#that way its keeps the suspense but ya still get the satisfaction of seeing the detectives kick ass

[yakool-foolio]

tbh I wish the rest of the NDA could have met Shachi before he died.

I wish we could've seen the NDA detectives interact with the Resistance group, since they're basically on two sides of the same coin fighting back against Amaterasu. Unfortunately, chapter 3's set-up with them all being separated makes that pretty impossible to happen, but it's a thought worth considering. If the other detectives met Shachi, I imagine they'd get along pretty well, especially since he's aligned heavily with Yakou's goal to protect Kanai Ward's citizens. I've even spoken about how Yakou and Shachi would get along specifically since it's a plot point in my Death Knight AU. Any friend of Yakou's is a friend to the NDA!

[thequeensbastardenglish]

of whisky, witchcraft and what lies between

When Lena walked into Peggy's bar she'd been ready to tear shreds from her. Elizabeth Walsh was out of Peggy's reach, there was no way for her to pay for what she'd done, she she'd been prepared to hae the daughter pay for the sins of the mother.

But Lena just looks too sad. A couple of drinks couldn't hurt or lead to something more, could it?

read on A03 or please continue...

There was a momentary sense of satisfaction to popping that entitled rich bitch’s idea of her fairytail reunion with her mother’s memory. But it had only lasted a brief moment. Five minutes after Lena Luthor had left the regret had set in. The feeling of unease lying heavy in her gut and the second guessing rattling around in her mind. Now Peggy was pulling pints and serving customers with a churning stomach and knowing that she’d never get the chance to apologise for her harsh words.

Not that she would apologise. Elizabeth Walsh had been rotten to her core and it was better for the Luthor woman to know that then continue to believe her mother was a saint. But she still felt bad. That was her own mother’s fault for raising her to be empathetic. Still. The guilt was eased by the knowledge that someone with Lena Luthor’s money would likely be sleeping on the finest cotton sheets and returning to her life of wealth and luxury. She’d hurt for a bit but what did someone of her stature know about real suffering? So Peggy continued to work and tried to put it out of her mind. It wasn’t like she was ever going to see her again.

Life sure did like its little jokes.

It was later in the evening when Lena Luthor walked back in.

Peggy dropped her bar towel across her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips and watched as Lena approached the bar meekly. Her head lowered, shoulders up, and a definite drag to her steps. For someone so neatly put together she looked a mess.

“Ya look like yer’ve seen some stuff.” It was impossible to hide the nasty satisfaction. Her dear departed mother would be so disappointed. She didn’t remember him well, but she knew her father could hold a grudge, and well, maybe the vindictiveness came form him.

Lena stopped at the bar and placed her arms across the top. She raised her head and it was immediately apparent that she’d been crying. Peggy fought down the urge to immediately try and soothe her.

“You could say that,” Lena said then laughed wetly. She wiped her hand under one eye. “Sorry, I don’t usually — no. Actually I cry a lot these days.”

“Really? Doesn’t come across when I see ya on TV.”

“Public persona’s aren’t real. They’re just carefully crafted fantasy.” She drew in several shaky breaths and finally, once satisfied that she was under control, looked up to meet Peggy’s eye. “I’m surprised you’re not kicking me out.”

Peggy smirked. So, whatever it was Lena had found out it had corroborated what Peggy had told her. That was satisfying. But Peggy wasn’t one to gloat. She could be magnanimous in her grim satisfaction.

“You got cash?”

“More then I know what to do with.”

“Then you can buy yourself a drink. I’m not gonna kick ya out.” Peggy cursed her dear old dead mum and her stringent teaching on hospitality. It’s old magic Peggy, there are rules. Peggy barely resisted the urge to huff in annoyance. “Whisky neat?” she guessed.

Actually…” Lena stared at the pumps. “I’m trying to be better about drinking and wallowing. Whisky is too contemplative. What beer would your recommend for someone who rarely drinks it?”

“YellowBelly’s Fighting Irish is the most popular.”

“That is…” Lena blew out a breath eyeing the pump warily. “Strangely apt. I’ll have that.”

Lena took her half of ale and retreated to the far corner, sliding into a booth and pulling out her phone to make a call. Peggy went about her work. She served customers, took orders, piled dirty glasses into the drawer for the wash, and wiped down tables. Lena remained at her table slowly sipping her beer and talking softly on the phone.

Peggy resolved to ignore her but her eyes were continually drawn to the woman in the corner. She hadn’t even taken her coat off. She sat stiffly, chin tight and head held high. She cut a strange and lonely figure. Dark coat and dark hair stark against her pale skin. She must have burn on overcast days with a complexion like that. She looked smaller in person than she did on television. Maybe it was standing next to Supergirl that made her look taller, more in control, maybe it was just camera trickery and a great stylist team. Whatever it was, Lena Luthor hadn’t brought it with her. SHe looked tired and defeated.

Her call finished her phone lay on the table before her and her glass was finally empty. Peggy walked over.

“Another?” she indicated to the empty glass.

“I’ll take that whisky now please.”

“Thought ya didn’t want to wallow.” Peggy picked up the empty glass and stared down at Lena. She looked tired, and not just the usual jet lagged tired that tourists did around here but a bone deep tired hat she’d be carrying about for the rest of her life. Weary with life as her dear departed mum would say.

“I didn’t but I just chickened out on a phone call so now I do want to wallow.” She smiled sardonically and rolled her eyes. “A bit of whisky to help with the self-deprecation.”

“You rich folk have it so rough.” Peggy marched to the bar and poured Lena her drink, making it a double because she looked like she needed it. On a whim she poured herself one. It was coming up to the end of her shift and she didn’t need to be the one to close up. Perks of being the boss. She went back to Lena’s table where the woman was staring down at her phone as she picked at her finger nail.

Peggy clunked both glasses down loudly and Lena jumped. She stared wide eyed as Peggy sat opposite her and slid her drink across the tale to her. She sipped her own.

“What are you..?” Lena trailed off. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. When she opened her eyes again her gaze had hardened. “I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“Yer sure? Yer look like ya gearing up for one.”

The muscle along Lena’s jaw twitched. She had a hell of a jawline on her. One that could probably cut steel. That maniac of brother of hers must have been right jealous. He was clearly hiding a weak chin beneath his beard.

“I’m being neighbourly. Didn’t want ya drinking alone.”

Lena finally picked up her whisky and took a sip. She put the glass back down and murmured a thank you.

“Saw yer on the phone before. Take it that wasn’t the phone call ya chickened out on.”

