#I just did my personal favourite parings as background

[blissicle]

I got chills, they’re multiplying Pt.1

(Plus a little bonus part)

Word count: a little under 1.7k words (bonus: 730 words)

Parings: Prinxiety, background moceit and intrulogical

Warnings: just one I think. Which is mentioned homophobia. But also cursing if you count “what the hell” as one. But let me know if there’s anything else

Note: hey! So this was inspired by @count-woe-laf ‘s idea of roman and Virgil working at a vintage cafe and just being gay with one another. I meant for it to be a quick little story, but I uh may have wrote a bit more than expected... also I wrote a bit of part 2, and figured I might as well include that too as a bonus. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this! It’s my first ever fic I’ve written, so it’s not perfect, but hopefully it will still be good. Enjoy!

——————————————-

“Alright I’m heading out” George declared while fiddling with the last button of his heavy coat, “make sure you close up the shop”

George strode over to the door, hand on the handle but paused looking back at the two, with a sudden looked fury, eyebrows burrow and mouth in a twisted frown with a cold stare that could kill, “and if I return finding a single object broken or a spec of grime on my establishment, I’ll kick ya out the door with no hesitation.” He spat.

And as quickly as it appeared, his frown turned into a sickly smile and George’s face instantly brightened, quite an unnatural and nerving quirk of his that roman has yet to get used to, “have a fantastic evening boys! And don’t take any wooden nickels!” George called back while pushing the door open, the wave of icy air flowing inside then quickly disappearing as the door closed shut from behind him.

Roman looked over to Virgil who shivered violently “Is that from the weather, or George?” roman asked amused as Virgil scrunched up his nose and grimaced “both”

Roman chuckled a bit at the response, as he himself felt the same edging nerves.

“He just gives me the creeps...” Virgil mumbled

“Hey at least he’s letting us host a movie night”

Virgil shrugged “yeah I guess” and stood up from leaning on the counter and walked over to the empty tables “come on help me stack up the chairs”

Roman nodded In response and look around the room with a pleasant smile. He always adored the look of the cafe, since it resembled the charming architecture of New Orleans quite a bit, but it looked even better when closing up for the day. The golden evening sun shone through the glass onto the light spring green of the walls, reflecting off of black and white photos and signed records scattered across the wall. it gave the accents made of dark wood framing the corners and ceilings a warm and tender graze too. He looked outside as the winter wind blew a few left over autum leaves into the streets as the occasional car came rushing by. roman sighed with a smile, feeling content with the calming atmosphere around him.

“Roman?” Virgil called back

Roman snapped back to reality “huh? oh right, sorry” And he promptly set to work, picking up a wooden chair from the near by table and setting it upside down on the table, as Virgil did the same across the room.

———————-

Despite his dislike for their boss, who in which Virgil often speculates to be a murder in hiding, Virgil actually enjoyed working at the vintage cafe. Well, the actual working part where he had to talk to customers wasn’t that particularly fun, but he enjoyed being there with roman. Roman always has infuriated him since day one, with roman singing any and every Disney song just to annoy Virgil (only for him to be humming it the very next day under his breath) ,or his insistence of being extremely extra any chance he got, he still somehow ended up being good friends with the insufferable good hearted idiot that is his coworker, not to mention have the same group of friends as him.

After the last chair was put up, Virgil sighed and walked over to said-idiot who was sitting at the counter. He looked up from his phone when Virgil sat down next to him. “So what movies did you bring to choose from?”

Roman perked up at this, “oh! hold on let me go get them!” He rushed to the back room and came out a moment later with a giant box filled with many many CD’s and set it on the counter, “before I left this morning I made sure to bring my fabulous collection of Disney movies, and a couple of other stuff” roman explained proudly,

Virgil looked at the box on the counter and then looked over to roman with a incredulous look on his face, eyebrows raised.

“What? I couldn’t possibly choose between any of my darling babies!” Virgil just rolled his eyes in response, trying to smother the fond smile peaking at his the corners of his mouth. After a brief moment, he looked back to roman who was smiling... at him for some reason. “...What?” Virgil asked smirking back at roman unable to hide his own smile anymore.

“It’s nothing I just...” roman doesn’t finish and seems to be spacing out again, a habit virgil has learned he does quite often, but he’s staring at virgil with a look of what he can only describe as admiration at the very least.

Roman’s jade green eyes are gleaming softly as he’s looking at him reminding virgil of candle light and the evening sun shines on his face making his small smile even brighter. Roman suddenly shakes his head dragging himself out of his thoughts, “Sorry, I- uh spaced out there for a second,” Roman cleared his throat, and started busying himself with taking the CD’s out of the box.

“It’s ok” Virgil responded and looked down at the floor. Then he glances back up a roman and He notices a single lonely strand of hair falling down on his forehead, out of place from the rest of roman’s bronze curls and waves on his head. Without thinking Virgil leans forward and raises his hand and starts playing with the loose strand, twirling it and wrapping his finger around it

“it’s kinda funny sometimes to see you space out anyways, you always have that stupidly cute smile on your face whenever you do,” Virgil mumbled under his breath still smirking, then glances down to roman’s flushed freckled face and-

OHGODWHATDIDHEJUSTDO

wait- WHAT THE HELL DID HE JUST SAY?

The sudden sound of the door opening followed by the wave of icy air against Virgil’s now heated face caused him to draw his attention away from the moment and instead to the man in the doorway, who worked at the family-owned library across the street. “Oh h-hey specs!” The flustered expression on roman’s face had turned into an awkward smile, face still pink.

Virgil cleared his throat uncomfortably, “...didn’t you have something to do with the debate team today?” He asked

Logan, observing the odd tension between the two but saying nothing of it, took off his heavy coat and hanged it up on the coatrack. “it was cancelled do to Mr. Wells catching the flu, and Janus who was planning to take me to the meeting, apparently has a cold due to the weather”

Virgil snorted and rolled his eyes “yeah like he’s not just faking it”

“Perhaps, remus has mentioned to me accounts of the past where Janus had successfully faked an illness” Logan considered, “but I highly doubt he can convince Patton” Logan strode over to the box eyebrow raised, “Roman, did you bring your entire library of Disney movies?”

Virgil respond before roman opened his mouth “yep.” Behind him, he heard roman’s offended stuttering.

“They’re not all Disney! I have other movies than just that, like-“ roman looked down and searched through the box “see? Like princess bride! Among other things!”

Logan sighed and took the box and carefully dumped it on the counter and began shuffling through them. Once again, came the sound of door opening followed by the wave of icy air that made them all shiver slightly.

“Sorry I’m late you guys!” Patton stood in front of the door taking off his scarf and cap, “Janus seemed to have a cold and I couldn’t have possibly left him there like that until I made him cream of broccoli... though i didn’t have time to make sure he was sick, but he didn’t seem like he was faking it”

Virgil saw roman make a gagging face at the mention of ‘cream of broccoli’ and kicked him playfully under the counter to get him to stop before Patton saw. Roman pouted and mouthed a little ‘HEY’ and kicked Virgil back. Which Virgil ignored him as he said,” it’s fine Patton” then turned to kick roman again, which prompted a kicking war as they both attempted to kick and deflect the other.

Logan rolled his eyes at the nonsense and turned to Patton,” well conveniently, you came in just in time. we were just in the middle of selecting what movie to watch”

“Oh, great!” Patton cheerfully walked over to the movies displayed as Logan explained, “Roman predictably brought an abundance of Disney movies, but of course in case one of us disagrees, I’ve separated the non-Disney produced films into this group here” Patton nodded and looked over all the selections, wall-e... sleeping beauty... Harry Potter...

“Wait roman you have Greece?!” Patton gasped and picked up the CD.

“Huh?” Roman turned from Virgil mid-kick.

“Greece!” Patton held up the cd, “I didn’t know you watched it!”

Roman, with a look of confusion for a moment, suddenly made the connection,” oh! that must’ve gotten mixed up with my collection of movies I took with me when I moved out with my step-dad, I think that may be my mom’s. Sorry padre”

Patton gasped again, “what? You haven’t seen Greece?!”

“What’s ‘greece’?” Logan questioned

“Oh my goodness! Have none of you guys seen it?!”

Logan and Virgil shook their heads, “I mean I think I saw my mom watch it once or twice but I don’t have a good memory of it” Roman shrugged

“Ok, that’s it. We’re watching Greece. You guys have to watch it!” Patton announced, despite the unsure looks of the rest, “Don’t worry! It’s a really fun and cheesy! So we can make fun of it! That’s what me and my aunt used to do all the time when i was younger!”

Logan looked to roman and Virgil,” do we all agree on watching Greece then?”

Roman shrugged, “sure!” followed by Virgil nodding,” yeah I guess”

Patton brightened, “yay! And don’t worry, I’m sure guys will enjoy it!”

Bonus:

“Have a wonderful evening Ms.Garcia!” Roman called to the exiting woman, who said nothing while looking down at her phone, but then waved a few seconds later, eyes still strained to the screen and left.

“Rude.” Roman mumbled, followed by a small snort he heard coming from his stormy knight in black leather beside him.

“yeah at least you didn’t have to deal with her order,” virgil grumbled, “where were you anyways? I thought we’d agreed to handle that homophobic prick together,”

“I was cleaning the sink!” Roman argued

Virgil eyed him, “it doesn’t take that long to clean the sink,”

“Ok fine, so I may have took my time with it..”

“Princey, really?!”

“I’m sorry! Look, I-“ roman wanted to say anything but the stupid truth that what he was actually doing was texting Remus for help on how he could smoothly ask the dreaded emo out.

As suspected, his suggestions were either too difficult to pull off, or inappropriate for freshman in high school like themselves. ‘What did you do to get Logan to go out with you?’ He remembered asking, ‘uhhhh I think I just asked him to do something with me that peeked his interest, like the first time we dissected a bunny-‘ roman refused to read the rest of the message from there on. Something that peaked his interests...

“How about this... if I let you choose a movie for us to watch together like a movie night of sorts, will you forgive me?” Roman suggested.

“Mmm...”

“Please my chemically imbalanced romance???,” roman pleaded, hoping the reference will help win him over.

“Ugh ok fine. Next weekend, Friday night. Ok?”

Roman brightened, “its a date then.” Roman agreed proudly. Virgil raised his eyebrows, oh god-, “like, you know, a friend date... with friends. Well, if you want to invite the others” please say no, please say no-

“Yeah that would be fun, let me text the group chat to see if anyone can make it,”

WAIT NO-

“Ok Logan and Janus apperently have an after school thing... Remus said he was busy.... oh cool Patton said he could make it” GAUH- WHY?!

“Sounds great!” Roman forced a smile. Maybe it wouldnt be that bad.. right?

——————————

It’s bad. It’s so so bad. He’s screwed. After excusing himself from the group to head to the bathroom, roman was finally able to think back and comprehend those few moments previous to Logan’s entry. Roman quickly shut the door behind him and leaned against. He took a deep breath and slid down to the floor, with a dopey grin on his face. It all happened to fast, Roman couldn’t help but notice the small shy smile coming from him, god it was so adorable. Suddenly Virgil looked over and caught the look roman gave him. Usually, roman would have covered it up, made a quick excuse, and he was in the middle of already doing so. But that gosh darn golden evening sun poked out of the clouds at the worse time possible. And roman was unable to think of anymore thoughts other than how incredibly breathtaking Virgil looked. The sunshine on his hair made it look so soft and messy and unkempt, his bangs failing to hide the absolute treasure that is his eyes. His eyes reflected the light, showing the streaks around his iris light up like brash elegant lightning. But even without the dramatic lighting, Roman has to admit his smile was absolutely the cutest thing about him, wide and joyful and just so full of pure happiness, rare enough to where anyone who was able to witness it must’ve considered themselves the luckiest human being on earth. Till he snapped out of it. He apologised, trying to act busy with moving cd cases around, but before he could even began cursing himself, Virgil leaned in closer to roman, which in fact has been the closest he’s ever been to him. Roman turned his head towards him, and the image of Virgil’s stupid gorgeous smirking face inches away from his, dark eyes filled with lightning, looking slightly above roman’s line of sight WHILE TOYING WITH A LOOSE STRAND OF HIS HAIR, is stuck in his mind on loop forever and forever. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the memory, he was saying something, wasn’t he? What did he say??

#first fic!!! #yay!! #prinxiety #background moceit #background intrulogical #sander sides fic #I got chills they’re multiplying #sorry Pen i didn’t know you liked logicality before I wrote it #I just did my personal favourite parings as background #but I hope you enjoyed it! #love ya friend #roman sanders #Virgil sanders #blissful writing #<— new tag for my writing stuff

[thecreelhouse]

like vines, we intertwined

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (up to interpretation of platonic or more)

Summary: It started with an exchange of friendship bracelets, meant to last as long as the bond between you two: forever. Life has a finicky way of defining “forever”, though. (AKA: the hurt/comfort friendship bracelet fic nobody asked for)

Read on AO3

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: PTSD, swearing, mentions of violence/blood/injuries, a whole fuck ton of angst and hurt— and fluff and comfort to balance it out.

A/N: hi! been a minute since I’ve posted something that isn’t nsfw lol, so I hope y’all enjoy! I really forgot how much I love writing hurt/comfort fics. shoutout to @stonersteve for helping me with the car breakdown scene!! title is from ‘we intertwined’ - the hush sound.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news—“

Your head snaps up to the TV set; you had it on to some rerun of some sitcom as mindless background noise to paint your nails to.

The screen shows a fuzzy view of Starcourt, the new mall that had recently opened up and run small businesses out of Hawkins.

Only it wasn’t like the commercial they had been airing all summer; where a glowing, neon utopia once stood strong in those ads, was now a slow, crumbling fortress, with flames tearing through from the inside out.

Your eyes grow wide as your stomach drops at the sight. You set your nail polish down before shuffling over to the TV, fidgeting with the volume buttons to listen carefully while your eyes glue themselves to the screen. You drop to the ground in front of the news report, waiting for more.

“It is unclear as to what started the fire, but the damage already done is devastating enough,” a reporter claims as the camera zooms off of the destruction and onto their face. “Authorities are saying it could be anything from arson to accident, and they’re not leaving out the possibility of fireworks being the cause.”

Your breathing falls shallow at the sight of Starcourt in the background, recalling a similar shot for the commercial, mind buzzing as you recall a familiar face while they showcased Scoops Ahoy! within the ad. Absent-mindedly, you tug at the bracelet loosely hanging from your wrist while your mind clings onto that one person.

Steve.

Him in that tacky sailor’s uniform, hat and all, flashed back in your mind. You always laughed to yourself when you saw how visibly uncomfortable he was in a goofy hat that hid his best feature. Now, you feel sick, panicking while hoping he wasn’t working during this disaster.

It’s late. The mall’s been closed for a few hours now, so he should be safe, right?

The camera’s smooth panning across the scene unfolding shakes suddenly.

“Whoa- hey! What—“

“You can’t film here. This is an ongoing investigation, and you must vacate the premises immediately.”

“Excuse me? We’re just trying to report the n—“

Your gaze floats to the background, while out of focus and unsteady, you catch a glimpse of blue. You can’t make out who or what it is, but your gut feeling has the answer already, and it makes your head spin with nausea.

Panic shakes you back to reality, and you bolt through the house to find your wallet and keys before leaving your home and jumping in the car. Your nails are smudged at this point, but that doesn’t matter.

All that does matter as you pull out of the driveway, while your tires are squealing against the road, is Steve and his safety.

——

“What’s that?”

Working diligently with the embroidery floss taped onto the table, you don’t look up as you answer the boy that came up to you with curiosity.

“Friendship bracelet,” As soon as you reply, your tongue sticks back out slightly as you focus on your work.

“Who are you makin’ it for?”

“I’unno, whoever wants one, I guess.” Your small fingers move quickly with the string, braiding and knotting the colors in a specific pattern.

There’s a silence that follows, and you can see the boy rocking back and forth on his heels nervously. You stop to finally look up; a boy your age with brunette hair and wide, curious doe eyes watches you closely.

