#i like how my favourite companions would fucking hate each other to death

[itzbib1]

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala

[thenugking]

🌤️🌪️🪐 please!

🌤️How do you interpret the game mechanics in your fic?

I try to avoid going into a lot of detail about game mechanics, because they can make things really clunky and unnatural. I can’t use the phrase “spell slots”, it sounds far too gamified to me, so I stick with a more general “using magic takes energy”. From First Rest we have:

Wyll’s able to convince Shadowheart to use the last of tonight’s spellpower on summoning up a bucket of clean water,

Because I’m not going to fucking say “Wyll gets Shadowheart to use her last available Level One Spell Slot on casting Create Water, and then she needs to have a Long Rest to get some more back.”

Some things that are clearly just there for game balance I ignore. Like, sure, it’s useful in game to be able to pay Withers 200 gold to bring back your party members whenever they drop dead, but in fic, it really cheapens the emotional weight of death to have Withers be doing that all the time. That said, as much as I hate when fics feel beholden to the “only four party members” rule, I do kind of want Gortash telling Lee that nope, sorry, Orin can’t come on this mission, we already have four people, it’s just not possible to bring any more because of Reasons, sorry, I’d love to bring your freak of a sister along but everyone knows adventurers can’t hang out in groups of five.

(Lee: Well that’s all right, Orin’s basically just an extension of me so she’s a Summon actually--)

🌪️Is there a nugget of game lore that fascinates you, but you haven’t written about yet?

Hmm. If something fascinates me enough, I usually have to write something, just to get it out of my head. Although I would at some point like to write pre-game fic about Astarion’s siblings. Astarion too ofc, but there’s six other people here being horrifically abused and developing their own relationships and issues with each other and having their own terrible trauma responses. I want to dig into that and make things horrible for everyone.

🪐Who’s your favourite non-companion character, and why?

Orin Orin Orin my beloved baby girl who has done nothing wrong in her life, except for all the horrifying atrocities.

I will hold up my hands and admit that the reason I started liking her was aghsj Hot Evil Lady. But then I started really getting into exploring Durge, and Lee specifically, and goddd this girl is tragic. She’s my poor little meow meow who’s been groomed and abused by every family member she has, and honestly what fucking chance did she ever have to be a good person, or even a normal person? She’s tragic, and sympathetic, but has also, yknow, hurt so many people, and done shit that’s way too fucking evil to just be excused with, “well she’s an abuse victim.” Which ofc is a big theme of BG3 generally, but the game never fucking explored that fully with Orin, so now I get to do that. 

I’m loving writing her in No Highly Esteemed Deed, having her be very clearly Lee’s victim and, I hope, entirely sympathetic for her eventual decision to stab them right in the brain, but, well. She’s still clearly utterly fucked, she was obviously intending to rape Lee before they raped her, and it’s not exactly a spoiler to say that getting rid of her abuser isn’t going to suddenly fix her. Like, I’m currently writing Ketheric seeing an Innocent Victim and looking out for her, and you might notice that this is very much not the dynamic we see with them at the end of Act 2!! I love writing Orin destroying any positive relationship she has because she doesn’t know how to have a healthy friendship and is too disdainful and afraid of the whole idea to try.

I love putting her in Situations and have her fucking maim her way out of them and then voluntarily go back in them because she maimed everything outside her Situation too and now there’s nothing else left <3

[doccywhomst]

Martha Jones is my favourite companion. She deserved better from Ten. Which other Doctor(s) do you think would have been great for Martha to travel with?

oh my GOD, okay, it's happening- everybody stay calm, everybody stay CALM, stay FUCKING CALM

first doctor: initially, he's all hee hee hoo hoo wacky space granddad, but then he's always telling her to stay in the tardis and stand here and go there and wait and- she doesn't listen to a word of it. they don't mesh

second doctor: he radiates lethal amounts of crackhead energy and she isn't quite sure how to navigate that. might have to pair her with a slightly more down-to-earth doctor

third doctor: yeaaaah baby, now we're cooking with nitro-9. he's always saying stuff like "i'm a doctor of everything, miss jones" and "i have thousands of years of experience, miss jones" and then he immediately gets his shit wrecked and martha launches in to rescue him like

fourth doctor: she's had to tell him off once or twice for sheltering her, but he got the message pretty quick and now they're constantly running head-first into danger. in fact, out of the pair of them, martha is the sane one. four is at the controls and she's like

fifth doctor: martha has family problems. that's established. i think she'd love to travel with five's posse of queer youth, if for no other reason than to get a lot of hugs and cool outfits. i want this now

sixth doctor: if he acts the fuck up, he gets smacked the fuck up, and he learned that almost immediately. now they have an unsurpassed mutual respect for one another. no strained relationship, no thin ice. just vibes. martha does have a love-hate relationship with the coat, though

seventh doctor: when they click, they click, but when they clash, they clash hard. they're both too stubborn for each other and it can create a Difficult Working Environment. i love seven but i'm not sure they'd play nice

eighth doctor: oh. oh ho ho. oh my god. can you even begin to imagine? his stories are so insane and terrifying, and his character is such a liminally-dwelling cryptid - i think she'd sense him in her vicinity like how birds sense tsunamis. at first, she's like "haha, this pretty guy is so silly, he's making me pancakes!" and then he does Something and she's like

ninth doctor: sad bitches UNITE. this is lonely hearts solidarity. they sass each other to death out of spite for the world and then share a snuggie, pull out their VHS copy of The Notebook, and drink a pina colada with two straws

tenth doctor: we know how that went down….

eleventh doctor: like with the second doctor, i think he's slightly too rabid and alien for martha to deal with. he's always bouncing off the walls and spinning in circles and diverging neurologically and she just needs someone consistent to throw her tether around. we need a shoulder to cry on, STAT

twelfth doctor: unrivaled. unmatched. undefeated. they meet and she's like "you're the most fucked up old man i've ever met (affectionate)" and he's like "you're the most practical and level-headed person in my life (derogatory)" and they hit it off splendidly

thirteenth doctor: similar to eight. martha can feel the extremely disturbing and eldritch miasma that thirteen emanates and is immediately put off by it. nothing against thirteen, but martha gets within twenty feet of her and this warning message pops up in her brain

in conclusion, i love martha very much and she's a bamf

[catxsnow]

AFTER HOURS chapter eight

Summary: Enemies to the public, friends to their close ones, friends with benefits between them. Rival companies and an attraction that can’t be ignored.

Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: swearing, mature content, smut, 18+ only, mention death of parents, car crash mentions.

A/N: a little earlier than my usual posting time but I didn’t get the chance to post last night so! 

Word count: 3.5k

"What?"

Fuck.

Fuck, she hadn't meant to say that out loud. (Y/N) didn't know what came over her to blurt the words out. Hell, she didn't even know if she meant them. It was only two weeks ago that she realized that maybe there was more to their relationship than fucking. Then again, her feelings were probably there for a long time and she just couldn't accept them.

It was easier to push people away than it was to be hurt by them. Pushing Tim away was so easy for so long. It was easy to say that any feeling she had for him was simply just lust. They're long chats were always supposed to be 'just business' but the more she thought make, the more she realized they weren't.

They were about family, hardships, dreams, aspirations. Their chats were filled with so much knowledge of one another that she forgot that everything she knew about him wasn't just common to everyone. Tim opened up to her more than he did to anyone else - including Bruce, or Kon, or even Steph.

"Fuck," She muttered. (Y/N) pulled herself off of Tim, ignoring the sticky layer that covered them both from just having sex. She pulled a shirt of hers over her head and aimlessly searched the floor for some pants. Tim was still in shock by what she had just said to him. She loved him?

The same kind of love that he had in his heart every time he thought of her? The same love that kept him up at night wondering, hoping, that one day it would be reciprocated? 

He finally snapped out of his daze and stopped her frantic movements. Tim gripped her biceps, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glossy as she tried to hold herself together from this utterly embarrassing moment. How could she say something like that too him at a time like this?

Tim's jaw was tight as he thought. She couldn't guess what was going on inside that head of his. Judging her. Trying to figure out a way to let her down easy. Ways to escape and never see her again. Maybe he was wondering how she was stupid enough to fall in love with her fuck buddy.

Fear of losing him - not the same kind of fear that she felt only an hour ago. This loss would hurt far worse. Knowing that he was within arms reach and never being able to grasp him again. Fuck, that hurt more than any other loss she could bare with him. 

She was shocked when he harshly crashed his lips against hers. He was so rushed that their teeth and noses clanked together - something that never happened with them. They were always so perfectly in sync, knowing the movement of the other person before they even did it.

Tim pulled away as she never reciprocated the kiss. Truth was, she was far too surprised to even move. She expected harsh words and abandonment. Even after all his promises, she still found it hard to believe that he would keep them true. Not because she didn't trust him, but because she knew herself, and that people tended not to stick around.

He slid his hands up her arms until they cupped the base of her neck, thumbs against her jawline. For the second time that day, he wiped the tears that spilled down her cheeks. While before she was scared that he had left her, now she was petrified he would leave her for good.

"I love you, (Y/N) (L/N)," Tim confessed. His voice was barely above a whisper but it was clear as ever. Her bottom lip trembled at the sudden change of emotions whirling. She went from frightened to complete adoration. Tim loved her. She felt her heart swell with every feeling she had been bottling up.

She broke out into the biggest, happiest smile he had ever seen her give. Tim Drake wasn't the man that she thought she needed in her life, but he was the one that she was sure as hell lucky enough to have. He built her up without giving her false hope and was there for her when she couldn't achieve something herself.

Tim tilted her chin up. He brushed his lips against hers, testing to see if this was what she truly wanted. This wasn't a game or a joke, this was his heart on the line. As much as he trusted her, the sinking feeling of weariness and doubt always struck in the back of his mind. He couldn't get his heartbroken again, not by her.

She found herself reaching towards him as he pulled back. She didn't crave his lips, she need them. His kiss was soft at first, until the intensity of all their feelings finally exploded. She held onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing in the whirlwind they were caught in.

"I love you, Tim," She never wanted this kiss to end. Being in his arms, filled with the love she never thought she'd feel again, it was life changing. Tim pulled her back again, unable to stop. His need for her kiss was greater than anything, more powerful than the sun. He needed her like he needed air.

"Why now?" Tim blurted out. After all these years, why was now the time that she finally admitted that she had feelings for him? What had caused this shift? (Y/N) sighed as Tim dropped his arms. She ran a hand down her face and sat on the edge of her bed. Tim grabbed his pants from the floor and tossed over hers before joining.

"A month ago you told me that we've been doing this for years and that ruining it by letting emotions take place was unacceptable," Tim thought back to that night. She was so head strung about not attending his gala. "What could have possible changed over a single month?"

"Everything," she looked over at him. Truth was, she couldn't pin point the exact moment of change. She didn't know when she truly cared for him as more than a companion - but she knew when she realized it. The day of that stupid gala. The stupid gala that led to their picture being everywhere and hearing him say that she was nothing in his life.

Feeling that hurt made her realize how important he was to her.

"You're the only person that's always been here for me, Tim," she played with her fingers, trying to calm her nerves. It didn't work. "My parents, my company struggles, self-doubt. Every time I'm on the verge of giving up, it's you that's there to help me back up. You've supported me for so long and... and I was never able to give that to you.

"I'm sorry, for being so cut off for so long. I'm sorry that for the entire time that I've known you that I've been so held back by fear that I wasn't able to realize what you mean to me. You deserve better, you deserve the world. Everything changed when I saw the way you lit up because I went to your gala after four years. I didn't realize how much it meant to you.

"I'm sorry that-"

"Stop," Tim cut her off. He grabbed her hand to stop her from fidgeting. "Stop apologizing. I know why you were the way you were, and I'm not upset at it. I understand the struggle of not being taken seriously and I don't want you feeling guilty over something like this. I had my part to play as well - I could have told you long ago how I felt and I never had the guts to."

"How long?" she asked, suddenly curious. She might not have been able to remember the time she looked as him as more a fuck buddy - but he might have. Maybe his answer would have sparked her own memory.

"Two years ago," he chuckled to himself. His cheeks were tinted pink with embarrassment at just how long he had been keeping this to himself. "The night that you told me your favourite memory with your parents. Seeing your face light up with pure happiness and the way you spoke of them so highly. It reminded me of my own parents - and how much they would have liked you."

"We ordered Chinese food and stayed up till four in the morning talking about how easy life was when we were kids," she remembered that night. Tim nodded - it was the first time that she had stayed for hours. "I got scared by a bird hitting the window and dropped my entire plate of noodles on myself. You laughed so hard that you started snorting."

"It was the first time I got to see you wear my clothes," Tim smiled. He didn't realize how hot she could wear one of his shirts and a rolled up pair of basketball shorts. "After you left I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop seeing your smile or hearing your laugh. I realized in those endless hours of staring at my ceiling that I wanted to spend my life with you."

"Why didn't you say anything?" She asked.

"You never wanted anyone to know what we did - much less if there was anything more between us," Tim shrugged. To be honest, he still didn't. "I didn't want you to feel pressured and I certainly didn't want to risk losing you. The wait was worth it."

She smiled at how lucky she was to have Tim. He was so patient with her that she felt like she didn't deserve someone as good-hearted as him. Tim kissed the back of her hand, followed by her forehead, and lastly, her lips. The wait was well worth it. He'd wait a thousand lifetimes for her.

"What now?" He asked. What was going to happen between the both of them? A hidden relationship? A risk that Gotham would spread hate because the CEO's of rival companies loved each other? Things were complicated in their lives, and he wasn't sure what she was willing to put on the line.

"Now... Now I stop living my life in fear."

><

"We don't have to do this."

(Y/N) paced back and forth trying to calm her nerves. Tim sat on the edge of his bed watching her movements. She was nervous, but that was to be given. After years of working hard to make sure that she was going to be taken seriously, she was just going to tear it all down. Today was going to be the make or break of Gotham's faith in her.

It was a simple plan. Go to a coffee shop together, let the paparazzi's take their pictures, see what the media was going to say. It was the best way to dip their toes in the water to see what the people of Gotham would think of their 'new relationship'. There had already been speculations since the gala - this would just confirm some of them.

She was scared. Horrified. Not because the people would react badly, but if they reacted well to the news. For over four years she felt as if she needed to cut herself off from anything personal - these were the best years of her life and she had put all of her energy into her company because she felt like it was needed.

What if it wasn't? What if she had wasted all these years for some bullshit stigma the city made her believe? She didn't know if she could live with that guilt. Her parents wanted her to experience her best life, she would have let them down if she had deprived herself of love for years.

"Yes we do," She stopped her pacing to look at him. The cuts and bruises on his face had finally healed over, but the ones lacing his body still held him back. Tim still refused to tell her what really happened. "I've been lying to myself for too long about these feelings, I can't lie to the public anymore too."

Tim patted the spot beside him. She reluctantly sat, though her leg wouldn't stop bouncing. He grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips before setting them back down on his lap. (Y/N) had every right to be nervous. This wasn't just her own life on the line, it was her company's - and his.

Just as she was worried for her own company, Tim was nervous for his. Bruce entrusted him to keep it going, and he couldn't let him down. They needed that money to fund their activities, they needed Wayne Enterprise to keep at it's highest potential.

"Whatever happens, we're in this together, okay?" Tim assured her. "I'm not going to leave you. I promised you that already and I'm sticking with it. Vicki Vale can say all she wants, she doesn't know the truth unless we want her to know the truth. We've got a plan, right? Start off easy and go from there."

"You're right," she nodded. They were in control of this situation, no one else. With Tim by her side, she could accomplish anything. When she was with him, she always felt in control of her life. He had a way of making her feel confident in herself without even realizing it. "We can do this."

She looked over at him, the nervous smile still on her face. It melted away with his kiss. His kiss that always made everything better, that always felt so right. Being with him, actually being with him, she felt as if she was on the clouds. These past few days had felt so surreal that she couldn't tell when she was dreaming and when she was awake.

Nights together, mornings in each others arms. Cooking meals with each other and being able to relax at the end of a long day with shows that neither of them knew they both liked. Mundane tasks that made her feel like a normal adult, not one with the weight of a billion dollar company on her shoulders.

It was a life she didn't know she needed until getting a taste of it.

Tim Drake was her life, for a long time, she just didn't know it at the time. He was the one that was there for her no matter what. She just hoped that when the time came, she could be there for him as well. Tim was a strong man, he didn't emotional easily and she feared that when he did, it would be when he was truly broken.

><

"Everyone's staring."

"Let them."

To no surprise, as soon as one person saw them together, everyone crowded around. Whispers from tables beside them. Camera flashes from inside and outside the coffee shop. Stares and not so secret glances. People were shocked to see them together - and everyone knew damn well who they were.

From the moment he opened the door for her until now, they had all eyes glued to them. She felt the pressure to act like the people always wanted to see her as - prim, proper, and professional. It was Tim that kept assuring her to act like herself, to show the real her for once.

The barista wasn't sure what she was more shocked by - Tim buying himself and (Y/N) coffee or the one-hundred dollar tip he left. Either way, she served them with a smile on her face and a whisper of 'I knew it'. She didn't sound judgmental - she sounded supportive.

More people accumulated but no one dared to interrupt.

Tim reached across the table to grab her hand. He could feel the tapping of her foot and the nervous shake that she had. This was the most horrifying thing she had done in her life and it should have felt so easy. She was spending time with the one she loved, and it was still petrifying.

"Hey," Tim called. "We're in this together. No one else here matters. Whatever comes next, we're going to get through. I promise." She nodded her head at his words. He was right. There was no need to worry when she had him by her side. Her parents would be proud of her no matter what and she was still making Gotham a better place.

He suddenly drew a small heart into the back of her hand, silently telling her that he loved her. She smiled at the action.

The same barista from before came back with a hot pot of coffee in her hands. "Refill?" They both nodded at the same time. She poured them each another full mug, but hesitated before leaving. Tim looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to spill what she had to say. "I know this isn't my place - like at all - but, I always thought you guys would be good for each other."

Tim looked between both the women. "Thank you," he smiled. The barista matched it and headed back towards the counter she was stationed at. "See, there's nothing to be worried about." Tim squeezed her hand while sipping his coffee with the others. He shot her a wink over the lip of his mug.

There was that stupid flutter that filled her chest again. The one that only happened when she was with him and the one that she brushed off for years thinking that it was nothing but lust. God she felt so stupid for pushing him away for as long as she did.

Tim always filled her heart with emotions. Fear, anger, lust, love. It was always easy to clump it all into one emotion that she knew how to control. She knew that sex with him always seemed to fix her problems when in reality, it was just making everything worse. 

Her heart dropped at the sight of an unwanted, familiar face. 

"You spoke too soon," she muttered, watching as the person she dreaded most walked up to them. Vicki Vale had a snide smile on her face and a notepad in her hand. There was no hesitation in her eyes as she approached them, fully ready to impose on their date and turn it into an interview.

"Mr. Wayne," Vicki looked over to Tim, not even meeting (Y/N)'s eye. He slowly retracted his hand from hers - hoping that it wouldn't upset her. The movement went unnoticed by Vicki. "A pleasure as, always. I was hoping to ask you a few questions."

"Actually-"

"Actually, Ms. Vale," (Y/N) cut Tim off. Her voice instantly went from nervous to assertive. She sat up straight and narrowed her eyes as Vicki looked over to her. Tim bit into his bottom lip to stop the smile from spreading on his face for what was about to happen next. This was the moment that she dreaded most and she was taking it so well.

"Tim and I are in the midst of a date," she emphasized using his first thing - something that she had never done in the media before. It was always Mr. Drake - or Mr. Wayne. "If you have any questions about either of our companies, feel free to stop by during business hours."

"Personal questions.... actually," Vicki pursed her lips. Her hand was on her hip. If looks could kill, she'd be dead ten times over already. "And I was asking Mr. Wayne."

"That's a shame, Ms. Vale," Tim coughed, catching her attention. "You could have gotten the story of the year if you hadn't been so rude to my lovely date." He stood up suddenly, ushering her to do so as well. They walked past Vicki, her eyes latched onto them and their joined hands. "Have a nice day."

It was the fakest smile that she had ever seen him make. The two left the coffee shop without another word, waving to the barista as they passed. She held his hand with a death grip, worried that they might have been too rash against Vicki - she had lots of influence over the city, enough to make her worried.

"Holy shit, Tim," she breathed out as soon as she got a breath of fresh air. Her heart was racing from the confrontation. The strictness in Tim’s tone and the way that his hands bundled into fists from how rude Vicki Vale was being. "That was so hot."

"Glad you think so," Tim hid his grin. Her grip loosened as she became more relaxed. The distinct sound of camera's shuttering behind them could still be heard, but that was to no surprise. "What do you say, should we give them a real show?" He raised an eyebrow, referring to the paparazzi's behind them.

"Why not?" Tim stopped her, cupping her cheek with one hand and getting his hand firm against her waist. His lips were hesitant against her for the first time since they had met. He didn't want to give the cameras too much, but if they wanted to prove a point - that was the best way how. "I love you," her voice was so quiet he barely heard.

"I love you."

Taglist:  @unknowntoanyone @willieoo @kindashittywriter @subtleappreciation @yandereforyou @pricetagofficial @because-icanhide @magicisabluewish @hyp-oh-critical @littleredwing89 @boy-georgina @sparkleofpizza @craptainlou @timtimmersdrake @hauntingsonofrobin @anothertimdrakestan @idkmanicantenglish @vvipgot7be @psych0crybaby @theconfusedpansexualbitch @spiitfiires @calcatss

[tabriscadash]

I was asked this on my old blog right as I set about transitioning to this one, so...

The first character I ever fell in love with: for DA:O, dare I say Daveth? What can I say -- I irrationally got incredibly attached to him. otherwise, DEFINITELY Morrigan, and I have crystal clear memories of my first run through Lothering and looking at Morrigan like 😍 the whole time. For DA:2/E, Carver -- unless you count Anders & Justice since I knew of them from Awakening beforehand, in which case probably Justice. For DA:I, it’s a toss-up between Vivienne or Cole -- I technically liked Cole first but SPECIFICALLY in the supporting material (Asunder), and didn’t vibe with him anywhere near as much in the game, AND I got him as a companion after I got Vivienne, so probably Vivienne.

A character that I used to love/like, but now do not: for DA:O, I guess Oghren? I never loved him, but I liked the idea of him because I really liked the dwarves/Orzammar side of DA’s worldbuilding -- but he’s such an unlikeable character that I just.. don’t vibe with him at all. I debate recruiting him every single time now, and I don’t think I ever do his personal quest (in the base game OR Awakening). for DA:2/E, I don’t really have anyone that fits -- but I REALLY wanted to like Merrill and Aveline more than I did, and especially in Aveline’s case, I can’t stand her and genuinely think she’s the unintended, secret Big Bad of the whole game. for DA:I, probably Cole, bc I was really into the idea of a little walking-corpse serial killer animated by a spirit as per the book, but that’s not really the vibe in DA:I, and combined with the somewhat patronising/ableist language and how significantly he is infantilised (including by the fandom) I just got put off him. I do still like him, but not as much.

A ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: for DA:O, I don’t really have one? I guess see my DA:I answer, lol... for DA:2/E, has to be Anders - I don’t think he’s OOC in 2, but I think his writing does so little with him and he feels v. reductive. Where his relationship could be SO interesting and angsty, it instead is written in a really dull and/or cringey way. It would have been nice to see Anders more like the Anders of Awakening near the beginning of the game (rather than random, infrequent and questionably rare snippets), and then see the progression of his relationship with Justice as the game went on -- I want more interesting abominations, PLEASE. for DA:I, listen I cannot express to you HOW EXCITED I was for my planned Lavellan to romance Sera… also I used to be way more tolerant of Cullen x Amell/Surana ships because, like, hey dark ships are fun, right? But since Cullen’s ~wholesome whitewash~ in DA:I, and his fandom clamouring to absolve him of any wrongdoing ever.. it’s boring to me.

My ultimate favourite character™: for DA:O, probably Sten? or Morrigan. They’re both fantastic, and also are significant comfort chars for me. for DA:2/3, honestly, probably my own Hawke -- I feel so hugely proud of her, and can’t imagine I’d enjoy the game anywhere near as much had I not played it as my Hawke. If not her, maybe Sebastian or Carver? for DA:I, I really love Vivienne, as well as Blackwall, and Solas is a great character even if I probably would not say I liked him.

Prettiest character: for DA:O, we all know it’s Zevran. for DA:2/E, I think Aveline -- although her aggressively bland colour-scheme lets her down in a major way (although I respect her dedication to all orange all day every day). There’s just something about her arms -- very Abby from TLOU:2. for DA:I, maybe Josephine? Ser Barris is very pretty, too...

My most hated character: for DA:O, I really didn’t like Alistair, Wynne and Oghren, and of my companions - Oghren is probably my least favourite. He’s vulgar and also profoundly uninteresting. for DA:2/E, it has to be Aveline. There’s just something about ineptitude and a complete, wilful refusal to take accountability for your actions that I can’t stand. It would be okay if it was an intentional character flaw, but the game/narrative treats her like she’s lawful good and it really annoys me. for DA:I, maybe Iron Bull? He was a huge disappointment for me. I also really dislike Sera, Cassandra, and Varric. I’m so sick of Varric - I never want to see him again.

My OTP: for DA:O, I really loved Zevran’s romance -- but I am also very amused by the fact that Leliana got to ‘love’ status with Kallian accidentally, AND I got the ‘love’ glitch for Justice (👀) and Velanna. I do sometimes wonder about an AU where Kallian is forced to make a politically expedient marriage with Nathaniel Howe for diplomatic reasons in order to consolidate her position as Arlessa, and it being an entirely platonic arrangement (it’s not like anyone expects an heir from an infertile Grey Warden) -- and maybe Zev and Nate kiss sometimes, who knows? I also LOVE my Darkspawn Chronicles AU where Kallian and Nelaros are a happy, married couple each hiding their skills with weapons from each other like dumb, cute sweethearts. They shelter Zevran when he fails to kill Alistair and a poly couple evolves. for DA:2/E, I love the IDEA of a Seb romance that isn’t so strictly conditional around the structures that abused him -- he should be allowed to love, chastely or otherwise, but free from the Chantry OR his position as prince/heir. I’d LOVE to actually have a romance with him where you can actually challenge the abuse he’s experienced. for DA:I, Malika doesn’t have a canon romance (although I think when I replay, I’m going to romance Josephine!) but I think Blackwall has an amazing romance. Solas�� is also iconic, it must be said. 

My NOTP: for DA:O, I really dislike Alistair in a shipping capacity; he’s immature and says a lot of misogynistic shit and I don’t think he’s the worst for it, but I don’t really vibe with shipping him, having played the game as a female city elf. for DA:2/E, I wouldn’t say I have one, particularly? although I really dislike Aveline’s relationship with her husband simply because it seems incredibly inappropriate, given that they work together and she has power over him -- and because I dislike her, generally, I don’t feel inclined to do something nice for her. for DA:I, I suppose Sera/Lavellan -- although I’m not AGAINST it, it just really isn’t for me, having attempted it. I also don’t really vibe with Dorian x Iron Bull. Something abt the way the game handled BDSM and their relationship banter specifically I don’t really like.

Favourite episode quest: for DA:O, probs Orzammar/the Deep Roads. I really love the dwarven lore! and, of course, Fort Drakon is really funny, even though it’s not canon in my game iirc. for DA:2/E, maybe the murder mystery with the serial killer, where ultimately Leandra dies? I also really enjoyed all the companion quests. for DA:I, The Descent (just, all of it, lmao) and everything to do with the Avvar. Crestwood also BANGED.

Saddest death: for DA:O, it’s frankly a fucking INJUSTICE that Shianni gets murdered if you make her Bann of the Alienage -- the idea of that happening whilst Kallian is in Amaranthine and unable to protect her :( genuinely very upsetting. I go back and forth on who is made Bann, tbf, so idk how canonical it is: I think maybe Cyrion would get it, but I’m also endeared to Soris holding the position, with Shianni as Hahren. for DA:2/E, Bethany. I wish both twins had had the chance to reach Kirkwall :(. Let Leandra die instead. for DA:I, maybe not the saddest death, but the most memorable for me was that one sleeping dragon in the Hissing Wastes.. leave her alone. Stay out of a womans’ business.

Favourite season game: DA:O!

Least favourite season game: DA:I.

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but I hate: for DA:O, Alistair. I cannot deal with his complacency and hypocrisy. for DA:2, I really disliked Merrill but I honestly cannot remember why. DEFINITELY Varric -- I hated how the game forces you to be his best friend, and if you’re low approval, you have to endure these pointless pissy little comments with this little anti-dwarf centrist pissant. After the expedition, I literally have no reason to put up with him, and I NEVER take him out. I hate that he plays the same role in DA:I, too. for DA:I, the Iron Bull was hugely disappointing, and I also really don’t vibe with Cassandra. She just seems very wishy-washy and complacent and hypocritical, and many of her comments about other cultures seem snide for literally no reason other than bigotry. 

My ‘you’re a piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: for DA:O, lbr probably Sten. Mans is gonna launch a HORRIFYING invasion in the next game iirc and frankly, I’m ok with it. Just wanna see that big bastard again ❤🥵. for DA:2/E, I LOVE Gamlen, ok? for DA:I, I am not sure if I have one.

My ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: for DA:O, if any of you so much as LOOK at Velanna wrong, it’s hands. That includes Bioware. I also feel incredibly protective of and sad for Morrigan. for DA:2/E, probably Sebastian -- I feel so sad for him, and so frustrated by the limitations with the game. for DA:I, I’m honestly not sure.. maybe Josephine? I don’t really feel this way about Sera, but I do think she deserves better from the game and its writing, and also from fandom: there are valid criticisms of her, but the hate she gets is not proportional to any valid issues with her -- and gee, I wonder why that is.

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: for DA:O, I did use to find Cullen x Surana/Amell intriguing as a dark ship -- I actually hc that Neria Surana is actually Nelaros’ sister, and have dabbled with it as a dark ship. I also am interested in Loghain/Alistair - which each pretends the other is someone else. Alistair is wooby, hate ships are, in general, fun -- so long as we acknowledge that they are, indeed, unhealthy ships. for DA:2/E, I kind of feel like Sebastian romances are, invariably, kind of dark... and, similarly, Anders romances -- especially with certain red Hawkes, The way it ends is, invariably, bordering on fucked up. ALSO Hawkecest is weird and wonderful: GET WITH IT. 

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but I’m not too invested’ ship: for DA:O, I joked about Velanna x Leliana once and I’ve not been able to stop thinking about it ever since… Velanna x Sigrun is also something that can be so personal. Ariane x Finn is adorable and are paid DUST by Bioware AND fandom. I actually am really into Anora x Nathaniel & NO I will NOT explain myself; it’s a crackship but it’s MY crackship. for DA:2/E, Isabela x Fenris is super cute, but I don’t pay enough attention to them to really have super committed thoughts & feelings on them. for DA:I, Blackwall x Josephine is cute as a background ship; I also think Maryden x Cole is sweet.

[recurring-polynya]

Hey this is for our Redhead's bday. Its like a fluff and angst with a happy ending. Is it possible to make a Renruki based on Hanahaki disease? Do you know about this fanfic trope? Its like a person who doesn't know or think their love is requited, will cough up petals. They can only be saved with a confession or accept that they cannot be together with their love interest. I don't want it to sound too morbid. Let me know if its possible.

Wikipedia description for better understanding:

Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated. There is no set time for how long this disease lasts but it may last from 2 weeks to 3 months, in rare cases up to 18 months, until the victim dies unless the feelings are returned or the plants are surgically removed. There is also no set flower that blossoms in the lungs but it may be the enamoured’s favourite flower or favourite colour. Hanahaki can be cured through surgical removal of the plants' roots, but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It may also erase the patient’s feelings for and memories of the enamoured. It can also be cured by the reciprocation of the victim's feelings. These feelings cannot be feelings of friendship but must be feelings of genuine love. The victim may also develop Hanahaki Disease if they believe the love to be one-sided but once the enamoured returns the feelings, they will be cured. In some literature, other symptoms can be fever, uncontrollable shaking, loss of appetite, low body temperature, and hallucinations. Even after curing, with or without surgery, there can be irreversible damage to the lungs and, although very rare, in some cases the disease cannot be cured.

Ha ha ha, of course I have heard of Hanahaki disease, my brain is 100% rotted by fanfic.

I. hate. Hanahaki disease. It is probably my #1 most hated trope, up there with every single soulmate thing that treats love like some sort of inescapable destiny and strips the characters of any agency. To me, falling in love may be more or less involuntary, but the choice of whether or not to pursue it is the very crux of romance.

In any case, I was just going to... not do this one, except that I walked around mad for half a day and then wrote this up in, like, two hours. This sounds terrible, but this is actually an ideal day for a writer! I am really happy with how it came out! Thanks for the prompt!! I mean this with absolute sincerity!

Warning: Bad language, because Renruki aren’t any happier about any of this than I am.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🌺   🌺   🌺  

“How the fuck,” asked Rukia, “did you get that into my house?”

Sitting on Byakuya’s good tea table was a heavy green glass bottle of Rukongai’s worst rotgut. And two saucers.

Sitting cross legged and cross on the other side of the table was Abarai Renji.

“I told the captain it was necessary. Sit down.”

Usually, Rukia would take being ordered around like that as an invitation to call him names, but there was something angry and serious in Renji’s tone, so she sat instead, and let Renji pour each of them a saucer of something that smelled like lamp oil. Silently, they tossed back their drinks.

“You want to tell me what this is about?” Rukia asked as Renji refilled.

Without speaking, Renji pulled a carefully folded handkerchief out of his kosode and slid it across the table.

Rukia’s hands clenched into fists.

“Go ahead,” Renji said offhandedly, sipping his sake.

She didn’t want to. She knew what it would be. But she did it anyway, reached over and flipped open the handkerchief to reveal a handful of mangled, half-rotted flower petals. Hot rage ran through her veins. “Are you going through my trash now?” she demanded.

“No, I asked the captain to,” Renji replied coolly. “I assume he had someone do it for him, but he didn’t say.”

“Fuck you,” Rukia snapped.

Renji stared at her, his eyes cold and angry. “That night we camped in Hueco Mundo. Before we caught up with Ichigo and the others. You coughed up half a camellia and a good inch of stem in your sleep. I… figured we had more pressing concerns at the time, but I asked your brother to keep an eye on you after we got home.”

Rukia took a gulp of her drink. “Well, congratulations, Detective Abarai, you cracked the case. You’re so smart that I’m sure you know how these things end, so we don’t need to discuss it.”

Renji squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them again. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be a death sentence, you know?”

“It’s complicated,” Rukia grumbled. “I’m not explaining it to you, but it’s not… solvable, and I can’t… I won’t give up. Not this time.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Renji continued, his voice quieter. “There are ways to… manage it. Live with it.”

Rukia’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a disease of the soul, y’know, not the body, which is why humans don’t get it. With a strong enough will, you can keep it in check. The key, the thing that really lets it get ahold of your lungs, is when you start to lose hope.”

“You want me to live in denial, then?”

“No, not quite. But there’s some… techniques. We live a really long time, Rukia. Things may seem one way now, but… but who’s to say how they’ll be in sixty or seventy years, right? I mean, it’s not easy, but if you can imagine sort of… jarring up your feelings and packing them away for later.”

“Like pickles.”

“Yeah, like pickles.”

Rukia finished her saucer and reached for the bottle.

“Another thing that works sometimes is to try to…” Renji gestured helplessly. “Reframe it. I’m sure you’ve read poems about courtly love.”

Rukia made a face. “I fail to see how reading old-timey thirst poetry about wasting away from wanting to sleep with someone else’s wife is going to help anything.”

Renji’s face took on a pained cast. “Yeah, I guess some of them are like that. But being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back doesn’t mean your life is...meaningless. There can be something really beautiful and noble and sorta romantic in and of itself about loving with no hope of reciprocation. That you can still be of… of service to a person, even if they never notice you.”

“Renji, that’s fucking nonsense,” Rukia informed him, topping up his drink as well. “Where do you get these ideas?”

“Or you can just really absorb yourself in some goal. Be so busy you don’t have time to worry about love. Time passes quickly when--”

“Renji, just stop. I know you’re trying to help, but I’m… I’m sick and no amount of made-up wishful thinking is going to make me better.”

Renji’s face rapidly cycled through a number of emotions, like he kept coming up with things to say and then biting his tongue instead. “It’s not fucking made up, okay? People have lived with it for years, you know. Decades. Fuck, Rukia do you know selfish this is?”

“‘Selfish’?” Rukia echoed incredulously. The alcohol was starting to hit, and it made her feel unmoored, a raft floating in a sea of her own grief and anger. What did he know anyway? He was married to his job and his duty. The truest companion, the most generous soul, so free with his heart to everyone he called friend, but he didn’t know jack shit about being in love. Renji was the most transparent person in Soul Society. If he had ever fallen in love, it would have been public knowledge. Maybe his heart didn’t even work that way. What the Hell did he know?

“Yeah,” Renji spat back. “Selfish and cruel. How can you love someone-- even if they don’t love you back-- and-- and-- let yourself die from it? What kind of a monster would do that? You can hold on, Rukia. You’re so strong, I know you can. Just… just listen to me, for once. I can help you.”

Rukia felt her eyes burning, so she grabbed the bottle and took a long drink from it until her whole face burned. “Fuck. Off,” she replied, slamming it down on the table.

“I won’t,” Renji growled. “Ichigo cares a lot for you and it would kill him, Rukia, you hear me? You can’t do this to him, or-- or the rest of us, either.”

Rukia stared at Renji uncomprehendingly. The room was starting to swim. “What the fuck does any of this have to do with Ichigo?” She suddenly felt very tired, so she folded her arms and put her head down on them. “You fucking dumbass.”

[chazz-anova]

...And Hell Followed With Him, Chapter 3

Guys I finally did it!! 😭 Thank you to @fadedjacket who helped motivate me to keep writing this story, and thank you to everyone who reblogs content of my girl, Veronica! 💚💚  So, without further ado, here’s my newest chapter in my main fic! (Here’s the ao3 link for those who prefer to read there!)

1 / 2

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom’s windows, casting a golden glow onto the hardwood floor. Veronica’s eyes opened lazily and she squinted into the sunshine, her throat felt dry and her stomach hollow. When she looked at the end of the bed, a grey mass of fur rose and fell slowly. Wiping the sleep from her eyes- V made out the shape of Boomer slumbering at her feet. A smile came across her features when she heard quiet snoring from him. 

Ronnie shifted her legs under the covers, trying to move slowly as not to wake her companion. Her bare feet met the planks quietly, and she went to the door. The moment she turned the knob to leave, Boomer’s head shot up and he looked around for a moment before yawning. He cocked his head at Veronica, and she went back to the bed to pat him on the head. “You can stay here, I’m gonna go check in with Mary May… and hopefully get a shower.” V tousled his floppy ears once more before heading downstairs as he settled back down.

On the main floor of the Spread Eagle- the people of Fall’s End were still celebrating their emancipation from the cult. Beer bottles clinked together and people laughed in groups. Mary May was running food and drinks to a table in the corner before she met Veronica at the bar. “Morning dep, you look tired.” The woman observed, her blonde ponytail swinging cheerfully as she wiped up a spilled drink at the end of the counter. 

“Well I feel like shit. Got any aspirin?” Came Ronnie’s response. 

“Nope, fresh out.” 

“Hair of the dog it is then! One beer please.” Veronica sighed, hopping onto a stool. 

Mary May grabbed a bottle from the cooler, setting it down in front of her with a smile. Veronica twisted off the tip, hoping the frosty beverage would quell her headache, “Also, could I use your shower, and maybe a change of clothes? I could definitely use it after last night.” 

“Go for it!” Mary called back, hurrying over to another table to take their orders. 

V headed back upstairs, opening the door to see Boomer sitting up with his tongue lolling out. “Hey little guy, sleep well?” She asked him and he hopped down, walking over to her and nosing her hand so she’d pet him. “You’re such a sweetie..” The deputy smiled and scratched under his chin before going into the en suite. 

The shower was a small standing one with subpar water pressure, but as Veronica stood in the warm torrent she released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. This was practically the only moment of true solitude she’d had in two days, yet she couldn’t keep her mind from racing. How was she supposed to take down Eden’s Gate when she was just one woman? Sure, she’d been lucky so far, but at the end of the day she was only one person. V thought of her mother, the bright grin on her face the day that she’d watched Veronica follow in her footsteps and graduate from the Police Academy. What would she think of her daughter now? Would she also think she was a coward and a murderer like John? 

Veronica raised a hand to clutch the heart-shaped locket her Nana had given her; it hung loosely around her neck and the metal was growing colder as the hot water depleted. She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind, thinking ‘I’ve only done what I had to do… my hand’s been forced..’ Yet in the back of her mind, V knew part of her wasn’t hating this, part of her wanted to make the people who’d snatched her from her normal life pay for the turmoil she was going through.  

Almost thirty minutes later, Ronnie emerged from the steamy room wrapped in a fluffy purple towel. She immediately made her way to the dresser and dug through the drawers until she found an outfit that suited her. ‘Anything is better than tan fuckin’ cargo pants.’ She chuckled to herself, laying out dark blue jeans and a low-cut black tank top. 

Once changed, she admired herself in the mirror and slipped her boots on. She noticed her brunette roots were spreading, and she was sure it would be a long time before she could dye it again. 

Next, Veronica strapped her holstered handgun around her waist and grabbed her backpack and M60, swinging both over her shoulders. “God this gun is fucking heavy!” She cursed. Taking one last look around the room before heading downstairs, she saw Boomer had taken his leave already. ‘That dog has a mind of his own.’ V smiled, and closed the door behind her. 

On the main floor of the Spread Eagle, business was still booming. Mary May was behind the bar speaking to one of the patrons who sat in front of her. When she caught Ronnie’s eye, she gestured her over. “Deputy! After a shower and a beer you seem bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Well I certainly feel better. Any way I could badger you for a meal?” The woman pulled out her wallet from the red backpack containing most of her belongings. 

“You put that away, heroes eat free in my bar!” 

At being called a hero, Veronica stiffened. The moniker didn’t seem to fit as comfortably as the barkeep used it; ‘What kind of hero murders people?’ Her mind practically shouted at her. 

Mary May had already turned towards the kitchen, calling out “Casey? Get our friend, the deputy, some breakfast ready- would ya?” 

The man in the window wiped his hands on his apron and nodded at the pair “One full breakfast, coming up!” 

V came to her senses once more and put her wallet back in the pack she’d withdrawn it from, giving the barkeep a smile. “I appreciate that, but the ‘hero’ stuff isn’t necessary… I’m just trying to do what’s right, that’s all.” 

“Oh I don’t think you have to worry about trying, seems like doin’ what’s right’s in your blood, hun. Not a lot of people would run in here guns ablazing to save a town of near strangers.” The blonde gave her another smile before going to check on her tables. 

“That’s a pretty thought.” Veronica mused, thinking she wasn’t quite sure what was right anymore. 

Her foot tapped against the metal of the bar stool as she watched the chef work, her stomach growling at her impatiently. She realised the last time she’d eaten was well over 24 hours ago, and that thought did nothing to help her hunger panes. Turning to the patron next to her, Veronica asked “Got a cig?” The man next to her obliged, giving her a nod as she stepped off the barstool and out the front door. 

“I really wish this were a joint.” V shook her head before lighting up, inhaling the bitter fumes. Cigarettes had never been her favourite vice- but she would take what she could get at this point. 

The morning sun poured over the small town, framing everything in an angelic light. Townspeople roamed through the streets, picking up debris and throwing it into contractor bags. Despite spending almost the whole previous day cleaning and mending the broken town, there was still much to be done. It heartened Veronica to see the people of Fall’s End working together to fix their home.

Another drag of her cigarette, and the deputy couldn’t help but reflect on the past two days. She’d seen more bloodshed than in her whole life, and been the cause of most of it. The weight of each death she had caused was heavy on her heart as she replayed watching the light fade from too many eyes. 

Ronnie had never thought she’d need to discharge her weapon in the line of duty. Working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department was a relatively easy job, there were your fair share of crazy people and petty criminals, but she had never seen anything like this. It crossed her mind that every time a call regarding Eden’s Gate had come across the scanner, her partner, Staci Pratt, had been completely against going and always let someone else go in their place. ‘Hell, even Sheriff Whitehorse didn’t seem to want to send us on those calls. God I hope he’s okay…’ 

Veronica’s mind drifted to her companions- and what they must be going through at the hands of the cult. Dutch had assured her that they were all alive, but he’d neglected to give her any details. She thought of Joey- the fear on her face as she had been snatched out of the flaming wreckage of their helicopter. Now where was she? Trapped by John, being held against her will for what purpose? To convert her? 

The thoughts and questions raced through the deputy’s head, making her feel dazed. She continued to circle back to one thought: ‘I have to save them, I’m the only one who can.’ Her fingers felt the warmth of the cherry of her cigarette, and she realised she had smoked it down to the filter. V tossed it to the ground and wandered back inside. The customers were rowdy for only 11 in the morning, and their clamoring mixed with the song on the jukebox to create a nice din that allowed Veronica to not have to think anymore. 

