xin still treated him like the Flower-Crowned Martial God and His Highness the Crown Prince. ” “...his protection charms were all seen as trash. However, Feng Xin was still determined and tireless in handing them out; telling Xie Lian, look, you still have devotees.” “After all, he was the darling of the heavens since birth, high and mighty. Feng Xin so naturally spun around him like he was the world, so how could he possibly have his own life, his own heart” “Whether or not that fetus spirit was Feng Xin’s son, if it was that period of poverty that made Feng Xin lose the girl he loved, Xie Lian wouldn’t be able to forgive himself no matter what." ohhhh my god this relationship i. im...

oh my god i still have 30 more chapters until book 4............ its naptime now i think

[shibalen]

💥hewwo can I pwease get a romantic male matchup for bnha (darkbox bc I live for angst) (music box) when you have the time uwu

Levi he/him gay entp supposedly (also if it's not too much to ask please no characters under the age of 18 please)

I've been described as having a strong and loud personality, I'm extroverted and outspoken. I'm pretty eccentric too.

I value friendship, kindness and standing up for others.

Goal wise I'm pretty aimless. I dont have any goals, if I die well I guess that's it babey. In the meantime I'm just here to help animals and people who need it.

Positive traits: I always stick up for people in need, I'm good at reading people, I'm good with animals, I love to make people smile and laugh, cheerful, good at talking my way out of bad situations, uhm. Friendly!

Negative traits would be: hot headed, loud, stubborn, arrogant, comes across as intimidating:( good at getting into bad situations, gets into fights very often. Can be spiteful, I've been described as a pyromaniac so theres that. Can be sadistic

What pisses me off: my father. I can and will cause trouble for that man for as long as I live. And people who pick on the weak.

My hobbies and interests areeee: true crime babey! Crying over video games, baking, the occult, taking naps, dream interpretations and tarot readings

Likes: animals, cats specifically, stars, fire, sunsets, supposedly haunted places, storms, being dramatic for the hell of it, tormenting people in a good hearted way

Dislikes: uhhhh hot weather I guess.

Quirks: uh I have 5 cats! Ones my fathers but he never takes care of his cat so i pretty much count him as my own (plus he likes me more than my dad and it pisses my dad off hehe) I have weirdly accurate intuition, it makes reading people easy, knowing what they want to hear and what they dont.

Uhhh dates and relationship wise I'm honestly happy doing whatever my s/o wants to do. All I want is to see their face light up.

My love language is physical touch, I dont like touching people but if it's someone I feel strongly about youd have to pry me away from them.

I once got kicked out of a library for starting a fight in it, trashy I know but I wasnt going to stand there and do nothing while my friends were being bullied and pressured into getting involved with a really dodgy man. I scared the bullies off for good at least B) they never bothered my friend again babey

Oh I'm also known around the area I live in as someone who's good at finding homes of lost pets. Often times I come across a lost animal and befriend it in no time and use my connections to find its family.

Sorry if this was rly long and thank you for your time!! I hope you have a fantastic day uwu if anything's too difficult to come up with ideas for I'm more than happy for you to change anything to make it easier for you too!

♡︎ matchup for anon

heya! here i am with another late matchup but i hope you still see this. i'm sorry about the delay (╯_╰)

bnha: i match you with . . .

natsuo todoroki !!

• this was one of those "heureka!" moments for me. you both hate your dads and hot weather? it's a match made in heaven! okay jk, these are just nice add-ons.

• what really made me consider Natsuo were your values and personality. kindness and friendships are important to both of you. Natsuo's a medical student so i am convinced helping others is high on his priority list too. he loves your driven and passionate nature because he doesn't go sugarcoating bs either.

• you're definitely the more energetic one while Natsuo only gets hot-headed about the things that are the most important to him. i think it's a good compromise, you can help each other out :)

• he was a little taken aback and cautious of your explosiveness at first but warmed up to it quickly after learning what a kind person you really were. now he thinks your dramatic attitude is funny during your sillier moments ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

• speaking of, you lads met at an animal shelter. there had been a dog that was astray in the neighbourhood of his home, so Natsuo, being a responsible boyo, took it to the local shelter.

• then there you were, standing by the help desk with five kittens wrapped in your jacket in your arms. apparently someone had been trying to drown them so you'd taken care of the situation accordingly.

• Natsuo understood jumping into a lake to rescue the poor animals because he would have done the same, but you could have had just called the police?? it was extremely ridiculous but admirable at the same time to beat all those guys up.

• your chat turned into a pleasant conversation afterwards as you were waiting for the animals to finish their check-ups. Natsuo was a bit shy but you didn't mind and kept the chat going which he appreciated.

• later he volunteered to help you look for good homes for the animals you'd both found. during this project the two of you got to know each other quite well and ended up hanging out together afterwards!

• and from that point on, everything fell into place naturally. the growing spark between you was undeniable and you both knew it. Natsuo definitely liked you longer, he was just a lil dense about it . . .

• you're nothing short of a hero in his eyes but dear lord he worries for you. when he's attending lectures he sometimes can't help but wonder if you're all right and not getting involved in anything violent.

• attends to your possible injuries while nagging you not to be so quick to start a fight next time. in return, you playfully bully him for being such a mom.

• you join forces with Fuyumi to pick on him about your relationship. even though you're already together, soft Natsuo still blushes when his affection for you is brought up, it's entertaining for both you and Fuyumi.

• idk if you've heard but Natsuo's 181cm tall!! hugging someone has never been easier even if you happen to be taller than him. the only thing is his skin's naturally kind of chilly so he's lowkey worried if you dislike it but you always assure him he's perfect!

• one time he was stressed over exams so you baked him some blueberry muffins. he gave you the biggest hug and kiss because it's exactly all these little things you do that set his heart racing for you ♡︎

• "last night i saw a dream about being a frog and eating giant flies, it was gross."

• "oh, that just means your love life is about to become fun."

• "i'm not sure how those two are related."

• "just trust me. i'm a pro at this."

• he also likes giving you headpats as much as he likes receiving them! his hands are quite big so he often runs his fingers through your hair when you're cuddling or hugging. it's especially relaxing after a long period of studying. also him carring you on his broad back ԅ(￣ε￣ԅ)

• you enjoy the little things in life and complain about your fathers together. you've agreed to wait a while before even mentioning your relationship to them because, honestly, Natsuo doesn't want any more horrible influences in your life.

• you get him sucked into the world of video games. it's always fun to watch him struggle but he never gets salty about losing maybe a lil he adores your smile as you laugh at him for being so bad at them.

• your dates include: helping out at animal shelters and retirement homes, video game and movie nights (especially about true crime), arcades and astronomy tower explorstions. i feel like Natsuo's more into traditional, romantic and chill dates and that's your usual thing. though i see sometimes you going to get coffee and ending up solving a 50-year-old murder case instead (✧ω✧)

❦︎ ink box

— despite Natsuo's best efforts to distance himself from Endeavor, it wasn't quite as easy and everyone was very much aware of the Todoroki family. and now the son of the number 1 hero had a lover.

— it wasn't actually that troublesome at first. some newpaper paparazzi occasionally annoyed you but you didn't care for them. most of the time Natsuo and you had your peace during dates aside from a few casual fans.

— but of course there are all sorts of people out there, some out for revenge, some for money, and being desperate means using even the lowest of methods to get what you want.

— so one time it happened, and it was all that took. several bitter villains thought they'd get their revenge through you, silly as it may sound. they made a big show of kidnapping you and demanding Endeavor to 'make up' for his wrongdoing. but all got resolved thanks to heroes, the only casualty being Natsuo's heart from almost exploding from worry and his deepening hatred for his father.

— later on, it wasn't that Natsuo was worried about you not being able to handle yourself, he feared what might happen if more of powerful villains came after you.

— so, after some debate, you agreed not to meet up for a short while to let the fuse of the incident settle down. it would be safer once the media forgot about it. you still texted and chatter over phone though!

— but then a week turned into two weeks, then into a month. you were wondering what was taking Natsuo to say the coast was clear and did a straight-up inquiry through a video chat.

— you could see he was restless the entire time. he said you should wait longer just to be sure everything was calm before meeting up. you became irritated because he was obviously lying and not being his normal, brutally honest self.

— why was he giving you this crap straight to your face?

— truthfully, Natsuo hadn't been sleeping all right recently. ever since that day he had reoccurring nightmares about something awful happening to you. they were just dreams, he knew. yet considering his ruffled up past and the frequency of those horrible visions, it would have been lie to say he was unaffected.

— paranoia just wouldn't leave him alone, and no matter how much he wanted to hold you in his arms again and hated making up stupid excuses, the voice at the back of his mind whispered this was for the best.

— after a month and a half had passed you've had just about enough, however. whatever reason he was keeping you in the dark for did no longer stop you from crashing into his house and demanding the truth.

— Natsuo knew you and expected this to eventually happen. after you made such a powerful entrance though he also knew there was no getting around it this time. really, it was comforting knowing you cared so deeply.

— he told you exactly what had been happening and you resisted the urge to punch him in the arm for having such a mindset. but the look in his beautiful grey eyes was so heartbreaking you threw yourself to embrace him instead. your touch was everything Natsuo had craved for for all this time.

— you skillfully assured him for the next couple of hours while keeping the talk light-hearted (he had obviously been overthinking way too much already). soon enough the issue was resolved and you had a sleepover right there to make uo for the lost time (Shoto and Fuyumi kept eavesdropping on you because y'all were being way too loud in a cute way).

�� "i love you, Natsu, but if you ever keep something like this a secret from me again, i can't guarantee the safety of your arm or your front door."

♫︎ music box

— If I Had An Airplane by SayWeCanFly

— This December by Rick Montgomery

— Round & Laundry from Carole and Tuesday

— Haven't Had Enough by Marianas Trench

— Bowie On The Radio by Ryan McMullan

♡︎ runner up: Dabi / Touya Todoroki

thank you for requesting, hopefully you enjoyed this! i'm really pleased about matching you with Natsuo, it's just so perfect. have a lovely day and remember to take care of yourself ♡︎

[davantrask]

Winter King

So. I haven’t posted anything in years for Hitsuhina but I have written a thing for a friend so I will post it here. It was kind of an experiment in getting back into writing again so it is jumpy and might not be entirely linear but oh well.

It is kinda long.

This may or may not be my first attempt at tumblr.

Momo moved through the bullpen quickly, ignoring the talking idiots while she walked. She was pissed. She was very, very, pissed. Mostly, she was pissed because the captain had reassigned her partner without talking to her first. Well, no one had talked to her first. Her partner had asked for a change without consulting her because he was an idiot. 

The last case has been hard. Children had been taken and skinned by a local member of the fae community. No one liked the fae, well, most of them. Children were easy targets, delicious targets according to the asshole that was currently sitting in a cell of cold iron. The idiot had taken one look at the crime scene when they had finally caught up with the fae and well… run. Now she was going to have to have some of her protection runes re-done and that hurt. Magic inked runes were wild things. She had lost five in that fight and if she was honest with herself she was still mad about it. 

She rolled her shoulders and kept walking. Coffee, she needed coffee. The bakery down the street would give her what she needed before she had to meet up with whoever the captain was going to stick her with. 

She gritted her teeth and ignored the rage demon who walked past her. Michael was a nice guy, so long as you didn’t piss him off. When she had first started here his ears had thrown her off, but she was used to seeing them now. The receptionist was a lovely fairy whose wings were gorgeous. Her eyes kind of reminded her of a dragonfly, but it would be worth those eyes to have those wings. Renji was half a something weird that she had not figured out yet. She had hoped that they would get partnered together but he didn’t do general police work. He got a lot of the shit cases that required more brute strength than detective work. 

His runes made her eyes water some days and she wasn’t sure how to explain that to a partner. Seers, good seers, could see through the glamour that let people live their ordinary lives. What was left of their ordinary lives after the walls came down and the supernatural invaded. It had taken a lot of cold iron, a war, and a few cautious treaties, to keep humans from being the main course on the easy to harvest table. That didn't mean humans weren't hunted. It did mean that someone had to hunt the things hunting the people in the dark.

When you hunted things in that went bump in the night you didn’t have the luxury to walk around pretending that your knives weren’t perfectly balanced and the runes that you had etched into your skin wasn't to keep others from wearing it. Partners, good partners, were hard to keep. Damned weak willed asshole who had run, run, from the whole thing babbling like an idiot. 

She ran her fingers through her hair and stomped out of the building. Coffee, coffee would make all of this better. 

--

Her new partner was not what she had expected. First of all, his forearms were very distracting. She wasn’t sure where he had gotten those tattoos, they were beautiful and dazzling and she had to work hard to keep from looking at the runes. She was fairly certain she knew what most of them meant but there were a few that were complicated enough that she couldn’t make them out without drawing them and studying them herself. Doing that would tell him that she was busy looking at his forearms, so that was out. 

She wasn’t entirely sure that the girls in the office saw when they looked at him. It had to be something. Those forearms weren’t his best trait, they were just the most distracting part for her since they sat across from each other each day. 

She hadn’t quite figured him out yet. He presented himself as an elf, but Momo wasn’t quite sure that she had ever seen elves with teeth quite that sharp. He didn’t have fangs like a goblin but his incisors were sharper than any humans. His ears were definitely pointed, but Fae, Goblin, and Elves all had the pointed ears. The fae that she had seen were so far gone into their blood madness that she wasn’t sure she could tell the difference between any every day elf and an everyday member of the fae court. Then again, if he wasn’t such an utter dick about life she might have taken the elf thing at face value. 

She took a bite of her chocolate cake and ignored the eyebrow. Two weeks with him as her partner and she had already decided she wanted to stab him in the face when he looked at her like that. 

“Cake? ” 

She waved her fork at him. “I don’t judge your shake things.” It was self-defense to argue back. If you didn’t argue he thought that he was right and quite frankly she had only been able to handle that for about an hour.

Pretty or not, the man was an ass. 

“Protein shakes.” He corrected, eyes narrowing. 

She shrugged. “If you choose to live on water and powder that is your decision. I choose to live on cake.” The eyebrow arched higher. “Don’t give me that judgy eyebrow. I have lived just fine without your judgmental eyebrows about my cake.”

“Judgmental eyebrows.” His voice was the same flat tone he used on the girls upfront when they annoyed him. 

Momo smiled her most charming smile at him. The one that got stupid cops to talk and cantankerous old men to calm the  fuck down. His eyes narrowed at her and she grandly ignored that, taking another bite of her cake. 

“I have a mirror, would you like to borrow it?” The surpy sweet voice she had practiced on Renji until he just twitched at her when he heard it. Toushirou just kept watching with that narrowed eyed expression so she took her last bite of cake and put her container into what she had labeled her food drawer. 

She rather thought that no one bothered the man from wherever he had come from. Someplace across the pond before they had transferred him here. She wasn't sure why he would  want to come to this city of all places he could have chosen. He was a good investigator according to her boss. He wouldn’t run when they found fae attacking children nor would he get in her way. He had asked for a competent partner, apparently, and gotten her. She didn't think he thought much of her yet, that was all her partners though. 

She didn't need her partner to approve of her methods to do a good job.

---

“If that is the kind of trouble you attract on a regular basis, we need to work on your hand to hand.”

Momo let the sound of his voice distract her enough that she could ignore the tug of the needle in her shoulder. She glanced back at him cautiously, her shirt held in front of her boobs to maintain her modesty. “My hand to hand is fine. He had ten inch claws for hands. He only grazed my shoulder.” And then she had used the many knives she carried on her person to keep him back.

Toushirou leaned against the door to the ambulance and she forced herself not to react. He had blood and dirt smudged on his person but some of that was probably hers. His cheekbones seemed sharper in the light and his eyes were glowing. She could ignore both those things if it didn't add a feral edge to the cast of his features that made her very aware of the fact that she was a small woman and he was a very fit man. Very fit. Other parts of her were very, very, aware of just how fit he was after playing toss the Momo and he had played catch. He wasn't human and Momo had rules about only dating humans. Pretty was never a good indication of anything when it came to supernaturals. 

“If you're going to run ahead of me like that into a dark creature with ten inch knives for hands, then yes, we do.”

There was a light tug and then the tech was patting her shoulder. “Let me get a bandaid so your stitches are covered and then your free to go.”

Momo nodded, glad for the brief distraction. “Thanks Mike!”

“You can thank me by not needing stitches again for awhile.” 

“Sure thing.” Band Aid applied over her back she carefully tugged her shirt over her head, ignoring her partner. She climbed down the back of the ambulance and was surprised when a jacket dropped down over her shoulders. She glanced up at Toushirou and mimicked his raised brow. 

“It's snowing.” He reminded her. “Half of your shirt is gone and your jacket is in shreds. Take the jacket.”

“You will get cold.”

He shook his head. “The cold doesn't bother me.” 

She wasn't currently cold, but that was probably adrenaline talking. She hadn't come down off her high yet, but she was certain when she did she would notice the snow. She hadn't expected snow tonight, the weather had said very cold… eh. Things like that happened when supernaturals got involved. Probably some stupid weather witch. 

“Thank you,” he had pulled their car up to the police barricade. Thankfully, he had the keys since it was his turn to drive. She slid into the passenger seat gingerly and was surprised when he handed her a mug.

“Drink that.”

She frowned at it. It looked like tea, but it didn't smell like any tea she had had before. “What is it?”

“Tea.”

She glanced over at him. He was watching the road and not her but she could hear the judgment in his voice. Tea, she snorted and took a cautious sip. Warmth slid down her throat and curled in her stomach before continuing down to her toes. She pulled the mug back and stared at it. 

“Drink all of it, Momo.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Did you get this at that poor crazy elf ladies cart?”

He glanced at her. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because it might turn me blue or something if you did and this is weird tea. Weird tea generally only comes from the crazy tea lady.”

His mouth tucked up at the edge in what she thought was almost a smile, almost. “No, drink your tea.”

She huffed and took another cautious sip. Same reaction, what did he put in the tea? Minus that almost grin, the man was wearing his 'see no evil, hear no evil,’ stone face. He wasn't going to tell her what was in the tea and he wasn't going to stop nagging her about drinking it if her previous experience was anything to go by. 

