#i feign ignorance lest I make an ass out of myself and go on a whole rant

[vintage-rejects]

Sometimes, bad Spy takes make me wanna go all Meet The Pyro

[effinsusie]

Day 7: Purple

CLASS ACT ch 2 on A03

Summary: School’s finally out.  Rated T+

Their tangled bodies fell together in a heap of sweaty exhaustion, clinging on as the world around them slowly fell back into place. Kagome's head finally stopped swimming, but she was still catching her breath, and the heavy rise and fall of his scalding chest beneath her cheek told her he was as well.

When the last stars sparkled from her vision; the fingers buried in thick, wild strands gave a gentle tug that forced her to look up.

"Look at you," she croaked, nuzzling deeper in his embrace, "So smug. It just slipped."

"So much for your restraint."

Those long, talented fingers lazily worked through the knots he'd put there. His own hair was no better, and she braved the arrogance she spent the last two hours feeding just to take another glimpse of the rare, disorderly sight.

Too rare, she sighed. At least lately.

She rolled on top of him to put her face in his own; the challenge in her eyes caused his eyebrow to lift.

Soft lips drifted to his ear. "Bet you can't make me say it again," she whispered before heatedly kissing the abused flesh, sucking on his lobe.

Warm hands smoothed over her backside, squeezing roughly when she rotated her hips. He rocked into the friction that stirred his arousal once again, releasing a guttural groan when skillful lips moved down his neck.

"Hn, I have worked too long around children to not identify such a childish ploy, Miss Higurashi."

Lean legs parted, pinning him between her knees and she rested her forehead heavily atop his own. Blue eyes looked innocently into his, batting dark lashes against his heavy lids.

"Does that mean you are going to discipline me, Principal Taisho?" she taunted, squirming into him again.

She let out a delightful shriek when he made firm contact with her ass, which became a pleasured gasp as he soothed the erotic sting with the offending palm. She threw her head back, encouraging the attention as he feasted on her throat to a chorus of breathy moans and sighs.

When she tried to rise up on her knees, a swift maneuver toppled her, so she was trapped half-way beneath him.

"You are in for a long night," he promised lowly. "I will ensure you are hydrated."

As he tried to pry himself off, she clung to him in protest. He returned for a kiss.

"I will not have you passing out from exhaustion before I am through with you."

Another slap reddened her other cheek, and she finally let him rise, rolling onto her back with a satiated smile.

Scooting to sit against her headboard, Kagome watched on fondly as he took a couple of tall glasses into the bathroom and busied himself at the sink. His chiseled body was covered with bitemarks and bruises, and she admired her handiwork in the various shades of purple littering his long, pale form.

"I meant it, you know."

He looked up from the glass he was filling, lips quirked. "I know."

The smile they shared relayed much more than the lust they'd spent the better part of the evening celebrating. But the circumstances of their relationship forced too much to go unsaid as it was.

"I've really missed you this week."

The hint of sadness in her voice reflected in his gaze, making her feel guilty.

"I will endeavor to make the next more accommodating, lest we find ourselves both seeking employment."

He was only half-joking, but it was clear that ignoring their desires at work was impossible if they couldn't find at least some time together during the week.

She hated those rules, but she loved this job. And she had only just started there. She didn't know if his tenor made the situation better for him, or worse.

"Maybe me, but they won't fire you."

"I am your superior," he said, and shut off the sink. "I am held to a higher standard."

"Don't think that's not how I'll plead my case if we get caught, either." She grinned cheekily as he walked back in the room, a full glass of water in each hand.

"Don't think I will not support those claims."

She was only kidding, but Kagome truly believed she was the only one in danger of getting put up on the chopping block if their colleagues found out about them. At the very least, his job would be spared.

His reputation, on the other hand...

Not that hers would be any better, but that was the more likely consequence of their torrid little affair.

At least, she had to believe it was. She didn't know if she could carry on like this if she thought their actions might ruin him. Speaking of which...

"I meant to ask; did you get ahold of Kagura?"

He rounded the bed carefully with his cargo, looking too stoic not to be uncomfortable with the topic.