Reaching the bar, she saw a plate filled to the brim with eggs, bacon, and toast. Her stomach rejoiced as she picked up the silver fork and dug in. 

In no time at all, the heavy meal rested comfortably in the deputy’s stomach. Ronnie leaned back on the stool and patted her midsection with a delighted smile. “My compliments to the chef!” She grinned and felt some of her bad mood fading away. 

Mary May strode behind the bar and leaned over it, resting her elbows on the polished wood. “Don’t say that, or it’ll go straight to his head!” She chuckled, glancing at the kitchen window.

“So, deputy, remember last night when I mentioned you.. lending a hand?” 

“I don’t remember much of last night, but I do recall that… what do you have in mind?”

Mary May took a deep breath, her gaze turning to the bar. “Yesterday, you had some balls running into town like that. Most people see Eden’s Gate and run the other way… but, my dad was one of the first to stand up to ‘em. Any time one of those peggies would show up lookin’ to cause trouble- he’d hop in his big rig and chase them right outta town.” She smiled at the memory, and with a nod she continued, “He loved that truck; called it the ‘Widowmaker’.”

Her face darkened, thunderclouds practically rolling into her deep blue eyes. “Those fuckers stole it from him, a week before he passed…” Her fist clenched on the bar and she shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” Veronica sympathised, unsure if she should take the other’s hand but ultimately deciding against it. 

The blonde pulled herself from her memories and met V’s eyes once more. “You really wanna piss off the cult? Get the Widowmaker back. Show them we’re not just gonna roll over… and give folks here something to cheer about.” 

At this, Ronnie nodded; mulling it over for a moment. “How do you propose I do that?” 

“It’s locked up under guard at a grain mill not far from here. Hell, you came in here and saved a whole town! I think you’re the person for the job, Veronica.” 

The deputy saw sincerity and a hint of desperation in the bartender’s eyes, striking a cord in her. This woman had shown her some much needed friendship yesterday when the past days’ events were starting to take their toll, and Veronica wanted to do what she could for her. ‘This is also the only way I can get any closer to saving Joey, even though that’s a daunting enough task…’ V felt herself almost begin brooding, but got back on track quickly- “Okay, one Widowmaker coming up!” 

Relief washed over Mary May’s features, and she smiled, “Somehow I knew I could count on you, dep.” 

She returned her smile, and the two shared a happy moment despite the days of chaos. “Could I steal a beer for the road?” Ronnie asked. 

Turning to grab a cold one from the cooler, Mary May obliged- popping off the cap and handing it over. “Be safe out there, and go ahead and take the Jeep ‘round back, just park it somewhere I can go get it after this business is over. The grain elevator is northeast of here, follow the road and you’ll be there in no time.” She offered as the deputy headed for the door. 

“Thanks, I figure I can’t order an Uber around here.” V joked as she managed to catch the keys Mary May threw unceremoniously her way.

Outside- the morning sun rose higher and higher, blinding Veronica as she stepped out of the Spread Eagle. She made her way around the side, spotting the Jeep at the end of the dirt driveway. As she opened the driver’s door, a bark came from behind her. “Hey buddy!” The woman turned to see Boomer watching her expectantly. He padded closer to her with a small whine. “I don’t know if you should go with on this one, it’s pretty dangerous…” 

His brown almond eyes met hers as if to say ‘And our last escapade wasn’t?’. She shook her head with a chuckle, reaching down to scratch him under the chin saying, “Most dogs aren’t adrenaline junkies, that’ll take some getting used to!” 

Sighing, Ronnie put her hands on her hips; Boomer stood there, projecting as much sass as a 35 pound furball could. Finally relenting, she moved away from the open door and gestured him in, “Fine, I guess if you want to run headlong into danger I can’t stop you!” 

The pup jumped into the passenger seat, celebrating his victory. Veronica took her spot next to him and started the car, pulling out of the driveway while fiddling with the radio. Faced with the ‘only-two-radio-stations-conundrum’, the deputy landed on the peggie station. The song playing relayed the perks of baptism, advising the listener to ‘let the water wash away their sins’. 

“Is this seriously all they listen to?” V asked, glancing at Boomer as they cruised down the road. The dog sighed, putting his head between his feet in agreeance. She reached forward and switched the station back to the original one, where a soft rock song played.

The trees they passed blurred together, one green line as they sped to their destination. Veronica couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to her own father. When Ronnie was only twelve, Benjamin Rook had ruined their family’s picturesque life by finding love in the arms of another woman, and abandoning Veronica and her mother. He moved to North Carolina and forfeited his parental rights without much of a fight so he could start life anew without the burden of his old family. 

Letters would come in the mail; at first every week but then every two, then every month, and then not at all. Before long, Sarah Rook had decided her and her daughter needed a change of their own. The two packed up their belongings and moved from Butte, Montana to Hope County, right on the outskirts of Missoula. 

Sarah, with previous law enforcement experience, had no problem securing a job at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. She became quick friends with Earl Whitehorse, who was chief deputy to the sheriff at the time. Because of this friendship, she’d been able to secure a job for her daughter those many years later when Ronnie had felt so lost and needed a direction to go in life.

The wound of her father leaving never quite healed, and it wasn’t one Veronica tore open too often unless she was deep in her cups. Seeing the admiration Mary May held for her own father had almost reared the ugly head of jealousy in her; however irrational that may be. At the same time, she’d felt the need to preserve that happiness in any way she could. ‘Man, projecting much?’ She chastised herself. The things lack of closure will do to you. 

Coming out of the trees, V saw a towering grey structure up the road and knew she’d reached her destination. To the side of the grain elevator and the building next to it rose a large hill. The deputy pulled off into a clearing, making sure the Jeep was out of sight of the road before getting out. 

Boomer hopped out with her once parked, and the pair began their trek up the hill. It took them only a couple minutes before they were at the summit and had a decent view of their objective. The cattle dog growled at the sight of peggies patrolling the grounds, armed to the teeth. “We gotta be careful, okay bud? Just follow my lead and stay safe.” Veronica smiled reassuringly at him and pet his head. 

The hill they stood upon sloped directly down to the fence around the building in which the deputy knew the Widowmaker must be kept, offering her a quick entrance to her objective. Patches of tall grass and flowers offered sufficient camouflage as the woman and her dog crept downhill. As they approached- the sound of the cult’s music and sermons could be heard. John’s voice was practically blasting over the speaker as he preached, “...We are fast approaching the Collapse! Soon, the world as you know it will be gone, and with it- all that is cruel and evil!”  

V rolled her eyes at his words, trying to count the cultists waiting below. John’s voice continued, “But for those of you that embrace us, those of you who say yes to the Father; Eden’s Gate will provide salvation! Do not be afraid, God has graced us with the opportunity to start anew!” 

The deputy pulled around her backpack, pulling out a pair of binoculars. “Looks like four peggies so far…” She muttered, watching them patrol. John’s voice over the speaker grew sinister as he said, “But not everyone is going to embrace us, some have fires that need.. dampening. Some need our help to say yes… that is the will of the Father, to say yes! To say ‘Yes I will be reborn.’, to say ‘Yes I will give my life for the project.’, to say ‘Yes I will pledge my soul to the family at Eden’s Gate!’!” 

Veronica tossed the binoculars back into the pack and shared a horrified look with Boomer, affirming “Sounds like cult shit to me!” Her pup whined in response, taking the lead as they reached the bottom of the slope. 

Slinging her M60 around her shoulders to the front of her body, Ronnie popped open the top and made sure the gun was fully loaded. As she did so- the deputy caught herself humming the cult song she’d heard on the radio barely thirty minutes earlier. “‘Now that this whole world is ending….’ fuck that song is such an earworm!” She cussed to herself and let the gun settle against her body once more. Taking a few deep breaths to prepare herself for whatever may occur, she decided it was now or never.

  The woman lowered to almost a crawl and made her way to the bottom of the hill, into one of the flower patches. The soft yellow flowers had a perfumy scent that filled the air, but Veronica felt no different among the blossoms so she assumed these weren’t the Bliss flowers Dutch had mentioned.

One of the men who guarded the building strolled out of the fenced area, coming to stand just in front of her. He was whistling quietly, not paying attention to the danger behind him. V checked that no other peggies had followed him, and she rushed forward to grab him in a chokehold; slowly taking him to the ground and pressing her arm to his windpipe until he stopped struggling. She hoisted him onto her shoulder and retreated to the flower patch. After dropping him to the ground, Veronica checked his pocket and found a twenty dollar bill and a grenade. “Seriously? Are all these guys armed like this?” She wondered aloud before sliding the grenade into her bag. She hesitated over taking the money, thinking ‘Am I any better than one of them if I take this?’ After a moment, Ronnie slid the bill back into his pocket, thinking better of it. 

Leaving her fallen enemy, she made her way back to the chain link fence and passed through a gate leading to a space behind the building filled with piles of wood, pallets covered in tarp, and all manner of odds and ends. Veronica took refuge behind a pile of 2x4s and peeked over it, spotting only one cultist at the end of the alley. Boomer waited outside of the gate, watching her every move. ‘I’ll take this guy out, and just keep trying to move forward.’ She planned loosely.

V moved from crate to crate, getting closer to her target until got close enough to take him out much the same way she did his lookout. She stashed this body behind a crate, finding only some spare ammo on him before advancing. 

At the end of the warehouse was the backdoor. Ronnie tried the handle, but found it to be locked. “Well fuck..” She sighed. Turning to her right to continue on, she saw a note next to the door. 

“The warehouse is to remain locked and access is limited. If you need to get inside you can find the key by the workshop tent, but check with the Baptist before using it. We can’t afford to be careless around the Widowmaker.”

The deputy frowned, “Baptist… that must be John.” The last line gave her a light laugh and she murmured, “I think it’s more careless to leave a note saying where your key is stashed, assholes.” And she set off. 

In the space in front of the building, Veronica counted four more peggies. Looking to Boomer, Veronica murmured “It’s a damn infestation.” She scanned the ground and found plenty of small rocks, and helped herself to a few. One man was near the corner of the compound, away from the others. Taking careful aim, one rock was thrown about 10 feet from him. The man startled before going to investigate. V smirked and threw another one at the side of the building, luring him away from the flock. Once the man was alone he was dispatched, leaving only three. 

Creeping further out than before, Ronnie saw the three gathered around two large cages covered in black. On the side, they both read ‘Meat Wagon’ and angry growls could be heard from within. ‘What the fuck is a ‘meat wagon’?’ She wondered. 

“That was a hard hunt today.” One of them said, looking at the others. 

“It was… I hope Brother Jacob appreciates these offerings.” The one in the middle replied. 

The gnashing of teeth could be heard clearly as Veronica recalled what she’d read in Dutch’s bunker, ‘Jacob, he’s the eldest… didn’t his note say something about monster wolves?’ She contemplated this, deciding the best course of action. 

She drew her pistol, shooting the lock on the first cage and allowing a large grey wolf to spring forth, leaping onto the cultist that had called it an ‘offering’. The wolf savaged the man as the others yelled, raising their guns. Before they could even get any shots off V shot them both to the ground. 

The thick sounds of flesh tearing reached Veronica’s ears, and were sure to occupy her nightmares later. Once the wolf finished his revenge, its amber eyes found her own and a deep growl emitted from its throat. The deputy froze, licking her lips nervously as her life practically flashed in front of her eyes. 

It felt like far longer than a minute as the wolf contemplated the deputy. Suddenly, the beast broke eye contact and looked behind her before dashing out of the tall gate leading to the road, and then to the treeline; content to not eat its savior. 

It was only when Ronnie could no longer see the wolf that she resumed breathing. She turned around to see Boomer watching her. “Did you just scare a wolf?” She asked him in disbelief. The dog barked twice in response, and V sighed in relief “Props where props are due... holy fuck that was scary!” 

After another solid minute, they headed towards the tent mentioned in the note. The keys to the warehouse were sitting on a table directly inside, and Veronica grabbed them. 

Once inside the warehouse- the deputy took in the sight of her charge. The semi-truck was painted purple with a mural of a bald eagle painted on the side, and hot-rod flames graced the hood. On the front near the grill, twin M2 Browning machine guns were mounted. “Wow… I think I’m in love.” V chuckled, staring at the machine in awe before tentatively climbing into the cab, keeping the door open for her furry friend to hop in. She found the key and the garage opener in the visor, and then they were off. 

Easily crashing through the fence gate, Veronica felt they were home free until someone called over the radio “Someone made off with the Widowmaker! Block the roads leading back to Fall’s End, don’t let it through!” Ronnie took a deep breath and turned up the radio, blasting rock music.

As she sped towards the first roadblock, Mary May’s voice crackled through the radio, exclaiming “Holy shit you did it! I knew you had it in the bag, V!” Before Veronica could think of a response, she continued. “Listen, the cult’s gonna throw everything at you now, shove it right back down their fuckin’ throats! My daddy put cannons on that thing, don’t be afraid to use ‘em!”

“You got it!” Ronnie called into the radio. She scanned the cab and her eyes landed on a trigger mechanism near the gearshift. The truck barrelled forward and the Brownings fired off, sending several peggies flying. Boomer hunkered down in the passenger seat, attempting still to peek up through the windshield.

Ahead, two of the off-white trucks with Eden’s Gate symbols blocked the way. The deputy braced herself for impact as the 18-wheeler crashed through the first of many roadblocks; the first truck flipped off of the road and the second spun out of the way. “Goddamn!” The deputy yelled as the Widowmaker hurtled down the asphalt. 

The truck cleared the block with no damage, and Veronica lit up like a kid in a candy shop. She turned to her companion in the other seat, Boomer gave her a big doggy smile and turned back to look out the window. V pressed the call button on her radio, reaching out to Mary May. “This is pretty badass!” She whooped. 

A second later, her friend was on the line, saying “Hell yeah! Hit those sons of bitches! Better yet, honk that horn every time you do so I know when to cheer!” 

As they approached the next roadblock, a fierce grin came over her features and she smoothed a finger over the trigger in anticipation. The upcoming barrier was composed of one white truck, and a fuel truck blocking the entire road. When they were about two-hundred feet from the block, Veronica pulled the trigger, shooting off round after round into the tank on the truck ahead. When they were only a hundred feet away from it- the fuel truck erupted into a blaze, sending flaming shrapnel flying in every direction. Clearing the second block, V laid on the horn with an almost crazed grin.

The pair flew down the road and through the wall of heat and embers that had roasted all nearby cultists.  They had once more come out without a scratch, causing Ronnie to rejoice. “Woo! This is the shit!!” She yelled, adrenaline pumping as the music resounded through the cab and they careened down the country road. 

A few minutes later, the turn to Fall’s End was the next left. V’s eyes darted between the turn and the open road that lay ahead. ‘I’m sure the cult has even more roadblocks ahead.’ She mulled the thought over before turning to Boomer and declaring “I say we do a victory lap!” Before pressing the pedal almost to the floor, rushing down the road. 

Many roadblocks later- Veronica and her furry friend were once again rounding the bend that led to the turn for Fall’s End. The deputy felt as though she was practically vibrating with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The sounds of men screaming, the warmth of the multitude of explosions, the feeling of the trigger under her finger growing more and more comfortable. Her aquamarine eyes seemed to glaze over as she considered what all this might mean for her, and what her eagerness to cause mayhem may say about her true nature. 

Before V could travel too far down that rabbit hole, her radio crackled to life with the grateful voice of her friend, “The way you’re handling that rig would make my dad proud, Ronnie. Now bring her home!” 

Hearing Mary May’s voice laden with joy, Veronica couldn’t help a small smile. “Be there in 5!” She called back down the line, turning down the road at the sign for Fall’s End. 

The moment Veronica and Boomer rumbled down main street to the Spread Eagle, the blonde bartender could be seen waving them on. The rig turned slowly onto the dirt driveway- and the hydraulics of the brake system hissing loudly as the 18-wheeler came to a full stop. 

V pulled the keys from the ignition and the truck shuddered as the engine cut off, leaving the semi to creak and settle like a great beast falling into the deep slumber of hibernation when the pair hopped out of the cab. 

Boomer’s tail wagged and he bounded ahead to circle round Mary May’s legs before returning to his companion’s side. Across from the pair, the barkeep beamed at the sight of the rig right where it belonged. 

“I gotta say, deputy, seeing my daddy’s truck rumbling home sure brings back memories. I’d stand out here every time he came back, just like this, wavin’ him home.” A sigh escaped the woman and she nodded at Veronica, her eyes almost misting over. “Thank you for this, I honestly can’t thank you enough.” 

Seeing the joy and nostalgia from her newfound friend warmed V’s heart, and she offered the other a heartfelt smile. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, girl. I’m glad to stick it to those peggies, show them they’re not the ones in charge. Not for long anyways.” 

Mary May clapped her on the shoulder, looking up at the semi, her face filled with pride. “You know, my dad woulda liked you. You’ve got grit, that’s for sure! If you ever need to use the Widowmaker you don’t even gotta ask!” Moving past Veronica, the other placed a hand on the curved steel of the machine, sliding a hand lovingly over the smooth metal. 

Ronnie’s smile faded, and she scratched the back of her neck. Clearing her throat softly, she spoke, “I really appreciate that, Mary May. Listen… do you know anything yet? …About Deputy Hudson, I mean.” 

The blonde met her eyes, a frown plain on her face as she stated, “I ain’t heard nothing good, I can tell you that. All I know so far is that John’s got your friend holed up somewhere, and he’s trying to make her ‘atone’, whatever the fuck that means. So far it sounds like Hudson’s been holding out- but no one can hold out against John for long. Motherfucker’s crazy.” She spit on the ground, as though unable to contain her disgust. 

Anxiety overtook Veronica, icy cold fear freezing the blood in her veins. At the forefront of her brain, images of Joey bound and bloodied assaulted her senses. Swallowing past her emotions, V asked, “What can I do next??” 

Mary May put a reassuring hand on her shoulder before taking a few steps towards the bar. “Go talk to Jerome at his church, then come back and see me. I’m gonna go put my ear to the ground, and make a ridiculously strong drink with your name on it.” 

“Sounds like a plan… especially that drink.” Ronnie muttered. 

Once she was sure the bartender had made her way back inside, Veronica wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver running down her spine despite the warm breeze touseling her dirty blonde locks. She thought of her friends, each of them trapped and waiting for her. The weight of her obligations felt like too much to bear for one woman- but she knew there were no other options. Her hands fell to her sides, and her gaze was drawn to the ground. ‘What the hell am I doing here? Running around playing vigilante… and enjoying it, for fucks sake! These people may be monsters, but I sure as shit am not any better.’ V scoffed, chastising herself silently. 

Her hand felt wet for a moment, and she looked next to her to see Boomer nudging her with his shiny black nose. He licked her again and met her eyes- his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he gave her a big smile as if to say, “It’ll all work out!”.

Despite everything, the corners of her lips tugged upwards, and she lifted her hand to stroke his soft fur. “Thanks bud, don’t you worry about me, I can handle this...” She reassured him, not quite convincing either of them. 

Behind them, church bells from down the road chimed suddenly, signifying the top of the hour. The pair’s gaze was drawn to where the bells swung in the white tower- sounding off three times before coming to a stop. The echo of the last ring filled the air, and Veronica adjusted the strap of her M60 uneasily, looking down at Boomer once more to say, “Sounds like that’s our cue, huh?” 

The pup barked encouragingly, starting off down the short road without looking behind to see if she followed. After only a moment of hesitation, V joined him. 

Golden sunlight filled the near empty streets, painting the white walls of the church a shining shade of yellow. Paint peeled off the outside walls, but a platform on the side of the building with painting supplies held the promise of the future. 

A simple garden graced the front of the building; two large flower pots framed the stairs leading to the entrance. Under a large glass window- the doors to the church were propped open, offering a view of the interior. Pastor Jerome sat on a chair in the front of the church, a Bible in one hand as he read to an injured man lying on a mattress on the floor. 

As Veronica came through the entrance, she noted the bullet holes in the walls that were accompanied by violent maroon swatches of dried blood. It was hard to believe the fight for Fall’s End was merely 24 hours ago. The deputy stopped at the end of the aisle as Jerome’s words echoed off the holy walls. 

“Psalm 41:3, and the Lord will heal him upon his sickbed, The Lord sustains them on their sickbed and restores them from their bed of illness. In the darkest of times, there’s always a bit of light.” 

On the mattress, the man’s eyes stayed closed and he rolled on his side. The pastor’s eyes lifted from his pages, finding Ronnie’s. He greeted her with a smile, closing the book but leaving his thumb in it to preserve his spot. “Veronica. I’m glad you came.” 

Clearing her throat, she replied “I just finished helping Mary May, I figured I’d drop in and see what you needed help with.” The woman’s finger ran down the strap on her weapon restlessly, glancing at the podium behind Jerome. It wasn’t hard to envision him there, preaching to his flock. 

The man in front of her nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Jeremiah 23:16, ‘Do not listen to what the prophets are prophesying to you; they speak visions from their own minds, not from the mouth of the Lord.” He met her eyes once more and there was a weight to his gaze she didn’t quite understand.

Resisting the urge to say ‘Huh?’ and give him an annoyed look, Ronnie waited for him to continue. She’d never liked church, but standing in one now with proverbial blood on her hands felt even more wrong.

He waited only a moment more before saying, “Scripture tells us there is evil in the world. And that horrible things happen for reasons that do not make sense.” The pastor sighed.  “A long time ago, in peaceful times, I asked John Seed what was driving him. He gave me so many answers… all of them lies. I had one conversation with him and I knew. I knew… he masks his words as guidance, but deep down there is a selfishness that can only come from pure evil.” 

Not knowing what to say, Veronica looked away from him. She saw the man on the mattress had stirred, his eyes were glazed over with milky white cataracts yet they still searched the room for something. His breath came out in labored wheezes. 

On the floor next to the mattress, a cup of water lay within his reach. V leaned over to grab it, putting a gentle hand on the man’s arm and saying, “Here…” While guiding the cup into his now waiting hands. He took small sips before offering it back, rasping out a quiet thank you as he settled back onto the bare bed. 

“You seem tense, Veronica, how are you holding up?” 

A long sigh escaped her lips, and she took a seat in one of the askew pews. “I’m not sure how to answer that.” Came her honest response. 

“Do you need to talk about something?” He offered. 

Ronnie smiled humorlessly- finally looking at him. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been in a church since my grandma died.” 

Jerome pondered her for a moment before inquiring, “How old were you?” 

“23. It was just last year, actually. I don’t go to church, but she did… every day. Except one morning she didn’t wake up, and she never went again. What do you think that got her? Do you think she stamped her ticket to heaven by going to church?” 

When Veronica received no reply, she continued, “Because if that’s the case, I think my ticket’s already been revoked. Especially now.” 

Settling his elbows on his knees, the pastor leaned forward. “Why especially now?” 

