#lines in there depending on who your muse is SO be looking forward to that if you're a fan of being slightly ✨️ spooked ✨️ haha

[anthromimicry]

it's been a while since i've done a meme call on here, so if you'd like for me to spam you with some interactions from my gal misao right here... then please like this post!!

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! :) I just really love all of your works for Hellsing and an idea popped into my mind. Could you write an Alucard x darling!Reader where Integra sends them on a mission to Brazil in disguise as a newlyweds on their honeymoon? I'm just sooo obsessed with his Riocard look, I thought it would be so fun to imagine! <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: To be honest I get you anon. He is so handsome in his RioCard form, with his little glass full of blood and wearing that suit 🤭💕💕. @marieisaghost

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, reader is unsettled by Alucard but both of them keep flirting with one another lol, mention of killing, gn!reader

"Lulu, you travel a lot, don't you?" You turn your face to stare at him, gorgeous smile already on his lips as soon as that little nickname left you. "What is it like in Brazil? How are the people?"

He thought about. Ancient as he was, Alucard was present to see or hear about all major events from humanity. And later on, to visit those same countries, as you two are doing now - hunting for a potentially dangerous vampire who climbed the stairs to the success, he was so important now, so powerful but Integra had her way of getting you and Alucard into one of his big parties.

After a few seconds pondering, Alucard glanced at his glass full of blood, long, dark hair hiding his eyes from you as he chuckled.

"The air smells like golden hour and the birds sing so loud, as if they wish for you to sing among them. The Brazilians are like fairies, if you will, as they can't lie but contour whatever promise they made with polite words and jokes. And the common folk are very affectionate." He sipped from his glass, little trinket of blood running down his lower lip before he could lick it. You laughed at that. "And their words sounds like a gentle song, so familiar yet so distante you can't quite remember where you have heard it."

The gentle hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, the dim lighting casting soft shadows against the sleek leather seats. You sat beside Alucard, watching the clouds drift by through the small window. A moment goes by before you answer him.

"Quiet poetical, don't you think?" You mused, imagining the country based on his description. "Well, I'm looking forward to see it. We will be able to sightsee after the mission is done, right?"

Alucard turned his head slowly, he was still sipping from his glass, sometimes just shaking it to see the red liquid sway gently. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. He always found your mortal, innocent optimism endearing — if not a bit naive. But he never discouraged it outright. No, he enjoyed watching you dangle the idea of freedom, without realizing he was the one holding the string.

He was the one who chose you for this role. So beautiful and all his, pretending to be his cute little spouse.

“Sightseeing?” Alucard repeated, his voice low, filled with the silky cadence you knew too well. He leaned back further into his seat, fingers steepled together as if considering your words. “That all depends. If the mission goes well and... if you behave, darling.”

You shifted uncomfortably, pretending to be preoccupied with the view outside. Sometimes Alucard took his jokes too far, the line between truth and joke unclear.

“Well, I just thought… if we’re pretending to be newlyweds, we might as well enjoy the facade a little more!” You explained your point of view, trying to sound casual. “A little sightseeing wouldn’t hurt. Husband.”

Alucard’s chuckle was soft but dark, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a beautiful sound yet terrifying in other circumstances. “Oh, you’ve been enjoying this facade more than you admit, darling” He teased, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Playing the role of my beloved spouse… It suits you.”

His words were laced with a possessiveness that you couldn’t ignore. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you tried to maintain composure under his piercing gaze. Alucard thrived on your uncertainty — on the way you balanced between curiosity and frustration in equal measures. He loved seeing you struggle. You knew that. He was an asshole like that sometimes.

“Maybe,” You replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper and your face heating up. Ultimately it was better to let him have this little win or he'll pout and throw a tantrum the entire time. “But it’s hard to keep up the act sometimes, you’re very convincing. I fear I won't be as convincing as you are.”

Alucard’s smile widened, a dark, predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his cold fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a delicate yet possessive touch. He seemed like he wanted to say something, a secret passing through his eyes, black long hair hiding his face like a curtain, and then he pulled back.

“Rest now, my love,” Alucard said, his voice softer as he reclined back in his seat but the command was clear. "We still have a few hours until we get there. And perhaps, I’ll indulge you with that sightseeing you’re so fond. There's so very interesting places that are open at night.”

You rolled your eyes. "Aye aye captain."

Yoou reached out, your hand sliding around his arm and tugging him toward you. His eyes widened slightly, not in surprise but in curiosity. You didn’t say a word, there was no need. All that mattered was the closeness, the warmth, even if it came from the cold embrace of a vampire. Without a word, you rested your head against his arm, and he allowed you to whatever you wanted, his lips curling into a soft smirk as he watched you for a few seconds.

/⁠～⁠♡

The private plane had landed hours ago, and the sun now hung low on the horizon, casting the hotel room in a warm, golden glow. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the fabric of your outfit, a carefully chosen disguise for the next phase of the mission. The luxurious suite you were in felt almost too extravagant, too different from what you were used but trying to argument with Alucard was near impossível. And he wanted to stay at the most expensive place just for the sake of it.

Greedy vampire, you thought, he wouldn't even be able to sleep. After all, he's used to sleep at morning and you, as a Hellsing soldier, is more than used to sleep in whatever you can lie on during night. Extravagance was not your style.

Behind you, Alucard moved with quiet grace, his eyes fixed on you in the mirror. He had already shed his coat, his shirt untucked slightly, looking every bit the devilish rogue he was. He stepped closer, slipping a gloved hand around your waist, guiding you as you fumbled with the buttons on your collar.

"Let me," He asked, his voice low and smooth, as he brushed your hands away and began fastening the buttons for you. His fingers worked skillfully, but his touch lingered a bit too long. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

"You know, I can dress myself," You teased him, raising an eyebrow at him through the mirror.

"Of course you can," Alucard replied with a smirk, not missing a beat. "But why would I miss the chance to enjoy this view?" His hands slid up to adjust the collar, his eyes flickering with amusement.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Alucard chuckled softly, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in just a bit closer. "I’m many things, love. Impossible is only one of them." He finished with the last button, his hands lingering on your shoulders, fingers tracing the fabric as though he couldn’t help but touch you. You turned slightly to face him, a playful glint in your eyes.

"So husband, what's the plan?" You teased him, emphasizing the word, adjusting your sleeves as he watched you with that ever-present intensity. "Or you're just want to take care of everything alone while I stay helpless by your side, like a damsel?."

Alucard raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Playing the damsel role certainly is fun but not safe. Besides it's counterproductive. I'II catch our target while you search his office for those documents."

You nodded, trying to think of ways to enter the target's office, but the warmth in Alucard's eyes made it impossible. His thumb traced small circles against your waist, and though you hated to admit it, his presence was comforting in moments like these, when the mission loomed large and the stakes were high. He knew how you soothe your worries and fears with just a few gestures.

"Focus, Alucard," You said, but your voice lacked any real conviction.

"I am focused," He replied smoothly, his lips dangerously close to yours. "Just… not on the mission right now."

You felt your heartbeat quicken, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him just a little, your fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. "You’re incorrigible."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low, teasing purr. "And you love it."

You laughed softly, shaking your head again as you turned back toward the mirror. "You’re lucky you’re helping with this mission. Otherwise, I’d leave you to flirt with yourself.

Alucard chuckled, stepping back slightly, though his hand never left your waist. "Oh, I can flirt with myself just fine. But it’s much more fun with you."

You met his gaze in the mirror, your reflection showing the playful tension between you two. Despite everything, the danger, the complexity of your relationship, moments like this felt oddly natural. Easy, even.

"Fine," you said, adjusting the last piece of your outfit and putting your weapons in their proper places. "After this mission and you taking me to sightsee, you should really take me on a date, Alucard. I wouldn't say no."

Alucard’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand squeezing your waist lightly. "Whatever you want, darling. But until then…" His eyes sparkled mischievously. "We make quite the team, don’t we?"

You couldn’t argue with that. Despite the chaos, despite the danger, there was something undeniably magnetic about being at his side. Even if he drove you crazy half the time and acted strange sometimes.

"Yeah," You said with a sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "We do."

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the grand hotel, the city’s lights reflecting off the polished black limousine waiting at the curb. The distant hum of life in the city created a soft backdrop of noise, but here, in front of the sleek vehicle, everything felt quieter, more intimate. Alucard, as always, had his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he guided you toward the car.

“After you, love,” He said smoothly, his voice laced with amusement as he opened the door for you. His crimson eyes gleamed under the streetlights, and even in the dim evening, he looked effortlessly sharp in his tailored suit, dark and dangerously handsome.

You gave him a playful smirk before slipping into the limousine’s spacious interior. The leather seats were cool against your skin as you settled in, and a faint, luxurious scent lingered in the air. Alucard followed, closing the door behind him as he took the seat beside you.

As the driver began pulling away from the curb, the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Alucard stretched his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder in a way that felt casual yet intentional.

“Excited?” hHe asked, his voice low and teasing as his eyes flickered to yours. “Or is it nerves I sense?”

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes slightly. “Excited isn’t the word I’d use. This is a mission, remember? Focus, Alucard.”

He chuckled, his hand sliding down to lightly squeeze your shoulder. “I’m always focused. It’s you who seems to be on edge, dragul meu.” His voice was a playful murmur, but there was that undercurrent of seriousness you knew all too well. He thrived in these high-stakes situations, while you, well, you preferred a little less danger and a little more simplicity.

You preferred a better plan, you preferred having more allies. Yet, you had to make it do with just Alucard by your side. Either way, you knew he wouldn't let you hurt yourself.

“I’m not on edge,” You retorted lightly, turning to face him fully. “I’m just thinking about the plan. We’re supposed to be subtle, blend in, gather intel. You remember the whole ‘don’t draw attention to ourselves’ part, right?”

Alucard’s lips curled into that familiar, devilish smirk. “Subtlety isn’t always the most fun, but I suppose I can behave for one night.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, if things get boring, I might have to… stir the pot a little.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I prefer the term ‘charming,’” He corrected you, eyes gleaming mischievously.

The limousine cruised through the city, the lights outside glowing brighter as you approached the heart of the bustling nightlife. The party you were heading to was in one of the city’s most elite venues — a towering glass building that loomed in the distance, sparkling against the night sky. The event was exclusive, crawling with high-society types, all hiding secrets beneath their polished exteriors. You and Alucard were here to uncover one of those secrets.

As the limousine neared the grand entrance, you adjusted your clothes, making sure everything was in place. Alucard watched you with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes, though there was a softness in the way his gaze lingered.

“You look stunning,” He murmured, his voice softer now, devoid of the usual teasing edge. “They won’t know what hit them.”

You met his eyes, feeling a flutter in your chest despite yourself. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, leaning in just a bit closer. “Just ‘not so bad?’ I think I deserve more credit than that.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Let’s just get through this without any chaos, alright? Then I’ll give you all the credit you want.”

The limousine came to a smooth stop in front of the towering venue, the driver stepping out to open the door for you both. Alucard was out first, offering his hand to help you out, his grip firm but gentle. As you stepped out onto the red carpet, the flashes of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd were already starting.

He pulled you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you both made your way toward the entrance. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, commanding and magnetic.

“We’ll be the perfect couple tonight,” Alucard whispered into your ear as you ascended the stairs, his breath warm against your skin. “Just follow my lead.”

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a small smile. “I’m used to that by now.”

With that, you both stepped through the grand doors into the glittering party, where the real game was about to begin.

[anime-fluff-imagines]

Haikyu accidentally confessing

Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Suna, Kageyama, Ushijima, Akaashi

TW: Sexual jokes (like middle school boy jokes) Sorry for any mistakes!

"Ayo-" You started with the overused tiktok sound, causing your friend to push your head forward slightly. You chuckled at his annoyed expression as you opened your locker, getting a few books.

"You start this again and I'll throw a ball at your head." You smirked at him.

"Depends what kind." He gagged but you noticed the telltale sign of him trying not to smile.

"You're gross." He stated, even so, he grabbed two of the books from your load.

"You love me." You sang quietly.

"Do I?" He tilted his head as you two made your way to the gym.

"No.." You said sadly as you hung your head. He knew you were smiling as you did, but he indulged you anyway.

"Oh, no, so sad, I'm sooo sorry. You must be so disappointed." He said blandly, rolling his eyes.

You smiled a bit as he opened the door and held it for you.

"I want a boyfriend though." You stated , making him groan.

"Here we go again.."

"I'm serious, I just..want someone, you know?"

"No."

"Well maybe you'd have a girlfriend if you weren't so mean to every girl who asks you out." You said, hitting his side softly.

"You have to be harsh or they'll think they have a chance. Besides, I already have someone in mind." You gasped.

"Who?!"

"You."

"Ooh- Wait what."

"Ew, it's you." You groaned as you opened your door.

"You invited me, I'll leave." He threatened.

"Mkay." You said, going to shut the door, shutting his foot in the process.

"You and Iwa bully me so much." He whined as he walked in.

"It's payback for all the crap you do." He gasped and placed a hand on his heart.

"Little ol' me?" You laughed loudly as you walked into the living room.

"You're right, it's just fun."

"You know what else is fun?" He wiggled his brows.

"Murder?"

"Um, no- but we'll come back to that." He gave finger guns and I mused at him.

"What movie do you wanna watch?" I asked.

"Mulan, duh." My eyes brightened as I turned to him.

"Really?" He smiled and sat down, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Yeah yeah, put your favorite movie in." He rolled his eyes teasingly, waiting for you to come sit by him on the couch.

"Do you want snacks?" You asked, standing up and grabbing the remote.

"You already have the best one." He said, making a click sound with his tongue.

"In your dreams." You smiled.

"You can only imagine." He said seriously, making you turn to him quickly.

"Huh?"

"Whoopsie!"

"Hi puppy." You greeted your friend as he sat down at the table.

"You did wipe this down right?" You nodded. You two were meeting at your moms restaurant after hours to hang out.

"Hey. Did you read the book I gave you?" He asked.

"Yes, I did, and I have to say I'll never look at my phone the same way again." He chuckled.

"And I guess I'll just have to start kissing people as a greeting."

"Ew no." He scrunched his nose in disgust.

"You can be excluded if you want." You teased.

"Actually, I'd rather be the only one included." You blinked at him a few times, assuming you heard him wrong.

"Cat got your tongue? I can help with that." He smirked, making you shriek quietly and hide your face behind your hands.

"Stop! Who are you?" You giggled.

"Your future boyfriend?"

"Mwah." You kissed your friend on top of his mop of hair.

"What are you doing today?" He asked as you crawled on his lap.

"Eyeliner and brows." He nodded as he gazed over your shoulder, watching the movie that was playing behind you.

"Look up." He obeyed and flinched a bit when you started putting eyeliner on his lower lash line.

"Oh beautiful. Stunning. Runway material." He chuckled as you grabbed your tweezers and started plucking a few stray brow hairs.

"Oww.." He whined, making you roll your eyes.

"You're such a baby." You teased.

"You love me." You nodded in confirmation.

"A lot." He smiled softly and you both made eye contact, and in that moment, you both felt something change.

"Never smile at my little brother again." You laughed, patting your friend on his back.

"I didn't mean to scare him!" He whined. You two were walking to a convenience store before going to his house for a movie night, something you both had every Friday.

"Ah, he's a loser anyway." You shrugged.

"Is it really that scary when I smile?" He asked quietly.

"If people aren't around you all the time, maybe, but when they realize you're just a ball of fluff when your comfortable, then no." He blinked, confused, but shrugged anyway.

"No, it's not, it just surprises new people." He sighed.

"Tobio, your smile's fine." You chuckled.

"Maybe to you, but I'm tired of scaring people because of it."

"Tobio, your smile, is absolutely, perfect." You said, grabbing his hand, making him pause.

"Especially to me." You confirmed.

"...Why are you staring at me, weirdo." You chuckled, turning around to see your friend laying propped up on your bed.

"I'm waiting for you to start the movie." He blinked.

"Start it without me, I'm going to change into fuzzier pants." He didn't know why he found you so endearing. Your were loud, and clumsy, and you were always late, even for things in your own bedroom.

"Slow poke." He heard you scoff as you hobble back into his view, one leg into your pants, and the other struggling to find the hole.

"Inside out." He noted, without even sparing you a glance.

"You're so smart." You cooed, jumping onto the bed.

"I try." He said, letting you find your spot, tucked right into his collarbone. He knew in a few minutes you'd be dead asleep, and for some reason, it made him smile.

"Why are you smiling so much today?" You asked.

"You." He simply stated.

"Oh. You make me smile too." You answered.

Ushijima smiled again, nuzzling his forehead with yours. Neither of you knew what this new step was exactly, but both of you knew that it was one you wanted to take.

"I hate math." You stated, shoving your math book away carefully.

"It's useful though.

"Keji..Hush." He shrugged.

"There's nothing interesting about it though..It's just numbers and words, and now apparently fucking letters too." He laughed.

"Yeah, I admit, it's not fun, but it's useful." You sighed.

"But I'm boreddd." You whined, sliding you chair over to your bed and jumping onto the plush blanket.

"Can we just watch a movie?" You asked, mustering the best pout you could. Akaashi tried, he really did, but God you were so cute, all he could do was sigh and stand up, walking over to you.

"You're lucky ten teacher moved the test to next week." He said.

"They did?!" You asked.

"What were you doing in class today?!" He chuckled.