“No. That was my friend Andrea. She’s been instrumental in my taking this journey or self discovery.” She rolled her eyes again.

“Then who yer trying to call? “

“Just… A friend. A former, well…” She exhaled, her jaw working. She rubbed her finger against the wooden table top, following the pattern of the grain. Finally she looked up. “She is a friend but for a time I wasn’t a very good friend to her. We fell out. And I did some awful, terrible, arguably unforgivable things to her.”

“But she still calls yer a friend?”

“She’s very understanding. Even to those who least deserve it.”

“Then why aren’t ya calling her? Sounds like if she forgave yer after all that then the least ya could do is call her.”

Lena’s eyes flickered fearfully towards her phone.

“It feels selfish to waste her time with my worries,” she said. She licked her lips nervously. Peggy followed the movement of her tongue and took a long, slow sip of her whisky. She set her glass down gently.

“Sounds more selfish to not call her.” She tapped her fingers against the side of the glass. Lena’s eyes widened and she drew back. Her pale skin going whiter by the second. She was the spitting image of her mother and it made Peggy’s blood boil. She was staring into the face of her father’s murderer and offering her friendly advice when she should have been throwing her drink in her face and cursing her out. “She cares about yer as much as yer make it sound then ya should call her. She’d want to hear how it’s going.”

“You’re right.” Lena picked up her phone and stood up. She stepped out from the booth, paused, turned and grabbed her whisky. She downed it in one swift gulp, lips twisting at the taste. It was a sipping whisky and that was a waste. She wanted to do that then Peggy had some cheap shit behind the bar she could have given her. Lena set the glass down and hurried outside, thumb already moving across her phone.

Peggy sipped her own whisky. With a huff she stood up, took Lena’s empty glass to the bar and refilled it, bringing it back.

From what Lena had told her it sounded like the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Elizabeth had been a terrible friend as well. She’d abandoned Peggy’s mother when she’d needed her the most. Left her to shoulder the looks of pity and incrimination. Peggy had been forced to watch her mother wither under the stress of what had happened to her husband, under the guilt, until she hadn’t been able to stand it anymore and she had given up. She had as good as killed Margaret Bishop as she had her husband.

She swirled her whisky. It wasn’t true what they said, children were stained by the sins of their parents. Elizabeth’s Walsh’s selfishness was written deep into Lena Luthor’s blood. That was also old magic.

She looked up from her drink as Lena returned, shoulders still hunched and her coat still on. She paused when she reached the table, no doubt surprised that Peggy was still there.

“Well. Don’t keep me in suspense.” Peggy raised both brows at Lena. Slowly Lena slid back into the booth. She placed her phone down on the table.

“She was busy. But I gave her a quick rundown of what I’d found out.”

That her long thought exalted mother was a liar, a murderer and a gold digger. She’d probably already known the last one, being the product of an affair and all.

“And?”

Lena looked uncomfortable. “And she was happy that I was getting answers. But she was busy and couldn’t talk for long.”

Maybe Lena wasn’t quite as forgiven as she’d thought.

“Honestly, I’m amazed she’s taking my calls at all.” Lena smiled sadly. She picked up her glass and took a sip. “Thank you. I think after this I’ll try and find somewhere to stay. If anywhere will have me.”

“Might have to go a few towns over.” Elizabeth’s crimes were well known in the area. “Didn’t think you’d be staying.”

“There’s some more questions I want to ask Florence,” Lena said.

Peggy slammed her hand down on the table top. “Y’what?”

Lena had found Florence Abbott. She’d found the other witch that had made up her mother’s coven. Who had left her mother to die.

“I — I have more questions for Florence. Assuming she’s willing to answer them.”

Peggy dragged her nails across the table top. All these years. All these years and Florence had apparently just been hanging around waiting for Lena Luthor to show up. Where the hell had she been Peggy’s entire life? She remembered her vaguely from when she was a child. That she’d been kind, a little stern, tutting when Peggy had begged for sweets but giving her them regardless. She’d left after her father’s funeral. Left rather than face justice.

There were so many things she wanted to say to Florence Abbott and every single one of them would be far harsher then what she’d thrown at Lena.

“Peggy?”

She looked up at Lena’s curious watery gaze. This woman cried at the drop of a hat.

“Enjoy yer drink.” Peggy pushed her half finished drink towards Lena and stood up. She stalked back towards the bar and went back to work guilrt replaced by the old familiar burning twist of anger.

More fool her for ever speaking to Lena Luthor again.

<center>/\/\/\/\</center>

Last orders came and went and Lena Luthor was still at her booth only just finishing off her whisky. Peggy stomped over and stood by the booth, fists on her hips.

“Drink up, settle up and get out.”

“Right.” Lena startled. She slung back the last dregs of her whisky and stood, following Peggy to the bar. She dropped her card on the bar top and Peggy ignored the name of the bank printed on it as she swiped it. To her immense surprise and annoyance Lena dropped a hundred dollar tip.

“Yer driver waiting outside?” Peggy asked. She didn’t really care but it was a force of habit to make sure her patrons made it home safe.

“He’s back at the B&B. He was tired so I told him to get some rest. Use the room I was meant to be staying in.”

“Sounds real smart. Guess that’s why you’re the scientist and I’m just pulling pints. Where you sleeping, genius?”

Lena smiled and shrugged. “I’ll work something out. It’s a nice night for a walk.”

She left. Not that Peggy cared where she slept. It was none of her business. City girl wanted to curl up beneath a tree then more power to her. She had an alien who could fly on her frequent called log, she’d be okay. She probably had the keys to a spaceship in her pocket.

Peggy cashed up, wiped down the bar, said goodbye to her staff and stepped out front to lock up. As she was turning the key she felt the prickle on the back of her neck, the fine hairs rising.

“I’m gonna tell yer now, attacking me would be a serious mistake.” Her voice didn’t tremble. Her fingers tips did. The magic humming beneath her skin.

“Good job that’s not what I’m doing then.”

Peggy spun round. Sure enough Lena Luthor was waiting for her, eyes bright in the light from the bar. “What is it yer want?”

“To talk.”

“Think we talked enough. I’m going home to get some sleep.” She stomped down the steps and brushed past Lena. She was rounding the corner of the bar to the steps for her apartment when Lena called out.

“Florence Abbott had a lot of interesting things to say. Some of them corroborated what you told me.”

“Oh, aye?” Peggy turned. Jaw clenched and fingers curling to fists. “What was it old Florence had to say?”

