#cripes they were expensive

[victorluvsalice]

Day 4 of turning my Sims into TECHNO-SPELLCASTERS, and it’s -- appropriately enough -- SPOOKFEST! :D AKA Sim Halloween! Of course, Nikal and Emmett had to bust out some decorations -- this is not a holiday they can skip! Though I found decorating their house from the box to be a bit tricky. . .they don’t have a lot of places to hang banners and lights and such from, given they live in a one-story without a front fence. I made do with some flags around the top of the house, and then threw a few fake pumpkins and the projector cauldron outside for color. It gives the right impression, anyway!

Now, Spookfest is a true-blue holiday in Newcrest -- aka, Sims get the day off work. So, naturally, Nikal and Emmett headed straight back to the Magic Realm to brush up further on their spellcaster skills! (And to be a bit mischievous with the locals, since, you know, Mischief Spirit is a tradition today.) Emmett searched the shelves for tomes, while Nikal hit up Simeon for some potion help. She came off the better -- Simeon happily handed over the recipe for the Potion of Good Fortune, plus a free sample, while the only book Emmett was able to find was above his skill level. Meh.

On the plus side, though, the wand stall was open! So I had Emmett book it down there and buy a nice Ancient Wood Wand -- hey, it was the cheapest, and it still looks cool. :D And now that he was fully equipped with a wand and broom -- might as well try them out, right?

[kafka-ish]

brother | r.t.

can boys and girls be friends without attached feelings?

word count: 2.1k

warnings/included: angst(?), college AU, fem!reader

a/n: based off of this song

-

Richie Tozier sat in the parking lot of USC’s Law Department. Become a Lawyer his mom said. You’ll make a lot of money his dad said. It only took two weeks into his freshman year of college for Richie to figure out that he actually hated the judicial system and to hell with it. He was about to light a cigarette even though he pledged to quit months ago: the last day of senior year.

He and the rest of the Losers were hanging by the quarry. Beverly was sitting on the hood of Bill’s car, slathering sunscreen on her sensitive skin because she burns easily. Ben sat with her, his arm itching to wrap itself around her pale shoulder. Bill, Eddie, and Stan were playing cards and Mike had to monitor them for cheating. Richie would’ve joined, but he didn’t want to get up from his position that overlooked the quarry’s water hole. He was laying down on the rocks, eyes closed and shades on, in place of his usual glasses.

“I think I’m gonna quit smokin’,” he announced with a certain proudness that his voice normally did not hold.

“O-oh yeah? How l-long’s that gonna luh-last?” Bill looked up from his cards, giving Eddie a chance to sneak a peak.

“I saw that, Eddie!” Mike Hanlon called from above and Eddie flinched.

“Cripes. Warn a guy before you yell first.”

Four months. It lasted four months, Big Bill, as Richie took out his BIC. He had to mess with it a few times to get the flame to startup. He always preferred matches, but the black lighter with flame stickers he kept in his shirt pocker was cooler.

A yellow-orange heat finally flicked the contraption to life when, at the same time, his Nokia 232 buzzed against the gearshift.

Four months and one day.

The small flame died in Richie’s hand that was now pressing his phone to his ear with no hesitation.

“Rich the Dick Tozier speaking, how can I help you?” Sure, it wasn’t the most professional way to answer a phone call, but who was anyone to call Richie Tozier a professional guy?”

“Hey, Richie!” It was y/n. y/n the girl who sat in front of him in his English class. y/n the girl who wore parkas in fucking California because it’s for the fashion and you wouldn’t understand. y/n the girl who got drunk off her ass at the first party of the year—which, ironically, was where they met.

The parties in college were spectacularly different from the parties Richie would go to in high school. More so, the parties in California were more… insane. Wild. The booze was exponentially more expensive—nothing that Bill would ever think of getting at his own. And the girls could closely be mistaken for a Hollywood child star.

Nothing like the parties in Derry Richie thought to himself as he drunkenly swept through the halls of a fucking Mansion. He didn’t realize his feet were working properly until he looked down, seeing as he was standing on all fours—all twos. How he was still standing up remained a mystery to him because he must’ve had ten shots of vodka that was worth more than his entire being and future.

Before him, when he entered the billiard room, stood a girl even drunker than him (somehow). She stood on the pool table, laughing above the crowd of frat boys who were yelling to take your damn shirt off already! And c’mon don’t be a prude. They surrounded her like dogs fighting for the last strip of steak until Richie stepped in.

“A little drunk to be standing on the edge like that.” He took a swig from his red solo cup. “Here, sweetheart, lemme help you down.” He offered her an unsteady hand only to be brushed away like a speck of dust on a grandfather clock.

“I can help myself,” y/n said. She got down from the pool table by sitting on the ledge first, then letting each foot touch the ground one at a time. “See?” She steadied herself using his shoulder and looked up at him with a smirk that let him know they were going to be friends.

And they were friends.

y/n was overjoyed when she found out Richie was in one out of her five classes and Richie was just happy to be able to talk someone’s ear off without them rolling their eyes or giving him the side-eye.

“Hey, y/n/n,” Richie said, mimicking the same enthusiasm from across the speaker. “What’re you up to?”

“Besides calling you?” Richie felt himself beginning to laugh but it felt wrong to do so. As cheery as y/n sounded, there was something off.

“Are you okay?” Richie blurted out, but he couldn’t help himself. It was in his nature; always looking out for y/n; always taking care of her.

“I’m fine, Tozier.” She laughed but he could tell it was fake. The way her voice was still summer in the crisp of fall was fake. The whole call was fake. “You just love checking in on me don’t ya.” Another giggle left the speaker—covering the cracks in her voice, or a sob.

“No, really.” His hand left the phone—his shoulder and cheek propping the device up against his ear—and reached for the gearshift. “How are you?”

Static. But Richie had been over at her place thousands of times before—not needing to ask for her address or pull out a map for directions. And Richie was right (he was always right) when he burst through the wooden door of y/n’s small, but somehow spacious, Los Angeles apartment.

“y/n, I know you’re in there,” Richie said, followed by three curt knocks. His shoulder slumped against the door and he sighed. “y/n, don’t make me go all big bad wolf on your little ol’ door.” He looked down to see the welcoming mat where guests were supposed to wipe their shoes off.

There’s No Place Like Home

A short laugh bounced off the walls from inside and Richie took that as his queue. His hand had a firm grasp around the bronze doorknob, refreshing from the California air. He jangled it, only for the structure to not budge, like it didn’t give a damn that he had to get inside.

“Dammit, y/n/n, get off your goddamned high horse and open the door.”

Richie was never one for words, but at these, the lock broke in and in slipped Richie. It was as if the door had heard his cries and complied—feeling sorry for the boy. But the mysteriousness of y/n’s apartment door didn’t matter when Richie’s eyes caught y/n’s figure—or lack of one. She sat on the leather couch which was a moving present from her parents (“We know how expensive it can be; being a young adult with college expenses. Wow, to think, my baby’s all grown up.”), wrapped in a blanket, burrito style. Even fro six feet away (approximately), Richie could see the tears welling in her eyes and the snot spilling from her nose.

“Richie Tozier, can you ever learn to take a goddamn hint?” y/n’s voice was far too weak to show any sign of malicious intent. He stood in front of her, tentative but also caring. He wanted to help. He just didn’t know how.

“I am taking the hint.” Richie sat down next to the bundle of blankets. He sat close, so close that if y/n’s feet were on the floor, his knees would’ve touched hers. She could smell his mint deodorant and cheap cologne; or maybe she was just so used to having him next to her, that was what she knew he smelled like. y/n smelled like this month’s body wash. Orange blossom. She must’ve taken an extra-long soak today. She always did when something was wrong. “I know you want me here, toots. Otherwise, you wouldn’t’ve called.”

Richie was right and at the moment y/n hated him for being able to read her mind.

She was about to tell him off but a strangled cry left her lips instead. Richie didn’t need to ask what was wrong to know what was wrong. Besides, it would be cruel—condescending—to put a filter over his voice the way you’d talk to a terrier or a baby and ask what’s wrong?

It was clear what was wrong. Judging by the two-hour-long bath she had taken beforehand and off-brand, empty Ben & Jerry’s container on her coffee table: her piece of shit boyfriend had just dumped her. Richie never liked Brandon, y/n’s so-called (now ex) boyfriend. But it could’ve been the other way around, too. His over-gelled head was always stuck in his Levi 512’s and the only time Richie saw that pompous smirk leave his lips was when he walked in on him and y/n kissing. Gag. But y/n had the right to be upset about getting dumped—even if it was by a perpetual twerp who never passed up the chance to brag about his perfect SAT score (wake up, buddy, we all got into the same college).

Richie sat waiting for a reply he was never going to get because y/n was too busy blowing her nose into the sleeve of her robe.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Carefully, Richie unwrapped y/n from the cocoon, similarly to how a cautious child unwraps their presents. “You don’t need Brandon. You don’t need anyone.” It was true. She didn’t need anyone, and if anything people needed her. “You’re y/n.” He spoke the two words with such sureness—confidence. She was y/n, and if that’s not enough for them to see, then they’re delusional.

“How do you know?” She asked. Even if it was just a college boyfriend—her first college boyfriend—it still hurt like hell. The thought of being not wanted. Knowing it was her; that she couldn’t just fix whatever her lover didn’t like that ended up pushing him off the edge. He just didn’t like her.

Of course, she didn’t love Brandon. She didn’t love the way his hair was always stiff and she couldn’t comb her fingers through it the way she did Richie’s. She didn’t love him finding an excuse to say hello to the next blonde he saw whenever they went to parties together. She didn’t love Brandon, and Brandon apparently didn’t love her. But if Brandon didn’t love her, then who would?

Maybe the answer was staring her down right in front of her, or pressing against her shoulder as Richie bent down to pick up the empty ice cream carton. “You are y/n, right?” Richie asked in attempts to bring her spirits up.

And he did.

y/n’s eyes crinkled as she smiled and she chocked on her breath at the laugh she tried to hold in. “Do you think I’m an impostor?”

“Who knows?” Richie sat back down. His shoulder brushed her covered one and his head fell back to look at the ceiling. “Plastic surgery is pretty popular these days. Especially in La City of Angels.” He turned to face her now—a tear-free y/n that stared back at him. Her eyes were much lighter than before and her skin looked like it had just been kissed. By who?

“You’re an angel,” y/n said unexpectedly. Well, this was a turn of events. Richie managed to suppress his cough—a usual reaction that’d take place when he was surprised.

He pulled on the collar of his band-tee (Rock On, AC/DC!) because it was all of the sudden hard to breathe in this small LA apartment of y/n’s. He felt his pulse quicken under the skin of his wrist and neck. A line of sweat was forming beneath his browbone. Oftentimes, it was hard to differentiate if California was undergoing an unforeseen heatwave or if Richie was just drawing a fever. But summer had passed and Richie hand’t gotten sick in years, even if it was just a head cold.

Richie sat there, speechless, and wondered. He wondered why, out of all the nicknames in the world, he hasn’t called y/n baby yet. It was always babe or honey, but never baby. Why was that? Hypothetically, he could call her that. He could call her a lot of things—like his. So why didn’t he? Why had he never asked y/n out?

But it occurred to him, as y/n tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, that y/n was hurting. She needed a friend and nothing more. A brother, per se. He could sense her lean in. For a kiss, perhaps? But Richie was quick to dodge and cup her face in his large palm. An intimate action, sure, but their relationship was far from it.

“Look, y/n/n.” His breath hit her face. It was warm and felt like home. “You’re hurting right now.” His thumb rubbed along her jawline. “We’re just friends, right?”

“Friends,” y/n echoed back to him. And while she wasn’t completely convinced with the words coming from Richie Tozier’s mouth, she’d agree with him for his sake.

[commorsicoclub]

The First Beat (When Red met Penny)

Prequel to The Good Chase.  

(G/T soft vore. M/F. Human Prey, Giant Pred. Fearplay. Mouthplay. Belly rubs. Magic tricks. Snarky prey. Non-fatal. )

“You’ll be on your own starting tomorrow,” said the portly fellow in the driver seat. Maynard was thirty something years Red’s senior and was mere days away from his retirement. He’d been shoved onto the man last minute with vague orders to show the newbie his beat and aquatint him with the idiosyncrasies of the department. “I’ve got a few things still to wrap up before the end of it. It’s not a hard assignment. Boring really. You’ll be glad of it at first, but believe me. It gets old fast.”  

Eldridge Park was a middle class neighborhood on the west end of the city metro with its white marble apartment buildings and brownstone townhouses and tree lines streets. It was a nice place and crime was shockingly low so Red was more than a little disappointed to learn he’d been assigned to this particular precinct. He had hoped to be placed somewhere closer to the city center where they had actual crimes. Murders, arson, and armed robbery. Not petty larceny and littering. But he supposed it would look good on his record to have a year or two before jumping to another precinct.

“So, all I do is walk around the park in the middle of the night?” he asked flatly, looking out the window and then to Maynard.

“Not just the park, but that’s the better part of it,” Maynard replied. “It’s a big place, but don’t expect much real action. Worst I ever came across was a homeless fucker feeling up a girl on her way home from a late shift. Other then that, it’s just you and the humans.”

That got Red’s attention. “Humans?”

Maynard’s expression for the entirety of their shift thus far had been a placid neutrality leaning into boredom. But with this exchange, he looked at Red and grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah. Eldridge park is a hot spot.”

Red was no less enlightened. “So I’m going to be keeping hobos in check and arresting vermin.”

“You don’t arrest humans, kid,” Maynard said with a laugh. “Well, on the books we do. But there’s a lot of paperwork that goes with it, so none of us on this beat ever bother.”

“So, what do you do then?”

Maynard reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal case. He flicked it open with one fat finger and pulled a cigarette out. Holding it between his teeth, he struck a match and lit it. Only after taking a long draw from it did he looked back at Red to answer him. “You eat them.”

………………………………………….

The night was cool and crisp against his face as Red followed Maynard through the traipsing paths of the park. It was dark, but the moon was full and they had no difficulty seeing their way. He watched Maynard’s movements, noting the way the older officer walked and where his head turned to look at certain areas of the park. Old habits he’d developed over an entire career and he as eager to know them.

“They’re not too dissimilar to dwarf, but not as sweet tastin’ as elves,” he was saying. “And not as fast either.”

“And the Chief's okay with us just...eatin’ up suspects like that?”

“Humans are an invasive species, kid,” he said. “They pop through these…cripes, what the hell are they called again. Black hole kind of things. The just pop out of nowhere from some other dimension or something. Rivers can explain the science to you if you really want, but for my purposes tonight, we just gotta catch one.”

“How many do you normally find?”

“As little as one a week to as much as eight. You probably won’t see more than two a shift at most. And you better be real hungry if you get three in one night or you’ll have to file the paperwork for the one when the other two are in your belly. And they make a racket too.”

Red wasn’t unfamiliar with eating creatures smaller than himself whole and alive. He was quite partial to Elf, but the wild ones were so expensive and the farm raised just didn’t taste as good. Dwarf was all well and good, but they tended to give him indigestion. Goblins were tolerable, but they always needed a good wash before being anywhere near edible and their skin was an odd texture. They were a bit of an acquired taste and one he never really developed, even if they were the cheapest of all live prey available on the market. But he would treat himself to wild Elf on his birthday or special occasions when he could justify the hit to his wallet.  

He normally just stuck to sandwiches.

“If they’re so delicious, I wonder why no one’s tried to farm them,” Red wondered.

“Oh they’ve tried,” Maynard replied. “But they don’t reproduce as quick as other prey so the price of them once they reached eating size would be three times the price of top shelf wild Elf. That and most folks just see them as rats on two legs.”

Rev grinned. “More for us then.”