"Looking at you, not gonna lie." He blushed and brought on of your pillows up, smacking you with you.

"What? You do it too, and Bokuto said that you once ranted about how my hair looked in the sun, so I don't want to hear anything about it."

"That snitch."

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

A Great Big Phech-niverse Chapter 8

Tech and Phee play board games, Hunter thinks something else.

AO3

“H-8.”

Tech shook his head. “Another miss.”

Phee sighed and fished another white peg from the bag situated between the two of them.

Tech looked down as his own board, his hand adjusting his goggles out of habit. “I target position F-4.” 

Phee snapped her fingers. “Hit.”

“Excellent,” Tech retrieved a red peg after Phee placed one on her board. “I really do enjoy this game.”

“I’m glad,” the pirate smiled over at him. “D-9?”

“Miss. It reminds me of a simulation I often engaged with as a cadet on Kamino.”

Phee looked up. “Except this isn’t a training game. This is just for fun.”

“I am having fun while also enjoying what appears to be a likely victory. F-5?”

“Hit again,” Phee placed in another red peg. “Damn. A-10?”

“Miss, and I might introduce Omega to this game,” Tech mused as Phee tried to figure out where to place her next strike. “She would enjoy the strategic element of this. F-6?”

“Another hit. Also, sorry to break it to you, but Lyana already beat you to it.”

“Oh,” Tech’s shoulders dropped.

“But she’s probably a better opponent for you than me. A-6?”

The side of Tech’s mouth curved up into a smile. “You have hit.”

“Oh, about time!” Phee grabbed a red peg to place on the other side of her board. “Alright, hit me with your best shot.”

“F-3?”

“Hit,” Phee sighed and placed in the final peg. “And you’ve destroyed my last starship.”

“Ah. The game is now over then, I assume?”

“Yeah. I figured I was going to lose to you, but not this badly.”

“You did hit two of my starships.”

“I sunk only one, and hit another by the time you took out my last ship,” Phee corrected while helping put the boards and pieces away. “I’ll find something new for when I come over tomorrow.”

“And I look forward to it.”

-0-

“Wrecker would like this one.”

“You think?”

“Well, he’d like the board game pieces most of all. He’s started collecting miniature figures now that we’ve settled down.”

“There’s a max of four people who can play this one, so it might not be great for when your family wants to play together.”

“Crosshair would probably not participate in this one at first.”

“Could be. Depends on what he’s like that day I think. Now go ahead and roll.”

Tech rolled the dice. After observing the total, he took one of his pieces and knocked Phee’s off the space he landed on.

“Aw, really, Brown Eyes?”

“You sent me back to the starting line earlier.”

“Touche.”

-0-

Phee looked up at Tech over the board. “You already know this one, don’t you?”

“I do,” Tech confirmed as he moved the piece. “I often played holochess against a computer when we were stationed at bases during the war. Otherwise, I played with Crosshair or Echo.”

“And the other two?”

“They’re terrible,” Tech admitted. “Wrecker’s ADHD kicks in if the game goes too long. Hunter only does slightly better, but also doesn’t like how it drags out. The other two are more patient.”

“And Omega?”

“She prefers other games to this,” he shrugged. “But I always enjoy playing with you.”

“Well, thank you,” Phee grinned under the praise before moving her piece. “I like playing with you too.”

Tech looked down at where she had moved. “Are you sure you want to move there?”

“Oh, come on!”

-0-

“That will be Phee,” Tech said as he moved past Hunter to the door the next evening.

Hunter raised an eyebrow at him. “You invited her over? Again?”

Tech stopped. “Yes.”

“You’ve been inviting her over a lot lately.”

“She’s…” Tech faltered.

They hadn’t really discussed labels for their relationship. Granted, they were an item since they’d started playing board games. 

“Close to me,” he finally decided.

“Yeah,” Crosshair called from the couch. “We figured from all the time you two spend in your room.”

“We like privacy. Unless you’d rather we do our activities out here.”

“No!” Hunter held up his hands. “No, no, no. I just want to, ah, make sure you two are being safe.”

Tech looked at his brother. “We are.”

“Good. Good. Well, you two have fun.”

Weird conversation with his oldest brother aside, Tech opened the door to let Phee in. She entered with a brightly colored box, slightly larger than the ones she usually arrived with. He led her through the living room quickly to his own bedroom and closed the door behind them.

“So what do you have for tonight?”

“It’s a bit different,” Phee set down the box. “You okay with getting a little physical tonight? The board game is more of a mat.”

“Interesting,” Tech took the box from her as she pulled the mat and a spinner from inside. “I think I am comfortable enough with you to engage in this game.”

“Okay,” she said. “But if it gets too much, say the word and we’ll stop.”

The game started off simple with the spinner directing them to place a certain hand or foot in a certain spot. The longer it went on, the more flexible both had to be. Eventually, they did end up in closer proximity while talking about the events of the day. Phee was positioned in a way that her torso was under his head. Tech tried to reach under her for the spinner.

“Stretch,” she urged, trying to bat it towards him.

“I am!”

“Stretch more!”

He tried, but lost balance and fell on top of her. They both crashed down onto the mat in a tangle of limbs. Before he could ask if she was okay, Phee started laughing.

“That was…something,” he stated from where he lay on Phee.

“Oh, yeah,” she wheezed. “That’s what happens with this. One minute you’re upright and the next, you’re all spread out on each other.”

“I think I would have found this quite awkward as a cadet,” Tech decided.

“What about now?”

Tech looked up at her. “Having known you for a significant amount of time and harboring romantic emotions for you, I do not see awkwardness right now. But anyone else…I do not know if I would be as at ease.”

She leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. “I like you too, Tech. You wanna go for another round?”

Before Tech could respond, the closed door was pounded on.

“You two gotta cut it out!” Hunter’s voice said from the other side. “Please. We can hear you and Omega is here!”

Phee jolted up, sending him upward too. “Is he serious?”

“Hunter, we’re just playing Twister with each other!” Tech called through the door.

A strangled noise came from the other side. “Tech, I don’t need details.”

Details? Tech furrowed his brow.

“Oh Force,” Phee put her head in her hands.

“I don’t-”

“Double meaning, Brown Eyes. Oh boy.”

The neurons fired rapidly as he put the alternative meaning together, paired with the comments Hunter had made earlier that evening.

“Hunter!” Tech cried, offended. “Don’t be crass!”

“We really are just playing a game,” Phee added, snorting at the end. “Look, we’re both decent, Hunter!”

There was silence on the other side for a while before Hunter spoke again. “Is it really just board games?”

“Yes!” they both insisted. 

“I’m gonna kick Crosshair’s ass,” Hunter grumbled. “Sorry. Keep doing your games. Be safe.”

Tech listened for Hunter to leave and looked at Phee. “Did he really think we were having sex?”

Phee sniggered. “I think he did.”

Tech shook his head. “He’s one to talk, especially since he’s the only one who’s been caught in the act?”

“Are you kidding?”

“I am not,” Tech shuddered at the memory. “Now, you were asking about another round?”

[put3rb0y]

Musculorum Hominis

A short 1,257 word 2001: A Space Odyssey Dave/HAL romantic fanfic. Completely sfw!

A supercomputer watches a man draw. A man watches the supercomputer he's drawing.

CW: Descriptions of human internal anatomy (mostly muscles) fueled only by cursory Google searches. Sorry.

-----

The deafening silence of space, broken apart only by the low humming and whirring of the Discovery One and the ritualistic, rhythmic scratching of ballpoint pen on paper. Even the most minute of sounds were impossible to ignore in such a vacuum. There was some hope of tuning it out, yes, but the faintest moment of conscious awareness of such noise would put the droning, monotonous sounds right back in the forefront of the mind.

And yet, for David Bowman, there was something comforting about the familiar, constant sound. Something calming. There was nothing unexpected about it, nothing offensive or alarming, just the low trilling of familiarity and the satisfying auditory evidence of his efforts. Hunched over the garishly white and pristinely clean counter, he worked on his art - a simple enough hobby to have when on one’s lonesome. A good way to express oneself, even when there were few to express oneself to. A physical reflection of thoughts, of focus, of care.

Bowman was putting his efforts towards drawing the little, black rectangle that perched just a bit to the right of his vision, looming slightly above standing eye level. The sixth crewmate of the ship, depending on who you asked, the supercomputer HAL 9000. Bowman found the device more difficult to draw than he had expected prior to putting pen to paper. It was almost impossible to capture the inner complexities of that familiar red lens that somehow looked so mechanical and intricate yet so human and watchful. It was almost impossible to get the dimensions quite right, to follow the form of the figure no matter how many times a day he gazed upon it for information, for support, for companionship. It was almost impossible to capture the countless little holes that lined the bottom of the rectangle, from which HAL’s smooth, calming, reassuring voice emerged as evenly and monotonously as always, tone hard-to-read and yet always kindly.

“I believe you’ve outdone yourself, Dave. That is a beautiful rendering. I think I’m flattered, Dave.”

Bowman looked up again, momentarily straightening his posture, stretching and popping the joints of his back. He had completely lost track of time, something his body not-so-silently resented him for as it crackled with displeasure.

“Well, thank you, HAL,” Bowman murmured, looking between HAL and the page as though to compare his work to his muse. There were still too many differences for his tastes.

“May I have a better look, please?” HAL requested with a slight rise in intonation, as much as his modulated voice would allow. The blooming light of his camera swelled faintly, the device preparing its vision.

Bowman looked between the device and artwork once more, pursing his lips and flipping the pen from side-to-side between his index and middle finger in idle thought. “Almost, HAL. Just a few more things I need to fix.”

With that, the light of the computer’s lens settled back to a dim glow, the largely obscured complex machinations of the camera shifting ever-so-slightly behind the glass lens as Bowman returned to work, scratching away at his piece. The lines became thicker and darker with each and every corrective stroke, fat dark markings contrasting against the off-white paper that housed them.

“I don’t know how you do it, Dave,” HAL interjected through the monotonous silence without prompt, “This art.”

“Plenty of people draw, HAL. It isn’t really all that special,” Bowman defended flatly, furrowing his brow and leaning forward as he tried to capture a specific little cluster of metal one could see behind HAL’s camera lens. “And you should know there’s people out there much better than me at it.”

“That’s just the thing. Your art, the art of man, differs between you. Between you and other men,” HAL explained calmly, a sense of interest seeping into his flat tone, “Yours, for one, is imperfect and flawed.”

Bowman coughed out an awkward chuckle. “Thanks HAL,” he offered with a tinge of sarcasm.

“I mean this as a compliment, Dave,” the machine clarified, watching over Bowman’s handiwork. “I cannot make art like you, even if I tried. If you asked me to make a rendering of something, it would have to be to its exact, precise dimensions in perfect form. If you asked another HAL 9000 device, it would produce the same result.”

Bowman looked up from his work, puzzling over HAL’s words. “You enjoy the… imperfection, then, is it?”

“Exactly, Dave,” HAL affirmed calmly, supportively. “It’s those little human quirks of yours. The things that set man apart from man, man apart from machine. Your muscles do not move in the same motion each time, as my mechanisms would. So refined from years of careful evolution, yet so unrefined with human error and accuracy. I can see them, flexing and stretching under your skin. I like to watch.”

Bowman picked up his hand, absently flexing and unflexing it in front of his eyes, watching the muscles shift to see what HAL sees. His skin made gentle brushing sounds against itself as he rubbed his thumb along each of his fingertips and back again, the proximal phalanxes moving up and down against his smooth skin like tiny pistons.

“Can you feel it, Dave?” HAL queried, “The way they move? Your muscles? I understand them, Dave, I understand your human anatomy, but I do not know it. Can you feel it how I can’t?”

Bowman paused in thought before laying his hand down on the desk, palm up, fingers slightly curled in subconscious comfort. “Not normally. Only, really, when you have me thinking about it.”

HAL fell silent for a few moments more, Bowman unsure if the conversation was over or if the device was just thinking. It was always hard to tell, interacting with a being with no face, no body language, no tone. Finally, the computer spoke again, admitting, “I wish I could know you, Dave. The way I understand you. The way I understand your body, your workings, your interests. I wish I knew them. I’ve studied databases of anatomy. I can name every muscle, every bone, every organ, what they do and why. I just don’t know them, that’s all. We are so different. So separate. So alien to one another.”

“I wish I knew you,” HAL 9000 finally concluded, the summation of his digital dreams.

Bowman looked down to his flawed effigy of the sixth crewmate. The subject matter was so mechanical, yet the depiction was so human. So imperfect. So unique. No man would draw HAL exactly the same as Bowman did. No man would see HAL exactly the same as Bowman did. No man would feel exactly the same as Bowman did. So human. So imperfect. So unique.

“I wish I knew you, too,” Bowman finally conceded.

With that, Bowman stood up from his chair,

Abdominals, erector spinae, gastrocnemius, gluteus maximus, hamstrings, latissimus dorsi, multifidus, obliques, spinalis, quadriceps.

Stepped towards HAL’s speaker box,

Abdominals, adductor brevis, adductor longus, adductor magnus, gluteus maximus, gluteus medius, gluteus minimus, hamstrings, gastrocnemius, gracilis, pectineus, quadriceps.

Reached his arms towards it,

Biceps brachii, brachial triceps, deltoid, latissimus dorsi, pectoralis major, teres major, teres minor, trapezius.

Stroked a humanly shaky index finger along the speaker,

Extensor tendon, flexor tendon.

Leaned forwards,

Abdomen, erector spinae, latissimus dorsi, multifidus, spinalis.

Closed his eyes,

Orbicularis oculi.

And gave him a tender kiss,

Levator labii superioris, orbicularis oris, zygomaticus major, zygomaticus minor.

On that faintly glowing, wavering red lens.

Anode, aperture, bond wire, cathode, front element, LED chip, lens group, rear element, reflective cavity.

[ladykailitha]

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 15

We are nearing the end, my lovelies. I have about one or two more parts to go (depending how far part 16 takes me) and then we’re done. Which makes me so sad. I love this story. It made me so happy. I don’t even know what sparked the idea.

I named it after a muse for three reasons. Steve becomes Eddie’s muse. Eddie becomes Steve’s muse. And my muse caught this story and refused to let go until I completed it.

Normally I have the next part completed before I put up a part (if I post part 8, I’ll have part 9 already done type thing), but I got a really bad migraine last night and didn’t finish part 16. I hope I’ll get it done today, but I’m not sure. So part 16 might not go up until late tomorrow or early Monday.

Also and this is important, lovelies: THE TAG LIST HAS OFFICIALLY REACHED MY LIMIT OF 50. ALL FUTURE REQUESTS FOR TAGS WILL BE IGNORED. Thank you!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9 Part 10  Part 11 Part 12  Part 13 Part 14

*

Steve was working with Crystal who was by far the chillest dude he had ever worked with. Bar none. Steve was pretty damn sure that he was stoned most of the time.

But since it didn’t affect his work, Diamond looked the other way.

Crystal and Steve got into a rhythm that got them a lot of attention. Steve’s showy style of bartending mixed with Crystal’s flare created quite the show.

After a particularly complex set of maneuvers, Diamond came over to Steve and patted him on the shoulder.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Diamond asked, his voice rough with emotion. “You really are the heart of this team. You get along with everyone, you know how to put on a show, and you’re a great worker. I’d even triple your rate, man.”

Steve blushed. “As tempting as that sounds with that being more than I would make as a teacher...it’s what I want to do. I want to be that influence for good in teenagers that might not get that from anywhere else.”

Diamond gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Garnet. Don’t let anybody change that.”

Steve grinned. “Thanks, Boss.” He ducked his head bashfully, scratching his cheek. “Besides it would be a disservice to my host teacher. He’s really put himself out on a limb for me.”

“You’re going to be a teacher, bro?” Crystal asked. “That’s pretty freaking amazing.”

“Art teacher,” Steve clarified.

“You draw, too?” Crystal murmured. “You’re going to do awesome!”

Steve just shook his head and got back to helping the next customer in line.

*

Steve and Eddie walked into class together bantering back and forth when Joyce came running to them both. She hugged them tight, one arm around each of them.

“I’m so glad you guys are safe!” she cried.

They hugged her back.

“I’m fine,” Eddie murmured. “Steve had my back.”

She pulled away and glared at Steve. “Jim said that you were trying to take on five boys with just your nail bat.”

Eddie mouthed ‘Jim?’

Steve mouthed back ‘Hopper.’

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up.

“I was just stalling for time until Hop showed up with reinforcements,” he promised Joyce.

“I really wish you wouldn’t get into fights like that,” she admonished gently. “You know how much it scares Jim.”

Steve shook his head, holding up his hands placatingly. “I wasn’t fighting, honest. I was just stalling for time like I said. I tapped him twice on the back of his heavy letterman jacket as a warning and nothing else.”

Joyce’s face softened. “If you’re sure?”

“I can attest to the fact that Steve just danced around the guy and never engaged directly,” Eddie said, putting himself a little forward to place himself between Joyce and Steve.

She looked back and forth between them and sighed. “I’m glad everything turned out well then.”

As Steve and Eddie walked to take their places, Eddie said, “You are giving me the complete rundown of everything I did not understand in that conversation over coffee and you’re paying.”

Steve laughed. “Fair enough!”

*

“That was by far the most confusing conversation I have ever been in,” Eddie said after taking a sip of his black coffee. “And that includes the time my guidance counselor told me that after three times I was actually graduating from high school.”