“Much the same you did. Witchcraft and cauldrons. Hopping over brooms and running naked in the moonlight,” Lena sneered. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things. Even what aliens have passed off as magic but there always a scientific explanation.” She took a step towards Peggy. “What I find interesting is that you believe in it. Even with Supergirl and Superman flying around you still get those that deny the existence of aliens. Why would you ever believe that your mother and mine were witches? Unless…”

“You’re chatty. Where was all this when we were enjoying our drink?”

“I’ve…” Lena tipped her head side to side, wrinkling her nose in thought. “I’ve had time to contemplate. To put some things together.”

Peggy tilted her head back and stared up at the night sky. It was a small town with little light pollution so she could see the stars. For all of her guilt and shame, for all of the blame she took on herself and allowed to grind her down, her mother had always preached kindness.

“Damn ye mum,” she hissed at the stars. She dropped her head, sighing loudly. “Where yer staying tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. The couch is a pull-out.” Peggy turned and went to the stairs leading up to her apartment. She didn’t look back but knew that Lena was following. She put her keys in the door and unlocked it. Behind her she could hear Lena breathing heavily, her teeth nearly chattering even though it wasn’t all that cold. She pushed the door open and stepped in, flicking the light on and kicking off her boots. “Shoes,” she told Lena not waiting to see if she complied.

She walked through to the kitchen and turned on the lights there as well. Lena wandered in after her, looking about the small apartment. She froze in the kitchen door way, her eyes widening.

“You have children,” She said. Peggy followed her gaze to the toys that had been left on the floor.

“Two boys,” she answered. She filled the kettle and placed it on the stove not lighting it yet. “Don’t worry. It’s the holidays and they’re with their father. Tea?”.

“Yes, please.” Lena finally stepped inside the kitchen. “You have a very nice home.”

Peggy snorted. “Ya taught to say that at yer fancy schools?”

“Yes.” Lena unbuttoned her coat, slipped it off revealing a black blouse. She hunger the coat across the back of one of the kitchen tables before pulling it out and sitting down. She rested her forearms on the table, fingers lacing together.

“What did Florence tell ya?”

Lena met her gaze steadily. “That she and my mother and yours were witches.”

“You believe her?”

“I believe what I can see.”

“Can’t see atoms but you believe in them.”

“You can see — of course you can seem atoms.” Lena screwed her brows up, confused. Peggy had never claimed to be good at science. It was one of those subjects that had never clicked for her. “You can’t see magic.”

“You feel magic,” Peggy told her. “Why are yer here?”

“Because.” Lena heaved in a breath. “Because Florence says that I have my mother’s…” her lips twisted into a sneer. “Gift.”

She made the word sound dirty rather than something to cherish. Like it was a shackle she would have to bear always chafing at her flesh. Irritation flashed white hot through Peggy. This woman. With all her money and her airs, with her super powered friends, was looking down on one of the last connections Peggy had to her mother. She saw it as best a joke and worst something to turn her nose up at.

“Doesn’t explain why yer’ve come crawling to me.” She crossed her arms, glared at Lena. “I don’t have answers for ya.”

“Sounds like this ‘gift’ is hereditary.”

“So yer wondering if I have it? Even though you don’t believe in magic.”

“I’m not going to believe in something without evidence.”

She should kick her out. Tell her not to darken her doorstep ever again. Instead without breaking eye contact, Peggy turned the gas on for the stove top and put her finger to the ring. Lena’s brows drew down, her lips parting. It took so little effort. No will at all. Just the barest hint of a tingle in her fingertips. It was more a parlour trick than real magic. A small flame flickered from Peggy’s fingertip lighting the gas.

Lena twitched but to her credit didn’t leap from her seat. Didn’t start screeching for the villagers to get their pitchforks. She raised her eyes to meet Peggy’s and exhaled slowly.

“I suspected,” she breathed. “It passes from mother to daughter?”

“Not always. It’s dying out, there aren’t enough of us left.”

Lena nodded, absorbing the information. “I don’t want it,” she said finally.

“Tough shit.” Peggy turned to her cupboards and pulled out two mugs. She set about preparing the tea pot as the kettle on the stove started boiling.

“I won’t do anything with it. It doesn’t matter if it’s… there. I don’t want it and I won’t use it.”

The kettle boiled and Peggy poured the water into the waiting pot. She set it down on the table before Lena, ignoring the frown and pout she was sporting. She pushed one mug towards Lena and kept the other for herself.

“I don’t have any fancy china to break out for ya,” she explained. Lena curled her long fingers around the empty mug, seemingly not caring that it was chipped. “Good news for yer is that it’s probably too late for ya t’learn. Normally mother teaches daughter. That usually happens young. Yer mother not being here, yer age, well…” She shrugged. “You might have the gift but I doubt you’ll ever learn to use it.”

Not more then cheap tricks anyway. Very few learnt instinctively and without a teacher Lena’s power, whatever it might be, would eventually wither.

Lena seemed troubled at the news. She shrunk down, shoulders up again and head lowering. Biting back the umpteenth sigh for the night, Peggy poured both their teas. Much like Peggy, the gift was probably Lena’s only real connection to her mother. Her real mother, not the Luthor matriarch who spoke in syrupy sweet tones on the television but couldn’t hide the cold contempt in her eyes.

Peggy poured them both half a cup of tea. Lena lifted it and inhaled the aroma, closing her eyes.

“Its fennel and ginger,” Peggy said. “It’ll soothe ya and help ya sleep. Good for the bowels too.”

“Thank you.” Lena smiled at her over the top of her mug. The stress lines around her eyes melted away, the hardened edge of her lips softened, and she looked like she should. A beautiful young woman. One who likely shouldn’t be looking like she was trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulder.

“You got no luggage?”

“I left it in the car,” Lena admitted. Her smile turned a little sheepish as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

They sat in a not completely uncomfortable silence drinking their tea. Finally Peggy drained the last of her mug and stood up.

“I’ll lend ya a shirt or something.” She quickly cleaned up. Pointed Lena in the direction of the bathroom while she went to the den and pulled out the couch and found some blankets that didn’t smell too fusty. She’d just finished making up the couch when Lean reappeared, her face freshly washed and hair out of it’s neat braid.

Without the make up she looked softer. Younger. Less fake and more like a real person. Even more like her mother. She favoured the Luthor’s colouring but the eyes and the jaw line were all Elizabeth.

Peggy hated her.

Lena pulled at her own fingers as she approached. “Thank you for this. It means a lot to me.”

Peggy pulled a shaky breath in through her nose and held it.

