#kw did it

[seth-burroughs]

Hot take incoming but Makoto is one of the characters where everybody focuses on only one of his crimes, which is arguably actually the most justified out of all his actions, while ignoring pretty much. Everything else.

Like sorry but I don't think turning people into food was That Bad considering homunculi need human meat in order to live, they literally die if they don't eat it - it's either A. no humans get killed, and in turn all of Kanai Ward dies, or B. humans die and get turned into meatbuns, and Kanai Ward gets to exist. You could argue that the defective homunculi weren't really supposed to exist anyway but like, they do now so what. Makoto is also a homunculus, of course he probably sympathizes more with the other homunculi instead of the humans (that put them there in the first place) of course he's gonna choose KW over approx. a million humans.

If that was me in that situation I'll do the same thing fuck them bun filling lmao sorry I'm not saying it would be the best choice but it's one literally most people would choose anyway because like. What can you do, it sucks, moving on.

Substitutes for human flesh are possible to create (thank you ramen guy) but it'd require him to seek help from others which would require him to tell them the truth which fuck no. Like in that regard I believe he should be allowed to kill whoever he wants actually!

What actually makes me go 🤨 about him is everything else he's doing. Or not doing - aside from providing food and rain clouds, aka only a portion the bare necessities, he's doing absolutely nothing for Kanai Ward, especially Dohya District. He lives in the most expensive looking penthouse I ever laid my eyes upon, there is so much he could do with all of his billions, like, I don't know, at least unflood the Dohya District do you remember the Dohya District it appeared once in chapter 3 I believe.

Also your city has a poverty crisis the population's like 10% rich bitch working for ✨Amaterasu✨ 90% i live in a sewer i have like 8 shien. Please stop saying you love KW like every othet sentence and actually do something I'm begging you I'm poking you with a stick right now.

Say what you want about Yomi but he was so real for telling Makoto he's not doing shit, only ever instance in rc where the guy is like.... somewhat correct. I was about to say something else but I stopped myself because I have a healthy amount of Fear.

Apparently Makoto's love for all homunculi doesn't extend to Kurumi though, a teenage girl, after he just dumps her along with Yuma in the restricted area for no reason whatsoever, endangering her severely. He also risked her finding out she was eating human flesh for three years straight, the only reason she didn't go into the freezer was because Yuma was there to tell her there was nothing there. There was no reason for Makoto to drag her along to be the audience to his epic showdown with his DNA donor.

I'm not mad at him for that though, that was so fucking hilarious, the fuck?? What is wrong with him <3333

Since I know somebody is going to say that Yomi existing severely limits what Makoto can actually do, which is fair to some extent, but like... Was Yomi holding a gun to his head and telling him he's gonna execute the hostages if he tries to unflood Dohya? Was he? Yomi controls the peacekeepers, he doesn't control where Amaterasu money gets donated. Yomi (and by extension, the peacekeepers - Yomi is, as I see it, the personification of everything wrong with the Amaterasu Corporation cops peacekeepers anyway) can be blamed for a large portion of everything wrong with Kanai Ward, but not the entirety of it; and Makoto can't be, either. Blaming everything on Yomi is not only just wrong, but also the most boring answer possible.

Speaking of -- Makoto didn't even care about all the abuse of power Yomi was commiting the entire time. According to him, "If all Yomi did was throw his weight around, that would have been fine, but [forgot the exact phrasing, but he says him trying to leak homunculus information was where he had to step in]", so you can't even give him points for being a Yomi hater! Sad. Anyway here's how makoyomi worsties can still win

Do I dislike Makoto? No not really. I don't really care about him as much as other people tend to, but he's fun when you let him be his silly (ominous) self. The atrocities are a part of him and I decided they're funny. Actually wait I changed my mind I love him now.

[kmze]

Thoughts on 1x12-1x22! Tbh I'm happy to be done with S1 while I liked the nostalgia, I have some gripes with this season and IMO it's really not one my favorites in the overall series (I know that's controversial). The mythology was great and I loved the magical macguffins but it's just so dramatic all the time I felt. My memory of this season is terrible and I had forgotten a lot of movement in the plot so sometimes I felt like I was watching something new. S2 will probably be easier for me to get through. More under the cut and remember these are all my opinion and I am not here to argue about them :)

Yeah I completely forgot it was Anna who turned Logan and her dumb henchmen. Will miss her, she knew how to use minions to not get her hands dirty.

I really felt bad for Jeremy. His relationship with Anna was cute but tragic and then he has to deal with his sister lying to him all the time. Then giving him sad eyes to please forgive her she was just protecting him *rolls eyes* he should have gotten the chance to kill Damon at least once.

I love how uneasy Uncle John makes Damon. He's the only one who is unmoved by his attempts at charm and you can see how much it annoys Damon that he knows EVERYTHING. I also appreciate that John doesn't care that everyone hates him. Just a man on a mission.

It was jarring how long Bonnie was gone but could not help but clap at how she was like 'fuck y'all' when she returned after what happened to Grams. I did not remember this and was very pleased with the development! I also forgot the awful wig they gave her when she returned (thankfully it looked much better in the finale) Kat should have sued.

I swear there was a founding-family-mystic-falls-event every single episode in the second half of the season and that plot device has really started to run it's course for me. Unfortunately I've got at least two more seasons of it I think *deep sigh*

My god do I hate Matt and Caroline, I hate the way they frame EVERYTHING with Caroline having to be ‘notElena’ with him. I especially got annoyed in 1x14 when she had to keep giving him “speeches” to apologize for BEING HERSELF. Especially apologizing for the hand holding like Matt doesn’t constantly make her feel inadequate next to Elena. Matt telling Caroline he just needed to be alone after they found Vicki's body and then when he sees Elena he hugs her is just cruel.

The overall treatment of Caroline this season was honestly the worst part for me. The fact that they have her say "I'm a terrible awful person but I'm working on it" ?? In what context is Caroline an awful person especially on a show where characters are literal serial killers. This is exactly where the "Caroline was annoying in S1 but got better" nonsense comes from. When really she was just a 17 year old girl with a type A personality. This is probably the biggest reason I struggled watching this season. It just all felt very deliberate in the way it was written, to make the viewer think Caroline is annoying.

Stefan was better in the second half of the season but it was so LOL that the moment he started being a little fun Elena was like "what's wrong with you" HA! Of course something was wrong and kudos to Paul because the Stefan-blood-addiction storyline was really well done . I always liked how it was played as an addiction (and even better in S6 when they confirm it was a genetic thing with Lily as addiction is usually genetic). I have seen most of those scenes tons of times but watching them in succession again made me appreciate it again.

I truly don't like Damon :-/ his only purpose for me currently is he makes me laugh. I can't stand how he acts like he knows everything and is orchestrating everything when really he's kind of a moron and extremely impulsive. Genuinely what was his plan killing John and throwing him off the roof at the 8th straight founding family function? I wish Bonnie had kept her energy from 1x22 and killed him.

This is probably just bias and age but I don't care about the triangle at all. It's just kinda there doesn't move me. Stefan and Elena are very serious all the time (there is so much hugging). Then there's Damon and Elena who just eye-thing each other in every scene they share. Though I will say her wishy-washiness made it easier to believe she actually kissed Damon.

Katherine's reveal is still one of the best moments of the series (best part of season by far!) It was so funny watching the scene too knowing it's Katherine and how she just looked all moody as Damon gives her all the details she needs with zero strain on her part. Then when she says to Aunt Jenna "I don't want to talk about it" like a moody teenager LMFAO. I love her.

Lines that made me laugh:

Damon: Let's not kill anyone tonight. Your words. Just pointing that out. (ah the good ol' days when I enjoyed the Damon/Alaric friendship)

Stefan: You mean we did all that dancing for nothing (I know I keep saying he’s too serious but he is funny in a self-deprecating way)

[pepprs]

not doing good. at all

[thrilling-oneway]

i love going through seiyuu accounts every now and again to see who's been in the studio recently. like yeah X VA was recording lines today that means they'll be in an event in 6 months time. can't wait.

[cryptidjeepers]

How can you say destiel is the most influential ship in fandom history as if mulder and scully didnt invent the word ship.

[sabraeal]

To My Esteemed Enemy

[Read on AO3]

My third holiday gift this year, and this time it’s for a different fandom, and a new-to-me pairing! Kazasen originally tied with Alan/Katerina (Hamefura) for second place, and then tied for first with Jiro/Nanami (Kamisama Kiss) in the run off. It was a close race for concept with this one, but eventually the epistolary fic won out...and then I had to resign myself to this being a VERY long fic with shorter chapters 🤣

To the Esteemed Elders of Kazama, with All the Blessings That Humble Yase Can Convey--

It is with both heart both heavy and steeled that brush is committed to paper, so that those of the clan Kazama who act with great wisdom may be warned of the misconduct of the demon who calls himself their head and speaks with the authority of their ancestors. In the pursuit of taking an uninterested and unwilling female demon in Yase’s domain, Kazama Chikage has violated demonkind’s greatest taboo: he has meddled in man’s affairs.

While in service to Satsuma, Kazama Chikage committed acts both violent and base, engaging with human men in combat for reasons personal and pertaining to his unwanted attention toward the female demon. Were this only a single instance, Yase would be willing to turn its gaze aside, but his attempts have grown so numerous and vicious that they risk drawing attention to the places our shadows fill in this world.

Kazama is a noble and storied clan, one of the original blood, and Yase is prepared to be lenient in this matter. So long as the demon known as Chikage is kept within the confines of the village and commits no more infractions upon the code, Yase will not bring the council’s attention onto his actions. However, should these terms be violated, know that his offenses are terrible and numerous, enough that disbandment might not only be considered, but surely recommended.

As a show of good faith, Yase asks that Kazama report on the behavior and location of the demon known as Chikage, and--

“Is this why I’m here?” The page shrinks as he speaks, the collar of his too-big tunic nearly swallowing him whole. “To listen to the whimpers of lesser clans?”

“Yase is not simply putting their hands on their swords, Chikage-sama.” Masanori spits out the honorific like the shell from a seed, an unpleasant dressing necessary to reach the meat of the matter. “If you do not cease your meddling, they will see us disbanded, scattered to the four winds just as they did to-- to--”

Hatsushimo. Five hundred years and these cowards still can’t speak the name.

Humor peels his lips from his teeth, but there’s smile behind them. “They can try. Kazama will not be so easy a carcass to pick clean.”

The elders shift on their fattened cushions, old bones speaking just as much as their glances. “Although the strength of Kazama is undeniable, truth makes for more pleasant music than threats.”

When Kazusane speaks, it is measured, more like poetry than conversation. His most beloved tutor in boyhood, and his most dreaded one in adolescence. Now, he’s only a bore. “The alliance will favor the words of Yase, for they are known for their honesty and their shrewdness.”

“And you are only known for your crudeness and impulsivity,” Masanori adds, his wrinkled face knitted as if one of his esteemed colleagues passed foul wind in the hall. All Chikage smells is old man and death.

“And Kazama is known for tolerating no insult. For paying back what is owed.” He snorts, leaning a cheek on his fist. “I don’t remember any of you complaining when the elders of other clans would bow before you. When even warriors would tremble as long as you trailed in my wake.”