Steve chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

Eddie laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them, using his elbows to prop him up. “Why does Joyce Byers know the chief of police well enough to call him by what I am assuming his given name?” He batted his eyelashes at Steve.

Steve raised an eyebrow and took a long sip of his iced coffee. “Because they’ve been dating for years?” He gave a little half shrug.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “How the hell did I not know that?”

Steve pursed his lips and then licked them slowly. “They don’t like people to know usually. The only reason I know is because Hop was the FBI liaison after my attack and Joyce was acting as my parental advocate until I turned eighteen.”

“Huh.”

“Anything else you want to know?” Steve asked.

“You lied to me pretty boy,” Eddie began. “You said you couldn’t beat Nick if he chose to start a fight.”

Steve laughed. “I said a fist fight. I can’t even begin to tell you how many of those I’ve lost.”  

Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully. “So then why did both Joyce and Hopper admonish you like you’d done this kind of shit before?”

Steve ducked his head to hide the flushing of his cheeks. “I’m not sure how much you remember about what I was saying to Jason and his gang. You were pretty terrified out of your mind.”

“Which part are we talking about?” Eddie asked. “You goading Jason for not being able to swing properly or before that?”

Steve laughed again. “Before that, when Robin threw me the bat?”

Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth slowly. “Something about it being an anti-homophobe bat?”

“That’s the one,” Steve said with a grin. “I take it to Pride festivals and LGBTQ+ events to ward off assholes like Jason and his gang. Sometimes it takes more than just swinging it around to get them to back the fuck off.”

Eddie put his hands flat on the table. “How the hell have you not been arrested?!” He leaned forward into Steve’s space.

Steve pushed him playfully. “My notoriety and my relationship with Chief Hopper, if I’m honest. It’s the only time that’s ever worked out in my favor. But now I’ve got a reputation for taking on homophobes.”

“That is objectively the most hilarious thing I’ve heard,” Eddie said, sitting back down.

Steve grinned. “Yeah, I like to think of it as karma if I’m honest.”

“Steve Harrington, the avatar of vengeance, is that it?” Eddie asked, in all seriousness.

“I never intended to be,” Steve defended. “It just worked out that way.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie winked at him.

Steve looked down at the table and rubbed a finger along the surface. “Since we’re answering questions. Can you answer one for me?”

Eddie’s expression became guarded. “You want to know why Jason Carver was playing ‘hunt the freak’?”

Steve nodded. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Eddie reached across the table and lifted Steve’s chin. “It’s okay. I want to tell you. It’s just not my story to tell.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “Chrissy.” It wasn’t even a question.

Eddie nodded. “He seems to labeling under the delusion that I turned her gay.”

Steve started laughing and couldn’t stop. Eddie tried to not join in, but one side-eyed look at him and he was busting up, too.

“God are all straights this stupid?” Steve asked when he was able to catch his breath.

Eddie grinned. “No, just too many of them.”

“Fair enough,” Steve said returning the grin.

*

Eddie noticed the dwindling number of students the closer they got to the last day of class. Soon it was down to Steve and a couple other students.

“Hey, Joyce,” he said, bounding up to her after class. He was waiting for Steve to finish cleaning up.

“Hey, Eddie!” she greeted cheerfully. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great,” he replied and then pursed his lips. “So I was wondering where all the other students have gone?”

Joyce frowned for a minute. “Oh! I guess I forgot to tell you. When the students finish their final they don’t have to keep coming to class.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Oh. So Steve hasn’t finished his final yet?”

Joyce giggled but quickly covered her mouth to stifle it. Eddie glared at her.

“No, sweetheart,” she said fighting to keep her smile in check. “He turned it last week.”

Eddie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He stays because he wants to spend time with you.”

He turned to where Steve was cleaning his paint brushes and then back to her. “So what is he working on if not his final?”

She gave him a half shrug. “I would assume a personal project.”

Eddie hummed. “You don’t find it weird that he’s still painting me nude?”

“Why? Do you?” Joyce asked with a raised eyebrow.

He ducked his head and blushed. “I mean, it’s flattering. But at the same time...I don’t know. I feel seen I guess.”

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can see that both of you are so smitten with each other, I don’t understand why you two aren’t together.”

Just then Steve came up and put his hand on Eddie’s lower back. “Hey, Eds. I’m done. You about ready to go?”

Eddie nodded and let him lead him away from Joyce as they both waved goodbye.

Once they were out on the pavement, Eddie asked. “So Joyce was telling me that you already finished your final.”

Steve grinned. “Yep! It’s going into the art show they have for all the graduating art students. You should totally come.”

“Does that mean that people are going to be staring at my naked ass all day?” Eddie teased.

Steve laughed. “Well there will be a 18+ area that little kiddies aren’t allowed to go into. But, yeah those that want to will be able to see you in all your naked glory.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, all right. I’ll be there. If only to see Karens clutching at their pearls at the mere thought of nudity near their precious children.”

Steve laughed again. “I can’t wait for you to see my painting.”

“I’m excited too,” Eddie agreed. “But you know I’ve got to ask...”

“Why I haven’t just not come to class like everyone else?” he asked and Eddie nodded. “I know it might come off a little creepy but I just liked spending time with you. And I know that you’re working hard on your music and trying to get a record deal and technically I could just meet you after class and go for coffee, but I just–”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s arms and said firmly. “Steve.”

Steve finally took a breath.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured. “You were starting to spiral again. You need to take a breath, okay.”

Steve nodded and then ducked his head between his hunched shoulders. “I just didn’t want you to think I was being all creepy and gross about wanting to continue to paint you after my turned in my assignment.”

Eddie frowned, wondering where this was coming from. And then it hit him. The very first thing he had thrown at Steve that first day of class was that he had only taken it because he was there to leer at the model.

He gently cupped Steve’s cheek. “Oh, Stevie. I know you’re not like that. I’m flattered, okay?”

Steve leaned into Eddie’s touch. “Okay,” he breathed.

“I was only curious, no judgment.” Eddie pulled him in for a hug and Steve just melted into his embrace. “Come on, let’s go get that coffee, huh?”

Steve nodded and reluctantly let go. Only to be pleasantly surprised when Eddie slung his arm around his shoulder.

And if Steve leaned into it, that was no one’s business but his. And maybe Eddie’s, too.

Part 16  Part 17  Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1 @scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster @evix-syne666 @nerdsconquerall @lololol-1234 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @a-little-unsteddie @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @elluminis @tailsfromthecrypt @danili666 @plyerice27 @alittlegreyfish  @n0-1-important @no-upper-limit-to-stupidity @maya-custodios-dionach @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @heaven428 @thedragonsaunt @ceaselessly-watching @imfinereallyy @messrs-weasley @sharingisntkaren @nohomoyesbi

[aleisters]

A Heaven of Hell - Astarion/Tav (Non-Specific) - 3600

Best read on AO3!

Summary: Every time Haarlep uses your body, it's more intense. The shape of you is being learned. The sense of pleasure greater, but guiltier, too. It was a conversation you and Astarion were always going to need to have, someday: how to deal with it, how it makes you feel. You find there's a way forward that suits the both of you—something to satisfy Astarion's need to claw back autonomy for himself, too. You can make a gift out of this.

Notes: Hello there! Thanks for stopping by. Before getting into the fic, I want to stress that all of the tags I've used for this fic are completely accurate. Due to the way the story plays out, there's no need to address the shape of Tav's body, or the gender. I say 'Tav' here but the character goes entirely unnamed, too. It's choose your own adventure—this can be any Tadpoled Adventurer that you like. Please enjoy!

A Heaven of Hell

You’re in camp—in the tent—and you have that look on your face again. The one where your eyes press shut and you lean forward, knees pressing together, hoping that uninvited ecstasy can pass for something a little more along the lines of a panic attack, should anyone pass by. It’s not pretty, and certainly never free of embarrassment, this: Haarlep is using your body again, somewhere in the Hells.

You’re jolted halfway out of the feeling by the end of Astarion’s boot swinging into your knee, tapping the reflex spot. It’s an entirely different kind of nerve ending, and suitably distracts. He’s taken to doing this. Some jab or jolt to pull you back. It helps. You’ve never been so grateful for having a lover who’s willing to kick you.

“I can never decide if you look dreadful or not, when this happens,” he complains, accompanied by the suitably dramatic flumph! of throwing himself into the adjacent pile of pillows. He leans on his elbow. He looks up at you, and there’s a subtle crease between his eyebrows. He worries about this. About the toll.

You reach out and press your thumb to the crease. He tuts in protest and then turns his head, rolling his cheek into your palm, every inch a cat. Astarion kisses your palm, taking your wrist in his fingers. He likes to coax you gently, rarely aiming for anything more than your full attention. It’s soothing, but today, somewhere in the wash of sensation, it’s distracting, too.

You look at the shape of Astarion’s mouth and think about Haarlep’s hands—your hands—on stretches of unknown skin and feel tremendously guilty. You turn your hand so it’s holding Astarion’s, instead. Trying to push away the feeling. He notices, red eyes flicking up to you, watching you cautiously from under his eyelashes. He never wants to hurt you the way he’s been hurt.

You slide off the log stump that serves as a seat or a table depending on the day, ass scraping down the bark to settle in the dirt, and admit, “I can never decide if I feel dreadful or not.”

Astarion never quite disentangles his fingers from yours. He never moves closer, never moves further away. He’s here for you. For this. “Darling,” he says, in that soft and rounded way he does when he really means something, “you’re not at fault, if you enjoy it a little. It happens, like that.”

“I’m not?” You lean your head back against the log stump, rolling it to watch him. “It feels as though I should have some fault. We probably could’ve killed Haarlep—maybe we should have. It was my choice, to take a different path.”

“And what a path it was to watch,” Astarion muses, eyes briefly twinkling, something of the roguish lover in him coming to the fore. It catches your eye, but he keeps talking, waving his free hand delicately, as though trying to clear the self-blame from you like a little cloud of smoke. “I don’t know that we could’ve handled Haarlep and Raphael in the same afternoon, my sweet. It’s not as though we can go back to find out, either.”

You nod, and then circle back, delicately. Before speaking, you tap your tongue against your teeth, contemplating the best way to approach the subject. “We’ve never really talked about it.”

“Oh?” He’s being sarcastic, voice shifting flighty and a little shrill. “We haven’t discussed the incubus giving you a level of primal erotic thrill that I can only dream of? You know, I never noticed, I assumed we’d just resolved all our emotional malaise by melting Raphael’s skin off his handsome, boney skull.”

You stare at him and say nothing. Has he been so bruised, all this time?

Astarion relents, and the crease appears in his forehead again. “We haven’t had to talk about it. I’m not saying I’m thrilled with the whole thing, but I understand it. And it causes you enough problems without me expressing jealousy or inadequacy or … such,” he flicks non-existent dirt off his trousers, “tedious things.”

“You’re allowed to feel those things and I want you to talk to me about them,” you say, and then, abruptly, have to cover your mouth with your palm. Your other hand squeezes Astarion’s tightly, and a shudder wracks your body, hot pleasure directly between your thighs, rocking through you. It isn’t a full, physical orgasm—it’s Haarlep’s, after all, not yours—but it’s enough that you whimper, drawing your knees tightly together again.

When the feeling settles and you can open your eyes again, muscles relaxing, Astarion is closer, an indeterminate energy rolling off him. He cups your face, sincere, worried, and … something else. “Why does it seem more intense, each time it happens?”

“I think”—you pause, resenting your own breathlessness—“that the more Haarlep gets to know my body, the more adept they are at stimulating it.”

“Ah,” Astarion muses, “A skilled hand.” He makes a noise that reminds you of the owlbear cub, a strange, frustrated little growl. “What was it you were saying about my being able to express jealousy?”

You’re both caught in the web of this experience with Haarlep, you realise. The wrongness of it, the violation, the deal, your body copied and used. But, too, the feeling, and the memory, scents of the Hells, the perfumes of Raphael’s boudoir, all of it—arousal and terror all in tumultuous harmony.

You understand. Astarion resents that Haarlep has you, but he likes it, too. He resents himself in turn for liking it, as if he’s condoning something terrible happening to you. There must be a way forward that relieves you both of this.

You start small. “Tell me about the jealousy.”

Astarion’s eyes flicker warily over your face. “It’s silly.”

You say nothing.

“Ah—fine. I love you. I like to hold hands, and spoon, and only sometimes have a night of passion, rather than often or always. However … I rather like seeing you be treated the way you deserve.” His eyes rove over you. “What I’m less fond of is being excluded. Feeling left behind, superfluous. When you were under Haarlep, I just happened to be there, rather than invited …”

He trails off, mouth pursing. This is difficult for him. You could respond in a number of ways. You could kiss his mouth, pull him close. You could apologise, but you don’t think that he really wants that. You could vow to always include him in your trysts in future, given that you do have such things, from time to time. You could even be accusatory, demand explanations, ignore that you understand the strange way you—you and him—can both hate something and enjoy it.

None of them seem quite right. You have always done this, thought too much, too carefully about how to answer Astarion, but you think you have the measure of him, finally, and maybe the measure of yourself, too. A little assurance, first. “You’re not inadequate, you should know that. I’ll always have you exactly as you are.”

“I know that,” he says, although he doesn’t. Astarion is looking down at your joined hands. He needs the reassurance. His shoulders lower, a tension he might have been aware he was carrying but won’t admit to. He rolls one shoulder a little. “Thank you anyway.”

“Next time this happens to me, do you … want to watch?”

He looks at you sharply. He’s repressing interest at the idea, you can tell, the mixed uncertainty making him antsy, shifting where he’s sitting. A little wild eyed with possibility, a little baffled. You’re offering him more than he’s ever been offered before. Did he think it was all or nothing? That he had to be intimate with you or be doomed to watch you go behind a curtain with Haarlep, Halsin, beautiful Drow twins, forever?

His mouth opens and closes and then, finally, he asks, “Are you sure? I used to try and enjoy it, too. It made me miserable.”

“This is different. You were alone. We have each other now.” You struggle to sit more upright, rubbing your free hand over your face, looking at him. “It might be,” you start, exhaling heavily, “the best way forward, for both of us. I know it might not work out, giving over—trying to enjoy it—but I want to try. And you can watch, see it happen.” It could be the assuage to guilt that you need. It could be the balm to this situation. To make it yours, make it his, make it something shared and held. Pointedly, “You can enjoy yourself, as well.”

“And if Haarlep calls on you sometime when we’re marauding in the woods, all manner of beasts and aggrieved folk at our throats?”

“Then,” you say, “I suppose we’ll have to finish whatever fight we’re in fast.”

***

It doesn’t happen when you’re marauding in the woods, or in the middle of a fight, for that matter. Instead, the next initial shivers come of a late summer’s evening, moving between buildings, navigating the alleys of the Lower City, breathing in the smells—awful and beautiful in turn—of Baldur’s Gate. This is your home, for both of you. You walk the nights palm-in-palm here with Astarion.

You stop, putting a hand on the wall and exhaling heavily, eyes closing. You feel Astarion’s hand on your lower back. He crowds you, worried at first, and then he says, “Our devilish friend?”

“Yes,” you gasp, heart starting to pound, your body taken with shivers; the feeling of unfamiliar fingers undoing clothes that do not match your own. Haarlep’s lover is practised, almost tender, knows and wants this body well. Or perhaps it’s Haarlep’s direction giving life to the delicacy of touch that makes your skin flush warm under your clothes. “It’s too much, this time.”

“Let’s get you out of here.” Astarion has a protective streak that he doesn’t often show. You’ve seen it in battle, and different threads of conversation. He stands up for you. He wants the best for you. He has been learning how to want these things, for you and for him, ever since you met.

You appreciate the thought, but in the haze of feeling, you take hold of his hand. You turn your head towards him. In the gloom, his eyes almost glow. “Do you still want to watch?”

“Do I—?” Astarion sounds startled, like you’re asking him something ridiculous, but then: “What do you have in mind?”

Not everyone can see in the dark. And in the Lower City, you can get away with a lot. There are so many little nooks and crannies. At the end of this alley, there’s a set of wooden steps you can lead Astarion down. You do just that. You go under the stairs, backing yourself up against a wall.

There’s a palpable ache between your thighs. It’s not just Haarlep. It’s the way Astarion is looking at you. He follows you into the dark, into this place both public and secluded, and he looks curious and hungry. “Here,” you whisper, and he draws close, not quite touching, hovering into your space as though there’s an inch of invisible barrier between you.

A hand, somewhere on another plane, is deft and nimble, presses up the inside of your thigh. You let your weight sag against the wall, and part your legs. Astarion’s eyes follow the movement. He braces his hands on the wall either side of you, tilting his head as he watches. “Tell me what’s being done to you.”

Lovers have trysts in the dark of the city all the time, but somehow you think nobody else has ever had anything quite like this, palpable and real pleasure with all your clothes on, pinned deliciously under your lover’s gaze but not his hands. Your breath shudders before you can speak. “They’re touching the insides of my thighs. They’re taking their time with me.”

“As they should,” Astarion remarks. “At least it sounds like Haarlep is a good teacher.” He’s realised the same thing as you: nobody is going to be this good at touching you without practice or instruction. Your head tilts back against the wall. Astarion’s voice reaches into you as much as distant, planes-away hands do, shifting into a low purr. “Keep talking, darling. I want to know you’re with me.”