Magic was a strange and unpredictable thing. Peggy hadn’t always been the best student of the craft, her mother had only shared enough so Peggy wouldn’t hurt herself, and anything else Peggy had taught herself through painful trial and error. But she knew that when magic called you answered. And she was drawn to Lena. Felt it in every moment where she’d wanted to turn her away but had pulled her in. Had anted to cast her out but invited her into her home. Served her tea and invoked old magic that meant she couldn’t kick her out.

Her eyes dropped to Lena’s parted lips.

“Fuck.”

Lena’s eyes widened a fraction just before Peggy kissed her. Her lips were soft. They parted further, a surprised “oh,” breathed against Peggy’s mouth. She stumbled back, her fingers going to her mouth.

Peggy’s heart was thundering. What was she thinking? What the actual fuck was she thinking? This woman was everything she despised and yet Peggy wanted her.

Lena stepped back into her and pressed her lips to Peggy’s. They stood in the low light of the den, hands y their sides, bodies apart, but leaning into one another, lips moving against and with one another. Lena tasted like her tea and whisky, with a hint of mint that suggested she’d slipped a mint at some point. Peggy brushed her tongue against Lena’s and the small whimper that Lena emitted made her break the kiss.

She stared into Lena’s eye. The faded moss green of one and the gentle washed out blue of the other.

“This way.” Peggy walked past her, not waiting for a response. Lena followed behind her as she led her to the bedroom.

Peggy switched on the bedside lamp and pushed the door closed behind Lena. She didn’t reach for her but she turned, stepping back till her knees met the edge of her bed. Lena swallowed, eyes tracking over Peggy.

It wasn’t about romance. Certainly not about love. It was something older and more primal than that. It was about the pull that Peggy felt and that she was sure Lena felt too. Old magic drawing them to one another.

She didn’t go to Lena and Lena didn’t come to her. They stood apart and each stripped off their own clothes dropping them to the floor until they were both bare and only then did they close the gap between them. Only then did Peggy curl her hand around the back of Lena’s neck and draw her towards her, capturing her lips in a heated kiss.

She pressed Lena down atop the sheets on her bed. Kissed her as she cupped her breasts, thumbs skimming over already stiffened nipples.

Part of her wanted to wrap her hands around Lena’s exquisite neck. To throttle her the way someone should have done her mother. But Lena gasped and trembled beneath her like it had been age since she’d been touched with anything resembling kindness so the urge was smothered. It had been a long time for Peggy as well. Not for the kindness, but the gratification of sex. So she kissed Lena and let her hands roam over soft skin, she rolled her hips and moaned at the feel of long strong fingers exploring the length of her body. They gasped wetly into one another mouths, legs twisted together as their hands delved between on anothers legs.

Then it was a race to the finish. They breathed hot and wet, fingers pressing, hips pushing. Messy and beautiful and heart pounding.

Lena came first. Her hips shuddering against Peggy’s hand and letting out a small broken cry. She shook, twitching away from Peggy’s touch. She gulped down several breaths. Just as Peggy was starting to suspect she was going to have to finish herself off, Lena rolled her over to her back, lowered her head and took a nipple in her mouth. She pressed two finger inside her and ground down on her clit with the heel of her hand and — <em>oh!</em> — She had impressively long fingers.

Peggy’s orgasm was almost overwhelming. It rolled white hot through her, liquid heat and all those over used flowery imagery, with stars bursting behind her eyelids. Really she came so fucking hard that she yelled and slicked wetly against Lena’s hand.

When she opened her eyes Lena was leaning over her. Eyes wide and shining, red blooming in her cheeks and chest, her hair in disarray.

She was beautiful. And broken. Peggy could see the cracks running though her and the way she was desperately trying to hold onto herself.

“Well that was something.” Peggy wiped her own hand down her stomach and settled back on the pillows.

Lena laughed. The smile curling a the edge of her lips a little shy. She dropped onto the bed next to Peggy and stared up at the ceiling.

“This wasn’t what I was expecting when I followed you home,” she admitted.

If she had a better understanding of her gift then she would have seen that it was inevitable.

“Come with me to see Florence tomorrow,” Lena said.

Peggy shook her head. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Maybe one day she would be ready to face that woman but she refused to be part of it now.

“I’ll just get in the way,” she said. She turned her head so she could watch Lena, took in the frown pulling at her lips. She wanted her again. To touch her. To taste her. Sex was a kind of magic in it’s own way. People never really understood how much of themselves they gave away in the act.

“Right.” Lena licked her lips. She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Stay,” Peggy said. Lena looked back at her, surprised. Like she thought Peggy would kick her out. Which to be fair was probably exactly what she was used to in these situations. She knew nothing of the old ways. Peggy reached out and trailed a finger down her spine. “Stay and make me come like that again. I’ll make ya breakfast in the morning.”

The smile that broke across Lena’s face was the best yet. Her cheeks dimpled and eyes squinted closed. She turned and leaned over Peggy, buried her face to her exposed throat and pressed her lips to her pulse.

She wouldn’t go with Lena to see Florence. She already knew this was a fleeting moment not meant to last. That Lena would leave, go back to her friend whom she had hurt and work on her forgiving herself. Likely she would rarely think of Peggy.

She didn’t know it but she had smoothed the jagged edges of Peggy’s hurt. Made the ache where she kept the memory of her mother that little bit less.

But it didn’t hurt to hope that Lena might think of her again one day.

[queenofcandynsoda]

Liverless

(Slightly, Hikari, and Peter to @opotakuism)

The night was cool and dark. The full moon is shining on the waves. As a large ship travels through the waves, the clock strikes midnight. Four men are patrolling on the deck. All of them are wearing Marine uniforms. They are carrying rifles on their shoulders and their eyes are observing outside of the ship. Despite there is no danger, the men are constantly alert in case of any surprise attack. 

One of the marines, named Ali, is observing the stern side of the ship. He is young and newly recruited. He is rather nervous as he didn’t expect to be thrown into a sailing Marine ship so soon as a night watcher. Especially in the New World. He worries that there would be a surprise attack if the ship is too close to a Yonko’s territory.

“Hey, Ali!” This shout pulls Ali away from his thoughts and turns to the lieutenant and navigator of the ship. “How’s the night treating ya?” The young marine sighs, “It’s alright” He looks back up to the sky. He turns to the front to see two stars, with the second one is on the right. 

“This is strange.” The lieutenant mumbled to himself. “Is there a problem, lieutenant?” Ali asked his superior and the lieutenant shows him the item he’s holding, a compass. The compass needle is constantly spinning around with no clear direction. “That’s not good. This could set us to get lost. “What should we do?” Ali asked. 