Maynard laughed and slapped the junior officer on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s see if we’ve got any biters.”

Red obligingly followed his senior officer as he left the main path walked towards a cloister of bushes. Settled inside the thicker portions of the shrubbery, he saw a metal cage. It was empty and had not been tripped. The metal was dark and blended amazingly well within the bushes. He’d only seen it when Maynard pushed aside the leaves and the metal had caught the moonlight.

“I’ve got a good many of these all set up in the park. I’ve got a map in the car of where each of them are. Most human pop through confused and disorientated and try to find small hidey-holes to rest in. Most mistake these cages for a safe little place to stow away.” He looked up and grinned at Red. “Easy lunch.”

Red only nodded, feeling rather curious now. He’d had a good breakfast and he wasn’t particularly hungry, he wouldn’t refuse a little treat. The checked seventeen more traps over the course of the next five hours and none of them had been tripped. Maynard was begging to get a little impatient.

“It’s the perfect night for one to pop through,” he was muttering bitterly. “Cold clear nights are a good sign you’re gonna find one. I still have three more traps to check. Come one, rookie.”

They hit pay-dirt at second to the last trap. Even from a good distance away. Maynard spotted the his trap had caught something and he gave a gleeful hoot and waddled excitedly over. Red jogged to keep pace and could not help but privately ponder to himself that if Maynard hadn’t spent so much of his shifts stuffing himself full of humans, maybe he would be so darn fat.

His attention was abruptly pulled back when there came a shrill cry. There was a small creature inside the metal contraption and he tried to get a good look at it, but Maynard’s fat hand was pawing at it as he tried to open it up. Red was about to offer his assistance when the fat officer let out a “Ha ha!” and he wretched the little metal door open and drew out the prize from inside. The human was a pale pink color and was wearing clothing that looked much the same as an ordinary person would and it looked almost silly to behold it. But he didn’t get much of a chance to study it before Maynard held it up to him.

“Consider it a ‘welcome to the team’ treat,” he said with an oily smile. “She’s a fighter, so probably best to get her down as quick as you can.”

“Let me go, fucking piece of shit, giant ass fuck!” The human was very unhappy and was thrashing against Maynard militant hold on her, but Red was able to smell the distinct scent of fear and her and despite his curiosity to look at her more, to study her, he was all at once rather peckish. Maynard chuckled and pressed the little body into Red’s hands. “Down the hatch, rookie.”

Red laughed, swallowing the excess saliva and tipped his head back as he brought the little human up in the same gesture.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now, dude. No way. No! Holy shit, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...don’t you fucking dare!”

He ignore the panicking mantra from his lunch and slipped her feet onto his tongue. There was a sweet burst of flavor very reminiscent of elf, but it quickly faded into the more deep savory flavor more along the lines of dwarf. Oh, humans were delicious! Complex in their taste and her skin was so smooth. No where near the leathery lumpy affair that was goblin. He hummed in pleasure as he fed her upper thighs into his mouth and gave his first swallow.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, PLEASE DON’T!” Her shrill voice brought him back to reality and his eyes focused in on her face. She trembled in abject terror and struggled as much as she could given her lower half was in his gullet and her top half was firmly being held by his large fingers. He found himself smiling. It was a cruel gesture, but it was instinctual and he relished in the letting the true predator side of himself lose. He wasn’t in a fancy restaurant or a cafe where he needed to mind his manners. This was wild and free and without rules. The true manifestation of what it meant to be the top of the food chain. And Gods did he love the feeling...

He swallowed again and brought the girl’s torso into his mouth. He closed his lips around her neck and let go of her, letting her hang inside him and wiggle as much as she might. She was thicker bodied than an elf, but taller than a dwarf. A perfect middle ground of the two. He felt her little hands pressing against his lips and he almost laughed when one of her hands slipped and ended up slapping his gums. He supposed he’d tortured her enough and gulped hard twice in quick succession, sucking her down into his gullet and sending her on her way down to his belly. 

He breathed deeply now that his airways weren’t blocked and he looked to Maynard with an almost fanatical grin.

“Told you,” he said simply. “Tasty little fuckers, huh?”

“Fuck,” was all Red could manage. The human had spilled out into his belly and was now making all her complaints and protestations known by kicking and punching his insides. Such treatment was usually why he did not often partake in dwarf, but the human was no where near as strong and her strikes tickled more than anything. They were actually rather pleasant and he found himself licking his lips, trying to get one last taste of her.

Maynard laughed loudly, watching his junior partner’s sagging belly bounce and wiggle with his lunch’s frantic movements. He reached out and slapped it playfully. “How’d you like your first human, Red?”

“I think I’m a convert,” he replied, wiping the drool off the corners of his mouth.

………………………..

The human did not stop her squirming for the remainder of his shift. But by the time he slipped through his apartment door, roughly an hour later, she had gone quite and he figured she had finally succumbed to his stomach and would soon digest away like his other live meals. Though, he had to admit she had lasted a good while in there. He was almost impressed.

He pulled off his coat and shirt and sat down on his bed to pull off his boots. The maneuver required him to lean down over his own bulging belly and as he pulled off his first boot he heard it. A soft whimpering. And a voice. “..fucking stupid way to die...so fucking hot in here...can’t breathe for shit...smells like ass...”

Red started to laugh and that seemed to offend his lunch enough to spur her into one last kicking fit accompanied by a cry of, “YOU’RE A FAT FUCKING ASS HAT!”

He sat back up and looked down at his belly. “Well if I’m fat, you’re to blame.”

He wasn’t sure if her abrupt silence meant she had passed out or was too surprised to that he spoke to her to reply back. But then she did answer him.

“COUGH ME UP YOU FUCKER! YOU CAN’T GO AROUND EATING PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKING FEEL LIKE IT!”

Red patted his belly, amused. “Funny you say that. Because I’m pretty sure I just did.”

She kicked him, lower than before and he winced. She’s struck a kidney or something.

“Dude!” she yelled again, but her voice had lost the volume. “Please, just...please let me out...”

“Why?” he asked, rubbing his gut in an almost affectionate manner.

“Because I don’t want to be your fucking food!”

“And yet, you are in my belly. Where food normally goes.”

“That was your mistake, not mine!” He was grinning. He’d never even spoken to his food before. More so because he didn’t speak elvish and the dwarf accents were so hard to understand that he just never bothered. And he wasn’t even sure Goblins had a real language. It was a pleasant change of pace.

“Tell you what, morsel,” he said, his voice low and almost growling. “If you can give me one reason why I should swap you out for the cold sandwich in my fridge, I’ll let you out.”

The human was silent for a moment. “...you promise?”

“Sure. I promise.”

“Like...pinkie swear and shit?”

“Well, I can’t exactly do a pinkie swear with you in there so...”

“Symbolic pinkie swear then!”  

“Okay. Symbolic pinkie swear. You just have to convince me you’re worth more alive then as lunch.”

After several moments, he felt the human suddenly shift. “Magic!” she said. “I can do magic!”

That got Red’s attention and eyed his belly dubiously. “Really now?”

“Yup! I can do magic.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I can’t show you from inside your fucking stomach now can I?!”  

Red stood up and walked to the kitchen. He flicked the light on and went to the sink. “OK. I’ll bring you out and you can do your magic, but I warn you now morsel. If you’re lying, I’m gobbling you back up and this time...” he paused. “I might just bite a little.”

It was surprisingly difficult to push his food back up once he’d swallowed it. Putting his fingers down his throat didn’t really do much other than make him wretch and his stomach clench. Which the human really did not appreciate. After the fourth failed attempt, he was ready to say fuck it and just go sit and watch TV until his belly finished her off. But he was genuinely curious now and he was spurred on more by annoyance and stubbornness than anything.

“Should...should I...like...help?” the human asked tentatively.

Red growled. “Might be nice.”

He tried one more time was shocked when he felt the warm lump push up into his esophagus. Once it had a good hold on the human, the rest went much more smoothly and after only a few moments, he felt her push up from the back of his throat and her little hands were grabbing onto his tongue and trying to pry herself out. He opened his mouth and plucked her from inside, pulling her from his jaws and setting her down onto the counter. She wobbled on her feet before falling hard onto her knees, too weak and disorientated to remain standing. Her skin was flushed and red from where his stomach acids had began to burn her and he felt a soft pang of guilt. It looked like it hurt. But he steeled himself and looked down at her with a frown.

“Alright, human. Let’s see this amazing magic of yours.” He knew some Elves could do magic and most fairies, but he had never seen any of it. Maynard hadn’t said anything about humans being able to perform magic, so maybe only some could?

The human held up both her hands, showing him the back and her palms as though to prove she held nothing. She presented the back of one hand, the thumb bent inward and used her other hand to place the tip of her other thumb so it aligned with the profile of its fellow, index finger and middle finger bent over to hide the gap. She slid the hand with the tip of her thumb visible back and forth as though she meant it as an impressive deed and the clapped her hands together and presented them both. Each hand still in possession of their thumbs.  

It was a parlor trick. A silly hand illusion to trick simple minded children that one could sever the tip of the thumb and magically reattach it with a simple wave of their hands. And almost as though to add insult to injury, the human finished their performance with a tired sounding, “Ta da.”

Red starred, expecting more and when the little human only starred back, he realized that he had been had. There was no magic. Just a magic trick, an illusion and it should have angered him. It should have made him furious and he should have devoured the wretched little liar right then and there…

...but instead he started to laugh. Loudly. He leaned back against the opposite counter and covered his face as the laughter turned into a fit of giggles and when he peeked between his fingers at the human, who was now looking at him with a fearful uneasiness, his laughter was renewed. It an absurd bargain she had made with him, betting her very life on the idea he might be impressed by such a paltry little showing. It was stupid and reckless and oddly...brave.

“S-so...” her shivering voice brought him back. “So...are you going to...let me go?”

He composed himself and regarded the little creature for a long moment and then said, “No.”

She scowled at him. “I knew it! You’re a fucking liar!”

He scoffed. “Me? What about you? That wasn’t magic.”

“It was a magic trick,” she replied firmly. “I just omitted a word. I didn’t lie.”

“Well, in any case I didn’t say I’d let you go,” he replied with a smug grin. “I said I would let you out. Never mentioned anything about releasing you or even that I wouldn’t be putting you back in later.”

The human’s scowl was gone and she bite her lip. As she began to scoot back across the counter, she started shaking in fear again. “Fucking liar...”

Red watched her shake and tremble, easily imagining she thought he meant to eat her then and there and he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to assure her of the contrary. He was having fun.

“I didn’t lie,” he purred as he loomed over her.

“You said all I needed to do was convince you I was worth more alive,” she spat, tears falling down her face now.

“And do you feel like you sufficiently did that?”

“I made you laugh,” she retorted. “Like...a lot. That should count for something, right?”

She was bargaining again, Red mused. “It was amusing, but if that’s all...”

“I didn’t say it was all,” the human snapped back. “I have more.”

Red regarded her with a flat, unimpressed look. “Oh do tell...”

“I can stick my tongue out and touch my forehead.”

Red blinked and his confused silence seemed to give the human the impression he was waiting for her display the odd quirk. But all she did was stick her tongue out at him and...touch her forehead with the index finger of her right hand.

Almost involuntarily, Red smiled and started to laugh again. He paced around the kitchen for a moment and then out into the hall before doubling back into the kitchen, laughing all the while. The human had taken his momentary absence as a chance to hide, but his kitchen countered were sparse and there were only two places to hide. Behind the toaster or inside the bread box. He could see the toaster well enough to know she was not there so he flipped open the box to see the human trying to hide under the remaining half loaf of bread. He chuckled at her and reach inside to pull her out.

She fought, but had grown very weak and could not do much of anything but smack his hand and kick her feet. “Please...please don’t kill me...”

He looked at the human and found that he didn’t want to eat her again. Not because she was not appetizing or that he wasn’t hungry, but she had succeeded in her original task; To convince him she was worth more than being his lunch. She was far too amusing a creature to sacrifice to his belly.

“I’m not going to eat you,” he said and watched her study him as though trying to figure out if she should believe him. “You’ve won your bargain, human. Congratulations.”

She sucked in a breath and shuddered, fat tears rolling down her face. “You’re not lying?”

“Nah,” he replied. “You’re a funny little thing. Might be worth keeping you around for a laugh.”

She held out her hand, little pinkie extended. “Pinkie promise.”

He eyed her. “We already did.”

“Real pinkie promise,” she said. “Promise that you aren’t lying and you won’t eat me ever again.”

He rolled his eyes, but obligingly offered his own pinkie of his free hand to her. “Fine, I promise I am not lying to you and I will not eat you ever again.” Their different sizes made it an awkward exchange, but the little human seemed satisfied enough. He sat back down on the counter and once she was standing under her own power, he grinned at her and licked his lips. “I make no such promises about eating any other humans though.”

She gaped at him, horrified. “Dude!”

He laughed and then asked, “Have a name, human? Or should I keep calling your morsel?”

“My name’s Penny,” she replied.

“Okay, Penny. I’m Red.” 

[kaorei-endgame]

hmmm.... if you didn’t know.... the only thing i do now is write about catboys :)

“The restaurant still had cds, dozens and dozens of them in this dusty pile by the register. No aux cable as far as the eye could see.” Nico flinched. “Can you not, with your bare feet?”

Anzu kicked defiantly, digging in against the couch cushions with their back to continue their chilly assault. “So it was cool?” They asked, from around their gameboy screen. “You’re telling me she took you to a cool place.”

Nico's ears drooped. “Mostly it was a bunch of weird zither tunes. And the food was like…”

“Bad?”

“Challenging.” Nico slumped deeper into the couch. “Don’t get me wrong I appreciate when she takes initiative… it’s just… kind of disappointing for our…y’know…”

Anzu’s ears crossed, they perked up. “Go on, say it.”

“Familiar Anniver—”

“Familiarversary!” Anzu chorused, hands waving, arms high.

A throw pillow careened past Anzu’s head. “No.”

Anzu giggled back. “If she’s so bad at feeling your vibe or whatever you can break up you know. It’s not 50 years ago you don’t have to be”—shuffling the gameboy to one hand for scare quotes—“bonded,” or whatever, Grandma.”

“Dude I’m nine months older than you.”

“That’s besides the point.” Anzu wafted the gameboy emphatically with both hands. “I asked Oers’s friend, who is a medium. And she said breaking that stuff up—poof—” Nico winced, tracking the precarious wobble of the gameboy as Anzu’s arms went wide in elaboration. “Simple as…” The gameboy shot up into the air and Anzu threw out a lightning quick pair of finger-guns at the now-paralyzed-by-oncoming-electronic-grief Nico. “Pah-pah! ….Goin’ to the courthouse.“—The gameboy fell!

…with a whumpf, onto the couch cushions between Anzu’s legs.

Anzu grinned. “Anyway, it’s like thirty bucks. You don’t have thirty bucks?”

“I got thirty.” Nico slumped back onto the couch, tabbed around with the remote to try and find the Spacecraft tournament they’d originally intended to watch, though Anzu kept calling it the Spacewars tournament without a hint of irony, which did cause Nico to suspect Anzu’s commitment to the sport. “It’s the lingering twelve hundred from my EOOL violation that’s gonna kill me.”

“Oooh, ghost stuff!”

Nico squinted. “What the hell do you know about Exorcism law?”

“Enough to know somebody’s been”—Anzu’s eyebrows waggled— “Exorcising. Out. Of. License.”

Nico huffed. “Which of those cop shows you like did an episode about ghosts?”

“Oers’s internet has been pretty”—Anzu wiggled a hand in the air and clicked their tongue a few times—“since that flood a while back? So that friend of hers has a whole office with a bunch of law books, that kind of thing, and since I’m always hanging around with nothing to do while they’re—”

Nico’s Anzu-sense pinged. “Anzu….. are you sure this friend…. Isn’t her wife?”

