#gOD such silly things trigger me into . these states but its impossible to get out of them

[idyllic-affections]

angel kisses.

summary. kaveh is always there to kiss away his sibling's pain. trigger & content warnings. brief (unintentional) s/h mentions. tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. kaveh & younger sibling!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns for reader. author's thoughts. tbh no thoughts, head empty, only the silly architect. he has infected my brain. he lives in my head rent free! anyways dont worry you guys, this isnt the worst kaveh & sibling!reader angst i have, there are worse things coming teehee 💕💕💕 reader has gifted kid burnout syndrome in this (no they dont. its undiagnosed adhd /hj) because I Am Projecting.

       Kaveh hated seeing his sibling cry more than anything in all of Teyvat.

       He hated the way their lip would begin tremble and their voice would begin to waver when something didn't go the way they had hoped it would. Whether it be a project falling through, or having a thesis rejected, or getting into a debate with their seniors that they couldn't win simply because some of those researchers were too stubborn to admit to a junior that they were wrong...

       He hated the way the Sumeran culture handled the children that seemed to be smarter than the others, plastering silly labels onto them that only served to differentiate them from their peers and set them up for a life of impossible expectations and psychological struggle. Such as was the case with his sibling. Kaveh had seen the effects of labelling first hand one too many times, and seeing his sibling in the state they were in was but a painful reminder that such titles only cause harm. It was why he advocated so passionately against them.

       He hated the way they would whimper, breath stuttering and shallow as they tried to suppress their tears. The aggression with which they rubbed their eyes only made their face puffy and somewhat sore. It could sometimes get so bad that little scratches would line their cheeks; Archons, he loathed the sight of their skin being cut up like that. He hated that he had to guide their hands away, kissing their fingertips with such tenderness, as if to remind them that they should not be using their hands in a way that would only hurt them more. Their hands were not meant for harming, especially not for harming themselves. Their hands were made for greater things—creating, writing, being held—anything but harming.

       He hated the way their soft cries always ended up breaking down into sobs when they were alone with him, how they would weep into his shoulder as his hands stroked up and down their back soothingly.

       They were so pretty when they weren't crying, he thought. He much preferred seeing them smile, even if it was at his own expense. He supposed he could stand to lose a petty debate with his annoying roommate if it were to make them giggle. Kaveh loved seeing them happy; they were just so stunning when they were, outshining even his most remarkable achievments.

       In a way, though, he knew very well that this side of them was equally beautiful in its own right.

       Voluntary vulnerability was such a wonderful thing. It was as if they were placing their fragile heart in his hands to protect and care for in their toughest moments. He always had and he always would. Trust like that... even the gods above would envy how fully they trusted Kaveh in their most emotional times.

       He'd drop anything to kiss away their pain; he cherished his clients, but he cherished his sibling much more. Their health, physical or mental, came before all else.

       "I love you," they murmured softly, tiredly, eyelids fluttering shut as they leaned further into his embrace.

       The gentle kisses he left on their eyelids were enough to indicate that the sentiment was very much mutual.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! angel kisses are kisses placed on the closed eyelids of another. they communicate a deep sense of fondness and protectiveness over the recipient.

[lovecrazedpup]

hm

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Nine

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done! 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: SUPER fluffy. Always some language.

The beginning of the week – and all of Wednesday thus far – passes slower than molasses in January. Slower than a herd of turtles in a marathon. Slower than rush-hour traffic in downtown Boston. Slower than…

“Hello?” rips into her periphery, tearing her focus away from the melancholy countdown percolating in her head. “Angela,” Tony intones thickly as he glides into her small office. There’s a sly, knowing smirk brewing on his lips, his voice full of innuendo when he goes on to ask, “What has you so… deep in thought?”

“Sorry,” she mutters, straightening upright and beginning to shuffle papers back and forth erratically in an attempt to make herself look busy. “Nothing.”

A long, haughty laugh, a lingering pose by her desk, a deliberate quirk of his brows followed by a clever wink… and Annie’s done. She rolls her eyes, pushes back in the oversized office chair, and rises to leave. “What? No chitchat? No coffee klatch?” Tony almost whines as she grabs her cell and prepares to head out. “Where’s the gossip, huh? C’mon, kid, spill the tea!”

She tries – tries damn hard – to keep from laughing as he sputters next to her. But the corners of her mouth tick up nevertheless, even as she works to keep her lips pinched firmly shut.

He steps slowly over to her, looming in front of her. “Is tonight the night?” he asks with a wiggle of his brows. Then, eyes tracing down along her frame, expression setting in something akin to disappointment, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

“Tony!” she gushes, her shoulders drooping. All at once, a wave a trepidation rolls over her, pushing all of the impatience and excitement to the far back corner of her mind. She glances down at her black cropped trousers, eyes catching the hem of her flowy red, silk tank. “Wh-what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He shrugs. “Guess it really depends on what’s underneath.”

Wide eyes fly up to meet his smug, grinning face. “Tony!” she exclaims – for probably the twentieth time today. “How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot talk to employees about… what lives under their clothes.”

His nose twitches, lip pulling into a disgusted snarl. “I hope to God there’s nothing living under there,” he states with a snort. Annie lets out a huff and rolls her eyes yet again. “I’m just saying that there better be some lace and silk between you and those really unsexy pants if you want to get laid tonight.” He cocks his head assessingly, his posture and expression – and attention on her body – eliciting a thick, hot blush along her cheeks. “Or maybe something… edible?”

Her jaw drops, an short gasp popping loose from her chest and bringing a swift howl of laughter from her terribly inappropriate boss. “I can’t… I don’t… Why would I…”

Tony waves a dismissive hand through the air – “Relax, kid. I’m just messing with you.” – and turns on a sincere, if still jovial, expression. “You look great. He’d be crazy not to want to – ”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” she murmurs – almost begs – as a look of humiliation washes over her face.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs out, dropping a hand to her shoulder and giving her a small shove towards the door. “You’re the one who said you had to be gone by five today. No matter what. Now look,” he intones, flashing his hundred-thousand-dollar watch in her face. “It’s 5:04.”

She huffs out a reluctant goodbye and spins to leave, doubts about her clothes – and her less than exciting underwear – clouding her mind as she meanders to the garage. But the minute she makes it to her Bronco, the minute her fingers turn the key in the ignition, one wonderful, beautiful thought spills out into her consciousness and overtakes all of the trivial worries and pesky nerves. It’s Wednesday. Finally, it’s Wednesday.

Annie spends the entire – too damn long – drive over to his place thinking about Bucky’s face and the way his stubble felt beneath her fingertips. About his lips, plump and just slightly chapped, and the way they pressed so urgently into hers. About the soft tenor of his voice – Got to spend the day with my two favorite girls – low and husky and just for her.

It is all that she can focus on. Throughout the drive out to Brooklyn. And the brief stop at the Indian place down the street, where she looms for ten minutes waiting on her order, looking every part the dreamy, doe-eyed – possibly creepy – love-struck teenager. For the several minutes it takes to gather all the food – and the bottle of wine that Tony had gifted her this morning – precariously in her arms. And for the too long trudge down the block – because parking is miserable out here – and up to his door. She is positively fixated on all things Bucky Barnes.

But the spell is swiftly broken – and the silly, goofy smile she’d been wearing all day long vanishes in an instant – the moment Bucky sharply swings open the door to his apartment.

“Shit,” he groans, the single word barely audible over the piercing cries of the little girl in his arms. He spins away from the door – away from a rather stunned Annie – and gently sways Lana in his arms, soft shhhs continuously falling from his lips despite getting thoroughly drown out by her pitiful sobs.

Annie’s jaw drops, eyes blinking rapidly as she takes in the scene. The cluttered room, not yet tidied, though she’s certain he planned on cleaning up before she came. The echoing misery of a sobbing child reverberating off the walls. The shirtless specimen in front of her, his perfectly toned back rippling distractedly, each and every painfully defined muscle shifting as he cradles his baby closer.

She shakes her head vaguely – sloughing off those desirous thoughts – and steps through the door, casually bumping it shut with her foot behind her. Bucky turns back to her when he hears the click of it closing, looks at her with what can only be described as utter desperation in his eyes. Now she sees that Lana is shirtless too, wearing only a pair of pink pajama bottoms. And she smells – mixed in with the heady scent of the Tikka Masala still in her hand – the sickly tang of vomit in the air.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters over the top of Svetlana’s head, his right hand creeping up to gently weave into her curls and tug her screaming face back down to his shoulder. “Nat’s running late. And…” A long, languid, completely depleted sigh falls from his lips before the rather obvious declaration of, “Lana came home sick.” He steps back, moving toward the hall where he carefully kicks away a small pile of discarded clothing, soft utterances of shhh and It’s okay, baby repeatedly tumbling from his mouth and into the inconsolable creature in his arms.

Annie sets down the food and wine on the breakfast bar and follows on his heels, still silent, still unsure of quite what to say.

“She just threw up again,” he breathes out, his voice a mix of frustration and sadness, a put-on gentle tone overlaying it all for his daughter’s sake. He stops at her bedroom door and turns to face Annie, sees her reaching down to collect the felled – vomit-covered – shirts from the floor. “No,” he snaps, a single, stilling hand dropping from Lana’s back and shooting out towards her. “Don’t. Just… I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s okay,” she issues out, face contorting into a closed-lip grin that doesn’t quite manage to convey the reassurance she’d been aiming for. “You’ve got your hands full.”

Lana’s cries begin to wane – if only the slightest bit – but Bucky can still feel her hot tears steadily cascading down his shoulder and chest as he offers Annie a quick nod and steps into the dimly lit room.

It hadn’t been like this all day… thank God. She had seemed fine this morning, bouncing around as usual, making it nearly impossible for him to comb out her hair and secure it into the requested pigtails. She ate her breakfast – or as much of it as she typically might – and scurried off into her pre-K classroom the moment he dropped her off, very nearly forgetting to give him a kiss goodbye. So it was a surprise to say the least, when the daycare called around noon and told him that his little girl wasn’t feeling well.

Truthfully, he didn’t think too much of it. Just asked Steve to cover for him and took off to go gather his baby up.

Now, Svetlana Barnes is no stranger to the fine art of temper tantrums and manipulative weeping. She is a four year old after all. She can cry and scream and wail with the best of them. But it’s honestly pretty rare – especially with a you know that wobbling lip won’t work on me mother like Natasha. And what’s rarer still is their tough little cookie crying in discomfort. She’s more the type to get angry when she’s tired or under the weather. And silently broody – though utterly clingy – when hurt.

So Bucky knew something was wrong when she started softly crying just as he began to buckle her into the car seat. In a breath of a moment, instinct kicked in and he frantically tugged at the buckle to release her, to pull her back out of the car and… aim her somewhere else. But by the time he realized what was about to happen, it was already too late. As soon as his fingers bent around the seatbelt, she upchucked into her own lap. He had managed to flip his hands up in time to catch most of it – and not-so-sneakily dump it off to the side of the daycare parking lot – but the very act of getting sick had turned the poor little girl into a wailing heap of flushed cheeks and trembling limbs. He wiped his hands on his pants with a disgusted grimace, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, and jumped into the front seat, driving as fast as he felt safe doing to get his baby back home.

One bath and a too-long battle over children’s Tylenol later, and Lana had finally fallen asleep, giving Bucky just enough time to shower, change, and finish a load of laundry. But not five minutes after Natasha called to say she was stuck in a meeting and would be late picking her up – I’m so, sorry, James. I know you have plans and… Just tell her I’ll be there soon. – he heard the short, pathetic cries resume.

He tried to get her to the bathroom in time, but no such luck. Less than an hour before Annie was set to arrive – and she was always early for everything – and he and Lana both were covered in vomit in yet again. Not that any of that really mattered when he had his despondent little baby cradled so tightly in his arms, her steady weeping ripping through to his very soul.

“Shhh,” he tries again, patting her warm, sticky back before reaching down to open a drawer, grabbing a clean T-shirt and tossing it out onto her bed. The only light in the room is from the early evening sun filtering in through the edges of the closed blinds, and from her pale yellow monkey night lamp off in the corner. He slowly lowers himself into the old rocking chair near the door – the one that used to be his mom’s… used to be for her to soothe him and his little sister all those years ago – and hikes Lana a little further up his chest, guiding her head down to his shoulder once again. “I know, baby,” he utters absently, one hand slowly swiping along her back, the other softly petting at her sweaty hair as he begins a methodical rock. “I know. It’s okay.”

From the hall, Annie can hear his tender whispers only vaguely. But that almost makes it worse… harder to take in. The softness in his voice, the subtle desperation, not only breaks her heart, but makes her feel terribly out of place. Like an interloper in this sad, sweet moment. She finishes gathering the soiled clothes and pops them into the washing machine next to the bathroom, next to Bucky’s bedroom. The door is wide open and she chances a glance in, sees the neatly made bed, smiles softly to herself, and then realizes all at once that this may well be as close as she’ll get to that bed tonight.

She slowly saunters back to Lana’s bedroom, looming listlessly in the doorway for a moment, watching as Bucky’s hulking shoulders lean back into the small wooden spindles of the rocking chair, tiny fingers grasping at his flesh. He rocks with a slow, practiced rhythm, like he’s done this dance a hundred times before. Of course he has, she thinks to herself, rolling her eyes. He’s a father.

Tony’s words from the other day come back to her, urging her to consider whether or not getting involved with a dad might be too much. You’ll never come first, you know. The utter truth to those words, and the frightening simplicity of the all-too-obvious statement, cause her gut to clench.

He didn’t call to cancel, she reminds herself. He didn’t text to say not to come. He didn’t turn her away when she arrived either. She may be on the outside looking in at this moment in time, but at least she’s here. Can’t that be enough?

A knock at the door rips her from her reverie, her eyes shooting down the hall for a beat before veering questioningly over to Bucky. Through the dimness of the room, he locks onto her curious gaze and gives a gentle nod, a silent command – a plea – to help him out by seeing who it is.

