#so on the Enthusiasm For Women scale he leans in that direction more than the others (sans kiryu. who is just flat out gay)

[designernishiki]

yakuza 5 is funny because I strongly believe the playable character lineup in chronological order is just a spectrum from Not Into Women At All to Hell Yeah I Fucking Love Women

[amplifyme]

A Necessary Evil

The X-Files. MSR. Rating: Teen and up. WC:2351. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

So it’s time to fess up.  To lay bare the part of himself he’s not so proud of. Here goes: Fox Mulder is skilled at seduction. He always has been. From as far back as middle school, he’s known. He looks at himself in a mirror and sees only the flaws. The ridiculously large lower lip. The small triangular eyes. The undersized chin with not enough room between it and the aforementioned lip. The overly broad and large-scale nose. But for some reason beyond any logic, and put all together, those features have had teenaged girls, and then women, falling at his feet for as long as he can remember. It’s as simple as his attentive gaze aimed in their direction.

And, okay, yes, he’s been blessed with a tall and naturally lean body. And he likes to work it, discover its limits. He pushes his body as stringently as he does his far-out theories. So he’s managed to gain a strong back and lean, muscled arms and legs; a swimmers physique and a coveted six-pack. And all with enough ease that he quit going to the gym years ago. Running, swimming, and pickup basketball games have replaced gym equipment, and he attempts to keep mind and body in synch with yoga too, though he won’t ever admit to that particular discipline, even to the few friends he has. Like his looks, he can’t help what his genetics have given him. It’s all just a result of his unique mishmash of genes, and maybe some dumb luck. But that doesn’t mean he’s not above using what he’s got to further his crusade - in ways both monumental and small.

His glibness, which some might call charm, comes naturally too. He’s an equal opportunity flirt. He always has been. And he’s rarely caught unable to offer a smooth, witty retort or a wry observation. He can’t explain this either. It’s simply who he is. Although it does help that he genuinely loves women. He finds them fascinating and mysterious puzzles, loves attempting to assemble their enigmatic ways into a kind of pattern that might afford him some answers to the great unknown. He loves to converse with the fairer sex, especially the ones who can keep up with his esoteric banter. More than anything else, he loves the opportunity to give them what they want most from him. And a lot of the time that means giving them parts of himself: his body, his mind, even his heart if they’re exceptional enough.

He lost his virginity at fifteen to a girl a few years older and on the cusp of her high school graduation. He was clueless aside from the alleged personal knowledge of his friends, the old, dog-eared copies of Playboy he snatched from his dad’s bottom dresser drawer, and his own determination to do for a woman what was expected of him as a man. Luckily, the girl who popped his cherry had more experience and the confidence necessary to begin to turn his enthusiasm into proper technique. The rest he learned from books and films once he was out of high school, independent for the first time, and housed in a third-floor flat right outside the grounds of Oxford University proper.

And then had come Phoebe.

If he was naturally gifted and confident in his technique, Phoebe was a Jedi Master when it came to seduction. And she punched way, way above his weight. She was both a revelation and a nightmare. She did things with him that he never could’ve imagined, let alone actually engaged in. There were still blocks of time so lost to the haze of drugs, alcohol, and depravity that he’ll never be able to recollect them with any clarity. She had his number almost from the start and didn't hesitate to fuck with his head with as much ease and skill as she fucked him in other ways. And there he was, a psych major. He should’ve known better.

But he loved her. And that’s when he learned that book knowledge could never trump the lessons learned while attempting to dissect Phoebe’s twisted mind. She took his love, his trust, and used it as a weapon against him.

He took those lessons with him to the FBI Academy. They pursued him with such fervor that he couldn’t deny them his as-yet-untested investigative skills and his spooky intuition. He was, soon after, deeply entrenched in the VCS and profiling criminals who sometimes paled in comparison to Phoebe Green’s mind games. He also managed to work his way through a majority of the female staff surrounding him. He’d make it clear from the first encounter that it would never be more than two consenting adults indulging in adult behavior. He wasn’t looking for his one true love. And romancing them, though the various techniques came easily, was not an indication of any desire to make permanent a temporary liaison; something lasting beyond a few rolls in the hay. He knew when to cut any fragile ties that might develop. He didn’t have time to waste on such trivialities. He was going to change the world and it wouldn’t be with his dick. Love and attachment had no place in his life anymore. Not after Phoebe.

But then had come Diana.

Leggy, dark haired, blessed with a steel-trap mind and an incredible set of tits. Yes, she was older than him, but she listened to him, encouraged him, praised him. And eventually she’d joined him in his bed, as well as in his explorations of a small and rarely mentioned off-shoot of FBI investigations classified as X-Files. Unexplained phenomenon. He found himself besotted with them, and with her. She lay next to him through many nights and had soothed him after the nightmares that’d plagued him most of his life. Diana encouraged him to seek out regression hypnosis to find answers to questions he’d been asking since his sister had vanished. She told him she loved him. He’d said, “Marry me,” and she’d said, “I do.”

He should have known better. But he loved her, too. And five months later she was gone. She took his love, his trust, his belief, his newfound quest, and used those things as an excuse to rip them asunder.

What good is innate charm when it comes at such a price? What good is seduction when it only postpones an inevitable loss? What good is love and intimacy when they only wound?

He sat in the half-empty apartment that was now his alone for three straight days. Diana hadn’t taken any of the alcohol, so he worked his way through the half-empty bottles of Chivas Regal and Absolut, sipped at the sickly-sweet brandy she liked before bed, pounded shots of Jose Cuervo. He didn’t bother turning on a light when the sun set. His phone didn’t ring. He didn’t shower and ate straight from containers of Chinese food and the flat boxes of pizza he had delivered. He watched mindless television or sat in silence. He didn’t bother with the marriage bed; his couch was good enough to sleep on and had room for only one. It was fitting because now he was only one. The loneliest number.

By the morning of the fourth day, he had a plan. He knew what he had to do. No more distractions, no more giving in to the weaknesses of the heart. Nothing but seeking the answers to his questions. And those lay within the X-Files - he was more certain of that than ever. He got back on his feet, dusted himself off, and went back to work. He fought harder than he ever had before for those discarded and dusty files. And finally, finally, they officially set him free from the serial killers and the pedophiles and the worst of humanity and sent him down to the basement of the Hoover building. He lived and breathed the work there. He buried himself in years, decades, of unanswered questions, certain that he would be the one to uncover the truth of what had happened to his sister, and to the larger mysteries of existence that everyone else seemed so uninterested in delving into. This was his mission. This was his calling. Nothing else mattered.

Then came Scully.

He opened his copious bag of tricks, both innate and learned through experience, when he found out she was on her way. He read everything he could find on her before she showed up. And when she did, he established a boundary from the get-go, addressing her not as Agent or Dana, but simply as Scully. He dialed up the charm, the casual game of seduction he knew so well, fully intending to use it against this usurper and cause her to trip up, to make a mistake that would force her away in either shame or disgust. He honed the sharp edges of his sarcasm and was prepared to cut her deeply with his casual disregard. He was already skilled at pulling women into his orbit. Combined with what he’d learned from Phoebe and Diana about the fine art of the emotional drawing and quartering of one’s prey, he didn’t think Scully would last a month.

But somehow, somehow, she saw him and who he truly was. Listened to him. Respected him, even if she initially bought into his reputation and thought him spooky and unhinged. She offered him her soft underbelly on the first night of their first case. And despite his determination to treat her as the spy she’d been sent to be, he couldn’t help but show her vulnerability in kind. He told her about Samantha.

And she stayed. She stayed despite his bad behavior and his obviously practiced performance; the means of disarmament that’d always served him so well before. And soon he realized she was just as unhinged as he was, just as passionate. Not in the same ways, of course, because she was firmly rooted in science and the desire to prove his extreme theories wrong. But she was fearless and feisty, infinitely curious, and willing to go beyond what any sensible person might do in order to further his cause. Even as she slowly came to realize he might be right more often than not, that this singular obsession of his took precedence over everything else, she stayed. Scully always stayed.

Seven years on, seven years of heartache and grief and losing more than they’ve gained, she remains by his side. And somewhere along their journey it’s become less about the work and more about the two of them, what they’ve built together. He occasionally worries that maybe he hasn’t always been honest enough with her, that she took his early subterfuge at face value, even after he'd dropped all pretenses. He worries that he may not be the man she thinks he is, and that eventually she'll figure that out and leave him.

He gets up and pulls her from her seat at the empty local pizza place in Nowhere, Nebraska just as the jukebox begins to play the last song he selected after feeding it quarters on the way to their booth.

“Mulder, what are you doing?” she grumbles in mild annoyance. It’s been a long day and they’re both dead on their feet. And now he’s dragged her away from the first slice of sausage and mushroom already on its way to her mouth. Her fingers are slightly greasy as he clasps them in his and gives her a little twirl before pulling her close.

He can do this kind of thing these days, when they’re in the field and not likely to be seen and reported for conduct unbecoming of Special Agents with the FBI. He can get them adjoining rooms, with their respective connecting doors left unlocked for clandestine visits after they’ve showered away the remains of their day. He can fully and unabashedly use all those powers of seduction and charm that he’s honed over the years. And Scully reaps the benefits. They both do. It works every time now. His myriad talents are a necessary evil.

“I’ve got you under my skin,” he tunelessly croons in her ear, murmuring along with Frank on the jukebox. “I’ve got you deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart you’re really a part of me,” he finishes, gazing down into vivid and grudgingly tolerant azure eyes. He dances her in between tables and across the empty tiled floor as the horn section revs up and kicks in.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a Sinatra fan, Mulder?” she asks after a minute or so. He catches the corner of a smile she’s trying to suppress.

“They’re called classics for a reason,” he argues. “Old Blue Eyes will never go out of style.” She finally relents a bit of her reserve and lays her cheek on his chest. “Tell me something, Scully.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” she asks, peering up at him with fondness. The tone she's using is one she normally reserves for small children or fat little puppies.

“Did I,” he hesitates, “…did I seduce you? Has everything led to this because of something I did years ago?”

She bursts out with a short, sharp peal of laughter and pats him on the chest with her free hand. “Don’t be an idiot, Mulder. I seduced you.”

He grins down at her and they dance a little more, the lone waitress shooting them a mildly curious look from her perch at the counter housing the cash register.

“I would sacrifice anything, come what might,” Scully begins softly singing, negating any advantage she might’ve had over him for being such a nerd and celebrating Frank Sinatra’s genius. “For the sake of having you near. In spite of the warning voice that comes in the night and repeats. How it yells in my ear, ‘Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?’”  

But that’s the thing. They have won. And right now, that’s good enough. Right now, it’s everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Notes:

I'm sorry. No idea where this came from, and it's very much stream-of-consciousness. That's becoming a pattern these days. I’d call it just another random brain dump, but instead of getting it out in a tiny chunk, this one took on a life of its own and tortured me beginning to end. I don’t question the muse. She’s driving this train, not me.

Until next time…

[icecry]

“Shades of Morning”

TITLE: “Shades of Morning”

PAIRING: Beerus x Heles  SUMMARY:  In the twilight hour after a night of celebration in the Seventh Universe two Gods reflect on the small pleasures of life and the burdens of immortality. FEEDBACK APPRECIATED :)

It was unorthodox really. To leave a cosmos ungoverned and a throne of balance unattended. Unheard of. Fine and elaborate feasts and balls of grandeur filled her reality and there certainly wasn’t a shortage. However, this particular celebration in this foreign world was certainly needed. It’s  dedication was to the Victory of it’s home Universe and savior of all the remaining. Yes, her attendance there was definitely appropriate. And after, she was of course sociable and loved an occasion.

