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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

Note

hey Steph, really adore your blog. I saw your ask about s3 and s4 John and his anger. do you have any pics that deal with that? I think his anger is caused by his jealousy. he loves Sherlock and is deeply insecure about S's love for him. I'd love to find some fics that actually deal with all of that. thank you. x

Hey Nonny!!

I DO!!! Been waiting for another ask to finally get this list up and out! Hope you find something you enjoy on this one! <3

ANGRY / CRANKY JOHN

See also:

Jealous John b/c of Other People

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose.

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

Baskerville After Dark by Ttime42 (T, 1,921 w., 1 Ch. || THoB, Friendship, Humor, Bed Sharing, Missing Scenes, Cranky John, Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have to share a bed at Baskerville. Gen, but can be preslash.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w., 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) – “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John's bedroom is now a research library. It's not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They're friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it's not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It'll be fine.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John's danger days.

Extraordinary by ardenteurophile (T, 2,739 w., 7 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Romance, Second Person POV Sherlock, Pre-Slash) – Sherlock tries to understand his preoccupation with one Doctor John Watson - the one case he can never solve.

BBCSH 'The Comfort of Company' by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It's a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w., 1 Ch. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John's conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn't seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can't tell what's real and what's not. How will Sherlock react?

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

This Year by DiscordantWords (T, 6,283 w., 2 Ch. || TEH Divergence / No Mary, New Year’s Eve, John’s A Mess, Jealous John, Awkward Conversations, Trapped in a Closet, Estranged After Return, John POV, Semi-Reunion, Angry John, First Kiss, Reconciliation, Clueless Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Last year, Sherlock Holmes showed up at the Landmark with a fake moustache and a bad French accent and threw John's entire life into disarray with two words: "Not dead." This year, there are more surprises in store.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – 'I should warn you,' Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.' And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5, 798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalize Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn't count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 28,347 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF / Pre-S3 Divergence, BAMF John, Anger, Fighting, Sex, Bed Sharing, Stalking, Case Fic, John’s Past, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crime, Mythology, Darkness) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. Sherlock finds that coming back is not enough to fix all of the damage that he caused by leaving. A post Reichenbach, post reunion re-discovery fic.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU || Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) – A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock, John Separated From His Child) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #angry john #cranky john #my fic recs #long post

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months. Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling. Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies. You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway. The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head. You people are a terrible influence! Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those. And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk. The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality. Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session. The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb. The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper. It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world. Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here. Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended. “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment. Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services. The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair. People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms. Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed. They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible. In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away. The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really. Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?” But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile. Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up. And up. And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley. His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh. As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product. His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance. But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea. Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired. He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled. “That’s me. And it’s pronounced Beecham. Please, come in Mister Fraser.” She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself. Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied. “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.” She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached. She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well. His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment. She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back. The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh. She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak. This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal. He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No. That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid. Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?” His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time. Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna. Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.” His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace. She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused. Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff. Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office. Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully. “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser. This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five. There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea. Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes. I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression. He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor. I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do. Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken. She practically raised me. And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face. Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight. As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie. If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you. That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting. But I can handle it my own way. I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits. Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it. The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it. The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions. None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you. I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite. Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea. With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly. When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment. Maybe Geillis was right. Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied. “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out. Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade. If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all. And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time. It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art. If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow. Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?”

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other. Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?” Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue.

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.” She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it. Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air. He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued. It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic. She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state. Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up. She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something. Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape. Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become. Your sister obviously loves you. Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes. The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name. No coded symbols flowed from her pen. When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye? Wee fox, tha’ one. And he told me he liked my shortbread!” Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly. “He’s very nice.”

“Nice! Nice? Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky. Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know. And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed. “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late. I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie. Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself. Jamie Fraser is your patient.

#my writing #outlander

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fic-request-blog · 3 years ago

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Making a Life Together (In More Ways Than One)

This was a request by an anonymous here on Tumblr, who has been incredibly patient! The request was essentially “a timeline of Justin and Clifford finding out that Justin is pregnant up to the birth but focusing on coming to terms with being parents.” It turned into a series of vignettes. I tried to make each vignette about the same length for consistency’s sake, but they vary a bit. ~3K.

An up-front note, this is a gen fic that is almost entirely pure fluff with a sprinkle of angst, but heavily revolves around mpreg. Also, this is RPF of the actors for Bakugo and Deku from My Hero Academia.

Making a Life Together (In More Ways Than One)

Week 3

Justin stares. He was having headaches and felt so tired all the time. So, he had… thought, just maybe… just to check…

He drops onto the closed toilet seat, silent. The two little lines stare back at him, just as silent.

The apartment is quiet. He’s woken up early to do this, and the surrounding city is only barely awake. He can hear the neighbor shuffling around her kitchen through the thin walls, can hear the pitter-patter of her cat following for breakfast. The sun is a soft yellow through the curtains, and everything feels a little unreal.

He’ll need to start getting ready for work soon. He should probably get some coffee brewing, so Clifford and he can get going.

Instead, Justin continues to sit quietly, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring into the middle distance. How does he tell Clifford? What if Clifford doesn’t want the baby? Does he even want the baby? What if he doesn’t want the baby? What if he does? He doesn’t have any answers yet. So much is going to change either way.

The sun continues to rise. He takes a deep breath and buries the test in the trashcan under the sink. He’ll tell Clifford once he’s made up his mind. He needs to figure this out, figure out what he wants.

God, they’re not even married yet. Should they get married first? Does he want to marry Clifford? Does Clifford want to marry him?

Placing both hands on either side of the sink, Justin closes his eyes and breathes. His thoughts are whirling too fast to keep up with and the knot of anxiety in his stomach only grows.

Week 6

What is he going to do?

Shivering, Justin rests his head in his hands, closing his eyes against the roiling nausea. The bathroom tiles are cold through his boxers, and he wishes he’d grabbed a pair of sweats, or heck, even a towel, before he’d sunk to the floor. It’s the second morning he’s woken with the need to throw up and he feels terrible.

He needs to tell Clifford soon. He can blame the headaches and fatigue on their demanding recording schedule, but this?

He wants the baby. He’s decided. He’s going to keep the baby, even if Clifford doesn’t want to keep it. Them.

The nausea rises again, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this alone. He can’t do this alone. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Clifford doesn’t want the baby. Will Clifford leave him? Or would he stay at least to see this out? Clifford is a good man, but Justin wouldn’t blame him for leaving. A baby is a lot. They haven’t ever talked about the possibility yet.

Tears spill over as he tries to stay quiet. He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready for any of this.

A sleep muzzy “Babe?” drifts into the room as Justin hears the door creak all the way open and a sob breaks free from him before he can choke it back. It’s loud enough that there’s no way Clifford didn’t hear it, not while he’s standing in the doorway. He should have locked the door.

“Aw, shit, babe,” Clifford whispers, shuffling in to rub a hand over Justin’s back, “you don’t feel good? Why didn’t you get me up? Woulda gotten up with ya.”

The hand on his back is warm and the relief at Clifford’s words is so heavy that Justin curls into himself and weeps. Warm hands turn into warm arms and Justin can’t quite hear what Clifford is saying as he sits right on the floor next to him, pressing his chest to Justin’s back and leaning his head on Justin’s shoulder. Whatever he’s saying, it’s soft and soothing.

Week 7

Justin cries there, on the bathroom floor, with Clifford wrapped around him, warm hands rubbing gently up and down his arms, for a long while.

Clifford opens the door with a sigh, hands going to Justin’s shoulders on autopilot, “You’re not sick, are you?”

Justin doesn’t move, only breathes in shakily as he lets his head hang, pressed against the cool wall beside the toilet, “No.”

It’s quiet. The day is still early. Over the past week, most of their days have started like this. It’s certainly given Justin time to think, to decide.

“I’m pregnant.”

He wants the baby, he’s certain now. He wants Clifford, the man who has woken up and draped blankets over him each morning, murmured soothing words and rubbed his back. There’s no one else. Justin can’t imagine anyone else, can’t imagine doing this with anyone else, can’t imagine growing old with anyone else. He wants to marry Clifford, wants this to be permanent.

One step at a time.

There’s no gasp behind him. No exclamation of surprise or worry. Just the reassuring hands rubbing circles over his shoulders, pressing gently into his back.

“Okay.”

Justin frowns, eyes closed against the wall, “That…that’s it?”

He could practically see the way Clifford shrugged, the familiar motion playing behind his eyelids, “I mean, it was a little obvious. What…what do you want to do?”

“I want to keep the baby.” I want to stay with you. I want you to stay with me. Marry me. The list goes on, but Justin keeps that to himself. Now…now’s not the time.

“Okay.”

Unable to stand the tension, Justin cracks his eyes open, peering at Clifford, “What do…what do you want?”

This time he watches the shrug in real time.

“I don’t know. I want to stay with you.”

For the first time in weeks, Justin feels light. He feels a smile spread across his face, eyes closing again against the nausea, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Week 12

“Okay.”

Morning sun streams through their window, warming Justin’s bare belly. He hums, still drifting between sleep and wakefulness. It’s a good morning.

“Oh my god Justin,” Clifford startles up, slapping a hand onto Justin’s arm, “oh my god, we should have taken you to a doctor by now. Oh my god, what are we doing?”

Pure terror rests on Clifford’s face and Justin can’t help but laugh, “I have no idea what we’re doing. But, yeah, we should probably start figuring things out soon.”

If Justin thinks things were busy before, things become absolutely insane over the next few weeks. There are doctor visits, planning for what they need for the baby, and shit, do they need to get a house? Is this apartment enough space for a baby? Can they even afford a house? What if their jobs require them to continue to move around? Should they just get a new apartment that’s bigger?

There are so many questions to answer and so many appointments, neither of them has the time to think much about anything but now and the immediate future.

They make lists. They find lists online. They get lists assigned to them by doctors.

They tell their friends. They tell their families. There are a lot of tears, mostly happy, on the part of everyone involved. Clifford’s grin, his warm hand spread across the small of Justin’s back, his pride in their baby, get Justin teary-eyed faster than any of the warm wishes.

Week 18

They’re definitely happy tears.

He’s been wearing baggy shirts for the past few weeks, but the bump is getting harder to hide. There’s a full-length mirror in their bedroom, a remnant of a past tenant, and Justin has never spent more time in front of it.

Happiness bubbles up, unbidden. Clifford is making pasta in the kitchen, singing along badly to the radio. Water drips from Justin’s hair, still wet from the shower, as he hikes his sweats up, eyes drawn yet again to the mirror. It won’t be that long before he’ll need new clothes. He hopes the rest of the cast takes this as well as Clifford has.

He sees motion in the mirror, then hands circle around his waist and Justin leans back, threading his fingers through Clifford’s as they rest on his belly, “Hey babe, dinner?”

“Mmm, yeah, thanks.”

They don’t move immediately, standing together in their bedroom, the setting sun painting the room in orange and red. They sway a little.

“Hey.”

Justin hums, raising one of his brows in question, eyes closed as he relaxes more firmly against Clifford’s chest.

“Marry me.”

Justin gasps, eyes flying open to find Clifford’s in the mirror. He looks…serious. Determined in a way he rarely shows.

“What?”

The mouth pressed to his shoulder frowns, “Marry me?”

It’s clearly a question this time, and Justin realizes Clifford thinks he’s hesitating, not that he’s caught off guard, caught by surprise in his reflection. Tears pool at the edges of his vision and he watches Clifford’s face go tight with worry, feels the man start to pull away.

“Yes,” he nearly sobs, “yes.”

He twists in Clifford’s arms and kisses him until the tears stop coming. Clifford is going to stay. They’re going to do this together. He’s not sure why he ever doubted.

Week 22

If dinner is cold when they get to it, neither of them notice.

Between planning for the baby, continuing work, and now deciding their wedding plans, Justin is exhausted. Resting on the couch, he sighs, pouting slightly at his phone. Clifford is running the last of the day’s errands, and Justin just wants him home to fall asleep on. He texts Clifford to buy ice cream and tosses his phone onto the couch, scrolling through movie options. Nothing much is on.

He wriggles to adjust the pillow behind him and sighs again, closing his eyes. Maybe he can nap until Clifford gets back…

Something…flutters? against his stomach, but from the inside. Like a tap. It happens again and Justin sits up fully, eyes wide, hands pressing to his stomach.

The baby. It’s the baby! He can feel his baby kicking!

Gently, Justin slides his hands across his belly, heart jumping each time he feels the fluttering. He’s never felt anything like it. Closing his eyes again, Justin sits back.

The doctors have assured him the baby is healthy, that there’s been no complications, but this… This proof that his baby is alive and well comforts him more than any words.

It hits home, how real this is. He’s going to have a baby; he’s going to be a father. Maybe he’s not sure if he’s ready yet, but here he sits, making a new life right inside him. There have been few moments in his life that have felt more awe-inspiring, more humbling.

When Clifford returns, kicking off his sneakers and dropping the groceries in the kitchen, Justin is smiling up from the couch, hands still holding his belly softly. Clifford kisses him quietly, frowning as he wipes at the tears at the corners of Justin’s eyes.

“You okay, babe?”

Week 26

Justin reaches up to kiss him on the cheek, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

Things are starting to fall together. Well, more like be carefully put together with a lot of sweat, tears, and even blood when Clifford managed to cut himself while putting together an IKEA crib. (Justin’s not sure he’s ever heard Clifford swear that much at once. The cut was so small, Justin laughed the whole time. He still held Clifford’s hand through the outburst though.) They’ve worked hard for this and as Justin snuggles into Clifford’s side a bit more, head pillowed on his chest, pride swells.

He didn’t think…he didn’t think Clifford would be like this. Clifford is a good man, a wonderful partner, a brilliant fiancé, but Justin couldn’t have hoped for how good of a father he seems like he’ll be.

Clifford is doting, kind and caring even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone himself. He rubs Justin’s feet when they ache, holds Justin when everything feels like too much after a long day, and grows more and more boastful about their baby by the day. Trying not to wake Clifford, Justin stifles a giggle. The poor barista at the coffee shop down the road probably knows more about their baby than she wants. Just yesterday, Justin had overheard Clifford bragging to him mom, of all people, about all the good news from the doctors, about all the preparations to the apartment and the

Justin’s smitten.

His musings are interrupted by a warm hand clumsily stroking down his chest to rub soothingly at his belly, “M’rnin.”

Justin plants a kiss to Clifford’s shoulder, smile widening, “Morning.”

They lay there, basking in each other’s company, until Justin jolts. His hands fly to his belly as the baby kicks again, his smile turning into something a little more akin to a grimace. They certainly don’t have to worry about the health of their baby. The kicks have only grown stronger over the last few weeks and the doctor had assured them they’d get stronger still.

He huffs a laugh as the tantrum abates, twisting his neck to look up at Clifford, a funny remark about the baby already being more like Clifford poised on his lips. The thought dies at the look of awe in Clifford’s eyes, his open-mouthed shock.

“That’s the first time I’ve felt the baby move, Justin.”

He says it quietly, reverently, and Justin’s face crumbles into a fond smile.

Yes, he’s truly smitten.

Week 30

He’s so smitten he doesn’t even mention the call Clifford makes to his mom later that day, or about how long it lasts.

Justin had always thought the idea of child birthing classes was strange, but he’s thankful for them now. There’s so much he didn’t know, so many questions he has. When another person in the class raises her hand to ask about something he had just experienced last week, he feels so much better. It’s reassuring.

Though, he’s pretty sure these classes aren’t just for the people who are actually giving birth. Most everyone’s partner attends as well, and at every opportunity, they’re comparing and boasting.

And to Justin’s mortification, Clifford is the worst of them. He tells the class all about the renovations to their apartment to make the best nursery possible, the good news from the doctor, the strong kicks they can feel from the baby, even the cravings Justin has been getting for tacos. Clifford describes it as a constant battle to show who are the best parents. Justin describes it as ridiculous.

If Justin weren’t so charmed, he’d melt into his chair out of embarrassment. Luckily, their instructor is good at getting them all back on track during class.

He can’t believe he’s already in the third trimester. It feels like all of this is flying by. The doctor said he only had ten more weeks before the baby, barely three months! He feels like all of this just started, like only yesterday he was sitting in the apartment bathroom hoping Clifford might at least stay with him for the pregnancy.

Week 36

Now, watching idly as Clifford continues a story about how they got the best baby monitor on the market, all his fears seem so far away, almost silly.

They decide on a small officiation, just a few friends and their parents, for now. With the baby coming soon and still more planning to be done, the big wedding will have to wait. He’d like to invite far more people, to have as many flowers as Clifford will allow adorning the venue.

All of this has happened so fast. They both want it to be official though, before the baby arrives. It’s not like their families will care (it’s pretty clear neither he nor Clifford is going anywhere, after all), but it just feels…right. The permanence, the promise, is comforting.

On a Tuesday afternoon, they cram themselves into the local clerk’s office. The clerk is kind and makes the paperwork easy for them. Even though their vows are short versions of what they plan for the big wedding, Justin is crying by the time they exchange rings. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so happy, if Clifford wasn’t smiling at him like he hung the moon, if his parents weren’t crying just as much behind them.

It’s a sunny Tuesday afternoon and Justin is in love with his husband. And his husband loves him back!

It’s official. They’re married.

And in just a few weeks they’ll be parents.

Week 39

He couldn’t imagine being here only a year ago. He thinks now, with Clifford’s hand in his, with the warmth of the ring on his finger, he might just be ready, too.

“Clifford! The baby is coming!”