“Huh?” Anzu went blank faced, ears tilting from left to right and back again. Then they burst into a wild chortle, reaching for the half-killed sake bottle beside them on the floor. “Ahaha, nothing like that. Oh!” FWUNK! The plastic cork popped free and skittered across the floor. “They’re co-workers! Like you and Marigold!” Trailing off, Anzu took a long chug. There was so much left because Anzu bought the sweet stuff—i.e.: the cheap stuff—which is what will happen, if you let Anzu buy alcohol. Which gave Nico, comparatively sober, plenty of time to puzzle out….

“If she’s a medium, and you’re calling them co-workers…” Nico assessed the corners of the room for 3rd party observers. “Cripes. You’re dating a demon?”

Anzu’s nose wrinkled up, their eyes went to slits. A dribble of sake spilled over their chin. “Ehe! Cool, yeah?”

Nico paused for a good long time. Words had left them. Biting their lip, they raised their hands.

“Is she….”

Outlining a box in the air.

No…. A larger one.

M-maybe a bit larger.

“…big?”

“Nico!” Anzu, aghast. Eyes gigantic beneath that shaggy fringe of hair. Just long enough to make Nico squirm. Then, they put both hands in front of them in quiet praise, bowed, and began to jitter. “Ffffffucking extremely!!” They cackled.

Nico paused for a sec, to let the mental image really firm up. They slouched on the couch, and smiled. “Damn, a demon. That’s like a super LDR.”

“Not really.” Anzu chugged the last of the sake. “She’s on the same subway line.”

“Yea, but she’s gotta traverse three planes before she can walk to the station…” Nico blinked. “Hey…”

Before Nico could respond, Anzu burst into a sudden motion, ice-cold feet kicked out, seeking vulnerable spots in the Nico-couch symbiote to burrow between for precious warmth.

Nico yelped, instinctually flinching away, but no matter how Nico contorted, the freezing arches of Anzu’s feet were never far behind.

“Give in!” Anzu squealed. “It’s freezing! I’m drunk!”

“Will you be quiet? You’ll wake up Marigold.” With a hand against Anzu’s face for leverage, Nico managed to wrestle them, laughing, to the couch. “I’ll get you a blanket!”

Anzu relented in an instant, slumping dead-limbed across the couch.

The streams of “Thank you, cousin!” and “Love you, miss you!” and various other obnoxiously affectionate bon-mots trailed Nico all the way down the hallway to the office.

A frizzy sensation rifled through Nico’s neck hair as they creaked the office door open, which probably narrowly saved them a (meta?)physical encounter with Marigold’s astral projection, hovering like a glittering blue constellation of her shape, somewhere between the door and the little linen closet in the side wall.

Marigold, the physical one, was slumped over the desk, steepled hat slumped over her face and… maybe (no, definitely) drooling a little, but it didn’t look like over anything important. Just those parody tarot cards Nico had gotten her one year in an unfortunately passive-aggressive plea to tune The Readings down a notch…

Nico skirted around the little celestial nymphs that flitted back and forth to outline Marigold’s form as she chatted emphatically gesturing with her hands towards unseen partners in muted conversations.

It was probably work. Nico hoped it was work. Astral bandwidth was really expensive this time of year and—

The nymphs twisted and flurried around one another as Marigold swayed with laughter.

It was probably work…. Related?

A little “snurrgurrgle” of a snort escaped Marigold, the physical one, as Nico tucked a blanket around her and said goodnight.  

When Nico got back, Anzu was fully asleep fully sprawled out with fully one of the couch cushions on top of them for insulation. So Nico just chucked the blanket on top of the whole thing and hit un-mute on the TV.

Nico watched the TV for a while, til Anzu had to come up for air. Sneaking their head out from under the blanket, red-faced from booze and trapped body heat, and smiling cozily. “So what year is this, for y’all two?”

“A lot.”

“Did she get you a gift?”

A startle-tremor ran through Nico. They scruffed their nails through the back of their hair. “Yeah.”

Anzu’s smeared wingliner accentuated to stiletto points. “Was it a good one?”

Nico reddened. Scratched at her collar bone like worrying up an old secret. “She’s… done worse.”

A satisfied little giggle, from the other side of the couch. “Bet she has.”

The little cartoon space man living and dying in 15 second intervals on the TV screen became very interesting, for a while. Long enough that all the thoughts in Nico’s head began to parse themselves out… one by one…

“So.” Anzu’s spine arched, sliding up the arm of the couch, their hands rooted blindly behind them, coming back with a fistful of red vines, morst of which ended up in their mouth on the first go. “How’s your mom?”

[snowpeawritings]

Oops- Forgot to add that! Scenario please for the DGS ask!

prompt: naruhodou and sherlock’s s/o being blackmailed and forced to falsely testify and theyre in scotland yard?

Reader is gender neutral

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Minor spoilers for DGS 2, drug mention, suicide mention

| Ryuunosuke Naruhodou |

You watched the flame of  the candle flicker idly. Their mouths moved but you didn’t hear anything. You couldn’t hear anything. The blood rushing to your ears distracted you from listening to the trial. To others, they thought you were angry that the suspect had slipped past your grasp in your patrol.

To you, the true perp who was watching the trial with a contented smirk.

In order for you to not leap across the room and maul the man, you had to cross your arms under your chest and clutched the sleeves of your uniform with a passion. You probably couldn’t afford a new one so you had to patch the holes yourself.

Him (you had dubbed him the rat man) and the suspect go way back apparently. Far back that they were able to blackmail you of yours and a certain lawyer’s relationship.

It would be the biggest scandal for you and your career hasn’t even started. You were just a fledgling police officer that was too good for the Japanese man and Scotland Yard. If word got out that you were dating him—

You worry more for him rather than your own fate from Barok van Zieks.

His Honor had allowed a cross-examination and asked for the person who was in charge of their beat, you didn’t even let out a noise.

It was only when the defense had called your position in Scotland Yard, then your name. “Are you feeling well?”

It was a question out of courtesy since you’ve been standing on the witness stand without saying anything, but you knew the defense that those words had hidden concern.

You lightly nodded your head. “I’m fine.”

With a flourish of your hand, you brought your right hand above your heart and bowed your chest in a perfect 45 degree angle. “Honorable citizens of the court, please allow me to testify in this esteemed hall of justice!”

| Witness Testimony | What occurred in my beat

“I was patrolling around my beat as usual, the fog hadn’t been as bad as it was a lot of times before so I didn’t have any excuse to miss anything. T’was ‘round the corner of Rose’s Bakery that I spotted the suspect prowling near the dustbins that the bakery had.”

“Hold it!” Yelled Naruhoudo. “These dustbins… These are the same ones that was behind the bakery, correct?”

You nodded. “Same ones that kept filling up with egg shells and bread gone wrong. Thought it was another peddlar trying to get some scraps but his clothes caught me off guard.”

Naruhodou made a hum of agreement. “The suspect’s clothes are quite fashionable, aren’t they?”

The suspect next to you smirked at his compliment and puffed his collar. You had to physically stop yourself from breaking his fingers.

“His entire ensemble is from Claire and Frank’s boutique.” van Zieks added. “I should know, I am a frequent patron of theirs.”

If only, you thought solemnly to yourself as you remember your dull plainclothes back at home. If only people were just as well-off as the Reaper.

“In any case,” you brought the attention back, “it’s still a strange sight for a well-dressed stranger to be near a dump so…”

“I approached and asked him what was he doing there. Before he could answer, I saw the glint of a knife and then he lunged at me!”

“Hold it!” He said again, this time in urgency. “Were you alright?! Did he get you anywhere?!”

You made motions with your hands to calm him down. “Easy easy! I was trained to deal with blokes that pull a fast one on me so I disarmed him just as fast.”

“As expected of Scotland Yard!” The judge said. “And what did you do after you disarmed him?”

The click of a revolver flashed in your mind. His buddy cocking his gun to your forehead as his damn voice still made you punch your bedroom wall.

“… I disarmed him and stated that I was part of Scotland Yard. Because it was too dark, he thought that I was a mugger so he tried to defend himself.”

“It… was too dark?” Naruhodou repeated. “I thought the oil lamp next to the bakery’s door was lit?”

You cussed inwardly, eyes flitting to the man who had his smirk still on his face. He made a motion with his hand; Remember our deal.

“It… was lit.” You corrected yourself, silently berating yourself for having such an obvious slip-up. “I don’t know what’s up with the bloke, he probably has poor vision.”

The suspect made a gasp of offense before glaring at you. “Excuse you but my eyesight is perfectly fine! In fact, my eyesight is so perfect I could count exactly how many freckles His Honor has just from this distance!”

“The suspect shall do no such thing!” The judge exclaimed hastily.

Van Zieks stated your position then last name which immediately straightened your back. “Sir?”

“Do try to keep your stuttering out of your testimony.” He growled before giving you a cold glare. “Else I’ll keep you out of your job.”

You shivered. “Y-Yes sir…”

From your right, Naruhodou hummed before getting the attention of the court. “Your Honor, I request that the information where the lamp was lit be added to the testimony!”

Damn! You hoped that he didn’t catch on to your tell.

“The lamp on the wall was lit but that didn’t stop the bloke from swinging his knife at me!”

“Objection!” The defense yelled, his finger pointing at you. “Officer, you said the lamp was lit, am I correct?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Y-Yes…”

“How strange…” He started, placing his index finger under his chin. “Because in this photo, the lamp appears to have been broken.”

Cripes!

“Broken?” His Honor questioned, bringing up the photo to his face again. “Why, it appears the glass has been shattered!”

Double cripes!

“Officer, what is the meaning of this?!” His honor exclaimed, furrowing his brows.

Your arms wound up below your chest, hands squeezing on your sleeves that you fear your fingernails can tear the cloth. The expenses to repair your coat doesn’t even cover the taste of iron that was in your tongue. You bit the inside of your cheek too hard and you didn’t even noticed it.

“I…” You gasped out. You tried to keep your focus away from the suspect or the rat man, but their annoying smirks were forever imprinted on your mind. You risked a glance at Naruhodou, whose face was beginning to become worried.

You stared at him, your eyes nearly watering and cocked your head to the suspect. You could only hope he got the message as you prepared yourself for your next move.

Whatever you were going to say would cost you your future either way.

“I stand by what I said.” You told the court with finality. “The lamp was lit. It didn’t matter that the glass was broken.”

And with that, the court went in an uproar. Men and women arguing on what you just said, the fact that an underdog of Scotland Yard would ignore a blatant fact. You didn’t care for their screams. You didn’t care for the glower van Zieks was giving you. You didn’t care for the triumphant smirk that the rats had on their faces.

What you did care was the future Naruhoudo had that you wanted to protect.

| Sherlock Holmes |

With a great detective as your lover, you thought that you had nothing to be afraid of.

You couldn’t help it. Even if it gets Tobias fuming, you had to admit that Sherlock emitted a charm that had you falling for. You fell in love with his theater of logic and reason (especially his fleeting touches whenever he slides near you before gliding off elegantly) and you fell in love with his little differences when he was alone with you.

Sherlock would always play his violin when you were around, the soft music gently swaying you to the music until you realize that Sherlock dropped his violin just to slow dance with you in his arms. You love him even more when you saw him taking care of Iris as best as he could until you stepped in, feeling your heart just swell at the warmth when you saw the three of you together like some weird family.

Which is why you cannot tell the entire court about this.

If people know about your relationship with the great detective, it would be the scandal of the century. If people were to find out about his and Iris’s relationship, it would be even more of a scandal than London’s most sought-out man is taken.

“… Officer? Officer can you hear me?”

You blinked out of your stupor when you heard the judge call your name. You were back in the courtroom, on the witness stand, where everyone has their eyes on you, especially him.

Rat bastard thinks its entertainment that you get to suffer standing there while he sits there scott-free. Said he owes the suspect u beat up at your beat and soon, you were the unfortunate soul who got trapped in his schemes. You could barely remember his threats on spreading your relationship to the court but you hoped that with Sherlock in this courtroom, he can point out your discomfort.

…

Who were you kidding. This is Sherlock Holmes. It’s gonna take him and Naruhoudo’s shared brain cell and Iris’s whole brain to figure this out.

“Sorry,” you said, “I’ll get to my testimony.”

You hoped that he was able to catch on.

“… They’re awfully nervous today, aren’t they?” Naruhoudo remarked to his mentor, noting how your eyes shifted from the suspect next to you to the audience of this court. He tried to follow your eyes but you were too fast to flick your sight back to front.

Sherlock hummed, his eyes flicking to your form. He had never seen you this jittery before even if it’s well-concealed. He could’ve brushed off Naruhoudo and said that you were nervous because your lover was watching you but he knew that wasn’t the case. You were the calm and collected other half to his fiery personality. He has you to thank for the times that he wanted to off himself and he would never stop his… addictions when you hadn’t stepped in.

You were the light of his darkest days. Back when Yujin Mikotoba left London and left Sherlock in a stifling darkness. You got him out of this darkness that he doesn’t know what to do if you were to ever go away.

That’s why when he notices you fidget with your sleeves, feet slightly shifting on the floor that he notices something was wrong. His mind racks to find any plausible answer but he can’t quite pinpoint on a good possibility.

He hates not knowing.

“Pish posh, Naruhodou!” He comforted the young man, tipping the brim of his hat. “I’m sure that them being in the same room as THE Sherlock Holmes is sending their heart pounding!”

At least, he hopes that’s just the reason.

[recurring-polynya]

RenRuki Pacific Rim AU. Renji is torn up inside because he and Rukia used to be drift compatible when they were younger until ~something~ happened, and now she's fighting monsters and is drift compatible with this new orange haired kid she met like 10 mins ago. Rukia's in danger, Renji and Ichigo have to go and save her in their giant robot (and because they only have Save Rukia on their minds, miraculously, they can do it). Rukia and Renji talks things out, they kick ass in a giant robot. END.

Anon. ANON. A N O N.

You forgot to include the AO3 link to your 200k fanfic, Anon, you cannot leave me like this.

There’s no call to action here. What do you want from me? Do you want my opinion on this idea? Because it slaps. It slaps hard. It is better than any idea I have ever had in my life, and I once made up a fighting game where everyone is historical mathematicians called Gaussian Elimination. I would give you the Nobel Peace Prize for this.

You know what? I’m just going to assume this is a drabble request, even though no one ever sends me drabble requests. Here you go, Anon. Here’s the drabble you did not ask for. Please keep in mind that I have only seen this movie once, like, five years ago, and I had to look everything up in the wiki, but ignorance of the source material has never stopped me before.

    “Ho-leeeee smokes,” Ichigo breathed, staring up at the gleaming Jaeger. “She’s gorgeous.” The Jaeger was pure white, accented with a scattering of pink cherry blossoms. This was no scrapper like Snow Rabbit, she was shining and elegant, absolutely oozing power. 

    Renji pushed past him in order to boot up another control panel. “She better be. That’s Sakura 1000, the finest (not to mention most expensive) Jaeger ever built. She belongs to Captain Kuchiki.

    Ichigo let out a low whistle. “When you said you could get us a ride, you weren’t kidding. Cripes, Byakuya can pilot? Who the hell is drift compatible with that old bag of wind in a fancy suit?”

    Renji shot him a steely glance. “Captain Kuchiki is the most gifted pilot this Shatterdome has ever seen. Story goes, only one person’s ever been naturally drift compatible with him. With enough training, enough years studying his moves, a person can learn to co-pilot with him. It’s not true drift compatibility, it’s more like… supporting him. He carries most of the neural load himself. He’s amazing.”

