#but also my voice is a baritone now the masses will only ever see me as a man 🤣 too bad they forced me to go on T. good thing i LOVED IT

[trickylights]

The spirit of vocal energy

I have for years found myself desperately trying to make my voice higher. I always dreamed of being able to sing roles like Phantom or Jean-Valjean. What I’m realizing now is that they are true baritones with high notes. Their vocal energy is deep and wide. There are parts of my voice that exist in a high scream. At least they used to be there. I may have drank them all away now.

These days I feel that my vocal energy is low and stoic. It has been 9 days since my last drink and I am feeling more clear headed than ever. I know that it can take up to 3 months for the brain to reach it’s full potential again after years of heavy drinking. In fact, I may have shrunk the grey matter in my brain and that can never be reversed. But that is ok. I am accepting the things that I cannot change.

I am moving forward with my life. I am going back to school. Although I am 34 I am ready to begin a new undergraduate program. I have finally realized that I have wasted so much time and energy doing things that only felt good temporarily or brought me to a community of people. While this has been very advantageous for me in many ways, it is no longer serving me. I do not desire fame, nor do I desire attention on a mass scale. I desire to build new skills, and to be a better friend and partner. I want to build things, I want to understand plants and soil, I want to fight for the environment. I want to understand systems of law. I want to also make money so I can use it for good. I want to have a home I am proud of. I want to look around and see things that I have built. I want to smile when I see my garden. I want to play my guitar for peace and tranquility, not to rage and get fucked up.

I’m sober now. I’m sitting in my voice where I truly live. I’m opening my eyes.

[kokiseiko]

Fleeting Touches and Unbreakable Bonds

Shouta Aizawa x Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Reader

Song Recommendation: All I Ask - Adele

(Y/N) – Your Name

(L/N) – Last Name

Word Count: 1.8k +

Fandom: My Hero Academia | Boku no Hero Academia

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Pro-Hero!Reader; Hizashi Yamada x Pro-Hero!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Angst, Bittersweet

Summary: Is it possible to love someone so much that you can’t let go even after death?

Note: This is a special request made by my lovely fellow Aizawa simp: @nire-chann​.

Thank you for beta-reading this for me Ate Selene @yourgoddessselene​ | @saudade-mayari​

The events that had happened at the start of this fic are a few months after Aizawa became a teacher at UA.

A rush of sudden adrenaline that wracks your body, heart pounding, ears ringing, your entire system shaking with emotions you can’t even pinpoint. Walking towards the white-lined road of the city, the rays of the noon sun spilling all over the bent light posts, the once smooth grey cement on the sidewalks now cracked, malfunctioning traffic lights blinking and crackling, the aftermath: debris of the earlier commotion.

It was an explosion, a burst of dust-filled smoke that pained the eyes of individuals who unfortunately had it opened, then a sickening crash of building facades, window splinters raining throughout the area, injuring civilians from which you’ve catered immediately. Quickly healing wounds and giving directions for immediate evacuation.

You were Frantic. Desperate. Searching throughout the wreckage even when your quirk wasn’t for such. Continuing to move through the rubbles of building you spot the shine of the once yellow gear now cracked, broken into three, not far from it was a mass of black, crimson spilling underneath him, a shine of a bloodied band adorning his right hand.

You knew that it was near impossible even with your quirk to stabilize him, yet you continue, hands glowing in hues of emerald as you move his blood-soaked charcoal locks.

---

He feels lighter every passing second, but your presence grounds him. There’s so much more to say, to feel, to do. He sighs internally, he looks at you with such intent, he wants to let you know, to speak to you, but how can he, when his throat feels restricted. Even lifting his hand to touch your tear-stained cheeks to help ease the furrow in your brows had him use too much energy.

There was so much more, but having to look at you with all the emotions he could muster in his two light-grey orbs are what he could only communicate with. He can’t speak anymore, but he wants to at least taste your lips one last time.

To at least feel your heat and the cool contrast of your wet cheeks.

He’s barely noticing the tingle of nerves, that strange warm sensation he used to feel whenever you used to tend to his wounds, his injuries. His eyes wrinkle slightly when he remembers your pout during a rant a few days ago, your plump lips moving and going on about him being reckless.

He’s doing it again, but it has been too long since he had let himself fall through a never-ending well of questions, of replays, flashbacks, images, doubts, concerns. This may be the last time he’ll ever let himself tumble throughout the dark abyss of just him and his thoughts.

Was he content? He doesn’t know.

He just simply wants to remember your smile, your tears. You.

You were his anchor back then. Back when he was crumbling into a mess of a wanna-be hero who had his friend die during Hero-Work Studies.

You pulled him up when he was too tired to even recognize and register the warmth feeling in his chest that was being overpowered with guilt, regret, and frustration.

He never really accommodated these positive feelings, thinking that they would just be swept away with a whoosh of wind, only to return with a hard blow of hatred, anger, and pain.

He doesn’t want to experience that again, to go through that momentary shock and be hit with the sad consciousness of reality.

His throaty whisper was heard above the ringing in your ears: “Thank you…” for loving me, he wants to add, for being with me… I’ve loved you, tears cascading his cheeks

“I’m sorry…” for not acknowledging these wonderful feelings, for taking so long to let you know that, looking to your also wet cheeks, eyes pooling with tears from frustration? Sadness? Pain? Maybe a mix of three he guessed, “… I love you.”

He feels the gradual easing of his muscles all throughout his body. The blood rushing throughout his veins were subliminally slowing. The wet pelts of your tears dropping down his features would be a mere afterthought if he wasn’t focusing so much on you, but alas, his own mind was keeping him from doing so.

Even within his last seconds, his mind kept him prisoner.

His mind where everything was being played. His head spinning with the rapid successions of memories he subconsciously held dear. The majority of the replays containing you, your comforting touch when he needed an anchor, your soft kisses during those casual dates back in his favorite café, the hitch of your breath when you momentarily stopped the cute cooing noises you made whenever you petted the cats as you trailed your eyes on his kneeling form, your whispered ‘yes’ when he finally popped the question “Marry me?”, your wobbly smile when you walked down the red-carpeted aisle, the crack of your voice as your eyes that were holding nothing but love and adoration staring right at him as you began to state your vows began to pool.

Smiling.

He never thought that in his last moments he would be smiling. You’ve made him do things he thought he’d never do in this short life of his. And for that, he’s thankful.

You are truly something else.

***

Breathing was hard. His every inhale didn’t even feel like air, it’s akin to something much more condense. Black was all that surrounds him: a pool of nothing but midnight skies. A weird sensation constantly falling down to a never-ending night is what grounds him to- what exactly.

Though his throat was constricted, a single sound not able to flutter out his lips, his thoughts seemed loud on this vast plain of nothingness.

Where was he?

How can he even breathe?

“You’re still bound.”

What?

“You need to let go.”

Looking around him to at least locate the voice’s body was futile. Was this in his head?

“No. You’re in the middle. Stuck.”

Middle?

“Your time’s done, but you’re still tied down… by your bonds. Let go.”

Realizing what this meant he answered the disembodied voice in his head, I can’t.

A chilling gust of an unknown wind made its way throughout his existence.

***

It can’t be. He knows it can’t happen. He died. How can he still be standing- oh.

He doesn’t know whatever the wind did to him, but he at least deduced that it returned him to you.

You who was now kneeling in the mix of wet gravel and grass whilst staring into the distance with streams still flowing down your puffed eyes, cheeks streaked with layers of endless tears that managed to drip down your wobbling chin, your neck covered in his scarf that had splats of dried hazel-vermillion.

How long was he falling back there?

Two new sounds of weeping.

He sees that the usual gravity-defying golden hair was now instead streaking down the shoulders of a black leather jacket-clad voice hero. Mic. A figure kneeling down beside your form, hugging your side, whose body shook with great intensity together with yours. Midnight.

He aches. Thorns felt like they were encasing him within.

For a moment he wants to hold you, to comfort you, placing his hand to your other shoulder, placing the loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don’t seem to sense him.

***

It’s been a long month of just watching, of just seeing but not being able to do anything. He hates the unfairness of it all.

He tries. Convincing himself that his touches were felt, that his hugs were warming your numbness, that his kisses were making the sting dwindle little by little, that him laying by the other side of your bed while you sleep with a pillow covered in his old shirt lets you know that he’s still there, that he still loves you, that he still can’t won’t let go.

His touches on your shoulder, which were supposed to reassure you just in turn made you shiver and look confused, bewildered even.

He wants to be heard, to be felt, to exist, but his traces no longer lingered, only a mere susurrate, a short-lived touch in your still graying ambience.

He wants to hold you while you cry and let all of the frustrations out of that head of yours, where he knows that like him you’re stuck, in your own scribbles of granite thoughts, that you too were deprived of the other’s warmth, that you too felt like a shell stuck with all of this sand you called your chaos, your blurring mix of feelings.

And as weeks turns into fleeting months. Months of winter blooming into a spring of years, left on autumn, in auto-pilot, watching, always nearby to see you recover. Recover from the debris and aching splinters that his existence left behind, while he still remains crumbling, pieces of him falling.

“Thank you Hizashi… you grounded me when it all felt like a dream.”

He should’ve been the one doing what Hizashi is now. It should’ve been black instead of gold that you were nuzzling into. It should’ve been his deep baritone rather than the smooth and gentle voice Hizashi uses whenever he encourages, supports, and anchors you.

He should’ve been the one holding your hand whenever you sit in a creaky wooden bench in a nearby park to admire the sunset.

“I know that it’s impossible to reciprocate what I’m about to say, but I at least wanted to let you know-”

“I like you too, Zashi’.”

He should’ve been the one you’re tending, taking care of. Your tears of frustration and aura of concern that was once reserved for him was now for another blond.

“Zashi’ you should start being much more careful you know?”

“I promise I will- ow!”, your smiles at his friend’s idiotic antics just adds jealousy to his mix of resentment and longing.

He should’ve been the only one who sees your gaze of fondness swirling in your beautiful solemn orbs.

But he can’t. He can’t anymore.

And to that he goes back to that midnight swirl, that feeling of falling, to that voice inside his head that was constantly questioning him, encouraging him to release the rope that was still bruising his slowly crumbling heart that he’s put at the back of his mind, not yet wanting to face the reality of the other side, a world without your soft hands holding his cheeks, an existence without your love.

“Surrender Shouta…”

It all felt like déjà vu. Your pretty face blurred with the sheer veil. Soft smiles and salty droplets of tears. The gold-lined red carpet. The people present. It was all like back then, but instead of that classic black tuxedo and a black bow tie, it was a white suit and a navy blue tie.

You’re smiling… at him. Looking directly at him.

It was a whisper, a message just for him; words that helped him to finally let go, to accept, and to be patient.

“Shouta… I hope that you still remember that you will forever be a part of me. Until the next life Shouta Aizawa. Wait for me, we’ll start again; continue what we can’t finish.”

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

I hope you all liked this piece. My requests are (finally) open.

[imnotwolverine]

Bear cuddles

Henry Cavill x reader

Word count: 1.581

Warnings: bit of expressive language + pure and utter fluff <3

I just got my period and I needed to write myself some comfort fluff to pull myself through. 

Ps. nesting is one of my favourite things to do when on my period party :3 Try it, do it!

(Link to my Masterlist)

It was Friday afternoon and you all but wanted to cry, your heavy legs carrying you up the stairs to your apartment at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Your neighbours were already well into their weekend celebrations as you heard their loud music booming through the hallway, the thin walls definitely not managing to silence their ill choice of mumble rap “music”. You sighed, digging through your pocket to find your keys. Hmm. No keys. Your bag perhaps?

Shrugging off the heavy bag from your shoulder you squatted down on the floor to dig through the gazillion little things that made out to be your ‘bare necessities’ while on the road. Some basic make-up, writing gear, a usb drive, a tiny sewing kit, a spare pair of leggings, a few peppermints…but ..no keys.

Darn it!

When did you last see them? Your mind was a bit of a blur as you had practically been on zombie-mode ever since getting up. You had been having a rough night as you had just gotten your period. And the many days of working late this week sure didn’t help either. But this? THIS?!

Just your luck.

You could only remember pulling the door closed this morning as you had to rush to the bus stop. Wait. Rewind a bit. Pulling..the door..closed. Oh FUCK. You left your keys inside! How did this always happen to you?

Annoyed with your own stupidity you pulled your phone out of your pocket - thankfully you didn’t lose THAT - and opened your contacts list. Scrolling through the many names your panic started to take a hold of you. Your best friend was out of town. Your ex had recently returned your key. The spare key in your office was inaccessible as the office was already closed. So..who else had a key? Did you really have to call your landlord? Or one of those key repair services. Oh this was bad.

Scrolling further down your eye fell on his name.

“Henrybear.”

A smile crept over your tired face as you remembered the night you had met Henry. The two of you had been quite drunk. Or should you say..really drunk? You two had been soo drunk that this one-night-stand of you two had absolutely failed: you had both fallen asleep. It did however make for a pretty funny moment as you both woke up, neither one of you quite sure about what had happened. Like..did anything happen at all? Well, just to be sure, you had made up for it with a second, much improved round of morning sex. Followed by breakfast in bed. Followed by a whole day of lounging around in your underwear. Followed by many more hook-ups whenever either of you needed it. And it was just what you needed since anything more serious was just not happening as your busy work schedules didn’t allow for this thing called ‘dating’.

It had been a week ago since you had last seen him and..you DID give him a key beforehand so he could let himself in while you were working late.

Should you call him?

Your finger hovered over the call button as you hesitated for a moment. What if he wanted to have sex? You definitely didn’t. Gosh. All you wanted to do was hide away in a blanket and pillow fort and watch bad movies with a large bottle of wine and pizza. Or..what if he wasn’t in town? Or if he was with someone else? Or…

Your thumb accidentally slid over the green button and any further trepidation was thrown out of the window. Your faith was decided upon as he answered after a few rings, his baritone voice greeting you with an upbeat tone.

‘Y/n! How are you darling?’

‘Hen…oh I’m such a fool…’ You started, your voice much more fragile than you wished it to be.

‘Hey, you okay? Something wrong?’ He asked. You sighed, feeling sorry for even bothering him with your own stupidity.

‘Oh it’s just so silly. I think I locked myself out this morning..can’t find my keys in my bag..and..now I can’t get into my apartment and..’ Your voice became more quivering as you rattled on. Gosh these hormones.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay. Shh. Calm down love. No need to panic.’ His voice was soothing like honeyed tea, your heartbeat immediately calming as you heard his feet echo through what probably was his hallway.

‘And good news. I have your keys right here.’ You could almost feel his comforting smile upon you, through the phone. You nodded and muttered: ‘Ok. I’ll..eh..come get ‘em. You’re at home?’

‘Oh no need to sweetheart! I’ll come over to you. It doesn’t sound like you need any further excursions for the day. You stay put and I’ll be there in fifteen.’

After silently obliging, you slumped against the wall, your head barely registering as a pair of feet halted right next to you some fifteen minutes later.

‘Hey you.’ Henry smiled lovingly, holding out your key and dangling it in his hand before pushing it into the lock and opening your door. A sound you didn’t know you liked to hear, until just now.

’You look like you are in dire need of wine, a bubble bath, pizza..and..eh..a hug, perhaps?’ You crawled back on your feet and looked into those ocean blue eyes, forgetting all prior objections you had for inviting Henry, his big warm body standing there, ready to be hugged. ‘Come on then.’ He ushered, holding out his arms a bit wider so you could slide right in, your face melting into his thick wool sweater, the scent of cedar wood, wool and some undefinable muskiness welcoming you.

‘Oh I’m sorry for this Hen. And you really didn’t have to come all the way over..’ You sulked as you both walked into your apartment. ‘And here they are..damn.’ You pointed at your keys that still lay on the cupboard in your hallway. Henry snickered and flung his backpack from his shoulder.

As if sensing you were not in a talkative mood he remained quiet, looking into the cosy apartment and waiting for further instructions. You looked over your shoulder at him and sighed. You couldn’t really send him away now, could you?

‘Is pizza okay for you too? With your crazy diets and all?’

‘I’m on the off season right now. So. Absolutely. Give me all the pizza you can get.’ He smiled, taking that as an invitation for him to stay for a little while longer, his hand now moving to close the door behind you two and placed his backpack in the corner.

‘Oh and I brought some “medicine” for you to indulge on.’ He slipped a bottle of your favourite wine out of his backpack, smiling like a proud puppy as you hummed in delight.

‘Henn..oh…’ You swooned, caressing his arm and feeling the annoyances of the day slowly slip into the background. Why was this man such a sweetheart? You couldn’t quite fathom what he was doing here with you, but right now you also didn’t wish for him to be anywhere else. You crushed yourself back against his large chest as you enveloped him in a tight hug, your eyes tearful with relief, the stress finally flowing out of your body.

Henry didn’t object, he just smoothed his large hands over your back in slow circles, slowly rubbing your sore muscles as you cried your tears.

‘I’m probably totally ruining your Friday night.’ You swallowed, nuzzling his wool sweater.

‘Hardly. Otherwise it would have been quite similar, but then without a sweet female counterpart to cuddle with. Pizza..a movie..wine..’ He shrugged and pulled away a bit, thumbing away the tears that were staining your cheeks.

‘How about you sit down and order pizza. Then I’m going to make you a little nest.’ He smiled.

A nest?

Not quite sure what he meant, but ever curious, you slowly nodded and walked to the kitchen island, sitting down on one of the bar stools as you ordered the pizza. While scrolling through the selection of pizzas you heard the rustling of fabrics along with soft socked footfalls to and from the living room. What was he UP to?

After placing your order you went out to look for Henry, finding he had made quite literally..a nest, your bed now stuffed with pillows and blankets.

‘Tada!’ He grinned, patting in the centre, ushering you to crawl in. You couldn’t help but giggle. ‘You are such a dork.’ You sniffled, gingerly crawling onto the mass of blankets before dropping yourself in the pillows. It was perfect. ‘Now, don’t move!’ He said while he left the room again, leaving you once more a tad confused before he returned with your laptop in one hand and two glasses topped with your favourite wine in the other. Reaching out the glasses of wine you quickly moved forward to take them from him and placed them on the night stand, his large body now crawling right next to you, making your cosy nest complete.

Soft fluffy nest? Check.

Wine? Check.

Cute bear to cuddle with? Check.

‘Netflix and cuddle?’ He smiled, opening your laptop. You giggled, nodding in agreement.

And Netflix and cuddle? Definitely check.

‘Now come here then, lovely one.’ He hummed, sitting back and opening his arms so you could crawl into his chest.

That night was probably one of the best nights you ever had. And “nesting”, had become of your new favourite Friday night activities, with Henry.

[aclosetfan]

are u still doing the ask game? can i ask for 19 or 20?

for you anon, of course! 20 is actually a really lame two-sentence note that isn't worth anyone's time, so I'll do 19!

19 is a really sad story tbh. I've always really liked the character Sedusa and it kills me that the writers never did more with her. I believe they said the reason why was because they couldn't think of many kid-friendly scenarios to put her in, which is fair lmao.

lol one of my notes for this outline is "this is my dark manifesto to [Sedusa] and it comes off like a bad CW remake," which was written way before the CW show announcement. so not to get a big ego about things, but I totally beat them to the punch. This fic is my only rated M fic (though arguably Acting Normal may also change into M just for its dark themes as well).