He'd pointedly avoided discussing her, though she suspected it was for as his benefit just as much as hers. But enough time had passed, and she didn't want to avoid anything when it came to him.

She'd proven that just thirty minutes ago.

"Unfortunately, I missed her at pick up this afternoon- despite the messages I left."

He handed her a glass and took a seat on the edge of the bed while she greedily gulped it down.

"I called three times, and she has yet to respond," he said, and paused halfway to bringing the water to his lips. "Though considering how we left things, it is not entirely unexpected."

Seeing how much this daunted him, she felt guilty for troubling him with it. But she knew he would have wanted her to.

She began rubbing his back supportively.

"I hope she does, for Rin's sake. You're her daughter's principal; she can't avoid you forever."

He sighed, placing his empty glass next to hers. "You are right, of course, but the wounds are still fresh." At her insistence, he stretched out beside her on the bed, pulling her close as she happily nuzzled into the embrace.

"Regardless, if need be, I shall pay her a visit. Though I hope it does not come to that."

"Me too." She smiled deviously, sliding her body over his. "But I have to say; it's really sexy how you go above and beyond for your students."

Mischief returned to his eyes, staring back at her through sodden, silver bangs. She gyrated, hands smoothing over the planes of his broad chest as he arrested her arms in his grip.

"Let us not forget all I do for the teachers," he rumbled, craning forward.

Before their lips met, she pushed him back.

"I hope I'm the only one getting such special attention."

"Of course," he said, and leaned towards her again. This time, he landed a kiss.

When she pulled away after only a quick moment, he was not discouraged, affirming his hold and busying himself at the hollow of her throat.

"Hm, I don't know," she grinned. "I see you talking to Kaede an awful lot in the lounge..."

A muffled noise vibrated against her, making the hands at his shoulders clutch tightly.

"Merely a decoy," he removed his lips long enough to say, "to divert from the tawdry affair I am having with the pretty, young new hire."

She giggled as he returned to kissing her neck, but they became breathier as he grew more assertive.

"So scandalous," she gasped. "I'm starting to think you didn't hire me on account of my exemplary credentials."

"Of course, I did," he said, dragging his mouth over salty, heated skin. "Though I must admit, that was not the reason I insisted on taking you to lunch on your first day."

She feigned incredulity, forcing him onto his back.

"You mean, you don't take all the new teachers to the nicest restaurant in town to welcome them aboard?"

"No." He kissed her again. "Nor do I invite them to my personal residence for celebratory drinks, offer to help them move into their new apartment or... any of the numerous events that took place afterward."

She rested her full weight atop him, batting innocent blue eyes in his face once again.

"Except Kaede," she asserted.

She shrieked when he flipped them effortlessly, a mixture of giggles and screams as he pinned her beneath his body and let her punishment finally commence.

They continued long into the night, along with a myriad of other noises that made him glad he got her hydrated.

TBC

***

A/N: That's SessKag Week! I wish I could have given you guys (and myself) closure on all these stories, but I'm actually pretty syked I managed to post everyday. I couldn't quite make it last year, and I did not think I'd have more than 3 days to contribute when the week began. I was literally writing until the moment I posted on these, so it was pretty exciting! I learned a lot about what I can get done if I really push, and don't worry about perfection (or whatever my version of that is lol) So, I have this story and Greener Pastures to finish, along with another installment to Transparent (Opaque). Which would you like to see first? I'll see what i can do.

And for those of you screaming WTF? FINISH RENDEZVOUS ALREADY! or UPDATE VICE; don't worry! I did not abandon them. I was just trying to get through this week, and then I swear I will get back to those. Sometimes space from a story makes it better, and i think you're gonna be glad i let it settle.

Thanks for reading!  I have a ton to catch up on.

Oh yeah, and Feudal Connection is having their Inuyasha awards rn on Tumblr. So you can go vote for the fics and art you like for a bit longer.

[captain-cardinal]

Crossing Paths

a little bit of self indulgence 

Yiuip isn’t exactly a moon one happens across by accident. The planet it orbited wasn’t much more than barren wastelands these days, once teeming with plant life and wondrous creatures. But that was years ago. These days the most it was good for was ditching some poor sucker to suffer and die. Which lead to it being removed from tourist points.