    “Don’t know who would sign up for that bullshit job,” Ichigo announced, watching Renji type access codes into a terminal. “Hey, how do you know all those…” As he looked back at his reluctant ally, Ichigo noticed for the first time that Renji’s Drivesuit was white, splashed with pink flower petals. “Ohhhhhhhh shit. Uh, sorry, man.”

    “Don’t worry about it,” Renji grumbled. “It is a bullshit job. Come on.” Sakura 1000’s Conn-Pod slid open with a blast of steam and a loud hiss. 

    “You think we’re really gonna be able to pilot ol’ Hatchetface’s personal Jaeger?” Ichigo asked, chasing Renji up the ramp.

    “Nope,” Renji replied. “But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit back while Aizen tries to use Rukia to open a new breach.” 

    “Now, that’s funny,” Ichigo grinned, “because it seems like we’re on exactly the same wavelength.” He paused from trying to buckle his feet into the straps. “Hey, when Rukia and I get in Snow Rabbit, the head is detached and then it goes down a big chute thing and--”

    “Yeah, Sakura 1000’s Conn-Pod is in the torso. She doesn’t have escape hatches.” Renji yanked his helmet down over his ponytail. “If she goes down, so do we.”

    “Coooool,” said Ichigo. “Cool cool cool cool cool.”

    “Look, you ready to get this show on the road, kid?”

    “Let me get my helmet on!”

    Renji took a deep breath, his nose filling with relay gel. This was insanity. Fourteen years of training, of studying, of getting his brain waves to align with a man who was the epitome of self-control. And now, here he was, stealing Captain Kuchiki’s finicky baby with this… this human tornado, this chaos-that-walked-like-a-teen that Rukia had just...picked up somewhere. This was never going to work. This was going to fail and it was going to set off a thousand alarms and then they were going to jail forever while Rukia-- 

    “Ready!”

    Banishing those negative thoughts, Renji hit the ignition sequence, and felt the spinal clamp lock into place. 

    “Beginning synchronization sequence,” Sakura 1000’s auto-monitoring system announced.

“Hey, does her voice sound a little like Rukia’s?” Ichigo asked.

    “Little,” Renji managed. It was the voice of Captain Kuchiki’s dead partner, actually, but Renji had always found it eerily close to his old partner’s. “What do you wanna think about?” he asked. “Something we can both get on board with.”

    “Pilotin’ with Rukia, obviously.”

    Renji glanced at his co-pilot out of the corner of his eye, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

    Dark violet eyes, sparkling with violence.

    “You ready to go kick some ugly monster ass, Big Guy?”

    Leaping off a cliff into a boiling sea where their comrades were in desperate need of a rescue, their Jaeger’s cape fluttering around them. (Why did a giant mech even have a cape?)

    Beating a kaiju over the head with the melted ruin of their Plasmacaster, screaming in unison, screaming not because they were scared, but screaming because they were alive. 

    “Neural handshake complete,” the auto-monitoring system declared. “Drift connection established. Preparing for launch.”

    “What th’fuck?” Renji sputtered.

    “Let’s go save Rukia,” Ichigo growled. Renji could feel his upper lip curling into a determined grin, echoing the teen’s own facial expression.

    “Yeah,” Renji agree. “Let’s go save Rukia.”

[alwaysdowntohidewithyou]

“Most parents will be familiar with the experience of being ignored by their teenage offspring. Tormented by my daughter's incessant loud singing around the house, I've lost count of the number of times I pleaded: 'For God's sake, Florence, please put a sock in it.'

Of course, she didn't take a blind bit of notice. Just as well, really. My daughter is Florence Welch, of Florence And The Machine.

She is 22, lauded as the next big thing and her debut album Lungs has been sitting at No2 in the charts, behind the late Michael Jackson.

She has won the Critics' Choice Award at the Brits and was this week nominated for a Mercury Music Prize. She's even been on Radio 4's Woman's Hour, for goodness sake, not to mention Jonathan Woss.

This has all happened in the space of a couple of years, and it takes some getting used to.

Florence was born into an Anglo-American middle-class family. Her mother, Evelyn, is an American art historian and I worked in advertising. We lived in South London, we took holidays in Cornwall.

There was music in the house and there were books. There were performers and musicians on both sides of the family. I took Florence and her younger sister Grace to violin lessons (ouch) but it wasn't their passion.

Because of her mother's work, Florence did have an early exposure to Renaissance painting, which may have had an influence on the somewhat visceral world view expressed in her lyrics. As a child, she was particularly fascinated by Mantegna's Circumcision Of Christ, and by various paintings of the martyrdom of St Agatha, who had her breasts cut off.

Florence, always a difficult sleeper, was often as an infant encouraged to nod off by being wheeled around the sitting room in a pushchair to the accompaniment of loud music.

Her earliest subliminal influences include The Smiths (whom she found highly soporific) and Syd Barrett (less so). We also tried works by The Soft Machine, REM, The Go-Gos.

One evening a few years ago when I was passing Florence's bedroom I heard her shouting out: 'That's amazing, I'm having a bloody epiphany.'

I poked my head around the door and saw her sitting on the bed with a huge pair of headphones on. She had, it appeared, just listened for the first time to Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit.

People have asked whether there was a moment when I realised that Florence had a gift. There was. It happened during a performance of Bugsy Malone at her school, Alleyn's, in Dulwich. Florence was ten or 11 and she was playing the lead female part of Blousey Brown.

At school productions, parents are usually interested only in the efforts of their own offspring, but when Florence sang, the whole audience was suddenly fully engaged. I remember thinking: 'Cripes, she's got a voice - this is serious.'

It wasn't just her perfect pitch - she had the essence of phrasing and timing which makes a good singer great.

On the basis of her phenomenal performance she was co-opted to sing a rather obscure and difficult Gilbert And Sullivan song at my father's memorial service at St Bride's in Fleet Street in 1997.

My father, Colin, was a journalist and satirist who had been deputy editor of the Daily Telegraph and a parliamentary sketchwriter for the Daily Mail, so the great and good of Fleet Street were there. Florence sang brilliantly in front of scores of weeping crumblies.

After this she became something of a fixture at funerals. When I recently gave her a hard time about the dark quality of her lyrics - the first song she wrote was called My Boy Builds Coffins - she said: 'You made me sing at funerals. What do you expect?'

Florence spent her later teenage years in a mysterious group called the Toxic Cockroaches. Her mother and I, by now divorced, probably did not pay enough attention.

Having won a place at Camberwell School Of Art, she sang with a band called Ashok.

On one occasion she called me from Greenwich, angling for a lift home. Her band, she said, weren't there but there were some others around who she might play with. I turned up and watched her sing two songs, which were phenomenal.

No, she said afterwards, she hadn't rehearsed. No, she had had no idea what she was going to sing when she got on stage. This stunned me then and still stuns me now.

Florence and her bandmates were 'spotted' by an old-school music manager and there was talk of a contract. 'Don't sign anything until we've had a chance to have a look at it,' we implored. 'Yeah, yeah,' said Florence - and went ahead and signed it.

That's where it all could have gone off the rails. She was 19 and miserable, in the wrong band, life signed away, career over before it had begun. Despite my misgivings, I became a bit of a rock dad, and phoned a friend who was a music lawyer.

It turned out the contract was only binding on Florence as part of the band, so all she had to do was resign. After that we paid a bit more attention.

Florence engaged her present manager, Mairead Nash, one half of the achingly fashionable Queens Of Noize club night promoters, by trapping her in a club washroom and singing an Etta James song at full volume. Their partnership has worked pretty well so far.

Once established in her own right, and aided and abetted by Mairead and the 'thunderous' Machine, Florence's progress has been swift and spectacular.

Last year I was the one driving Florence and a two-man Machine around Europe in her stepmum's camper van, following in the wake of the MGMT (another popular band) tour bus - all for the princely sum of €75 a gig.

This year it is a professional driver, Florence, a five-piece Machine and a road crew in their own tour bus.

I still go to some gigs, but my small part in this drama is, to a great extent, over. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and my early days as de facto tour manager are a great source of envy to my fifty-something chums who would give their eye teeth for the chance to go 'on the road' with a band, man.

There are, of course, alarming aspects to the whole thing. I have witnessed Florence clambering up the gantry at Glastonbury in 6in heels and I have seen her being passed around the audience at a gig with Pete Doherty.

Indeed, I shared a light ale or two with the rock and roll Rimbaud and found him to be quite charming, if a trifle vague. I must admit, though, a report that he had proposed to Florence earlier in the evening did cause a momentary attack of the vapours.

It is all exciting. But a word of warning to any potential pop stars and their parents: it is also expensive. Florence has received reasonable advances, but had to use them to pay for a lot of the band's running costs.

Florence will, we hope, make some money, but only if she sells a lot of CDs and gets film tie-ins - and after she has repaid her advances.

I may have to wait for quite a while for that bungalow in Weybridge that all rock stars seem to buy for their parents.

The fact that Florence has become public property can invade one's life and conversation. We do have evenings within her extended family where all mention of the 'daffy diva', as I call her sometimes, is forbidden.

Her sister Grace is at Sussex University, and so is able to get away from the all-embracing tsunami that Florence's life has become.

Florence's 15-year-old brother, JJ, thinks it's all pretty cool, and finds the connection with a pop star a good way to develop conversations with girls.

I do occasionally feel a twinge of unease about this whole extraordinary thing, and I remember the first time I felt it. It was more than a year ago and Florence was playing a gig in an inexplicably fashionable joint in Hoxton, Hackney.

Practically every A&R man in London was there. As I watched Florence putting her heart and soul into the performance, I glanced round at the audience.

There were the fans, wild-eyed and transported by the experience. And there were the A&R men, with quiet, thoughtful faces. They weren't here to enjoy themselves, they were taking care of business, and the business was my daughter. That's just the way it is - no worse than any other business, but it was a sobering thought.

It was also at this gig that one of the A&R men who knew that I was Florence's father turned to me with a quizzical expression as she launched into another of her perverse, Gothic tales of death, dismemberment, and bloody revenge.

'I know what you're thinking,' I shouted, 'but I can assure you she had a perfectly normal upbringing.'”

-Nick Welch, 2009 (x)

[airyairyaucontraire]

So perhaps it’s not surprising that we fun-sponge millennials are eschewing them. A study from Spare Room has found that 44% of millennial renters have turned down invitations to their friends’ weddings. Is it because we hate fun? Are we drinking so little that we become confused and overwhelmed in open bar situations? Frightened that the venue won’t have a wifi code? No, we’re just broke. 31% of people surveyed were in debt as a result of attending weddings. 15% had had to move out of the property they rented because of the cost incurred. The saddest finding? 62% of those who sent an RSVP to say “no” said that not attending had cost them their friendship with the couple.

Cripes, imagine having to move (possibly becoming homeless for heck’s sake) because of the expense of going to a wedding. Anyone who cuts off an otherwise good friend for not wanting to face that can eat a fart.

[kusunogatari]

                                                              [ @kyuuzuchiha ]                                                                      𝕩     𝕩     𝕩                                                                      𝕩     𝕩     𝕩                                                                      𝕩     𝕩     𝕩 

“Yo, teme! Teme!”

Lurching forward as an arm wraps around his shoulders, Sasuke just sighs. “What, dobe?”

Grinning like a fox, Naruto flashes two small pieces of paper in his other hand. “Lookie what I got!”

“...tickets? For what?”

“Some fancy shmancy new restaurant!”

Dark brows furrow, looking to Naruto skeptically. “Tickets for a restaurant?”

“Well, it’s not just a restaurant...apparently they do, like...shows and stuff!”

Shoving his friend aside to unburden his pace, Sasuke gives another glance. “...why did you get tickets to something like that? Doesn’t seem your style.”

“I won ‘em!”

“...how?”

“Oh, just a little bet I made,” the blond replies evasively, tucking the tickets back in his jacket.

“...meaning?”

“Nothin’!”

“Naruto, you weren’t swindling humans again, were you?”

“No, no! It wasn’t anything like that!” Hands wave in defense. “They weren’t human!”

“So, less likely to get you arrested, and more likely to get your ass beat.”

Lips pout. “Hey, I won that game fair and square.”

“All right, fine. Still doesn’t explain why you’d put your ass on the line for something that...random.”

“Welllll, at first I was gonna sell ‘em! See, this place is Nightwalker…! So they’re super expensive! Apparently it’s, like...really hard to even get tickets. But then I thought...y’know who I know who appreciates nice things?”

Sasuke deadpans.

“My good pal Sasuke!”

“Why would I care about some high-end eatery?”

“Aw, c’mon! It’ll be fun, ‘ttebayo - we can get all dressed up, rub some elbows…!”

The Uchiha’s nose wrinkles. “What makes you think something like that would be fun…?” He has distant family in high places, which means elbow-rubbing is something he does at times. And it’s never fun. Just boring, stressful, and time-consuming.

Naruto’s lips purse again. “Well just cuz you get to do it all the time doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it!”

“Then go by yourself.”

“But I’ve got two tickets…!”

“So? Sell one, if you want the money.”

“But Sasukeee…!” Naruto gives his best combo of puppy eyes and whiny tone.

Head craning back, Sasuke sighs. “All right, fine.”

“YAY!”

“When is this supposed to happen?”

“Friday! Uh…” Whipping the tickets back out, Naruto studies them. “At...two am!”

“A little late, isn’t it?”

“Aw, c’mon - sunrise isn’t until after five this time of year! It’ll be fine! Plenty of time for you to skulk off to bed, huh?”

“...address?”

Handing over the ticket, Naruto lets his friend type it down into his phone. “We should probably get there a little early, huh? Find good seats?”

“Naruto, the seats are assigned. Look, it says right here.”

“Oh…” Smiling sheepishly, he tucks them away one last time. “Guess I’ll see ya there, teme!”

“Guess so.” Watching the werefox take off, Sasuke sighs lightly to himself. Surely one morning won’t be a huge loss...and it’ll make the blond happy. Maybe he’ll get off his back for a while. Hands stuffing into his pockets, he starts to mosey for home.

His little apartment is quiet and dark when he arrives, sunrise just tinting the horizon. Flicking on a light, he indulges in a snack before calling it a day, hiding down under blankets in his blacked-out room until nightfall.

The rest of his week passes fairly quickly. To his own annoyance, part of him actually starts to feel...curious about this little outing. Not excited, but...he’s intrigued. While he’s been to a few Nightwalker-only places, they’re hard to maintain given how populous humans are.

Even harder to keep safe.

Digging through his closet Thursday evening, he picks out something nice, but...not too nice. Slacks, black shoes, matching socks, and a dress shirt. A little perusing of the place online gives the impression his outfit should be fine.

Gods know what Naruto’s going to show up wearing…

He doesn’t don it until he’s ready to go, deciding to walk. It’s not too far, and he can always use a little speed to get there quickly if he has to. Otherwise, he strolls casually, taking in the city by night, as per usual. To his honest surprise, a small crowd is gathered outside when he arrives.

A faint feeling of unease stirs in his gut.

“Sasuke! Oi, Sasuke!”

A bit surprised to see the blond there before him, Sasuke closes the distance. Somehow, Naruto’s actually dressed about as he is...except that his shirt is a bright, obnoxious orange compared to Sasuke’s deep purple. “You weren’t kidding about it being hard to get in.”

“Told ya! C’mon, I’ve got the tickets!”

“Any idea what the show actually is…?” Sasuke then asks, glancing around and taking in the building.

“Apparently it changes every so often so it doesn’t get boring. Guess we’ll see when we get up there!”

The line moves rather slowly, tickets checked at the door alongside identification to ensure no humans manage to find their way in. Eventually the pair make it to the front, presenting both.

“All right, so you two are on the main floor, left-hand side,” a woman tells them, the stub of the tickets removed. “Next show starts in ten, so you’d better get seated.”

“Thanks!” Naruto calls as Sasuke steers him in. “So I guess they do the show more than once?”