“Did- um- did anyone ask for that one yet?” He musters up the courage to ask.

You look down at the nearly finished bracelet before glancing back up at him, shaking your head slowly.

“All yours if you want it,” You answer, and a warm smile breaks on the boy’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Steve,” The boy answers as he slides into the bench across from you at the table. “What’s yours?”

You reply with your name as you continue tying off the last few repetitions of the bracelet. Steve repeats your name, making it known he wants to remember. You like the way your name sounds coming from him; makes you feel safe.

“All done!” You grin proudly before leaning over the table, grabbing Steve’s hand to pull it towards you.

Steve blushes a bit at the sudden contact, realizing he likes the way your hand feels in his, but is too young to recognize why it feels nice.

You tie the ends of the bracelet together, making sure it isn’t too tight, but hangs close enough that it can’t slip off. Steve watches in wonder at the tiny, powerful gesture. He admires the bracelet, smile growing brighter as he takes note of the colours.

“Hope it’s okay, they’re my favourite colours.” You admit shyly. “I can make you a different one if you wa—“

“No! No,” Steve exclaims as he holds his wrist to his face, studying the detail of the string wound in a pretty pattern. “I- I want to make you one… with my favourite colours… is that okay?”

Your cheeks flush up as you nod slowly. “Yeah!”

“I just- I need you to teach me first… please.” Steve asks shyly, and you smile, scooting off your bench to move next to him.

Your arms are touching, and you can feel the hairs on his arm stand on end, and you’re certain he notices the goosebumps across your skin.

It doesn’t take very long to teach Steve how to make a friendship bracelet. It doesn’t come without trial and error, though. He asks to take the string home, the colours he picked as his favourites, to work on it and bring it back finished the next day.

And so, he does.

Steve finds you first thing in the morning, before you’re told to sit in your assigned desks, and he ties the bracelet he made himself around your wrist, just like you did for him. Not too loose, not too tight.

You admire the colours, admire the quirks of some knots being a little messier than others, bringing the bracelet character. It’s more than one of a kind, it was made with his heart.

“Thank you, Steve,” You say softly, tugging on the bracelet. “We’re friends now, friends forever.”

“Will the bracelets last forever?” Steve asks, already knowing the logical answer.

You surprise him, however, with an answer more emotional than logical. “If we protect them, they will. As long as you have that on, you can always count on me, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes shine over with happiness; he’s never had a real friend before. Not yet. Here and there some kids liked him because he had the latest and coolest toys, or they were jealous of him. Not you, though. You didn’t care about all the silly talk that your classmates spread about. The friendship was pure, gravitational through a simple conversation about friendship bracelets.

Before the bell rings, he pulls you into a hug quickly. It’s tight, warm, secure. You hug him back, trying to match how he makes you feel.

“You can always count on me, too.”

———

It doesn’t take very long for the damage of Starcourt to fall into view. It makes your stomach drop, makes you nauseous at the thought of Steve’s safety being threatened.

What should’ve only taken a few minutes felt like hours, even while you were speeding, avoiding the streets busy with neighbors setting fireworks off on the asphalt. Your brain wouldn’t rest with the questions filled with dread; was he okay? Was Steve alright? What the fuck was going on?

… Were you even sure that was Steve that you assumed you saw on the news report? That blue blur could’ve been anyone, but your mind immediately jumped to Steve.

And while the questions felt the need to continue, why on earth were you worried? You couldn’t remember the last time you and Steve talked, couldn’t remember the last time you truly called each other best friend.

Steve fell into a crowd of people that were only his friends for superficial reasons. He fell off your grid pretty fast when he was busy stealing alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet, trying to entertain the most rotten of the Hawkins High, not limited to Carol and Tommy H., of course.

It didn’t take very long for Steve to stop responding to your waves in the halls, your attempts to keep up with his life. He stopped answering your calls, always letting it ring, or the few times his parents were actually home, his mother always said he was ‘out somewhere’.

Steve’s bracelet disappeared around the time he abandoned you, yet you kept yours on. You couldn’t understand why you still had yours on, but felt only guilt when you’d even think about cutting it off.

You see flames rising despite the multiple fire hoses attempting to tame the destruction, breaking you from your racing thoughts of the past.

The parking lot is sectioned off from the entrances, all far from the mall and emergency vehicles. A man dressed in military grade riot gear holds his hand out as he steps in front of your car. You stop, rolling the window down to speak to him, but not before you’re met with the overwhelming smell of smoke and melting man-made materials.

Your face scrunches up, eyes squinting for a moment. You can almost feel the heat from this far back, and it just makes you more nervous and sick.

“Sorry, you can’t be here. This is an ongoing investigation and the scene is potentially still dangerous.” The man’s voice is muffled behind his helmet, but you hear him clear enough.

“Wh- the people inside? Are they okay? Where are they? Where did they go?” You rush out, and the man sighs.

“Anyone who made it out is most likely home by now. They were all treated by first responders here, and none of them wanted to be taken to the hospital. That’s all I’m able to tell you right now.”

You nod silently as his words sink in, realizing the danger is much graver than you assumed. This…. this was bad.

You thank the guard as you reverse out of the lot, flooring it as soon as you hit the road, driving twice as fast with only Steve still on your mind.

——

Steve isn’t sure how he made it to his driveway safely, but he does.

He can’t remember the drive from the mall to his house. But he’s behind the wheel, and alone in the car, so he had to have driven himself. Black and blue, swollen-shut eye and all.

It’s a miracle he hadn’t passed out from the excruciating headache he earned and swerved off the road.

——

Among the chaos of emergency vehicles in the parking lot, Steve noticed his car sitting alone, further back in the middle of empty spaces. When he had the energy, he decided to humor himself, and check on the car to at least make sure it was alright, even if just from the outside, while his keys laid in the bunker, now blown to smithereens.

Steve circled the car while his hand dragged across the red paint. He glanced through the windows, not noticing any damage, thankfully. Yet, he still wondered how mad his father would be about having to get a new key.

Mindlessly, as Steve made his way to the driver side door, he tugged on the door handle, startled at how the door clicked open with ease.

As the door moved, his jaw fell open in disbelief. This whole time, he left his car unlocked.

It’s an accident that wouldn’t be such a huge deal, something to laugh off when everything inside is accounted for, but Steve slumped into the seat and sobbed. No warning, just tears finally breaking along the edge of his tired eyes.

Everything came to a head, churning anger and grief deep within Steve, and it only came out in unsteady sobs. He quickly closed the car door, hoping no one could hear him from here. Everyone else has their own demons to worry about. He can’t add to that. He can’t add to anyone else’s pain.

Steve cried while snot rolled down his face alongside his tears. The tears stung his wounds, but not as much as his own stupidity stung whatever was left of his ego.

Frantically, he searched for any tissues in the car, even napkins, anything to remove some of the mess from his face. As he opened the glove compartment, a shiny key fell onto the car floor.

It was a punch to the gut. The cherry on top of this incredibly fucked up evening. Not only did he forget to lock his car, he left his spare inside the goddamn car itself.

Steve wanted to laugh, wanted to shrug it off, but only more sobs racked through his body the further his thoughts snowballed.

He couldn’t keep everyone safe tonight. He couldn’t keep his friends or himself out of trouble. And on top of it all, he couldn’t remember to lock his car?

Steve grabbed the key off the floor and started the car, realizing he couldn’t burden anyone tonight. Everyone else had someone to go home to, had someone to comfort each other with, but he was alone.

Voice shaky, he couldn’t help but wonder out loud, “Am I really that useless?”

———

Steve’s body doesn’t just ache, it burns. Everything hurts terribly, from the bruises already in full bloom across his torso, to the way his ears ring so loudly, he’s expecting blood to begin to pour out of them. Blinking hurts, breathing hurts, thinking hurts.

He wants to cry. He wants to sob, but he knows how bad it’ll hurt; that post-sob headache with a stuffed, sniffly nose and exhaustion wrapping around like a weighted blanket.

It’s late, and most of the neighborhood, despite celebrating, are inside and tucked into their beds, safe and sound. Steve wants that, more than anything. He wants so badly to run inside and collapse even onto the floor. He could worry about cleaning himself up tomorrow, with the house to himself. No nosy parents around to poke and prod with invasive questions.

Then again, even if his parents were home, he’s certain they would pay no mind to their son, collapsed on the floor, battered and bruised.

But he doesn’t move. Steve can’t bring himself to move. He can move, if he tries hard enough, but he’s just so drained. Resting his head against the steering wheel seems like the next best option.

Even resting his head softly, the contact stings. He hisses out at the pain, but it feels so good to not have to hold his head up on his own. That benefit sure outweighs the pain. Well, almost.

Steve’s fingers fidget and fumble around to whatever is near him, trying to take his mind off of the pain. At least, until he can muster up the strength to leave his car.

It’s only a few feet, and then the floor is all yours.

He picks at a hangnail on his thumb, blissfully ignorant to the pain as he tugs at the dead skin, for it doesn’t even compare to the heavy ache he feels everywhere else.

Stop, you haven’t picked your nails in years. Don’t go back to it.

Steve fights the urge as he pushes the annoying voice from his head, reminding him not to give in. Still, his fingers shake, desperately looking for something to tug at, just while he sits here uncomfortably. Anything to distract him.

For a moment, Steve is still, but then he digs in his pocket, frantically searching for something. His sudden movements earn a distressed groan from him, but he pushes past the pain and pulls out a bundle of threads, tied in a pattern, adorning a variety of colours. Your favourite colours.

It’s the friendship bracelet you made him all those years ago.

Steve holds the bracelet, broken and fraying at each end, up to his compromised eyesight. Tears threaten to fall again. He barely had time to cry during Starcourt’s demise, but ever since he got into his car after all was said and done, he couldn’t stop crying.

Now, as he remembers the dreadful night spent in the underground bunker, it finally hits him where it hurts the most.

——

Amidst being punched around like a dummy, the Russian guards searched nearly every inch of Steve, desperate for clues that would expose him for the spy they believed him to be.

“I told you, I- I got nothin—“

A sharp blow to his face stole away the rest of his sentence. Steve wheezed, gasping for the wind knocked out of him.

Taking no pity, one guard continued to search him. He noticed the bracelet, worn but showing signs of a once vibrant, bright life, and slid a switchblade underneath the embroidery thread.

Steve’s eyes grew wide as his heart dropped.

“No- no, wait—“

He tried tugging his wrist back, tried keeping the memento safe, but the blade sliced through it easily. As it fell to the floor, the other guard stomped on it before shoving it aside with his boot.

“Oh, that did something,” The guard’s voice was smug, noticing the tears that sprang to Steve’s eyes finally. “If you don’t speak, we will break you.”

Steve felt his breath fall shallow, panicking over a simple, handmade bracelet. It wasn’t just any bracelet, though. To him, that was the last connection he had to you, even if he royally fucked everything up.

Tears stung the split skin among his bruises as he continued to cry, falling apart at the thought of shoving you so far from him, and now…

Well, now, he’d never get the chance to fix things. Or try to, if you’d even let him.

Steve would die far underground before ever getting the chance to repair what he destroyed.

——

A car door slams loudly, and though it sounds distant to Steve as he pulls himself from the flashback, it echoes throughout the now empty streets of his neighborhood in Hawkins.

Frantic footsteps rush past his car, and he pulls his head up from the steering wheel. He watches a figure urgently skip up the stairs before banging loudly on the front door.

At first, Steve can’t make out who it is, and he wants to know, but he can’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Everything feels heavy and he doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body.

Slamming their fists away against the door’s surface, the person finally yells out, “Harrington, I swear to god, if you don’t open this door I will gladly find the spare key! I’m sure it’s still where you left it years ago!”

Steve can’t help but laugh as he recognizes your voice along with your trademark, persistent attitude, and a smile cracks along his lips. It’s small, nearly nonexistent, but it’s there. He clutches the bracelet tightly between his sore fingers before taking a deep breath, and finally pushes himself out of the car.

He watches as you mutter to yourself, panicking and trying to come up with another plan to check up on him, when he finally clears his throat to catch your attention.

——

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?!”

Steve’s legs wobbled as they threatened to give out, but he held himself up to the wall quickly for support.

“I- I gotta find it—“

Steve turned a corner to find the room the guards first held him in, and clear as day, the bracelet laid waiting for Steve’s return on the cold floor.

Out of excitement, he tripped over his own feet, landing onto the floor and only adding to the pain he already felt across his body. But Steve ignored it as he reached out to the bracelet with grabby hands, and he sighed in relief.

“Dude, you’re seriously asking to get killed here, let’s go!” Dustin yelled, panicked and annoyed at Steve as he tried to tug him off of the floor. Steve struggled, but he finally got to his feet and followed as Dustin dragged him back down the hallway.

As Dustin and Erica drove Robin and Steve back to the elevator for their escape, Steve clutched onto the bracelet like a priceless prize. Even high out of his mind, giggling away with Robin about the dumbest shit, he knew what he had to do.

Steve was going to fight his way out of this to stay alive, and he’d make his way back to you. He vowed to himself, and to you silently, he’d make his way back to you as soon as everyone was safe.

He was going to fix this, once and for all.

——

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes lock with Steve’s. Granted, his gaze isn’t in great shape, with one eye nearly swollen shut, but you’re still holding each other’s gaze intensely.

Neither of you move or speak. A moment passes, but it feels like an hour, and then you take the first step.

You sprint to him, about to knock him over in a great, big hug like you used to, but Steve flinches, and your heart drops as you skid to a stop just feet away from him.

From further away, he looked like hell, but this close up, Steve looks like he died and barely came back.

“Fuck- sorry- right- what am I doing—“ You curse yourself for thinking you could just embrace him like everything was okay, when just looking at him hurts your heart.

Steve shakes his head before forcing himself to move, fighting against the intense aches and pains, wrapping his arms around you as best as he can.

You notice immediately his grip isn’t what it used to be, and you assume that has to do with the suffering he’s in right now. You want so badly to squeeze him back, envelope him in your embrace to signal he’s safe now. That whatever happened can’t hurt him now. Not here, not with you.

But you don’t. You hear him grunt in pain and remind yourself you have to be gentle with Steve. He’s always been fragile, deep down, but tonight, he’s shards of someone who doesn’t exist anymore, held together by the flimsiest tape found.

You’d get in the way of anyone or anything that tried to lay a hand on Steve ever again. Your heart aches heavily, wishing you could’ve been there to protect him from whatever nearly destroyed him.

“The spare key is definitely still in the same spot,” Steve manages to say, and you know his tone would be lighter, joking, if he wasn’t in so much agony.

“Knew it,” You reply with a sniffle, pulling back. You don’t let go of Steve completely, though, letting him lean onto you for better balance. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

It takes a bit longer than expected, moving slowly alongside Steve as you hold him upright as you carefully shuffle with him into the house. Immediately, you notice the house’s interiors have changed, but Steve’s mom always liked changing things up, even for someone who was rarely home.

The loneliness that settles in as the house swallows you two whole, though, that’s painfully familiar. Your heart breaks at the thought of Steve coming home broken to nothing, to no one.

You get a better look at him as you flip on some lights, stomach sinking as your eyes travel over the bruising and swelling across his skin, splits and tears and marks that were unwelcome on his body. They travel down his neck, slipping under the fabric of his worn, blood stained work uniform. It’s almost a comical contrast, the dried bodily fluid splattered about a tacky sailor’s outfit, but you don’t laugh.

You don’t know exactly whatever caused this, but you assumed it had to be worse than the fights he got caught up in the previous two years before.

“M’so tired,” Steve whines, letting his head fall to your shoulder. “Just wanna sleep.”

“You should at least clean up—“

“No.”

“Steve, you’re covered in blood and god knows what else.”

“Just wanna lay down, s’too bright in here.”

You flip the switch off, gently lifting Steve’s head before guiding him towards the stairs.

