#grumpy mc

[amalias-whatsoever]

I finished department q and it is GOOD

[abyssyby]

where shadows rest

— he’s sorry. it happens again. you tell him to count his days. he does. every single one.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: part 2 to the blanket war! a lover, yes very much so, but sylus is also a formidable opponent. and a grump when you spoil his games. enjoy! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | more fluff, overdramatic!reader, overdramatic!sylus, evening grumpies & morning cuddles ++ some suggestive intimate touching

He’s sorry. 

He’s sorry, he said, and like a fool, you believed it would never happen again. But he never said it wouldn’t did he? He said other things— more with his body than his words that day— but the promise of never making that mistake again was egregiously omitted from that… conversation.

You wake in his arms once more, head on his bicep, his bottom lip resting just at your hairline. His breath coming out in puffs through his nose, tickling the baby hairs on the top of your head. 

You press forward, seeking more of his warmth. Preferring it today over the sun’s. He reacts accordingly, crowding you closer to his chest and relaxing against your body even more. 

You remember this time. Hazy, but the resentment is there. Heavy evidence rests in his phone, awaiting his discovery, and you seethe in silence until then. Or at least you try to, specially when he starts to stir. Starts to run his fingers up and down your spine. Putty under his hands. No better than the tendrils of smoke he commands with his power. 

He asks, “What did I do?” and you’re caught off guard at the heaviness in his tone. Aside from the ragged texture and the deeper than usual timbre of his voice, he sounds so disturbed that he’d upset you this early. 

You almost don’t mention it. You stall, though. “How did you…?” 

“You aren’t kissing me.” he murmurs, sleep laden and heavy as cold oil. Heated fingerprints leave shivering gooseflesh in their wake as they trickle down your arm to grasp your hand. Your palm is guided to his neck, across like he’s cutting through. “Your usual appetite is… suppressed. I can only assume it’s my doing.”  

A kiss is placed on his adam’s apple to appease him. To prove his smartass wrong. He only chuckles and shakes his head, “Talk to me, angel.” 

“I don’t remember.” you half-lie. Your midnight excursions are usually forgotten by morning, hence why you send the videos. The irritation never follows you past sunrise, and he’s left unscathed no matter how atrocious (not really) his actions against you were. 

His foot glides up between your ankles, his knee between your thighs. You yelp at the contact, and his brows raise. “I get it.” he drawls.

Through gritted teeth, you hiss, “What?” 

“I’ve done it again.” he sighs, though he doesn’t sound too disappointed in himself. Before you can push more, he stretches his arm back to the nightstand to grab his phone. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he scrolls to your messages and—as expected— a barrage of verbally abusive texts greet him.

Beloved: SULUS!!!nN I fant belive u ??  ill haev ur head!!

“See.” he murmurs against the back of your head, the sound resonating in your skull. You’ve turned to face his phone as well, back to his chest to see. The video plays when he’s blinked the sleep away.

You’re there again, of course, who else could it be. The menace that you are, a gremlin in his goddess divine’s body. Sleep mused hair, his button-up shirt hanging off one shoulder, disoriented and bleary eyed, trying your hardest to squint through the harsh flash of the front camera. 

“Sylus!” you whisper through gritted teeth. Behind you, he’s splayed out on the bed, starfished with the corners of the blanket so meticulously tucked beneath his large body. 

You say nothing else when your circle him with the camera facing you, too distressed to flip the point of view. The front camera would face him every few times when you’re tugging at the edges, and fully when you set it down on the nightstand to yank hard on the edge under his feet. “Are you kidding me?” 

You don’t recall this part present time, but you crawl on top of him and splay out your body on his back, lips to his ear. The microphone catches the faintest of whispers of: “Sylus, the blanket.” “Sylus, sylus, please. It’s so cold.” 

Which he answers with: “I love you.” and “Come here” but he makes no movement to let you in. 

Your final action on him is to ruffle his hair and slap his shoulder— he groans, “oww.” 

You take the camera again, furious now, and point to it— to him. “Count your days!” 

And he’s chuckling again. You should be proud that you make him laugh so easily, the cynic he is. 

The pillow you grip to throw at his head is pinned to the bed with his hand, preventing the attack from happening. “Ah-ah,” he chides. “We’ve done that before.”

“Oh, so you’re not a fan of reruns?” you scoff.

He beams, fully awake now. Admiring your fire that rivals the sky’s so early in his day. “I’m a fan of these videos, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s like a morning report.” 

A different tactic then, you aim your fingers to his sides and he twitches as if he’d been electrocuted. 

“Not enough riches to take for yourself, so you take—” You bite back a grin as he yelps, a delightful sound. “—my half!” 

He’s giggly again. And you love it, you love him so much, he’s just so annoying. Fingers intertwine with yours in an effort to sedate your poking, hating this more than the pillow whacking. “How else am I going to get my favorite show on?”

“My suffering is entertainment?!” you shriek, climbing him to get leverage— he loves this part, really— and wrestling his arms back with all your might. 

“Everything you do is amusing to me,” he grins, a challenge. A push towards the edge. He finds the satisfaction at the twisted emotion on your face, and slackens his arms. The force of your own strength snaps you to his chest while your arms are incapacitated by his own pinning them to your sides in a bear hug. 

And again, because he is, he kisses your bottom lip. “I’m sorry.” 

But this time, you hmph indignantly and he is forced (delighted) to make it up to you in more convincing ways. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The flash is your friend at this point. Pupils dilated in the dark shrink as the light emerges from your phone. If you were on the same side, you’d say you’d look like a cave diver. He’d say, “What’s a cave diver?” 

“Night three.” You mutter tiredly, in bed this time, on your side. Like you’d just reached out to your nightstand without a second thought. 