She fell asleep somewhere between the city they were in and the precinct. She didn't end up spilling the last of her tea on herself but the gentle shaking of her good shoulder managed to help her claw her way out of her dream. She glanced at her partner who was looking at her with those glowing eyes and she wondered if he knew she could see them. 

“I am dropping you off at home, I will handle the paperwork.” 

She glanced to the right and blinked. Right she was home. Had she told him where she lived? Probably at some point she had. She blinked at her apartment complex and decide not to ask. She glanced back at him and narrowed her eyes. “I have gone in and done paperwork with stitches before.”

He shook his head. “Not today.” 

She frowned and shrugged, carefully. “Suit yourself.”

She opened the car and shut it behind her. Her body was tired, but he thankfully didn't try to walk her up. She managed to get into the house and locked everything back up. Her wards were in place, the salt on her windows was undisturbed, so she stripped out of her clothes and curled up on the bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

--

Momo wasn't awake by the time she hit central the next morning. Her back had burned like fire, waking her up more than once. She wanted to blame the stitches but a quick glance in the mirror that morning had promised otherwise. Her fingers itched to touch the runes that had somehow etched themselves into a line just under her shoulder blade under the wound. They gleamed silver in the early morning light and she had the vague impression that they were unfinished work. She had still been able to walk through her wards and none of her tokens of power had flared in alarm, so they weren't dark magic. She didn't know what they were, but she knew better than to ask. Half finished as they were someone would throw her in a mental institution and lock the door. 

When she had slept she had dreamt of a dragon of ice with red eyes and lord that wasn't helping her disposition either. Dreams were the worst as a seer. It could mean anything or it could mean nothing. Still someone had started the communal pot of coffee and she was going to take advantage of that. 

“I hear you rescued some fae blood last night.”

Momo turned cautiously, eyes narrowed. Ah yes, big and dumb was here. She was fairly certain he had a name but she hadn't been bothered to learn it. Anyone with that much prejudice leaking into their work wasn't someone she wanted to be associated with. 

“If we did?” she kept her tone polite but shifted to the balls of her feet. This one she could probably take but if she popped her stitches someone was going to see the runes. That would be bad.

He marched forward. “Fae deserve what they get. Don't waste our resources on them.”

She jutted out her chin. “She was a child. Our job is to defend children from the things that go bump in the night.”

“She was a fucking animal.” He was looming over her, his face turning red. 

“She was a child.” He raised back his hand and Momo braced for the hit. If he hit her, when she stabbed him in the throat with her knives it would be self defense. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The cool, clipped words of her partner broke into the room. 

Big and dumb turned to sneer. “You going to do something about it pansy man?”

Toushirou arched a brow at him. “You are, of course, welcome to try your luck.”

Momo decided she didn't want to deal with any of this. She wasn't sure how to get out of the break room without having to engage one of them. 

“Daniel, what are you doing?” The captain was suddenly there and Momo was fairly sure she had never been so happy to see her. 

“Just talking.”

“Take your talking elsewhere.”

Momo watched him walk off and tried to not look startled when the captain nodded and her and headed off as well. She ignored her partner and went for the coffee. 

“Did you know the child was fae?”

Momo turned with her cup of coffee and stared at her partner. Since she suspected him of being fae she hadn't thought that he might be prejudiced against them. “I don't see why that matters.” 

She moved to slip past him but he curled his hand around her forearm, halting her progress. “Momo.”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “Unless it relates to the job, what I see is none of your business.”

“We were on the job.”

She frowned and sighed. “I suspected. A human child wouldn't have still been alive after what had been done to her. Elves would not have tried to fight the way she did and she didn't have a goblins  fangs.”

His fingers relaxed and he dropped her arm. “You dove between a fae child and a creature with ten inch knives for hands.”

She stared back at him. “It's my job. If you don't like it, find a new partner.” She pivoted on her heel and stomped towards their desks. 

She was done with today and it had just started. 

--

She dreamed of fire and ash being swept away by the cold snow and ice of the mountains. It was there deep within the cold mountain heart of the glaciers that the dragon rumbled her name with the voice of thunder. 

But it wasn't her name he called. The words were about her but they weren't her. Still, it crawled down her spine and settled along the skin of her back. Vivid words that hung like magic on the air. 

Even upon waking it hummed under her skin and through her blood until her ears rang with it. 

--

“You need to eat more.”

“You should mind your own business.” She slid into the passenger side car door having lost the toss to see which one of them was driving. She was starting to think he was cheating to get his way and drive. She would suggest rock paper scissors next time and see how he liked it. 

“You're losing weight.”

She turned and stared at him. “Are you going to drive?” A family had been murdered and they had been called to check it out. 

He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded vaguely of disapproval but she ignored it. She had a blinding headache and wasn't sure if it was good or bad that the sun was going down. All she had been able to get down was one of those ridiculous protein shakes he seemed to enjoy so much since he always had one with him in the morning. 

Last night she had woken up in the middle of the night and did not realize there was no light in the room. Her night vision had improved rapidly and she didn't know what to do about it. At this rate she was going to have to quit and move somewhere where no one knew her or thought she was supposed to be fully human. 

Granny had died a few years ago so it wasn't like she had anyone or anything holding her to New York City. Pain sliced down her spine and she shifted in her seat to take pressure off her back. That morning when she got up and checked the runes were now gracefully lined down her spine, a dragon had been curled through them. A beautiful silver dragon shaded to blue, with red eyes. Throwing up into her toilet had not been the way she had wanted to start her morning but it had happened. Now she was rocking the world's worst migraine and was headed to a triple homicide. If she was lucky she would finagle coffee out of something at some point today. If she wasn't lucky, they would end up on a hunt through the streets. 

Toushirou was blissfully quiet on the drive. No music, no talking, just the sound of the car engine and the occasionally angry tourist on the road. Even the five o'clock traffic was strangely muted inside her head while she leaned against the headrest with her eyes closed. 

The car door opened and shut and her eyes opened wide. When had he stopped? “Here,” Toushirou slid into the driver's seat and handed her what vaguely resembled a pork bun. A cup of tea settled in the cup holder next to her. “Eat.”

She caught the food on reflex and stared at him. “You stopped for food?” 

He glanced over at her. “You clearly didn't eat enough today. Eat your food and drink your tea.”

She blinked at the pork bun and then back at him. He didn't get anyone food, not even a donut. Some of the supernatural communities were weird about feeding each other, she had always just assumed he was one of those. Clearly, if he was getting her a pork bun be was not. Maybe he just didn't like doing people favors.

The food was delicious and at least the tea tasted normal this time. The sun was down so her eyes weren't hurting as badly as they had been. She wasn't going to tell him it had helped, but by the time they were at the house her headache had eased back and she rather thought she could get through the evening. 

She opened the door and turned to go inside the house. 

“Momo.” She turned to look at her partner, eye arched in question. A habit she wasn't going to admit picking up from him. He walked past her, hands in his pockets. “Don't forget to eat next time.”

She scowled at his back and headed after him. Partners. 

--

She was flying this time, tucked carefully under the dragon's wing and he screamed into the night air. She was safe, safe, safe, from whatever was hunting them. 

Then the fire came and there was an explosion of ice.

--

Momo woke up slowly, her head was spinning like a top and she wasn't sure what to think about it. She rolled into her back carefully and stared at the ceiling. She frowned and blinked at it. That was not her ceiling. In fact it wasn't her house. She sat up gingerly and touched the bandage wrapped around her chest and shoulders. 

She wasn't quite sure what had happened exactly. She remembered going to the house and the runes that had been carved into their bodies had activated. Something...bad come out of that hellhole. Whatever it had been, it was infinitely worse the second time around. 

“You’re awake.”

Momo turned to blink at her shirtless partner. She turned her head away and frowned at the wall. “Where am I?”

“Home,” he said quietly. She turned her head again and frowned a little. The room was a lot bigger than she had thought it was upon first glance. 

“What happened?”

“A nightmare creature was summoned from the bodies of the victims.”

She summoned her inner fortitude and turned to look at Toushirou. His shirt was off so the eye watering runes that curled around parts of his body were fully visible. She ignored the muscles under those runes and froze when she caught his face. His eyes were glowing again but it was the lack of human anything that had her breath catching. Sharp cheekbones, pointed ears that were not the soft ears of elves. It was the power clearly radiating off of him that alarmed her. He was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

She wobbled to her feet and held onto the post at the end of the bed. Home, he had said home. Not her home, not his home, but home. “What is going on?”

He stayed where he was, leaned against the door jam. “It was a trap set for the two of us.”

She snorted. “I am human. Granted I can see through glamors, but totally human. Supernatural creatures don't set traps like that for humans.”

He sighed. “Momo, I -”

There was a loud noise that echoed through the rooms and he snarled, sharper than human teeth gleaming in the low light. It was an inhuman sound from an inhuman throat and she had…

“Send me home.” 

He whirled. “You’re not-”

“Home, Toushirou. Mine, the one I pay rent on every month. Now!”

He moved forward and settled his hands on her shoulders. “It's not safe.” This face was inhuman and full of an emotion she couldn't name.

She pushed her chin up. “I want my bed and my clothes and my shower. Not whatever this is.”

There was another roar in the distance and this time when he snarled she could feel it rumble down her bones. There was a snap and a rumble and she was wobbling in front of her apartment. He reached over and opened her door for her. “Do not leave until I come get you.”

She walked into her apartment and shut the door, locking the deadbolt behind her. She stumbled across the floor and crawled into her bed. She pulled the blanket over her head and closed her eyes. 

--

The dragon was curled around her this time. His breathing deep and even. She turned her head to stare at it.

Alive. They were both alive. 

--

She woke several hours later to something echoing through her head again. She crawled out of her bed and wobbled her way to the table. There was a bowl of what looked like soup, that strange tea, and some sort of fruit. 

'Eat the food, Momo.’

She crumbled the note into a fist and was tempted to ignore it. Her stomach gurgled up at her so she forced her shaking hand to test the broth. It tasted like soup and not magic soup. She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not. The fruit was strange and sweet on her tongue. The tea did that thing where it warmed her down to her toes. She struggled back across the room and rolled into her covers again. 

Tomorrow she was warding her house so that nothing bigger than a flea could get in here. 

--

He had been looking for her for a long time, he told her. Had not expected to find her in the human world. Would not have looked for her at all, except she had drawn their attention by saving a child of the court. 

Drawn attention how? 

Magic.

--

Momo felt better the third time she woke. Her head wasn't spinning and the world wasn't on fire. She managed to make it to the bathroom and the all important shower this time. It took some careful work to get the bandages off her shoulder. They were sticky with blood and some pungent smelling herbs. She vaguely remembered something tearing into her shoulder but once she got everything unwrapped all she found was smooth unblemished skin. No scars, no wounds, just Momo skin completely untouched. 

She glanced behind her and swallowed; the runes are her back had shifted again. They we're definitely protection runes of some sort and made her eyes twitch just looking at them, but the dragon was no longer a shaded outline. Intricate, delicate, detailed work had been added to the markings when she had been asleep. It was gorgeous and done by a master hand or…. magic. She was fairly certain it was the dragon that had been haunting her in her dreams. She closed her eyes and took careful breaths. She was going to ignore the rest of it. She crawled into her shower and scrubbed down very carefully using her human soap. The razor worked like it was supposed to and when she got soap in her eyes it burned like soap was supposed to. 

The towels were her rough cheap towels and the liberal use of the blow-dryer got her hair dried. The texture was a little off and the color looked like it had deepened, but she ignored that entirely. Human, she was a human Momo and that was how she was going to stay. She pulled on her entirely human clothes and walked into her living room and found a fae sitting at her kitchen table, watching the door. She froze. He wasn’t wearing his human facade but at least he had his shirt on this time. 

“What are you doing here?” He had told her to stay put until he came and got her, but she was fairly certain that she hadn’t actually expected him to come find her. 

“We need to talk.” 

She shook her head. “Do we?”

He sighed and motioned to the chair across from him. “Sit down, Momo.”

She frowned at him. He was entirely too used to getting his own way. She sat in the chair, mostly because if they were going to argue or fight about her being entirely human she wasn’t going to waste her energy arguing about whether or not she needed to sit in the chair. She watched him and he watched her and she sighed. 

“So you are Fae then,” it wasn’t much of a question but it broke the ice. 

“Yes,” his mouth curled up at the edges. The smirk that had felled Mary Deleat from five-hundred yards was a lot more potent five feet in distance and directed solely at you. This face wore it better as well, as if… her brain wasn’t sure it wanted to supply that information to her. She swallowed. 

She scowled when that was all he said and moved to stand up. “Well it's been a good chat why don’t you -” His hand reached out and caught her wrist, and her words caught in her throat. His skin was cool against hers and calloused.

“Can I look at the runes on your back.” 

She froze, and turned to stare at him. “What?” 

“The runes on your back. I would like to look at them.”

“There aren’t any runes on my back.” She refused to sit again, even holding onto her like this was better than letting him have the advantage of being taller than her even when they were sitting. 

“Momo,” his voice gentled. “When we bandaged you up after the nightmare attacked, we were able to make out bits and pieces of things.”

She jutted out her chin. “I have lots of runes inked into my skin, Toushirou. You do too, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

His eyes shifted from the almost human eyes to the glowing eyes thing and his power wrapped around him. Her pulse was pounding in her ears. “You can see the runes on my skin?” She tried to tug her hand away from him, but his grip was like iron. “Momo,” he pushed to his feet, using his greater height to stare down at her. “Answer the question.”

She huffed at him. “Don’t threaten me,” she told him. His words weren’t threatening, but his body language was. Everything about him screamed ‘threat’. Something shifted between them and he let go of her wrist while she put some space between them. She watched him carefully, while he watched her in return. He wasn’t following her across the room and it gave her a little bit of courage. He was wearing his stone face again and she wasn’t entirely certain she could make it out of the apartment without him letting her go. That meant that they were going to have to figure out something. She could transfer or ask for a new partner, but first she had to survive the next fifteen minutes. She was not stupid, she knew who would win a contest of strength or power and it wasn't her. “You know I am a seer.”

He nodded, slowly. “Yes, a human seer. Such things have existed beyond the veil of time since humanity started to walk the earth. Your captain would not elaborate on the exact nature of your seer gifts and you are tight lipped about them.” The ‘surprisingly’ hung between them and she scowled. 

“Did she know your a fae?”

His mouth quirked up at the edges again. “She knows my nature, yes. This is her territory, there is no hiding that sort of a thing from her.”

“Her territory?” 

He shook his head. “You're changing the subject.”

“You're evasive.”

“Momo, tell me about your gifts.” He was using his ‘coax momo into doing things’ voice. He didn't use it often and never in the office. Probably because it made her distinctively uncomfortable with him being a man and her being a woman. She narrowed her eyes at him again in warning. 

“Seers… we can see through the veils or through your glamour mostly.” She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. He was watching her so closely and she was to aware of it. “How do you not know this?” Best to point out his problems to get him not to look at her so closely. 

She felt rather certain the expression that flitted across his face wasn't exactly a comfortable one. “I have not left my court to explore the realms on this side of the divide in some time, Momo.”

“Your court?” Her ears were starting to ring again, but she wasn’t entirely certain it was from fear. The feral bite of his magic nipped gently at her skin and goosebumps slid down her spine. 

He shook his head. “Let's save some secrets for later, Momo.”

She shook her head and scowled at him. “If you're going to ask for mine, then you're going to have to return the favor.” 

He sighed. “Momo…”

“Are you my partner or not?”

He watched her closely before shrugging. “As you like. I am the Winter King of the Fae court, Momo. I have taken a sejorn from my people to come and find those who are hunting our children for blood and magic.” His magic curled through the room like a sleeping cat and the dragon on her back burned. “This city is the hub for it and the dark magic here on this side of the veil. I am duty bout to find and destroy it.”

She blinked at him, her mind blank. Yep… she definitely had not been expecting that. 

-- Her tatoo had stopped growing, the runes seemingly settled into the form they wanted to take down her back and with them the dreams. She wasn't sure if she missed the dragon or not but with him curled down her spine, she wasn't sure if he was gone for good. 

She had escaped a meeting with, more like a grilling, from The Captain and now she needed cake. Actually, what she needed was to not have the entire realms diplomacy levels with the Winter King shoved down her throat, but that wasn’t going to happen. If he was lucky, she wouldn't throw salt at his head and scream Ghoul. It would provide endless hours of entertainment but it would definitely get her in trouble with both the captain and his royal pain in the ass. 

She stared at the protein shake sitting on her desk. Her partner wasn't there and everyone else seemed to be minding their own business.

“Is he feeding you now?”

She scowled at the shake. “I hope not.”

Renji moved to stand next to her. “In a lot of supernatural communities feeding someone is an act of courting.”

“So is punching you in the face.” She said sweetly. 

He laughed. “So you're not going to drink that?”

She snorted. “Powdered water is gross. I will hit the vending machine -” she paused. “Who is that?”

Renji sighed. “That is a very high and mighty elf.”

Momo snorted. “What is he doing here?” 

Renji patted her shoulder. “He is looking for a seer to help locate some rare far artifact that he thinks is causing all our missing children issues at the moment.”

She froze. “No.”

The captain hadn't said anything to her about it so it couldn't be something that she expected her to do. The elf turned and saw her and headed her way. “You're on your own kid. Elves and I don't get along.”

Momo hissed. The elf didn't look very nice, he looked fairly terrifying. She wanted to take a step back but if she had learned anything from being a cop it wasn't to take a step back from the terrifying people. 

“Momo Hinamori?”

She arched a brow at him. “Who is asking?”

“Lord Alvract Schale, the elven government would like to hire you for a job.”

Where was the captain when you needed her? “I am a cop, I don't do private jobs. If you would like for the police to help you with an investigation you can talk to the Captain about that.”

His head tilted. “I don't think you quite understand the circumstances.”

“Is there a problem?” The cool voice of her partner clipped through the room. Momo wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that he was there. Fae and Elves did not particularly like each other. That particular elf looked all elf and he was all Fae.

Lord Whatever his name was turned and frowned. “Who are you?”

“Her partner.”

“Ah,” he dismissed him. “I don't believe this involves you.”