“You’re going to at least let me nurse these awful injuries-“

“It’s fine, just a- a bad fight, that’s all—“

“Steve, I know you. This isn’t fine. Shut the fuck up and let someone take care of you.”

Steve’s mouth presses shut, remembering how hard you were to argue with, especially when you were right. You were always looking out for his best interest.

It’s just been so long since anyone has.

You send him upstairs to the bathroom, to which Steve takes his time climbing the stairs. Each step is harder to reach than the last, but he’s so close to his bed, some form of comfort, finally.

You scramble to find an ice pack in the kitchen, when your eyes catch on a picture frame, tucked away on a shelf in the next room over. It’s small, but even from here, you recognize what it is.

A moment in your younger years, frozen in time, arm in arm with Steve. You’re both covered head to toe in paint after he helped you paint the clubhouse your dad built for you in the backyard. The two of you are cheesing wide at the camera, and you can practically hear your childish laughs through your teeth. Back when the world belonged to you and Steve, and you two only.

You shake yourself from your thoughts to hurry back to Steve, ice pack in hand. You meet him in the bathroom, handing him the ice pack before getting to work on his wounds as he sits on the edge of the tub.

It’s silent for a moment, but you can’t ignore the questions swirling your brain any longer.

“What happened?”

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes as you press a cotton pad with rubbing alcohol to an open wound. Steve hisses at the sting, but only for a moment.

“Listen, you’re gonna have to start somewhere if we’re talking again.”

“Well, I’d like to keep you away from this mess as much as I can.”

You clean off the blood, caked onto his face, huffing in frustration.

“Why was Starcourt on fire?”

“Because a fire happened.”

Annoyance began to bubble within you.

“No shit, Harrington.” Steve fidgets with something wrapped around his fingers, and you glance down. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight of familiar colours, your favourite colours. “You- you still have it?”

Steve’s gaze falls to your wrist, drinking in the bracelet he made you, in his favourite colours. The strings show signs of wear, hanging loosely now, but still intact, at least.

Tears threaten to spill again.

“I- uh- I didn’t think you’d still have yours,” He admits softly, and you nod.

“Never took it off.” You push his hair out of his face, matted down with dried sweat and blood. “Guess you did. I figured you did.”

“No, I—“

“It’s okay, Steve. Really. I’m shocked you have it at all.”

His heart sinks at your words. You had figured he gave up completely on you, and he knew it. Still, it didn’t make this hurt any less.

“Wait- listen-“ Steve reaches up to your wrist, grasping it gently. You freeze at the sudden contact. “I- I kept mine on.”

You eye him, suspicious. “So, how’d it fall off?”

“It’s- I can’t tell you—“ You sigh, annoyed, but Steve shakes his head frantically. “It’s not like that. I have to keep you safe.”

You shove your hand away from his as you sit back onto the closed toilet lid, staring at him in disbelief.

“Safe? Steve, safe went out the fucking window as soon as I asked the goddamn feds what was going on and was told I had to leave.” Your voice was stern, but shaking. Tears slipped from Steve’s eyes, but he kept himself calm, letting you speak. “I thought I lost you forever, and you have the nerve to still try and keep me in the dark? When I said you could count on me, I meant it. Always. Even after we grew apart.”

Steve tries to speak, but his bottom lip quivers and his thoughts snowball once more. He hasn’t seen you in years, not this close, not face to face and so personally. Across your features lie worry and hurt, but your bright soul still shines through. You’re here, and he still can’t help but fuck things up instead of trying to fix it all.

“I- I- I-“ Steve can’t get it out, he’s not sure where to start. Does he apologize for abandoning you? Or for the way he traded in everything pure in his life for some shoddy illusion of popularity? Maybe he should mention to you that the fall from grace nearly broke him, but would that help anything now?

Steve tugs at the remnants of his bracelet nervously while his breath quickens, grasping desperately for the words he needs to say to you, but they all slip away too fast. His eyes squeeze shut as his vision tunnels in.

That’s when you realize: he’s hyperventilating. He’s having a panic attack.

“Steve, hey,” You gently call out to him, softly reaching out for his hand. “Is this okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push himself away, so you grasp both his hands in your own. You run your thumbs along his skin in circles, hoping the movement soothes him.

“You’re okay, Steve. You’re safe. Whatever was after you is gone now.” You try reassuring him, but he shakes his head, and that’s when the sobs escape him.

“I- I-“

You gently shush him, “It’s okay, just take a moment to breathe. Breathe with me, can you do that?”

Steve tries following your steady breathing pattern, but he hiccups another set of sobs out, panic pulling him back down.

You sink to the floor, gently pulling Steve down next to you before cradling him in your arms. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Steve buries his face into your shoulder, gripping onto you for dear life.

“It’s not- it’s—“ He sobs again, pulling you close to him.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” Your heart sinks at the way he cries out, unsure of what to do from here.

You think back to the photo you saw downstairs.

“Steve, I… I saw that picture of us, in your living room.” You whisper softly as you rub circles on his back. “I didn’t think you still had it.”

Steve can only nod, too exhausted and scatterbrained to find the words to properly respond.

“It’s one of my favourite memories of us,” You admit, taking note of the way the sobs had begun to settle slowly. Every now and then, one escapes him, but his body continues to relax in your arms.

“M- mine too.” Steve’s voice shakes as he tries to settle down.

“You don’t have to tell me everything right now. I… I’ll need to know things eventually, but—“

“I almost died.”

The wind is knocked from your lungs.

“I- I-“ Steve’s trying his best not to start crying again, not as hard as he just was, at least. “It- you- I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d lose you.”

Though you keep silent, your heart continued to ache at the way he spoke of your importance to him.

“I did lose you. I pushed you a- away. I left you behind and-“ A sob racks through his body, and you squeeze him gently to remind him he’s not alone. “We- we almost died. Me and Robin. Erica and Dustin were with us, too, but… they were safe at least. Th- the Russians didn’t hurt them, thankfully—“

You pull back to look at Steve, “Russians? Steve, is- are you-“ Your words die in your throat as you try to figure out just what you were trying to ask.

“Starcourt was j- just a cover-up.” Steve hiccups, clamping his eyes shut to try and hold his tears back. “It was all this- this huge cover-up, and we found out, and they almost killed us for it, and if it wasn’t bad enough, this giant fucking …. monster…”

His eyes open and he trails off as he watches your face cautiously.

“... I sound fucking insane, don’t I?”

You shrug, “I mean… yeah, a little, but … I believe you. Whatever happened, I believe you, Steve.”

He wants to explain everything to you. Tell you all about the last three years, how the Upside Down quite honestly flipped his entire life upside-down. How he quickly realized how fragile and temporary everything is in life, and that he can’t even attempt to sleep without checking that the nail-ridden bat is still under his bed, just in case.

Steve owes you an explanation of everything, he knows that. Keeping you hidden from the truth won’t keep you safe. It’s just now, after crying again, he’s ready to pass out for the night, and this will all take quite some time to fill you in on.

As if reading his mind, you speak up, “You’re tired, let’s get you to bed, okay? If you’re still sore tomorrow, I can wash your hair over the tub.”

Steve feels something lighten the heaviness he had been carrying around for so long on his shoulders. The weight of his world lessens just a bit.

“You- you’re- you’ll stay?”

You push to your feet, pulling Steve up with you and holding him steady.

“What did I say when we became friends?” You remind him as you lead him into his room.

Steve sniffles, still trying to shake the sadness clutching onto him so tightly. It won’t leave, not anytime soon. You’re prepared for that, though. You’re ready to pick things up where they were left off, fully aware it would take a lot of work to rebuild the bridge Steve burned years ago.

He won’t have to rebuild it alone, at least.

Steve climbs under the covers, rolling over to the far side to make room for you, and you join him. Limbs aching, he still wraps himself around you, afraid to let go, to lose you again.

“That I could count on you.” Steve finally answers, his voice soft but raspy from crying. “And that you could count on me.”

You nod, wrapping yourself around him in return, afraid to let go, afraid he’ll slip from your grasp again. Not from his own doing, but from whatever demons hold him down.

“I… don’t know what your monsters are like, but I’m going to be here for you, every step of the way. You’re not getting rid of me easy this time, Harrington.”

A glimpse of a smile plays up along Steve’s lips, making your stomach flutter. Finally a good sign. A sign of hope.

“I’m super gluing myself to you,” Steve murmurs, eyes drooping with the need for sleep. “You’ll never lose me, never again.”

As his eyes flutter shut, your eyes fall on the broken bracelet, still wound between his fingers.

“Steve?”

He shifts closer to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“Mhm?”

Your eyes trail over his face, still damaged, still in pain, but finally relaxed. You expect he won’t sleep a full night, and if he does, it won’t be without nightmares of whatever tortured him, but for now…. he’s at ease, and you’re right there alongside him.

“I’ll make you a new bracelet tomorrow, too.”

The only response are the soft snores from Steve, reassuring you that he’s safe. He’s okay, even for a moment.

You’re both safe, and in time, you both will be okay.

———

Taglist: @harringtown @stevesnailbat @stonersteve @ilovebucketbarnes @stranger-noah @cececroft <3

Join a taglist here!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #like vines we intertwined #my fics

[cloveshine]

Cobra Kai season 3 opinions

1. I’m so mad that they messed up Robby again. He was great! He was my favourite! Now, he’s a mini-Kreese and I hate it.

2. I’m actually glad that Miguel is back to being a nice and good person. I liked him at the beginning and now I like him again!

3. Kreese... I’m not even gonna say anything else...

4. Ali!!! I knew she was coming back when they showed her face in the pictures and I seriously thought everything was about to go all up in flames, but I was wrong! I’m so happy with what she did! She clarified everything and told the truth to the boys. I’m happy with her!

5. Miguel and Sam... I don’t know. I liked them at the beginning of the series, but then, Robby showed up and I loved him... actually, I prefer Sam being with Miguel (as long as he stays a happy puppy) and I just want a good and drama-free life for Robby. Please leave Robby alone... 🙏🏻

6. Am I the only one who saw the romantic thing between Johnny and Miguel’s mom coming from a thousand miles away? Like first episode?

7. Paring up Lawrence and Laruso... I like it right now, but I have a very unpleasant feeling that it’s not gonna go as well as I am hoping...

8. Did they actually believe in the redemption of Kreese? I mean, I’m not mad about the fact that we finally know his history, but, even with that, I can’t find a way to not hate him with my entire soul...

9. Tori... I feel bad saying what I’m about to say, but, even with her background ( I still have a heart, I promise. I do think that she is really strong and brave), I can’t find a reason, except for her background, not to think she’s an awful person... I really hate myself for thinking that but I can’t stand her... I really hope she gets something better next season...

10. Hawk: thank you to everyone who had an influence on the decision to bring back the nice Hawk who defends good morals! I cannot thank you enough!

11. I love the way Demitri’s character was approached! He is finally being seen for the cool person he is! I’m happy!

In conclusion, I just want everybody happy, safe and in good terms with each other, without unnecessary confrontations. Oh, and I want Kreese arrested! Is that realistic? Obviously Not! Am I gonna believe it anyway because that is the only thing that provides me hope? Absolutely!

#cobra kai season 3 #cobra kai #cobra kai s3 #john kreese #miguel diaz #sam larusso #robby keene #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #cobra kai opinion #hawk #the karate kid

[oneoftheextras]

arranged marriage | one

masterlist  | tip jar

parings: overhaul x oc

a/n: I have been trusted to write someone’s OC in an ‘x Overhaul’ and I couldn’t feel more blessed that someone would trust me with that. If you have an OC that you would want me to write a small series for you can request it here

Sayori Ishioka is the grandaughter of Japan’s second most powerful crime syndicate, second to The Hassaikai. In a time when Pro Heroes are getting stronger and The League of Villains are on the prowl, the two gangs decide to merge together by marriage.

warnings: mentions of violence & arranged marriage

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

It had been approximately 8 years since Sayori had walked down the barren hallways of The Hassaikai headquarters. No, it was definitely 8 years - the last time she had set eyes on any member of the notorious gang she had been 12 years old.

Such a young age to be witness to the horrors that were conducted within these very walls.

Her grandfather had shielded her from it as best as he could, but like water running through closed fingertips, it was impossible to stop anything from seeping between the cracks.

It was her grandfather’s idea to bring Sayori along today, he told her to dress appropriately and to make sure she looked presentable - those were her only instructions. He was a vague man, never showing much of what he was thinking, he used to say that the best way to have the upper hand on your enemy was to always keep them guessing - and that was what he did.

Even today, he was as mysterious as ever. Sayori was one of the few people who could read him from the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, or the way he held his ceramic mug filled with his favourite green tea. But today was different, and that put her on edge. She trusted her grandfather, but a tingle running down her spine warned her to be on full alert.

She had her training to blame for that.

When meeting the Hassaikai, it was always best to stay as formal as possible regardless of your relationship to them. In this case, it was a colleague relationship, one with a mutual interest, but that could all change with one slip up or a wrongly worded phrase.

“Why are we here, Pops?” Sayori spoke softly to her grandfather who was walking next to her, not wanting anyone to hear her question. His strides wildly outstretched hers but still remained the illusion that he was gliding across the ground.

She had been summoned almost suddenly to accompany him, with no explanation. “We have some important business to discuss” was all that he said, his tone unrecognisable and his face unreadable.

‘We?’ Sayori clarified her grandfather’s words in her mind, she knew her grandfather like she knew her own shadow. Every word he spoke was thoroughly thought through and cherry picked, and Sayori was a smart girl, she knew that he had chosen those words for a reason.

She was also smart enough to know when to keep something in your head and not dare say it out loud, especially when there was an Hassaikai grunt stepping over the ghost of their footsteps.

Sayori kept her mouth closed, using her silence as an indicator to her grandfather that she understood what he was saying. She wasn’t here as company, and she had to be prepared to do what was asked of her.

Their stroll came to an end when they were greeted by a plain metal door, the grunt that was inspecting them quickly shifted his stance from behind them to standing next to the door. Just another reminder that everyone within this facility is highly trained and ready to kill.

He slithered his fingers under the door handle and pulled it open for the two of them, gesturing his hand in a way to tell them to enter. Sayori nervously adjusted her face mask, a habit she had picked up from her younger years in the underground headquarters - she was extremely careful to ensure that her mouth and nose were fully covered.

Sayori and her grandfather bowed politely before stepping into the meeting room, Sayori allowed her Pops to take the lead and followed in behind him, she didn’t want to seem impolite. Especially not in front of the Hassaikai.

“Hiroto” a voice echoed from the large white room, the sound trailed up to the head of a long oak table with multiple chairs neatly placed around it. It was strange for Sayori to hear her grandfather’s name spoken aloud, it hadn’t been vocalised in years.

“Boss” he lowered his head respectfully to the seated elderly man, “It has been too long” Hiroto added softly. “You can leave us” The Boss commanded the grunt that had accompanied them to the meeting with a wave of his hand, the grunt swiftly left the room without a second thought.

Sayori had heard stories about The Boss, a man so dangerous that every villain in Japan quivered at just his mention. His shell was misleading, a frail old man with kind but weathered features, capable of killing without hesitation.

“Please, have a seat” The Boss used the same hand that had commanded his grunt to offer his guests a chair, Sayori could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest, she had never met The Boss before and it put her on edge.

The Boss and Hiroto spoke pleasantries for a while, sharing stories of how their syndicates were doing when there was a firm knock at the door. The Boss glanced towards the sound and then pushed a small box towards Hiroto, Sayori watched her grandfather open the box, his aged fingers clicking the lock and lifting the lid.

She relaxed her limbs when he pulled out a medical mask and hooked it over his ears and a pair of gloves, when she turned her attention back to The Boss she saw he was wearing one now too. Their eyes locked for a second, there was a hint of acknowledgement in his orbs, almost like a ‘thank you’ for her coming prepared.

“Enter” The Boss said loud enough for the person behind the door to hear, to which it glided open.