You are shivering, curled in on yourself like a helpless animal in the throes of winter. Your back is pressed against the hunk of a man that is Sylus, warm inside his insulated cannoli. 

You sigh, turning to face the giant worm the love of your life has metamorphosed into overnight. “Your promises are empty, your love isn’t real.” You spit, but the tone in your voice doesn’t match the venom of your words. 

“I—“ you gasp, mid-monologue and the camera is jostled. The creature bests you, and in an instant you are engulfed by more than just the warmth of your missing blanket. 

The camera falls conveniently on you pillow, at an angle that catches you in the corner of the video in a headlock. Sylus’s bicep secure around your chest, your chin rests in the crook of his elbow and his hair overwhelms half your face. 

His lips brush your neck when he speaks, low and half-conscious. “M’sorry.” 

And you’re gone. 

The phone falls. The video auto-sends as soon as the time limit is up, and it catches you drifting off to sleep in his embrace.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

It’s a game when on the morning of night three, you receive a video at work. 

Sy (Fruit Ltd. Co. Intl.): Whats this now…? 

Glancing around, you stuff your ear pieces in to watch it. The contact name change from "my love" to what popped up on your phone in broad daylight is handy when he does this. Annoying, but you can't stop the flutter of your heart when he sends you texts out of the blue to remind you he thinks about you.

When the coast is clear, the video plays. 

“Morning three hundred seventy-nine.” his voice like burning gravel rings in your ears. His one eye is open while the right still struggles to in the dim light. 

He extends his arm, zooming out of his face and ushering in the image of your own sleeping figure, slope of your nose pressed into the muscles of his neck and fingers clasped on his shirt. 

“Consorting with the enemy, sweetie? That’s not very righteous of you.” cocky. he sounds so cocky you want to punch him in the mouth (with your mouth). 

He brushes the hair from your face and kisses your forehead. “I am counting my days.”

The video ends just as you hear yourself say, “huh?”

You text back,

Beloved: BLOCKED. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Footsteps around his bedroom are as melodic as the vinyls on his record player. Sylus listens as they keep a steady beat, stutter, shuffle and go fast, hesitate and go slow. Your soft voice talking yourself through your routine accompanies the beat as a soft melody.

His eyes skim over the book he reads, but his senses are attuned to you. Finally, when you finish your pre-bed routine, you return to his side. Where you belong. 

Captivated by the narrative he was reading, he trusts you to slip into your place under his arm on your own so he can feel your weight on his side and follow the cycle of your breathing with his own.

But this time you take an extra step at fixing something by your pillow. And he is a creature of habit. Curious, he peeks, and scowls at what he sees. “What is that?” 

You startle at the harsh tone. “It’s for emergencies.”

The book slams shut. He’s turning to face you fully now. Disgust drips off the word. “Emergencies?” 

“I can’t keep waking you when you hog,” your shrug. it wasnt practical at all, to keep blowing up such a non-issue.

“Yes you can.” he says. And when you don’t look at him, he bends at the waist to reach you. He takes your chin in his fingers and turns your face to him— to see him being sincere. Softly, he states, “Beloved, you can.” 

But you cant. He’s just getting into the groove of a normal circadian rhythm and thats all youve ever wanted from him. Already, the darkness beneath his eyes have reduced thanks to… well, you. “It’s okay, Sylus.” 

And like a child, like a cat, like a grumpy, spoiled, crime syndicate, he grabs the blanket and throws it behind him. Off the bed. Away from you. You blink at his petulance.

“Sylus!” 

Arms tackle you to the bed, one hand supporting your head and neck— careful of being too rough. He grumbles something incoherent, loose sounds of disapproval and irritation seeping through. “Separate blankets— on my bed? our bed?— don’t need that— what’s wrong with your head?” 

Half of his body is enough to render you motionless as he pulls the covers over you both and shuts the lights off with his evol. He presumes his position as big spoon, burying his nose behind your ear and murmuring a grumpy “Goodnight.” 

You giggle in the silence when all is said and done, and turn to kiss whatever part of him you can reach from your benumbed state. 

He doesn’t hog that night. In fact, doesn’t even let go.

A warm furnace in his own right. You drown in affection… and your own sweat. Who would have guessed that contingency measures would finally bring an end your cold wars— at least for the foreseeable future.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[sane-tkdbblog]

And Ren gets too annoyed, he looks normal again in warding card

[myokk]

As she continued to stare, the deep reds starting to show their colors more clearly as the sun rose - there, underneath the massive bouquet, was a smaller sprig of small, light-pink-almost-white flowers. The deep greens of their leaves made the pale petals stand out even more, and Eloise found herself reaching out once again. As her fingers grasped the stems, a thorn seemed to reach out and prick her finger. She watched as blood bubbled to the surface of her finger and a huge drop fell on the tiny piece of paper tied to the flowers. She hadn't seen it until then; curious, she grabbed it and opened it. The huge smile spreading across her face and the deep flush of her cheeks as her eyes drank in the words couldn't be helped.

Eloise would recognize his beautiful, tiny, neat handwriting anywhere. Her fingers traced the words as she read them once, twice, three times...

Of all the flowers, me thinks a (Wild) Rose is best.