“And now they will laugh.” Sadahira’s age weighs heavily on him, making his words slow, ponderous. He’d been old when Chikage’s father had been a boy, and now every wind threatens to scatter him to dust. “How else could they act when they hear that Kazama’s proud prince has been brought low, traipsing after some...female demon?”

His teeth creak as he grins, wishing he could wear them all to points. “Isn’t that what you have all been asking me to do? Find some acceptable wife and beget my heir upon her?”

“There are any number of suitable candidates you have already turned away, rude enough that we are lucky their fathers and brothers do not knock down our doors.” Masanori wears his jealousy the same way a his anger: poorly. Red splotches bloom unevenly up his neck, leaving the man as piebald as the mongrels that roamed the outskirts of the village. “And now you find some whore with water for blood, and we are supposed to--”

“The girl is the last of the Yukimura.” Rage might make some men sloppy, but for Chikage it is the furnace that hones him to a thin edge, that burns away the impurities that make other men brittle. “You may sit pretty, dressed up in your silks and picked clean of fleas, but her blood runs so pure it makes the rest of you look like the filthy curs you are. If you think I’ll let a mate of the original bloodlines slip through my fingers just because Yasehime--”

“That is not what we wish to speak of.” Amagiri’s edge might be blunted with his politeness, but they cut through his words with ease. He bows over his knees, a ridiculous pose for a man as big as him. “Forgive us, elders, but we did not come to talk to you about Yukimura Chizuru.”

As a boy, he dreaded Kazusane’s disapproval. Even the faintest frown would send him back to study, hoping to earn his praise, but now-- now he wishes he could care less, his stomach still twisting as the man’s bushy brows draw tight over his nose.

“Amagiri-dono, you do this child a service by speaking for him. However, he has been called here to answer for the blade his actions have hung above us. The one he risks dropping even now.” Kazusane’s eyes are not the pure crimson of a true Kazama, but they burn as they press upon him, his anger hardly banked. “For what other reason would Chikage-sama dare leave this village, save to seek out this girl?”

“The fakes.” Even now the word hisses from his lips, leaving a foul taste behind. And yet, there is no reaction from the elders.

Sadahira turns his trembling head toward where Amagiri sits, the picture of obedience. “What does he mean?”

“The rasetsu,” he explains with a calm Chikage could never summon for such abominations. “While allied with the bafuku, Yukimura Kodo engaged in experimentation with demon blood, creating from their ranks creatures that defy the natural order. Not men, and not demon, craving the life that their bodies lack.”

“They are an insult to demonkind,” Chikage snaps. “They cannot be suffered to live.”

A murmur of distaste washes through the room, but still, Sadahira shakes his head. “It is unfortunate that mortal men have devised of such unnatural creatures, but it is hardly our business what they choose to do with these...rasetsu.”

A short-sighted answer, typical of a man who would not live to see its consequence. “It was a demon who made these, even his blood was watered down to barely more than piss.”

“And it would be the duty of his clan to see to it that the danger was handled,” Sadahira informs him, unbothered. “There is no reason for Kazama to overextend itself to see to Yukimura’s problems.”

Chikage stares, uncomprehending. “There is no more Yukimura.”

Masanori smiles wide, like a wolf about to feast. “I thought you said this girl of yours was the last?”

At that, even Amagiri stirs. “But she’s just one girl!”

“Then she should hope that these men she has thrown in with can measure up to half a demon.” Masanori’s mouth curves, the way it always did when he thought a lesson would land the way it ought. “Do not concern yourself with man’s problems. Stay in the village, write this Yase-hime her letters, and pray that she forgets your transgressions.”

“But these fakes will--”

“Our ancestors did not stop men from forging swords just because they could cut themselves on them.” Sadahira speaks with steel in his words, and no little fear. “Let them learn the way children learn best, and worry more about what you can do to keep your people safe.”

“Tch.” Yasehime’s even characters stretch across the paper, as pedantic as the girl herself. Kazama crumples it in his palm, tossing it to the floor along with his kimono. “Cowards. To think they would tell me to grovel at the feet of Yase. As if I were some piss-blood demon, not one of the most storied lines in all of--”

“You would do well to take counsel from the elders.” Amagiri stoops to scoop up the fabric, straightening it out with a sigh. “It is their duty to think of what would be best interest for the clan, not just--”

“They are thinking like flies on a dead pig’s backside.” His juban slips from his shoulders, crumpling in a silken pile behind him. “Their tiny minds cannot comprehend more than this moment’s feast, not whether the whole hog is rotting away beneath us.”

The man’s breath is as stiff as his spine when he bends, grunting from the strain of not bowing and scraping for those old relics. “That may be so. But they are not wrong. We no longer answer to just them, but Sen-hime--”

A hiss catches between his teeth. “I grow weary of Yase-hime and her threats. Is she the one who led Kazama in the years since my father died? No. And we have prospered. Meanwhile Yase still lives on their knees, beholden to an emperor who is barely old enough to shave himself.”

Amagiri may make his faces, but when Chikage holds out his hand, he does not wait long for the clothes to fill them. These Western fabrics are not so fine as his own, scratching his hands as he pulls them over his head, but it is what is necessary now to walk among Kyoto’s streets, to hear what these people will say.

“Yase is not a clan of warriors,” Amagiri grunts, finally. “Their power does not come from numbers, or blades, but from secrets. And if you are not careful, Sen-hime will use those secrets to take your own out from beneath you.”

He scoffs, skinning these strange Western hakama up his legs. “I do not fear weak words, and certainly not from a female.”

The big man silences him with a shake of his head. “You do not know what it is to lose your people and leave the home of your ancestors, living on the kindness-- and sufferance-- of others.” That dark gaze pins him as thoroughly as his grip. “Amagiri lost only its land, and even now we carry that pain with us. I cannot imagine it would be any less than agony to be separated as a people too, forced to scatter with the wind.”

Chikage tears away with a grimace. That gaze is too much sorrow to bear, even borrowed.

“Tch,” he clucks, hastily buttoning up these strange clothes. “That is too much power for one woman. To think you said she might make a suitable companion.”

Amagiri holds out his coat. “That opinion has not changed.”

Chikage whips his head over his shoulder. “Even after all this? She’s threatened to disband Kazama over a trifle.”

He doesn’t deserve the weary look he receives. “That she wields so much power only proves that she is your equal. Her bloodline is unchanged--”

“And so is her personality.” He smooths his hands over the coat, if only to keep from gathering them to fists. “Women who know their own mind are tiresome. We would not suit.”

Amagiri is silent for a long while, long enough that it seems this topic of conversation might be over. An illusion Chikage is allowed to believe until his hands busy themselves with tying his blade to his hip. “More unfitting matches have been made in my time.”

Chikage’s mouth thins. “We have other work to be doing. Something much more pleasurable than being harangued by that harpy. Let’s go.”

The big man stiffens. “The elders said--”

“The elders advised me to beg Yase’s forgiveness.” He grins, sliding open the shogi. “And I will do it gladly once we have culled these fakes from Kodo’s ranks.”

[elektroblues]

starting wolfgang's autobio for real this time!!! why is it so horny

[sesamenom-sideblog]

what mode is this? it looks like the transcription is done using quenya mode tehta rules but in english common transcription (?)

YOU WANNA LEARN ELVISH?! HERE YA GO!

[toldyaimaslut759110101698901kk]

Please hackers, fix us to be like we were originally. Photoshop storytelling. Saw the grin doc Nev. 🥥E! Campbell sKKKim milkshake heavenly best buy SPEEDUPS FOR lol, that was so funny what the everything s did. And some memories might have to stick if they are that good. But I'm listening for the fine tuning and the actual bullying. Call me lame but I love our norm. You guys don't realize the center of daddy's money. Just like her! No bs. Who is recording me in this global industrial core??!!.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Let's Not Make This Complicated

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader x Kurt Wagner

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: unprotected sex, lots of hickeys, oral (f receiving), fingering, dp(vaginal), cockwarming kind of, creampie, everybody got dirty mouths, lots of pet names- I feel like I'm missing something but idk

Genre: hella fluff, hella smut

Summary: You Logan and Kurt are friends and Roommates, but it seems you're the only ones that see your relationship that way.

A/N: How did we get here? I don't have an answer- enjoy

***

You sigh to yourself as you slump further into the seat of your desk.

"Uh oh, that doesn't sound good." Kurt appears on your desk, shocking you slightly.

"I've told you 100 times not to teleport onto my desk Wagner!" You point at him.

"Force of habit." He shrugs. "What troubles you liebling?"

"Charles. Kind of. He wanted so badly for mutants to have a safe haven and trying to create one is- overwhelming. I hope every god in every pantheon curses William Task and that whole damn company."

"What you're doing is working fine! You put too much pressure on yourself." He frowns.

"I just- I can't help but wonder does it make sense to isolate them this way though? Mutants are not a secret anymore. Would they be better off intermingled with the rest of the world?" You sigh.

"I don't follow, do you expect kids who do not even understand themselves to introduce themselves to a world that also does not understand them? It's not the professor's school, but that's not what is needed. We meet the mutants, we bring here where they are protected and guide them until they can ride the bike on their own. Is like foster care. No?"

"Foster care?" You laugh.

"Bad comparison?" He tilts his head.

"It's a fine comparison KW it just made me laugh."

"Well that's better than the sound I heard when I got here." Kurt nods with satisfaction. A knock on the door frame of your office pulls both you and Kurt's attention to the entryway.

"Obligatory collection because you made me promise that you get away from here at least two nights a week. Oh hey Kurt, you're here tonight?" Logan leans against the frame with his arms crossed.

"With Jean." Kurt nods.

"So the residents are in at least one set of capable hands, you ready?" Logan looks at you.

"My to-do list never seems to end." You say.

"Which means it'll still be there in the morning, after you've gotten a good night's sleep." Logan walks over and practically yanks you out of your chair.

"Wait- Logan I just-"

"Nope. I don't wanna hear it." He shakes his head cutting you off.

"Should you be pulling her-"

"If I don't get her out of here now you know and I know she'll never leave on her own and I don't plan on sitting around the office an extra 3 hours while she pleads with me to do 'just one more thing' over and over again." Logan says to Kurt.

"Oh don't do that you make me sound like an incurable workaholic." You kiss your teeth at him as you grab your keys and bag.

"You are! I have to make sure you don't sleep here! You'd be screwed if you lived alone." Logan says.

"Disagree! Kurt would you let me stay here 24/7 if we didn't all share a place?"

"Of course not liebling I would take you home myself if need be but I don't believe Logan would leave you either even if we didn't all live together." Kurt winks.

"I would." Logan scoffs.

"Thank you Kurt. I'd better go before the big bad wolf tries to blow my house down. Good luck tonight, call if you need anything!"

"He'd better not, we all live there." Kurt smiles.

"Do not call her!" Logan warns as he pulls you out of the office.

"Why would you say that? What if they have an emergency?" You pout.