There’s a clatter from the kitchen. Breathing slowly, Justin wraps a hand protectively over his belly as he stands from the couch. Clifford appears in the doorway only a second later, face a picture of shock, “But, the doctor said you still have another two weeks!”

Justin looks him dead in the eye, “Get in the car.”

Clifford doesn’t argue.

The drive to the hospital feels as though it happens in the blink of an eye and simultaneously like the longest ride Justin has ever taken. They arrive and Justin loses track of what the people bustling around him are doing. There are too many lights and too many people talking. The only constant is Clifford’s hand, big and warm, holding fast to his own.

They tell him to breathe. He breathes.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but the baby comes, and Justin is so tired he can’t protest when the doctor tells him to sleep.

It’s light out when Justin wakes, sluggishly sitting up in the hospital bed. Clifford sits beside him, tired but grinning. In his arms is a little bundle. He motions to hand Justin their baby without a word. Justin nods, too overcome to finds any himself.

The blanket wrapped around their baby is soft and warm. He stares down with wonder. Their baby. He looks up to find Clifford close, smiling softly at them. It’s a perfect moment and Justin lets himself cry into Clifford’s shoulder.

They’re going to be fine. All three of them. Everything is going to be fine. They’re together, they’ll do this together, and that’s what matters.

#clifford chapin x justin briner #RPF #mpreg #gen #angst #fluff #coming to terms with parenting #actually it's mostly fluff

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mainviper · 4 years ago

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The new player card Reyna x Viper has my mind racing for answers and I love the theory you posted sooo....

Caaaan we get a one shot? 🥺

I'm so sorry it took me that long to answer @boxedyogurt , I tried to compensate working really hard on this one

Reyna x Viper Card • Poor Unfortunate Soul

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Regina was only six years old. She loved ice cream, her teddy bear which she affectionately named "Tactic Bear", and dreamed with a better life. She was very loved by her parents and older sister, but when she was seven years old everything changed.

Pains started to appear, the girl was getting more aggressive and hardly slept anymore. Her eyes didn't focus and sometimes it was possible to see them completely purple, when she slept she had nightmares and several attempts to wake her and get her out of this terror failed, the girl had a superhuman strength and almost killed her family several times .

So, when her older sister discovered that there was a convention on radiants going on in the city, she didn't think twice about going after ANY answer that could help the girl. She arrived at that Congress, signed up with the justification of wanting to pursue a career in science, since it was her last year of high school she had a priority. Reyna didn't want to be a scientist, nor was she interested in the study of radianite, she just wanted to save her family.

So when she saw the lecture of a young scientist, perhaps five or six years older than she, on the technological advancement and security that contained the Kingdom Corporation's experiments, her naive teenage heart believed her.

And Sabine believed it too. When they signed the contract, her idea was that in a year the girl would be recovered.

She met little Regina and became enchanted with her, made her mission in the world to save the girl from all the evil she was experiencing. She also enjoyed talking to young Reyna, explaining to her what they were doing so that the girls' parents would understand. She let the teenager stay in her laboratory to calm her sister, played with the stuffed animals that the girl brought and tried her best to make it very clear that she was on their side. Always.

After a year, her colleague and best friend was relocated to help with the case. Frederick was an excellent chemist and his analyzes were essential to reduce the pain that the girl had throughout her body. Fred, Sabine and Reyna talked until after work to find solutions and discover the source, the root of the problem.

Two years passed, something was beginning to change in Regina. She grew and became quieter, more restrained, her eyes lost their brightness and became more wild. Control of her, when she went into “radiant mode” was gone and she was capable of anything. These tantrums were frequent when her sister was not around and when she felt threatened. Due to her extraordinary strength, she ended up attracting the attention of Kingdom's Weapon team.

Three years passed before the extension of Regina's power reached a level that no one foresaw. War agents made weekly visits, no matter how much Sabine loathed interruptions, they only increased.

Frederick was examining the girl, the pain was starting to return and it was necessary to have a blood test.

Reyna was on vacation from college, she was on her sister's side and saw one of the agents at the door. She didn't want to let go of her little sister's hand, only that the girl insisted that the man stay.

At this time when the two separated, the girls' parents began to view the sessions as routine, she was left under the tutelage of Sabine and Frederick, and while the two argued at the end of each "consultation", Regina made a friend. He constantly asked about her day, always praised her and said that she should not try to limit herself, that her radianite should be a source of pride. He even gave a plush sloth to give Tactic Bear some company, so the only thing Regina wanted to do was impress him.

Reyna's hands started to burn, the older sister asked the youngest to stop but the girl would not let go. Her eyes shone in a purple tone and her body started to hover in the air, Reyna cried begging for mercy. The girl screamed and all the windows on the floor shattered, the two fell together but the older one passed out.

Sabine ran to help them both, but saw that Reyna's case was serious, she took the matter in her own hands, asked for a full list of tests, did all the procedures to ensure that nothing but that black circle on the teen's shoulder was the result of the accident but there was one more thing: she didn't wake up. All the tests done showed that there was no change in Reyna but she didn't open her eyes, nor responded to any stimulus and no one, not even the young and brilliant doctor, would know why.

Frederick stayed with the other sister while Sabine ran and tried in vain to bring Reyna back to consciousness. The girl panicked, she started crying hysterically and said it was all her fault, that she just wanted to show what she was capable of, that she SERVED to help. The chemist's heart sank, he hugged her and comforted her.

That day was the start of a huge battle in Kingdom Co.

Sabine and Frederick against the entire War department, the two refused to give information and claimed that the patient couldn't be treated as a weapon of mass destruction, after all, she was a human being, just a girl who was very frightened and blamed herself for almost losing her sister.

Sabine became obsessed with finding a solution, she worked day and night in search of a way out and five years after they started treatment it finally came.

Regina was eleven, her sister was in a coma for two years and all she wanted most was to get the radianite out of her. Her parents agreed, they asked for this to be the case and against all their beliefs the war department wanted to help find a way to channel the girl's energy.

An intern presented a device, something capable of sucking the radianite from spaces without the need for mining.

It was a prototype. And Sabine hated it.

Of course, technological advancement was incredible in her eyes, but what she loathed most was the prospect of using it on a patient.

Every part of that idea she tried in vain to argue and bring risks to parents and staff. She knew that she had lost when even Frederick admitted that the idea was a good one, that it could work, almost choked him for saying that in front of the patient's family. Could it work? Yes. But it could go terribly wrong and then they would have lost not only Reyna but Regina.

Years of study, years of experiences to treat the girl and to understand how a radiant body worked would be thrown in the trash. She was almost deciphering, almost mapping the powers and body composition of young Regina completely. No one had any idea how important her research was for the development of new technologies that would help other patients and, well, she loved working with that family so much.

They explained the whole process to her.

She provided some data so that nothing could go wrong.

She promised to follow everything closely, Frederick said that he would put the girl himself and tie her in the extraction room.

When the day came, she went to visit Reyna. Not that she stopped, Sabine took care of the young woman almost every day, saw her grow old on that stretcher, confided things to her and even though she knew she couldn't be heard she continued. She apologized for not having any answers and for not finding another alternative for "hermanita". Intubated on that stretcher, the young woman seemed to show a peaceful expression almost every day, but her doctor noticed something different.

She seemed to suffer. The black circle on her shoulder took on a purple color at its edges.

A very bad feeling started, she called Frederick asking him to wait for her to be there to start.

"We are about to start, the team's agenda is very busy. I'll be in with Regina in five minutes."

Sabine ran off when she hung up the phone. The procedure was scheduled for two in the afternoon ... How much time did she spend with Reyna? How could she lose track of time in such a reckless way? She looked at her watch and yes, they were almost late. If she ran she would have time to get to the front building.

To this day, Viper doesn't know how she survived.

When she entered the elevator everything seemed normal, but when she leaved she was faced with the huge wreckage of an accident. People were running desperately everywhere, and she was incredulous walking, but then running to the center of everything. Her heart beated faster and faster as she approached, she fought the desperate tide of colleagues and patients trying to save themselves. Screams echoed, people agonized beside her, but she was hipnotizedd by the scene she encountered.

Regina, her little and beloved patient, was lying in the middle of everything. Her eyes were completely empty, she didn't move and as she touched the girl, Sabine realized that the worst had happened. There was no sign of Frederick or the girl's parents. In the midst of the rubble, she hugged the girl and cried. Trying in vain to bring her back, patting her face and calling her name.

Another explosion occurred in the building where she had left. Sabine watched Reyna's floor go completely dark for a moment and a purple glow came out of the young woman's window. She screamed, and to her surprise, Regina's sister appeared. She was staggering, barely able to steady her own feet, but what caught Viper's attention was not the sudden awakening, but the color of Reyna's eyes and the black circle that now enveloped the woman's entire arm with some lines that looked like a tattoo.

She was filled with a purple aura that grew stronger and stronger as she approached the doctor. An orb, hovering over Regina's head appeared, had a strange and supernatural shape, Reyna raised her hand and pulled the orb towards herself.

Viper would never forget that scene, the terror of people around her, panic, Reyna's wrath and how many lives she took. People who were struggling to get out of there, who had either been buried in the wreckage or crawled to safety, died.

Only one orb hovered beside them, this one, Reyna managed not to take for herself but to place it inside a prism-shaped bottle that she kept. Sabine would stay with it and find a way, she understood who was in it and started crying again, passing Regina into her sister's arms.

And silence was made.

And Reyna came to her senses, with a small sparkling pulse that glowed in her chest. The young woman seemed to have awakened, leaving her stupor and finding terror soon afterwards, when she saw her lifeless sister.

The mexican never blamed Viper for what happened, she remembered the doctor's words while she was in a coma.

The following week Sabine resigned. She refused to pass data on her research with Frederick and was impeached for it. They took away all her professional credibility, Kingdom made sure to ensure that she never worked in her profession again.

And Viper didn't want to either. Her anger at the corporation took shape, and she would make it a point to help and find a way to save radiants before Kingdom got their hands on them and treated them like lab rats.

She moved to another country, went into hiding and started a new degree in chemistry. She still had contact with Reyna and the two visited each other from time to time.

It was after one of those visits that a man knocked on her door. She recognized him as one of the employees of Kingdom's war department, the man who was always talking to Regina and who also liked the girl asked to come in and seemed to be nervous about the situation.

Suspiciously she listened to what he had to say, he told that he spent the last few years trying to contact her, said that he was sorry and wanted to get away from Kingdom too. He felt guilty, but he was not humiliated when he left. The man then proposed the idea of working together, of making the world a better place so what happened to Regina would not be repeated.

Which, according to him, was very close to happening.

The bottle Sabine was carrying, containing Frederick's soul, began to shine and that was how she knew that helping the man would be the right thing to do.

Fortunately, Brim already had a few people in mind and Viper knew exactly where to start.

#valorant #viper #valorant agents #reyna #headcanons #headcanon fic #a little bit of omen #and brim #send asks #ask fic

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pickalilywrites · 4 years ago

Text

a mikahisu au inspired by one of my favorite shows~ please enjoy ^^

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

Do You Still Dream of Me?

MikaHisu. Hotel Del Luna AU.

Like the Moon Loves the Ocean Series: Chapter 1

13252 words.

Read on Ao3!

Armin Arlert hunches over a stack of documents, nibbling on the end of his fountain pen. The pen costs more than his entire outfit — an oversized suit that Armin had fished out of a bin at his local thrift store when he was trying to find a respectable ensemble to wear for the interview that snagged him his current job. Even now, Armin isn’t sure how he managed to get a job as a finance manager at one of the most expensive hotels he’s ever seen in his life. Actually, this might be one of the most extravagant places Armin has ever stepped foot in. He still feels out of place when he arrives in the morning, his polyester suit looking even cheaper against the marble floors and gilded staircase, but nobody ever seems to pay him any mind when he sneaks through the door and scurries away to his office at the far end of the lobby.

His brow furrows as he looks at a particularly confusing set of numbers, numbers that don’t add up the way that they should. Or, well, they’re not adding up in a way that will be satisfying to the hotel owner when he reports the new estimated budget for next month. They’ll have to cut spending once again. At the very least, they need to stop splurging on unnecessary decorations for the hotel and personal luxury expenditures. It’s the same report he’s made every month since he’s been here, but always surprises the hotel manager nonetheless. And she’s never happy to hear it. Armin highly suspects that it’s a major reason why he’s her least favorite hotel staff member even though he’s really just the bearer of bad news.

Ah, how do I break this to her? Armin wonders, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face tiredly. He lets his arms fall to his sides and sits in his chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed as he contemplates his next move. On one hand, the woman can’t possibly fire him because her assets would be entirely in the negatives if he weren’t here to keep her in check. On the other hand, the glare she shoots him as he delivers the bad news is enough for him to wish an abyss would appear and swallow him up on the spot. He briefly wonders if he can lie his way out of it - maybe fudge the numbers so that the woman can live as extravagantly as she desires - but that just seems like a disaster waiting to happen. There really isn’t any way out of it.

Armin sighs once more before opening his eyes ... only to see a set of cold, dead eyes staring back at him.

He’s not sure what kind of noise comes out of his throat as he jumps out of his chair, knocking over the stack of papers he’s been working on and tripping over his chair. He’s still shrieking as the thing approaches him, its hand outstretched as it walks toward him even as he crawls backward up against the wall. Armin can hardly look at it - this ghost of a person, a bloody wound across its neck where it had been decapitated before its untimely death - and he shrinks against the wall as it comes closer and closer.

The door opens just then and the sound of footsteps alerts the ghost, making it turn its head to see who has just entered.

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says. A woman appears, completely calm even though Armin still sits huddled in the corner screaming. She ignores him, her focus entirely on the ghost, to which she offers a warm smile. The woman gestures towards the opened door. “I’m afraid you’ve stumbled into the office of our financial advisor. If you can step into the lobby, our receptionist can assist you in checking into a room at the front desk.”

The ghost looks slowly from the woman and then to Armin. After a long pause, the ghost woman slowly bows to Armin — her form of an apology, Armin supposes — before departing, the door swinging shut behind her.

The woman stares at the closed door for a moment before shifting her attention to Armin. Gone is her professional smile; it’s replaced with an amused expression, laughter stifled behind lips closed in a thin line. She offers a slender hand to Armin to help him up. “I thought you’d be used to our clients by now. Hasn’t it been almost a year since you started working here?”

“Er, yeah,” Armin says sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. He drags his feet to his desk, collecting his papers and dropping them into a messy stack on his desk before collapsing in his chair. Face in hand, he says, “I probably should, but it’s still weird. I can probably see a million ghosts for the next few years, but they’ll always make me jump in my seat. Maybe if they didn’t stop phasing through the walls of my office and sneaking up on me …”

The woman only laughs, and Armin feels a little more relaxed. Mikasa Ackerman, the assistant manager of the hotel, is one of the only hotel staff members Armin feels comfortable around. While the other staff members either roll their eyes or laugh when Armin encounters their ghostly clientele, Mikasa has always been patient with him.

“The next few years,” Mikasa muses, a lopsided smile on her face. She takes a seat in a chair across from him. She leans her elbow on the armrest, her cheek pressed up against her hand. Eyebrow raised, the manager asks, “You really think you’ll be working here for a few more years? Do we not pay you well enough?”

“You’re really underestimating the cost of student loans these days,” Armin sighs, slumping lower in his chair. He reaches for the mug on his desk, bringing it to his lips, and takes a long sip of coffee. It’s cold as it hits his tongue and slides down his throat, and he shudders when it hits his stomach. On second thought, caffeine probably isn’t the best decision considering the fact that he was almost scared shitless only a minute ago. He returns the mug to its coaster, an unsatisfied frown on his face.

“Poor, poor you,” Mikasa coos, eyes crinkling as her smile widens. She sits back, legs crossed and hands placed on her knees. She looks so comfortable here, so much like she belongs in her wool suit, the golden badge that lists her name and title pinned against her breast. If she weren’t so nice, maybe Armin would feel inferior. “It’s kind of your fault for going for a Ph.D. What do you need a doctorate in finance for anyway?”

“I don’t really know what I was thinking, to be honest. I thought maybe I could teach at a university somewhere down the line. Hoped the salary I earned down the line would make the investment worth it, but obviously I didn’t learn anything in my undergrad.” Armin waves his hand around the room. “Anyway, here I am now working at a ghost hotel so that I can pay off my student loans.” It’s probably the biggest mistake of his life next to taking a job at this hotel. Obtaining a Ph.D didn’t give him the salary bump he hoped it would and this was the only place that paid him nearly enough for his years at school.

“Could be worse,” Mikasa says with a shrug. “At least you don’t age while you’re here.”

“Ah, right,” Armin says. That was mentioned as an added perk when he had started to work here, but he hadn’t really believed it at first. Sure, some of his coworkers claim to have been working at this hotel for decades, although most of them look well under the age they say they are. Armin’s not even sure how that’s possible considering the demanding boss they work under. He supposes he’ll find out if it’s true in a few years, assuming he’s still paying off his student loans by then. Armin sits up a bit, eyebrow raised. “How long have you been working here again?”

Mikasa grins. “A little over twenty years.”

The answer isn’t anything new, but it’s always a punch in the gut whenever Armin hears it because it never makes sense to him. Mikasa can’t be older than twenty-seven — and that was pushing it. If she really were working for twenty years, she would have been a child when she had first been employed. Armin thinks she must be joking with him just like the other employees are, but Armin finds that strange too. Mikasa is always friendly with him, but she’s not the type to tell strange jokes.