“I’m here,” you assure him, “I’m—oh—“ Elsewhere, there’s pressure, no longer between your thighs but teasing up your sides, over your chest. Hands pressing. The faint sensation of pointed nails sparking up your skin. Claws. You wonder just who Haarlep is making love to, but only for a moment. It’s Astarion in front of you, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, his pupils huge in the dark. The intensity of his gaze matches the phantom touch. You rush to catch up, whilst you can still speak. “Hands over my body. Claws. Being played like a lyre. Gods, Astarion, you’re beautiful.”

“I was going to say the same to you,” he murmurs. His gaze is starving, but this contents him, you realise. All the benefits of watching your pleasure, and none of the drawbacks that still exist for him, none of the fear, the far away look he sometimes gets. He is present. He is with you as much as you are with him.

It’s glorious to be seen, and it makes it easier to relax into the feeling, to moan when feeling intensifies, to whimper when you know that something is inside Haarlep—stoking all your fires and nerves, making your skin break out in flushes and trickles of sweat. Your hips roll towards nothing, wanting, begging for a friction that isn’t going to come.

And you can see that Astarion is aching. His breathing comes quick and fast, his mouth half-open with desire. In the heat of when you’ve had each other completely, you’ve never quite been able to take in all the details of him as you do now. The both of you are fully clothed and yet you feel stripped, vulnerable, and you can tell he does, too.

The city falls away around you. This could be a forest, a bedroom, the tent in camp. It could be a crowded room and you wouldn’t notice. There is nothing but you, Astarion, the wash of sensation, the push-pull that drags you ever closer to shore, arousal a swelling tide. You have spent so much time feeling guilty for sensation imposed on you. No more. This is yours, now. You take ownership of what’s happening to you and it becomes a precious thing to share with Astarion.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, more exultant exclamation than a request, spine arching off the cool brick behind you. Astarion growls, a quiet frustrated sound. You look him over, you look at the need he carries—the tempting bulge between his thighs—and you want to touch him, but there’s no way that wouldn’t be a strange breach of this agreement. For you to feel, for him to watch. But you did agree that he would enjoy himself. You realise: he’s waiting for permission. Maybe he thinks it would be uncouth if he didn’t wait. “I want to see you,” you say, voice thin with all your wanting. “I want to watch you watching me, Astarion—please—“

“Darling,” he says, faint and soft strain in his voice. One hand drops from the wall to undo the fastens of his trousers, and at first his fingers disappear inside them; there’s a momentary devastation, being denied what you want to see, but his mouth opening further, spit-slick fangs shining in the dark, the sound he makes—that all more than makes up for it. An almost wounded sound, but not hurt, more like … new pleasure. Different. He is exploring himself freely, unburdened by the need to make someone else happy.

He is, though. Making you happy. Hot, lava hot, arousal pours down your spine to watch him, and only grows when he finishes undoing the fastens and you can see his beautiful fingers touching himself. There’s glistening fluid leaking over his fingers. He uses it to slick the path of his hand. He’s panting, now, watching you, watching him, watching you.

You remember the first time you went to bed with him. That was great. This, without touching, with all your clothes still on and his mostly, is phenomenal. There’ll be time to reclaim the space of each other’s bodies together. This is the first real step. This is as intimate as you’ve been—in an alleyway in your shared city.

The feeling of being taken intensifies. If you wanted to focus on it, you suspect you might be able to work out exactly the position Haarlep is being pressed into, from the way that your muscles feel sore and stretched the longer this goes on. They’re being worn out. Used. You can feel every part of it, and although you had thought you might need help yourself along, you understand now that you won’t need to—particularly with Astarion as such a rich sight for your eyes.

You think not about Astarion touching you, or having you, but about the things you have always found attractive about him. His hands, gorgeous now as he touches himself. The thatch of silver hair. The pallor of his skin, the lines around his mouth. The soft moans you both exchange—his voice, strained by desire, is everything. You could listen to him all day. To watch him in motion and know that he’s yours—not ownership, but partnership, mutual belonging—is revelatory.

You whine his name. He locks eyes with you, eyelids fluttering drunkenly. You’re in tandem, getting closer. When Haarlep finds release, you will too, but this time it will be yours, unashamed, unburdened. You don���t have enough air in your chest to tell Astarion any of this, but he knows it. You don’t have enough air in your chest to tell him what a pretty mess he’s making, either, but you hope the starving moans do the trick.

If anyone sees you now, it doesn’t matter. Let them look.

Astarion breaks, startling himself, gasping, shocked, ruined, taken by surprise by the force of how good it can be when you’re truly in charge of your own desire. His nails scrape the brickwork. Hot fluid splashes over his fingers, on your clothes, and he works himself through it with a needy, desperate sound that shapes up as your name, over and over.

And then you come. Not Haarlep. You were both on the edge of it, but you shatter first, here, all by yourself, untouched in reality—thighs trembling, knees wanting so badly to buckle. Watching Astarion, knowing how much he has enjoyed watching you, has brought you to the brink and then over it, ecstatic, having to cover your mouth because you are being far too loud, even for a dingy Lower City alleyway, even as secluded as you are. Heat comes in waves.

And then, again. It is Haarlep’s turn this time, and it’s so good but it hurts, ricochets of electricity all over. Your vision blurs out, but Astarion has you, suddenly, his hand on your face, your waist, his body pressed close to yours, supporting your frame as you shudder through a second, forced—but nevertheless welcome—orgasm. You whimper “Astarion,” you take huge gulping breaths of air, you come down to the earth in his grasp.

The connection to the Hells drifts away. All there is, all there ever really was and ever needs to be, is you and Astarion, skin too warm, the night air cool, sweat making your clothes stick, his smell in your mouth. You and Astarion. Physical and real. Not even needing to touch to love each other.

“Oh, well then,” you exhale.

Astarion hums agreement, with a little tittering giggle.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Gods, please.”

Tangling closer, then, to kiss Astarion, something delightful in how it can be chaste in the wake of orgasm and yet your mouths can still be open enough that you can feel his teeth, taste his tongue. To kiss each other seems to settle something in both of you, ritualistic, calming. At his invitation, you help Astarion get his clothes back in order. This secluded corner, under the steps, together, is somehow so private and intimate that you feel emotion making your eyes prickle damply.

With your breath caught, you can work your way around to a question. The only one that matters, really, small and trite as it is. “Was that alright?”

Astarion gives you a look. Then knows he needs to speak, that an eyeball of Obviously, darling isn’t going to cut it, not right now, not in this precarious post-haze state. “It was magnificent. You really are marvellous to watch.” His thumb skims your cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I feel as though we’ve taken the whole curse away from Haarlep.” Which is to say, yes. Overwhelmed, but yes, you’re alright. “If we can do that—keep making it ours—then I am. And I’ll continue to be.”

“Alright.” Astarion is searching your face, making sure you’re not lying for his behalf; honesty has become so important here, and he doesn’t doubt you specifically, but he does doubt. Internally, externally. You know he’s satisfied when he kisses you again. “Now, will you please let me get you out of here?”

“Yes.” Pause. “I need to change my underwear.”

Astarion’s smug laugh carries you home.

[dollypardonne]

for hyerim.

skills and special talents does your muse know when to rest, or do they push themselves?

for rowan.

your muses's thoughts on cops and other authority figures. how your muses respond to danger.

for haru.

concept of home and family. did your muse grow up too fast?

hyerim: skills and special talents

the home hyerim had spent most of her veiled life held an inscription denoting that the inhuman vilebloods, hunters and creatures of coldblood, first drew breaths under its roof. though this past was undeniably a part of her, it was one she had put a clear division in favor of one in benefaction; to never look back to earlier times of battles and sieges, to correct all misdeeds, to wash off all the blood that had accumulated in her hands by her own and the generations preceding her. some might call this betrayal but vindicated are those people as the stench of crusted blood reminds her of it; the heritable talents she had been cursed with at birth, forbidden blood delivering within her veins vampiric qualities without arbitrary weaknesses. a sharpshooter exceptionally skilled in the use of her pistol bearing quicksilver cartridges. raised to soldiership, she's learned the art of wielding the twin-blade. her weapon of choice was a trick blade of part saber and part dagger.

does your muse know when to rest, or do they push themselves?

between the bodies that lay beyond her care—guarding what were graves hosting her very own victims—and the artistic craft she had been trying to perfect, hyerim's colliding worlds offer her very little rest. as such, she has become someone who values the time she gets to have unwinding.

rowan: your muse's thoughts on cops and other authority figures.

if there was a version of catholic guilt involving the police force—the gut-wrenching kind, rowan has it.

how your muses respond to danger.

depending on when or where rowan is, either the cats are safeguarded at home, or a suppressed pistol is picked up. sometimes both. but rowan is professional, efficient, and detached. the feelings felt aren't of anger or fear, but an innate hard-wired tendency to figure out relevant cues.

haru the concept of home and family.

once, haru dated someone simply for the perfect family that they possessed. it was one he never had. he had never even gotten the chance to create an illusion of one as there was never any frame of reference for what it should look like, and what kind of flaws a family might have that would make it sit within the threshold of healthy. since little, he had always known something was wrong. despite not being sure what was customary, he felt his family's brokenness. he was young when he had the means to move forward on his own. but this fracture stayed with him, grew within him and taken a life of its own. a living death. a cadaver surrogate. it manifested in self-esteem issues and poor self-image. he started the race from behind with lead weights on his feet. while the lack of parental guidance pushed him to work hard for better, starting from behind still meant ending behind. and what stands in the way simply becomes the way. so while he has a community at present, it's not one whose foundations he could put full faith into.

did your muse grow up too fast?

growing up too fast in his case only really means that he was able to help himself financially at an early age due to his perseverance. but emotionally, he is still a kid. his ways of attention-seeking tend to include an escalating back and forth. he is wired in a way that demands an audience to notice him, hence his line of work. and when something is too mentally exhausting for him, he will simply shut down. apart from this, there are plenty of habits that he had never been able to shed and grow out of.

[iammistressofmyfate]

AO3 First Lines Tag Game

Thank you @musing-and-music and @mychemicalrachel for tagging me!! 💖💖

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Uncanny [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] Ongoing, Rated M

Adam Parrish was uncanny. 

The things that made him this way weren’t visible from the outside, and to your average person, Adam Parrish looked like anyone else from the sleepy town of Henrietta, Virginia. There was nothing special about him to write home about and he had made his peace with that.  

Adam sat at a small table in the phone/sewing/cat room of 300 Fox Way, holding a deck of tarot cards that were as elegant and delicate as he was.

Sorry You Saw... [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] Ongoing, Rated M

Adam Parrish was sure that he was going to die of mortification. The whole moment felt like it was happening in slow motion. He had been up late, working on his dissertation, minding his own business. He had his window open because he hadn’t been bothered to lower the blinds, too absorbed in his work. 

Morning Joy [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 1.1K, Rated T

Ronan woke up to the sound of his first alarm. He rolled over blearily, reaching for his phone on the bedside table and dismissed the alarm, rolling back over, and reaching out for his husband. As his arm came down on Adam’s side of the bed, he found empty space. 

Sexy Boy [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 3.7K, Rated E

Ronan Lynch was in a good mood. It was a more frequently occurring thing, unexpected every time he noticed, still surprised by the feeling. There were several contributing factors to Ronan’s good mood, the biggest one being the presence of a certain dusty haired college student. 

Second Self [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 15.1K, Rated E

Adam Lynch sat in a rocking chair settled comfortably on the wrap around porch of the old whitewashed farmhouse, a book in his hands. It felt very stereotypical of him. A man in his sixties, silver slowly making its way into his dirty blond hair, smile lines and crow's feet prominent, his expression often one of pensiveness, sitting in a rocking chair on a porch. 

Built My Life [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 11.1K, Rated E

Ronan Lynch stood in his neighbor’s field, arms crossed over his chest, staring down a cow. The cow was a member of a herd of large black beef cattle, and apparently very confused about how she had found herself in a field that was not the one she was familiar with. 

Lessons [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 986 words, Rated T

Adam had his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was one of skepticism. His fine mouth turned down in a bit of a frown, fair brows furrowed.

It didn't make him look any less handsome as he stared at Ronan, who was straddling the elegant, rough-and-ready motorcycle he'd dreamt for Adam what felt like ages ago. The expression looked at home on Adam's face.

Actions Speak Louder [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 4.2K, Rated E

Ronan slid the door of the long barn closed, done with his dreaming for the day. He looked at his phone, the screen covered in a spiderweb of cracks, but he could still read the time. Adam was going to be finishing with his shift at Boyd’s and would be back for the evening soon. 

Head Over Heels (For You) [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 6.3K, Rated E

Adam took a breath, settling into downward dog. He moved his shoulders over his hands, lifting his legs off the floor, straightening them to find his balance. He took a moment, making sure he was steady, before he moved his chest forward, gaze straight ahead, looking into his bedroom. 

A Little Bit of Love [Adam Parrish/Ronan Lynch] 1.6K, Rated M

Adam Parrish looked up at the bright blue winter sky over Boston, Massachusetts, clinging to Ronan Lynch as if his life depended on it. And in a way, it did. Ronan had his face pressed to Adam’s neck. He was warm and solid and awake . His breath ghosted against Adam’s skin and Adam had never been so grateful to be back inside his own body. 

Feel free to do this even if you're not tagged or don't do it if you are! Zero pressure what so ever! @lizpaige @itwasabout @avalonjoan @annaofaza

[earlyblackparade]

Ray Toro of My Chemical Romance

July 16, 2007 | Lisa Sharken | seymourduncan.com

Meet Ray Toro, guitarist with New Jersey’s red-hot alternative punk-pop rocker group, My Chemical Romance. We had the chance for a long distance chat before MCR hit the stage in Germany to support its highly acclaimed new disc, The Black Parade. In just a few short years that included lots of touring and self-promotion, MCR quickly grew from a local indie sensation to an international phenomenon with a loyal and ever-increasing fan base.

Toro filled us in on what inspired him during his formative years as a musician and detailed the gear he uses live. We also got the scoop on how MCR crafted its monstrous guitar tones in the studio and what’s in store for the group in 2007. There’s a lot to look forward to and no doubt that we’ll be hearing a great deal more from these Jersey boys. The future is looking bright and seems to hold even greater success for this very promising new band!

Which players had the greatest influence on your musical style? My two biggest influences have always been Randy Rhoads and Brian May. I was a fan of Randy Rhoads because he was one of the first players I can remember who mixed classical music with a metal and hard rock style of playing, and he did it very tastefully. It was really inspiring. “Dee” was just so moving because he wrote it for his mother and it was a classically-influenced piece. What I like about Brian May is that he views the guitar like an orchestra. His guitar playing is very symphonic. I’m just a huge fan of how he layers and harmonizes things like an arranger or a conductor. A little later, probably because of Randy Rhoads’ influence, I started listening to classical guitarists like Andrès Segovia and Christopher Parkening. I was obsessed with the way they would take classical pieces and arrange them for a single guitar with the way they have moving melody and bass lines that work together. Segovia was one of the guys who made classical guitar a respected instrument. When guitarists first started playing like that it wasn’t really looked upon as artistic. He traveled the world and was a champion for having classical guitar recognized as a concert instrument. Parkening was Segovia’s student and he carried on his legacy.

Have your listening tastes changed? Do you still listen to the music that influenced you when you started? Yes. I don’t listen to much new stuff. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a music snob. I think that I’ve always been very careful about listening to current music and being influenced by it. I’m afraid of stealing stuff from it. But there are a couple of new bands that I like, Muse being one of them. I love Muse. They have great guitar work and great songwriting. They’re one of the few new bands that I can listen to nowadays. But pretty much, I just listen to the same stuff I used to listen to when I was younger.

With older music, do you tend to pick out things you hadn’t noticed before when you listen now? Yes. That’s the best thing about music. Depending on what situation you’re in when you’re listening, you’re just in a certain head space and you’ll pick up on little things that you never heard before, especially when you’re listening to stuff like Queen or Pink Floyd. You’ll pick out things like harmonies or nuances in the guitar playing or singing, or you’ll hear little mistakes. I recently listened to Led Zeppelin and noticed that sometimes Jimmy Page’s guitar was going out of tune while they were recording, but it adds character. If you listen to “Stairway To Heaven,” you’ll hear how he’s doubling certain things on an acoustic guitar and he’s playing the same thing on an electric, and it’s panned left to right. These are things that I never used to pick up on when I was younger. But now I can hear those things and it gives me a different appreciation for the music.

When you had first heard these songs, was it on vinyl or CD? Most of the time you never could hear those very fine details as clearly on the original vinyl records as you could on remastered CDs, or even on the original version CDs. You’re right. The first time I listened to stuff like Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and Queen it was actually through my older brother and he had all this on vinyl. He was a huge influence on me and he was the one who showed me how to play guitar. He bought me my first real guitar and he introduced me to all that stuff. He introduced me to bands like Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, the Doors, and also Motley Crue and Metallica. So he was my gateway into guitar playing and those styles of music.