V shook her head, a dry laugh escaping her. “Isn’t murder a big no-no to the man upstairs?”

Jerome frowned at her, understanding her tangent now. He took a moment to contemplate his answer. “Years ago… I refused to own a gun. I relied on the Lord to help me win every battle, to stand by my side and lead me to victory. Now, I know better.” He stood from his chair to join her where she sat dejectedly. “We are fighting a war, deputy. You’re here to protect people.” 

She couldn’t help but scoff. “I’m here because I got thrown in a fucking river and dragged into this ‘war’. Excuse my French.” 

“Veronica, I can’t heal the pain you’re feeling but I can say this: there’s a destiny for everyone. The work you’re doing here, fighting against Eden’s Gate, this is the Lord’s work. You are doing what you must, and every one of us is grateful. You are stronger than even you know.” Jerome gave her a long look, his faith in her clear in his eyes. “The cult has done so much damage to this Valley, and you’re doing right by us. Giving people something to believe in again… you can’t know how much that means to all of us.” 

The woman took a deep breath, unsure how to feel. Jerome’s words filled her with hope for herself, and her friends; but she worried about what her breaking point might be. ‘At least someone thinks I’m doing this shit right.’ She thought, the weight of the world temporarily lifted from her tired shoulders. “Is it ironic that I’m an atheist?” Ronnie asked, a small smile appearing on her features. 

“I think that’s the definition of irony, my friend.” Jerome smiled with her, and for the moment they both felt a sense of calm. 

Veronica nodded, the idea of doing more dirty work not bothering her as much as when she first stepped in. ‘If a literal pastor thinks I’m the good guy, then I am, right?’ She reasoned with herself, pushing aside her moral dilemmas for now. “So, what exactly is it you need from me?” 

Jerome sighed, suddenly weary once more. “With the Resistance budding, and people starting to fight back, I’ve been needed here in Fall’s End now more than ever.” He stood once more and wandered to the front of the church, pacing as he continued, “As you can see- John’s making a lot of people suffer right now, and quite frankly, I can’t keep up. These people need me, they’re my responsibility now... but that just means keeping tabs on the Resistance has been that much harder.” 

The deputy nodded, urging him to finish his thought. It seemed everyone was experiencing some degree of the mental turmoil she’d been enduring over the past few days. 

“There are a couple of people hiding away at Woodson Pig Farm, trying to hold out from the cult. I haven’t heard from them in a few days now, and I’m getting worried. Can you check on them for me? We can’t afford to lose a single one of our fighters.” The man pleaded, finally coming to a stop at his podium. 

Veronica reached into her backpack, pulling out the map Dutch had given her. “Where’s it at?” 

Jerome pointed out a building almost directly east of Fall’s End, only a couple miles away. 

The deputy nodded and stashed her map, “I’m off then!” As she headed for the exit, Boomer got up from where he’d been lying in the corner and stretched before following after. V paused in the doorway, turning back to say, “Thank you, Pastor. Really.” 

“Any time, Veronica. I’m a pretty good listener. Good luck.” He nodded to her as she stepped through the threshold. 

In less than 10 minutes, the duo saw a long dirt drive leading up a hill into the trees. They could hear shouting not too far away. “Sounds like it’s time to ditch the car.” V pulled the key from the ignition, and the pair left it at the bottom of the driveway. 

They trudged up the hill, the yelling growing closer by the moment. At the crest of the driveway, there was a worn sign that read “Woodson Pig Farm, Family Farm Since 1942” with a pink pig above. The word ‘Gluttony’ had been scrawled on the pig. 

Behind the sign stood a small, mint-green house with dried flowers adorning the front porch. A rustic looking fence surrounded the house and farm, but had been broken down in a few spots where the cult’s trucks had crashed through. Veronica crouched behind one and peered around it. 

The front door of the house stood ajar, and a single peggie stood inside. He held his gun close, and was yelling at another man who was bound on his knees. “Saying yes is the only way!” He shouted before using the butt of his gun to hit the man in the face. Ronnie winced as the captive spat blood. 

Creeping closer, the deputy peered through the windows of the house. She saw no one else inside, and inched forward. Next to the frame of the door, a white and red poster had been hastily hung. Veronica’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she recognized what the poster depicted. It was a ‘Wanted’ poster, with the word ‘Sinner’ bolded on the bottom; the picture in the center was from a grainy security camera, but Veronica’s face could be clearly made out. 

‘Wow, I’m so infamous I get my own wanted poster?’ She thought with a brief, bemused smile. Ronnie made it to the doorway, and pulled out her long black hunting knife. Inside, the cultist was still yelling at his hostage with his back to the doorway. 

Veronica crept forward and then lunged, grabbing the man and thrusting the blade through his neck. A deluge of blood sprang from the nicked artery, painting both the cultist and the hostage red. V kept her hand clamped down on her victim’s mouth, until his muffled yelling turned into choking gasps. 

The man’s body slumped to the floor; and the woman wiped her knife on his shirt before using it to cut the bonds of her ally. The man stood his eyes wide with shock. “Go, get out of here and hide! I’ll take care of the rest of them.” Veronica insisted. The man nodded shakily and turned, running out the door. 

Ronnie moved through the living room to the back of the house, heading towards the back door. She paused at the entrance to the bedroom, where she could see two peggies outside the window. One held a flamethrower, and was using it liberally on a pile of the occupant’s belongings. 

Pressing on to the back, V came through the door into blinding brightness and held an arm over her gaze to let her eyes adjust. When they did, she gagged at the sight in front of her. In the fenced pen, a pile of pig corpses festered in the sun. To the left of this awful vision, another cultist berated a woman lying on the ground, her hands and feet bound. 

A moment was needed to compose herself, then Veronica crouched once more to sneak along the side of the building. Behind her, the other two peggies were bickering. “Brother John’s head is clouded. We should just kill the deputy.” One of them said. 

“He said she needs to atone, see the error of her ways. He’s serious about this one.” The other replied, his tone cautionary. 

A chill seized Veronica as she imagined herself at the hands of John; tied to a chair, at his mercy. A strong shiver traveled down her spine, and she stiffened as her brain took that thought in a much different context. Bile filled her throat with the realization that even with all she knew of John, she was still attracted to him. She shook her head, shooing the thought from her conscious.

Behind her, Boomer had made his way out the back door and to her side. It relieved her to see him, and she smiled. “Wanna tag team on this one?” Veronica asked her companion. 

The cattle dog’s ears perked up, and he scratched at the ground in anticipation. Nodding, Ronnie murmured “Good boy! Now, see him?” She pointed to the man in the pig pen. “You take care of him, and I’ll grab them.” Her finger drifted to the pair who were still complaining behind them. 

Seeming to understand, Boomer started forward with his ears low and came up behind the man. He leapt forward and seized the peggie’s arm- wrenching him down to the ground. The man fell with a startled yell and hit the dirt. Boomer wasted no time and went for the jugular,  mauling him before he could make another noise. 

At the same time, Veronica pulled her M60 forward and jumped out from behind her cover. She shot a spray of bullets at the two cultists, not even giving them time to go for their weapons before they dropped. V let the machine gun fall against her, and she went to the woman in the pig pen to cut her loose. 

“Thank you, deputy, I knew you’d come!” The hostage professed, picking up her deceased captor’s weapon. 

Ronnie gave her a bashful smile, replying “Happy to help, Miss… now you should get out of here, get somewhere safe.” What she was really thinking was, ‘Am I a household name or something? Jesus.’ 

The woman nodded before turning and leaving through a gate in the fence. 

Once she was out of sight- Veronica turned back to the house and headed back inside. In the living room, she was about to pull out her radio and call Jerome when she heard something that made her stop. A faint click, and then something that sounded like whispering came from above. 

V looked all around her, finally stopping in the middle of the living room and peering up. Above her there was a large, square opening that looked like it had been hastily covered by flattened cardboard boxes. She frowned and jumped up, hitting one of the pieces with a thud. The sound suddenly stopped. 

Jumping again, Ronnie batted the cardboard away and left the opening uncovered. She paused for a moment, listening hard for anything. A few moments passed with no noise- and the woman made one last jump to grip the edge of the opening. With a small  grunt, she pulled herself upwards into the attic space. 

As she hoisted herself up, she took in her surroundings. The attic was small, only the length of the living room. Two wooden shelves stood opposite one another; one filled with only boxes and the other holding some ammo and a tac vest. Next to the second shelf, there was a dark recess in the wall. 

Veronica clutched her gun closer, and heard the same noise as before: a click followed by a softer noise. She stepped closer to the recess in the wall, and could finally distinguish the noise. A man huddled in the space behind the wall, gripping his radio and whispering hurriedly, “That sinner’s here!! Send a capture party! We can get her for John!” 

Their eyes met, and the deputy scowled at the man before firing at him. He fell backwards with the force of the bullets, gore covering the wall behind him. His radio was still intact, and his contact could be heard shouting “It’s deputy huntin’ season! Capture not kill, we need her alive! Use Bliss bullets!” 

The woman grabbed some ammo off the nearby shelf and stuffed it into her backpack. After taking what she needed, she dropped down into the living room and checked her gun. As she was about to reload- an off-white Eden’s Gate truck screeched to a stop in front of the house, and three men in heavy riot gear hopped out. 

Upon seeing this, Veronica dove for cover before they could see her. Her back rested against the wall next to the front door, and she heard one of them shout “Come on out darlin’!” She swung around her backpack and pulled out her radio, turning it to the frequency she wanted. 

“Jerome, it’s Veronica, I secured the farm but one of those fucks called for backup and they said something about a capture party? I don’t know what the hell that is, but I sure as shit don’t plan on finding out.” She babbled into the radio. When no response came, the deputy moved underneath the window, readying her weapon. She peeked up and aimed, seeing one of them on the porch. 

Before Ronnie could get off a shot, a sound behind her caused her to whip around and she was confronted with one of the men; who must have come in the back while she was making her call. He shot a round, hitting her in the thigh and causing her to yelp with pain. Before she could make a comment about his aim, or think about why the bullet hadn’t torn through her, her vision blurred. 

The world became shaky- and stars swarmed her sight. V was able to slur together a few words before she passed out, and she grumbled “You… asshole…”

Though she could no longer see, Veronica could feel someone pick her up in a fireman’s carry. She knew they’d tossed her into the back of the truck, and heard the engine rumbling in the distance. A few bumps in the road were the last things she felt every sensation was gone, and she fell into a white abyss of Bliss. 

[flowercrown-bucky]

As it turns out, adventuring in the unconscious mind is super overrated.

Fandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists..... It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats.

.Word Count: Lots

Chapter One

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter Two] 

Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME TO BE ADDED

Authors’ Note: When I worked as a barmaid, one of my regulars used to refer to his wife as ‘the current Mrs Osbourne’. I always found it funny, and I snuck it in here. 

Also - I’m back. Yipee ki yay, motherfuckers.

You sighed as you slept, your breasts heaving.

Loki turned on his side, running the tips of his fingers over your sleeping form. The thin blanket was draped over you, not quite thick enough to warm your body properly. 

You snored, he had noticed, and it had bothered him to no end. As a god, he was required to sleep very rarely, which left him with nothing better to do than watch you sleep, most nights. 

He was intrigued by your mind. He had never entered a consciousness quite like it before, and the mystery of the contents of the shelves was really getting on his nerves. 

Over the last few weeks, you’d been sharing a room. After all, it was cheaper to have one room and it helped maintain the pretence that you were husband and wife. 

Your system had become fairly streamlined, and you’d become quite comfortable in each others’ presence. Comfortable enough that you’d allow yourself to sleep and trust him to protect you. After all, your body was a powerful asset, and you would rather it remained in one piece. 

Your unconscious mind, however, was a mystery to Loki, and one he fully intended to investigate.  

He lifted his hand, pressing his palm against your forehead. 

He looked around, briefly. It was just ask dark as it had been before, and just as empty. 

He wandered towards the boxes again. What was stored in your mind that you so badly needed to hide? You had revealed everything to him, but not your mind, and that was a concept he really, really struggled with. 

He grabbed at the handle, jiggling it with all his might, but it just wouldn’t budge. 

“I told you never to invade my mind again.” Your voice startled him. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” He spun on his heel. 

“And you are most certainly not supposed to be inside my head, so don’t try to take the highroad with me.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” He repeated, blinking incredulously. “Your body is asleep. How are you not asleep?” 

“Are you broken, or owt?” You raised your eyebrow. “As you can well see, I am not asleep. I find it suits me to be at least partially conscious at all times.” 

“Are you always like this when you’re sleeping?” He eyed you suspiciously, sat once again on your chair. 

During the short period of time he’d known you, he had discovered that you found it very difficult to sit normally on a chair, opting instead for a number of uncomfortable looking and seemingly anatomically impossible positions. It didn’t annoy him as much as had he thought it might. 

He’s asked you about it once. You’d mentioned that you had been briefly employed as a contortionist, but brushed it off whenever he tried to bring it up again. 

In all honesty, it wasn’t the most unusual thing he’d discovered about you. 

“Yup.” You popped the P. “And yes, that does mean that your midnight perving has not gone unnoticed.”  

“I do not perv.” He rested one hand on his hip. “I observe interesting things. You happen to be interesting.” 

“Well, I sure am glad you think so.” You drawled. “Anyhoo, to what do I owe the pleasure of this little midnight intrusion?” 

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s in all these boxes?” He asked. 

“Trust me when I say it is best for our combined safety that I don’t.” You looked straight into his eyes. 

He hated when you did that. The only other person who had ever looked at him was that same intensity was his mother, and she had always had quite the knack for staring straight into his soul. 

Come to think of it, so did you. 

--

Loki shifted his weight in his seat, lifting his eyes from the steadily melting ice cube in his glass to the pair of breasts that had shifted into his line of vision. They were, he noted, rather nice breasts. Large. 

“Another drink?” A smooth voice asked him. 

“I’m good, thanks.” He cleared his throat, waving a hand dismissively. With the assistance of his unique talents, the evening’s entertainment had left him rather better off than he had started. 

To any other man, being dealt a three and a seven as a holecard in your first game of the evening would surely be a bad sign of things to come. But Loki was no ordinary man, and with a little coercion his cards had switched themselves out for a slightly better hand. Never a pair of aces, he had learned, it was much too suspicious. No, two queens were his weapon of choice. 

But, as ever, if you made a man a fool, he would call you a thief. 

It did not bother him much. He had been called far worse.  

He’d had no need for your quick hands and easy deceptions in his games this evening - but you were, as ever, his charming accomplice, as pretty and poisonous as you had been the night you met him. 

His eyes were on you now, and it seemed he was not alone in that. You were slightly distracted as you crossed the room, one hand running through your hair to smooth it. Your carefully outlined eyes had smudged ever so slightly, the seam that ran down your left thigh slightly askew. 

“Really? Him?” He raised one eyebrow as you approached him. 

“What? He’s cute.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “Sort of.” 

“Finished?” He continued, holding out his hand. 

“He certainly is.” You raised your eyebrows. 

He pulled a face at you, and you couldn’t help but grin as you reached your hand into the side of your dress. This was, he had learned, your favourite place to keep things you would rather not lose - with the exception of your handgun, of course, which was always either tucked into the band around your thigh or under your pillow whilst you slept. 

He wondered briefly how the hell you explained why you were in immediate possession of a 10mm glock to the gentlemen you entertained. 

A tiny metal key dangled between two of your delicately manicured nails, and he grinned. 

“You beauty.” He held his hand out further to you, palm up, waiting for you to drop it. 

“Tut, tut, tut. Where are your manners?” You teased. “Ask nicely.” 

He stared at you incredulously. You tilted your head to one side, sticking your tongue out mockingly. 

“You are an infernal nuisance, you know that?” He rolled his eyes, leaning over to grab your arm and tug you into his body. You were supposed to be his wife, after all. 

“So I’ve heard. Now, if you want the candy..” You leaned into him, your voice dropping to a low whisper. “You’ve got to play ball.” 

Your lips brushed gently against his jawbone, nothing more than a chaste brush of skin, leaving a burning trail in their wake.

“You know I could just kill you, right?” He turned to you, trailing his fingers down your arm, his own wrapping round your waist. 

“But what would be the fun in that?” You blinked up at him innocently. 

If he wasn’t a god, if he didn’t have so much self restraint, he would be melting in your hands. 

He felt a gentle jingle and a slight weight in his back pocket, followed by the gentle brush of your fingers across his bum. 

“You know, a good fuck would really sort out your little attitude problem.” He mused, turning to face you.

“Nice try, Loki.” You rolled your eyes. “And, well..” You waved your hand at the gentleman who had been your evening’s companion. 

“I said good.” He chuckled. “And by the way, darling, you really shouldn’t touch a man’s bum like that. Leads the mind to all sorts of unsavoury places.”

“You fucking wish.” A very un-ladylike snort left your mouth. 

“Mr Evans, who exactly might this delightful young thing be?” A sharp voice drew his attention. 

He glanced up at the man standing before him. He was tall, taller than Loki, and thin, like one of of those gross spiders you find in the corner of your room. His face was drawn, likely from stress, he concluded . A smattering of whiskers littered his chin, a slightly unpleasant twinkle in his lined eyes. 

“My lovely lady wife.” He smiled, pulling you in to him a little tighter. “The current Mrs Evans.” 

You turned your head in such a way that only he could see you rolling your eyes.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” You turned back to face your company, a tight lipped smile curving on your face. “I do apologise, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.” 

“It does seem that way, so please, allow me to introduce myself.” He took your hand in his own, lifting it to his face and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Roger Slater. I was just chatting to your husband here, not twenty minutes ago.” 

Something about the way he was looking at you made Loki grab you a little tighter. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” He asked, trying to remain as polite as he was able. “I’m sure my fine lady can assist me in carrying a few extra drinks.”

“An old fashioned, if you would, my good man.” His tone was level, his voice smooth. It made Loki cringe. 

--

You weren’t paying that much attention to either of the men before you, so the cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and the sudden sharp tug came as something of a surprise to you. So much so, that you almost yelped in surprise. 

Almost. 

You gathered your composure as you steadied yourself, smoothing down your skirt with your free hand. You weren’t sure whether it was the heels that left you so unsteady on your feet, or the negroni you had necked not five minutes earlier. 

Loki’s hand was tight on your wrist as he led you towards the bar, his fingers icy cold on your delicate skin. Why was he always so cold? 

“Be careful with that one.” He whispered. You opened your mouth to question him, but he had turned towards the barmaid to request more drinks. 

The man to your left wasn’t particularly subtle in his eyeing of you, his gaze sweeping your form a few times before shooting you a smile that made your skin crawl. 

You shuddered, grabbing at the tumbler closest to you and taking a long sip, scowling to yourself. 

“Why the long face?” A look of bemusement settled on Loki’s face - something you found really, really infuriating. 

“These men.” You grumbled. “They talk to me, treat me like a pretty little piece of fucking meat.” 

“That’s because to them, you are.” He shrugged dismissively. “Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Rage bubbled in the pit of your stomach, like an angry, venomous torrent climbing up your throat. 

“Why, you little - hmmmph.” His hand slapping over your mouth cut you short. 

“Might I remind you, darling, that you have a role to play. You shall get your vengeance.” He shot you a sickeningly sweet grin. “But for now, you shall have to grin and bear it, little pork chop.” 

You seethed from behind his hand. 

“Hold your tongue, that’s all I ask of you.” His gaze was earnest. “Will you do that for me?” 

You cast your gaze downwards, nodding your head. 

“Good girl.” He lifted his hand from your mouth, smiling as you glowered at him. He kissed your hand delicately, a brush of his lips across the skin of your knuckles, before holding out his arm for you to take. 

The unusual gentleman, Mr Slater, was, as promised, still waiting for you across the room. He thanked you politely as you handed him his drink, his eyes alight as if something were terribly funny. 

“Are you sure we have never met before, Mrs Evans?” His left eye quirked as he spoke. “You seem awfully familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

“I guess I just have one of those faces.” You shrugged. 

“Yes, quite.” He said. “Anyway, I have a rather unusual talent that I often whip out at parties, just as a little amusement. I feel it might interest you both, if you care to indulge my silliness.” 

You glanced across at Loki, trying to hide the bewilderment from your face. He shrugged, holding out his hands. 

“Be my guest.” He agreed. 

You weren’t really sure what exactly you were expecting. Perhaps table top magic - rabbits out of a hat, coins from behind ears, that type of thing. Hell, maybe he was truly psychotic and was going to stab the both of you. 

“It’s more of a childish parlour trick, really, but I have this unusual gift for reading people. Amateur psychology, really, but rather fun.” He grinned at your confused faces. “I pick up little things about people, tells me all sort of things. Secret affairs, family feuds, the yearnings of the heart. Even people’s greatest fears.” 

He paused for a moment, lifting his glass to his mouth. He gathered the drips from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, looking back up at you both. 

You thought it was a real shame he considered ‘people reading’ his greatest talent and not this overblown display of amateur dramatics. 

“The pair of you are a little more enigmatic than most, but I think I could give it a crack, if you would allow me.” 

You nodded breathlessly as he leaned towards you, your heart hammering in your chest. It was almost as if every nerve, every cell in your body was imploring you, screaming at you to not let this strange man come any closer to you. 

Your feet felt frozen in place as his hand landed on your shoulder, his calloused palms like sandpaper against the soft skin of your shoulder. A breath stilled in your throat as his head dipped so his lips were level with your ear. 

“You will kill again, and it terrifies you.” He whispered. “It keeps you up at night, doesn’t it? Not the knowledge of what you have done, but what you know you will do. It’s okay, darling, your secret is safe with me.” 

You exhaled sharply as he drew away from you, a nervous laugh bubbling out of your chest. 

Who the fuck was this guy? 

He winked at you as he took another sip of his drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Loki’s line of vision flitting back and forth between the two of you, looking for any hint of what he had said to you, what could’ve so clearly, so deeply, unsettled you. 

You sure as hell weren’t going to tell him. 

Your eyes followed him closely as he leaned in towards Loki. Unlike you, he maintained his cool composure, but you were fairly certain you saw something adjacent to fear flicker in the back of his eyes. 

Over time, you’d become an accomplished lip-reader, but this time, you felt for sure that your skill had failed you. You’d not picked up much, a single word, in fact, but you knew it couldn’t be correct. 

That word, that single word, that allegedly had Loki witless with fear? 

Himself. 

His hand shot out, grabbing at your wrist, his nails biting into your skin. 

“I’m really sorry, but my wife and I have to leave.” He spat out, turning on his heel, and striding away as quickly as his legs would carry him, almost dragging you behind him. 

You had never seen him this flustered before. His cheeks were ever so slightly pink, his eyes glittering with anger, his chest rapidly expanding with every shallow breath. His grip on your wrist was like a vice, and you felt for certain that there would be the imprints of his long fingers marring your skin in the morning. 