“Right,” Armin says. He looks at Mikasa cautiously, but her expression tells him nothing.

“Don’t worry. It’s not so bad after a while,” Mikasa says. She leans back, staring back at Armin. Even though she doesn’t look at him threateningly, Armin still shrinks under her gaze.

“How’s your work going, by the way? Any good news for the boss?” Mikasa reaches over, a finger tapping on Armin’s stack of papers.

Armin groans, burying his head in his hands, although it’s more because of the mention of their boss rather than the work itself.

Historia Reiss is the hotelier of the Blutmond, the phantom hotel which Armin finds himself unfortunately employed. Her appearance is anything but intimidating. She wasn’t even close to being five feet tall. With hair of spun gold and aquamarine eyes, the petite woman could be mistaken for a life-sized doll if it weren’t for the terrible scowl on her face. In all of Armin’s time at the Blutmond, he doesn’t think he’s seen her smile once. She glowered the entire time during his interview, never opening her mouth except to ask whether or not he’d be able to balance her account in time for her to buy the latest model Porsche. The woman didn’t even congratulate him when she and Mikasa came to visit him with the news of his new job, only telling him that she expected him to come to work on time and not to make any mistakes with her finances or she’d have his head. He completely believed her and has always double-checked his work at least three times before finalizing his spreadsheets. His other coworkers have insisted that the woman isn’t nearly as frightening as Armin believes her to be, but the way they cower and scurry to put everything in place whenever she steps into the room doesn’t fool him. He’s also heard a curious rumor about her. His coworkers always mention that she’s been here the longest — over a thousand years — although he’s not sure if it’s just a way of them calling her an old hag because the woman doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.

“It’s really not going so great,” Armin says with a pained expression. He flips through some of his papers, pulling out a small stack that documents Historia’s personal expenses. Most of the page is highlighted in bright red. Armin thought the severe color would help convince their boss about his budgeting suggestions at the end of the week. Handing the papers to Mikasa, Armin says, “It’s only been half the month, but Miss Reiss is spending way too much on her credit card already. At this rate, she won’t have enough to buy that caviar that she likes so much.”

“It’s fine. Historia doesn’t actually like caviar that much. She just likes how rich she feels when she eats it,” the manager says absentmindedly. Mikasa flips through the papers, an eyebrow raised, but she doesn’t seem surprised as she reviews Armin’s findings. Once through with them, she straightens them out on the desk. “Maybe I can convince her to get sashimi next time.”

“I’m serious. She really needs to cut down on her spending habits.” He hates how whiny he sounds, but it’s difficult for him not to whine when he’s imagining how infuriated his employer will be when he timidly suggests that she not buy anymore jewelry for the rest of the month. “I mean, does she really need to have twelve different sports cars lining her garage? Where is she even going?”

Mikasa sits with her fingers steepled, a pout on her lips as she looks down at the papers again. She reaches over to thumb through the papers once more before sitting back again. “I guess I can talk to her about it.”

Armin sits up, his mouth shaped in a perfect “O.” “Would you really?” His mind is already going a million miles a minute, thinking about everything he has to review with Mikasa before she presents the information to their boss. Maybe he can show her the presentation slides he prepared in advance. He thought having his notes on an elegant Powerpoint would be much better than him stuttering through his notes while Historia glared at him. A little more energized now, Armin is already clicking through his computer, pulling up the presentation slides for Mikasa to look at. “If you’re really serious, I have some materials that can help you-”

“I’m not,” Mikasa says, an amused smile on her face. She laughs when Armin visibly deflates. “Ah, I feel a bit bad seeing you so disappointed, though. Are you really that scared of her?”

Armin thinks about the little woman, the blue flames that ignite in her eyes whenever he so much as hints at the fact that her shopping sprees should have a cap on them. He shudders. “I’m terrified.”

The woman nods sympathetically. “Alright, I’ll try to talk to her. No promises, though. You know how she feels about these things.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Armin breathes, collapsing against the back of his chair with relief. He knows that most of Historia’s ire will be directed towards him, but he hopes that having Mikasa deliver the news will somehow soften the blow.

“Mhm. You’re going to get used to being in her line of fire though. It’s unfortunate, but it comes with the job of being her finance manager. She’ll always be bad with money no matter how much you tell her not to spend,” Mikasa tells him with a wry smile. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, the sound making Armin jump in his seat. She looks at him, snickering, and pulls her phone out. Mikasa glances at her phone before turning it so that Armin could see the name flashing across the screen - Historia. “Unless you’d like to practice right now.”

Armin, eyes wide and throat closing shut at just the sight of the hotelier’s name, shakes his head.

“Alright, alright,” Mikasa laughs. She stands up, straightening out her blazer. “I’ll stop teasing you and leave you to your work then. And don’t worry about Historia; I’ll take care of her for you.” The manager returns to her phone, swiping across the screen and taking the call.

“Thanks, Mikasa,” Armin says. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out as a squeak, but he finds that he can’t speak knowing that his employer might hear his voice on the other end.

Mikasa simply waves at him, walking towards the door. “Yeah, I’m free, but I’m surprised you’re not calling Levi for something like this,” she’s saying. She pulls open the door, her voice fading as she’s walking out. “No, the work is fine. It’s perfect, actually. I was hoping we could talk about your finances. I just talked to Armin …”

Armin winces at the mention of his name and, as much as he knows he shouldn’t because it’ll only make him feel worse, strains to listen in on the conversation but the wooden door proves too thick of a barrier to let him eavesdrop. Just as well, he thinks as he rests his forehead against the cool surface of his desk. He’ll just get back to work estimating next month’s budget. And, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, praying that he won’t have any more unexpected paranormal visitors today.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Historia sits in the passenger seat of a slick blue Bentley, one of the many luxury cars that line her parking garage. Mikasa has tried to convince the hotelier that one car should be enough, has even tried selling them behind her back only for Historia to buy twice as many cars to replace them. Looking at Historia now, Mikasa understands why the blonde gravitates so naturally to high-end sports cars. In the passenger seat with her golden hair falling behind her back in waves, Historia looks like she could be a model for the luxury brand. Her pastel dress, one that Mikasa is fairly certain has been flaunted on a runway at some point in the past year, is probably worth just as much as the Bentley if not more. Mikasa doesn’t even want to think about how much jewelry that adorns the woman’s neck is worth, although she knows she should probably ask.

“What took you so long?” Historia asks, her scowl breaking the illusion of her pixie-like appearance. She sits up, holding her matching clutch purse in her lap. Her bottom lip sticks out, making her plush pink lips look even more like a doll’s. She looks cute, Mikasa could even say, but she knows the words would only cause Historia to narrow her blue eyes in an irritated glare.

Mikasa slips into the driver’s seat, fishing the car keys from the inside of her breast pocket. “My apologies. I was speaking with Armin before I came here,” she tells Historia. She turns the ignition, the engine purring as the car starts up. “He had some interesting things to say about your finances.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Historia hisses, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It seems to be a common reaction whenever the finance manager is mentioned in the hotelier’s presence. “I don’t want to hear anything he has to say,” Historia sniffs, as if not speaking about it will somehow help her avoid her financial issues. She reaches for the remote, clicking the garage door open so that they can make their exit. “He never has anything good to say to me. All he ever does is bring me bad news. I don’t even know why we hired him.”

“Because you’re terrible at budgeting,” Mikasa answers easily, ignoring the glare that she receives. After working at the hotel for decades, she’s quite used to being at the receiving end of Historia’s scathing looks. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road as she drives, maneuvering out of the parking spot and onto the driveway easily. “He mentioned that you might not even have enough money for an ounce of caviar at the end of the month.”

Historia whips her head so quickly that her neck might have snapped if she were a normal person. Mikasa doesn’t have to look at the woman’s expression to see that she’s horrified at the thought of not eating the overpriced salt-cured fish eggs. “Should I just fire him?” Historia murmurs, sitting with her back against her seat. She shakes her head, her brows furrowed as she considers letting go of her financial manager. “Or maybe we can cut his pay. I’ll have more money if I cut his pay, right?”

“If you cut his pay, he’ll be working here for longer to pay off his student loans,” Mikasa reminds her employer. “You could try hiring someone else, but he was the best in his class. Harvard.”

Historia’s bottom lip wobbles and, for a moment, it looks like she might even cry. Instead, she lets out a frustrated shriek like a spoiled child. “Ah, that kid! I hate him, you know. Out of everyone here, he’s probably my least favorite.”

“I know,” Mikasa says with a sympathetic nod, trying her best to keep her face stoic even though all she wants to do now is burst into laughter at the childish outburst.

These words aren’t new to Mikasa. In fact, she’s heard different variations of the same words over the years that she’s been here. Sometimes it’s Levi, the current general manager of the hotel. Other times it will be Pixis, the elderly but sweet bartender, or Colt, the receptionist at the front desk who looks barely out of his teens. Quite a number of times it has been Connie, the room manager, for swiping too many snacks from the kitchen in between mealtimes. Mikasa’s even been the least favorite every once in a while, although Armin has been given the title these past few months because he’s come in the way of Historia and the thing she loves the most - a luxurious lifestyle.

The funny thing is that Historia has not always been rich. It’s something that the woman likes to remind everyone, Mikasa included, every now and again. Mikasa doesn’t doubt that, but she does find it amusing that Historia turned her back on her past lifestyle so much so that she doesn’t have an ounce of frugality in her body.

“Who’s the client today?” Mikasa asks just as they’re about to hit the main road.

“Some man named Reiner Braun,” Historia says with a click of her tongue. She flips idly through her phone before inserting coordinates in the device. “His grand-niece reached out to us, but she couldn't tell me how rich he was. Don’t you think that’s ridiculous? You’d think someone so close to him would have a sense of how much money he has.” Historia frowns as she inspects her pearly pink nails.

“Children these days,” Mikasa tsks wryly, but Historia doesn’t seem to pick up on her sarcasm.

“They’re terrible. Terrible, terrible. Stupid and spoiled, all of them.” Historia clicks her tongue disapprovingly. The irony of calling someone else “spoiled” while she’s wearing a diamond choker around her neck hasn’t yet reached Historia.

“And I suppose you know what being spoiled looks like?”

It takes a moment for Historia to realize what Mikasa is saying. She sits up, clearly insulted. “I worked for this!” Historia says indignantly, smoothing out her skirt to prevent wrinkles. “I’ll have you know that I worked for every single cent that pays for my lifestyle. I earned all of this.”

“Of course,” Mikasa says with a nod. Beside her, Historia begins to settle down in her seat. “I’m sure the exorbitant prices you charge your clients also helps.”

Historia gives Mikasa a scathing side glare, one that would have made Mikasa flinch in her early days but now it’s like watching a kitten get angry after hiding its toy. She tosses her head, her golden tresses flying back in the wind. “I should have just brought Levi with me,” she mutters under her breath.

Mikasa remains unbothered. “You probably should have,” she replies in a sing-song voice.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“You know,” Mikasa says as they stand on the doorstep of a sprawling mansion fit for a lord, “you would think his grand-niece would have mentioned that he was loaded.” She reaches over to ring the door, frowning when she’s unable to hear its chime through the thick mahogany door.

“This?” Historia asks, gesturing around the estate. She shrugs, unimpressed. “This is nothing.”

Earlier, they had been stopped at the gate and asked for their identification. Mikasa had thought they would have been stopped there after Historia had gotten into a shouting match with the guard over the intercom until someone else popped on the screen — a young woman with thick dark hair tied half-up in a messy bun — and said they were cleared to come through, pressing open the button for the visitors despite the guard’s protests. As Mikasa drives up the road to the house, Historia hardly looks up at the sprawling green lawn, the freshly trimmed topiaries, or the sparkling fountain. The petite woman doesn’t even blink when Mikasa parks at the front of the house, throwing open the door and stepping out of the car without glancing back even as a valet hurries forward and asks Mikasa for the keys. Although not a fan of letting other people drive around in Historia’s cars, Mikasa grudgingly left the keys in the valet’s hand, chasing after the blonde woman because Mikasa knew Historia never likes to wait for anyone.

“I suppose since he’s living so shabbily we shouldn’t take any commission from him,” Mikasa says dryly. She doesn’t flinch when Historia smacks her sharply on the arm. “Or at the very least offer him a discount. I’m not sure he can afford our services otherwise.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Historia snaps. She reaches up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Money is money, so we’ll take what we can get.”

The door opens just then, the same young girl who was on the intercom with a bright smile waiting behind it breathlessly. She looks to be just thirteen or fourteen. Her hair is falling out from its little bun and her clothes — a ratty t-shirt and some cutoff denim shorts — look out of place in the mansion. Historia is no doubt looking at the girl’s outfit in disapproval, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she sticks out a hand towards the pair. “Hi, I’m Gabi! I spoke to you on the phone,” the girl says, oblivious to the maids and servants panting behind her that are trying to pull her back. “You’re Mikasa and Historia, right? From the Blutmond?”

“Miss Braun,” a butler hisses, grabbing at Gabi’s arm. “The guests haven’t been properly screened. You can’t just allow anyone to enter the Braun estate.”

“Relax. Uncle Braun said I could invite my friends over whenever I want,” Gabi snaps. She shakes the man off, scowling at him before turning back to Mikasa and Historia. “And these two are my friends, right?” She looks at them expectantly, silently begging them to play along.

Historia and Mikasa exchange a look, not confirming or denying anything. After a moment, Historia sighs, her arms folded across her chest. “For the duration of this visit, yes, we are Miss Gabi Braun’s … friends.” She looks as if the word leaves a sour taste in her mouth, but Gabi looks smug, happy that she’s managed to dupe the mansion’s staff members even though the majority of them look unconvinced. Of course, none of this bothers Historia, who just charges forward, looking around and not hiding the fact that she’s inspecting every inch of this place.

“Oh, um, let me show you around a bit,” Gabi says, shutting the door behind Mikasa and hurrying after Historia. “It’s easy to get lost here because it’s so big.”

“It’s not that big,” Historia snorts.

“Excuse me,” Mikasa mumbles as she pushes past the staff. It seems that they’ve either given up or just don’t want to bother with the Braun girl anymore because most of them just sigh before returning to their assigned tasks.

Although Gabi is supposed to be giving the tour, Historia is the one that leads the way while Gabi and Mikasa follow behind. Historia hardly says anything as she closely inspects the many statues and paintings that decorate the corners and walls of the various rooms they visit, but Gabi fills the silence with needless chatter of the art pieces. Every now and again Mikasa expresses some admiration for all the historical and artistic knowledge Gabi displays and the praise has the girl puff her chest out in pride, but Historia will sigh under her breath or roll her eyes at times. It really may be that nothing in this mansion really interests her because she never lingers on a painting for longer than a second or two before moving onto the next art piece.

“So, Gabi,” Mikasa says after a moment, making sure that the group was out of earshot of any eavesdropping maids or busboys that might have followed them. She makes sure to keep close to Gabi, her voice low as she speaks. “You called about your great uncle, is that correct? Can you tell us a little bit more about him before we meet him?”

Gabi bites on her lip and fiddles on a loose thread on her faded shirt. She nods before looking over at Historia, who’s halfway across the room frowning at a grand piano. “Er, yeah,” the girl mumbles. “I can … I can tell you about him.”

“You can talk from there,” Historia says without looking up. She presses a finger to an ivory key and a note rings out, echoing across the room. It seems that the note is unsatisfactory though because her frown deepens after hearing it. “I have impeccable hearing.”

Gabi looks unsure, but Mikasa puts a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder and smiles. “Go ahead, Gabi.”

“Okay,” Gabi says. She takes a deep breath, but she’s already shaking. Tears already forming in her eyes, she looks up, swallowing hard. “Uncle Reiner … he’s been strange for a while now. Maybe a few months. My parents say it’s just dementia because he’s so old but … I don’t think that’s it.” Tears roll down her cheeks and she’s looking down now, stubbornly wiping them away with the back of her hand.

“Take your time,” Mikasa says gently, rubbing soothing circles on the young girl’s back.

Historia is a little less sympathetic. She strides over, taking a seat on a nearby chaise lounge and sitting back like it’s an appropriate time to relax. “And what makes you think we can help? I don’t typically enjoy doing business with doddering old men.”

“Ignore her,” Mikasa tells Gabi, shooting a look at Historia. Historia simply sticks her tongue out in reply.

“N-no,” Gabi says with a shake of her head, sniffling. “I h-heard you could h-help people. That you h-have a special business. My uncle … I don’t think the th-things he’s seeing are hallucinations. I th-think what he’s seeing … they’re ghosts.”

Historia looks a little more intrigued now, sitting up on the chaise with her legs crossed instead of lounging back. “What makes you think that they’re ghosts?”

Gabi hesitates. “Well … he mentions these names sometimes… Bertholdt, Porco, Marcel…,” she says, brow furrowed. “He hardly ever talked to me about them, but sometimes their names would slip. Whenever I asked about them back then, he would just tell me that they used to be friends back when he was younger. He always looked so … sad whenever he talked about them like … like he couldn’t see them anymore.”

This story is enough for Mikasa to offer their services or at least give Gabi an offer to look at her great uncle, but Historia simply lets out a huff, pushing herself off the chaise and making her way out the door.

“An old man haunted by his old, dead friends,” Historia says with a toss of her head. She beckons for Mikasa to follow her, ignoring the horrified look on Gabi’s face. When the young girl runs forward, barring Historia from leaving, the haughty woman only sighs once more. “Look, if you’re worried he’s getting haunted by ghosts, why don’t you just run over to a church and get some holy water to splash on him? Or just buy some salt to sprinkle around his bed.” She waves her hand, gesturing for Gabi to move out of her way, but the girl refuses.