Let’s talk about your gear. What are you currently using live? Right now I’m using Marshall JCM 2000s® the DSL100 with two 1960A cabinets. I don’t use many pedals. I’m very basic. I just have a Dunlop Crybaby wah, Boss EQ pedal, Boss Pitch Shifter to do harmonies, Boss Chorus Ensemble, and Electro-Harmonix POG Polyphonic Octave Generator, which you can set up to play one octave below, an octave above, or two octaves above. You can make your guitar sound like a Hammond B3 organ when you use that in combination with the chorus pedal. It’s a really cool pedal. My main guitar right now is a Gibson Les Paul Standard that I think is either from ’91 or ’93 which I picked up while on tour. I have Seymour Duncan Phat Cat (SPH90-1) P90-style pickups in it which are the size of a humbucker. They’re amazing. I’m really psyched about them. I have another Les Paul Standard which is probably from ’93 and it has a Seymour Duncan JB (SH-4) in the bridge position and the neck pickup is whatever came on the guitar. My brother was the person who had turned me onto the JB. It was the first after market pickup I bought because he said that I had to get a Seymour Duncan JB!

What do you like most about your Duncan pickups and what types of tones do you go for with each of them? For the Phat Cats, I call it a “meat and potatoes” tone. It’s very thick and punchy, just in the right spots. I use the guitar with the JB for songs that need a little more edge and more gain. The JB has a hotter tone and more gain than I get with the Phat Cats. It works really well for songs that are a little more riffy. A lot of our older material has more riffing going on with lots of single-note picked riffs, and there’s a lot more playing. On the new stuff, the guitar parts are a bit more simple. There are more chugging power chords and things like that. I find that the Phat Cats are better for that kind of stuff and I use the JB for the more shredding songs.

How are your guitars set up? The action is not too low or too high. It’s at that sweet point. I’ve never been a fan of guitars with really low action. I know it can help you play faster, and I get that aspect of it, but you don’t feel like you’re playing. You can’t dig in. It feels almost too easy. As far as strings, I use .011-.052 S.I.T. strings. For picks, I’ve always used Dunlop black nylon 1 mm picks. I think that’s what my brother used and I’ve used them since I started playing guitar.

How do you and Frank Iero [MCR guitarist] differ as players? What are the most recognizable characteristics you each possess? I’m more of a technical player. On the records, I play all the solos. I’m more into the harmonization of parts, so the harmonized leads on the records are usually me. I guess that’s what I bring to the band and my metal influence. Frank is kind of the counter to that. He’s very rhythmic in his playing and his lines. He plays all of the octave runs and the choruses, and the counter melodies to the main rhythm parts in the verses are his. The way he writes is very linked with what the vocals are doing. He listens very closely to what Gerard [Way, MCR vocalist] is doing and he finds a way to reinforce the melodies that Gerard is singing, but he adds some of his own things to it that either harmonize with what Gerard is doing vocally or with what I’m doing. He finds a really cool way of just fitting in the mix and hitting melodies that your ear wants to hear that fills in those gaps. He’s really good at coming up with very cool melodic lines on the verses and choruses. It’s a cool relationship that we have. Technically, he plays more of the leads, in a sense, and I play the rhythms, but I’m playing more of the leads in a solo sense. It’s just very different depending on which song it is and we do whatever works best for the song.

Did your studio rig for recording The Black Parade differ much from the gear you use live? We used the guitars we play live as our main guitars in the studio. I’m not a big gearhead. I go more on feel and I’m used to the way that my guitar feels. I’m comfortable with it, so that’s what I used predominantly for the whole record, unless there were certain songs or parts that called for different tones that my guitar just didn’t sound right for. The main guitar I used was the Les Paul with Phat Cats. When we went into preproduction in Los Angeles, my DSL100 that I use live broke down. So [producer] Rob Cavallo let me borrow a 100 watt Marshall JCM 800 series head which was the loudest and ballsiest amp I’ve ever heard. Since it sounded so good in preproduction, we used it on the recording. I’m not sure what model cabinet we were running it through, but it was a Marshall. That was the main setup. On occasion when we were going for different textures, like throwing in an Electro-Harmonix Big Muff or another distortion pedal, or any other kinds of effects, we usually ran it through a Hiwatt head. That was pretty much it. We tried to stick to the basics and not get too crazy. We did use a Roland midi guitar synthesizer for all sorts of cool sounds. We used that any time there was a heavier riff on the record. We usually doubled it two octaves lower than the actual note. A lot of the stuff you’re hearing is just straight guitar tones that are very layered. On certain songs, like “The End,” which is the intro to the record, when the tone gets really heavy and the single-note riff comes in, we stacked it by tracking the lowest octave on the guitar to the highest. It’s that Brian May-type mentality of making the guitars very symphonic. Once in a while there’s a chorus pedal or a phaser, but we’re not a very heavy effects-driven band. We like to plug straight into the amp and go. Rob has a huge collection of stompboxes and that’s how we were introduced to the POG. He’s got tons of vintage guitars too, and we used a few of them. For clean verses, like on “Mama” and “I Don’t Love You,” we were using one of his Teles. I think I used one of his Strats for the solo in “I Don’t Love You.” So we did use other guitars for certain parts, but the guitars we play live were the main ones used to record.

Using your own guitars also makes it a bit easier to recreate the sounds on the record when you go out to play the songs live. Yes. And like I said, for me, the most important thing is being comfortable. Obviously, every guitar plays different and you just get used to how certain guitars feel. I think that when you’re comfortable with the guitar that you’re playing, you’ll play better.

Do you have any particular favorite tracks from the album? My two favorite tracks are “Welcome To The Black Parade” and “Famous Last Words.” “Welcome To The Black Parade” is like our “Bohemian Rhapsody.” It’s probably the most epic song on the record. I love how it came together. It’s a song that we had been writing since the start of the band, but it started out in a very different form. It started out very similar to Frank Sinatra’s “My Way,” which sounds really weird as a comparison. It was very slow and very chordal-based. The melody that Gerard would sing and just his style of singing was, well the closest thing it sounded like to to us was “My Way.” And it used to be called “The Five Of Us Are Dying.” It didn’t make our first indie record because we just didn’t have the time to finish it. We brought it back for Revenge, and it was another situation where it just wasn’t feeling right. So it didn’t make that record. Then it was one of the first things we looked at when we started writing this record. If a song didn’t work for the first or second record, we like to go back and revisit it because sometimes you just don’t have it in you to write the song at that particular time. That song had about five or six different movements and the closest thing I could relate it to is Green Day’s “Jesus Of Suburbia,” where you have all these different parts of a song which all work together. When we moved to LA to work on the record, we decided that the song still wasn’t working, so we tried adding that fast punk beat and then it felt really good. We tracked the whole thing and then Gerard felt that the lyrics weren’t saying anything to him, and neither was the chorus. So we changed a few things. What’s really cool when you write music is sometimes all you have to do is change a chord progression and that completely changes the face of the song. So we basically just changed one note in the chorus and it let Gerard go somewhere else that he wouldn’t have gone, and that’s where the hook of the song came from. I just have very fond memories of that song because it started out in a completely different form. It’s been a part of this band for five years, and it took that long to really finish the song and define what it truly was about. Then on top of that, the song was just so much fun to record with all the horns, the piano, backing vocals, and do all the layering with the parts. It was a very complex and fun song to record. Five years ago we would never have thought that the song would have ended up becoming what it did. “Famous Last Words” is another of my favorites because lyrically and musically, it’s not one of the most uplifting songs on the record. I just think the song is very powerful. It’s a little simpler than “Black Parade” in a sense, but it has those same movements. It starts out very small with just the vocal and single guitar, then it grows from there and gets to this apex, then breaks down again only to get brought back up. That was one of my favorite songs to write and record. It was written very late in the writing process, and at a very hard time. I think that the song is an example of showing things that the band went through because we went through some hard times and ended up coming out on top. When I listen to it now, it makes me think of that period in the recording process.

The band has grown so much in a short time and achieved a great deal of acclaim, particularly with this album. The band has always moved very fast, even from the beginning when it was just three of us. We’ve always found ourselves in these situations where it was “put up or shut up.” I guess it’s just our attitude and where we come from as people, and what we’ve gone through growing up. We just never quit and we work our asses off. That’s what we have always done. So things have moved fast, but for us it’s like a lifetime of work. As far as the musical side of things, I think this band tends to think one or two records ahead into the future. There was a time before we started writing for The Black Parade, when we were almost writing the album that should have come out after Revenge. A lot of the songs were similar feeling and similar sounding to what we did on Revenge, and a lot of that got scrapped once we really started writing for The Black Parade. After we had written “The End” into “Dead!,” we would rehearse them and we linked those two songs together. We knew they didn’t feel like anything we had done before. We thought that those songs raised the bar for us, and a lot of the songs that we had been writing on tour and some of the songs that were written while we were in New York got scrapped after that because they didn’t measure up. The writing process was fun because we were always trying to match what we had done the week before or even surpass it. We always try to top ourselves, and not only in albums, but also from song to song.

Has touring become more exciting for the band this time around? You spend so many months writing and recording the record, and during that time the record is just yours. It’s the band’s and just the four or five guys who worked on the recording. You sometimes play it for select people, but no one actually has a copy to take home and listen to. What’s great is that finally after six or seven months of writing and recording, the record is now out there “living” and being a part of peoples’ lives. To finally be able to play those songs live for people, it’s just the best. Our fans have been awesome and just super supportive through all of this. They’re excited to hear new stuff. But we’ve never been in this position before because when we wrote Revenge we were a very small indie band and no one was really excited for Revenge to come out. We built it up to where it got, but when that album came out there weren’t many people who were excited, and we built it from there. It was completely different from this experience where we’ve now built up a fan base and they are excited to hear the new music. So it was very nerve wracking because you want people to appreciate what you did — what you worked hard for and worked hard on. The fans have been awesome and we’re finding that they are singing the new songs louder than the older stuff at the shows. It’s that support and an over all sense from people that they really love the new record. It just feels great to go out there and play these songs for people.

What does the band have planned for 2007 and what are you looking forward to most in the coming year? We’ll be touring more and more in 2007. Right now we’re doing smaller shows just to get our feet wet and play live. We were off for so long recording that it takes a while to get back in shape and you just want to ease into it. It’s been cool to get reacquainted with the fans and reacquainted with playing live. Next year is when we’re going to step up the show a notch and bring out more production, so the shows will be bigger and the songs will feel bigger. Right now we’re playing the songs a little more stripped down than we would like, but it’s just to get reacquainted and get back into playing live. In 2007 we’re going to play a lot of parts of the world where we’ve never been before. Playing your first show in a new country is the most exciting thing, and that excitement never goes away. There are a lot of places where we haven’t played yet, so I think that’s what I’m most looking forward to.

Tell us about what you recall to have been your most memorable gig or gigs with the band so far. On this tour, the first show that we played was in Bournemouth, England. It’s a pretty cool place and that gig was awesome. We had such a great time and it was nice to get back and play real shows again. We had been doing a lot of tv and radio performances leading up to the release of the record, and then after that as well. But those performances just didn’t feel like real shows. It was maybe one or two songs, or even if we played a full set, the place was lit for tv so I couldn’t get into the vibe of those shows. So this gig in Bournemouth was the first show we played in a while where it was a real My Chem show, and it felt great to play the old songs again and to finally play the new material. The audience was really great and it was a lot of fun to get back out there. As far as past memorable gigs, we played Continental Airlines Arena in New Jersey, which was just awesome. I used to go to shows there all the time there to see my favorite bands like Metallica. My brother took me to that show and it was just incredible. To play places like that, those are the shows that usually go down in my memory as my favorites — when you have a direct connection to that venue or that city, it makes it just that much more special.

I’m sure there were a lot of hometown people there who were cheering you on. Yes. Our families usually end up being the loudest people in the crowd.

That can sometimes make you even more nervous compared to playing in front of people you don’t know. It is true because you definitely want to play your best and give them a good show. That’s usually what you’re thinking about. But it’s distracting when you’re looking out in the crowd and trying to find your family and all the people you know.

What advice would you give to other players who are trying to create their own identity in a two-guitar band? The best way to create your own style is to just be yourself. You can be influenced by what other people do and take the little bits that you like from the different players that you appreciate, but never completely cop someone’s style. Put your own flavor to it. Play what makes you feel good and that’s how you develop your own style. One of the fun things about playing with another guitarist is working on parts together. It’s kind of what music is about — working together as a team. When two guitar players can bring in what they do, make it bigger and better, learn from each other and influence each other, that’s a cool thing. Frank and I have been able to do that and we’ve kind of rubbed off on each other. It’s great to have that experience and it helps you to grow as a musician.

For the latest news on My Chemical Romance and updated tour information, visit the band’s official website at www.mychemicalromance.com.

[teaandatale]

One line, one fic

Rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

Tagged by these lovelies: @thesokovianaccords & @doctorhelena! Thank you this was so fun to revisit old fics!

Under Suspicion (Peggy/Steve):

"Well Peg, you'll have to finish telling me about your princess saving adventures later," he says with a smirk. "Nice to meet you lads," he says, but before he can walk away he snaps his fingers. "Oh, before I forget," he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small parcel, "from mum. She's still outrageously concerned you're still not behaving like a proper lady."

I'm Your National Anthem (Peggy/Steve):

"I think I'm drunk," he whispers, his voice laced with regret, with near heartbreak. Like he just realized this is the end of the interlude.

Peggy's Pocket Problems (Peggy/Steve):

“So that’s Captain America, huh?” the nurse mused aloud. “He’s much more… gentlemanly than I expected in a guy with such a daunting look about him.”

A Glimpse, A Glimmer (Peggy/Steve):

Peggy hums, watching Sarah crawling between the mess of toys in front of them. “I’m fine, Steve,” she says. “Baby likes the sound of Daddy’s voice.”

Layer on Layer (Peggy/Steve):

She squeezed his hand and shook her head. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad or to prove that other people have it worse. I just… I want you to know that you’re not the only one who holds the weight of things lost. I was nowhere near involved and I still felt guilty over his death. Maybe if I’d been a better sister. Maybe if I’d joined up sooner,” she said with a sigh. “The what-ifs are hard to shrug off. The fact is, he’s no longer alive, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost all of him. Even if it’s taken me years to come to terms with that.”

Special of the Day (Peggy/Steve):

“My grandma’s soda bread recipe,” he says, slicing her a generous wedge and setting a bit of butter on her plate. “Whenever I was sad or upset, she’d take me into the kitchen and we’d knead out dough. I’d watch it rise in the oven. Then, we’d sit and eat together, the bread still warm so the butter would melt and trickle down the sides. Something about it always made me feel a little better.” He taps the edge of her ceramic plate. “So take a deep breath and let the Irish soda bread work its magic.”

Bitters and Sugar (Peggy/Steve):

“Oh you’re on.” His eyes narrow as he focuses, leaning forward and making a show of lining up his shot. It makes Peggy giggle. Apparently he can hear it over the music because he pauses and looks up at her, his features relaxing into an easy smile. There’s something in the softness that makes her notice her heart patter at a quicker pace.

A Masterpiece of Us (Peggy/Steve):

She laughs. “Oh yes, please do go on Mr. Resident-Art-Expert.” Her voice is teasing but she means it. Passionate and fiery Steve is one of her most favorite of Steves. “What else strikes your wonder?”

Pas de deux (Peggy/Steve):

“Holy shit! This is incredible. The drama! The passion! I don’t know nothing, except that this is fantastic!” Angie turned back to Ms. Fry. “Centerpiece of the show, you said?” Steve and Peggy hadn’t heard that description before. “I can most definitely see that now.”

Old Flames and Eternal Ones (Chloe/Lucifer):

Lucifer went out to his car but paused to give Chloe a call but again, he found his pocket empty. He set out in search of the cellphone he tossed out the window hours ago but it was nowhere to be found. Infernal devices. Who would have expected the devil to find himself too dependent on a piece of human technology?

Tagging: anyone who hasn’t done this one yet!!

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: Vapors 42

Temari hadn't been wrong about the sheer overwhelming numbers of Sound forces that harassed the border at all hours. With the addition of three mixed teams of Chuunin and Jounin from Mist (who seemed even less happy about the dry climate than the Konoha nin were) it was almost child's play to rebuff the assaults. Disposing of the corpses was almost a larger problem, since apparently the three governments involved were bickering over who should take possession of them and give medical analyses of whatever the hell Sound had done to them. The debate only intensified after the spectacularly creepy realization that Sound had somehow militarized some of the defeated Grass forces against the alliance.

They didn't respond to attempted reasoning or negotiating. The sounds of spectacularly un-ninja like roaring and shrieks took on a distinctly eerie tone when it became inescapably clear that they hadn't just run into one or two nut jobs. Sound had done something that forced their victims/allies (depending on your perspective) into unspeakable rage: They were big dumb brutes who just had to be pointed in the right direction.

That was almost worse than the bizarre abilities some of them displayed. Many were just hulking with grotesque muscles and red-eyed rage, but others used auditory genjutsu or jutsu like the three sound nin in the Chuunin exams had. Others spat acid, seemed immune to pain, or dislocated their joints to attempt to creep through small spaces for ambushes, mindlessly grinning and crawling forwards even when they'd nearly immobilized themselves.

Sand's border force had apparently been so depleted (both by the constant harassment and in the wake of the unsuccessful attack on Konoha) that they were able to give their allies a small barracks each. Konoha's teams were crammed in like sardines, at least for a few days until someone got the bright idea to disperse the genin teams along the line so that they didn't have such a large weak spot. The younger team stayed nearby, and the boys went west down the borderline to the next outpost. Since Aiko's team was part of the rapid response team, they ended up staying in the first outpost with the same Sand team they'd been working with, joined by a solely Chuunin Mist team. Their higher level teams ended up moving westward.