“Makes sense - otherwise people would miss it, given how many hours they’re open.” Also must be why there was a time on the tickets.

The tables are numbered, most seating groups of two or four. Their own is one of the former, and Sasuke finds himself glad they won’t be joined by any strangers. In the general murmur before the next showing begins, a band plays slow, soft jazz music.

“Cripes, look at these prices!” Naruto whispers harshly, followed by a grunt as Sasuke elbows him. “What?!”

“You’re being rude,” Sasuke hisses back.

“But -!”

“What did you expect, dobe?”

“I dunno! Guess I’ll just...put it on my card…”

Scowling, Sasuke picks up his own menu, and...wow, Naruto isn’t joking. Maybe he’ll just get an appetizer and call it good…

“Sasuke?”

Looking up, the vampire startles at a familiar face. “Wha-? Aniki? What are you doing here?”

Itachi stands beside their table, looking just as surprised to see them. “Madara-sama is attending tonight. How did you…?”

“I won some tickets!” Naruto chirps, earning a look that makes him shrink.

“He swears up and down it wasn’t anything illegal,” Sasuke cuts in. As an enforcer, Itachi’s got every right to look into it and arrest the blond...if his dealings are shadier than he claims.

“...well, I’ve got more important matters to tend to, anyway,” Itachi assures them, giving Naruto a pointed look, a hint of a smile showing through.

“So the old bastard’s really here, huh?”

“I’d be careful how loud you say that,” Itachi cautions flatly.

“I’m not scared of him.”

“You really should be. He’s a senator, Sasuke -”

“And he’s got way bigger things to worry about than me calling him names,” the younger brother cuts in. “You better get back to your guard duty, lapdog.”

That earns a flat scowl from Itachi, but Sasuke’s right - the music is fading, and the show’s likely about to start. “...maybe I’ll see you again before we leave.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Naruto watches him go, then turns to Sasuke. “That was...awkward.”

“Aniki takes his job too seriously, that’s all. As if someone like Madara gives a shit about what I say.” Still, the fact that the senator is here brings back that worried feeling in Sasuke’s gut. It could be an invitation for trouble…

His musings are interrupted, however, as spotlights illuminate the stage at the end of the building. Their table is fairly close, and Sasuke watches as slower, more somber music kicks up from the band. The red fabric begins to rise, and finally reveals the subject of the show.

Sitting on her knees atop the stage floor is a woman. Clad in a silvery gown, waves of snow white tumble down her back, which is mostly exposed in the backless dress. Head bowed, she seems to wait for a certain moment in the music. Then a mic grasped in a hand lifts to her lips...and she starts to sing.

The tune is melancholy, crooning about loneliness and solitude. Staring almost as if dazed, Sasuke listens as the lyrics tell a tale of someone both eager to be loved, and yet shying from the risk of heartbreak. Slowly she lifts to her feet, almost as though floating, a mic stand held as she continues on. This close (and with eyes this strong), Sasuke can see her own are a rain cloud grey, framed by lashes as white as her hair. Curiosity burns as to what kind of Nightwalker she is.

And then she tells him.

Her gown pools at the floor, hiding her legs. But as she abandons her hold on the microphone, moving to shield her face from her fears, her arms shift in a smooth motion to white feathers smudged with sooty black.

Sasuke can’t help a jump. So...a harpy. Snowy owl, maybe…? He’s not exactly an expert when it comes to birds. While there’s plenty of common-breed harpies in the cities - crows, pigeons, and the like - something like an owl seems...out of place. And even then, they tend to dislike how crowded the cities are. No room to fly. Too many wires over the streets. Spell broken for a moment, he glances over to see Naruto staring, jaw agape.

And he’s not the only one.

The whole hall is enraptured, staring at the avian as she sings her song. Wings slowly shift down to peer out, silvers tinged with both curious longing, and yet a fearful hesitation. They roam over the audience from one side to another.

And Sasuke swears they stop when they meet his.

Something seems to pull at his spine - like an urge to get to his feet he barely manages to suppress. And as soon as she moves her eyes, the feeling seems to pass.

What the hell was that?!

After a few more bars, her voice holds out a long, last note before fading out with the music. There’s a stunned silence, and then the audience breaks out into applause as the lights fade back in. Limbs arms once more, she smiles bashfully, head ducking and face flushing a pretty pink. A hand then gestures in praise to the band.

Once things quiet a bit, she looks up and addresses her crowd. “Thank you...it’s an honor to be invited here to perform. And an even greater honor to do so in front of one of Japan’s most prolific senators!”

Up she gestures, and Sasuke follows her hand to the second floor balcony above and behind them. There he sits: Uchiha Madara, giving a small, acquiescing wave. Beside him, both Itachi and Shisui eye the crowds warily. Even more Uchiha, Sasuke’s sure, are positioned around the room to help guard against any threats. Not that Madara needs them, but...what’s the use in his enforcers if they don’t double as a kind of secret service?

Still smiling, the harpy then introduces her next song, the band striking up into something a bit lighter in mood.

Wait staff then begin fanning out to take orders, and Naruto turns to his friend. “Holy crap, that was awesome!”

“She’s good.”

“Good? Good?! Dude, it was like...like...mesmerizing! I couldn’t look away!”

“You and everyone else,” Sasuke assures him, leaning back with folded arms.

“She’s so pretty...think she’ll sign autographs after? Man, if I could get a picture -”

“I think she’s a little out of your league.”

“What?!”

Sasuke snorts, grinning as he teases his friend. “She’s a professional singer, and you run back alley deals and smuggle stuff. Not sure she’d find your employment charming, Naruto.”

“And what about you?!”

“What about me?”

“Y’think she’d be all goo-goo eyed over an enforcer dropout who lives in a teeny tiny apartment and works odd jobs?”

“I never said I wanted her to like me. You’re the one all smitten, fox boy.”

“Whaaat? You mean you don’t think she’s pretty?”

“She’s...fine,” Sasuke replies evasively.

“You’re insane!”

“And you’re taking this little daydream a little too far.”

They’re cut off as their orders are taken, and both wordlessly go back to watching the show. She’s singing a jazzy little number, swaying with the tempo and smiling coyly.

Sasuke’s eyes squint. She’s clearly harpy, but...looking around the room, he finds any eyes on her totally glued. It’s almost like she’s -

With a loud report, the front doors blast apart, debris and smoke billowing into the dining hall. Screams quickly break out, and Sasuke reflexively spins to face the threat. All around him, panicked Nightwalkers make for the stage: the direct path away from the explosion. Atop it, the harpy calls for them to come this way, to make for the back door.

A glance up shows Madara being directed the same way, enforcers dropping to ground level to stand between him and whatever’s happened at the entrance.

Through the smoke step a group of people. Many are clad with modern armor, riot shields at the front and bearing weapons no doubt loaded with silver bullets. But at their fore is a woman: black hair cut in a sharp bob to her chin, violet eyes seeming to glow as they’re illuminated from behind. Armored vehicle headlamps burn into the now-gaping entry. All she seems to hold in terms of weapons are clawed gloves.

Sasuke sees them drip.

Poison.

...is she -?

As one, the group moves. Bullets start streaking through the hall, blasting into the woodwork and shattering stone. Cries of pain join those of panic as the enforcers all take cover.

Ducking behind a half-wall, Sasuke’s joined by Naruto. “What the fuck?!” the blond shrieks.

“Hunters!” Sasuke calls back over the sounds of gunfire and impacts. “They must be here for Madara - they’d never be so open otherwise!”

“Sasuke!”

Itachi’s voice cuts to them, and they lock eyes.

“Take the harpy out through the back!”

“But -?”

“Just do it!”

Looking to Naruto, Sasuke sees him grin, teeth already sharp. “Not quite the show I expected,” the blond offers, “but I guess this’ll do!” With a blur of orange and black he shifts, streaking forward with the enforcers to begin combatting the Hunters.

Swearing under his breath, Sasuke looks up. Half-shifted herself, the harpy takes to half-carrying, half-dragging wounded Nightwalkers back behind the stage with her taloned feet. Blood coats her dress, and judging by her limp, she’s been hit.

Sasuke knows well how silver stings. That she’s still walking at all is impressive.

Aniki, you’re gonna owe me big time for this, Sasuke growls in his mind, flickering over to her as she makes one last pass behind the wings of the stage. “Hey!”

Screeching, she makes to strike at him with her claws, but he swiftly pins her.

“I’m not the enemy! I’m here to get you out!”

“No! There’s still people in there!”

“And you’re wounded! The enforcers are taking care of the hunters - you need to get out of here and get some medical attention!”

“No!” Defiantly, she kicks a foot at his chest, knocking him aside long enough to slip back out.

“Damn it!” Sasuke shouts, taking off after her.

She’s made her way to the second floor, landing beside a couple pinned down. With feathered limbs she guides them to a rear staircase that leads down behind the stage. Making the leap amidst the bullets, Sasuke takes her shoulder. “I am not leaving you in here!”

She makes to snap at him, but they fly apart as more rounds cut through the air. Coming up the stairs at the front, hunters begin closing the distance.

“Is there an exit up here?” Sasuke calls.

“There’s another flight at the back that goes up to the roof!”

“Then let’s get going!”

Sprinting, they cut into the stairwell and start ascending. Finding the door locked, Sasuke simply kicks it from its hinges, flying out across the roof. Around them, buildings tower several stories over them. Out in the open air, they hear the whirling blades of a helicopter, a spotlight snapping to the movement of the door.

Well, shit.

“Run to the edge!”

“What?!”

“Run to the edge, and jump - just trust me!”

Looking to her like she’s lost her mind, Sasuke ducks as a bullet slams into the top frame of the door from behind them.

No time to argue.

Using vampiric speed, he bolts across the rooftop, leaping out toward an alleyway between the buildings. Landing a three storey fall is nothing for him, but -

The helicopter fires a volley of bullets, and just as he crests the edge, he feels one tear straight through his left side. Arms and legs still pumping as he screams, he feels something grip his biceps. Talons lock around his limbs, and rather than fall, he glides upward as the harpy carries him out between two taller buildings that frame the restaurant.

With the backdrop of human structures, the helicopter doesn’t dare fire again, and they slip into the alley unscathed.

For several blocks she glides, managing to find a one-storey roof nearby. Dropping him to his feet, she doesn’t land so smoothly, crumpling and rolling as she shifts back to a human guise.

Gasping for breath as the silver eats at his flesh, Sasuke collapses to his hands and knees. It’s mostly just a graze - he’s sure no vitals were hit, but he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. Add in the intense pain of the metal, and he trembles with the struggle to keep from slipping into a frenzied state.

Several paces away, groaning in pain, the harpy drags herself up. Turning to him, her eyes widen. “Hey -!” Limping back, she kneels beside him only to fall to her backside as Sasuke bats her away.

“D-don’t!”

“But -?”

“I...I’m not s-stable…”

“You’re wounded!”

“I-I might -”

Eyes flickering over him, her jaw then sets. Bloodied hands pull locks from one side of her neck. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you? Blood helps you heal, right?”

“I can’t, I - I might infect you. I can’t...trust myself not to frenzy.”

“You can’t infect me.”

“...but -?”

“Just trust me!”

Shaking, Sasuke’s eyes drift from her face to her neck. His mouth burns in instinct. If he’s going to survive a wound like this...he does need help…

Uncurling himself, he heavily grips her upper arms. For a moment, dagger teeth hover over her skin before plunging in.

He feels her stiffen for a moment, but then force herself to relax.

A minute passes as he takes long draws. Already, the fresh blood eases the sting...but he knows it’ll take more than that to tend to a silver wound. But before he can go too far, Sasuke forces himself back onto his haunches, chin stained red.

As soon as he moves, one of her hands lifts to hold at the wounds. “...do you have a lighter?”

“What -?”

“A lighter. If we’re going to help that silver wound close, we have to get rid of the flesh that’s been touched. Otherwise it will stay open.”

His brows draw...but he shakes his head. “No, I...I don’t smoke -”

She heaves a curt breath through her nose. “...well, at least the bleeding’s stopped. Here -” With a tug, she rips a wide section from the hem of her dress. Part she spares to her leg, where Sasuke sees not a bullet wound, but peppered punctures from shrapnel. The rest she binds around his middle, ignoring his protests. “We still need to clean them, but...at least this will keep anything else out for now.”

“...you a nurse or something?”

“I wanted to be at one point. Never panned out. Can you walk?”

“...can you?”

“If I have to.”

After a pause, Sasuke then thinks to pull out his phone.

“...who are you calling?”

“My mother.”

A white brow perks.

“She’ll send someone from my coven. Get us cleaned up. Hopefully she’s heard if things back there are over yet…”

Looking him over more closely, she observes, “...you’re an Uchiha too, aren’t you? Are you related -?”

“Distantly. My brother is Madara’s top enforcer.”

“...and you?”

“...I’m not.”

As though sensing the sensitive topic, she doesn’t push it as Sasuke finally connects. “Kāchan? Can you -? Yeah, I’m fine. I was. Is anyone -? ...okay. We’re -” A glance around. “...probably three blocks south? On a roof - I think it’s a conbini. Yeah, but - ...no, I’m not dying. Not anymore, anyway. Is aniki -? Okay, good. Yeah, we’ll be fine. Can’t really leave, we’re covered in blood. Five minutes, got it.” A pause, then, “...I love you, too. See you soon.” Hanging up and leaving a bloody thumbprint on his screen, Sasuke looks up. “The hunters were pushed back...no idea how many were killed, yet. My cousin’s going to come find us.”

“...do they...know if it was bad…?”

Sasuke eyes her for a moment. “...not sure. But you got quite a few people out, seems like.”

Her own gaze averts. “...I had a bad feeling. As soon as they told me the senator would be there…”

“Yeah, me too. But it could have been worse.”

“It never should have happened at all,” she cuts in, hugging her knees with a bitter expression.

“...I know.”

Silence falls, and then she glances to him. “...what’s your name?”

“Sasuke. You?”

“Suigin Ryū.”

“...I’d say nice to meet you, but the circumstances are a little…” A pause. “...fucky.”

To his surprise, she snorts softly. “...to put it lightly.”

Another question burns at him, and he decides he might as well ask. “...you’re not just a harpy...are you?”

Greys glance to him warily. “...no. I’m not.”

That explains her lack of worry over being infected with vampirism. If she already has humanoid Nightwalker blood in her, she can’t become anything else. “...never met a hybrid before. What...else are you?”

“Succubus. From my father’s side. Not that I know him, but...well, I knew my mother was a harpy like me.”

“...was?”

“...was.”

An awkward silence falls. “...guess that’s why Naruto was so gaga over you,” Sasuke then offers, trying to lighten the mood.

“Naruto…?”

“Friend of mine. The werefox that was sitting with me.”

“Oh…” A hint of a smile lifts her lips. “It helps with shows. At least...on anyone who’s attracted. Otherwise I have to rely on actual merit.”

“Sounded pretty good to me.”

“Thanks…”

Well, now he knows why he felt that strange pull.

Another silence, but this one more...relaxed. “...thank you…”

“For?”

“Saving my life.”

“Yeah, well...guess I can say the same. Call us even. It’s my brother who’s going to owe me, pulling me into this mess. And Naruto for getting the tickets.”

“For what it’s worth...I’m glad you were there.”

“...least I made it out alive.”

“Oi!”

Both heads turn to see another Uchiha climbing up a ladder along the side of the building. “About time you got here, Shisui,” Sasuke chides.

“Pretty sure none of our evenings went as planned, Sasuke,” the enforcer rebukes. “C’mon, I’ll get you back so you can get cleaned up.” Helping them both down, Shisui introduces himself. “Sorry about all the ruckus, miss.”

“It’s not me you should apologize to,” is her soft reply, wincing as he guides her into a seat.