The haze of a midsummer sky filled the air with a thick warmth that could only be fully enjoyed at the end of a day in July. Sweet flavored aromas lingered from the festivities prior as sleeping, restless warriors dwelled well below divine eyes. Colorful papers and golden shimmering favors littered the ground that only hours ago was filled with dancing and laughter. Spread across cluttered tables once decorated with large spreads of endless delicacies lay a battle hungry warrior. Wild black hair and a  fiery orange uniform pressed against table cloth, finally exhausted from both tournament and fork. Across on balcony slept a weary prince, arms crossed and head pressed back against a long white piece of furniture the mortals of this reality lounge upon. Their comrades followed suit in similar positions, hands still around plates and bottles, cascaded across the cushioned outdoor furniture or just on the stone ground that was warmed from the heat of the summer night. One lonely warrior slept on top the roof. Arms crossed, white cape dancing with the cooler wind of that altitude. Wives and children had retired indoors, visible through the glass that separated them from  the large patio. With a sigh of fatigue, the owner of the home gently draped a soft blanket over two dutiful mothers exhausted from the preparation of the party. Brushing a strand of blue hand behind her ear, should could’t help but chuckle a little as one of them mumbled something about not touching the tempora before she hadn’t finished preparing it. Always working. Always tending to her husband and sons. Her thoughts were interrupted as something grabbed her attention through the corner of her eye. Through the glass now littered with fingerprints, she slowly slid open the heavy door. Two figures pressed against the sky, almost blending in completely if not for the faint light of the sun’s arrival. A smile crossed her lips when she realized who the spectators were. Pressing her head to the side of the door, she had wondered throughout the night if the two were ever going to engage in conversation.

“Such a vibrant star.”

A soft voice spoke among the silence. Green vibrant eyes studying the change light of the horizon. The stillness of the air around them didn’t make for less then enthusiastic conversation, but the Goddess wasn’t one to find awkwardness the company she kept. Her interests were in that of the changing sky. How slowly the burning star of this world turned the sky from a deep endless blue into a lovey shade of lavender and pink. Her hands clasped in embrace, golden rings making audible contact.

“How perfectly balanced.” The deity in her company kept his silence, arms crossed as smell of the water below filled his delicate sense of smell. This conversation was mundane and pointless in his mind. He had not interest in discussing the intricate details of this world’s orbital path. However, a code of conduct for a deity was something he more so than often adhered to when it came to interacting with his counterparts, though he certainly did not bother to practice this with his brother. None the less she was a guest in his Universe after all. It would be uncouth not to entertain her interests. At least until his patience ran out. She was certainly overbearing. And her jewelry was too damn loud. Cracking his neck, he led out a small groan of thought before drawing in an all too loud slew of air through his nostrils. “I suppose.” He answered, much later than he should have. “Though I can’t speak of cleverness of the name. The Earthlings call this star ‘The Sun.’” “The Sun?” The foreign Goddess blinked in what someone might observe as childlike look of confusion. She turned to the slender God, brows pressed in a bit of discernment. “Why not the daughter?” Golden eyes slowly opened and rolled in her direction. The corner of his mouth perked somewhere between a smirk and smile. “Not sure. “ He with little enthusiasm. “But I wouldn’t give it too much thought. The Mortals of this world also refer to this planet as “Mother.” A smile quickly formed her lips. Arms crossing as her weight in mid air shifted to one side. Her eyes fluttering closed before spoke. “Well of course. She is quite beautiful after all. It’s to be expected.” Her attention returned to the sky as the remainder of the stars began to melt into into nothingness. “And in your opinion, only women are capably of such beauty and grandeur?” The powerful God asked, head rolling in her direction. He surprised himself with the amount of effort he put into his sarcasm. “Oh certainly not.” She responded with a hint of assurance. Arms remaining crossed as her head tilted in thought. “The Victors of your Universe certainly are a testament to the impeccable raw beauty of a man. Especially in battle.” She smiled only to roll her shoulders to the other side. “Well…” She started. “…at least most of them. That Frizzy- Frezzy  or whatever you call him certainly doesn’t inspire me much.” The laugh that erupted from the God that followed her statement left her so surprised that she had to turn to make sure it even came from him. He raised a finger to wipe his eye, letting out a sigh to regain his composure. “I can’t imagine that he would.” “Your Saiyans, however. Now they’re a formidable force.” Her arms slowly unfold and lowered in almost a dance like manner as the gap between them grew smaller. The God, however didn’t budge as the silk draped deity floated to his side, nor did he flinch when she pressed her hand to his shoulder. “In both Strength AND beauty. Perhaps you were interested in a trade?” “No.” “Oh but my dear, sweet Beerus…” She reached one ringed finger up to outline the shape of his ear. Certainly a bold move. One that that not many would attempt. One that would anger him instantly. However, this certainly didn’t erupt anger within him. It just didn’t erupt anything at all. She kept up her pursuits none the less.

“It would only be to recognize their heroism! Monuments would rise from the ground in their likeness. Parades would fill the streets in their honor. And you would deny them such pleasures?” Motionless, only Golden eyes rolled to meet hers. “I’m denying you such pleasures..” He said with little emotion. A hand that was once so gentle upon his ear now came down to smack his bare shoulder. He chuckled at her reaction, knowing that he had struck a nerve. “Are you implying that my intentions are anything less than respectable?” She pressed her painted nails to her chest, head pressed forward in a accusing stature. Beerus, however, kept his gaze unmoved by her offended tone. Narrowing her eyes, she finally turned her head in the opposite direction in a huff. “I wouldn’t ask for much. 2 strong arms to accompany me on my cosmic strolls. A few nude poses for my oil paintings. “It’s not that much…” She flung her braided hair over her shoulder. Her head turned to an unamused Beerus, who’s eyes simply rolled as he yawned.

“Their wives certainly wouldn’t appreciate it.” Replied the God, finally turning to give her an almost amused smile. The elegant Goddess snorted in a laugh, wrinkling her nose as she did so in spiteful humor. Her hand rose to hip, turning her head to meet his gaze with less than enthusiastic smile. Her tone was deep and impactful and rolled off the tongue. “Do I look intimidated?” He certainly had no arguments there. Remaining motionless his eyes scaled her confident posture. Over the outline of her figure draped in white silk, down to the golden bracelets the decorated her ankles. Quickly however, as not to imply interest of any sort. It would be unbecoming of him. “Never.” He responded, humored.

She winked at his response, happy to see a more playful side of him emerge. Something she was sure she wouldn’t be seeing before she left. Slowly, her head leaned down to try and catch his eye. A small mischievous smile crossed her lips.

“Perhaps I haven’t been singing enough of your praises, Beerus.” Slowly, she floated to face him directly. “You are the God behind the victory, after all.” “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly be any less interested. ” Heles laughed, hugging her shoulders  that were now becoming cool from chilled morning. “Of course. I always forget. Hungry as man. Fickle as feline. Stubborn as an ass.” It should have insulted, but only drew a small smirk from the corner of his mouth. Arms folded, her simply leaned forward, gilded eyes meeting emerald. “Helpless as a romantic. Delusional as a child. Vain as a peacock.” “Goes to show you… I don’t even know what that is.” Her shoulders rolled in victoriously, her levitation rising above his height as smiled proudly down at him.

“Your eons of silence has never been convincing, Beerus. You find me as lovely as this world’s morning star, don’t you?” He gave her no response. Only a slow  cold blink. The sun had finally peaked above the distant mountains, filling the cool sky with a golden hue of morning. The vibrancy of her complexion was shadowed by the rays of light cascading over the hillsides. Eyes that once pierced the night seemed be muted down to a dull green. Her smile, never the less remained bright and filled with as much warmth as the new day. He couldn’t be bothered by such vanity especially from someone who insists that he had always found her beauty to be unsurpassed. Rolling his neck over his shoulder he only offered a twitch of the nose. Perhaps she was right. Not likely, but perhaps. “My Lord!” The voice of a dutiful attendant broke through the silence. Down below on the cool concrete of the grounds stood two angels, staffs in hand and in glow.

“It’s Morning, my Lord. The Earthlings will be waking shortly. We should take our leave before we find ourself distracted by conversation.” “I concur, my lady. It’s well past our time of departure.” “Oh” As quickly as their conversation started so it came to an end. The was a small glimmer of sadness that shown in emerald in her eyes as her head tilted before speaking. “…And we were having such fun.” The two deities slowly hovered towards the ground. The stillness of the air around them propelled their clothing to float around them as if they were weightless. The God of this Universe landed seconds before her, turning to extend a hand to assist in her decent, and a moment of pleasant surprise she accepted it. Her feet gently touched the ground below, hand still grasped by the strength of her counterpart. The silence was deafening. Perhaps he could have easily broken it with a yawn of disinterest, or perhaps he could have released her hand more quickly. Needless to say the attendants took their time making their way to the their masters, and this was intentional. “I had an enchanting time. Give my kind regards to your champions and their wives.” In true self fashion, Beerus only offered a small bow of hospitality, barely an effort. He stood up at his full height, deep golden looking down the Goddess foreign to his reality. “I don’t envy your trip home. There’s quit a distance between the Seventh and Second Universe.” Her eyes hung heavy in response as a slow smile crossed her rose colored lips. “A perfect opportunity for some beauty sleep, no?” She laughed at her own joke, taking the sides of her silk garments to wrap over her shoulders. She let out a content sigh, eyes rolling upward to the dawn broken sky one last time.

“It really is beautiful, Beerus. This Universe of yours. Even your stars are lovely. Close as some are.” Her soft voice held hints of fatigue, but warmth none the less. “Isn’t that the burden of immortality?  No more  surprises? No corner of the cosmos unseen. No beauty that could truly humble a god.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. If one were to listen close enough, you might have heard a hint of sadness. Not for herself, but for the truth she had spoke. Their eyes have seen things others could never truly comprehend. They have looked into the eyes of heaven and have seen what comes after the veil of death. No more surprises. Nothing left unexpected. Nothing left to appreciate. The moment to leave was now. A simple nod of approval would have sufficed. It would have been more than enough. To turn and bid farewell. But no. Curiously enough a foot stepped forward towards the Goddess lost in admiration. A spectacle that did not break her concentration, but certainly surprised the God who approached. “Well. Maybe not in my reality.” A quickly as he spoke, her head turned to face him. She studied his face a moment, eyes fixating on the silhouette of his stature. Eyes of Gold remained still however, taking in her visual responses. Slowly her shoulder turned to face him, a smile holding back what could be described as a chuckle of disbelief caused her lips to shift in form. Another step forward from the usually indifferent God. Her eyes narrowed as her small laughter finally broke. “Was that your attempt at paying me a compliment, dear Beerus?” Her disbelief was expected, the gold in her hair clanking as she shifted in her posture. “Have you lost your senses? Silence followed her question as one last step forward left pitiful amount of room left between them. The feeling in her stomach surprised her. He was her equal after all, but the power that radiate from every pore certainly was felt at all times. Perhaps it was act itself that caused tickling sensation she felt. Clawed fingers gently reached down to take a piece of her gilded jewelry that held her braiding in place between his fingers. His eyes lowered to the cold metal as he rolled it between his fingers studying it. His voice, though not known for being soft, was much gentler in tone. Very uncharacteristic. Barely above a whisper. “Such noisy things.” The intimacy of the moment was not lost on her, her eyes relaxed and remained fixated on powerful deity before her. “Ceremonial.” She replied looking down at the jewelry herself. Her hands reached up to touch smooth surface of the metal, fingers of course brushing against his knuckles in the process. “And heavy.” He lingered for a moment, fingers still twisting and turning over the gold compartment before his hand lowered to place it back with the collective of other braiding. Smaller hands reached up to press his against in tandem, eyes watching the contact through thick heavy eyelashes, Before gently making their way up to meet the golden hue of his. Oddly enough, he remained still and gave no resistance. “Not many get to lay their hand upon a Goddess.” Her soothing voice was just above a whisper. “No. I imagine not many are granted the privilege.” His response was drawn out over a thick baritone voice. The sound of controlled breath was the only thing in the air between them. How bold. How exhilarating. How unlike him. What was stirring? What was inspiring these action? Who was thinking of these words to say? What was creating these thoughts.? “Not many…”Her red nails, kept and manicured began to strum over his hand like a harp. “...not even a touch. Not many would know how.” Every detail played into the responses of this moment, bedchamber eyes looked up at him as the pink of a small tongue gently rolled over a plump upper lip. Deadly. A tilt of the head, a lowering of the eyes, a circling of a clawed thumb gently grazing over the soft skin of a flawless beauty. Perhaps he had lost all his senses. At least only for the moment. “And how should I touch you?” His ears picked up on the sound of air being drown in deeply through he nose and slowly outward. This game of seduction was not new to her, but it certainly proved unexpected with the likes of Beerus.