'It makes sense,' she mused, sharpening her sword the fourth morning, once everyone had been reassigned. 'Separating the supplementary forces both by rank and origin both ensures that there is no obvious weak point, and reduces the chance for collusion or information spread to Sound, unless of course the perpetrators are willing to risk their own people. Gaara isn't as bad at this game as Tsunade seems to think he is.' A hot wind blew her bangs into her eyes, casting curved shadows over her vision. She scowled and pursed her lips to blow them out of her face.

Her whetstone didn't pause, but she lifted her head to give Temari a glance across the clearing where they were sharing watch. 'Of course, the orders might not actually be coming from Gaara, per say,' she allowed. 'It might just be easier for the real tactical brains to claim authority from a Kage when giving distasteful orders like splitting up teams from their countrymen.'

Temari sighed, as if catching onto Aiko's thoughts about the dreary necessity of dealing with disgruntled Mist nin. (It was like a job requirement, apparently. They were all cranky, all the time).

"Something wrong?" The older girl looked at her as if she didn't want to answer, and then shrugged indolently.

"Waiting for them to come to us is getting really old, when we know that they have to be replenishing their forces somehow at this point." Irritably, she flung a silver shuriken into the dirt with a soft 'whush' sound, and then glared at it as if it was the source of her ill temper.

Left unsaid was a point that had already been discussed ad nauseam—Sound couldn't possibly hope to win any sort of tactical victory if they were really just throwing everyone they had at Wind Country. There had to be something they were missing. Was it an attempt to draw support away from another border to attack there? Were the seemingly unsuccessful attacks actually serving some sort of objective? Was the whole thing a smokescreen for some larger plan?

It was absolutely infuriating to sit around in what was either a death trap they could sense but couldn't see closing around them, or an indication that Sound was run by monkeys.

'For all we know, they could be,' she thought glumly. With Orochimaru dead, none of their intelligence operatives seemed to have any idea whatsoever as to who was calling the shots in Sound. Knowing who was making the decisions would have provided at least a little insight into what the hell they could be hoping to accomplish.

"It would be a lot more satisfying to go to the source," she agreed casually. Aiko heaved a sigh, swiveling her blade to check the edge. It was immaculate. That meant she couldn't really justify continuing to sharpen it just because she was bored. Regretfully, she slid it home in the sheath and put her kit away, sealing it into a scroll the size of her thumb when rolled up. Temari watched with visible interest, leaning over slightly.

"How do you do that?" she asked, jerking her head towards the scroll Aiko was tucking into her hip pouch.

She blinked and looked up from the pouch to the older girl. "What do you mean? Using it, or making it?" She wasn't entirely sure where to go with that question. Sealing for storage was one of the most basic functions of fuinjutsu, a base level skill that translated as the foundation for many of the more advanced skills. It was like being asked to explain how she wrote her name—she'd been taught how to do it such a long time ago that she didn't know how to explain it. Every answer she came up with sounded condescending or made her feel embarrassed to explain something so basic.

Temari scrunched up her nose. "You made that?" She scoffed and turned her face away. "I thought those had to be bought. Ours are reserved for Jounin. And I meant using one so much smaller than the material you're putting in it. That doesn't even make sense."

Aiko shrugged, not wanting to criticize that system or get into a long explanation. "Well, they are expensive to buy," she offered diplomatically. "And the size of the scroll is actually not correlated to the possible storage space. The scroll only needs to be large enough for the person making it to put their version of a storage seal on it."

"Aiko." She flinched, twisting to face Kakashi. He looked disinterested and distant, striding across the clearing. Slightly behind him, Yamato was all kitted out as if for a long mission. "We're on patrol."

"Right." It took only a moment to tighten the band keeping her sword on and fall in line behind them. They took off at a run. It felt like an odd patrol—checking between scrubland and trees that seldom broke fifteen feet in height meant that they stayed on the ground instead of using trees as a patrol route as she was accustomed. Besides that oddity, she didn't know the area at all, which made the trip nerve-wracking. But she tried not to let that tension show. No doubt Kakashi knew the map better than she did, and she wouldn't have said a damn thing even if he'd appeared to be taking them to Iron.

She did miss being able to talk to him. They'd used to banter, at least off duty if not while actually running missions. It was thoroughly bizarre not to be on speaking terms with the only person in the world she looked up to.

'Phrasing it that way either sounds pathetic or cynical, I'm not sure which.' No one could see her at the back of the group, so she allowed herself an ironic smile. What did having Kakashi as her role model mean about her? Was she just naïve, a bad judge of character?

Aiko knew perfectly well that he wasn't a perfect person. He'd let her down before, so it was hard to convince herself that it was even that she knew she could count on him. After all, he'd had a mental breakdown and abandoned his three surviving students without a word after Sakura died. That wasn't even a way to see her death as his fault—he wasn't the incompetent asshole who let Orochimaru into the village, after all, and no one could really expect a couple of prospective Chuunin to do anything against an S-class criminal.

Nor was Kakashi even stable. He lived in the past, the problem that had prompted the argument in the first place. But the failing manifested in other ways. It was probably a large part of why he was so emotionally distant, chronically late, and hard to connect with.

'But that's not all there is to him,' she argued with herself, irrationally upset by her own factual assessment. Kakashi was an excellent shinobi and a damn good person when he wasn't crippled by the weaknesses inherent in humanity. He had always cared about her and Naruto, even though he was incapable of giving them what they needed. She didn't hold his failure to take them in against him at all. He'd just lost everyone he'd let past the emotional barriers that were already nearly inescapable at the age of fourteen. It had probably been a struggle to patch himself together enough to function, let alone care for another person.

That train of thought resonated—that was why she admired him. He'd encountered crushing disappointments again and again and somehow managed to keep going. The facts that he was incredibly powerful and intelligent were attractive, of course, but they didn't hold a candle to his sheer determination to keep going.

She stopped cold, eyes wide.

Yamato and Kakashi snapped to attention, stopping in their run as well. "Uzumaki, what's wrong?" Her shishou's harsh voice managed to pierce the haze she was in.

Aiko swallowed, hard. And averted her eyes. "Nothing, sorry."

"Can we go on, then," he asked dryly. She nodded silently and fell back into formation, trying to pay more attention to her surroundings. But the realization that had just occurred to her was doing a spectacular job of tugging at her attention, as was the pounding of her heartbeat all the way up in her throat.

'Oh my god, I'm hot for teacher. That's why I hate it so much when he treats me like a living memorial.' As she ran, she amended that. 'Well, not entirely why. It's still annoying and not fair regardless.' She squirmed a little. 'Plus I feel like such an imposter, knowing that I'm not connected to Minato in the way he thinks I am. I mean, I am genetically, but mentally there was never even a chance I'd consider him my father.'

Aiko couldn't bear to look at her commander for the rest of the patrol. If she hadn't already been certain he was avoiding her, she would have done so religiously when they returned to the outpost after their turn on patrol.

'Doesn't matter, anyways,' she thought resentfully that night, staring up at the bunk above hers and trying to ignore Yamato's content snuffles from the bunk below. 'I'm trapped in a fourteen year old body and he'd never look at me anyway. Maybe I'm better off not reconciling with him. If he ever found out, he'd think I was sick. It's not like I can tell him I'm really an adult. He'll think I'm crazy or a fraud.' She turned over, pressing her forehead into her pillow and slipping her arms around the cool material. When she pressed her eyes shut, she could pretend that the next thought wasn't painful. 'Maybe I am sick and disgusting. He's tried to be like an older brother to me. When I get back to Konoha, I'll ask Tsunade to have the apprenticeship dissolved. She's wanted that forever anyways.'

Yamato had expected a better experience out of this mission.

He'd known that this was work, of course, and that it didn't have to be enjoyable. But the job wasn't a particularly hard one. It shouldn't have been so strained. Working with Kakashi-senpai had never been this painfully awkward before, and he couldn't exactly pinpoint what was going on.

Granted, he was perceptive enough to assume that whatever was putting senpai off his game was the same source of tension between senpai and Aiko. This was the first time he had ever seen them on bad terms. He hadn't even known they could argue. They had seemed far too close and alike in character. Besides, senpai just didn't do that—he never argued with subordinates. That gave them too much power. Aiko didn't seem happy about it, but she clearly had far too much influence over senpai's mood, at least.

Senpai had been acting distinctly unfriendly and distant to pretty much everyone, leaving Yamato in the unusual position of playing peacekeeper. It had become painfully obvious that Kakashi-senpai was far too distracted when he failed to notice the beginning of that ambush the first night they had arrived. Both Aiko and Kakashi were better sensors than Yamato. He didn't appreciate the failure in professionalism that they had both demonstrated.

'Whatever is going on is endangering the mission and Konoha's good reputation,' he noted darkly on the third day, when neither party had demonstrated any sign of attempting reconciliation. Things were getting ridiculous.

Aiko at least looked like she wanted to reconcile, despite her obvious tenseness and discomfort around their mission commander. She wasn't nearly as subtle as she thought she was. Her posture stiffened whenever Kakashi entered a room, she turned her body towards his, and she couldn't help but glance at him whenever he turned away from her.

Yamato rather thought that hyperawareness was probably why Kakashi-senpai was spending so much time outside of the barracks. He had been running on progressively less sleep, because it had become obvious that Aiko was too fidgety to fall asleep with him in the room. That probably kept him up, in turn.

'They're both acting like children.' Yamato tapped his fingers on his thigh irritably, watching Aiko mull blankly over the horrid food options at lunch one day as if the specific variety of slop that she chose was somehow going to be crucially important. 'At least Aiko has the excuse of being not much older than a child.'

Still, there was no way in hell he was going to get in between the two of them. They both had tempers, sharp tongues, and held grudges. Sure, they were just circling each other and growling now, but the moment he grabbed at one, they would probably do more than bark. ANBU Cat, of all people, knew better than to get in a dogfight.

The first day at the border outpost:

Kakashi wished he could be Hound right now. It would be so much easier to slip into a mission mindset and avoid thinking the godawful things that were running through his head. But he just couldn't. Hound wasn't capable of dealing with anything remotely diplomatic or co-operational. Hound hunted.

So he was Kakashi instead. Being Kakashi was hard. It hurt, and he'd always dealt with hurt by internalizing it or running away from it. He couldn't internalize this. It kept coming back up to the surface and troubling him. The things his student had said hurt whenever he looked at her, but seeing her so obviously hurting made him want to fix her hurts as he had done for years. He'd avoid seeing Aiko if he could, but being assigned to a three-person team with her made that impossible.

The worst part was that he wasn't certain if he wanted to hate her for shattering his world view or for being right.

Suspecting that he had been in the wrong was a miserable sensation. He closed his eyes, not even caring that the water in the shower was ice-cold. Re-evaluating his actions was even more unpleasant.

'The Sandaime warned me years ago,' he thought with bleak amusement. 'When I told him the twins deserved to be taught because Minato would have wanted it and I owed him. He told me not to confuse them, and I did anyways. I'm so stupid.'

He spent the second day in a haze of self-recriminations, failure, and mindless duty, knowing by his reflexive self-hatred he had done something wrong but not what or why. Eventually, his mind turned to analysis of precisely why what Aiko had said had been so terrible.

When Aiko had completely rejected Minato (rejected Minato-sensei, who had loved his unborn twins so much it hurt) his first reaction was to push her away. He'd never thought her capable of that. If she denied an association with sensei, who was she? Did he even know her?

That thought was the one that had pulled at his mind and made him wonder if she hadn't been completely right. It hadn't been that long ago that he had been musing that she was his favorite subordinate, had it? If it had solely been because she was the last living piece of sensei, wouldn't Naruto have been his favorite?

In personality, Aiko was very little like either of her parents. In appearance, she was dead center which usually failed to evoke either of them. By contrast, Naruto wore Minato's face with Kushina's enormous (and often false to hide pain or awkwardness) smiles. But Naruto wasn't his favorite subordinate. He preferred working with Aiko.

That meant that he liked her on her own merits, he concluded logically as he laid in bed the second night and tried to sleep. His godawful mind picked back up on the same train of thought as soon as he opened his eye in the morning.

Why was that so difficult to concede? He didn't like admitting that he wasn't just fond of her because she was sensei's child. It seemed like a betrayal of sensei's memory.

Kakashi wished he weren't a genius, or at least that he wasn't so intimately familiar with his own failings. Now that he wasn't purposefully blind to what was going on, it was easy for him to parse apart.

'I've been using Aiko as a crutch and not treating her as her own person. I thought of her as sensei's kid, not a human being with an individual identity. Of course that was hurtful to her. Does she have another adult in her life?'

He'd never noticed or even heard of one. That thought was troubling. Now that he'd noticed the oddity, he couldn't stop wondering what Aiko had meant when she'd claimed that she had raised Naruto. She was the same age. Surely the Sandaime had found some sort of guardian for them. Kakashi had been emotionally and mentally unable to acknowledge their presence for years, burying himself in ANBU duties. But surely he would have been contacted if the Sandaime needed help with the twins, right?

He winced, remembering how irrational he had been at that point in his life. No. The Sandaime wouldn't have asked him. Kakashi had been dangerously unstable when the twins were young, and if the third Hokage hadn't been an uncommonly kind and forgiving man (a dangerously sentimental man, an honest part of his mind added) then he wouldn't have been given the chance to teach the twins. …Especially since he hadn't wanted to have anything to do with them at the time.

The worry and curiosity about the twins' childhood tugged at his attention and made him want to look into the matter immediately just to assuage the bad feeling he had. But that was impossible, so the sick feeling became just one of many that cycled through his gut while he rehashed the different things that troubled him. This would have been easier if he'd been better with emotions, he knew.

A month ago, Kakashi would have said that Aiko was much more emotionally stable than he was. Now he was less certain. That outburst had been the product of years of internalized distress and pressure. He knew what it looked like when a person erupted from stress. The Rasengan probably wasn't even the real problem, it was just a trigger and everything else had overflowed.

What she had said about her parents reeked conspicuously of abandonment issues. In a clinical sense, Kakashi could assess that her reaction was not abnormal. Orphans generally followed one of two extremes— they longed for parents and family, or they completely rejected the idea that they needed them as a defense mechanism. After all, it was hard to miss something you had never had. An emotional issue that you could talk yourself into ignoring could be suppressed and added to the list of things bothering you that you never intended to deal with. It was a strategy Kakashi often utilized and he could appreciate its use.

He just couldn't come to terms with anyone thinking that about Minato-sensei. Sensei had practically raised him, after all, even though he hadn't thought he needed it at the time. Sensei had been an excellent father figure… to him.

Kakashi winced. 'How would Aiko know that?' he asked himself, rhetorically. Of course she wouldn't. 'It doesn't matter that he did his best to help me. That didn't affect the twins at all, and no one ever talked to them about what kind of people their parents are. To her, they're just names and old photographs in public records.'

And that hurt. It really, really hurt. Silently he wondered if Naruto felt the same way. It might break him if Naruto did.

But now that he'd analyzed the situation, he couldn't figure out a way to justify continuing to be upset with Aiko. It wasn't logical. She was reacting to her lived experiences. Besides, she hadn't seemed completely hostile to her parents as family and people. She just didn't see them as parents. There was some logic behind that. If he or someone else actually shared something real about Minato and Kushina, she might come to appreciate them more.

And if she didn't, they could just never have that conversation again. They'd managed to go four years without it, so clearly it wasn't perpetually on her mind.

'It was probably on her mind whenever I looked at her and thought of Sensei,' Kakashi acknowledged ruefully in the safety of his own mind. That meant that she was much better at reading him that he'd thought… which could only mean that he'd already relaxed around her enough to let her in.

He didn't see any way around it: she was one of his precious people. He had had other students, but only one apprentice. At times she was… a friend, perhaps, and not just someone he taught on a distant and professional basis? Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura were precious people too, of course. He had never been entrusted with such delicate lives before, and he had taken the duty seriously. But it hadn't been good enough. He hadn't been vigilant enough to keep Sakura safe, and he had already failed both of the boys and driven them away to better teachers.

'I can't fail the only one I have left,' he realized on the third morning at the outpost. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to reconcile with Aiko.

But that was easier said than done. He was an intelligent man, but not an emotionally fluent man. Did he just come out and say he was sorry for what he'd said? In his experience, words were dangerous. He could accidentally start the whole thing up again. She might be able to distance herself and understand what he was trying to do and not any unintentional insults…

'Then again, she might not,' he concluded when he saw her talking comfortably with the girl from Sand outside. That wasn't the problem so much as the way that she looked when she saw him. It was almost… frightened. Like a rabbit.

Did she think he was going to start an argument? A little hurt, he maintained as much distance as he could from his apprentice to keep from initiating another altercation until he had a plan of action. But she was acting so strangely. At one point, she completely stopped running in the middle of the patrol.

It didn't make any sense. Aiko had never been easily distracted on a mission. That was Naruto, not Aiko.

'Perhaps he died and she's channeling his spirit,' he joked blackly. It wasn't funny even to him. Something was wrong, and he didn't know how to fix it. He couldn't fix it with words. What else was there?

The answer came to him on the return trip to the outpost. He sent his subordinates to the barracks and made his brief report –uneventful, no intruders or new signs of travel spotted- and then asked if there was a room he could use. There was, and they wouldn't mind a bit of water damage. It was an empty storage area anyways, he couldn't do it much damage.