"Then they should call emergency services! Kurt and Jean are adults more than capable of handling an emergency without you. You are supposed to be off tonight. If you insist I make sure you leave work semi-regularly you have to leave work when I come all the way down here just to pick you up and you can't just be on call at home otherwise you'll never actually get any rest." Logan says opening the passenger door and guiding you into his car.

"You make a great mother hen you know." You quip.

"One of these days I'll just leave you to rot in that office chair of yours." He rolls his eyes as he slides in and shuts the door.

"Kurt wouldn't allow that." You stick your tongue out.

"So have Kurt be your overwork prevention monitor."

"Kurt's hardly at home! You didn't even know he was working tonight."

"Yeah so don't complain about how I do it." He says.

"Be honest, you'd feel some type of way if I started asking Kurt to take me home instead of you." You say.

"Oh no, please ask Kurt instead. I'm sure it's easier for him since he can teleport."

"Fine then, next time I'll just ask Kurt to take me."

"I'd love to see that." Logan scoffs.

"You will. As soon as I work another day shit. Don't bother coming to get me. I'm serious." You say matter-of-factly.

"If you say so." He hums. You let the conversation end there, enjoying the rest of the drive in silence ready to shower and head to bed for the night.

"Liebling!" Kurt comes strolling into your office quickly drawing your attention away from your email.

"Yes Kurt?" You ask.

"I think it's time for us to get outta here." He says.

"What time is it?"

"It's 9:30, and Henry and Storm are here to take over."

"Oh- did you tell them about the-"

"The new kids wreaking havoc? Yes they are prepared. Storm is- Storm she can more than handle them and Henry can handle the nice ones." Kurt shrugs. "Come now, shut down your computer, let's go home." Kurt walks over to you and spins your chair to face him. He leans forward, resting his hands on the armrests of the chair.

"Kurt-"

"Liebling, the kids here need you, yes but you can only be here for them if you're alive and preferably well-rested. Come home with me." Kurt says softly.

"What did I miss out on?" Logan's voice surprises you both. Kurt backs off and you turn your head towards the door.

"Logan? What are you doing here?" You ask.

"Coming to make sure you get home at a reasonable hour like I always do." He says.

"I told you Kurt was going to do that. Remember you whined about it last week so I said I'd have Kurt take care of it." You frown.

"I didn't think you were serious." He scoffs.

"What's the big deal? We all live together. As long as she gets home, who cares?" Kurt shrugs.

"Yeah Logan, what's the big deal?" You ask.

"There isn't one." Logan grits out.

"Then I will take her home and we'll meet you there." Kurt says.

"Man I drove all the way here, aren't you just going to teleport?"

"If it's such a hassle to drive home now you can always spend the night here Logan. You know where my room is." You suggest. Logan's eyes narrow and you briefly peak into his thoughts to see what those eyes are conveying.

What is she trying to get me out of the apartment?

"I am not!" You gasp.

"Not what?" Kurt frowns, looking between the two of you.

"Stay the fuck outta my head we've talked about that." Logan says.

"Everything with you is such a big secret." You say.

"And I'm allowed to keep whatever secrets I want."

"If you guys are going to continue this bickering may I suggest that you do it at home so we can all get out of here?" Kurt butts in.

"You can leave if you want Kurt." Logan says.

"Logan that was rude." You say. He takes in a deep breath.

"My bad Kurt."

"Ah no worries I'm more than familiar with your abrasive tendencies." Kurt shrugs.

"Well, since you drove all the way here already anyway Logan, can we all just ride home together?"

"Yeah. Fine." Logan says. Kurt grabs your bag before you can get to it, and the three of you leave your office. Back at your apartment, you quickly leave the boys to go take a shower.

"Kurt man what's going on with you and y/n?" Logan asks Kurt once you're safely out of earshot.

"What's going on with me and y/n? What's going on with you and y/n? You clearly did not like me bringing her home. Trouble in paradise?"

"Don't do that."

"I don't understand if you like her so much why you do nothing."

"It's complicated, we all live together."

"Do not factor me into this equation." He shakes his head.

"You act as if you like her more than I do, it's hard not to factor you in."

"Are you threatened?"

"Excuse me?"

"By the idea that I may also like her? Does it bother you?"

"Do you like her?"

"I didn't say I do."

"That's why I'm asking. Do you?"

"Would it matter?"

"What is your goal Kurt?"

"I'm not your enemy Logan. You don't have to glare at me as though you wish to blow me up where I stand."

"You won't answer my question."

"I won't try to get in your way." Kurt shrugs.

"You won't- so you do like her too? We can't fight over our roommate Kurt."

"Who said anything about fighting? I just said I wouldn't get in your way."

"Kurt be realistic, you can't help yourself. You call her liebling and carry her bag for her and flirt like it's breathing- you're impossible not to like. The moment she catches on she'll obviously want you."

"You underestimate your own rugged charm. The grumpy but caring thing seems to work well for you. Especially with her, she clearly likes you despite your callousness."

"If it's between the two of us-"

"The choice is hers, if we insist on her making one." Kurt shrugs.

"What're we making?" You ask. How long were you standing there? How much did you hear? Why did neither of them notice you coming down the hall.

"Nothing." Logan says.

Oh Logan- this secrecy only hurts you. Why not tell her the truth?

"But Kurt said-"

"It's nothing." Logan says. "I'm going to bed. You should too." He grumbles going into his room and shutting the door behind him.

"What truth won't Logan tell me?" You ask Kurt.

"Do not ask me that liebling, you know I cannot lie to you but it would be a betrayal of Logan's trust to answer."

"I'm sorry Kurt- you're right. Have a goodnight, I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight Logan!" With that, you go back to your room with your unanswered questions.

A knock at your office door interrupts your conversation with Kurt and Logan while you all eat lunch. It's not often you're all here at the same time but when you do these little lunches in your office are a staple. In fact, even when they aren't both here if one of them is they'll find you around lunchtime and that's usually how you know it's time to eat.

"Come in!" You call not really wanting to get up from your desk.

"Hey Y/n."

"Oh Hey Storm."

"Am I interrupting?"

"Of course not! Boys, leave please so I can talk to Storm." You say.

"Discarded like yesterday's newpaper. How she wounds us." Logan says dramatically.

"Oh hush if I wanted to discard you I'd move." You roll your eyes.

"But you won't liebling, right?" Kurt asks.

"Move? If you two don't take the theatrics out of my office I just might."

"Logan!" Kurt looks at him.

"There there Kurt- she's only teasing. She wants to hurt us."

"I want to have privacy for a chat with Storm please." You say. "Logan I love that you're in such high spirits today let's use that energy well, go find a group of our kids and teach a lesson or something just scram, the both of you."

"You do not have to tell us twice." Kurt says.

"I've already told you more than once." You say. Logan and Kurt throw their hands up in surrender and leave your office finally, shutting the door behind them. "You would think they were mentees here not authority figures." You shake your head with a sigh.

"What's up with the boyfriends today?"

"Whay boyfriends?"

"Logan and Kurt. Why they being so dramatic?"

"Logan and Kurt are not my boyfriends."

"Logan and Kurt are absolutely your boyfriends."

"Okay where did you get that nutty theory?"

"Because whenever they're here they're always around you, and if they're not around you they're usually talking about you, they take turns bringing you lunch, and Kurt calls you liebling, and Logan sometimes sleeps in your room here and they;re always at your beck and call- and also- whatever that just was before they left you can't convince that wasn't the dramatics of a pair of boyfriends that like to annoy their girlfriend."

"Kurt, Logan, and I are friends. You know this Storm. We live together so our dynamic is- a bit unconventional I'll admit, but they aren't my boyfriends."

"So you live with them, they obsess over you, take turns doing literally anything you ask for you, and act like the world is ending if they don't have your attention. All that together sounds like a boyfriend to me so I guess the real question should by why aren't they your boyfriends?"

"Logan and Kurt are not interested in being my boyfriends." You roll your eyes.

"Did you ask them?"

"Why would I?"

"Because they act like your boyfriends?"

"Storm-"

"You didn't say you don't want them to be your boyfriends."

"That doesn't-"

"Do you want them to be your boyfriends?"

"I didn't say that!"

"But you didn't say no either."

"It's a nonissue! My answer to that is irrelevant because this is a hypothetical that would never come true."

"Those men are you boyfriends in every way except name. Just kiss them both and make it official."

"You are insane!"

"Maybe but I'm also right. They already treat you like you're their whole world. Sign seal and deliver that shit already put us all out of the misery of watching those two fools follow you around like abandoned lovesick puppies."

"Why abandoned?!"

"Because you don't seem to notice they worship the ground you walk on? And besides if you give them the titles we all know the following won't stop but at least they'll get to crack you like a glowstick every so often."

"Girl!"

"What? I'm sure they're great at it." She shrugs.

"You're impossible."

"Insane, impossible, but still correct. Button it up darling. Face facts they're in love with you. If you're not interested nip it already, but if you are interested- tell them- so everyone can stop pretending you guys aren't already functionally in a throuple." Storm says.

"Okay that's enough about that aspect of my personal life please." You huff.

"Fine, but I expect you to handle that situation quickly."

"Storm."

"Okay. All done." She throws her hands up.

"Thank you." You sigh. That seems to be the end of it with Storm, although you continue thinking about it for the rest of the day. It's in the back of your head for the next couple of days actually, so the next time you're all at home you decide you need to put this to bed, now.

"Hey guys, you got a minute?" You ask when you catch them in the living room together.

"Sure we're just watching tv." Kurt says. You take a seat on the coffee table, facing the two men.

"So, I had a conversation with Storm recently and she- kind of implied- well no not implied she said it pretty explicitly actually- Storm seems convinced that you two have feelings for me." You say.

"What?" Logan scoffs. Kurt's gaze is watchful, darting between you and Logan.

"In fact Storm made it sound like it's such an obvious thing that everyone but me knows you two are in love with me."

"And do you believe her?" Logan asks. The question comes out far more assured than Logan feels asking it.

"I- believe that she believes it. And that's... something. Not sure quite what yet but it's something." You say.

"So- is something wrong? Did Storm upset you?" Kurt frowns.

"Well- no I just wanna know if I'm missing some big neon sign above our heads that everyone else can see. Are th- are the two of you in love with me?" Your gaze snaps back and forth between the two men. They glance at each other and you're sure there's something unspoken being discussed.

"Of course we love you y/n." Logan says.

"Are you playing a semantics game with me? I know you love me I asked if you were in love with me. Different thing." You say. Kurt glances at Logan briefly.

"I am. I won't speak for Logan but Storm is correct in saying that I am in love with you." Kurt confessess with a shrug. Logan looks at him in something akin to shock.

"Logan? Now would be a good time to tell me Storm's crazy." You say.

"I can't." He shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"Because she's right. We're both in love with you." Logan says.

"And neither of you were going to say anything?"

"We didn't want to comlicate things what with the whole living together, plus asking you to pick between us seemed like a recipe for disaster." He explains.

"You'd have me choose between you?" You ask.

"No. That's why we never brought it up."

"Everyone seems to think you're both my boyfriends."

"What?" Kurt blinks.

"According to Storm we are functionally a throuple."

"What the fuck is a throuple?" Logan asks.

"Three plus couple equals throuple." You explain.

"Do we really behave like that?" Kurt frowns.