Sebastian doing his research (bc he knows she loves muggle literature) and quoting Shakespeare to her😌

From the latest chapter of my fic🫶

[disaster-magician]

When ur neighbor will reply to ur other neighbor but not u 😔

(Fake screenshots! These are fan made based on incorrect quotes and not in the game)

[beanghostprincess]

Sakura is such a refreshing character when it comes to Shonen protagonists. The one insecurity most main characters share is always feeling weak and like they cannot protect the ones around them. The typical Shonen MC goal is always to get stronger, whether it is because of a dream or the people they love. But Wind Breaker goes even further with this and instead of making Sakura's character arc only about becoming stronger, it acknowledges that becoming stronger also means trusting others and letting yourself be loved because you can't do everything on your own. His strength relies on the people he loves because they lift him up. It has been repeated over and over again by various characters, but it's Sakura the one making the effort to apologize and trying to trust them more and jump off the rope that kept him from walking a safer, more loving path with his friends.

I'm not saying this plot is entirely new because it's classical Shonen behavior (and I wouldn't have it any other way) but Sakura's insecurities come directly from a place of interiorized rejection and genuine hatred to himself, because of past experiences. Again, it's not new, but the way the manga narrates his character development just feels so human and like teenage growth that it's impossible for me not to adore it.

Shonens, in my opinion, usually lack that message that ties the characters to real life. You can relate all you want to these characters but at the end of the day, most of their stories are exaggerations of real insecurities and you can just relate to the mere translation/interpretation to real life. But Wind Breaker does it in a way that feels entirely human and realistic.

So, to summarize, I am a big fan because the manga about fist fighting and street gangs ends up having an unexpected "get loved idiot" message.

[uncharted-constellations]

Dreaming about them 🥰

[duckyfann9871]

Who’s the kitten now, Masamune ^_^

[frankensteined]

that eddie & volt romance storyline is SO GOOD.

so. good.

[naffeclipse]

Heeeey Naff I've been thinking about them Sweet Savage Hearts boys again this time wondering about their eating/fueling: I know Grease eats fear but does he eat anything else maybe for funsies? I'm guessing Calmo doesn't eat but does he have any thoughts on human food? Also does he charge in some way or does he and/or MC have to stock up on batteries? Finally, what does Hawthorn eat?

Hey! Oh, my boys!

Grease can technically chew and swallow food like a human, but he would have to spit it back up later because his body simply isn't designed to digest such material. He will, on occasion and purely to rile up MC, eat things just to show off his tongue and make suggestive remarks about someone else he'd devoured. Then later he'd have to privately hack it up like a cat coughing up a hairball. He would be absolutely notified if MC ever caught him doing such a thing.

Aside from that, Grease will occasionally hang around/slip inside movie theatres that are showing horror films to get a nice little snack of fear off of the people viewing it.

Calmo has little thought of human food except for when it concerns MC. Then he calculates calorie intake and confirms that MC has not eaten enough today, what meals MC has or skipped, and if MC has eaten a vegetable in the last seven days. He discovers that cooking is a science and that draws him into crafting nice dinners for MC when he can get MC to actually sit down and partake.

Calmo requires charging. He has a massive battery the size of a brick within his chassis and he's able to hook up to wires and feed off of the energy outlets in MC's home. Once a year, MC has to find a replacement battery and replace the one inside of Calmo's chassis. It's a delicate and precious operation but he trusts MC to do it for him.

Hawthorn is an obligate carnivore. He must eat meat for most of his diet but he will indulge in a fruit or nut every now and then just for a sweet treat or little snack. He will ambush and scavenge large animals in the woods, catch birds and rodents, and snatch fish out of streams and lakes.

His eating out of a deer carcass is something he never wants MC to see, and he grows paranoid it will happen sooner or later.

[mawrrbid]

Finally have all of Kreide's charts done ajkfhezhjkfejk.

This took so much time to do them all, but they're all here now. TT

I wanted to add some decoration and edit the chibi chart, but got lazy so HUEH too bad for me I guess.

Character bio & stats charts by Red Spring Studio

Character relationship chart by micarxena

Full sprite under the cut:

[pauking5]

Addicting Taste ~ Chapter 1 ~

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: Enishi Yukishiro was on a mission to execute his piece de la resistance. A plan to avenge his beloved sister. Until you showed up, rattling open the icy closed gates of his heart. Will you be a part of his downfall or will you try to save him?

Pairing: Enishi Yukishiro x fem reader oc

Genre: strangers to lovers, sunshine and grumpy, slow burn, a lot of fluff, occasional smut, angst by the bucket

Words: 6.7k +

A/N: I couldn’t hold back anymore and had to make a fic for Enishi. It won’t exactly follow the Rurouni Kenshin timeline for now but it will later develop into it. This is the first chapter in the series with more chapters coming. It is a reader insert as I couldn’t help but indulge myself in it completely. Powered by Mackenyu’s outstanding portrayal of Enishi’s character in Rurouni Kenshin: The Final, I hereby present you a story ripped from the figments of my mind. I hope you’ll love their story as much as I do. Enjoy lovelies, Paula.

Also thank you @eureka-its-zico for supporting me with this and getting me writing again 🫶

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Bonus Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

“Just how stupid are you?”

A loud smack echoed in the room upon connecting with his cheek, heavy rugged palm twisting his face to the side. He clicked his jaw menacingly, facing forward once more with another devilish smirk.

“You thought you could just get away with it?”

Another heavy punch collided with his face, this one making him drop to his knees. He might have been kneeling, completely at the mercy of someone with much more power in command, but this show of authority trying to assert him into submission did absolutely nothing for him.

Lest the displeasure of being Shanghai's commander in chief's unexpected catch of the night. Maybe even the catch of his whole career.

“You’re a fool.”

Heard that one before, he prepared to spit out like burning acid crawled out of his throat.

Just as the rims of his mouth opened to let the words out, he got cut off by an uppercut digging hard under his chin, throwing his body backwards. He tasted iron on his lips. The force of the blow made blood pool in his mouth surprisingly. He didn't think the old man capable of this much damage but as it turns out he had a thing for facial damage. A pleasure Enishi wanted so badly to return.