This story is adequately tilted "Sedusa" and it follows how a plain jane named Sara became one of Townsville's most notorious villains. The plot's below, though content warning, please don’t read if your triggered by abusive relationships, domestic violence, child abuse, sexual assault/harassment, or gore. The outline won't be detailed (and tbh the actual story won't be heavily detailed either) but i believe that everyone still deserves a fair warning :)

The outline doesn't do the plot justice, but it's all I got so hopefully people just Get It.

CHARACTER NOTES:

Canonically, I believe the Sedusa's character was supposed to represent envy and lust. So, one of the main themes I try to stick with when writing her character is the definition of envy, which is a "feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck."

PLOT:

Sara is a sweet and mousy little girl, who tries her best to stay invisible. She's rather plain-looking except for her really beautiful long dark hair. Originally, she's not from Townsville, but somewhere in the "country" where a person could be considered a bumpkin. Sara's a smart young girl, but her intelligence is rather unrefined. She spends most of her time obsessing over greek and Egyptian mythology.

She's from a rather big family, but she's the baby. Her father is abusive. Her mother is neglectful and Sara resents her mother for just standing by while abuse is occurring. To cope, Sara dreams of running away and falls deeper into her mythology obsession--specifically Medusa. Sara feels like Medusa would understand her.

At 16, she runs away to Townsville where she tries to be a hairdresser. With no money, she ends up in a really seedy part of town and the beauty parlor she works for ends up being a front for more illicit activities. She still does hair, but really makes her money as a call-girl of sorts. Just one of those girls who gives handjobs in the back to sad old men. It's easy money (I'm pro-sex work lol so I don't make this a big deal, but she's still a minor and it's wrong), but she's disgusted with herself (and men). At this time, she isn't very good at manipulating men--it's more like they have power over her and it reminds her of her father, only making her angrier and angrier.

It is also of note that while she's working at the Parlor, she encounters Sarah Bellum via tv (Ms. Bellum is just an intern with the Mayor at this point). She's instantly fascinated by this other Sarah and forms an odd (slightly toxic) parasocial relationship with her. Sara thinks it's amazing that Sarah went to school and is just so glamourous. Ms. Bellum is really everything Sara wants to be.

*time skip*

Sara falls in love with some jackass. Still slightly obsessed with Sarah Bellum. Still working at the parlor. Sara feels stagnant and worthless. Her jackass boyfriend and a few of his shitty friends end up attacking Sara and cutting off her hair (which was her prized possession). She gets away, but not totally unscathed.

In the process of running away, she bumps into a mysterious man who promises He can fix whatever is troubling her. The mysterious man manipulates an affirmative answer out of Sara and he "fixes" her problem. The man is HIM and he transforms her into the woman we all know as Sedusa (who goes by Ima when disguised).

“And what is it that you want?” HIM tsked, almost sounding bored.

She looked back at the mirror, at her broken reflection and lipstick smeared down her face. With a sore, croaking voice she sneered, “I want my fu-fucking hair back.”

Behind her, the entity smiled, Its facing splitting wide into two, “Oh, now that I can do.”

She watched through the shattered glass how It—HIM—snapped its odd monstrous claw. HIM’s smile grew more grotesque, as a thin bead of sweat began to break out on her forehead.

“This might hurt a little bit,” the entity giggled as she began to hyperventilate, “but what is that you little humans say?" HIM paused, watching her with a tilt of Its head as pain shot through her temples, "Oh, that’s right—”

She gasped and then screamed, dropping to her knees as she clutched at her head. Something wiggled underneath her scalp, pushing harder and harder to break against the resistance of her skin. It felt as if something was pressing against her brain, trying to carve away at her skull.

“—beauty is pain.” HIM growled, appearing next to her so Its voice—now low and baritone—was right in her ear, and It grasped her by the chin forcing her to watch the mirror as snake-like tendrils sprouted from her skull. She cried out at the sight and her body trembled with the pain.

One black, oily, twisted snake after another shot out of a bloody crater on her head. She tried her best through the pain to shake HIM off—to look away—but It held her still with a twisted laugh. She thrashed and howled in agony as the blood poured down her face in rivets. HIM didn't let go. Instead, HIM forced her still, grabbing her by the chin so she'd peer directly into the broken mirror.

Sara paled right before her very eyes, from a peachy skin tone to a white paste. She tried to blink away the tears that wouldn’t stop welling in her eyes—the green of them becoming more acidic with every passing second.

“The fun should be ending soon.” HIM giggled again, Its voice back to a soprano, but she was too forgone to hear him, as her eyes began to lull into the back of her head.

Eventually, when the transformation is complete, we see this:

Sara had stayed collapsed on her knees after HIM vanished into thin air. She stared with wide eyes as blood, sweat, and tears dripped onto and rolled off her thighs. She hardly paid attention to her surrounding, all she could do was listen. She listened to her hair. She listened to the constant moving, living, mass that slithered around her head, neck, and shoulders. The coils almost seemed to be cooing at her, comforting her through her pain, offering sweet apologies for what they had done. They promised her nothing bad would ever happen again. They were a dangerous shield forged from her own body to protect her.

Her body. A vessel for this odd new life.

“Heh.” A deranged giggle escaped her mouth, “Heh. Heh ha—hahaha!” She laughed until her throat burned and tightened, her tears finally drying.

It was instantaneous. It was powerful. Sara had never known love before, but she loved them. She loved every single one of them.

And here she had thought she'd never be a mother.

Sara becomes Sedusa--taking inspiration from Medusa, her childhood fascination. She wonders if HIM knew, but she wouldn't bother asking. She feels sexy, powerful, and unstoppable. Her hair has instilled a new confidence in her and she's finally able to stand up for herself. Soon, she realizes that she's an "exotic" beauty and has men eating out of her hand. She isn't someone who kills, but if she gets bored (or feels threaten) she will.

Things are going good until the PowerPuff Girls are finally created. When she sees them for the first time, she pities them, especially when they're run out of town. She relates to them for not being loved little girls, but is completely shocked when she finds out they've won the town over. This shock turns into resentment and she decides she'll get even with the girls

Then, cue canon. Sedusa seduces the Professor. We see what happens in that episode plus a little more. Sedusa takes out a lot of her repressed childhood trauma on the girls and is plain awful to them. By the time her stint with the Professor is over, she hates them all.

Then, there's the episode with Bellum. Bellum becomes the Athena to Sedusa's medusa. Bellum is still this elevated person in Sedusa's mind, and it only makes sense to Sedusa that she should become Bellum. To become Bellum, Sedusa seduces Bellum and they end up having a brief relationship. (Sedusa pretends to be an intern at City Hall and the two ladies bond over having the same first name). Eventually, Sedusa reveals her plot and the canon events happen. (Bellum is heartbroken over Sedusa).

I'd like to emphasize that Sedusa's relationship with Bellum almost turns her "good," but her hair coils (HIM's curse) prevents her from taking those steps. Her coils prevent close loving relationships--since they're supposed to be shield that keeps people out, preventing any chance that Sedusa's heart may be broken again. [coils represent her inability to heal from the past]

Then we run through a quick montage of her other appearances.

[throughout all of this, I would write how her hair coils are making her more and more insane]

*time skip to after the events of the og show*

This is where my plot can go anywhere. I think Sedusa becomes sloppy, maybe kills a politican. She's spirialing out of control and mad that she can't find any real happiness in her life. I think it'd be interesting to show her interacting with the rrb, not necessarily to show their relationship, but to show how Sedusa would be infuriated that HIM had sons, especially sons who hurt girls for fun ( i.e. the ppg) (a real 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' moment for her). She's also infuriated at HIM for turning her into a monster, so being mad about his "sons" is just an excuse to get even with the entity.

To hurt HIM, she decides to hurt the boys, but the girls interfere. They won't let innocent live be taken, no matter the person's moral alignment. This infuriates Sedusa even more than HIM ever could. Because again, despite all the shitty things that have happened to the Girls, they are still good as opposed to Sedusa, who ended up bad. She doesn't understand why she had to end up the way she did.

However, the girls aren't the people who finally "defeat" Sedusa. Instead, that honor is left to Ms. Bellum (Sedusa's "Athena"), who Sedusa still very much loves in her own sick twisted way. Paralleling the Sedusa/Bellum episode in the og show, the girls (while protecting the boys) are almost defeated by Sedusa until Bellum intervenes. It's revealed that Bellum had a shitty childhood too (again enforcing the parallels/differences between the two women) and believes that it's not too late for Sedusa to change her ways (it’s a real “I’m rotten work” “no it isn’t. Not if it’s you” moment) In a moment of mental clarity, where the coils (and by extension HIM) cannot affect her judgement, Sedusa releases the boys and the girls. Sedusa doesn't stay though, like Bellum pleads, she gets scared and runs away. (but does tell Bellum she’d always love her, whatever that’s good for)

[also I decide bellum to defeat sedusa to show that the girls are still to young and that adults should be the ones dealing with other adults] [and bellum has a good track record of doing just that]

Idk if she'd be gone forever, but it's implied that she hasn't been seen in Townsville for a long time. What she gets up to is left ambiguous. She can't be good because of her hair coils, but she doesn't want to be bad. idk I don't want it to have a sad ending, but I don't think it can really be happy.

-----

I try hard to play with the concept of beauty, womanhood, purity, love and how negative/positive responses to trauma affect these concepts. Idk it's really rough and needs to be thought out more, especially the end, but I think Sedusa deserves her own story.

[utterlyinevitable]

Yes please to in canon after the kiss at MK for the jealousy fluff piece! 😍 I actually had that exact timing in mind but didn't want to be too demanding in my request 😂 Thank you so much for humouring this, I'm so excited! And I have been glued to The Conference, can't wait to see what comes next. I'm such a sucker for the jealousy trope ❤️

Thanks so much for the request! I am so sorry it took forever! 💖💖💖 ugh i want to get the next installment of the conference out but i also don’t want to do any medical research for said conference 🤣 literally the only thing stopping me from updating it haha

Settle Down

Word Count: 973 Warning: a few curse words Summary: Becca hears that Ethan’s seeing someone else and goes ballistic. 

A/N: I did begin writing this for @wackydrabbles “I can’t believe you remembered” but then got stuck and abandoned it... ALSO Not to toot my own horn or anything but the last two lines of dialogue is the funniest and smartest thing I’ve ever written 😂😂😂

________________________________________

‘I heard they’re getting back together.’ 

‘Who?’

‘Ramsey and Emery.’

‘I saw them coming out of Emery’s office - his hair was a mess.’ 

‘Did you hear? They’re going to the Massachusetts for Medicine Gala together tonight.’ 

‘They’ve been on and off longer than I’ve worked here. Should suck it up and settle down already.’ 

The overheard nurses’ conversation played over and over again in Rebecca’s mind. What gala? Ethan never mentioned a gala? 

Just last week he kissed her outside of his apartment, after his father crashed their dinner date, with a promise that they’ll talk about whatever they were becoming. And then two nights ago he did it again during their Mass Kenmore heist. Was Becca endlessly foolish for thinking he wanted her just as much as she ached for him?

He’s known Harper forever… They couldn’t be more than friends, could they? Would they? 

She shook her head at the thought, having to remind herself, He’s not mine to claim. He’s made that perfectly clear…

But deep down she knew that they were tied to one another. His initiations and actions made it so. 

Becca’s blood started to boil as she stomped her way up to his office. Every replay of every word he’s ever said added with the nurses’ commentary fueled her fire.  

Why the fuck would he be stringing me along?!

She rounded past the diagnostics office noticing how a few of the blinds had been drawn over the glass walls. She could see Ethan in deep consideration staring at the whiteboard, his left arm folded across his torso and right hand stroking the stubble along his chin. 

Fuck me. 

She was thankful he was alone. She didn’t think she could handle having an unhinged outburst in front of the rest of the team. Although June knew of her and Ethan’s history she didn’t know how much she knew and if she knew how Harper Emery fit into all of this.  

Becca pushed the glass door open with force bringing Ethan out of his stupor when it closed shut with a solid whack. 

Ethan didn’t have time to turn towards the disruption before Becca shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?” 

He was taken aback but quickly composed himself as he digested the familiar voice he came to care so much for. “Working on our case. What are you -” 

“Harper,” she bitterly cut him off as he turned towards her. “What kind of game are you playing here, Ethan.” 

“I’m not -”  

He assessed her with a trained eye. Becca hovered by the threshold, five feet away from him by his desk, her tanned arms were folded across her small torso. Her eyes were a darker shade of brown than he’s ever seen and there was a divot between her angered brows. He was gobsmacked by her brazenness as she interrupted him once again;  

“I remember your fMRI - there’s something between you you’re not telling me.” 

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” Ethan said more to himself than anything. 

Becca was hyped up but she heard him. She always heard everything that velvety baritone voice said, whether she wanted to absorb the information or not was another story. 

“I remember everything about you!” she exclaimed, still on her warpath. “It’s unimportant, don’t change the subject.” She scolded, pointing a hostile finger at him. “What the fuck! You’re back with Harper? The nurses saw you. What the fuck!”  

Ethan leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. A smirk playing on his features as he watched the petite doctor motion through her outburst. Becca was now pacing furiously around in front of him. 

“Are you done?” he asked with a raised eyebrow once she went quiet, giving her an option to continue her ridiculous strop. 

His words stopped her pacing in place. Her brown eyes whipped towards him and were coated in rage and betrayal, her chest was huffing rampantly, and her gel manicured nails were a beat away from drawing blood in her palms. 

Calmly he announced, “Yes I have feelings for Harper.” Becca’s jaw dropped at the admission. Ethan’s arms followed suit, fingers curling around the edge of his wooden desk as he continued, “Feelings of respect, admiration, and collegiality. Nothing else.”  

Humored blue met embarrassed brown. 

“But -” 

Ethan shook his head to stop her from the disastrous rumors plaguing her mind. “I don’t know what you saw. But it was most likely guilt -” He crossed the distance between them. “For keeping Naveen’s condition from her or for all the times I’ve made her run as Chief more difficult than it had to be.” Once he was but mere inches away he took each of her hands in his, forcibly removing her nails from her palms. “That’s all.” 

Becca didn’t mean to but she relaxed right into his touch. “You truly are an ass,” she grumbled.   

“Hopelessly, so,” he smirked, lacing their fingers together.  

Becca let out a large breath of air. “So there’s nothing between you?” She looked up at the towering and handsome man she has come to adore.  

“No.” His effervescent blue eyes trailed down to admire his Rookie. “We’re going to drum up business and secure outside funding for the clinic,” he addressed the obvious elephant in the room. “If I had been invited you’d undoubtedly be my plus one.” His crooked smile shone through, that one smile he reserves just for her. Ethan trailed his hands over the curves of her body and up to cup her cheeks. “How could anyone say no to this face,” he cooed, squishing the flawless flesh.  

“You’re one to talk,” Becca rolled her eyes. “You seem to be a master at it.”  

“I was working towards a PhD but decided against it.” 

Ethan leaned down to place a feathered kiss on the tip of her nose.   

________________________________________

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[willpowerbutch]

Willpower Butch and the Son of God

By the Reverend Willpower Butch

We found ourselves in a dour, tangled wood, having strode excellently to the north of the ruins of London. We were safeguarding ourselves from the Homosexual by burning his nail polish and thrusting our pelvises as we walked – I, by virtue of my untrammeled virility, and Timpani Gayparade because I was repeatedly kicking his ass – for this display of breedful lumber-hauling intimidates even the most unhyperbolic Gay into hours of aesthetic crying. My un-non-sodomized companion, Paragon Shag, halted us before a gully, grimacing as he did at its detestable and wet resemblance.

“Quite Anti-Rimbauded Stoics,” spake he into the gap in the David’s pants, “were you capable of womanly regard for your environment, I should caution you now to take protective hold of your erections. For I scent among the pungent mosses a grievous concoction of defensive sarcasm, elderflower, and fear of guns.”

“No!” shouted Top-a-mée Christopherhitchens tremulously at Shag’s injunction. “That odor could only announce one thing: an Anglophilia of Transgendereds!”

No sooner had the flaccid, strawberry-incensed brat danced this were we come upon by these self-same Transgendereds. They were crudely crayoning beards and boobs onto the yearbook photos of children while singing the “Internationale” in Esperanto. And they were, without exception, slathered in a gloopy, glittery sludge.

“Alas, they have fornicated with Boy George,” Shag supposed.

“Nay,” I overruled him, speaking the truth because I am a Man, “they are the undead. See how they rise from the ground like a Gay asshole thrashing up toward Papalism. See how they have returned from Tim Curry’s House to torment their enemies.”

For, in the center of that discoing mass, there stood the trifecta of swallowing come at somebody else’s orgy and then complaining about the taste: Graham “transplanted his ass onto his face” Linehan, Germaine “spectacularly missed the point of her own life’s work” Greer, and JK “spent the nineties roleplaying a little boy and is desperately trying to deflect” Rowling.

The trifecta hailed our entourage, noting that we were not party to the Transgenders’ Dostoevskian lower bureaucrat fetish. “Help us!” they cried.

Marzipan Dostoevsky, friend of Vladimir Purina and King Gay of Sierra del Fuego. His infamous bent nose is the result of giving too much head.

Forthwith, we left them and continued on our way, crossing the border into Scotland.

As we plowed further into the wilds, we encountered a strange portal carved into the rockface of a proud spire. Drawing closer, Michael Sheen exclaimed, “This is it! The secret cavern where Franc’n’o has kidnapped God. But how may we come inside?”

There was, indeed, no discernible way through, for the doorway was a mere carving on stone. Near the top, there was a message scrawled in Scotlandenisishlatin.

The David stepped forward, the arches of his hips and back as sturdy and graceful as a yew, and his mouth as red-pink, as inviting, as absolutely forbidden as yew berries, gyrating as he read the words to himself.

“Read homo in the face of Man, and enter,” he translated for us. Turning toward me, his expression was puzzled. “Homo in the face of Man?”

“Shag,” I said frowningly, “what do you make of this?”

“Perhaps it’s a riddle. Omo represents the eyes, the ridges of the brow, and the nose in the face of Man, for facial hair is too powerful to render in this Nancy language,” Shag considered. “What we do not know is the symbolism of the ‘h.’ What could that be?”

“A cowlick?” suggested Gayparade.

“One ear?” ventured Michael Sheen.

“The tongue, sticking out?” lilted the David.

“The tongue, sticking out,” I murmured, repeating him. “Why else would Franc’n’o construct such an opening? He means for us to enact something that no Man would ever do, for the genital of the Gay is magnetized to the tongue of the Straight Man.”

My companions were much astonished at this, but also greatly impressed that I had retained so many facts about the Gay from only one drunken viewing of their episode on the Discovery Channel.

Looking between them, I could perceive the fear in their rapid flacciding. “Nay!” I shouted, mustering all my strength, “MEN!” And thus, I kicked through the doorway, sending out a shockwave that turned every blushing, pristine flower for miles into beer-soaked charcoal, scented with entitlement. And we were through.

Treading into the dark, it was several minutes before we came upon a peculiar thing. At the end of the hall was a garish, stadium-lit roller-skating rink, but unlike any we may see in the world above, for this rink was tiled with a material smoother than any quality of marble or varnished wood: twinks. Our metal-toed boots clanged as we approached, and upon this clamor, the twinks rolled around, alarmed, and like cats puffing their tails, they sprang their stiffnesses at us.

“Gentlewomen!” exclaimed the vile Franc’n’o from his throne of unsexiness. “You think that I’m greeting you to your faces, but in fact, I’m admiring your thighs!”