“Drop the anchor! We can’t risk getting lost at night!” The lieutenant shouted to the helmsman, who then pulls a lever, causing the anchor to drop. “But… Captain’s orders are to keep sailing…” Ali hesitated. 

“We will have to dock here for the night. At least by morning, the compass will be working better.” The lieutenant reassured Ali. “It won’t be too bad. The captain will understand. Besides, we have done this several times so there’s nothing wrong to worry about.” Ali reluctantly agreed with the lieutenant. The idea of being anchored in the New World feels uneasy to him. 

“I just need you to be on the stern for a while as I check this out. Your shift is about to end so it won’t be too long.” The young marine agreed and looked back at the stern. He looks at the ocean in front of him. Ali shouldn’t be too afraid of the New World. As long they stay in course, they won’t get attacked. Since they are in they’re anchor on a route where no Yonko or their allies pass through, the ship is safe from any harm.

He starts to feel drowsy. He rubs his eyes to stay awake. It’s strange that he starts to feel tired since he slept all afternoon to have enough energy to stay awake.

Ali looks up to see some dust falling on him. It was bright and dark blue. Ali gathers a bit on his hand as it stops flowing down. Suddenly, his eyes started to get droopy. He grips on the rails as his legs collapsed. He ends up letting go and his eyes closed, drifting off to sleep.

Ali wakes up and raises himself up from the ground. He realized that he had fallen asleep on his shift. If the captain knows about this, he could get a suspension or worse. He looked at his watch and it’s 1 AM. He realized that this is very unusual because his shift is supposed to end at 12:30 AM. Ali is wondering why did no one else come. Against his judgment and the rules, he leaves the stern side of the port and starts to investigate. 

He walks around the ship’s deck and he sees that the other three marines are missing. Ali starts to head below deck to the cabin. He suddenly has a gut feeling, telling him to not go to the cabin. However, he goes into the hallway to the cabin, gripping onto his rifle. On his way to the cabin, he looks at the walls and the doors on the side. He opens each door and positions his rifle as if he’s ready to shoot. He is checking if there’s an intruder. Fortunately, all the rooms are completely empty and nothing appeared to be unusual. Ali took a sigh of relief as he goes to another room.

Then a thud from the cabin catches his attention. 

Ali tries turning on the light but it seems that it has no power or that the light bulbs stop working. He takes a step forward and hears a puddle below him. It sounds like he stepped on one. But it’s impossible for water to drip or a pipe break. He kneels down to touch the puddle and step back to the hallway for light. 

His fingers are covered in blood. 

Ali felt panic around his body

He hears another thud but it sounds more wet, like a butcher cutting flesh. Ali quietly goes to the utility room to grab a flashlight and goes back to the cabin. He turns it on and looks at the group. It confirms that there is a puddle of blood below him. Ali moves the flashlight around and his heart sank.

The entire crew is deadly pale as blood comes out of their noses and mouth. He looks down to see the Captain, with a gun on his hand, with his neck bitten off and a hole on his abdomen. Ali turns to see the lieutenant lying on his chest with several stab wounds. The recruit moves his flashlight to show more of his twenty-seven fellow marines dead, most of them are still in their beds. Ali is on the verge of tears as he moves the flashlight, getting closer to the source of the noise.

The light exposed a figure on top of a recently deceased marine. He turns to Ali in surprise. The figure appears to be a fair-skin preteenage boy with vibrant autumn orange hair and yellow eyes. He wears a kimono shirt with shorts. The two biggest features to him are the fox ears and tail. It reminds Ali of the Mink tribe but the child appears to be mostly human. He could be a hybrid or a devil fruit eater.

He noticed the boy has a sword on his left hand, digging into the abdomen of his deceased ally. Ali wasted no time in grabbing his rifle and positioned himself to shoot when he saw it. He shouted, “Stand down! Or I will shoot!” His heart is racing in fear and his arms are shaking. The figure however didn’t listen to him. Instead, he went closer to the small window. “I’m warning you! Stand down!” Ali shouted in fright. The figure continues to ignore him. He turns to the window to look directly at the full moon. Ali is about to shoot until he noticed that the figure is transforming. 

His once autumn orange hair radiantly changed into cold glistening silver as the moon, growing as it reaches down his legs. Claws grow as hooked blades, black thorn tattoos flourishing through his arms, neck, and cheeks. His bushy tail sprung as it counted from one.

Two.

Three.

Four.

It did not stop until they grew nine. 

His almond eyes of yellow pupils shaded in red, sclera bleached in black. The half-fox mink flashed a mischievous grin, exposing his canine fangs, growling in anticipation... for the kill.

Ali paled as he is about to pull the trigger. However, it seems as the figure disappeared as soon he shoots at it. The marine is shaking in terror and looks around for the figure. Suddenly, he felt a sharp and burning pain in his chest. Ali starts gasping for air as tears fall from his eyes. He looks down to see the figure slowly stabbing him with his clawed. 

His clawed hand impaled his prey's chest. Fingers squeezing the lungs to detect his favorite part until it was found under the rib cage on the right side of the abdomen. He paid no attention to Ali’s painful scream, nor the warm crimson spilled from the hole his hand dugs in. The figure sighed in satisfaction as he grabbed the liver, pulled away from Ali’s now cold, unmoving body, and collapsed on the ground.

The half-fox mink looks at the liver. It’s big and untainted by alcohol and drugs. Its crimson color looks tasty to him. He starts to chow down on the organ. Having it being torn away from a terrified Marine gives it a more satisfying sweetness. His den-den mushi rings in his pocket, causing him to answer it. “Hello?” He responded. 

“Are all the Marines dead, Slightly?” Asked the voice. The voice sounds masculine yet childish. 

“Yes, Hikari…~ I had an easy time killing them off with Black Bow’s Sleeping Dust…~” Slight amused to the voice, now known as Hikari.

“Are there any weapons…?” Hikari questioned him. “There is an abundance of weapons here along with some sea stone…~ All in good condition…~” Slightly grinned as he wiped the blood from his mouth. “Great job…~ Get your fleet to raid the ship and I’ll send it off…~ Peter will be happy with this…~” The voice from the other end finally said before he hung up.

Slightly picks up a cutlass from the captain’s corpse. It has a golden handle and is in great condition. It seems like it has been recently made. “Tiger Lily will love this…~” He smiled as he leaves the ship, letting his fleet to raid the ship.

[stormquill]

One Equal Temper | chapter one [V/Reader]

As hell itself wreaks havoc upon your city, an angel lands on your doorstep—one who doesn’t seem to realize he has wings.