Momo settled her hand on Toushirou's lower back to keep him from replying. She wasn't sure what he was going to say, but it couldn't be good. “I told you that all investigations go through the captain. I am not for hire outside of my work with the department.”

He glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “This isn't a refusable job offer.”

She jutted out her chin. “Talk to the captain.”

He stared at her for another moment before turning on his heel and moving back towards the front door. She dropped her hand from Toushirou’s back and made a beeline for the captain's office.

That was a giant pile of nope. Clearly, the captain needed to be in full agreement on that. The last thing they needed was for Toushirou to do was get in a fight with lord what's his what. Because she knew which one of them would do the fighting and it wasn't her. Iron only worked on the Fae.

--

Momo stumbled into her apartment carefully. The door was easy to open since she had had Rangiku come by and upgrade her wards again. She had taken the elf’s visit seriously and she was hopeful it would keep Toushirou out of her apartment as well. The ability to pop in and out like that was very uncool.  Still, she wasn't entirely certain that mugging had been a human one. The knife wound on her side had been aimed in a completely different direction. The fact that it has missed all the important bits and has resulted in a rather impressive 'flesh wound’ may or may not have been due to the extra hand to hand Toushirou made her do lately. She eased her top off and sighed. That was going to be fun to explain on Monday. At least she got two days of rest before the captain or her partner would yell at her for this one. 

Her pants and bra followed. She eased out of both of them and stared at the rune in the mirror. The dragon seemed more glowy than normal. She sighed and turned and tripped over her pants. She put her hands out to stop her fall, eyes closing. This was going to hurt, a lot. 

She landed on something soft and half not. She managed a pained groan when all the air was knocked out of her, but the pain she was expecting when all of her stitches popped didn't come. 

“Momo?”

Her head jerked up and she realized the reason it was dark wasn't because she was close to passing out, it was because she...what the fuck.

“Don't turn on the light.” She couldn't scramble but she could make out just enough to grab blankets and yank them around her person. Soft, soft, blankets that caught on the tape holding her stitches together, but they covered her. Nevermind the fact that if she could see that much he could see… she was going to die of embarrassment. 

“Are lights acceptable now?” 

She couldn't read that tone, but she absolutely didn't want to deal with this. She swallowed. “What are the chances of you sending me home and pretending this didn't happen.”

“Nonexistent.” His voice was flat. She knew that voice. That was the voice he got when he was displeased.

“Okay.” She swallowed. 

A low light kicked on in along the walls and slowly eased up until you could see, but weren't blinded by the lights. Well, she had known she had landed on his bed, but she wasn't prepared for rumpled, shirtless, Toushirou. No one could prepare for that. She was turning red again, probably going to die of embarrassment twice.

Fingers brushed her bruised cheek. “What happened.”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed. “To your face, Momo.”

She forced herself to look at him. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her in her life. “I got mugged.”

He sat up a little straighter. She ignored the tummy flex. That wasn't fair. “The elves?”

“Maybe,” she said cautiously. “They had masks, but they moved better than a human would.”

He nodded. This face was so much harder for her to read, but it was not a happy face. He looked at her sheets. They were hers now anyway. “How did you end up here?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.” 

“You don't know?”

She shook her head again. “No.”

He sighed. “I think you're going to need to let me look at those runes on your back, Momo.”

She pressed her lips together. The damn dragon and those damn runes. “What makes you think a set of runes has anything to do with this.”

He gave her a look, such a look. “No human hand made those runes. Which means there magic; magic that apparently can teleport you without your conscious consent. There are only a few types of magic on either side of the veil that can do that.”

“What kind of magic.”

“Let me see your runes and I will tell you.”

She shook her head. “Explanation first and then I will decide.”

He looked at her through his lashes. “I don't have to be nice about it.” 

His pitch lowered and warning skittered down her spine. No. Just no. She scowled to give herself something to do. “I don't care. You're not the one who got teleported naked. Explanation first.” His eyes gleamed at her for a long moment and this time the flush that slid up her chest wasn't from embarrassment. She didn't think it was. It might have been. She made herself stare back at him. 

“Most magic runes are court based. In the winter court as you grow, runes tend to appear on your skin based on what you will become or how your magic is developing. For instance, there are runes on my back that indicate that I am the Winter King. These tie me to the court and the court magic.” He was watching her closely and she nodded. All right, that made sense. Magic runes that gave him his authority. Right. 

“You are human and not tied to a court but you do have magic, your seers blood. Somewhere you have done something that tied you to this court since you were teleported here.”

She frowned. “How?”

He shook his head. “Magic is a strange thing. We have theories on how it works and we can adapt it to our uses; it's still a wild thing with it's own will.”

“I am not Fae. I definitely am not part of your court.”

His mouth curled up at the edges. “I am a benevolent king. Who knows, you might like it.”

She huffed. “No.” 

Her motioned for her to turn. “Let me see your back, Momo. Then we can talk about how we're going to deal with you popping into my bed at night.” 

She stared at him, fingers curling into the blanket. Yes, okay, that...she had not imagined that innuendo. It wasn't the words, it was the tone and that tone had been full of things. She scowled at him. 

“You're not going to make some random shit up are you?”

“No.” 

Okay, okay, that was his 'insulted my honor’ voice. She carefully eased around. At least she had underwear on. Her side pulled but she ignored that. He would see the stitches no matter what if she was giving him her back. She snuck a hand out from under the blanket and grabbed a pillow to cover her chest. She wasn't going to give up modesty just because he wanted to see her back. She eased the blanket down and pulled her hair to the side, pillow clutched to the front of her chest. She felt him move behind her and jumped a little when his fingers touched the skin of her back.

“Hey,” he said look, not touch. 

“When did these first start coming in?” 

His voice was weird. She didn't know that voice. It was full of… she didn't know. Alarm was trying to work it's way down her body. She was a cop, she ignored it. “The first one appeared after I got hurt helping that Fae child.”

“The dragon?”

“Bits and pieces here and there.” She hesitated. In for a penny, in for a pound. “The dreams were the annoying part.” She admitted. “I don't really know what they meant.”

“The dragon is the protector of the Winter Court,” he had that same strange tone in his voice, “he is also the embodiment of our magic.” His fingers traced part of what felt like a dragon and goosebumps slid up her back. “These are protection runes, very strong ones.”

“How did I end up here?”

His fingers touched the rune at the top of the set. The one she hand not been able to figure out on her own. “This rune here, it is keyed to the King of the Winter court.”

She tightened her grip on her pillow, eyes wide. “Why? That makes no sense.” She turned her head to stare at the wide eyed man behind her. “I am not Fae nor should I be tied to your court at all. Humans don't get mixed up in your business. Most of you don't even like us.” She felt like she was standing on a cliff and her words were a vain attempt to get them back on solid ground. 

His hand moved away from her back. He took a deep breath and it was the first time she had seen him look wide-eyed and rattled. She didn't like that, at all. That meant something was really wrong.

“The runes name you guardian of the winter court.” He hesitated before his eyes met hers. “Guardian and Queen.”

--

Momo let the little healer unstitch her side as she worked on healing the knife wound. The cut on her face was already back to smooth Momo skin. She glanced at the mirror in front of her. After Toushirou’s declaration he had done something to summon the healer, more importantly clothes. The clothes basically covered her front and left her back free. She had decided that it was because the healer needed access to her side, although she had caught Toushirou glancing at her back when he thought she wasn't paying attention. 

She did not know what to do with this situation. What she wanted to do was go home and sleep and pretend this conversation had not happened. Queen? Queen? There was some sort or cosmic joke going on here. She was human. Humans did not do this; they did not become supernatural anything. She glanced at her hair again. Darker, thicker hair, framed a pale face. She was pretty sure the pale was because she wanted to throw up. She had no trouble seeing in the lower light and that bothered her a lot. Everything about this bothered her. 

“You need to eat some food to replace the energy I used to heal your wound.”

Momo nodded. “Thank you.”

The healer nodded and moved out of the bathroom. She had gotten a quick wash to get the blood and smell of hospital off and now she had to go back there and face Toushirou. She gritted her teeth, she did not want to do this. 

“Come eat, Momo.” The order was in his tone again. She didn’t like it. She sighed and pushed to her feet. There was no point in not eating whatever he had rounded up. She wasn't a fan of the skirt that had come with the top but at this point she wasn't going to argue about clothes that mostly covered her body. 

The food at least turned out to be the same soup and fruit he had given her last time. “I take it this is the standard food after someone heals you?”

His mouth eased up at the corner. “To a degree, it's the easiest of the options for you to eat.” She sat down and accepted the bowl he handed her. Food was good. It kept him from talking to her and that was what she wanted. 

“I have a compromise for you.”

Momo glanced up. “I didn't realize that we needed one.”

“Did you plan to permanently move here?” She shook her head. “Then we need a compromise.” He glanced at her healing side. “The elves are targeting you as well.”

“We don't know it's elves, also, we don't know if this is permanent. You barely know me. This...whatever it is -”

“Momo, stop panicking.”

“I am not panicking.”

He grinned. It made her want to punch him. “I did not expect this either. The court has absorbed humans with magic before. All courts would do so if given the chance. Humans aren’t just caught for food, Momo.”

She stared at him. “You seem...not upset.”

That damn eyebrow arch. “I have ruled alone for a long time.”

She waved her hands. “I am human, not Fae. I can't be queen.”

He caught her hands. “You’re changing; in a few months you will have to wear your own glamour to appear human.”

She scowled. “I don't want this.”

“I know.”

She stared at their hands. His we're long fingered, strong. Hers were short human hands. Would that change too? “What changes?”

He shook his hand, shifting his hands so her hands were cradled by the palms of his. “We will discover that as we go. Some of them won't appear until we formalize our relationship.”

Formalize? “I am not sleeping with you.”

That grin popped back up. “Yet,” he corrected. “You're not sleeping with me, yet.”

She shook her head “You cannot -”

“I knew I would not pick my Queen.” He told her. “Fat, tall, ugly, pretty, it would not matter once magic choose her. I am old, Momo. Much older than you can imagine.” His gaze slid down her body and she felt herself start to flush again. “I am not disappointed in the choice that has been made.”

She pulled her arms back and crossed them over her chest. She was going red again. “I am still not sleeping with you.” She glared at his amused expression . “I am still a cop.”

“And that is our compromise.”

“Compromise.” She repeated. 

“The elves may know who you are. They have a different sort of seer in their bloodlines. It is the winter courts job to ensure that you are safe.”

“Okay, and that means what?”

“During the day, you may reside on your side of the veil. We still need to find the source of the black magic and remove it so that the children are safe. Since you have been named guardian you are going to find your need to hunt this creature is going to increase more as your instincts settle.”

“Okay, what's the catch.” She didn't like the 'you may reside’. He was not her king, this was not her court. 

“You sleep here with me at night.”

She clenched her fists. “I like my bed.”

“You are also vulnerable on that side of the veil. Here, you are protected.”

She rubbed her face. “I don't even know how I got here the first time!”

“I will come and get you until you master the magic required to travel between realms.” 

She glared. “And how do you decide when it's bedtime? I am not getting a curfew.”

He held up a cellphone. “Magic. You can text me when you're ready for bed and I will come get you.” He shrugged. “If you don't text me, I will assume something is wrong and react appropriately.”

She rubbed her nose and frowned. “I don't have a choice do I.”

“No, but other than changing your place of sleep, your life won't change much.”

She pressed her lips together and stared at him. This….was not what she had in mind when she told Granny she might like a little adventure sometimes.

God, this was not what she had imagined.

--

Momo was too tired for this nonsense. She had not slept well in the unfamiliar room, even if Toushirou had not been there half the time she was actually there. Apparently, he did not need as much sleep as she did being immortal, long lived, whatever the hell be was. He might have been giving her space as well since she was twitchy as hell around him now. 

Hell, work today had been spent mostly in silence. Even the captain had been giving them weird looks. They had agreed that they weren't going to discuss their new status just yet, but he did go to talk to the captain shortly before shift end. She had been prepared to leave, go home, and shower and maybe nap before she bad to change residences for the evening but what she had gotten was Rangiku Matsumoto instead. 

So now she was in a bar with a drink, eating cheese fries, and staring at the human woman in front of her who was showing her own (small) dragon tattoo.

“So you’re not human?” 

Rangiku grinned and dunked a poor innocent fry into some unholy concoction she had created earlier. Momo shuddered and pulled her plate a little closer to her side of the table. Clearly not human if she was eating that. 

“Technically, no. I was human, then the elves got ahold of me and I escaped and Toushirou rescued me. Now I am part of the winter court.”

Momo sighed. “Is everyone who is part of this damn court going to figure it out before I want them too?”

Rangiku shook her head. “I don't think so. It's obvious to me, I mean.” She took a bite of another fry. “I went through all this while under the tender mercies of the elves, bastards. So it was obvious to me what you were going through when it started. Toushirou should have noticed if he hadn't been so distracted.”

“Distracted?”

Rangiku grinned. “The man fed you food! Or tried to, he would only have done that if he was interested. You just bulldozing past it was the greatest thing I have seen in five-hundred years.”

She opened her mouth to argue and closed it. Then covered her face and sighed. “I don’t know what to say right now.”

“Drink more of that alcohol. It will help.”

“Ha, ha.” She ate a fry instead. “Why dinner, or fries, then?”

“The next few months are going to get weird for you.” Rangiku sighed. “I owe Toushirou my life, but there are some things that you might not want to talk to him about. If you need to talk, my ear is always available.”

Momo nodded. She would probably need to double check with Toushirou before she actually talked to her about anything, but being able to have someone not connected to the court to talk to...well that sounded nice. 

Rangiku looked serious for a moment. “We all know a queen has been chosen. It… Toushirou should have known too or maybe we knew as soon as he did. I am not as well versed in how court magic functions since I don't leave this side of the veil.”

Momo decided to just ignore that part. She was not sleeping with him. “Why can't you leave this side of the veil

“Elves are assholes. If I try to leave the veil they will find me again.” She shrugged. “It's fine, I like it here. Alcohol, people, I almost feel normal most of the time.”

Momo sighed. “I think I am going to need more fries for this.”

“You know that sounds fantastic.”

--

The smell of blood was nauseating. Momo covered her mouth and pulled her knife out of its sheath. The room smelled like magic and magic made guns very unpredictable. If she has to use one, she would. 

She turned her face into the microphone stitched into the collar of her jacket. “It's definitely this way.” 

Renjis voice clicked back. “We are coming down, don't engage anything.”

Blah, blah, don't get stabbed. Got it. If she got stabbed then Toushirou would probably make her go to the healers first and then feed her and then she would spend two days sleeping that off. No thank you. Just walking into the room with him anymore was enough to get stomach twisted together.  She wasn't sure if it was magic or just plain ole hormones, either way she wasn't  entirely comfortable with it. Most nights he was nice enough to leave the room to let her fall asleep and then she woke up in her bed at home with her alarm going off. It was some sort of routine anyway. 

She focused on the blood trail and tried not to jump when Toushirou and Renji dropped down next to her. Renji looked extra fangy and Toushirou's ears were starting to look very Fae like. 

She arched a brow at both of them. “There is enough magic down here to choke a horse. Reign it in you two.” She turned and eased down the walkway. It was too narrow for either of them to pass her and that would probably annoy Toushirou. She didn't care overly much. Right now...she was fairly annoyed with him and she didn't have a reason for why. Rangiku had give her that amused look when she had asked her about it and told her that sex would probably fix it.

Ha, ha, no.

She pulled her attention back to herself and paused when they got close to a corridor. “Let me go first.” Renji’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I smell sulphur.”

Momo nodded and eased to the side. She ended up having to squash against Toushirou but that was better than the wall. She was not touching the wall. He grimaced when he had to lean into the brick, but he could take it like a man or far, or whatever. Magic curled down her spine and along her runes. It almost felt like it missed her, she glanced at Toushirou from under her lashes and was a little startled to see him watching her and not the walkway.

“Don't let them touch you here, your magic is going to be unpredictable.” 

She nodded, her head jerking before moving down the hallway. She paused. “My magic?”

His fingers settled on the small of her back. “Forward, Momo.”

She gritted her teeth and ignored how warm his fingers were when he should clearly be cold, king of winter and all. She scowled at Renji’s red hair and avoided a hole in the wall and kept walking. Damn evasive bastard. She had decided he only gave her information when it was convenient for him. She wasn't sure how to deal with that but right now wasn't exactly the time. 

Fine. Fine. Fine.

She would deal with it later. 

--

He should have been more specific. Momo stared at the carnage that was the room she had been trapped in and refused to actually acknowledge the fact that it was snowing. If she ignored it, maybe it would go away. She wasn't cold, but of course it was apparently her magic that had caused it.

Possibly because she was trying to cover a lot of dead people that she didn't remember killing. Her clothes were ripped in a few places but most of the blood wasn't hers. Hell the blood dripping down her knife wasn't hers. There were also runes, elegant, beautiful, runes along her forearms that she was to shell shocked to translate. 

She also didn't know where she was. She had been with Toushirou and Renji and then the floor had dropped out from under her while she was escorting a victim to the main road. The victim bad attacked her as surely as all these people had. Probably, probably the woman was in the middle of all this. She swallowed her bike and flipped on her flashlight. It burned her eyes but it helped her see a little better.

Right, okay, her watch said she had been missing for two hours. Toushirou was probably going to kill her for this one, but in her defence there had been cops everywhere. She hadn't expected to fall through a whole and wake up exhausted and bodies...everywhere. Was the snow from her or Toushirou? Did it matter? She needed to find a way out of this place or she needed to see if she could teleport to Toushirou somehow. 

She started walking. Well, she used the gross wall as a prop while she meandered down the hallway. Unpredictable, she wanted to know what predictable meant to him. Killing, no, she wasn't going to think about it. She was going to hold onto this knife for all she was worth and she was going to walk. 

Some weird instinct warned her to turn off her flashlight so she did. There was a small alcove and she gritted her teeth and walked through it. She could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room, but that was all. 

“Who pissed off the Winter King.”

“Why is he here?” 

Momo eased a little further back and froze. They were talking about Toushirou. 

“The Queen is missing.”

“How did he lose the queen?”

“The elves have a bounty on her head.”

“Why would - do you smell that?”