Just before you reached the door, you were fairly certain you heard the unusual man call ‘See you around!’ cheerfully over your shoulder. 

“Who the hell was that?” You asked as you hurried down the corridor towards the lift. 

“I don’t know.” He replied. “Like he said, we were talking when you were out. He owns a jewellery company. I didn’t think he’d try and get to us. Messing with you in that way, saying he thinks he knows you to try and catch you offguard.. It’s certainly unusual behaviour.” 

“See, there’s the thing. I don’t think he was fucking with me there. He looked familiar to me, too. I think I’ve met him before.” You pressed a finger to your lip thoughtfully. “And don’t even try taking the ‘weak mortal’ path here. You were bricking it too, I could see it in your face.” 

“You see what I want you to see, little mortal, and nothing more.” He shot you a glare. “Now, about that key.” 

“We all see only what we’re shown, Loki.” You mused. “Even you.” 

He glanced at you curiously as you stepped into the lift. 

The encounter with Mr Slater had left Loki deeply unsettled. From the very off, something about the strangle man had made him uncomfortable. 

He couldn’t even really work out why. He was, if anything, perfectly pleasant. Polite, courteous, well spoken. There was, at least on the surface level, nothing wrong with him. 

But yet, he was nothing short of creepy. His smile wouldn’t have been any more unsettling if black widow spiders had crawled out from in between his pale lips. 

When he revealed he had a little talent, Loki wouldn’t have been entirely shocked if he’d told him it involved punting kittens. 

He himself was not exactly known for his strict adherence to anything resembling a moral code, and if anything, it made it all the more unusual that he had affected Loki so badly. 

If there is anyone in this world - or any other - to be truly afraid of, it’s not the man who stalks your nightmares - it’s who stalks his. 

He was, however, desperate to know what Roger had said to you. You would, of course, never tell him. Under other circumstances, he would consider subduing you in some way, but from the few encounters with your subconscious mind he had already had, he got the feeling that even then you wouldn’t willingly surrender the information. 

It was this he was pondering as he rifled through the irritatingly mundane belongings of one Mr J Grey. When you’d selected him as your victim of the evening, you’d done so on the premise that he was wearing a very expensive suit, but as Loki was discovering, he hadn’t quite been the man you were looking for. Aside from half a gram of cocaine in a small ziploc bag - honestly, who kept their narcotics in their bedside table? - and a scuffed Barclaycard with yet more cocaine tightly pressed into the embossed numbers - expired, he had checked - he had found nothing of any real value. Knock-off watches, fake leather wallets, poorly made suits, but nothing particularly valuable. 

“Your judgement is poor, darling.” He said. “This man is both immensely dull and revoltingly messy.” 

“I am sorry to disappoint, but we Terrans are a rather messy species.” You remarked. “In fact, we are renowned for it.” 

He laughed, staring down at his gloved hands. You were quite right - humans truly were a messy, invasive little species. A cosmic nuisance, of sorts. He was just glad that, for the most part, they stuck to their own planet. The furthest they had actually gotten was their own bloody moon, so they weren’t exactly regarded as a threat to other species. 

“I think we should cut our losses and get out of here before he gets back.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair. 

Loki muttered his agreement, rising from where he knelt on the floor. He was happy to dispose of the clammy plastic that clung to his hands, flinging them into his pocket dimension as he headed towards the door. 

He dropped a throw-away comment as he walked down the corridor, eliciting a true, from-the-chest belly laugh from you. Quick as ever, you responded within a heart beat, but Loki found himself missing your witticism, distracted by a sudden thought. 

Since when did humans start referring to themselves as Terrans?

-- 

TAGLIST:  @chxrryycola @the-middle-oldest-child​ @possessedjoker​ @amour-delicate @marvelouslyme96​

[howlingmoonrise]

Thoughts on Petshop of Horrors: Wandering Ark volumes 1 & 2

(also on dreamwidth)

HOW did I manage to miss the translation of my long-awaited Papa D PSOH series?? I've been stalking it ever since I found the announcement and somehow the fact that @ruthlessnightsscans​ already put out the first two volumes completely went past my head.

Obviously I had to read it right away, sleep be damned.

this is the edited version of my brain thoughts after i managed to get two sleeps and calm down a bit or it would be a lot more incoherent

The art: the initial pages really remind me of the old art! Unfortunately it goes back to the roundness prevalent since the Shin series (which has only become even rounder with time) not long after. That art style is also a lot less dynamic than the original, I find. It's a bit of a problem on scenes that are supposed to have some tension caused by movement. This is nothing new since, like I said, Sensei has been using this art style since a good while ago. I really miss the original art though. It had a major nostalgia punch to it and a lot more feeling as well.

-- First chapter: "I am on a journey with no destination in mind" just say you're on vacation and go off I guess. 

Papa is... weirdly easy-going. I want to say it's because he's not yet mad with grief and his son being taken away and so on, but the glimpses we saw at his time in university definitely didn't paint him this soft. There's no edge to him, on this volume or the next. 

Regarding the story itself, I can't say I loved it but it’s not the worst out of all of them (there are four in total between these two volumes, and a third volume is on the way). I liked Koushun's character, but Seiyou annoyed me, especially when he presumed to know what she wanted (or perhaps he didn't presume, but decided for her what was better anyway) - something like I Shall Revive This Species So Breed In My Name Okay Bye. Note also that while Koushun was willing enough to marry (thinking she was marrying someone else but that's another point entirely), the groom himself came in chains. And then Seiyou... locks them in together? Great. Just great. Very conducive to a loving mood indeed, locking a woman with a potentially dangerous stranger who might cause her harm and telling them both to fuck (note. the. chains. you don’t put chains on someone you think is harmless; they never put any on Koushun even when she attacked Seiyou). I was afraid for her when it cut to another scene here, with the last we saw of her being pushed against a wall and being told by the groom that it seemed that he would have to make a child with her. "Rather than hate each other, I want to break that curse"? Seiyou, sweetie, that is NOT the way to make them not hate you. ((The reveal that Koushou is some sort of creature - very PSOH-y - does not help, since putting two wild animals together without them being used to each other is perhaps even more likely to them killing/harming one another.))

MAJOR little mermaid vibes on Koushun standing over a sleeping Seiyou with a knife. 

There are quite some parallels with the D species on this tale of bloodshed and revenge. The Ds could stand to learn from this, though historically they don't. "Even if you kill the third prince, the Kagetsu people are already gone. They won't return." Papa himself says that 'winning on the last available tile' is a waste of time, which really resonates with his research into reviving lost species and the issues of his own kind. A reference to the health of descendants when no new blood is introduced is also made here, which might or might not point to our D depending on where in time this Papa is from.

--

Second chapter: it's... frankly, super choppy. The story is all over the place. On the author's note, Akino herself says that it's a challenge to put the whole life of that empress in 57 pages, and I have to agree. Either it should have been cut to the REALLY relevant parts and worked on them some more, or be discarded in its entirety. It's too rushed. The whole first part was unnecessary: it could have started with her already working at the palace or being chosen as a concubine, and then made references to her previous life in her thoughts instead of wasting several pages on it when that backstory won't be going anywhere (except for some references to Hakubun whom she sees on that other actor - who dies like, two or three pages later, so that's that on that). I do like Ranji herself as a character: she's clever and quick to pick up on things. Her life is just a series of tragedies one after the other, unfortunately. 

Papa D is some sort of benevolent helper in this chapter for some reason - this pattern repeats somewhat on the next chapters, but on this one there isn't really anything to gain for him at all, other than perhaps his dubious acquaintance with one of the concubines/future empress, which wouldn't really hold much weight since he met her ?once? apart from near her death.

And then, somehow, the initial Papa D in this chapter was actually Sofu?

Sofu???? I'm calling bullshit. As far as we know - going back to Sofu's own series and flashbacks on the original PSOH, even - Sofu never had a hairstyle of that length, and out of our three known Ds (new!D excluded) he's the one least likely to help a human just because. The ark is also said to travel through space and time, so I'm saying that's Papa D and that's it. Fun aside: on this chapter, Papa says he's the "third generation", meaning that on this series he's probably the youngest existing D (and by inference our D does not exist yet).

Also, some issues with in-story continuity here: when the last emperor dies Ranji still looks fairly young and the emperor-to-be is three years old, a couple pages later she looks a lot more aged but the new emperor is still three years old. To be honest, I think the story would have been tied off much better if A-chan had some connection with Hakubun or the eunuch instead of each having their very brief, individual emotional connections to her - which, in turn, doesn't really make them memorable. The "wishes" thing was interesting, really called back to the old PSOH tradition with the mystical pets and bittersweet be-careful-what-you-wish-for endings.

--

Third chapter: I think, overall, this was probably the one I liked the best. Can't really bring myself to call it my favourite though, since none of them even begin to compare to the original PSOH chapters. I cackled at the "jawline is too sharp" dialogues and thoughts: with this art style EVERYONE has the same round jaw as every other character, and it's the furthest thing from "sharp" possible.

With this series it really seems like Sensei is giving more focus to trying to tell historically-accurate stories rather than focusing on the stories themselves, as there is a huge amount of superfluous historical information to be found in these volumes. 

The empress Elizabeth reminds me of Sofu, in truth. She won't "mind" affairs and the like (read: she will hate it but ignore them) as long as it works towards her ends. Her taking away the newly-born child is a huge parallel to Sofu regarding both Papa and D, and D and new!D. Child-snatching FTW! That being said, I actually kind of liked her, ruthless as she was: the whole reason why Sophie made it as far as crown princess was because Elizabeth valued her hard work. You don't get to hold an empire together without having a steel spine and a cunning mind (or people to do the work for you I guess, but here it doesn’t seem to be the case).

I hate that Sophie had to change even her name and religion to fit her new reality, accurate as it is to history. That sort of thing always messes me up (throwback to the Nazi/teddy bear chapter of the original PSOH series, where there was also a name/religion change for the sake of survival). Not a reflection on the author in any way, I just hate that this is something people had to go through. As something I hated that kinda does reflect on the author, though, was the ugly = terrible association with Pyotr and the maid. Sophie/Catherine is initially said to not be beautiful but she's not depicted in the same way those two are at all. 

Papa's benevolence is thankfully offset this chapter by the fact that he does have something to gain here. For some reason Ds doing things merely for the goodness of their hearts kind of rubs me the wrong way unless it's D during or post-Leon. 

Most PSOH victims clients: oh a pretty person! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S AN ANIMAL Sophie/Catherine: a dog you say? sounds kinda hot ngl

Gotta respect how she just jumps straight into the dog affairs. The take-back of the empire was also nicely executed, and I'm always here for ladies in traditionally male clothing. 

--

Fourth chapter:

This is linked semi-directly to the third chapter by virtue of the amber room Papa D craved. Marks also the second time that Papa takes a human on board of the ark.

D, circa end of original PSOH, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he watches Leon plummet towards the earth: Humans have not earned the right to board this ark. Papa D: I'm gonna go for a joyride and take along this human and this human and this human and this human and--

Papa really gives Doctor Who vibes on the ark matter. Travelling through space and time, occasionally taking human companions? The one for this chapter - who I'm guessing might be a cameo from one of Sensei's other series, since I didn't recognize him and there was no backstory for him on the chapter - even has era-appropriate wardrobe changes (at least assuming it's the same person and not just someone who looks similar scratch that they have eyes of different colours so I guess Papa has been giving rides to delivery men now), the second of which leaving me very ??? as to WHEN he is from. 

That last Look(TM) reminds me a of Leon Orcot, between the long ponytail and the clothes resembling the ones Leon wore on the last chapter of Shin PSOH (in PSOH time, that would have happened approximately 15 years after the end of the original series, meaning that Papa was already long dead then. Unless Leon's style was just stuck in time, which is also very possible). 

It might or might not have endeared him to me for that exact reason. What can I say? I'm a sucker for Leon Orcot, and apparently also for characters that visually remind me of him. ANYWAY.

Why another Nazi-era chapter??? Sensei plz. One was already enough on the original PSOH - it wasn't anywhere near my favourites back then, either - and the fact that this one mostly followed a Nazi colonel didn't help either. Here we witness them tearing down the amber room, "reclaiming" art from all over the world, a father's heartbreaking sacrifice to “save” his daughter’s dog, and Papa D coming to meet the Nazi dude. One would expect the Ds to avoid genocidal racists given the fate of their own species, but apparently the Nazis were relevant enough for not one but TWO Ds to interact with them. Oh well. Either way, I really don't like how Papa appears to not care one way or another - when the D for the original series interacted with people he didn't like, his mask was really fairly obvious (at least for the reader). Perhaps Papa simply has a better mask. Perhaps those nuances were lost to time and round art styles. Perhaps Papa or Sensei just don't give two shits. Guess we'll never know.

EVERYONE seems to comment on the flavour of Papa's tea: it's 4 out of 4 so far for these two volumes, and in this chapter in particular it seems as if it's laced with some kind of truth serum - it seems to be Papa's version of D's (and possibly Sofu's?) incense from the original PSOH. A reference to the original PSOH's Nazi chapter is also made here, with Papa mentioning that Sofu was on friendly terms with Eva Braun: this implicates that in this time they were in closer contact (not surprising since Sofu probably hasn't stolen his still-non-existent kid yet).

The colonel seems to value art over human life - surprise surprise! - so he kills his own comrades to keep the art "safe". A stomach-turning moment comes where they find human golden teeth being kept as treasure, which Papa mentions remelting to turn into golden nuggets. Why, Papa/Sensei, why? It's in poor taste, even if you're testing the colonel the way D did with some of his clients on original PSOH.

At the very least an eerie moment comes next where Papa explains that dead creatures can be revived using DNA. "Even dead people?" Cue Papa's all-seeing stare directly into the reader's eyes (and presumably the colonel's as well) with a backdrop of an inverted black-and-white multitude of graves as he says that future is not very far. Colonel almost shits his pants, with reason when you consider the amount of people the Nazis killed off that would presumably come after them. This almost forgives the teeth comment, and it's probably the first moment in these two volumes when we see some genuine emotion on Papa's face (on this page and the next), creepy and maniac as it might be.

Colonel dude has spent the whole chapter justifying everything under "orders of the fuhrer" so far. Then comes the moment that Papa calls him out by saying that the orders were to burn his sweet dear art so that it wouldn't fall into enemy's hands, and it's here that we see how much of an hypocrite the colonel is when he doesn't want to follow those orders. Suddenly it's "treasures of mankind" (even though he's been stealing them left and right) and the fuhrer is "a fool" (even though he's been using his orders and his "greatness" as justification for everything). 

Suddenly, Papa's companion! Who the heck is that! Shoots him! This is someone whose family was killed by the colonel (directly or under his orders) or so he says; he's gripping a piece of art we don't get to see, which is presumably the reason for those deaths. Now in the future! A guy who looks a bit like that other man who shot the colonel, but who I'm not 100% sure if it is or is not the same person because the round art style makes everyone look alike Someone who is definitely not the same guy because his eye colour is different (and who's dressed in a sporty outfit with a long ponytail, which I've mentioned kinda reminds me of Leon) looks for the amber in the place the art was stored, alongside Papa. He flies on the ark (all these humans on the ark, Sofu would have a conniption!) and reminds me of Leon once more while being shouty and holding on to the main mast for dear life.

The sacrificial father mini-plot also gets resolved with the dog returning (but not the father himself) along with a picture with that family. Which is presumably the picture the other dude who shot the colonel was holding, which begs the question: how is he related to them? He doesn't look like any of them, but he did say the colonel killed his family while (presumably) holding that same picture, so hmmm. Maybe he's the dog, colour-scheme aside? But apart from the father, the rest of the family seems to have survived, so it's kind of a strange thing to say since that sort of wording usually means more than one person. Even if he is the dog (my money is on that option), it's not exactly obvious to a reader who's not looking very closely. Some loose ends there, or at least ends that don't really look like they're tied together at all.

"No matter how long winter is, spring will come." Fairly hopeful final words there, Papa D. These echo similar ones spoken by D at the end of Shin PSOH, after running from Leon once more ("someday, the season for returning will come"): perhaps both these Ds are not as pessimistic as to their future, at least at this point? Poor Papa definitely had a change of heart between his series and the ending of original PSOH, unfortunately.

--

General thoughts: Sensei hasn't quite managed to replicate the feeling of the original PSOH just yet. The storytelling feels a bit shallow and rushed, though the pacing improved from the first volume to the second. There's also very little focus on Papa himself for some reason: he's more of a background character on his own series except for the fourth chapter, which is a very strange narrative choice. In part this might also be because he doesn’t have a permanent companion to discuss/argue with like in previous iterations of the PSOH series. I wonder if the third volume will continue on this trend? I wish it’d delve a bit more into Papa, but either way it’s still nice to get some more PSOH content.

I've heard Vesca will make an appearance next volume, I'm so excited!! Out of Shin PSOH, my favourite chapters were Leon's (surprise surprise!) and the ones with Papa and Vesca on their university days. Papa definitely seemed a lot sharper there, which I miss here - I feel like Sensei has been smoothing out all their edges like with the art style lmao, and in turn it makes them feel a bit lacking since the Ds are not meant to be bland and forgiving and easy-going, at least as per their original portrayal. I've also seen sneak-peaks of Leon and D from author notes of the next volume so I can't wait at the chance to weep at the slightest panel of my son Leon.

A final shoutout to RNS for continuing the PSOH translations! I really can't thank them enough!!

[bobdylanrevisited]

The Times They Are A-Changin’

Released: 13 January 1974

Rating: 10/10

Cards on the table, this is my favourite folk album of all time. ‘The King of Folk’, ‘The Spokesperson of his Generation’, ‘The Protest Singer’. These are all labels Bob hates, however this album confirms that he is all these things and much more. Whilst there a few love songs thrown in, this album is defined by it’s more radical tracks, as Dylan takes society to task. 

1) The Times They Are A-Changin’ - This is another song that is as true today as it was in ‘64. The themes of youthful anger, and much needed change, pour out of this album and can still be applied to the issues we march for today. Like ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’, this will go down in history as a cultural turning point in both popular and protest music. Bob has continued to perform this live over the last 57 years, which shows just how timeless the lyrics are, and you should check out the melancholic, ballad version he played for President Obama at the White House in 2010. 

2) Ballad Of Hollis Brown: A devastatingly sad song, which tells the story of a farmer, who is forced to kill his starving family. As well as civil rights, another theme of this album is the treatment of working class families, left behind by the government. It’s a grim but important tale, and the snarled singing really helps the message hit home. 

3) With God On Our Side - This is a satirically political ballad, based on the notion that ‘god’ was behind all victories for America, regardless of if the opposing sides also believed in him. Dylan sings of those who won’t forgive the Germans, and being told to hate the Russians, and takes the persona of a naive patriot who puts faith ahead of reason and free thought. This must have been somewhat shocking in the early 1960s, in a deeply religious country like America, and is even more shocking that just 15 years later, Dylan would be putting out albums as a born-again Christian. 

 4) One Too Many Mornings - An unbelievably understated, romantic ballad, about regret, potentially aimed at Suze again, a theme carried over from ‘Freewheelin’. However, this is also one of Dylan’s most reworked songs, and each time it sounds like a completely new song by a completely different artist. The electrifying 1966 version, the country version with Johnny Cash or at the Isle of Wight festival in 1969, the Rolling Thunder version from 1975/6. Whilst Bob is a chameleon, shapeshifting across different genres, this song is so perfect that it remains a classic, no matter how much he changes the sound. 

5) North Country Blues - Another song about the failings of the American Dream, and the disregard of the working class. This time the story is told by a young woman in a failing mining town (possibly Dylan’s home town of Duluth/Hibbing, Minnesota), where the oil companies have moved overseas to save costs. This is a heartbreakingly beautiful song, and is a scathing attack on capitalism and the consequences of big corporations chasing a few extra dollars, that again wouldn’t feel out of place if it was released today.

6) Only A Pawn In Their Game - Bob played this song all around the country at protests and civil rights rallies, culminating with him performing it at The March on Washington, where Martin Luther King Jr gave his famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech. It tells the tale of Medgar Evers, a black rights activist in Mississippi, who was murdered by a white man. Yet it also talks of how the poor white man is also a victim, and is spurred on by elites who want to keep the rich whites in power and are threatened by the Civil Rights Movement. It’s a radical song, and is a brilliant dissection of both race and class relations in America. It’s a very sad state of affairs that, like much of his work from this period, the song is still as relevant now as it was back then. 

7) Boots Of Spanish Leather - Almost identical to ‘Girl From The North Country’ in tune and theme, this is yet another bittersweet song for Suze, after her time in Italy and Bob travelling to see her, yet she’d already returned to America. What sets it apart are the beautiful lyrics that are both achingly sad, yet full of warmth. In other words, I love it. 

8) When The Ship Comes In - Hell hath no fury like a Dylan scorned. Following him almost being denied a room at a hotel due to his scruffy appearance, his touring companion Joan Baez had to vouch for him. Once he was finally in his room, he composed this shanty that sounds almost too cheerful, until you realise the lyrics are full of wishes that his enemies be taken by the sea and drowned. It’s a brilliant song, the reels you in with the happy music, and knocks you off your feet with its enraged fantasies. 

9) The Lonesome Death Of Hattie Carroll - It pains me that Hattie Carroll’s name could easily be replaced with Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, and far too many countless others. Whilst some say that certain elements of the story are exaggerated, this is possibly Dylan’s most powerful song. The depressingly familiar theme of murder, civil rights, injustice, and wealth have never hit harder. Particularly in modern times, the line ‘the ladder of law has no top and no bottom’ is all the more relevant, as is the story of a white man barely getting a slap on the wrist for murdering a black woman. It’s a perfect song, almost prophetic, and is still ideal for causes like Black Lives Matter, just as it was for the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.

10) Restless Farewell - On any other album, this song would be a highlight. It’s only due to the other tracks being so brilliant, that this almost feels like a let down. However, upon closer listening, this is an incredibly angry song masquerading as a ballad, that lashes out at rumours of Dylan’s plagiarism, upbringing, and blossoming career. It’s almost the first of many beautifully constructed ‘fuck you’ songs to his detractors, something that Bob would become all too familiar with over the next few years.

Verdict: Perfection. In my mind, no folk album will ever come close to living up to this. Even the outtakes from these recording sessions are better than most people’s careers, particularly the perfection that is ‘Percy’s Song’. If his career ended here, he would still be remembered as history’s best songwriter, but Bob was only getting started. Whilst the Newport Folk Festival was crowning him as their new king and the political voice of the counter culture, Bob was getting ready to go through his first metamorphosis and follow his own path, no matter who he pissed off in the process. 

[hanawrites404]

Part 2

Noriko stood up from her seat as she locked her eyes with the tall man's emerald ones. Without wasting any more time, she quickly bowed to him.