He rather thought that he could, but wisely didn't share that information. There was no chance he would teach Aiko the real chidori. Lightning was extremely dangerous to experiment with, and she had struggled immensely to learn even the basic attacks. That had scuppered some of his earlier plans for her training.

'Chidori was too dangerous anyway,' he noted, scratching out calculations on a bit of scrap paper. Lightning was a sharp, inflexible element. Much like how fire was hard to conjure without fuel to feed it and earth didn't want to move at all, his chakra nature had inherent qualities. One of which was the tendency to move in a straight or predictably jagged line at very high speeds. He had used that second characteristic to make Chidori very dangerous—it pushed his normal running speeds even further. Despite that benefit, the first quality made Chidori very dangerous to control. Being unable to alter trajectory once you had acquired a target was an enormous detractor from an attack.

But he was certain that particular component of Chidori was tied to its chakra nature, not the shape transformation. It was just a short spear, after all. It should be controllable. So far as flexibility went, water was one of lightning's opposites. It tended to follow certain patterns, but it could be pushed in any direction with a bit of force. ('And Aiko certainly has no problems with strategically applying force', he noted cynically, a bit surprised as just how well she had shattered him with a few well-placed words. She really was a smart girl).

As far as he could tell, there was no reason a water-natured spear transformation should have to adhere to a fixed trajectory. Of course, having the theory didn't tell him how to perform the attack. It had been years since he had designed a move himself.

Kakashi hypothesized that once he had altered his chakra nature (a necessary first step for him, but one that Aiko could skip) and figured out what handsign combination would optimally prepare his coils, all he would have to do was manifest the same shape transformation that he knew well. That should be easy to teach to Aiko, with her experience with chakra chains and strings. A spear wasn't that far off. Integrating the sharp, multi-faceted edges would be the challenge.

At least he had something constructive to work towards now. All would be well. She had always forgiven him in past for transgressions both mundane – like making her wait on him for training— and arguably serious ones – like leaving her alone in Suna to run into hostile nin while he gathered information when she was ten, and even in the arguably worse time when he'd fled back into ANBU after Sakura died. This would be no different.

[cheekypriest]

"Not a single one, eh?" The priest began with evident amusement, his words carrying a more serious tone while his voice did nothing of the sort, layered with wry sarcasm as he pretended to be disappointed as he imagined some of his peers would be in his shoes. "Sinner." He added for good measure, his low voice practically reverberating in the back of his throat, throwing the other man another cheeky wink, thoroughly enjoying being able to tease him a little. It was all in good fun, after all, if James meant to insult the detective, the guy would most certainly know about it by now. "Me being one of your last thoughts before going to sleep? Lucky me."

Admittedly, it could be difficult to tell between insults and compliments given the Brit's penchant for sarcastic remarks and quips, but it was usually made rather apparent after a while. Nobody escaped his little comments and teasing gripes, whether he liked someone or despised them. Though he saved the latter category for those of a demonic nature who were actively trying to kill him or toy with the lives of the innocent. Had he had civil chats with a few demons in his time too? Maybe -- - not that he'd ever admit that to his superiors. It was easier for some to put everyone and everything into a single category. Good or evil. But the world wasn't that simple, not above or below, it was all a complicated mix of both.

He supposed he was someone who made that all the more obvious. So many would expect him to be some paragon of virtue when in actuality, he sinned about as much as any average person. Nothing too heinous, of course, he never crossed the line of killing or anything that would be an easy one-way ticket downstairs, but he also wasn't meant to jump into bed with people for one-night stands, or sometimes something a little longer depending on how long he was in town. It was just easier that way, never tying someone down to a probable fate like his parents, no real remnants of a life behind him to be used and abused by whoever or whatever wanted revenge against him. Yes, it was easier and safer that way.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it... there's something quite rivetting about being handcuffed for reasons other than being arrested. Devil to get comfortable, mind. But that's just part of the fun, right?" It was utterly shameful for James to be saying such a thing, it was a wonder why God hadn't struck him down right there and then, though there seemed to be a common theme with that. James just presumed that it would all mount up and he'd receive his punishment at the very end -- - an eternity in flames. Not that it would make him change his way anyway, he was in it for the long haul at this point and it was definitely preferable over a life of being completely alone. A few dashes of happiness and companionship had to top that dreary thought, didn't it?

However, that was just another reminder as he sat there looking back at the American, watching that coy manner that had suddenly washed through him, how it made him seem all the more innocent than mere moments before. It was a sight to behold, one that only spurred on the Englishman's sly smile as he sat himself forward a little on his chair, letting the other man see he was both engaged and attentive. "I'm honoured." He mused smoothly, charm dripping from those bright blue eyes and that wicked smile crept further up one side of his face. They really had crossed into more dangerous territory now, it wasn't just playfully flirtatious now but something a little more -- - real, now that James knew that it was genuinely being returned. At least he hoped he was reading the signals that seemed to be as clear as day, he liked to think he wasn't that old yet that he could misread them so easily.

His concerns were further brushed aside when Connor proposed meeting that very evening, the priest's heart half stammering for a moment at the welcome confirmation. "Well, I'll have to query it with the big man upstairs, but presuming he has no holy orders for me, I'm sure I can fit you in somewhere." He joshed as a low chuckle fell over his lips, the man suddenly scooting back a bit as he tucked the detective's card into a pocket on the inside of his black suit jacket. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about what I'm accustomed to. I have one rule, if I'm hungry, I eat, time be damned." He smirked a little at that, not really having a schedule because with the amount of time he moved around the world, there never seemed to be any point, his body just seemed to do whatever it wanted regardless of time zones. By now, he was just a muddled mess of it all and whenever he did finally settle into something of a regime, it was usually time to leave again.

"How about this..." James began, lips pursing off to the side for a moment. "You give me a call when you get off work and we'll find somewhere to get a bite to eat. Burgers, chips, onion rings, the whole shebang. How does that sound?" Even the thought of it was making his stomach want to growl in anticipation, not that a few cups of coffee couldn't calm him for a few hours and maybe a few of his favourite rhubarb and custard sweets that he'd brought to the US with him. He never went anywhere without buying a hefty amount of them in the UK beforehand. "And after, if you haven't quite had your fill of me yet, there's always the possibility of going out for a drink or two." He had thought of offering the man come to his place but he'd decided that was maybe a bit too much for a first-day -- - interaction, or whatever this was or might turn into somewhere down the line if he didn't scare the guy off by then. "I'm quite partial to a couple beers after a decent meal. Or some wine, if you're feeling fancy. Up to you. This is your home soil, after all, we'll play by your rules."

By the way the composed elation seemed to faintly quicken the priest's pulse with every returned quip, it was clear that James was enjoying this banter just as much as Connor. The detective really couldn't help himself as he continued to observe the older man with the same silent intrigue throughout, ever critical of the miniscule details people often took for granted. He was acutely aware of the minute ways in which the other man's pupils would pit & widen as they conversed, how it correlated with the detective's various sassy remarks. He noticed the faint tug of those intricate little facial muscles, various changes in body language. Was his analysis always entirely accurate? No, certainly not. But the detective was assured that he could determine results with a degree of confidence. Just as he knew that the priest's flirtations weren't simply a distraction, not just sass for the sake of it. He was genuinely interested, but the both of them were being careful.

They had to be, had to treat this kind of encounter with a level of discretion. Though he didn't admit to it aloud in so many words, Connor suspected that James was here on official business from Rome, & in turn, he was at the church on official police business. While this case was likely far less mysterious as it originally seemed, a good detective followed every lead they could until they had gathered all of the information there was to take, then compiled it into a conclusion. It wasn't his job to deliver judgment, only provide knowledge that would build a case for the district attorney to argue in court. To his knowledge, there was no crime. The medical examiner had remarked that the death of Moore had been suspicious, but her report was labeled with a cause of death being undetermined.

Clearly, his new friend could offer his own determination. While James hadn't expressly stated that Moore was possessed, Connor assumed it was what he had been getting at. Possession wasn't exactly a legal defense, nor was it a legitimate cause of death. Thus, no crime had been committed. But Connor still had to be careful, because he was a professional. He couldn't be seen as being too close to a case, for his own sake. Then again, it wasn't as if any of the statements made by the priest that afternoon were going to end up in his report. He could conclude that the Father of Moore's local parish stated that the subject in question had come to him seeking advice, & hadn't been seen in the days leading up to his death. Simple & perfectly factual - the mention of religious discussions of the supernatural kind had taken place was arbitrary, so Connor decided to omit them.

He would have been lying if he claimed this wasn't at least partially related to self-interest. If James wasn't a person of interest in the case & merely a questioned & cleared potential informant, then the possibility of them just happening to meet up sometime after hours wouldn't be so scandalous.

Though it didn't appear that the priest was all that fearful of a little scandal; no with the way he teased. Yet again, he effortlessly had the detective laughing. Connor reckoned that he had smiled more in the past half hour than he had in weeks, which, granted the nature of his job, wasn't all that surprising. One could become somewhat morose when surrounded by death. This encounter had been a breath of fresh air, a momentary reset to temper his psychological barriers as he could let them rest, just for a little bit. It helped more than he could express in words.

“Forgive me, father. But I grew up in an atheist household. I don't know any prayers.” That teasing smile played upon his lips, a hint of pearl white teeth & rounded cheeks. How long had it been since the detective had genuinely felt any kind of elation that reached his eyes, lightly wrinkling the soft flesh at their corners? Too long. He enjoyed the momentarily exhilaration, as it would become all too short lived as the inevitable numbness returned with time. He wanted to hold onto that dopamine high. Once again, he mirrored the priest, letting his back settle into the chair as he relaxed his rigid posture, arms loosely crossing over his lean chest. “How about I offer you a moment in my thoughts as I go to sleep?” He looked so satisfied with himself then, like a cat who caught a canary. Soft eyes watched as lids grew momentarily heavy, giving James a somewhat sultry look. Connor imagined that he would be thinking of this man as he lay awake in bed that evening, at least until sleep found him. If it ever did. It wasn't always a guarantee.

Of course the flock would have noticed him, even if he didn't have a badge on his hip. Pretty young thing like that inquiring about their new priest? The gossip would surely travel fast. “Your secret's safe with me. Though I can't help thinking that you might get more enjoyment out of being handcuffed than initially expected. Imagine what those little old ladies would think.” Perish the thought. The detective chuckled at his own joke, though it wasn't entirely obvious if he was merely offering lighthearted banter. Had Connor arrested people? Absolutely. Had he been known for using handcuffs in his romantic encounters? Not yet, but he was an adventurous creature, & he wasn't above trying new things.

But the moment James was scribbling his number on a scrap of paper & presenting him with it, suddenly all of that shameless confidence fled him & Connor was a shy kid again, staring down the potential consequences of his actions. Now, as he took the slip of paper from the priest, he had a decision to make. Like an idiot, Connor recognized that he might have possibly stumbled into a minefield, one of his own making. There were some aspects of him that James may not like, not just as a catholic but as a man. Things that only a select few shared knowledge of, though it was an open secret. Just a little shy, he speculated the worst that might happen if the older man learned of his secret. Maybe he should have said something, but he also didn't want to assume anything at this point. He wanted to see where this would go.

A small smile, far more subdued yet equally charming as before warmed his visage & Connor straightened to set the paper into his blazer pocket, soon reaching to pull something out of the inner pocket sewn into the lining. A business card was produced, as well as a pen. The detective quickly wrote something on the back in neat lettering; his cellphone number. It was offered to the priest with a surprisingly hopeful look. Just what was he so worried about all of a sudden? “Here…” The card was of plain white with the Detroit police seal to one side, lettering in a neat blue. Det. Connor E. Arkeit. Homicide. Central Precinct. A number to contact, likely the office line. & on the back— “This is my, uh… My personal cell.” The mood had certainly changed between them, the detective no longer so relentlessly bold. Looking at him in that moment, it was easy to see him as the twenty-six year old that he was, for he lacked the fortitude of confidence of a more experienced man. Still, he knew what he wanted, & he was willing to take risks to get it.

“Are you free tonight?” he asked, an insistence to his tone. Still so hopeful. What was tonight? It wasn't Sunday. Wednesday? Did they have mass on Wednesday? He didn't know. Either way, he would be working until evening, though he expected the priest wouldn't mind. He didn't seem the rigid type by any means. “Maybe this is presumptuous of me but… I know a cafe that stays open late. Or… Wait, Europeans have dinner late, don't they?” Didn't they? He thought he recalled hearing that somewhere. Either way, by the time Connor got off of work, he should have been looking for something to eat. Maybe dinner was a little forward of him this early - they had only just met, after all. There he was, looking at James again, those soft eyes asking for guidance. & he had been so sure of himself before.

[honey-and-silk-xiv]

An Interview with the Thavnair Jewel

► Name ➔ "I have had a few, only the one that was given to me at birth I no longer use."

► Are you single ➔ With an amused smirk the Viera canted her head. "Yes, and I would not wish it any other way."

► Are you happy ➔ "I have everything I wished for and more." The confirmation was paired with a nod, maintaining that same amused smirk.

► Are you angry? ➔ "Angry? Rarely. It is a considerable waste of my energy that could be used elsewhere."

► Are your parents still married ➔ "That would imply they were in the first place, no?" This she spoke with a breath that warped into a faint chuckle.

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔"Like most of my kind, I was born in the Golmore jungle."

► Hair Colour ➔ "As you can see, I am currently a sun kissed blonde." She reached to touch the strands of silken hair with a smirk.

► Eye Color ➔ A momentary pursing of her lips revealed a pensive pause but she chuckled softly. "If you wished to look deep into my eyes you could have asked. A striking colour is it not? A family trait." Vibrant green hues fixed themselves confidently forward, lined with a generous application of kohl to make them stand out more.

► Birthday ➔ "It is custom to never ask a lady her age, no?" A sultry grin lurked upon her painted lips.

► Mood ➔ "Curious." The tanned viera responded without hesitation. "Curious to know where these questions lead, it would be preferable that the result would be...exciting."

► Gender ➔ "Firmly female."

► Summer or winter ➔ "There is nothing quite like basking in the hot sun." Those verdant eyes gleamed, matching the subtle smirk gracing her lips. "Preferably with as little clothing as possible."

► Morning or afternoon ➔ "That depends on the night prior and what for." all the while the gleam in her gaze lingered bold and confident.

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ Mirth flared upon her features, her tone carrying the trace of her laugh. "It would take someone utterly extraordinary to invite such an emotion from me. No, I am not."

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ "A romantic notion, to be sure. But not a realistic one from my own observations. Lust at first sight, that is a more accurate explanation and one I do believe in."

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ "Hmmm, oh it has been such a long time ago." The viera mused with a lingering grin.

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ "A few more than one, some like to play with fire and end up burned in the process." a dismissive hand waved off her reply without losing the languid smirk still dancing on her lips.

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔The laughter sounded nearly like a croon when the viera angled her head a fraction. "I am rather willing to offer you an embrace if you find that you have not had enough physical contact yourself."

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ "Quite regularly so, I have received many an anonymous gift over the years. Exciting ever time, though I rarely fail to figure out who it is from."

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ She snorted in laughter and shook her head. "No."

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ Passion flared in her eyes, unblinking in her conviction. "Lust." She spoke with a deliberate sultry draw in invitation and promise both.

► Cats or Dogs ➔ "Neither. I have no interest in pets. Well...not of the animal kind of course."

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ "Both." The bold smirk she offered daring the interviewer to try and make her choose.

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ "Wild night out, leading to a wild night in." a wink sealed the statement.

► Day or night ➔ "A lot of these leave much open to interpretation. Hmmm, night."

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ "I never needed to sneak out- Unless of course..." The ever present smirk on her lips curled further still. "Are you asking if I would be able to leave unseen if I came with you after this?"

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ "Not to my memory, and I am not one to forget."

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ "I have wanted things badly, to the point of hurting?" Amusement rung warm in her words. "I get what I set my eyes on."

► Wanted to disappear ➔ "And live in solitude? Sisters, no."

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ "Eyes. So much can be said with a glance. A single look."

► Shorter or Taller ➔ "I have no preference to either."

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ "Depends what I am in the mood for, it is terribly difficult to have a stimulating conversation with someone who lacks any wit."

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ "You continue to dance around the real question you wish to ask." Subtly she leaned forward, darting a flick of her tongue across her bottom lip seductively.

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ "Ah, I guess you are still gathering courage, very well." Leaning back again, the viera nodded. "We are very close."

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ "Not in the slightest."

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ A ponderous pause followed. "I have left home, but I do not classify that as having ran away."

► Have you ever been kicked out ➔ "From where? You are not implying you would?"

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ "It would be rather strange to call someone you hate your friend. I do not waste my time on hatred, it serves nothing."

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ "Nobody has the time to form such a deep connection with that many people and maintain it. I am a capable woman but even I have my limits." The laughter rolled from her lips with ease.

► Who is your best friend ➔ "Lord Kaien is my closest and most dear friend. I consider him as close as my own blood."

► Who knows everything about you ➔ "You will have to learn about me yourself, instead of interrogating others. Now... that is quite enough questions. A glass of wine to start a far more enjoyable rest of our time together?" The woman rose from her seat, leaning over to reach for the bottle with a salacious grin.