“I’m sure you’ve met Chisaki, my protegee” The Boss introduced the auburn haired man that stood with his arms folded, “You asked to see me?” he droned as though this meeting was an inconvenience on his day and a waste of his time.

His voice was largely muffled by the burgundy leather bird beak covering his mouth, but the members of the room could still understand him. Sayori was shocked at how freely this man spoke in front of The Boss, although a part of her felt a sense of familiarity when gazing upon him, as though they had met before.

“Take a seat, Kai” The Boss said, ignoring the young man’s tone and turning back towards Sayori and Hiroto - his attention more so on the young female than his business partner.

“There is a reason we have asked the two of you to join us for this meeting” The Boss spoke gently, Hiroto caught Sayori’s eye; again the word ‘we’ was being used. She couldn’t help but notice the small glint of guilt in the elder’s orbs.

“The rise of Pro Heroes is causing an issue for us, a ‘Symbol of Peace’ sized issue in fact-” The Boss clicked his fingers above his head “-the Yakuza is losing its power, we used to be feared by many, but these new ‘Heroes’ are putting doubt in people’s minds” The Boss explained.

One of the grunts from earlier slipped through the double doors while holding a metal tray, he placed it down in front of The Boss to reveal two neatly placed documents with a pen either side.

Sayori’s ears burned red, she tried her best not to fumble with the pearl white gloves covering her slender fingers, but she had rarely attended meetings that were this important - let alone be the centre of one.

The Boss adjusted the rim of his own gloves, ensuring they were on securely, before picking up the document on his left and extending his arm out to Chisaki, “We have decided to join the syndicates together, in times like these the underground network needs solidarity, we need to regain the power we once had”.

Chisaki slowly took the wad of paper from his senior’s outstretched hand and dropped it on the table in front of him, shuffling the pages that had fallen out of place until they were back in line again. After that, he delicately took the top page in between his index finger and his thumb, and held it up to read it.

Hiroto mirrored Chisaki’s actions, he was not as careful and collected as the young man, but he didn’t stop to read the documents himself. Instead his movement was fluid and travelled until the pages landed in front of Sayori.

For a moment she was confused, he glanced up towards her grandfather, then to The Boss, and then back to her grandfather - Hiroto trailed his eyes to the document and then back up to Sayori, giving her a reassuring smile. In that small moment she knew that he meant for her to read the papers, a part of her brain was still calculating why she was being handed the notes and not her elder, but she knew better than to question The Boss.

Chisaki had read the first page and precisely rested it on the table next to the bigger pile. Hesitantly, Sayori followed suit, she picked up the first page and began to scan the printed words as The Boss continued to speak. 

“I never thought it would come to this, after all these years of being on top, these ‘Heroes’ have finally caught up.” his voice was like background music, Sayori was listening but wasn’t really registering the words. The sound faded in and out of her ear drums as though she was walking out of a room playing music and hearing it through the wall next door.

So far the document was referencing the years of brotherhood the syndicates held together, what their values were and outlined how they had been loyal through the toughest of times. This was all stuff Sayori already knew, she had lived through the majority of this - she had been a child for the most of it, but what she hadn’t witnessed, her grandfather had told her.

“It may seem unconventional in this day and age, but it worked back then and it will work now” The Boss’ tone swooped back into her mind, she moved the page to the side as she finished the last sentence and she swiftly picked up the next. She didn’t want to seem like she was slacking.

“We needed a surefire way of uniting the two groups, a way in which they could trust each other and know that any disloyalty would only cause harm to themselves-” the older man took a breath as he readied himself for the next part of his seemingly practised speech.

Before he could utter his next words, Chisaki stood up sharply with his palms flat against the table, his eyes staring down at the words on the paper as though they were directly insulting him.

“An arranged marriage?!” he muttered in disbelief, his eyes never moved from the paper in front of him. Sayori’s eyes had been on him the moment he had started to move, she had her training to thank for that, but as soon as his words sunk into her brain, she looked towards her grandfather for guidance.

Hiroto lowered his head, ashamed. It was unlike him not to consult his granddaughter before any major decision was made, but the fear of her reaction stopped him from even trying.

Sayori immediately turned her attention towards the documents, quickly glancing up towards Chisaki’s stack to try and get an idea of what page he was reading. Then she found it. A piece of paper stating that she and Chisaki were to be married within the next week as a way to join the two syndicates legally and increase the network’s power.

She could hear The Boss asking Chisaki to take his seat and to continue to read the document before he let his emotions cloud his judgement. Sayori’s head was spinning, this had come as such a shock, the document not only told her about how and when her wedding day would happen but also that her and Chisaki would become the new ‘Boss’. Together they would lead the syndicate out of these dark days in the shadow of The Boss’ retirement.

Once again, Sayori turned to her grandfather. His eyes were wary and unsure, and for the first time since he had taken her in, he could not predict her next actions.

“Did you agree to this Papa?” Sayori finally said, The Boss was busy vocalising to Chisaki what was already written in black and white so they paid no attention to them.

“I did, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” Hiroto apologised to his only family, lifting one of his frail hands to enclose it around his granddaughter’s. “I’ll do it” she whispered to him, instantly his facial features relaxed and a smile spread across his face.

“I’ll do it!” she spoke confidently, this time to the room. She was announcing it as though she was trying to show a lion that she wasn’t afraid of it, and in some ways she was. Chisaki was known for his drastic actions by members inside and out of the syndicate, many years had passed since they had last spoken and she knew she needed to prove she was not a toy from the start.

The Boss gazed upon Sayori with a gleeful smile, “You will do well to keep him grounded” he wagged his finger at a still-standing Chisaki. “Well I wont!” he fired back, his words a verbal counter attack to her own. 

Although they could not see his mouth, the furrowing of his eyebrows was more than enough of an expression to show he was anything but happy. 

“Would you leave us alone for a moment to discuss?” Sayori spoke to the two elderly men in the room, then her eyes widened for a second “Please, if you would allow it” she bowed her head to The Boss - she had almost forgotten her manners.

“Of course” The Boss spoke gently and raised himself from his seat, Hiroto following shortly behind  “I pray you talk some sense into him” was the last thing he said before he exited the room entirely.

Sayori waited until the door had fully swung close before she turned her attention to the auburn haired man towering over her.

#oc #chisaki kai imagine #chisaki kai #chisaki x reader #mha #fanfic #mha villain

[elaboratedbee]

Bigby x Reader

Request For: @gayking666​

Paring: Bigby Wolf x Reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: Bigby isn’t very good with the whole ‘sharing’ thing

Rating: E 

Word Count: 4978

Note: i hope you guys like this imagine! it’s my second one and i fucking loVE floofy good boys so i was very excited :) if you’ve requested something, it’s coming i promise! i’m working through them chronologically! 

Part Of The Pack

Bigby

Bigby loved staying at your place. Although he would never admit it, being able to come home to a real bed after a long day of pursuing and protecting Fables was heaven to him. He had gotten used to it all too quickly, and although you hadn’t been seeing each other for too long, it was now all he could do to keep you off of his mind for more than a few hours at a time. It was an unfamiliar feeling and he was still acclimatising to it. He was falling in love and learning how to get used to the fall.

The fall was the swooping feeling in his stomach like he’d missed a step on the stairway every time he looked at you and saw you smile. It was the burning feeling that would start to rise in the forefront of his brain if anyone else touched you for just a little too long. Or it was the bone deep contentment that spread through him as finally collapsed into bed next to you after an exhausting day of work in Fabletown, and he got to feel you press a sleepy kiss against his cheek, or neck, or forehead. The way that everyone described love, Bigby had always thought it was something you felt in your heart, but he knew better now. Because Bigby loved you with his entire body, every fibre of his being. 

There was one problem. Turning the key in the lock - the one you had pressed into his hand with an eye roll after he had made you get out of bed in the early hours of the morning four nights in a row - he prepared himself. Opening the door as gently as he was capable of, he was met with a familiar sight. 

The giant St. Bernard sat ten foot from the door and stared him down. 

Bigby knew it was a little selfish of him to want to be the only four-legged canine in your life, but he couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that the dog clearly didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. In fact, if it wasn’t abstaining from waking you up in the middle of the night, the Sheriff was certain the massive pile of fluff would be growling at him. He always barked when Bigby was approaching the apartment, and growled at him when he entered, unless you were asleep.

“I’m not gonna steal something,” Bigby grumbled, as if the canine was capable of understanding. In response, the creature lolled its massive tongue out and wagged its tail. 

Pure evil. 

After he was escorted to the bedroom, any irritation Bigby was feeling faded easily at the sight of you star-fished in the bed, fast asleep. Slipping off his tie, he did his best not to wake you. He wasn’t usually successful, and tonight was no exception. You rose into the half-way point between awake and asleep, where the lines between dream and reality were just a little blurred. Even then, you wrapped your arms around him and tugged him closer, a silent demand that the wolf was more than happy to oblige. “Warm,” you mumbled sleepily, and Bigby did his best to hold back his laugh. After receiving a tired kiss to his jaw, he let his eyes flutter close.

For those brief, few seconds, Bigby was at peace. That was until -

“Ow!” The noise of protest slipped out his mouth as a quiet hiss when the ginormous dog leapt up on the bed, directly between the two of you. His brows furrowed as you barely even reacted, simply fidgeting to make room for the dog before you threw an arm over its giant form, your fingers tangling into its thick coat. The man was overcome with the insatiable urge to pick you up and carry you into another room entirely, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to be alone with you, hold you tightly in his arms and be without interruption. Goddammit, Bigby wanted your hands in his hair.

Sighing, he rolled to lie flat on his back and stare at the ceiling of the apartment. He was jealous. Of a dog. Was that really what his life had come to? Closing his eyes, he tried hard to be content. At least you were close, at least you were safe, and at least he would be here in the morning when you woke up. It was a comforting enough thought that he could finally fall asleep, despite the snoring of the St. Bernard beside him.

The Sheriff was awoken in quite possibly his favourite way, with your fingers running through his hair. For a minute, he kept his eyes closed and feigned sleep just so that he could savour the feeling. Finally, he opened his eyes and was met with the pleasant sight of yours staring down at him. “Morning,” he greeted you, and his voice was rough with sleep. The feeling of your mouth crashing against his was more than enough to wake him up suddenly, and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close against his body.

“Good morning,” you whispered against his mouth, and the wolf retaliated by flipping you over and pinning you against the bed.

“It is now,” Bigby agreed, a grin breaking out on his face. His eyes glowed golden as he regarded you, just taking in the sight of you for a long moment before his mouth met yours. It was beginning to feel like an entirely perfect morning until a bark resounded from outside of the bedroom. Hoping that if he didn’t acknowledge it, he might be able to distract you enough to ignore it too, Bigby pressed kisses to your neck, resisting the urge to mark your skin so that everyone could see that you were his.

A second bark.

He heard a sigh escape your lips before he felt your hand pressed against his chest. The wolf schooled his expression, trying his best to mask his disappointment. “Sargent probably needs a walk, or maybe he’s just hungry,” you explained and Bigby nodded, getting up from the bed and letting you escape. The wolf showered and got dressed, acutely aware of how much more enjoyable the activities would have been if you were with him. Straightening his tie knot, he emerged into the kitchen where you were turned away from him, busying yourself with the toaster. Sargent was eating from his bowl, having now been fed and watered. Bigby resisted the strong urge to give the animal the middle finger. He hadn’t sunk quite that low yet.

More importantly, you were beautiful in the morning. As you turned around to face him, Bigby felt like his heart had stopped. Unfortunately for him, he had a whole hoard of tasks to do today, including getting into contact with some Fables that were pretty hard to find. He knew it would take at least all day to find them, but if he was being realistic, he knew that he wouldn’t see you until the next day at the earliest. “Leaving so soon, Sheriff?” You teased him, and Bigby nodded regretfully.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” he admitted, “might be a day or two.”

“You know, you really deserve a pay rise.” You pointed at him, and that finally managed to make Bigby smile.

“Tell me about it,” he grumbled and pulled you in for a quick kiss before heading toward the door. He knew that if he kissed you for any longer, or held you any tighter, he would end up refusing to leave whatsoever. While that did seem like a great option, he had gained the foresight to know that getting a lecture from Snow was not worth it under any circumstance. He was stopped in the doorway, however, and a piece of toast was placed into his hand, a kiss was placed on his cheek and a smile on his face.

“Be careful.”

“Always.”

Bigby’s smile lasted all the way until he reached the elevator (which, really, was quite good considering that the wolf was not a happy person), before being joined by Bluebeard for the ride down instantly crushed his mood. “Toast?” The other man sneered, and it was probably for the best that his hand was occupied by the food, since he was already itching to put the man through the metal walls of the box. The Sheriff couldn’t bring himself to respond, which was not uncommon, especially in response to half of the condescending bullshit that left Bluebeard’s mouth. Besides, Bigby couldn’t help but harbour a spark of joy as he consumed the simple breakfast, though that had more to do with the source. It was an unexpected perk of being in love, that not only did the Sheriff get to look after someone, they looked after him too.

The elevator walls slid open, and Bigby exited the lift at as swift a pace possible, eager to get away from the slippery son of a bitch behind him. Besides, he had work to do, and he intended to take care of it as quickly as possible.

 You

Clipping a lead to Sargent’s collar, you grinned at the dog. He was your best friend, your family, and he had been your lifeline more times than you could count. When you had found the dog a few years back, you had never expected to keep it. But after you found out his owner had died, what initially started as a hesitant agreement to look after him for a few days until a new home was found became a commitment that you had never regretted. Fabletown was a scary place. You wished it wasn’t, but even with Bigby doing his very best to keep it safe, the place was always on the edge of corruption, and always violent.

Before you found Sargent, you were alone. So many Fables had been displaced from their friends, their family and their community after they left the Homelands and you were one of them. When King Cole spoke about the move to New York at special events, like remembrance, it was easy to think about it as a massive event that changed their history forever. But for most of the Fables, it wasn’t some historical event that was dead and gone, but a ripple that caused them to face daily consequences each and every day. The majority of the Fables didn’t find some new purpose here in New York, they simply faded into the background, and got lost.

You were one of them.

In the few short days that you had the dog, you were reminded of what it was to be together. To have a friend. To come home to someone at the end of the day. He protected you from harm, growling at the door if he so much as heard a sound outside of the rickety apartment block that you lived in, and for the first time in the many years that had passed since the war, you slept peacefully. For the first time since you could remember, you felt safe. Sargent gave you a reason to make a better life for the two of you, when you didn’t have the heart to make one for yourself. When you felt worthless, and tired and broken, you got up in the morning and hauled your ass to work, because it wasn’t just you that would go hungry if you didn’t. Sargent had given you priceless gifts – friendship, purpose and security. And you loved him unconditionally.

“Come on, boy,” you cajoled the large dog with a scratch behind the ears and headed for the apartment door, ready for your morning walk. As you left the apartment block, you bumped into a man you didn’t recognise in the lobby. He was tall with dark hair and wearing a dark purple coat that went down to his knees. You apologised, and tried to place his face, but you have no luck.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologised, glancing nervously at the dog by your side who was beginning to growl lowly, “I was just looking for the Sheriff, do you know where I can find him?” His tone was polite, and he offered you a smile that was so big that it was unnerving. You didn’t know where Bigby is, and you weren’t in the habit of giving his location away to total strangers, anyway.

“No, I’m sorry. You should head to the Business Office and speak to someone there, he’ll probably turn up there soon if he hasn’t already,” you directed him to the correct channel for contacting the Sheriff and began to back away. The longer you thought about it, the weirder it was with this guy. If he had really been looking for Bigby, how the fuck did he end up at your apartment block? Who would have told him that Bigby was there?

“Have a good day,” you gave him a polite wave and began walking out of the building quickly, making a mental note to tell Bigby about it later. There was no way he would answer a call now, but you figured you could drop a message to his phone in his office later on in the hopes that he might be there. Thankfully, the man made no effort to leave the building and follow you, which gave you a deep sense of relief. The man had been big, much taller and much stronger than you were, and you weren’t entirely sure you could have held your own if it came to it.