“I’ll pay you!” Gabi says. She stands resolute, her arms spread wide even as her lower lip trembles.

Historia raises an eyebrow. She steps back, a hand on her hip. “You’ll pay me?” she repeats. “You’re thirteen. What could you possibly offer me?”

“I could give you … my inheritance,” Gabi says. She sticks out her bottom lip, jutting her chin out and lifting her head. Her eyes are still red from crying, but tears have stopped falling down her cheeks. She clears her throat and continues, “Uncle Reiner hasn’t told anyone … but he’s made me the sole heir of his estate … among other things. I can … give you this mansion and everything in here if you just please help me.”

Mikasa wants to tell Gabi that it’s not necessary. Their services aren’t nearly worth that much and, even if it were, it’s illegal to make such a transaction with a minor.

Historia, of course, doesn’t care. She’s looking at Gabi with more interest now, her blue eyes shining as she looks at the girl. The woman isn’t even thinking about the logic of such a promise — when she would be able to collect the inheritance or what she would do with it. Her mind is occupied with calculating the worth of the estate and the many statues and paintings that decorate it. “I hope you know,” Historia says, her eyes glittering, “that any contract you make with me is binding.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Mikasa begins to say, but Historia cuts her off with a snarl.

“No, I’ll do it,” Gabi says with a shake of her head. “All of this stuff … it doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve never been very materialistic. All I really want … is for my uncle to be okay.” She lowers her arms, looking at Historia with uncertainty.

“How very noble of you,” Historia says, but she isn’t really listening. She’s busy fishing something out of her clutch purse, reaching in and pulling out a document filled out in the tiniest font. Even though the contract could have never fit perfectly in Historia’s purse without being folded up, there isn’t a wrinkle in sight when the woman presents the document to Gabi. The woman fishes out an expensive-looking fountain pen, one that Mikasa is only half-sure had originally been in the hotelier’s purse although it might be more likely she had snatched it off of a desk from the mansion when nobody was looking. Historia holds up the contract with a lipsticked smile, a perfectly manicured nail tapping at against the line where Gabi should sign. “Just sign your name here, darling.”

Gingerly, Gabi takes the pen from Historia, staring at the document with uncertainty. The pen sits uncapped in her hand, hovering over the dotted line where her signature should be. Her eyes scan the document, but the words begin to blur and she begins to gnaw at her lip.

Mikasa steps forward, lowering the document from Gabi’s face. “You don’t have to sign it.”

“Mikasa,” Historia hisses. An angry glare flashes across her face for half a second before switching to a more composed, reassuring smile directed at Gabi. “Don’t listen to her. Just sign it, sweetie. It’s harmless.”

Gabi looks from Mikasa to Historia, her expression uncertain, but she glances once more at the document and grips the pen in her hand with more conviction. The tip of the pen hits the paper and Gabi scrawls her full name — Gabrielle Mariella Braun — in an illegible, childish print before handing the fountain pen back to Historia.

“Perfect, perfect,” Historia says in a sing-song voice, squinting as she inspect’s Gabi’s signature. She turns her head slightly to Mikasa, lowering her voice a bit but not enough as she asks, “They don’t teach children cursive these days, do they? This girl’s signature is terrible. It’s like a toddler let their crayon wander across the page.” Historia takes another look at it before rolling up the contract and stuffing it into her purse.

“Cursive?” Gabi repeats with a knitted brow.

“It’s just connecting all the letters with a line, really,” Mikasa tells the girl, patting her on the shoulder to show that it’s not that big of an issue. A small part of her regrets not talking Gabi against signing the document, but she figures Gabi’s at more of an advantage than Historia is since the former is a minor and any contract she signs could be deemed void. She’ll just leave the problem for later, preferably when Armin is at her side so he can drive Historia mad enough to leave the poor girl and her inheritance alone.

“Right then!” Historia says, a lot more lively than she was a few minutes ago now. She flicks a lock of golden hair away from her face and smiles brightly at Gabi. “Be a dear and show us where your grandfather is. We’ll help him in any way we can.” It’s become quite obvious to Mikasa that Historia has long forgotten Gabi’s name despite being introduced to the girl a little while ago and having just seen her name written on a document not a minute before. Gabi doesn’t seem to have noticed. She’s more taken aback by Historia’s change in character. Mikasa can’t really blame her. The hotel manager had seen the woman do a complete 180 after being offered a yacht for her services once and thought new yacht-owner Historia was a completely different person from the usually crotchety hotelier.

“Er, yes. If you follow me, right around here …,” Gabi says, her voice trailing as she leads them out of the room and into the hallway.

Mikasa and Historia follow the girl, Historia with a new spring in her step as she lets her fingers trail against every vase and statue that they pass by with renewed appreciation for the artwork. As they walk, Historia hums a song that Mikasa almost knows by heart, but she knows it’s a song that hasn’t been sung in centuries.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Gabi leads them to a room at the end of the east wing. The room is much smaller than Historia and Mikasa anticipated. Historia had almost walked ahead and yanked open the largest double doors in the hallway before Gabi hurriedly pulled the woman away and rushed them over to her great uncle’s quarters. The door was considerably less extravagant — a single mahogany door with simple square panels and a gilded doorknob — and Mikasa could see the frown returning on Historia’s face.

The girl opened the door just a crack, leaning in to whisper, “Uncle Reiner? I brought some visitors for you. They’re … friends of mine. They said they might be able to help you.” She waits a bit for an answer. Even when Mikasa strains her ears to hear, she can’t hear a thing. It seems that Gabi does, however, because after a pause, she finally opens the door, allowing Historia and Mikasa to enter before her.

Mikasa isn’t quite sure where to look when she steps into the room. The bedroom is every bit as lavish as the rest of the house, the furniture all in deep reds and browns with highlights of gold here and there. There’s a noticeable lack of decoration, the walls instead adorned with photos of an elderly man with a wide jaw, snowy white hair, and milky white eyes. In most of the photos he stands alone — many times posing next to some art piece that he has lying around the house — but other times he’s seen with other members of his family including his grand niece. Mikasa is so busy looking at the pictures that she almost doesn’t see the man himself buried under a mountain of pillows and blankets in his bed. He looks so still that there isn’t much difference between his real self and the version of him in pictures. The ghosts that stand beside his bed look livelier than he does, Mikasa thinks.

“Uncle Reiner,” Gabi says, her voice quiet so as to not disturb her great uncle too much. She approaches his bed, Mikasa near her side while Historia wanders around the room unbothered. “This is Miss Historia and Miss Mikasa. They come from a special place … the Blutmond Hotel. They help people like you … people who can see ghosts.”

The man’s eyes flutter open but he struggles to keep them open. He sits up and his head turns towards Gabi, following the sound of her voice, but his gaze is fixated on something past her. It’s not a ghost, Mikasa knows, because there are only three in the room right now. One is currently hovering around the old man, unsure of what to do with his ghostly hands even as his face is filled with worry as Gabi’s great uncle sits up. The other two stand on the other side of the man’s bed eyeing Historia warily as she carefully inspects the room for any valuables.

“Ghosts? Have your parents been talking about me again?” the old man asks before coughing violently into his hand. He hunches over, his whole body heaving with every cough. He pounds his chest pitifully with his other hand as he wheezes. He shakes his head when Gabi runs over with a tissue box from his nightstand. One hand is clutched to his chest, but he’s still breathing heavily when he tells Gabi unconvincingly, “I’m fine. They just worry about me because of my old age.”

The man at Reiner’s side kneels down next to the old man. His ghostly blue hand reaches out to touch Reiner’s, his taut young skin such a stark contrast from the old man’s thin, veiny hands. All of the ghosts are significantly younger than Reiner, Mikasa notices. If she has to guess, they were probably in their late twenties when they passed. Judging from their military garb and the bloodstains that bloom across their chest, they died in a war. She wonders about their relationship to the old man, why they’ve stayed with him so long when it must have been decades since their death.

“Your names are Historia and Mikasa?” the old man asks, a tired but polite smile as he looks from the two women. He sits up in the bed, his back resting against the headrest and his hands folded in his lap. Unbeknownst to him, the ghost who had held his hand earlier sits beside him, gazing cautiously at both Mikasa and Historia. “I’m sorry to say that my relatives have a habit of spreading unnecessary rumors. They seem to have worried my grand niece.”

“They’re not untrue,” Gabi insists. She tugs on the elbow of Mikasa’s suit, her lower lip trembling dangerously. Her eyes are moist as tears begin to form and she sniffs loudly before turning to her great uncle. “I’ve seen you talking to … them. I’ve heard you call their names. Bertholdt, Porco, Marcel… You’re always talking to them when you think I’m not listening, but you always tell me it’s nothing when I ask you about them.”

At the names, the ghosts stiffen, but they don’t move from their positions. They look at Mikasa, wondering if she’ll give away their existence. She tries her best not to look at them.

“Because it’s nothing,” the man says, laughing it off weakly. He gets into another coughing fit, banging against his chest. The ghost at his side, eyes wide with worry, can only look at him helplessly.

Historia’s voice pops up, the hotelier speaking for the first time since stepping into the room. “Were you in the Second Great War, Mr. Braun?” She observes a glass case with different medals, leaning forward as she inspects the engraving on all of them. Historia hums, “I didn’t realize you were a veteran.”

“Ah, yes,” the old man says belatedly, surprised at the sudden jump in topic.

“You have quite a lot of medals and honors.” Historia’s finger traces the glass edge of the case. “You fought well.” The words should be congratulatory, but Historia says this almost coldly.

The old man must feel it too because he begins to fidget under the young woman’s gaze, his silken sheets tangled in his fists as he begins to stammer a “yes” under his breath.

The ghosts must dislike Historia’s tone because the two that had stood at the side of Reiner’s bed stand up, walking over to Historia and staring down at her petite frame. They tower above her, identical expressions of repressed fury on their faces, and Mikasa wonders for the first time if they’re brothers. With only a slight difference in height and hair color, the two could be identical. Despite the two spirits that are glowering down at her, Historia doesn’t waver, not even sparing them a passing glance as she continues to peruse the other items around Reiner’s room.

“You’ll have to forgive my partner. She’s quite interested in … history,” Mikasa lies. She wrinkles her nose as she says it — partly because she’s a terrible liar and partly because the thought of Historia being interested in anything other than money is ridiculous — but Gabi nor her great uncle seem to take notice. Mikasa fishes for the little business card in her breast pocket before presenting it to Mr. Braun, making sure to hold it at an angle for the nearby ghost to see as she hands it over. She clears her throat, glancing back at the other two ghosts to make sure they were paying attention before saying, “Miss Historia and I are from the Blutmond Hotel. We provide services for those who have passed.”

All the ghosts look at her, their necks turning so fast that they might have cracked if they were alive.

“For those that have passed?” Reiner repeats, eyebrow raised as he takes the business card gingerly between his fingers. He frowns and is about to toss the card on his nightstand before seeing the upset expression on his great niece’s face. He drops the card in his lap instead before running a tired hand through his thinning hair. “I’m hoping that won’t be until a few more years yet,” he jokes, but he’s the only one that laughs. It sounds strange echoing alone in the quiet room.

“Uncle Reiner,” Gabi says, her voice rising into a whine that Mikasa knows will make Historia grate her teeth.

Mikasa puts a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze and reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” she whispers before turning once more to Mr. Braun. To the ailing man, she says with a soft voice, “Mr. Braun, how many ghosts do you see in this room right now?”

His eyes flicker for a bit, roaming around the room but never resting on the ghost that sits beside him nor on the ghosts that stand near Historia. His gaze finally stops somewhere above Mikasa’s shoulder, eyes watering as he whispers, “Three.”

Gabi’s grip on Mikasa’s arm is vice-like and the hotel manager has to pry the girl from her arm for her blood circulation to return. “It’s alright, it’s fine,” she says to Gabi again, brushing her off gently. Mikasa looks at the ghost beside Reiner and watches as the young man shakes his head ever so slightly, his eyes begging her not to tell the old man of his existence. She opens her mouth, but Historia speaks first.

“Those aren’t ghosts,” Historia says, finally strolling across the room to stand beside Mikasa. She ignores Mikasa’s eye roll and instead bounces about on the balls of her feet, speaking casually as if talking about the weather. “Ah, I should clarify. Those things that are haunting you … I guess you would say they’re your own memories. There are ghosts here too, but it looks like they’re only here to keep you company.” She waves her hand as she explains, trying to find the right words. Historia looks quite proud when she’s done, but everyone (with the exception of Mikasa) looks at her with a bewildered expression.

“You mean there are ghosts here?” Gabi asks with wide eyes.

If Gabi grabs onto Mikasa’s suit any tighter she’ll tear the fabric. Mikasa doesn’t particularly mind, but she knows Historia would be infuriated if Gabi ripped such expensive clothing in her presence and the hotel manager carefully pries the girl off her arm.

“The supernatural world is quite complicated,” Mikasa says gently. She’s worked in the supernatural business for years and she still hasn’t grasped it entirely, so she can only imagine the confusion that Gabi and her great uncle feel right now. Mikasa sucks in her cheek as she tries to think of how to explain the situation in layman’s terms. “There is a myriad of things that can haunt a person, not just ghosts. Spirits, demons … even deities if they’re angry enough.”

“And next you’ll be telling me werewolves and vampires exist,” Mr. Braun scoffs, but his eyes still roam aimlessly around the room for something they can’t see.

“Don’t be silly. Werewolves and vampires are another thing entirely,” Historia snorts with a roll of her eyes, although she doesn’t confirm or deny the existence of either. She points a painted finger at the old man. “What you have haunting you are your own memories, Mr. Braun, although I imagine they’ve grown horribly distorted over time.”

Mr. Braun’s mouth is tightened into a thin line, all laughter gone from his eyes. He fixes Historia with a steely glare, but she doesn’t waver. He doesn’t speak, not even to ask her to clarify. Perhaps it’s because he already knows what memories she’s alluding to.

“What’s she talking about?” Gabi hisses in Mikasa’s ear.

“Mr. Braun, how old were you when you were drafted for the war?” Historia asks, stepping closer to the bed. She ignores that ghost closest to Reiner’s side even when he stands in front of her. She stares right past him as if she can’t see him at all and continues her questioning of Mr. Braun. “Perhaps in your twenties, judging from the looks of your companions. Mid- to late twenties, even. Life was just beginning for you. Being caught up in a war you had nothing to do with must have been frustrating to you.”

“No, it was an honor to fight for my country,” Reiner murmurs, but his eyes begin to cloud over and his expression grows grimmer.

“Did your friends share the same sentiment?” Historia continues to inquire. The ghost brothers from before each put a hand on her shoulders, their expressions just as dark and dangerous as Mr. Braun’s. Still, Historia presses on. “Were they just as brave as you when they camped in those trenches with corpses of other soldiers? Did they die with honor, their bodies rotting in those holes for weeks before whatever remains of them are shipped back to their loved ones? And were you honored to be one of the ones that made it out alive, standing tall even though the guilt was slowly killing you all these years?”

The ghosts are hostile now, their hands rough as they pull Historia back from Reiner. With a flick of her wrist, Historia sends them flying against the wall, their presence only detected by the way the portraits on the wall shake slightly. It’s enough to make Mikasa flinch, but Gabi and Reiner are too distracted to notice.

It’s the last ghost, though, that has Mikasa the most worried. He stands in a protective stance, his eyes flickering with a dangerous blue flame. On his face is a terrible glower, a stark contrast from the worried look he had worn earlier. His fists are clenched against his sides, shaking slightly with suppressed rage. Historia has faced her fair share of ghosts over the years. Mikasa doubts that this one is any more powerful than the malicious spirits that Historia has gone up against, but a ghost powered by violent anger is not something to be underestimated.

“Historia,” Mikasa warns, her voice low.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Mr. Braun whispers in a hoarse voice. He seems to shrink into his bed, his silken sheets pulled tight around his body as if trying to protect himself from something. His wild eyes continue to wander above his head, looking at things that don’t exist to anyone else but him. The old man pulls the sheets over his head, but the tremble in his voice can still be heard as he whimpers, “Every day they’ve plagued me, haunted me, but they never leave.”

“Uncle Braun-“ Gabi begins, but Mikasa holds her back after Historia gives her a subtle gesture to restrain the girl.

“Mr. Braun,” Historia says, stepping through the ghost easily. She reaches over and pulls the sheets from the man’s hands, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. She grasps the man’s face in her hand, lifting his chin up, and forces him to look at her and only her. “You said it yourself that it’s not your fault. Why have you gone so long doubting your own words?”

It’s the first time the man’s gaze was fixed on something, his eyes no longer wandering aimlessly at things unseen. He licks his chapped lips as he struggles to find the answer to Historia’s question. “Because I lived while they died,” he tells her in a voice dripping with grief. His eyes grow glassy, moist with tears. “I believe that warrants some guilt, don’t you?”

Historia is silent, holding his gaze. Even when the man’s tears begin to fall, dripping down his cheeks and spilling onto her hand, she still holds on. After a moment, she finally lets go a little too roughly, throwing Mr. Braun’s head back with unnecessary force. The movement earns an indignant squawk from Gabi, who struggles to break free from Mikasa’s grip, but the hotel manager manages to hold the girl. The ghosts move towards the hotelier too, their faces alight with anger, but she waves her hand again and all three are pinned against the wall with much greater force than last time.