Which means only a specific crowd knew about the happenings on one of the twin moons that were entrapped in it’s orbit. Especially Yiuip, which has been turned into a sort of small hub point. Mostly for bounty hunters and mercenaries.

And that's what had brought the lone Cybertronian there once more, the bright green mecha giving pause outside the building with a giant neon sign reading 'Sinful Spirits' overhead in obnoxious red, blue and purple lights that weaved throughout the sign. The paratrooper quickly checked over the small wound gorged into his side to make sure it didn't look as bad as it did earlier before heading in.

The sound of voices of all volumes and types hitting Crosshairs' audials was sudden and welcome, a familiar sound at this point in his life. He offered the navy blue femme that was stationed near to the entrance a nod as he slipped past her, soon finding himself sliding into one of his favourite spots at the bar top and catching the Cybertronian behind the counter's attention with a wave. Within a minute Crosshairs had his usual drink in servo and was finally able to ease down and turn his focus more outwards to see just what the bar might be offering today.

Not that his attention got very far before he noticed the tail end of an interesting looking organic alien finally finish it's way clambering up the chair next to him, which in and of itself almost managed to draw the paratrooper's full attention had he'd not registered it soon enough to stubbornly ignore the creature. Whatever it was after, he's sure it wasn't worth his attention—

"Pardon me," The creature spoke up suddenly, instinctively drawing the mercenary's attention to them which prompted them to enthusiastically clasp their hands together and continue, "Hello my friend! I couldn't help but notice you came into this fine establishment alone."

"Ah'm not interested," Crosshairs gruffed into his drink as he quirked an optic ridge, effectively cutting the organic being off momentarily, "Ah'm busy. Go bug someone else."

"Ah yes, I see that. But just hear me out!" They pressed, arms opening wide now, as a grin adorned the odd creatures face, "For it is your lucky day, my friend. I, Hondo Ohnaka, happen to be in need of a crew. And I do believe you fit the bill quite nicely."

Hondo Ohnaka… Crosshairs squinted down into his drink for a moment before giving it a swirl and snorting, finally gracing the creature with his more proper attention once more, "Ain't ya th' weequay that crash landed on this moon?" 

"What?!" The creature sounded offended, pressing a hand over their chest and feigning a look of hurt, "Me? Crash landed? Oh, no no no. You must be getting me mixed up with some other, handsome weequay pirate. No. See I just happened to find my way here and. Uh. Need a little help finding my way elsewhere."

"I'm not a ferrier. If ya want transportation, yer better off looking elsewhere." Crosshairs huffed then, finally turning back away from the smaller lifeform and watching them freak out from the corner of his optic. He didn't pay it much mind as he downed the rest of his drink and waved the bartender down for another one.

"I think you've misunderstood!" the weequay practically shouted, taking a few steps forward to come nearer to the paratrooper as they then lowered their voice, "I've a little… mission, I've to pull off too. Very profitable. Somewhat daring… but I've come to find myself fresh out of crewmates to help with it. But you! You look like a very capable Cybertronian! You are Cybertronian, right?" 

"You could say that." Crosshairs ventured, not turning back to the weequay for a solid minute as he instead toyed with his refilled drink. Milking the engex slowly in contemplation. "How profitable?"

The question earned the paratrooper a bright grin from the weequay, "Very much so, but I'm afraid it's best not to talk about it in public lest we have nosy people around."

"Fine, but whatever it is I'm getting seventy-five percent if we do this." Crosshairs then signaled to the bartender once more, receiving a small nod from the small mecha before he finished his second drink, swinging his legs around and touching down to the ground with ease and starting off towards the door.

"Seventy— now hold on!" the weequay called out, quickly scrambling over the edge of the stool to slide down to the ground and take off after the much larger being, "That's a little steep don't you think? I mean! What about my finders fee at least? Come on, friend. Can I talk you down to. Say… Thirty?"

"For you, maybe." Crosshairs grinned over their shoulder best he could, watching the organic race to keep pace, "But ye gotta pay fer my ferrying yer sorry ass."