Sargent led the way down the cement sidewalk, confident in the direction that they were taking. He knew this circuit like the back of his hand by now, and it was usually more like he was walking you than the other way around in the mornings. Pushing the creepy man out of your mind, you thought over the morning and felt a pang of guilt. Poor Bigby, you had barely had time to give him a kiss and a piece of toast this morning, but Sargent was family. He was like your child, and you could never leave him hanging when he needed you. You knew by the confused expression on Bigby’s face that he wore whenever he thought you weren’t looking that he didn’t understand.

After all, Fables lived for a seriously long time. In fact, you didn’t know a single other Fable who even owned a pet. For Fables, a decade or two wasn’t a particularly substantial length of time for someone, or something, to be in your life, and when you coupled that with the task of keeping it happy and healthy when the majority of Fables struggled to make ends meet, it was a little nonsensical. But you didn’t think he would ever be able to really understand why their relationship surpassed those logical reasons. After all, how could he? Bigby had more than his fair share of struggles during the move to New York, more than anyone should have to bear, in your opinion. But he had never had to feel unsafe in the way that other Fables did. That sounded contrary, considering the nature of his job, but Bigby could go home every evening and know that he was more than capable of protecting himself; he could rip the limbs off of someone and barely be out of breath. He wouldn’t exactly relate to the need for protection.

Returning home to the apartment block, you and the canine headed up the stairs so that you could drop Sargent off and head off to work. Holding the lead in one hand, you fumbled with your keys for a moment before sliding them into the lock.

The door was already open.

Immediately, you felt a sick sort of feeling in your stomach. You definitely had remembered to lock it after you left in the morning, you were always careful to do so. The lead trembled in your hand as Sargent started growling by your side, sensing or smelling that something was very wrong. You began to turn around, convinced that whatever was going on was enough to make you head straight over to the business office and wait for Bigby to investigate when the door swung open. In the doorway stood the creep from the lobby, with a smile on his face and a gun in his hand. “Ah, come in. I’ve been expecting you!” He laughed at his own joke and gestured for you to come inside with the gun, and you hesitated, your body completely paralysed with fear. That wiped the smile off of his face and he went stone cold in a second, pointing the gun at you. Slowly, you stepped inside of the apartment, pulling Sargent along with you. Even if you could recover from the bullet, Sargent would have much more trouble with it, and it wasn’t worth the risk. The dog didn’t seem to care, however, immediately lunging toward the man with a snarl. His teeth sunk into the flesh of the man’s leg, and he cried out in pain before he kicked the St. Bernard, ripping a yelp from his throat.

The man snarled as you pulled back Sargent, desperately trying to protect him. “Now, let’s take care of one mutt at a time, hm? I’m really not fond of dogs,” he said the word like it was a slur, with a shiver of disgust. He raised the gun and pointed it at Sargent, to which you cried out and moved to stand in front him, raising your hands in a plea.

“Don’t!” You shouted at him, and Sargent barked from behind you anxiously.

“Why?” The man smiled again, seemingly amused by your desperation. Your breathing slowed and you set your jaw as you stared him down. Summoning all of your courage, you spoke lowly and clearly.

“Because when Bigby gets here, like you so clearly want, he’s going to rip your fucking head of your body and tear the ligaments from your bones one by one. And if you kill my fucking dog, I’m not going to stop him.”

The man attempted to school his features, but you watched him swallow, hard. Lowering the gun, he gestured for you to sit down in one of the kitchen chairs that he had dragged into the middle of the room and set about taping you to it, your hands secured firmly behind your back. ���Control your mutt,” he sneered at you, tying the lead tightly to the chair, “or he’ll get a bullet in the head.” Sargent obeyed your commands to lie down and be quiet, if somewhat reluctantly. He clearly didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to attack the man who was so clearly dangerous, but you counted your blessings as he obeys.

“Now,” he picked up the phone and started putting in the number for the business office, giving you another face-splitting grin, “to call the Sheriff. You make him come home, and if I think that he knows I’m here, you’ll regret it. You’ll be dead long before he can get here. He could rip my limbs off then and it still wouldn’t bring you back.”

The phone began to ring, and he held it to your ear, causing you to flinch at the close proximity. After a few rings, Bigby mercifully picked up on the other end and you heard his voice. “Sheriff’s office.” You had kept your emotions in check so far, but as soon as you heard Bigby’s voice, it all came crashing down. You felt your ears sting with tears, and you fight to hold them back.

“It’s me, Bigby,” you fought to keep your voice from trembling, “do you have a minute?”

“Not really,” his voice was gruff on the other end of the line, and you could tell that he had a cigarette in his mouth, “the guys I’m trying to find are assholes.” He elaborated and sighed into the receiver. That made him smile ironically. I think I found one of them Bigby. A second later he spoke again, “do you need me?” He was worried by your silence; you could tell and your heart skips a beat. He would drop anything for you, you knew it. But now you had to make him feel like you needed him without letting him catch on.

“Can you come home?” You asked him, trying to think of an excuse, “I got some really bad news, I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I just really need you right now.” Maybe it was the very real fear in your voice that convinced the wolf that you needed him, but he growled.

“Alright, I’m on my way, okay? Just hold on.” His voice was reassuring, if a little strained, and you could have cried with relief.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.” I love you. You’ve never said it before, and you regretted it more than anything. You couldn’t help but think that if you died now, Bigby would never know. A long tone indicated that Bigby hung up the call and tears finally spilled over your cheeks. Fuck. Fuck. You loved the way he ran his hands through his hair to push it back, and the way he took a long drag of his cigarette whenever he didn’t want to answer a question. The way his eyes changed, and his teeth sharpened whenever you drove him crazy and the way he’d never admit that sleeping in an armchair was uncomfortable as fuck. You closed your eyes and swore to yourself that if you survived this, you’d tell him every single day.

“Now, now, there’s no need to cry,” your captor mocked you in a sing-song voice, “the big, bad wolf will be here soon. And maybe, after I kill him, I’ll even let you live.”

“Who are you?” You looked up at him, desperately trying to figure out his identity. If you could only figure out who he was, then maybe you could figure out what he wanted and help keep Bigby out of danger.

“Let’s just say that your Sheriff took something from me and my friends, and now he can pay for what he did, or I’ll take something from him.” He tapped the gun and flashed his teeth again. That smile sent shivers down your spine; it was unnatural. “Silver.” Your blood ran cold, and your level of panic skyrocketed immediately. If Bigby got a well-placed shot of silver, you knew that he might never get up. Shit, shit, shit.

It was only a matter of minutes before Bigby would reach the apartment block, and if this asshole decided to unload a round into him before giving him a chance to react, there would be nothing you could do. You began to struggle in earnest, no longer so confident in your certainty that Bigby would rip this man to pieces without breaking a sweat. The tall man laughed as he watched you struggle, and faintly, the ding of the elevator announced that someone had arrived on the floor. Sargent began to growl, ever so quietly beside you and you hushed him immediately, shaking your head violently. Your heart rate began to rise up rapidly, and it felt like there was a ringing in your ears. A sick feeling grew in your stomach and it felt like time stretched out as you waited for Bigby to open the door.

Silence.

A loud crash ripped the silence apart, as Bigby kicked the door down. The man jumped back in shock and fumbled with the gun, giving the Sheriff time to lock eyes with him. He stood in the doorway, the picture of strength and power, and your heart filled with hope. His wolfish features were already emerging, claws sharp and eyes flaming yellow. “He has silver bullets!” You cried out, relaying the only helpful information that you possess.

“Cheshire,” Bigby addressed your captor in a snarl, “you can either put the gun down, or give me an excuse to rip your fucking lungs out of your chest. I’m hoping you’ll pick the latter.”

This time, his smile moved beyond the point of disturbing and straight into the realm of insanity. Raising his gun once more, you cried out, terrified that Bigby was going to get shot. All of a sudden, you felt the floor slide out from underneath you and you crashed against the hardwood floor. Your head hit the ground, but with the world blurring, you could briefly make out the silhouette of Sargent leaping at the attacker, having ripped free of the chair and pulling it over in the process. Your head was stinging with pain, but it was nothing compared to the relief that flooded your body when Cheshire cried out in pain, dropping the gun as their dog’s teeth sunk into his forearm. That gave Bigby enough time to run forward, sinking his claws straight into the man’s chest.

By the time your head stopped ringing and your vision was clear, there was a bleeding body on your floor, and two canines staring at you in worry. “Good boy,” you managed to get out, struggling to get out of your restraints.

“You better not be talking about me.” Bigby drawled sardonically, but the concern in his eyes gave him away, as he leaned forward and freed you from the tape. As soon as you were freed, you sat yourself up and threw yourself into Bigby’s arms. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. Within a few seconds, Sargant whined and began to paw at the both of you, deeply offended that he was not included in the victory celebrations, especially after all of his brave work. To your deep surprise, Bigby was the one who broke the hug and ruffled the dog’s head, giving him a pat. “Thanks, buddy.”

You wrapped your arms around the loyal St. Bernard and hugged him tight, causing his tail to wag like crazy. The three of you stayed there, kneeling on the ground and enjoying the feeling of being alive for a long moment, before you set about fixing things.

Doctor Swineheart was called, as before long Cheshire was healing. He was escorted by Bigby and Snow to the Business Office building, where he would await his trial and punishment. It all made sense after his identity was revealed – the Cheshire Cat. Among many of the Wonderlands Fables, unrest and anger had been rising after everything that had happened between Bigby and the Tweedles. They’d finally found the means and the courage to act on it.

That evening, as the Sun set, you thought over the daily events. “One thing I don’t get,” you said as you sat down in Bigby’s lap in the armchair. After all, your apartment was missing a door, so you couldn’t exactly stay there. The two of you were nursing glasses of whiskey, cheap and acrid, but it did the job. He raised an eyebrow at you, prompting you to continue. “How did you even know something was wrong?”

Bigby smiled, clearly amused, and you got the feeling he had been waiting for you to ask. Gesturing to Sargent, who was curled up and snoozing on the floor, the wolf explained, “Every time I come to your apartment, that damn dog barks. And when I step inside, he growls. But when I walked up to your apartment, there was silence. I knew something was wrong.” You realised that the impossible had happened – Bigby finally got what it meant to have a dog.

Grinning widely, you tucked your face into his neck as he took a long drink from his whiskey. The smell of smoke and whiskey surrounded you, as well as something that was distinctly Bigby. The apartment was dark, and cramped, and the city was loud beyond the window. It was perfect. “I love you.” You made good on your promise, letting the words tumble from your lips like they had been begging to escape. The man practically choked on his drink, taken by surprise. It took a long moment for Bigby to gather a response, setting down his glass on the nearby table.

“I love you, too.”

You hid your smile by pressing your lips against Bigby, and his face was rough against your own. Your hands pressed against his chest; your fingers curled into the coarse material of his button up. For once, Sargent slept on, undisturbed, as you tugged on his tie, as if you could become even closer than being tangled in his arms. You shifted so that you straddled the wolf’s lap as the kiss became more heated, tangling your hands in his messy hair. Despite everything that had happened, none of it mattered now that you were safe and there in Bigby’s arms.

When you woke up in the morning, you shifted uncomfortably, and groaned. Bigby’s eyes fluttered open at the noise and he stared at you sleepily. “If you ever tell me this isn’t uncomfortable as fuck again, I’m going to deck you,” you warned him, letting your eyes close again as he rumbled with laughter underneath you.

By the time you returned to your own apartment, with a brand-new door, you’ve vowed to never sleep on the damn thing again. It would seem Bigby had, too, because the very first night the two of you were apart, he turned up at your apartment as soon as night fell. And for the very first time, as he approached the door, Sargent stayed curled up against your side. No growls, no barks, not even lifting his head. You grinned and gave him a gentle pat. “He’s alright, huh, boy? I think so.”

#the wolf among us #twau #thewolfamongus #bigby x reader #bigbyxreader #bigby wolf #bigbywolf #the wolf among us imagine #twau imagine #bigby wolf imagine #bigby wolf x reader #bigby wolf fanfiction #bigbywolfxreader #fables #fables fanfiction #big bad wolf #twauimagine #imagine #reader

[tinkerd]

Interview with Anne Both & David Litchfield first published on www.readingzone.com

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS TEMPLAR PUBLISHING JANUARY 2021