"It's a great pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kujo" she greets. Her tone sounded like that of a child who is meeting her favourite Marvel superhero but is trying her best to be polite.

"The pleasure is all mine Noriko" he replied.

Noriko then stood up, a pink blush was visible on her cheeks.

"And by the way Dad, she is very, very, very fond of you" Jolyne informed. "Is that so??" He asked back. "Yes. I mean, she has literally read every single text which was written by you, and she is absolutely in love with you".

"J-Jolyne-chan, it's not like that!!" the girl blushed more. Noriko then looked back at Mr. Kujo, whose eyes didn't leave her even for a second.

"I-I-I'm so sorry Mr. Kujo. It's nothing like that at all. Jolyne is just messing with you" Noriko added with an awkward laugh.

"Yeah right" Jolyne smirked and crossed her arms.

"It's alright Noriko. No need to be sorry" Mr. Kujo replied. Noriko then bowed to him again. "Thank you so much professor!!!".

"No need to be so formal. Mr. Kujo is fine". "Yes sir!!! Mr. Kujo sir!!" Noriko replied without getting up.

"Ugh, give me a break" Jolyne then grabs Noriko by her arm and drags her away. Noriko stumbles a bit but then goes with Jolyne to where she was taking her.

"W-Where are we going??". "To my room of course. I cannot let you wear that stinky uniform tonight. You gotta change". "But it's alright Jolyne. I'm not going to stay that long".

"So what?? This uniform sucks. You deserve a break from wearing it. Now come on, get in" she then shoves the red head in the room and closes the door.

Mr. Kujo on the other hand reached for the photo on the table. It was a picture of his younger self and his companions at that time when all of them voyaged to Egypt in order to defeat a powerful vampire.

His lover too was a part of the crusaders. But unfortunately, he had lost his life during the last fight, and Mr. Kujo can never forgive himself for letting him die. He still carries the guilt of letting his loved one die.

It could have been him.....no, it SHOULD have been him. However, it seemed like fate had some other plans for him, because his lover was back now, but in a very different form which was unfortunately a disadvantage to him.

The fact that he returned as a girl and half of Mr. Kujo's age, the relationship was going to look very questionable and inappropriate. People would think that it is some kind of pedophilia or a sugar-daddy relationship instead of a normal couple.

But why was he going to care?? It's not like he is bound by the insecurities of what the society might think. He will do whatever he wants to. He doesn't give a shit to what people would think of him, and that's what he has been doing for the past 22 years.

But the real problem was......what would Jolyne think of it?? She would literally get traumatized to hear that her friend who is as same age as her is dating her father. She would be disgusted to even imagine Noriko and Mr. Kujo holding hands.

Now what can Mr. Kujo do about that?? He had already lost his lover once, now if he has finally come back, then why lose him (or her) again?? Mr. Kujo really wants to mend the things which were left incomplete between both of them.

He hates carrying the guilt of his lover's death for more than a decade and really wants to let it go. Uniting with Noriko is the only way he can do it to finally let his lover's soul rest in peace. But how will Mr. Kujo win Miss Noriko's heart??

"Come on Noriko. It's alright. You look very cute in it" Jolyne had changed her attire from her school uniform and was now trying to pull the red head out of the room but was resisting her.

"I-I don't want to, not in front of Mr. Kujo" the other girl replied.

"Ugh, there you again. Mr. Kujo-this, Mr. Kujo-that. Can you not take his name after every fucking minute??".

"I-I'm sorry but, the lowers are too small. I cannot come out like this in front of him". "Don't worry Noriko. Dad is not going to bite you or anything". "B-But--". "No buts. Are you coming out or shall I do the hard way??". "........Fine.....".

The red girl steps out of the room, her cheeks dusted pink and her hands trying to hide her exposed thighs. She was wearing a light blue t-shirt which had a star on it and green shorts.

"See?? Not hard at all" Jolyne grinned. "I-I guess" Noriko replied shyly. "Oh come on, are you acting all shy because Dad is here??" Jolyne asked.

Noriko looked at Mr. Kujo who was staring continuously at her too. When he realised that Noriko was looking at him, he pushed his hat down to cover his eyes. Noriko blushed more and looked down at the ground.

"Come on Noriko, you must be hungry. Let's grab a snack and then we will study" Jolyne pushed her forward by her shoulders to the pantry.

"B-But I don't want to trouble you that much Jolyne". "Bullshit!!! You are my guest Noriko. Imagine it like you are in your own house". "I live a hostel Jolyne". "Alright, then imagine this as if you are at your parent's house" Jolyne said.

"I.......I don't have any parents Jolyne".

The taller girl stopped in her tracks, while the shorter girl's eyes got shadowed.

Mr. Kujo was noticing everything what was going on between the girls. When he heard that Noriko had no mother and father, he tensed up.

"Oh I'm so sorry Noriko. I didn't know that" Jolyne apologized. "It's OK.....It's not your fault........"

Noriko rubbed her eyes to stop the tears which threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. But even after her resistance, a stubborn and salty tear slipped from her eye as she closed her eyes to accept the wetness.

But suddenly she felt a calloused yet very gentle thumb wiping the tear from her cheek. Noriko opened her eyes to see whose thumb was it and it was none other than Mr. Kujo himself.

"I'm really sorry for you Noriko......" Mr. Kujo told her.

Noriko then sniffed and wiped the snot which was coming from her nose. She then said "Don't be sorry Mr. Kujo. It's perfectly alright".

"Noriko-chan......Where are your parents?? What happened to them??" Jolyne asked her.

"I-I was away from them at Florida while Mom and Dad were at Japan. Both of my parents were returning from work and they were travelling in a bus. But then a truck came out of nowhere and t-then at the midnight I-I-I got a call saying that--"

"Don't" Mr. Kujo placed his finger on her lips to stop her from continuing the story. He then slowly brushes a strand of her red hair behind her ear.

Noriko gives him a sad smile and then continues calmly.

"Whatever Mom and Dad had earned went to my relatives, so I had nothing to rely on. And that's why I studied hard, got my scholarship and also did numerous part-time jobs to pay the rent of the hostel. The hostel is very shabby and the manager is one big pervert, but that's all I can afford".

"Noriko......why didn't you tell us earlier?? We could have arranged something for you, right Dad??". Mr. Kujo agreed to her daughter.

"No no no, don't do so much for me. I don't want to be a burden to you" Noriko stopped them while shaking her hands as to say 'no'.

"Nonsense!! Just look at your condition Noriko!! You work like an ox daily and all you get is a shitty hostel AND a weirdo manager!!!" Jolyne held her by her shoulders as she explained her face to face.

"Then......what shall I do?? I have nowhere to go". "Stay with us, obviously" Jolyne told her. "B-But--". "No buts. You are officially living with us from now on".

"Jolyne, that's very sweet of you but why are you helping me?? I have done nothing for you, nor I am like a close friend to you. They why??".

"Let's just say that I like you a lot, and I truly think that you deserve a better place. Being without friends and parents and coping with life alone must be very hard for you. Also, studies are a pain in the ass, so why don't I make your life a bit easier??" Jolyne winked at her.

"I.......I don't know how to thank you both.........." Tears welled up in her eyes. "You are already helping me with my studies. I bet if I work hard under your tutelage, I might top the class. Now THAT would be a tight slap on Anderson's face" Jolyne laughed.

Noriko chuckled with her too. She was wondering how she can deserve such generous people.

"So it's settled then. Welcome to your new home Noriko-chan" Jolyne said.

Noriko couldn't hold it on for more and suddenly hugged the taller girl. Jolyne was taken aback for a second, but soon wrapped her arms around the smaller girl.

"Thank you Jolyne. I'm really fortunate to meet you". "You are flattering me now" Jolyne laughed.

"No really.....you don't know how lucky I am to meet such a sweet person like you" Noriko said.

"Yeah yeah whatever. But don't expect me to treat you so nicely like this". "That's fine by me" Noriko chuckled. Jolyne smiles and hugs her tight.

Both of them then let each other go. "So what are you waiting for?? Go get your bags from your hostel, and also don't forget to give a punch on the manager's face" Jolyne punched her hand.

"Sure I will" Noriko smiled. "Wait Noriko, I'll come with you" Mr. Kujo offered. Noriko turned to Mr. Kujo and said.

"It's perfectly alright Mr. Kujo. I'll handle it myself". "It's night, and young girls should not go alone in the dark like this. Let me accompany you" Mr. Kujo suggested.

".....OK sir". "Come on then" he then holds her shoulder and then they both go outside.

"Be back quickly both of you" Jolyne bid them farewell.

Mr. Kujo got his car and Noriko sat beside him. Both of them wore their seatbelts because safety is important and the author wants to promote road safety.

"What's the name of your hostel??" Mr. Kujo asked the girl. "Virgin Donuts" Noriko replied.

Mr. Kujo looked at the girl beside him with cringe written on his face.

"What kind of name is this??" He asked. "I-I know. I-I-I had no choice" she blushed from embarrassment as she hid her face from the man.

The man sighed and he adjusted his hat. "Give me a break" and he then started the engine and were off.

*5 minute time skip, brought to you by Piss Tea*

Mr. Kujo and Noriko were stuck in a traffic which was not going to be cleared in less than 10 minutes. So both of them sat idly wherever they were.

"Ummm....Mr. Kujo??". "Hmm??". "I-I was wondering.....are you going to write another thesis??" Noriko looked at Mr. Kujo who was keeping his eyes on the traffic lights.

"Well yes. I'm still researching but it will be out soon" he replied. "That's great. I can't wait" Noriko smiled as she made herself comfortable in the seat.

Jotaro slightly smiled to himself and he stole a gaze from the red head. He first looked at her bright eyes, then at her perfectly framed nose, and then at her plump lips.

She really reminds me of Noriaki......I still remember how he used to eat his cherries weirdly in front of me.........

Mr. Kujo smiled to himself. Those were some bittersweet memories which he cherished the most.

"By the way Noriko, you have no guardians at all??". "No. I do have relatives but they don't really care about me. They have inherited my parent's house and whatever they had ever possessed. I bet they don't even know that I exist" Noriko said.

Mr. Kujo felt pity on her. He was born in a family with priveledges, so he never had to face such a situation. But it didn't mean that he does not understand Noriko and her struggles.

Mr. Kujo couldn't help himself from holding on any more, and so he reached for Noriko's hand and held it.

Noriko looked at the man in his eyes, and without saying anything, she lightly clenched her hand around his bigger one. Mr. Kujo rubbed his thumb against her knuckles, feeling the soft skin of her hand.

The red head was not sure why, but she felt some sort of connection with the professor.

It felt like magic to her, as if a spell had been casted on her, which was slowly drawing her closer to the man.

Noriko noticed how handsome the professor was from close. His raven black hair and his sea green eyes complimented his face.

Mr. Kujo and Noriko were only inches away from each other, their lips longing to meet and tug at one another. Both of them were waiting for the other person to make a move but it seemed like they were too shy to do so.

The sexual tension was immense in the car. But fortunately, a car horn dissolved it all.

Both of them jerked away from each other and let go of their hands. Noriko was blushing madly while Mr. Kujo pulled his hat down, a small blush on his face.

He also noticed that the traffic has been finally cleared, so he drove his car forward and headed towards the hostel.

*7 minute time skip, brought to you by RaDIOactive*

"That's it. Here is the hostel". Mr. Kujo looked through the window at the small building Noriko mentioned.

"This is where you live?? Even a cardboard box looks neater than this.........structure" Jotaro commented. Noriko sighed as she took off the seat belt and got out of the car.

She then opened the door and much to her disappointment, the manager was there at his desk. At noticing the red lady, he smiled creepily and stood up and dashed to her like a predator.

"Noriko!! My Rose~!! I thought you won't come tonight" he hugged her and buried his face in her chest.

Noriko had already started to feel very uncomfortable. She tried to push him away from her but he was holding onto her like an octopus.

"Oohh~~ Now would you look at that?? You came to visit me in such short clothes hmmm...." He then started to run his hands on her thighs and hips.

Noriko just stood there trying to resist everything, but the man was like 3 times her size, and it was impossible for her to push such a man away from her.

Mr. Kujo entered the building and the first thing he saw was Noriko getting assaulted. His eyes became shadowed and he tensed up a lot. His whole aura had become menacing and murderous.

"You are such a naughty girl Noriko. Say........wanna have some fun at my room??" The man whispered in her ear.

Noriko was petrified beyond anything. She was praying that someone would come to rescue her from this dire situation. And fortunately, her hero was right behind her.

"Noriko......" Mr. Kujo called. Noriko turned around to him, and then the professor pulled her close to him and shielded her with his huge arms, separating the manager from the red girl.

"Huh?? Who are you?? And how dare you interrupt me??" The manager glared at the taller man's eyes, as that was the biggest mistake he had ever made.

"Noriko.....go and get your things. I want to have a talk with the manager alone" Mr. Kujo then let go of the small girl so that she could get her possessions from her room. Noriko gave a small smile at the professor and caressed his arm and then she left, leaving the perv and Mr. Kujo alone in the hall.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry sir. I-I-I didn't k-know that s-she was y-your d-daughter" the manager stammered.

"You fucking idiot, she is not my daughter. She is my lover". "What??? You?? Her lover?? But she is half your age!!" The manager was shocked to hear that from the man.

"How Ironic, coming from a disgusting scum who was just harrassing an innocent, young girl shamelessly" he then cracks his knuckles and stares deathly at him.

"You wanted fun right?....let me give you fun". Then, a spirit-like creature formed behind the taller man, and let's just say that the manager retired tomorrow and would never be able to get back to work, nor he would ever be able to have children, or actually do anything at all.

*2 minute time skip, brought to you by Maid Polpo*

Noriko was done packing her bags and exited her room to meet Mr. Kujo outside. Once she reached the hall, she spotted Mr. Kujo smoking a cigarette, looking outside from the window.

"Mr. Kujo, I'm done" Noriko called to him. The professor as soon as he heard the girl's voice, got his cigarette disposed of and he then went to pick her bags up.

Noriko looked around the hall, but she could not find the one she was looking for, so she asked the taller man.

"Where is the manager Mr. Kujo??". "He had some business to take care of so he left" he replied.

Noriko clicks her tongue from disappointment as she placed her hand on her hip.

"What's the matter??" Mr. Kujo asked. "I wanted to give him a punch on the face like how Jolyne told me to, now I have lost the chance to do that" Noriko whined.

Mr. Kujo sniggered at the sassy girl and then patted her red head. "Jolyne is really turning you into like herself. If she was at your place, she would have cut his balls off and stuff it into his own ass" he said.

"Pfffff-hahahahahahahhaha!!!!"

Noriko started to genuinely laugh at Mr. Kujo's statement as she brushed her bang behind. The man observed how beautiful she looked as she giggled her heart out. Also how her vocals bounced as she expressed her happiness.

It reminded him of that time when his boyfriend was laughing after the battle with The Wheel of Fortune along with the others. That time was also the first time Mr. Kujo witnessed his lover truly laughing joyfully.

He always wanted to hear his laughter one more time, and today his wish came true.

Once Noriko's laughter had started to slow down, she wiped the tears which came out while she was laughing. She then regained her breath and said.

"Oh Mr. Kujo, Jolyne is one badass. I am truly grateful to have a friend like her. And also--".

"Jotaro".

"Huh??" Noriko looked at the professor. "Call me Jotaro. That's my first name" he told her.

"A-Alright Jotaro" Noriko timidly took his name and blushed pink. Jotaro felt butterflies in his stomach when he heard his name slipping from the sweet-looking lips of the red head.

"It's getting pretty late now. Let's grab some dinner and go home. Jolyne must be waiting".

"Y-Yes si-- I mean, Jotaro-san" Noriko corrected herself.

Noriko's cuteness touched Jotaro's heart as he blushed pink and pulled his hat down to hide it. It's a good thing that Noriko didn't notice him getting flustered.

*20 minute time skip, brought to you by Caesarino*

Jotaro and Noriko had gathered the dinner and were now heading home. Noriko was humming along the song which was playing on the radio. Though he found Noriko's voice to be angelic, Jotaro was praying for the song to end. You know why..........

(Part 3)

[thethousandyearwitch]

“Drowning Seems Favorable” 

Pariging fics, 2493 Words; Humor/Romance. AO3 Link, FF.net Link

Ging and Pariston end up going on a cruise for work related reasons. But neither of them are true professionals, are they?

Or: Oh my god they were roommates.

The Ocean is a vast beauty. Endless waves framing the horizon, only giving a teasing glance of what could hide behind that infinite line. The deep blue so inviting, yet so dangerous and full of the unknown.

Ging Freecs leaned more on the railing of the cruise ship he was traveling this ocean with. A gentle breeze ran past his face, a refreshing break from the stuffy rooms inside the ship, carrying him away to someplace quieter, calmer…

“There you are!” …and far away from the man he was traveling with. Ging didn’t need to turn around to practically feel the smug smile that Pariston Hill must have had on his face. In a smooth motion, Pariston rested his arms on the railing next to Ging and stared out into the ocean with him.

When Pariston mentioned that a group of individuals were interested in funding Gings next expedition into a yet unexplored tomb, the older man had imagined a stiff meeting with a short presentation about the significance of excavation; A routine he didn’t enjoy, but could endure for the sake of his passion. It was only a day before departure, that Pariston informed Ging that his presentation would be held on a 4 day cruise.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Its all-inclusive!” Pariston leaned on the table with his elbows, resting his head lazily in one palm, while gesturing lazily with the other hand. The café they met at was quaint, one of Gings favourite for their good coffee and even better hash browns.

“I don’t care.”

“Aside from your presentation, you can spend the entire time doing what you want!”

“I still don’t care.”

“I will be there.”

Ging had choked back a laugh, “Aren’t you trying to convince me to come with you?” He kept his eye contact with Pariston while he finished his second cup of coffee. The blond man has never shied away from his stare, a sign of confidence Ging could appreciate but would only voice over his dead body. “Besides, I just don’t see a reason why I can’t wait till the moneybags are back from their little cruise.”

Pariston sighed dramatically, leaning back in the booth. “Because! They have come from all over the world to hold this meeting. After the cruise, they will scatter again, and won’t be as much in the mood to humour your little trip expenses. You could be a little more grateful that I’m granting you access to this golden opportunity.”

“And what’s the reason you are presenting me this opportunity for?” Gings tried to hide how interested he truly was in the kindness of the other. Pariston had never done good things for the sake of doing good, but his ulterior motives were always well hidden away. An excavation site of its own.

“I want to do a friend a favour.”

“Bullshit; The real reason.”

“I want to spend precious time with you.” The blond leaned forward again, a tell-tale grin on his face.

“Gross; The real reason.”

“It’s the truth! You’ve been a pain to get a hold off, missing countless zodiac meetings, and I appreciate your company…. aslongasyoushowered.” He coughed half-heartedly to cover up the rushed insult, though it only provoked a raised eyebrow in the rougher looking man. “We could use the time to get you up to speed with Zodiac business, and you can continue running away from your son.”

Ging could feel a surge of surprise and anger rush through him. “Excuse me?”

“Your son, you remember him, right? You left him with your cousin when he was just a baby? Never contacted him once in his Life? How old is he now, Ging?”

As a fist slammed down on the table, the café quieted, and for a second it felt like the entire world came to a stop. But Pariston just continued smiling, rolling his head from one palm to the other, as if the surge of aura didn’t even register to him.

“You don’t have the right to speak of Gon.” Ging practically hissed the words. Gon was not a topic of conversation he’d like to have with anyone, but especially not the rat in front of him. In response, Pariston just raised his hands in defence and surrender, though the gleam in his eyes gave away how utterly satisfied he was with the response he had provoked. He had won this round of the unspoken game they kept falling back into, a constant power struggle of who had the upper hand, who could play the other in just the right way.

And Ging had to admit defeat. For now.

-------------------------------------------------------

The Cruise had started about 4 hours earlier, and Ging had already been preoccupied shaking hands, running through the same introductionary sentences about 30 times. The smell of cigarettes had driven him out to the Deck, to that railing where now he felt cornered once again by Pariston.

Ging tucked uncomfortable at the collar of his own white dress shirt, hating how it already clung to him like a second skin, suffocating and irritating. A cruise with a dress code is fucking ridiculous. Meanwhile the man next to him wore one of his ridiculous fitted suits, most likely custom tailored just for him; Burgundy base colour with a windowpane pattern. Ging wondered briefly how he wasn’t constantly sweating himself to death in those heavy suits, but disregarded the thought. Pariston already took up too much space in his brain, that being any space at all.

The blond took a deep inhale of the fresh ocean breeze, before turning to his travel companion with his signature smile. “Are you enjoying the trip so far? I saw that you already got friendly with quite a few people.”

“Of course, I’m trying to find better company so I can ditch you.”

“Is that so? Because you looked about ready to dive into the sea and swim back to shore just now.”

The shorter man laughed lightly, “Maybe I was trying to find better company among fishes. I’m sure they are all far more interested in me and my work than anyone here.”

“I thought I was rather blunt about being interested in you, before.” Smoothly Pariston leaned more towards Ging, invading personal space as if it were nothing. The breeze gently loosened a few strands of hair from its usual well-kept form, and carried the smell of cologne with it. With a shallow breath, Ging turned to the taller man, supporting his own weight on one elbow seated on the railing. “How unfortunate that I’m not very interested in you.”

The two men let silence settle around them, only the machinery of the ship and the crashing waves against its walls filling the space. Their prolonged eye contact must have seemed awkward or tense to any outsider, but to the two of them it was just an opportunity to scan an opponent for new openings to strike. Paristons dark eyes drilled deeper into Gings, as if he could pull him apart layer by layer. But instead of retorting with a thinly veiled insult, the taller man simply straightened up, and waved his hand leisurely. “I think I’m going to go into my cabin, unpack my suitcase, get comfortable.”

“I could use a nap and a helping from the minibar...” The dark-haired man sighed, though he was curiously intrigued how he had won their little feud so quickly and effortlessly. He fished in his pockets for the small key and golden room-tag attached. Number 143. Pariston leisurely lead the way down the main hallway leading to the personal cabins. Something about the way he walked, just slow enough to check that Ging was still behind him, from time to time flashing a smile back to him, unsettled the other man. What is he hiding?

The elegant doors passed by Ging as he checked the number plate attached to each of them.

Hundred and two, hundred and three, hundred and four…

The tall blond was still walking ahead, his steps airy and rhythmic.

Hundred and twelve, hundred and thirteen, hundred and fourteen…

Ging noted how the carpet laid out on the floor almost had the same colour Paristons suit, and how he could best form an insult around that.