Momo wanted to ask them what they smelled, but the dragon on her back burned and she was suddenly in the dimly lit room that she had come to recognize as belonging to Toushirou. The tiny healer looked up and smiled. 

“Glad to see I haven't lost my touch. Come on dear, let's get you cleaned up before Toushirou descends on us. If he sees all this blood it might go really bad for the elven diplomats.”

Momo let her lead her to the bathroom. “Diplomats?” 

White teeth flashed. “Apparently, Toushirou beheaded two elven Lord's this afternoon after you went missing. It was very messy, I am told. The elves have a fine sense of diplomacy. As soon as the first head started to fall they dispatched people to make sure no other heads rolled.”

“How kind of them.”

“Yes, well, since you smell like you bathed in elven blood I can imagine how you're feeling about them just now. Now, let strip and wash. I will take care of the clothes. You get clean and then crawl into the tub to finish the recovery.”

Momo didn't argue, the need to be clean was pretty intense and since she didn't really know whose blood she was bathed in it wouldn't be good to argue. She hesitated. “He beheaded them?”

The little healer whose name she might be able to pronounce one day grinned. “Very messily I am told. It serves them right. You're the Queen.”

Momo nodded slowly; all right what was she supposed to say to that. “All right then, I am going to go shower now.”

“Use the green soap. It will get the smell of blood out of your hair.”

Right. Shouldn't let Toushirou smell the blood. He had already beheaded two people. Who just… why would he even… you didn’t behead people. She looked at the runes on her arms. He wasn't not going to miss those. He was going to freak out and apparently he had already freaked out and beheaded two people.

“Is someone going to tell him you found me?” That was probably an important question. 

“Of course. Clean up quickly. You probably have ten minutes at the most.” There was a pause. “Unless you want him to find you naked in the shower.

She was hot and cold at the same time. He did not need to find her in the shower. She swallowed. “Very funny.” 

--

Momo pulled a pillow over her head when the lights flared on. She was not particularly fond of the lights. She sat up and immediately closed her eyes. Oh god, that was bright; too bright. She slapped a hand over her face. The light was wa

o bright. Way, way, to bright. 

“What the hell.” 

Hands jerked her forward. She snarled and slapped out at the hands. God her body hurt. “Be still, Momo.”

“I am so done with the orders.” She blinked at the walls in eye watering fascination. Toushirou never turned on the lights like this. She wasn’t sure if that was for consideration for her light sensitive eyes or his. She wasn’t sure if it was the light that gave it away or the hands roughly shoving her into the bed, but her runes flared and magic snapped the person on the bed across the room. 

She sat up and shoved her nightgown back over her shoulder. This was why she always brought clothes when she came over here. So she didn’t have to wear these flimsy things that the women here thought were nightclothes. She scowled. Her knives, she had knives somewhere didn’t she? Who the fuck was in this room? She crawled across the bed and landed on her feet. At least this stupid outfit had shorts. She scowled and grabbed a chair to pull in front of her when he was running at her again. She swung her chair around and connected with it. It flew into the table and sent everything flying across the room. 

Right, okay. Power slid down her hands and it started to snow again. Why was it snowing exactly? God only knew why it was snowing. She scowled and dove behind the chair when something crashed into it. That was something with a sharp edge attached to it. Someone was attacking her with a sword. There was a flash of power in the corner of the room, and Momo decided that it was probably not going to kill her in the next sixty seconds. 

She grabbed another chair and attacked whoever it was that had turned on the damn lights. This was not fun. Something twisted her body around and she hoped over the sword that was coming at her from behind. A knife landed in her hand and she dove at the man who was coming at her. He dodged backwards and she took that opportunity to do so as well. Great, just great, now there were two of them. She caught the corner of the table and flipped it up to hide behind to catch the knives that she had barely noticed. Right, okay, well she was a good fighter but this was a little ridiculous. 

The snow exploded into the room. So much ice and snow. Momo used the distraction to dive behind the couch. There was a crash and a scream; another scream. Momo wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife a little tighter. 

“It's all right, Momo.”

She almost snorted.  Right, she had heard that one before. Get up, Momo. Eat the food, Momo. Let this person who wears Toushirou’s face crawl into bed and shake you and probably try to stab you in the face, Momo. No, she was not going to deal with this. She crawled to the end of the couch and peeked out from behind it when the snow and ice disappeared. The room was still shambles, but there were no bodies. Toushirou was standing in the middle of it. A long ass sword in his hand while he looked around the room. Her tiny knife, in comparison, wouldn't do much of anything to stop that sword. 

“You know, I have heard that before in the last ten minutes.”

He turned, mouth quirked up. “Nice outfit.”

She scowled at him. “Put up the sword.” It disappeared from his hand and her little knife followed. Well that was a rather interesting type of betrayal. She had liked that knife. Having a weapon was a lot better than not having a weapon. “I thought you said I was safe here?”

His eyes narrowed and she forced herself to leave the relative safety of the couch and ignore the way his eyes followed the line of her legs. “You were sleeping fine when I left.”

Right, okay, it wasn’t creepy when you shared a room with someone. She rubbed her face. “Well, they got in somehow.” She dropped her hands and yelped. He was right there. She threw up her hands and he barely caught her before she tripped over the couch. She swallowed. Okay, they were supposed to not do this level of touching, right? She glanced up at him through her lashes, he was watching her with that particularly lethal for Momo expression on his face. 

Her super ninja fighting skills had not reared their head, so clearly he was Toushirou? 

“Be careful,” he loosened his grip on her hips and she took a step back, nodding. 

“They had your face,” she told him a little wearily, his jaw ticked. 

“How did you figure it out?”

She waved her hand at the still very bright lights. “They turned the lights on all the way. You never turn on the lights when I am asleep.” She glanced at him. “I haven’t decided if you keep them off for me, if you keep them off in general or if you can see that well in the dark.” He didn’t need to know about those few seconds of confusion. She had not been awake. 

His mouth curled at the edge. “I see.” She glanced at the room that she had thoroughly trashed. Huh, that had been an effective if fast fight. “You weren’t alone for more than ten minutes.”

She frowned and went to ask him if some of his people had decided to get rid of her when he reached down and caught her hand so that he could look at the runes on her arms. She almost jerked her hand out of his, but she was fairly certain that it would get her another one of those looks and she had had enough of those today. He had that half amused expression on his face, that wasn’t much better. 

“What happened when you feel through the floor?”

She ducked her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He tapped her nose with his free hand and she scowled. 

“These runes are very rare and hard to come by.”

“Great.”

He sighed. “You have protection runes on your back and battle runes on your arms.” His thumb brushed against her wrist. “What am I going to do with you?”

She shrugged, “Take me home so I can get actual clothes to sleep in?”

He reached up and ran his fingers down her throat and to her collarbone. “I like this outfit.” 

She felt the flush starting to work its way up her chest. She cleared her throat. “That's nice, I still want pants.”

“I can keep you warm, Momo.” 

She blinked. Blinked again. He did the voice thing. The unfair voice thing. She felt her face flush a bright red and scowled at him. “No.”

She wasn't sure what to do with that dimple. Probably ignore it, that was for the best. “Come,” he told her. There was a faint whisper of magic and they were standing in a new much bigger room. It wasn’t as dark as the previous room. Windows lined the walls giving her a view of the mountains covered in ice and snow.

“What in the world…” her voice trailed off while she blinked at the room. It was a nice room, but still.

“This room opened up once you were recognized as the Queen. It is in the heart of our court, anyone who wishes you ill will here will face a different sort of death than the one I can offer them.”

“What do you mean?”

He motioned her towards the window. She glanced at him. He was wearing his stone face again; the one that told her she was going to have to figure this out on her own. She sighed and walked to the edge of the room and stared out the window. Mountains, ice, snow, more mountains. She wasn’t sure what she was… wait. Wait one damn second. The mountain that she had been admiring shifted and red eyes flashed against the horizon as the whole damn thing…. it moved. That whole mountain over there moved.

“Is that a dragon?” 

--

Momo stared at her coffee cup and the cookie she had ordered herself and tried to be practical. There was no practical left in here. There was a lot of devastation, anger, and hurt. She had been fired from being a cop. She forced herself to keep her hands from clenching. Oh sure she has reasons.

‘The Winter Queen can't be a detective on this force without political repercussions. It is one thing to use cover to find a murderer, it's another to be a paid member of this institution and we are a neutral force. No one will think this territory is neutral if you're being paid and you are too good to let you volunteer.’

Too good to let her volunteer. It was a nice way of saying she wasn't wanted. She took a bite of her cookie and contemplated what, exactly, she was going to do now. She was still inching her way through the transformation from human to Fae. Toushirou had spent a lot of time staring at her that morning so she had avoided the mirrors for all she was worth. Her ears didn't feel pointy, but she had left her hair down just in case. Maybe that was the problem. She used to have fine hair and now it was a thick curtain to just past her shoulders. At least it was still straight. If her hair curled she might have lost her mind. It also wasn't white; a small favor she kept thanking the universe for. 

Still, she had been fired from the job she had spent her whole life working towards. She wished Granny was still alive. Then she could call her and tell her about this madness and hear her laugh. She would want to meet Toushirou and probably demand daily visits once she knew he could pop in and out of reality at will. 

She wasn't going to cry in a coffee shop over a cookie. She could at least wait until she had liquor in front of her. God, what was she going to do with her stuff? She was going to be forced to live with Toushirou full time now and that would just lead to extreme boredom. She closed her eyes and jumped with someone dropped into the seat in front of her. 

“Renji?”

“I heard.” He had a cup of coffee in his hands. She wasn't quite ready to look up at him yet. “Shit thing for her to do

“What reason did she give?”

“That's you’re the newly appointed Winter Queen.” He paused. “Toushirou is going to be pissed.”

Momo nodded. He was probably going to have words with her. “Why would she do that?”

He shook his head. “I don't know. The captain doesn't play political anything, but that was a pretty shit move. It's going to paint a target on your back with the more extreme cops in the division. Her grandmother is probably rolling over in her grave right now.”

Momo hesitated before shrugging. “What's her story? As a human I didn't rank enough to know, but Toushirou said he had to tell her who he was when he came into town. Is she a see?”

Renji grinned. “No, she probably hates you for that one, actually. Her great-great-grandmother had real power, but she was a human yanked out of this world by a court. She made it back and settled here, declared this place neutral territory and started the supernatural police force to monitor and deal with things that went bump in the night. It's a long convoluted story but that's the basis. Each generation has carried it on, though the current captain is all human. She uses charms and various things to maintain her authority and most of the courts respect her stance because of the previous generations.”

Momo nodded. “If it's just based on respect then who knows how Toushirou is going to react.”

“Quickly and angrily if I am to judge his response to the elves attacking you. It's why I quit too. I want no part of that when he decides on how he is going to retaliate.”

Momo blinked. “You quit? Too? I thought everyone liked the captain.”

Renni nodded. “We did, until she obviously set you up against those elves. Then she throws you under the bus? Fae aren't stupid and Toushirou has been the king for a long time. Going after you is suicide.”

Momo took a drink of her coffee and watched the people walk by outside. Some were supernatural hiding in plain site, some were just plain humans moving on to live their new lives. “That doesn't make sense to me. Why? All I wanted was to be a cop and help people.”

Renji shrugged. “The type of person who goes from human to Fae Queen in a matter of days is the type of person the captain would see as a rival. As long as you were a good little cog in the wheel she could ignore you. The rules of this place state you should be safe here, but that won't stop her from trying.”

Momo pursed her lips together. “What do you think Toushirou will do?”

He looked at her and she sighed. “That's what I thought. What brings you here, Renji? You didn't come all this way to give me the political speech.”

“I have a job offer for you.”

She glanced at him surprised. “You quit your job.”

He nodded. “Yes, but Kira, I don't know if you have met him, and I have had a contingency plan in place for a while. We both like to find the missing pieces but we don't like all the bureaucracy, so we have our private investigator licenses. We would like for you to join us.”

Momo wondered if she looked as startled as she felt.

“We have offices on the corner not too far from here and three apartments above. We bought the place outright a few years ago so if you wouldn't have to pay rent or anything.”

“That's… Generous of you guys.”

Renji looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Look, I mean, I know Toushirou would probably buy you anything you wanted, but we wanted to make the offer. You're a damn good investigator and we would love to have you as part of the team.”

Momo smiled at Renji. “I would love to meet Kira and look over the apartment and space, but I probably do have to talk to Toushirou and see if there is some political thing I don't know about.” Having an apartment that she didn't have to pay rent on would let her continue to transition in peace and give her a place to hide from things. Having a job would be better. 

Doing private investigations would give her something outside of being queen. She wasn't ready for the queen gig, wasn't even going to pretend she was ready for the queen gig. Hell, Toushirou and her weren't even at the point where they were kissing. She eyed Renji and wondered if he would still like her if she asked him if Fae kissed each other. 

Kissing Toushirou would probably wreck her world, she had better not. 

“Wanna go look now?”

Momo scooped up her cookie. “Let's!”

--

“You’re not sleeping.”

Momo glanced up from where she was settled in front of the large window that looked out over the mountains. She hadn't seen the dragon again since the first day she had been here, but she figured it was out there somewhere. Toushirou had picked her up at her apartment and then apparently headed off to meetings. She rather thought the time difference here was strange, but probably it wouldn't matter as much anymore.

“My brain isn't tired.” 

She was a little startled when he sat on the rug in front of the window with her. She...well, okay. Nevermind now she could feel the heat of his leg against hers, really was it necessary to do that? She glanced over at him and realized she had his full attention. Well, crap. 

She glanced back out the window. She was pretty sure the dragon was hiding from her. 

“What's bothering you.”

She looked back at him. “Your many minions haven't reported in?”

“Not today,” he stretched his legs out in front of him. “I will wait to see if you will tell me before summoning the minions. It is easier on their knees.”

Momo snorted and watched the snow fall. “The Captain fired me today. Said I was too much if a political hot potato to work under her office.” It stung, having to tell him. He was the whole reason this has happened and she didn't particularly like it. He had not returned to the precinct since the whole 'behead they enemy thing.’ Probably due to his cover being blown. 

“Did she now.”

“You didn't know?” 

He shook his head. “No, I would have dissuaded her from it, if I had.”

“Why?”

“Politically, she has very little power. The rules that have been put in place are maintained by the courts through treaties. Initially, following the rules was forced by her family but that changed as people settled into that side of the veil. They have very little power of their own now, they have only ever produced children with humans.”

“The why did you look for the murderers as a cop?” 

“Convenient cover. Also, it is her people's job to hunt for those who would attack our children. I was curious as well, how someone like the creature we caught was killing uninhibited in the city.”

“What did you decide?”

“Other than you and a few others it's a farce of a police force now.” She shifted so she could look at the line of his jaw. It told her more than that flat, flat, voice. He looked at her with those eyes. “What else did she do?”

She closed her eyes with a sigh. He brushed her hair back away from her face and she tried not to look startled, she rather thought she failed. 

“You wouldn't look so pensive if there hadn't been something else. What is it?” 

“Renji met me for coffee. He said she named me Winter Queen.”

“Did she now.” His words were soft and quiet and that was more terrifying than anything else she had seen from him. 

Momo nodded. “I can't confirm -”

“I can.”

“Renji offered me a job as a private investigator.” She told him to change the subject. She got the satisfaction of seeing him freeze, eyes a little wide. Ha, she had surprised him with that one. “It comes with an apartment. I am going to accept it.”

He cocked his head at her. “You could always move here.” 

“And do what? You and I both agreed I wasn't ready for court functions until I finished my new power upgrade.” Amusement curled at the corner of his mouth and eyes. “I have never sat still in my life, I am not starting now.”

“They offered you an apartment?”

She shrugged. “I can't afford my own place without my job.”

“You can afford whatever you want.”

“That is your money, not mine.” Her hands were fists on her knees and she forced them to relax. She hated talking about money. He had so much and she had so little. Working at least let her feel independent, well, maintain her independence. 

“Everything that I have is yours.”

She looked outside in an attempt to cover her blush. Right, yes, well they had to have this conversation at some point. “It doesn't feel like mine.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Arching her brow at him probably wasn't winning her any points. “I have been alone a long time. Not long in Fae terms, granted, but it feels like winning the lottery or something. Not mine.”

He kept watching her for a few minutes and she made herself stare back. This was one of his tactics, stare at the Momo until she broke and told you what was actually bothering her. Not this time. 

“I am going to have to insist that you eat dinner with me several times a week, if you're going to want to spend your days on that side of the veil.” He gave her one of his looks that she hadn't quite figured out. “We will also need to work out arrangements on how to handle the more dangerous investigations you're going to find.”

“I am not -”

“Protection spells and battle runes do not equate a peaceful life, Momo.”

“Because I created those runes myself!” Sarcasm would win her any points, but it helped. He pushed to his feet and held out a hand for her to take. “Come to bed, it's late for you. You're going to feel it tomorrow.”

She took his hand grudgingly. She moved to drop it once she was standing and his fingers tightened around hers. He led her towards the bed and glanced back at her. She wasn't sure what he got from her face but his mouth tilted up in that smirk that always did weird things to her stomach. 

“I can't seduce you if you don't let me touch you, Momo.”

She almost tripped over her own feet. Seduce? “What?” Her voice was raspy, but she was...he…

He paused and turned and used his free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing over her jawline before he let his hands drop. “I told you before, I am not disappointed that you are my queen.”

“I told you I wasn't sleeping with you.”

That thrice damns smirk had her curling her toes into the floor to keep from reacting. “Yet,” he reminded her. “You're not sleeping with me, yet. I never said I wasn't going to change your mind.” He brought her wrist up to his mouth, lips soft against her skin. “It's a war of attrition and I am playing to win.”

Momo could feel her ears turning red. She cleared her throat. “No.”

He nodded and tugged her towards their room. “For today.”

...that was both the most thrilling and terrifying thing she had ever heard in her life. 

 --

Momo wasn't sure where she was. She was floating somewhere and her body felt weird. She opened her eyes and realized that she was in a weird Misty place, just floating. She turned her head and frowned. Her body wasn't particularly under her control, just her head. She closed her eyes and counted to three and opened them again. Same place, same story, what was going on here? Was she dead? What had happened and why couldn't she remember it? She closed her eyes again and decided to not panic. Panicking didn't seem to be a plausible thought process. 