Author’s Notes: Follow the blog @one-equal-temper.

Notes: actual, literal footage of V trying to comprehend that someone finds him physically attractive

The flowers kept you going.

Kneeling on your balcony, you pressed a finger to the soil, ensuring the loose earth was damp enough to the touch. Every flower had been misted, their white petals bright against the backdrop of a half-ruined landscape. Their stems were more frail than they were the last time you checked, weakened by a lack of sunlight; the thick fog of clouds blanketing the sky only seemed to be getting worse by the day.

An occasional sound would pierce the silence—the unearthly reverb of a demonic roar, the thunderous collapse of another distant structure to rubble and dust.

The earth had her orbit. You had your routine.

The city could be destroyed if it wanted to be.

Eventually, you looked up from your handiwork, only to be met by a massive demonic bird perched atop your balcony railing.

“Hello,” you said, dumbstruck.

“Heya,” it said back.

The bird’s beak split into three as it spoke, its masculine voice laced with an unnatural echo. His dark, iridescent plumage shined a royal azure beneath the polluted sunlight, boasting stripes of electric blue bright as beetle shells across the length of his feathers.

You tried not to panic. All you had was a spray bottle, and unless you wanted to spritz at him like an unruly housecat, not much could be done if he suddenly decided to tear your face off.

“You’re very beautiful,” you observed.

“Yeah, wish I could say the same about you.” He cocked his head, his eyes a pair of gold beads behind a bony crown. “Soooo. Whatchya doin’ down there?”

“Gardening.”

“Gardening!” he cackled. “Trimmin’ the hedges, even in the apocalypse. Talk about priorities. Look, pal—not sure if you noticed, but your entire city’s gone straight to hell. Last place on earth a human like you should be playin’ around in the dirt.”

You offered an uneasy smile. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“Ohoho, someone thinks highly of themselves! Nah, you ain’t worth my time. You’re as good as dead hangin’ around a place like this, anyway. Might as well be diggin’ yourself a little grave down there.”

“A grave, huh?” You looked back at the flowerbed with mock concern. “I’m gonna need more soil.”

“You’ve really got no sense of self-preservation, do ya?”

“Now you sound like my surgeon.”

“Whatever, buddy. It’s your funeral.”

With that, the bird took from your railing, sinking away from view with several beats of his great wings.

As you returned to your work and daydreamed about the hypothetical dimensions of a planter large enough to bury yourself in, there was a knock at your door.

Your stomach dropped.

There was a knock. At your door.

You rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a knife with the blind, reckless determination only shown by those who had no idea what they were doing.

More knocks followed—slower, louder than before. You could tell they were using some heavy, blunt object to tap against your apartment door.

You kept several feet between yourself and the locked entrance, as if it were liable to implode at any moment.

“How did you get past the barricade?” you demanded.

“I used the fire escape,” a dark voice answered, with a lilt that sounded almost playful.

You spat out a curse. You’d forgotten about the fire escape.

“Pardon my intrusion,” the stranger continued, “but I couldn’t help but notice those delightful flowers adorning your balcony.”

“You climbed six stories to talk about my plants?”

“Of course. They are deserving of proper compliment, though such curated beauty would not have survived unaided. And, as demons don’t typically make a habit of keeping gardens…”

“You knew someone was here.” You ran a hand through your hair. Not blocking the fire escape, leaving your greenery out in the open—you’d been careless about your continued presence here, and now you were going to pay for it. “You here to kill me, then?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Par for the course for everything else in this fucking city.”

“I assure you, I mean you no harm. I am simply...curious.”

“You know, curiosity didn’t do any favours for the cat.”

“And yet satisfaction still brought it back.”

“What would satisfy you, exactly?”

“A proper introduction.”

The nerve.

Ignoring the pounding of your pulse in your ears, you approached the door to sneak a look through its peephole. The fisheye lens gave you a muddied view of a man in black; he held an open book in one hand and a steel walking stick in the other, the handle of which he must’ve been using to knock on your door.

Whoever he was looked human, at least.

You took a deep breath.

Slowly, carefully, you unlocked the door, keeping the chain lock in place as you inched it open.

The man stood taller than you, slender and well-postured, his dark, sweeping hair looking impossibly soft. Though he was wearing a pair of black jeans, he was shirtless beneath a sleeveless leather coat, showing off tattoos swirling across the pallor of his skin like ink bleeding in water.

You stared up at him through the gap in the door. “And you are?”

Drifting from his book, his eyes met yours—a green so deep they were almost black.

“My name is Wonderful. Inquire not after it, seeing it is a secret.”

“I...what?”

“Just kidding,” he smirked, snapping his book shut. “Call me V.”

You felt like he was telling some kind of joke you weren’t in on.

Trying to hold your nerve, you introduced yourself in return. He repeated after you, and hearing your name in his voice made something warm stir inside your chest.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he said, giving a slight bow of his head. “My apologies for the disruption.”

To your surprise, he turned heel, using his cane to lead himself back down the hallway.

“Wait,” you sputtered, still trying to peek after him through the two-inch gap of the chain-locked door, “where are you going?”

“I’m on a timeline, I’m afraid,” he called back.

Panic set in at the prospect of being alone again, the sudden fear of it rattling like ice in the hollows of your ribcage. You hadn’t seen or spoken to a single living person since the catastrophe started, and the powers that be were gracious enough to dropship you someone who spoke like a poet and dressed like a victorian harlot—who were you to not welcome the distraction?

A fleeting thought had you wondering if vampires were real, too.

(Was that what the ‘V’ stood for? It was a little on-the-nose.)

You unchained the door and swung it open, half-stumbling into the hallway, catching him before he rounded the corner and disappeared from your life, forever.

“Would you like some tea??” you shouted after him.

V stopped in his tracks and turned to face you—you, with your hopeful expression, your knife by your side, your fingertips still caked with garden soil.

He smirked at the sight of you, and your heart skipped a beat.

-

The electricity in your complex had been out for quite some time, but the plumbing was still fully functional: you could fill a kettle with water and light a burner of the gas-powered stove without issue.

“Sorry for being an asshole,” you said from the kitchen. “I’m a little...well, you’re the first thing with the right number of limbs I’ve seen in a week.”

“Do not apologize for your caution,” he replied. “It is what has been keeping you alive, after all.”

V looked a little out of place on your living room couch—such elegance and proper posture sitting amongst a dragon’s hoard of supplies you’d stolen from neighboring apartments. He was surrounded by small hills of plastic water bottles and canned food, but he didn’t seem to pay the mess around him any mind. You noticed he was wearing sandals. Who wore sandals to the apocalypse?