“What if I told you that you could see your friends one last time, Mr. Braun?” Historia asks as casually as if she were asking about the weather. She digs through her purse, humming that little tune as she does so. She pulls out a little silver pistol, her slender fingers wrapped against the gilded grip, and loads a single bullet into its chamber. She speaks again, her words light and honey-sweet as she points the barrel at the old man’s forehead. “Mr. Braun, would you like to see your friends again?”

“Historia,” Mikasa growls with narrow eyes.

“What’s she doing? Why does she have a gun?” Gabi asks, voice rising. Her head whips back to Mikasa, eyes wide with horror. She tries to break free from Mikasa’s grip, but the woman holds the girl back tightly. With more urgency, Gabi thrashes more violently, trying to lunge towards Historia’s gun. “Let me go! She’s going to shoot him!”

The ghosts have broken free, all of them clambering for Historia with arms outstretched, but the blonde stands there with her gun aimed as if she and the old man are the only two in the room. Historia ignores the ghosts even as they grab at her, her arm remaining steady even as they try to pull the gun from her fingers. She keeps her gaze fixed on the old man who only stares back at her. While Gabi screams and Mikasa struggles to keep the young girl out of the line of fire, the old man appears calm, a look of resignation on his face.

“What do you say, Mr. Braun?” Historia asks quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rests his head against the headboard, eyes closed as if he’s about to fall asleep. His answer is adequate enough for Historia to fire the gun.

A piercing shriek cuts across the room just as Historia pulls the trigger, but it’s the only sound that can be heard. There is no whistling bullet. There is no bang as the bullet makes its mark upon the target’s skull. There is no dull thud as a corpse falls to the floor. There is only Gabi screaming for her great uncle as she finally manages to pull away from Mikasa’s hold, her screams only halting when she reaches for the wound on Mr. Braun’s head only to find him fully intact and unmistakably alive as he blinks back at her.

“What …?” Gabi asks, turning slowly to look at Historia and Mikasa.

“It’s a special gun, sweetheart,” Historia explains as she blows at the tip of the barrel. It’s for show, really, because the gun isn’t smoking at all. She drops the gun in her bag, patting it happily before looking back at Gabi and noticing the girl’s stunned expression. Historia frowns, leaning over to Mikasa to ask, “Did I not make that clear?”

“Not at all,” Mikasa replies. Her employer is many things, but clear is not one of them.

“Ah, it’s so troublesome to explain though,” Historia grumbles. She looks at Gabi, watching as the girl slowly loses her mind trying to comprehend everything unfolding in front of her. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout and Mikasa can already see the wheels turning in her mind as she tries to find a way out of dealing with the young girl. If there’s something Historia dislikes almost as much being told how to handle her money, it’s dealing with people on the verge of a mental breakdown. Historia looks over to Mikasa, her face hopeful as she waits for her employee to step in and take the lead, but Mikasa shoots her down with a dirty look and Historia sighs. “Look, Gabi,” Historia says impatiently, hands folded across her chest and foot tapping already. “It’s really not that difficult to understand. You see, the bullet I shot your Great Uncle Braun with allows people to see ghosts. Now, Mr. Braun can finally interact with the ghosts that have been watching over him for so long, all thanks to yours truly!” She waves a gracious hand and waits expectantly for the praise that she believes is deserved of her, but it never comes. Gabi is too busy staring at the empty air around them to give Historia any sort of thanks.

“What do you mean?” Gabi asks, her voice reaching a terrible whine that makes Historia sniff disdainfully. She looks at Mikasa, her expression making it quite clear that she thinks that Historia is speaking nonsense, but the woman offers her no further explanation. Her eyes land once more on her Great Uncle Braun and she notices that his eyes no longer roam. Instead, they are fixed on something in front of him, something that she cannot see. Horrified, she turns to Mikasa, gripping the woman’s wrists so hard that her knuckles turn white. “What’s wrong with Uncle Reiner? Why is he like that? He’s even worse than before!”

“He’s fine,” Mikasa says soothingly. She breaks one hand free from Gabi’s grasp and pats the young girl’s head gently.

“We could make this a lot more simple, you know,” Historia says. She pulls out the gun from her purse once more, twirling it carelessly in her hand. “Shall I shoot her too?”

Mikasa shoots Historia a hard glare. “You are not shooting a child.”

Her employer rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath about how she was simply suggesting an easier solution, but she puts the gun away.

The ghosts are speechless as they cautiously approach Mr. Braun. The two brothers keep their distance but the other ghost — the tall one that had looked so murderously down at Historia when she had pulled the trigger — is the only one to stand right in front of his old friend. Both the ghost and Mr. Braun stare at each other as if they are the only two in the room. The soldier holds up a hand, reaching for the old man but too afraid to touch.

“Bertholdt.” It’s not a question that comes from Reiner, but a statement of disbelief. As he gazes at the ghost, the old man looks more awake than he has been this entire visit. He sits up, reaching for Bertholdt’s outstretched hand. Their fingetipsrs touch, then their palms, and then their fingers lace together. Ever since he had first laid eyes on Bertholdt, the real Bertholdt, Reiner hasn’t looked away once. “It really is you.”

“It’s true, then? He can see me now? He can really see me?” Bertholdt asks, staring in awe at his fingers interlaced with Reiner’s. He looks to Historia, eyes begging her to tell her that this is all real and not some cruel trick.

It’s a heartwarming scene, but Historia stands there with her arms folded across her chest. She gives him a curt nod before looking away disinterestedly, an inaudible sigh slipping from her lips.

Mikasa gestures for the ghost and his companions to get closer. “Go on,” she says with an encouraging smile. “He hasn’t seen you in so long. It must be overwhelming to reunite with you after all this time. Tell him everything and banish the nightmares that have been plaguing him for so long.”

Reiner continues to converse with Bertholdt as if nobody else is in the room. “But have you been here all this time?” He looks behind Bertholdt, a genuine smile now on his face. Although he has aged, his grin is as youthful as a young boy’s. He gestures with his free hand, waving his friend’s over. “Marcel and Porco, too? After everything I’ve done, you’re still here?” Tears are beginning to well up in his eyes once more but Bertholdt hastily wipes them away with a tender thumb.

“We were worried about you,” Marcel says. He takes a seat on the edge of Reiner’s bed. His expression is much softer now, filled with affection as he gazes down at his old friend, and rests a gentle hand on Reiner’s arm. “After the war … we were sorry we abandoned you. We couldn’t find it in ourselves to leave you again until we knew you were alright.”

It must have been torture for them to stay by Reiner’s side all those years, observing him helplessly as he screamed at distorted visions of them that blamed him for their deaths. It takes a certain type of strength — a certain type of love, Mikasa thought — to stay for someone for all those years. It had already been over half a century and still they had never left him. It must have been a similar pain for Mr. Braun too, Mikasa thinks, to have been tortured by the memory of his fallen for all those years. All those years he had suffered alone. Not anymore.

“What’s going on?” Gabi whispers, eyes wide as she tries to take in a scene she can’t understand.

“We’ll explain outside,” Mikasa whispers back. She places a hand on Gabi’s back and leads the girl towards the door, Historia dragging her feet as she follows behind. In the background, Reiner and his old comrades continue to talk.

“We were so worried,” Porco is saying, voice quiet as he takes a seat beside his brother Marcel. “You blamed yourself for things that weren’t your fault. It didn’t feel right to just leave you when you were suffering so much without us.”

“Did I worry you? I’m sorry. You stayed because of me instead of moving on like you should have,” Reiner says with a wry smile. He gazes down at the hand that holds Bertholdt. “But I’m glad I could see you all one last time… I missed you.”

Bertholdt gives Reiner’s hand a quick squeeze. “We missed you too.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles. It fades a little bit, affection replaced with concern as he asks, “But the things you were seeing … are they still here?”

Reiner doesn’t even look around to check, keeping his eyes on Bertholdt instead. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. His smile is spread so wide, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “I only see you.”

Mikasa shuts the door gently behind her, a small smile on her face.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“So let me get this straight,” Gabi says slowly. She holds up a fist, bringing up a finger every time she brings up each new topic she’s had to process. “There were no ghosts haunting Uncle Reiner. The things he was seeing were just hallucinations that were conjured up in his mind due to his own guilt. But there were ghosts — the ghosts of his old friends — that were watching over him all these years because they were worried about him. And I can’t see them because I wasn’t shot with a magic bullet?” She looks at her three fingers with a frown and then at the two women beside her.

“That’s pretty much it,” Mikasa hums. She’s only had to explain it a handful of times to the girl, so she’s quite pleased that Gabi’s grasped it so quickly even if the young girl’s expression grows more and more troubled with each repetition.

“Please don’t make us go through it again,” Historia says with a grown, knocking her head back against the wall. She bangs the back of her head against the wall a few times in frustration, her expression one of tired impatience, before letting out another exaggerated sigh. Although Mikasa has been patient throughout, Historia has been growing more and more impatient, only offering a few words here and there while Mikasa took care of most of the explanation.

“Well, it’s hard to believe you when I can’t see anything! How can I even trust you guys? I might have signed over my entire inheritance to a bunch of frauds!” Gabi points out, her gaze more suspicious of them than it was when they first met. “For all I know, you might have just made things worse bringing up his past!”

Historia stiffens at the young girl’s words and for a moment Mikasa thinks she’s going to get up and leave, but the woman opens her mouth to say quietly, “Darling, would you have rather he been haunted by his past until his last breath?” Gabi doesn’t respond and Historia continues, her eyes a little less icy now as she leans against the armrest. “You don’t understand because you’re so young. You don’t have things that you regret or lost things you can’t live without, not the way your uncle has. You should be thanking me, really, for allowing him the ability to reunite one last time with his old friends. Some people aren’t so lucky.”

The young girl’s cheeks blaze a bright red and she looks down at the floor, her eyes bright as they begin to fill with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared,” she mumbles, lower lip trembling dangerously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before. So sad, but at the same time … so happy.” The tears begin to roll down her cheeks one by one, her shoulders shaking as the girl tries to suppress her crying. Mikasa is about to reach out and offer Gabi a shoulder to lean on but, surprisingly, Historia beats her to it.

Gently, the blonde wraps an arm around the child’s shoulders before guiding her onto her shoulder. It’s a rare sign of sympathy, one that Mikasa usually doesn’t see Historia display, especially towards clients. It’s even more surprising when Historia begins to stroke the girl’s hair, brushing stray locks away from the child’s face as she hums that song that Mikasa still can’t fully recall. “Farewells are like that,” Historia murmurs, looking into the distance as if remembering something. “They’re always sad, but they’re not entirely sad. Never entirely sad.” There’s something wistful in the way she says this and Mikasa almost opens her mouth to ask why, but now isn’t the time. Maybe another day when they’re alone and there isn’t a child between them that needs comforting.

The three of them stay that way for a while, silent save for Gabi’s sobs and the muffled conversation on the other side of the while. As Mikasa rubs circles on the young girl’s back, she focuses her gaze on Historia, who has that faraway look in her eye that she sometimes gets when she isn’t thinking. It’s not one that Historia wears freely around others, but she’s gotten more careless around Mikasa over the years. Mikasa notices that such a distracted gaze tends to appear during businesses such as these where a client with ghosts that should have left a long time ago. There’s no ghost that haunts Historia now, at least none that Mikasa can see, but she has a feeling she already knows the memory that keeps Historia up at night. Why Mikasa never asks the woman herself, she doesn’t know.

The door to Mr. Braun’s room finally creaks open and the ghosts — Porco, Marcel, and Bertholdt, who is still holding onto Reiner’s hand as the old man follows them to the hall — trail out. They look much calmer now, their expressions serene and no longer hostile as they look first at Mikasa and Historia.

“Did you have a nice talk?” Historia says, getting up to meet them. She looks over at Mikasa and Gabi. Although the young girl is still crying, Historia beckons her forward, a twinge of annoyance on her face that’s replaced with a polite smile as she looks at Mr. Braun. “I hope you’ve had enough time to say your goodbyes. Goodness knows you’ve probably had a lot you wanted to say to Mr. Braun for the past half a century, but you’ve stayed here far too long, don’t you think?”

They nod in agreement, but they all look reluctant to go, Bertholdt especially. Still, Marcel steps forward with a gracious smile and says, “We have to thank you, Miss Historia, for allowing us to meet with Reiner one last time before we pass.”

Historia waves away his thanks with a wave of her hand, although her smile grows into a smirk after hearing the praise. “Not at all. It’s the least I could do.” She turns to Mr. Braun, her gaze more patient than it was when she was dealing with the elderly man’s great-niece. “Are you ready to say goodbye, Mr. Braun?”

He doesn’t look at Historia, his gaze lingering on Bertholdt whose hand he still holds. His withered hands cling to the spirit, eyes wistful like he never wants to let go. “Will I ever see you again?” he asks.

“If there’s ever a way, then I’m sure we’ll find our way back to each other,” Bertholdt replies. Mikasa can’t see the ghost’s face, but she knows he means it. She doesn’t know if it’s possible — to meet someone again after death or if reuniting in another life is feasible — but she believes his words now. If anyone can make it happen, it will be him.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Mikasa and Historia drop the ghosts off at the hotel, leaving Connie and Levi to assist them and introduce the ghosts to the hotel’s rooms and various facilities. Mikasa had taken a few minutes to assure the ghostly trio that all of their accommodations (within reason, she added) would be met to the best of the staff’s ability. She would see them all again soon, the manager assured them even as Historia impatiently dragged her away to meet their reservation at the dim sum restaurant Mikasa had placed earlier today.

“So,” Mikasa asks, watching fondly as Historia shoves an entire BBQ pork bun into her mouth, “how is the food?”

“Incredible,” Historia answers with her mouth full of food. Despite how elegant the woman might appear on the outside, Historia — much to Mikasa’s amusement — always eats as if she’s starving. It doesn’t matter if they had eaten hours ago or thirty minutes ago; Historia will shovel food into her mouth until her cheeks are filled and doesn’t stop until every dish is licked clean. While others have found the woman’s table manners atrocious and even frightening at times, Mikasa can’t help but be entranced whenever she watches Historia eat.

“Come, eat more. The shrimp dumplings are absolutely divine.” Historia plucks a beautifully wrapped shrimp dumpling with her chopsticks and offers it to Mikasa.

“Thank you,” Mikasa says, holding out her plate to accept the dumpling. She takes the extra time to admire the delicate pleats in the translucent skin and the gorgeous pink of the plump shrimp sitting inside. When she takes a bite, the delicate wrapper breaks apart and her teeth dig into the shrimp with a delightful crunch, her mouth filling with the shellfish’s sweet flavor. Mikasa easily finishes the dumpling in another bite, savoring the taste of it as the starch wrapper melts on her tongue and mingles with the savory-sweet filling. When she’s done, she looks up to see Historia looking at her with a smug smile on her face.

“Delicious?”

“Very.”

“You’re very welcome,” Historia says, her chest puffed out proudly as if she was the one to suggest they eat here tonight. She goes back to inspecting the dim sum dishes laid out in front of them, her eyes latching onto a plate of chicken feet. She nibbles on one, spitting the bones out onto a napkin. When she’s done, she gets another, her lips shining pink from the grease. “It’s lovely, but it would have been better if you had let me change like I had asked.”

After dropping the ghosts off at the hotel, Historia had thrown the door open and rushed out to go change before Mikasa had caught her by the wrist. The woman needs to have a wardrobe change almost every hour of the day. It’s another one of Historia’s eccentricities that Mikasa lets slide half the time, but she had made reservations earlier and changing it would have been inconvenient.

“Would the chef’s cooking be any different if you were wearing a different outfit?” Mikasa asks. She takes a gentle bite into a soup dumpling, making sure not to slurp the broth too noisily. It almost burns her mouth, but the tender pork filling inside more than makes up for it.

Historia frowns, discarding the bones from her third chicken foot onto the table. She licks the sticky sweet black bean sauce from her fingers before wiping them on the napkin that sits across her lap. “It would taste better if I were wearing a different outfit,” Historia replies before plucking a fried crab ball from its plate. She digs her teeth into its crispy exterior with a loud crunch and swallows before continuing. “Things taste better when you’re dressed for the occasion. You should know this by now, Mikasa. We’ve been together for over twenty years, you know.”

She doesn’t need the reminder. Mikasa has been counting the days just like her cousin has been counting down the days. He’s been with Historia for almost an entire century. Mikasa wonders what it’s like to know someone for one hundred years. She can’t fathom it.

“And what would you wear instead?” Mikasa asks.

“Mmm.” Historia brings her chopstick to her mouth to nibble at thoughtfully. The woman has entire rooms filled with clothes — all organized by color, season, and style — and yet she’s still able to remember and assemble entire outfits complete with shoes and accessories. She grins when she’s finally thought of the perfect outfit, pointing her chopsticks at Mikasa with a grin on her face. “The Majorica pearls. They look like little dumplings. And the blue tulle dress, the one with the trailing skirt.”

Mikasa knows exactly which ensemble Historia is referring to, although it’s admittedly been a while since she’s seen the blonde hotelier wear the fairy-like tulle. With its shimmering skirt that seems to be a different shade of blue every time Historia moves and its long billowing sleeves that hang off Historia’s shoulders, it’s a piece that’s far more suited for a runway or an elegant wedding than a casual outing to a dim sum restaurant, but Historia wears such extravagant pieces with such confidence that it would seem out-of-place if she were to wear anything less luxurious.

“I think you look beautiful right now,” Mikasa replies.