It was in this moment I knew that Franc’n’o had succeeded in becoming a Gay at last. And I mourned, my lords. I mourned the children unborn because Ben Whishaw and his cohort have made western Europe into a writhing accumulation of sexually ambiguous style magazine cover-shoots. I mourned that the poppy fields of yesteryear are become the pansy fields of today. And most of all, I sprayed three-in-one shampoo/conditioner/bodywash into Franc’n’o’s eyes, for this confuses the radar of the Homosexual.

Notwithstanding this, Franc’n’o pounced. And, like a quietly imposing youth who always sits alone at the bar and vanquishes toxic masculinity by making engaged straight men curious about bottoming, his fierce countenance froze me to the spot. But just when all hope seemed lost, there emerged a shot a pearly white from behind him, disintegrating the villain into innumerable molecules of coming-of-age movie nosebleeds.

At first, I could not make out the source of this blast through the shimmering dust of a thousand twinks vanishing back into the realm of the fae. But as they dissipated in the air, I saw him directly. He was a titan of a Man, impossibly contoured, possessing flawless bronze skin and a statuesque comportment. He had hair that no beauty appliance had homosexed, and yet it was both as firm and as silken as victory garlands. He beckoned Shag and me to him, and when he spoke in his engorging baritone, it was a language otherworldly and supreme, far too masculine to pass the lips of any mortal man.

Gesturing to me, he boomed, “У него толко серп, но у меня большой молот.” And then, he turned toward a large set of doors, and we could only infer that he meant for us to follow. We passed into another long, dark hallway, which culminated in a yet larger portal which emitted an indescribable glow. “Зови меня капитаном подлодки, потому что я углубляюсь,” he spoke again and urged us inside.

We were blinded altogether, so bright was that interior. Droplets rose to Shag’s eyes and to my hardness. A voice still deeper, still richer, still more impossible accosted us. “Do not fear, my good Men,” it said. “This is my Son, whom mortals have met before. He returns to you rebranded as his true form, and his name is Panzer Dzheesaskrist.”

Dimly, I made out the irresistible figure who had addressed us. At once, all was clear. Such a vision met me, my indomitable brothers with extreme personal space, that I shall remember and love forever: it was God, the Manliest Man of all.

About the Author

The Reverend Admiral Willpower Butch, who recently topped the human race by releasing God from a pervert’s Scottish underground fetish athletic studio, is hard at work on his petition to remove fruit from public markets on the basis that it is gay propaganda. Paragon Shag, his brave correspondent and roommate, is coming out with a line of deconstructed cars to raise money for Brothers In The Comintern Have Enlarged Scrota, an anti-communist mission. Their secretary and Russian fairytale character who gets no dialogue, Dead Summer Days, is treading on thin f*cking ice with his decision to start wearing sweatpants.

[the-darklings]

DUDE your tags on the hozier jackie and wilson song post GOSH. WHAT HAVE U DONE? the level of involvement i have developed towards those two is absurd at this point thanks for that

—reasons wretched and divine;

pairing: santino x reader (vipress) [you win this one team santino]

wc: 2.2k+

an: so anon is referring to this post and the tags on it. I originally wanted to hold off writing this cause while it is a canon event for COA, it takes place directly during Chicago, and obviously since no one has any clue wtf happened there I worried it might be premature to write this but you know what?? I’m miserable and wanted to write something cute so here we go. Enjoy dear anon! And to the other anon who said there are no fics for him…I hope this can sate your thirst lol.

Lake Michigan is a sprawling, large ravine of water that reflects the setting sun as you stare at it through the hotel window.

In the far west, dark clouds are already gathering and you know that there is substantial snowfall in the forecast. Ares had made a comment earlier about how navigating Santino’s security is going to be a nightmare for the next few days.

Curling tighter in your seat, you lean your cheek against your folded arms, debating a nap before dinner. You managed maybe two hours of sleep last night and your head feels exceptionally heavy. You hate the fact that awake or asleep you never seem to find peace anymore.

The earlier silence filling the room has been suffocating though, so you have opted to turn on the radio to dispel it. The random station continues playing an unfamiliar song and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

The door to your room suddenly opens behind you, and your fingers wrap around a blade; a cold, comforting weight in your hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn, readying your muscles for a fight.

But your fear is unfound when you spot Santino strolling into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and expression pinched with annoyance. His lips, too, are pulled into a faint sneer as he listens to whatever is being said impatiently.

“I do not need it tomorrow,” he remarks in biting, cold French before spotting you and giving you a brief smile as he turns his attention back to the conversation. “I do not need it later. I need it now. So I suggest you start doing your job before I find someone who can.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer and grumbles under his breath. “People. Tell me, cara mia, is everyone that’s not us is this stupid and incompetent?”

“Probably,” you drawl, sheathing your blade and turn your attention back towards the large window. “You’re also kind of an asshole.”

Santino scoffs with a snarky grin as he comes to a stop beside you, his expression easing. His eyes take you in—pathetic and miserable, with your limbs folded around you like a shell—and his smile dies a little. There is something about that intense regard of his that makes you almost brittle. It’s as bad as Winston, except Santino doesn’t look grim with understanding. Santino dresses up his rage with a calm softness that brims with that familiar, cold promise of retribution.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, though it sounds more demanding due to subtle anger lacing the words and deepening his accent. “Still unwell?”

“I’m fine,” you shoot back dully, not looking at him, but that glimmer of curiosity still forces your tongue. “I didn’t know you could speak French so well.”

It’s a statement more than a question, but just as expected Santino sits down beside you in the other spare chair. Unlike you, however, his eyes focus on you oppose to the stunning scenery outside the window.

“I am a Camorra heir,” he reminds you but there is nothing patronising to be found in his smooth baritone. “My father made sure that Gianna and I had tutoring in all the main spoken languages from around the world. We started young.”

“What if you don’t have an aptitude for languages?”

Santino smiles slightly when you glance at him, but it’s a cool, cutting thing. The look in his eyes even more so as he laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Ah, my father did not particularly care for that, cara.”

You scoff, shaking your head a little. That isn’t exactly surprising to hear, especially in relation to a man like Giovanni. A man of strong, unforgiving features, deep voice and eyes so dark they make it difficult to even look at him. It makes you suppress a shiver just thinking about him.  

For a few minutes, you sit in almost comfortable silence and although you don’t consider Santino someone you can completely relax around, you find yourself grateful he is here. Better than being alone. Perhaps Winston had a point after all.

But you don’t need anyone, you remind yourself.

You don’t need another repeat of John.

John and his beautiful wife. John and his wonderful wedding. John and—

Something inside aches; a dull, violent throb of loneliness. Of pain.

Your fingers tremble violently before you hide them from sight, and feel Santino follow the motion with his eyes. Too slow.

After another few seconds of watching the almost gone sun, he rises to his feet with a deliberate sort of air around him. He turns to you, extending his hand in your direction, his eyes giving nothing away.

You stare at him blankly.

“The radio,” he speaks after a pause, one eyebrow quirking. “We should practice. We have to be—”

“Convincing, yes, you have said that maybe ten times already,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes before glancing around the room and back to him. “I’m not going to dance with you, Santino.”

The man before you slides one of his hands in his trouser pocket, observing you with a tilt of his head, and keep his hand extended between you.

“Come now, cara mia,” he speaks, his voice laced with boredom and this time you do see the arrogant heir who gets everything he wants. “My arm is growing tired.”

Snorting, you rise to your feet stiffly, glaring. You know him well enough to know that he will not drop it. So you will give him what he wants, if only to get rid of him. So much for not being alone.  

You stand face to face for a second—with him simply gazing at you and you glaring back. He steps closer, one arm wrapping carefully around your waist while another gently takes a hold of your hand. Your body is a coiled mass of taut muscles while your jaw grinds painfully. His expression is both guarded and open all at once as he peers at you silently.

He’s warm.

It’s an odd thing to notice about a man who revels in violence. But till that moment you haven’t realised how cold your hands have gotten. He cradles your fingers in his larger ones, surprisingly gentle, and the warmth of his Camorra ring presses into your skin as you sway awkwardly from side to side.

“Clearly,” he starts teasingly, but more subdued than you’re used to seeing him. “We are both exceptionally gifted dancers.”

You don’t answer him. You’re not in the mood to joke around. You haven’t been in the mood for anything lately.

The radio continues playing another unfamiliar tune, and you let your mind focus on the lake outside your window again.

“Say something,” he whispers abruptly, strained, and you head snaps in his direction at the angry softness wrapping his words. His grip on you tightens briefly before loosening again. “Anything. Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.”

Your heartbeat spikes, and you stare at him coldly. “I am seconds away from walking away from this whole thing,” you inform him and your words are harsh even though you don’t so much as raise your voice. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Santino’s jaw tenses at your words—at the acidic bite of them—but he doesn’t oppose you. Only looks at you. You wonder what it is exactly that he’s trying to unearth. You’re not sure there’s anything left to you anymore.

Though you continue swaying from side to side, the silence between you is chilly, heavy.

The song on the radio changes again and you blink, recognising the start of a familiar tune. Then comes the voice and despite your best intention to remain unaffected, you start swaying to the beat. Santino notices, his green eyes gleaming with understanding.

“This song…” he trails off, glancing towards the radio. “It is familiar to you, no?”

No other version of me I would rather be tonight and lord, she found me just in time.

You shake your head in immediate denial, but Santino’s eyebrows jump up playfully and he matches your rhythm, turning from side to side with more energy. His arm stays on the small of your back but now a small smile lingers across his lips.

I need to be youthfully felt ‘cause, God, I never felt young.

He starts humming and you shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What are you doing?”

His smile turns slyer, knowing, but his voice is ever-so innocent when he speaks. “Dancing, bella.”

The chorus kicks in, and Santino pushes you away from him before tugging you back with one smooth motion and you stifle a gasp, your grip on him tightening. He moves you in a more deliberate circle, singing under his breath. He butchers every single line, clearly having no idea what the lyrics even are while you continue glaring. But he just watches you, smug and shrewd, every time your eyes meet.

He steps back and raises your hands above your head. Rolling your eyes, you turn in a circle, your muscles loosening somewhat as he pulls you back into his embrace.

“Those are not the lyrics,” you grumble petulantly, shooting him a look but Santino only grins wider. “It’s not—”

He dips you with a chuckle and pulls you back up to him, ignoring your slap on his shoulder with another grin of amusement.

“Then you better sing it with me and correct me, cara,” he informs you, mock-serious, but his eyes glow with mirth, a playful teasing. He steps back, grabbing your other hand and tugs back and forth, creating little waves with your arms.

You both no doubt look ridiculous. Like two little kids dancing in a playground, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you try to create your own rhythm.

But—

There is a slow blooming lightness in your chest you can’t recall feeling for ages.

A reluctant smile tugs one corner of your mouth even if you try to smother it, and you know by his pleased expression that he’s spotted it nonetheless.

We tried the world; good God, it wasn’t for us.

“She’s gonna save me, call me baby,” you sing under your breath and he joins you—both of you most likely completely off-key and miles away from the tune—but you can’t help but chuckle when you note how seriously he’s taking this. “Run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily. Better yet, she wouldn’t care.”

Clearly picking up on the lyrics, Santino sings a bit louder—still off-key—as he leads you in an extravagant circle, your arms still swinging. He twirls you again, and you can’t help but chuckle as your terrible mix of voices soars while you turn from side to side. You’re a flurry of movement, both caught in the lively energy of the song as you tangle in each other.

“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues,” you finish off, breathless with laughter and lean into him for a second, a crooked grin splitting your face.

Santino drags his eyes over your features, seemingly caught off guard by what he’s seeing, and clears his throat slightly before smirking faintly.

“Who is this man?” he questions, both curious and somewhat out of breath, and you don’t miss the fact that his grip on your doesn’t loosen. “We should go see him.”

You can’t help but snort, and his expression creases with wonder when he notices your amusement. He’s smiling too though—as if your momentary joy is somehow important to share in.

“What?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think he’s on tour,” you point out and realise that you haven’t heard your voice this light and carefree in months, if not years. “And I’m sure an Italian mobster with a pack of guards is going to draw no attention whatsoever.”

Your sarcasm is clear and open, and his answering crooked grin makes him appear younger, less guarded. Less arrogant, too, and more…more human. Something you have never seen him show openly before—not like this.

“It could be just us and Ares,” he tells you calmly, but there is a flicker in his eyes that seems to make him hesitate for a split second before he continues on, “Or…just us.”

Something inside your withers at his words; retreating inwards, terrified and broken, and you pull away from him.

With every new inch of distance between you, Santino’s open expression draws closed again. Only the cool, haughty heir remains and for a loaded moment, neither of you speak. A step at most separates you but it might as well be miles. It has caught you off guard—this genuine moment of fun and freedom and laughter, but it’s time to come back to reality.

And the reality is that you are not here, in this city, for fun and games.

“We should focus on the job.” Forced and empty.

“Yes, of course, cara mia. It is for the best.” Stilted and formal.

His hands slip back inside his pockets and he regards you for another brief moment before moving past you.

You stand rooted in your spot, the distant sound of the radio filling the air.

Santino’s footsteps fade.

Outside, it begins to snow.

…

an: ofc I have to finish with a sprinkle of angst. hope you enjoyed this tho. I needed something sweet today. Dedicating it to my little bean who I had to say goodbye to today, and Team Santino who is cheering me up a lot these last few days with their wild messages. Love ya guys!  

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Going Down the List #4: ‘Les Huguenots’, Montpellier, 1990

As any of you who have been following me for a long time know, this is one of my favorite operas and I am on a quest to find and watch every available filmed production of this opera. As such, this is my eighth production of Huguenots, and I think the best one I've seen. Here goes:

First things first, any review of a production of this opera has to include some commentary about cuts. I’m happy to say that there are very few of them, the most notable of which is the entire Act III ballet, which still isn’t a huge loss. There are minor cuts elsewhere, such as a section of the Raoul/Marguerite duet that I frequently forget exists (the section, not the whole duet), a small cut in the Act I window scene, a couple tiny cuts in ‘O beau pays de la Touraine’, and some of the Act III finale. Urbain’s Act II aria was omitted as well, but since it was an insert aria in the first place, I don’t see it as that huge of a loss even though I do love it and prefer when it is included.

Also, a warning: the video quality is not great. It’s not horrible, but it’s definitely not ideal. It’s still decent, though, especially for what I’m assuming is an upload of a video ripped from a 1990s TV broadcast of an official in-house recording. There are no subtitles either, which really stinks.

With that out of the way, the production: I’d overall describe it as ‘traditional minimalist with really wonderful direction’.

The sets are where the ‘minimalist’ part comes from: there are only really two sets, one of which is almost entirely white and the other of which is almost entirely black. The sets are slightly modified for each scene, but the first set is essentially ‘huge staircase (most of the time also featuring a couple long tables and a ridiculous number of chairs)’ and the second is essentially a huge open space with black walls, a lot of graffiti that is mostly illegible, and some cut-out door openings. Although personally, I’d prefer a little more detail and variety, I do overall like the sets and I think they work well.

The costumes are beautiful period fashion; the problem with them, however, is that apparently the costume designer thought it would be a good idea to dress large groups of people exactly the same. This is especially a problem with the various Catholic noblemen, to the point where it took me a few minutes to figure out who was playing Nevers because all the Catholic noblemen in Act I wore the exact same outfit. (Perhaps this would have been less of a problem if the video quality were better.) Still, they are gorgeous costumes.

If I had to describe the direction in five words, they’d be, “nuanced, vivacious, and emotionally intense”. I especially love how much the chorus actually moves! That may sound silly, but it’s nice to have an actual street riot in Act III or a frenzied, whipped-up mass of Catholic nobles declaring anathema on the Huguenots in Act IV instead of having the chorus just stand there and sing prettily. The chorus also does an excellent job of reacting in general: they laugh at Nevers’ witty comments, they enthusiastically respond to the calls for a massacre, they recoil in horror when Raoul details the scenes of death and destruction. And the way the ending was staged─ you just had to rip out my heart, didn’t you? That’s all I’ll say about that.

There are some togetherness issues between the onstage forces and the pit; however, these are relatively minor. The orchestra (and its soloists) are very good; the chorus is amazing. Whether it’s a particularly fortuitous sound balance or just a really present chorus, they are always a force to be reckoned with on a scale I don’t think I’ve even heard on any other recording. And as I mentioned earlier, they’re not just great singers, but also great actors. Same goes for the various small roles, with a special shoutout to the six supporting Catholic nobles, who all sound good, look good, and work together very well.

Now for the seven leads:

Danielle Borst was a very adorable Urbain who happened to be dressed like she was from The Addams Family or something (including what appeared to be a very unfortunate black bobbed wig). Regardless, she was all cheer and enthusiasm in the classic trouser-role mold (along with the obligatory flirting with everyone) with a really, really fantastic voice, and she lit up the stage whenever she was on it, whether she was standing on a table or chugging a bottle of wine (during ‘O beau pays’) or spying on the ladies-in-waiting from under a sheet. Her ‘Nobles seigneurs, salut’ in particular was one of the best I’ve ever heard, and I think it’s really a shame she didn’t get a shot at ‘Non, vous n’avais jamais, je gage’.

Marc Barrard was a fantastic Nevers. His voice is really nice and lyrical and beautiful, although owing to the fact that the role is a) relatively short and b) doesn’t have any big solos or even small ensembles, he didn’t get much of a chance to show it off. As a result, as with all baritones playing this role, whether his performance succeeded or not depended on his dramatic skill. He delivered. Depending on what was happening, he was extremely flamboyant, official, gentle, and/or morally outraged— and he managed to do that without overacting, which I appreciate.

Jean-Pierre Courtis absolutely nailed it as the Comte de Saint-Bris. His voice is not particularly subtle, but then again, the character isn’t either. What his voice is is commanding and surprisingly beautiful. Seriously. It’s gorgeous. As he should, he absolutely dominated the Conspiracy Scene and came across as very cold, no-nonsense, but still intensely devoted to his country, his faith, and his own ideas about how they should be─ in short, absolutely fanatical. And I said earlier I wouldn’t give away any details about the staging of the ending, but I will here: after discovering his dying daughter, he did something I haven’t seen any other Saint-Bris do that just wrenched my heart: he walked (or to be more precise, backed) offstage. It was pretty ambiguous, but I think it’s the only portrayal I’ve seen that suggested he didn’t really regret anything he did.

Anyway, they were both awesome.

Ghyslaine Raphanel definitely did right by Marguerite de Valois. Her voice is very light and may take some getting used to (it did for me), but overall it’s a beautiful sound that I think works well for this part. In particular, she has some serious coloratura chops, which she took every opportunity to display (including by far the longest ‘O beau pays’ cadenza I have ever heard). She’s also very good at playing the young, charismatic, beautiful royal who wants peace and love but is completely detached from reality, to the point where she still can’t believe what’s happening even when Raoul tells her about the massacre in Act V, scene 1 (the scene ends with her climbing the staircase, turning around, and looking at all the Huguenot noblewomen as if to say ‘…I have no clue what the hell just happened’).

I really loved John Macurdy’s performance as Marcel. His basic voice isn’t my favorite by any means, but I can absolutely say it’s a good voice, with particularly strong low notes. And he’s a great actor! I especially loved his ‘Piff, paff’, for this exact reason: you can hear the hatred Marcel has for Catholicism and women in the way he sings every word. And he has amazing stage presence: even just a little thing, like a gesture at Raoul or the way he put an arm around Valentine and walked her back into the church in Act III, said so much. In other words, he may not be my favorite bass, but he’s a good singer and a virtually perfect dramatic match for the part.