Thankfully it’s not far to one of Madara’s many safehouses. Already the wounded enforcers are gathered, as well as the dead. A few civis are taken in to be seen to, and Madara himself speaks sternly to his captain. Itachi’s expression is strained.

There’s gonna be hell to pay for this.

Once inside, the pair are made to be separated - Sasuke’s wounds are far more severe. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah…” Letting Shisui guide her to another room to be patched up, Ryū glances up as he questions her about the bite on her throat.

Her answer is cut off as Sasuke’s led to different room, dressed down to have his injury purged of the silver influence. Spare blood to help him recover further is quickly brought in. Muscles tense and nerves scream as the afflicted flesh is removed, eagerly gulping down the red viscous liquid. Almost immediately, the wound begins to close, no longer impacted by silver.

“How’s the harpy?”

“Fine, sir. Just some shrapnel in her left calf. No silver.”

Given leave to shower, he does so and redresses in spare clothes. By the time he emerges, she’s already done, hair still wet from her own cleansing. “...you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” she admits, clinging to a large coat someone’s thrown over her shoulders, a basic gown over her frame to her knees. “But...I’ll be all right.” Peeking out from under her hem is white gauze encasing her calf. “...I’m sorry you were shot. It was my fault -”

“The only reason I got off that roof with just one hole rather than looking like Swiss cheese is because you carried me out. Don’t apologize.”

“But -?”

“It’s fine. I’m already on the mend.” As proof, he lifts his shirt, showing the knotty scar.

Her brow furrows at the sight of it, but she doesn’t comment.

“Sasuke.”

Turning, Sasuke brightens at the sight of his brother. “Aniki…”

“You were shot?”

“I’m fine. Already healed over. You?”

“Somehow avoided it...I heard what happened.” He turns to Ryū. “...thank you. You saved my brother’s life.”

“I also helped put it in danger.”

“Well...your actions helped get most of the civilians out. We lost far fewer than if you hadn’t taken the initiative. Thank you.”

She just ducks her head.

“Now...we should get you home. I still have much to attend to...there hasn’t been this much open conflict in quite some time, and the implications are still growing. This is going to be a nightmare to cover up...”

“I can take her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke assures his brother. “You just keep your nose to the grindstone. We’ll be fine.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Nodding, Sasuke takes her back through the building...only to come up short as Madara himself steps in their path.

The senator glances to him coolly, but his focus quickly shifts to the harpy. “My apologies, miss. It would seem you were caught in our little drama.”

Stiff with nerves, Ryū manages to stutter, “I-I…”

“I assure you, you and the guests will be compensated. This attack won’t stand…” A hand reaches, taking a lock of her hair even as she flinches back. “...we will speak again. Another time, when we are not so...otherwise indisposed.”

“Y...yes, sir.”

Lingering a moment longer, Madara then takes his leave, asking for Itachi as he walks past them.

Ryū then remembers to breathe.

“...yeah, he’s a little intimidating,” Sasuke mutters.

She doesn’t answer.

Taking one of the Uchiha’s many fleet cars, he drives back into the city, getting quiet, short directions from his companion. A high rise apartment building takes them into its underground garage, and he offers to accompany her to her door. Outside it, they pause.

“...thank you again,” Ryū murmurs, fiddling her keys.

“Back at you.”

For a moment she looks ready to protest, but then sighs in defeated acceptance. “I...guess I’ll say goodnight. Take care of yourself, Uchiha-san.”

Snorting at her sudden formality, Sasuke doesn’t rebuke it. Clearly she’s still shaken up, and a tragedy hasn’t exactly made them best friends. “...you too.”

Letting her eyes lift, there’s a moment’s hesitation before she steps up, planting a kiss on his cheek.

The skin seems to tingle pleasantly, and he can’t help a small jump of surprise.

“...goodbye.” Opening her door, she steps in and gives a polite nod before it shuts.

For a long moment he lingers outside it, a few fingers reaching to itch at the sensation on his cheek, which starts to fade.

Something tells him he’ll be seeing her again.

                                                                     .oOo. 

     Woo, day two! This time featuring my Nightwalkers verse, and the lovely @kyuuzuchiha‘s boyos, as well as a few of my own from @hyuuchiha in addition to Ryū :3 And Ayame’s technically in there if you squint, heh heh.      Technically we don’t have a ship in this verse yet, so...I made it more subtle. I don’t write action or violence too often, so...hopefully that part wasn’t a total flop - I tried ^^;       Nightwalkers is of course my original monster verse with lots of politics and drama and stuff! I LOVE getting to write in it cuz...I’m a nerd when it comes to my worldbuilding =w= So this was actually rather self indulgent, eh heh (kinda like the whole event is so I can write all the lovely ships with the lovely people who humor me, ahaha~)      ANYWAY, Boo darling, I hope you enjoyed this dramafest, lol - and I hope I did both your boys justice. I love how you write them and I hope I managed to stay true to your interpretations ;w; And of course thank you for writing with me, no matter the verse or the bonds with our muses. I love it <3 (and I hope you’re doing all right, dear)      Buuut that’s enough rambling outta me! I still need to work on more days to try and stay a bit ahead since I’m busier than I’d like, ahaha~ Hope everyone is enjoying the event n_n

[lifeisjustanotherstory]

W/c 21/01/2019 - the week in anecdotes and not-shower shower thoughts 

Monday

Aytaj went to Milan for the weekend. MILAN. Beats my weekend. 

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I just found out that “Royals” by Lorde came out 6 years ago this year, and time suddenly seems to have flown past. I mean...6 years? Really?! It’s probably been a year since I heard the song, and listening to it feels very nostalgic. The Youtube playlist moved on to “Team”. I used to like a particular chorus in that song - and still do - it lent itself to story ideas, and great character adventures in my head. I need to write again soon - it has been too long. 

We live in cities you'll never see onscreen

Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things

Livin' in ruins of a palace within my dreams

And you know we're on each other's team

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Waiting for allocation of tasks from the US team. Currently have to chase Chase for our scoping file. 

(chase Chase...once you hear it, you can’t unhear it...)

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Tuesday

I wore my jumper on Tuesday, as I had planned. Getting up early, I hadn’t thought much of not seeing the brand logo on the front - it crossed my mind, only to be replaced with the thought of catching my train.

I went through the day - a good 95% of it - before one of the Managers called me as I made my way to my locker to put away my things for the day. Her name is Amy, and she lives near one of the towns that my train stops in on my way home.

“Deepa? I think your jumper is on back to front.” I lifted up the item of clothing in question, and to my deep embarrassment I was faced with the jumper’s label. I nervously laughed and headed to my locker as she made her way out to the bathroom. I was walking around with a silver pheasant on my back all day.  

Mortified doesn’t cut it.

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I accidentally put Sahil’s coffee cup in my locker yesterday and now he’s got a huge white label on it, with his name in block letters. Oops.

But at least he’s sitting next to me again. Or maybe that’s just because I always let people use my chargers. 

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Wednesday

I’m trying to make my way up the stairs without stopping, which causes me to huff and puff (no houses are blown down, however), go red in the face and get a pain in my lower abdomen. No pain, no gain eh. Anyway, my eyes met Jasper’s on the way up, and we exchanged “Morning”’s. He knows I come in early, and vice versa, but we never seem to interact any more than that.

Anyway, he held open the door for me on the 10th floor, which I felt was very considerate. He didn’t have to, but he heard me coming (granted, I wasn’t that loud) and waited. I can’t say I’ve heard all good things about this guy - but his action today spoke a lot.

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Finally relented and chose to get a breakfast from the canteen today. Still haven’t decided whether I’ll expense it though. Mushrooms were my favourite kind, wide and flat - like I’d never seen before, the egg nicely poached and the beans tasty. The sausage was all the more succulent for the guy forgetting to charge it to my total bill, which came in at a round £3.00.

Back up in the audit room and I was in mid-conversation, with my breakfast box hanging dangerously close to the edge of the table. Indeed, if not for Fahim’s hand, it could have ended up on my (suede) dress or on the floor. Credit to his reflexes for saving my day.  

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Thursday

My dad remarked that the jumper I chose to wear today doesn’t have a very obvious logo on it. What cruel irony is this?

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Did 11 year old me ever think of her 21 year old self deciding to take a 6:11 train, instead of the 6:20, just so she could catch some z’s onboard? #10yearchallenge

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Aytaj offered me some of her chocolate. It’s milk chocolate with a hint of toffee, but it looks like dark chocolate. Azerbaijani chocolate has exceeded my expectations. 

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Had to reach out to a guy from our Swiss team in order to get some accounts that the UK team needs. No need to fear - Emanuel is here (!!!)

He is also up for the weekend because let’s be real, as if that isn’t what everyone is thinking.

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Oh my gosh, just filled up my bottle and that is some.fresh.water.

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I enjoy sitting next to Aytaj. No one else would have such fun trying to solve an IT issue. Or have cool client names (Sandwich, Hong Hong...and my personal fave; Jing Jing). Or laugh about their half-eaten chicken leg on the floor. (Thankfully, it was in a box). 

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Managed to return the favour to Aytaj and gave her a chocolate biscuit. Matt H had one too. 

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Friday

Does Nick even know my name? Of course, there is no reason for him to address me by it when it’s just the two of us in the audit room. 

He promised not to rub his fancy breakast in his face as he left the room to go the restaurant. We’re approaching banter stage. 

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Fahim looked shattered, and I told him as much.

Me, over Skype; You look so tired

Fahim: my face speaks 1000 words about my tiredness lol

Me: Where’s a painting emoji when you need it?

Earlier we’d gone to get drinks from another floor today. I remarked that I don’t drink coffee, and he was really surprised. Shocked indeed. I must be one of the few people who don’t in this job. Coffee is like water for the majority of finance professionals. (I jest, but I have honestly seen people drink as much coffee as water, if not more.)

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Sahil knows I get in early, so when someone said that I’d need to go and do something at 11:30am, he joked and said “That’s like evening for her.”

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“Deepa, who you Skpying?” I could feel my stomach fall as I heard Jits ask. “You always put on your privacy screen when you’re not doing work?” I wasn’t Skyping, I was updating this blog. My thoughts will live on, as I hope them to, in this manner. Even if my currently healthy sleeping pattern doesn’t make it. 

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Nick (Dorn as opposed to Daws) asked Jits which song the line “It’s electrifying” I was. I responded “Greased Lightning” without a second thought. Jits remarked that it must have been a favourite of my parents’ in their teen years. He wasn’t right about them liking it - but they were both 19 at the time of its release. Wow.

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Watching a comedy programme and I just sat through the comedian mentioning the word ‘cunnilingus’ without any change in my facial expression whatsoever. I deserve a pat on the back for making it. Thank god my parents didn’t ask me to explain what it was...

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Saturday

Four months till my exams, with busy season yet to really start for me. Cripes.

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Attempted to read. Attempted being the key word here. Made my revision timetable though.

A bit sad about my lack of weekend social life over the next few months, as if I even had one to miss?

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Steak was worth forgoing my nap for. Only just. It’s been too long since I’ve had pure meat like this. I don’t think I could ever be a vegetarian.

Asked for a different kind of salad and got served the wrong one, only for them to bring a new one instead! Free salad, yay! (Green leaves are gr8, what)

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This new car is too clever for us. One tyre goes under the set pressure and it sets off a warning sign in the car. Ignorance really is bliss.

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To write or not to write, that is the question.

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Sunday

Lifted my stuff off the floor and found Ayana’s letter underneath.I’d completely forgotten about it. It’s nearly a month after she sent it to me, and she deserves a lengthy reply. I’l take it in my bag to work and draft a reply to write next week.

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Revision is going rather fine, if I do say so myself. Of course, I am not even one day in. Time will tell. 

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You know when you can sometimes taste what you had earlier? My cod liver oil capsule obviously broke on the way down, because my mouth has just been flooded with a fish taste. If someone kissed me right now, would they taste it?

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I wrote, and it was liberating. 

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Less than an hour to bedtime and the first edition of a week in anecdotes and not-shower shower thoughts was a success. Here’s to next week and many more.

Deeps 

[someonelookingpraediti]

Currently Reading...

The King's Renegal - Emily Wilson and Celia Oliva

I’ve spent most of today travelling back down from York, and as I’d finished my book, I needed something for the train that was already loaded on my kindle. This one has been sitting there, waiting patiently for months, so I decided it was time.

Oh Cripes.

Firstly, despite there not being any Christianity in this fantasy world, there is a character named “Bishop”, so I don’t know what to do with that.

So. This is the follow up to the Cettia's Shadow trilogy. It starts at the epilogue of the last book, but from someone else’s perspective.

I have very mixed feelings about Cettia's Shadow. It’s unedited, and self published, and there are so many things that would have been caught and changed by a proper publication process. It’s just a bit of a mess to read. But the world building is so good, the way the magic system and the deity power structure is set up, it’s really well thought out, and it really makes you want to be a part of it. I love the different magic powers, and how each one has a trademark aesthetic, and fits with a personality trait - it's perfectly designed to make you relate to one of the powers, which are all, of course, incredibly cool.

This sequel is set in the same world, with a lot of the same characters, all of whom are very likeable. The problem is the writing. It’s just like they wrote a first draft, spellchecked it, and went “yeah, that’s good”. It really, really just reads like fanfiction.

The problem with the original trilogy was that there was a lot of time put into setting up their relationship and exploring that side of the story, at the expense of time put into the actual plot.

Rather than improving on that, this sequel has done the exact same but, somehow, way, way... more.

The first few chapters were just the main couple meeting and falling for each other, with a sex scene literally about four chapters in. Then the next 60% of the book was just constant sex scene after sex scene, with absolutely no plot in between. It was hugely awkward reading it on a train, by the way. The actual plot didn’t start until about the last quarter of the book, so it was really rushed. And then, right near the end, one of the recurring characters was revealed to be trans, by completely unnecessarily revealing his deadname, which was uncomfortable in the extreme, and totally avoidable, by just... not revealing his deadname.

At least the raccoon didn’t talk in this one.

[britpicker]

Just discovered this blog and love it -- I'm currently writing a fic about a minor Potter character, which means not only is it set in London, but also in the mid-90s. I was wondering if your memory extends that far -- how did you pay for the tube pre-Oyster card? What kinds of foods were and were not widely available back then? I know England has its own rap/hip-hop scene now, but was it all US imports in the 90s? Have school uniforms changed in the last 20 yrs? [1/2]

[2/2] You mentioned in your tea post that everyone uses an electric kettle -- would that still have been the case 20 years ago? Even more bizarrely specifically, I've had to do a ton of research on Stratford in East London (where fic is set), which unfortunately is a neighborhood that has changed A TON due to Olympics-related construction and revival, but if by some chance you happen to know anything, much appreciated. Thanks so much -- I know this is so random!

Ooh you’re testing me a bit but luckily, twenty years ago I was turning eleven so I remember it fairly well (I also have a fic set in 1999 so I refreshed myself on the 90s fairly recently)

1. You bought paper tickets. You can still get these, but they’re more expensive than Oyster and so discouraged. At tube stations, there were the same ticket machines as now (except, obviously, not touch screen)

LOOK AT THIS BARBARISM!!!

You could get a daily/weekly/monthly bus pass, or travelcard, the latter for the zones you need (Zones 1-2, or 3-4, or 1-6, whatever) if you weren’t sure where the wind would take you you’d probably get 1-4 or, if you were really adventurous, 1-6.

2. The food one, I’m not sure how different it was! Maybe I’m drawing a blank. Let me know if there was anything specific you were thinking. 

3. The UK Garage scene was big in the 90s, so it was probably a similar kind of mix as now. There were US imports of course, but, yeah. The garage scene was big and in the late 90s/early 00s it went more mainstream.