She hurries down the hall and pulls open the door to find Steve, a sweet, almost nervous smile splitting his face when he sees her. “Hey, Annie,” he intones, stepping blithely into the apartment. He’s several paces in before he spins back to face her. “I am so sorry about this. Nat got caught up at the office… she should’ve been here an hour ago. I know you and Buck have plans.” He ducks his head meekly in apology. “He was really… excited about it.”

A fleeting trill of elation shoots up her spine – he was really excited – before swiftly flickering away. “No, no, it’s nothing,” she mutters, winding her arms tightly around her middle. “I just feel bad for Lana.” She ticks her chin towards the hall – “They’re in her bedroom.” – and heads over to the living room to start picking up, absently tidying to both pass the time and quell her nerves.

He gives a nod of thanks and disappears down the hall, breathing out a soft, “Hey there,” as he steps through the doorway to the little girl’s room.

Bucky looks up at him with weary eyes, never stopping the slow, steady rocking nor his gentle stroke up and down his daughter’s back. “Hey,” he says simply, his voice rumbling though his chest and into Lana, causing her to stir.

She rubs her face sleepily into his him, warm tears and saliva causing a slick beneath her cheek as she turns to see Steve lingering in the doorway. He ducks his head to make eye contact, offering a small, crooked smile before stepping into the room and dropping to one knee by the rocking chair. “Hey, bud,” he says, reaching out and swiping at the sweat-laden hair sticking to her forehead. He tenderly nudges it from her face, letting his thumb drift down to wipe away a thick, salty tear track. “Heard you don’t feel so good.”

The sobs had all but stopped, leaving only small moans and shuddery hiccups in their wake. But still, it seems it’s too difficult for her to speak, nothing more than a short nod and sniffle being offered to her uncle as he flattens his palm on her cheek to test her temperature.

“She puked in the car when I picked her up,” Bucky mutters, the hand atop her back now moving in a rhythmic pat to help quell her hiccups. “Got her cleaned up and into bed… then she blew again about twenty minutes ago.”

Steve cringes in a sort of awful solidarity. Then he raises a brow, teasing glint in his eye as he leans back and looks assessingly at the pair before him. “And judging from the lack of clothes, I’m guessing she nailed you?”

He releases a dejected huff. “Both times.”

A small laugh spills from his lips and he leans in close, locking onto Svetlana’s dull blue eyes. “Well, buddy, what do you say? You want me take you back to mommy’s? She should be home real soon…”

“She was supposed to be here a fucking hour ago,” Bucky seethes as he presses Lana’s head back down to the crook of his neck. He feels her hot skin slide along his and lets out a small hiss. “Probably time for more Tylenol.”

That gets a bit of a rise out of her, tiny limbs pulling together to push back on her father, form writhing as she struggles and whines out, “Nooooo,” in a hoarse, pathetic tone that very nearly breaks his heart.

He looks down at her as she pulls away, raises his brows in a listen to your father way, and says simply, “Yes.”

The tears start up again, her face twisting and reddening. And she leans further away, tilting over the arm of the chair as she reaches pitifully out for Steve. “Oh, poor baby,” he intones thickly, reaching for her as well. He easily scoops her up and out of her father’s lap, giving Bucky a shit-eating grin over the top of her head as he rises with the sweaty, crying, clingy girl in his arms.

Bucky merely gives a tired – and thoroughly annoyed – eyeroll in response. “You’re really gonna make me be the bad guy?” he asks, letting out a small, exhausted groan as he hauls himself up from the rocking chair.

He swipes the little blue T-shirt off the bed and turns to tug it on over the top of Svetlana’s head – quite a feat as she hangs onto her uncle for dear life, desperate to stay as far away from her father as possible now that he’s promised more medicine. He finally works both of her arms in and pulls the shirt down her clammy back.

“C’mon,” he sighs, side stepping Steve and heading into the kitchen, assuming he’ll follow.

Lana doesn’t see him grab the bottle of liquid Tylenol from the counter, but the moment Steve pivots to pluck her coiled form from around his chest, she senses what’s coming. And she blows a gasket, the soft, stifled cries rising quickly into vicious, ear-splitting screams.

“Baby, you’re gonna make yourself sick again,” Bucky laments loudly as he tries to speak over the shrill, deafening sobs. More than a hint of impatience spills out of him as he takes hold of her arm to keep her from turning back into Steve, tugging a bit harsher than he wants to as she continues to struggle against him. “There’s no reason to get so damn worked up.”

Steve gives her a little bounce and tries to look down at her, tries to make eye contact with the wild, thrashing creature. “C’mon, bud. You choke down some medicine now and we can have cookies back at home.”

Bucky drops her tiny arm and gives his friend an incredulous glare over the top of the little girl’s head. “You’ll regret doing that, I promise,” he tells him with a raised, warning brow.

Steve offers little more than a dismissive shrug before giving Lana a quick, tight squeeze and saying to her, “You know how mad mommy’ll be at me if I bring you home without any medicine in you?” She wildly tosses her head back and forth, a no and an I don’t care in one frantic gesture. “What if she yells at me?” he asks in an almost desperate tone. He gives her another light bounce and ducks his head to capture her gaze, offers a teasing sort of smile as he asks, “What if she hits me? You don’t want that, do you?”

Bucky snorts loudly from his side, but holds back his own sarcastic response, noting that Lana’s cries are diminishing as Steve continues to beg for her help.

“You could be saving my life, pumpkin,” he says with a thick – faux – sincerity. “Just take a teeny, tiny bit of medicine so mommy doesn’t hurt me.” A full, pouty lip juts from his face, the sides of his mouth tugging down into an overdone frown. “Please?”

She shakes her head again, a mighty pout of her own pulling across her countenance. But it’s obvious that she’s too tired to keep fighting. Finally placated by her uncle’s ridiculous pleas – and maybe a bit by a very real desire to keep him from getting in trouble – she drops her temple to his chest and looks up at her father with weary, red-rimmed eyes.

He gives her the liquid Tylenol, glides a thumb over her disgustedly pursing lips to wipe away the remnants, and bends over to drop a lingering kiss on her warm forehead… even as she whines and tries to pull away.

Steve catches the worried, sad look washing over his friend’s face as he straightens upright, his voice dropping into a low, tender tone as he tells him, “She’ll be alright.”

He nods – “Yeah, I know.” – never removing his desolate gaze from the flushed little face in front of him. “I know,” he repeats with a sigh.

“We’ll call you later to let you know how she’s doing.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters again, finally looking up at Steve and breathing out a long, pained sigh.

“Don’t worry,” he tries again, adding on a carefree smile for good measure. He glances over at Annie, her arms laden with the toys that she’s picked up from all over the apartment, and his grin grows wider. “You two just have fun. Really. We’ve got this.” He ducks his head, dropping his nose to Lana’s sweaty curls. “Right, buddy?”

She doesn’t respond, opting instead to tightly pinch shut her eyes and crumple her face in that way that both men recognize as near sleep. Bucky grabs the small, already packed backpack from the sofa as they head for the door, handing it over to Steve and leaning down to kiss Lana goodbye a final time. “I love you, baby,” he whispers to her, surprised when she mutters a love you back at him before twisting further into Steve’s hold and being whisked out the door.

Annie finishes depositing the toys in their rightful cubbies before turning to look at the forlorn man across the room. “I…” she stutters for a moment, eager to break the sudden, heady silence. She clears her throat and steps out from behind the couch, moving slowly towards him. “Is there anything else to throw in the wash? Her sheets, maybe?”

He turns to her – just as she sidles up next to him, her considerate words heavy on the air between them – with the most pitiful expression she’s ever seen grace that handsome face. His deep blue eyes look shadowed and hazy, dark bags already forming beneath. And his lips part just slightly, ready to talk, yet painfully silent.

She’s about to speak again, to ask if he’s alright or if he needs anything. Or – the awful words bubbling in her throat like thick bile – if he’d rather she just left.

But the moment her mouth bobs open, he lunges forward, grabbing hold of her and spinning her round, thrusting her back so that she’s pressed against the closed door. His hands grip at her biceps for just a fraction of a moment before shifting up to grab and tug and simply lose themselves in her long, thick hair. A short, strangled breath catches in her throat as their teeth slam almost violently together, lips twisting and pulling and nipping as she lets herself get lost in the desperate kiss.

Then, all at once, just as she’s about to wrap herself so completely around him – run her fingers through his hair, grip tight to his still-naked shoulders, trail her nails down his perfectly chiseled back – he pulls swiftly away. “Sorry,” spills from his lush, swollen lips as he slowly backs away, gaze averted, hand now tugging at his own hair before sliding down in his face in utter frustration. “Shit,” he groans languidly. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She wants to say, no. To refuse his apology and tell him that there’s no reason to be sorry, no reason at all. She wants to laugh at him for thinking that something like that could ever require an apology. Hell, in this precise moment, she wants to leap forward and climb him like a fucking tree. But all she does is remain – cemented to the spot, legs now wobbly beneath her – stiffly silent as her back gathers sweat, even while firmly pressed against the cool wood of the door.

“What…” he sputters out amid a crazed sort of laugh. He tugs at his hair again, looks up at her with wild, almost startled eyes. “What the fuck are we doing?”

A loud click reverberates between them as Annie finally slams her gaping mouth shut, teeth clanging together. His expression shifts, just a bit, changing from manic and alarmed to… amused. “I think we were… kissing,” she utters, almost a question.

And he can’t help but laugh. “Yeah,” he breathes out languidly, shaking his head as he does so. “Yeah.”

She steps forward, finally finding her legs – though, admittedly, they’re still more than a bit shaky – and blurts out, “Do you need help?” a little more enthusiastically than intended. “I mean… cleaning up… or…”

He waves an absent hand through the air, avoiding her gaze once again. “No, doll,” he intones gently. “No, I got it.”

“I really don’t mind,” she says, sidestepping him and moving into the kitchen, her entire body buzzing as she flits around, putting things away – Tylenol, cereal, a container of Pedialyte – not even registering the fact that she somehow seems to know just where everything goes. There are a handful of dishes in the sink, soaking in now-cold, sudsy water, and she flips on the faucet to begin finishing them up, reaching out for a sponge on the side of the sink before having her hand stilled by his. A small gasp escapes her as he moves closer, presses his chest into her back, leaning forward enough to pin her hips between the sink and his warm, muscular frame.

“Don’t,” he whispers into her hair as his wide-open palm stretches over the back of her hand. His fingers wind with hers, knocking the sponge loose as he reaches around from the other side to turn off the water. He pulls her hand to her side, wrapping both of their arms across her middle, his left dropping to almost violently grip the edge of the sink. She stills before him – beneath him – feels his hips press her further into the counter, a dull pressure building in her abdomen. His forehead drops to the base of her skull, his breath hot on her neck and back, seeping through her hair, as he utters again, “Don’t.”

“Bucky,” she chokes out, his name catching in her chest.

He holds her close for just a moment more, tightening his arm around her middle, stepping close enough that she can feel him growing hard as he continues to press firmly into her. He nuzzles at her hair, breaks through the thick, dark curtain with his nose and lazily trails several soft kisses along the ridge of her spine… up and down the center of her neck. Then he lets out a long, deep breath and simply steps away.

The moment he moves, she’s left feeling cold, the sudden absence of warmth at her back sending a swift shiver throughout her body. She spins to look at him, sees him once again run a nervous hand through his hair, a sheepish flush blooming on his cheeks. “You’re not going to apologize again, are you?” she asks, somehow managing to level her voice and raise a teasing brow despite the lightheaded thrill that still pulsates through her.

“No,” he chuckles. Then with a shrug. “Maybe.” He looks up at her, locks his bright blue eyes onto hers and shakes his head slowly… regretfully. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.”

She steps forward – just a bit, nervous hesitation stunting her movements – and she asks, “Isn’t tonight just starting?”

“Annie,” rumbles out of him, equal parts longing and chiding. “You’re probably gonna get sick just being here.” He too takes a halting step forward, just close enough that he’s able to reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to get sick, doll.”

“I don’t really want that either, but…” She gives a casual shrug. “I’ve already been exposed, so…”

A crooked smile splits his face, head ducking almost bashfully for a moment. “This kind of thing,” he mutters, shaking his head once more, “it happens, you know? It happens a lot. Kids get sick. Or hurt. Or they… throw tantrums. And they… ruin plans.” He sighs, lets out the smallest chuckle, and steps back to lean into the refrigerator… to lean away from her.

“Are you saying our plans are… ruined?” she asks, more of a bite to her words than intended.

He raises his brows and lets out a long sigh. “You gonna tell me all of this gets you in the mood?”

“Not this,” she blurts out fervently. “But…” She waves a hand out in front of her, gesturing vaguely at him… at his shirtless, beautiful body. And at the hardened length still swelling in his jeans.

He lets out a small laugh before letting his gaze simply linger on her face, on the bright blush still coating her cheeks, washing over those beautiful dimples. But he doesn’t step closer, nor does he reach out.

The longer he lingers – still and silent – the easier it becomes for her to see that, as much as he seems to be struggling to tear his eyes away from her, he’s not planning on approaching her again. Bitter frustration roils in her gut and a low groan slips from her lips as her eyes roll dramatically back, an irritated expression designed to mask her absolute disappointment.

He blows a tired breath out of his nose, nostrils flaring as he finally forces himself to pull his gaze away from her, directing it to the floor, back to the other room, to his hands as they nervously fist and knot in front in of him. Anywhere but her. “This is so… stupid,” he mutters, annoyance leaking from the words. “I mean… we shouldn’t have to have this conversation now. Not now… when we’ve only been on a handful of dates… fuck,” he chokes out. “We haven’t even fucked.”

Her lips split open, ready to speak, but it takes a moment for her to form the words, mouth bobbing aimlessly as she shoves down the response of, we could just take care of that last part now. Instead her brows twist curiously together, head cocking confusedly to the side as she asks simply, “What conversation?”

He finally looks back at her, but his expression is so dramatically changed, eyes no longer hooded with lust, but darkened with a sort of profound sobriety. “Kids,” he bleats out with a shrug, unfolding his hands and shoving them into his pockets as he goes on to ask, “Do you want kids?”