Nelly Miricioiu was a wonderful Valentine de Saint-Bris. Personally, I love her voice although there are some things about it I could see people not liking. Nevertheless, it’s a gorgeous voice that fits the role well, and she’s amazing at everything she does, especially in her two big duets and the final scene. She’s also a very, very good actress who does one of the best acting jobs I’ve seen in this role, and that is no shabby feat, especially in the eyes of yours truly (who once wrote several pages about her character development and posted it on this very blog, although almost no one read it lol). That development I talked about, from very anxious, fragile, and shy to boldly defiant? She absolutely got it.

Gregory Kunde was absolutely phenomenal as Raoul de Nangis. His voice is pretty much perfection in this role, which is especially an achievement considering how many ways the part is demanding─ he has lyric moments and huge dramatic ones alike, and let’s not forget all the insanely high notes! But he nailed it, especially the two arias, which are both very hard in very different ways. Also, his acting was on point: I got all the little bits of his personality─ the romantic dreaminess, the idealism, the moral outrage, the impulsiveness, the stubbornness, all of it. There are so many good little details, from his frequent hesitations at drinking to the fact that even though there’s a massacre going on and he’s trying to rescue the Huguenot nobles, he still takes a few seconds at the end of his Act V aria to bow to Marguerite (and be like, ‘uh, sorry for ruining your big party’) before rushing out. Bravo!

Overall Verdict: Definite recommend; this would be a great first production for anyone wanting to watch this opera, albeit with two caveats: one, there are no subtitles (but I’d be more than happy to send anyone the French-English libretto I have on Google Drive), and two, this production may ruin you for others that are…not of the same quality. 😉

Up next: Due to ongoing difficulties with the Internet at my house, I am going to have to suspend this series until further notice, but as soon as I can, I’ll be doing the 2019 Il trovatore from Beijing!

[jewel-s-blog]

a nap for two - j.jh

genre: enemies(ish) to friends(for now), fluff

transfer student!jaehyun x gender neutral!reader

warnings: other than my bad writing? kind of a slow burn?

word count: 6.5k

inspired by this prompt from @yoonohprompts

plot: transfer student!jaehyun, is an unlikely friend in your final year of high school, but the two of you find yourselves cozily napping under the stairs together rather regularly

a/n: I’m thinking about making this a series, but depends on the feedback I guess. Also, I didn’t actually hate high school (quite the opposite actually, since I found it to be a happy time for me), but I made the oc hate school because I felt it fit with the story better so 🤗 enjoy!

[September 4]

It was kind of strange to see someone new transfer into what was the final year of hell that you were required by law to show up to. What made it even stranger was that most people who did transfer to your high school, mid-quarter, were usually military kids or other lost souls who had been kicked out of whichever previous hellhole whence they came. So when his fresh face walked onto campus, already a good month into senior year, all anyone could talk about was him.

Jung Jaehyun.

He was quiet, and didn’t seem to be very outgoing or the over sharing type, so naturally the theories around his sudden appearance began surfacing like crazy.

Some people said that his parents were these super rich research scientists for the military and they had moved out here to follow their work. Others spread rumors that he had an inappropriate relationship with one of his previous teachers—which you didn’t find hard too hard to believe considering... well, have you seen him?

But most of these theories kind of just went in one ear and out the other. You didn’t have any classes with him, which meant you never really got to have any real interactions with the guy. That meant that while you were aware of his somewhat enigmatic existence, you were really just more focused on needing to get your college apps done and have them looking good enough to make sure you weren’t drowning in debt going into adulthood.

To be honest, while you didn’t particularly love having to get up every morning to drag yourself to get your high school diploma, you still wanted your future to be funnier, happier, and brighter. And to you, that meant being able to go to college. But it wasn’t an easy feat, to say the least.

On top of your studies, there was sports practices, volunteer work, your part-time job, and the piano lessons that your mom convinced you not to quit nearly 7+ times in the past 14 years(the asian jumped out).

Due to the laundry list of obligations you had constantly looming over you, sleep became an elusive little thing. After about a month of running on an average of three hours of sleep per night, the only tea you had time for was the extremely caffeinated kind that filled your two liter flask day and night.

Eventually, you were in such a dire need of rest that you made it a point never to schedule things that took up your lunch time unless completely necessary. And rather than hitting up the cafeteria for a nutritious meal or the lastest gossip (usually about the mystery man himself), you settled for the space under the stairs of the newest building addition.

The place was cool, and quiet, and completely void of all others; which making it the perfect spot to spend the meager 25 minutes of lunch break to get some shut eye.

——————————

[October 12]

It had become routine for you to head straight for your nap-time spot as soon as the bell for lunch rang. Being a Monday made it that much more necessary for you to get to your spot so you could stretch out your legs on the chilled concrete floor and lean back against the backpack you used as a cushion against the just as chilled concrete wall.

You nonchalantly speed walk and whip out your phone, getting your slow jams Spotify playlist ready to shuffle for when you finally get into the perfect napping position.

Rounding the corner, just before your secret spot comes into view, you stop in dead in your tracks because you hear someone. Or more accurately, some people.

Apparently your “secret” spot wasn’t so much a secret anymore. You sigh in dissatisfaction at the thought that someone had the audacity to take away the one thing you looked forward in the craptastic day you were already having despite it not yet even reaching noon.

You hear a high pitched giggle, a sound you’ve become all too familiar with over the past four years of witnessing teenage hormones take over the masses of the student body. At one point, you were a part of those masses, but nothing lasts forever. Instead, it’s the low, baritone heavy voice that surprises you for a split second as it’s not one you can recognize. But once that split second is over, you take that one extra step that reveals the scene that you prepared yourself to find.

“A-hem.” You clear your throat, making your biting annoyance and presence known.

The two bodies face you in an instant, and the innocent shock you see on their faces actually makes you feel a little guilty for interrupting a moment that you really had no business butting into.

So you stand there a bit awkwardly, averting your eyes from the couple, but not allowing your feet to retreat. Staring at the wall, you think about succumbing to the tension in the now cramped space and apologizing. That is, until you hear the low voice reverb yet again, but with a haughty tone laced into it.

“Do you mind?”

Normally, you’d say that you have a particularly long fuse, but in this moment, you allow all the stress, lack of sleep, and frustrations of the day get the better of you. Darting up to look into the eyes that had just challenged you, you seeth back,

“Yes. Yes, I do mind.”

You let your peeved gaze fall onto the girl slightly hidden behind the shoulder of the taller figure before her. Letting it linger, to let her know that you were just as aggravated, if not more aggravated than her companion, she shrank down to hide herself more and let her hand find the side of his arm.

“C’mon. Let’s just go.” She whispers, clearly feeling more embarrassed the longer you hold your ground.

Frankly, this girl was someone you knew personally. She wasn’t in your immediate circle of friends, but you had worked on projects together and hung out outside of school on a few occasions. Basically, the two of you were pretty friendly. She also knew that you weren’t someone to be messed with as you had built a reputation of being amiable but deadly if the situation required.

“Jaehyun—,” she whines, “let’s go.”

He didn’t divert his eyes from you as she tugged at his shirt sleeve.

Jaehyun. That was his name.

You had forgotten momentarily since lately you had gotten so busy, your brain couldn’t register and recognize the unfamiliar face fast enough. But none of that mattered to you now. All you cared about was that you now had only 23 minutes to nap instead of your usual 25. So you add,

“Yeah, Jaehyun. I think it’s time for you to go.” You cock your head and allow a little smirk to form as you are satisfied with how this situation was quickly turning in your favor.

You couldn’t quite believe how mean you’d sounded considering that you’d normally been a pleasant person until senior year rolled around. But never had you really been in a situation that elicited quite the way you were acting in this moment. Whereas you’d normally bottle up the rude snarkniess that formed due to annoyance, you definitely weren’t holding it back now.

Jaehyun huffs, turning his back to you, before grabbing the girl’s hand and walking towards you. You side step, allowing space for them to pass, and didn’t fail to notice the scowl he aims at you while the girl shyly opts to look elsewhere until they were out of your line of sight.

Not about to waste another precious second of your daily rest, you settle into your comfy spot and stuff the white earbuds in place before hitting ‘shuffle’ and finally letting your eyelids descend. A deep sigh falls from your chest as sleep overcomes you until the alarm you’d set on your phone blared into your ears, signaling that it was time to take on the remainder of the day.

——————————

[October 13]

Tuesday morning passes rather quickly before you hear the glorious ring of the lunch bell sound through the classroom. Before anyone has anytime to even attempt making contact with you, you are back in your resting place, with the thankfully empty space swallowing your exhausted form.

To your dismay, it is not long until you feel like another presence has entered the space, making your eyes open reluctantly. Once your vision focuses, you are met with the view of a handsome figure standing before you.

It was a bit of a shock, as no one had ever interrupted your slumber before, but your body was just too tired to provide any physical reaction. So you continue looking up at him, not doing or saying anything before you see his lips moving yet hearing no voice come out with it. You remove one earbud from its place and ask,

“Did you say something?”

He chuckes before repeating, “Hi, I’m Jaehyun.”

A little smile creeps onto his face, thinning out his lips, and revealing two deep dimples that makes your heart nearly erupt. But you shake the feeling away, knowing that just 24 hours prior, you’d seen this very same person in a compromising state in the very same spot you sat in now.

Caught up in your thoughts, he takes your silence as a sign for him to continue the conversation on his own.

“y/n, right?”

And before you can even reply, or nod, or give any indication that he was indeed correct, he’s taking a seat next to you, no doubt aware of how his actions make you visibly uncomfortable.

“What are you—?” You start, voice admittedly a bit shaky due to the fact you were almost in snoozeville just moments ago and there was now another body in such unexpectedly close proximity to yours.

“I gotta hand it to you, this is a nice little getaway you’ve got here.” He cuts you off, looking straight ahead while raising his arms to place his hands gently behind his head.

Turning to meet his eyes with yours, you realize again that you had been silent, and had just been staring at him for a solid 10 seconds. Perhaps he realizes this too, because when your eye contact lingers just a little too long, he noticeably blushes and clears his throat while facing forward again.

So it’s all an act, you think to yourself. In the single interaction you did have with Jaehyun, you had already formed an impression of him in your head that he was your standard ‘blessed-with-heavenly-looks player’ who’d let all the female attention get to his head, boosting his ego, self confidence, and all the qualities of your neighborhood fuckboy.

But the rosy stain on his cheeks, and the quick reddening of his ears made you think different. Maybe he wasn’t actually the person you’d created in your mind of him. And maybe, like you had thought, it was just him acting. So you venture out a little to inquire,

“So... why exactly are you here?”

“Well... uhm...” He keeps his head straight forward again, feeling your gaze burning deep into the side of his right cheek. Evidently all traces of the confident 17 year old boy who had originally approached you was fading fast.

“Because if you knew I use this place as a getaway, then you’d also know that me having a getaway means that I don’t intend on sharing it with others.” Your monotonous tone slightly echoing off the concrete surroundings.

Taking your statement as an attempt at playful banter, he responds in an equally playful way.

“No sharing? Even for me?” Letting the adorable dimples make a reappearance.

“I don’t know you.” You deadpan.

“But you do know me. I just introduced myself. I’m Jung Jaehyun. And I know you, you’re y/n.” He wraps his jacket tighter around his chest to block anymore cool air from getting in, and crosses him arms, stuffing his hands into the crooks of his armpits.

“Okay, but I don’t know know you.” You question to yourself why you were letting this rally of questions and responses continue, knowing full and well that it was cutting into your beloved nap time. Making your priorities shift back to your original reason for being under the stairs in the first place you add,

“And I really don’t care about knowing you. All I care about is that before you came here, I was on the express train to dreamland. But now that you are here...” You don’t finish the sentence because you realize that would mean you admit to his presence having some kind of affect on you.

“Oh, so me being here really bothers you that much? I wonder why.” The smirk clear on his face yet again makes your irritance bubble over. He raises an eyebrow at you and moves his face impossibly closer to your own.

Scoffing at his implication, despite it being true, you shove your left earbud back into place and say,

“I don’t care what you do. Just don’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. I already have enough things in my life doing that, and I don’t need you to be doing it too.”

With that you close your eyes again, leaning your head against the concrete hoping that there’s still enough time to at least get a good REM session in.

The slow beat of your music drowns your mind and lulls you back, but not before you hear Jaehyun negotiate,

“Ok, I won’t bother you. But only if I get to nap here too.” You feel him shift a bit in place before he too settles into a comfortable position and begins to doze off.

Eventually you do find yourself falling asleep, but it feels like less than five minutes later when the phone alarm goes off, jolting you awake. At first, you are unaware of the heavy head that rests on your left shoulder. But when you do notice it, you can’t help the warm feeling that washes over you as you peer down at the soft pale face snoring lightly against you.

Then the school bell rings, and you think that Jaehyun may stir from that, removing the heavily growing weight off of you. But he doesn’t. He keeps his head there, and continues to snore away softly.

Conflicted about what to do, you think about the best way to wake him up that would result in the least amount of embarrassment for the both of you. But soon enough, you begin to hear voices and footsteps ascending and descending the staircase above. And you know that if you don’t leave now, you may not make it to your next class on the fifth floor in the building that has no elevators.

So rather than from a decision of reasoning, but from a decision of panic, you quickly stand, letting Jaehyun’s unconscious body fall to the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Covering your mouth after realizing what you’d just done. You extend your hands to reach down and help, but he’s already standing up and cupping the shoulder that he not-so-graciously fell on.

“It’s all good.” He says in his sleep jaded voice.

You almost swoon at the raspiness of his low timbre, but again choose to not let it show. You opt to check your lock screen, and face it to Jaehyun to show him the time.

“We have four minutes to get to class.”

He squints at your phone screen before clearing his throat and replying, “Okay.”

“Okay...” you return, “bye then.” Unsure how you should depart from this situation you decide to make it quick and painless, before briskly walking away.

Still in earshot, Jaehyun asks, “So I’ll see you around?”

You don’t stop when you call back to him, “Maybe.”

—————————

The next couple days go by somewhat normally.

Except when you were just about to succumb to the sleep you desparately needed on Wednesday, Jaehyun wordlessly sat himself next to you like he had done the previous day, and seemed to mimic your actions. You both woke up at the sound of your phone alarm and preceded to your classes without so much as a goodbye.

Thursday lunch came, and you were surprised to be greeted with an already sleeping Jaehyun sitting atop a dark blue blanket covering the cold concrete. You admired the way his chest gently rose and fell at a steady pace, and how his milky complexion looked so contempt despite the frown it adorned. Something else you noticed was that there was a space to the right of Jaehyun on the blanket under him. Almost as if he had intentionally made room for you to join him on it.

Going against what you’d assumed what the space was meant for, you chose to sit further in a corner away from him in case he didn’t actually intend to leave that space for you. Because if you did sit there, and he didn’t expect you to be there when he woke up, it really would be quite the embarrassment on your part.

So again, you fall asleep without exchanging words, and leave as soon as the bell shrills a warning for you to begin your five flight ascent.

——————————

Once Friday rolls around, you forget about Jaehyun and your nappy time. Because instead, you have to lead a meeting for one of your volunteer clubs and you had stayed up the whole previous night preparing for it. It didn’t help that all morning you were running around campus making copies of event sign-up sheets and getting signatures from the club advisor.

So when Jaehyun wakes up to the sound of ringing echoing off the walls, he finds himself disappointed that you didn’t show. And due to the busy last 24-hours you had, the possibility of of a frown on his face when he fails to find yours next to him never even crosses your mind.

It is later in the day, when you are grabbing your gym bag from your locker, that you’re startled by a face appearing once your locker door is shut. You hadn’t heard him come up to you thanks to the earbuds that seemed to constantly occupy your small sound receivers. But Jaehyun’s puppy-like features are suddenly next to you, and out comes a little stumble back with a quiet gasp escaping your lips.

After collecting your composure, you take out the left earbud again.

“Jeez, you scared me.” You say, bringing a hand to touch over your heart.

He chuckles, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” and scratches the back of his head while retreating a little to give you some space. “I just...well...you weren’t there today...”

A bit confused at the vagueness of his sentence, it takes you a moment before you realize the meaning behind it. Your eyes widen at him and then hastily look away.

“Oh... yeah... I had a meeting today, so I couldn’t nap at lunch like ususal...” You grab at the strap of your gym bag and give it a squeeze, not making eye contact with the figure looking down at you almost as if you had committed a crime against him and you felt guilty about it. But why? It’s not like you had an obligation to show up... right?

a/n: So that’s it for now. I’ve had this in my drafts for like a month and idk what to do with it anymore so I’d really like some feedback! I’m not even sure if I did this plot line justice or if readers are even interested in this plot line so yeah. Maybe if people are interested, I’d consider making this a series? But pls let me know! Thanks! -jewel

[cyb-by-lang]

Shell Game (10/?)

Kei’s week ends on a couple of high notes.

Saturday’s four class periods were entirely mundane after the ridiculous first week, because Kei didn’t get pulled out and wasn’t being shouted at by anyone but Isobu, who knew multiplication better than she did. He was also picking up Modern Literature coursework faster, which Kei figured said more about her than him. Even a week into the term, she was not the best student. Senioritus set in early and didn’t let go.

Honestly, if not for the utter havoc of the first three days, Kei probably would have said it was a nice way to end the week. As things stood now, though, she was a little antsy and rather eager to get out of UA. Everything going wrong seemed tied to the school. Lying to Midoriya and saying she’d had a run-in with a mugger didn’t make it less true.

It seemed like it was going well until she was about to walk out the front door of UA, at which point a voice more accustomed to booming tried to whisper, “Young Gekkō, if I could have a word?”

Kei turned on her heel and stared down the…emaciated dude in an oversized yellow pinstripe suit. Kei blinked twice, surprised. While she’d seen the guy around, in the same vague way as she knew the school had other class years and people who weren’t involved in almost dying a lot, she couldn’t put a name to the face. If she had to make a comparison, especially with the way his baritone didn’t seem to suit his body, she’d call him Skinny Steve.

“Fine,” Kei said, and followed back into the thrice-damned school building. “I’m assuming you’re a teacher here?”

“You’d be right,” he said. “Heroics only, however.”

Huh. “Makes sense. I don’t recognize you.”

This could be a trap.

At this point in the week, I’m about ready to push somebody out a window for that kind of crap. Let me have this.

Once again, Kei made her way to the all-too-familiar staff room. Ambling along after the unidentified teacher, she spotted Mummy-Aizawa snoozing under a desk. Or maybe his yellow sleeping bag had just developed sapience and its owner’s personality. It was hard to tell.

Nonetheless, the pair of them settled on the couch (skinny dude) and the opposite chair (Kei). There was tea already there, but it’d long gone cold.

“Did you need to speak to me about something…?” Kei trailed off, unsure what to call him. She didn’t have the civilian names of most of the teachers memorized anyway, and it was at least plausible that this guy had been a hero in the past.

“I wanted to apologize,” the guy said, drawing a blank look from Kei.

“Okay…?” Kei paused. This was already awkward enough. “Look, what do I call you?”

There was a pause on his end, too. Then, much akin to Tsunade’s youthful facade stitching together after she used her regeneration a little too much, the bony guy filled out right in front of Kei’s eyes. It went fast enough that the air actually popped, and the guy’s hair shot upright like gel was some universal law unto All Might.

…Is All Might secretly a muscly balloon animal? Kei mentally whacked Isobu’s shell. Did you see that?!

I am using your eyes to see. I certainly saw that.

“Uh,” said Kei, once Isobu whacked her in retaliation. “That’s a…neat trick?”

The conservation of mass is a lie.

It may just be on vacation.