"Ah!" Hondo voiced, tone hinting at agreement though Crosshairs doubted that was the last of it, "It'll more than be covered, my dear Cybertronian companion. How about fifty fifty?"

It was by then they'd cleared the doorway, and Crosshairs was making a bee-line for the docking bay off towards the right of the establishment. He offered the organic being a soft hum.

"Guess that depends. Is fifty percent worth more than th' bounty on yer head, Ohnaka?" The words were low, though no one was visibly around at current. He hears the weequay cease their pursuit after him and stopped himself, turning to quirk an optic ridge as arms crossed over his chest. The weird creature almost looked giddy.

"Oh, finally!" they exclaimed, hands once more clasping underneath that wide grin of theirs. Eyes bright even behind the goggles they've donned, "Someone who's heard of me. You know, for being so famous these days it's hard to find anyone who knows me."

"... I'm beginning to think collecting the bounty is a better course of action already." The words instantly had the grin faltering and the weequay waving their hands drastically.

"No no no! At least hear me out first. No need for a hasty decision. Now. About that privacy?" It was then the dark, almost gunmetal grey ship to their right suddenly hissed open it's ramp, and the paratrooper turned with a flourish of his coattails— walking up the ramp and into The Audacious. 

"Before you board, just know; if you try to double cross me, Hondo Ohnaka. I will be collecting the bounty for your smoldering corpse."

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 3 - Home

Part 1

The hole-in-the-wall bar they were walking toward practically radiated the obnoxious mixture of cigarette smoke, fried foods and sexual desperation. It was about all the Winchesters could hope for save for the stale motel room smell that had virtually become a second perfume, but still, it was definitely not the most pleasant smell. Hopefully some food and a good game of pool would distract Bobbie from it.

“Ah, smells good,” Dean said, inhaling as his eyes darted immediately to the pool table.

Of course he liked the smell in here. Bobbie could go for a plate of French fries, but as for the rest of it she was pretty sure she could do without.

There were bars. There were hunter’s bars. There were places in between. This one was without a doubt a hunter’s gathering place. The only reason they knew? All eyes turned toward them. For better or for worse, they were famous despite wanting everyone to leave them alone.

Sam shivered at the feel of all eyes on him. “I hate this.”

“Me too, Sammy,” she replied, making her way over to the pretty blonde bartender. “Let’s just get some food and play a game. Ignore them.”

After placing an order for a giant plate of greasy, cheesy and bacon-y fries, some artery-clogging onion rings and a starter of three beers, they all headed over to the picturesque pool table and decided on a friendly, sibling tournament of eight ball. “Who against who first?” Dean asked.

Sam and Dean wanted to go first, which was the better for Bobbie because the gnawing in her stomach said fries were needed immediately. She actually hadn’t eaten since yesterday, late afternoon, so it was a miracle she hadn’t eaten one of her brothers alive or driven them insane in the ensuing hours. “What do I get if I win?” Dean asked.

Rolling his eyes, Sam pocketed the seven ball and promised Dean a bottle of cheap whiskey if he did win. Their sister sat back and smiled at them bickering while she inhaled some onion rings and fries like the hungriest anteater that ever walked the planet. “You leave any for us?” Sam asked, arms raised in disbelief, defeated after losing. She could see the determination in his eyes. He was going to practice pool so he could show Dean up one of these days. Dean was such a cocky bastard when it came to pool.

“Some. I was really hungry…sorry.”

“You are not.”

“This is true.”

Before Bobbie could walk toward the pool table, another bar patron grabbed her ass. In the blink of an eye, she spun around, smacked him and followed quickly with a kick to the balls. “Do not touch me again or I’ll cut it off.” More than the fair share of men had tried to make a move on Bobbie before. It didn’t matter if her brothers were there or not. But no matter what she always left them wishing they’d never set eyes on her.

Snickering, Dean threw her a pool cue. “Dad always told me to take care of you, keep on eye on you. I told him you didn’t need it.” He liked being right.

“Really?” Sam asked. “Dad said that?” If there was one person that didn’t need protecting in his family, Bobbie was it. Her and Dean were the strongest people he’d ever known, even more so than their father because of all the things they’d had to deal with in his absence.