There was a rumble in the distance and her head tilted in it's direction. The rumble increased. She closed her eyes and the mist growled at her, she opened them in time to see a red eyes dragon curl around her body. She took a deep breath and felt the dragon curl around her. 

'I found you, you are safe.’

She wanted to ask him where he found her, but her eyes were closing again. This time, at least, she was safe.

At least, she thought she was safe. 

--

Momo stood in front of Rangiku’s door, hood pulled over her face. The door opened and she stared at her friend, wide eyed and probably pale. Rangiku stared at her.

“Can I come in?” Even her voice felt funny in her mouth. It was enough to startle the blond out of her stupor.

“Momo?”

“Please?”

The door opened wide and she moved into the room before she could change her mind. The door shut behind her and she shivered. It was cold, but it wasn't the cold bothering her. She turned to her friend and wondered if she saw the same thing she had when she looked in the mirror.

“Momo, what happened? Does Toushirou know you are here?”

She swallowed the tears that wanted to erupt. She wasn't going to cry. She shook her head. “I am not even sure how I got here to be honest.”

Fingers pushed her hood back and Rangiku sucked in a breath. Momo didn't quite flinch, her body freezing. “You finished -”

“Yes,” she interrupted quietly. Rangiku was looking at the same defined cheekbones, sharp ears, and dark eyes of the fae lady she had seen in the mirror that morning. She swallowed. “Something bad happened. I don't know what yet, but I dreamed… Well, it doesn't matter what I dreamed. When I woke,” she waved to graceful, not human, hands at herself. “This.”

Rangiku hesitated. “You’re beautiful.”

She surprised both of them when she burst into tears, her entire body crumbling into the chair she had sat in a hundred times. Rangiku dropped with her, wrapping warm, human, arms around her while she cried. 

She cried too much and not enough but as soon as the waterworks started, they stopped. “I didn't want to be Fae.” She told the woman next to her. 

“I know.” The hand patting her shoulder paused. “Toushirou is going to have kittens when you're not there.”

Momo snorted. “He will live.”

Rangiku leaned back on her heels cautiously. “Momo, he is the King of the court.”

She shrugged. “According to the dragon I am his equal not his subject. He will live.” 

“The… dragon?”

Momo looked at her friend and wondered if the empty hole in her gut was because her humanity had been so thoroughly stripped from her so quickly or not. She was numb and tired and god, she was right.

He was going to kill her. 

She managed a slight smile. “It might be better not to ask that one. It's complicated.”

Rangiku nodded, wide eyed. “What can I do?

She sighed and closed her eyes. “How do I get back?”

“Oh boy.”

--

Momo sat in her bed and listened to the rain fall. Rangiku hadn’t a clue how to get her home but she had known how to sneak her back to her apartment. The room Renji and Kira had given her had the most privacy being on the top floor, it also had the biggest window and was the hardest to get from the front door. Right now she couldn't see much outside, but the lights were off and it was peaceful. Her new ears had caught too much sound outside until the thunderstorm shut everything else out.

She refrained from touching her ears again, not sure how she felt about them. Toushirou had told her it might take decades for things like that to change, but clearly he had been wrong. She tucked her arms around her legs a little tighter and rested her chin on her knees. Everything was too big, too loud and… magic whispered against her skin and she tilted her head to look at the blond man who had appeared in the corner of her room.

Her inhuman eyes took him in without the veil of humanity shielding her. Power thrummed against her spine in warning, even as the part of her that she hadn’t realized was on alert settled and relaxed. He was safe. Toushirou, Winter King, her...whatever. She had expected him to be furious but he was watching her as cautiously as she was watching him. 

“I guess you got Rangiku's message.” She had not taken anything as modern as a cell phone with her when her panic had plunked her in down in front of the blond woman's door. 

“Yes.” 

Even his voice sounded different. Her stomach fluttered and she ignored that too. “What happened?”

He tilted his head just a little. “You don't remember?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“A few elves decided to kidnap the Winter Queen and torture her.” His voice was low and quiet but she could feel the rage he wasn't showing her, now that he was talking. 

“How did you find me?”

His mouth edged up at the corner. She wasn't sure how she knew he had found her, that he would look, but she did. It wasn't that he had been her partner or that he was...a friend. She was missing so he had found her. 

These new instincts were going to get her in trouble.

“Kira.” 

She nodded and looked back out the window. She didn't want details. She wasn't sure how being tortured equated pointy ears and weird blood but it had. Maybe later, when she was feeling brave, she would ask. 

“Why Rangiku?”

Momo glanced back at him. “What?”

“Why did you go to Rangiku when you woke up?”

And not him, he didn't say it but it hummed between them. It was the question of the hour apparently.

She sighed. “It wasn't a conscious thing.” She had the time to think about it. Rangiku had explained why she needed to know the answer to that question. “I saw my reflection on the mirror… and I guess I wanted to be human again so badly I ported myself to the only safe human I knew.”

He settled on the bed next to her, long legs tucked close. She shifted so she could mostly face him. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers carefully not touching her ears. 

“You’re beautiful.”

She managed a slight smile. “So Rangiku said.”

“Being Fae doesn't change who you are.”

“It feels like it does,” she looked at her hands. Long delicate fingers, strong wrists, even her chipped nails had been replaced. She wondered, briefly, if they  could grow into claws.

Long fingers curled around hers. “Who you are is not predicated upon how you look. It's what you do.”

She looked up and was a little surprised to find his face so close to hers.

“You are the guardian of the winter court. It's Queen, a protector. The fact that you are also now Fae in body does not change that.”

She huffed. “You make it sound so easy.”

That damn mouth quirked up at the corner. “Come back with me.”

There it was, the elephant in the room. The reason Rangiku couldn't just magic her home. Consequences to all of her choices, even unknowing ones.

“Why? I panic at the sight of my own face and somehow port myself to the other side of the veil and can't get myself back home. That does not scream stable.” She couldn't get home this time, but he could come and get her. She could choose to go or to stay. 

Magic...well, magic rules were so strange.

His mouth brushed against the palm of the hand he was holding. “Next time, don't panic.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like that is going to happen.”

Another brush of his mouth; this time against the pulse point on her wrist. “You will learn.”

She scowled. “That isn't helping your case.”

That smile that made her heart stop and her face flush, flashed lightning quick against his mouth.“If you leave me to deal with the elves, I will just kill them all.”

“You can't just kill an entire race because they attacked me.”

“Tortured you, and I assure you, I can.” His eyes had shifted until she wasn't sure she wasn't looking at the Dragon.

“No.” She swallowed. “Toushirou…” She didn't know what to say. What to do. She didn't know enough about anything to do anything and yet here they were. 

“Being alone leaves little to be desired.”

She scowled at his mouth. She wasn't even sure why she was looking at his mouth. “Can't you just say you would miss me?”

“I would miss you.” Another kiss to her palm. “You haven't slept with me yet.” 

She could feel the heat sliding over her cheeks. “That should not be a predilection on which I base a decision.”

Eyes gleamed at her from behind thick eyelashes. “Sure it can.”

She huffed and laughed at the same time. “I will cause you endless problems.”

“No one will be bored.”

She looked at him again and tried to set aside her worries and just...look. He was beautiful and so old. His age and power an endless well against her skin and yet, here he was trying to convince her to come back with him. To try again. 

She didn't remember what had happened to change the rules but clearly something in her did. The wary, uncertain side. He watched her with those unblinking eyes of his and she wondered until she didn't. She surprised herself when she leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm against hers. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but the new side of her with all its instincts approved. 

His hands curled into the thick mass of her hair while hers eased into the front of his shirt. She kissed him until she was flushed with it, until her lungs burned for air, until she memorized the taste of his mouth. She broke the kiss and ignored how hard she was breathing. “I am still not sleeping with you.”

He leaned forward and nipped softly at her bottom lip with his inhuman teeth. Shivers and goosebumps slid down her spine. “Yet.”

--

[ladyatthecrossroads]

*pulling up to the best drive thru ever* Can I get uh number 18 from the super sappy lines prompt list with reader saying that to Mollymauk?

Anonymous said:

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” (18 from the sappy romance prompt list) with mollymauk and a gender neutral reader ? love your writing btw ! 💕💕

Thank you for the requests, anons! I hope you enjoy this!

As a note, I didn’t originally intend for this to turn into a post about body positivity, but here we are. also I’m bad at titling things…

Title: BeautifulWord Count: 1,640Pairing: Mollymauk x gender-neutral!reader

“Hey, do you wanna come hang with us in our room?” You turn your head at the sound of Beau’s voice, pausing mid-stride in the upper hall of the Pillow Trove. It’s a good thing you do, because you most certainly would have tripped over Fjord, who you now notice is just getting up from sitting in the same hallway outside the rooms you have all rented. Lost in thought as you had been, you didn’t even notice him until just now. But Beau is looking at you with something that is half-expectation and half-dead-pan. She shrugs one shoulder. “‘S just an offer. Y’know, ‘cause Molly…”

As she drags out the tiefling’s name, you can hear a very audible string of laughter and giggles emanating from Fjord and Molly’s room. You blanch. Dear Gods, he wasn’t joking, you realize and give the monk a nod, following Fjord into the room.

Jester is cross-legged on the bed, clutching a luxurious silken pillow and twiddling her fingers at you and Fjord; mainly Fjord. He looks so out of place, his green skin taking on an unusually warm tone. The both of you take a seat wherever available in the lavish suite.

Conversation ensues. You’re honestly impressed; this place is much nicer than any of your previous stays, so far out of all of your price ranges combined, that it feels entirely surreal that you were even here. The hour grows later, not that you take much notice of the passing of time. Sometimes it was good to just sit and talk nonsense with your crew.

That’s when he bursts into the room, lavender skin and tattoos bared to the world, his tapestry of the Platinum Dragon draped over him to give him some modicum of modesty. Mollymauk carries a half-eaten plate of fruit piled with fresh grapes and berries and you think you even spy a cut pomegranate. His jewelry twinkles in the dim candlelight and he has a glow about him that suggests his massage was very nice, indeed.

“I am your god!” he exclaims, ever the drama queen, “Long may I reign. Eat of my fruit.” The rings on his fingers sparkle as he extends the plate before him to share his delectables.

You notice Fjord running his palm over his face, obviously still uncomfortable by this display. As for you, you could feel your own face growing hot. That tapestry really left little to the imagination.

Mollymauk was quite a specimen. You had never known anyone so rich in flavor and flair, flamboyant and vibrant as the peacock tattoo embellishing his skin. Truth be told, despite his often ostentatious mannerisms and insatiable appetite for flirty remarks, you really had grown to like the blood hunter. Quite a lot, actually.

Sanguine eyes rove over your face and catch your stare. He gives a saucy wink and you avert your gaze, unable to keep the heat from growing on your face. You feel a sudden need for some refreshment to cool off. “Drink it all in, love,” he purrs, arms extending to put himself on display, “I am here for your entertainment.”

“Sounds like you had quite a night,” Beau comments, dryly, unfazed by the tiefling’s posturing.

Molly crosses the room to set the fruit bowl upon a table; you snatch a half of the pomegranate in passing, absently picking at the ruby arils. He places a hand upon his chest and takes a satisfied breath. “Never underestimate the power of a good massage and the company of beautiful people. You never know what you’ll learn.”

“I learned I may need to rethink my choice of roommate,” Fjord groans to himself. Molly chuckles under his breath.

“That must have been some massage,” you add, waving a hand in his direction and doing your utmost best to tame your slowly spiraling thoughts. “You’re practically glowing.”

He flexes and you get to watch the lean muscles of his back ripple in response. “Honestly, it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in a very long time.” He cranes his neck to look at you again. “You should give it a try sometime. I’ll try anything once; that’s my philosophy.”

You let your eyes focus somewhere over his shoulder, nodding your head in consideration as he turns back to Beau and Jester. You sneak another glance his way, entirely too tempted by the long path of skin he’s revealing. Every now and then, the tapestry sways, giving you a lovely little glimpse of his tail and buttocks before shifting back into place.

But then your eyes take in the faded pink lines crisscrossing all up and down the back of his neck and arms, a road map of scars both self-inflicted and otherwise. Some cut through the various ink designs while others seem much more healed over. He doesn’t seem all that bothered to put them out there for you all to see, but that was Mollymauk for you.

You return to the present at the sound of your name being repeated and you blink to focus yourself in. “Hm??”

Molly is staring back at you, deep pools of crimson watching you, closely. He tilts his head, a mildly amused smile softening his features. “I said, I feel like a walk.” The tiefling extends a clawed, lilac hand towards you. “Care to join me?”

You cock an eyebrow in his direction, your mind made up for you before you manage get the remark out. “That depends. Do you plan on actually getting dressed or is public indecency one of your kinks?” You slide to your feet, already prepared to follow wherever he leads you.

He throws his head back and laughs, clasping you on the shoulder as the both of you make your way from the room. “What would you know about my kinks?” he teases.

Behind you, you can barely hear Fjord’s audible sigh of what sounds like relief, as well as Beau’s warning against staying up too late and Jester’s cheerful jeer of, “Goodbye Y/N, bye Molly, have fun!”

Molly’s arm drapes across your shoulder as the two of you stroll casually down the halls of the Pillow Trove, as though one of you isn’t clad in only a gaudy blue and silver tapestry. Occasionally, his hip sways into yours, and you find yourself thinking perhaps it’s not merely by coincidence. He turns, warm breath brushing over your cheek, a hint of the scent of sweet wine reaching your senses, as he leans in to whisper to you. “You know, normally I would say it’s terribly impolite to stare.”

So, he had caught you, after all. Fiddling with the pomegranate half still in your hands, you smile at the ground. “Yes, but you say that as though you don’t enjoy being the center of attention.”

“Point taken,” he says, and you can feel the press of his skin against yours, warm, strong, reassuring. His thumb rubs circles into the flesh of your shoulder in an almost soothing manner. He’s quiet for a moment before speaking up once again, this time in a more serious, softer tone. “Do my scars bother you?”

This is a turn in the conversation you weren’t expecting. So much so that you pause mid-stride and turn to face him, brow furrowed in confusion. “What in the world gave you that impression?”

He stops, turning to face you, and for once you see an expression appear on Molly’s face that you have never before seen. He’s almost bashful, a hand reaching to rub at the back of his head, blood red eyes now avoiding your gaze. His cheerful demeanor is gone, replaced with an oddly insecure look that makes something inside of you ache. “Well, I don’t know, you had this look on your face that just made me think maybe you were disgusted by them.”

“Disgusted?” You cannot help the shock from dropping your jaw right open, gawking at him. “Molly… Molly, look at me.” He does so. “Are you ashamed of your scars?”

“Not really, no…”

“Why would you ever think I would think less of you because of them?” You shake your head and close the distance between the two of you, taking one of his hands in yours and extending it. There’s so many faded wounds all along his forearms, testaments of battles past. “We all have our scars, but that doesn’t define us. Your scars are a part of you, but that doesn’t mean that’s all you are.” You trace patterns into his palm, mimicking something he’s done before with you, though you’re no palm reader, could tell no future from past. You only see the present. You only see Mollymauk.

He tilts his head and gives the faintest smile, and it’s all you need to know he’s at least reassured. “That’s very insightful of you.”

You shrug one shoulder. “Glad to know you value my opinion,” you admit, starting when his fingers close over yours.

“I always have,” he’s quick to reply. The way he stares at you warms you and brings many more questions to your mind, questions that maybe you’re not quite ready to ask while he’s barely clothed.

Pulling back after a moment, you hike your thumb over your shoulder back towards where the both of you had come from. “Well, I guess I should head back. It’s pretty late.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Alright, well… Night, Molly.” Turning, you pause at your door, weighing your words before you speak, daring yourself to say what’s on your mind before you completely lose your nerve. When you glance up, he’s still staring at you from across the hall. “For the record… You could never disgust me. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Sanguine eyes widen at this admission, but before he can respond, you’ve returned to your room and shut the door.

[overwatchworks]

A Tale of Two Dragons

I had the absolute pleasure to work on a collab with the amazing @mgenjo for this Shimada brothers piece. They had an amazing idea for it and we went back and forth yelling about our boys to create this story and this incredible piece.

I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did working on it with such a talented artist and creative mind! Thank you so much for the opportunity, I had a blast! 

“Otōsan! Tell us the story again!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at his little brother’s exclamation. He was twelve years old and still liked their father telling them stories before bed. It was childish, and yet, Hanzo found himself pulling up his blanket higher and looking to Shojiro expectantly. Their father set his hand on Genji’s head, then sat down between their futons. 

“Which story would you like, Genji?” He asked quietly, though, there was a knowing look in his eye as Genji motioned excitedly with his hands.

“You know the one! With the dragons!”

“You mean the one where they were grounded for not going to sleep?”

“Otōsan,” Genji whined, Shojiro smiling as he leaned back against the wall. Hanzo rolled over to face him, Genji doing the same as their father took a breath.

“My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers: the Dragon of the North Wind, and the Dragon of the South Wind,” Shojiro started, looking at each of his sons in turn before continuing. Genji glanced at Hanzo, smiling before turning his gaze back to their father. 

“Together, they upheld balance and harmony in the heavens. But the two brothers argued over who could better rule their land. Their quarrel turned to rage and their violent struggle darkened skies.” 

Shojiro’s voice rose as he held up a hand, sweeping it down as he spoke. He narrowed his eyes, tone changing as he paused, Genji kicking his feet under his covers.

“Until the Dragon of the South Wind struck down his brother, who fell to the earth, shattering the land…The Dragon of the South Wind had triumphed, but as time passed, he then realized his solitude. The sweetness of victory turned to ash.”

Hanzo stared at the tatami mats, fingers tapping against his pillow lightly. He pursed his lips as Genji leaned in, waiting for their father to continue.

“For years, the bereft dragon’s grief threw the world into discord, and he knew only bitterness and sorrow. One day, a stranger called up to the dragon and asked, ‘Oh dragon lord, why are you so distraught?’ The dragon told him, ‘Seeking power, I killed my brother. But without him, I am lost.’ The stranger replied, ‘You have inflicted wounds upon yourself, but now, you must heal. Walk the earth on two feet as I do. Find value in humility. Go to bed when your father asks you--”

“That’s not how it goes!” Genji interrupted, Hanzo blinking out of his slight daze.