“Well, yeah,” she breathes out easily, puzzlement still painting her face.

“Now?” he asks, raising a brow to drive home his point.

She doesn’t respond, not immediately anyway, because truthfully the answer is no. Of course she doesn’t want kids right now. She’s just getting started in her career. She only just met him. It would be crazy. But isn’t it also a little bit crazy to be asking her that right now? To be asking… like this?

Her face slowly hardens, eyes narrowing a bit as a wave of involuntary anger rolls over her. “Are you asking me if I want to be Lana’s mother?” she asks, tone drenched in sarcasm. “Because I thought Natasha already had that covered.”

“I’m being serious,” he tells her in a deep-set tone to match his words.

Her hands drop to her hips, a brutally defiant stance – which, admittedly, she rarely wears – popping out full force. “So am I.” He rolls his eyes in annoyance, and the flippant gesture sets her blood to boil. “What? I can’t be with you if I’m not willing to be a mother right away?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Did you ask Steve if he was willing to be a father?” She shoots back, the words spilling out of her before she gets a chance to think them through. “Because I was under the impression that you were pissed as hell with him for just trying to be!”

“I’m not…” he sputters before pinching his lips firmly shut, a look of pure annoyance settling over his now stern face. “He’s being a parent right now, whether he wants to be or not. Because he has no choice. If you live with a kid…”

“I didn’t realize we were that serious,” she snipes. “Are you asking me to move in?”

“Damn it, Annie, I’m trying to… I just want to…”

“Have that conversation,” she finishes for him, no question to her voice.

“Yes!” he exclaims, pushing off the fridge and pulling up to his full height – shoulders stiffly set – as he stares down at her. “Is that so wrong?!”

“Okay, fine. Let’s do it,” she nearly snarls at him. “How ‘bout you?” A single, questioning brow rises high, her voice shifting into a mocking tone. “Do you want more kids?”

A startled silence fills the room, Bucky’s face taking on a lost quality for a long moment before pinching tight, his posture slumping as he breathes out, “I… I don’t know.”

“Oh,” she intones with a self-satisfied smirk. “You don’t know? Or maybe you just haven’t thought about it, and now you’re being put on the spot in the middle of a… heated discussion? Are you finding that these sorts of questions are difficult to answer?” Her head cocks to the side, faux-sincere frown pulling as she goes on to ask, “Maybe a little unfair?”

“Yeah. I get it,” he spits out. “I’m just trying to explain…”

“Bucky,” she sighs in frustration. “I’m not an idiot. I know that getting involved with someone who has a kid means a whole… plethora of other things. Other responsibilities. And… annoyances. And the truth is, this conversation… these questions… they’re important. I know that. But…” Her shoulders bounce up and down in a sort of desperate shrug. “I don’t know what you want from me here. I… I like you. And I like Lana. And I am… willing…”

His own shoulders drop, the righteous air being swiftly taken from his sails. “I just don’t want…” He looks up at her and smiles… a sad, distressed smile. “I really like you,” he admits, the words tumbling out in a single, low breath. “But if this isn’t gonna work… if you can’t…” His head once again begins that slow, deliberate pivot to-and-fro.

She steps closer, hands finally falling from their stiff posture at her hips. “Have I made it seem like I can’t?” she asks, taking another small step towards him. “Or like I don’t want to try?”

“No,” he mutters softly. “But… it’s a lot.”

She shrugs, “Maybe,” she admits, pulling up closer and issuing out, voice breathy and low, “But maybe I think you’re worth the trouble.”

He glances up to find her mere inches from him, “Annie,” falling from his lips in a coy sort of warning.

She leans closer, her breath hot on his skin, nose grazing his stubbled cheek. “I know you had a really rough day, Buck,” she intones, barely a whisper. “But Lana’s okay with Steve and her mom. And you… you’re okay here with me.”

He pulls back a bit, looks down at her with questioning – imploring – eyes. The way she gazes back up at him – full of reassurance and comfort and… certainty – sets his heart to stutter, causes his breath to catch in his chest.

“Fuck,” he mutters vaguely, the single, heady word echoing thickly in his own ears, voicing his trepidation, covering his excitement. He reaches up to take hold of her face, both palms pressing into her still-burning cheeks, thumbs dipping briefly into those perfect dimples as her growing smile presses into him. “Fuck,” he repeats with a chuckle before dropping his lips to hers and letting himself simply… fall.

[villainousshakespeare]

AO3 Master List

Loki - Series

Exile’s Return:  Rated M, Fluff, Smut, Romance, 16 chapters (complete)

Banished from Asgard for his various crimes, Loki seeks to use the rescue and return of Thor’s betrothed (ofc) to secure his release from exile. But he is the God of Mischief, and when the lady in question proves to be smart, caring, and lovely he can’t resist trying to slowly turn her affection away from the prince she is promised to marry and claim her for himself. My first ever (and still personal favorite I’ve written) fic!!

Loki and Kela’s Adventures on Midgard: Rated E, Smut, Fluff 8 chapters (complete)

A sequel to Exile’s Return, but not really necessary to read that first.  Loki brings his love Kela to Midgard despite being wanted for war crimes by The Avengers. While attending the theater in New York they cross paths with a dangerous man with mind control abilities. Will Loki be able to keep Kela from becoming his latest victim?

In Exchange for Submission: Rated E, Smut, Fluff, Romance, Angst, 77 Chapters (completed)

Loki’s invasion of NY has taken a turn for the better, and he is now in charge of a growing percentage of the United States. During his campaign he acquired a group of hostages from resistance pockets and is keeping them captive in Stark Tower. Now, with things settling down a bit, he needs to decide what to do with them. Two of them, from a prominent family, are set to be released. One of these, a feisty, irritating, impossible woman, desperately offers to ransom the rest of the prisoners, including her best friend. Loki has no need of Midgardian coin, but the woman, who has been a thorn in his side for weeks, has something else that he desires - her submission. He offers her a bargain - every day he will require a new willing act of submission from her, and in exchange, he will release one prisoner. How long can she keep up the deal? And how much of herself will he demand she surrender?

Trigger Warnings: Dark elements, Dark!Thor, attempted rape (not by Loki), angst 

For the Price of a Book: Rated M, Romance, Fluff, Smut, Angst, 35 Chapters (completed)

In the days before the events of Thor I, Loki inadvertently comes upon a female servant being “punished” by a pair of guards. Her crime? Stealing a book from the rooms she was tasked to clean. Curiosity captured, he decides to break through the shy exterior by any means necessary. A bit of softer Loki story, as he is younger and pre-Jotunn discovery. He is still Loki though, so sass and drama will not be far away!

Loki - One Shots

Retribution: Rated E, Smut, NonCon, 1 shot

Loki has just conquered two united armies on the field of battle. Now he confronts the woman who brought them together to oppose him - daughter to the proud king of one army, betrothed of the general of their ally. Angry at the challenge to his throne he decides to make an example of her, and gives her a choice: be tossed to his soldiers for their entertainment, or willingly submit to his every perverted demand as his personal slave. Basically, my attempt at a Loki/slave one shot. 

Trigger Warning: VERY NON-CON! This is not the love story Loki of my previous works, but just pure, unadulterated, dark, perverted porn.

Team Bonding: Rated T, Drinking, Implied Future Smut, Drunken Silliness, One Shot

Now that Loki is a member of the Avengers, he needs to develop a better report with them. As his fiancé, you feel it is your duty to encourage him to go out for post-mission drinks with the team. What could possibly go wrong?

The Perfect Costume: Rated E, Smut

Loki needs to find the perfect costume to wear to a party with you. What will he come up with and how will you react?

Life of the Party: Rated T, Drinking, Implied Future Smut

An empath and a scientist in the service of SHIELD, you are blackmailed by Tony Stark into attending one of his parties for your own good. Expecting to have a miserable time, you instead strike up a conversation with the God of Mischeif. Written for @scrumptious-delusion 2K Writing challenge!

James Conrad

The Mark: Rated E, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Gooey Ending, One Shot

Desperate for money in a backwater town in South East Asia after the Vietnam War, Jennifer follows a tall British man she has just seen win a roll of cash at pool. She is determined to make him her latest mark, but James Conrad is more than what he seems and not one to fall for any woman’s game.

Trigger warning: Mention of attempted kidnapping/human trafficking

Sir Thomas Sharpe

In Search of Refuge: Rated E, Smut, Gothic Romance, Work in Progress

A disastrous carriage accident leaves Rose stranded in a snow storm. Desperate to find shelter from the elements, she stumbles upon a run down estate and throws herself on the mercy of its owner, Sir Thomas Sharpe.

Magnus Martinsson

Protection: Rated E, Smut, Romance, Fluff, Angst, 36 Chapters (completed)

Against his wishes, Magnus is assigned an undercover case to protect a witness and bring down a criminal. He gets more than he bargains for with his protectee. This starts with a slow burn, but I promise there will be smutty goodness in upcoming chapters!

Robert Laing

Her: Rated E, Smut, Kidnapping, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use

Laing enjoys life in the high rise as every woman's favorite amenity, but lately he's been getting bored. When he sees Grace, he knows he has to have her, no matter what it takes.

Trigger Warnings: Please, please, please read the rating. This is a dark fic unlike my usual ones.

Tom Hiddleston/Loki

Personalities Within: Rated E, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Loki, Oakley, Jonathan Pine, Coriolanus, Adam, tbd, Work in Progress (currently a little stuck)

Tom had been so careful for so long. He rarely got involved in relationships, and if he did he only let them go on for so long before ending them. It was the only way to be safe. The only way that HE wouldn’t come out. And while HE, among others, might make Tom a great actor, the dangers were to great. But what happens when Tom falls for someone. Someone who not only is his perfect type, but the other’s perfect type as well? Can he pursue a relationship with her while keeping his secret and protecting her? Or will the unthinkable happen?

Trigger Warnings: Mental illness

@yespolkadotkitty, @devilish--doll, @caffiend-queen, @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy, @nonsensicalobsessions, @wolfsmom1, @toozmanykids, @wrathkitty, @hiddlesholic​, @vodka-and-some-sass​

Please tell me if you want on or off the tag list.

[miss-tc-nova]

Feeling Better - Hermod x Reader

Okay, sorry I’ve been a bit slow, but I’m okay! I’ve been kinda busy with adult stuff while prepping the first round of Nova’s KH Fanfic Appraisal, as well as working on something big I’ll talk about later, AND helping out someone with stuff they’ve got. ALL while trying to write some much needed fluffs! So I been kinda busy! But here we go! I’m not entirely sure yet, but I might have some Smarmy comin’ up in a few days too. 

Oh! And check out this Hermod art by  @nokonokooira on Twitter! Definitely stared at it while writing this!