With fluttering eyes, her hands gently pulled his hand up to her cheek, pressing into his palm. Her lips pursed together, pressing against the top of his hand before raising her gaze to meet his. “Eagerly….and thoroughly.” Her shoulders swayed a bit, hands still holding his powerful one in place. “As if you were mortal, and tomorrow was longer a promise.”

Those words rang like thunder in his ears, piercing like a flash of heat lightening. The moment was too delicate to truly grasp. Fleeting like a spark of a dream forgotten after waking. Golden eyes met emerald and remained in an agonizing lock. Perhaps he was drunk? Perhaps she was suffering from a fever? Was it so unlikely that one could be so drawn to the other so suddenly? Was her beauty suddenly so undeniable? Was the charm of his demeanor suddenly so tantalizing? Did eons of coexistence suddenly alter after one brief hour as the sun rose over the hills of a mortal world?

Or perhaps it was because they both HAD faced their death? Tomorrow as NOT promised just a few days ago. It was confusing. Enraging really. They should conduct themselves more appropriately. No thoughts of furthering this moment. He was a God of proud repute.  Physical pleasures must remain fleeting and random so long as he maintains his title. Every few hundred years or so. No metaphorical strings. Certainly no immortality. However, eyes of  gold held onto those green eyes which were equally feline and they both seemed to share the same reservations, the same concerns, the same desperation. “Even the hands of a destroyer can still hold tenderness, right?” Delicate yet powerful hands lowered from his, gently raising to press against the ancient patterns on his dutiful uniform of a Godly title. Unmoving eyes remained determined in their position, reflecting neither response nor hesitation as a long thumb traveled from the softness of her cheek brush across her lips which proved to be even softer. “And If I’m rough? “Careful Beerus…” Her head shook back and forth playfully, causing his hand to gently slide down her neck to the crook of her shoulder. “You’re not the only one with claws.” She tapped her long red nail on his chest. “Hmm.” A long drawn grumble from deep within his chest kept her eyes focused on his. She didn’t even feel the unseen hand of his which remained free find it’s way to the curve of her hip pulling the weight of her body closer. It was electric. So sudden. So personally forbidden yet desperately waned. Quiet filled the small space between them now. He titled his head to study her features closely, imprinting everything to memory. Powerful as she was, the night air still chilled her, goosebumps decorating her honey colored skin. “The air chills you...” He said quietly, hand slipping up the side of her waist feeling the fabric of her silk gown collect in his palm and spill back down. “I’m looking forward to a warm bed.” She replied sweetly, fingers outlining the deep indentations of his collarbone. “Hmm.” He repeated himself from earlier. “Mine is quite warm. Quite comforting too...” The heat of his breath felt damp against the cartilage of her ear as leaned down towards her. “And in the spirit of hospitality-

”Oh! My Lord and Lady!  “Whis’ cheerful harmonic voice pierced through the quiet like a hot a needle. “This morning is quite chilly! You both must be eager to leave. Brr!”  The loud  sound of the footprints of their attendants approached rapidly and both Gods separated their contact in haste. As quick as his reflexes allowed him, Beerus’s hands were back behind his back. A soft smile was the only thing remaining from their exchange on Hele’s lips. A smile she kept as she watched Beerus return to that of his normal stature and mood. Eyes warm, sad, pleading yet content all the  same time. He didn’t dare meet them. His will failed him. A moment incomplete, never to be fully regained, never to be fully realized. “Safe travels, Lady Heles.” Whis said with a bow. “It was an honor to have your company in our Universe.” “Alright Whis.” Spoke his Lord with a sigh of impatience. “Let’s get going.” “Do come and visit us sometime!” Heles called over her attendants shoulder. “I’ll have banquet prepared in your honor. It shall be the finest in the whole of the multiverse!” As bursts of light shot through the morning sky, the angel of the seventh universe kept his focus through the ever expanding universe around their path of travel. He couldn’t help but notice silence from his Lord. Silence not brought on by sleep. “What a lovely celebration. I trust your enjoyed yourself?” “It was perfectly adequate.” “And what a generous invitation from Lady Heles. It’s not often Gods get to break bread and enjoy one another’s company.” Silence was all that greeted the Angel. The God behind him tapped a clawed finger to the side of his face in thought. What were these feelings? Regret? No. Reservation? Perhaps. Annoyance. Absolutely. Curiosity? Shameful, but true. Too many thoughts to be racing around his head, especially before a well deserved nap. Nothing comes before self interest. Nothing above ones own happiness and pleasure. Certainly not hers. Certainly not the pleasure he could give her. And certainly not the pleasure that could be shared between the both of them. Wait what? Thats was silly. Stupid. Nothing. Forget it.

Sighing in self defeat, he shifted his attention to the blue world growing smaller and smaller in the trail of light that followed them, eyes fixed on the glow of the star that caught her eye and painted the skies those lovey shades of morning.

[whetstonefires]

Same anon as Seph anon, thanks for answering my ask! Ahahaha I really did go a little wild with the chance to ask one of my favorite authors about one of my favorite characters... so, here's a more restrained version of that for another one of my faves I guess cause it's just a pleasure reading your responses. Tifa Lockhart. 4 (because i see her as kind of a person who'd be into the idea of romance?), 5, 14, 18, and 20.

Oh well hey again! Glad you liked the last one. Aww, thank you. 💗 Enthusiasm is always nice. More opinions by me, then! ^^

4. Best places to kiss on their body

Haha I agree Tifa’s a romantic in both the general and narrow senses but ooh, spicy. 😆 Hm.

I think Tifa would like kissed...just below the corner of her mouth, and on the insides of her forearms, and in her palms and knuckles because her hands are so much of her, and would be so easy to see as things that don’t need or deserve tenderness because of their power. And on her hip, at the outside hinge, just below where her belt rests in her main outfit.

5. Guilty pleasures

Unlike Sephiroth, Tifa does guilt a lot. She’s also a lot better than he ever was at pleasure. Both are highly contextual. They change.

More than once, it’s been Cloud. When she was fifteen and sick with feeling trapped in this dead-end town, her promise with that awkward boy next door who’d acquired a certain mystique through his standoffishness and big dream was a vehicle for fantasy that she’d have been mortified if anyone suspected.

When they were traveling the world and she knew something was wrong with him, with what he remembered, and she wasn’t saying anything because she was too afraid to find out what was wrong with who--she was still happy to have him there. Her person. Hers. Leaned into enjoying it more than she would have, if she hadn’t felt like it was going to be snatched away, somehow.

When she first lived in Midgar, it was pain, and blood on her knuckles. She went looking for fights, in those first months after she healed up from Masamune, and the slums had plenty on offer. She knew it was a waste of herself and her training, a stupid risk and a cruel choice, but it was the only thing that felt real.

That was how she first came to the Heaven--not as terrorist, or potential owner, or interviewing for a position as a barmaid. She was looking for a brawl.

In the days after Meteor, it was sweets. She’s always been active enough that indulging her sweet tooth only twinged her a little on an internalized-weight-bullshit scale, but when the main engine of industry had just been crushed and there were refugees on every side and she was spending most of her waking hours trying to mitigate the suffering in the aftermath...spending outsized chunks of her share of the enormous heap of gil the team had accrued traveling the world on getting A Whole Ice Cream all to herself felt more like a crime than half the people she’d beaten to death in her time, but it was one she went ahead and committed.

14. Ingrained habits/forces of habit 

Tifa has many good and responsible habits. She does dishes promptly, without thinking twice. She does her kata every morning. She’s good at forming habits, and keeping them up.

She’s also good, of course, at habits she doesn’t want. Patterns of rumination that aren’t good for her. Habits of avoiding a subject or a problem that bothers her, until it’s a bigger problem than it started as simply for her habituated inability to confront it.

And if she doesn’t change contexts after she loses someone, it takes a long time for the habit of expecting them there to go away. She never quite stopped expecting to see Cloud when she was leading the team after the Northern Crater, and it took until after she’d spent a few days with him in Mideel to stop looking for Aerith.

18. Things they’ll never admit 

They’re mostly silly or obvious, or both. She thought Sephiroth was cool and Zack was hot, when she was sixteen. She really did believe Cloud wasn’t real, for long enough to matter, even though it was Sephiroth who said it.

There’s one that isn’t. She tries to be sorry, for everyone and everything that was lost and broken in the road to ending the old world, and she can’t. It’s sad, and she wishes it hadn’t had to happen, and she’d never have done it, but she wouldn’t wish any of it undone, if it put Shinra back in power.

Even the people she loved. Her town, her Midgar friends, Aerith. She’s given her heart to the future, and she’ll let go of everything from the past if that’s what it takes to build something new. Nibelheim was a cage for her anyway, dear as it was and dearly as it loved her. It’s easier to leave behind than she thinks it should be, now that she isn’t alone in the emptiness of its destruction, or strangled with a hopeless need for vengeance.

She has Cloud left, from those days, and that’s enough to live on.

But she thinks even Barret would give it all up, everything they have now, just to have the massacre of Corel unmade. And maybe Cid or Reeve would agree with her, but she doesn’t want them to. So she’d never tell anybody.

20. What-ifs/Alternate Timelines 

There’s a lot you could do with alternate-timeline Tifa but only three things that I’m persistently interested in.

First, she realizes she can leave town, too. Like...she clearly more than a little wanted to, and felt that she had to stay. Leaving town to seek your fortune and become a hero or whatever is only for boys. So she was living vicariously through Cloud, in canon.

The natural thing as a fic writer is for her to also try for SOLDIER, which I’ve seen done, though in character terms it’s a little less likely, assuming it’s even an option. I tend to assume Shinra only recruits men for active combat roles (which Turks technically are not even tho they actually are) because that’s what we’re shown, and while you can headcanon around that because of helmets and so on, I’ve never felt that ‘pretending the fascists aren’t as sexist as they seem’ was really a strike for women’s lib in transformative fandom? Shinra is not a positive environment. That’s a fact I’m happy to let stand.

They might make an exception if you were good enough, tho, and Tifa is very good.

Second scenario, Zangan doesn’t turn up at just the right moment to get her out of the reactor before Hojo swoops in, and she gets picked up with the rest of the survivors for the Sephiroth Copy Reunion Project. I started writing this one. It’s uh. Dark.

Third, she doesn’t wind up in Midgar. There’s suggestion in the game that Zangan brought her there to get treatment for her stab wound but it’s literally the other side of the Planet so I mostly ignore that on the basis that it’s absurd and adds nothing of value to the story, and assume she made it there on her own.

But in this AU he left her with one of his 127 other students and they bonded while she was healing up, and got into contact with some of the others who knew how to contact some of the others, and all these people knew people of their own, and Zangan-Ryu became a Mass Movement without actual Zangan’s direct involvement or support, at least not until later on.

Because I think it’s wild that this man wanders the world dropping in on his scattered collection of disciples one at a time, meaning Tifa is part of a fairly large community with whom she is not at all acquainted, and there’s potential there that I’ve never seen built into.

Tifa fomenting provincial insurrection potential. :D

[quarterfromcanon]

#afewofmyfavoritethings

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 17 - Cold [2,838 words]

“Um... guys? You might wanna come take a look at this.” 

The cushion of the sofa dipped beside Heather when Valencia joined her at the window. Paula and Rebecca leaned over the armrests and pulled back the lace curtains. The group gazed through the frosted pane at the rolling hills that had transformed into a wintry world overnight. 

Rebecca squealed. “It’s even better than I expected! I know the weather called for snow but look at all that!” Her nose bumped the glass as she craned to take everything in, and she pulled away from the frigid contact. “Oh, it’s so much prettier when there aren’t cabs driving through it and city grime isn’t turning the drifts all gray and gross. The view from my mom’s house was okay, but nothing like this.” She sighed. “Well, ladies, I think you know what this means.”

“Photo sesh?” Valencia shifted to access the phone in the pocket of her space onesie.

“Snowman contest?” Paula rubbed her hands together. She grinned in the dangerous way that told them all they were toast before construction even began.

“Sledding?” Heather suggested. She dropped to a seated position and leaned against Valencia’s biceps.

“Okay, yes to all of that,” Rebecca pointed at each of them in acknowledgement. “But for the grand finale...,” she paused for dramatic effect and shimmied, “... snowball fight!”

“Oh boy,” Heather murmured. She watched the competitive gleam ignite behind the eyes of the other three women. “This is gonna be a bloodbath.” 