“Are you the one telling the story? I think not, little sparrow,” Shojiro teased, Genji giggling as his hair was ruffled fondly. Hanzo chewed on his lower lip.

“I don’t like this one. Can you tell us a different one?”

“No! I want to hear the rest of this one, it’s almost done anyways! Please, Otōsan!

“Genji, we hear this one all the time--”

“And I like it! The dragons are so cool!”

“Boys. I will finish this one, and tell another, how does that sound?”

Genji nodded, Hanzo sighing before sinking back down into his bed. 

“Very well, then.” 

Shojiro cleared his throat, demeanor changing to add theatrics the story once again.

“‘Only then will you heal.’ The dragon knelt upon the ground. For the first time, he was able to clearly see the world around him, and he became human. The stranger revealed himself as his fallen brother. Reunited, the two set out to rebuild what they had once destroyed.” 

Genji rolled over and clapped, Shojiro smiling at him before turning to Hanzo.

“See? It is a quick story. Now you can pick one.”

Hanzo didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t the length of the tale that made him uneasy, murmuring something about a different story he no longer wanted to hear.

---

Hanzo winced as the needle bit into his skin again, ink seeping below the surface. Marks that would stay there forever, marks he was proud to bear. His dragons, drawn by the clan’s elder tattoo artist, perfected over generations of Shimadas sitting in the same spot he was, needles piercing their skin, marking, claiming. 

The elder had appraised him before his sixteenth birthday, circling around him time and time again, his leathery eyes narrowed. Finally, he had tisked and bowed himself out to start working on the initial design. Shojiro had been proud, Genji excited. Hanzo had blue ink tracing up over his arm the next day, the needle starting sharply just after it had been cleaned and prepared, piercing in clean, black lines. 

Genji watched avidly for the first few minutes, asking if Hanzo was okay, if it hurt much.

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad,” Hanzo replied truthfully, even as the sting of the needle continued to press consistently into his forearm. 

It was fading with each line Hanzo endured.

Genji became bored after ten minutes, which was expected. Hanzo would stay in the chair, still and silent for another four hours before he was given a break, which was expected. They were back at it again as soon as the elder tattoo artist was ready. 

---

Hanzo cleaned his arm carefully, rinsing cool water over it. He had been training with his bow--nothing too strenuous, and he had made sure to cover it properly. The lines were almost complete. Details Hanzo had been staring at every night before he went to bed etched into his skin precisely, eloquently. 

Scales that already seemed to shift and move over his skin, even without colour. Fine lines of fur placed meticulously across the dragon’s back and tail. Delicate, intricate swirling storm clouds with bolts of lightning dancing across them. The dragon’s face, its mouth parted in a growl, ready to strike. 

He had been told colouring it would take at least another four sessions. There was to be blue ink covering most of his arm, so the dragon would stand out starkly against the raging storm. Hanzo trailed his fingers over it lightly, following the beast curling around his arm. 

“Anija!”

Hanzo blinked and looked up into the mirror, past his own reflection. Genji waved at him, hair still sticking to his brow, face red. He must have continued practicing while Hanzo went to clean up. 

He had watched his little brother train for a bit; the strokes favouring his left side needed work, always leaving his right open and vulnerable. But he was fast and agile, footwork mixing in seamlessly with his coordination and strikes. Hanzo had found that if Genji didn’t think he could win--as he often did when the two sparred together--he would work less on making his strikes clean and more on out-stepping the enemy. It won him a few rounds, until Hanzo caught on to the pattern. 

Genji always seemed to do better when he was not really trying. 

“Your hair is a mess,” Hanzo commented offhandedly, Genji grinning as he sat down next to him. He was still breathing heavy, heat coming off him in waves. Hanzo grimaced at the touch of his slightly damp hand on his tattoo.

“Go wash your hands! I have a colouring session in an hour, and I don’t need your sweaty paws giving me an infection.”

“I just want to look!”

“Then just look.”

Genji tilted his head as he looked at the dragon, hands going back to rest in his lap. Hanzo lifted his arm and showed it off a bit, a small smile growing on his lips as Genji’s eyes seemed to sparkle.

“It’s so cool! I can’t wait to get mine, then we can match!”

“That’s only if you get it on your arm, too. The elder might think it’ll look better somewhere else,” Hanzo told him, Genji making a face.

“But it’s my tattoo. I’ll get it where I want.”

“If you say so,” Hanzo shrugged. Genji stood up and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

“I want to see it again when you’re done with today’s session.”

“I’ll make sure and show you, if you’re not asleep.”

Genji grinned, then ran out of the room.

“I’ll probably be up playing that new game I got! You can play it too if you want, it has a co-op mode,” He called, voice fading along with the sound of thumping feet. 

Hanzo shook his head fondly, then went to go disassemble and clean his bow and arrows. 

---

The dragon’s eye was golden, shaded to have depth, standing out against the deep blue of its scales. It watched him constantly, both an assurance and unsettling at the same time. Half completed in blue and gold, just like the dragon on the tapestry in the main hall. The Dragon of the South Wind intertwined with his brother. 

Hanzo didn’t know why he was recalling such a story now, in the middle of his meeting with the clan elders and his father. He must have zoned out. Shojiro was speaking in that tone that indicated he was unhappy with something, though, Hanzo hadn’t figured out what, just yet. Genji’s name popped up, the elders shaking their heads. 

Hanzo finally started to listen again.

“He has been doing everything we ask of him. Genji does not need further conditioning,” Shojiro argued, Hanzo looking between him and the elders thoughtfully. 

“I hardly think playing video games and going out to spend the clan’s money on frivolous activities is ‘doing everything we ask of him’, my lord.”

“Then what would you have him do, if not be the child he is?”

An elder glanced to Hanzo at that, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing, however, sitting back and watching the argument commence. Hanzo figured it was just another pair of eyes making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. 

“He can still be a child, but he must pick up more responsibilities. He must become more involved with the clan before he strays too far.”

Hanzo watched Shojiro’s jaw work, clenching slightly as he held the gaze of the woman that spoke up. 

“We can add to his training schedule and require more attendance to clan business, if you wish, but I will see to the additions myself.”

“Very well.”

The elder that had looked at him before caught Hanzo’s eye again, not looking away this time. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the hard stare, cold and unwavering. Hanzo tried to focus on the meeting instead, the feeling of being watched following him even after it ended and he went to his kendo training. 

---

Hanzo peeled off the protective layering over his tattoo, Genji gasping as it went on full display. It was beautiful; the colours bold and shaded to perfection, the design made to stand out and give a sense of majesty. Power. 

Hanzo could feel it, the way the dragons settled in his skin, a persistent presence. One to be called upon should he ever wish to. Only a Shimada could control the dragons, only a Shimada had that gift. The tattoo merely symbolized it, gave a visual connection to the mystical one. 

“It’s amazing,” Genji murmured, Hanzo tilting his arm this way and that to let it catch the light. 

He loved it. Deep, navy blue with shimmering gold cut through, black lines stark against the tan of his skin. The ink still fresh and shining. 

“They said I can get another one when I turn twenty-one. I might get matching ones on both my arms, like Otōsan’s. And you’ll be eighteen by then, you can get yours too.”

“I’d make mine green, though.”

Hanzo huffed a laugh.

“Of course you would.”

“I’d get it on my right arm too, since it’s the one I hold my katana with. Sounds cool, right?” Genji looked up at his brother the same way he always did when he expected him to agree or praise him, eyes wide and expression open. 

Hanzo gave him a little half grin, ruffling his hair and messing it up more than it already was. Genji made a noise of surprise, pulling back and swatting at Hanzo’s hand before trying to fix the style. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”

“Young master.”

Hanzo turned, brow raising as his posture straightened. A cold expression settled on his face, turning the corners of his mouth down and drawing his brows together. His attendant bowed briefly, then gave him an equally blank stare back.

“Your presence is requested in the Eastern hall.”

With a sigh, Hanzo stood, Genji watching him as he leaned back on his hands. 

“Very well, I will be there shortly.”

The woman bowed again, then walked away swiftly. Genji eyed her as she left, then tilted his body towards his brother.

“When you’re done with the meeting, you want to go get something to eat in town? Rikimaru is having a special on their ramen, they have a new flavour I think you’d like,” He offered. Hanzo gave him a look, brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head. 

“I cannot.”

“What? Why? You did all your training for the day, right?”

A nod, Genji frowning at the motion.

“So, come with me.”

“I have other things to attend to, Genji. This meeting is just one of the evening.”

“Oh,” Genji murmured, eyes drifting down to the floor before he stood fluidly and shrugged, hands going into his pockets.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll wait until your work is done.”

Hanzo fixed his yukata, going to the door and turning to Genji just before leaving.

“Do not bother, just go without me.”

---

Genji grit his teeth and tried to wriggle his way out from Hanzo’s headlock, face red and sweat dripping from his forehead. Hanzo held fast, dropping his center of gravity slightly and widening his stance, not allowing his brother to hook a leg behind his and sweep it. He was getting sloppy, too easy to defeat. 

Going out almost every night partying, drinking, and staying in a club until the early hours of the morning was taking its toll. Hanzo had a feeling he was doing drugs on top of that as well. He certainly wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true. 

Genji finally slowed his struggles and tapped Hanzo’s forearm, gasping as he was let go.

“You do not even try anymore. Your form is lacking, your attacks too rushed. Steady your breath, keep your focus. Again!” He snapped, Genji throwing a glare his way. 

The younger Shimada had been acting out more and obeying less, ever since he had realized he could without much consequence. He did what he wanted while Hanzo was stuck with shouldering the burdens he left behind. The elders were starting to nag on him about the behaviour, but he would push back, give Genji the benefit of the doubt. 

Something he had taken from his father, the urge to protect Genji from what he had to endure. He gave in to far too easily when it came to the young sparrow. He took a strange sort of pride in shielding his little brother from the harshness of the clan, that innate sense driving him to side on Genji’s behalf every time the elders had a complaint.

“He will come around, just give him time.” 

“I will speak with him, he listens to me.”

“I will do it for him, then. He can take the next one.”

“Let him do what he wants.”

Hanzo brushed off his gi, their fight wrinkling the fabric, dirtying the white with stains of brown. 

“We’ve been at it for almost an hour. How many times do you have to beat my ass into the ground before you’re satisfied that you’re better at judo?” Genji grumbled, wiping his forehead and pushing his hair from his face. Hair that had recently been dyed green. Vibrant and obnoxious, screaming for attention. 

Hanzo hated it, but he couldn’t deny that it fit his brother. 

“At least once more. We go until you can beat me.”

Genji groaned, then shook his head. Waved a dismissive hand towards his brother as he walked towards the exit of the dojo. Hanzo’s nostrils flared, eyes narrowing.

“I’ve got somewhere to be tonight, I’m already late because of you. You can beat me up again tomorrow.” 

Hanzo’s jaw tightened as Genji left the dojo, slamming the shoji door shut as he went. 

--- 

There was a weight Hanzo didn’t know his father had been bearing for him until he was gone. Shojiro’s ashes sat in front of him, and Hanzo had never felt it so acutely. Overbearing. A burden he was not ready to carry. But he had no other choice. He had been training for this moment his whole life, and yet, it felt like he was just a child waiting for someone to tell him what to do and how to do it. 

Shojiro’s death had been untimely, Hanzo rather young for having to take the mantle of oyabun. The elders were constantly watching him, whispering in his ear even at his father’s funeral. Any moment they had, they would share their ‘deepest condolences’ before murmuring something about him needing to be ready as the next head of the clan. 

Hanzo couldn’t stop staring at the box his father’s ashes were in, his mind oddly blank. He felt a muted sort of sorrow, face remaining stoic and stony while the Buddhist priest droned on with words he didn’t hear. His stomach churned, hands shaking slightly where they were pressed against prayer beads. 

Genji was crying quietly next to him, eyes downcast. For once, he was at the house and sober. Hanzo was just glad his brother was with him. He would not have to go through the day alone, even if Genji was there for their father, not him. 

The funeral felt like it lasted for a week; three days dragging by, each one slower and heavier than the last until finally, Shojiro was simply a memory. 

And Hanzo was suffocating in the legacy he had left behind.

---

Genji’s tattoo had been started soon after their father had died, though, months later, there was still only half finished line-work on his right arm. Hanzo had mentioned it more as the weeks passed by, though, they had not talked much. 

A Shimada tattoo was something to be proud of, a blessing only given to those with pure blood and strong hearts. Those with the will of a dragon. Not to be left partially completed or brushed aside, as most of Genji’s responsibilities had been as of late. 

Hanzo kept him at a distance now that he had more work to take care of, more business meetings, more deals to strike, more assassinations and black market trades, always more. He would not let on that he was struggling with it on his own, because to admit that would be to admit a weakness. And weakness was always exploited. 

The elders had been speaking with Hanzo more about the unruly behaviour of his brother, the conversation shifting in a dangerous territory. 

“Genji’s actions need to be reigned in before he does something you cannot cover for him. He needs to step into his role in the clan, his family, or he will become a burden that needs to be cut from it.”

Hanzo clasped his hands in front of him, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“I will see to it that he understands the position he is in.”

“My lord, if I may speak freely,” An elder spoke up. The same one that had been watching him when he was still learning from his father, the same one that had been whispering to him for years about what he needed to do for the clan with the promise of greatness in his future. 

Hanzo nodded once, sharply. 

“You have done nothing but try and help Genji, take burdens off his shoulders and allow him the freedom he takes so brashly, and what have you gotten in return for this effort? For years, you and your father took on what he would not so he could do what? Party, drink, and waste himself away late into the night.” 

“When people in town think of the Shimada name, is this what you want them to imagine? A boy with no respect or shame, using his family as an excuse to get what he wants? They should respect and fear the Shimadas, their power and reach, as they do for you. They know who you are, what you stand for. Perhaps it is time to let Genji know this as well, or teach him if he refuses to listen to you.”

Hanzo leveled the elder with a cold gaze, eyes flicking to the side after a moment.

“Perhaps you are right…”

“He is meant to be at your side, assisting you with your work and bettering the clan. That is what he was born to do. You have followed your path, and here you stand with an empire at your command. He is straying from his, and you see the havoc he is wreaking, yes? He needs only a few...Corrections.”

“I will see what I can do.”

“Very good, my lord.”

---

Genji had not listened. Time and time again, he walked away from Hanzo trying to reason with him, asking for help, laying his trust out only to be pushed away and proven wrong to have given it. Their conversations turned short, full of bitter comments and resigned tones. 

A rift had grown between them over the years; Hanzo could not quite tell when it had started, but it was a cold and gaping thing now. Left unattended, chipping away at the edges to widen the distance between them with every argument, slammed door, and frustrated shout. Some things left unsaid, some things where too much was said. 

Hanzo knelt on the tatami, the ridges digging into his knees. His chest was bare, the air around him cold and biting. Winter was setting in early this year. He felt as ill-disposed and distant as the wind blowing through the grey skies, whipping the clouds into storms. 

At the sound of metal hissing, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He could feel the heat of it by his right shoulder, the two dragons of the Shimada clan crest burning a livid orange at the end of the brand. 

“It is tradition. The mark of the Shimada clan. The mark of the master,” They had told him. Hanzo had not argued, gone through the motions of binding himself to the clan symbolically before it would become yet another marking to carry with him forever. 

He had murmured oaths into the silence, listened to those returned to him as oyabun, people promising loyalty and unending fidelity to the clan, to him. Genji was not among them, as he should have been. As Hanzo had asked him to. 

He did not flinch as the heated metal was pressed to his arm, the smell of burning flesh the only thing that made his expression change. Just a slight wrinkle of his nose, quickly corrected into the wall of stone he had perfected. That stench never failed to make Hanzo’s stomach turn, disgust as potent as the smell. 

The pain set in when the brand was removed, stinging and throbbing across his shoulder. Unpleasant, but he’d had worse. 

The ceremony finished as monotonous as it had started, everyone bowing low as Hanzo stood and faced them, now as the oyabun. His title was merely made official, but nothing would change. 

For a brief moment, Hanzo wondered if this was the life he had always imagined he would have.

---

Hanzo stared at the polished wood of the table, feeling disconnected from himself. Body and mind distant, uncoordinated. Words spoken without really processing or feeling.

“Very well, I will do it.”

---

Hanzo sat poised and still, like a statue. It was almost as if he was one now, cold and hard as any stone. Sculpted by the clan, maintained by his duty to do right by them. He was waiting. Genji should have arrived ten minutes ago, but Hanzo had not expected him to be on time. 

There was not much Hanzo expected of him anymore. 

Such potential, gone to waste by his own devices. They could have built an empire together, but Genji had chosen to walk away from his birthright, discard it as though it meant nothing to him. Maybe it did mean nothing to him.

The shift of weight down a hallway had Hanzo’s attention, soft footsteps coming to a halt behind him. Genji stepped into view, wearing his training gi--the one with the sleeves torn off. It was the first time he had been at the estate in over two weeks; he had left after their previous fight, both brothers angry and frustrated, neither willing to budge. 

Hanzo lifted his head, hands settling on the weight of his katana resting in his lap. He had just finished cleaning it, meticulous and precise. It would be a short meeting, no matter the outcome. 

The younger Shimada held something in his hands, sitting down next to Hanzo and setting it between them.

“Hey. Thought you could use some of this. It’s your favourite.” 

Hanzo glanced at the sake bottle Genji motioned to, a frown curving his lips. It was his favourite, but now was not the time to get drunk and sloppy, as Genji might. A mere token of goodwill could not help him now. 

The silence became uncomfortable after a moment, Genji sighing and leaning back on his hands. He had always done that, ever since he was little. Something about that thought struck Hanzo wrong. 

“You wanted to talk? I’m actually glad, I’ve been meaning to do the same,” He continued. Still at ease, eyes distant as they looked out to the city lights twinkling just beyond the balcony. Hanzo’s grip tightened on the hilt of his katana.

“I feel like we’re just...We’re definitely not the people we used to be. And I think that’s setting us further and further apart. I miss when we were younger and you…” Genji trailed off, eyes shifting to his brother before he took a breath.