Hundred and twenty-three, hundred and twenty-four, hundred and twenty-five…

Something was definitely wrong. Was Paristons cabin really that close to his own? Even if so, Ging was convinced he could still play that to his advantage. Maybe he could bang his fists against the wall periodically through the night.

Hundred and forty-one, hundred and forty-two, h- “There we are!” The blond clapped his hands together. Ging checked the gold plate on the door, 143. He looked back at his key plate, 143.

“This is my cabin, scram.”

“Oh, did I not mention we were going to share a cabin? Or did you choose the ignore me while you were wolfing down 4 portions of hash browns?” Pariston already unlocked the door with his own key, its own number plate of ‘143’ mocking Ging.

“This is not happening. I am not going to fulfil whatever little fantasy you had in mind here.” He stepped into the small cabin, with the full intent to complain further, though his tired thoughts were a bit faster. “Oh thank fuck there’s two beds.”

The cabin was nicely decorated, as was expected. Two Queen sized beds, separated by one nightstand, a deep blue carpeted floor, and a good view of the Ocean. Opposite of the beds there was a solid wood cabinet, a wall-mounted TV, and, of course, the mini fridge.

“ We are two grown men confident in our professional relationship, I don’t see the problem.” Pariston had already positioned himself at the large window, only slightly tilting his head back to look at Ging. His dishonest smile was a challenge.

Ging could never say no to a challenge.

And so, he quickly threw off his shoes, and jumped on the bed close to the window with a long exhale. “You’re right, this is not so bad! Hope you don’t mind me getting comfortable.”

The blond slowly ran his eyes up and down the others form, making a significant stop at Gings socks. Dirty, worn, probably older than any clothes he himself owned. His smile didn’t fade, though it was significantly more strained. “Of course not, this is our home for the next four days, after all.”

“Great! Then how about you pass me something from the minibar, roommate?” Ging got more comfortable on the bed, rested his head on folded arms, crossed his legs and let one foot bounce loosely in the air. If he had to endure the presence of the other for four days, he would make sure to be as annoying of a roommate as possible. Maybe Pariston would even get fed up and ask for a new cabin for himself. The blond walked over to the small fridge and crouched down as he dug through its contents. “They have the worst brand of champagne…But the best brand of Whiskey.” Ging hummed in approval, eyes closed and not a care in the world. A stranger could never tell the difference, but he knew from experience that Paristons tone in voice had become bitter, sour. This round was a win for Ging. He felt the others footsteps come closer to the bed again, rounding around it to come to a stop in front of the window again. The familiar clicking of the bottle being opened enticed Ging to open his eyes, and start reaching for it.

But before he could even extend his hand, Pariston had already wrapped his lips around the small opening of the glass bottle, taking a slow swig.

“Oh! I’m sorry, did you want the Whiskey? You should have said so.” His smile was unchanged, but his eyes had that glimmer of victory that made Ging cringe. Pariston extended his free hand to reveal the small bottle of champagne, as if he expected it to be taken from him, though both really knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, Ging sat up and grabbed the small Whiskey bottle from the others light grasp. For some reason, he could feel the blood pumping through his veins as he took the bottle to his lips, never breaking eye contact. Without flinching, he emptied the bottle and disregarded it to the floor.

“Thanks for the drink.” His throat protested the harshness of the alcohol, though it was barely a drop on a hot stone.

“Shouldn’t roommates be able to share?” Pariston leaned forward, once again invading personal space, or at least more space than Ging would be comfortable with.

“You got a drop out of it, seems fair enough for a lightweight like you.”

“Maybe I can take more than just a drop.” With a low chuckle, he leaned even more towards Gings face, before coming to a halt. Carefully he wrapped one hand under the smaller mans chin, tilting it up, and slowly brushing his thumb across the others bottom lip, catching an escaping drop of alcohol.

As he quickly retracted his hand and straightened his back again, he licked away the bitter drop he had caught, before wrinkling his nose. “Maybe the most expensive things don’t always taste the best.”

Ging wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing, but it became noticeable through a sharp inhale he finally took. He got played. There would be no way that Pariston didn’t notice how his heart had been beating harder, and how motionless he became. Ging didn’t even know why he responded that way. It’s not like he was attracted to Pariston. The man repulsed him to the core, and his personality was unreadable.

But maybe opposites do attract. Maybe two wrongs make a right.

So Ging decided to make things right, as he grabbed the taller man by the collar and pulled him into a hard kiss. It was sloppy but got the idea across. Ging dragged his tongue across Paristons teeth, eager to deepen the kiss, and with a pleased noise in the back of his throat Pariston let himself be pulled closer. The shorter man didn’t loosen his grip on the collar he was holding onto, but before Pariston could steady himself by holding onto Gings hips, he pushed him back against the window, ending the kiss as quickly as it had begun.

Ging wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, flashing a confident grin. “Sorry, just wanted to take back what you took. I fucking hate sharing.”

Pariston shot him a pained smile, his left eye showing the faintest twitch “Say, whens the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“That’s for me and my toothbrush to know. I’m going to go check out the buffet, hope you’ll have the fridge restocked when im back.”

And with that, Ging left the room, leaving Pariston confused, disgusted, but somehow even more intrigued. This could be four very interesting days.

[psychicexpertlover]

Christmas AU

Nathalie didn’t know when she had started hating Christmas. Perhaps it had all begun when Mrs. Agreste had died, a November morning two years ago, leaving the household shrouded in grief just before the holidays. Or maybe it only started two days ago when she had slipped on a patch of ice while shopping for presents, resulting in a sprained wrist and several nasty bruises. It was especially frustrating that she couldn’t do her hair in her usual bun, and had to wear it loose. Gabriel - no, Mr. Agreste - had insisted it was nothing, that it didn’t bother him as long as Nathalie kept up her usual work pace, but she had caught him gazing at her pensively whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

Her transition from P.A. to the most powerful man in Paris to a multi-tasking live-in nanny of sorts had begun three years into her employment, when Adrien had been born. The newest addition to the Agreste household was a metaphorical ball of sunshine, with his father’s looks and his mother’s joie de vivre. Since Mrs. Agreste was often out on "modeling business" and Gabriel had his schedule fully booked with meetings, Adrien was often left in Nathalie's care. While at first, she had regarded him as a duty of sorts, she grew to love the boy as a son. Or, perhaps, a nephew; because Emilie was and would always be his mother.

Nathalie made her way down the mansion's main staircase, her dark curls bouncing with every step. Arriving at the bottom, she checked under the giant Christmas tree she had helped Gabriel and Adrien put up and decorate. As expected, there were two presents addressed to her. However, to her surprise, the one from Gabriel (wrapped in the same golden paper he used each year) was far too small to be the usual agenda or new tablet. Carefully ripping the wrapping open with her good hand, she found a pretty, plain silver locket. Highly unprofessional. Absurd. she thought, yet blushed tomato red. Nathalie had always thought she was good at hiding her feelings from Gabriel, especially her feelings for him; but in the past months it had become more difficult... Their increasing closeness since Emilie’s death hadn’t gone unnoticed by the press, but she had never thought of anything more than platonic, at least on Gabriel’s side. They were just two very good friends, grieving for the loss of a loved one and leaning on each other for support. Hell, she had only started catching feelings for him in the past year.

Turning the locket over in her fingers, she fumbled and dropped it. The necklace chain caught on a low-hanging branch of the tree, getting tangled with an ornament she remembered Gabriel putting up a few days ago. That afternoon had reminded her of a Christmas many years ago, when the two of them and Emilie had been in university. The trio had gotten very drunk and started decorating Gabriel’s dorm room with strings of tinsel. It still hurt Nathalie to refer to Mrs. Agreste by her first name, because it reinforced the idea that not only was her employer dead, so was her best friend. Back in uni, the two of them had been inseparable. When Gabriel came into their lives, he had fallen for Emilie immediately, beautiful, brilliant, charming Emilie. However, he had never tried to take her away from Nathalie. Then the two of them had a surprising amount in common, which led to them becoming steady friends, to Emilie's delight.

The smell of coffee jolted her back to the present, or rather, to the present dangling under her nose. Sighing, Nathalie untangled it. She fumbled with the clasp a few times, then gave up and twisted the chain around her thumb, and decided to go see who was making her favourite drink this early. Probably not Adrien. Nudging the kitchen door open, she was greeted by the sight of Gabriel deftly working the coffee machine while his son babbled animatedly about the snow outside. Nathalie smiled. The elder Agreste had come a long way from locking himself in his study with whiskey. “Merry Christmas Nat!” yelled Adrien, jumping at her to squish her into a hug. Sometimes, she reflected, the boy acts younger than his eleven years. “I’msorryIgottagonowhavefunseeyoulater!” he mumbled, then, with a quick glance at his father, then back at her, and exited the room at top speed. “What was that all about?” said Nathalie, quirking a brow. Gabriel shrugged. “Honestly, who knows. Coffee?” he asked.

The two adults sat down at the kitchen table, Nathalie still clutching the locket tightly. “How are you holding up, Gabriel?” He looked at her with eyes like a beagle; downturned at the corners and slightly bloodshot. “I still miss her. It’s been two fucking years, Nat. Does it ever get better?” She reached out, taking his hand in hers and giving it a soft squeeze. No words were needed. A strand of loose dark hair fell off her shoulder, the tip dangling dangerously close to her coffee. “I miss her too.” The locket in her hand suddenly felt much heavier than it was. “Adrien coped well enough. Better than I expected.” she added, then winced. “Shit. Sorry. That came out wrong.” Gabriel hmphed wryly, taking a sip of coffee. “No, you’re right. He moved on better than either of us.” Something tightened in Nathalie’s chest and she made to pull her hand away, but Gabriel caught it in his, entwining his long fingers with hers. Nathalie’s heart leapt, thumping violently in her throat. “I--” Gabriel blinked and his gaze slid to her other hand. “I take it you liked your Christmas present?” It was so warm in the kitchen, thought Nathalie absently. “It’s beautiful. Although I’m not sure I can put it on myself. Sir.” she added, almost as an afterthought.

Gabriel smiled gently, and she melted inside, because he had only smiled like this twice since Emilie’s death. It was not that she had been keeping count of his facial expressions, but that soft smile had been tattooed on her soul and the inside of her retinas since he had first directed it at her. “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Gabriel?” he asked teasingly. She smirked at him and downed her coffee in one gulp. “At least once more, as always, Mr. Agreste.” He laughed, letting go of her hand to snatch up her empty mug. They stood in companionable silence as Gabriel washed it and handed it to her to dry. The locket lay on the table, seemingly forgotten until Gabriel picked it up and turned it over in his palm. Nathalie’s breath caught in her throat as he stepped closer. Does he even realise he’s invading my personal space? she wondered. Or is he doing this on purpose?

“May I?” he asked, his voice husky. Gazing up at him mutely, Nathalie nodded. He gave her shoulder a soft nudge, prompting her to turn around. The locket felt cool against her skin when he slipped it on, and a shiver went down her spine as Gabriel held her hair out of the way to fasten the clasp. He was so close. She could feel his breath on the nape of her neck, a small chill that gave her goosebumps whenever he exhaled, and his expensive cologne filled her nostrils. It set her nerve endings aflame. “There,” he murmured in her ear, and Nathalie knew by the searing heat in her cheeks that she was blushing. Turning around to face him - so close - she smiled like a smitten teen. “Thank you...” she whispered. All of a sudden, he seemed to deflate and took a step back, rubbing his neck. His cheeks were pink and when he looked at her, his eyes were narrow with emotion. Her locket - his locket, she thought, that he bought for her - pressed against her clavicle. “What-” Nathalie began, but Adrien chose that moment to bulldoze into the kitchen holding a huge present box. “Father! Nat! I’ve got a whole slew of presents from everyone in class, and I can’t open all of them by myself.”

Personally, Nathalie thought Adrien looked a little too sweaty from just opening presents, but she didn’t question it much. She was just happy for the excited glint in the boy’s eye; all too aware that this was the first Christmas since he was nine that he could truly enjoy. She blinked, and all of a sudden Adrien was four years old again, racing around the mansion on unsteady, chubby toddler legs, yelling “Thanta came! Mommy! Nattie! Where’th papa?”. Smiling at the memory, she turned to Gabriel, who nodded. Together, they made their way to Adrien’s room where a miniature mountain of colorful boxes lay, waiting to be unpacked.

It turned out that trying to unwrap microwave-sized presents with a sprained wrist was practically impossible and quite painful, so Nathalie settled for lounging on Adrien’s bed and occasionally commenting on whatever Adrien had got from his friends. She smiled when they got half-way through the pile and decided to take a gingerbread break. “Can I get you anything?” Gabriel asked her as he stood up and brushed down his pants. Nathalie pushed herself up into sitting position, considering the question. “A glass of milk would be nice.” she said eventually, “But I’ll get it myself, I think.” Adrien looked up from a jigsaw he had just unwrapped, and his eyes widened as Nathalie got up from his bed and strode up to the doorway that Gabriel was leaning against. Neither of the adults noticed the sprig of mistletoe above their heads, carefully attached there by Adrien himself a few hours earlier.

Nathalie made to squeeze past her employer, but he caught her by the wrist - the un-sprained one - and took a deep breath. “I have to tell you something;” he blurted out. “I tried saying it earlier but I, just, couldn’t, and, well-” breaking off, he looked her in the eyes, sighed, and started again. “Nathalie, I’ve known you since I was 16 years old. You’ve been my closest friend for as long as I can remember. When Emilie died, I thought… I thought I couldn’t go on living without her. I shut myself away from the world, from my son, and drank the days away in my study. You were the only one who could understand my pain and you were the only person who could save me from myself. I owe you so much.” He squeezed her fingers, seeing her eyes tear up behind her glasses. “Hey.” His voice shook. “Merry Christmas, Nat.” Letting out a choked sob, she wrapped her arms around his midriff and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Merry Christmas,” she mumbled, her reply muffled as he hugged her tighter. Adrien was watching them with his mouth slightly agape, then jumped up and ran to throw his arms around them. Laughing and crying, the three of them stood like that for another minute.

“Can we watch a Christmas movie?” asked Adrien, looking beseechingly up at his father. Gabriel smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Of course, son. Why don't you run along and choose one?" Adrien jumped and gave a small shriek of joy, and rushed out of the room like a cheetah. Nathalie chuckled. Gabriel turned to look at her and she gulped. She wasn’t sure where the line went between professional and personal, especially today, but she had a nagging feeling they’d crossed it millions of times already. It was at that moment she noticed the mistletoe hanging above their heads, and made a small, choking “Oh-” sound. Looking up, Gabriel had a similar reaction, mouth popping open in a perfect circle. Kiss him, urged Nathalie’s inner voice. But before she could do anything, Gabriel’s gaze flitted back to her and she lost the courage she had been building up. The hair-fine wrinkles around his eyes creased as he smiled and - Nathalie’s heart skipped a beat - cupped her cheek gently. She closed her eyes instinctively.

Gabriel leaned in and kissed her forehead. His lips were soft and dry and warm, and it was better than anything Nathalie had ever dreamed of. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so safe and at home around someone else. Gabriel’s other hand rested on the small of her back, a warm and comfortable weight. When he finally ended the kiss (too soon, in Nathalie's opinion) he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. From another room, Adrien yelled that he had found the perfect movie. Nathalie stepped unwillingly away from Gabriel, or at least tried to, because her locket had snagged on his wool vest. “I guess you really don’t want to leave my side, huh?” he said, grinning. She laughed, giving him a friendly push in the ribs. “We shouldn’t keep Adrien waiting, Gabriel. ” she replied.

Many hours later, after a Christmas movie marathon, Adrien and Nathalie were passed out on the couch. Gabriel was lounging next to them, only half asleep. “Getting that locket for Nathalie was a good idea,” he reflected. “I should listen to Adrien’s advice more often.”

[theangrypokemaniac]

Since I rant enough about the wizening Ma and Pa received in Sinnoh it's only right to wreak bloody rhetorical vengeance elsewhere:

However harsh it may be, I'm glad Takeshi Shudo isn't alive to witness the hateful desecration of his legacy.

...

In a universe where no one's allowed to age, why are the modern Jessie and James so withered and decrepit?

Dragon Ball has been on for more than three decades. Its stars were permitted to grow up, because the head can cope with the opportunities this offers.

Yet Goku, Krillin, Bulma et al bear a greater similarity to their younger selves than these gurning invertebrates do to Team Rocket, wearing a papery approximation of their skin.

Akira Toriyama is actually concerned about his life's work, still coming up with interesting concepts, brand-new characters, and most importantly, values his audience by keeping to the established canon.

If a Dragon Ball fan reads this, I am so jealous of you.

Consider yourselves fortunate not to have seen the thing you loved the most pulverised and the resulting glutinous mass moulded back into makeshift sloppy cadavers.

Look at the state of that man! That's a good picture these days!

Why have the eyelid lines turned into upside down bags?

And why has she collected her lashes for this particular screen shot?

On eyes with a strangely feline slant...

Has she had a face lift?

Get yer money back on that one, love.

And why has he marks under his eyes and round his flapping gob to add the hint of exhaustion?

And why don't her lips reach the edge of her mouth anymore?

And why must he display Beaver Toof, as if he's only got six pegs left?

Giving it to him but not her implies she's lost the lot, needing to gum objects for a result.

And why do her low-slung ears consist only of lobe?

And why can you see his featureless lugs? Why does his barnet stand outwards in tentacles like he's taken to wearing a floppy Starmie?

What's that's meant to be, purple dreadlocks?

And why is her hairline curved and absolutely straight, like a bad wig, apart from the perfunctory bits to the side, which I guarantee won't alter their position throughout the run?

Hair used to move about, now by law there's a set pattern which cannot change. Stamp that life out immediately.

And what's that flaccid growth between his weary peepers? Is that meant to be fringe?

PFFFT!!!

And why are her digits just as thick and oblong as his?

It ain't fingers. It's trotters.

And why's he got a back to his throat, but she hasn't?

And why are we forced to witness it? You can see all the way to his dangler!

The great gaping pink cave looks like the end of Looney Tunes when Porky Pig pops up and stammers: "That's all folks!"

Remember a lack of Beaver Toof? And triangular mouths?

Remember when Meowth was a cheeky, spirited little cat, not a middle-aged human midget, an emaciated wreck bored of it all?

Remember when it wasn't deemed necessary to expose us to internal organs?

And when James was a handsome, hysterically camp dandy, not a creepy, snot-ridden science dweeb?

And when Jessie was a beautiful, stylish young girl, hot-tempered but loyal, not a sullen, cold, reptilian, Botoxed-to-the-gills gorgon?

Remember when Team Rocket were fun? And attractive?

Remember when they had joy in their hearts in spite of their poverty? And vim? And hope?

Remember them acting with flair and imagination?

Remember when their schemes had variety?

Remember when they had more than a single disguise per era?

Remember when they had many occupations? And were good at them?

Remember when they'd have a go at everything and weren't reduced to flipping condemned meat in a grotty burger van FOR THREE YEARS?!

Remember when those in charge didn't despise them, when they got happy endings?

Remember split screens? And face faults? And background tones? And purple streaks down your cheeks?

Remember big, bright open eyes, not shrunken, sagging and empty holes afflicted by glaucoma?

Remember when Jessie had eyelashes?

Remember when Pokémon was an anime?

And when James had a fringe, not a bent swelling like a balloon animal?

And when the artist could be arsed to draw Meowth's Charm properly?

Remember when the voices weren't nails down a blackboard?

When Meowth didn't sound like a wedge of coal grinding beneath an oil-deprived door?

When Jessie's dulcet tones had a wider range that just screechy, and weren't reminiscent of a cacophonous banshee clawing her way from a bog, using her own mug as a shovel?

When James speaking didn't suggest he was at best, suffering sinus difficulties, and at worst, constantly battling to swallow his own sick from looking at her?

Mind you, I'm grateful the 4Kids cast are no longer here. They deserve better, and their presence would only validate the crude bastardisations.

Every time the guttural howls reach my poor ears a chill runs through my system, and reminds me of The Pokémon Company sacking the real dub crew in preference for a job done on the cheap.

Remember speed lines? And Pokéball-throwing animation?

Remember a new motto performance in each installment, not the same stock footage reused again and again?

Remember when it rhymed?

It shows.

Remember remembering it?

Remember when Team Rocket would walk down the street in their uniforms and no one took a blind bit of notice despite the organisation operating there?

And they didn't fanny about in one scabby polyester costume every minute they were travelling, even when NO ONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE?

Since Unova, whilst confronting Ash and this era's soon-to-be-forgotten companions, you get this exchange:

Moron-Of-The-Week: "Who are Team Rocket?"

Ash: "They're bad guys who steal other people's Pokémon."

EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME!!!

WORD-FOR-WORD IDENTICAL!!!

The writers have such deep appreciation for their work they're sending in cut-and-paste scripts.

Remember blasting off when something blew up, not an explosion from nowhere, or giving it the slip with a jet pack, or abduction by a Care Bear?

Remember when the eyebrows matched the hair?

Remember when he wore it long?

Remember blue shock? And sweat drop? And hammerspace? And comedy violence?

Remember her jagged hairline? And it being RED!!!

Remember proper highlights to it, rather than the odd white lump now and again, as if sweating like a pig, or their heads are infested with giant space ticks?

Remember when they were in all the episodes? And were main characters? And on the introduction sequence?

Remember when Jessie and James used to hug? And hold hands?

And bicker as only a couple can, but you knew they'd never cope alone?

Remember when they'd fly into each other's arms under the flimsiest pretext?

Remember when they meant more to one another than just being a pair of unconnected and disembodied wraiths coincidentally walking down the same road?

And they had more than civil interactions?

Remember when she loved him as much as he loved her?

And no one else could ever take his place?

And canon wasn't infected with the ruinous depiction of her as a hard, heartless bitch barely tolerating him until someone 'better' came along, at which point she'd fuck off without a backwards glance?

'Better', as in a scabby, satchel-mouthed, gormless cretin, just to add surly insult to merciless injury.

Never has such a life-long and hardcore defender of the faith flipped into an ardent Rumishipper as I did after that episode, once I'd swept up the fragments of my soul.

Remember when they were sympathetic?

Remember when they showed human warmth?

Remember when they cared about each other?

Remember when they weren't just a jangling, distorted mess of half-recollected traits?

Remember when they weren't really evil?

Remember Rocketshipping? That was a thing once, believe it or not.

Remember when they had a conscience?

Remember when actually wicked characters turned up, and Team Rocket ALWAYS sided with Ash, rather than the nauseating spectacle of suddenly being best buds with the Boss?

Remember when they had contact with the Twerps?

Remember when Team Rocket and the Twerps loved each other in secret and would endanger themselves to save their 'enemies'?

Everything that was once good and winning about them was sucked out, degree by degree, to leave the corpse, hollow and dead, strung up on wires as a grim marionette.