Music inspiration: “Beam Me Up” by P!nk

~~~~~

               “UuuuaaaaAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!”

               Needless to say, this day cannot get any worse.

               Soaked through and through, I squelch into the student dorms as furious as a wet cat and probably looking just as ridiculous. Each step leaves a sodden, slippery trail behind me, leading to the commons area. The running theme of the day—bad luck—ensures that all of my classmates are there to witness the miserable state I’m dripping in.

               Smarmy Fluffcoat opens his stupid, smarmy mouth but I beat him to the punch.

               “Bragi, I swear to the Infernean god, Ifrit, if you so much as breathe at me, I will kick your ass,” I snarl, fully prepared to back up every burning syllable.  

               “Sheesh. Well aren’t you just a ray of sunshine.”

               Fury triggered, I charge towards his chair only for a handful of my classmates to bar the path. Fighting my way through them would’ve caused me no immediate remorse, but they’re lucky that the only one who can stop me is the first I come across. Hands outstretched to meet my shoulders, he’s stronger than I am; that and other current circumstances prevent me from brawling my way through.

               “Woah, woah. Take it easy.” Even just hearing the smooth and steady intonation of his voice begins to soothe the rage. “Look. Look at me.” A gentle finger taps at my chin to encourage breaking eye contact with my potential victim. Instead, I peer up into his cool, slate-colored eyes. “You should go get cleaned up.” My glare just can’t stand up against that gentle expression. “Go on. Go get cleaned up.”

               “No use takin’ a shower,” Bragi calls. “It looks like they already—” Every pair of eyes, including his savior’s, turns on Fluffcoat and he clams right up.

               The tall boy returns to me and nudges me towards the rooms. “Go.”

               Successfully quelled, I trudge on down the hall, distinctly hearing Hermod’s scolding of the antagonist.

               It’s a sheer miracle that I manage to make it to my room, change out of my doused clothing, and convince myself to amble back to the commons without any further mishaps. Hermod receives me with an embrace when I amble straight for him.  

               “Feel better?” My shoulders bounce in a shrug. The true answer is yes; with every beat of his heart against my ear, the coil of distress I’d wound over the day loosens just a little more. “Well, regardless, I think you need to apologize.”

               Trust has been betrayed! Leaning back, I scowl at him; nope, I still can’t argue with his smile. “Come on. You did threaten him.”

               With a defeated sigh, I face the boy who’s wearing the exact same chastised look—behind him, Vor stands with her arms folded.

               “Sorry,” we grumble.

               “For?” Vor prods.

               Bragi groans. “Sorry for teasing you when you were mad.”

               “Sorry for telling you I was gonna kick your ass,” I mumble.

               “They sound like grounded children,” Xehanort says, sitting between equally amused Urd and Eraqus.

               Urd points to the other girl. “Do you want to try to argue with Vor?”

               “…No.”

               My irritation at them is diverted when a soft kiss meets my temple. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

               With that, Hermod leads me away from the others and towards the fireplace. A crackling fire bathes my skin with a wave of warmth, soothing the sting in my freezing extremities. Dropping his haori over my shoulders, the boy sits beside me.

               “Do you wanna talk about why you came back soaking wet? Or why you were angry with Bragi?” Doing a better job than the fire, Hermod’s hands work to disperse the chill in my fingers.

               For a few moments, I resist; surely worse days are to come for a keyblade wielder. A bunch of silly, little mishaps really shouldn’t have resulted in the near massacre of a classmate—I should be better than that. The shame that I let such trivial things overwhelm me only adds to this disastrous day.

               “Hey.” My attention returns to the present, to him. “You can tell me.”

               Gods, I hate that my eyes water. “Today just…hasn’t been the best…”

               “What happened?”

               If I was going to tell anyone my dying secrets, it would be Hermod—not just because he’s my boyfriend. I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what it is, but he has this way of dissipating the weight of all my troubles. There’s yet been a moment of desolation that he hasn’t been able to dispel. Sure, he can’t just wipe away all my worries, but they’d certainly compound to something far worse without his intervention.

               So I tell Hermod about my rotten day, starting with the broken alarm. Lost assignments, failed tests, and punishments for being late add to the list, sprinkled in with missed meals in trying to make up for those mistakes. School aside, a forgotten wallet makes purchasing food in town impossible and someone’s mutt of a dog must’ve thought I insulted its mother. By the time the owner caught up, apparently it was my fault. And the cherry on top—on my way back to the castle, as I passed the fountain, a bunch of rowdy children started a fight. Their confrontation ended in a collision that sent me into the cold, running water—I had my school bag with me. Shortly after that was the threat on Smarmy.

               “And I know it’s stupid to get so worked up over things so petty but—” Fists curl in a terrible attempt to contain the frustrations that only build when my vision blurs.

               It takes him very little effort to slip his fingers into my grasp, replacing my clenched fists with a firm squeeze. “It’s not stupid. That really does sound like terrible day and you have every right to be upset.”            

               Getting even more worked up, I pull away, rubbing at my hazy sight. “I’m a keyblade warrior; I shouldn’t let these crappy, little things break me like this.”

               Keyblade training can be rough and there’s no doubt all of us have our fair share of calluses; despite this, the feel of Hermod’s palms against my face is a calming gesture. While that hint of pity would normally instigate me swatting him away, the mix of understanding and adoration has me pacified in his hold.

               “Being a warrior doesn’t make you heartless. You’re still human; things will bother you just as much as they bother anyone else.” Rough thumbs brush away the water that managed to escape me. “It’s okay to be upset on a bad day.” There’s a gentle chuckle. “After all that, I’d be pretty concerned if you weren’t.” One of those hands slides back through my hair. “That being said, it’s gonna be alright. Tomorrow is a new day and I know my darling isn’t going to let one bad day keep them down.” He leans in to nuzzle noses together. “Right?” Instinctively, I recoil but he’s succeeded in bringing up a smile. His task isn’t done though, not at all. Peppering my face with kisses, he repeats, “Right? Right?” I’m still a mess, but I’m a giggling mess by the time he finally lets up. “There’s my sweetheart.”

               “This is so sweet, I think I just got diabetes.”

               Fire surges beneath my skin as I realize my entire class is still present and has no doubt heard everything. Fluffcoat sits in his chair, grinning at us; what he doesn’t see is that fist Vor is raising behind him.

               “Ow!” She may be little, but I’m sure his shoulder is in some considerate pain.

               “Bragi!”

               “What?! I was just—”

               “Shh!”

               Offended yet not wanting to be struck again, Smarmy pulls his hood up and sinks in his seat. Meanwhile, as innocent as ever, Vor waves at us to continue as if we’re putting on a show. Currently no longer in need of the fire, I can only gawk in embarrassment. Hermod, on the other hand, isn’t fazed. Strong arms pull me into his lap to enjoy the fire and hold me there. Waves of fluffy hair brush against my face as his head dips to press a kiss into my shoulder.

               “Feel better now?”

               Fingers tangle into that mop of hair in an awkward hug. “Much. But I’m still starving.”

               With a small laugh, he nuzzles me again. “Dinner will be soon. Until then—” A kiss meets my cheek. Alongside that, his voice drops. “—I have other ways—” Another kiss to the nose and another drop. “—to occupy those pretty lips,” he ends in a whisper, effectively ending my miserable day.

[supernatural-stuffs]

Seeing Clearly-Part 6

A/N: Seems like forever since I updated this! It’s mostly backstory for the reader, as well as a little bit of rising action. Also, the rest of the story will be told from the reader’s point of view unless otherwise stated-now that her character is established, I feel that it’s not really necessary to have multiple points of view.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, blood and gore, mentions of death

Pairing: ?? x Reader

Word Count: 1,737

After the Winchesters left, you closed the study door and sank to a sitting position against it. Everything in your life had been turned upside down in the space of just a few hours. Your mind raced with everything the guys had told you. Everything you had ever seen in a horror movie came floating through your mind-ghosts, monsters, witches, vampires, werewolves...you made a mental note to ask Sam later about Frankenstein. No way were you about to be able to sleep at night knowing that monstrosity was out there.

Maybe you were crazy, but you believed everything Sam and Dean had told you. It explained a lot actually...

18 years ago, a little girl skips home from school, her dark pigtails flying. She remembers that her mother promised her cookies for after school and she grins, picking up her speed. She reaches the front door to find it ajar. Puzzled, she wanders through the living room.

"Mommy? Daddy?"

She sees a man standing in the kitchen, his back turned to her. She rushes over and hugs him around the waist.

"Daddy!" she squeals happily.

He turns around slowly to face her. The little girl stiffens and backs away.

"You're-you're not my daddy."

The man's black eyes fasten on hers'.

"No," he says, a smile creeping across his face. "But he is."

He gestures to her father, laying on the ground next to her mother. Blood is streaked on their arms, their legs, their torsos, making it impossible to locate the source of the bleeding. The little girl rushes to kneel next to them, tears streaming down her face as she shakes her mother.

"Mommy! Mommy wake up! Daddy please!"

The man watches all of this in amusement. "I would finish you off too," he says longingly. "But we have other plans for you."

He squats next to the crying girl and tilts her chin up, forcing her to raise her distraught eyes to his. "See you soon."

He smiles widely and disappeared, leaving the sobbing girl in a heap on the floor.

You caught your breath from the intensity of the memory. Sliding your hand up to cover your face, you found it wet. You hadn't even realized you were crying. You let the sorrow consume you, steadily growing until you were just a heaping mess of hiccuping sobs. You hadn't thought of your parents' death since-well, since forever. Your tales of a black-eyed, teleporting man were quickly brushed off by authorities as a result of trauma. You learned pretty quickly to keep your mouth shut if you didn't want to spend endless months in therapy with a creepy, over-analyzing shrink. So you packed the memory up and put it in a box, never to be opened again. Until tonight at least...

And then there was Ava. Your supporter, your protector, your best friend. While you made an active effort to never think about your parents, she was on your mind constantly. How you had walked in that house to see her lying on the floor, gun askance next to her lifeless body, finger curled around the trigger. You had felt so guilty, wondering if you should have inquired about her mental health more, or made more time for her from your busy work schedule. The Winchesters' explanation had at least somewhat assuaged your guilt. Maybe that's why you were so desperate to believe it. Or maybe you were just insane.

Either way, it was clear that you'd be working with them for the next few days. You picked yourself off the floor and went to lock up, your tears gradually waning to a dull ache behind your eyes. After you had finished your nightly routine, you went up to your room and slumped on the bed. Thankfully, sleep overcame you quickly.

The next morning, you awoke early to meet the boys at Ava’s house. You weren’t exactly sure why they insisted upon going there at all; you could have gotten the same information from the police report your officers had filled out. You supposed it was a different type of search, but you half wished that you had stayed out of it all, like Dean had suggested. You hadn’t been in her house since the night she died, and you didn’t know how you’d be able to face it, seeing those pictures of her and Roger she had hung up around the room, looking at those dumb throw pillows she had insisted on picking out, knowing that these were the last things she had seen just before she...

God, you couldn’t think about this. You would break down before you even started, and despite your hesitancy, you wanted to do this. For Ava. For everyone else who could be potentially be harmed by whatever had killed her. And for yourself. You would never have closure if you didn’t see this thing through. So you slapped on some mascara, threw an outfit on, and rushed out the door before you could change your mind.

You arrived a few moments earlier than the time you had agreed upon with Sam and Dean. Usually, you liked being early. But today, sitting in Ava’s driveway, with nothing and no one to distract you, you decided that being early wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It only gave you time to think, about Ava, about how excited she was to buy this house. She had so many plans, so many dreams for the little place. And now, nothing. 

Luckily, the Impala pulled up behind you before you could spiral even deeper into grief. You swung your legs out of the cruiser to greet them. They were both dressed in black suits, Sam’s messy locks combed behind his ears. In the light of the day, you realized how young he actually was. He looked as if he should still be in college, or fresh out. Much too young to be mixed up in any of this. Yet he and Dean moved with a kind of assured familiarity, as if they had been doing this together for years and years. From what they had told you, though, this was probably the truth. 

You were going to offer some sort of greeting, maybe a ‘good morning’ or a ‘how’d you sleep?’, but Dean spoke before you had the chance.

"Shouldn't you be wearing a police uniform?" he blurted, looking you up and down.

You also looked down. You hadn’t really been paying attention to what you had put on this morning, but apparently in your auto-pilot mode you had chosen dark-wash jeans with a polka-dot blouse, layered with your leather jacket. It suddenly occurred to you that you probably looked silly next to the two of them. 

You shrugged, playing off your sudden self-consciousness.

"Insanely uncomfortable. I avoid wearing it whenever I can. Plus, I'm technically off the clock. Everyone agreed that I should take a few days off after...

You trailed off, not wanting to think about Ava any more than you had to today.

Dean looked a little guilty for even bringing up the subject. "Well, we look kinda stupid now, huh Sammy?" he joked, trying to direct your thoughts away from your friend.

You smiled a little at him, appreciating his effort. He really was sweet. They both were. Not only were they helping you investigate this case, they seemed to actually care about you as they did it. You decided to play along. "You guys look cute, though. Very official."

Dean’s eyes narrowed playfully, and Sam gave you a bemused look. 

"Don't patronize me," Dean muttered under his breath.

You smirk grew before you nodded toward the house, getting back to the business at hand. "We going in?"

Dean huffed and looked at Sam, who nodded. Thy headed towards the small house, climbing up the stairs to the wrap around porch, you following close behind. Police tape criss-crossed the door. You were about to pull out the key for Ava’s house from your pocket when Sam bent down to look at the lock, pulling out a thin package from his suit pocket. He opened it, revealing a collection of small, thin tools. Is that... a lock pick set? You weren’t given time to stop him before he grabbed one of the thin tools and inserted it into the lock. You smirked, deciding to let him suffer a little. Lock pick sets like that wouldn’t help him here. You had made Ava install a chain lock as soon as she moved in, knowing that it was much more difficult for thieves to break in. You were a little curious to see if it actually worked. Sam twisted the tool around a few times, trying to drive it deeper into the lock. He grunted, picking up another tool and inserting it into the lock. Again, it only went in about halfway before stopping.

"What the-"

You slapped your hand over your mouth, trying to contain your sniggering. A noise must have escaped, because both Sam and Dean whirled around, eyes wide. You pulled out the key and twirled it around in your hand, your eyes still sparkling with amusement.

"Exactly how often do you guys do this kinda thing?" you asked, raising an eyebrow bemusedly. They seemed to find it very easy to forget that you was a police officer at all.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, as if trying to determine how to answer that question.

"You know what, never mind," you said, eyeing the two of them. "The less I know, the less I am of an accessory."

They both chuckled a little, and Dean took the key from you. He held it up, its chain link piece swaying a little from the black key ring. He shot you a bewildered look.

"It's a chain key."

"A what?" Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to understand.

"A chain key. The lock is curvy-makes it harder for people like you," you looked pointedly at Sam, "to pick the lock."

"Huh," said Sam. I guess he was a still a little upset about not being able to break in.

Dean positioned the key's chain at the entrance to the lock and threaded it through the lock system. Turning it with a click, he opened the door and stepped through. When neither Sam nor you moved to follow him, he swiveled his head back to you.

"Well? Let's go."

Tags: @strawberryjuiceboxxx

[spidersanctuary]

A disordered venting about RP problems:

My experience RPing with Tumblr RPing is not very extensive - goes back about five years, I think. Before that, I RPd a bit, much earlier, but for the most part the only RPing I've done is on Tumblr (and Skype, but as an extension of Tumblr RPing).

I don't like bouncing around. I tend to stick with a place that looks legit, get attached to the characters (mine and others') and stick it out, even sometimes unreasonably so. I've been in... basically three group RPs. Two of them were larger (let's say, defined as "more than around ten active players at any given time", and the third was smaller and purely reactionary, a-la "we don't like the way things are here so we'll make our own". Though not without problems (and I can't say I didn't have my part in them), it was the most drama-free as a whole. It also looks like the fourth, soon to come, might follow along the same pattern.

Despite my sample size of one, I'm confident in saying small groups have a different dynamic. Especially if they're founded by people who already know each other. Bigger groups are trickier, in many ways, and I was struck by the realisation that the different problems I encountered in both my bigger groups were representative of two ends of a spectrum.  Similar things going wrong in opposite ways, so to speak.

One of them was defined by lack of forethought and planning. Indeed the whole RP just kind of happened organically, something more serious growing out of something very silly and casual. While it had its fun sides - and it was wildly fun, at times, for as long as the fun lasted - it's also obvious in retrospect how that could be a huge problem. Different players. No standardised rules or guidelines until way, waaay later in the game (after much drama had already happened). Lots of different people with different RPing backgrounds and personalities and playstyles, none of them fully on the same page. While many of the problems had to do with one or two difficult personalities in the group, that's not really the isuse. There is always a risk of... unpleasant people, no RP group is safe from them and no RP guidelines will truly protect you from someone who WANTS to start shit or manipulate things to their benefit and is cunning enough to do that. But even aside from that... the lack of regulation about who could grab what characters and how many (some players ending up with 20+ blogs), or any kind of spoken agreement about activity guidelines and replying etiquette. Lack of agreement about how "canon" certain plots were, in the RPing continuity. Lack of agreement about the continuity, period. A clash between people who wanted to develop a certain pre-planned (and rather exclusive) storyline and those who were more in it for spontaneity. It was a recipe for disaster. It didn't need to get as bad as it did, but starting off like that, it was bound to get unpleasant eventually anyway.

Now, the other group... oh, the other group. After the colourful experience of the first group, the things it offered seemed like a reassuring breath of fresh air. Planning! An almost DnD-esque level of detail to the established universe, rulebook, bestiary and lore! Basically an entire little sandbox lovingly crafted for you to play in. Transparent activity guidelines and rules! An actual mod team working to be approachable while still holding authority! New plots for everyone to participate in to be released basically by the clock, so nobody would feel left out! So lovely! Unfortunately, things are rarely as sunny as they appear. A certain type of literate, application RPs is infamous for their snobbishness and elitism, and despite the initially welcoming tone, that was exactly what this unravelled to be. On the flip side, many of the appeals of the group amounted to little more than elaborate publicity acts. Always, always must the group remain attractive and desirable to newcomers (perhaps unsurprisingly given the apparently abysmal player retention rates, both short and long-term). The tone turned out very different from what was advertised, the sandbox-like universe revealing itself to be more of a literal sandbox, with complex topics turned into gimmicks, and supernatural characters (prosecuted and feared for their in-humanity) easily and casually sharing information about their powers with near-strangers like kids on a playground comparing their toys. The "plots" thrown one's way are not only usually poorly (if at all) developed but intrusive, so that they are impossible to avoid completely even if one is not interested in them. Worse yet, the RP insists on doling out serious consequences and high-stakes crises like death, destruction, invasions of murderous monsters or malignant town-wide spells, but is curiously reluctant to allow any room for serious RPing or sense of consequences.

In fact, it's impossible to talk about consequences when even a sense of any basic continuity is thrown out the window, precluded by the occasional hiatus and re-launch and the various measures taken to make sure that new players enter onto a relatively blank slate. Yes, even if long-time residents of the area and the populace in general SHOULD remember and be affected by that politically motivated massacre half a year back, or that time monstrous vegetables SLAUGHTERED half a school of elementary schoolchildren. Thus, even though the RP is long-running (turning two years old soon), it is impossible for the setting to develop any sense of history, and instead it seems to turn more and more comically nonsensical the more tragedies befall the town and are promptly forgotten a few weeks later. Rather than a serious and in-depth setting, one begins to feel instead as if all the characters are living in a Lotus Eater-like state of vague oblivion, briefly reacting to various events but never quite letting them reach collective memory.

Now, all this might be bearable (and even fun! There's an appeal in a certain kind of wacky no-strings-attached horror-comedy-gore, no denying that), IF a couple things weren't true. a) If the RP (and specifically the mod team) didn't make such a huge deal about what a serious and respectable and serious RP it is. No OCs allowed. "We allow shipping but we don't put an emphasis on it! Please don't think this is one of those silly ship-obsessed RPs". No more than two characters allowed. Replies MUST happen every x days, and even though replies of various kinds are accepted (all prose, just different formats and individual reply lengths), only CERTAIN kinds count towards the activity requirement (???!), and a long-term failure to keep it up will end up in you getting the boot. Even if you ARE active and involved with other people and interact a lot. (Don't even get me started on that. I and about three or four other people, most of whom LEFT shortly after, ended up having our plots disrupted SIGNIFICANTLY because the mods booted - or in this case harangued into throwing in the towel and leaving in a huff - a player who was active with all of us, but wasn't active enough in "the RIGHT way" i.e. the right format. This was part of a bigger package of them caring more about keeping up certain pretenses and ticking off certain boxes to be more outwardly desirable to new applicants than the fun of the users who were already there.) b) The nit-picking. Oh god the nitpicking and micromanagement. Some of the shit I've personally seen, some of it I've heard about. It's one thing to crit a player for not being IC with a mod pre-made character. It's another thing to do that after they've been in play for A YEAR, and if you do that then, you're being blatantly disrespectful of all the development the player's put into them. And it's yet another thing to do that to someone's OC (before the 'no OCs' rule was instated). I've had mods dictate to me that my character shouldn't be reacting to x event like this or that, by listing a bunch of factors that, while possibly convincing, were only ONE possible way to interpret the big picture. For real. Psychology is complicated but for some reason all that goes out the window the moment the mod team decides they know how your character should be played (and I'm not talking about blatant realism or accuracy issues like "that's not how PTSD works" but actual decisions/ways of thinking, things that there should, in theory, be no "wrong" option with because once again, people are complicated).

Which brings me to: C) The omnipresent feeling of entitlement by the mod team aka the Powers That Be, as if they believe that theirs is such a supremely privileged, special and elite group, that they merely DEIGN to let you be a part of it. All of it manifesting in a complete lack of basic courtesy when approaching players. Or rather, any player who's been there longer than a month and who they're not actively trying to be Welcoming(TM) to. I should have seen it pretty early when I had a beef with another player who, to wit, disliked that an RP scene we had depicted her character as a "bad guy" (who was previously ESTABLISHED in canon as a psychopathic murderer!!! and the RP scene basically showed him doing more of the same!!!). She ended up badmouthing me to other players she was interacting with closely, and then they as a group complained about me to the mods, in which she twisted a certain conversation we'd had over Skype into something that reflected very badly on me, along the lines of me forcing her to RP a scene she would be triggered by. Now. This was resolved when I provided the mods with copied Skype messages (direct Skype quotes, a format that, in theory, can't be doctored) that showed she was fabricating that conversation - that she had outright told me she WOULD be okay with doing that scene. She eventually got booted for that (and other stuff). And all would have been well if it weren't for the way I had been initially addressed by the mods, and the condescending, denigrating, making you feel like shit TONE of it. Going from zero, utter peace, to "you have an attitude problem and you need to stop now or we'll kick you out". They also tacked on about half a dozen minor "offenses" I had done, like rambling too much about how the reasons I liked a school subject someone else disliked in the ooc chat, or trying TOO hard to get involved in plots, or other bullshit things that the people involved hadn't even complained to them about. I later realised that this, too, was a Pattern. Whenever they went to you with any sort of grievance, whether from their own side or from another player, they would tack on about half a dozen other "transgressions" you had made, sometimes making them up entirely out of thin air. (Other examples include: Me trying to "enforce a headcanon" by having my character react x way. I then pointed out that the "headcanon" I was allegedly """"enforcing"""" was the information stated on THEIR blog about how characters are large are reacting to a previous major town-wide event. (To wit: the information stated that the Event, a violent and deadly clash between two groups of people, exacerbated tensions between them and led to more mistrust between them. My character, who belongs to ONE group, was being mistrustful of the OTHER group. And somehow, this was not okay. Yes. That's it. That is literally how asinine it got. But then again, it's not surprising - as I explain later, it wasn't baout the offenses making sense. It was about getting to make me feel shitty for something) Or: I was being "inconsiderate" by having my character "out" the supernatural status of another character whose player was no longer in the group, and who they were not in contact with. Said player and I HAD in fact discussed this at the time, and they'd WANTED to have it happen, but the mods didn't know one way OR the other. They simply ASSUMED so they could try to pin it on me!) A long line of instances of them taking "offenses" that they didn't know for sure were offenses, that the player DIRECTLY affected HAD NOT come to them about, to paint a bigger picture of you being some kind of Problem Child who was daring to be naughty in THEIR classroom.

Now, I don't know if this was deliberate, but I can see why they did it. It makes you, as the player, feel like crap, puts you on the defensive, makes you question yourself. "Holy crap, were people really bothered by that time I went on a jokingly-serious rant about how awesome botany is when someone said they hated that topic in biology class?" (Hint: No they weren't. They thought NOTHING of it. But the mods saw it and filed it away for when they needed to make you feel like crap.) It puts the mods in a position of power and strengthened their authority. It forces you into a no-win scenario where you either deny the nonsensical accusations, and thus weaken your position and look less credible because it looks like you can't accept responsibility when you're wrong, OR accept the accusations and thereby agree with them that you're the naughty child and bad at following the rules. So it's a shitty, shitty manipulation technique. All of it coming from a place of entitlement and elitism.

I wish I could say I come from all this wiser, but it does feel like entitlement and elitism are the common denominator here. Part of the problem of the first RP was certain people needing to feel like they were superior and hating it when other people got in the way of that. Part of the problem of the second was stuck-up, self-important mods. Ultimately, it comes down to people who enjoy, just a little too much, to feel power and authority over people. To say that "it's THIS way, because I say it is" and have that listened to without question. Who enforce the rules not because it benefits the community, but because it makes them look good. Who view discussion, in and of itself, as disobedience, as an attack on their authority, an attack on them. I can't say I know for sure how to recognise the warning signs of a group like that BEFORE applying. But maybe big RP groups just aren't worth it, period.

[akiwisfics]

In the Middle Chapter 5

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

--

She liked parties.

It was sorta thrilling, watching how everyone around her unwound after a few glasses, let their voices grow a little louder, their emotions a little wilder. She was usually gifted with looser tongues that would slur something valuable-- whether a good tip for a heist or just a juicy story she could mull over or humorously share later. It was that little bit of madness and companionship that both unified and ripped people away from each other.

The party in Shepard's apartment hadn't been so different, though Kasumi had never been accustomed in sharing in the festivities. 'Sharing' being a very loose term for it, if her own observations in how parties were supposed to be were any indication. When she was still a little foolish, still more green than master, she had been more open with her enjoyment, letting herself get thrown in the music and the drinking, and the dark, slippery temptation with it. But mistakes were easily sown in that, so even with a few drinks in her stomach, it was easier to watch from... afar. Sorta afar. Mostly just the cloak.

Now though, her stomach was starting to churn into an ugly build-up of acid and god knows what else, and there was something sour burning the back of her throat, promising a more restless night once a bit too many drinks were passed, and people were a little too dead to the world to be entertaining.

She laid on her stomach against the soft sheets and mattress of Shepard's bed, trying to absorb its warmth so it could embrace her tightly and perhaps then, sleep would come to her. Another roll of her stomach promised little in that endeavor, though perhaps, Shepard wouldn't be pressed to move her either.

In fact, there was a small patter of footsteps, haphazardly followed by a thump against the doorframe. The stench of alcohol and whatever Vega was cooking in the kitchen was thick enough to taste-- bitter, spicy? something else with it, but nothing appetizing. Something else had been mixed in her drink. Dairy? Why now?

She didn't bother to look at the visitor with the new turning of her stomach.

"Kas~, don't tell me you're the first out tonight," Shepard whined, drawn out before she slumped on the mattress beside her, just an inch or so away. She wiggled a moment before setting her chin on her palms and presenting a stern pout to Kasumi. "I know you're better than that."

She shut her eyes tightly and groaned meekly into the sheets.

"Don't give me that!"

"Get a better bartender next time."

"What? Like you? Your drinks were too weak."

Kasumi huffed. "I could've given you ryncol, and you would've complained, Shep."

"Okay, well, maybe." A brief pause then, introspective if Shepard had the capacity for it at the moment. She was a little doubtful of it, but still, her face had drawn into itself, something frustrated and pensive before she sank fully in the mattress with a long, drawn out sigh. "There is one thing you have over Vega."

"The ability to break into a casino without some double-agent bumbling through it?"

"You tell better stories," she gave her a silly smile, even though the hushed voice gave away all the exhaustion that seemed to just come with the act of laying down-- traces of a yawn being pushed back. "You're not afraid to talk yourself down a little bit for the sake of a good time-- or to admit when you lost."

"I think I told you a little too much honestly."

She laughed and turned her head to face her, excitement brimming in her eyes. "Can you tell me one now? Just for old times."

"How long has it been?"

"Mmm. Seven mo-- no eight. Or was it nine?"

"The war seems to stretch forever, huh?"

She waved a finger, tsking with a stern frown. It looked even more ridiculous with the flush on her cheeks. "No, no, we're not talking about that. This is my one night. One. Night. That I don't have to think about that fucking work. So tell me a story."

There were a hundred ones that they shared between each other, some with excitement and thrill, laughter between each other, other days more with grief. A lot of grief. Maybe for tonight, they could go with something in between.

"You wanna know how my eyes got so messed up?"

"They're messed up?" Shepard glanced back with the bright scarlet eyes, the glow something weird and unfamiliar, but still familiar with the way she looked in the mirror sometimes to see the glint of something amber. The laughter was so joyous that followed though, removing some tension that had came with the question. "So. I'm guessing a ship didn't blow up you and you didn't die first?"

"No. Not nearly as dramatic. Sorry about that."

"But interesting?"

She chuckled. "Please, Shepard. I'm one of the best storytellers in this galaxy."

--