Historia hardly bats an eyelash. “Of course I do. I’m always beautiful,” Historia says, brushing off the compliment as easily as she always does. It used to bother Mikasa, but she’s used to it now. “That blue dress would really suit the atmosphere of this restaurant better though.”

Mikasa only hums in response.

The two continue eating — Mikasa in delicate bites while Historia gorges herself with buns stuffed with succulent meats and crispy deep-fried shrimp balls but somehow never dropping a crumb. Mikasa doesn’t even eat much. She’s never had much of an appetite, but Historia cleans every plate. By the time Historia cleans off their last plate, there’s a mountain of dirty dishes stacked high on the side of the table, and yet Historia is still hungry enough to call over a nearby waitress and order nearly every dessert on her cart.

Mikasa doesn’t touch any of the pastries that are laid out in front of them, but Historia plucks a crispy durian cake and breaks it in two, the flaky crust crumbling underneath her fingers and spilling onto the table. The intoxicatingly sweet scent of the durian custard is fragrant enough to fill the whole room. Historia stuffs one half into her mouth, savoring the delicate taste of the durian custard as she chews and swallows. She follows with the other half before wiping her fingers on the cloth napkin in her lap.

“Do you still dream of me?” Historia asks nonchalantly. The question comes out of the blue, making Mikasa look up from where she was staring at Historia’s fingers.

I do, Mikasa wants to say. I dream of you every night. But she doesn’t say it. She never does. Instead, the manager replies with a simple, “Yes.”

“Hm,” is all Historia says.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

That night, Mikasa dreams of Historia in a garden. She wears clothing from a different time, the material like that from a rough burlap that has been bleached white from the sun and stitched into a plain dress. She’s younger in this dream, her face a little rounder and her blue eyes less guarded. Historia lays in the garden, staring up at the starry sky. She doesn’t stir even as another girl joins her.

“Historia,” the girl says, freckles sprinkled across her olive skin. Her hair is chopped unevenly in a short cut that frames her thin face, but Historia still smiles when the girl leans over her. It’s not the first time Mikasa has seen this girl in her dreams. “I dreamed of you again.”

“Did you?” Historia asks. Her mouth always curls upward whenever she sees the girl. She’s probably not even aware of it.

“I always dream of you,” the other girl replies.

“Was I beautiful?” Historia asks.

“Of course, you were,” the other girl replies. She lies down beside Historia and the blonde curls up against her, Historia’s blonde head resting against the other girl’s shoulder while their fingers intertwine. “You’re always beautiful.”

It’s painfully intimate. The two look so happy together, curled up against each other as they stare up at the sky. Mikasa doesn’t think she’s ever seen Historia smile like that. It makes her heart ache.

#mikahisu #mikasa ackerman #historia reiss #krista lenz #snk #hotel del luna au #like the moon loves the ocean series #ltmlto

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merinnan · 4 years ago

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Fic Tag Game

Grabbed from @hils79, because it looked like fun.

Name: Merinnan, which I’ve gone by for... fifteen years now, I think? Prior to that, I mostly used Calicia (and sometimes Zoi).

Fandoms: Like Hils, I’m only going to list the fandoms I’ve actually written fic for.

Star Trek: My very first fandom, and the one I’ve written the most fics for (so far - I suspect that DMBJ will overtake it. It certainly already has in terms of word count). I was (and am still) primarily a DS9 fan, and was a huge Kira/Dukat and Garak/Bashir shipper back in the day. Most of my Trekfics are DS9 fics, but I also dabbled a little bit in TOS and TNG, and had one or two crackfic crossovers that involved Voyager characters. Discovery has tempted me with a few fic ideas, but I haven’t written anything for it yet.

Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon: aka, the show that first had me seriously questioning my sexuality. Look, Haruka and Michiru are #goals, don’t judge me. This is also where my Zoi name came from, after the first season villain Zoisite, whom I cosplayed several times. Unsurprisingly, my main ships are HaruMichi and KunZoi. Despite this fact, neither of my published Sailormoon fics are HaruMichi.

Bubblegum Crisis Tokyo 2040: A short-lived fandom, but one I still liked enough to write a fic for and get the OST CD.

World of Warcraft: I wouldn’t say I’m really part of the fandom, per se, but I’ve been playing since the dying days of Burning Crusade, am a huge lore nerd, and started writing a crossover fic that is currently on indefinite hiatus. I do plan to come back and finish it, but first RL got in the way, and now I have to try and remember where I’d actually been planning to go with it.

A Court of Thorns and Roses: That crossover fic I just mentioned? Yeah, this is what it’s a crossover with. ACoTaR fandom went sleepy for awhile, but it’s back up and kicking now that A Court of Silver Flames is out - if any of you are still following me, it’s great to see everyone active again! To the surprise of no-one who knows me, I’m a big Nessian shipper.

Mo Dao Zu Shi / Chen Qing Ling / The Untamed: I came to this fandom via ACoTaR, actually, after a certain person (hi, @rhysand-vs-fenrys!) wouldn’t stop gushing about it :-) This is the fandom that really and seriously got me back into regular fic writing again after 15-ish years. I’m a multishipper here, and have written / am writing WangXian, NieLan, XiCheng, XuanLi, and XiSang.

Guardian / Zhen Hun: MDZS fandom led me to Guardian, which, along with DMBJ, has devoured my life in a way that hasn’t happened since my Star Trek days, and I love it! WeiLan is my major ship, but I’m also quite fond of the DaMian life raft.

Zhu Yilong: Yes, I’m going to list a person as a fandom. Zhu Yilong is one of the stars of Guardian, and is both incredibly pretty and an incredibly talented actor. So much so that I have suffered through some truly terrible dramas just to watch him in them. I do not write Z1L-fic, since RPF of living people is a personal squick of mine, but I am working on a massive crossover fic of most of his characters.

Mo Du: Guardian led me along to more of Priest’s works, such as Mo Du, which is now officially my favourite book, and I adore the main WenZhou ship. The Mo Du fandom right now is pretty tiny, and I’m still working on my first fic for it, but I hope that it will grow with the donghua due out this year, and the drama having just started filming.

Daomu Biji / The Lost Tomb: I initially came into this fandom because of Zhu Yilong, who played Wu Xie in the Reboot / Reunion / Chongqi drama, and then I got sucked into the fandom pit of all of the books and dramas and spinoffs, and it’s wonderful and fantastic. I have written so much for it, and have so much more planned. PingXie and PingXieSang are my main ships here, but I’m also a HeiHua fan, and very much enjoying the RiSang pool noodle that @kholran created.

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort and crack are my major ones.

Fic I spent most time on: A toss-up between Endings and Beginnings and Reunion, both DS9 fics. Endings and Beginnings is an alternate ending to the show, while Reunion is a Gul Dukat-centric fic set around, oh, season 5ish? Both were written for and initially published in print fanzines, so in addition to time spent writing, there was a lot of back and forth for editing, etc.

Favourite fic(s) you’ve written: Look, I honestly couldn’t say. I like most of the fics I’ve written, and there are several that I’m really proud of and really like.

Fic I spent least time on: Silent Graves, a super angsty DMBJ/Lost Tomb Xiaoge fic. I think I wrote it in like 15 minutes.

Longest fic: Cat’s Paw, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang canon rewrite fic I co-wrote with @xantissa, at 247 826 words. For fics written by just me, not with a co-writer, then that would be Nevermore, my WIP MDZS/CQL XiCheng Pacific Rim AU, at 22 276 words and counting.

Shortest fic: Every entry in my DS9 Drabbles series, with each one at exactly 100 words. Although if you count them as a quintdrabble, then Indiscretion (a DS9 missing scene vignette about Gul Dukat, set during the episode of the same name) at 169 words.

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks/subscriptions: The answer to all of these is either Cat’s Paw or Nevermore, so I’m going to give the next highest.

Hits: Those who fear darkness have never seen what light can do, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie supernatural AU fic co-written with xantissa.

Since this fic also takes the highest kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions after Cat’s Paw/Nevermore, I’ll skip to the next fic along on each of those.

Kudos: Stars fall like diamonds, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie missing scene fic from Reboot/Reunion/Chongqi.

Bookmarks: A Knight in Bloody Armour, another DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang supernatural AU fic (but a different supernatural AU) co-written with xantissa.

Comments: Ears and Other Related Calamities, yet another DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang supernatural AU fic (of a different again supernatural AU) co-written with xantissa.

Subscriptions: The Rescue Job, a Guardian WeiLan Leverage AU, currently at one chapter complete and posted out of a planned five chapters.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: We have plans for a prequel and a sequel to A Knight in Bloody Armour, and a spinoff fic for The Zhang Identity (a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie AU that is complete but not yet posted. It will be posted in April as part of the Small Fandoms Big Bang).

Share a bit of a WIP: This is from an as-yet-unnamed post-canon fix-it fic for the Guardian drama:

It was hurting again. Zhao Yunlan curled up into a tight ball under the hospital blankets, trying to ignore it enough to try to get back to sleep. He knew it wouldn't work, because he couldn't remember a time when it ever did, but it was always worth a shot, right? He squeezed his eyes shut and held himself tightly for a few...moments? Minutes?...before grabbing his stuffed cat and clutching it while he forced himself to breathe deep, slow breaths the way the doctors back in Spring City had taught him.

Eventually, the pain died back down to its usual dull ache, the one that was bearable and let him play, and watch TV, and do school lessons with his mother. One day, she said, they'd find a doctor who knew what was wrong, why he hurt all the time, and the doctor would give him medicine that would keep the worst pain away so that he could go to an actual school and meet more kids than the ones who lived in their apartment block or who frequented the same playground that he liked to go to.

Zhao Yunlan tried closing his eyes again, seeing if he could go back to sleep, but he was far too awake now. He sighed, sitting up in bed and looking around the room. Again. It was just like the hospital rooms in Spring City, and in Kiyota City. He figured that if the doctors here in Tomorrow Mountains couldn't help, his parents would take him to yet another city, and the hospital rooms there would probably look the same, too.

Then, over the faint beeping of hospital equipment, and the quiet murmurs further down the corridor of nurses at the nurse station or seeing to other patients, he heard a soft sniffling sound, like someone was trying not to cry too loudly. He picked up his stuffed cat and looked at it.

"What do you think, Dead Cat?" he asked it. "Should we go and find them?"

Dead Cat didn't answer, of course, but that didn't stop Zhao Yunlan from assuming that it agreed with him, and slipping out of bed. His feet touched the cold tile floor with barely a sound, and, still holding Dead Cat tightly, Zhao Yunlan padded over to the door. He looked up and down the corridor, then left his room to track down the sniffling noise.

He wasn't surprised that it came from the next room. He was surprised that it came from another kid, a boy who looked to be about his age, huddled in bed and wiping his eyes.

"Hi," Zhao Yunlan whispered. The other boy looked up in surprise, then stopped to clutch his chest as he began to cough. Once he'd finished coughing, Zhao Yunlan and Dead Cat were perched on the end of his bed.

"I'm Zhao Yunlan, and this is Dead Cat." He held up Dead Cat, moving one of the paws to wave hello. "What's your name?"

The boy wiped his eyes again. "Shen Ye."

I tag: ALL OF YOU! Are you a writer who hasn’t done this yet? Consider yourself tagged if you want to be.

#fanfic meme #dmbj #daomu biji #guardian #mo du #star trek #ds9 #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #sailor moon #mdzs #cql #acotar #bubblegum crisis #world of warcraft #zhu yilong

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neriad13 · 4 years ago

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Favorite Media of 2020!

There was a large swathe of this year during which I was unable to concentrate on reading (as there probably was for a lot of other typically-frequent readers), so, as a result, I ended up listening to way more podcasts and watching way more TV shows. Not a bad thing, but boy did I read way less books than usual.

However, for the first time in a while, the amount of fiction I read was about equal with the amount of nonfiction I read. Last year’s reading resolution was to read more fiction, so...success??

I did read a lot of phenomenal fiction when I had the energy to do so this year.

Books - Fiction

The Martian - Andy Weir

This book is the hardest of the hard sci fi I think I’ve ever read. Every single aspect of it is minutely researched and calculated. The author literally wrote equations to write this book. The science is insanely impressive and yet...it never loses its sense of humor or humanity in the mix. In fact, they’re the thing that drives the entire story.

Warlock Holmes - G. S. Denning

Way early in the year I was strolling down the fantasy aisle at the library, when this cover caught my eye. I took one look at it, went “oh, this looks silly” and...proceeded to devour the entire series in a matter of weeks.

It is very silly. Especially when it’s pointing out something that was silly in the original. There’s something so satisfying about Watson immediately answering Holmes with the correct number of steps in their flat when he’s trying to make his point about how most people don’t pay attention to things like that.

World War Z - Max Brooks

Every single scenario in here could easily support an entire book. A park ranger whose job it is to contain the yearly zombie spring thaw? HECK YES. I’d read tens of thousands of words about that. A Chinese admiral who defaults, steals the government’s premier submarine, loads it up with the families of his underlings and takes to the sea for years to live in the maritime economy that has sprung up in a world where everyone is trying to escape the shore? That could be an entire movie on its own.

Every chapter was more creative than the last and as a huge worldbuilding fan, this book was so, so fun.

An Unkindness of Ghosts - Rivers Solomon

In which a queer, neurodivergent protagonist solves a mystery on a spaceship which is a microcosm of antebellum era politics! This had a beautiful, mysterious, wonder-inducing writing style and it was a joy to peer into the wildly differing minds of every single character.

Books - Nonfiction

Underland - Robert MacFarlane

In every chapter, the author visits a different hole. Basically.

It’s an exploration of caves, catacombs, mines, nuclear waste facilities and the hidden underbelly of every forest. It was fascinating. And fundamentally changed how I look at time.

Rejected Princesses - Jason Porath

After years of having enjoyed the web entries, I finally got my hands on the first book and was not disappointed.

There are the more entertaining entries, of course and the art is as charming as always, but what struck me the most were the more difficult stories. The deeper you go into this book, the more horrific it gets. The author does not hold back on the indignities suffered by the historical figures he writes about. It’s terrible...but also very, very illuminating.

The Gift of Fear - Gavin De Becker

This book - while maintaining all the essential information in it - could be pared down to one sentence in a sea of blank pages and that sentence would be: trust your instincts. End of story.

But in a world where instincts are either customarily suppressed or going haywire, it’s not quite that easy, which is why I’m glad there is more to the book.

I picked it up thinking “ha ha, betcha can’t help a person with anxiety who fears all the time already” and...what it actually ended up doing was giving me the tools to differentiate between real fear and unfounded fear. And did help with the anxiety quite a bit.

Fanfiction

Watch Over Me - cakeisatruth

A Bioshock fic from the point of view of a little sister who is learning how to trust and be an ordinary child again. Dark and sweet. An excellent combo.

All That is Visible - Ultima_Thule

An exploration of a minor character in a well researched historical context? That’s my jam! How did they know?? A Tron fic about what it’s like to be a female programmer in the 70s.

Graphic Novels

The Adventure Zone - McElroys + Carey Pietsch

Yesssssssss! It was a running-to-the-library type event whenever my library got a new volume in. The jokes are so good, the art is so lively and the ways in which they added the details that the podcast couldn’t necessarily get across is *mwah*

Trail of Blood - Shuuzou Oshimi

Hoooooooly shit, the art style of this one!! It’s beautifully detailed and expressive, sure, but the real draw for me was how it changes with the emotional state of the main character. There’s this sequence in which he’s consumed with anxiety at school and all of his classmates become blurry and unfocused, until they can’t be recognized as humans at all, that particularly sticks with me.

It’s a horror story about a kid who witnesses his loving mother push his cousin off a cliff for seemingly no reason and is then obligated by her to keep the secret, which is eating him from the inside out. It’s so good, guys, please read it.

Level Up - Gene Lien Yang/Thien Pham

A story about a kid who is haunted by his late father’s desire for him to become a gastroenterologist. It’s funny and touching and the ending gave me what I can only describe as a feeling of exhilaration. Y’know that feeling when something unexpected but not out of left field, perfectly in tune with the narrative arc and gut bustingly funny happens, all in the same panel? That one.

Film

Searching

This is a fairly standard thriller about a dad trying to find out what happened to his missing daughter. It’s also found footage...but not in the usual way, which was what made it so compelling to me. It’s told through the dad’s phone calls, google searches, social media interactions, news footage, security cameras and webcams. It was such a cool way to tell a story.

Train to Busan

There’s a lot that’s already been said about this movie and I don’t think there’s much more I can meaningfully add to that. Suffice to say that ya gotta take care of each other if you’re going to survive a zombie apocalypse!!

TV Series

My Brother’s Husband

As close to a perfect adaptation as a person can get (barring the entire conversation in English which was...oof). I was so happy when they took it a step further and showed Kana and Yaichi actually getting to meet Mike’s family.

Zumbo’s Just Desserts

I watched a lot of baking shows this year. Like...a lot. They were my much-needed comfort viewing for the year and this one was my favorite, even over The Great British Baking Show (which I LOVE). Why? Because the pastry chef for whom it’s named makes such bizarre and wonderful desserts and fosters an environment in which the competitors do the same. I’ve never seen anything like a lot of the desserts that make an appearance on this show. Every single episode was an awesome surprise and so help me, this show had better get a third season.

She-ra and the Princesses of Power

There’s also a lot that’s been said about this one, so I won’t say much more. Suffice to say: DAMN. That’s how you do an 80s toy tie-in cartoon remake.

Infinity Train

This show’s premise is probably the most unique I’ve seen in recent years. Its balance of comedy, horror and existential dread is also *mwah* I also love how much it trusts the viewer to figure things out on their own.