It didn’t come as a surprise to her. Boys tended to run in both of her parents’ families; Bobbie was an anomaly. John was not a ‘girls father,’ he was meant for boys. “I’ll make sure to tell him that I need no help when it comes to defending myself from men. That shit’s easy. Occasionally I’ll need help with a werewolf though, only if there’s more than one, so in that case you boys can jump in front of them for me,” she said. Despite her statement, she would willingly throw herself into a den of werewolves if it would save the boys she loved.

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll need help there either,” Sam replied.

He was probably right, but Dean interrupted her train of thought. “So what do I get if I win?”

“You get to hit on the bartender by yourself instead of having to compete with me.”

“No!”

“Why not, baby brother?” She laughed.

“Because I can get the bartender’s number with or without you there.”

“Okay, then I’m going to go ask her now. Be right back,” she said, feigning walking away. Having a bisexual sister must’ve been a big pain in the ass for him, but honestly she felt like she kept him on his toes – made him raise his game instead of getting complacent. Either brother could rely on their looks to bed a lady for the night, but she was never one to let that slide.

“Alright screw you, you’re on.”

“And if I win, I get the bottle of booze that Sammy’s buying you.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

-

It felt nice to finally feel settled. She still had to unpack all of her things and all of the kids’ things, but Jenny had been feeling suffocated in the old place. No matter when she walked in or whom she was with, she couldn’t breathe there anymore. It had been time for a change. As she stood at the counter, chopping celery and carrots for some soup they’d hopefully have for dinner the following night, she stared up into the clear night sky. The stars were out tonight and she felt at peace for the first time in a while. “Mommy, are you going to come up and tuck me in?”

Jenny pulled her gaze away from the stars and looked down toward where she was cutting her vegetables. “Be right up!” She called. As she turned to head up the stairs the lights flickered again. She was definitely glad to be out of her old home but this one definitely had its issues. She really needed to fix these lights.

When she rounded the corner into Sari’s room, she saw her normally brave little girl cowering in fear, pastel colored blankets held closely to her chin with her knees almost digging into her chest. “Sari, what’s wrong?”

All she did was stare at the closet. Jenny couldn’t figure it out. Sari was usually so fearless, and now all of a sudden this closet was freaking her out. It didn’t make any sense. To placate her, Jenny opened the closet and stood inside in an attempt to show her daughter that there was nothing to fear here. Her unease with the whole thing was probably a result of moving, things changing at such a crucial point in her life. But Sari was a good kid and it would all pass soon enough. Until then, Jenny would assure her there were no monsters in her closet.

With a kiss on her head, Jenny pulled the blankets up and around Sari. “I don’t like this house,” the little girl whispered.

Jenny sighed and repeated that there was nothing to be afraid of, but still, just for good measure, she put a chair in front of the closet door. “See? Now nothing can get out of there.”

Sari smiled timidly, ashamed that she was so afraid of something she couldn’t even see. She thanked her mother before lying down completely and pulling up the covers to keep away the cold.

They were finally down for the night. Sari was only hesitant to fall asleep because of the supposed monsters in her closet, but Ritchie was a whole other story. That boy was just full of boundless energy – something Jenny hoped would mellow out over the years. She was getting too tired for this.

Although she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, she went back downstairs instead, making sure to be careful of the creaky steps, lest they make noise and undo all her hard work to start unpacking some more boxes instead. It was nearly impossible to get it done during the day because no matter when she decided to start in on the unboxing, her kids would undoubtedly need something and interrupt her.

Speaking of interrupting, she could swear there was a scratching coming from the basement. All she wanted to due was unpack one of these boxes without being distracted. The scratching was soft and a bit random, but it was definitely there. “What is wrong with this place?” She asked aloud.

Curiosity got the better of her. Probably wasn’t the best. That whole ‘curiosity killed the cat’ phrase had to mean something, but it was probably nothing. Maybe a boiler failure that would of course eat into the savings she had put aside for a family vacation, but nothing more.

With a flashlight in hand, Jenny headed down the steps, ensuring with each step that the wood wouldn’t crumble beneath her feet. That’s the only reason this house had been affordable for her. It needed a lot of work. The switch on the wall didn’t work – of course – so she headed toward the bottom of the steps and pulled on the string near the light bulb. “Lovely.” That didn’t work either.