"Storm's 'evidence' to support the claim consists of you guys constantly being around me, us regularly eating lunch, and the fact that you take turns making sure I don't work too hard. So I guess it depends on how much of that feels romantic to you. But given that you guys do in fact have feelings for me, I guess it is."

"So what happens now?" Kurt asks.

"We're not making you choose between us." Logan says.

"I know, I know. But- we can't just go on like we didn't have this conversation." You say.

"So what do you suggest? Because I'm not willing to lose you, either of you over this." Logan says.

"Okay well don't make it sound like somebody's dying sheesh." You say.

"If- according to Storm we appear to the world as a throuple do we have to change anything outwardly? We could just- officially be a throuple. Right? That's an option." Kurt says.

"What would that even look like?" Logan frowns.

"I assume not very different from how we already act- except now we get to kiss." Kurt shrugs.

"Y/n?" Logan looks at you.

"Yes?"

"How do you feel about- being a throuple?" He asks.

"I can't think of enough cons to protest the idea so- I guess I like the idea if that's what you boys want." You say.

"You can think of cons?" Kurt frowns.

"Just that some people may react unsavorily to it but that's really more their problem than ours." You shrug. "So- Kurt, Logan, will you guys be my boyfriends?" You smile.

"I'd be honored." Kurt says.

"Will you  be our girlfriend?" Logan asks.

"Yes I will." You nod. Logan pulls you off the coffee table and onto his lap, kissing you. When he pulls away from the kiss Kurt turns your attention to him, kissing you too. You shift a bit in Logan's lap and his hands snap up to your hips as he groans. The sound makes you pull back from Kurt with an inquisitive look.

"You can't move like that babygirl I... only have so much self control." Logan says hoarsly.

"I don't need you to have self control ya know. Not with me anyway." You shrug.

"Don't say that- you'll get more than you bargained for."

"Or, I'll get exactly what I bargained for." You grind against Logan's crotch.

"You know princess, it would be easier to just say you want us to have our way with you." Kurt says kissing your neck.

"Would that get Logan to stop trying to be a gentleman for once?" You sigh melting against Kurt's touch.

"He would never deny you a direct request like that, he couldn't."

"Logan, would you quit being all rigid if I outright asked me to fuck me?" You pout at him, trailing a hand over his chest.

"Isn't it- a bit soon to be... ah thinking about that?"

"Are you telling me you haven't wanted to rail me for months? All that pining hasn't made you even a little pent up?" You ask.

"I certainly can't say that." Kurt says between kisses and nips at your throat.

"That's not what I'm saying at all I just- I respect you too much to skip ahead to-"

"Logan. I'm asking you to. Can you respect me enough to know what I want?"

"Of course."

"Well right now I want you and Kurt to, how'd you put it baby?" You turn to Kurt.

"Have our way with you." He smiles wolfishly.

"Sure, that." You drawl. "Come on Logan, have your way with me."

"We've been dating five minutes and you're trying to kill us already." Logan groans kissing you. You feel Kurt's tail wind around your waist, as he continues to litter your throat with kisses and hickeys. When you let out a moan, Logan slips his tongue between your parted lips. You don't realize it until you finally pull away from Logan to breathe, but Kurt at some point teleports the three of you to his bedroom. Kurt pulls your shirt over your head and both men react audibly.

"Son of a bitch." Logan groans.

"Christ almighty." Kurt sighs.

"It's a lot more fun to touch than just look ya know." You giggle sliding off of Logan's lap to sit between them.

"You are so beautiful liebling." Kurt says giving you a kiss.

"Thank you darling." You hum.

"You know princess, I've been absolutely dying to taste you." Logan says kissing along your throat, sucking hickeys to match the ones Kurt's already scattered across your skin.

"Have you now?" You moan.

"More than anything." Logan mutters.

"Well let's make that happen for him liebling." Kurt says grabbing your body. He shifts so you're sitting between his legs with yours spread out, near the edge of the bed so Logan can comfortably fit. "Oh shoot, we'll need to get rid of her shorts." Kurt tsks.

"That I can take care of." Logan smirks. He extends his claws and shreds your shorts and panties at the same time.

"Hey I liked those shorts." You frown.

"I'll buy you a replacement pair. Hell I'll buy you one in every color if you want princess." Logan says.

"You know Logan, you can't eat and talk." Kurt hums. He trails his hands up your sides to grasp your tits. "Weren't you just saying you're dying to taste her?"

Logan licks a slow stripe between your folds that causes you to let out a shuddering breath.

"Even better than I could've dreamed." He mutters before burying his face between your thighs. Logan laps eagerly at your center, loudly slurping as he practically devours you. Kurt wraps his tail around your center when you squrim.

"Hold still liebling, Logan's trying to enjoy your pretty pussy." Kurt says. You moan, grinding against Logan's mouth. His tongue is fierce against you and on top of that Kurt is teasing your nipples between firm fingers.

"Oh god." You sigh tipping your head back against Kurt's shoulder.

"No liebling, we're not god. Of course, we could always help you see him." Kurt says. Logan wraps his lips around your clit, making you jerk as you let out a yelp. It's intense and almost overwhelming, and with Kurt toying with your nipples too you can feel your orgasm approaching quickly.

"Fuck I'm close- Logan please don't stop." You whine.

"That's it pretty girl, let go for us." Kurt says. Your belly tightens and your release hits with a whimper.

"Damn you're absolutely gorgeous when you cum." Logan sighs.

"Now you guys are trying to kill me." You joke.

"Kurt you've gotta see it for yourself man." Logan says.

"I can't be the only one naked here." You say prompting Logan and Kurt to shuffle out of their clothes quickly. You push Kurt onto his back and straddle him, taking a moment to drag your hands across his chest. "God you two are hot." You sigh, letting your eyes roam over Logan's body.

"You're one to talk dollface." Logan winks at you. "Although I can't say I mind the ogling going on here."

"Well when you look as good as you do." You smirk. You raise yourself up and wrap your hand around Kurt's dick, carefully sliding yourself onto him with a moan. Kurt grunts as you settle over him.

"She feel good Kurt?" Logan asks.

"Very."

"It's written all over your face babes." Logan chuckles.

"Oh please if it was you in my position you wouldn't be laughing like that." Kurt rolls his eyes but there's a playful tone to his voice.

"I'm sure we can test that theory." Logan says.

"I can see an idea in your eyes." Kurt says.

"Well, I was just thinking, who says we have to wait to find out? What do you say princess? Think you could take us both at once?" Logan gently trails his fingers down your back.

"Oh-" the idea has breathless just considering it.

"You don't have to of course-"

"Don't bother. You wouldn't believe how tightly she just clenched around me at the idea." Kurt cuts Logan off before he can finish offering you an out.

"Did she now? Well I gotta hear her say it. Tell me princess, do you wanna be stuffed with two cocks at once?" Logan asks.

"Please." You whisper, shift on top of Kurt and the movement makes him groan.

"Lean foward for me then." Logan says softly, gently urging you towards Kurt. You can sense Logan's hand near you, but he doesn't start by touching you, his fingers first drag over the base of Kurt's dick.

"Hey! You're supposed to be prepping her for this, not me." Kurt jerks up, thrusting into you and making you moan.

"Who says I can't do both?" Logan muses. You can't see him but you can practically hear the smirk on his lips.

"Well if you want me to last long enough for you to shove your dick in with mine I suggest you focus those fingers on her, not me." Kurt grits out.

"Fine, fine." Logan cedes. He carefully slides a finger into your pussy, it's a tight fit but after a bit of thrusting he's able to squeeze a second and a third, by which point you're practically quivering with all the sensation. Logan stretches you on his fingers for several minutes before eventually pulling the digits from you. "I think that's enough prep. Now, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath for me princess." Logan says as he lines himself up with your entrance. You breathe in shakily and then slowly, ever so slowly, Logan begins to push himself into your pussy. It's a lot, so much, almost too much, and you whimper with every inch Logan slide into you. Your eyes are squeezed shut and you're nails are digging into Kurt's shoulders by the time Logan's fully seated in you.

"Liebling? Open your eyes for me sweetheart." Kurt coos gently, stroking your face. It takes a moment but eventually you manage to pry your eyes open. "Are you alright?" He asks.

"S-s-s-sssoo f-ff-full." You whine.

"Too much?" Kurt asks, panting a bit himself. You imagine the feel of Logan rubbing up against him wasn't exactly pleasureless.

"N-no, j-j-j-just move, please." You choke out.

"We'll start slow." Logan promises as he starts to rock his hips. It takes them a moment to sort out a rhythm that works for them but soon they're both sliding in and out of you in sync, it's slow and each drag of their dicks feels like it's tearing you apart in the best possible ways as you're reduced to nothing but shaky moans, loud whines, and barely coherent pleading. Eventually, slow and gentle gradually grows in intensity until it's fast enough to have you screaming as your orgasm hits you with a force that completely blindsides you. The spasming of your walls around them has Logan and Kurt grunting and groaning as they chase their own releases and it doesn't take much longer for them to follow you over the edge. None of you move for several minutes, desperately trying to catch your breaths.

"How's that for having our way with you?" Logan eventually breaks the silence making you and Kurt giggle.

"Funny, earlier you said I was trying to kill you. That? That was attempted murder right there." You joke back.

"We should get you cleaned up." Kurt says kissing your forehead.

"No way. I can't move." You groan and both of them laugh.

"We've got you princess don't worry." Logan says.

"You were right about her face when she orgasms by the way Logan, absolutely gorgeous. But so is yours." Kurt winks.

"You don't look too bad either." Logan quips back. "Gonna pull out now baby, alright?" Logan warns you before carefully pulling out of you. You whine as he does, both from the sudden change and from the way you feel the combination of his, Kurt's, and your releases start to ooze out of you upon his exit.

"Fuck me." He groans.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks him with a frown.

"Yeah, hang on, don't move." Logan quickly grabs something off the night stand but it's not until you hear the sound of a camera shutter that you deduce it's someone's phone. Probably Kurt's. "She's leaking cum like like a waterfall and fuck if it isn't making me wanna stuff her full all over again." He explains.

"We clean her up and let her get some rest first, then we can discuss that possibility." Kurt says. Logan and Kurt carefully lift you off of Kurt, and Logan carries you to the bathroom where both of them clean you up and then themselves. Once most of the evidence of your sexcapades is gone Logan carries you to your room where they sandwich you in bed, putting on a movie and holding you close as you snuggle between them. It's funny, you'd never really thought about it before but in hindsight, now that it's official, you kind of guess you've been their girlfriend for a lot longer than today. And honestly, you're perfectly fine with that.

***

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): crime scene clean-up, swearing, grief & difficult conversations, discussions around canon-typical violence, smoking, brief suggestive themes, brief drinking, angst

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Twenty-Three of Ink & Needle

Price and Simon make a pact. Simon talks to Evie and Amelia. Walsh dispenses a clue.

Chapter Twenty-Two // Chapter Twenty-Four

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Come and find her. – KW.

Come and find her.

Come. And find her.

Find her.

Simon stares at the little piece of paper in his hands. It’s so small. Confetti in his palm. Something that could be easily overlooked like trash that collects near a storm drain.