Primal

A late entry sliding in before the year ends! I finally got to watch the second half of the first season last weekend and it was EXCELLENT. The pacing, the brutal fight scenes, the adorable dinosaur antics, the animation, the quiet moments - *mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah*

The most emotional moment for me was the part in which the protagonists watch, with sorrow, as the rabid dinosaur who’s been trying to kill them all night dies an excruciating death.

Also it sets up a fascinating new plotline right before ending in a cliffhanger!! Another one for the ‘had better get a next season’ list.

Games

Night in the Woods

This is one that’s been on my to play list for a few years and I was so glad I finally got my hands on it. It’s like...The Millennial Experience (TM), the game. I felt so seen, playing it. The character writing was fantastic.

Prey

I don’t know why I put off finishing this for so long. I guess I wasn’t in the right alien killing headspace for a while?? Anyway, the setting is gorgeous, the alien biology is weird and cool, the ethics are delightfully murky and the interconnectedness of the station was really cool, especially in the OH SHIT moments at the end.

Podcasts

The Adventure Zone

I tried to narrow this down to one favorite arc, but found that I couldn’t do it. I love Balance for its comedy and creative energy. I love Amnesty for its drama and acting. I am loving Graduation for the depth of its world and the way in which the real story behind everything that’s happened is slowly unfurling. It’s a good podcast all around.

The Magnus Archives

Who obsessively listened to every single season while playing Minecraft in about a month? Surely not me, nooooo. Of course not.

There’s also been a lot said on this one, so I’ll keep it brief. I’ve seen things in here that I haven’t really seen elsewhere in horror. My particular favorites were the creepy psychiatric hospital in which the horror comes not from the patients, but from the denial of the doctor to believe them about their mental illnesses and every single thing related to the Anthropocene. The one with the Amazonian village made out of trash - CHILLS.

#tma #taz #prey 2017 #night in the woods #infinity train #warlock holmes #she-ra #zumbo's just desserts #a thought

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tsipasce · 4 years ago

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Same Difference, ch.04

A/N: Thanks for the kind comments, this is my first fanfic so let me know what y'all think– hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03

AO3 | Fanfic

Walking home, Nanami was on a bit of a high. Work had been boring recently and her prayers were answered in the way everyone who wants a bit of excitement expects—working with a yakuza boss on a series of human experiments. Makes sense to me~ she thought. She was kind of done with everything at this point, having little in the way of plans today unless they involved relaxing in her apartment and binging some old sitcoms. After the amount of crazy she’d dealt with this weekend, escapism seemed like the right thing to do.

Just as she was about to turn onto her street, that same car from yesterday pulled up to the sidewalk. Sighing inwardly, she hoped it was just a coincidence. Please don’t talk to me… I barely made it through this morning. Haven’t I been through enough today? Then the car window rolled down. Crap.

“If we’re going to work together, you can’t be so careless.” He was annoyed.

Rolling her eyes, she began, “You know what…”

but as she was about to respond in a way she was sure to be unbefitting of most professional relationships, he handed her her purse from the day before. Nanami’s face lit up, realizing she could trash the list she’d made of annoying errands and phone calls she’d have to make in order to replace everything. Forgetting the reason she had lost it in the first place, she beamed, holding it closely, genuinely just happy to have it back, “Thank you!”

A look of surprise flashed across Overhaul’s face, then quickly reverted to his stick-in-the-mud composure as he faced forward. It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, but he found he didn’t dislike seeing her smile. Considering many of the faces he encountered day to day only expressed either anger or apathy, it was nice to see something so different directed at him. He continued monotoned, “Don’t let it happen again.”

Driving off without another word, Nanami watched as the car disappeared into the distance, If nothing else, this’ll be interesting.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Having gotten little to no rest over the weekend, Nanami dragged herself into work. Walking to her office, she continued texting her friends whose calls she’d missed over the weekend, assuring them nothing catastrophic had happened.

A.K.A. lying. She thought to herself.

Still mentally buried in her phone, she heard someone calling her name.

“Dr. Watanabe!” called the nurse.

“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Ito. What’s the matter?” Mrs. Ito was a sweet older woman who’d been with the hospital for years. When Nanami first came to work, she was the first person to greet her with open arms, so seeing her was always a treat.

“Well, you have a visitor in your office. A handsome one,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh really? Pray tell…” Nanami replied in an equally mischievous tone. As unprofessional as it was to ogle patients, seeing a pretty face was just the pick-me-up she needed after her hellish weekend.

“Ooh, well he’s tall..” she began.

“Mmhm,”

“Well-dressed”

“Uh huh,”

“Cute, short brown hair”

“Oh my..”

“and these very intense golden eyes”

“Oh yea—Wait, come again?” She quickly snapped out of her daydream.

“Oh and he’s also very courteous and conscientious. He even had a matching mask on.”

“…I’m taking a sick day.” Nanami said resolutely, turning on her heels.

“Wait why?” Mrs. Ito asked but Nanami was already halfway down the hallway.

I cannot deal with this today. My nerves hardly recovered from yesterday…

Mrs. Ito caught up with her, dragging her back by the scruff of her jacket towards Nanami’s office.

“I know you young doctors can get nervous around patients sometimes, but this is a growing experience for you, Nanami. You’re one of the most competent physicians I know, so don’t be afraid—go get ‘em, tiger!” Mrs. Ito herded her towards her office and watched for Nanami to open it and head inside.

Realizing she couldn’t escape, she shakily put her had on the knob and turned. Mrs. Ito landed a final encouraging hand on her back, playfully pushing her inside. The door promptly closed behind her and she could see Overhaul sitting in one of the guest chairs across from her desk. She stood there for what felt like an eternity until he broke the silence.

“You’re awfully quiet considering how excited you sounded in the hallway.”

Yup. Time to find a rock to crawl under.

She slowly made her way to her desk and set down her bag, too embarrassed to make eye contact just yet. Sighing, she recomposed herself and replied not even attempting to acknowledge his jab,

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to finalize the details of our arrangement.”

“Fine. Which details?”

“Firstly, you’ll be using this to communicate with me,” he explained, sliding her a phone terribly similar to her own. “This will be a secure line. Do not use anything else when we speak.”

“Ok.” Eyeing the phone she realized it would be hard to tell the difference, so she took an old pen and overhauled it into a cute keychain in the shape of a crow. Nanami grinned at how cute she thought it looked hanging from a phone meant for ~espionage~.

“Are you a child? Don’t use my quirk so flippantly.” He chastised.

“Oh please, I’ve seen the articles and autopsy reports. If you can blow people up, I can at least make cute keychains,” she retorted. “Besides, it’s my quirk too and I hardly ever get to… never mind.” There was a pained look in Nanami’s eyes but it went as quickly as it came.

He stared at her a beat, questioningly, until he continued, “We also need to establish our method and procedure for this experiment. There is an address in that phone. Be there tonight at 7pm.”

“How do I know there won’t be an ambush?”

“I need you alive and we’ve made an agreement. I will honor my word.” He replied plainly as he got up and turned to leave.

“Ah yes, the word of an antisocial sociopath. My mind’s completely at ease now.”

He paused, “So that’s how they describe me?” Nanami could’ve sworn she heard a ghost of a chuckle before he opened the door, “Don’t be late.”

The second the door closed she let out the breath she’d been holding… If anything went awry, that would be the end of her, and no one would know. The risks were becoming more and more apparent, but an agreement had been made and there were too many questions.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Deep breaths, Nanami. Take deeeeep breaths. She’d been repeating this mantra to herself the entire drive over, trying to calm her nerves but to no avail. In her anticipation and he’d come straight from work, not bothering to change. She was wearing her white coat with a simple, but professional outfit underneath. It was fitting considering she was just going form one workplace to another, just slightly-less-legal workplace.

The address in her new burner phone hadn’t looked nearly as suspicious as she’d expected. It pointed to a traditional home in a quiet neighborhood that was picturesque and pleasant except for the fact that it was the heart of Shie Hassakai territory. She wondered how many of the “neighbors” were in on this elaborate setup. Nanami parked her car a couple blocks away from the destination and proceeded to walk the rest of the way just to be safe. Having to answer police on why her car was parked right out font of a suspected yakuza hideout was a possibility she’d like to avoid.

Even after taking a more careful look around on foot, most passerbys would see little out of the ordinary, but Nanami could tell she was in the right place. There were signs of a specific kind of disturbance in the areas surrounding the neighborhood. It was immaculate, careful work, but there was no mistaking what created it.

Most of this place has been “overhauled” in one way or another… What was he building around here?

After walking for what felt like an eternity, she cleared her throat, raising her fist to knock. Before her knuckles made contact with the tall wooden gates, they were opened. A man stood at the door in a long, hooded white coat with a plague mask covering his face.

They sure do have a flare for the dramatic here… Nanami noted, taking in the full ‘fit.

“Hello, Dr. Watanabe. Please follow me.” The man calmly replied to her quizzical look.

Walking in, the gates closed softly behind her and she was able to fully take in the front courtyard of the house. From movies she’d expected to see something akin to a fancy drug den, but this was serene. The pathways had been meticulously manicured, but were still lush with trees and tasteful moss. On the wrap-around porch cushions were placed perfect for a leisurely evening drink, and leading up to the entrance, soft lanterns illuminated the path and—

“Ahem. This way, please” The man politely chided, snapping Nanami out of her daydream.

She hurriedly followed him inside, hoping her gawking wasn’t too obvious. Once inside, the house was warm and inviting, but before getting too far down the hallway, the man stopped in front of a vase.

Turning to her he said, “Your phone, doctor.”

Nanami hesitated, weighing her options. Objecting now would just seem suspicious and I’m sure there are cell phone jammers. Might as well play it safe and play ball. Worse comes to worse I can make way to escape…hopefully. After some rustling in her bag and a heavy sigh, she forfeited her device.

“Thank you.” The man said, taking the phone and turning again towards the vase. Pushing it forward, a passageway opened that looked much less inviting. “This way”.

This is possibly the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, but here we go~ Nanami thought as she took the first shaky step down the stairs. It was deafeningly silent, the walls themselves feeling as though they had eyes This is definitely someone’s quirk. Continuing further into the depths of the base, they took a series of dizzying turns until they arrived at the first door she’d seen, in what felt like miles of these underground corridors. He knocked solidly and a familiar, muffled voice responded, “You may enter”.

The masked man opened the door, the light from the room shocking her eyes as they adjusted from the dark passageways. Overhaul was sitting in typical villain fashion on the couch of what she presumed to be his office, waiting.

“Welcome.”

“Good evening.” Nanami stiffly replied as he motioned for her to sit across from him. As it stood, she was outnumbered and still trying to remember the way back to the exit. A poker face and practiced caution were going to be her best tools to ensure she left tonight without incident.

The door closed behind them and the masked man who led her stood in the corner by the door. They sat in silence, Overhaul looking a bit too relaxed for her liking while he studied her. Usually Nanami would shift nervously, but she knew better than to be anything but firm, returning his stare. After a beat, he finally spoke, “I trust you had an amicable reunion with Kurono on your way here. He will be assisting with our research.”

Her brow cocked in confusion and he gestured to the man who had led her, Kurono now removing his mask. As she turned to look at him, Nanami couldn’t help the look of annoyance that took over her face. She saved his life and he sold her out.

“Don’t they have a thing against snitches in your line of work?” she spoke without thinking, but honestly didn’t regret it.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Overhaul put a hand up to his mouth, letting out a minuscule cough.

Did he just do his version of a chuckle?

“That only counts if it’s against your comrades. I was simply reporting pertinent information.”

“One, sounds like something a snitch would say. And two, thank you for confirming that we are in fact not comrades. I was beginning to get mixed signals, what with the random attack and cold stares.”

Overhaul simply replied, “You can relax. If we meant you harm, you’d have known it by now.”

“‘Relax’,” Nanami scoffed.

“Have I not kept my word? Since our negotiations, nothing untoward has happened to you, correct?” he asked pointedly. Nanami was still thoroughly annoyed but couldn’t refute that he’d at least followed the bare minimum requirements of their deal. She just refused to give him the satisfaction or brownie points for it. The fact of the matter was she didn’t trust him, but they had a job to do.

She forfeited their little staring contest, letting out an audible sigh before responding, “Let’s just get started, we have quite the bit of work to do,” she replied, exasperated.

“I couldn’t agree more, follow me.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They exited the office, leaving Kurono behind to take care of some “business” as they called it, leaving Nanami and Overhaul to head for the lab alone, her following a safe distance behind him. She’d relaxed slightly after realizing it would be more logical for him to keep her alive and if she’d learned anything from the reports, as gruesome as they were, it’s that his actions were always logical in some twisted-void-of-humanity sort of way.

The hallways were relatively dark but, in the distance, she saw a rather large set of doors. The lights became more intense and sterile as they drew closer and she noticed Overhaul visibly relax his shoulders. I guess everyone has their own version of a “happy place” …

Using his body to block her view, Overhaul entered a code into the keypad and the doors slowly creaked open. He began, “This is—”

“Beautiful.” Nanami managed to get out as she stared in awe of the facility and equipment, she had only dreamed of using. Back in her research days she’d used mostly hand-me-downs, and the hospital she worked for now had some newer machines thanks to some generous funding, but nothing like this. It was immaculate without a blemish in sight. More impressively, she saw no signs of her quirk. Whatever had been damaged, he’d fixed it the old-fashioned way.

Just as he was about to arrogantly confirm her assessment, he turned and saw her face. There was a twinkle in her eye he’d only seen once before in the mirror. Most of the other members only saw it as a means to monetary ends, besides Kurono, but he knew it was mostly just to placate him. To them, it was just another room in the building, but to him it was a sanctuary. Seeing someone else recognize this caused an odd ache in his chest he hadn’t felt before.

“… Thank you.” It came out much more earnest than he intended and he turned away from her, clearing his throat. “Now, let’s discuss procedures.”

Realizing she had once again spoken without thinking, Nanami facepalmed inwardly before hurriedly responding, “Y-Yes, of course, I’ve brought some ideas and hypotheses we can work from.” She stammered, patting her briefcase. As nervous as she was, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been excitedly hypothesizing the second she got home from their meeting at the tea shop.

They continued to walk through the lab, all the while Nanami inwardly “oohed” and “aahed”, fantasizing about how she’d get to use the equipment. It was a decent-sized laboratory with a rather open layout. There were two work benches in the middle like islands, each bookended by tables with subterfuges and water purifiers, and the walls were neatly lined with the larger machinery. Arriving at the end of the lab, she saw another set of workbenches facing a large whiteboard. Overhaul reached into his jacket, pulling out a file folder and laid it on the desk before removing his jacket and plague mask, revealing his smaller black one underneath. He then replaced his gloves and put on his own white coat motioning for her to sit at the work bench. Folding his hands he looked at her searchingly before initiating.

“Let’s begin by exchanging notes,” he said sliding the file towards her. She opened her briefcase, pulling out a file that was noticeably larger, sliding it towards him. He stared at it suspiciously for a beat before picking it up and taking his file back from her hand, holding them sideways so the difference in thickness could be easily observed. “This is part of the imbalance that needs to be rectified. If we’re going to consider this a partnership, I expect for these to be of equal size by the end of the night.” He said with an air of authority that had Nanami a bit miffed.

“So you want me to spill my guts?” her brow raised.

“Yes. If you’re cooperative, it will only be in the metaphorical sense.” He said matter-of-factly.

“I thought we were done with threats.”

“And I thought with the beginning of this partnership we were done being so adversarial, yet here we are. Where’s the sense in coming this far just to resist me?” He motioned to the situation.

Nanami knew she was being a roadblock to her own progress, but she had realized something in her preliminary research that gave her pause: they had the same quirk, but utilized it in completely different ways. He was already a danger using the quirk as he knew it now, and she was afraid of what might happen if he gained any further mastery of it. On the other hand, there was so much to be gained in researching the discovery of their shared quirk and what he could teach her about it. It was an impossible decision, but considering she was already in the belly of the beast, sharing notes with Overhaul himself, she realized she had already made it.

Rolling her eyes, she relented “Fine.”

“I knew you’d see it my way,” he almost purred, “Now, show me what you’ve got.” He motioned over to a door in the corner next to a larger window. She raised a brow questioningly before he elaborated, “There is a chamber past that door where we can use our abilities without damaging the rest of the laboratory. You used my quirk in a way I haven’t seen before, in order to begin this experiment, we need to both know our limits and abilities.”

Taking a deep breath, Nanami marched towards the chamber with him, knowing whatever happened, it would at the very least be interesting.

13 notes · View notes

neocityfics · 5 years ago

Text

2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Chapter 1 < ❝ Chapter 2 ❞ > Chapter 3

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia, not-so dystopian, angst, slow-burn

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader (featuring Jaehyun)

Warnings: Moderate cursing, mention of guns, mention of blood, alcohol

Note: I’m making Taeyong blonde in this story, I know on the story cover (?) he has hot pink hair, but I just needed a scientist-looking photo to match the doctor theme. So just ignore it lol ✌🏼

▶ Ambience

My face blanks at his question while his eyes bore into mine. To be frank, I’d been to a handful of parties in college, but they always played terrible music and the stench of booze mixed with sweat filled the musty frat house. It’s a dizzying smell and always leaves me nauseous, though sometimes it’s tolerable, rarely enjoyable, if I’m not so sober. However, I’d never gone out clubbing. Honestly speaking, the concept is a bit enticing. Letting loose your stresses and enjoying even a few hours of being yourself without judgment sounds like something I’ve been needing since I started working two jobs. Not to mention most clubs have professional DJ’s, not some random second year frat brother whose only personality trait is playing his today’s hip-hop playlist on a singular loudspeaker. In response to Taeyong’s question, I shake my head with confusion written all over my face. Without another moment, I ask him why he inquired. I expected him to demand that I throw myself into a gunfight or some other dangerous scenario in the darkest spots of town-- definitely not where the bass shakes the whole building as people jump up and down for hours on end. His approach is interesting. I say nothing, however, as words couldn’t seem to come out of my mouth at the moment. Taeyong speaks up again.