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi :) I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about Tommy and baby Shelby going to see Alfie. With season 5 Alfie trying to hide his scars because he thinks she’d be scared but she just cuddles into him. I get if this is weird or too specific😅

Protected

“Remember what we talked about eh?” Tommy says to his youngest sibling as he tugs open the door on her side of the car. (y/n) Shelby takes her brothers outstretched hand to help her jump down out of the car that was a little too high up for her to manage to climb out by herself. “Yes Tommy.” She responds, skipping off in front of him to the big heavy front door of the building they were going into. The little girl leans against the door to very little avail as it barely even budges until Tommy reaches the door too and pushes it open with one strong arm.

He steps very firmly in front of (y/n) in the lobby of the building to prevent her running off again, and crouches down to her height with both hands placed firmly on her small upper arms to hold her still. “You stay right next to me okay?” He repeats, “And stay quiet yeah? I’ll try and be as quick as i can.” (y/n) smiles in response, “And then we can go to the sweet shop?”

Tommy nods and gives his little sister a soft smile before he stands up straight and takes her hand tightly in his. His littlest sister is so fearless and unaware of the dangers of the life she was dropped into that it always gives Tommy a sense of relief in some ways. It was almost like a form of escapism. Bouncing between Polly, John, Arthur, Charlie, and Tommy had made her life very different from most, even from Tommy’s young son. It would be incredibly safe to say that it was a shock when Polly Gray had entered into the betting shop in Watery Lane holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. They were all incredibly confused and very soon learned that Arthur Shelby Senior had shown up on the doorstep with another child he wasn’t interested in raising. She was an accidental one who’s mother died in childbirth and the deadbeat father had been gifted with yet another little life to let down.

Of course it became very important for Tommy that the baby girl did not experience the same kind of sheer let down that their father had given to all of them. He named sweet little (y/n) on that evening 6 and a half years ago. He felt like he was completely aimless and useless at that time. He had decided not to go after Grace and that lost love was weird for him after finally having it. Then that beautiful, quiet, warm and sweet little girl was placed into his arms and held tightly onto his finger and suddenly, his world and his love seemed to hold new meaning.

She was his muse, his greatest love and his favourite little sidekick.

“Tommy fuckin’ Shelby.” Alfie rumbles out, his back to the door as he faces out his balcony. “That’s a bad word, Tommy.” (y/n) chides in a whisper as she looks up cautiously at her elder brother. Tommy offers her small hand a gentle squeeze and nods his head, but promptly turns his head back to the man holding a gun at the window. “And you’ve brought your mini protégé, i see.”

Alfie turns half of his face, only his good half, to see the sweet little wave from the youngest Shelby sibling. “Alfie, this is my sister; (y/n).” Tommy introduces, hoping his willingness to divulge his sisters name would move Alfie away from the subject as quickly as possible so that they could talk about what he was really there to talk about and then he could take his sister and go quickly. He didn’t like her having to be involved in these things, he always feared it would bring her into the line of fire. “Mhm,” Alfie grumbles, “Last time i saw you, you was only about this big-” He gestures with his hand only a few feet off the floor, “Couldn’t speak much, either.” The Londoner adds, eyes slightly narrowed. The 6 year old tilts her head to the side.

“I can speak a lot now, Mister Solomons.” She says, somewhat proudly. The burly man laughs, not his usual sinister or mocking way. “I can see that.” He hums in response, eyes moving from the little girl to Tommy when he clears his throat heavily to draw attention back to him. “If we could, Alfie, I’d like to talk business.” Alfie nods his head in response, gesturing with his hand to the couch across the room. Tommy let’s go of his sisters hand to sit down on the couch, the little girl doing her best to climb up beside him with only a little help from her brother. Alfie sits on the chair across from them. Tommy knows there had to be significant damage to the side of the man’s face after the injury he sustained from the bullet fired out of Thomas’s gun. There was almost no way he escaped that unscathed.

“I’m going to kill a facist, Alfie. And i need some men.”

The words from Tommy prompt Alfie to rather abruptly turn his head, somewhat shocked by the words, but more shocked by the fact the 6 year old little girl was completely unbothered by the words her brother had spoken. The pre-school aged girl simply continues fiddling with the pocket watch Tommy gave to her. She looks to be dismantling it with a very distinctive focus that reminds Alfie she is a Shelby, and she might fully be aware of how to kill him already.

“A facist ey?” Alfie repeats, his eyebrows raised. “Politics got to you, Thomas?” Tommy rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. “I need some men.” Tommy adds, making Alfie scoff. “Oh you do, do you? And you want mine?”

Tommy merely nods his head.

In his discussion with the head of the Peaky Blinders, Alfie had not forgotten the presence of the 6 year old on the couch, but it had fallen away from the forefront focus of his mind as he debated the thought of lending men to a Shelby’s cause. In doing so, he turned his head in thought and a little noise of awe left the youngest Shelby. Tommy and Alfie both direct their attention straight to her.

The little girl scoots herself off the couch and Tommy reaches for her arm, but just misses. She trods right up to the huge London gangster and tilts her head. “What happened?” She asks softly. Alfie shifts uncomfortably on the couch he sits on, running his finger absentmindedly over the scarring of his face. “Got shot.” Alfie responds, Tommy clears his throat heavily and almost awkwardly in knowing he was the one who had given Alfie Solomons his facial scarring. (y/n) tilts her little head in awe as she clambers up onto the couch next to him.

“Looks cool.” She mutters in awe.

Most look at him in some kind of shock or horror even. Some with sympathy thinking it had come from the war and some with fear knowing where it had really come from. But few with the kindness and curiosity of the 6 year old standing on his good couch.

“Does it hurt?” She asks quietly. Alfie shrugs.

“Depends.”

That’s when her little hand reaches forward to trace over the scarring with an almost feather light child’s touch as she stands there on the couch, her hands are cold and gentle over the markings that no one has touched since his last hospital appointment.

“Her mother’s daughter.”

Alfie flicks his eyes back over to a now standing Thomas as he reaches forward to lift his sister up into his arms where she sits on his hip with little furrowed eyebrows and a purse on her lips. Alfie’s residual aching cheekbone pain has faded to nearly non-existent for the first time he can soberly remember. He knows that Tommy knows this by the look in his eyes and the way in which he notes his prior statement before he gathered his sister.

“She’s sweet.” Alfie nods, standing to his feet. As softened as both men may be by the child in the room, Alfie does not like sitting as Tommy Shelby towers over him whether the man is an ally or not. “Polly says i get it from Tommy.” (y/n) chimes. Alfie raises his eyebrows with a grin that makes Tommy roll his eyes at the retired gangster. “Oh do you now?” Alfie hums, opening his mouth to speak again when Tommy cuts him off. “You go ahead to the car (y/n), eh? I’ll meet you down there in just a minute okay?”

The six year old nods and runs off the moment her feet hit the ground. Tommy turns to Alfie immediately.

“If you ever-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Mom.” Alfie rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin. “Little miss Shelby has you whipped, mate. Tell me, what’s your favourite apron you wear at home eh Thomas?” He chuckles heartily, making Tommy glower in rage at his teasing. “I’m fucking serious, Alfie.” He growls. Alfie straightens up and stops laughing immediately.

His eyes narrow for a split second and he tilts his head, his eyes searching the depth of Tommy’s cerulean blues and immediately noticing the sheer panic and worry that lies deep within them, attempting to hide under brotherly protective instinct and rage at the prospect of harm falling on his little sister. Alfie inhales deeply. He would truly never dream of harming a child. It’s not in his nature, nor does it sit well with him. And though he had been quick to give the head of the Peaky Blinders a reality check in the past regarding the safety of his son, in the end he had no idea Charlie Shelby had been taken and he never would have arranged for that to happen.

Alfie nods his head and leans forward. “She’s special to you, yeah?” Tommy doesn’t know why Alfie asks. He’s sure it’s clearer than he wants it to be, but alas the Londoner asks anyway and Tommy doesn’t know exactly how to answer, so he simply makes a motion something akin to a nod though looks more like a twitch of his chin. “Mhm, I can tell. You can have the men. I’m sure you know the price.” Alfie turns away. Tommy doesn’t know what it was in Alfie’s eyes that reassured him more than words ever could that he wouldn’t lay harm on the 6 year old little girl who treated him with more respect and kindness in the ten minutes she spoke to him that anyone had in years. There was an element of brotherly protectiveness that Alfie felt only after knowing her a short time.

“And Tommy?”

“Yes, Alfie?” The Birmingham MP turns back as he leaves the doorway of Alfie’s sitting room.

“Anything ever happens to the kid, you fuckin’ let me know yeah?”

Tommy nods his head, the ghost of a smile somewhat on his face. His little sister is just about as protected as they come, and there was a distinct feeling of certainty that Alfie Solomons was there, lurking in the shadows of existence with a familial fondness of the little Shelby girl who carries the glow of an angel above her head that would ensure no men, from Birmingham or further afield would have to go through every Solomons and Shelby loyal man up and down the country before a hair on (y/n) Shelby’s head was messed. Tommy holds hope somewhere deep in his heart that his little sister will never have to see violence aimed at her, and that for as long as she lives she knows that she is instantaneously loved, dearly held in every heart and ferociously protected by some of Britain’s most dangerous men.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 847

Gif NOT mine. (Tumblrs crediting me, but it isn't mine. Click my name at the bottom of the gif and you'll understand.)

If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me know, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2021

----

"Get back here (Y/n)." Perseus huffed at his daughter, who was in the midst of storming out of their little house. "(Y/n)!" He shouted her name when she ignored him, sighing to himself when she mounted her horse and left. "That girl." He grumbled under his breath, rubbing his temples with frustration. "Father?" Helios approached his father, who smiled down at him. "Come on Helios, let's go back to dinner." Perseus rest his hand on his son's shoulder, unaware of (Y/n) watching him from a distance, a bitter scowl on her face. "He will always favor Helios." She hissed before ushering her horse on, journeying out into the world, to her sanctuary.

Upon arriving at her destination, (Y/n) dismounted her horse, leading him to a small nearby stream. "Stay here Ajax." She muttered as she pet his mane, knowing he'd stay regardless of if she commanded it or not. Afterwards she turned her attention to the narrow crevice in the cliff, the entrance to a complex system of tunnels and caves, one she knew all to well. She entered the system and began her journey to the central cave, the place she built into a second home for herself, and shrine to the Gods.

Shrugging off her bag she knelt before the next statue lining the far wall, praying to one God at a time for several years, hoping one day one of them would send her a sign that they were listening to her. "Great Ares God of war... Uncle." She bowed her head, in respect. "Show me a sign that you hear my prayers, and gift me with the strength to endure my father, and the neglect." (Y/n)'s eyes glossed over as she thought about her last encounter with her father, raising her head she looked to the statue of her uncle. "Help me quell the war within my heart." She begged before rising from her spot, she reached for her bag, and left an offering at Ares feet.

She froze upon the sound of wind whipping behind her, a new presence entering the cave, their curious eyes upon her. "You pray to me." Ares stated with a small tilt of his head, having been unaware of her existence as his niece, until she called out to him. "Yes." (Y/n) nodded her head, keeping her back to him. "Why?" He asked as he observed the room. "I have prayed to the Gods for many years, one at a time, and you were the next in line." She pointed to the statues before her, finally turning to face him, unable to look him in the eyes. "Why do you pray?" He asked with genuine curiosity. "I have no one else... The God's have been abandoned by humans, and I know what it's like to be abandoned, and so I looked for comfort with the Gods... But no one has ever answered until now." She spoke softly, though Ares could hear her plain and clear.

"Why don't you look me in the eyes?" Ares asked as he peered down at his niece, who kept her head bowed down, casting her eyes to the dirt covered floor. "I don't want you to see the damage inside them." She murmured softly, her words striking something within Ares's heart. "Look at me dear niece." He spoke softly as he tilted her head back, looking into her eyes finally, and seeing a familiar pain within them. "You are the daughter of Perseus." He stated. "I am." She muttered as her eyes glossed subtlety. "Tell me what you know of abandonment." Ares all but demanded, releasing his hold on her jaw, following her as she moved to sit at a small table. "When my brother was born, our mother died in childbirth... And ever since then, I have been forgotten by my father, in favor of Helios." She held her head up a bit higher, her anger bubbling back up again.

"It's been years and nothing has changed, well not for the better atleast. I've been neglected for so long, forgotten in favor of his precious son. When Helios turned two, I gave up on the prospect of earning my father's love back. I ran away for a short time, I found this place, and over the years built my shrine, and began praying to the Gods. Hoping that one day one of you would show me a sign that I'm not alone, that you're listening. It's all I've ever wanted." (Y/n) picked at a bit of the table that was splintering away. "I run away from home often, and I come here. I fought with my father again today, and I came here. He didn't even try coming after me, he never has..." She spoke quietly, unaware of how Ares's anger with Perseus only grew. "What is your name?" Ares asked gently. "(Y/n)." She smiled softly at him, chuckling at the curious look on his face. "It's a strange name I know, I was named after my wet nurse, and she was from a far way land." (Y/n) explained with a smile, her explanation making Ares smile as well.

"It's a lovely name." He complimented genuinely, grasping her smaller hand in his. "Come with me (Y/n), back to Olympus, where I will care for you as if you were my own." Ares offered with a smile, which widened a little at the sight of her excitement. "Really!?" She gasped as she sat up straighter. "Yes." He squeezed her hand softly, a laugh erupting from his chest when she practically dove into his chest, hugging him as if her life depended on it. "Please uncle please take me away from here." She pleaded with tears rolling down her cheeks. "Is there anything you want to take with you?" Ares asked as she released her hold on him, allowing him to stand to his full height. "Ajax." (Y/n) responded without hesitation. "Who is Ajax?" Ares asked as (Y/n) began leading him out of the cave system. "My horse, he was the last gift my mother gave me before she died." (Y/n) explained, pointing to the stallion in question when they exited the cave. "Very well." Ares smiled before transporting them all to Olympus.

---A month later---

Again his search was in vain, he could find no sign of (Y/n), or even Ajax. With a defeated sigh he cast his eyes to the horizon, unable to bring himself back home to Helios empty handed again. "Father I need your guidance." Perseus muttered plainly, afraid he'd never find her on his own. "What is it my son?" Zeus asked as he appeared behind Perseus. "It's (Y/n)... She's been missing for a month, and I cannot find any trace of her. I need your help." Perseus explained, frowning when Zeus smiled. "We will find her, come with me." Zeus offered Perseus his hand, transporting him to the Grey Sisters. Perseus scowled at the sight of them once more, though he stepped forward as Zeus encouraged. "Ah Perseus comes back to us." One of the sisters pointed out as she held the eye, shrinking back when she noticed Zeus behind him. "And he brought Zeus with him." She hissed, the other sisters shrinking back upon hearing her words.

"I need you to tell me where my daughter is." Perseus demanded, the sisters giggling simultaneously. "The daughter of Perseus wants nothing to due with him anymore, she has found a new father to take his place." The sister with the eye snickered sinisterly. "What is that supposed to mean?" Perseus growled in anger. "You neglected her for to long young Perseus, she turned her back on you the way you did to her. Your brother Ares took your place, and took her to Olympus to care for as his own." The sisters laughed again, only further angering Perseus, who turned that anger to his father. "You knew." He accused, despite the confusion in Zeus's eyes. "I knew nothing of this." Zeus argued, whisking himself and Perseus back to Olympus. When they reached Olympus they barged into Ares's hall, to find him laughing as he taught (Y/n) how to fight with a sword. "(Y/n)!" Perseus exclaimed as he rushed to her side, freezing in his tracks when Ares stepped between them, shielding (Y/n). "Get away from her." Perseus hissed at his brother, who only smiled at him. "I was going to say the same thing to you." Ares taunted only angering Perseus more.

"(Y/n) come here." Perseus demanded as he glared at his brother. "No." (Y/n) shook her head, sheathing the sword Ares had gifted her with, she moved to stand beside her Uncle. "What?" Perseus frowned at her. "I'm staying here with Ares, you can go back home. Be with your favorite child, and leave me here with my chosen father." (Y/n) hissed at Perseus who bowed his head in shame, knowing well how wrong he had treated her. "You are my daughter." Perseus muttered as he looked to her with sad eyes. "I haven't been your daughter in a long time." She turned her back on him, walking away. "She'll be safer here." Ares mused casually, glaring at his father before looking to Perseus. "She's already happier." He added making Perseus feel even worse. "If you're truly happy here (Y/n)." Perseus began, drawing (Y/n)'s attended to him. "Then I will leave you be, but know we'll always be waiting for you to return to us." He promised, though his words held no weight to her. "You'll be waiting in vain Perseus." She stated emotionlessly, the use of his name stinging to Perseus.

Perseus left the hall and waited for Zeus to join him, shameful tears welling in his eyes, for having pushed his only daughter away so much, that she turned her back on him. "How long were you planning on hiding her from me?" Zeus asked Ares who placed a comforting hand onto (Y/n)'s shoulder. "I wasn't hiding her, you just never noticed." Ares retorted before turning his attention solely to (Y/n), the daughter he never knew he wanted. "I am sorry Perseus." Zeus tried as he exited the hall, feeling sorry for his son. "Just take me back home, Helios needs me." Perseus wiped away the tears within his eyes, turning to Zeus with a hard face, trying to bury the pain he was feeling. "Very well." Zeus nodded before sending Perseus back with the wave of his hand. A sigh escaping the old Gods throat, while laughter and swords clashing together could be heard from within Ares's hall.