But it’s not trash.

It’s a taunt. A warning.

And it’s all for Simon.

Instinct tells him to crumple the note in his fist—to dismantle by destroying. Burn it. Maybe. Shred it into even smaller pieces until it truly resembles confetti.

But what party would he throw to sprinkle the remains? There will be no cake or gifts. No sunshine or clear skies. It will be a funeral, and the shredded paper is the dirt tossed by the mourners.

Dust, really. Like the soul. Smaller than dust. Insignificant.

“You need to go home, Simon.”

Captain Price’s voice used to be a balm to Simon—a place of safety. The words from Price’s mouth do nothing but drag Simon back to reality even as Simon attempts to claw back to the darkness that are his thoughts.

“Go home and do what?” replies Simon, not looking in Price’s direction.

Come and find her.

“It’s not healthy to stay here,” sighs Price.

Simon snorts. “What part of my life as ever been healthy.”

Price flinches, and Simon immediately regrets his words. Captain knows every horrific detail, every open hand and closed fist, of the fangs and masks and gore and screams that are Simon’s history.

It is ugly and foul.

Price used to fuss over it, trying to drive Simon to talk to someone about it all. He did—once. More than once, but it didn’t do much but reaffirm everything Simon already knew.

That life can be cruel, and we are only defined by our choices.

And Simon has always chosen to be different.

“Staring at that note won’t help things. It won’t help us find her faster,” says Price, his voice low and soothing like it always is when he’s trying to be gentle.

Simon takes a deep inhalation, calming the raging desperation thudding around in his chest.

It’s a torrent. A downpour.

“I want to help,” is all Simon says in reply.

Price takes a step closer, and leans in a bit, lowering his voice. “I know you do, Simon. And I value that help. But trying to figure shit out here isn’t the place.”

Simon stares into Price’s face, frowning. He lingers there a moment before glancing over Price’s shoulder.

There are new people in the room. Price called them up after Johnny found the note and presented it to Simon. They move about the space like phantoms, their eyes cast downward, minds geared toward the task of cleaning up the mess that is Evie’s home.

Evie, who came to Simon’s door rain-drenched and desperate. Simon is glad she didn’t try to seek out the authorities. What the fuck are police going to do about this? Nothing. That’s what.

But Price will do something. And so will Johnny and Kyle.

They have his back. They fucking care about you because they care about Simon. He has people in his corner.

“Excuse me.”

Simon and Price glance toward the man addressing the two of them. He’s a little younger than Simon. In his hands are a broom and dustpan. Beside him stands another man holding a trash bag. Simon scowls and the man blanches slightly.

“The glass,” he mutters, nodding at Simon’s feet.

The glass. The broken patio door. Blood.

Simon clears his throat and steps back, glass crunching under his boots even as he and Price move to a different part of the room. The two men start sweeping it up while two others lift and deposit the bodies of the estate agent and her assistant into body bags.

All the color from their faces have melted away, leaving behind a grayness that only comes when there is nothing left to salvage. While neither of the women currently being placed in body bags are you, Simon is grateful that you’re not one of them. That is enough to hope even if everything inside him doubts.

Positivity isn’t Simon’s thing. But the fact that you’re not here could only mean that Walsh wants you elsewhere. He wants Simon to come seeking. He wants Simon to have hope, and for that reason alone, Simon still clings to the idea that you’re not gone.

But maybe you are.

Time is crucial. It is scare and fleeting and slipping away as the seconds tick by.

“This is my fault.”

“Simon,” chides Price, ready to defend him.

“I don’t want to hear it,” growls Simon. “Walsh is after me, and I know that. I kept—” Simon stops, his unoccupied hand forming a fist.

Price frowns. “You kept what?”

Instead of shutting down, Simon trudges forward. “I kept seeing him. Or thought I did.” He glances down at the note and then at the darkening pool of drying blood. “Should have trusted my gut.”

“You can’t linger in the past, Simon. It happened. You made choices. Walsh made choices. That control is gone. We can only move forward.”

Simon remains silent. Price is right, even if Simon doesn’t want to admit it out loud. Shit happens. Plans go wrong. You can’t always predict what the enemy will do or how they might deviate from the information you have. You have to go in with the knowledge that things might change at the last second.

Adjustment is crucial.

Adjust and survive or stay stagnant and die.

“By moving forward, that means I go home,” says Simon slowly.

Price inclines his head. “It is.”

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t accept it.”

“And what will you do, Simon? Search every building in the country? And what will you do after? Head for the continent?”

“I’d destroy everything and everyone if that means I get her back safely.”

Price’s jaw twitches. “Or you might just get her killed.”

Simon’s head snaps in Price’s direction, venom on his tongue, but it’s Price’s glare that stays his harshness. Even though he’s no longer under Price’s command, the training doesn’t leave. Instead of lashing out, Simon takes a calming breath, but it does little except settle the sharpness that wants to emerge from his lips.

“I’m helping with this. I won’t budge,” affirms Simon.

Price nods. “I know, Simon. Didn’t say you wouldn’t be.”

Simon turns toward him fully, lowering his voice. “You told me to go home.”

“For now,” corrects Price. “We need to clean up here, and then we can talk. This isn’t the place.” Price shrugs. “Not like I have all the information in front of me.”

True, but Simon isn’t happy. His body desires movement. It desires action. The storm inside him wants to be released, and its target is Walsh.

“I have to talk to Evie,” murmurs Simon, almost absently.

Price clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Want someone to go with you?”

“I can.” Simon and Price glance up as Johnny comes to a stop in front of them. “I’ll go with you, Lt.”

Simon nods as Kyle approaches with a couple of binders. “She might want this. It’s all paperwork.”

Kyle holds the stack out to Simon but Price reaches for it. “We should make copies. Take a look just in case.”

“I’ll do that now,” nods Kyle. He turns toward Simon and lightly punches his arm. “We’ll find her. Bring her home.”

Kyle departs with a brief nod toward Johnny.

Price clears his throat. “Go home. Take Soap with you. I’ll call when we’re ready to meet.”

“You got it, Captain,” says Johnny, all confidence.

Simon appreciates it. He does, but his heart is close to exploding—a volcano in his chest that he isn’t sure is heartburn or an incoming heart attack.

Price says goodbye by giving Simon’s shoulder another squeeze before walking away to chat quietly with the woman supervising the cleanup.

“Come on, Lt.”

Simon used to correct Johnny after retirement, but he no longer has the heart to. It almost feels normal—like Simon is back in the field and not a tattoo artist with awards and accolades. It is a strange sensation, and Simon is surprised by how his mind and body are at odds with the feeling.

They step around shattered glass and overturned furniture. They walk around the darkening blood that’s starting to congeal. Simon doesn’t even glance at the hammer or the gloved hand that lifts it from the floor.

And it’s not Simon who drives. All the control he likes to have his gone, and it is Johnny that takes the wheel, guiding them back to London as if they’re just two mates on a weekend holiday.

It’s not until Simon is stepping into his flat and Bravo greets him that reality comes crashing into him like a hollow point on impact.

Johnny sighs heavily and drops onto the sofa. Bravo doesn’t go to jump into Johnny’s lap or to seek belly rubs. The German Shepard takes up post next to Simon. He sits rigidly, one paw tapping at Simon’s thigh as the dog tries to get his attention.

“I’m ace, Bravo,” he murmurs, reaching out to scratch between Bravo’s ears.

The dog whines softly but he drops his paw, accepting the scratches before padding over to Johnny. He jumps onto the couch and starts stomping all over Soap until Johnny is laughing and aggressively rubbing Bravo’s belly.

As Bravo settles, Johnny turns his attention to Simon. “You good, Lt?”

Simon shifts in Soap’s direction. He glances around, realizing that he hasn’t moved away from the door. He lingers like a ghost who can see everyone but no one sees them.

“Yeah. I’m good,” coughs Simon, his legs moving mechanically. He plops down onto the sofa next to Johnny and then sighs heavily. “I need a smoke.”

“Have some sitting around?” asks Johnny.

“Nope.”

Soap nods. Keeps nodding. “I’ll go grab some. There a shop around here?”

“On the corner,” answers Simon, eyes closed as his head tips back to rest against the top of the sofa.

“Up for a walk, Bravo?” asks Johnny.

Bravo barks and then jumps out of Soap’s lap, padding over to his leash.

When Johnny returns, the two of them sit on Simon’s balcony facing the back street between the buildings. Bravo is below them, sniffing the little stretch of grass there. He’s a dark spot amongst the green, moving back and forth as if he smells something interesting.

Johnny bought enough packs to give them both lung cancer. Soap isn’t one for smoking, but he joins Simon in it anyway. The two of them sit in the cold silence, the chilly air unable to penetrate the inferno that burns within Simon.

“When do you want to talk to the friend?” asks Johnny, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Tomorrow,” sighs Simon.

He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to say to Evie. Looking her in the face is going to be difficult enough, but explain? No. Fucking no. That shit is a mess.

Johnny’s foot taps absently like he’s listening to a song in his head. “You want me to talk? Or you want to do it?”

“I’ll do it,” replies Simon immediately.

This is his mess. You are his woman. And you are Evie’s friend. This has to come from Simon or no one at all.

Johnny inclines his head and takes another drag on his cigarette. He grimaces. “These are fucking nasty, Lt. How do you do it?”

“Rage,” replies Simon dryly.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow and then bursts out laughing, falling onto his back as he clutches his stomach. The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches with amusement.

Coughing, Johnny turns on his side in Simon’s direction. Bravo comes to a stop in the grass, his noise pushed into the dirt like he’s stumbled upon a scent.

“What is it, Johnny?” asks Simon as Soap stares at him but doesn’t speak.

“She cute?”

Simon blinks. “Who?”

“The friend.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I’m only asking,” replies Johnny, all innocence.

Simon shakes his head, this time smiling naturally. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You know I like a pretty face,” says Johnny, ashing his cigarette.

“Don’t make me blush, Johnny,” teases Simon.

The fire beneath his skin dims from an inferno to a small campfire. This banter is comforting to him—a reminder that there are people out there who care for Simon as more than just a previous coworker. Johnny cares. Kyle cares. And fuck—Price cares to the point that sometimes Simon thinks he has a loving father.

“Oh, aye, Lt. Been lusting after you for ages.” Simon glances at Johnny before snatching his cigarette from his fingers. “I’m smoking that!”

“You hate cigarettes, Johnny,” chides Simon, taking a long drag and finishing it off. “And you’ll have it off with anything that moves.”

“Not anything,” mutters Soap, sitting up fully.

Simon puts out the cigarette and takes another from the pack. “When did you last get your dick wet?”

Johnny’s lips purse, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Johnny,” says Simon, almost sing-song.

Soap mutters something and Simon punches him in the arm.

“Fuck, Lt. Yesterday.”

Simon shrugs. “Knew it.”

“If you’re gonna fucking ask about it, you’ll listen.”

“I’m good, Johnny,” replies Simon, holding up a hand for silence as he goes to light the new cigarette.

“Kyle and I were—”

“Not interested.”