4. The only thing I can think of regarding school uniforms is that girls are allowed to wear trousers, which was just starting to become a thing when I started secondary school in 1998. It was never a thing at my school for the duration. Apart from that... personally, I see kids from my school on the bus all the time and the uniform is exactly the same as in 1998, and even before them when my brother was there I think it was the same!

5. Yep, electric kettles have been around for donkeys years. According to google, the electric self-turning off kettle has been around since 1955! Cripes. Lol. 

6. I think pre-regeneration, Stratford was quite a poor, run down area. Check the Google results here for some photos and videos and articles. That’s as much help as I can be with Stratford I’m afraid! I never had a reason to go there haha

[lynxgriffin]

Leaf This Place

Cripes, it’s been awhile, but finally have some time to do more Earthbound here!

So, let’s see if we can proceed on to Twoson…

But first gotta stuff my face with hamburgers to get that health back

Ohh I don’t trust that obviously not part of the background mushroom sprite

Such a jaunty tune for “ramblin’ evil mushroom”

Thanks…for the McD’s ketchup packet…

He got ‘shroomed! …I have no clue what that does or how to fix that

OH it makes you walk backwards, that’s annoying

Well I died and I got no clue how exactly that happened, but oh well, at least I hadn’t gotten that far

Geebus this place is crawling with mushrooms

OH good we’re now at Twoson, was afraid that was gonna be an even longer walk

“Happy-Happy Village” That’s either very sincere or else EBIL IS AFOOT

“You don’t know how to ride a bike…me neither…”

This feels so very Pokemon

Why do you guys keep trying to sell me stuff if you can’t actually sell me stuff?!

Holy cow lucky sandwiches are expensive

Well I guess I’m buying a teddy bear since this random guy says it’s useful…hey this IS Pokemon!

Oh, that’s right. I’m here to find Meeny. And she’s apparently been kidnapped. Oops!

Did…did your parents just abandon you to join a cult, kid

I suspect your daughter didn’t actually leave for the big city, lady

You’re her dad and you didn’t even realize she was kidnapped? Even the stray dog outside knows!!

There was a teddy bear in this present…I didn’t need to buy one…s i g h

Well look at these helpfully labeled Fruit Kid signs who happen to be inventors.

Screw you Orange Kid, I’m investing in Apple Kid. You look like the kinda inventor who never actually writes anything down, and what good does that do me??

“I was in the last war, so I’m not scared of ghosts” G….Good to know

YEEEAH LET’S JAM WHILE WE BEAT UP THIS HIPPIE

OH the teddy bear is like a damage sponge! Okay that is actual useful

Dude why were you just hanging out on your roof waiting to attack me?

Geez I could really use a magic butterfly about now

“They said they were going to make her some sort of human sacrifice” …Y’all seem pretty calm about this

Okay all your open air market stuff looks great, but I have like…no inventory space here…

WHELP I guess we’re off to village of the weirdo cults, this should be fun

Wasn’t the teddy bear already a pile of fluff? Oh well, I have a spare

What the heck this tiny UFO is so cute!! It’s got eyes!!

Why is the music so spooky here

“For some weird reason, a giant iron pencil is blocking the path” …Yeah I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that

And the bridge is also out, so I don’t even think I can cross to the village yet…

Oh Apple Child finished his thing already. HA, I was correct~

That’s…an incredibly specific solution to an incredibly specific problem. Thanks!

“OK, but your teen years will be ruined because you didn’t buy an Egg” ….I really can’t argue with that

Whelp…let’s make the trek back to that pencil then…

I’m starting to think this weapon doesn’t have great accuracy…

Magic butterfly, please get your butt down here to me!

heLP the tree is following me!

I sneezed damage onto myself?!

Whelp I’m about dead here

Okay now I’m definitely dead, I’m out of healing items and PP and three plants just ganged up on me

WELL uh there’s lots of tough enemies ahead, and at least I got rid of that pencil, so maybe we’ll pick this up another night soon

But at least, SOME PROGRESS HAS BEEN MADE

[paulinedorchester]

Excerpt from a work in progress: do you get the joke here, dear readers?

If you don’t, I’m going to finally discard this story, which has been giving me no end of trouble, and move on to the next one.

Here’s a hint: this is a slightly complicated bit of crossover with another series, one that is no longer being produced. (No, not Home Fires.) What character is referred to, though not seen, in what follows, and to whom does a new acquaintance bear a noticeable physical resemblance? 

The Third Officer’s eyes flick to just behind Sam, where someone else, a Second Officer, has joined the queue.

‘Ma’am,’ Third Officer Menzies says to the new arrival, ‘this is Miss Samantha Stewart, one of our guests this evening. Miss Stewart, this is -’

‘Betty Blake,’ the Second Officer says firmly, with a smile and a faint, rather habitual air of noblesse oblige, as she proffers her hand to shake.

Betty Blake is a stunner: slim and a bit taller than Sam, perhaps a year or two older, with a flawless complexion, beautifully modeled features and almond-shaped brown eyes set in an almost perfectly oval face, broken only by a slightly angular jaw. Her dark hair is expensively cut and set – she’ll have to go at least as far as Arundel to keep that up, Sam thinks – and what there is of her make-up is applied with an expert hand. Her posture is perfect and she wears, quite beautifully, what is clearly a bespoke specimen of the Wrens’ uniform. Her smile, which is genuine if a trifle weary, is of the sort that Sam can imagine turning brittle and cold in an instant.

She looks, really, to be precisely the sort of girl who Sam still worries, once in a great while, could easily take Andrew away from... There now, don’t be such an idiot – you’ll only make yourself miserable, she scolds herself. And the Second Officer wears a wedding band, she sees, along with a most impressive engagement ring.

‘Welcome to Lyminster,’ Sam offers.

‘Thank you,’ Betty Blake replies with real warmth. ‘I’ve only just got here – truly, it’s been five hours, if that – but I have to say that I feel privileged to serve amongst real people fighting the real war – not cooped up with... well, I’m not meant to discuss my old assignment, but the point is that I really do feel that I’ll be much more a part of things now! I’m only sorry not to be billeted in the village somewhere!’ she goes on, glancing about Lyminster House’s comfortable upper story with faint air of distaste.

‘Is your husband in the Navy as well?’ Sam asks.

‘He is – a desk job at a land establishment at his age, thank God! I married a bit of an older chap,’ she explains. ‘Quite a bit older, I suppose. He served in the last war, in fact – he went to sea then, on a dreadnought. Well, when this war began, it really felt to us like more of the same – another war for empire, not a war against Fascism, you know. But of course one thinks – one must think – in terms of the concrete situation that exists, and when the Nazis did invade Russia it became our war.’

Sam shifts her weight slightly from one foot to the other, whether from physical or mental unease she can’t quite say.

‘And so my husband volunteered,’ Second Officer Blake goes on. ‘I really do think that he thought he’d be turned away – on account of his age, you see – but they did find a place for him. And they sent him all the way to Fife! I must admit that at times I do wonder what the point of it all is. How Russia suffers – and one has to wonder whether the government doesn’t still see Russia as the real enemy. But at any rate, the women’s call-up was in the air by then, so I thought I’d try my luck with the Wrens – and here I am. Really, though, I’m talking far too much about myself!’ She looks Sam up and down, evidently taking in her lack of a uniform, a wedding band or work-worn hands. Then she asks tentatively, ‘Are you... in munitions work? I don’t recall being told of a works in this area.’

‘Oh – no. Lyminster is my home village – that is, my parents are here.’

‘Ah, I see! Are they smallholders?’ Betty responds with enthusiasm.

‘No – my father is vicar of St Stephen’s, at the far end of the lane,’ Sam explains, and watches as, sure enough, a hint of coolness begins to creep into Betty’s face. ‘At any rate, I’m stationed in Hastings – I’m on leave this week. I’ve started to wish that I’d brought my uniform, really,’ Sam confides. ‘I’m in the Mechanised Transport Corps.’

The Second Officer’s smile fades quickly into confusion, or perhaps consternation is the proper word, Sam thinks. Or disgust, Oh, dear.

‘I thought that... outfit was abolished when the call-up began!’ she exclaims. ‘I thought that they all went into the A.T.S. – where they could do something useful!’

‘Only the ones who were found to be mobile,’ says Sam, being careful to keep her voice even. ‘I suppose that I might well have been, but the gentleman I work for wrote to the Labour Ministry and told them that my knowledge and skills made me essential to the district we serve.’

Betty appears to consider this for a moment. She still looks puzzled, but a bit less as though she has just encountered an unpleasant smell.

‘You drive an ambulance, I suppose?’ she asks, sounding very much as though she were searching earnestly for something to find praiseworthy. ‘Or a fire engine?’

‘No – although I am sometimes called upon to administer first aid! That part of my training has been very useful. But no, I’m seconded to the Hastings Police,’ Sam explains.

Clearly, this is the limit; just as clearly, Betty is far too well bred to lose her temper entirely.

‘Where’ve you been all this time?’ Andrew asks, adding, ‘The only thing left to drink is barley water.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Sam tells him. ‘There was a queue, and someone buttonholed me, as well. You won’t credit the conversation I’ve just had,’ she continues. ‘A very genteel Wren Second Officer – in a bespoke uniform and wearing the largest diamond I’ve ever seen on her finger – introduced herself, decided that I was the salt of the earth, then changed her mind when I mentioned that my father is a vicar, and when I told her what I do she proceeded to give me the Daily Mirror’s line on the MTC, point for point! She was about the tell me what she thinks of the police, I suspect, when my turn came for the WC.’

‘Cripes! Look here, Sam, why don’t we make our excuses and go back after we’ve drunk up? I’d call this evening a mixed success, on the whole.’

‘Yes, I think that that’s rather a good idea, really. On top of everything else,’ Sam continues, ‘as I was coming down the staircase just now I heard someone introduce her as Second Officer Lady Blake! Can you imagine?’

Andrew laughs softly.

‘I can, in fact,’ he tells her. ‘She sounds just like that crowd I got mixed up with for a bit at Oxford. D’you remember me telling you about that?’

Sam nods. She drains her glass, then looks at Andrew just in time to see his gaze shift to somewhere behind her. His smile fades, replaced by a look not so much of surprise as of shock. Ashen is the word Sam would use, she thinks, to describe his face at the moment.

‘Andrew,’ she hears a woman’s voice, not unfamiliar, say before she can turn around to see who or what is there. ‘What a surprise.’

‘Hullo, Elizabeth,’ Andrew says dully.

And there is Betty Blake standing behind Sam and looking very surprised indeed - but it strikes Sam as a mean, pleased-with-itself sort of surprise. There is suddenly a hard gleam in Lady Blake’s eyes.

[3dsfireemblemheadcanons]

Benny and Charlotte: Origins

Scene: The Nohrian Opera House. The same one where Azura performed Dark Song.

Charlotte: “And dare I say it, I may even...fall in love?”

Audience: *tears and gasping*

Charlotte: (Yes! Everyone’s eating it up! Everyone except...that oaf in the front row! Why is he even here if he’s not going to enjoy the damn show?)

After the show:

Benny: That was...enjoyable.

Charlotte: There’s that guy! Hey, you! I have a question for you, bub!

Benny: M-me?

Charlotte: (O-oh, he’s kinda gruff. But...something’s off.)

Benny: W-what is it?

Charlotte: (He’s more scared of me that I could ever be of him. What is he, a gentle giant?)

Charlotte: Oh, I was simply wondering why you came to see this show!

Benny: I was really interested in the main character...

Charlotte: In me?” I’m ever so flattered that you’d-

Benny: Er, no. The bear. This is “The Bear Prince”, I heard they trained a real bear to play the prince.

Charlotte:...Huh?

Benny: His performance was...*sniff* stunning.

Charlotte: I....whatever. Thanks for coming.

Benny: Charlotte, is it? That’s what the program said.

Charlotte:...What about it?

Benny, blushing: Could you....introduce me to the bear?

Charlotte: Are you serious?!

Benny: I figured it was a long shot. He probably has his own dressing room, he’s too busy for-

Charlotte: I....have a headache. I’m going to go.

Benny: Oh, I see.

Charlotte: But you know....you should try acting sometime. It’d surprise people to know how gentle you are.

Benny: I don’t act. And I cer- you think I’m..gentle?

Charlotte: You’re pretty clearly gentle.

Benny:...Heh, thanks.

Thug: Hey you!

Benny: ?

Charlotte: Ah, cripes!

Benny: What’s going on?

Outlaw: Gimme all your money, nice and slow like.

Charlotte: M-me? You’d rob a helpless young woman like me?

Benny: H-helpl-?

Charlotte: Shhhhhhhhh! 

Outlaw: Awww, it’d be a shame to ruin a pretty face like yours.

Charlotte: Funny, I was thinking the same thing about yours!

*Charlotte throws a haymaker*

Outlaw: Quick! Now boys!

*A net drops from a tree, landing on Charlotte*

Charlotte: W-what?

Benny: Wait, what ar-

Outlaw: We got ‘er, boss!

Adventurer: So this is the great Charlotte! People are gonna pay a pretty penny for your head after all the folks you’ve swindled!

Charlotte: Swindled? I’ll have you know I earned all my money fair and square, you clods!

Adventurer: Sorry, we were hired by a man who said you seduced him out of......10,000 gold! That’s quite a feat! Maybe you ought to join us instead, har har! 

Charlotte: Is that an offer?

Adventurer: Nice try.

Charlotte: Can’t blame a girl for trying.

Young Outlaw: Wait...this doesn’t seem right.

Outlaw: Shut up! Don’t question the boss, rookie!

Young Outlaw: But...

*Adventurer kicks him in the gut*

Adventurer: Dammit, kid, your heart’s too soft. Look, Niles, if you want to roll with us, you’ve got to be willing to doing the hard jobs no one else wants to do.

Charlotte: Dammit...I can’t think of a way out of this..

Benny: Hey!

Outlaws: Hm?

Benny, with a dark look, similar to Oboro’s scowl: Are yous scoundrels pickin’ on my lil sister?

Charlotte, with a blink: Uh...Big Brother, what are you doing?

Benny: I’m gonna show these creeps what they get fer messin’ with mah kin.

Outlaw: B-boss, the big one is....scary!

Adventurer: S-so what! We gotta take him o-on!

Benny, picking up a log: Who wants a lickin’, huh?!

Outlaws: AH! Let’s get out of here! *run away*

Benny, helping Charlotte out of the net: Are...you okay?

Charlotte: Heh...

Benny: Huh?

Charlotte: Ahahaha!!! “Lookit yous scoundrels!” AHAHAHAH!

Benny, blushing: Look, I-

Charlotte: I thought you don’t act!

Benny: I don’t! But I don’t have my lance with me so I couldn’t just fight. I had to scare them off.

Charlotte: Well, hehe, it worked! Thanks for your help, uh...

Benny: Benny.

Charlotte: Benny, it is! If you don’t act Benny, what DO you do?

Benny: I work for the border guard.

Charlotte: Really? That’s so great! I wish I could do that! Putting on small time shows isn’t exactly raking in the money I need for my folks.

Benny: I see...I could recommend you for enrollment.

Charlotte: What?! That’s great, Benny, but enrollment to the training program is expensive! I couldn’t afford it.

???: Excuse me...

Charlotte: Ah! Hey, wait a second...

Niles: I...managed to snag the reward money off the boss when he ran away. 

Charlotte: Are you...

Niles: Take it. It’s...the least we could do for troubling you.

Charlotte: Oh...uh, thank you! I really appreciate it. And thank you for...sticking up for me.

Niles: We operate by the Thieves’ Code around here. The boss wasn’t for some reason...but I swear he usually does.

Charlotte: That’s all fine and good but don’t you have to catch up with them?

Niles: I’m headed back to the hideout now. You two take care.