As though Kei hadn’t said anything or made a deer-in-headlights face at him, All Might bowed about as far as he could while sitting. “Young Gekkō, I most humbly apologize for the strike I dealt you during the USJ incident! Had I taken thorough stock of the situation, I would not have made such a heinous miscalculation! My apologies!”

The sapient sleeping bag grumbled a general affirmative. Sounded like Aizawa-sensei had probably said more when he had more energy. That was about as close to approval Kei had ever gotten from him.

“I mean,” Kei said after a second, “if I hadn’t known I wasn’t going to hurt anyone besides the villains, I would’ve probably punched me too.”

“You should never make excuses for the poor actions of pro heroes, Young Gekkō!” All Might insisted, while Kei tried to subtly reel back from the volume he was using. “As a symbol of my trust, I have revealed my true form. It is a poor apology for my actions at the USJ, but I hope it is one step toward forgiveness, Young Gekkō!”

“Well, then I can do this?” Kei waved a hand in front of her face just as All Might looked up. Between her hand cutting off his view and no longer doing so, she’d let Isobu’s chakra leak into her coils. Her eyes itched a little, as they always did when they took on Isobu’s traits. “The, uh, the thing I do? This is the most basic stage. Can’t do the other one indoors without breaking things.”

The two of them regarded each other—a man with pitch-black where white ought to be in his eyes, and a girl with utterly inhuman eyes from another being entirely.

“Just accept the apology already,” Aizawa-sensei griped from the corner. “I’m trying to sleep.”

But he had a point. “I accept your apology, All Might-sensei. Please don’t do it again.”

Just as Kei dropped the usage of Isobu’s chakra, All Might poofed back into his skinny shape. Once the smoke cleared, he scratched at the back of his now-limp head of hair. “You’re pretty easygoing…”

“Did you expect something different?” Kei asked, gently challenging.

“I did, but now I see I was wrong.” All Might settled back onto the couch, but he did bow one last time. Just a bit. “Go on, Young Gekkō. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks, All Might-sensei.”

“When I look like this, please call me Yagi-sensei.”

Kei waited just long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to be scolded for using the title even for his incognito form, but nothing was forthcoming after Kei bowed to show her agreement. On her way out of the room, she leapt neatly over Aizawa-sensei and ducked out into the hall.

It was time to leave the freaking campus behind for the week.

She checked her phone once she was on the train, ignoring news updates for the moment.

GreenThumb: u get hayate for sat-sun

GreenThumb: hes been buggin me for 2 days

GreenThumb: and u need more marble things

TMNT-TNT: Hand the phone to him

GreenThumb: r u on ur way back?

TMNT-TNT: Yeah but he doesn’t have a phone

TMNT-TNT: Have him call me

Not four seconds later, Kei’s phone started ringing. “Yeah?”

“I get to stay over the weekend!” Hayate’s grin was audible. “And you have to let me see the city this time. I got the Hokage to sign off for a ‘cultural project.’”

Kei didn’t want to know how much wheedling it would’ve taken Sensei to cave to Hayate’s demands, because there was a chance it’d be used against her. “Okay, but the first thing we need to do is get you clothes to blend in better.”

“Seriously?” But before Kei could argue her point, Hayate gave in. “Fine, fine. I’ve been looking out the window and nobody dresses like Obito.”

There was a muffled “Hey!” in the background.

“These phone things are pretty cool,” Hayate managed to say, while apparently fighting Obito off one-handed. There was a thud and the sound of struggling stopped.

“They are,” Kei agreed.

“Come back soon, okay?” Hayate paused, thinking over what he’d just said and finding it a bit too heartfelt, then added in a brighter tone, “Or else we’ll both starve to death.”

Teenagers. “Got it.”

Well, it was like All Might said. Kei fully expected to enjoy her first weekend of the school year.

By the time she got back to the apartment, Obito looked like he was perfectly ready to leave for a week. Instead, though, he jokingly saluted Kei and only said he had one more delivery to go, at which point he disappeared into thin air with a message scroll.

Kei, who could recognize Sensei’s calligraphy on the outside wrapping at a glance, let him get on with it. She had a kid brother to look after instead.

“Please don’t make me wear one of those,” Hayate said, indicating Kei’s school uniform. To Hayate’s shinobi-trained sensibilities, it probably looked pretty ridiculous. Kei didn’t disagree.

“I won’t,” Kei promised, and once she had a chance to change, they were off.

Kei, who had quite the discretionary budget and little to spend it on besides food and train fare, found that her little brother’s presence had a way of punching a hole in her established bottom line. It wasn’t because he was hard to provide for, but rather that he had a list and was checking it twice. Hayate wouldn’t have minded going to tourist hotspots or trying junk food that didn’t exist in Konoha, but people back home had tacked on things like university-level medical textbooks (Rin), ludicrously specific novelty kitchen gadgets (Kushina), and omamori from every shrine they could find (Genma). As such, Kei spent most of Saturday afternoon running errands with her kid brother in tow.

Shinobi weren’t above making a conveniently traveling friend buy souvenirs.

Hayate, for his part, had plenty of fun flitting from place to place like a kid at a theme park once Kei got him a replacement for his haori-style coat. There was no way to fully hide his starstruck behavior, but Kei found that his constant rubbernecking and the barrage of questions actually revealed how much she’d been learning about Tokyo. And, underneath her constant griping, her appreciation for the city and all it offered. Even with the occasional superpowered fight.

“This kind of stuff is so unnecessary,” Hayate muttered while they waited for a train. The second ride of the day, in fact.

“Mass transportation?” Kei asked, still half-listening to the station announcements. Between the various circuits they’d made and Kei’s lingering unfamiliarity with the system, it’d be easy to get lost. Again.

“Yeah. I mean, can’t we just…run?” Hayate kept his voice down, at least. “I mean, so many of us can go so fast…”

“Turning to technology means that more people can benefit, though,” Kei explained distractedly. “I mean, it’s not just about people with powers, you know?”

Though the shinobi world sure pretended it was. Half the roads even in Konoha weren’t paved. Kei probably ought to tell Sensei to rethink that policy, but it was difficult to explain without vehicles to reference.

Hayate frowned. “I guess?”

And though Kei hadn’t been a student at UA for long, or managed to be particularly good at it, she could say, “There’s also the fact that even heroes with really wild powers tend to use support items. Endeavor can’t exactly go around wearing normal clothes with his face on fire.”

Though she did kind of question why All Might couldn’t find clothes that fit both of his forms.

“So…” Hayate leaned back a little, hands loaded down by shopping bags. “Is it like fūinjutsu?”

“A bit,” Kei agreed. “But instead of spending years mastering the art alone—”

“You can have a lot of people benefit because anybody can use it,” Hayate concluded, which was a bit of a forty-five degree turn. But it was okay. Not a great analogy, but not the worst ever made.

Kei shrugged. “Sure.”

They made it through a few more stops before Hayate really started to flag. It had little to do with actual endurance, and a lot more to do with mental fatigue. Any person could only process so much in a day, and shoving Hayate into an urban environment even with a tour guide was a bit over the top.

“I’ve never seen so many buildings or people in my entire life,” Hayate said, once they were on the last train of the day. His shopping bags had ballooned a bit, making it difficult for others to find places to sit. “How can you stand it?”

“I got used to it,” Kei replied, rearranging the bags to give other people a few more spaces to sit. This was absolutely silly. “You holding up okay?”

“Mostly?” Hayate managed to keep a straight face for a while, then couldn’t hide a jaw-cracking yawn though he ducked his head. “Sorry, it’s a lot.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his free hand, like he’d been trying not to do all day. The city air didn’t agree with him. They’d already had to pick up cough medicine just in case.

“Good thing we’re headed back, then,” Kei was feeling the day drag on, too. “I’ll cook. You take a nap and we’ll have a slower day tomorrow.”

Hayate, after managing a tired, “Sounds good,” ended up dozing on a still-wrapped All Might hoodie. He wasn’t much more awake on the walk back.

While Hayate napped on the spare futon and Kei reheated stewed pumpkin, Isobu decided to check in.

What are the chances your Hokage only sent an itemized expense report for damages? Isobu didn’t sound like he cared about the answer.

It’s more likely that Sensei just bit Nezu’s head off in writing. Kei leaned against the counter and sighed. I was really more focused on how All Might, of all people, has an actual secret identity. Everyone else has their names listed and works with an agency.

Does the mutual unmasking have to mean anything? I am content to stew in resentment.

Then I won’t stop you. But the mission on our end doesn’t change much. Kei scratched the lowest corner of her scar. Today’s been all right. I don’t want to ruin it now.

Fine, Isobu huffed.

It was just a quiet night in, but it meant a lot even in this strange place.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Mirrored Ideals 06/26

Liquor bottles already waited on the low table and it was only a moment before Tradehouse staff brought along fresh tea. Lebeaux Desrosiers began preparing himself a cup, starting with a generous splash of brandy before pouring the tea into it. He prepared a second cup in the same manner and slid it towards Akimoto. “I found one of my associates already observing the aether-gathering individuals. Alas, getting information from him can be a tedious task and the Brass Blades arrived before I could witness anything conclusive for myself.” He picked up his own cup and took a small sip.

Akimoto Kiyomori watched the man pour a drink and then watched as the other was slid over and offered. His gaze dragged back up to meet his own. "I find that I am no longer thirsty when it comes to drinking that of which I did not handle myself. There was a poisoning at the fight the other evening. The elezen in question still at large. For now.. " His tone did not suggest that he thought it was Lebeaux, but more or a dark intention with a large degree of consequences. His finger tapped his knee for a moment as he considered Lebeaux's words. "I had three associates myself, and obtain two more that were also involved. It would appear they are using a sort of siphon magic. They were very interested in the aether of touched or tainted people as well. Yet they didn't seem to be able to actually determine if someone was tainted or not. Not with any level of accuracy. They did however.. " He shifted and brought out a small clay jar, and set it down on the table. "They gave this to one of my men. Apparently it is a manner of calling them or summoning them to you. " Within the jar would be a dark purple crystal.

Lebeaux considered that for a moment then lowered the cup from his own lips, offering that instead. “I’ve drank from it, so you can be assured I’ll not be poisoning myself.” He set that cup down in front of Akimoto and picked up the one that had been snubbed instead, settling back comfortably into his seat to sip. “Besides, it’s not in my best interest to harm a potential employer. Consider yourself ‘safe’.” Far more than could be said for most. He smiled serenely as he leaned forwards to tip the jar over to spill the crystal onto the table. “How strange, it doesn’t look like any linkpearl I’ve ever seen. I suppose it’s less a means of communication and more of a signal beacon. Have you activated it?”

Akimoto took the drink and drank it without hesitation, even though he knew he himself had spent a great of time slowly poisoning himself so that he could bare the effects of it. He then set the cup down and shook his head. "I have not. I do not step blindly into potential battlefields that I have not chosen or at the very least understand. For all I know contact with the skin could very well notify them of a great many things or itself be something to obtain my aether. Of which I will not allow. If it is to be activated I would like to do so with the proper preparations in place. I do have a plan of course. Thus brings me to you regardless of your inability to obtain insight at the Market. I would like to have you act as a buyer alongside another individual. "

Lebeaux perhaps felt a little better that Akimoto was willing to drink the tea he had already ‘tested’. After all, it was a fairly nice brandy. It would be a shame to see it go to waste. The medic turned the clay jar over to set it atop the crystal, blocking it from view. Just in case it was able to transmit conversation, the jar would hopefully baffle it. “A sound plan I’m sure, yet before we go into the details of ‘your mission, should you choose to accept it’.” Lebeaux interrupted with a small smile and a long sip of spiked tea. “What stakes do you have in this. Do you have a personal interest in gathering mass amounts of aether?”

Akimoto watched the man fiddle with the jar, and his hopes were mirrored in Aki's, for he had been told the jar would suffice but who knew really? A smirk had found his face when the quip was made. His brow arched however when the question was asked. "I think it would be rather obvious that whomever this is, is massing a great deal of aether and that should concern anyone, really. " His gaze narrowed slightly as he consider the question in more length. "It has come to pass that someone of worth to me is struggling with an aetherical issue. Also there was a pair of gentlemen that came to me speaking of being possessed or somewhat controlled by what they called a voidsent. As you are aware the ability to summon something into oneself is not as unlikely as Eorzea would like to believe. Aside from knowing what it is they are doing, I wish to understand how they are doing it. What exactly they are doing and the consequences for that. Rather it be to destroy them or to amass such knowledge for my own ends, I've not decided. Either way, I can spin it whichever color and flavor you wish to swallow."

Lebeaux considered that for a moment, tapping a gloved finger against his own chin. Smiling calmly all the while. “For a man who declared himself a monster when we last met I certainly do find it difficult to choke down the ‘benevolent nobility’ bit.” He agreed with a dry chuckle, chasing it with a long sip of tea. “You believe the summoning of voidsent is directly related to the gathering of this aether? Just what would you want with voidsent? I wasn’t aware they were such a problem here in the Far East.” He asked, tilting his head slightly as he let his attention linger on the other’s eyes in particular.

Akimoto titled his head a little as he rose his hand and spread his fingers with his palm to the air. "One man's monster is another man's hero. " He chuckled again and shook his head. "In the East there are a great many different kinds of darkness and shadow. The Void as you call it doesn't quite exist in the same fashion. That which you call demons here, are nothing like what a demon is to The East. A demon or yokai is a merely an enraged spirit and often has removed their 'calm and peace'. Sometimes it is taken. " He smirked again, his eyes flashing once more with a glowing version of the same iridescent blue. He took in a deep breath then let it out slowly, leaning back in the chair. His gaze drifted back to regard his host. "I do not believe the two incidents to be related. Which in itself is interesting. However.. " He paused , leaning all the way forward. "You wish to know my nature and my motivations. I have no issue telling you. I do however believe in free will and I would have you willing tell me your own, first."

Lebeaux smiled pleasantly as Akimoto dissembled by instead discussing the difference between Eorzean and Eastern demons. “It sounds rather like an explanation I had only recently on Eastern medicine, balancing the elements. Which is essentially the humors but with a different name. I suspect the beasts work on a similar concept.” He noted, politely dismissing the explanation. The smile grew somewhat at the exchange. “That’s not free will, that’s free market. Exchange of similarly valued items.” He corrected. “I’ll make you a counter offer. Agreeing to investigate these suspicious individuals puts my aether at risk. As a chirurgeon and something of a mage my aether is invaluable. I’ll not put my livelihood on the line for the whim of a bored heathen with delusions of grandeur. If you’ll tell me your motives, I’ll hear your plan.”

Akimoto's deep baritone rumbled as he nodded and sat back up. "The risk is there, I agree. I would do it myself but the risk is greater. Nevertheless I find you some pitiful fool to use as the 'test' subject for your 'business transaction". He chuckled again. "The motives of a villain or hero. I do not know either of which that would be so bold as to confess them without some level of reassurance. Trust is but a word I am afraid I hold no value in. " He considered once more with a hum. "If they are able to summon out a soul in full and not pieces it would interest me greatly as I can potentially save the life of this person I hold value in. That is a small measure of my personal motivations. However the grandeur of this delusion to this bored heathen is that I believe your world to be weak. People are afraid of a fight they don't know if they win. They are afraid of a challenge and what it means to rise to it. They scoff and hide when blood is running and they blame others for their short comings. I had thought perhaps it was a lack of leadership but its not. To long the people have been used to a mediocre chaos and they slaves to do nothing. Year after year some grand truth become unveiled and the masses crying for freedom and then what?" He shook his head. "They wither back to their hovels and ignore the war before their eyes. It is not a lack of leadership. It is a lack of Order from Chaos. A bar to reach so to speak. An foe that has no country, no people, no creed save their own. A reason to become more than they are. This.. " he waved his had to the crystal. "A very display of their complacency. So there in lies my 'motive.' If these people are a great evil then they will be removed and in doing so , forge a great many people into that end. If they are a power to be wrought then so be it. From the suffering will come paradise. " He smirked. and sat back. "I plan on testing the will of everyone and everything, if you like it spoken bluntly."

Lebeaux sipped silently at his tea while Akimoto explained, opening his mouth to interrupt then shutting it again. And to think Lebeaux had been accused before of loving the sound of his own voice. The amusing thought passed briefly through his mind before he refocused on what was being said. He waited a moment once the other had finished speaking, drinking the rest of the heavily fortified tea and setting the cup down on the table. “You hope to burn away the rot that’s eating away at society to leave them free of the sickness that makes them weak.” He rephrased thoughtfully. “Our goals are rather the same, then. Though yours are admittedly grander in scale.” The medic shifted to rest and elbow on the arm rest and settled his chin in his gloved palm as he looked at the other. “Very well. I’ll hear your proposal. Having such similar ideals I suspect this will be a learning experience for me. Whether you succeed or are burned to ashes by the fires of your own ambitions.”

@akimotokiyomori 

[xthebirdofhermesx]

Hellsing: Rememberances - Chapter 3

I’m compiling on #Ao3, here, as I go for anyone interested in reading start to finish without having to scroll through Tumblr.

This... started as two little scenes in my head, and now is spiraling out of control in my head. I need to think. Figure out if there’s a small plot I can conjure for a bit since this is all still technically before Ultimate “began”. And where to go from there. Hmmmmmm. Chapter 4 will be part II, and its shaping up to be from Alucard’s perspective, so stay tuned! I have no idea when I’ll get the next part done (This one went really fast, but IRL is a jerk sometimes, and my muse can be a stubborn turd at others) but I will try and have it up as soon as I can figure out what “it” looks like ^_^

Saints and Sinners: Part I Looking in the full length, antique floor mirror that had been her grandmother’s at one time, Integra Hellsing had to admit even she thought she looked a little pale. It wasn’t the dress. The black satin bodice and a-line skirt, strapless frock was lovely and classy. Despite her general aversion to dresses as she’d become far more comfortable in pants over dresses nowadays, she very much liked the 50s style to it. The capelet that covered her shoulders was beaded lace, with a high collar and satin ribbon tie that allow her to affix her crucifix pin to it was well. Hair braided up around her head, she’d decided to go with an up style unlike her normal long, flowing plaits - she felt it made her look more distinguished.

Nor was her pallor a result of the Hellsing operation the evening prior. An operation that had required her to order the execution of approximately fifteen ghoul freaks, one proper vampire and more than two dozen civilians that were on their way to becoming mindless ghouls. No, that was her job. Her duty to Queen and country as was the legacy of her proud family. No, no she’d not even lost a wink of sleep over that.

No, she knew exactly from whence her pallor came. This night there was a party being held in her honor. Downstairs nobility of England, Knights of the Council of Twelve and others, supporters from the Church of England, and what few family friends outside of that left to the Hellsing family were already arriving. There were police officers and royal guard at the gate down the drive and the house proper preventing media and unwanteds from entering. Walter had been bustling about for a week now with preparations, phone calls and deliveries for the food, flowers, decor and his normal duties. Hellsing manor had not seen such a soiree in decades. All for one, momentous evening.

It was Integral Fairbrooks Wingates Hellsing’s eighteenth birthday.

Giving the difficult orders, even at her age, were no longer an issue. Fighting monsters, freaks both with her ultimate weapon, or on the rare occasion she herself had found need or situation to fight, no longer intimidated or threatened her. Nobility and political events, while not her favorite as she detested being unarmed, were also not the issue.

She was going to have to socialize .

Her training as both the head of the Hellsing organization and a knight of the realm was perfection. Overseen by the Queen herself at times, she had never received anything but perfect marks in combat, etiquette, procedure, language or any common core educations. But when it came down to it, she had been raised by a retired vampire slayer as her butler… and Dracula himself. She hadn’t the foggiest idea how she was supposed to maintain idle chit-chat, non work related conversation or casual discourse… with anyone.