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS is a profound and moving picture book about how a young boy manages his feelings of sadness, not by ignoring them but in giving his sadness the space, care and thought that it needs. We asked author ANNE BOOTH to tell us what inspired the picture book, and illustrator DAVID LITCHFIELD about how he approached the illustrations: Q: What for you are the key ingredients for a great picture book? ANNE: For me, the words have to leave room for the pictures, the pictures have to capture the feeling of the words and extend the story, and both the words and the pictures have to be the best they can be for the demands of that book - be it a funny or a sad book or any other type. DAVID: Oof! that is a BIG question. I'm still trying to work that one out if I'm honest. For me what I personally love about picture books is that you can be transported to the furthest part of someone's imagination but still recognise yourself, and the world, in its pages. It's escapism but also empathy. It's crazy looking animals and creatures but they are experiencing some of the most human emotions of all. There are so many different ingredients that go into these books. But for me I think the ultimate goal is to tell a story that connects with children in the most imaginative way possible. Q: Can you tell us what you wanted to achieve in this book, about how we deal with sadness? ANNE: I hoped it would be good for both children and adults, and that it would help them cope with the type of sadness which stays with us and has to be coped with alongside everyday life. I wanted children to be told that they can build their sadness a shelter as early as possible, as I think that telling children to be 'resilient' (which is a good thing in itself) can sometimes be abusive - it can sometimes really be just saying 'don't tell us you are sad, even though as adults we are doing things which make you sad'. I think children have lots of things to be sad about - big and little things - and learning to build a shelter for their sadness can, paradoxically, help them have permission and space to be happy. DAVID: My hope for the book was to get children - and adults - to talk more about their emotions and how they are feeling. Don't just bundle them up inside. It's important to recognise how you are feeling, recognise that it's there and it exists. And talk it through with someone. A parent or a teacher, or just someone that you trust. The worst thing we can do as human beings is pretend that these feelings are not real and that we should just get over it. Q: Was there one thing that helped inspire the text? ANNE: Yes. I went to a talk at my church, and the speaker quoted this passage from Etty Hillesum; 'Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge - from which new sorrows will be born for others - then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich.' (Esther 'Etty' Hillesum (15 Jan 1914 - 30 Nov 1943) I wrote our picture book text in response to Etty Hillesum's words, so I was trying to expand on her idea that we need to give shelter to our sorrow / sadness, as I thought she had such a wise and beautiful vision, which was, amazingly, born out of her immense suffering as a Dutch Jewish woman under the Nazis, and someone who would actually die in the Holocaust. It was written as my creative response to her words, so writing it actually helped me to think and pray about my own sadness, and I felt it would be a good picture book, to help people cope with sadness that just can't be fixed, but which we need not to overwhelm us or turn us to hate or bitterness. I loved the idea that if we give shelter to our sadness we can truly say that 'life is beautiful and so rich'. Q: Was it a difficult text to write, as it is so pared back? ANNE: I think that because it came after the talk, and hearing Etty Hillesum's beautiful words, and after meditating on, and praying in response, to them, I didn't actually want to use many words. I wasn't paring back anything as such, I was just trying to find my best response to her words, and the writing of it came all at once, but I think the writing wouldn't have come that way if I hadn't already experienced and thought a lot about sadness for years, and hadn't deeply connected with Etty Hillesum's words. Q: Why did you decide the main character would be a boy? ANNE: As I was writing from my own point of view, and in response to Etty Hillesum, I suppose I thought the narrator might be a girl, but I was open to any interpretation. I'm not sure if it was the publisher or David who decided the main character would be a boy, but I am very happy with that. I hope it speaks to boys and girls, men and women, and I think that there is actually something good about it being a boy, as from a very young age, little boys are told to 'man up' and are put under particular pressure not to cry or express sadness - all part of toxic masculinity - so hopefully this will play a part in countering that and telling boys and girls that there is nothing to be ashamed about being sad. DAVID: I'm not sure how this was decided. For some reason I just instinctively drew a boy when I was sketching the book out. I think that's a case of me very much seeing myself in the character as I was making the book. Perhaps an argument can be made that some boys need more help in facing their emotions than girls. But to be honest, I think I just instinctively recognised myself in that character and drew him as a boy. Q: David, what drew you to this text, why did you want to illustrate it? DAVID: As soon as I read Anne's manuscript I knew that I 100% wanted to be the illustrator. I received the project over two years ago and I couldn't start straight away due to other project commitments. I was so scared that Templar would not be able to wait for me. But I was so happy and relieved that they decided to wait until I had finished the other books I was working on. The text just really connected with me and it stirred up some very raw emotions in me. I also recognised that it would be unlike any book I had ever drawn before and the challenge of creating it was something that I really wanted to take on. Q: How did you decide how to depict Sadness? DAVID: There have been a few really fantastic books recently that depict sadness and other emotions as an actual character. Some of my favourites are 'When sadness Comes To Call' by Eva Eland, 'Me and My Fear' by Francesca Senna, and 'Ruby's Worry' by Tom Percival. All of these handle these sensitive subjects so beautifully and visualise what an emotion could look like in the real world. I see our book very much as a continuation of these series of books and the themes they follow. They were definitely a big influence on me when I was drawing the book. In terms of the look of our Sadness, I came up with a number of ideas in my sketchbook. One was a very ghostly, scary looking thing. The other was a teardrop and one was a cloud. But then I just thought about what a typical six or seven year old might draw if I asked them to visualise their sadness. All these confusing and conflicting emotions might come together and it felt like a really messy, scruffy scribble would fit the bill perfectly. Also, I remember trying to articulate how I felt when I was young and the words just wouldn't come out. So drawing a confusing, mess of emotions just felt right. It's also a really great character to draw. you really do feel like you are getting some emotions out of your system and onto the paper when you draw Sadness. Q: David, Can you tell us how you create your images and that special luminosity in your pages? DAVID: Everything starts in my sketchbook and I will plan the whole book out with lots of scruffy sketches. But once I start making the final artwork I usually begin by making lots of very messy watercolour washes, letting the different colours naturally mix into each other. I will also take photos of other textures such as the bark of a tree, or concrete or the sky. I will then scan all of this into my computer and experiment with overlaying each of them together until I find a look and feel that I like. These will then generally take the form of a background for a spread. The characters and buildings I will usually draw out in my sketchbook and then scan these into my computer also. Using Photoshop I will position these over the backgrounds and add other textures over them and just see what works. Basically, its a lot of experimenting and seeing what works with all these different types of media and textures. The luminosity is just an extension of what my art teachers have always taught me about shade and light. But I do like to play around with light and the atmosphere that can bring to an image. I think I really appreciated the drama of light from watching too many Steven Spielberg films growing up. Q: Do you have a favourite spread? ANNE: I love them all! I think the last page is so, so beautiful and gives me hope, but that is because of all the pages that came before, so I couldn't choose! I think David has done an amazing job - the book is so beautiful. DAVID: I like a lot of them. I love the penultimate page where the boy and sadness are walking through the blooming garden. I like the spread early on where Sadness is going through all of the different ways it is feeling and all the different actions it is taking. But I think my favourite image is the simple one of Sadness and the boy sitting together on the log. They are not saying or doing anything, they are just together and there for each other. That's one of my favourite illustrations I have ever drawn in fact. I love it. Q: Will you be creating any more picture books about emotions? What are you working on now? ANNE: I would love to write more picture books about emotions. I have an idea I am trying to find words for - it isn't coming as easily as A Shelter for Sadness but I hope it can work. I also have a little picture book story I am working on, and I am revising and rewriting a middle grade novel, and am waiting to be given edits for an adult novel and should be starting a second adult novel, so I have lots to be getting on with! DAVID: I hope so. I think I will always try and convey emotion in my books and hope that the reader can recognise their own emotions in these stories. Q: Where is your favourite place to work? ANNE: I work in bed (where I am typing this) and in a little writing hut my husband built me in our garden. I also write sitting on the sofa or at the table. When the pandemic is over, I am so looking forward to working in a coffee shop again! I do find it very helpful, when I have lots of work to do, to go away for a few days, to somewhere like Gladstone's Library in Wales, or beautiful retreats in England or France or Ireland I have been to. DAVID: My favourite place to work doesn't actually exist yet. I would love to create art in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by nature. Unfortunately I haven't found that place yet, but I have hope that I will one day soon. At the minute, due to lockdown, I'm drawing my books in the corner of my bedroom, which is not ideal as I'm quite messy and it's quite a small space. It can get a bit frustrating. But, every once in a while I can pretend that I'm in that cabin in the woods and everything feels right again. Q: Where are you most likely to be found when you're not at your desk? ANNE: Maybe out with my husband, walking our dog, or reading in bed, or sitting watching something lovely - I really appreciate good TV and films and I love watching them with other people. I love chatting with family and friends and visiting them. For a post-pandemic answer, I want to leave my desk and travel to see friends and family. DAVID: Mainly riding my bike with my two sons, or walking our dog Maggie, or listening to music very loudly on my headphones. Thank you Anne and David for joining us on ReadingZone!

See original post here: https://readingzone.com/index.php?zone=sz&page=interview&authorid=623a7c5192eb0909e0d251c44bae33c1

#illustration #a shelter for sadness #books for kids

[thepurplebutterflythings]

Curiosity Killed the Cat (Part 8) - Gar Logan

Gif: Unknown on Tenor

Word Count: 1.1K

Paring: Gar Logan x (f)Reader

Summary: Poor Rachel Roth has been forced into the role of Dating Coach when separately calming Y/N and Gar. Rachel and Y/N talk about their respective abilities.

Warnings: Mentions of Sex.

Masterlist

Tagging: @ninergirl1d​   reclusive-chicken-nugget @marveling-avengers

________________________________________________________________

Rachel stood in the doorway of Gar’s room and watched as the boy ran about the room. Anyone else seeing the scene before her would believe that he was about to face-off against the most evil creature in the multi-verse, not go on a date. He was so pale from nervousness that Rachel thought that he might drop to the ground unconscious. It stopped being funny about ten minutes ago, and now Rachel was just exasperated as she watched him tear through all the clothes he brought with him to Themyscira.

‘Shit, what was I thinking when packing?’ He groaned as he threw the last decent top he had on the bed.

‘Dude,’ Rachel rolled her eyes, ‘she’d not gonna care what you’re wearing, as long as you’re wearing something! Cause at least then you’ll be there to pick her up on time. Don’t stand her up on her first date!’

‘I want this to be perfect.’

‘The date can’t be perfect if it doesn’t fucking happen. Pick something.’

‘I don’t know what to pick though,’ Gar said, staring at the clothes around him.

‘Alright,’ Rachel sighed as she walked over to the clothes and started sorting through them. ‘I’ll help.’

‘I’m going to take fashion advice from the girl who dresses exclusively like she’s just came back from a My Chemical Romance concert?’

‘I can leave and let you suffer.’

‘Alright, alright, sorry.’ Gar apologized quickly, ‘Please help me!’

‘Hmm,’ Rachel rolled her eyes as she looked through his clothes, letting his comment fade into the background. ‘Have you seriously found nothing? You’ve packed more than me, and you wear the same damn thing most days anyway – do you really have no other jacket?’ She gestured to the red and white item of clothing hanging on the back of a chair.

‘Gees, I asked for help, not insults.’

Rachel ignored Gar’s snippy comment and pulled a pair of black jeans out of the Everest of clothing, chucking it at him, which he quickly caught, before diving back in to find a shirt.

‘Have you ever gone on a date before?’ Rachel asked curiously.

‘Have you?’ Gar quipped back, turning red.

‘So you haven’t,’ Rachel concluded.

‘Why does it matter?’

‘Cause it’d explain the close-to-fainting-look about you.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘I can’t lie to you, Gar,’ Rachel looked at him, ‘yes, yes it is.’

‘Doesn’t really help me,’ he groaned sitting down, ‘does it?’

‘It’s endearing really,’ Rachel assured him, ‘girls like that cutesy ‘I really like a girl and it makes me nervous’ stuff.’

‘So, I don’t need to be worried?’

‘No, you’ll be fine,’ Rachel nodded as she found a button-up shirt in the pile and shook it to see it better, ‘just… don’t faint,’ she said before handing him the shirt.

‘Easier said than done,’ Gar said taking the shirt.

________________________________________________________________

Rachel thought that Gar was nervous before the date, that didn’t even come close to Y/N, who had asked a fellow Amazon to find the girl and bring her to her room. Y/N was utterly clueless and when Rachel appeared, Y/N nearly jumped the poor girl, asking her question after question about what a date entails of and what she should wear and do. Christ, Rachel thought, staring with large eyes, Gar was a walk in the park compared to the young Amazon.

Gar, at least, had an idea about what a date consisted of, while Y/N knew nothing, absolutely nothing.

How to explain something to someone who knows nothing about it? Rachel understood why Gar spent ages racking his head about what to teach her.

‘Okay, first, breathe,’ Rachel said as she saw the panicked expression on Y/N’s face. ‘You’re going to faint.’ Rachel placed her hands on Y/N’s shoulders and mimicked a deep inhale and exhale for Y/N to copy, which she did, swallowing and nodding afterwards.

‘Apologies, Rachel,’ Y/N said awkwardly, ‘I’m a little nervous about the date. What do they even entail of?’

‘Each date’s different,’ Rachel explained, ‘but, hey, you and Gar have awesome chemistry, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

‘Chemistry?’

‘Right… Amazon,’ Rachel sighed. How did Gar do it? Explain things which were normal to him and Rachel to someone who would be utterly bewildered with a mobile phone? ‘Well, chemistry between two people is, like, romantic. When two people have chemistry, it’s a good thing, says they’d have a good relationship.’

‘And Gar and I have chemistry?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Good,’ Y/N smiled, ‘having sex with him makes more sense now that I’m aware we have chemistry.’

‘Wait, you and Gar have had sex?’

‘Yes.’

‘When? Where? Tell me everything!’ Rachel pulled Y/N to sit on the bed, turning to her, eager to know all the details. Was this what it was like to be a normal teenager? Both girls wondered. To not be Rachel Roth or Y/N the Amazon? To be a normal teenager, in a normal life, in the normal world of man? To sit and talk about life and things that they did?

‘I showed him my favourite place on the island. It’s this wonderful Lagoon,’ Y/N began, ‘we swam and then… we kissed and one thing led to another… and, well, we had sex.’

‘But Gar didn’t bring swim shorts for the trip,’ Rachel thought aloud, ‘Dude, did you swim naked?’

‘Well, yes,’ Y/N said as though it as obvious.

‘Man, your coolness is incredible,’ Rachel said, ‘I wish I had that confidence,’ she chuckled awkwardly.

‘I think you are a magnificent person,’ Y/N assured Rachel, ‘you’re wonderful to talk to, incredibly warm and good. Also, Gar mentioned you have abilities? Born with them, correct?’

‘Yeah,’ Rachel nodded, ‘your Amazon stuff is from an experiment, right? Gar mentioned it to me once.’

‘Correct, I was experimented on as an infant in an attempt to recreate Diana’s abilities and form soldiers for the world of men.’

‘Mine are from my dad – an evil demon guy.’

‘Well, it seems you and I will have an awful lot to talk about regarding our abilities, doesn’t it?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Rachel laughed, ‘hey, maybe we can show each other what we can do. After the date, of course, and when you’re not training Gar.’

‘That would be marvellous,’ Y/N agreed eagerly, ‘see, as I am an experiment, my abilities aren’t the exact same as a true Amazon, so to talk to someone about my differences would be delightful, and it would be wonderful to see what abilities you can do.’

‘I’m still learning my… thing,’ Rachel admitted, scratching the back of her head, ‘kinda tried to hide it for so long… it’s… scary.’

‘Well, Rachel Roth, you don’t have to hide any of it from me,’ Y/N smiled, ‘Amazons don’t frighten easily.’

‘Thanks, Y/N,’ Rachel smiled back, ‘and you can show me everything you can do too. Now, let’s get you ready for your first date!’

#Gar Logan #garfield logan #garfield logan oneshot #garfield logan imagine #gar logan x reader #gar logan imagine #gar logan one shot #gar logan fanfiction #Titans #titans dc #titans fanfiction #titans beast boy #beast boy imagine #beast boy x reader #beast boy #imagine #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #one shot #oneshot #ryan potter

[drink-n-watch]

I say this every week and every week I fail, still I’m going to try to keep this post to a reasonable size. At least on my part. I have been rambling on way too much! That doesn’t mean we’re going to skip over the important stuff, like for instance: Matt how are you?

I’m fine (aside from some random back pain)! How are you doing Irina?

I have a huge cold, I guess I’m doing Canadian?

I’m not sure if this is a freaky coincidence or if I’m a low-key psychic but this week’s Psycho Pass was an illustration of what I was talking about in my post last Thursday. Essentially, the production values took a visible step down. To be fair, Psycho Pass is a stunning looking show and it’s unsurprising that it couldn’t keep that level up for an entire season.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed art consistency go way down and CG integration get a lot less smooth in this episode. Fortunately, with Psycho Pass being so detailed to begin with, even pared down versions of the art still look pretty good. Nevertheless it has definitely looked better:

Of course I pay way more attention to technical details than most people. In all likelihood most viewers didn’t really notice! Did you?

I was very distracted by how off-model practically every character looked in any medium or long shots–I think having to produce a 45 minute episode in such a time schedule is proving too much for the production staff. But you are correct, even at its most inconsistent it’s still a strikingly good-looking show.

As division 1 continues to slowly hunt down the Foxes, we finally get a bit of background regarding the mysterious organization. It seems that there’s a whole group of Makishima’s out there and they are organizing against the system. An underground criminal outfit full of people with magical every clear hues.

It strikes me that this may have been an inevitable outcome. In a Sybil controlled society, evolution was bound to quickly create a bunch of mutants capable of controlling or at least maintaining their hues. The brain is really fantastically adaptable. I mean just the advent of smartphones has already physically changed the neural net mapping in younger generations. With something like Sybil, that has a high impact on every aspect of a person’s life, the change is going to get accelerated for sure.

It’s actually a brilliant bit of world building in my opinion but it could very well be entirely in my head. What’s your take on it Matt? Also I realize that my interest may be a bit niche, so don’t hesitate to jump in and talk about whatever you like.

What was that about trying to keep this post to a reasonable size and not ramble too much…? If we’re talking about things I like, I really enjoyed the absurdity of Karina delivering a political speech about religion and then without missing a beat transitioning into her idol outfit and performing a song.

We already have story threads regarding white collar fiscal manipulation with nationwide impact, neuroscience in the unique universe of Psycho Pass, shadowy mastermind puppeteers, a criminal organisation of uniquely advantaged people, Kei and Arata’s very peculiar background and personal arcs, racial tension and high level political intrigue.

And now, we get a religious angle. Do you think that the narrative is going in too many directions and is risking to lose focus or do you figure the more the merrier and it should add a few?

This show wants to do and say a lot and while I think everything it’s wanting to do and say is important it’s very much at the point where if it tries to do much more it’s going to collapse under the weight of itself.

It seems the rise in terrorist activity happening in the city right now is linked to a church of some sort. Or at the very least, a lot of its members are involved. The latest bomber having joined in hopes it would help him get in a better place spiritually and clear his hue. Of course, the are also leaving calling cards all over the place so they must have something to do with it as well.

Although were a lot of things happening in Psycho Pass already, I’m actually rather interested by the religious aspect. There’s something fascinating and terrifying about a “Sibyl sanctioned religion”. And religion does odd things to people and their psyche in the best of times, I can’t wait to see what it can do under these circumstances.