Benny: Well, that was nice of him. Are you hungry? I’m making food for my family tonight, and then tomorrow we can go register you.

Charlotte: Yeah...but first....let’s go meet that bear, big guy.

(Quick Note: This takes place about 5-7 years before the events of Fates, when Niles is teenager, has both eyes, and isn’t his cynical self yet, he’s just starting to do real outlaw jobs besides theft for the first time. If you’re wondering why he isn’t his normal licentious morally grey self...the life just hasn’t broken him yet.)

[eidolon-zephyr]

A Flight of Fancy Ch 4

Fandom: Twilight Pairing: Aro/Bella Rating: M

Intro: Here Previous: Here

Chapter Summary: In which the main players of the game continue to be oblivious for the foreseeable future or In which they finally meet

‘It shouldn’t be this difficult to find a house’, Bella inwardly snarled. She knew she had a terrible sense of direction, but this was bordering ridiculous. It was just as well that she left so early, then; her subconscious must have known that she would have a hard time. She looked at her cell phone, feeling anxiety and shame curl in her gut. The last thing she wanted to do was call Alice – pride told her that if she couldn’t find it on her own with the directions Alice gave her, then she didn’t deserve to visit them at all. Her phone began to ring as she was still thinking about it, and the anxiety flared when she saw that it was Alice. Speak of the devil…

She pulled over and answered it, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Hello?”

“Hey Bella, are you going to be able to find us alright?” Alice chirped.

‘No I can’t find it - why is your house in an alternate dimension!?’ She mentally screamed. How could Alice always sound so chipper? It drove her nuts.

“Uh…” she hesitated. Damn it, she was going to have to just bite the bullet. Gritting her teeth, she continued, “I’m actually driving around in circles trying to find you guys. I’m kinda…”

She sighed.

“I can’t find you guys, and I need help.”

Alice laughed. Bella was starting to feel like a huge joke with all the laughing Alice did at her expense.

“Alright, I’ll help you. Put me on speakerphone so you can have both hands on the wheel and follow my directions. I’ll be waiting at the entrance to our driveway.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.”

She heard a scoff on the other line.

“Don’t worry about it. Our place is hard to find, but I bet you’ll remember it after this!”

“I hope so,” Bella muttered.

With Alice’s patient and concise directions, a few minutes of directions brought her to a pathway that was nearly hidden by trees that was only brought to her attention by the diminutive woman standing near its opening. She stopped, and Alice walked toward the truck, though Bella really wanted to call it ‘skipping’. The way Alice moved reminded her of the faery folk in the stories she read, graceful and lithe, like every step was part of a dance. She desperately wished she could move that way, too. Instead, she was clumsy and awkward and looked like a mess next to someone like Alice.

“Hey, don’t look so glum! It’s not like it was easy to find.”

She jumped and swiveled her head to see that Alice was already in the truck with her. Cripes, she was so distracted that she hadn’t even heard Alice get in. The girl raised a delicate eyebrow in question to her reaction.

“Uh, sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Alice stared at her, concern shining in those pretty golden eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Bella hesitated. She wanted to say, but no one really liked self-pity or things of that nature. It would just make Alice laugh at her (again), and despite her reservations, she wanted to be friends with Alice and the rest of the Cullens.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Alice crossed her arms and raised a brow. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to,” she snapped then clicked her jaws shut. No no. Damn! Alice didn’t need to be subjected to her attitude. It wasn’t her fault. She waited for Alice to get angry, to snap back, to open the door and get out of her life.

Instead, Alice blinked and leaned back in her seat.

“That just tells me that you really aren’t okay. What’s wrong, Bella? Do you not want to hang out with us?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean…” Bella planted her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was doing this all wrong.

“I do want to spend time with you all. It’s just…I’m waiting for the catch, you know? I’m waiting for you to tell me that it was a joke, or that you want something from me, or…” she sighed. “I’m not used to this, I’m sorry.”

She felt a small, cold hand touch her shoulder.

“Bella, I wanted you to come over because I knew we could be good friends just by looking at you. And I bet you could be great friends with my siblings, too!” Alice began counting on her fingers. “Emmett’s a cuddle bug that loves card games, and Rosalie loves to fix cars! Jasper is a big history buff, and loves playing guitar. Edward loves playing piano and reading books. I love to draw and design dresses. You have to be interested in at least one of those things, right? It’s bonding material!”

“That just makes you guys sound more perfect,” Bella mumbled.

Alice sighed and Bella turned her head to see the other girl pouting. She wanted to smile at the sight.

“You’re really hard to please, you know that? We have flaws too, and you’ll see that in time. I can list those off, too, if you really need me to.”

Bella snorted in laughter and covered her mouth, shaking her head.

“No, it’s fine. I just need to get over it. I’ll take you at your word.”

“Good! Now let’s get to the house. We have a family friend over, and I’ve kind of been gushing over you for a while, so if he talks to you like he’s known you forever, just go with it.”

Alice had been talking about her? She felt her face heat up.

“All good things, I assume,” she weakly tried to joke.

Alice nodded as if she was being serious. “Of course! I’m pretty sure everyone loves you by now, even the guest.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

Alice laughed.

He leafed through a book, unseeing. His twitching foot, crossed at the ankles, was the only sign that something was amiss. Time was dragging, and he couldn’t say he was exactly pleased. Only an hour had passed and it felt like it had been much, much longer. He breathed in and slowly expelled the air through his nose. Patience had never been a strong suit of his, even though he made it look that way. This felt like a unique brand of torture. Three more hours of this agonizing waiting.

Aro’s ears perked when he heard a rather monstrous noise coming down the Cullen’s driveway. Machinery, an old vehicle. Wait…didn’t Isabella get an old truck from…? The book in his hand snapped shut and he sat still, listening.

The noise from the vehicle cut off and he picked up a heartbeat in its wake that was increasing in tempo in the seconds that ticked by. Soft voices reached him.

“Well, here we are. What do you think?” That was Alice. Was she not supposed to be hunting with the others?

“It’s…about what I expected in terms of grandeur,” the unfamiliar voice said. “A little more modern, though.”

“Modern? What were you expecting, a Victorian mansion?”

The other voice snorted. “Weird as it sounds, yeah. Those kinds of houses scream ‘old money’ and…uh. I dunno, I was thinking that’s what you guys were.”

“Carlisle is an accomplished doctor and Esme is a successful interior designer and architect. Even if we had ‘old money’, we wouldn’t really need it.”

“Oh. Uh…” the voice sounded awkward and uncomfortable. “I didn’t know that. Are you sure you guys aren’t perfect?”

“Bella, relax. We’re by no means perfect – our parents were driven to succeed in life is all, and they’re hoping to have us follow in their footsteps.”

Bella. It was her! Aro nearly destroyed the book in his grip and knew that if he had a beating heart, it’d be in his throat. She was early! Everyone was still gone…Aro barely held back the urge to begin laughing. Alice, that clever little minx.

“Like a bunch of architects and doctors?”

Alice laughed. “No, silly! To succeed like they have. They won’t support us forever, and want us to have the means to support ourselves in the future. Can you imagine Emmett in a doctor’s coat or designing a house?”

“Hey, I don’t know him yet, he could have a great eye for color to set the mood of a room,” Isabella shot. Then she chuckled. “He would look kind of ridiculous in a doctor’s coat, though, wouldn’t he?”

“There, see? You’re relaxing! Come on, let’s go inside. I’ve got to show you around. If I let Esme do it, she’ll talk your ear off about why the rooms are the way they are.”

That was his warning. Aro flitted to the room Esme had lent him and made quick work of putting in the contacts, blinking a few times to dispel the agitation of having the terrible contraptions on. A breath had him back in the living room and in his chair as he heard the truck doors slam closed and he felt his hands involuntarily clench. He forced them to relax.

The smell of home invaded his nostrils for the first time in seven years and he stiffened his limbs to resist sprinting to the door. Images of seaside cliffs and scarlet sunsets flashed behind his closed eyes and the smell of ocean air surrounded him. All throughout, the thump of Isabella’s heartbeat was loud in his ears and he treasured the sound. She was really here.

Isabella really was as soft-spoken as she had been as a child, a tinge of reluctance coloring her responses to Alice’s excited chatter. His lips twitched upward – he had known this would be the case. Their footsteps grew louder, and he felt himself stand without meaning to. The door was pushed open and Alice danced into the room, a large smile showing off her pearly teeth.

He stopped breathing as Isabella followed behind, her shoulders slightly hunched, a single finger from her right hand curled into her hair and teeth biting into her plump lower lip. She was beautiful, for a human – far more beautiful than he had expected. Jane’s reports had hardly done her justice. But…perhaps he was a touch biased. She took in her surroundings, torn between awe and discomfort.

Then she made eye contact with him, and it was as if the world had stopped. Earth brown locked with murky violet and Aro took that moment to admire the beautiful young woman she had grown up to become. He had chosen well, he thought with no small amount of pride, and reaffirmed that she would make a magnificent vampire.

His feet began moving without his permission again and before he could stop himself, he’d reached out and grabbed her hand. His mouth twitched, and he shoved down the urge to begin tittering madly. He could see nothing. She was immune to him, as well. What an absolute prize. He bowed, a gesture he had made to no one, mortal or immortal, and brought her hand to his lips, just barely brushing the smooth, warm skin.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabella.”

“Bella,” she blurted, then froze, her face lighting up a bright red.

He smiled, relishing her expression and the increased potency of the scent she emitted. “Bella. It means ‘beautiful’ in Italian, did you know?”

Her blush seemed to intensify. “Mom used to mention it all the time…” she said as quietly as possible. His strangely accented voice was doing funny things to her insides, and she felt the oddest compulsion to touch his dark hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. He was so pale, paler even than the Cullen kids, and she felt the fingers of her free hand twitch.

She stared down at where he was grasping her hand. His touch was freezing like Alice’s, but she ignored that in favor of admiring the shape of his fingers. Long, elegant, and smooth. She had once heard the term “anatomically perfect”, and she felt that there was no better phrase to describe him. His hands, she corrected mentally. He began speaking again, and she snapped out of her thoughts, feeling like crawling into a hole and hiding forever.

“I believe it rather suits you, but I much prefer Isabella, myself. I hope you do not mind if I continue to call you such.”

“I guess,” she mumbled, attempting to hunch deeper into herself in embarrassment.

Aro found he was having far too much fun seeing her so flustered.

“Perhaps not, then? How about mia stellina?”

“’My little star’?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Ah, so you know a little Italian!”

She was chewing on her lip again, and Aro was finding it unusually difficult to not stare.

“I took a few lessons when I was younger.”

“Beautiful and talented. It seems you have no shortage of gifts.”

He released her hand and she clutched it to her chest, staring at him strangely.

“I don’t think I got your name.”

“Ah, how rude of me! My name is Aro. It is quite the pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She felt the weirdest urge to curtsy in response and ignored it. Maybe it was just the way he spoke. It was very cultured, almost bordering on being stuffy. She wondered why; he looked young, maybe early to mid-twenties.

“Likewise.” She looked over at Alice standing at the base of the stairs and felt guilt. She’d pretty much completely forgotten that Alice had been there. “Uh, I’ll come back and talk to you later? Alice had some stuff she wanted to show me.”

Aro chuckled softly and Bella felt butterflies explode in her stomach at the sound. What the hell was wrong with her? She began moving toward the stairs, shoving down the feeling.

“Take your time, my dear. I shall be waiting.” He wanted to bite his tongue as he said that. Had he not done enough waiting? Still, it wouldn’t do to steal too much of Isabella’s time when she didn’t know that she was really here for him.

Bella mouthed ‘my dear?’ to Alice and the girl began giggling. They began walking up the stairs, and Bella whispered, “Is it just me or is Aro half a step from talking like he just walked off the set of a period movie?”

Aro felt a flash of indignation at that and grabbed the discarded book, deciding to actually read it this time around.

“Bella, be nice! Maybe he just wanted to make an impression?”

“Why?” she sounded confused as she asked.

“Why not? I mean you’re a pretty girl, Bella – what guy wouldn’t want to make an impression?”

“No I’m not,” she immediately retorted. Aro frowned. Why would she not think herself beautiful?

“Don’t give me that; Tyler and Mike were drooling all over you as soon as they saw you.”

‘Tyler and Mike’ sounded like they would make wonderful appetizers for his next meal, he thought vindictively. How dare they covet what was his? He didn’t bother to analyze his thoughts that time, far too entangled in the pleasure he’d take in removing them from Isabella’s life permanently.

“Hold on,” Alice said quickly.

Aro blinked, snapping out of his musing as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. The number was unrecognized, but he smirked as he read the message and realized that it was Alice.

Don’t even think about it. If you do, we’ll have to move and I’m not letting you separate me from my sister so soon.

It had taken him time to adjust to the novelty of a cellular device, and he had become slightly confused when almost every button had disappeared in favor of a larger screen as the phone rapidly evolved. The first phone of such make that he’d attempted had nearly caused him to give up on it altogether when the screen wouldn’t respond to his dead touch. Another attempt found him using a small pen-like object – a stylus, they’d called it – to enter commands, and luckily it had worked.

He would have preferred using the small silver phone he’d had when he met Isabella, but it had been crushed in his pocket when one of the Arizonan coven members had attempted to tackle him to allow the other members to run. What a disappointment that had been.

The small black pen glided over the screen as he constructed a response.

Worry not, little Alice. Your human classmates are safe from me and mine.

He heard a small huff of air upstairs as Alice’s phone made a sound like chimes.

“Alright, as I was saying…”

Isabella cut her off. “Look, I know you mean well, but I just find it way too hard to believe you.”

There was a beat of silence and Aro turned his eyes upward toward where they were. The book lay forgotten. “Is it okay if I ask why?” Alice prompted gently.

“I…uh. I don’t know, it might not make sense to you.”

“You’d be surprised, Bella.”

Another beat of silence.

“Not right now. Kinda early in our friendship to be diving into the deep stuff, isn’t it?”

He heard a soft sigh, likely Alice.

“Alright, Bella. But I want you to know that I’m always open to talk.”

“Right, thanks.”

Aro quickly recounted all the reports in his head, looking for a possible reason for Isabella’s low opinion of herself. If anything, she should have been proud and confident, being as self-sufficient, dependable, and talented as she was. What was he missing? His phone buzzed.

Ask her later.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

There was no question in that, my dear. I would have asked her whether you directed me to or not. Relaying it step by step seems a little heavy-handed, no?

The response was swift.

I forget that sometimes. Sorry! I thought you would have liked that, though?

Aro considered that. In any other circumstance, perhaps. He was unsure what it was about his obsession with Isabella, but he felt a tinge of annoyance at the thought of him not directing his own moves concerning her. It was his choice to have her followed, it was his choice to have potential threats removed like the one older human that had thought her easy prey when she was thirteen (she would be no easy prey as long as he had his sights on her), it was his choice to come see her, his choice to eventually turn her. He would have it no other way.

In this case, I am afraid not.

I see! I’ll make sure not to tell you anything unless it’s important, then. ;P

Was that supposed to be a face? The elder vampire tilted his head to the side and scrunched his brows together. How peculiar. Her tone was very playful, and he wasn’t sure if he cared for it. Most vampires were afraid of him or outright hated him. The fact that Alice seemed to feel neither toward him was confusing. Was it because of Isabella and whatever it was that Alice saw? She was one of the only vampires he had not touched yet, and she seemed to be exceptionally talented at keeping out of his reach. It seemed that not even he was privy to her visions. He could order her to show him, of course, but he had the impression that she would refuse him in a way that he could not be angry with.

Some things should remain surprises, she had said. He had heard that statement when he had made contact with The Major.

He heard Isabella laugh at something Alice said and realized he had not been paying attention, a rarity that had him steepling his fingers in front of his smiling lips.

Surprise, indeed.