Be it from practice, or the fact that he wasn’t trying to be stealthy, Integra saw when the shadows of her room darkened, and Alucard manifested from the wall behind her. She did not see him in the mirror, but the hair at the back of her neck stood up in the presence of his power, as it always did. The human mind, be it unexplained science, or instinct, recognized a predator and their power regardless of trust.

“You should knock,” she said flatly before turning around to face him. She could tell from the wide grin on his face, he was likely entirely informed of her state of mind. Regardless of how many times she’d asked or ordered, when it came to reading her thoughts Alucard could not seem to help himself.

He chuckled, the deep baritone of his voice bringing chill bumps to her exposed arms. “I could not help myself,” he answered as if she’s spoken aloud. “Not tonight. Your trepidation is palpable, and called to me. The fearless Integral Hellsing… chewing her lips over a party.” His head inclined slightly to one side in curiosity. “You had no fear ordering the murder of more than thirty souls not twenty-four hours ago. And yet the living terrify you.”

“The Salvation of those souls is my duty, servant . We released them from a tortured existence. Do not mistake or twist my purpose.”

The large smile returned to the tall man’s face. Integra noticed that he was missing his typical long red coat and dark suit in favor of a different one. So black it seemed to absorb light, the double breasted coat was long, to a few inches above the knees of his matching, pleated pants. Even the red satin cravat he wore was pressed, tied over a new black dress shirt. Though she also noted his unruly mass of back hair was as ever long in the front and shorter in back, curling wildly as if it had a mind all its own.

Red, glowing vampiric eyes narrowed as the ancient vampire observed her, observing him. “Penny for your thoughts,” he rumbled smugly at his own joke.

Integra merely raised one perfectly arched eyebrow over her crystal blue eyes. “You look… nice.”

This clearly amused him as the No Life King’s head fell back with laughter. At the same time he began walking towards her slowly. “Oh my sweet master,” he said, stopping only inches from her, “How you strive for your heart to be carved from the coldest, most unyeilding ice. And yet I know so much differently.”

Now it was her turn to incline her head curiously. “So you believe,” she said, but were she honest, she wasn’t sure what he knew - or thought he knew.

Alucard just smiled. “Tonight, you become the true, legal leader of this organization.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Am I?” he purred. “Or am I acknowledging that the beautiful, bloodthirsty and unflinching granddaughter of my once nemesis stands before me wrapped like a Christmas present in satin and disdain… on the day she becomes legally an adult?”

She frowned before she could school her reaction, replaying his words in her mind as she had no idea what on Earth they were supposed to mean together, until- oh. Oh. Ohhhhh .

He was granted the satisfaction of seeing her blush hotly before she turned away from him and reaching for her black, satin wrist gloves. “You’re disgusting, Alucard. How dare you imply such undertones in my presence. Had I any time for such thoughts, they would certainly not be of a five and a half century-old warlord King turned monster.”

“Liar.”

That one word hung in the air between them along with her hesitation and his shit-eating grin.

“No man or woman is in control of their unconscious mind. How dare you-”

“The unconscious mind merely shows us the truths of what we refuse to acknowledge with our conscious minds.” His voice was closer. Right over her shoulder now. She’d been so lambasted at the subject, she’d not been paying attention peripherally and certain not seen him move in the mirror as he bore no reflection.

Straightening up to turn and give Alucard a rather loud piece of her mind, Integra’s voice caught in her throat when she found herself nose to nose with him. Steel. Her mind had to be steel. Her expression, steel. Heart? Steel. It took such a mantra to not give him the satisfaction of her surprise. “You’re invading my personal space, vampire.”

“Mmm, am I?” He did not move a muscle.

“Stand back, monster. That is an order.”

One dark eyebrow raised slowly towards his hair, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “As you wish, my master - if ,” he said, still right where he had been, “That is what you truly desire.”

God help her she hesitated. He was right, she’d been dreaming about him in very… blush worthy ways. She was well read, she knew all the biology lessons and the chemicals involved with growing up, maturing both mentally, emotionally and sexually. She understood attraction. She understood what romance was. In fact, she had a small stash, in the box under her bed, of lovely little fantasy fiction novels, each with a bit of romance in them that usually made her sigh internally. None of this was unexpected, or abnormal.

Other than the subject of her explicit dreams being the most powerful of all vampires and king of the undead.

“It is what I truly desire,” she snapped at him, but her voice cracked, and he just grinned more wildly.

“Liar.”

“That’s twice you’ve called me a liar tonight and if you do it again, I will shoot you myself with every blessed bullet I can lay my damn hands on!” she prattled off at him as if it were rote. Which, if she were honest, it was becoming that way.

But Alucard didn’t back up. He stopped leaning, standing to his full height and allowing her to stop leaning away from him at an odd angle. However he still stood so very close to her. His ruby eyes never leaving her face, Alucard reached up and ran the back of his gloved fingers over the rise of her cheek. “What would you say, if I asked you to join me in unlife, my master? To rule the night, drink blood, cut down any who would oppose us and be my queen for eternity as an equal?”

Integra either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that she had plenty of room to step away from him now that he wasn’t leaning. His caress of her face burned through her and she was having a hard time parsing in her mind what exactly was happening to her. “I would rather die than become a monster like you.”

“And what would you say after that?” he grinned. “After you gave me the answer your Council and the Queen and England expect of you- what you were raised to say- what you may superficially believe you mean- now that that answer is out of the way… What would your heart answer?”

She blinked at him slowly, wanting with everything she was to affirm that her words were in fact the answer to both. That she would never give in to such a dark, evil temptation and that he would leave her quarters right that instant to his dungeon to miss the party as punishment for his insubordination. That or just unload a clip into him to make herself feel better.

That is not, however, what happened.

If there was one thing that she could say with clarity and certainty, it was that she had never lied to Alucard. She may have omitted information not pertinent to him, or for the protection of herself mostly- especially after her final testing as part of her schooling where she’d had to go to London proper and a facility in which he followed and made a nuisance of himself all damn day. And she would try to conceal her privacy, lying about seeing him in her dreams or other such personal business because he was ever so damnably nosy. But she had never once lied… about anything truly big or important. Oddly… this felt big and important.

“I do not know, Alucard,” she sighed and crossed one arm over her chest, the other pressing a palm to her forehead. “If you asked me now- here and now... not in hypothetical, I would say no. I have too much to do, both in duty and as a person, too much to accomplish and experience as a human being to have any desire to step off this mortal coil and onto the dark, monstrous immortal one you walk.

“But if I were dying, if there was no hope to save my life and I knew the end was near… I cannot say for certain I would turn you down.”

He had been listening with a bemused expression at her internal turmoil and patently Hellsing answer, but with her final words his face alit with a nearly manic smile. “That, my master, is not a no.”

She sighed lifting her head from her palm to roll her eyes and look at him. “How observant of you. I am about to have to go field over one hundred people I barely know, and like even less in some cases, and I do not have the widgets to play your games right now.”

“Then, with your permission, may I give you your birthday gift, and escort you down stairs, my master?” he asked and Integra knew, expected there was a catch. At the very least something he was hiding.

“Fine,” she rumbled and stuffed her hands into her gloves. But then a thought occurred to her. “Wait when would you have left to get me anythin-”

She was cut off when he reached out and placed a hand in the small of her back and pulled her against his chest. He did not pin her, if Integra wanted to squirm away, she could have and they both knew it. She thought about it, and he saw it in her eyes that she thought about it.

And yet, she did not move.

“What are you doing?”

Alucard smiled broadly. “Giving you your birthday gift.”

He leaned down, and the moment his lips brushed hers, Integra had never known such fire to ignite within her. His skin was cool but soft and she found that not only had the old bastard bothered to put on cologne and brush his teeth, but she ached very suddenly, and very painfully for him to finish that physical thought.

Alucard only grinned where she could feel it, hovering but not actually making the final movement that would bring them together. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, you bastard,” she swore and lifting up on tiptoe, pressed her lips to his in a chaste, but heated kiss.

His other arm came around her and cradled the back of her neck, her arms coming to wrap around his neck and hold him there so she could kiss him longer. A soft, but deeply male moan escaped him and Integra knew that if this continued, there was a solid chance she might have a very impressive list of regrets in the morning.

Or merely an impressive list of firsts.

A knock on the door shattered the momentary spell, and Integra found herself suddenly staring at Alucard’s back where he stood between her and the door, and any possible threats. “Madame, the guests have arrived,” Walter’s voice called politely from the other side of the door. “I believe it is time for you to make your entrance. Shall I fetch the Count?”

Tucking a stray strand of hair loosed in their moment behind her ear, Integra cleared her throat and straightened her dress. “I believe he knows, Walter. That won’t be necessary. I will meet you atop the stairs in a few moments.”

“Of course, my lady.”

When Walter’s footsteps could no longer be heard, Integra looked up to Alucard to see his eyes glowing darkly under the shadow of his hair. He’d moved so quickly she’d not only not seen, but it had taken a second for her to register what had happened. Now, she stood staring into the burning eyes of a damned soul and true monster. She had to remember that. She had to remind herself that he was a monster, her servant. A weapon. A tool to we wielded against the darkness…

...And if he had then leaned down to kiss her again, she would not have stopped him.

Hell.

Before her train of thought could go any further, she noticed that same monster was holding his arm out to her like a gentleman. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A handsome, dark angel of death and destruction. Some might say The Devil Himself.

“Best not to keep your public waiting,” he rumbled, but there was more to his tone than his usual torment in that statement. If Integra had a gun to her head for an answer, she’d have guessed there was a note of longing to his words.

Accepting his arm and letting him lead her to the door, she acknowledged in her mind for the first time that day that she was actually terrified of the living downstairs and completely… well at least mostly, comfortable with the monster on whose arm she walked. As he opened the door, she stopped him, tugging ever so slightly at his elbow. “Alucard,” she whispered, preventing echoes and eavesdropping, “Do not stray far from me this evening.”

His expression melted from poise, to sadistic delight as he smiled. “Is that an order, or a request, my master?”

She thought about it a moment, facing forward once more to resume their pace. Finally she sighed.

“Both.”

[birger-wuvs-elsa]

Frozen OC Exchange

@wintryspice I got yours, and decided to focus on Hannah with mentions of Charlotte. I was very nervous about this, as I usually am when writing...literally any character at all I didn’t make myself, lol. I cheated a little, called in the good ass himself for backup; but he’s in disguise in a human rendition, so it’s okay. =P

Modern AU, because why not? X3 I hope you like it... (=^w^=)>”

P.S. Birger has a soft spot for literally any OC who’s Elsa’s kid, so I’m not surprised at all he made this easier to write, lol.

“You need to go visit him, Hannah; whether you want to is beside the point.”

Hannah stubbornly refused respond, or to meet her mother’s eyes. Though the reflection of her mother, Elsa, in the mirror before her certainly made that tricky. The young girl, with blonde hair a shade or two darker than her mother’s, decided to focus instead on her hands folded upon her lap. Despite the many words a part of her wanted to say that churned deep inside, Hannah kept them at bay. They would help matters…not with how complicated they’d become.

Not after losing her dad, only to find out she’d had an estranged uncle she never knew the whole time.

A man who’d apparently, despite his supposed “great love” for his younger sister, distanced himself thoroughly due to his personal loathing of her father. Because of this, and how her uncle had purposefully avoided his own family, Hannah wasn’t sure she wanted anything to do with him. He didn’t attend the ceremony of her parents’ marriage, had moved away not long afterwards, and she’d never heard tale of him until just a few days ago.

Her uncle had made it clear he hadn’t been willing to stay close, so shouldn’t he be the one who reached out to her?

Before she’d even noticed Elsa had finished brushing her hair, she felt a hand lay gently on her shoulder. Against her previously stubborn wishes, Hannah couldn’t help but look up and meet her mother’s eyes through the mirror. Though her own eyes were a tad greener than her mother’s, they still held a similar spark as they met through the glass.

“I know that learning of his avoidance of us because of your father hurt you, and you have every right to feel that way. But these are mistakes of the past made long before you were born that you’re judging him for. It’s not as if he absolutely abandoned us, anyway.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up, and her eyes widened. “How do you mean, mother?”

Elsa smiled a soft, bittersweet smile. “Dear Hannah, how did you think all of those gifts you and your siblings received without a From filled out came about? Or that college fund that mysteriously showed up when you came of age to use them, with others awaiting your siblings to be old enough?”

Her mother paused to give Hannah a moment to process this revelation, and process she did. Many of her (secretly) favorite gifts had been those mystery gifts with no From name, and the college fund reserved for her had been a great boon for her pursuing a medical degree. These blessings that she simply thought were subtle gifts from her parents, or family or friends that she knew and loved dearly…had come from him?

“In fact, if I’m being honest…the only reason I had the idea to get you Misha, is because Branko suggested it.”

A soft gasped escaped from Hannah, but she was all too in shock to care. Misha? Misha? Her precious husky, who currently laid curled in a fluffy, adorable mass on her dog bed in the corner of the room, snoring away, was also from him? The dear dog whom she shared with little Charlotte…

“B-but…” Hannah started, hesitant, the walls she’d built around her uncle slowly beginning to crack.

Elsa, patient as ever, began to tie her daughter’s hair in a loose French Braid as she gave Hannah time to continue. Not only did her daughter like this style, but it was one that Elsa commonly used herself. As such, the lighter blonde had sly motivations for tying Hannah’s hair this way for today. What better way to visually help her older brother to feel more comfortable around the niece he never meant, than to show how much like her mother she was?

Elsa only hoped it worked that way, and that it didn’t instead remind Branko of what he’d lost…

“But mother, if…if he cared that much about us, about you, then why?” Hannah implored as she stared at the reflection of her mother’s face, and ignored the pinpricks at her eyes that forewarned tears. “If he loved us why would he stay away?”

Elsa took in a deep breath through the nose, and sighed. “It’s both simple and complex, sweetheart. Branko was so terribly conflicted, he was not at all alright with my and Hans’ relationship. For reasons I’ll not disclose right now, suffice it to say those two did not have the most amenable relation. That would be even harder to explain, honestly, but Branko let us be because, in the end…he didn’t want to jeopardize our happiness, even if he didn’t like half of the involved party.”

“As for why he stayed away from you, the twins, and Charlotte? It was pretty much the same reasoning, really, but a tad different. Branko was scared to death of ruining what he had, he didn’t want to risk us having issues that would never have happened had he remained uninvolved. To put matters simply?”

Elsa gripped Hannah’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Your uncle was afraid his very presence would ruin our happiness, and sacrificed getting to see you all grow up to ensure you grew up happy.”

Hannah took a shuddering breath before she turned to meet her mother’s eyes directly. “But, that means…did he also stay away from you?”

The young woman didn’t miss how her mother gulped, and how her eyes grew unfocused as she sighed. “Indeed, he did…it pained him as much as it had me, it seemed, from his letters.”

Hannah sat up in attention, “Letters? When did he send you letters?” She then frowned. “Who even sends letters anymore, these days?”

Elsa actually laughed, a hand coming to cover it before she spoke. “Branko is about as stubborn as you are, plus he loves the feel of paper beneath his hand and under a pencil. As for when, he always sent them along with the gifts. Other times as well, sure, but typically along with a package of some sort.”

Hannah let her eyes drift down as she sighed. This was a lot more revelations about her estranged uncle than she expected, and they certainly changed things more than she thought they would. She was initially more than willing to keep Branko at arm’s length, since he’d seemed content to do the same for decades. But of course, the situation just couldn’t be that clear cut, could it? No, of course not…black and white would make it too easy, of course there’d be grey.

The hands that were still on her shoulders squeezed gently once more, and Hannah looked back up at her mother.

Elsa smiled gently as she brought up one hand to caress her daughter’s temple. “Please, go see him, I know for a fact he’s equal parts eager and scared to meet you.”

With a gulp and a tentative nod, Hannah Marie agreed.

A few hours later…

Hannah nervously entered the high-end bar where her mother had dropped her off to finally meet her uncle. While Elsa herself remained outside in the car, to be there for Hannah for whatever she needed, the younger woman had entered alone. The bar was by no means a shoddy establishment, and certainly had its fair share of wealthy patrons. Whatever it was her uncle did for a living, between the presents he’d sent and the college funds he’d set up—and the bar he chose for them to meet at—Branko clearly did not have much to want for.

Despite knowing what her uncle looked like, Hannah still took her time to search for him. Mostly because she was still terribly nervous to see him, let alone meet him, but partially because of the many strangers in the bar. It wasn’t a busy crowd at all, exactly, and was hardly bustling. But it was a greater number of strangers in one place than Hannah liked, that was for sure.

“Just focus on why you’re there, find your uncle, and stay close to him. He will protect you, I swear it.”

Her mother had told her because Hannah had exited the car, along with a reminder she’d be just out in the car if needed. Knowing that she had two points of safety greatly comforted her, even if one of those points were technically foreign. But if even half of what Elsa had said was true, then Branko had loved his nieces and nephew without even having met them.

On the drive over, Hannah’s mother had shared many tales of her and Anna’s childhood growing up with their elder brother. They’d been lovely and sweet stories indeed, and certainly helped to give Hannah a better impression of who her uncle was. Apparently, upon the respective births of his younger sisters, Branko had sworn to keep them safe—even at what was a young age, having been only four when Elsa had been born. That protective only grew stronger with him, even if the events caused those urges to be shaken and called into question.

But now, as Hannah slowly strode through the bar and searched for shaggy hair the color of her aunt’s but styled like her mother’s, the young girl hoped that same protection still counted for her now.

Especially when Hannah felt an unwelcomed touch on her shoulder from behind.

“What’s a small thing like you doing here, milady?”

The voice was far too high and scratchy to be her uncle’s, and so fear quickly rooted itself in Hannah’s stomach. Elsa had described even Branko’s voice, a comforting baritone that seemed like it could suit a noble dragon. This voice sounded more like it suited a snake, and Hannah was afraid that comparison would become all the truer.

She slowly turned around, and indeed, the man who loomed over her did not seem overly compassionate. His black hair was too thick with product, thin smile too fake, green eyes too lit with a sheen that all but made Hannah sick. The fact he was tall enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes didn’t help; he was probably a whole half-a-foot taller!

Hannah gulped as she struggled to remain calm. “I’m looking for someone, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I don’t wish to be late.”

As she tried to pull away, to Hannah’s mounting horror, the man’s grip only tightened. “Now now, whoever they are can wait a tick. ‘Sides, they can’t be all that great if they left a pretty thing like you all alone.”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “They didn’t leave me alone, I am here to meet them. Please, sir, he’ll be worried if I don’t find him.”

She tried to pull away again, but the grip just tightened more. The growing pressure caused Hannah to suppress a wince; either against the pain of the grip itself, her fear, or the pain in her chest…Hannah wasn’t sure anymore.

“Don’t be in such a hurry to leave a nice man, missy! You’re lucky I’m even–“

“Pray tell, why is she lucky, Gerald?!”

Hannah’s eyes widened at the voice that shouted out, and the fear melted as hope warmed her chest. That voice sounded almost exactly how she imagined it would. It had to be him, oh please, please, let it be him!

Both Hannah and the man, Gerald, looked up to where she’d initially been headed to see a beast of a man approach. The eyes of both widened, for different reasons; awe and fear, respectively. Hannah couldn’t help but be amazed that this man was the brother of her mother and aunt. He was so tall! Taller even than Gerald, and with a muscular frame that put every man in the bar to shame.