Spitting it out through clenched teeth at the side, staining the limestone carpet with crimson splotches to redecorate the man's office with a little color. He would've added other shades of red to the whole carpet, rounding it up on each and every shimmering golden seam until everyone in the room contributed. If only his hands were not bound behind his back, constricting most of his movement.

The man standing tall before him left his face full of cuts and bruises. But that was the least of Enishi’s worries right now.

Many months were spent tracking down the biggest shipment of weapons set to leave Shanghai for Kanagawa. Tonight, Enishi’s men were supposed to rob the storage by the docks completely dry before the ship set sail in the morning with empty cargo. But it turned out to be a harder task than it was intended to be.

He couldn't tell where it all went wrong.

Was it just bad luck? That would've been a first under the remarkable security he had around the area.

Was it a tip-off from the inside? Highly unlikely. If that was the case, he would've smelled the motherfucker who chirped before they even thought it possible to cross him.

Whatever it was, changed the course of the whole plan, rendering it nothing short of a total fail.

That fail was also what led to his current position - with his hands tied roughly behind his back, bloody with his patience running thinner with each breath, lying on the floor of the most secure precinct in Shanghai.

A few hours ago

“These dumplings are amazing,” you sighed happily, munching on three baozi dumplings at once.

The lady vendor grimaced at you. Well, less at you and more at your clear lack of manners since you were practically inhaling the soft dough before it even landed in the palm of your hands like a famished grizzly bear.

Leftover crumbs decorated the edges of your lips as you chomped down on the dumplings. You forgot all about etiquette when the food literally melted in your mouth. Heaven was definitely found in food and not in the afterlife and these little desserts were the very proof of it. Your stomach also agreed with that claim every time your mouth touched dumplings in any shape, form or filling.

Who could resist those plump, freshly made babies?

Not me. Ya'll stay safe though.

A little boy walked by with his mother when he caught sight of the dumpling cart. He ran to the cart gluing his face to the glass to watch the lady work the next batch. His breaths fogged up the glass as he gaped at the steaming dumplings in awe and adoration. But when he turned his head and saw the way you were devouring the small pastry like a goblin from the woods his face turned to pure disgust.

What do you want child, you muttered, cheeks filled with the new cherry filling you were trying out. He said nothing, continuing to stare you down as if you had some unresolved business with him.

You were getting annoyed by his staring, so you shot the little boy a slightly threatening look in hopes he would turn back to watch the magic dough rather than try to make enemies with you. Instead he started crying, running off in the direction he came from. You watched until he got tinier and tinier, disappearing somewhere in the depths of the street.

His mother watched the whole exchange from behind you. Upon meeting her burning gaze, she regarded you with a condescending look then followed after her child.

You turned back to your dumplings, chewing slowly in guilt. It wasn't your fault children had the temperament of the unpredictable weather forecast. The vendor lady did not seem to share your opinion, pinning you with an icy authoritative glare typical of her generation. The one that usually scared off the youngsters.

“Can you leave before you scare all my clients away?” she said, irritated with the fact that you’ve been hogging her cart for the past half an hour and you didn't look like you would be leaving anytime soon.

“Listen lady, I am your only client. Plus, I could buy your whole cart if I wanted to. Just let me enjoy these,” you said with your mouth full, reaching for another bag of dumplings on sale. She smacked your hand away, looking down at the bags you were already holding safely on your chest.

“I’ll be the one leaving then," she hissed as she started to put away the steaming buns away and gathered all her tools, folding the cart faster than you could catch up to her. "You might spoil my dough from raising if I stay here any longer,”

“Wait! You can’t just leave -"

By the time you yelled after trying to stop her from leaving with the heaven-sent goodies, she was already gone. Old ladies really are a different breed these days, you thought. Cooking, knitting and chit-chatting were activities that seemingly didn't provide them with enough soul sucking out of people to their heart's content.

Anywho, there went your only meal for the day. At least it was a nice filling one to last you some time and kick in some energy your body desperately needed. You looked down at your stomach with a sigh, patting in a comforting manner before you turned to go on your own way.

The crisp air of mid-October made its presence felt as an icy gust blew against the sleeves of your cotton dress making the material flutter and fill you up with cold air. Your attire was nothing short of inappropriate for the lingering cold season, but the leather bits, like the corset laced up over your chest or the pants under it, kept a fraction of warmth with you.

The chilly weather made it harder to do any jobs, take out hitlist services not requested as much in this period of time. Rage requests usually came with the hot scorching summer rather than the fall of the first autumnal fog. That meant you never knew where your next meal would be coming from most of the time, so you powered through with anything you could find. Though your money was slowly running on empty, you always made sure to keep some aside for your delicacy cravings.

Only mad people walked the streets of Shanghai, the city of all things food confectionery, without indulging in at least one treat from the vendors. Broke or not, you emptied your pockets here on good measure.

There was a downside to all good things in life.

The once bustling street, buzzing with chatter and sizzling pans where savory and sweet scents danced in the air, turned awfully quiet with nightfall. It was the norm in this part of the city. Vendors were quickly packed away and activity was slowly coming to a halt in the wake of the coming night. Any normal person in these parts would know that being on the streets when the last flicker of daylight disappears wasn’t safe in the slightest.

Who would want to be out in the dark with the Shanghai mafia having a full blown war with the commander in chief on the streets until the early hours of dawn? Definitely no one in all faculties of the mind or at least some.

Clutching the rest of your dumplings closer, you made your way down the narrow pathways circling the outskirts of the city. As you padded the cobblestone road, windows hatched closed, doors shut and all light dimmed to ward off danger. The people of Shanghai lived in fear of this war every night. You did too. But at least you had weapons and could defend yourself in case of anything.