The rain had cleared, but the clouds remained grey, misty and dreary. Still, Kasumi felt... well. It wasn't often when she slept so well, felt a peace and quiet settle inside of her from the moment she woke up. Usually there was an odor of ash and metallic, something that triggers just enough to chase sleep away-- or a thought that would possess her, only leaving when it reached its end, usually in the form of an invention or a modification. Always something to do, to work.

But no. A good memory instead-- one of the last she had before Earth. She didn't know what having a family really meant, but the Normandy. The Normandy had been close, still is. Some of them were still out there. As distant as she felt, Shepard wasn't the only person she could trust on board. It would be harder to reach out, but she-- she was in control of that. They had no way to reach her, but she can. It was the nice thing about it all. Control.

She stepped out, lazy and still a little groggy, black hair brushed back. Maybe the drinks between them had facilitated it all, or the ease of the conversation from the night before had been enough to distract her.

The streets felt cool on her bare feet, still a little damp from the night before and the morning dew, but it was really the best feeling. Even as a little girl, more servant than human, the earth against her feet was always a welcome comfort. Back then though, it had been in caverns that held the promise of fortune. Which meant hard, sharp stones and the bits of metals from tools that were left behind in their broken state. She still had little nicks and scars, though far too many and far too faded to count now at 28.

The streets of London weren't so different, though at least, they had made some attempt to clear away the glass and debris around their campsite, making it slightly less hazardous to do so. Slightly. She doubted that if a shard of glass had been stuck at the bottom of her foot, she would feel it until hours later. On her feet too much.

There was a street corner not far from her tent, still with a little sign on it-- though the metal was so charred and nearly off the pole that reading it was impossible. Just barely a hint of green left. It wasn't a bad place to sit down and watch the streets for a little while, just before everyone would meander their way through the morning routine, and sometimes, eventually, to breakfast. It was still always easier to watch rather than actively participate, but her presence was there, maybe felt, and if they wanted her, they likely knew how to find her at this point.

The red salarian was relaxed, seated with his back against the street sign with a cigarette between his lips. His eyelids had drooped, still showed the sleep in his eyes if whatever little she could study with the amphibious glare in it. Now that she got a good look at him, he did look a little familiar. The web of scars across his face was certainly unique and he red tinge of his smooth skin was all too reminiscent of old rivals. He glanced over with her arrival though, and gave the best grin he could with it still in his mouth.

"So the recluse reaches out, huh?"

"I remember you. Sorta."

The salarian laughed before offering the pack of cigarettes to her, something she very quickly declined with the wave of her hand. Kinda needed her lungs. Good for cardio and all that. "We were on different parts of the project, I think. But I saw you. Even helped me out a couple of times."

"Did I?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember meeting the STG at some point."

Sure, openly once or twice. Usually in whatever clothes that had convinced the Alliance to allow her near all of the expensive and valuable stuff. "... You don't seem the type. No offense."

He took another drag before shrugging. "I was a medic."

"Then...," she struggled for a second before waving to the cigarette. "… Is that really a, uh, wise choice?”

“Eh. It's that whole cycle thing. I'll just make it up the next life. Your folks have that too right?”

“Sorry?”

“You know,” he waved in some direction, eyes far off to the distance. “Way over there. Where your name comes from?”

“The Japanese?”

“That's the word! Them.”

Why did she think socializing was a good idea? The heritage was a nice cover if anything else, or a set up for a flirty remark or two, but the culture was far removed from her mind, and by the state of the country, most everyone else's. Get the buildings back up first, and maybe then, she wouldn't have to be the only person worried about the cultural side of it. “I'd have no idea,” she said simply. “I'm not from there.”

“Oh.” He flushed slightly, a first for him. Guilt wasn't something that came across his mind often, she thought. “When you came with us, most of us just sorta assumed-- where are you from then? Here?”

“You like telling stories, Sal?”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Make up a good one for me. We'll see after that.”

He scowled, and to her disappointment, wasn't so easily dissuaded. “No fair. I get that the Consort has her... talents, but--”

“You're gonna stop there.”

“Believe me, we've noticed,” his voice dipped low, mischievous, only sparing her a moment as he put out his cigarette. “You humans always have very tell-tale signs when... the night before was nice.” He grinned and stuck a tongue out. It took far too much self-control for Kasumi not to yank him with it. “How is she? You hear the rumors, but that. Well, I'm sure you know your basic salarian biology.”

“I think you've demonstrated your point well enough.” The voice came from behind her, but Kasumi didn't bother to look back, only tried to hide the satisfaction that came in Sal being caught, and fortunately, the conversation's interruption. Sha'ira weaved between them with grace and a well manner that was near regal in quality-- standing straight, shoulders back, hands folded between her. This was a steely demeanor that wasn't so familiar to her, and that in itself was a welcome treat. “Before anymore rumors start up, perhaps you can explain to the group that my intentions here are and will remain platonic.”

“Uh, Consort...”

“Please.”

He gave a small nod before retreating closer to the circle of tents, rubbing one of his horns in furrowed though. Kasumi sighed, slumping into the spot that was now vacant. “Thank you.”

Sha'ira's smile was thin, expression laden with heavier thoughts than she seemed to be willing to share. “Those rumors are just as damaging for me as they are for you,” she glanced back carefully, possibly to ensure their privacy in the matter before seating herself beside her. “I have had plenty enough with slander to last me, I think.”

She probed. Just a little. “Is that why you want to quit?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, refusing to meet her eye. It stretched out, tension rising the longer it stayed between them. Just as she had given up on an answer though, Sha'ira's jaw clenched. “Tell me. Have you ever thought of stopping?”

“Once.” There wasn't any sense in lying about it. Whatever consequences that would come from the situation had with Khalisah's blackmail. No details, but the skeleton. The skeleton always worked. “I forgot who I was, so I tried looking elsewhere. … That sorta life's not really for me.” It was boring. She was boring. And empty. The mystique and fun that came with being a thief was all she really knew, if it ever came down to it. Even now, she wouldn't even know where to start in trying to be something else and having it stick.

Sha'ira chuckled dryly. “I suppose in your position, it would be difficult even if you wanted to.”

“Honestly, could you do anything else?”

“I don't know.” Kasumi wasn't expecting the honest answer, but the way she seemed to withdraw as it escaped; she knew it couldn't be any less than the truth. “But I would like to give it a try, at least once. … If we become so wrapped up in what we do, I am not so sure we know who we are without it. Something tells me you already knew that though.”

She did. In other ways, some of it taken from her, other parts just cut away because it was inconvenient. However, she didn't know if this was the same sort of thing. Whatever reputation she gained that could be damaging, well that. That was good for her. It kept people from from following when they felt like it. “... Do we really need to be anything more than what we do?”

“If we weren't, you would be dead, Ms. Goto.”

That had been true enough. Their conversation from the night before was still fresh in her mind, and in a way, she ha been sorta honored by the idea of someone trying to get to know her underneath, but that was a rarely touched part of her, something that she had chosen to give little thought to herself. It was better that way for everyone, had been. Maybe this wasn't something she could answer for-- but lying always worked too.

She could see the way she looked at her always so very often. It should've been patronizing, thoughts and opinions that not long before would've been bitterly fought against. Just that idea that someone could look at her with a knowing, yet gentle gaze. Promise was rarely held in someone that thought they knew their answers already, but the moment Sha'ira spoke, she couldn't discern the truth from the lies. Khalisah would call her a snake, but Kasumi couldn't help seeing opportunity in it. She did always like her games.

She was about to come up with a response, something cool and to keep the banter going, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see the priest shambling up to them, a hollowed expression adorning his face. Well, more despaired than usual. Sha'ira had followed her glance, and with a well-hidden sigh, stood to greet him. “I suppose we'll have to postpone this for later, Ms. Maeda.”

“It wasn't a conversation you wanted anyway.”

She looked back with a well-worn smile, one that did nothing to hide the exhaustion that she knew had been buried since they first touched down to London. It seemed so odd to feel for her in that moment, enough so where she almost had to wonder that the brief flash of honesty had been more for Kasumi's benefit than hers. It vanished quickly though, just as soon as the priest was within earshot. “Priest Darshan, I wasn't expecting a visit from you today. I would've waited closer to camp.”

“Ah...” He glanced Kasumi's way before ducking his eyes and giving a quick bow to both of them. A sign of humility from a priest? Those that she met would've never humbled themselves so quickly. There was a story behind him. She could look into it later maybe, if she could stomach speaking to him again longer than five minutes. “I had other plans today myself, but it seems we have a … a problem.”

“Really?”

He gulped. “Katul has yet to return to camp.”

“What? From last night?”

The priest nodded.

That was odd. That was the turian widow, eh, probably. That wasn't really in his nature, not when they worked together. Usually, he was the last one to come home during the day, and at times, she was long already secluded in her tent by the time he would return, listening to his heavy footsteps against the mud and asphalt as he made a pass around the campsite before finally retreating to his own cot in the dark hours of the early morning. He was one of the first to wake up as well, and usually, far out of sight before Kasumi could even become aware of him. … Well. After they finished the communications tower anyway.

“Are you sure you just didn't miss him or something?” Kasumi spoke up, though she wouldn't stand, not yet.

“He usually checks in with Marin when he comes back. He hasn't yet.” The... pilot maybe? Maybe she should've learned a couple of names before this whole mess started. She could see the taut lines of his frown though, and the way he seemed to fumble with his hands. Sha'ira as well seemed perturbed, but their conversation wasn't too optimistic in itself.

“Have the rest of the group been informed?” Sha'ira asked.

“You two and Sal were the last to be told.”

“Split the group up and search around the campsite. We don't need to assume the worst yet, so please, try to make sure that the rest don't panic in the meantime.” She looked back to Kasumi for just a brief second. “I will search with Ms. Maeda. If you get the chance, ask Marin to take the shuttle to search as well.”

“Yes, ma'am.” And off he went, scurrying back to the circle of tents. They let the silence sink in for a moment before it was finally broke with a long low sigh that escaped Sha'ira.

“Sounds like you're boss now.”

She shrugged, shoulders heavy. “I am not sure this is a better role or worse.”

“No one gets better being boss, believe me. When something goes wrong, they're going to be looking at you.” She'd seen it plenty of times with Shepard, perhaps too many times. All of those expected and hopeful looks given to her, the idea of her just fixing everything without any problems or anything. And here they were, sitting among trash and dirt, and their hero was very dead somewhere in the trash and dirt.

Sha'ira laughed before turning on her heel and offering her hand to Kasumi. “Either way, my actions will always be judged. Perhaps it suits me after all.”

“Bitterness rarely suits you, Consort.”

“That rarely suits anyone, Ms. Goto.” Still, something about it eased both of them, she thought-- just that change in the name. Their earlier conversations were far from being finished, but for now, it was easier to simply set aside. Kasumi had never been one to dig too far in personal wounds anyway, because it invited others to do the same to her, and that, that was never fun. “I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Could you meet me by my tent?”

“Just need to make a call.”

“The turian again?”

She paused. “I was wondering if you heard that. He's a... a good man. Promise.”

“I wouldn't worry,” the smile she gave was quiet, soft around the edges. “I covered because I trust you. Though I believe you are intelligent enough to avoid instigating STG again.”

Sometimes she didn't think so. In any case, she was having second thoughts about having those programs run automatically like that, but the STG was always fun to use, whether as a source of information or a challenge. There weren't many places for her to learn still, not when she rested so far at the top. She kept her thoughts quiet though. Sha'ira had been too much of a gifted horse for her to look it in the mouth for the sake of it. Instead, they parted ways.

Her tent wasn't a bad sight, sure, but her mornings were hers. It was one of the few things that remained from her old introverted habits. As cheesy and corny as it was, the way her morning shaped up could change how the rest of the day went. Her mind, emotions, ideas ready for her, and the time she had for herself to simply... be. As alone as she was in most days, she still needed to act a certain way, be a certain person, or death would be calling her faster than she would have to time to change it. That was mostly her, yes, but to have the morning to be and recognize all of her was something to be cherished.

She didn't have that here. It wasn't unlike having 11 other roommates, or hm, dorm-mates perhaps? Even Sha'ira was more of a stranger than the few friends she had made over the years. A cover for a few months, and that thought made it easier. Still though... it would be nice to have a little more space.

She ducked inside the tent, breathing a heavy sigh, and resisted the urge to fall flat on the cot, as tempting as napping the rest of the morning could be. The QEC was easy to find underneath her pillowcase. It just sucked to make the call at all. If there was someone that could reach out farther than they could, solve this little issue a little faster, then she supposed approaching Khalisah wasn't the worst idea to have. Disguise it as a friendly warning and perhaps, she wouldn't try to use it against her. That would be nice.

Khalisah answered faster than she thought. Her demeanor was relaxed, but occupied with a pensive frown. It didn't surprise her to see that she was already primed and dressed like any other time they had met. She stayed professional at least. “Morning,” Kasumi greeted with a sideways smile.

“I didn't think you'd miss me so fast, Ms. Goto. I could spare five minutes to insult you.”

“Are you doing anything other than sitting on your ass all day and looking at that camera?”

“If you had my spot, you wouldn't move either. Spying is always better in style.” That she would have to agree with, but still Kasumi stuffed down her snort. She wasn't about to give Khalisah the satisfaction of it, not yet. “So seeing as there isn't a bullet hole in your head, I can guess the rest of yesterday went fine?”

“Excluding the whole blackmail business? Sure.” She waved it off. Deflection was a manner that was habitual for her. “Not why I'm calling though.”

“I'm sure it's important.”

“One of our group has gone missing.”

“So the idiot got lost.”

“It could be a tad more complicated. If it is, I thought you'd might like the heads up. Just in case they notice a particularly bitchy journalist hanging around.” Humor. Always a good tool to keep people from thinking too much about it. She was smart enough to know that it was more than the warning for her call, but the warning painted the real question a little better. As laughably false it really was.

“The backhanded insults really show you care, you know.”

“I try.”

“And?”

She sighed. “The camera might be a little useful.”

“I'm surprised you don't have something similar already.”

“Confiscated, remember? You recorded the whole damn thing.”

“... I suppose I can keep a look out.” Oh finally. She was a little surprised by how easily Khalisah caved in to the request, but there was a heart in there somewhere, she guessed. It was just going to take a little digging to find. “You think he reached this far?”

“I have no idea, but you know, just in case.”

Khalisah sighed, and massaged a temple before abruptly switching the QEC off. Whether it was to do what she wanted hadn't mattered too much, she guessed, but the gesture had been made. It still... it wasn't like the turian widow. It wasn't like they talked every day, but something kept him chained to their group, and there was the debt they all shared. If something had happened to him... now that would make the trip interesting, but nowhere near what she wanted for it. Murder investigations were more like Omega's deal, and there wasn't much use, killing some worker out in the middle of nowhere like this.

The sky was clearing up too. The sun would greet them later in the day, and perhaps with luck, an easier way to spot those dark plates among the rubble. She hoped for the voice that would return their greetings.

---

“You forgot who you were once?”