“This beautiful blonde cornered me and I couldn’t say no. Lips like that���”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

“She pushed me up against the wall. Dropped to her knees—”

“Johnny—”

“Never finished so fast in my—fucking hell Simon!”

Johnny clutches the back of his head where Simon lightly swatted him. “Said I didn’t want to know.”

“Then why’d you bloody ask!” exclaims Johnny, this time grabbing Simon’s cigarette from his fingers. He tries to puff on it but promptly grimaces, offering it right back to Simon.

“Absolute wanker,” mutters Simon.

“Favorite wanker, Lt.”

Simon snorts and reaches behind him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and setting it down between them. There are no glasses, but it’s not necessary. Johnny grabs the bottle and removes the screw lid, taking a swig directly from the bottle before holding it out to Simon. He takes the offered whiskey and Simon gulps down more than he should in one go.

He offers it back to Johnny. “Don’t fucking flirt with the friend, Johnny.”

Soap inclines his head and raises the bottle in salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Simon.”

The two of them sit on the balcony until the whiskey is gone and the sun has long since dipped below the horizon. Bravo stays in the living room, curling up on the sofa with Johnny.

Simon stares at his empty bed. It’s still unmade from when he hastily got out and answered the door.

Sighing, Simon heads into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He cranks it until it’s scalding. The heat is a nice distraction, and for a while, Simon pretends that you’re not gone. That you’re with him underneath the spray.

From memory, Simon plucks out his favorite moments, lingering in your sweetness. It’s not just the physical Simon smolders in. Everything about you is like a drop of lifeblood. Simon lingers on your smile, and on the calmness you bring him when you’re nearby. He dreams of your touch and the way you wrap your arms around him. The scent of your shampoo fills his nostrils.

That only leads to lustier thoughts, and Simon has to pull back before he goes too far.

When the water grows cold, and your hands are not there to warm his skin, that is when Simon breaks.

Everything is a flood. Everything fractures.

What are dying stars but beautiful confetti. Dust. Specks bursting outward to settle in forgotten places.

Simon is dust.

No—less than dust.

Atoms.

But lesser than that.

Nothing.

Infinite nothing.

His tears become one with the cold water. His shaking becomes one with the icy chill that makes his skin shiver. Simon’s nails dig into his skin. Blood blossoms in the moons. Drip onto the tile.

Simon sits on the floor of the shower until every tear is down the drain.

He doesn’t recall falling into bed. Or when he drifts to sleep.

It isn’t until Simon wakes that he’s realized he slept at all.

There were no dreams. Just blackness. Hardness.

But he hears Johnny, and Bravo’s nails against the wood floor.

It is reluctant duty that drags Simon from bed.

“Made breakfast. And tea. And coffee,” shrugs Johnny, offering a greasy piece of bacon to Bravo.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that,” sighs Simon, loading his plate with a little bit of everything.

Johnny ignores Simon and talks to Bravo like the dog is human baby. Bravo eats it up like it’s the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Simon drops into a chair. His stomach grumbles and then he’s eating. The eggs are still warm, and the coffee is still hot. He zones out, grabbing seconds and then thirds.

“Have appointments today?” asks Johnny.

Simon shakes his head. “I rescheduled everything back a week. Wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone.”

Usually, Simon hates leaving his shop and moving bookings around, but it can’t be helped.

Johnny nods and inspects the empty skillet that held scrambled eggs. “Still planning on chatting with the friend today?”

Simon swallows down a half-chewed piece of toast. “That’s what I said.”

“Just checking, Lt.”

Simon’s fork pauses. His tone was harsh. “You still coming with me?” asks Simon, softening his tone this time.

“Aye. I’ve got your back.”

Simon clears his plate and finishes off the last of the coffee before he and Johnny head over to Amelia’s. They decide to walk, bringing Bravo with them. Simon fiddles with a cigarette the entire way but never lights it.

“You still want to do this today?” asks Johnny, lingering at Amelia’s door.

No. He’d rather turn tail. Be a coward in this.

Instead of answering Johnny’s question verbally, Simon knocks three times on the door. It’s mid-morning, and Evie’s daughter should hopefully be up by now.

For a moment, there is no sound on the other side, but then Simon hears footsteps—then the turning of a deadbolt.

The door opens, and Simon’s heart falls into his stomach.

Evie stands there, Lillian in her arms. When she sees Simon, her expression changes from neutrality to hopefulness. Her gaze lingers on Simon before shifting to Johnny. That brightness—that joy—fades as time passes.

She is looking for you. And you are not there.

The whites of Evie’s eyes redden, and Simon knows what comes next. As if sensing her mother’s changing mood, Lillian begins to squirm, her own tiny face bunching with a coming tantrum.

“Oh shit,” mutters Johnny, reaching for the baby just as fat tears begin to slide down Evie’s face.

Evie surrenders Lillian to Soap immediately as if all the wind has been knocked from her lungs. She deflates, one hand grasping the doorframe like she’s about to faint. The baby starts to whine, and Johnny panics, holding the infant out before him like he’s never held one before.

“Fucking hell, Johnny. Support the head,” mutters Simon as Evie takes a step back, her other hand pressing to her chest.

“Evie?”

It’s Amelia. She comes rushing forward, grasping the woman’s shoulders. She glances at Simon. Then Johnny. Then little Lillian.

“Give her here,” instructs Amelia, reaching for the infant.

Johnny passes Lillian off and sighs with relief. Amelia cradles the child in one arm and uses the other to support Evie.

Evie is gasping for breath. Chest heaving. Nearing a panic attack.

“Is she…” but Amelia trails off.

Simon understands.

“We don’t know,” replies Simon, because it’s true. And the truth is best, even if it cuts deep like sharpened steel.

Evie chokes and Simon continues on, wanting to crush the rising panic on Evie’s face. “She wasn’t there. Which means that she’s probably still alive.”

Evie is shaking her head. Amelia’s face reveals nothing.

“Go on,” prompts Amelia.

Lillian still wiggles and whines but she’s not nearly so loud now.

“Your estate agent and her assistant are dead. Nothing appears stolen.”

Except you.

“But she’s gone?” asks Evie. Her voice is so strained Simon is surprised the woman can talk at all.

Yes, is what Simon wants to say. It’s what he should say. But all of his words are stuck in his throat.

“Yes,” answers Johnny for him, and Simon could sigh with relief on not having to say the words out loud. “But we’re looking for her.”

“She’s alive?” asks Amelia. She places a hand on Evie’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Until we know otherwise,” replies Johnny. “Yes.”

Amelia and Evie both relax even if the tears remain. Johnny was always better at talking to people than him. It’s why Simon rarely did it. He was either too blunt or didn’t know how to comfort. Johnny knew how. He always has.

“We should tell them,” murmurs Amelia to Evie.

“Tell us what?” asks Simon, curious.

Evie shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Then I will.” Amelia steps back and gestures for them to come inside.

Bravo stays next to Evie’s side all the way to the couch. When the woman sinks down on it, Bravo rests his head on her knee. Soap remains standing, as does Simon.

“British Intelligence came,” begins Amelia, and Soap’s eyes widen.

Simon doesn’t look at Johnny, but from his peripheral, he notices the slight turn of Johnny’s head as his friend glances at him. Price has to know by now. Simon didn’t tell him, but he’s likely putting all the pieces together once he looks at the documents Kyle is making copies of. Archie’s name is probably all over them.

There isn’t any hiding now.

Amelia sighs. “They were asking about Archibald. The circumstances around his death.”

“When did they arrive?” asks Simon.

Johnny remains quiet, his gaze still darting between Simon and Amelia.

“Yesterday,” answers Amelia.

Evie slouches forward, dropping her head into her hands.

“Is that it?” asks Simon, cautiously.

Amelia glances at Evie, her mouth turned downward into a frown. It’s not one of disappoint. It’s stress that’s creeping into her features. With a sigh, Amelia places Lillian into a rocker. Amelia grabs the edge and lightly presses down, the contraption moving in a slow bounce that quickly soothes Lillian’s irritation.

“Asked about potential enemies.” This time, Amelia’s sigh is much deeper. “It’s a strange question. Archie is incredibly kind. There isn’t anyone I know of that holds any ill will toward him. Everyone liked him. Everyone admired him.”

She chews on her lip. “I don’t understand.”

Evie sniffles. Rubs her hands over her face. Glances up. “Why her?” she rasps. “What did she ever do to anyone?”

She didn’t. It’s all me.

The muscles in Simon’s shoulder tense. Walsh likely killed Archie because it suited his goals. If anything, Walsh executed him and moved on without another thought to the bloke. Walsh might have no idea that you are Evie’s friend or that Evie is Archie’s widow. The connection might not be there for Walsh at all.

The only person Walsh cares about is himself. The man has goals, and he fulfills them to whatever ends necessary. If that means taking out one or many, Walsh will do it without thinking twice. Evie might not even be on his radar.

But you?

You are.

All because of Simon. Not because of Archie and his connection to Evie. Walsh wants revenge. He wants Simon to suffer.

It is Simon that betrayed Walsh. Because of Simon’s actions—because of everything he did to take the man down—Walsh only wants you to for the simple goal of getting back at Simon.

When Johnny says nothing, and Simon remains silent, fresh tears fall from Evie’s eyes. “Maybe we should call the police, Amelia. We can’t handle this.”

“The police—” interjects Johnny but Evie continues on like he didn’t say anything at all.

“Thank you, Simon. Thank you for going. But we need to get the authorities involved.” Her hands are shaking even though she tries to hide it.

“No,” says Johnny sharply, one hand slightly raised.

Amelia and Evie both jump, turning toward him.

Johnny closes his eyes and sighs, dropping his hand. When he opens them again, his tone is softer. “Simon called the right people to handle this. Local police can’t do anything.”

Both women frown, but Johnny continues.

“Simon,” begins Johnny, lingering for a moment before continuing, “used to be military.”

Amelia nods. “I’m aware. Known for years.”

Johnny frowns. “Do you know what he did?”

Amelia blinks. Shrugs. “A bit.”

She doesn’t know much. In fact, Amelia knows very little. What she does know is that Simon sustained a bad enough injury for them to force his retirement. Amelia doesn’t know why or how.

“Johnny here used to be on the same team as me. We were sent all over the world on international missions. Our targets weren’t grunts on the ground. We went after those who wanted to do terrible things to a lot of people in the worst ways possible.”

Simon doesn’t elaborate. Amelia and Evie don’t ask for clarification.

“I’m no longer in, but Johnny is. I called our captain, and he’s the one handling this.”

“Why?” asks Evie. “Why would you need to call someone like that for this?”

“Does this have to do with Archibald?” asks Amelia.

“No,” says Simon sharply before Johnny can answer.

He has to put this right. He needs to speak the truth even if it pains him. “It’s someone from my past. Someone I made an enemy of.” And then, quietly, “I’m sorry.”

An apology is all Simon can offer. He has no comforting words for them because he has none for himself.

Evie glances away, her hand a fist that she presses against her mouth. There are no words spoken after that. She places her head on Amelia’s shoulder and the four of them lapse into silence.

It is Johnny that eventually wanders into the kitchen. He makes tea—poorly—but Simon accepts it anyway. He sits in an armchair, staring out the window as Bravo comforts Evie.