The place you resided in for the time being was just a hop down from the city docks. It was a modest room at the top of an abandoned jewelry shop, furnished with a desk, a small wardrobe, and a corner to store the little belongings you carried around. It was not the comfiest nor the safest place in the world, but it provided a space to roll your futon for the night and that was as good as anything.

The bags in your hands shuffled with each step you took. You cast a look at the buns, the delicious smell still wafting up to your nose even as they were covered and tucked inside the paper. On impulse, you bought a bunch of different flavors with all kinds of fillings you haven’t tried before. Just thinking of taste testing all of them made your mouth water and your step quicken with happy strides.

Whilst getting lost in your pastry daydreams, you were shaken back to earth by persistent yelling. As you were making your way further down to the docks, more agitated shouting ensued and the quick pace of your walk slowed down. You were far away from the entrance, unable to really see anything, but the growing commotion piqued your curiosity.

It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look, right? It's in the way anyway, you shrugged.

Inching closer to the side of the docks entrance, you hid behind an abandoned fishing boat perched up on empty fishing crates. They might've been rusty from being left outside for god knows how long but they still smelled like few days old catch that went off. Ignoring the horrendous smell and tucking your petite form well enough so you wouldn’t be spotted, you looked over the edge of the boat to see what was going on.

Moving your eyes around you counted about twenty masked men, all dressed in black with swords attached to the hip. Mercenaries. You didn't need to see more than the blades and their eyes to be able to tell they were possibly wanted people.

Most of them were frantically rushing in and out of the biggest storage on the other side, holding cases filled with… guns?

As more of them came out you realized it wasn’t just guns - there was long and short range artillery, fuses, even more blades and all kinds of artisanal bombs. It looked like the place to be for pyromaniacs and sadists. Depending on which category took your fancy, there was something for every sin you wanted to commit, from arson all the way to testing out painful killing methods.

Whatever these guys were planning was nothing short of mass destruction.

“We’ve secured all the weapons, Master,” a shushed voice spoke in Japanese from your right. He came closer, standing right in front of the boat you were using as a hiding spot.

He looked about half a person in height. If a wild gust of wind blew his way he would most likely topple over and become dust. Besides that, what caught your attention was the unsure nature of his Japanese accent. He definitely wasn't Japanese but whoever he talked to just now was because they replied in a grave pronounced tone, one hundred percent of Edo origin.

“Good work,” said a deeper voice from the left as he approached too. The way he spoke those simple words was enough to make tremors run down your spine in sheer thrill.

Weird, you shook them off trying to get a better view of the owner of the voice. A curly, tangled mop of white hair entered your vision. The roots were darker than the silvery ends shimmering in the pale blue moonlight.

Damn, this guy was long overdue for a haircut. And a hair dye session. Who was this gramps?

Trailing your eyes further down you took in his sturdy physique that was outlined through the clothes he was wearing. Wait. This is no gramps body. You could tell he was trained in some kind of martial arts. No one just walked around with heaps of muscles like those. You could easily draw a map of the world between those wide shoulders if you focused hard enough on just what lay beneath those tight, crunched up cotton creases- Snap out of it, Miyu.

The loud crash of crates rattling to the floor brought you back to reality. You weren't supposed to be there, eavesdropping and peeking like a spy when these people could probably cut you to pieces in one breath.

I need to get out of here ASAP.

You couldn’t risk getting caught and brought in by the commander in chief. If he wasn’t alerted yet he sure got wind of things by now. That man definitely has mutant senses. You didn't need to get caught by this mafia either because from the looks of it they definitely were part of one.

The last thing you needed was them catching wind of your location. You've spent so long staying under the radar and now was not the time to advertise your whereabouts like you were the main specialty on sale in the morning newspaper.

I am void. I don’t care. I haven’t seen anything.

I am not getting involved with this.

Repeating that mantra several times in your head in order to calm down, you had to figure out a way to sneak out as smoothly as possible without alerting anybody. Not even a fly and especially not the strong muscular white mop of hair who hasn’t moved at all from his spot right in front of you. He was probably one of those people gifted with extended field of vision that could see the world in one side to side look like a bird, so any move or choked breath of yours would fall on his alarm sensors instantly.

After a quick scan of your surroundings, you came to two viable options that would help you avoid getting skewered: going left, straight through the docks and to your hideout located just on the other side; or going right, having to circle around the whole city to get back.

It wasn’t hard to figure out which one was safer. You’d rather go around the whole city as many times as you needed if it meant staying away from whatever they had planned. You just had to wait for the right time to make your way out.

Any minute now...

The two continued supervising the undercover operation, not once moving away. Not even one accidental turn of their heads somewhere else.

More like any day...

If you didn't know any better, you'd think they picked up on your scent and were just waiting for you to breathe through the wrong nostril before they jumped you. The singular possibility of that drenched your spine with cold drops of nervous sweat. You've done the stake out thing a million times before, but this one was somehow so different - gut twisting in churns and knots like you took a hit of deja vu different. Like disaster waited patiently at those rusty gates to catch and cradle you sweet like a lover from the very moment your eyes first laid on the docks tonight.

After an agonizing long while, the two men blocking your view finally moved, heading towards the rest of their squad on the other side of the docks. That was your chance. All you had to do was get set, lift your ass from the floor and sprint the hell out of there before someone caught you and made you fish food.

If only things would play out like that but they rarely do for normal people.

Raising to half your height, trying to keep cover behind the boat, you turned to the right. In your rush to escape, you missed a teeny tiny key detail that was in your way to freedom - a dark brown fishing cord extending from the boat to the other pile of empty crates behind you.