They broke off in separate directions. Paula wandered down the hall to wake Scott and Tommy; Rebecca went to the loft for the end of Nathaniel’s morning exercise routine, and Heather and Valencia headed back to their room to change clothes.

Scott cooked them all breakfast beforehand -- a task which, to be fair, was no small undertaking given conflicting dietary preferences. Paula sat perched on a stool nearby, ready to intervene in the event of a crisis. However, Scott made it through the endeavor with minimal profanity and only one fleeting incident involving his apron and an open flame. The end result was an admirable improvement over the quality of his culinary skills several years ago. Strategic seasoning masked any mildly crispy edges.

“He’s getting better,” Paula noted quietly to the girls. She crossed the floor and give him a peck on the cheek. “Good job, babe.”

Scott beamed.

Once everybody was fed, fully dressed in adequate layers, and equipped with tissues for runny noses, they trooped out of the rented cabin and into the frozen landscape. The photo session came first while the neatness of everyone’s ensemble remained intact. It was agreed that Nathaniel, Scott, and Tommy could be spared on-camera participation in exchange for behind-the-scenes help getting the perfect shots. This entailed holding back tree branches that cast unwanted shadows, standing side-by-side to block glaring sunlight, and tossing gloves full of flakes into the sky so the Gurl Group would appear to be caught in the middle of heavy snowfall. The edited results were approved by all parties featured, and Paula goaded their assistants into a single commemorative picture with their mitten thumbs raised and semi-forced cheerful faces.

Snow angels met with more unanimous enthusiasm. Rebecca and Heather stood beside one another, shared a glance and a nod, then dropped backward as if they were letting themselves fall into a pool. Scott and Tommy gave each other teasing kicks with their boots every time they slid their legs in a broad chevron. Paula observed the father-son bonding from a short distance away while she made her own outline of a spiritual being. Nathaniel’s and Valencia’s approach to the activity was significantly more tentative and involved a great deal more grimacing. Once they got settled, however, they began to embrace the fun. Nathaniel’s long limbs produced very impressive wings and a flowing skirt. Valencia’s angel gave the impression of a certain grace despite the fact that her main goal seemed to be brushing Heather’s gloves with her own on each upward stroke of her arms. 

They divided into teams for the snowman contest. An hour was the chosen allotment for their creations to take shape. Additional materials were both allowed and encouraged, which caused the subsequent flurry of activity to be particularly chaotic. Their shouts echoed over the treetops. Friends narrowly escaped collisions while running and stumbling over the soft ground. 

Rebecca and Nathaniel constructed a suitably scrawny Harry Potter. He was equipped with green M&M eyes, a red licorice lightning bolt scar, a broom from the kitchen pantry, and Rebecca’s scarlet and gold scarf. Surprising absolutely no one, building the beloved protagonist led to a steady stream of magic-related innuendo spoken in undertones, the extremity of which ultimately prompted Rebecca to cover the boy wizard’s nonexistent ears. “Oh my god, contain yourself. There’s a child present.”

Heather and Valencia rendered extra roly-poly versions of their cats, Shadow and Esperanza, with stick whiskers and playfully curled tails. Esperanza had her signature queenly bearing and expression, while Shadow’s gravel eyes were upturned in pure adoration. Heather tracked down a couple of decorative glue yarn balls and wedged them beneath their pets’ paws. 

Team Proctor reached football-game-at-a-bar levels of raucousness as they worked on their entry. The Peeps for Peace t-shirt Paula slept in the night before got tugged onto their snowman’s body. They balanced a few thin logs of firewood on its shoulder and secured a hammer from Scott’s toolbox in its hand. Tommy drew a lackadaisical smirk on the snowman’s face and styled straw for the hair. When their efforts were complete, a Snow Brendan stood before them, built to scale and adorned with a heroic blanket cape.

“I wanna cry foul for emotional manipulation,” Rebecca confided to Valencia afterward, “but it’s just, like, so cute I can’t even get mad.” Valencia begrudgingly inclined her head in agreement.

To her credit, Paula managed to blink back her tears and genuinely smile for the photo they saved to send real-life Brendan later, informing him of his role in the family’s success.

The prospect of voting on hills for sledding was too daunting, so the group settled for the first drop-off they found. The guys were extended the offer to go first, due to the limited number of sleds in their possession, and they gladly accepted the chance. Nathaniel shifted from one foot to the other and brought his palms together in a muffled clap. 

“This is a race, right? There’ll be a winner?” 

Heather thumped her hand against his jacket with an indulgent shrug. “Sure, bud.” 

Nathaniel pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!” 

Scott and Tommy exchanged looks. Paula, Rebecca, Valencia, and Heather all clung to each other for support and made their way down the slope to help verify who reached the bottom first. 

“Good luck, honey!” Paula called. 

“Channel that Slytherin energy!” Rebecca paced like a coach. 

Heather nudged Valencia’s arm and angled her head. Valencia’s brow furrowed but then, following the line of sight, she got the hint.

“C’mon, Tommy!” she whooped. 

“Yeah, Tommy, you’ve got this!” Heather chimed in with her fist held high. Tommy’s chest puffed out and he readjusted his grip on the plastic toboggan.

Paula grabbed a fallen branch and dragged it through the snow to delineate the end of the path. The four judges shouted the starting cue in unison -- almost. “On your mark, get set, go!”

Scott’s style of descent was traditional but effective. Tommy barreled down the hillside on his stomach. Nathaniel’s technique reminded Heather of the luge participants from the Winter Olympics, unwavering serious features and all. Tommy and Nathaniel were neck and neck for at least three-fourths of the race but, in the home stretch, Tommy’s lean frame made him just enough faster to cross the finish line mere seconds before Nathaniel did so. 

Nathaniel was clearly frustrated by the loss but, the minute he saw Tommy’s broad grin, the irritability visible in his brow and jaw smoothed into nonexistence. He lifted his chin and approached his competitor for a congratulatory shake. “Well done, Proctor. Excellent form.”

Tommy’s eyebrows quirked at the odd formality. He clasped Nathaniel’s hand and brought him in for a couple of genial slaps on the arm. “Thanks, man.”

The girls reluctantly ascended to the crest of the rise for their turns -- an arduous journey with an entire chorus of grumbling and winded breathing. The uppermost layer of snow caved beneath Valencia’s boot and she yelped, but Heather caught her elbow and prevented the fall. 

“My hero.” Valencia secured her forearm over Heather’s to prevent a second slip.

“Full disclosure, I would’ve laughed my ass off if you slid back down the entire hill when we were this close to the top, but I also knew you’d be really pissed, so...” 

“You’re not wrong.”

Heather chuckled and hip-checked Valencia, but not hard enough to throw off their matching stride.

They arrived at their destination with a collective relieved exhale. Paula and Heather set up their respective sleds. Rebecca clambered behind Paula and held onto her shoulder blades. “Take us home, Mama!” 

Heather fronted the second toboggan while Valencia surrounded her in a tangle of limbs. “We’ve got this in the bag,” Valencia declared with confidence. 

“I mean, totally, but what makes you so sure?” Heather asked.

“Because, if you get us there first, I’ll --” Valencia noticed Paula’s and Rebecca’s attention on her. She cupped Heather’s ear and whispered the rest of her incentive for so long that Paula pretended to check an invisible watch. 

Heather’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her beanie. “Well, shit.”

“Ah, damn it,” Paula lamented.

“She promised her NC-17 stuff,” Rebecca seconded with a pout. “Now we’re really gonna have to pull out all the stops to beat them.”

Though it was not for lack of trying -- including an unsportsmanlike sideswipe midway down the incline (“Craterface ’em, Paula! It’s our only hope!”) -- they reached the bottom of the hill a heartbeat after Heather’s triumphant first place achievement. Valencia covered the side of Heather’s face in a barrage of kisses.

“Yeah, all right.” Paula fished out her camera. “Get over here so we can take a picture of our three winners, ya horny monsters.”

Valencia and Heather posed on either side of Tommy for the photo. Heather affectionately ruffled the boy’s hair and the pink in Tommy’s cheeks deepened to a bright red.

The only event that remained was the snowball fight, and its onset sparked an immediate change in atmosphere. Much like Heather predicted, no one showed any signs of restraint over their hunger for victory. They crafted forts in near silence, already coiled for the siege. Direct hits qualified as ‘out’ while a graze with a snowball meant a one minute pause behind the player’s designated barrier. Teams were the same as the divide during the building contest.

Tension rose while everyone hunkered down and waited for the first throw. 

“We probably should’ve figured this part out before --” Heather remarked, but her words were drowned out by Rebecca’s battle cry.

“UNLEASH HELL!”

Heather crouched low. “Here we go...”

The cloudless sky was blurred by a torrent of tightly packed spheres. 

“Trebuchet!” Tommy boomed.

Heather’s and Valencia’s fortress stood firm but the sound of multiple piffs of impact reached their ears even over all the yelling.

Things went eerily quiet after that. Heather peered over the wall. “The Proctors are entering No Man’s Land.”

Valencia peeked around the side. “Rebecca’s walking out to meet them. Nathaniel’s spotting her.”

What followed was a rather comedic standoff in which Rebecca lost her nerve after meeting Paula’s determined gaze and took off screaming. She zigzagged as per Nathaniel’s frantic advice and barely evaded being struck at least half a dozen times. Nathaniel’s tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth and he wiped out Tommy with a snowball square in the middle of his back. Tommy swore colorfully but accepted his fate. 

Seeing an opportunity as the chase neared their station, Heather aimed a round of icy ammo at Scott’s chest and made a hit. 

Rebecca’s panic became a single, loud “AAAAAAAAAH” before she lobbed a ball over her shoulder without warning and somehow pelted her best friend in the face. 

Paula’s vocabulary surpassed even Tommy’s creativity - like mother, like son. Rebecca apologized profusely and supplied her scarf for a towel. When Paula wiped the snow away, she cast a glance around and realized which players remained. “Ohoho, it almost makes it worth it just to watch this,” she cackled darkly.

“Bring it on, Plimpton.” Valencia tensed with a murderous scowl. Nathaniel rose to his feet.

Their other opponent veered toward the encampment, and Heather planted herself between Rebecca and Valencia.

“You and me, Davis,” Rebecca challenged. “Moi et toi. I’m unstoppable now!” 

Heather darted forward without hesitation. Rebecca had to swerve to avoid the attack. Valencia hurled a snowball with all her might and then ran full-tilt in search of a better location to strategize. 

Rebecca and Heather wound up traversing uneven soil and tripped simultaneously. From that point on, they were both too busy giggling to pursue each other in earnest. They faked left and right and jogged in circles. When they found themselves face-to-face again, they reached the unspoken decision that enough was enough. Heather separated her snowball into two, one for each hand, and Rebecca held her arm at the ready. Rebecca’s fingers whacked against Heather’s side while Heather sandwiched Rebecca’s face between both palms. They erupted in uncontrollable laughter and hugged.

“Oh, come on!” Paula groused from her seat on the cabin steps. “Where’s the carnage?”

Scott tapped her knee and pointed to the far side of the clearing. “I think that might be coming up.”

Valencia wove through a copse of trees. She held her coat in a cup formation stuffed with snowballs that were perilously close to leaving the makeshift pouch. Her arm windmilled every so often with remarkable force, leaving her tracker to dodge the sudden breeze past his ears. Nathaniel paced himself with an armload of ready-made orbs condensed for swift delivery. Those he let loose tumbled to the earth or broke against bark on the trunks. Nothing found its mark.

“Make a stand and take your shot, V!” Heather projected the command to carry across the distance between them. 

“Yeah, avenge your lady!” Tommy added from the porch railing.

The adversaries returned to the middle of the playing space and paused to catch their breath. 

“Yoga and spinning are non-confrontational,” Valencia panted. “This is seriously not my area of expertise.”

“Follow your gut,” Paula recommended, although her tone and premature wince indicated that she was not optimistic about the outcome.

Nathaniel wound back his arm. Valencia did as her friend told her and took action on instinct. She launched herself at an angle, shoes-first, to glide past Nathaniel’s feet. He adjusted the throw and caught her on the clavicle. Her snowball flew back at a curve and nailed the small of his spine.

The assembled companions reacted as one with exclamations and applause. Nathaniel held out a hand for Valencia. She stood without assistance and shook the outstretched palm. 