She kept an eye on the ring of clouds above them, white and fluffy-- as if the earlier dreariness never existed in the first place. The concrete had a wet, dew smell stuck to it, leaving darkened stains against the brick. She caught Sha'ira stumbling once or twice through their walking, unused to the changes in elevation through their path. If she looked hard enough, she could argue easily that those flats were hardly appropriate for a trip like this, but there was something to admire about her adamant professionalism. It's not like she could say anything though. Traversing difficult ground was just as natural as walking by itself. She would slip through the shadows, no matter how high or low, no matter how comfortable it could or would be.

The sun was harsher than she remembered. Each one felt different depending on the system, but Earth's sun seemed so harsh. Perhaps she was just a little sensitive to it. Working in the mines had always been rough with little water for comfort, but it was so worse when she was working outside. She had passed out once, back when she was... 11 years? 12? It was hard to say. Had some kind of fever too. Someone had prayed for her, poured water. The voice was heavy and gruff like a batarian's, but not green boots. Kasumi wondered who that was.

“Ms. Goto?”

“Once, yeah.”

“Are you worried?”

She wasn't sure if she wanted to answer at first. It was easy to shrug things off if Kasumi thought of better things, like the weather, and the way there were blades of grass growing between blocks. Life was easier to see in the small corners. “A little,” she admitted. “It doesn't seem right.”

“Out of everyone I thought that would do this, he was on the bottom of the list,” she hummed in thought before another misstep. She barely caught herself that time.

“And me at the top?”

“Nora.”

“Uh?”

She chuckled. “The drell. You should make a habit of learning their names, you know. It'll give you less trouble.” The smile she passed over to her was sweet, and made her seem younger than she really was. Maybe both of them in a way. “She has a certain... eeriness to her. I trust your self-control. I'm not sure I trust hers.”

“So she's offered you a bird?”

Sha'ira blanched. “Every morning... where is she getting those?”

She shrugged. “I imagine she was in ops back during the war. They're all a little weird like that.” Those from the Terminus Systems anyway. They all developed little habits that helped them survive their careers, and if not, they were dead long before Kasumi could ever be aware of them. And she always kept an eye for that sort of thing, see who could compete with her, who could become an issue. Not much trouble since Quarn though.

“So do you put yourself in that category?”

“Might as well. I might get less approval, but it's all the same in principal.”

“I imagine it'd be nice to get the government funding though.”

“You find investors.”

“With someone at your rank, I'm surprised you would need one.”

She studied her. “Oh, so you're looking for the person behind this? You're in for a disappointment: I'm single.” Good deflection, one to make things awkward if pursued. Kiera wasn't a fun topic, not something she wanted to talk about on a clear day like this, or to focus on finding their missing member. Thinking about it only brought anger, and questions about why she was really on Earth in the first place.

“Quite a shame.”

“What makes you say that?”

Sha'ira looked away, quickly and quietly. “When you have to hide so much of yourself every day, it can help to have someone you can be honest with.”

“You don't exactly either, you know.”

She laughed quietly. “That's true. But when you forgot who you were, do you think you were more honest or less?”

“Dunno.” There was less pressure there to seem bigger than who she was, but in a way, it was just another role that she had to play with. An escaped slave, or someone that seemed a tad more normal, put together than she really was. The pavement crunched under the sole of her shoes as the path sloped upward, a reaper-made hill in the middle of the small neighborhood street. The buildings were more intact than she thought they would be around here, only hollowed out by the wear and tear of war. She hadn't gone past the crest of the hill yet, but she had focused on repairing the communications tower for most of the week. It would be nice to explore a little, but another day, when there wasn't much else to think about. “I did bartend for a while,” she admitted after a moment.

“I bet you'd be a great one.”

“I hated it honestly.” Well, only a little. “I don't think I could ever do what you're doing. Just listening to customers there drove me nuts.” Now small parties? That was different. When she was with Shepard, that was easy, because if anything else, Shepard was easy. Give her a few ryncols, and she was just happy as a clam. Just needed to tell a few stories in between was all.

“Oh, I think you could do better than you know.” She raised a brow with a small, almost cheeky smile. “Silence can speak better than any word. Just need the right mood.”

“I usually stumble on those. If I'm not trying to get what I want anyway.”

“You have far less chances than I do, I suppose.”

There wasn't much point behind it. It was easier to observe and let people talk for her, but... she got it in a way. Someone was going to react differently in a high-class party than they would be meeting in a back-end alley within the depths of Omega. She looked for people in different places for different sorts of information. But to involve herself personally in the conversation meant giving information that she wasn't willing to let go. Lying helped with that certainly, but she never found a verbal game as helpful as just sitting and waiting. Someone else almost always saved her the trouble.

Now this was... Verbal sparring was a bit too serious of a phrase, as if she was looking to win a game-- though she sorta was with Khalisah, but Sha'ira had been different. Not quite socializing, but something close to it. The idea of a friendship wasn't undesirable, but there was a slow-moving waltz between them between the little gives and deflections. She just wasn't sure who was leading. Though sometimes, and only sometimes, it wasn't so bad just swaying along with the rhythm.

Over the hill wasn't so different from the blocks that they had wandered through before, except Kasumi could at least note that it seemed more put together than the other streets. A reaper corpse blocked the street from across, nearly completely demolishing the buildings that served as its bed. While the left building was impossible to slip inside, the right... there was something oddly colorful about it, over by an outstretched claw.

“What is that?”

Sha'ira squinted for a moment. “I admit, I haven't been this far out myself. … Who knows? Maybe he'll be over there.”

She laughed. “I don't think we need an excuse for it, sweet as it is.” Anything colorful that stood out in a city like this was well worth checking out. And truly there was a marvelous series of colors against the walls, reds, blues, oranges, yellows. She wasn't so idealistic as to think that some street art survived this whole mess, but still maybe something intimate-- something to remind her that life was there. In that sense, Kasumi couldn't help how her pace quickened to the sight, to so quickly want to see something that was familiar to her, more akin to her nature.

What awaited them was so much more intimate than she expected. The lines of colors were names, dates that followed one another. The first, at the top of the wall was from an Alliance soldier, sergeant, dated two weeks after the reapers touched down London, and then it followed afterward of different names, different races of not just humans, but every sort in the galaxy. She traced a delicate finger against the lettering as it went down the wall, mouthing each new name that she copied. A sign of life here-- just as she had been hoping for, but not just life, but their survival through the impossible. Was it a checkpoint for others? Just a small thought left behind to let people know they weren't alone? The latter seemed likely as the names continued past the actual war.

A name stopped her, about midway through. Nobuo Kurosawa. It didn't seem likely, but there it was, sometime back in February. Ah, for another day perhaps. She felt the eyes watching her, and could imagine the easy, slow content look that would spread on Sha'ira's face.

“Find something you like?”

She stood, brushing off her pants. She could still smell the chalk, and just that small simple reminder could almost make her forget what surrounded it, and what she was actually doing out there. “If only I could take it with me, but no... it should stay here.”

“So the rumors didn't exaggerate your sentimentality with art.” She stepped up beside her, arms behind her back with a pleased look in her eyes. “I'm a little relieved to know this.”

If she had the dignity, she probably would've blushed. Probably. Instead, she grinned. “Do you mind taking a picture with it? Ah... Souvenir.”

She laughed before standing by the edge of the graffiti wall. “You don't need to make excuses, Ms. Goto. I'm honored.” Almost immediately she straightened into the image of professionalism with her hands folded in front of her and a thin stoic smile replaced the earlier teasing. She took a few steps back, making sure that all of the names were in frame but still legible, while Sha'ira was still visible in it too. She was dressed plainly for today, but that in itself was fitting for the image. She couldn't ask for it any other way, though even as the photo was finished, it was easy to say that there was just a way that Sha'ira carried herself that made it apparent that she was... different. Perhaps she stood a little straighter, or the way she looked in the camera. When it came down to it, there were parts of themselves they could never fully hush away.

Her hips swayed just slightly as she walked over, the smile returned in full force. “I suppose it would be too much to return the favor later?”

“Maybe not. You'll have to charm me a little first~”

She laughed breathlessly, eyes wide. “That's quite the challenge, but... I think I could manage it. I know it'll be worth it.”

“All this over a photo? I'm impressed.”

“And how many of those exists, hm?”

“Blackmail seems unlike you.” Static filled her ear, and Kasumi quickly held a finger up to her before pressing against the earpiece. She could make a few good guesses on who it was. “Tell me it's good news.”

“I don't know about good.” Khalisah. Immediately, she glanced up to see if she could spot the camera. “But I found someone.”

“Turian?”

“Yeah. She's not moving any.”

Her brow furrowed briefly. “She?”

“Oh, well. Have another surprise, I guess. Look up?”

She spotted it, maybe about five or so blocks away. It hovered there aimlessly circling one particular area behind the crushed building. “How the hell did they get over there?”

“I'm sure you can figure it out, but if you don't mind--” There was a brief pause, then a shudder, one that she could tell the journalist was doing her best to hide. Oh, so there was a weakness in there, somewhere. “... This... This is not really my thing.” If she wasn't moving, Kasumi could guess easily what she was referring to. It wasn't good news, and it wasn't their guy, but she wasn't bad enough to just leave someone lying there. Who knows. Maybe one of their group members got trapped hunting for the other missing guy. It wasn't impossible, though she hoped the crushed building in front of them wasn't a precursor to more that surrounded the place. There were a few old skyscrapers that she thought would be impossible to rebuild in this mess.

She turned off the mic and looked back to Sha'ira, who had waited patiently during the exchange, the earlier light mood gone. She looked heavy, unmasked and showing troubles that likely awaited both of them for whatever was in store. “A friend of yours?”

“Something like that.”

“They found something then?”

With a sigh, Kasumi began to lead both of them. Too much like business, and she had been hoping to get away from that for a while. This on its own made it difficult to leave the graffiti wall, as if saying farewell to a good, old friend. At least she could hold onto the reminder that the small signs like those were what made the trip so worth it. She couldn't blame gems being left behind, but the personal touches and stories-- those were the ones that needed to be kept and cherished. Not stupidity. Not being lost in a goddamn city and having the entire group go looking for you.

They rounded the corner of the crushed building, shimmying between a decrepit alley and the head of the reaper. As cold as the metal about it had been, just being near those things stung, and reminded her of old voices and recordings, and how even a dead god could still change the mind so gradually, so unassumingly that no one would notice until it was far too late to do anything about it. She hated those things, and perhaps she would for the rest of her life.

Once they reached the tip of the reaper, the buildings hollowed out, only leaving shambles of concrete for them to stumble over. It reminded her more of junkyard piles she'd see on old Earth vids sometimes with the way it seemed so haphazardly put together, but buried in the slabs, there might be a treasure in there. Certainly damaged by the disuse, but she wasn't unfamiliar with restoration-- a skill she had picked up through the early years of her career. Art wasn't always with responsible owners, and more often than it should, she spent time grieving for a masterpiece that was beyond saving. That was the true need for investors. Where her arm ended, another could reach out and take up where she left off.

“You seem tense.” Sha'ira's voice was distant, but after a good mental shake, she steeled herself.

“Just wondering why they came over here.”

“... It would be a dangerous place for someone accident-prone. Perhaps that was their train of thought.”

No. She still didn't like it. This was a trap waiting to happen, but no one had seemed like the type from their group. Kasumi wasn't stupid, and neither was Sha'ira. If she hadn't done some kind of background check before joining this thing, the consort sure as hell would've. A lot of them were weird, a little creepy, but not the randomly mass kill-y sort of way. So that left someone stupid to get themselves hurt and the salarian seemed like the only one dumb enough for that.

The silence was suffocating, but that could've been more smoke somewhere, making London a permanent home for its stench. She hated fire. It was a niggling stupid thing to latch onto, but god it drove her nuts to see how other people-- the vorcha mercenaries in particular!-- seem to think it was the best solution to their problems. Fire was stubborn, nigh uncontrollable, and engulfed anything and everything. Not suitable for a delicate job like being a thief-- explosives included. Sure, there was a personal bitterness involved in it, but just, ugh.

Eventually they made it past the large clearing to a small row of more rectangular buildings (housing projects maybe, old ones; far too outdated), and she noted, just barely, a red light stretching from one end of the alleyway to the other. She slowed to a stop, scowl forming on her face. Sha'ira hadn't. She couldn't blame her. It was very close to the ground, designed as some sort of trip wire.

It was done without thinking. Just a step too close in those fine heels, and she heard the clicking of a proximity mine. She didn't say anything, just lunged forward and yanked Sha'ira's dress sleeve. She saw just enough of Sha'ira being thrown against the concrete behind her before the beeping stopped, and her vision had been filled with dirt. It was enough to blow her back hard against another discarded slab. There was a sharp pain, not unfamiliar in the back of her head and chest with all she could smell and taste was just dirt and metal and smoke. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the calling, heels digging into the upturned soil.

Sha'ira cradled her face, but the crying of her name was too far away to reach her.

–

“So was it from some Robin Hood deed?”

She wasn't a hero. “Hardly.”

“Oh. I like those stories.” Shepard studied the ceiling above her, one that likely seemed a little unfamiliar to her too. “It reminds me that you hate titles sometimes too.”

“You like it when I seem bigger than I am.”

“So what happened?”

Chotha happened. He was an icy color with this strong, calculating look in his eyes. It was one of the first times she ever acted like someone she wasn't to get what she wanted. Be the friendliest bunch and the contacts and intel would naturally follow, or so she was told. It wasn't wrong, true, in that by the time she was caught, his organization had been more hers than his, but that too, like now, had been a collection of mistakes catching up to her. Show a little mercy and it always bit her in the ass somehow.

At least it had been easy to see it coming. As soon as she answered the dinner invitation and walked in, saw that turian sitting all chummy with him at the table, she knew she had been caught. It had been one of her favorite restaurants in Illium too, a swanky ritzy place that never asked too many questions and kept their head down. It maintained a very nice power structure that too often Kasumi wasn't on the top. Decadent with an emphasis on white décor and flora that was reminiscent of her few trips to Thessia, it had been cold comfort during the year she spent under Chotha's heel.

Out of the things she regretted inadvertently destroying, that was probably on the top, next to the prizes she had been forced to let go to survive. As soon as she sat down, the guns and the commandos came down. No one wanted to be alone in that sort of situation, not with all the guns pointing at them and just them.

Blowing the gas tank wasn't a bad idea, not when she had about five shots in her side already, and goddamnit if she was going to die so was it going to be that cloaca bastard. It was not accounting about the five other tanks that had been near it. And then, it wasn't so different-- that ringing in her ears and the sound of someone screaming, but there too came the intensity and the heat of the worst sun she could imagine. How it took so long to realize the screaming wasn't just them, but her too, and how even as the fire died down, everything was far too bright to see.

And of course, Chotha was still alive. Barely, but she had been told that he had managed to drag himself to safe company after the explosion hit both of them. And her eyes looked a little different now. And how that was how Kiera and Keiji met.

She followed Shepard's gaze to one specific spot in the ceiling, the drunken, dizzy smile waning to a taut grimace. “... I was stupid.”

[marine4318]

Anime, Gentle Novel, or Manga? Which Do You Choose