The two women don’t ask or tell Simon and Johnny to leave. Simon doesn’t know if Evie blames him. He wouldn’t mind. It’s deserved. But Amelia? That might hurt. Simon is loath to ask so he stays quiet.

Johnny carries the conversation. He speaks quietly to Evie and Amelia, asking them all sorts of questions that he’ll take back to Captain Price. Simon wants to suck it all in, to absorb the questions and trauma and hold it in his stomach to digest.

He’s seen worse. Done worse.

It is late by the time Simon and Johnny depart. It’s not true night but the sun is lowering, the sky awash with a reddish-purply glow. The walk back is utterly silent. Johnny and Simon linger with the sounds of passing cars and the occasional bark of a nearby dog.

Simon’s thoughts are elsewhere. Everywhere but his own head. His mind is there—processing, but there are no connections. It’s spinning static.

But Johnny is present. He is a solid presence beside Simon.

And it is Johnny that grabs Simon’s upper arm, bringing him to a halt before they reach the exterior door to Simon’s building.

Frowning, Simon glances up, scanning the street, muscles poised for action. He expects someone to fall from the sky or for Walsh to appear with weapon in hand. Simon will take that if it means getting you back.

“Stay here, Lt,” murmurs Johnny from the corner of his mouth.

The crease in Simon’s brow deepens but Johnny is already moving, leaving Simon on the pavement as he approaches the door. Simon’s gaze follows every step, and when Johnny reaches out to grab something white off the door, Simon doesn’t know he’s moving until Johnny turns toward him, a bit startled.

“I told you to stay,” snaps Johnny but there’s no venom in it. Only concern. Pity. And Simon hates that.

Simon’s response is not to speak but to snatch the thing out of Soap’s fist.

It’s another envelope. White like the last one. No postage like the last one. And there on the front in handwritten scrawl is Simon’s full name.

It’s exactly the same. A twin from the one found at Evie’s home.

Was Walsh here? Has he been watching Simon all this time? Is he here even now, lingering in a nearby building to watch Simon’s reaction to whatever is inside?

“Simon,” warns Johnny, but he’s not listening.

He needs to know—to fucking know.

Simon tears open the envelope and withdraws the small piece of paper.

It is thin. Wispy. Almost translucent.

The words are even thinner—as if the paper was kissed by smoke.

There are seeds that cannot sprout unless they are burned first. A friend told me that.

Simon told Walsh that—when Walsh thought Simon was an ally and not an enemy. When Simon was a plant and gaining information that would turn Walsh’s entire operation upside down.

I think of it often. I think of you. Isn’t it interesting that some living things must first burn before they can grow? What a gift that friend gave me. What a garden you and I are.

“Simon,” comes Johnny’s voice, but he’s not listening.

Everything is narrowing down to a point. He is fracturing all over again.

It rained that night. I burned like the seed. The sky watered my skin. I germinated. I flowered. I grew. What a gift. We are gardens now. The two of us.

“Call Price,” whispers Simon.

“Lt?”

“Call Price, Johnny.”

Simon knows.

He knows.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@kylies-love-letter @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @lialacleaf @unhinged-reader-36

@miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @creamwhxre @sageyxbabey

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[purplifield]

🪻👻| Awh, baby

Tbh i am sorry for not uploading faster, I do have loads of work everyday, this year has been hectic.

Kinktober

KW: overstim, rough, breeding, praise, cockwarming

“J— oh god!” You gasped, his thick cock entering your pussy roughly. It has been more than an hour; and you had seen stars long ago. You rolled your eyes again, it hurt to see back of your skull by this point.

He chuckled, looking at the ring of cum around the base, arching your back by pushing his hand on the small of it. He raised a brow.

“Baby, can you handle one more? I’m sure you can…” he spoke softly, easing you, lulling you, no. Manipulating you into another round. And you being his loving partner, nodded. “Awh, baby. So good for me, right?”

But soon the whole baby talk turned into more grunting, as you were now against his stomach, being choked a bit as he rutted into you, hissing every time you had enough energy to squeeze around him. “Such a good slut… all for me” he muttered with few kisses along your jaw.

You being overstimulated didn’t tell a word back, and Schlatt knew not to drag one out, because you would just be a blabbering, slutted out mess. Gods how much he appreciated you. So much you felt another spurt of his cum fill your insides and mix with the previous ones. He let go of you as he pulled out for a second, letting you plop face down onto the mattress, he wanted to look how the sheer substance runs out of you pretty hole.

He laid down next to you, pulling you swiftly on him, and putting his dick back inside. You whined in protest thinking that it wasn’t over, but he shushed you, wiping away a tear or two.

“Oh shit, too much?” He cooed, taking your face in his hands and peppering it with kisses. “Did very well, angel”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1967 Ford Mustang

The 1967 model year Mustang was the first significant redesign of the original model. Ford's designers began drawing up a larger version even as the original was achieving sales success, and while "Iacocca later complained about the Mustang's growth, he did oversee the redesign for 1967 ."The major mechanical feature was to allow the installation of a big-block V8 engine. The overall size, interior and cargo space were increased. Exterior trim changes included concave taillights, side scoop (1967 model) and chrome (1968 model) side ornamentation, square rear-view mirrors, and usual yearly wheel and gas cap changes. The high-performance 289 option was placed behind the newer 335 hp (250 kW; 340 PS) 390 cu in (6.4 L) FE engine from the Ford Thunderbird, which was equipped with a four-barrel carburetor. During the mid-1968 model year, a drag racer for the street could be ordered with the optional 428 cu in (7.0 L) Cobra Jet engine which was officially rated at 335 hp (250 kW; 340 PS) all of these Mustangs were issued R codes on their VINs.

[autotopic]

1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

[sabraeal]

hii, I’m still the hakuouki anon, i do like sanan but I agree with you that he’s inconsistent and it’s a shame (the thing I actually disliked the most about his route though was kodo just randomly trying to redeem himself like he was talking about locking chizuru up for life then changed his mind?? lmao) Would be interested to know what felt groomy in his route if you feel comfortable sharing your thoughts!! your fave is yamazaki ofc but do you have any other faves? sorry for the rant, hope u have or had a nice day💗💗

I don't actually really care to talk about it, no! I've played his route twice, the last time in 2021, and didn't enjoy it either time, and that's enough for me. I don't really need to relive it through discourse.

Favorite routes is a hard question because I feel like when people ask, it's because they're assuming you self-ship, when I am really just here to make my dolls kiss 🤣My favorite routes are typically the ones where the MC vibes well with the LI, or at least there is a good STORY attached to it. So Yamazaki is my #1 because he's the one route where I feel like Chizuru is seen as a peer rather than like...precious cargo. But there's definitely a few others I really like!

Shinpachi-- the whole set up with them trying to do a whole big brother/little sister relationship that instantly falls apart because the lack of sexual expectation makes them emotionally vulnerable? Chef's kiss 10/10 trope, wish it didn't have the sulk cabin but what can you do.

Saito-- great slow burn with the perfect demi-panic for Saito when he realizes he has sexual feels for Chizuru. This was my favorite route until I played Yamazaki's a couple routes later

Kazama-- after bracing myself for an unapologetic villain fucker route, was pleasantly surprise to find out that his EB vibe is "dog who caught the car." He's got Chizuru and has no idea what to do with her, end up following her to the ends of the earth (aka hokkaido) so that she can have closure

Ryouma-- not actually a great fit for Chizuru, but him and Nakaoka are the best looking men in the game, and the spy vs spy romance Ryouma thought they were living vs Chizuru actually being oblivious was a JOY.

I also enjoyed Heisuke, even though his route overall didn't have the same pull for me the other ones did. Corgis in love vibes are impeccable, but I feel like Yamazaki's route did the whole "shinsengumi's worst soldier" with more emotional stakes, there's a whole chapter that is just retreading angst so that Chizuru and Heisuke don't get together too soon, which honestly would have been the superior choice. It DOES give us the BEST Kazama though, and Kazama/Sen, which kept me well fed through the last half of EB.

[the-vast-corner-of-the-galaxy]

KW 2024- Day 2: Protectiveness

Day 2 of Kataang Week hosted by @kataang-week

Prompt: Protectiveness/Bodyguard - Tuesday, July 30th

I basically remembered this picture by @ sheepnishly on insta and thought it would be cool using it for this particular prompt.

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3K

Modern AU where Katara is a singer and starts to fall in love with her bodyguard, Aang. 

It was a lovely morning in Ba Sing Se, and Aang, who was a martial arts teacher at one of Ba Sing Se’s biggest martial arts centers, was looking for jobs on the newspaper. Aang loved loved teaching, but he was already getting a little bored of his job. It paid a salary that was enough to get by in the big city’s middle ring, but he wanted to do something different from being a simply martial arts teacher. He got through various ads, but none of them had a position that he was interested in, until he got to a particularly small ad at the bottom left corner of the page:

WE ARE LOOKING FOR BODYGUARDS 

MUST BE FROM AGES 20-29

REQUIREMENTS:

Military officers

Martial arts masters

Daofei

MEET US AT THE JAZMINE DRAGON TEA SHOP ANY WEEK DAY IN THE AFTERNOONS

“This is such a weird ad,” said Aang out loud. However, curiosity got the best of the master and he decided to go to the Jazmine Dragon Tea Shop in the afternoon. Luckily, today he did not have to go to the academy to teach, so he took the train to the upper ring and headed to the tea shop. 

When he got to the busy tea shop, he was not exactly sure of what to do. He walked up to the counter where an older man with a long beard was preparing tea with a few other workers. 

“Hello! Welcome to the Jazmine Dragon!,” greeted the man. “My name is Iroh, what can I help you with?”

“Hello! I saw this ad on the newspaper and they told me to come here,” said Aang, pointing at the ad in the page. 

Iroh looked at it and gave him a warm smile and said: “They are over there in the back, at the largest table with the blue flowerpot.” Aang thanked him and headed to the back of the shop to the table where Iroh pointed. In that table, four men with dark blue suits sat while drinking tea. They all wore black sunglasses and had stern and serious expressions. 

“Uh… hello?” Aang greeted awkwardly. “I was told to come here for the ad-”

“Yeah, yeah, come here,” said one of the men. He was a tall and lean man with a short, brown ponytail, an undercut, a goatee, and brownish skin. He let Aang sit down in front of him and tilted his dark glasses down, revealing his dark blue eyes. 

“Are you by any chance a military officer, a martial arts master, or part of the Daofei?” he asked sternly. 

“Well, yes, I am martial arts master,” replied Aang, humbly. 

“Right,” said the man, writing notes on a piece of paper, “I am going to ask a few questions and later we will test your abilities in the martial arts. Prepare yourself.” 

Aang did not know what he meant by that last phrase, but he answered every question that was asked with full honesty. This was probably the most interesting interview he has received by far, but he was not exactly liking where it was going. 

When the inteview was finished, the man with the ponytail led Aang outside and thanked him for coming. Aang was walking away from the tea shop, when he suddenly felt a pair of eyes observing him. He then heard footsteps coming from multiple directions. Who could’ve been following him? 