“I don’t like what we’ve done to ourselves, I guess. But, I still don’t want to change for the sake of something I don’t believe in, Hanzo.”

They’d had this conversation dozens of times, and dozens of times, Hanzo had snapped at him for saying that. Now was no different. Old habits coming to haunt him again.

“Of course you don’t. You have not for years now, and it has done nothing but cause me more problems.”

“Anija, I’m not here to fight you on this. I just thought we could talk without it turning into an argument, for once,” Genji sighed, a hand going up to tug his hair from his forehead. 

Hanzo caught sight of his tattoo, dark lines and scales left half finished. His arm went back behind the curve of his body to support his weight, hiding it again. 

“I have tried to speak with you time and time again--”

“I know, okay? You just repeat what the elders shove down your throat, and I’m tired of hearing it. I know I’m a disappointment and a disgrace to the clan, I get it. And they know I don’t care what they think or want to do what they tell me. That’s not going to change. But I’m here to talk to you, not them. I need to talk to you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s lip twitched just slightly. If that was truly how Genji felt, so be it. He stared at the tapestry of the dragons, bodies intertwined in green and blue, working together in harmony. 

Standing up took more effort than it should have, his body feeling heavy. As if he was not truly in control of it. Anger flared bright and hot in his chest, the dragons rumbling low as the words of the elders came back to him. 

Genji had flown away long ago, left him behind, chained to the cage of the clan to uphold on his own, and he had not looked back. He had left him alone, even after everything he had tried to do for him. Genji had disobeyed the clan, and it was Hanzo’s duty to maintain order. 

So he would.

“You are not going to change, then?” Hanzo murmured. He could hear the resignment in Genji’s voice as he responded, and there was a bite of annoyance there too. It only irked Hanzo further.

“That isn’t the point I’m trying to make, but no. Not if it’s going to be like this, I won’t.”

Hanzo was quiet for a long moment, then he nodded to himself. His katana caught the light as he unsheathed it, the motion quick and practiced. 

“So be it.”

---

The gardens were lovely at night; there was a peace to them that could not be found anywhere else. Soft, orange light cast on the smooth grey of stone pathways and patches of vibrant grass, littered with cherry blossom petals. The moon was full and bright. 

Hanzo’s fingers dripped with blood as he wiped his katana clean of the crimson staining it further. The stench of smoke and ash followed him as he set his blade down and walked back to his wing.

---

Hanzo walked past Genji’s room and paused, brows furrowing as he backtracked and looked inside. Still empty. Genji avoiding home after they had fought yet again. Hanzo walked inside silently, closing the windows with a soft tap. They must have been left open after Genji had left, again. 

Hanzo understood why he didn’t want to be there, but he had not seen his brother in a long time, too many days passing in a blur to count anymore. He missed him. There was no one else for him to talk to, no one else he trusted the way he trusted Genji. There had not even been a call. 

He had asked around the estate earlier that day, talked to servants and guards of Genji’s, but none had seen him. There were a few that gave him hesitant looks every now and then, but it was to be expected. Hanzo did not often ask where Genji was, anymore.

A headache flared behind Hanzo’s eyes--he had been getting more of those lately--and he grimaced. Sleep was alluding him, although, Hanzo had only been having nightmares lately, waking in a cold sweat most nights. He remembered arguing with Genji last he had seen him, a bitter sense of regret nagging at him for acting out of anger again. 

While Genji’s habits were to distract himself and run away from his problems, Hanzo’s were to become frustrated with them, unable to let go or see different solutions once he had the one he wanted in mind. It had caused him more issues than not when it came to dealing with his younger brother. 

Hanzo sighed and went past his own room. It was late, and a walk in the spring air would do good to clear his head. He thought about the dreams he had been having lately; gruesome images with red smeared across his vision, someone shouting and pleading, the wreckage of something at his feet. It wasn’t easy to deal with, but these things tended to happen to trained assassins. Sleep never came easy, and the dreams were never good ones. 

Walking through the garden was nice, the weather still cool and dry enough to be pleasant. He tried to remember how long Genji had been gone for this time. Was it weeks? Or had it only been one or two days? Hanzo could not recall. Perhaps Genji had been right all along, maybe he was overworking himself. 

Stepping over the sakura petals and following the stone walkway, Hanzo made it to the main hall. He was silent as he wandered inside, noticing some scratches in the floor. Hanzo knelt to examine them. Ran his fingertips over the splintery wood, that small strand of hair slipping from behind his ear as his head tilted. 

Those had not been there before. He stepped closer to the katana on display, resting on a pristine stand, a chip in the blade. Blood on the scroll hanging behind it, a cut running through the bottom. Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath. 

Something snapped.

Genji stood there in front of the scroll, brows furrowed in confusion. He shook his head, motioning to the katana in Hanzo’s hands.

“What is this? You know fear tactics don’t work on me anymore. I’m not a child.” 

“No, you are not. Which is why I can no longer protect you from them. You made your choices, Genji. Now you have forced me to make mine.” 

“This is ridiculous. I will not fight you anymore. If this is how you’re going to continue to treat me, I’m leaving. For good. I have something I’ve been working on, people who see me for who I am and what I want to be. I’m not going to stay trapped here forever. I hope that one day you can do the same,” Genji told him, gaze bright and fiery. 

He turned and began to walk away, Hanzo gritting his teeth. The katana moved in a flash, Genji grunting and stumbling as it cut clean through his heels. The first drops of blood splattered in a little arc as Hanzo flicked the sword back up into a defensive hold.

“You will not walk away from the clan this time, brother. I let you stray too far, and now, it is my duty to fix that mistake. You have left me no other options,” Hanzo whispered. 

He felt the first tears slide down his cheeks as Genji looked up at him from behind his shoulder, eyes wide with fear. Never had Genji looked at him like that before. Hanzo felt something in him shatter, a voice in his mind telling him to stop, this is your little brother, don’t hurt him. 

But the blade swung again and again, Genji shouting as his arm was sliced open, again and again. Deep gashes across his body, more stains on the floor, on Hanzo’s clothes. He fought back, reached for the katana on display, Hanzo’s own blade chipping it with the force of his blow. 

But he was already losing. 

He always had against Hanzo. 

Genji scrambled back, clutching at the wall to try and push himself to his feet. A tear ripped through the bottom of the scroll behind him, his blood staining the paper, spreading like ink. Genji collapsed again with a cry of pain.

“Hanzo, don’t! Please…!”

Blue crackled along Hanzo’s tattoo as he raised his arm, an odd sort of numbness blanketing his mind as he watched his dragons burst forth. The katana sang, the force of the beasts being unleashed upon it, upon Genji, creating an ungodly chorus. Genji’s screams and pleads were drowned out in the ethereal growls and roars. Blue and red mixing in a cacophony of sound and colour. The dragons dissipated, leaving a ruined Genji in their wake. 

Hanzo stepped closer to his body, looked down at the arm partially torn from his torso. Black lines of ink shaping scales and clouds, red smeared across it in streaks. Unfinished. 

Genji had wanted it to be green, some time ago, had wanted it to match Hanzo’s. 

Blood dripped from Genji’s lips, eyes staring up at the roof, unseeing. It smelled of ozone and burnt flesh. Hanzo’s nose wrinkled slightly. He looked up at the tapestry of the dragons again, unable to recall the story his father had once told them at the moment. 

But he did remember it was Genji’s favourite story. 

Hanzo blinked, taking a shuddering breath as he heard voices behind him, barking out orders. 

“Dispose of the body. Take care no one sees, and clean this mess quickly.”

Hanzo watched as guards and a few of the elders filed into the room, the latter watching him with a cold sort of approval. It made him feel sick, but the emotionless mask settled into place, hiding what he felt inside as easily as it always had. Hiding the pain in his heart and the tears, the way he felt like he was falling apart, breaking and crumbling. 

“My lord, you must stop!”

Hanzo frowned. The voice had not come from anyone in the room. 

Hands grabbed at his arms, and he pulled away with a shout, back hitting the scroll. His katana fell with a clatter, an attendant jumping away from it. The woman stared at him as he looked around the room with wide eyes, heart racing and a cold sweat on his brow. His hands shook, heart pounding and breathing uneven. 

“My lord?”

Hanzo’s gaze darted to her, then down to himself. There were cuts along his hands and arms, blood warm and stinging as it ran in little rivulets down his palms and fingers. He dropped to his knees, body curling over as he gripped his head. 

“What have I done?! What did I do to him?!”

“My lord, please, I don’t know what you mean…”

“Where is Genji?! Where is he?!”

The attendant looked down at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Hanzo felt like he was going to throw up. Tears joined the blood running down his cheeks. How many days had Genji been gone?

“He is dead, sir.”

Hanzo swallowed thickly, his father’s story on repeat in his mind along with the images of Genji’s broken body at his feet. Genji was dead, struck down by his brother, and Hanzo was choking on the ashes of what was left of himself.

---

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 11

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2018

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 3a: Kurti

Captain Barad Maks brooded on his sybaritically appointed bunk.  At last, I’m finally going to get completely even, maybe ahead of the Longin.  It’s not so much that they’ve avoided my nets or even that they’ve tangled me in every net that I’ve cast their way — — — Skill I can admire.  It was almost getting me fed to the Strong Skins at my first Gathering as Captain.  Mord had nothing to gain by exposing my game.  He near got me killed and for what? Nothing!  He was already a captain and there were no other good candidates.  I chose my time carefully in that regard.

He rolled out of bed and began to dress.  His new cabin-girl, Kurti, quickly came out of the bed and helped him with his sleeves and the tying of his sash and neck-cloth.  She offered no word, out of fear. I wonder what really happened to Chena?  Nobody seems to know. One evening she was here and the next day the Captain chose me to replace her.  They say it was food poisoning but she was the only one.  Whatever happened to her, I don’t want it to happen to me!  She looked at the Captain critically and took a chance on speech, saying, “I think perhaps this hat, with the Wide Wing plume.  It will make a dashing appearance.”

Smiling tolerantly at the girl’s obvious fear, he replied, “By the Dragons, Ch . . . Kurti, isn’t it?  I’m only going about the ship for an inspection.  I need to see Master Selked on a small matter. That’s all.”

Kurti smiled tentatively in return and said, “True, Sir.  Ch . . . your previous cabin-girl did not dress you well.  I think that you will gain even more respect if you always dress well.”  She paused and considered for a moment before adding, “Unless the part that you are acting needs something else.”

Barad actually found it in him to beam, genuinely pleased, his vanity stroked.  He patted her cheek gently and said, “Very well, Kurti, I will let you decide my dress for most occasions, even the most trivial.  If it goes well for morale you will have my appreciation, which is no small thing.

“If it does nothing, it will be remembered to your credit as an honest try to help.  In spite of what you may have heard, I do remember those on my side.”

Kurti was afraid to ask what had happened to Chena.  The answer would have surprised her.  Captain Barad would have told her with complete candor what happened.  He was no fool to blab secrets where they could escape and he knew that she could not get away.  What few people, even those closest to him, understood was that he was not ashamed of or bothered by anything that he had ever done.  Nor did they understand how swiftly he could change course completely if he believed himself to be wrong.

As he walked the familiar grimy corridors of the Grandalor, going to the boat-shop, he felt a buoyant spring to his step.  He felt as good as he looked.  He had not paid much attention to casual dress before, and found that it did have an immediate effect on his own morale. His own mood of self confidence communicated itself to those who saw him.  Crew-folk who saw him coming sprang alertly out of his path instead of clearing the way sullenly.

The Captain knocked at the entrance of the shop and waited for Selked’s call of “Enter!” before he did.

Captain Barad looked approvingly about the meticulously tidy shop.  There were many kits of tools for every purpose on the sea, each bearing the marks of the Grandalor and Selked, piled neatly on every surface. From the overhead beams around the roof-skylight-hatch hung net bags filled with scrapers, bow-drills, and many other tools to be sold singly.

Selked, Master Boat-wright and tool maker, sat before his bench working on sets of sail stitching tools.  Each set was in a fitted box of glued Strong Skin lined with the Gula’s finest velvet.  Captain Barad admired Selked’s work and had never interfered with it.  Selked’s tools of all types were famous throughout the fleet for their uncompromisingly high quality.

The awl shafts that Selked was presently mounting to handles were all of the hardest, densest Wing Ray bone.  The light yellow striations alternating with a delicate brown running the length of each shaft told its origin and value better than any amount of sales talk could.  Noticing that there were three shafts more than there were handles, Captain Barad reached out to pick one up to examine more closely.

Selked’s laconic, “Shouldn’t touch that’un, if I were you,” brought him to a quick stop, fingers only inches away from the pointed shaft.

“I wanted to see it more closely.  There seems to be a defect in the bone pattern,” said the Captain mildly.

“There is.  That’s why I’m mounting this one instead,” said Selked. He pushed home the spike of the awl he was assembling, using a pair of special pliers to handle it, as he seated it into soft glue in the handle’s hole.  He carefully wiped the excess glue with a shaped tool to get a smooth fairing between handle and shaft.

He took his marking tool of Hag beak, wiped on the mordant bone marking ink and placed his mark onto it, slightly off kilter, and just a touch blurred.

Setting the tool into the last place in a kit box, he closed it and handed it to the Captain.

“This is the kit you want for your little scheme.  Sorry that it took as long as it did to make but, as you noticed, I had some trouble getting the Ord spines to take the dye properly.”

Casually, he added, “All the rest of the kit but the awl spike is Merk’s last bungled piece of work.  He tried to take one shortcut too many the other night.  Didn’t use the handling pliers on the very spine that you were reaching for when he poked it into Chena’s snack.  I found him when I opened the shop next morning.  Passed it off as blood poisoning from an infected cut.”

“Thanks for the timely warning.  This kit should be just what is needed and ready in plenty of time.”  Barad considered for a second and added admiringly, “Those spines must have been difficult to work with.”

“They were, Captain. — — May I ask what the occasion is?”

“This?” Barad gestured at his clothing and smiled, “It’s my new cabin-girl’s idea.  Kurti thinks that if I dress the part of Captain better, I will have more respect from the crew.  Speaking of which, choose who you will for your next apprentice.  I’ll see that you get your choice.”

Selked replied seriously, “My thanks, Captain.  You know, Kurti could be right about that.  You project more of an air of authority along with your power.  If she lives up to her other duties as well, she could be well worth keeping.  Pretty too.  You do have an eye for them, Sir.”

Lightly Barad returned, “I pride myself on it.  By the way, I am planning a game of Three Dragons in my cabin tonight.  Would you care to join?”

“My pleasure, Captain.  Tonight then!”

Captain Barad continued his tour of the ship.  It appeared that Kurti was right.  Obedience to his orders and suggestions was prompter and less sullen.  The lack of respect, even as the crew followed orders, that had plagued his captaincy appeared to be dissolving.  And for such a small thing!

He found First Officer Timms on the quarter deck seeing to the butchering a freshly caught four-ton Strong Skin.  All of the men were wearing full foul weather waterproofs and gloves.  A crew, similarly dressed waited by with mops and buckets to clean up. Mister Timms was applying spots of red weed paste to the fish and its skin.  Far too much of the paste was turning the sickly dangerous green that signaled Ord contamination.

“Mister Timms!  How goes the effort to find a use for the Ord in fishing?”

He looked up from his work and answered, “This one is the best so far. Out of ten fish, we have gotten less than fifteen tons of meat and lost over half of the hides to contamination.

“The toxin spreads so fast!  I have tried infusions in bait, Ord spine in the harpoon points and this. . . We harpooned it in the usual way and pricked it with a spine on a pole to kill it.  You can see for yourself.  We got the most hide, this time.”  He cast a glance at the lean form of the dead predator.  “Just over three-fourths.”

Barad actually looked pleased.  The wind played in the plume of his hat. “Give over the effort, Mister Timms.  You have tried all that could be reasonably be done.  I will want all of your notes to append to the log entry.”

“Very good, Sir.  Working around this stuff was making me nervous, to tell you the truth.”  He cleaned his gloves and sleeves meticulously in a bucket before he took them off.  He added a few notes to a small sheaf and handed them to the Captain.

Barad nodded his head solemnly.  “It was too good an idea not to try. It’s a pity that it didn’t work better.”  He walked to a companionway and went down into the ship.

The Purser’s scriptorium was his last stop.  The newly pirated Ephemerides were coming along nicely and some copies were already bound.

“Excellent work, Morgu.  If we can get twenty copies of each volume, I know just who will buy them and how to promote them.”

Morgu looked up from his high desk in the corner of the room and gave a rare, thin mouthed smile at the praise.  “We should have them done by the Gathering, though it will be a near thing.”

“Excellent! I need a small favor.  On these notes here, can you add a brief remark about the loss of one spine, apparently dropped overboard? You should have seen it happen to give credibility to the loss.  The note should be in Mister Timms’ hand.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[devastatedfantasy]

Im typing this

hello.

I'm typing this because I felt like I needed to get things out from my head. I am unstable for the last months. I am tired. I easily get tired. It's like I'm piece of paper being torn but a part of it is still together, any moment of trigger with this tear I could really lose my shit, I'd be torn apart. I have so many things on my plate that have passed its due date and I did not bother to start any, because I know pushing triggers the thin layer of the paper. Forcing something is not good and never be good. So I laid back. I accept my failure. But I've still got to learn how to accept failure and still think I'm worthy enough, I'm good enough to try again. But I don't even know if that's something to work on or something to eradicate in my thinking. Maybe that what feeds the negative thoughts. It stimulates them. "Am I really good enough?" "Am I really trying?" "Am I trying enough?"  "Am I really something?". They say writing your thoughts helps. Seriously, it does but I don't really like it. Ever since, I don't like writing. I fear it. It's not because I don't want to organize my thought but because it feels like I'm confronted by my thoughts. It feels like a slap in the face. It doesn't mean that I don't like it, I don't do it. I still do it but only when I'm ready to be confronted by it, only when I'm ready to synthesize them and understand the root of the thought and how it would benefit and add value to my life.