His auburn hair was loose and wavy, not unlike Elsa’s own blonde hair behaved, but was trimmed where it would’ve fallen into his sharp blue eyes. Those he certainly shared with his big little sister, though he’s all but burned as he glared at the man who now shrank away from Hannah. As he got closer, the young woman noted how the auburn hairs were accented by dusting of blonde, almost like how grey hair was, but…this was less grey and more platinum blonde, startingly similar to Elsa’s hair. They even both had dark eyebrows…

Hannah wasn’t sure if this strange mixture of red and blonde hair was natural, or, given how the colors mixed, if Branko’s hair was naturally blonde and it’d just been awhile since he re-dyed it red. Either way, it harkened to both of his little sisters, and the familiarity eased Hannah’s fragile heart. As Branko all but snarled at the man who was getting farther and farther from her, Hannah noted the blonde goatee and beard combo that encompassed almost all of her uncle’s face.

None of the facial hair had hints of red; perhaps, then, he had once dyed his head red?

That mystery was irrelevant, though, as Branko protectively got in-between Hannah and Gerald, the latter all but relieving himself before the greater man.

“I-I just meant, er, um–nothing! No reason, Branko, I swear! I was just, uh, helping her! Yeah! The little lady was just looking for someone, and I–”

Branko cut him off with a dismissive wave and a growl, the former action further likening him to Elsa in Hannah’s eyes.

“Don’t even bother, Gerald! That was the laziest bloody attempt at fabricating and excuse I’ve ever heard. Now, get your skinny, useless ass out of here, before I show you the meaning of my own personal definition of gobsmacked!”

Without another word, Gerald scurried out of the bar, his metaphorical tail all but one with his legs.

The crowd, strangely enough, had paid no heed to the show beyond a few scattered chuckles. Apparently, this was normal, and ended how everyone expected. With the sorry man taken care of, Branko sighed, only to mysterious stiffen as Hannah watched. His back was still to her, and just now the blonde noticed he was dressed far more causally than most of the bar’s patrons. While most all of them wore suits, Branko was clad in fine black jeans, a dark blue long-sleeved collared shirt—the sleeves of which were rolled up, its collar pressed down—and a deep red ascot.

When Branko made no move to turn around, for reasons Hannah could easily guess, she decided to make the first move. She carefully approached him, and raised a hand to gently touch his strong forearm. The man all but startled at her touch, but didn’t whirl around suddenly. Rather, he slowly, oh so slowly, turned his head to glance at her other a broad shoulder. As their eyes met, his eyes to very blue compared to her greenish blue ones, and Hannah’s heart melted at what she saw in his.

He almost seemed afraid…but she could swear she saw hope somewhere.

Hannah took a deep breath and smiled her gentlest smile. “Hi…I’m Hannah Marie…A-Anderson.”

Branko sucked in a sharp breath, and held it for so long Hannah feared he was going to pass out. But then he slowly let it out, and smiled wide a she did so. Finally her turned to properly face her, and to Hannah’s surprise he bowed, so not terribly deeply.

“Branko Kasun Anderson, always at your service.” As he rose from his bow, his smile wavered. “If you’ll have me, that is…”

Without wasting a moment, Hannah leapt forward to hug the strong, barrel chest of her long-lost uncle.

“Only if you’ll forgive me for trying to hate you…” She whispered softly, fearfully, pleadingly against his shirt.

To her great relief, she felt strong arms gently shelter her as she clung ever tighter.

“Forgive me for letting my pride keep me away, and for daring to wait till now to meet you, and you have a deal, my little princess.”

Thanks to the stories Elsa’d shared in the car, Hannah knew immediately the source of the pet-name. Growing up, the trio of Branko, Anna, and Elsa had played games of royals when they were young. No doubt, Branko now saw Elsa as a queen to the princess she’d been when they were kids. Now, Hannah was his princess…a title she never knew she wanted till now.

An idea came to the blonde, and she excitedly pulled back and looked up at Branko’s face. “Good sir! Your service is needed outside, this instant!”

A big, almost smug grin arose on her uncle’s bearded face. “Lead the way, your highness.”

Hannah watched happily from the passenger seat as she had her own private viewing of a reunion long in the making. The sight of her mother clinging desperately but oh so happily to her dearly missed brother all but made Hannah cry herself. Yes, her mother was crying; but they were tears of relief and joy, shed as well by the brother who held her tight. As she watched the precious reunion, it occurred to Hannah…she was the only one of her siblings who yet knew of their uncle. Rynar, Eira, and Charlotte had yet to be told…she only knew because she’d picked up hints of Branko’s existence, and asked.

But Hannah knew which of her siblings would most love to meet their reclaimed uncle.

I can’t wait to tell Charlotte…

[kimmyyjv]

Fated yet Forbidden

Part 1- Lost

He was utterly and terribly lost. Stumbling through the trees, bumping into bark possibly centuries old and chipping off precious bits with his not-so-gentle brushes against them, Sabo was hopelessly lost.

He squinted against the evening sun, his breath ragged, and his normally pristine clothes dishevelled. His vision blurred and his head swam, as he struggled to at least track through the dense forest, fumbling further in hopes of finding an exit.

He had to get back to the base, back, back, before it found him. Before it returned.

Did he mention he was lost ?

Oh and disoriented. With a possible concussion. That too.

He struggled to get air into his lungs, his breath coming out in pants as he felt his rib cage groaning from the exertion. His body protested at the strain he was forcing it under, and Sabo briefly entertained the idea of stopping to heal himself.

No, no, that little thought was quickly ripped and discarded. He didn’t have time for such matters, he had to focus on getting out.

His legs were screaming at him and his arms throbbed painfully, the muscles burned whilst his back felt like it was on fire, well, not really as gid knows he had experience there, but it sure felt it it was. His chest wasn’t any better either. He knew that he was bleeding sluggishly from all the nicks and open wounds littering his body and he was obviously weak from bloodloss, on the verge of collapse and yet, he struggled on.

He absolutely cannot be caught now, not when he was what remained of their little party, of the group so viciously ripped from their organisation.

He was their only source of news of what had occurred within the silent enclave of this obscure forest; the only one who had even an inkling of what had transpired and what they were dealing with.

Sure, they had been well informed before then, but still, it had never crossed their minds how dangerous it truly was. How much strength the rogue, no, the creature had amassed. When their hunters had disappeared one after another within the area whilst on their solo missions, they hadn’t thought much about it. Simply that the hunters got caught up in their quests and had yet to return. Still, after receiving no news after weeks from their scheduled return, they had dispatched a search party. Sabo had spent a month trying to track down where their wayward hunters had gone, finally having a lead into the woods going up a small mountain.

He had thought nothing of it, barely thinking before he plunged himself and his team into the very woods that had swallowed his comrades. Only to come face to face with a vicious beast that had lurked in the shadows, cleverly staying off radar despite it’s limited capacity to conceive notions and waiting to pounce.

It even took Sabo by surprise while he was getting a drink and was the only reason he was in the state he was in right now. Also, the shock from seeing his team mercilessly slaughtered by a rogue that had stolen from them.

For a split second, Sabo was somewhat relieved it hadn’t been in contact with any high hunters other than him. If a high hunter had been killed… Their strength taken… Sabo could not even imagine the damage it could have wrought.

Now, all he had to do was be careful to not let the blood-savaged beast addicted to hunter blood even get a drop of his. He counted his lucky stars he was able to get away by locking the damn thing in place, but the prison won’t be sustained when he is gone so no doubt, the, cage would be disintegrating even as he stumbled through the undergrowth.

His knees threatened to buckle but he struggled on, determination setting in his heart to not let his team’s sacrifice be in vain. He had to get them the retribution they desired and deserved and rip that monster to nothing. At least, after he had regained his strength. Oh, when he returned in tip-top shape, that thing will regret crossing paths with him. Oh yes, he will come with vengeance upon his claws!

Sweat ran down his face in rivulets and dotted his forehead, he was losing precious light and it was imperative he at least made it to the nearest town.

‘I have to make it. I have to get out of here. ’

His addled brain, even in that state, argued in a voice he wasn’t sure was even his that it was at least two days away on foot.

‘Shut up brain, I do what I want. As if you can stop me. You are delusional right now. ’

His brain snorted. 'Like you are one to talk. You are practically inebriated! Do you even know where you are right now? ’

Huh… Since when did his brain get so snappy? He must be worst off than he thought.

'Obviously… Seriously, where are you? Can you focus on what’s in front of you, you dipshit?! ’

Wow, who knew the voices in his head could be so impatient, and not to mention logical… Law said he was never logical while drunk, so why would he be logical while concussed. Maybe they work differently… Maybe he should listen to his little voice that had never reigned till now -in spite of the several times he had gotten a wind of bad luck that wound up with him aching all over and prone upon the cold ground on some missions that he had mindlessly and impulsively plunged into- that could possibly save him now.

He looked up, and ow, that was a mistake as the ground under his feet wobbled and the surrounding greenery tipped and swirled into a mass of colours. But not before he thought he saw a huge maple oak in a distant clearing.

Vertigo washed over him and he was sprawled on his back before he even realised he had lost his footing.

’Hang in there… ’ the deep baritone voice whispered. ’We are coming.’

'That’s nice… ’ Sabo mused, his last conscious thought being that his inner voice was trying to reassure him. Surely that was the concussion talking- and oh look, pretty colours in a sky of black!! He was out before he even realised it.

———————————————————————————–

When Ace was brought out if his musings for inspiration for his new sketches, he had not given it much attention. Just a passing thought while lost in his world of imagination.

’…must… Out… Before…gets… Me… It cannot kill me. ’

OK, that was different. And certainly not his thoughts. Sure, he may have been suicidal, but that was like, a hundred years ago. He had long since abandoned that train of thought, it hadn’t crossed his mind once in the past century, not since he became a part of the Whiteboard Coven.

So… That begs the question… Just where did that thought come from??

’…killed all my hunters… I will kill it… ’

Ace sat up straighter. Better yet… From whom was that thought coming from?

Ace was briefly disturbed when he thought about someone having intruded his mind to send those thoughts, but that quickly washed away when everything clicked into place and he suddenly realised- That was the voice of his soulmate!

He had only ever heard from his family, about how you can hear your soulmate’s voice in your head, and their thoughts when you were in the same area, within a certain distance; and how that finite distance delved into something infinite when you bonded. Every living sentient being has a soul mate, but only vampires have unlocked and achieved that aspect of being able to recognise their soul mates and skim their thoughts or emotion. Werewolves to a lesser degree.

So, this meant, his soul mate was in the area! And apparently in trouble, it would seem. Just what was going on??

Ace didn’t even have time to dwell on what could have occurred, concern for a person -man- he had never even met or known until now overriding all other emotion. He quickly sent reassurance back to the mind in his own, trying to get him to divulge his location or even glean a location from the brief flashes of images he saw in his minds eye. It worried him, for the memory was vivid with red.

He threw down his sketchbook and and scrambled to his feet, abandoning the cooling shade of the tree in the back garden of the castle to hurry indoors, rushing past his many brothers and sisters to make haste towards the throne room, where no doubt, Pops would be. And where Pops was, his commanders or High Princes would be too.

Everyone in the castle were royalty, being Pops’ children, as Pops was the king of Paradise, the land ,forest and mountains where all supernatural creatures in the county resided. Of course, there were the generals, leaders of the various packs and groups that populated the area, but here, Pops or Edward Newgate was the undisputed King and leader. The strongest Vampire to have ever lived.

Luffy though, his little brother, was contesting that title. Although everyone knew that if -heaven forbid- Pops was to croak, Marco would take over as he was Pops’ first son and crown prince.

Luffy, being Luffy had pouted and unrelented, insisting that if he couldn’t be Vampire king, then he would be Pirate King instead.

While everyone had laughed and pointed out that vampires existed 300 years ago, and were almost non-existent now, Luffy had remained steadfast in his passion and dream, even gathering a group of odd mixed misfits to call his crew. Everyone thought it was cute, and so they let him be. Luffy had been off gallivanting around the mountains ever since. Luffy, bless him, had truly done wonders for his soul. However, Ace has always felt… Empty, or rather, incomplete, like something was missing. He had finally gathered the courage to enquire about it 50 years ago and Marco had told him with high certainty that it was from the missing bond with his soul mate, using his and Thatch’s relationship as an example. Although Thatch had teased him about it for not knowing about something so “simple” for days on end after that little talk.

He threw open the huge oak doors without hesitation, not even giving one of his brothers from Izo’s division the chance to announce him before he barged in unceremoniously.

All chatter in the throne room ceased as all eyes turned to him. Ace didn’t care as he stalked forwards, silver eyes glued to Pops’ golden ones, face set in determination. As expected, the commanders, the sixteen high princes, of which Ace was a part of, were all standing around Pop’s throne.

Ace took a deep breath, steeling himself for the bomb about to drop.

“I’ve found my soul mate Pops; and he is in trouble. ”

At once, voices rose as some expressed their shock, and others their concern.

Pops reverently raised his hand, and all noise died to give way to a heavy silence.

“Your soulmate is in the area?” He pinned Ace with his unwavering stare, and Ace met his stare head on, nodding sharply.

“What makes you think he’s in trouble? ”

“What he showed me, however briefly, made me have reason to believe that it so. ”

“Do you know where he is? ”

Ace was about to shake his head when an image crossed his mind, of a cluster if trees, opening into the right of a familiar glade he recognised, with a towering ancient Maple Oak tree smack dab in the centre of it.

He nodded, “Yeah, just to the right of the Oak Glade. ” There was only one place in the first with that Oak, everyone knew what he was talking about.

“He maybe seriously injured, Pops… It’s hearing me in the inside… ” Ace gasped.

Whitebeard nodded grimly. “Izo, Marco, Thatch, Haruta. You will go with Ace to fetch his soulmate. Namur, inform the infirmary to prep themselves.” Pops ordered and swiftly, wasting no time, the High princes obeyed and darted for the doors, the little group sent to find Ace’s soulmate all making for the entrance to enter the forest.

….

They reached the glade in no time at all, conign from the left, and that was when they were all hit by the overpowering scent of blood, and not just any blood, oh no.

They made their way towards the right, following Ace’s lead and the scent and all struggling to reign in their bloodlust. They were not High Pinces for nothing though, and iron clad wills clamped down on their thirst as they focused on the task at hand.

They circled around some trees to come face to face with a collapsed form upon the ground.

The proximity only serving to confirm their suspicions that yes, Ace’s Soulmate was a Hunter.

[facets-and-rainbows]

Blue Exorcist: Home Sweet Home (part 2)

BAM another part! (It’s gonna slow way down after this, I only have this one done because I was working on it at the same time as part 1).

Come marvel at how Aya Yajima can write an adorable little scene except every time you let your guard down for EVEN A SECOND she stabs you DIRECTLY IN THE HEART and then goes right back to the adorable little scene.

Part 2

[go to part 1]

“The high today is 3 degrees Celsius, with a low of minus 1. This is the coldest day so far this season. Scarves and mittens will come in handy, especially in the evening and moving into night. Some areas may see a little freezing rain starting in the afternoon. Be sure to bundle up before going out!”

The weather girl on the cathode ray TV, wearing a small mic and a poofy fur, reported the morning forecast with a smile as bright as the morning itself. Next to the TV, a kettle whistled shrilly on the dated wood stove.

The old frosted glass windows of the Southern Cross Men’s Monastery were all fogged up from the temperature difference with the outside. Normally Rin would be happily drawing away on them with his finger by now, but today he was at his adoptive father’s side with a subdued look on his face. He gripped his father’s cassock and nervously peered into the bed where his twin brother was resting.

With his little brow furrowed and his mouth bent into a frown, he looked almost like he was at a funeral.

“38.9 degrees,” said Shirou, an old-fashioned mercury thermometer in his hand. He brushed the bangs away from Yukio’s face, which was red as an apple, and set his hand on his forehead. “Ow, that’s hot!” he said. “We won’t need the heater if we’ve got you!”

“What’s thirty-eight point nine degrees mean? Is it bad?” Rin asked, clinging to his irreverent father’s leg. Rin’s whole body looked flushed too—of course, in his case it wasn’t because of a cold but because he had gotten worked up worrying about his brother.

“Is Yukio really bad? Dad, is he gonna be okay? Hey Dad!”

“Settle down. From what I can tell it’s just a cold. He’ll be fine with a little nutrition and bedrest,” Shirou said, and peeled Rin off the leg that he had latched onto like a little piranha. Despite appearances, Shirou was a licensed doctor. And an excellent one at that.

Comforted by his father’s words, Rin let out a sigh of relief. Then he jumped right onto Yukio’s bed, closed his eyes tight, and yelled:

“Yukio, don’t go to sleep! You can’t sleep! If you fall asleep you’ll die!”

Yukio groaned like a squashed frog under his brother’s weight.

“Hey, woah! Knock it off, Rin!” Shirou hurriedly grabbed Rin by the collar and lifted him up like a kitten. Rin flailed around with both arms and legs.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? It’s fine if he sleeps. In fact, you should let him sleep till he’s sick of it.”

“But last night the TV said that if you fall asleep you die,” his adopted son protested, with one cheek puffed out in the most serious expression he could muster.

“That’s when you’re lost on a snowy mountain. Does this look like a snowy mountain to you? Huh?” Shirou lectured Rin, plopping him down on the floor. “Also, the TV can’t talk. You should say ‘they said on TV.’”

“? What’s the difference?”

Rin looked dumbfounded. Shirou gave him a rough pat on his little head. Seriously, though… he thought as he scratched his own head with his other hand. His short tawny hair rustled back and forth.

“Nagatomo and Kyoudou and Izumi and Maruta are all down and out with colds…Just how contagious is this thing?”

The four of them were all moaning in their own rooms.  Their fevers were all about as high as Yukio’s. But kids tended to run hot anyway, and it was a lot tougher on the much older monks.

Well, morning mass is already over at the church, and since it’s Saturday I don’t have to call the school and tell them he’ll be gone. We can all just sit back and relax, Shirou thought, ever the optimist.

“Why don’t we gather them all in one place for now?”

He decided to lay out futons for everyone in an empty room, figuring it would be easier to care for them that way.

After he had Nagatomo and the others walk over by themselves, he scooped up Yukio bed mat and all. Rin’s eyes gleamed at this unexpected show of strength from his father. He balled his hands up into fists and voiced his amazement.

“Wow, Dad! That’s so cool! You’re so strong!”

“Ahaha! Just watch what I can do at full power!”

Shirou got a little carried away. He lifted the bed mat with Yukio on it even higher, all the way above his head. And just then, there was an unpleasant cracking sound from his lower back…

“!! Argh…ahhh…gah…”

Shirou’s face stiffened. His whole body started trembling. Rin noticed something was wrong. He looked up at his father, who was frozen on the spot.

“Dad, are you okay? I heard a weird sound just now…”

“Wh-what? No, I’m fine…Fine. I’m fine.”

Wearing a blank expression that didn’t match his words at all, Shirou carried the bed mat (+Yukio) into the room much more carefully than before. He slowly, gently laid Yukio on the floor, and then his strength finally gave out.

“…Okay Rin...That’s it for me…urgh…”

Shirou collapsed on the floor. A bewildered Rin let out a scream.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Dad’s deeaaaaaaaaaad!”

“No I’m not! Don’t just kill me like that!”

You’ll jinx me, he thought, staggering to his feet with a hand on his back. His face stiffened. “Though…I guess it was a pretty close call there.”