I'm sure most who see this will vehemently disagree, that I'm completely wrong, that THEY like them.

Yes, you like this three, but you don't like Team Rocket. This is not them. You have yours, and I have mine, but let's not pretend they are the same.

Why, if there is no difference, would I be so hostile, when they meant so much too me?

Did you ever wonder where the original fans went, why they all departed en masse? It's not because they 'moved on' or 'matured'.

They didn't leave Pokémon. Pokémon left them.

As the makers rely so heavily on repetition (sorry, nostalgia) they arrogantly expect us to still be here, having blithely welcomed our memories minced and our canon ripped up or ripped off, apparently.

We're intended to put up with watching them lay waste to ťhe series's body, clinging on for when a rotting bone is pulled up now and again and waved at us, before they chuck it aside to continue the dismemberment.

It's been eaten from the inside out, explaining the facial collapse. Behold the beauty on show:

You see what I mean, don't you?

Don't you? No, because otherwise you'd say the same.

How anyone feels able to describe three deformed freaks as 'hot' or 'cute' I will never comprehend.

The uniform collar protrudes like a solid pipe, emphasising the pencil necks.

It gives the impression of wrinkled, leathery tortoises peering out of their shells to secure a tasty lettuce treat.

Is that pretty? No.

Is it so surprising I don't care for my favourites to resemble melted waxwork skeletons of their own dæmonic counterparts?

S&M is a most fitting name, for this is torture.

In the film Death Becomes Her, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn vie for the attention of Bruce Willis, both taking a serum giving everlasting youth and slimness.

The catch is it confers immortality, but not invulnerability, so when pushed down the stairs Meryl survives but is dead, her neck broken, thus she's zipped up in the morgue fridge.

When Goldie is shot with a canon she too rises, internal organs blown out.

The rest of the adventure involves the pair losing the war against time, patching up and painting over peeling grey skin, holding onto loose limbs as their bodies fall apart.

This obviously is the case here. The trio lapped the potion up at the close of Sinnoh, experienced a fatal accident and are now steadily crumbling to mush before us.

According to grave-diggers the head always goes first, so there you are then.

I have a suspicion that Giovanni lured all three to his crypt, experimenting on them to engineer his ultimate super soldier, which explains their flat, plastic appearance. Those since Unova began are the cyborgs, the real ones locked in his cellar.

You may notice I have about the lowest opinion possible of the current writing team, as they deserve.

Why should I have any respect for vindictive halfwits like this, who hate Team Rocket so much they're going out of their way to distort and uglify them, expressing the resentment in celluloid?

Jessie, James and Meowth lost their only defender in Takeshi Shudo. From that point they descended from loveable, hapless tragic figures to self-parodies (Hoenn) whiney, irritating divs dumping one another at every interval (Sinnoh), robotic, amoral scum (Unova and Kalos) and now physically repulsive minor additions (Alola and Galar). Is that trajectory all accidental?

It not that it's a new 'style' (for want of a better word), as were that the case, this hideousness would apply to the entire cast, but it's only done to Team Rocket. How could that be unless motivated by malice?

Given the sub thesps are obliged to prostrate themselves in the dust, begging fans to make their appreciation known, it smacks of desperation.

They wouldn't need to ask that were the trio treated as an integral component. They must sense the objections and are thus drumming up support to avoid the dole queue.

Are those in charge so resentful of their presence it manifests in mutilating them, keen to do anything that may alienate the fanbase, so at the first sign of a dip in popularity they can leap upon it as the perfect excuse to write Team Rocket out?

Why be surprised? These are imbeciles who reject their own canon at the close of every generation, so why care about someone else's?

If people have to harangue the writers with grovelling praise of their retcons, rehashes and all-round twatting about, butter 'em up sufficiently, with the implied threat of deserting the franchise should Team Rocket be ejected, taking their purses too, all so the smug, avaricious berks deign to put the trio in the next generation, that proves they don't want them, so how can what they write for their characters be objectively of any worth?

Team Rocket would've departed by now, were there not a palpable worry their absence might ring the death knell of the whole thing, turning off the financial tap, which is what matters.

Therefore they are retained, grudgingly, and only so long as the clamour continues at its current decibel level. If that drops it's over, and don't expect a romantic resolution. Why should pleasing you be a concern when you're to leave with them?

Ask yourself: how much of your devotion is based on what they are right now, and how much is from who they used to be?

How long can they live off past glories?

The offences done in Unova and Kalos were bad enough, but remarkably Game Freak found further depths to plumb, therefore it can only get worse.

I have of course retained the loveliest for last:

Be still, my beating heart.

No, really, be still. Stop infact. 

Planet of the Apes.

[vcsecretgifts]

Wipe his blood from your mouth with mine

(Otp shenanigans based on what could have happened between Armand and Daniel post hunting together in the warm rain - in last chapter of Prince Lestat - {Hope that’s okay not a blood communion fan and Daniels not in it…} Lestat and Louis are nosey, helpful spectators/advisors In that order. A little nsfw, soppy and an essay of angst. Hope you like It! Merry Christmas 🤗)

Gift for: @headfrst4halos

From: @auburnandamberangel​

…

A few nights had passed since their reunion, they’d hunted together in the warm rain - eyes had acknowledged them slipping out together but no interference, this felt more solid then previous meetings. A certain Roman not such a prominent Father hen presence. Familiarity was steadfast, much left unsaid between but in the spirit of having survived this latest blip in immortality pushed down to be revived at a later time. Negotiating simply being in each others company was rollercoaster enough. Small glances, heated snatched stares. Measuring the changes in eachother, coveting the lack of them.

The huge cinema room, a ridiculous term as he’d paid good dollars to watch a flick in smaller venues, the latest safe space to catch up. A do not disturb sign hooked on the double doors, a lock across them. Not that this meant much to telekinetic mentalists amongst them. But a polite notice to leave them in privacy. Daniel was eyeing Armands form, at least what he could see beneath the knitted Sweaters neckline. No tanning or change in tone to porcelain perfect flesh. The theory of their healing abilities known, but never tried into practice by himself just yet. Not that he hadn’t had the impulse - Marius ha immolation was beneath him, always made sure his charge was safe and sound come sunrise.

Armand noted changes too, still flushed as marked his age in the blood. But more strength coiled than should have accumulated in the decades since their parting. His blood then, nursing his fledgling. Practicality was one thing, necessity another, but his passionate possessive side said hang being reasonable - the implications of the to and fro between his beloved and his maker. Aside from Louis’ attack post interview only his fangs had tasted Daniels blood, only his fangs had parted flesh in his necks favourite crook. Louis had understood his hesitancy to bring the subject up, close companions coming together in a time of mutual vulnerability. Many happy years spent in New York. Trinity Gate their slice of peace. "It's not as if I’ve ever asked Lestat to compare me to David. Though it doesn’t mean I’ve never thought it. Never ask a question you mightnt like the answer to.“ His response had been succinct. "But Cher they were definitely lovers. This situation is less clear cut.“ Louis had smiled then, shrugged meaning everything and nothing. "Things concerning Marius rarely are, are they."Preaching to this choir had been his reply.

Daniel was recalling his own pep talk with Lestat, not so much a pep talk as the brat Prince not so subtly inquiring as to his intentions towards his blood brother. More being spoken at. "I feel responsible for his last brush with oblivion. I’d rather not stand idle at this potential catalyst to my blood brothers well being.”

Feeling peeved and rather touched all at once, he’d nodded. “Lestat you’re many things but thinking of you as my uncle and I your nephew is too, too much to want to comprehend!" Thankfully the mercurial anointed leader took his words in good humour. Always had quite liked him fortunately, could once upon a time have run away on adventures together. Though whose heart that particular fancy was meant to wound more Louis or Armand - Daniel had never quite fathomed. Hands up in a sign of peace he’d added. "Rest assured I’ve always broken my own heart over him, I’d rather that than breaking his ever again. I was off my noodle for way too long. I have alot to catch up on.”

A strange look had passed over Lioncourts face. “I said something similar to him you know. …‘You break my heart you little fool, you always have…’ I think i prefer your sentiment.” Shudder as if someone had walked over his grave. Memnoch related Daniel had assumed.

“Can I ask a favour. Could you make sure Marius doesn’t try to help us in what no doubt will be a charged, embarrassing and classically devil and minion problematic fest." Brow quirked at this request Lestat had smirked, a twinkle in those famed blue eyes. "Run interference as they say. It’ll be a pleasure." Making to turn heel and leave. Pausing. "You know I can’t decide if you smell different or not… Never mind." With that winking and walking away before Daniel could comment what he’d meant.

Back in the room, Daniel edged nearer, leaning across the plush seat between them to better see Armands face. Rewarded with a wistful tug of lips.

"Of all the vampires in Trinity I have your full attention still. Im flattered.” Eyes warmed in a way they hadn’t been in quite sometime. Flitting to Daniel equally captivated violet ones.

“Always will have it too.” Moving almost to sit on the arm of aforementioned middle seat.

“Its…complicated. Or whatever the get out clause for a relationship not happening is these days…online.” He’d tried to keep up to date with modern jargon. Not as much fun as learning with his minion in the eighties, but he couldn’t wouldn’t allow himself to atrophy again.

“There it is breathtaking in every way yet simultaneously so stupid!” Daniel hitting the seats cushion in a burst of frustration. The seat rocked. Oops.

Armand laughed despite himself. “There’s that sassy mouth I’m fond of coming out to play.” Glancing down at the seat, it had been bent. Ah.

“Give my mouth something else to do. Kiss me. I promise I’m same as I ever was.” Just a plain simple kiss, though usually desire took over and wham they were engaging in full on blood sharing in a blink.

“Let’s not rush into things…” Playing with a stray curl, rapidly teasing it out. At this rate he’d have straightened his locks from the sheer tension of it all.

“I’m not waiting six years again for a snog. The chase ended. We’re way passed third base now don’t you think?!” Edge of something darker in his tone. Lestats words echoing in his mind now.

“We hunted together.. Be- Daniel.” Slip of the tongue he’d nearly uttered beloved. “That was alot.” No lies there. He hunted alone as a rule, Daniel was the only immortal he’d shared with.

“I know we shared the kill. Shared the blood. It was great, lovely. But Im not going to lie I wanted to be responsible for your heart racing…” Wow his throat was dry. Blurting all this oit, no holding back or hiding behind word play. “Is it because I smell different.”

“Smell? What do you mean?” Nose prickling as he’d wondered hadn’t he, a moment before about infusions from a twice millennial source. Did he hesitate because on a base level Daniels blood smelt different because it was…

“Lestat said something about me smelling different. Is it because I smell more like him. Like Marius?”

Deep breath. Right to the jugular of the situation. Flush of pride who the hell else spoke to him like this, no one.

“We were parted whatever happened between you is none of my business. It would only be natural for you to seek comfort in his arms… He’s very persuasive.” The words were coming out, but he knew his heart wasn’t so forgiving or clear cut.

“Well fuck! Your going to quote we were on a break. Really! This isn’t Friends. I doubt either of us matches Ross or Rachel.” Daniel realising bow improbable it was for Armand to be up to date with 90s pop culture. “It wasn’t like that. It was feeding not flirting. I wasn’t exactly following a balanced diet. I don’t want him, it’s you it always has been!” Last hit to the seat and it screeched it’s last. “Shit! I’m sorry.” Staring at his hands like he’d just seen them.

Armands eyes widened. There was that strength again. Not more thsn his own but a progression. Lestats mind voice in his head. *Do I need to come in and break you guys up? Or is this good rough?* That famous timing…*No. He’s broken my furniture, no harm to me. And it’s always good rough between us for the record.* Satisfaction at the too much information wince on Lestats part. *Don’t make me tell on you to Louis, you know he hates you being a voyeur.* Quirk of a brow inside and out. *Its been a while we’re out of practice.* Pleasing ringing of laughter as the brat Prince took the hint. Opening his eyes from a protracted blink to Daniels face and form kneeling right infront of him. Unforgivable this oversight, to allow himself to be this surprised. Hadn’t even seen him move. No threat from this vampire though, no need for high alert physically, only emotionally. Always his heart that needed protection. Minute frown appearing. The urge to reach out and run fingers through Daniels hair almost over powering. Hands death gripping the plush arm rests, clawing into the material and stuffing as well as the metal frame below.

“Don’t you want me anymore. Is that it - Really?” Once he’d thought he’d never get to touch those rosy lips again. Stroke hands through deep russet flaming curls. Hear his voice and those special noises he only made for him. Cold shower for Mr Molloy. “The bloodworks just a primal excuse. The usual vampiric urges BS.” All this aside he wouldn’t force himself on Armand. Never. A time machine to kill any who had. He’d thought him dust to the wind. Well he could feel himself ready to blub. Filled to the brim with so many feelings.

Armand could smell the start of those tears. He could lick them away, like they used to. Drink the pain away. Curled up together after a fight. Entwined. Love through the blood. Strength and stay through that intimacy. “I could never not, beloved.” Time for his own tears, that affectionate term opening his own flood gates. “I don’t think I can love you how you need to be loved, is more the point. What if I make you relapse. I’d never forgive myself…” Nails now through his own palms. Chair two in ruins. His own blood scent filling the air. “My beautiful boy…”

There it was, the spicy scent he could only taste as a mortal, fully appreciating the body of it after crossing over. The aroma. Fearful words sinking in. Shaking his head. “None of that was your fault. It was just our luck to be the tortured star crossed lovers. I’m better, was well on the way to better when I knew you weren’t gone. Not dead. I left, that was on me.. I left you alone, I swore I wouldn’t in our garden but I did. I neber meant to not come back. The rot had set in, nothing made sense. But here you are whole and perfect and as maddening self introspective as ever. Don’t you get it. That was my job as your minion, to save you from yourself. To save my devil from whatever tested you. And I wasn’t there. I’ll be Damned if I ever make that mistake aga-” Words cut off as bloody yet healed hands reached for him, pulling Daniel bodily into his lap. Not an easy task sized as they were.

Armand couldn’t bear him saying one more heart wrenching thing. Broke that physical truce and kissed him as requested. Lips breaking away from his only to lap away falling tears. Poised staring into violet orbs he’d been lost in the moment they’d met, truth be told. Breathy. Quite the achievement for beings who didn’t need respiration. “Mine, you taste like my better heart. With added vintage. Wipe his blood off your lips with mine.” A single bead of blood for Daniels tasting. Hand teasing his lovers skirt buttons, to touch skin on skin.

Years were stripped away and here they were like nothing had happened battle scarred yet together. That’s all the mattered. Familiar elixir warming him in ways he never expected. Picking him up to better remove clothing, they had to map each others bodies like old times.

Sometime later.

Laying on the plush carpeted floor, clothes strewn around them. Not a stitch left on them. A third seat broken on its hinges. Armand was happily listening to Daniels heartbeat. “I think I may need to redecorate.” Glancing around the mess they’d made. Stretching like a cat.

“Agreed perhaps we should make a passion room. But hey we’re super rich so why spoil the fun. At least in this cinema there’s no popcorn stuck in odd places like that time we got romantic in Palm Springs.” Kissing his makers forehead. Basking in after glow. “I’m pretty sure we’ve thoroughly infused each others blood counts.”

“One can never be too careful. We need to hunt. I don’t want you getting peeky as I was so enthusiastic.”

“Agreed, and I don’t mind at all. Drain me I’m your love muffin.”

Armand wrinkled his nose. “Love muffin. Wash your mouth out! We do need to lock this room up tight upon leaving. In case Cupid Lioncourt takes photos.”

Daniel laughed. “He does have a nose in most situations I admit. In this case it’s just as well. How long do you think it would have taken to jump each others bones, without his ear worm about smell?”

Armand laughed at the phrasing, a throaty chuckle sending vibrations down Daniels chest. “Not too long, possibly quicker if I’d gotten that particular ear worm and we’d gone the route of territorial angry me, with your oh so smart mouth baiting. Then we’d have made up, like old times.”

Daniel snorted. “Are we that predictable?”

“Perhaps…Now how he kept a certain others nose out of this… robust reunion is the story I want to hear…” Smiling into Daniels matching grin.

“Now that story can wait.” Winking and gathering Armand closer again. “Round three?”

[thebittahwizard]

Stetopher ABC's: A Rec List for the Ages

Looking for something to read? Re-read? Re-re-read? Well, it's your lucky fucking day. Here is a list of all of my favorite Stetopher fics and their wonderful authors.

Go give 'em a whirl.

A Few Of My Favourite Things by gemjam

Explicit. 10k+. Complete. Smut.

Stiles is a poly switch looking for love online. He finds it.

All My Stars Aligned by Green

Explicit. 20k+. Complete. A/B/O. Smut. HEA.

Omega Stiles needs two alphas to help him through his heats. Two guesses who he picks.

Anchors by TriDom

Explicit. 100k+. Complete. Angst.

Stiles falls in love with Chris. Too bad the man's already married.

Bigfoot Told Me You Were Coming by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Teen. 20k+. Complete. Fluff.

Chris and Peter, on the run from hunters, stumble across a cottage in the woods. They both fall in love with the magical man that lives there.

Blowing Off Stress by Triangulum

Explicit. 2k+. Complete. Smut.

Stiles needs saving from a man that won't take no for an answer. Enter Peter and Chris.

Chaos is my Companion by Bunnywest

Mature. 15k+. Complete. Fluff. Smut.

Stiles, actual human disaster, tries his hand at online dating.

Drowning at Night by TriDom

Explicit. 80k+. Complete. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

It's been 5 years since Stiles' boyfriend Chris was taken prisoner. What happens to Stiles' new life when he comes back?

Flying With Flaws by Whispering_Sumire

Explicit. 10k+. Complete. Angst. HEA.

Chris, Peter, and Stiles go back in time to fix the all of shit that the nogitsune left in its wake. They all fall in love in the process.

Hands Like Ours by sarahandthegraveyardshift

Mature. 25k+. Complete. Angst. HEA.

Stiles is a seer with a soulmate—one he's trying to avoid on account of him predicting his own fucking death.

How Renting Led to Dating by Akira_of_the_Twilight

Gen. 1k+. Complete. Fluff.

Chris is eating lunch when he finally realizes he's been dating Peter and Stiles.

For months.

Hunger & Release by Twisted_Mind

Explicit. 5k+. Complete. Smut.

Stiles is in separate relationships with both Peter and Chris. This is a collection of their sexy times.

It Was Not A Secret by Mysenia

Teen. 2k+. Complete. Fluff.

Stiles wasn't keeping his relationship a secret. But it’s news to the pack.

Jesus Scott!! by lavenderlotion

No rating. 2k+. Complete. Fluff.

Stiles has been dating Chris and Peter and it's been going really well. And then the pack finds out.

living on borrowed time (but we live it so well) by cywscross

Teen. 20k+. Complete. Angst.

Chris, Peter, and Stiles are trying to outlive the zombies that have taken over the world. Close quarters means growing closer together.

Love-Letters in the Form of Dresses by Whispering_Sumire

Mature. 15k+. Complete. Angst. Fluff.

Chris and Peter are both drawn to the forest, and to the boy that they find there.

Majestic Plural by Udunie

Explicit. 5k+. Complete. Angst. Smut.

Chris is furious at his royal husband and soulmate for sleeping with some random slut. Then things get complicated.

Of Soulmates and Sparks by covarla

Explicit. 70k+. Complete. Slow burn.

Stiles is more powerful than he thinks—but it still doesn't help him feel less insecure about having two soulmates who are already in love with each other.

The Rule of Three by DiscontentedWinter

Explicit. 70k+. Complete. Angst. HEA.

An A/B/O fic where Peter and Chris are an alpha couple looking to make their relationship more savory to the public—and they choose omega Stiles Stilinski to do just that. Too bad shit is way more complicated than they thought.

Safe Harbour by cywscross

Teen. 10k+. Complete. Hurt/Comfort.

Peter's looking for a place to heal after he finally wakes up. He never thought it'd be with Stiles and Chris.

Sharing is Caring by Twisted_Mind

Teen. 1k+. Complete. Fluff. Crack fic.

Stiles needs to get warm, and Peter and Chris decide it'd be best achieved if they all get naked.

So Well Suited by Bunnywest

Explicit. 100k+. Complete. Slow burn. Crack fic in the best of ways.

A pair of sexy suits strike up a deal with a t-shirt wearing game store employee. Love and smut ensue. Oh, and there’s werewolves, too.

Soul Hates by TriscuitsandSoup

Mature. 25k+. Complete. Hurt/Comfort. Angst. HEA.

Stiles loves Peter—he's his soulmate, after all. Shit goes down when he finds out he's not Peter's.

Soul Marks Are a Bitch by CinnamonLily

Teen. 5k+. Complete. A/B/O. Fluff.

After his boyfriend breaks up with him after meeting his soulmate, Stiles has to find a new place to live. He finds Peter and Chris along the way.

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills by Guede

Explicit. 95k+. Complete. Slow burn. HEA.

Stiles is a sphinx on his way to meet a buddy, but a wicked storm blows him off course and right into the middle of a Hunter/Werewolf shit-show.

Strays by DiscontentedWinter

Mature. 50k+. Complete. Angst. HEA.

A war between the hunters and werewolves leaves Beacon Hills caught in the middle. Stiles will do anything to survive.

Three's A Crowd (So Follow The Sound) by naijagirl101

Teen. 55k+. WIP. Slow burn.

Stiles isn't lonely without a soulmate. He isn't. Well, if he's honest, maybe he is.

The universe ends up giving him two.

The Three Sassketeers by Chef_Geekier

Explicit. 10k+. Complete. Smut.

Stiles finds a ritual that will help protect Beacon Hills. It involves a Hunter, a Mage, and a Werewolf. Oh, and sexy times.

The Trouble with Threesomes and Supernatural Soulmates by Akira_of_the_Twilight

Explicit. 80k+. Complete. Slow burn.

The supernatural. A soulmate triad. A little drama. A dash of smut. What more could you ask for?

Warning: Contents Are Under Pressure by shey

Explicit. 40k+. WIP. Angst. Smut.

Stiles is a law clerk who needs to bang. That's it. That's the plot.

(And it's glorious)

We Would Like to Date You by lavenderlotion

Teen. 5k+. Complete. Fluff.

Peter and Chris decide to court Stiles. This is some cute-ass shit, I swear.

Wish Upon A Star INC. by Prince_Ofluff

Mature. 20k+. Complete. Angst. HEA.

Stiles runs a division for Wish Upon A Star INC. that lets sick kids meet their favorite villains. Angst and fluff and smut ensue.

My own shameless plugs:

Table For Three

Explicit. 4k+. Complete. Humor. Smut.

Awkward meet-cutes and smut. That's it.

The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades

Explicit. 50k+. WIP. Angst. Humor.

Stiles travels back in time to fix everything. Falling in love wasn't a part of his plan.