“Good game?” Nathaniel said cautiously.

Valencia bared her teeth in a terrifying smile. “Prepárate, gigante. Próxima vez, peleamos en mis términos.”

Nathaniel gave a respectful nod. “Comprendo.”

They returned to the warmth of the cabin, exhausted but happy. Rebecca helped Nathaniel remove his silver and green scarf and they commandeered the coziest couch in front of the fireplace. Paula went in search of extra towels and blankets while her husband and son retreated to the bathroom to drape their wet winter gear over the tub. Heather and Valencia walked to their bedroom and the waiting comfy clothes in their luggage.

“Oh my God, my thighs are like a fire engine,” Valencia announced as she sat on the bed. Heather knelt and rubbed the numb skin until the friction started to drive the discoloration away. She received thanks in the form of a grateful nuzzle before Valencia crossed the room to find the fluffiest pajamas available.

While Heather tugged on a sweater and sweatpants, Valencia rolled up an already used pair of leggings and crammed them against the crack below the door.

“What are you up to over there?” Heather inquired without facing her.

“Soundproofing.” Valencia twisted the lock with a click.

Heather climbed into bed and turned down the other side to make space for Valencia. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

“Mm, I figured the others might appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Valencia wriggled under the comforter and pulled Heather toward her. “We’ve got at least an hour before dinner’s ready.”

Heather inched Valencia’s shirt collar aside gradually and trailed kisses all the way to her shoulder. “Are you sure that’ll be enough time?” 

“Maybe.” Valencia maneuvered by degrees until Heather was horizontal against the mattress. She tugged Heather’s earlobe with her teeth and wrapped one leg around her waist. “If we start right now.”

[faces-in-unexpected-places]

Do You Have the Time? Episode 011: Thank You

[October 13th, 2007, 19:45]

Leslie and Leopold sat in their seats in the auditorium back at CVU for the award ceremony. No matter what, she couldn’t get the smile imprinted on her face to soften. The prospect of going to college with the only stipulation being just another perk for her made her giddy. She glimpsed at Leopold who sat next to her, watching the ceremony. He could feel her beaming at him and he chuckled at her intensity. She sure would make an interesting, new lab partner. Or, lab subordinate. He looked forward to having her work with him. Blue light emitted from Leslie’s phone. She looked down to see two new messages.

19:21 Max: Where are you?

19:45 Mom: Parking now.

Leslie pursed her lips together and flipped her phone shut again. The host of the award ceremony on the stage announced that they were moving on to her category. All students were required to select a category when they submitted their names for consideration of the scholarship. Leslie chose arts and sciences. The list of the three winners of the scholarship was brought out to the host and he began reading the names off. Third place was taken by someone that Leslie was completely unfamiliar with. Upon his name being called, he rose from his seat and jogged down the middle aisle of the auditorium. He climbed the stairs at the side of the stage and accepted his bronze-decorated certificate to take to the bursar’s office and cash the scholarship money. The host kept the student on the stage while they called the next name.

“The second place winner for the arts and sciences informational presentation ‘The Importance of Research and Funding’… Leslie Goodchild, awarded two-thousand and five-hundred dollars!” the host yelled with enthusiasm.

Leslie’s heart fluttered; she could not believe it. It was almost as if too many wonderful things were happening. Her jaw dropped with an enormous smile at Leopold. He laughed and motioned to the middle aisle.

“Don’t look at me, kid, go get your prize!”

Leslie stood up and adjusted her shirt and hobbled past Leopold and to the aisle. Getting to the stage was all a blur. She awkwardly trotted to it and climbed up the ledge, rather than taking the stairs. The fastest route. The host holding the microphone jumped with surprise when he noticed Leslie scaling the side of the stage like a rock climber. Leopold involuntarily grimaced and pulled at the collar of his shirt, as he watched Leslie’s graceful display.

“Whoa there!” he chuckled with the microphone far from his face. The volume was low, but it reached the audience. Snickers erupted from the rows of seats. Leslie stiffly extended her arm out for a handshake, further catching the host off guard. She began to blush and sweat. The host quickly shook her hand and positioned her next to the third place winner. He slipped her the silver certificate and she beamed out at the blinding lights pointed at the stage. She didn’t even pay attention to the first place winner. The only thing Leslie was thinking about was her lifted spirit. The host ushered the three of them off the stage after they bowed in unison. They all snuck down the staircase off to the side before the host mentioned the next category.

“Let’s make sure Ms. Goodchild makes it back to her seat safely,” he joked. The auditorium filled with laughter as Leslie sheepishly scurried back to her seat next to Leopold. He turned his legs to the side, so she could slip past him and into her seat with ease. She dropped into her seat and turned to him.

“I made kind of a spectacle, huh? Everyone’s laughing.”

“Eh, well, you’re twenty-five hundred dollars richer than all of them now, so I think you’ve got more to laugh about,” he winked.

Leslie smiled at him with excitement. Without speaking a word, she glommed onto Leopold with glee and gratitude. He grunted from the force of her hug and chuckled. His only free arm wrapped around her and gave her a friendly squeeze.

“What’s this all about?” he questioned. She released him and sat back, still looking at him.

“I’m just very excited to come here next fall and work for you. I—if I get accepted, I mean,” she stuttered.

Leopold ignored her qualifier.

“Oh, please, you’ll get accepted. We’re going to be researchers now, okay? That means thinking of experiments together—”

“Yes.”

“—and writing papers about our findings—”

“Yes,” she said, emphatically.

“—coming in everyday to keep the projects moving—”

“Yes! I can do it, sir!” she beamed and shook.

“—and things might get tough, but we can’t let that get in the way—”

“Yes, yes, yes! Ohh, I can’t wait!” she squealed in her seat.

“Leslie,” said a sharp and severe voice.

Her smile was wiped off her face as she peered past Leopold to see her mother standing in the aisle, glaring at her. Leslie shrunk in her seat and glanced around, fearfully. Her mother strictly motioned for her to come out of her row and follow her out of the auditorium. Leopold remained quiet, deciding not to get involved. Leslie clutched her certificate, and walked out behind her mother into the hallway. They were about 5 metres from the entrance and stood equidistant to the bathrooms in the other direction of the auditorium.

“I don’t even know where to begin with you!” her mother spat.

“What— what did I do?” Leslie sputtered, “Where’s dad?”

“Your father is still at work,” she said with disdain, “We were supposed to come together but he had to go back. Do you know why?”

“Umm… n—no? Why?”

“We got home within minutes of each other. About to get ready to come here, and as soon as we walked inside, the ceiling was dripping like crazy.”

“Wh—what?” Leslie asked.

“The water heater in our attic had been gushing water out the bottom for twenty minutes, Leslie.”

Leslie frowned and tilted her head, unaware of what the water heater had to do with her.

“I asked you at the beginning of the month to do a general maintenance check for us. Do you remember?”

“I— uh, I—I— think so. I just—”

“I told you to check the gutters. To check the garbage disposal and the fire extinguisher, smoke detectors, deep clean the house, and what was the last thing I asked you?”

“To check the water heater?”

“To check the water heater,” her mother scolded, “Christ, Leslie, you only have to do that one twice a year. We don’t ask much of you. It’s not that hard. Just see if there’s a leak. And if there is, call someone to come fix it. You have my card information, I was prepared to handle the cost. All you had to do was go up there and look,” she rebuked.

“I’m sorry, mom, I—” Leslie squeaked with submission.

“Oh, I know you’re sorry,” she said, sardonically.

“Is… is everything okay?”

Her mother scoffed.

“I don’t know. How would I know? Your father ran upstairs and stopped the leak. We had to shut the water and electric off, and call a plumber. We might have water damage and have to replace the water heater. Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?”

“No,” Leslie peeped.

Leopold cautiously stepped out of the auditorium to check on Leslie.

“Well, you’re just lucky we caught it when we did,” her mother continued, “Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what we would do. Your dad just went right back to work. Decided to pick up an extra shift just to anticipate how much we’re going to have to shell out over this. I left the plumber there to come see you, but told him that I’d be back to figure out our options before he leaves, so. That’s how my day was,” she said, wryly, “How did your presentation go?” she asked with contempt.

Leslie wore an expressionless, distant face and held up her second place certificate with her lips locked. Her mother’s demeanour became softer for a moment when she realised that she’d rained on her daughter’s celebration. Still, her detached affect returned shortly.

“Well. At least that worked out. You worked hard for it. Good job.”

The compliment felt insincere to Leslie. Almost obligatory and reluctant. Leslie nodded with feigned gratitude and a trembling lip. Leopold crept up to them and rested his hand on her shoulder. Leslie could feel her entire body become as light as a feather, then nothing. As if she was no longer attached to her body. She couldn’t speak. Leopold wore a pretend smile and extended his other hand to her mother. He held Leslie securely under his grasp.

“Hi there, I’m Dr. Leopold Looney. I met your daughter today after I listened to her presentation. She is extremely talented and driven. You should be very proud.”

Her mother gave him a shifty gaze, wondering if he was complimenting her or criticising her. She shook his hand, firmly.

“Alma Goodchild. I was hoping to speak to my daughter alone, Dr. Looney.”

“Of course,” he took a step back, “I’ll just be near the auditorium, Leslie. You can come find me when you guys are done, or if you need anything.”

Leslie gently nodded, while looking down at her feet.

“We will discuss this more later when we get home,” Alma declared, “If you want to stay for the rest of the ceremony, you can. I’m going to go wait in the car.”

She took a step back and, before turning around and heading towards the building’s exit, she left Leslie with one last thought.

“You know, water heaters can explode from the pressure build-up. They leak to release that pressure, so that doesn’t happen. But it can still happen. And it could have destroyed the house if the pressure was high enough. If you were there, it could have seriously hurt you. Just think about that next time.”

Alma stomped away and out into the parking lot. Leslie glanced around with a permanent frown cemented to her face. She met eyes with Leopold who was leaned against the wall next to the double doors of the auditorium. He began to push himself off the wall to approach her, and Leslie realised she couldn’t talk to anybody in that moment. She twirled around and scrambled for the women’s restroom. Leopold jolted and pursued her, but she was more agile.

“Leslie, wait!” 

He reached out as he ran, but she slammed the door before he could even reach it. He groaned and sighed in frustration at himself.

“Damn these old man reflexes,” he mumbled to himself.

Leslie stood on the other side of the door with her back pressed against it. Her face was flushed and hot, her forehead pounding, bottom lip shaking, neck and shoulders tensed. It was beyond her control. Her frown opened up. Heavy sobs escaped from her breath, and tears poured down her face from her harshly shut eyes. She shrunk down to the floor, held her knees to her chest and cried into them. Her second place certificate remained clutched in one of her hands, getting wrinkled. One of the corners poked between her abdomen and her knees, and began to dampen.

Leopold sighed and leaned against the other side of the women’s restroom door with his arms crossed. Students and their parents walking past in both directions flashed him confused and strange looks. He gave them all half-waves and half-smiles.

“Hi, how’re you?” he said openly to anyone passing him, “Lovely ceremony so far, huh?”

Nobody responded to him.

He exhaled in uncertainty.

Leslie’s phone buzzed again from her pocket. She retrieved it and opened it up. More messages from Max. She must not have noticed them while she was being awarded and talking to her mother. She caught herself up on the messages and began responding to them.

19:50 Max: Haha, you’re supposed to take the stairs, weirdo. 19:50 Max: I wanted to sit with you during the ceremony, but I couldn’t find you. 19:53 Max: Hey, how come you didn’t come see my presentation? You said you would try. 19:53 Max: I thought you would at least let me know if you weren’t going to make it. 19:54 Max: Actually, when you get off stage and go back to your seat, I’ll meet you, and we can talk in person, okay? 20:04 Max: Did you leave?

20:08 Leslie: Sorry I didn’t come see your presentation. I was talking to a professor here about his research.

20:08 Max: Oh, there you are. You were talking to him for the whole 8 hours?

20:08 Leslie: Well, no. 20:08 Leslie: But I had to present, too.

20:09 Max: Yeah, but I asked if you would have lunch with me, too.

20:10 Leslie: I said maybe because my parents were supposed to come see me.

20:10 Max: But they didn’t so, we could have had lunch together, right?

20:12 Leslie: I guess so. But I was eating with the professor.