“Have you been here long?” he asked.

You took a seat across from him and tried not to look at his feet. “Since a few days after the incident, I think.”

“Is there a reason for not evacuating with the others?”

“Oh. I, um.” Hesitating for a moment, you pulled back your sleeve and held up your arm, revealing a band still wrapped around your wrist. Why you hadn’t removed it yet, you didn’t know. “I guess you could say I missed the boat.”

He glanced at your wristband, putting two and two together. “You were in the hospital.”

“Car accident. I remember an ambulance, being taken to a room...a lot of it’s hazy, but by the time I came to, everyone was already gone.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you figured simply getting up and walking home was your best chance of survival?”

“I needed to get out of there one way or another.” You tried to laugh it off, but you just ended up sounding terrified. “Those creatures weren’t as rampant then as they are now, but I was still dodging hellspawn armed with a hospital gown and the worst headache of my life. Felt like I was in a fucking horror movie.”

“Impressive. For a civilian,” he amended.

The qualifier annoyed you. You thought it was pretty damn impressive for anyone.

“Only people who aren’t civilians use the word ‘civilian,’” you said, irritated. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I am many things,” he explained, and you wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse. “For one, I am tasked with purging this realm of the evil that’s befallen it.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?”

His expression flickered. “There is...much work to be done.”

“No kidding.” Glancing away, you tried to keep your anxiety about it from being too obvious. You’d still get the occasional mental flash of the monsters you encountered during your escape—too many eyes, too many legs, too many goddamn teeth. “Is it like this everywhere?”

“No, the breakout has been contained to this city alone.” He tilted his head towards you, a sudden glint in his eyes. “Which is precisely what makes your survival so remarkable.”

“Lucky me.”

After your recent series of unfortunate events, suspension of disbelief was a luxury of the past: if this guy had dropped in telling you he was the King of France, you would've swapped his pronouns for ‘Your Majesty’s without a second thought. Deep down, you knew the true, supernatural, cataclysmic magnitude of the situation was far beyond your understanding, but you still couldn’t help but wonder about the man sitting in front of you. With the way he spoke, the way he carried himself...if he really was ‘tasked with purging evil,’ as he put it, maybe he was an angel of some kind.

If demons existed, angels did too, right?

“Thank you,” you started, feeling a sudden wave of humility, “for taking the time to talk to a complete stranger. I’m sure you’ve...y’know. Got more important things to do.”

“You seemed like you needed the company,” he said. “I imagine it gets quite lonely.”

A nervous laugh escaped you. “I just never knew how quiet the world could be.”

“You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. The sentiment resounds doubly for silence.”

You could tell by his tone he was quoting something, but wherever it was from was lost on you.

Until this point, the disasters you witnessed felt like an adrenaline-induced fever dream, mostly because you’d experienced them alone—but being seen, being acknowledged by someone else gave it all a gravity it didn’t have before. As your state of constant terror and survival began to fray at the edges, the full weight of your catastrophe settled somewhere between your shoulder blades, and you felt as if you’d aged the entire week’s events at once.

Eventually, you met his eyes again, and there was a warmth in them that wasn’t there before, as if he, too, had heard the quiet of a barren world and knew just how loud it could be.

“Are you alone?” you asked, finally. “Doing the whole demon-killing thing?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. With regards to the city, my allies and I have chosen to divide and conquer.”

‘Allies,’ he called them. Fellow hunters. You wondered what they were like. Did they all dress and speak like he did? They probably had matching tattoos. And motorcycles.

“And what of you?” he asked. “Do you know anyone who may have escaped the city? Friends? A loved one, perhaps?”

(The way your eyes flickered to your balcony did not escape his notice.)

“No,” you settled on. “Do you? Have any loved ones, I mean.”

He hummed. “Love is but one of many luxuries time has not seen fit to afford me.”

The weight of his statement gave you pause. A handful of words birthed a hundred implications, none of which could be clarified in any marginally polite manner. You hadn’t even known he existed fifteen minutes ago—it wasn’t any of your business, if he’d ever loved anyone before. If he’d ever been loved in turn. If time itself was a mitigating factor, or if he was simply running out of it.

“You seem surprised,” he said, snapping you from your reverie.

“A little.”

“Why?”

At this point, you were sure he was teasing you, just a ploy to trick you into a compliment—you’re impossibly attractive, V, how could you not have the world at your feet—but you found his expression of earnest curiosity catching you completely off-guard.

Did he not recognize himself as someone who could be loved?

The kettle whistled.

You were quick to your feet.

The way he’d looked to you for an answer—it wasn’t a matter of low self-esteem or self-deprecation, it was a moment of sincere confusion from someone who had never considered himself in that light. He was ethereal. Alien. An entity from some other world, some alternate plane, naive to his effect on mortal beings on this earth, and by some horrible twist of fate, the universe saw you fit to be the first to bring it to his attention.

Heat rose in your cheeks.

If he were an angel, there would a very special place in hell, reserved just for you.

You busied yourself in the kitchen for much longer than necessary, in an effort to put as much space between you and the conversation as possible. As you had no milk or cream to speak of, and the sugar was already in its own little jar, you spent an agonizing four minutes rifling through the cupboards, pretending to decide between tea mugs as if it were the single most important decision of your life.

By the time you returned to the living room, V was reading. You could see his book more clearly, now, bound in brown hardcover and embellished with gold embroidery.

“Is that your journal?” you asked, setting a mug down in front of him.

“A collection of poetry.” He smiled a little, pointing to his initial on the cover. “Fifth volume.”

You couldn’t tell if he was joking. You found yourself returning his smile, anyway.

Keeping your cup in your hands, you slid back into the seat across from him. “Will you read to me?”

“No need to fear, I will spare you the tedium.”

“No, I mean.” You looked everywhere, anywhere but him. “I—I’d like to hear it.”

He glanced askance at you from above the edge of his book, but your slightly-flustered look of interest eased his suspicions at once. To his pleasant surprise, you were being serious.

“Well then,” he teased, a slight smirk curling at the edge of his lips, “since you asked so politely.”

You wrapped your fingers around your steaming mug to keep yourself from fidgeting. You watched his slender fingers turn the pages, slow and deliberate, until he found what he was searching for.

And he spoke.

“Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care,

But for another gives its ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.”

He continued on, speaking as if his voice wouldn’t still your heart to silence, glancing up between verses as if the deep green of his eyes wouldn’t make you feel like you were drowning.