Jenny had never been a fan of the dark. Not since she was a little girl, but this was her fresh start, which meant changes were in store – both for her family and for her as a woman and mother. The flashlight scanned around the room, falling on small spots of water damage, a couple of cobwebs and a few boxes with water stains of their own.

When she bent down to see what was inside, she thanked God the damage hadn’t gotten to the contents of the box. It looked like old family pictures and VHS tapes. Maybe she would be able to get in touch with whomever these belonged to. It would be a shame if they lost their family’s memories.

Pulling out one of the pictures, she saw a clean-shaven man with a chiseled face, a young blonde woman, and three beautiful kids – one girl with light brown hair like Sari and two boys with matching hair and big, cheesy smiles. She turned over the photograph and saw faded writing on the back, but she could make it out:

John, Mary, Bobbie, Dean and Sam Winchester.

-

Upstairs, Sari awoke when she heard a scratch on the wooden floors of her bedroom. Her mother had promised to get a carpet eventually because she didn’t like the cold feeling of the wood under her feet, but she hadn’t been able to get it yet.

Sari pulled the covers closer to her eyes, fearing what might be there when she glanced toward the closet, but when the shadow of the chair skidded against the wall she snapped to attention.

With the chair across the room and the doors free to open, the little girl sat frozen in fear and watched as the doors opened by themselves. There was nothing there. It was just change, right? She didn’t like it and that’s why she was so nervous in this new place. That had to be the reason.

Seconds later she realized that she was right to have concerns about this house. A nearly invisible figure – almost human – stood before her, flames licking at its heels before sprouting upward. Before the flames could engulf the entire being, Sari was screaming at the top of her lungs.

-

Whiskey was great, even the crappy stuff was fairly smooth and had a delicious kick that could knock someone out for the night. Dean’s whiskey had been particularly tasty, because why not, she’d screwed her brother out of it, but Bobbie did end up with a bit of a headache the next morning. For the most part she was a beer drinker; she definitely wasn’t used to whiskey.

“Serves you right for stealing my whiskey,” Dean said when he noticed her rubbing at her head.

Like any loving big sister would, she flipped him the finger and swallowed two headache pills dry. “Totally worth it,” she snickered. “And I didn’t steal. I won fair and square because I am the pool queen.” Turning her head toward the rickety table, she saw Sam already wide awake and staring intently at their clunky laptop. “What’s wrong?”

“I think we have a case.”

“Where?” Dean asked. He never wondered where it was. It didn’t matter. Just as long as he had something to distract himself from the barrage of old memories.

“Home.”

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark  @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13​

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

At the risk of disheartening some of my followers, I opted to strike while the iron of my inspiration was hot and turn out the next chapter of my ongoing Blind!Ignis fic, rather than tackle the current contents of my inbox. I will absolutely resume writing headcanons in short order (and I haven’t forgotten about your request, @violet94!), so I hope it won’t be too much of a disappointment to ISEB fans if I continue following my muse for just a little while longer because honestly I just want to get to the naughty bits as fast as possible mama is thirsty for some smut.

As always, you can follow the link above or click below for the full text; SFW (for now, heh).

As it turns out, the strategist was slightly off in his original estimates; in actuality, Ophelia must have stood at five and a half feet or taller, which he discovered entirely by accident the time he went to reach for a sack of flour he kept stored in the highest cabinet of Mr. Tostwell’s kitchen, only to learn she had already retrieved it for him without even needing the help of a step stool.  

She also had dark features, evidently—“Boring brown eyes, same color as my hair,” she had confessed at one point, after he’d inquired about it in an effort to spark polite conversation while they rolled out a unit of pastry dough together—although it made next to no difference to him, considering he couldn’t make heads or tails out of what he was looking at to begin with.

She’d been working at the grill for a little over a month now, and had proven herself adept in both culinary skill and matters of hospitality; her father’s secret Baklava recipe alone had made a sizable impact on the establishment’s revenue—the fresh honey harvested from a hive of Killer Bees swarming just south of the city and baked directly into the crust had been quite the hit with the locals—but it was her ability to effortlessly charm the frowns off even the crankiest of customers that had made Mr. Tostwell’s newest hire such a valuable asset.