20:12 Max: So you did you spend the whole day with him?

20:14 Leslie: No.

20:14 Max: After that, you just presented the whole time?

20:15 Leslie: He took me to his lab to show me where he works.

20:15 Max: He did?

20:15 Leslie: Yes.

20:15 Max: Sounds like you spent the whole day together.

20:18 Leslie: Are you mad at me?

20:19 Max: I just don’t understand why you would give all your time to him when I specifically asked you to come see me and eat with me and sit with me at the ceremony.

20:20 Leslie: I want to go here, and he’s a professor who was interested in my project. I thought it was a good idea.

20:21 Max: I mean, it was. You can talk to other people and everything. But I thought we were going to spend time together and you didn’t even ask me if you could do that stuff instead.

20:21 Leslie: Would you have been okay with it if I did?

20:23 Max: I don’t know. 20:25 Max: Where are you? Can we talk about this in person? 20:31 Max: Hello?

Leslie shut her phone and put it back in her pocket. She took a deep breath and rested her head on her knee. At some point during her conversation, she ran out of tears. There were no thoughts in her head for a good five minutes. She felt exhausted. Like a drain protruded from her heart and people were lined up, siphoning off parts of her. But gradually, she felt just a few drops of life returned to her. She picked her head up off her knee and listened.

“—and you are such a driven student. It seems like you have a lot to worry about, so if you aren’t able to come in to my lab everyday, that’s okay. I’m not even in my lab everyday, if I’m being honest. I still need your help if I’m going to cover your tuition, but it shouldn’t be a stressor that ruins your college experience, either. Wh— what’s that?” he mumbled to somebody else, “No, I’m not trapping someone in the restroom, I’m trying to get her out!”

Leslie giggled and sniffed. She dried her face and stood up.

“Anyway, Leslie, we’re going to figure this out. Together! I always want all of my students to feel comfortable in my classroom, in my office, and in my lab. Since you will likely be in all three of those at one point or another, that goes triple for you! I can see brilliance, and you have it. You just need to be given the resources to use it… my, uh… my wife, she used to always tell me to do exactly what I wanted, no matter how far-fetched it seemed. I think she could see that I was the dreamer out of the two of us, and she wanted me to embrace that as much as I could,” he chuckled, “And, now I’m in a position to help you embrace your dreams… at least I think they’re your dreams. Uh, you can correct me if I’m wrong,” he nervously laughed and cleared his throat, “Hi, please enjoy the ceremony,” he spoke to the passing families, “ Anyway, Leslie, the point is… I still think you should come work for me. And, I don’t see any reason why your mom would be against it, despite the… strong feelings she seemed to express a half an hour ago. If you have any… personal problems when you work for me, then we can always sit down and… we’ll work something out for you, if you want. Okay?”

Leslie meekly opened the door. Leopold jumped back in surprise, and gave her some space. They stepped out of the way of the doors and she leaned against the wall. Her face was relaxed but fatigued. She still appeared red in the face and around the eyes.

“Your wife doesn’t encourage you to do that stuff anymore?”

“Oh, err,” Leo startled, “I— uh, she— has been gone for… a few years, now.”

“Oh…” she trailed off, “She sounded like a very lovely woman.”

“Yeah… thank you— Leslie. She really was.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Can I help you?” Leslie asked. Leopold chuckled, wryly.

“Maybe another time, kiddo. I think you might need some rest first.”

She nodded and, after contemplation, opened her messages with Max to show to Leopold.

“So, your mom and your boyfriend have problems with you, huh?”

She scoffed.

“Max isn’t my boyfriend.”

“He’s not?”

“No!”

Leopold furrowed his brow and glanced over the messages again.

“Well… whatever he is… just be careful. Don’t let him tell you what to do.”

“Do you think I did something wrong?” she frowned. Leo sighed and pursed his lips.

“You know, poppet… why don’t we go it down to talk about this, alright?”

“…Poppet?” she asked, bewildered.

“Oh, it’s just an old man way of calling you kid,”

“Poppet… you and that woman…” she paused and thought, “Martha! You two sure do like terms of endearment.”

Leo shrugged.

“I guess it rubbed off on me! Maybe it will for you, too,” he chucked, “So… want to get some space from here?”

Leslie hesitated, took a deep breath and followed Leopold further away from the auditorium. They sat down together on the other side of the room of the box office where there was little noise. The wall behind them was mostly glass, and it peered out to the parking lot. They could see Leslie’s mom in her car from where they say. Leslie fidgeted in her seat and kept glancing outside.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk for very long…” she mumbled.

“As long as your comfortable with. Or, we don’t have to at all. You can have my phone number and email address if you want to get in touch later. I guess you’ll need it anyway, if you’re coming to work for me,” he chuckled, “But you can always come back to the university to meet me and talk before you start work, too.”

She nodded vigorously, trying to internalise everything the best that she could. Leopold remained silent, and waited for her to initiate the discussion.

“I think Max is easier to talk about right now. Is it okay if I only talk about that?” she questioned.

He hummed in approval. She paused.

“…Dr. Looney?” she asked. He smiled faintly at her. “Thank you for being so nice to me today.”

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

October Holidays

Modern AU short. 

Warnings: strong language.

Masterlist

---

It felt like the same struggle every year. They would all get together as a group and argue over what they all were going to do for the holidays. This holiday was of course Halloween. Gathered in a local café they had taken over one of the massive booths in the corner and dragged an extra table next to it with more seats. Everyone in the group had their eyes turned on you. Oh, this is great seriously every damn time I have to play mediator or be the one to tip the scales on what we do?

“So, what will it be?” Nobunaga asked as blunt as ever with his direct way of talking. Thankfully after growing up with him and the rest of the group you were used to his little quirks and didn’t snap at him for being arrogant and domineering. Well you didn’t do it very often at least.

“I don’t know. Seriously I don’t mind what we do. Movie night sounds great. I have no issue if you all want to go to that house party that Masa’s friend is having or doing that other thing. What was it again Haunted…?” Your voice is lacking enthusiasm right now. You know it is but you are also on your second cup of coffee and not one of these guys was coming up with a definitive answer as to what they prefer as a group. It felt like organizing that trip back in high school all over again.

“Haunted Tours. You get to pick from three different locations and classic tales of horror and role play as you enjoy the evening.” Mitsunari smiled as he pushed a pamphlet towards you. It looked professional and respectable enough. Unfolding it you can see the photos of the three locations. Abandoned Hospital, Abandoned Mansion and an Abandoned Castle. ‘Come and enjoy the sights and sounds on this fright night spectacular. Meet the characters from your favourite classics: Frankenstein, Dracula and Sherlock Holmes. Be part of the story and experience it first hand as you traverse the well-worn plots till dawns early light. Will you survive till morning?’.  There was no doubt about it, it was different.

“Ok well I guess I would be up for this one this year. We can do movie night at any point and Masa is always getting invited to house parties and things so maybe a little roleplaying would be a nice change of pace.” You nod towards the pamphlet as you give it a small push back to the centre allowing the others to take a closer look at it if they want to.

“To think you would suggest role playing little mouse how adventurous of you.” Mitsuhide smirked in his usual teasing manner as he leaned towards you. You were never able to avoid him and his gaze. As hard as you tried he always managed to find a gap in your armour and sneak in making you blush. Deciding to ignore him and his taunting you give him a withering look and roll your eyes back towards the rest of the group.

“Well I’m up for anything you know that Kitten and this looks like a hoot to me.” Masa flipped over the information smiling at it.

“You think everything is a ‘hoot’.” Ieyasu mumbled from his seat next to him.

“You need to get your head out of those medical textbooks more often and enjoy yourself more mate.” Masa laughed and slapped Ieyasu on the shoulder earning him an icy glare in response.

“My medical textbooks are a requirement to achieve my degree. You wish to tell someone to get there head out of a book and interact more with the world around them then tell that to Mr Bookworm over there.” At Ieyasu’s words we all looked at our resident bibliophile. He had gone back to his book once more and was totally oblivious to the world around him and us.

“Hey Mitsunari you need to finish drinking our tea.” Hideyoshi tried to garner a response but was unsuccessful. Instead he opted for the tried and tested method of just placing the cup in the man’s hand for him and waiting while the muscle memory kicked into auto play motion and he began to drink his tea.

“I can’t believe after all these years he still does that. How the Hell does he survive?” Yukimura spoke with part of a chocolate chip muffin in his mouth.

“That’s simple he lives with Hideyoshi. And close your mouth when you are eating you’re not a wolf.” Kenshin was sitting at the opposite end of the table from you his presence as frosty as always, elegantly drinking a cup of tea. In school there was kind of a competition among the students to work out who would make the best king between him and Nobunaga. Both had their merits and flaws. Kenshin deemed the whole thing to be a waste of everyone’s time in the end and the matter was dropped.

“Well I say if our Angel wishes to take part in such an experience then we should accompany her. I simply cannot allow a beautiful woman to expose herself to such horrors without…” Shingen’s saccharine words flowed as freely as ever. For as long as you had known him he never seemed to run dry on his flattery. Insisting that all women are Angels or Goddesses in human form and going out of his way to treat them as such.

“I don’t see why not she is exposed to you often enough.” Nobunaga interrupts Shingen from by your elbow. Oh great. This was a familiar sight to you by now. The two had a history of arguing, the same could be said for everyone else at the table too if you were completely honest but Shingen and Nobunaga were a bit more… well just more. They had a way of arguing whilst maintaining perfect smiles, posture and tone that you begin to seriously question if you are actually witnessing an argument at all.

“Well I for one am looking forward to it. Shall we decide on what one we are going to do right now?” Sasuke interrupted the brewing conflict between Nobunaga and Shingen before Shingen could make his no doubt cutting retort. You quietly thank Sasuke giving him a smile. The group fell again back into comfortable companionship as we all discussed who wanted to do what.

---

After a lot of arguing and gaining the attention of Mitsunari for his input as well it was decided that the group was going to split between the three locations. Sasuke, Yukimura, Shingen and Mitsunari were going to go for the Sherlock Holmes option. Kenshin, Masamune, Ieyasu all went for Frankenstein. Which left Nobunaga, Mitsuhide and you with Dracula. To be completely honest everyone at the table that day had insisted that they all wished to go with you to the event but that was not only impractical it was also not possible. The company running the events had a number limit on each one and when Mitsuhide phoned to enquire about the bookings he was told about the available slots for each.

So here you were standing in front of a large and imposing set of cast iron gates leading their way to what was left of a castle. The air was cold and thanks to the low mist it seemed to want to cling to your skin through your clothing. Checking your watch once more for the correct time you began to wonder if either of your friends was going to ever show up. Suddenly your vision is completely lost replaced with darkness and the feel of cold leather on your skin you give a little yelp to the new sensation.

“Guess who.” The voice close to your ear was familiar you ended up smiling at the harmless prank even though the sensation of their breath on your neck made your skin tingle.

“Mm, lets see who do I know that wears leather gloves and plays guessing games?” Giggling whilst twisting in his grip you manage to free yourself and flash him one of your biggest smiles. “Mitsuhide!”

“Well that is just unfair my dear. You render me completely defenceless smiling at me like that.” He was smiling but something in it was a little different to normal. It sort of feels a bit more genuine.

“If you are completely defenceless then I am Santa Clause.” Nobunaga joined in the merriment as he joins the pair of you by the gates.

“You mean you’re not? I always thought you were.” Your sarcastic remark earns you a smirking playful smile from Nobunaga and a light pat on your backside as he leans in closer to you.

“Well I do have a way of knowing when you have been naughty [Name]” His voice is the same but different. It felt different. Perhaps it was just the fact that you were hyped up over the events of the evening you had planned. After all his teasing was nothing new. You swatted his shoulder as you moved a little away from them both just in time to see one of the tour guides reach the gates and beckon you through to start your evenings activity.

---

You were all shown to a private room filled with period costumes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a tv drama or movie. Clothes were hanging on rails and shoes were laid out on a couple of units next to them, a collection of accessories glittered under the lighting in the room. The necklaces twinkled and sparkled like crystal but you were sure they were no more than ornate glass. Still though it was amazing. You let out a small sigh as you let your hand run along the velvet fabric of one full length Victorian dress.

“That would suit you.” Nobunaga’s voice came much closer than you had expected it to causing you to jump. Pressing your hand to your chest you lightly chastise him.