This particular novel is one of the best-sellers in the sci-fi and fantasy category and the reviews from other readers are good. Not that I usually care what others think, but this time Used to do take note of the reviews and the fact it'd received 4,8 out of five stars. 小說 推薦

The setting is later on, our planet has shifted on its axis and wiped out most of the people, some that survived find they have developed powers that they must hide. Witch hunters are on a mission to destroy them in the name of God. This is a tale of a black and eerie future where beasts, witches and demons roam our planet, blood sacrifices are created to obtain familiarity with enemies or to gain strength in battle. Myths, legends and religious beliefs are interwoven in this apocalyptic future.

"David H. Burton is just a dark new talent in the genre. This one will make you leave the lights on for per week!" - USA Today Bestseller, Cathy Clamp.

Okay I didn't leave the lights on and I slept just great after looking over this online novel. Maybe my mind was colored by the truly amazing reviews from others, maybe I was expecting too much.

I was getting distracted, my mind wandered and thoughts of other things and places entered my brain, some words triggered pictures and scenes not strongly related this story. Confederation, dark cloaked man, Star Wars and huge breathing "Vader" enters the stage. Haven, Sanctuary, what does Amanda Tapping have regarding anything? How original, a wolf called Fang.

It just couldn't hold my attention, I really do really love a good fantasy story, but it felt as if the writer was trying too hard. The ideas where good, there have been just too many of them in my opinion, and the POV's (point of views), I do realize that it's impossible to inform an account with this nature without having several POV's, with many characters, the reader needs to learn what's going on in the minds of all of them; however, I felt there have been way too many breaks, jumping from POV to POV it didn't flow naturally.

Occasionally I'd stumble over a word that felt out of place, something which just didn't feel right. I understand you almost certainly think I'm being too critical, all novels have flaws. Yes they do, the truth is, if you're wrapped up in a good story your mind won't notice, it doesn't care, it doesn't stop to ponder, it keeps moving forward.

They are usual questions which come about sooner or later in just about any conversation about an anime show. It's almost just like whenever a movie comes out based off a book, a usual question is, "Did you browse the book?"

To be honest, this sort of bothers me. Why? Well, there are a large amount of light novel / manga readers available that don't care when someone did the exact same, but at the same time you can find many that nearly take offense. Such people usually respond any question or comment you make about a present with, "Well if your browse the manga... "

It's quite annoying. Personally, i believe that there is one huge difference between a video adaptation of a guide, and an anime adaptation of a light novel or manga. What is that? Volume. Movies take a long while to produce. Anime do as well, nevertheless they come air new shows four times per year (anime seasons). So, how will you compare a video, that is released once after quite a while, to anime that is released four times per year?

That's just food for thought. The actual question, that this article is about, is what should you select? Should you begin picking right up light novels? Or even you ought to pick up some manga? You know what, you should probably just watch the anime.

Let's go over some pros and cons of each of these.

Anime is generally my go to whenever I hear of a fascinating story. Why? It's easy. You are able to literally sit at your desk, lie during intercourse, and watch the sweetness of animation and pay attention to the dialogue. You are able to watch an account unfold before your very eyes, and never having to navigate through the language of a gentle novel or piecing together pictures of a manga.

The downside, usually, is insufficient depth. There is only so much an anime can squeeze into the summer season, as well as only so much they could show via the senses. It is possible to overlook some background stuff got cut, or not fully understand a situation simply because you are unaware what state the smoothness is in.

That said, it's still our go to.

If I just like the anime, I usually go looking to the light novel. Needless to say, I've to wait for a translation. A light novel is fairly an investment, as any book is, so I consider it as me liking the story enough to back it. I don't read translations online, I usually buy the book. One, because I enjoy obtaining the physical copy, and two, to guide the author.

The light novel, as with generally any book, usually goes into a lot increased detail compared to the anime adaptation. You get an even more in-depth look at scenes. You can see what's going on in the background. Mcdougal can tell you what a character is feeling rather than you trying to decipher it yourself. Additionally you reach exercise your imagination, creating the different scenes in your mind. Needless to say, illustrations allow you to with this specific as well.

What's the downside of any book? It's time intensive! This is the reason that is always my second option, to the anime. I wish to realize that I such as the story before I go into more detail. Another downside could function as the writing style. I could love an account to death, however if the writer's style is too odd for me personally, I am aware I won't enjoy it.

Then we have manga. I'll be honest, I rarely buy manga, so my thoughts are most likely a bit bias. However, manga are often quicker to learn when compared to a light novel, since you are coping with images. Rather than trying to create scenes in your head that will not accurately depict the story what sort of author intended, a manga puts the scene in front of you. You are able to literally watch it progress.

Similar to light novels, manga are far more in-depth than the anime adaptation. The downside to a manga, at the very least for me, is that you've to go to left. I understand that's a silly accusation, but it drives me nuts. The images could possibly be welcome, but, like myself, I enjoy creating scenes within my mind with my own, personal imagination, so a manga restricts that with a degree.

So what's the best? Depends on your taste, of course. Light novel and manga readers are more often than not going to appear down upon people that don't invest the full time they do into particular stories. That's just just how it is.

My thoughts are, if you find a story interesting, select the anime. Or, if you are someone that loves a good story, grab the light novel. From there, you are able to go to at least one or another, and/or select the manga. Typically I see manga as something that's visually appealing once I know the characters.

So, there you have it. My ideas on this whole anime vs light novel vs manga situation. Obviously, everyone is going to have a different opinion, and you're welcome to disagree.

[hinanaha]

1-170 :)

lmfao james i swear to god

1: How tall or short do you wish you were? i wish i was 160cm cause i wanna be short and also then my weight would be healthy lmao2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not) we all know i want a norwegian forest cat, and also a lizard would be cute3: Do you have a favorite clothing style? long flowing dress or skirts w blouses4: What was your favorite video game growing up? pokemon5: What three things/people do you think of most each day: my cats, what i will eat and how much a wanna be picked up and spun around one day6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say? it wouldnt say anything it`d just have the crying laughing emoji like deepfried on red tape7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]? u didnt say anything for this so ill state my opinion on meat which is yuck8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] none rlly fit me tbh9: Are you ticklish? yea….. 10: Are you allergic to anything? nope11: What’s your sexuality? lesbian (femme lesbian specifically)12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa? coffee, tho i like all13: Are you a cat or dog person? CAT, im very picky abt dogs14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson? elf15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber? idk like i dont rlly watch youtube for anyone inparticular i just watch whatever16: How tall are you? 170cm17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? opal, just cause its my middle name and opals are my favourite gemstone18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] about 50kg (ik im underweight if anyone is concerned btw im fine its a sideaffect of one of my medications)19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits? yes20: Do you like space or the ocean more? i love sharks and jellyfish so the ocean, however i am fucking scared of octopuses21: Are you religious? nope, never have been22: Pet peeves? men.23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? why does diurnal sound like urinal, but i like the day so that24: Favorite constellation? the pot thing cause its easy to spot25: Favorite star? the biggest one there is26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls? i dont rlly see much of a use for them27: Any phobias or fears? arachnophobia, and aslo the dark 28: Do you think global warming is real? um yes definitely, because im not stupid29: Do you believe in reincarnation? i mean there aint even close to enough science backing or not backing it so i couldnt say, im neutral 30: Favorite movie? idk31: Do you get scared easily? id say more anxious then scared, like im a very jumpy and shaky person32: How many pets have you owned in your lifetime? idk like 20+ (chickens count)33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.] yes34: What is a color that calms you? peachy colours and whites35: Where would you like to travel and/or live? i would love to hike somewhere someday tbh i think itd be rlly magical, and i love nature so much36: Where were you born? Melbourne37: What is your eye color? blue grey38: Introvert or extrovert? introvert39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? to an extent40: Hugs or kisses? both at the same time41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now? honestly kinda wanna see my nan rn for some reason42: Who is someone you love deeply? definitely my mum, she is the most important person to me43: Any piercings you want? i want a nose piercing, maybe a small decorative ring44: Do you like tattoos and piercings? yess i love them, i rlly want a tattoo someday45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so? no i dont want to46: Talk about your crush, if you have one! i don`t have one47: What is a sound you really hate? i cannot stand the sound of animals licking themselves48: A sound you really love? wind chimes49: Can you do a backflip? i could if i wanted to50: Can you do the splits? no51: Favorite actor and/or actress? ashley johnston52: Favorite movie? this was already asked lmao53: How are you feeling right now? pretty chill but also kinda sad for no actual reason54: What color would you like your hair to be right now? im feelin a burgundy colour tbh55: When did you feel happiest? nothing specific rlly56: Something that calms you down? music57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!] i have ADD also p bad anxiety58: What does your URL mean? mango boba yum59: What three words describe you the most? anti-social goblin witch 60: Do you believe in evolution? i do biology so yes61: What makes you unfollow a blog? they post stuff i dont care abt or triggering content62: What makes you follow a blog? pretty picture63: Favorite kind of person: someone who makes me feel special/loved64: Favorite animal(s): cats, bees, lizards, crows65: Name three of your favorite blogs. idfk tbh66: Favorite emoticon: im not on mobile but the sparkling heart one67: Favorite meme: i dont have a favourite68: What is your MBTI personality type? Infp/intp69: What is your star sign? taurus70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog? no they cannot71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? pyjamas72: Post a selfie or two? icbb73: Do you have platform shoes? yes74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself? i have a double jointed shoulder on one arm75: Can you do a front flip? yes76: Do you like birds? yes chirp 77: Do you like to swim? no lol it sucks i cant breath well when i swim and it freaks me out78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? ice skating, i love it, would take up lessons if they were available79: Something you wish didn’t exist: flies80: Some thing you wish did exist: giant domestic cats81: Piercings you have? just simple ear piercings82: Something you really enjoy doing: doing creative things w friends83: Favorite person to talk to: u already know its the council 84: What was your first impression of Tumblr? funny mem85: How many followers do you have? 168 (i had 470 on my old blog)86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes? ye but not always87: Do your socks always match? yes88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely? yeah89: What are your birthstones? idk90: If you were an animal, which one would you be? surprising but id be a fox not a cat91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be? lavenders baby92: A store you hate? bendigo iga, its shit93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day? 1 otherwise my hands shake94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds? neither tbh95: Do you like to wear camo? ii guess if it looks good96: Winter or summer? summer97: How long can you hold your breath for? a pretty long time actually, once held my breath for 3 minutes underwater98: Least favorite person? my dad99: Someone you look up to: no one100: A store you love? i dont like kpop anymore, but the owners of happytown were always so nice to me so i rlly like that store because of that101: Favorite type of shoes converse102: Where do you live? austrlia103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why? im vegetarian, but i eat mostly vegan food, i rlly like animals and dont like the idea of eating them, also eating too many animal products can be unhealthy 104: What is your favorite mineral or gem? opal105: Do you drink milk? ye but not on its own106: Do you like bugs? yes, silly creetures107: Do you like spiders? im scared of them108: Something you get paranoid about? i dont rlly get paranoid much, but i sometimes get rlly paranoid something be watching me109: Can you draw: ye, reblog my art pls @yumeuwu110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked? i cant remember lmao111: A question you hate being asked? i cant think of anything112: Ever been bitten by a spider? nope113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach? yeah its pretty nice114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days? both i guess,  tho respectfully to their matching seasons115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now: id cuddle my future gf rn :`)116: Favorite cloud type: .. w… poofy cloud117: What color do you wish the sky was? yellow would be pretty, but not piss yellow cause that`d be weird118: Do you have freckles? yea faint ones119: Favorite thing about a person: their lips, lips pretty120: Fruits or vegetables? veggies121: Something you want to do right now: sit on a warm hill in silence122: Is the ocean or sky prettier? sky123: Sweet or sour foods? im more of a savoury person124: Bright or dim lights? dim, sexy125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature? i mean it aint impossible126: Something you hate about Tumblr: pointless discourse127: Something you love about Tumblr: nice people128: What do you think about the least? idfk129: What would you want written on your tombstone? oh my fuckin god she fuckin dead130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now? no one, but im always ready to punch something131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself? im very very selfless, which is nice but also makes me rlly sad sometimes132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures? nah133: Computer or TV? computer134: Do you like roller coasters? hell yeah, they fun135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness? i get motion sickness136: Are your ears lobed or attached? lobed137: Do you believe in karma? i guess138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? probably a 7, like im p cute139: What nicknames do you have/have had? uhhh anepeace (die mr flanagan that nickname is so ugly)140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? no, not that desperate yet (no offence to those who do have them im sure ur lovely)141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? yeah i see a psychologist monthly and also psychiatrist 142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others? id like to say good143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help? recieving144: What makes you angry? assholes145: How many languages do you speak fluently? 1146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries? girls ;3147: Are you androgynous? nah148: Favorite physical thing about yourself: i have nice shoulders149: Favorite thing about your personality: i try to be considerate of others 150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person. idk151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose? honestly fine w this one152: Do you like BuzzFeed? some things153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.] dont have one :((154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons? nah155: Do you like to play with others’ hair? yea, prefer people playing w my hair tho156: What embarrasses you? anything that puts me at the centre of attention among strangers157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious: loud noises158: Biggest lie you have ever told: i dont rlly tell lies so notin159: How many people are you following? i cbb to check160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)? 7000+161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)? 1162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)? idfk163: Last time you cried and why: i cried cause i saw a floofy cat164: Do you have long or short hair? short hair165: Longest your hair has ever been: hip length166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon? most religious views ive heard make no sense when compared to science so i dont rlly believe it167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created? nah168: Do you like to wear makeup? sometimes169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds? no im weak170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully? ye