After all, we are what we believe!

It seemed a bit weird to me that the show never really mentioned religion before and now suddenly it’s all anyone’s talking about. I realise it’s because it’s currently integral to the plot but I think it would have been better world-building had someone mentioned ‘Heaven’s Leap’ in any of the previous episodes–even in passing–especially since it’s apparently a big deal.

We got to meet 3 very different spiritual leaders from 3 very different religions. I am not a religious person in real life. I grew up in a place and time where it was more or less outlawed and it has just never really been a big part of my life. But I’m not someone who dislikes religion either. In fact I find it very interesting. I just don’t have much experience with it.

This is why, to me, despite the outward differences, all 3 of these guys sort of seemed the same.

That sounds like a bit of social commentary on religion in general, Irina! If we’re looking for a parallels with real world religion I suppose ‘Heaven’s Leap’ is supposed to be some sort of Jehovah’s Witness / Scientology hybrid and the CRP is some vague version of Catholicism. And then there’s just straight up Buddhism.

*It wasn’t..I literally meant they seemed to be built around the same character archetype not that their religions are the same. Don’t know if all religious figures in real life are that similar.

Because of all the different themes season 3 of Psycho Pass has been exploring, I wasn’t sure what the main focus would be. 5 hours in, I think it’s going to explore the effects of culture clash in an authoritarian society with thought crime. That’s a pretty ambitious goal. Even if it doesn’t manage to quite pull it off, I’ll be impressed by the effort! I know you think that speculating on where a story is going is not good but I would love to have your thoughts on it, Matt.

It’s not that I think it’s not good, my writer brain can’t help but speculate, it’s just I’m happy for a story to play out however the writer of the piece wants it to play out–I’m a bit of a bad critic in that respect. Whether this show is wanting to have a grand specific theme like you mention or just paint a broader canvas of the complexities of living in such a regimented world I’m not sure but it’s still interesting nonetheless.

This is probably nothing…But Arata’s house really looked like the division 1 mandated psychiatrist’s house in the first season. I’m almost 100% certain it’s not the same because it’s in the middle of the city, while the other one was in the countryside, but the architecture is similar. I wonder if it’s significant in any way.

Probably not.

I thought the design looked familiar, I don’t know if this is the kind of show that’d just forget its own world-building like that and this not be important but then again who knows!

So Matt, what were your thoughts on episode 5?

Honestly probably my least favourite episode so far. Sure the allure of something new with the religion aspect is interesting but the overall episode itself felt like a bit of a downgrade and not just with the off-model character art. Some scenes felt too fast paced while others felt drawn-out and Arata not being able to use his ‘mental trace’ felt like artificially handicapping the story for the sake of not using its own “cheats” to find the culprit. It’s by no means bad, nor even mediocre, it’s pretty great and had a lot of excellent character moments and interesting expansions to the overall world. I’m just worried the writer of this series may have bitten more off than he can chew. What about you Irina, I’m guessing you enjoyed it more than last week?

I liked it way more especially in the second half. And I’m ok with Arata not using his trace since it was set up properly how dangerous it is for him and how weak he is right now, fresh out of the hospital and all. Not to mention that using extreme empathy on someone who could very well be mind controlled sounds like a quick way to get himself mind controlled. These guys are detectives, they should know better.

I enjoyed it. I like when the story slips into speculative fiction and I found the pacing much better than in the last arc so to me it was a plus rather than a drawback. I have a feeling we are enjoying very different aspects of the season.

Psycho Pass s3 ep5 – Leap of Faith I say this every week and every week I fail, still I’m going to try to keep this post to a reasonable size.

#action #anime #Collab #crime #drama #Psycho Pass #sci fi

[pendragonfics]

Something Beautiful

Paring: Kraglin Obfonteri/Reader

Tags: female reader, metaphysics, questions, grief/mourning (young!Peter Quill), domestic fluff, angst and hurt/comfort. 

Summary: Reader is left alone with Peter on board the ship while she does maintenance to the mechanical systems, and babysits. She's no good at childcare, in the first place, but when Peter asks a question with no easy answer, her skills might be at the end of their tether.

Word Count: 1,507

Current Date: 2017-07-20

System repairs are hardly your favourite thing to do; you could probably name eight (wait, no, nine) things that you’d rather do than system repairs, but since you’re the one with the qualifications on board with the Ravagers, and are known as the mechanic, it’s kind of your job. And shirking your job wasn’t an option. So, while the crew are off gallivanting, pillaging, (having fun), doing Ravager things, you’re stuck in the belly of the beast, fine-tuning the little things that made the ship go.

Another thing you didn’t like that much, was babysitting.

Before your life as a space pirate, you had been reputable, with an honest background. Daughter of a farmhand, you had gone to school all on your own dime, learned all you could about machinery and all about cybernetics and robotics. And you would have graduated if it hadn’t been for a zealot who eliminated your planet. Luckily, with your knowledge of machinery you got off-world in time in a dinky spaceship. But penniless, and practically riding a tattered shuttle into the stars, you had no prospects or wealth. If it weren’t for Yondu Udonta, you would have starved to death.

But babysitting? That was the finishing touch to your spectacular situation.  

While everyone was off wandering off to have fun, you were left to care for Peter. He wasn’t as young as you remember he was, when you first were taken in; he’d been shorter, shyer. Now, he listens to the songs on his musical device, and ignores everyone. He’s great company for you and your concentration, doesn’t ask questions when you’re focusing on installations, hands you the right tool when you ask. But usually, there was someone with you when the pair of you hung out, and with Kraglin off with the Captain to find a good dealer for fuel, you were alone with the child. Not that he wasn’t a good kid; you weren’t that skilled at child caring.

Just as you were securing in a new ray gun to the ship’s blaster system, Peter took his earphones out, and asked you a question. Usually, you knew what to say; sometimes it was questions about the mechanics of the toilets, or if you’d fix his tape. But this time, you were floored.

“Where do people go where they die?”

Luckily, you’d installed the mechanical hardware, and had nothing in your hands to drop. But still, your mouth opened, and no words came out, and Peter was looking to you, expectant. You clear your throat, confused by his question, wondering where it had come from. People go into the ground, or scattered across places, you thought, but paused. The kid probably already knew that. The metaphysical, then.

“Uh, you want the pretty answer, or the other one?” You ask Peter. Using a rag, you wiped your hands, and moved toward where he sat on the low bearing work bench. Taking a seat beside him, you add, “You can ask for both.”

The young boy shrugged. “I was just wonderin’.”

You nod. “Yeah. Me too.” You look to your hands, and then back to Peter. “Did you know I’m the last person who was born on my planet alive? I came from a Xandarian outpost.” You smile, and tell him. “Sometimes I wonder where my sisters and brothers are.”

He’s quiet. Then, “My Ma died. Before I came here with you guys.”

Again, you nod, silent. That would explain why the young boy was so pensive some days, like a wizened elder full of knowledge when he came onto the scene as a gangly eight-year-old. You chew your lip, and ruminating, sit between your thoughts and Peter and your toolbox.

“Granpa used to say that when people passed away, they went away with God to Heaven in the sky.” He adds, and frowning, tells you, “But we’re in the sky, and I can’t seem to find Heaven no matter where I look.”

You swallow, wondering how to give him the answer. Every civilisation, every alien species in the galaxy has a different complex of religion, a different compilation of ideas of how after-death rituals played out, scenarios of where the spirit of the person went off. The Terran boy came from a planet you had no idea about the ceremonies of, and even with your background in mechanics, your people skills were no match for this sudden question.

“So, the pretty answer?” you repeat.

Peter nods, then shakes his head. “Both.”

Turning, you look out to the atmosphere and the open space beyond the Ravager ship, and so does Peter. For a moment, the pair of you are looking at the nearby planets, the colourful constellations in silence. Then you clear your throat. “I like to think that when people you love die, they become the stars in the sky,” you confide to him. “Sort of like how everyone saves the pieces of broken things so I can make them into other things.”

Peter nods along with your words, “You’re saying that they’re…recycled?”

You shake your head. “No! Maybe? You’re made of the same stuff as the stardust, too, though. It’s just you go back into something beautiful. But that’s not the nice answer; you wanted both, didn’t you?”

The young Terran bobs his head. “Yeah, um, please.”

You smile, and ruffle his hair. “People are never dead if you remember them. They’re always in your mind, you know, if you remember them like they really were. Sort of like that photograph you have, of that man.” You grin, and take a deep breath, “it’s how I keep my family close to me.”

“That’s cool…thanks.”

There’s a noise on the above decks, and at that, Peter scoots off the work bench and dashes up the stairs to the main deck. You scratch the back of your neck, and grin. You mightn’t be that skilled at child caring, but you were still caring. And that’s what was important.

Later, (well after take-off, and dinner) in the bunks, Kraglin joins you on your bed. There’s new ink on his neck, and as usual, his scruffy facial hair catches the light of the lamps, and your eye. The bed dips under his added weight, and quietly, he glances to where Peter sleeps in the bed beside yours, and you.

“I heard you an’ Pete had a chat today,” he whispers, moving to take off his jacket for bed. “I wasn’t sure if he was ever gon’ talk about it.”

You grin, and pecking your boyfriend, and bunkbed mate’s cheek, you tell him, “I hoped I did right by the kid. Seemed pretty okay with what I told him.” You reach to take off your socks, and notice the grease still on your arms from your mechanics work, and using an old t-shirt from below the bed, wipe off your arms. “You’re like a brother to the boy, Krag. It’s nice.”

He swats at your arm playfully, but before he can do any damage, a yawn escapes his mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” he whispers, but in good nature. “Come on, shift over. I wanna go to sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, no cuddles?” You faux-complain, and hop into the bed you share with him. It took almost no convincing Yondu that you were to share a bed with his First Mate (because the blue-skinned captain had just nodded, and said love’s love or something like that), and none of the other Ravagers had any qualms about it. Neither Peter; he’d just accepted that you guys were a thing. “I love my Kraglin cuddles.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, we can cuddle,” he smiled. “I love you, _______. You’re the best.”

Flicking the switch beside the bed to dim the lights, you felt Kraglin move an arm behind you to hold you close to him, so your head rested upon his shoulder, close enough to be enveloped in his scent. “I love you too, Krag…and you’re the best.”

System repairs are hardly your favourite thing to do; you could probably name eight (wait, no, nine) things that you’d rather do than repairs. But still. Repairs needed to happen. Questions needed to be asked. That’s why they’re called repairs/questions; they live to be done. But if it weren’t for you to be the big sister for Quill when he needed it, you’re not sure how he might’ve turned out to be (with just Kraglin and Yondu and the other Ravagers).

---

______’s List of Hardly Favourite Things to Rather Do in The Case of System Repairs

Talk to loads of people in public

Clean the trash compactor unit after the contents were removed

Work out how strange tech Yondu picked up works. 

Kiss Kraglin when he’s all smelly after a mission (“You need to shower!” “Never!”)

Think about things more uncomfortable than cacti pyjamas

Tease Kraglin about his cute mohawk

Be forced to not dance to that music Peter has, with Peter

AND

      8. Be around your space family who you love so much

#kraglin obfonteri #kraglin #kraglin obfonteri x reader #kraglin x reader #kraglin obfonteri/reader #guardians of the galaxy fanfic #guardians of the galaxy x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

[trevorbailey61]

Moseley Folk Festival

Moseley Park, Birmingham

Friday 1st September 2017

There are few things that can engage me quite like making a list. I should perhaps qualify that by saying that the lists I compile serve no practical purpose whatsoever; at the supermarket I am a hunter gatherer, prowling the aisles until I catch a sighting of my prey with nothing as organised as a list to influence what ends up in the trolley. Whereas my wife will have sorted out what she needs for a holiday at least a week in advance, my packing consists of randomly throwing things into the bag just before we leave resulting in an abundance of old concert t-shirts but no toothbrush. No, the lists I carry around are on much more important matters, my top 5 Bowie albums, top Scorsese movies, top varieties of apple, top underground stations,… you get the drift. My interaction with Facebook rarely goes beyond wishing friends a happy birthday but when a list is required, then it will usually be in the process of being formed before I have finished reading the status. That is not to say it is easy; making “Low” a better album than “Hunky Dory” or “Good Fellas” a better film than “Raging Bull” is not a decision that can be made lightly and much soul searching is required before a commitment can be made. Buying a car takes less time than deciding that an Egremont Russet tastes a little better than a Worcester Pearman.

It was at university that being able to put things in order was most importance. I still remember the incredulity that greeted my suggestion that “Stranded” was almost as good a Roxy Music album as “For Your Pleasure” and probably better than the debut. My companions stared at me open mouthed, how could anyone think that what followed challenged the dominance of the Eno influenced start to their career; I was immediately ostracised until I had listened to “2HB” enough times to realise the error I had committed. About the same time, the student newspaper, “Bias" invited readers to select their favourite songs and inevitably the challenge was immediately accepted. In the end nothing was to come of this; either the number of students willing to spend hours compiling this list was very small, maybe even as limited as one, or the huge variety of responses made it difficult to draw any conclusions. Songs were added, crossed out, some discarded altogether, some to reappear later but eventually the list was completed and has been carried around in my head ever since. Thinking about it now, what strikes me is just how sad most of these songs are, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine”, “Tears of a Clown”, “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, “Ticket to Ride”, all songs that deal with the fragility of relationships, particularly those that are formed during adolescence. From the time that people started putting their feelings to music there have been break-up songs but as a distinctive youth culture emerged in the post-war era, so did the variety of ways in which the mourning of the end of a relationship could be expressed. The emotions are so much more intense when they are experienced for the first time, the thrill of first love and the wreckage when it breaks down adding beauty to the sadness. Everyone has experienced the pain of separation, the heartbreak of finding out that the intensity of your feelings are not reciprocated with music reflecting and shaping this emotional turmoil. With young people having greater access to music than ever before, the quickest way to their heart was by reminding them of what it was to feel like like to break it.

Songs have the power to tear us apart and put us back together again within the space of about two minutes, simultaneously making us weep and smile. Folk music carries more than its share of pain so a festival would appear to provide of plenty emotional disintegration and with a collective known as Cultural Dub Orchestra already on the stage when I arrive, this pain is brought into focus. A quartet, their songs use folk instrumentation, guitar and bass, along with Indian percussion to create a background for a melody of eastern intervals played on the violin. Introducing one of their instrumentals, the bass player informs us that its haunting melody was inspired by the end of a relationship, in this case with the violinist; their musical bond, apparently strong enough to withstand even their personal break up. For John Moreland, the pain is in loneliness; the line “I thought I was somebody nobody could love” from the song “On Julia” captures this painful self loathing. It seems a bit lazy to describe someone of Moreland’s physique as a “bear of a man” but it is also difficult to think of anything more apt. He is formidable, his size complemented by a huge beard and tattoos that mark the contours of his arms. Across his knuckles, the letters Oklahoma spell out the name of his home state, along the freeways of which he should be tearing along on his hog. He says little and his deep gravelly voice fits his appearance but the words to his songs show the sensitivity and insecurity behind this rampant display of masculinity.

More Americana follows in the form of Courtney Marie Andrews. Despite her elfin looks and tender years, she is 26 but looks younger, she has already spent over a decade on the road, both as a solo artist and as lead guitarist for Damien Jurado. Her sixth album, “Honest Life” was released earlier this year and this, together with the short European tour that brings her to Moseley, is starting to introduce her the wider audience her work deserves. Her clear voice caresses every word, adding the country inflexions that mean comparisons with Emmylou Harris do not flatter her. In keeping with her delivery, her songs tell stories of the everyday lives of those down on their luck and are full of longing and regret. The hollow emptiness of the first song, “How Quickly a Heart Mends”, is typical,“The jukebox is playin’ a sad country song; For all the ugly Americans; Now I feel like one of them.” whilst also hinting that redemption is offered through change. Ryan Adams has described Andrews as a “phenomenal songwriter” and this brilliant set, which also included a new song; “Long Road Back to You”, shows that she is also a compelling live performer. Two incredible acts already, and it is still only mid afternoon.