“Don’t sneak up on me you made me jump.”

“So, you are saying I can make you jump as long as I don’t sneak up on you?” Nobunaga had that dangerous challenging tone in his voice and that I dare you gleam in his eyes. You remember it from school. It was one of the first things you learnt, you don’t challenge him to a game and expect to win. The same could be said for the other companion you had tonight in your little group.

“I don’t know I think that this might be rather more flattering on [Name].” Mitsuhide held a loft a dress that seemed to resemble some sort of negligee. The fabric was not exactly sheer but it certainly would cling and leave no mystery whatsoever about what lay beneath. Nobunaga chuckled looking at your face as it moved between shock and settled on exasperation.

“If you like it so much then you wear it.” Your tone was even as you shot down the wardrobe suggestion from the yellow eyed trickster.

“If only it were in my size little mouse I may have considered it.” His smile didn’t faulter as he shrugged forcing a rather dramatic sigh from his lips before shooting you a wink that sent a shiver right up your spine. Honestly what is with me tonight?

After using the screens in the room to get dressed in the deep red crushed velvet gown you had found before you moved to the accessories table. You let your hand drift over the items before settling on something ornate and simple for your hair. You have just pinned it into place when you feel the light pressure and ice cold of something around your neck. A long loose chain with droplets of clear facetted glass was draped on you. A set of nimble fingers ghosted lightly over your apex of your shoulders to the base of your neck as they fastened the clasp.

“There now that is much better. You almost look like a lady.” The low tone of their voice doing nothing by way of cloaking their verbal jaunt.

“What do you mean almost? I am a lady you snake in the grass.” Mitsuhide laughed at your attempt to lash out at him. He could see your heart wasn’t really in the mind to hurt him and he just smiled eating up your reactions. He was dressed in a rather nice evening suit it was something that would not go a miss at any high-class black-tie event and you almost question if he actually bothered to get changed into period clothing at all.

“Now now Mitsuhide, if you tire her out now she won’t be able to enjoy the evenings activities.” Nobunaga’s voice emerged as he did a few moments later from behind another screen. He looked like an English gentleman at leisure. The smoking jacket he had on was the same colour as your dress the detailing on the cuffs and lapel was immaculate and gave it an extra grand flourish, very Nobunaga. After adjusting his cufflinks Nobunaga extended his arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Well, shall we?” And like that you all left the changing room and started your evening of roleplaying.

---

If you had thought the event was going to run exactly as if you were part of the book you were wrong. It was based on the book but was set up more like one of those murder mystery locked room events with actors popping up and giving you a good fright every once in a while. You were each given a character at the beginning and a clue. Working together or individually in each room you entered had a puzzle to it. Mitsuhide had breezed through most leaving you behind. Nobunaga for some reason was hanging back. You were certain he had already found his clues in-between the shock set ups that the tour creators had made where actors popped out with choreographed random moments to scare you.

“Now let’s see ‘I am the same but different. I have a shadow but no reflection.’ What on earth is that?” As you look around the room your eyes settle on the man with you. Nobunaga isn’t looking anywhere but directly at you smiling at your confusion.

“I never get tired of looking at you.” His voice was soft and commanding as he drew closer to you. Something about it rendered you immobile.

“Don’t be so mean if you are going to hang around you could at least be helpful.” You wave the paper in front of yourself at the approaching man. He gets close enough to see it but he doesn’t stop. Each step forward pushes you back by instinct until you are backed into the wall of the room. The lights flicker and whilst you are disorientated you feel the sudden warmth and pressure of him as he presses against you.

“Nobunaga?” The tremor of uncertainty in your voice makes him smile more as he leans towards you. His breath on you neck sends every hair on your body into an alert sense of awareness. Your mind fogs over. This is the guy I grew up with. He’s a friend. He won’t hurt me, he’s arrogant and pushy… stubborn. He… he’s…

“I believe we have completed our little game my dear.” Nobunaga’s lips brushed your ear lobe as he spoke. He had you locked in place not just with his words or the arm he had next to you on the wall but with his blood red eyes. They glittered like rubies in the simulated gas lighting. Beautiful.

“What do you mean we’re finished the object of the game was to…” You somehow found your voice even if now it was only a whisper. Your breath catching in your throat as you tried to communicate.

“To solve the riddles and find the vampire.” Slipping his free hand around your waist dragging you even closer to him you fail to hide the gulp you take as you realise all to late exactly how much he has had your mouth watering. Yes, he was the guy you grew up with but for the first time you weren’t seeing that.

“Allow me to introduce myself Mina.” Your eyes go wide as he uses your assigned name and turn your face towards him. “My name is Vlad Dracul... you may prefer to call me Dracula.” Before you have time to react he moves faster than you have seen him ever do before his face nestled in the nape of your neck followed by a searing sharp pain.

The strength leaves your body as you tilt into his bite and give a small moan in response. You can feel his lips tweak into his classic knowing smile. His hands roam over your outline as he continues to nibble and tease the sensitive flesh on you exposed neckline.

Words have completely abandoned you, your head is swirling with the knowledge that this man is Nobunaga the one in school they called the Devil King. The guy who you knew always had your back no matter what was wrong and now he was Dracula reclaiming his lost love after a lifetime of searching and at this moment in time you were completely ok with that.

---

[tigressaofkanjis]

An Outlasting Halloween - Killer Croc x Bane

A fanfic I wrote for Halloween with our two favorite dorks. Remember this post? Yeah, I decided to act upon it. I don't regret this and considering my version of Croc gained more than enough confidence after accepting himself, crossdressing would be something he would do to drive Bane insane. Years of rivalry has led to this moment and Croc is going to make Bane suffer for one night.

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

“Bane. Bane.”

“Hmm?”

“Bane, come here. I have the greatest idea for a Halloween costume! In fact, I have one for you two,” Waylon excitedly curled his tail as he grinned like Jervis at a tea party.

The luchador-themed man rolled his eyes in amusement at his partner -in-crime’s enthusiasm. He walked over to the couch Waylon was lying on with his laptop and a juvenile gator as his feet sleeping. He watched the large ridged tail wagging up and down as Croc turned his laptop towards Bane.

“Amigo, I don’t know what so special about a character who appears to be wearing a damaged fancy vest and dirty white shirt. Also, is that blood over his right eye?” Bane questioned, squinting at the pictures.

Killer Croc nodded quickly, “Do you remember the video game, Outlast, the game Drury and Garfield decided to make a react series out of for YouTube? You remember the DLC they were oh so engaged in?”

The man raised brow, “Oh you mean the one where you have to escape an asylum of sorts. That one? And this is-cual es su nombre-Eddie Glue…skin?”

“Gluskin, yes. He’s one of the main antagonists and I thought since you have the hair cut like him as well as that old ballroom suit you only used three years ago when you first came here that you would fit the character perfectly. We could add real blood or fake to a machete or something, add some makeup and you’d fit the look quite well!”

Bane crossed his arms, “Really? And what will I do all dressed up in a costume, compañero? We don’t have many places to go on Halloween except cause some mischief raiding houses while everyone is distracted, but our friends are hardly going to go with us for something as childish as that.”

Croc smirked, “What if I told you Kirk and his wife, Garfield, Fries, Jervis, and others are dressing up and they have plans to just have some pointless fun because like you said, it’s Halloween. Why rob a bank on Halloween when we could terrorize the houses for our treats? Besides if you wish to dress up, I have a plan to match you. While you are Eddie Gluskin , I’ll be Waylon Park. I have the attire thanks to Harley and Ivy so I’m set.”

Upon thinking about the benefits and cons of this proposed Halloween team up, Bane say really no downside that would set them back. At most, Batman would just slap their wrists probably out of annoyance considering the holidays were by far his least favorite time to crime fight them and an agitated Bruce was no fun.

Clicking his tongue, Bane shrugged finally, “Sure, why not? I’ll call Page Monroe and see if she can lend me her tailor to ‘mess up’ my perfect vest and shirt. Also, doesn’t this Waylon from the game wear a jumpsuit, a morbid tannish brown? That doesn’t seem as creative as you would usually do.”

A very strange smirk played on Waylon’s face, “Trust me, I’m not wearing the jumpsuit. I’m going to wear something more appropriate in contrast to your outfit that would make our team up even more special. Just wait and see.”

Narrowing his eyes, Bane bit his lip and grunted in an acknowledgeable but confused fashion. When he left, Waylon peered in the opposite direction towards one of his henchmen who was sharpening a few blades while watching some older cartoons.

“Vic, mon home, I need you to call Harley and tell her it’s on. Le marié a accepté la proposition.”

The brutish henchman nodded with a smirk and set the weapon he was working on down to grab the phone and started dialing.

Croc laughed, “Oh Bane, let’s see how confident you really are.” --------------------------------------

Today was Halloween and all the adults and kids were about to leave at dusk to get candy and lots of it. Bane had agreed to take part only because of his intriguing colleague was so excited for it.

Designing the suit wasn’t as difficult as Bane imagined it would be. Page was gracious enough to let him use her tailor and offered him some choice options for the costume as well. Trousers which had been worn with patches were apparently a runway fashion once but of course, it never flew past the stage with the judges and it was around his size surprisingly. With a few altercations, it was his and the vest he brought was ripped apart and stitched back to replicate Gluskin’s demented fabrication.

Croc was right when he said he had the perfect haircut for the part as no changes were necessary. He did, however, have to go to Harley Quinn for makeup touches as he wasn’t quite cosmetically savvy as the clown was. With little effort, she managed to make his right side of his face look bloody and deformed from certain angles without the need for any prosthetics. He had to admit he was impressed.

“Damn Bane, you look like the spitting image of Eddie Gluskin! Holy crap! Maybe a bit more ripped than Eddie but you’re really rocking it, like wow dude!” Firefly said as he stared in amazement.

Even the ever stoic Mr. Freeze was wide eyed at the design. “I have to say, I’m a little jealous. Waylon is going to have a field day with this. His costume is quite good too and what he admires in you, you’ll probably admire in him.”

That made Bane pause, “You’ve seen Waylon’s costume?”

“Yes, Ivy, Jonathan and I helped design it. I helped with…certain parts of the costume while Ivy did the layout and sewed the materials with Jon. I have to say even though I’m not particular that fond of men over women, Waylon’s outfit is very sexy. It really emphasizes the curves of his muscles and not to mention does amazing work for his hips.”

That drew a suspicious look from Bane but he didn’t dare question it. Garfield was nodding too which meant he had seen it as well. The chances of them telling him what it was exactly were slim because they knew better than to ruin the surprise.

So Croc was dressed sexy? That usually didn’t fit the man’s ideal in clothing but considering he was in fact a walking, talking crocodile basically, his standards and dignity were pretty lax. No matter what Waylon was in, nobody outside of the Asylum would be paying attention to his attire; they would be more fixated on his appearance and run in fear of being killed than stop to question his clothing choices.

It did make Bane very curious as to what Waylon was wearing. He recalled the video game Outlast was mainly prison-clad bad guys with deformities and blood but nothing really sexy. The character Waylon Park was pursued by the Groom to be his bride but-no, there was no way Croc managed to get a wedding dress. That was insane but why would Waylon do that?

Bane entered the lounge area which only had a couple of Croc’s henchmen with glow in the dark white paint over their armor and faces to resemble skeletons. Even their guns on their hips had bones painted on. He was surprised at their dedication.

“Muchachos, where is Waylon?”

The men gave a snicker seemingly at him and one pointed behind him with his thumb over to the bathroom. There was a laugh from the inside and sure enough, the door swung open and a white gown blood stained and ripped on the right side to somewhat show the scales of Waylon’s leg flowed gracefully as Croc leaned against the frame of the door cockily.

Bane was stunned at the appearance and no words could come to mind to describe his feelings towards it. The strapless top piece seemed to be tight as a corset as he could see some of the muscle underneath the fabric, and the breast area outlined by pearls pushed against Waylon’s pecks and pushed them high enough to give the illusion of actual cleavage. Waylon wore bridal glove with open palms and fingers but was torn to accommodate his arm spikes while his neck held a simple white band as a necklace. The strip that marked the end of the corset and the beginning of the flowing gown was also dowsed in pearls, gripping tightly against the outline of Croc’s hips. The gown itself was mostly intact but the right side had a slit for his leg which supported a rather peculiar garter on his middle thigh. Blood stains were prominent under the breasts to appear like they were operated on and the blood soaked through while a huge blood mark was right on the gown and just above the hip line strip indicating a “forced” fake sex change had occurred, just like Eddie Gluskin would have done. In Croc’s left hand, a video camera was held and on top of his head, a bridal tiara with pearls and silver plus a veil flowing down his neck was there and quite beautiful.