You didn't see it in the darkened confined space around you and if you did, you took notice of it too late, barely making it two steps before your leg tangled in it and you were falling face first to the hard concrete floor, taking the crates behind with you. Disaster caught up to you, smiling sickly at your futile attempt to escape so easily.

The steaming buns you tried so hard to keep close spilled all over the ground in the process. That was the least of your worries. What should've worried you was that you just made the loudest sounds known to man that were probably heard under the sea. The clangs from the metal cages rattling on top of each other before crashing to the ground with a thud, rolling into other piles like rumbling waves of a raging sea, echoing deafeningly in your ears.

Once they stopped, the loud screeching of the crates was replaced by the loud beating of your heart with the realization that your body was halfway exposed to the other side of the docks. In full view for anyone to snap your details. The danger alarm rang multiple times in your head but your body just refused to move.

There was nowhere for you to run without getting caught now.

I’m. so. fucked.

“What was that?” growled one of the masked goons on the other side.

Mophead stopped in his tracks, muscles in his back contracting with impending doom. He turned around swiftly, faster than a wild feline, locking eyes on you. Lifting your own gaze from your uncomfortable spot on the floor, you connected it with his. You choked on a breath caught halfway in your throat before it could reach your lungs.

Dark black eyes akin to predators that lurk in the dead of night pierced yours. They screamed murder. The ‘chop you apart for funsies’ kind of murder, in a silent, more maniacal and lethal manner than serial killers normally sported.

But something about those eyes caught you off guard. He was just a few feet away. Close enough to reach for you and squeeze the life out of you. Close enough to catch the blue hue outlining his pupils. Something about those eyes, though eerie and downright terrifying, awaking every urge to take off to safety, was so oddly familiar that it froze you in place.

Where have I seen these eyes before?

He seemed to be stuck in his own reverie, fixed on your own for a good while. A tilt of his head could only signal his confusion to your presence. Or was it recognition? It could be both.

You don’t even know how long you were both stuck soul searching each other until the roaring sound of gunfire descended down on the docks.

Breaking your staring contest apart, you frantically craned your head behind trying to locate where the firing came from. Then it dawned on you.

The commander in chief is here. Knowing him, he was just waiting for his cue to shine like the superstar pawn of the government he is.

Mophead set off in your direction, most likely to grab you, but he only managed to take a step before bullets lined up a few feet in front of him. With a low grunt, he spared you one last deadly stare marking you as a new enemy to his possibly extended list before retreating back to his gang.

The bullets flew closer and closer to your spot and the intense smell of gun powder filled your nostrils. This was your cue to exit stage. In any direction at this point.

You got to your feet in seconds, saving what was left of your steamed dumplings and made a run for it. A few bullets narrowly grazed the low ends of your dress but you quickly made it to the safety of a dark alleyway close by.

Checking on your precious dumplings in the crumpled paper bags, you saw most of them were unharmed and let out a breath of relief. Then you cursed yourself for leaving your weapons on your neatly folded futon the one time you could actually make use of them.

The blaring gunshots halted all of a sudden. The docks were quiet again. Way too quiet. Strange. Did they run out of ammo this fast? I thought the police got endless resources in that field. Nevermind that, the mob had thousands of them at hand, itching for a little assembling and bullets. A showdown between a gang and the authorities couldn't have just ended this fast. Something felt off.

You made sure the shadow of the brick wall covered you whole before peering over to the docks from the corner of the alley. Assessing the situation, you noticed that half of mophead’s party was shot down by the commander’s force. Blood was everywhere, splattered on the cement from the entrance as far as you could see. Possibly all the way to the other end of the pier. Big and burly bodies that were swarming the warehouse and executing orders just moments ago, now laid lifeless next to and on top of some of the crates filled with weapons. Some of them managed to flee the scene when the firing started, abandoning ship cowardly. The rest of them that were still alive and kicking were captured and put in restraints to be taken into custody, together with their leader who must have been a ticking bomb of rage on the inside by now.

The more you looked at it, you didn't take him for someone that would get caught so easily. He gave the impression of the superior kind of thug. The type that calculates and plans until all doubts, variables and collaterals were executed off the table.

Something didn't add up.

What is really peculiar was that this part of the harbor was not even on the open side, clearly to make the storing of arm supplies as reclusive as possible. But anyone who wanted a hit and run, quick and fast, could flee the scene absolutely undetected under the safety of nightfall. The only way you could get caught was if someone chirped like a hummingbird, loud and close to the commander's ear. You nearly giggled at the possibility until you took another look down at the pier and all amusement in you dissipated.

Maybe it was the smug look on the commander’s face as his men rounded up the thugs. Or the way most of his force came out from what looked like stationed places at the other end of the docks entrance. Even the sure nods the officers shared as they shoved the last of the goons to their knees behind their leader.

It almost seemed like they knew mophead and his crew were going to be here tonight, set on stealing the armament.

No way.

Was this a set up?

Back at the precinct

Enishi was fuming.

Things went sideways too quickly for his liking tonight. The only feasible explanation was that someone talked and he was going to make sure they weren’t seeing the light of day under his watch. Once he made it out of the shithole he was currently held in that was. Which seemed to be somewhere in the far future.

The old man ceased his relentless show of authority punches, changing the plate for questioning, trying to intimidate Enishi. Too bad. Having the man breathe opium smoke in his face did not phase him at all.

“I’m going to ask again," sneered the commander, puffing up his chest with another intake of the drug. "Why were you stealing weapons?”

His patience was running thin, beyond irritation, showing in the way the veins on his neck strained. But he could press on as much as he wanted. Enishi wasn’t going to give him shit.