“Does your wife know you don’t wear your wedding ring while you’re at work?”

The strategist glances up from the mollusks he is shucking and widens his unparalyzed eye. “I beg your pardon?”

He can almost hear the sound of her lips peeling back into a wry grin from the other side of the preparation table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to presume—husband, perhaps?”

She had turned the same charm she normally reserved for cantankerous patrons on him more than once since being hired; the reserved woman he’d interviewed had given way to a much more vibrant character now that she was truly in her element, dropping cheeky quips around him while her arms were buried to the elbows in pastry dough and making herself readily available whenever he needed her help. And while she’d offered to accompany him on his walks home on days when their schedules happened to coincide—“We’re both headed in the same direction,” was her reasoning, since she apparently lived not two blocks from his apartment complex—he hadn’t been sure whether her inquisitiveness was merely a facet of her affable personality, or a reconnaissance mission into his personal life.

But there was no mistaking her intentions now—one didn’t generally probe into the absence of marital tokens without expecting to elicit a certain response—and Ignis wasn’t particularly interested in encouraging flirtatious behavior. “I’m not married,” he says dryly.

“Really?” The audible squish squish of dough being kneaded squelches against the countertop. “I must admit, I find that rather surprising.”

The hairs on the back of the his neck tingle in mild annoyance, but he ignores them and returns his attention to the bowl of half-shucked mollusks in front of him. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Squish squish. “Something about perpetuating the species after an apocalypse comes to mind.” Squish squish. “We can’t very well expect to survive as a civilization with a flock of unmarried bachelors running around.”

“The flaw in your argument is neglecting to account for the female’s contribution to the equation. I’d go so far as to say it’s more crucial for women to secure robust partners, not men.”

“Rather self-important, aren’t we?”

He establishes his grip over a slick mollusk and shrugs. “Hardly. It’s all about ratio—a single man can father over a hundred offspring, circumstances permitting. The same can’t be said for the reverse.”

The squelching of Ophelia’s pastry dough reaches nearly a fever pitch. “Is that how you proposition most women? No wonder you aren’t married.”

But the feigned acrimony in her voice is cut off by the curse he mutters when the wet shellfish he is attempting to pry open escapes his fingertips and clatters onto the floor. “Drat.”

Several employees under Ignis’ supervision had been quick to overcompensate for his fallibilities in the past—eager to convey their empathy toward the blind strategist and stepping annoyingly on his toes in the process—but Ophelia had shown enough mindfulness not to get in his way thus far; in fact, she’d scarcely made any indication of acknowledging his ocular impairment, except only to ask what order he preferred to arrange his paring cutlery when she went to unload the dishwasher for the first time.

“It’s near your left foot,” she says simply.

The strategist drops to his knees and gropes at the floor, his pinky finger finally finding slimy purchase against the wayward arthropod. Before he can toss it into the garbage bin he knows is five paces to his right, however, he hears the sound of her footsteps circling around the preparation table and stopping beside him.

"I wouldn’t normally deign to do your work for you,” she whispers, reaching for his hand and withdrawing the soiled creature from his grasp, “but your favorite customer has just arrived. I can sense his surliness from a mile away.”

The strategist might’ve enjoyed the long-forgotten sensation of a woman’s gentle touch, had Ophelia’s implication not soured the moment. “Surely he’d prefer to be entertained by your charm, rather than stare at my grisly visage. You have the better way with people.”

“Perhaps, but there’s something wholly amusing about watching you squirm.”

His features crumple into a scowl, but he adjusts his visor before grudgingly stepping off down the path he had memorized that led to the grill’s outside seating area.

She isn’t wrong in her observations, exactly; although he couldn’t see worth a damn, it was impossible for the strategist to miss the usual miasma of crotchetiness that seemed to follow Cid Sophiar everywhere like a localized starscourge infection. Eighty years old and more stubborn than a feral Garulessa, Ignis continued to be perplexed as to why the former mechanic had chosen to remain in Lestallum after the daemons had been purged from Lucis, rather than returning to his beloved garage where he could rant at passing tourists from his customary spot in his favorite lawn chair.