He was enchanting.

And you were in trouble.

[lollytea]

Hi, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing in anything way, and... if I do disturb you, sorry 'bout that. But, I'm rather curious; in your Trolls miraculous au (I happen to LOVE both fandoms and almost had a heart attack when I saw them combined in the exact same way I had imagined), how exactly do you picture the Volpina episode? Since Creek is Lila/Chloe and stuff... Once again perdón por las molestias (sorry for distubing you, more or less) and thank you.

No problem. I’m glad you asked. If anything, I like to keep expanding this AU. So let’s get thinking.

Okay, if I remember how the episode started, it was Adrien finding the miraculous book. So let’s say Poppy finds it in her Dad’s safe. (I like to imagine that Peppy had a miraculous when we was young.) With the help of Plagg, of course.

So, she goes to school and let’s say Creek catches a glimpse of her skimming through the book. Not that Poppy’s stupid or anything, but she’s not as careful with these sort of things as Branch is. She didn’t get a chance to look at it before she left for school and the suspense was killing her so she just HAD to take it out.

Now, what I’m thinking in this AU is that Chef is Hawkmoth and Creek is involved in it somehow. He used to just work at her restaurant (and still does) but ever since he saw her transform, she’s insisted that he assist her with akumatizations, cuz she knows what a piece of shit he is. Now, while I’d say Creek DOES get some satisfaction out of this job, he’s not really the supervillain type. It’s more of a 9-5 job that he gets paid for. He’s pretty “Sure, whatever” about his duty to bring the city to chaos. He knows that if shit gets TOO dangerous, he knows where Hawkmoth’s lair is so he’s got somewhere safe to hide.

But anyway, Creek sees Poppy’s book and immediately knows that could be useful to Chef. Also he may or may not have gotten a pay cut from dropping a whole stack of fine china while working in the kitchen so hey, what better way to get on her good side again? So he’s like “Heeeeeey, friend. You’re a smart cookie. Come into the library and help me with my homework, would ya?”

Branch comes in at the exact time to see Creek leading Poppy into the library and well. Okay Poppy used to have a bit of a crush on Creek. Her Dad sometimes booked dinners at Chef’s and she saw him there for the first time long before she started public school. She thought he was cute and would try and get glimpses of him from behind the kitchen and eventually kept trying to have short conversations with him every time they ate there. Creek couldn’t care less about her but he was polite enough cuz hey, he can’t be rude to the customers. Plus she was the mayor’s daughter and a famous model. Couldn’t hurt to be on good terms with her. But ever since Ladybug came into the picture, Poppy’s interest in Creek has evaporated entirely.

However, that doesn’t stop Branch’s skin from crawling EVERY FUCKING TIME he sees them in close proximity. While Branch doesn’t think he himself deserves to be with her, he kinda hates himself a whole lot and ends up putting himself through having to watch them together just to get angry. So yeah, he spies on them in the library.

Creek “Just so happens” to notice Poppy’s book and feigns surprise. He kinda just thinks of his plan right then and there so he’s like “I’m….a superhero and…. I really need that book for reasons” He also decides to throw him that he knows Ladybug. According to Creek, the two of them are mates. Actually y’know what? This isn’t the first time Creek has done this. He’s probably constantly telling people he’s friends with Ladybug and pisses Branch the fuck off.

Then of course, Branch is doing his best not to yell “BULLSHIT” from behind a shelf. Meanwhile, even though he’s trying to suspend his disbelief, he’s also trying to wrangle Tikki back into his pocket cuz she’s insistent on getting that fucking book for whatever reason.

Poppy is also pretty uncertain about Creek’s story but he promises to prove it to her later in the park. Apparently kids in Paris spend a lot of time in parks after school so let’s say this is like a daily thing. The whole class is there.

So after getting the briefest glance at a fox themed hero from the book, Creek buys a cheap foxtail necklace so he can “reveal his identity” to Poppy and hopefully get the book off her.

And then. Branch. Goes. Off. Like there is nothing remotely mature about what this boy does. He transforms into Ladybug, stomps up to Poppy and Creek in the park and just starts yelling at him. Friendly reminder that the whole Snack Pack is there. Just like “Bitch I heard you were telling lies. What the fuck?? We’re not friends, I don’t even know you!”

Creek does not deal well with being insulted in front of people. He does not deal well with it at all. Public humiliation of any kind is not good for keeping his calm. Also this is LADYBUG. He’s angry but like Creek can’t exactly argue back against Ladybug without getting his ass kicked so he does the wise thing and storms off.

Poppy is quite honestly shocked. She did not expect this kind of outburst from someone she idolized and naturally, gives him a piece of her mind. Branch doesn’t really know how to deal with Poppy telling him off (usually its the other way around) but somehow, he manages to keep his cool and as Tikki hums impatiently at him, informs her that he needs the book. Poppy just walks up, slams it against his chest and leaves.

Creek is pissed. Creek is very pissed. He’s pissed at Ladybug especially. And good God, Chef realizes just what potential she’s been missing out on. He’s clever, he’s manipulative, he has little empathy, he’s determined. This boy she’s had working under her all this time, would be an excellent akuma. She doesn’t hesitate to make him one. There we go. There’s our sneaky fox Volpina of this AU. (omg is anyone thinking about how horrible that orange is gonna look with Creek’s green/turquoise hair cuz I sure as hell am. Eh, it’s tacky and he deserves it.)

Now, battle, superhero-ing and fighting scenarios ensue that I don’t have it in me to write. Creek’s the akuma of the day, Ladybug and Chat Noir deal with it. The end. I feel like his allusion powers don’t really have the same kinda tension as having Chat Noir right beside him, Branch doesn’t buy Creek hanging “Poppy” over a high building.

So anyways, the akuma is destroyed and Creek has no fucking clue what happened (once he hears he got akumatized he gon go off on Chef.) and Branch gives him an honest apology for yelling at him. Like while Creek probably did deserve it (although Branch doesn’t say that) he feels that being so immature about the whole thing was no better. Chat Noir recognizes the sincerity in Ladybug’s tone and quietly forgives him, just as her time is running out so she’s gotta run.

Lastly we got Branch and Tikki looking through the miraculous book and Tikki’s insisting that they return it to who needs it. Now I’m not too sure on this one just yet, but it would be pretty cool if Peppy doubled as Master Fu. Like he’s so close to the goings on of these kids lives already. Plus he’d know in a second that his daughter was worthy of a miraculous. But yeah, I’m kinda unsure about that one for now. I’ll think about it.