“Either you talk or your good for nothing squad will suffer in your place.”

He really thought he did something with that line. Those men were disposable. The real ones waited back at the base. He wasn't mad to deploy them for a mission that was supposed to be easy. But this was probably the last time he employed outside resources for a mission.

“I don’t give two flying fucks about them,” spat Enishi. He hoped some of the drops of blood flew to land on the commander's face.

That geature only earned him another punch, this time deep to the stomach. The guards who were holding him let him drop to the floor, more blood dripping on the side of his mouth.

The commander handed his pipe to one of the officers, discarding his coat on a chair before letting his fingers work to roll the sleeves of his shirt up. He moved around his golden desk furniture with the grace of an old dragon, aware of the ways of the world. That was what he wanted his assailants to believe. Truth be told, he was nothing but a puppet for the higher ups.

“I guess I’ll have to beat it out of you then,” said the commander, cracking his knuckles.

Bracing for the commander’s punishment, his thoughts wandered somewhere else. Not to the mission. Not to the missing weapons. Not to his men. But to the girl who was there tonight, hiding behind the boat.

He wasn’t stupid. He sensed someone was eavesdropping from somewhere. It just wasn't in his benefit to do something about it when they weren't showing up to lay claim to the weapons or to stop him from taking them.

But you weren’t supposed to be there. You were a variable in his plan that he couldn’t have predicted. A wildcard? A hidden weapon he could've used? He didn't know. Where a handful of questions swarmed around in his head, three of them stood out the most, distracting him from the incoming hit to his side.

Why were you there tonight?

Who were you working for?

And where have I seen you before?

Ten armed guards at the front of the building. Another two securing the entrance from the inside. Five more moving around the halls. None on the top floor.

Bingo.

Sliding open the glass window on the roof of the precinct, you snuck in quietly. You landed down swiftly, arching your heels like a cat to keep you steady. Stealth mode switched on in your head as you carefully inspected your surroundings.

The top floor is clear.

Tightening the grip on your twin Remingtons, you straightened and advanced to the walls on your right, opposite to the railing on the other side overlooking the secured entrance. No one seemed to be on this level at all.

As you rounded the corners, you spotted a staircase going down to what looked like a meeting hall.

Angry shouting and what resembled the sound of slapping got louder the more steps you descended. Someone was either receiving a beating or they were just into kinky shit.

You were on the last three steps when a guard's boots fell in step close by. Aligning yourself with the wall, you became one with the shadows. You held your breath, keeping your heartbeat under control as well as any other signs that could get you spotted. On the inhale, he walked by. On the exhale, he continued on his path. As he got further away, you tilted your head towards the glass ceiling and released the breath you were holding.

This was a terrible idea.

What were you even doing here in the first place? This was not your fight.

But your conscience convinced you that you were somehow responsible for the unsuccessful outcome of mophead’s mission. Call it remorseful helping.

You weren’t supposed to be there tonight. It was just incidental. Your stupid craving for dumplings made you come out of your extremely comfortable refuge and one thing led to another and you found yourself in the middle of the crossfire. The very thing you hoped to avoid at all costs.

Without thinking too much of your bad choices for the day, you geared up to save mophead. You didn’t know why you were going this far for someone you didn’t know. But you felt needed for once in a while and like you finally had a job to do. That and the fact that the betrayal under his command hit a little too close to home.

There was something else that bothered you about your encounter with him. The moment he locked eyes with you was branded into your head like a burn wound. Your brain replayed it over and over again for no specific reason until it drove you crazy.

Those eyes bugged you to the world’s end. There was something so addicting and familiar to them. But you couldn’t recall where you’ve seen them before no matter how hard you tried.

You needed to find out who this man is. So, like any normal person looking for answers, you went to ask him. Well, you will ask him. As soon as you busted him out of the most secure precinct in Shanghai.

In the meeting hall

“This would be so much easier if you just talked,” yelled the commander in chief.

“How about… fuck you. Good talk,” said Enishi with a sick grin.

“You son of a—,” the commander was cut off by the sound of shots being fired outside the meeting hall. Grunting and yelling ensued for a good minute until everything turned quiet. Everyone’s ears perked up listening for what could follow.

A powerful kick thundered against the golden door to the hall, making it come off its hinges and cave in on itself. The bolts creaked, splintering on the sides and the door fell with a loud thud. You stepped over it, the click of your heeled boots bouncing off the echo in the room.

All eyes were trained on you.

“Who’s ready to have some fun?” you chirped, enthusiastically twirling the guns in your hands. They landed perfectly in your hold and you cocked them right at the men in the middle of the room.

“Who are you?,” asked the commander in chief.

“Let’s just say I’m someone you don’t want to mess with,” you said confidently.

“You’re just a stupid girl if you think you can just come in here —“

“This stupid girl just took out most of your guards on duty. It will be her utmost pleasure to take you out too,” you said with a smirk.

Enishi was watching the exchange, his head swimming with confusion for the second time tonight.

Just who exactly were you? And why were you crossing paths again? Also, were you insane to just waltz in the commander in chief's lair like that?

You first show up as a hindrance to his plan and now you’re here to probably mess up more than you already have. He was also kind of blaming you for the situation he was in at the moment. You weren't of any help in his eyes.

At least you proved useful in distracting the guards and the commander so he could work on getting his hands free of the rope tugging at his wrists. Okay, maybe you were useful.

Looking over at mophead, you noticed he freed himself. You haven’t worked in a team in so long so you threw him a look asking for guidance on what to do now. What he saw however, was more of a weird face that kind of creeped him out, but he quickly caught onto what you meant.

He wasn’t sure whether to trust you. But he didn’t have the luxury to audition for partners right now. So, sending a silent nod your way, you let the fun begin.