As Shirou was frowning and rubbing his aching back, a low ominous sound rang out from his cassock pocket. Shirou groaned. Incidentally, the ringtone was the background music from a certain shark movie.

“Jeez, why now of all times?”

“Wh-What’s that? Is it the bad guys? An enemy attack?” Rin spread his arms out wide to shield his father and brother, eyes darting around the room. Shirou put a hand on his head and told him to calm down.

“It’s not the bad guys. It’s my cell phone.”

“A cell phone! Me too! Me too! I want a cell phone! Buy me one! It’s my one true wish!”

“When you’re grown up. This isn’t a toy. And don’t use up your one true wish on something like that. What a waste.”

Rin was hopping up and down trying to grab the phone; Shirou gripped the top of his head with one hand to keep him in place and pressed the talk button. Without skipping a beat, a cheerful baritone called out over the phone.

“Guten Tag ☆ Father Fujimoto. I hope I find you well?”

“I’m busy right now. Bye,” Shirou answered bluntly. As he went to end the call, he could sense a smile forming on the other end.

“My, what a greeting. And here I saved this stupendously labor-intensive and dangerous mission as a favor for you.”

“What about that is a favor? Don’t say it weird like that. And like I just said, I’m super busy right now. Send someone else. Bye.”

“Oh? …Are you sure you should be saying that?” The voice on the other end suddenly took on a dangerous edge. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the kind gentleman who let you that money when you were worried you wouldn’t have mochi for New Year’s.”

“Ghh…”

“But if you want to throw away a chance at a little extra income, then be my guest.”

Shirou frowned in silent thought as the devil whispered in his ear about lunch money and school supplies for the new term, and how that would all add up, wouldn’t it? And so he braced himself and said:

“…Fine. Send me the details. I can leave in ten minutes.”

“A wise choice.” You could practically see that nasty grin, you could hear it in his voice as he answered. Shirou ended the call abruptly in one last show of defiance.

“Seriously, is today cursed or something?” Shirou complained. He looked down at Rin under his left hand. Then he took his hand off of Rin’s little head and scratched his own head roughly again. “Okay, what now?”

He’d just lost the option of not going on the mission. But if he left for the mission, that would leave five sick people and Rin, and no one else.

If I just blow right through the mission and race right back here, it might be okay…

But that stupid twisted boss of his had called it “stupendously labor-intensive and dangerous”—there was no way it would go that smoothly.

There’s that ready-made porridge for lunch, and for dinner…I can just order delivery, so the only problem is…

Shirou glanced at Rin. Rin blinked back up at him with his big eyes, totally unaware that he was a “problem.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen, Dad?”

“Yeah...something did,” Shirou sighed back. “Actually, something came up and I have to go deal with it.”

“What?! But what about Yukio and everyone? You can’t! I won’t let you go!”

Rin grabbed onto Shirou again like a snapping turtle, ready to die before he let go.

Shirou sighed, then shifted into a stern expression and tone of voice.

“Orders for Private Rin!”

“!?”

Rin was startled for a second, but as soon as he realized that Shirou was doing an impression of the admiral from a certain space battle anime, he jumped down from Shirou’s leg and stood up straight as an arrow. He looked up at his adoptive father with a seriousness he had never shown his teachers in school.

Shirou looked right back at him with his auburn eyes. He gave the order in an even sterner voice than before.

“I’m assigning you an important mission. Until I get back, you are to care for everyone to the best of your ability. That is all.”

“W-Whoa…A mission…awesome…”

Rin’s eyes sparkled. Then he tilted his head to one side and asked what “to the best of your ability” meant, but after that he was right back to the same glittering expression.

“I’ll work hard! I’ll work hard at my mission!” he said eagerly.

Immediately, a groan went up like a scream from the four people lined up sleeping. They had all gone pale, and were frantically shaking their heads on top of their pillows.

(“Don’t put things into his head! Are you trying to kill us?”) Nagatomo moaned on behalf of the other three.

Shirou tried to mollify him. (“It’ll be fine. He’s just a kid, all he can do is bring you medicine, cute stuff like that. Hell, having something to do might keep him out of trouble, it’s actually reassuring that way. Just put up with it.”)

(“Take it back right now. Our lives are at stake.”)

(“Don’t be silly. Just let him take care of you. It’ll be funn- I mean it’ll be a good life lesson for Rin.”)

(“You were saying it’d be funny! You said funny!”)

(Shush, it’ll be fine. Don’t get too worked up about it, you’ll make your fever worse.”) Shirou brushed off Nagatomo’s concerns with a vague reply.

“For lunch, you boil some water in a big pot, put in those bags of porridge, and heat them up for three minutes. Got that? Don’t open them, just put the whole bag in. And whatever you do, don’t try to make it easier by putting them in the microwave. If you put the whole bag in the microwave it’ll explode. For dinner, I’ll order from that Chinese place in the Southern Cross Shopping District, and I’ll pay them ahead of time so…”

“Sukiyaki?!” Rin’s face lit up. Shirou gave him a light flick on the forehead.

“No, silly. I said Chinese food. Where’d you get sukiyaki from? It’ll be that great big thing of fried rice we always get from the Yamaneko shop, and the Chinese soup that comes with it.”

“I like fried rice too! I can eat the ginger now, you know. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Wow, that is pretty cool. Anyway, you should open the windows just a little bit sometimes to get some fresh air in here. And give them each one packet of medicine morning, noon, and night. Yukio gets half a packet. Give them some water to drink with it too. And…well, I’ll let you figure out the rest as it comes up.”

Shirou was giving the simplest directions he could when Yukio, who had apparently been listening to his father and brother talk, stretched a hand out weakly from inside his futon.

“Dad…are you leaving?”

“Yukio…”

Yukio gripped his father’s cassock and looked up at him helplessly, and Shirou suddenly found himself at a loss for words. The boy had always been prone to crying, and tears were already welling up in his eyes. Shirou felt the pain of all parents everywhere when they have to leave a sick child to go to work, almost like the kid had grabbed ahold of his heart with his bare hands.

“Oh, well, it’s just…”

As Shirou fumbled for words, Rin took hold of his brother’s feverish hand.

“It’s okay, Yukio! Your big brother’s gonna take real good care of you!” he said, smiling.

“…Okay.” The helpless expression disappeared from Yukio’s face, and he smiled with his tear-filled eyes.

Shirou watched all of this with a wry smile.

“Oh, look at you acting like the big brother just cause you were born a tiny bit earlier!” he teased. And to think that five or six years ago they were both still in diapers bawling their eyes out…The thought made him feel uncharacteristically sentimental.

I guess kids still grow up even if their dad’s a mess… He felt just a little forlorn.

“Well, bye then. I’ll leave the rest to you, Rin,” Shirou said as cheerfully as he could. He saluted sharply. Rin, his expression eager and his mouth bent into a serious frown, returned the salute. With his left hand, for some reason.

Shirou’s expression softened when he saw that Rin was still firmly holding his brother’s hand with his right. He smiled as he turned to his sons and gently added:

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just hang on until then.”

[Part 3]

[tatooine92]

MEA: From the Ground Up - Part 4

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda Pairing: Amanda Ryder x Reyes Vidal Rating: T Previous Parts: 1: https://tatooine92.tumblr.com/post/159231311635/mea-from-the-ground-up-part-1 2: https://tatooine92.tumblr.com/post/159234117740/mea-from-the-ground-up-part-2 3: https://tatooine92.tumblr.com/post/159424302975/mea-from-the-ground-up-part-3 Spoilers?: Depends on your definition of spoiler. It’s set post-game. Summary: After having a bad day fighting leftover kett, Mandy has to stay bedridden. Of course, this gives her a great chance to catch up on emails...

Mandy woke safe and warm in the Tempest's medbay, awakened by the soft chirping of medical equipment and the sharp bluish light in the room. Dr. T'Perro stood nearby, reviewing Mandy's charts.

"My professional recommendation is that we buy you a padded suit," Lexi said without looking up.

"I've gotta find me a new doctor," Mandy snorted. "Maybe one who opens with 'Why hello, Pathfinder, I'm glad you're alive because I worked really hard to keep you that way.'"

"If you don't like my bedside manner, stop ending up in my medbay," Lexi retorted, her lips curving in a smirk. "Nevertheless, I'm glad you're awake."

She came over to check Mandy's vitals, shining her penlight into Mandy's eyes to check her pupils. Mandy groaned as green spots danced across her vision where the light had been.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"Two days. Long enough to start your recovery. You're not mission-ready for a while, though."

Mandy tried to sit up, but Lexi pressed her shoulder back into the bed.

"I have to get back out there," Mandy insisted. "There's an entire kett stronghold--"

"Good morning, Pathfinder," SAM interrupted. "Regarding the stronghold, in your absence, Lieutenant Harper and Jaal have contacted the Collective's forces for backup."

"They what?!"

Mandy swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Pain lanced down her side and her head spun, but she was still upright before Lexi could stop her.

"Get them in here. We are not taking help from... from him."

"Amanda, please," Lexi said. "You're not ready for this level of excitement. And you are definitely not ready to be back out in the field, so you really need all the help--"

"Not from--" Mandy forced herself to take deep breaths and lower her voice. "Not from Reyes. I--I don't think I can see him ever again, Lexi."

"I understand. Believe me, I do. But you need to remember he was there to face the Archon's forces because he was only told you needed his help. Consider that."

Mandy was silent as Lexi checked her over for any injuries sustained or worsened during her sudden movement. Mandy exhaled, her shoulders shuddering. She slowly lay back down on the medbay bed as Lexi adjusted it to be more upright. This was stupid, Mandy thought. She needed to be out there, doing her goddamn job, not lounging around in medbay because she was too stupid to stay in cover and, you know, not die. She had come to hate feeling useless, and being taken out by one Ascendant after she had fought the Archon's entire army embarrassed her as much as it rendered her useless.

Cora and Jaal arrived momentarily. Cora had her serious, furrowed-brow leadership face on; Mandy wasn't sure what Jaal's expression was, but it seemed apologetic.

"Pathfinder," Cora said, "we can explain."

"Please and thanks," Mandy snarked.

"Ultimately it was Jaal's idea--hell, Jaal, you're an adult. You tell her."

"I observed you have had some... difficulties with your bondmate," Jaal replied, "which Vetra confirmed when I asked. So, I wanted to give you an opportunity to work out your differences."

"First off, he is not my bondmate; second, calling him to save my ass is not how you get us to kiss and make up!" Mandy sighed, massaging her forehead. "Jaal, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not angara. I don't just... deal with things out in the open."

"Respectfully, Ryder, you should."

"I'm gonna agree with him on this one," Cora added. "You're wound up over Reyes. The whole crew feels it, so it's affecting us too. We can't be at our best if you aren't."

"...so you called him in to help take out the kett because you want me less stressed? You know you could have called the Resistance for backup and just set me and Reyes up on a blind date or something."

"I am a firm believer in efficiency," Jaal said. There was mischief in his smile.

"You guys are the worst," Mandy sighed. She shook her head. "Fine, okay. When is his team inbound?"

"They got to Prodromos yesterday," Cora said. "We're meeting them in half an hour to go for round two with the kett."

"I should be there," Mandy grumbled. She saw Cora about to protest and held up a hand. "I know, I can't be, but I should be. You're my team. That colony is basically my baby. I should be there."

"We will win in your name," Jaal promised with a firm nod. "As long as you promise to settle your differences with him."

"...I promise we'll come to an understanding. But I can't promise he won't get punched. Or shot."

"Just don't mess up the ship," Cora said, "or Kallo and Gil will both kill you."

"Point taken. Shoot the boyfriend outside."

"Have you considered talking?" Jaal said before Cora guided him back out of the medbay to prep for their mission.

Mandy sighed deeply as her friends left. Lexi crossed the medbay to her side again, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"I have a few files on conflict resolution," she said gently. "Should I forward them to you?"

"No, it's okay. Jaal's right--I need to deal with it. This whole thing has taken up rent-free residency in my brain, and that's not healthy for me or the team."

"Have I ever told you how proud I am of your blossoming self-awareness?"

"Aww. Thanks, Mom."

Lexi snorted softly and left Mandy alone to rest up while she tended to her other duties and paperwork. Mandy leaned back against the bed again, lifting her omni-tool. As soon as it lit up, she saw a plethora of new email notifications--all from Reyes. Oh, hell.

"Fine, fine, let's see what you have to say this time," she sighed, opening the oldest one.

My dear Amanda,

They tell me you have gone off to do wonderful Pathfinder-y things, but I wanted to tell you, the sunset on Meridian was magnificent tonight. You missed it. The next time you're here, perhaps we could watch one together.

Yours, Reyes

Good and short, Mandy thought. Still... sweet.

She archived the message and went to the next.

Amanda, my darling,

When was the last time you had a delicious homemade meal? Now that things are beginning to settle, at least here, I would like very much to woo you with my cooking. Well, woo you with someone else's cooking. I am definitely going to pay someone. I think if you ate my cooking, you would abandon our shaky little relationship altogether. I would not make a good house-husband. But for you, I would try.

Yours, Reyes

Well, shit. Mandy couldn’t tell if he was just too smooth or if... She read the email again. Why would he send that if he didn’t mean it?

"Hey, Lexi?" she called.

"Yes?"

"...Reyes has been sending me love letters."

Lexi lifted her head from her work. "Oh?"

"Yeah. The scary part is... I think he means it."

"Why does that frighten you?" Lexi turned fully toward Mandy, her chin cupped lightly in her palm. Mandy swallowed hard. Great, okay, therapeutic let’s-talk-it-out time.

"Because..." For you, I would try. "Because I'm used to being angry about people leaving me. Dad was always distant, and I was angry at him for that. Then he died and I was furious again. I think I spent my whole life wanting to be loved, and now..."

"Now that someone's trying, you push them away?"

Mandy nodded, tears burning her eyes. She didn’t expect the sudden surge of emotion that tightened her throat.

"I think so," she choked. "Have I always done this? To everyone?"

"You've never been anything but the sweetest friend to me and the others," Lexi soothed, crossing to her side and bringing tissues with her. "Perhaps Reyes is just the first one to breach your shields. It can be terrifying to be so open with someone."

"How can he feel that way about me when he doesn't really know me?" Mandy dabbed her eyes with the tissues, but that didn't stop the tears. "Why would he ever..."

"Perhaps that's something you should ask him." Lexi glanced at Mandy's omni-tool and saw the remaining notifications. "Or perhaps he has written it out for you. If you want to reach an understanding, then hearing all he has to say might be a good start."

Lexi rubbed Mandy's shoulder before slipping out both to take a coffee break and to give Mandy some time to read her emails alone. Mandy kept dabbing at her eyes, but the tears kept rolling. What if he meant it? Meant all of it? Oh God. What if he loved her? What if she still wanted him to, wanted to feel his arms around her, pulling her close to sway to the gentle serenading of a Milky Way piano? She opened the next email, tissue clenched in her hand and finger shaking.

The next email was an audio recording rather than a message. Confused, she hit play.

"Amanda! Darling! Light of my life!" Reyes' voice crooned. "I have written you a song! Or rather, I am writing you a song. Right now. I was beginning to regret bringing my guitar to Andromeda with me, but not anymore. Here, I've written most of the words. I will send you a translation later."

Mandy giggled weakly and wiped away the tears as the recorded Reyes strummed a guitar, practicing a few chords. Then he began a soft melody, Spanish in influence and rather well played. Mandy's heart couldn't help a little flutter. Damn her weakness for men with musical gifts. He wasn't a concert guitarist, but he clearly knew his way around the frets.

Reyes was a much better player than songwriter, though. It wasn't that he had a bad singing voice--it was just ordinary, a plain baritone--it was that he was clearly making up the lyrics as he went. And also Mandy didn't speak a lick of Spanish. She got a couple words, mi amor and, unless she was mistaken, gracias, but other than that, she was clueless. He would sing about half a line, pause, strum thoughtfully, and then continue.

"Ah, dammit," he paused abruptly. "That won't rhyme at all."

He picked up with another rhyme, but there was an audible grimace, as if he had chosen a poor word in pursuit of a complete rhyme. Mandy giggled again, suppressing a loud laugh and trying not to wrench her healing ribs. Yeah, the melody was definitely better than the actual song. He clearly hadn't written a thing down beforehand, especially when he tweaked the wrong string and hit a sour note. The recording sighed deeply.

"Perhaps I will not send you a translation after all," his voice said. "I need to revise this. But I wanted to share. After all, I am told that all the best women cause men to break into song. I could not ask for a more wonderful muse, even if I am a terrible musician and a worse lover. I will try. Just for you."

Mandy smiled faintly as she archived the recording. It was a sweet gesture, that was for sure. And she could safely say that no one had ever tried to serenade her before. She had the strangest feeling that if he were here, she’d ask him to keep working on that song just so she could sit and listen to him, to be content with the knowledge that he was right there, leaned back in a chair, singing to her. Her chest warmed with the thought that someone thought her worth a song.

She checked her notifications--one last message, dated two days ago. She drew as deep a breath as she could manage and opened it.

Mi estrella,

I have sent you lighthearted emails to buy myself time to think this one through. You know by now that I am terrible with deep feelings, or at least with expressing them. If I were not, I would have written you back all those weeks ago.

If I have not said it already, I'm sorry. Actually, I will say it again and again until you're sick of hearing it and you finally tell me to shut up. I was so frightened to let you into my life that I shut you out entirely.

Have I said all this already? Never mind. It's worth repeating.

I saw your feelings for me, and I ran the opposite direction because you saw me without all my code names and schemes and I was terrified. Never mind that I looked at you and it was like truly waking up in this galaxy, not just being thawed. Do you remember the smell of the air after it would rain on Earth? How it was hard to take a deep breath because it smelled so strange, but it was so fresh and pure and wonderful that you couldn't help it? That was how I fell in love with you.

I love you, Amanda Ryder. When I think of you, I see you smiling at me with the Kadara sunset making your hair glow like amber. I think of your arms around me, and I cling to whatever made you default to kissing me as a distraction. I think of the scent of your skin and the taste of your lips, of the way you would consume my entire world just by walking into Tartarus.

If I have lost all that because of my own fear and carelessness with your heart, then I beg your mercy. If I cannot have you, at least let me have your forgiveness. Stay my execution, because losing you would be death enough.

I am not used to pouring myself out like this. If you could see me, you would know I am shaking just typing the words. But your team called me to say you were badly injured today. I am more afraid of losing you to death than I am of breaking down my own barriers to give you everything I have.

I have had my failures and shortcomings. I am not as good a man as I should be, but I am better than I was. I know this isn't enough to heal the rift between us, but perhaps it is a good footbridge.

You have consumed me, body and soul.

Yes, I have watched a romance vid. Or two. Please do not let it get around.

Yours, utterly and completely, Reyes

All hope of stifling her tears to protect her ribs evaporated as the tears from earlier rushed back. Mandy sobbed, not quite with abandon but nowhere near as careful as her previous giggles. Oh my God. He loves me. He loves me, he loves me. Of course, he could still have been lying. But it would take a mountebank even more devious than Reyes to go to all this trouble of convincing someone of his love, only to rip it away again. This was more of the same delicate vulnerability that he had shown that night on the docks.

I wanted to be someone.

You're someone to me.

He had been. Maybe he could be again. There were a lot of maybes, and there was a lot of hurt, but he was right. This was a footbridge.

"SAM," Mandy wept softly. "Call Lexi back. I may need her to fix me up again. And... and call Reyes. Tell him I want to see him when he gets back."

"At once. Should I tell him anything else?"

Mandy drew a shuddering breath as she archived the message.

"Tell him he's a crappy singer."