“Evening, Cid,” he says, as he halts beside the cloud of wretchedness personified sitting at the table situated nearest the bazaar. “What brings you out on this warm summer night?”

“Same thing that gets me off my ass every night,” the old man replies. “I have a hankering for some shellfish, and you’re the only fella in this town who knows how to clean ‘em out properly. Nothing worse than having to pick sand out of my dentures.”

“I’m not sure I would recommend the Cleigne Darkshells this evening. They proved to be rather squirrelly back in the kitchen, so I’d watch out when taking a bite—lest they try and bite back.”

“I think I can handle a few measly clams by myself. Though Cindy probably wouldn’t mind it too much if they took a piece of my tongue with them, if it meant keeping my mouth shut for a change.”

The strategist hesitates for a brief moment, debating the wisdom of opening up a can of worms by furthering the conversation. “How is Cindy, by the way? It’s been a while since I’ve made the trip out to Leide, and I haven’t heard from her in some time.”

The chair before him squeaks under Cid’s weight, and he can almost envision the white haired mechanic slumping in his seat. “She’s all right, I guess. No doubt getting a little lonely by herself out there in the desert, although your boy Prompto always seems to find an excuse to drop by now and again.”

“Have you given any more though about returning to Hammerhead? Surely she could use the extra set of hands.”

“She don’t need my help. I’m about as worthless as a dead Gaiatoad, at this point. And just as ugly, too.”

His heart aches for the old man, who had once been so instrumental in the destiny of the Crownsguard and the king they served; the strategist had never forgotten the words of encouragement Cid Sophiar had bestowed upon them before their fateful boat ride to Altissia all those years ago—“Those ain’t your bodyguards, they’re you’re brothers” still rang clear as a bell in his mind—nor did he forget what it was like to feel utterly useless to the people around him.

“Come now, Cid,” he says quietly. “I imagine the garage is quite a bit duller without your colorful quips to brighten everyone’s day.”

To his credit, the former mechanic chuckles. “Maybe so. At any rate, I could ask you the same thing—thought you’d be itchin’ to race back to Insomnia the minute dawn broke over Longwythe’s Peak.”

A shiver runs up Ignis’ spine, and his eyebrows furrow behind his frosted visor. “I rather like having an undamaged roof over my head, as it so happens.”

“Crown City ain’t going to rebuilt itself, you know. Who better to lead the charge than one of the last men who lived there?”

Lestallum had remained largely unscathed during the long night, while the other regions of Lucis had commenced reconstruction fairly quickly due to the exodus of refugees eager to return to their former homes. Insomnia, on the other hand, had seen little repair since the rapture; with so few natives left alive after the city’s fall, the strategist estimated it would be several years yet before the province of his youth reached hospitable living conditions again.

“I think I’ll let Gladio and Iris survey the landscape in my stead,” he says, masking his displeasure with a small grin. “Wouldn’t want to risk stubbing my toe on a piece of rubble.”

“I don’t recall hearing anything about sprained ankles after you boys made it back from the Citadel. Or is there something here in Lestallum that’s tying you down?”

He can practically feel the old man’s red and rheumy eyes peering dubiously at him; Ignis’ reticence toward leaving Cleigne had less to do with wanting to remain close to his new life, and everything to do with preferring to stay away from his old one.

Because, to the strategist, Insomnia represented more than just a city of broken dreams; the miles of cracked pavement and collapsed infrastructure he had tread upon with his own two feet were tangible reminders of the people who had died there, and of the suffering that befell those who were unlucky enough to survive. Ignis himself had nearly succumbed to despair, buried under a mountain of grief when his best friend had fulfilled the Astral’s prophecy and perished alongside the starscourge, and the notion of returning home only to relive his nightmares day in and day out was almost as suffocating as the weight of the skull pendant he still wore pressing hard against his throat.

“I’ll consider my options,” he lies, and pivots back toward the direction of the kitchen. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear the sound of boiling mollusks begging for mercy. Care for an appetizer while you wait?”