Mophead lunged for the commander in chief while you preoccupied yourself with the five guards in the room. You easily took out the first one by the couch at the side. Pointing your gun to the next one, you pulled the trigger but nothing happened. You tried the other gun receiving the same vacant response. You were left without bullets having emptied most of them on the guards outside.

Strapping the guns back to your belt, you took a fighting stance and beckoned the officers to you.

Hand to hand combat it is.

The closest guard lunged at you and your fist connected with his nose. A loud crack echoed upon contact, blood seeping through his hands as he cradled his nose.

“You bitch—,” you cut him off by hooking your leg to the back of his neck, dragging him to the floor.

“Did your mother not teach you how to speak to a lady?”

He got back up and got ready to throw another snarky remark but you wasted no time in shutting him up with a nearby chair. The wood broke to pieces as it made contact with him, knocking him out cold. Once he fell to the floor, you directed your attention at the other three guards that started circling you from different sides. Showtime.

You let them come at you. The taller one came first, swinging a baton at your head. Ducking successfully to avoid having your head turned into a baseball, you went for a roundhouse kick to his head. He got projected to the other side from the force you put into the move.

The last two attacked you at the same time. One of them had a knife that managed to get a few cuts through the sleeves of your dress as he kept swinging at you recklessly. He wasn't even looking where he sent his blade. He probably just hoped they got you. If this was the training they got the armed forces were doomed.

You huffed disappointedly as you lifted a slashed piece to check the damage. “I just got this one."

Getting annoyed with his incessant flailing about, you caught his hand just as a slightly smaller in stature officer came from behind you. Kicking back your right leg into the stomach of the one behind, you got a chance to take the knife, throwing it away and out of his reach. You turned and elbowed the knife wielder in the stomach, directing another knee at his ribcage letting him fall flat to the floor.

One more to go.

Standing face to face with your last enemy, you spared mophead a quick look. He was struggling with the commander as he pushed him face down on the big wooden desk. He quickly turned the power around and got him into a deadly chokehold instead.

You didn’t even notice his outerwear was discarded and he was left only in a tank top. His huge biceps flexed dangerously as he tightened his hold on the commander’s neck, pushing into him with all his strength. Sweat was piling like rain drops down his arms and you found yourself drooling. Maybe you digged the whole white mop of hair look.

You were snapped out of your fantasies by the small garden goblin running towards you with a spiked staff. Where the fuck did he get that from?

Do these guys not have one normal weapon on them? Where do they get all this ridiculous stuff from?

You dodged his attacks and his futile attempts at trying to spear you like Dracula, until he got tired and his swings turned sloppy. Finding an opening way too easily, you caught the end of the staff with your right hand and turned your left into an uppercut diving it under his chin. The impact of your hit had him landing in a star shape on the floor. His eyes rolled around unable to focus like birds chirped around his head.

Just as you were finished with him, mophead finally squeezed the living daylights out of the commander and let him fall splat to the floor. He wasn't dead. Just out of service for the day.

Sensing the ruckus in the hall, the rest of the guards from outside started piling up into the hall. You both walked towards each other until you were back to back. In other circumstances you would’ve loved the way your heavy breaths mingled and the way your shoulders shyly grazed each other. But now was not the time to crush on your new partner.

“Any chance you have a plan to get us out of here?” asked mophead. Guards surrounded you from all sides, covering all exit points. The only way to escape was to fight your way out.

“I’m guessing breaking some more necks wouldn’t hurt,” you replied hastily.

“You take the ones on the right. I take the ones on the left,” he directed.

With another nod, you both got into position and waited as the guards descended upon you.

A storm of fists came your way. You tried blocking them as much as you could but five to one was too much to handle without a weapon. Mophead noticed your struggle and tried to get rid of the three baton swingers in front of him. With a low sweep kick to their ankles they all fell over at once, hitting each other with the bats they were holding.

You were holding onto three bats with all your might, pushing your arm muscles to greater strength than they were capable of. Two guards sneaked behind you, ready to deliver a dangerous blow. Enishi intercepted them before they could carry out their plan, catching their arms mid swing and twisting their arms to inhuman angles.

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to hit a lady, especially from behind?” he said, towering over them, pushing them to their knees as they writhed in pain.

You finally managed to throw the three men backwards, taking to delivering a kick to each of them. By the time you were done with them you were breathing heavily. You were a good fighter, but your stamina was always holding you back. Mophead seemed to be more trained in that field though as you saw him cutting through the lines of guards with ease, taking down two or three at the time. And he was injured.

Five more guards circled both of you.

“Give me a hand,” you said as you ran towards mophead.

He sensed your idea right away. Latching your hand with his, you created enough momentum for him to pull you around in a circle to kick down all of the guards. Once you got both feet back on the ground looking for your next victims, you noticed the secure hand sitting idly on your waist.

Looking up at him, you saw he’s about a head taller than you. He was scanning the room too. Feeling you tense in his hold, he quickly dropped his hand from your waist and trained his gaze on the broken down door.

“We have to go before more of them come.”

“What about your crew? Are you just going to leave them here?”

“They can get out just fine by themselves,” he growled, annoyed and pissed enough to think of those fuckers too.

And with that he grabbed your hand and you made a run for it, stepping over the bodies of the commander's regiment, falling out into the precinct.

Next

Thank you for reading! Comments, notes and reblogs are always welcome :)

[myokk]

herbology💓

Bea: @the-ozzie

Leo: me

[moonlit-tia]

one of my favorite grim panels

[madoreenao]

She didn't have enough space for everything.

[moirascribbles]

How I see a greeting between these two go whenever Sofiya returns to the Wick

(based on this)