With Andrews still on the stage packing up her guitar, the man standing next to me turns to his companion and mutters, “it’s downhill from now on”. With a scowl on his face, he strides past the Lunar stage where John J Presley, don’t call him Elvis, he hates it, is starting his set. His deep hoarse voice and sparse thumping accompaniment was perfect for his remorse filled bluesy songs. It does, however, give a possible explanation for the flounce that had just occurred next to me. Moseley has a record of booking good American acts and with these occurring so early in the day, the rest of the evening starts to look very parochial. This Sceptred Isle, however, has its own stories to tell and in Seth Lakemen there is someone to tell them. Rather than painful introspection, the themes Lakeman explores are bigger. Driven along by a ferocious beat and accompanied by his fiery violin,  “The Hurlers” sets this out: “Come on make your choice; Where you stand”; the mixture of traditional folk songs and Lakeman’s own focus on the dehumanising exploitation of workers by the oppressive forces that control them. “The Colliers” is a harrowing account of the death of 140 miners resulting from negligence and a criminal disregard for the safety of those working underground. Lakeman largely ignores the ballads of his most recent album to present a lively set with the showmanship of the performance offering a stark contrast to the bleak themes he explores.

After sparse beauty of break-up songs Kiwi style with Nadia Reid, whose pain is particularly raw even compared to what we have already heard, the light pop of The Magic Numbers offered the promise of some relief. Starting with their best know song, “Love’s A Game”, everything is as it should be but as they move on to their new material, that they are using this slot as an opportunity to work through, the bright hooks are replaced by a dull loud grunge. There is no doubting the intensity they commit to this but as they finish with the easy charm of “Love Me Like You” you can’t help but feel that something has been lost. If hummable melodies and bright arrangements caused the moans earlier, then I’m guessing the man has not been looking forward to the headline. Amy Macdonald may not seem an obvious choice for a folk festival but for the organisers, her popularity brought in plenty of fans, many of whom were crowding around the stage long before her appearance. These fans seem to fit into two main groups; on the one hand girls in their early twenties are here to relive the music of their adolescence, for the group next to me made up for a night out and wearing smart leather jackets, this appeared to be their first experience of a festival and I wondered whether they had been there long enough to have the life changing experience of visiting the toilets. In introducing her, Janice Long mentions that she was one of the few acts that she worked with that her mother showed an interest in, drawn in by her voice. It is impossible to discuss Macdonald without commenting on her voice; clear and powerful, it accounts for her popularity amongst an older audience who wait alongside the younger fans.

Macdonald turned thirty about a week before the festival and this may, in part, explain her decision to perform here. In between songs, she often notes how the sparse arrangements and pared back show provide a change from the concert halls in which she normally performs. She is also at pains to remind us that with over 12 million sales of her work, she is enormously popular, betraying at a little insecurity through being well out of her comfort zone. This is, however, exactly what she wanted; she has been recording and performing music since she was a teenager and as an adult has known nothing else. With a potential career lasting many decades ahead of her, however, she could well be looking for a direction that involves more than just repeating the innocent songs she wrote in her youth and which may not mean that much to her now. This could well signify a change of direction that will help to shape her music in the years to come. She mostly pulls it off, the band create some wonderfully atmospheric textures for the songs to which Macdonald herself occasionally adds a second guitar and despite the absence of any percussion, many of the songs are driven by a lively rhythm, particularly the wonderfully exuberant “Dream On”. Her voice is strong, clear and shows the power she is renowned for although at times it does feel a little too strident above the sparse arrangements. Generally she gets away with this; many of her songs could be described as power ballads which often show a tendency to resort to motivational cliches; “Don't worry ‘bout the little things; Keep fighting; Keep trying” as she sings in the opener, “Under Stars”. Here her voice works perfectly but if she looking for that change in direction, you can’t help but feel that both her writing and singing need to become a little more nuanced. As an encore she does a beautiful cover of Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” that shows both the restraint and subtlety that she will need, the challenge will be to apply this to her own material.

It has been a glorious day but with the sun having long since departed and a cloudless sky above us, I am suddenly aware of how cold it has become; the shorts that earlier had seemed ideal now leaving the bottom of my legs exposed so it is a while before I am fully aware of what my feet are doing. The stumbling way in which I weave my way towards the exit draws disapproving looks from others no doubt feeling that at my age I should know my limits. A beautiful day of mostly sad songs then but we have always known that sad songs can also be so uplifting. This gives me such a warm glow that I manage to deal with the lad in a VW who cuts across the front of me at the roundabout at Halesowen without calling him a twat. By then, however, the list is being compiled, the acts are being put into rank order, the highlights confirmed. I may agree with my grumpy friend that these came early but that is not to say that the rest of the day was not thoroughly enjoyable. A great start to this great festival.

[pendragonfics]

Detective, Detective

Paring: Jake Peralta/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, fluff with plot, amnesia, abduction, butcher - occupation

Summary: Jake Peralta is in a pickle. It comes with his line of work...just not usually like this.

Word Count: 1,194

Posting Date:  2016-06-16

Current Date: 2017-05-14

Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but, with a gun against his head Jake Peralta, one of the best detectives in the 99th Precinct of Brooklyn, thought otherwise. It might have been the first time in thirty years he had shut up at the right time. Maybe if Jake had done it earlier, he wouldn't have been in the middle of this whole mess.

"So, my buddies and I are going to ask you a question. I'm takin' this gun off of you, and you're gonn answer. Got it?" the heavily accented man told him. Jake tried his best to assess where he was from - Florida? Texas? Flexas? - but his mind was whirring beyond belief in fear. Sure, he'd had better days, where he hadn't been gagged and tied up and woke up after being drugged in what he could only assume was someone's basement in New Jersey, but he tried not to think of that.

He could think of many things as the man with sweaty baloney-smelling hands took off the pantyhose from around his face. Jake could think of Rosa scowling over her cool aviator sunglasses about how he was a dumb-ass getting into the situation single-handedly, or hot dog vendors and puppy videos on the internet and free comic book day downtown at his favourite stoor. But what he thought of, really, when he had all these things flying around in his overworking mind, was _____ ______, the second best detective in the nine-nine. His best friend, and, according to Boyle, his 'lover'. Yeah, you two made out a lot and did Valentine's Day gifts and attended couples events, but he didn't think there was a label for how cool the two of you meshed.

Jake thought a terrible thought that he would never see ______ again.

"Hey! I'arm talkin' to you!"

"Mmm-hmm," Jake hummed. He flexed his jaw, and blinked a lot. The pistol was away from his face, thank goodness. He was a cop and even with his practice he didn't much like firearms waved around, let alone put on someone's body part. "I hear you."

Slap. "No smart-arsing, son," the man who held the gun scowled. Licking his teeth, he paced around the chair Jake was strapped into better than a baby's car seat in a soccer mom's minivan. Just before he took a deep breath, Jake noticed two things; one, his breath also smelt of meat, and that he almost looked like Garret from Agents of S. H. I. E. L. D.

"Are you gonna interrogate 'im or not?" a buff man grumbled.

"Shut yer' cake-ole, Berkley!" Jake flinched. If there wasn't a hundred percent chance he would be shot on site if he complained, he would immediately do so, and begin with the unnecessary scare tactics. He'd already pissed himself. "Alright. So, Jack -,"

Jake frowned. "Jack?"

The men shared a look between themselves. "Jack Patterson?"

Jake shook his head. "No-ope." he popped the 'p' slightly. "Wait. Did you guys kidnap me and drag me to New Jersey to hold hostage and get the wrong guy?" his eyes bulged in incredulity. "I assume you're after this Jack guy."

The buff man who spoke up before palmed his forehead. "You got the wrong guy, Berkley."

Garret from Agents of S. H. I. E. L. D's lookalike waved his hand around in confusion. It was also the same hand which held his gun. "How am I to know - he looks almost the same as the guy, and his name sounds the same -,"

Jake made a noise. "How'd you know my name? I'm not in uniform."

The one who had taken the pantyhose gag off took Jake's phone out from his pocket, and showed him the screen. The background, a picture of him and _____ was filled with texts - texts from _______. "This person kept sending you messages, calling you by your name, dude."

With limited movement, Jake gestured to the chair he was almost fused to. "Want to help a guy out, fellas?"

Before anyone could move, the sound of a door being kicked in sounded from behind him. "Nobody move! NYPD!" a familiar voice rang in his ears.

"Hands in the air, you're under - Jake?"

He perked up. "_______?"

Jake wasn't sure. There were a lot of familiar voices he knew that sounded a lot like ______'s voice. It could be Santiago or Terry for all he knew; Jake could have been still affected by the drug they used to knock him out.

"Oh, Jake - how is it you manage to get yourself into trouble so much?" _______ hummed. Jake, glancing up saw your face concentrating on the untying of his bonds. "I mean, I turn my back for five minutes -,"

He shook his head. "You were reading a cafe menu and I went to get a hot dog from the vendor and then I woke up here. It's not your fault!" He protested.

The face of _______ raised an eyebrow. "Why were you going to get a hot dog? You had just eaten lunch."

Jake shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, well. You found me though, so that's good."

"Peralta. How you manage to play nonchalant after what has happened, I will never know, but Jake ..." _______ looked into his eyes, their (e/c) eyes searching his, "Please be more careful. I - I love you. I don't want to see you get hurt ... I know we're in a bad job for that, yeah, but please take care."

Jake is still. He hasn't taken a breath since their pause, and his mind is racing. It's a lot to process, those three words _______ has  just confessed.

________. They love him.

"Babe ..." They whisper. "Talk to me. Oh, God, shit. Sorry. Shit. You - I'm sorry," you wince. "Geez, I thought -,"

He cuts _______'s spiel, leaning forward, still tied up, into their face, and almost too quickly but so slow, Jake is kissing them. It's magic, it's perfect. It's what he wants.

"Love you too, babe," he whispers.

"Peralta. _______."

He looks up, to see the familiar voice. It's Captain Holt.

"Captain," _______'s voice is weak, possibly ashamed to have been kissing a coworker after their drugging and abduction on duty hours.

It's silent for a moment. Then,

"When you are ready with Peralta, I will be outside with the paramedics to assess him. Detective, detective," he bids, and leaves the two of you to your own devices.

"So, is it true?" Jake asks.

"No, I was not reading a menu at that cafe, I was checking out your butt in the reflection of the window," _______ bows their head.

His eyebrows skyrocket. "I do have a winning tushie. No, doof, the love confession. The I love you."

_______ nods. "I've had a crush on your for what, eighteen months? And we've been going out for four of them?"

Jakes eyes widen in surprise. "We've been dating?"

You laugh. "I am so retelling this story at every thanksgiving from now until eternity. The day Jake Peralta forgot I was his pretty significant other due to being drugged by a secret underground ring of butchers and dragged to New Jersey."

#jake peralta #jake peralta x reader #jake x reader #jake peralta fanfiction #brooklyn nine nine #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine nine fanfiction #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

[drink-n-watch]

    Genre : Action, comedy, supernatural, urban fantasy, science fiction.

Episodes: 12

Studio: Bones

  Cities are like people. They’re living things with a mind and personality of their own. Some are calm and reserved, others brutish and loud. There are cities that are such powerful personalities that you can always tell when someone’s spent a little time there. Then there’s Hellsalem’s Lot, a city with such a powerful persona that a Hellsalem citizen can be spotted from a mile away. OK, half of them are weird looking aliens and the other half such hardened and blasé humans that they really should count as a distinct species. It’s an exciting place to be, without a second worth of boredom, if you can survive it. So what is a gentle soul like Leonardo Watch doing there? And how is it that in a city ruled by ruffians and overrun by monsters, a nice guy is slowly changing everything?

I randomly decided to pick up the first season of Blood Blockade Battlefront a bit before Halloween and was delighted to find that it had a Halloween specific episode to easily fit into my Halloween posting schedule. I just wrote the word Halloween a lot. I speak my posts in my head, so it’s starting to sound weird… I really enjoyed that first season and I knew I was going to watch the second one sooner rather than later. How awesome is it that the second season has a New Year’s and Holiday themed episode! Talk about kismet!

I hate it when this happens

In many ways, I found that the second season of Blood Blockade Battlefront (and Beyond) felt more like a first season. As much on the production front as the narrative one. If you’ve read my review for season 1, you may remember that I considered it stunning. I still do. The scenery, the cityscapes and the wonderful framing and scale is still present. But the visuals do seem a little pared down this time around.

There are much fewer scenes with countless extras and background characters. The action is still as fluid, but art style gets a bit less detailed. It’s a beautiful looking series on its own, but when you compare it to the first season, it looks a touch less polished.

On the flipside though, the voice actors have clearly gotten more at ease with the characters and what I thought was a great sounding voice cast has turned into a wonderfully cohesive ensemble that seems to be truly enjoying the material. In fact, if visuals might have subjectively gone down a notch, sound design on all levels has improved. Except for the ED. I loved that season 1 ED!

the city is still gorgous

And when I say the show feels like a season 1 in the narrative as well, that’s not a bad thing. The actual premise of the show was roughly established in the first season, although it’s a slightly messy show in that regard and the story always felt a bit disjointed. This season though has a much more focused narrative and actually started to establish the various characters in a way that truly got me to understand and are about everybody like never before.

So much of the world-building and character development happened this season rather than the last. And that may be brilliant.

I really enjoyed the storylines this time around. Although a bit more episodic in structure with narratives moving from one character to the next, establishing the personalities and history of each, rather than some larger overarching storyline, episodes somehow felt more connected to one another.

connections are great!

In many ways, the theme of season 2 of Blood Blockade Battlefront (and Beyond) is perfect for a Christmas viewing, because, at its core, it’s a story about families. Biological, nuclear or found. It’s about the bonds that hold us together and how the people around us shape the person we become. And it was very pretty.

Blood Blockade Battlefront and Beyond is a silly show that does everything at breakneck speed. It wears its name well as everything is dripping with blood and fighting but in a cartoony comedic way. Objectively, the body count must be astronomical, yet I would call it a feel-good show. But when it calms down a bit and concentrates on the characters, it truly shines and is often unexpectedly touching.

For instance, I don’t recall a series having quite so many working parents and honestly addressing the difficulties working mothers face in balancing home and career. We truly see that every member of Libra is a distinct individual, with their own set of values and beliefs and how those can be smoothly integrated into a working whole. And in a beautiful but of bookending, season 2 ends in the same way season 1 did. With a brother and sister who really love each other and want to save one another.

By balancing equal parts zany over the top action and small emotional human stories, Blood Blockade Battlefront and Beyond ended up becoming an entertaining and joyful celebration of relationships in all forms that left me eager to celebrate the coming holidays with the ones I love (by watching anime if I can trick them into it!)

K.K.’s husband also rocks – great ladies attract great men

Favourite character: KK (loved her before but now I actually know why) and Steven (we barely got to know him in season 1 but it turns out he may be the wildcard character of the ensemble)

What this anime taught me: It’s always worth giving a chance for people to betray you.

The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind.

Suggested drink: Alexander’s Sister (close enough)

Every time Leo is having a bad day – take a sip

Every time there’s an instance of casual murder – take a sip

Every time we see Klaus’ cross – take a sip

Every time we see Michella – cheer

Every time there’s a cat – take a sip

Every time a member of Libra ends up all bandaged up – raise your glass

Every time anyone’s getting drunk – join them

Every time Chain lands on someone – take a sip

Every time Leo gets mugged – feel bad for him

Every time anyone mentions their kid – take a subtle sip

I’ve decided to stick to Pinterest for my screencaps. It’s just more fun and easier to update for me.

    Blood Blockade Battleground and Beyond – If You Can Make it There… Genre : Action, comedy, supernatural, urban fantasy, science fiction. Episodes: 12 Studio: Bones Cities are like people.

#action #anime #Blood Blockade Battlefront #comedy #Halloween #sci fi #supernatural #urban fantasy