I'm typing this because I fear putting the ink on the paper. When I write everything in there it means it is true and it is valid. Typing this would lessen the nuance of the gravity of my fear of writing. But on times that I chose to swallow my thoughts and just keep them inside of my head, it is actually me being a prison of my own mind. There are times that I thought I was free from it.  I let myself out of it but all along I realized that I'm standing next to a pit, one trigger, one push, and I'd fall, and now I'm a prison again of another thought. Therefore, that bit moment of freedom was making me a fugitive. Thought after thought, jumping over them, it still catches me. "Am I really good enough?" "Am I really trying?" "Am I trying enough?"  "Am I really something?" "Could I really be something big?" "Something valuable, something to change in the world?" "Do I really need to change the world or just myself?". Maybe entertaining these thoughts, giving them a lounge seat in my head, stimulating a confrontational conversation, could be actually useful but also self-destructive. How can a person be an optimist and a pessimist at the same time. I can be both. Optimism gets me through everything shitty and the pessimism gets me an overview of the shitty things that can happen.

I'm typing this really, is all because I have no one to tell anything about this.  And when I say "telling people" I mean the worthy ones. I used to have one but I let this person go. Now I just have to face it myself and validate this thoughts to myself. It's hard but I think I can handle it. I just have to fail better for me to handle it.

[chadnevett]

Who is Superman?

[From my 2011 Blogathon, a six-part series of posts making up a meditation on Superman in the previous decade...]

Earlier this year, I reread It's a Bird... by Steven T. Seagle and Teddy Kristiansen for the first time since it first came out. A Vertigo graphic novel, it's a partially autobiographic exploration of Superman by Seagle after his fictional counterpart is offered one of the Superman comics by his editor at DC. There's also a lot of family/personal stuff thrown in, but what I want to focus on is the Superman stuff. Seagle offers so many differing views and approaches and takes on the character in this story that it seems like the natural starting place to begin with. That so many are divorced from traditional views of the character, breaking him down to his components and their symbolic value is of particular interest to me.

Seagle first approaches Superman as a comic book character. He's the star of a comic that he read once with his brother while waiting in the hospital for reasons that become clearer later. Then, he's a character (or a title, I suppose) that he's offered to write. That these two points are where he begins is important, because, before all else, Superman is a fictional comic book superhero. He may be everything else people try to put on him, but that's where it begins. Before his role as a Christ stand-in or a film character or an image on a pillowcase, he's the figure in a comic book. He's not real, he's dispossible, he's just ink and paper. That's where he begins and, ultimately, where he ends. I'm not trying to be dismissal or lessen the character's import, by the way.

And he's a character that fictional Seagle doesn't want to write. The rest of the story is him struggling with what Superman is and what he means as his editor, his girlfriend, anyone who knows about the offer, insists he should take. He says that he doesn't relate to Superman, a problem that I sometimes share.

In breaking Superman down, Seagle offers different views. Take the costume: he gives us a short story about a teenager who wears a Superman costume to school on Halloween and, for the first time, he genuinely feels, well, super because of how people look at him. The next day, he's just his boring self again. A week later, he returns to school in the costume and is laughed at, ridiculed, labelled 'weird' and sent home. People talk about the iconic power of Superman's costume and his chest symbol, but does it hold any value when someone else is wearing those things? If you put on the costume, you're not super, you're not Superman -- and, yet, that's the thing so closely identified with him than anything else. Is it ultimately an empty symbol?

Later, in examining the colours of the costume, Seagle breaks down the various meanings, how the primary colours come from the desire to pop and the simplicities of printing at the time of his creation. The sequence is rather stunning visually as Kristiansen uses the same pose but changes the colours. We see Superman brought down to just blue or the red, yellow, and blue switched around. That those versions of the costume don't look right is interesting. Is it because those colours work best this way or is it simply that we're used to Superman as is? Looking at the colours, we see rage, cowardice, and depression. There are other meanings, but I like those ones best in my scorning, mocking way.

What does the costume of Superman mean exactly? What does any costume mean? Other interpretations of the character won't bother with that entirely aside from Joe Casey's final year on Adventures of Superman where a visit to Heroville results in the soldiers that accompanied him wearing superhero costumes to walk among the populace and Superman telling them to wear their colours proud. The costume is so tied to the idea of a superhero and Superman's to him. It's not the key to his character, but it's a start...

What exactly is it about Superman that keeps people like me away? The only times I bother with the character are when a writer I already likes writes something featuring the character. I've mentioned that I can't relate to the character and that I find his lack of a struggle with heroism a turn-off. But, there are others who relate to the character incredibly. Mark Waid has often spoke of his deeply personal relationship to the character.

The costume isn't honestly an issue for me. But, it is a form of protection, a distancing mechanism. His symbol on his chest is a shield. That he has two identities, one Superman, one Clark Kent, makes Superman himself distant. We could relate to Clark kent, because he's a human from Kansas that spends much of his time pining over a woman who doesn't love him. Superman is the fantasy alter-ego that has no problems and no real challenges. His fights against crime are just things that occupy his time it seems. Except, here's the problem: Superman is the reality and Clark Kent is the fantasy. It's not like the Peter Parker/Spider-Man relationship where he's Peter first and Spider-Man is an affectation. Superman is Clark Kent is Superman. How does one relate to that?

Grant Morrison and others have placed upon Superman the idea of a modern myth, a modern god in a way. I can see where they would get that, but it's never felt right to me. Superman is 'more than human,' but in such narrow ways like physical strength and compassion. Yet, his faults are so much less than ours. He doesn't line up to traditional myths in that way. Gods were 'more than human' in every aspect, good and bad. They did everything bigger and better, including being jerks and fucking things up. They were brash, prideful, quick to anger... then again, were they skewed too far in the other direction? Superman and his benevolent nature is the opposite of that. He fights for us, not against us, as was often the case. But, that still makes him distant and hard to relate to.

When Brian Azzarello wrote the character, he took Clark Kent out of the equation. In For Tomorrow, there was an event called the Vanishing where a sizable chunk of Earth's population disappeared. It was random. One of those people was Lois Lane and, since then, it doesn't appear that Superman is Clark Kent anymore. In fact, when we finally see where the people disappeared to, the first person we see is Clark. He's a robot, but the meaning is clear: he disappeared that day too. And Azzarello's Superman is much closer to the gods and figures of myth. He retains his compassion and thoughtfulness, but also adds in a questioning and almost selfish rashness. He gets involved in the affairs of a state, alienates the Justice League, and even threatens to destroy the planet. None of these things seem within his 'character' if you pay attention to what a lot of people said about the story. And, yet, it was Superman.

Besides Batman, I'm not sure there's a superhero that's so open to interpretation like that. If that's the case, what is the core of Superman? Does it come down to him following a few simple rules? He's an Alien from Krypton, he landed in Kansas, he's Clark Kent (or was at some point), he's stronger and faster than any human, can jump high/fly, wears an outfit, fights injustice as he sees it (could be in line with laws or not), and loves Lois Lane. Is there anything else that's consistent to the character, anything essential? After all, you could argue that Azzarello got it wrong with his Superman who threatened to destroy Earth when it attacked him using elemental monsters, but... that's a Superman story. Just like the rest, it was ink and paper, and, as we've established, Superman is just a comic book character ultimately. If a comic book says he did it, he did it. Does he actually have a core character?

If he doesn't, shouldn't he be the easiest character to relate to? He's so empty, strung together from the barest of pieces of information. Look at the guidelines I set out for what Superman is at his most basic and... is there anywhere you can't go with him? Then why is he so locked into one singular image?

The Superman I grew up with was a human one. He was still an alien from Krypton, of course, but there was an emphasis on the human elements of the character. After all, he did grow up here with his powers kicking in as a teenager. That basically puts him on the same level as Marvel's mutants. The longer he's Superman, the less human he would be, yes. His powers grant him a different vantage point -- and, more importantly, so does how other people treat him. The more he's treated different, like a god, the more he would begin to see himself that way even if he didn't want to. Our self-image is shaped by how others perceive us and why would Superman be any different?

It's that outside perception of what Superman is and what he should be that locks him in so much. We look at his powers and his differences and make him different. We look at him and see the potential for a mythic figure, so he's that, too. We make him a character that's impossible to relate to and then complain that we can't relate to him!

In It's a Bird..., there's a short bit about Superman as a teen where he chooses to walk all of the way into town to see a movie, knowing that he will miss part of it, rather than fly. He knows that flying would mean exposing himself and would change how others perceive him. He would no longer be the Kent boy, someone they've known for his entire life; he would be a freak, an alien, an other. It's something so obvious, so built into what he is and who we are. Of course we don't relate to Superman -- he's the other, he's the alien! He's the benevolent outsider who protects us, but he's still an outsider. He will never be 'one of us,' not entirely.

Grant Morrison embraced that idea to a degree in All-Star Superman, treating Superman as someone that is outside of humanity and that being a good thing. In that story, Superman doesn't try to belong or fit in, near the end of his career and comfortable in his role as protector. I do like Morrison's version of the character. In concept at least. There is something very exciting and lovely about a god-like figure that loves us and wants us to love one another and is here to help us see that. SuperJesus. He's positioned above us while still enough on our level to love us. It doesn't entirely work for me always, though. It's an argument that requires us to resolve the paradox of him being better than us and no better than us. He's superior and, yet, not. It's a sort of false modesty that I find grating and patronising, honestly. It almost puts Superman in a position of owner to us, his lovable pets without wanting to recognise that.

We don't see Clark much, only a few times, and he's a bumbling, slightly overweight man that people sort of humour and look down on. A bit of a goof. Lots of people have discussed the depiction of Clark and what that says about humanity, about how Superman supposedly views us. In a sense, Clark seems to me to be a test. An example of humanity at a possibly lower point and a way for Superman to see how people treat that sort of person. Clark keeps him humble in a way. Lex Luthor hates Superman because Superman is better than him; he scorns Clark because he's obviously inferior. The Clark we see in All-Star Superman, based upon the Silver Age depiction of the character rather than other modern interpretations, is the balancing act that makes Superman's position of above-and-yet-not work. Superman is above us, Clark Kent is below us (at least from our perspective), so it works out to a balance.

Grant Morrison used Clark Kent to balance out Superman's superiority, so, when Brian Azzarello took Clark away, what exactly was left? I keep coming back to Superman's fight with the elementals that acted on behalf of Mother Earth. They attacked him to get him to leave... exactly why isn't clear since they basically admit that humanity is just the latest infestation. But, his response is that he would kill everything, burn off the atmosphere, and then physically break up the planet is shocking. We assume it's a bluff, but, even as a bluff, that's harsher than Superman usually is. Without his connections to humanity, he drifts further away from those roots and more towards a Superbeing that is not held back by limitations of human morality or personal affection for humanity. Take away Clark and, slowly, Superman loses the man.

Azzarello's use of Father Leone illustrates this, him becoming Superman's new human connection with Lois and Clark gone. After seeing how far he was moving away from humanity, he begins to reconnect with it through this priest. It's interesting that the person he looks to as his new connection to humanity is a religious figure. It's not simply about reconnecting with humanity, it's about struggling to avoid thinking of himself as the supreme being, the god of Earth in a sense. A priest will be a reminder of faith in something bigger than Superman -- again, a humbling experience. For all that people didn't like Azzarello's interpretation of Superman, it's one that's remarkably in line with Morrison's. He simply presents the argument in another fashion. Instead of a straight forward presentation of 'this is Superman and this is what he's about,' he shows us a Superman that's removed from that and his struggle to regain what he lost. Azzarello stripped Superman of everything but his power and position and watched what would happen, how the character would go too far and try to retreat.

If Clark is his primary connection to humanity, a way to embody it, what is Lois? When Lois disappears in For Tomorrow, Clark goes as well. Lois is the woman he loves and, slowly, becomes his secondary connection to humanity in conjunction with his parents. She comes to embody the things in humanity that he wants. She's compassionate, strong, self-assured... she's almost a mirror of Superman. Is she Superman in the form of a human woman? Is that why Clark is so drawn to her...? Is it really a case of him loving himself? The classic idea of the love triangle is that Clark loves Lois, Lois loves Superman, and Superman loves Clark. Superman loves Clark because he's his window into humanity, Lois loves Superman because he's something more than humanity, and Clark loves Lois because... because why exactly?

I've never entirely understood the role of Lois Lane. Why her? For the ease of stories, she fills a specific role, because it's simpler to have Superman/Clark fixate on one person. Spider-Man has largely operated the same way, shifting from Gwen Stacey to Mary Jane Watson with a few minor possibilities in there. Superman has Lana Lang and Wonder Woman (along with some others) to fill those minor roles. But, ignoring the practicalities of one love interest, what is it about Lois specifically?

The idea that she's a human that's reached the potential Superman is an example of seems right somehow. She's not perfect and can be a little rude; still, there's a sense that she's rounded enough in all areas that she stands as the pinnacle of human achievement. Okay, that doesn't sound right. She hasn't reached the apex of human potential. She's not a mirror of Superman. So, what is she?

In All-Star Superman, she's the woman he loves. No explanation is needed. I can appreciate and understand that. Ask me why I love my girlfriend and I'll give you some basic reasons, some descriptions of her personality and behaviour, and none of it will cover it. Why does Superman/Clark love Lois? Because he does. It's that simple. At least in the mythic sense. In myths, no explanations are needed. Things simply are.

The role of Lois in Superman's world is something that Steven T. Seagle doesn't address in It's a Bird.... He explores different elements of Superman and what they mean, like the costume, like power, like justice... but not love or Lois. It's an odd omission when you think about it. But, it does implicitly argue for her expendability. Is Lois as essential as I made her out to be? She doesn't factor into Seagle's extensive exploration of the character. Hell, the past two years or so of Superman comics have had the two characters separated. First, Superman was on New Krypton and, then, he took his walk across America. In the upcoming relaunch, Lois is dating someone else and they were never married. She's still a love interest, an object of desire, but not much else. Is that all she is, even when she's been a central character? Does she even exist on her own or a way that isn't there to reflect Superman?

In The Death of Superman, he presence makes Superman's sacrifice that much more. She is something he sacrifices himself for, representing the whole of humanity. In Joe Casey's final year on Adventures of Superman, their marriage is something he struggles with a little. In one issue, the two celebrate Valentine's Day by finally coming together and staying in bed (no sex shown, just sleep). The run ends with an issue that's purposefully vague about their future. In many ways, Casey seems to be arguining for the disolution of their marriage, that Superman needs to be alone and un attached, while also presenting the argument that, like every married couple, the two simply have some problems. Either way, the relationship is not a completely solid one, not one that's unbreakable.

The marriage of Lois and Clark has been a problem to solve since it happened. Superman is often written into stories that demand a freedom that doesn't work entirely with a wife. How would she react to her husband disappearing off planet for a week? How does one live with that uncertainty? In contrast to the marriage of Peter and Mary Jane, the marriage of Lois and Clark seems to trap Superman, grounding him further than most would want him. They prefer a Superman that soars above such trivial things, rebuffing Lois at every turn, and allowing Clark to pine over her.

I'm not entirely sure what Lois's place is in Superman's life.

My favourite Superman is Joe Casey's Superman. His Superman speaks back to the idea of virtue I mentioned in my second Blogathon post. He could use his massive strength to hit things, to fight violence with violence, and he doesn't. He doesn't take the easy way out and simply punch things back. He uses his brain, he finds non-violent solutions, and he saves the world without throwing a single punch. My favourite Superman is a pacifist Superman.

In Adventures of Superman #616, Superman says the most revolutionary words ever put into his mouth: "No violence. I won't resort to that. I'm a pacifist, Dr. Welbourne." For me, that's when Superman changed and everyone else's version was somehow lacking. This was a smart, forward-thinking concept, a place to take the character that felt completely in-line with everything that guys like Grant Morrison talk about, but putting it into direct action. Of course Superman would be a pacifist! If he's here to set an example of how to be better, of how to rise above our petty basic urges, and move into the future as enlightened, advanced beings, why would he always hit stuff? We've known violence is primative for a long time.

Seagle offers a similar view in a section on 'power' that shows that Superman is just another in a long line of 'might makes right.' He enforces his concept of 'justice' and 'morality' through violence and his superior strength. It doesn't matter if he's fighting on our side, his methods reveal him as a primative creature. If anything, Azzarello's version of the character is a logical extension of that argument. And, for all of Morrison's arguments and depictions of Superman as a loving protector, All-Star Superman still ends with him beating Lex Luthor by punching him out.

I've long wondered why no one else has followed Casey's example. For an entire year (and a little bit before that even), he had Superman not throw a single punch. He managed to defeat any enemies that came his way and save the world/Metropolis/whatever. Hell, as Casey pointed out, he thought it was his explicit statement of Superman's pacifism that went too far; meaning, if he didn't say it, would anyone have noticed? If it's possible to have Superman be a pacifist without any serious disruptions, why doesn't everyone write him that way? Why not have the character live up to his potential and example?

The idea that Superman says he's a pacifist is going too far is key here. You can only change the character so much. Funnily enough, Casey's final year on Adventures of Superman reminded us how much the character has changed when he comes face to face with what is essentially the original Golden Age Superman. A strongman in tights that fights against corrupt authority, a reminder that the modern boom of heroes that do that is really another example of "Superman did it!" Superman has changed over the years and will change again. But, what makes pacifism too much of a change? Where is the line of how much you can alter the character? People said Azzarello went too far, or that Frank Miller simply mocks the character and that's not really Superman. I've heard some reactions to Casey's pacifist Superman that were the same. But, if it falls within the broad criteria that make up the character, how is it not Superman? If it's not Superman, who is it?

To me, Casey's pacifist Superman is more Superman than any version of the character since his original inception. It's a character more in sync with my interests and worldview. He still fights for truth and justice, he still wears the costume, he still has amazing powers -- all he does is use them differently. Add in some of his fighting corruption past and you've got the making of a superhero I'd read about every month.

But, that's not how others perceive the character. They want him to have big fights with larger than life adversaries. They want Lex Luthor to be a mad scientist instead of a businessman. They want Lois and Clark unmarried. They want, they want, they want...

Who is Superman? I'll leave that to Tim Callahan: "Superman is the essence of man, all the power anyone could wish, but still burdened by the responsibility to help others and the need to find someone to connect with. He IS easy to relate to, because he is a stylized version of all of us."

Superman is whoever you want him to be.