While Bane was more than obviously peering over Waylon’s costume, the mutated man was grinning like a hyena at how he managed to baffle the ex-terrorist. “When I said I had a surprise for you, didn’t think it would be this, did you?”

Bane snapped out of his trance and stuttered, “N-no, I can honestly say…just…whoa!”

Pushing off from his lean, Waylon strode closer to the other man with a very calm reserve. “What can I say, being married to Ivy taught me well.”

“I-I um…you look amazing,” the Hispanic man spoke.

The henchmen on the opposite side of the room giggled and one took a picture with both Waylon and Bane in the picture facing each other. The guard who snapped it whispered, “I am so posting this on Twitter!”

Bane swallowed loud and uneasily as Croc merely blinked slowly, still holding a sweet smile. “You really capture the-the aesthetic of the game. The garter is a-heh a very nice touch.”

“So did you it seems. The garter was last minute because this rip in the gown was actually an accident. My hips were straining against the fabric and one side couldn’t take the pressure, so I had to finish the rip and add something more in tune to what Gluskin would want. The tiara and veil though I could probably do without. That part was Scarecrow’s idea and Freeze, being the one who did my pearl embroidery, was against it,” Waylon purred, taking off the crown.

He threw it to his henchmen and the one who caught it quickly put in on his head and smirked as the others laughed at him. One even tried to grab at the tiara was playfully pushed away by a now sassy royal skeleton-faced guard.

Waylon chuckled before turning back to Bane, “You look like you don’t know how to feel about this. Or maybe you’re starting to realize you like seeing me cross dress. What’s the matter, Bane? Finally confronted with a fight inside you can’t win.”

“Wha-no, no, I am thinking about some things but I’m not-no. Besides I have to ask, is that dress even comfortable? It looks like it’s molded to you.”

Croc clutched the rim of the breast attire and dragged it upward a bit with a wiggle before confidently letting go with a smug pose, “Are you kidding me, this is actually quite comfy and admit it, I make this look good. It has padding and defines my form perfectly.”

Bane raised a brow, “And your dignity?”

“What dignity?” Croc gestured around him and laughed, “Bane, I’m a nine foot plus human being with a skin condition worsened by a military experiment. I used to hate myself for being such a freak but now I see there is nothing to be afraid of. I’m me and if society doesn’t like it, they can kiss my ass. I can do whatever I want now and wearing a dress for a costume is one of them, especially if it gets me what I want. I don’t have a lot of moral standards anymore when it comes to clothing or society norm. At this point, I’m just going with whatever I can pull off. Ha, this dress is actually really comfortable; you should try it.”

“Thank you but I prefer pants over a dress. You actually do look good in a dress, I’ll…um…admit that,” Bane muttered, occasionally glancing down from Croc’s face to the rest of his body when the latter turned his head away to look at his mooks.

As soon as Croc peered back at him, he averted his gaze immediately and resumed making eye contact. Waylon just smiled and played innocent, “Then perhaps you and I should start greeting Gotham and its trick-or-treaters, maybe steal some candy while we’re at it. I heard the more wealthy ones are giving away much more this year like king sized items. Of course, I am hoping we have enough candy to last us until the morning. Maybe we’ll both get a much bigger treat at the end. Who knows?”

“Uh, sure. Lead the way, Croc,” Bane nervously replied, blushing which made the red makeup he wore seemingly glow if not making the rest of his face almost the exact shade of red. Croc’s henchmen still snickered at him as they followed their boss out, protecting him like a pack of wolves.

When Waylon swept past him, he had to hike up his gown a bit to walk and not trip over it. This gave the Hispanic man a much clearer view of the garter and trailing behind the gown was the reptilian tail Bane almost forgot about albeit it was well hidden, curled beneath the gown mostly. He also took not that the dress covering the part of the spine where the tail met made Waylon appear as if he had a rather large rear.

Unbeknownst to him, Waylon knew exactly what he was doing and his grin grew to reveal practically all his teeth. He was Waylon Park to Bane’s Gluskin but apparently, he was the sadistic one. What an interesting reversal of characters. Croc couldn’t wait to see Bane’s resistance in doing something about him crack throughout the night. This was going to be fun.

[radthursdays]

#RadThursdays Roundup 01/18/2018

Young Activists for Black Lives Coalition carry a hand-painted "Reimagining the Dream" banner through the streets of Oakland during the Fourth Annual March to Reclaim King's Radical Legacy. Source.

Reclaiming MLK's Radical Legacy

To honor Dr. King’s legacy is to support the Florida prison strike: "On Monday, January 15, the holiday in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday, Florida’s incarcerated population will be participating in a large scale strike. In order to call attention to the practice of systemic slavery that allows for the exploitation and inhumane treatment of prisoners, participants in this act of civil disobedience will institute a work stoppage. Organizers of the peaceful protest have dubbed the effort “Operation PUSH” and have penned a manifesto outlining the changes they are demanding."

Martin Luther King Jr. Spent the Last Year of His Life Detested by the Liberal Establishment: "In 1966, 63 percent of Americans held a negative view of the civil rights leader, while just 32 percent held a positive one. This was a marked reversal from five years earlier, when 41 percent of Americans gave King a positive rating and 37 percent a negative one. King’s slide in popularity coincided with his activism taking a turn from what Americans largely know him for — his campaign for civil rights in the American South — to a much more radical one aimed at the war in Vietnam and poverty."

Race

Writing for Black Women: Ijeoma Oluo Is Still Speaking Truth to Power: "No matter what, when you’re made aware of a privilege that comes at the expense of others or that you may have been actively harming someone through actions and words, it’s very easy to feel really defensive. We want to think of ourselves as good people who don’t harm [others]. It’s this weird, aggressive output of being people who don’t want to hurt people. If you’re someone who doesn’t care, you won’t care about harm, so it’s weird that we because we care so much about people, we often end up doing more harm when we’re confronted with our wrongdoing."

White Folks: "It does not seem unlikely that the prevailing language for theorizing whiteness and white people has evolved to provide psychological benefits to a very particular constituency, within very particular contexts. Or that these psychological rewards are not always consistent with commitment to the kinds of actions that would truly threaten larger structures of power and privilege."

“Hard Crackers, Come Again No More”: "Reform is the byproduct of revolutionary struggle, and progress is linked to bringing to life the vision of a society without race, gender and class, without commodity production and the buying and selling of labor-power, a society where 'work' and 'play' give way to freely associated activity. This I believe: solidarity that puts off equality until some time in the future is no solidarity at all; there will never be a successful proletarian revolution in this country until masses of white workers not merely oppose 'racism' and 'support the black struggle' but demonstrate that they are willing to go through what the black workers have gone through. It is my faith that the capacity to do so exists among them; central to the project of Race Traitor and Hard Crackers is to bring that capacity to life."

A tweet by @DoubleStraps quotes a tweet by @CNN linking to an article with the title, "Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos and his wife, MacKenzie, are donating $33 million to send 1,000 Dreamers to college". The added commentary says, "To put it in perspective of percentage, this is the equivalent of a person making $50k donating $16." Source.

Technology

Don't Be Evil: Fred Turner on Utopias, Frontiers, and Brogrammers: An interview on techno-utopianism and the ideologies behind Silicon Valley. From the third issue of LOGIC magazine, Justice.

How to Do Things With Memes: Galaxy-braining the galaxy brain meme. "Is being 'extremely online' — that is, being invested in maintaining a fluency in online tropes — inherently toxic?"

Sexism

The poorly reported Aziz Ansari exposé was a missed opportunity: "When we haven’t yet agreed that female pleasure and clear enthusiasm are prerequisites for a sexual encounter, we lack the ability to peel back the layers of sexual experience, and we end up with two bad options: accept sexual inequity as just how sex is (or just how men are) or wedge truly bad sexual experiences into the category of sexual assault."

Not Your Bro: "Despite being a decently strong canoeist these days, I’m still afraid of being scorned for lilydipping. I’m scared of men who fly off the handle or look at me in a cold, distant, contemptuous way—like there’s something in me that threatens them. So, when a certain kind of man learns my name and leans on my bar, I want to like him. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I want to feel camaraderie. But the allure of his acceptance can be hollow; if he looks at me and sees a bro, it means he hasn’t really seen me at all."

An old Convair ad depicts three fighter jets flying low over a small town. The ad states, "Freedom Has a New Sound!" and goes on to read, "All over America these days the blast of supersonic flight is shattering the old familiar sounds of city and countryside. At U.S. Air Force bases strategically located near key cities our Airmen maintain their round the clock vigil, ready to take off on a moment's notice in jet aircraft like Convair's F-102A all-weather interceptor. Every flight has only one purpose—your person protection! The next time jets thunder overhead, remember that the pilots who fly them are not willful disturbers of your peace; they are patriotic young Americans affirming your New Sound of Freedom!" Source.

Issues

Feds planning massive Northern California immigration sweep to strike against sanctuary laws: “U.S. immigration officials have begun preparing for a major sweep in San Francisco and other Northern California cities in which federal officers would look to arrest more than 1,500 undocumented people while sending a message that immigration policy will be enforced in the sanctuary state, according to a source familiar with the operation.”

The Coping Economy: "Time and again we read that mindful companies aren’t perfect, but that they’re better for their employees and for the world than most. General Mills still sells 'junk food to kids and empty calories to adults,' David Gelles has written, but the people are friendly. Ford vehicles still burn fossil fuels, but the firm avoided being hated like the tobacco industry. Between 'invading people’s privacy at one turn' and 'snuffing out competitors at the next,' Google has hardly lived up to its own motto 'don’t be evil.' But its embrace of mindful culture, Gelles concludes, shows it hasn’t 'lost touch with its idealism.' Companies, too, need to tell themselves uplifting stories about the way of life they create. In mindfulness, they’ve found their new way of feeling."

Activism

Grounding the currents of Indigenous resistance: Those joining the centuries-old Indigenous resistance in the Americas should discard Eurocentric narratives, epistemic violence and salvation narratives. "The interrelationships between our ethics, cosmologies, lifeways and the waters, lands and life-forms that sustain us are as complex and critical to our survival as those between the rivers, lakes and wetlands within the watershed where we reside. In our current political landscape, however, we must also navigate dangerously confining constructs introduced by European colonizers that function as ideological canals, locks and dams."

Walking the Floor of the Great Minnesota Activist Factory: "We switched the model from being a service model—‘we’ll solve the problem for you’—to deep leadership development. We’re gonna partner with you, we’ll provide you with the tools, but you’ve got to be the leader fighting for the change […] A lot of things that call themselves ‘worker centers’ are social services. That’s not a criticism, it’s just a difference. The type of organization we are, we believe that systemic change won’t happen unless it comes from the community. From the people who are directly impacted."

A screenshot of Alex, the first muppet on Sesame Street with a parent in jail, sitting on the stairs of a brownstone building. He has short blue hair, orange skin, and a green nose. Source.

Direct Action Item

Given the possibility of ICE raids sweeping Northern California soon, please share the Northern California Immigration Raid Rapid Response hotline numbers below for immediate assistance, including aid through immigration lawyers:

Alameda County (Oakland): (510) 241-4011

San Francisco County: (415) 200-1548

San Mateo County: NOMIGRA (203) 666-4472

Marin County: (415) 991-4545

Santa Clara County (San Jose): (408) 290-1144

Monterey County: (831) 643-5225

Fresno & San Joaquin County: (559) 978-4797

Sacramento County: (916) 245-6773

Santa Cruz County: (831) 239-4289

Sonoma and Napa County: (707) 800-4544

If there’s something you’d like to see in next week’s #RT, please send us a message.

In solidarity!

What is direct action? Direct action means doing things yourself instead of petitioning authorities or relying on external institutions. It means taking matters into your own hands and not waiting to be empowered, because you are already powerful. A “direct action item” is a way to put your beliefs into practice every week.