Aang turned around and saw two dark figures in front of him. They were wearing all black suits and carried weapons. Aang stopped and positioned himself to defend himself. Aang did not like street fights or attacking people with no reason, but sometimes, he had to defend himself in life or dead situations. 

Four more figures came from the other sides, and had him surrounded. They were looking at him attentively, seeing if he would make a move. Aang stood still and kept calm, waiting for the other cloaked figures to move. 

One of them sprinted towards Aang and tried attacking him with a knife. Aang removed the knife with a swift of his hand and stunned him. Another one tried jumping on him, but Aang quickly threw him on the ground. The third one tried kicking him from the sides, but Aang quickly reacted and in just a few kicks, had stunned him. 

Before Aang could catch his breath, another figured began choking him with a rope, but thanks to his skills, Aang broke away from the grip and stunned the figure. More figures came running to him and attacked him from all sides. “This is so weird,” Aang thought to himself. He was easily defending and stunning the cloaked figures, but was growing a bit tired and gasped for air. Luckily, the figures ran away from him in a few minutes and left Aang alone in the streets of the Upper Ring. 

When Aang finished catching his breath, a familiar figure came from behind him and clapped his hands. It was the man who interviewed him in the tea shop.

“Impressive,” he said, “You’re hired. Now come with us.”

“Wait I-” Aang tried to speak, but a black limosine stopped where they were and they all huddled Aang to get inside the vehicle. Aang was seated between two of the men with suits, and the man who interviewed him sat in front of him and took out a can of the famous Cactus Juice.

“Are you guys the mafia?” Aang asked, feeling worried.

“Oh no, you got it all wrong,” the man laughed, “We are actually the security team of the famous singer songwriter Katara. You obviously know her, right?”

“I only heard a few songs by her,” Aang replied. “Why didn’t you guys mention that early?”

“If we were to reveal the reason why we are looking for extra security, the tea shop would’ve been a chaotic place,” said the man, “So we wanted to make the hiring as weird and mysterious as possible.”

Aang simply nodded, still feeling uneasy. “So… Where are we going mister…”

“Sokka,” replied the man. “You can call me Sokka. I am Katara’s older and awesome brother, and I am her manager. You said your name was Aang, right?”

“Yes, my name is Aang,” the young master replied. “You didn’t answer my question. Where are we going?”

“Oh! We are going to the recording studio, where Ms. Katara wishes to meet you,” said Sokka, “Do you want some Cactus Juice? It’s the quenchiest!” 

Aang politely declined the drink and stayed silent through the ride to the studio. When they got to the place, Aang was shocked to see the humongous building in front of him. It was about 40 stories and had a white, round, shape. They went into the building and took the elevator to the 34th floor. A white door in front of them had the words written on a sign that said “Do not disturb”, but Sokka simply knocked the door and was answered by a smaller lady with black hair tied up in a bun, dark glasses, and a black suit. 

“Toph, is Katara in there?” Sokka asked.

“What do you think, dumbass?” she asked sarcastically. “Of course she is in here! She says you’re late!”

Aang entered the room awkwardly and tried not making any noise. When they walked into the studio, a lean woman was standing looking at a large window that showed almost all of Ba Sing Se. She had wavy, dark brown, hair, and wore a short blue dress covered with a denim jacket and tall, white platforms. 

“You’re late, Sokka,” said the woman. “Did you find the new recruit?”

“Yes, Kat” said Sokka. “We found you another bodyguard. He is a martial arts master, a skilled fighter, and really nice!”

The woman turned around and revealed herself, and when Aang saw her, he felt like he was struck by lightning again. The singer was probably the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen. Her long, wavy hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, her eyes were the color of the ocean, and you could even see the water reflected on them. Her lips were painted a light shade of red, but completed her face perfectly. Katara was absolutely stunning, and Aang could feel his heart skip multiple beats at the sight of her. 

“Hello,” she greeted nicely. “What is your name?”

“Uh… my name is Aang,” replied Aang, still bewildered by the artist’s beauty. “Nice to meet you, Katara.” 

Katara extended her hand and shook it. “It is also nice to meet you, Aang. Come here, let us talk.” Katara welcomed Aang into the room with the large window and offered him a seat. He couldn’t take his eyes off Katara, not just because of her beauty, but because there was something about her that he felt drawn to, an unspoken energy. 

“So, Aang,” Katara began. “Are you from Ba Sing Se?”

“Well… no,” replied Aang. “I am from the Air Islands, but moved here a few years ago.”

“Oh! That’s intriguing,” replied Katara, taking a sip of water, “I haven’t been to the Air Islands in a while. It’s such a lovely place to visit. The mountains are gorgeous to look at, and the temples are some of the most impressive architecture I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty nice place,” replied Aang, trying not to sound awkward. “So… how is this job going to work?”

“Oh! It’s fairly simple!” said Katara, grabbing a folder from the other side of the table. “Aang, you are going to be my personal bodyguard. You are going to be part of my personal team, which includes Toph, who is in charge of security, the three guards, Sokka, my manager, as well as many other people you will eventually meet. You are not just going to be working at the concerts, but also as a companion, a member of Team Katara.”

Aang nodded with too much enthusiasm and seized the folder from Katara’s hands before she could fully give it to him. He read all of the terms and conditions to his contrat, his salary, which would be very generous and three times his salary he got from the academy, and his schedules. He was technically going to be with Katara almost 24/7, but he did not mind, except for the fact that he would probably be very exhausted by the end of each day and each tour. 

Once Aang finished reading the terms and conditions, he signed the contrat and handed it to Katara, who gave it to Sokka. Katara stood up and shook Aang’s hand, welcoming him officially into the team. 

A few hours after getting to know the rest of Katara’s crew, he left the studio and was escorted by Toph through the elevator. 

“Tomorrow, you must be in this address by 9 AM,” she said, taking out a card. It had the address of a house in the Upper Ring, which he figured was Katara’s residency. “Also, Katara can be quite temperamental, so be careful about what you say.” Toph took out her glasses and handed the card to Aang. The master realized that the woman’s eyes were covered with a thick, grey, film. She was blind, which made Aang wonder how she was in charge of a whole security team, but of course, he didn’t mind.

“We will see you tomorrow, Aang,” she said as the elevator door shut behind her. Aang headed outside the studio and took the last train to the Middle Ring, filled with determination about his new job. 

***

The next morning, Aang headed to the address he was given last night. He got there at 8:55 AM, five minutes exactly before the time. The house he was sent to was a large, and impressive Earth Kingdom mansion. When he knocked the door, he was received by Toph, who welcomed him into the residence. 

“This is Katara’s residence,” said Toph. “You might be wondering why it is so large. The crew actually lives with here. She likes the company of people and loves interacting with the rest of the staff.”

Aang was impressed by the entire house and gawkwed at its design. The outside of the house had the style of many Ba Sing Se mansions, but the inside was decorated with objects from the Water Tribe. 

“Aang!” Katara exclaimed from the stairs. “You’re here! And just in time!”

Aang smiled at Katara’s warm welcome, and then Sokka came and began to explain the details of the day’s events. “Today, there is going to be a press conference about the upcoming album. It’s going to be up in the North of the Middle Ring. We are expecting a large amount of expectators and interviewers, so we will need to increase the security. Aang, you will be near the exit of the press room ready to escort Katara at any moment, and Toph will secure the perimeter with the guards and extra staff given to us. Is everything clear?”

Everyone nodded and then got in the vehicles from Katara’s garage to head to the press conference.When they got there, there were already many interviewers and reporters in the room. Aang got to his position and saw Toph with the rest of the guards securing the area. The conference began with questions about Katara’s upcoming album and about the upcoming tour. As the hours passed, the questions started getting more personal and Aang noticed Katara was feeling uneasy. 

A particular interviewer from the Earth Kingdom was pressing Katara on questions about a relationship she had with a famous activist named Jet in the past. Katara was visibly uncomfortable and tried everything to evade answering any details about their rupture, but the interviewer was still pressuring Katara. Sokka yelled at the man for being too invasive and did his best to go to the next question. The singer glanced at Aang with a call for help in her eyes. Aang understood the signal in a glimpse and escorted Katara out of the conference room. Sokka kept arguing with the reporters while Aang escorted Katara cradling her in his arms and covering her from the cameras of the paparazzi. When the door got shut behind them, Aang took her to the nearest empty room so she could calm down and shut the door. 

“Are you okay?” Aang asked with a tone of concern. “Would you like some water? Something to calm down?”

Before Katara could answer, she broke down in tears. Aang was not exactly sure what to do in that moment. He wanted to calm her down, but did not want to be too invasive since it was his first day working and barely knew Katara. 

Aang crouched and got closer to Katara, handing her a bottle of water so that she could drink it. She took the bottle and sipped on some of the water. There were heavy tears streaming down her eyes, which was making her makeup cascade on her cheeks. Aang decided to give her some tissues he had in his pocket so she could wipe her tears. 

“Thank you, Aang,” Katara whispered, calming down. “I always hate when they begin pressing so much on my personal life. Why do they need to take personal information from my relationships and make entertainment out of it? I cannot stand it!”

Aang stayed silent for a few moments, but then said: “Because they have nothing better to do. They just want to make profit out of the life of someone, and you have all the right to not answer any questions willingly.”

“I know, but it still annoys me,” said Katara. “You wouldn’t like it if the papers began publishing details about your last romantic relationship, right?”

Aang shook his head and stayed silent for a few moments, not sure of what to say to Katara. 

“Would you like me to tell Sokka to get the car so we can leave?” Aang asked, heading to the door.

“Wait!” Katara exclaimed, pulling Aang’s hand. “Can you please stay for a bit?” Aang’s heart skipped a few beats, but he turned back to the woman in front of him. When Aang faced the singer in front of him, he did not just see a music star, but a simple woman, who was showing emotion and needed comfort. 

Aang sat next to Katara and stayed close to her. Katara then turned around and wrapped her arms around Aang’s shoulders and cried some more. The young bodyguard did not know what to do and froze for a few moments, but decided to return the hug lightly and wrapped his long arms around her. Katara tightened her grip on his shoulders, searching for more security in Aang. A few minutes passed, and Katara’s cries seemed to ease, and her breathing came back to normal. 

“Thank you, Aang,” she cooed, looking at his silver grey eyes while holding his arms. Katara noticed the color in her bodyguard’s eyes and saw how pretty they were. The dark silver flakes made his eyes look like diamond jewelry and gave her a sense of security and comfort, a security she has been looking for years. 

A faint knock was heard from the door, and Katara turned around hoping it was not the paparazzi. 

“Kat?” Sokka called from the door. “Are you in there? The press left. We can go now.”

“You can come in, Sokka,” replied Katara. Sokka entered the room with caution approached the bodyguard and his sister with caution. 

“Are you okay?” Sokka asked. 

“Yes,” said Katara, following Sokka to the door. Then, she turned to Aang, stared sweetly into his eyes, and said: “Everything is better now.”

Aang felt his cheeks turn pink, and really hoped Katara or Sokka did not notice. He was starting to like his job a lot more, even if it had its stressful situations. Aang felt like he was going to enjoy his job, not because he worked for a famous singer, but because he cared for Katara.