“Whatever your answer is, I have a mission for you,” he begins.”There’s a guy at the club several blocks south from here who I need parts from. It’s for the rest of Lucas’s arm,” he explains, sparing a glance at his job on Lucas. “His name is Johnny, the owner and main DJ of the place called Club Zone. Ask any of the bartenders for a Zodiac special. They’ll direct you to Johnny, and you’ll get information on when those parts will be delivered to the clinic, who he’s sending to do the job, and when the next big rave is. Just for fun.” Pushing himself off his chair, he eyes Lucas again who’s been watching him carefully. Taeyong pats the front of his pants, dust flies off and disappears into the air. “I’m not done with Lucas, not until I replace all of his limbs.”

Cruel. Those words immediately send me into disgust and fury, but I couldn’t lose my cool in front of Taeyong, not when he has a fucking gun and could pull it back out any second. My stomach feels queasy and knees weak from imagining how lifeless-looking Lucas would be if and when he completely turns into a cyborg. Hopefully, I can find a way to dig him out of this mess. For now, I try to keep my composure, a bit of surprise that my voice didn’t come out cracking and soft, “I’ll accept your mission, but on the condition that you tell me what exactly you’re planning to do with Lucas.” In response to my request, he nods, taking painfully slow steps towards me. I hold my ground, but couldn’t stop a little jump as he grabs my chin and tilts my head to the side. I lock eyes with Lucas as he appears ready to knock the lights out of Taeyong but stands there, only waiting to see what’s next. Taeyong’s warm breath grazes my ear as a hearty laugh breaks from his lips. The blood in my body seems to be rushing faster and faster as every heartbeat becomes louder in my head.

“Sure, sure. I’ll fulfill that condition right now.” He forces my face to turn the other side, the pressure of his thumb against my jawline sure to bruise some skin. “Though maybe you and robot boy over there could use a bit of a cool down. I know this is a lot to take in. Care for tea?”

▶ Ambience

There’s definitely a bruise on my jaw where he felt the need to press so hard on, my fingers poking at the spot. Taeyong boils tea and pours it into three cups from the kitchenette. He distributes them to Lucas and me, keeping one for himself. Taking a seat on the sofa across from us who share a couch, he seems to note our suspicion from our faces. This man dared to hurt me in front of my best friend, and he expects us to keep calm and drink the tea? Who knows what it’s laced with. He shakes his head, blows across the surface of the tea, and sips away. A minute passes without the other two of us moving a muscle, patiently waiting to see if something is up with the beverage. But nothing happens, and Lucas goes in. Of course, it seems Taeyong really needs Lucas for whatever reason, so it wouldn’t make sense to poison or kill him. Giving up and feeling safer seeing Lucas take it in, I hesitantly drink from my cup. The soreness becomes more apparent as I move my jaw to adjust my lips on the cup of tea. Not bad. Taeyong takes to an explanation, causing me to shift my attention from the tea back to him.

“You’re aware of the corrupt so-called government, right? We just call them the top. All those dirty leaders, bunch of nasty fuckers with no empathy.” The urge to call out the hypocrisy heightened with how he treated Lucas and me, but my mouth remains focused on the tea, ears on his words. His tone becomes stern as he continues, “There are twelve megacities, right? Every single one of them controlled by a few higher ups. Though broken up, they’re powerful as a unit and will not hesitate to team up. They’ll kick us when we’re already down.” I find it strange how he keeps using ‘us’ as if he’s one of the unfortunate people like Lucas and I who have little to nothing. I doubt he has any taste for the hopelessness that I’ve felt these past two years. Not with all the nice luxuries I see in his apartment. But again, it’s best to keep listening and not aggravate him. “But in all of those megacities, they’re not aware that there’s a collective of us distributed as gangs to keep control and gather information to overthrow the top.” Taeyong finishes off his tea, maybe a bit too fast as he coughs a bit into his elbow, and sets the cup onto the coffee table separating us. I try to cut in with a question, but he elaborates further. “I’m the one leading Neostone’s collective. You’re wondering why your good friend here is part of my work, yes? Short answer is this.” Those same dark eyes drilling a hole through me. He leans forward from his seat, clasping hands and resting his elbows on his knees. “Lucas is a prototype, basically an experiment, as part of the plan to take down the top. He’s the perfect build, very healthy. It makes things easier to work with. Lucas took my offer of a good amount of money and promotion at the clinic once this is complete.”

My jaw clenches. At this point, the screams are threatening to spill. Lucas agreed to follow through this procedure... for money and promotion? I can’t blame him. These times have been very tough on us with little money, surviving on scraps. Getting enough to pay rent every month is like walking through hell and back just to find out you’ll be close to starving for the next week. He’s even been given the opportunity to carry out practice-- as a doctor? A nurse? Lucas wasn’t able to finish his studies, so this would be a dream come true for him. But everything about this is inhumane. Taeyong doesn’t seem to have evil intentions based on his coup d'état agenda which I can somewhat get behind, but in the process, Lucas gets hurt. I raise my voice after a minute of taking things in, “So, about my mission. When do you want this done?” It’s a Saturday night which means places like bars and clubs will be fill up quickly and get rowdy. It’s currently 10:00pm.

“Club Zone really starts to become crowded at 11:00pm. At the latest, be back by 3:00am since Johnny shuts things down at 2:00am.” Taeyong circles a finger around the rim of the teacup. “Be aware of others at that place. I’ve heard horror stories from Johnny, though he tries his best to keep things calm. If I don’t hear back from you...” Lucas gulps when Taeyong stands. Though Lucas is way taller than him, Taeyong’s presence towering over us is no joke. “Lucas loses his job and can’t ever work in the clinic. That’ll be on you, sweetheart.” One corner of his lips lifts as he breathes out a soft, yet daunting laugh. He’s enjoying this, and I detest him for it. I need to talk to Lucas.

“May Lucas and I be excused for a minute? I just need to calm down, and I can’t do that with you right there.” My expression sours, and Taeyong waves us off as he leaves towards one of the rooms. Lucas and I are left alone on the couch. Silence, then a sniffle. At the sorrowful sound, I swivel my head to Lucas whose head hangs low. “Lucas. You should’ve told me all of this. Why did you take the offer when you’re only going to become... not human? We’re doing fine with money, I can take another shift and--”

He slams a fist on the table in front of us, another overwhelming silence ensues. The slight crack in his voice hurts. “Do you think there’s been a day I don’t worry about the costs of everything? Do you think I enjoy being at that damn clinic just to end up cleaning towels and disinfecting instead of applying everything I learned in college? Do you think I tolerate seeing you overwork yourself with two jobs so you can pay for yourself and a bit for me? Fuck you.” The tears in our eyes pour over the rim, hot like the tea we just had. The pain in his words struck me. I never realized he felt this way. I guess I saw him as someone who’s only happy and goofy all the time without seeing what’s truly bothering him inside. He may look and sound strong, but what he’s saying right now breaks the image that my mind latched onto. Lucas removes his hand from the table, a bit of a purplish hue forming from the contact with the hard surface. “I’m doing this not only for myself, but for you, too. You are the only one that’s given me purpose in this fucking dump of a life, and now Taeyong is allowing me a chance at what I love best and to get us out of being dirt poor. Can’t you see that? I know you care for me, but please don’t police my decisions.” He sighs and extends his arm over my upper back, pulling me into a side hug. “I can’t express how sorry I am for dragging you into this. But now that you’re here and on board, I swear to protect you. From everyone. From Taeyong.”

I don’t know what to say other than muttering sorry a hundred times as the crocodile tears soak small parts of my clothes. I wipe away the drops from eyes as soon as I hear a door click. Taeyong comes back into view, seeing the pathetic disarray that was a sobbing session. “Done? It’s 10:30pm now, better get going before you can’t push through the horde. Club Zone is popular.” This bitch, how much more insensitive can he get? Once the remaining wetness of my face becomes dry, I stand up, grabbing my things without saying anything. Taeyong’s getting on my last nerves, and I may snap if I try anything to get back at him, verbally or physically. The only thing that I can do right now is to find out the information, give it to him, and leave for home with Lucas. Do my job and go home. The two watch me leave the apartment, disappearing into the hallway with a slam of the door.

▶ Ambience, NCT Playlist for the club

So this is Club Zone. The mixture of bright purple and pink neon lights accompanied by dizzying bass make my head hurt a bit. I arrived at 10:55pm with the long line already forming. Though I feel out of place, I fall in and peer towards the front. The bouncer doesn’t seem to have any sort of list. Looks like they just let anyone in. After about fifteen minutes, I get in. Taeyong’s right-- this place is getting quite packed, people already seemingly drunk, probably from pre-game. The bass gets louder, banging against my ears, as I make my way to the bar where less people were hanging out. Everyone else is already swaying and spinning to the deafening beats. It’s hard to see anyone with how dim the club’s lights were. I seat myself at the counter on a high chair, raising a hand and giving a smile to the nearest bartender who thankfully attends to me right away. Upon asking for my request, I answer, “Zodiac special, please.” The bartender stands still for a second, examining me, then nodding and fixing a drink right away. Taeyong didn’t specify in his directions whether the bartender would immediately tell me where this Johnny person is, so I sit and wait for anything to happen. I receive the drink which is rather pretty with a light blue liquid and glowing green swirls. The bartender then slides what seems like a receipt next to my drink. They tell me not to worry and that the drink’s safe to have. Damn, no alcohol. Not sure if I’m pleased with the fact it’s non-alcoholic, but it isn’t important right now. Upon further inspection, I find a scribbled note on the back, “Tonight’s a packed night, please wait until midnight at the bar. I’ll come find you and take you to the back once I switch with another DJ.” I assume this is Johnny’s instructions which I sigh to. Shoving the piece of paper into my pocket, I check the time on my phone. It’s 11:20pm now.

Another tall figure takes a seat besides me despite the other empty seats farther away. I do my best not to make any sort of eye contact as I really don’t want trouble on my first mission. My eyes are set on doing the bare minimum and leaving as soon as it’s done. I almost choke on a sip of the drink as the person startles me with a deep voice, “What drink is that? Looks cool.” I regain a steady breath and turn to face whoever this is and... oh shit. In the little light provided by the overhead beams on the ceiling, I make out a rather handsome visage topped with fluffy, wavy dark hair. Maybe this mission will be alright. “Hello?” He tilts his head to fit onto his palm, elbow resting the table. Fuck, was I staring?

“Oh, sorry! It’s, well,” I stop for a second, realizing this drink is probably exclusive to gang members, so if he asked for one also... that may cause complications. “I just told the bartender to surprise me, to be honest.” I hope that lie is convincing enough, and it appears so as he laughs. He waves and asks for a glass of Manhattan from a bartender who seems to tense up at his presence. I continue just to enjoy the cold drink, which is the perfect amount of sweet and sour. This’ll make up for being in this stuffy space.

“Jaehyun, by the way.” I lift a brow, only slightly facing Jaehyun while my glass is attached to my lips. “I haven’t seen you before, is this your first time? Club Zone’s pretty cool compared to all the other clubs in downtown.” I nod, taking a big gulp of the drink and setting it down. Why not pass time doing something other than sitting around while I wait for Johnny?

I go along with the conversation, “You can call me [Y/N]. This is my first time here, I needed a break from work and such. Jaehyun’s a cool name.” He lets out a lively laugh and takes a few sips of his drink, and much to my dismay, the pace of my heartbeat quickens. I’m not here to flirt, but maybe just a little won’t hurt, right? And I won’t let it get too far. Besides, this Zodiac special is safe. However, this Jaehyun person pushes his own beverage towards me.

“Try it, if you’d like. Have you had one of these? This club’s got the best bartenders and drinks.” Hesitantly, I take the class and bring it closer to my nose to smell it. Well, I am at a club. With the drink in hand, I tilt my head back a bit, letting the cool sting travel down my throat. It burns a lot, a sensation that feels like new. I hand the remaining amount back to him, thanking him. “Good? You took in a lot.” Damn that eye smile and grin. It’s been a while since I’ve felt mesmerized by someone, but maybe it’s just the Manhattan hitting.

Noticing I’m facing him fully, I shift in my seat and go back to my own drink. “Yeah, I’m fine.” In reality, whatever the bartender put into glass is strong. I can feel the fuzzy feeling travel down my throat and spread throughout my body, a bit of a buzz in my head. “What about you, what brings you here?” I ask the man who looks to be inching closer to me, his shoulder almost touching mine. If he tries anything, he won’t be having a great time after I sock him somewhere sensitive. “You’re all dressed up in a suit, too, are you into business?” Jaehyun shrugs, fiddling with a now empty glass, his eyes focused on mine a little too comfortably for me.

He pulls a card with his contact information on it and hands it to me which I take gingerly, flipping it over and back a few times. “Jeong Jaehyun. Real estate. Been dealing with a lot of shit people these days. Feel free to call me whenever, for business or,” he pauses, “things not related to real estate.” He asks the bartender for another drink, a Daiquiri this time, just as another man saunters over. He pokes lightly at my shoulder.

“Hey, let’s chat in the back, shall we?” The man eyes Jaehyun, but doesn’t pay any more attention, swiftly changing his focus back onto me. “You can bring your drink with.” I nod, assuming this man is Johnny and that I’d be okay with him.

Standing up, I feel a bit dizzy, uncertain if from sitting down for so long or the drink that Jaehyun let me have some of. Johnny notices, steadying me by offering his arm which I hold onto. Before we commence our journey to wherever he’s taking me, Jaehyun nudges my side, winks at me, and says, “Have fun, you have my card.” He shoots a wide smile, his eyes trailing down my body as I walk away. Club Zone might have its perks.

▶ Ambience

Johnny and I reach the back which I assume are for private parties and, well, other private activities. The bass hits the walls hard as we enter an empty room. It’s now just Johnny and I, and though there’s less people, I can’t help but feel uneasy. We both take a seat opposite of each other, my sadly non-alcoholic drink starting to dwindle away. Beginning to sober up, I open up the discussion. “You’re Johnny, right?” Just making sure I have the right guy on my first mission, especially with Lucas on the line. I feel relief when he nods and shows me his ID card. Looks legitimate. Johnny Suh, 25 years old, from Chicago. So he was born in the western hemisphere that was destroyed back in 2094. Since I grew up there, it’s nice to meet someone else who would remember it. I wonder how he ended up here in Neostone. “Good, so Taeyong sent me to ask you about parts? I don’t know, I’m new to all of this. I don’t even know what to ask exactly.” Johnny softly chuckles at my predicament.

“Yong’s never had a messenger, he used to do everything himself. Makes me happy he’s got you to carry some work, hopefully you can adjust soon. You’re doing great so far.” His reassurance feels nice, knowing the kind of situation I’m stuck in. Johnny continues, “He can expect Lucas’s parts in a few days, probably in the middle of the week. I’m having Doyoung and Taeil deliver them directly to the clinic for the doctor dude.” I nod. Doyoung and Taeil. I have to remember these details for Taeyong. The way Johnny knows Lucas’s name makes me feel strange. How many people are in each of these gangs and how many know Lucas? They probably know him just as the prototype or cyborg which doesn’t sit right. Johnny’s then out of the blue poses a question that puzzles me. “Are you part of the Dragon Zodiac? Or from another group?” Undoubtedly, my confused face is my answer to him. “Ah, you’re some stranger then, huh. Well, Taeyong’s the leader of the Neostone Zodiac, the Dragons. They’re known for elemental manipulation.” Now hold on.

Without warning, I channel a more intense tone and volume, “For fuck’s sake, I keep learning new things each hour since I’ve met Taeyong. They can do what now?” Johnny bursts into laughter and tears, wiping them away though they seem to keep coming. He’s trying to explain, but it takes him a couple of minutes to finally recollect his composure.

“Did you go into this not knowing anything? Lord, that man cracks me up. Anyways, sorry,” he starts, still dabbing his sleeve at his reddened cheeks where laughing tears stained. “Each megacity is represented by a Zodiac. I’m sure you’ve heard about the story of the twelve animals and some race, yeah? For example, I’m not from Neostone, but I work for the Horse Zodiac based in a city in South Korea, we’re known for enhanced stamina. You know, I made it to state back in high school for track. Almost to the national stage, but I got injured. Those were good times...” This man is so talkative, and I could not take in any more information, but he keeps going on some tangent about his track and field days. So in addition to my best friend completely turning into a cyborg that I have to help out with, I’m also up against others with super powers? The more this progresses, the more I believe I’m living in a superhero comic or film. There’s no way this is all real, maybe he’s just pulling my leg. Johnny continues to detail the whole Zodiac concept. “The Dragon Zodiac is one of the special collectives. Taeyong is kind of like... a metal bender, if you think about it. But he can’t go toppling whole buildings or whatever, their power is pretty limited.”

That must be why his work with Lucas’s arm is so sleek and seamless. He’s able to supernaturally work with metal apparently, but I’m not believing Johnny’s words until I see these supposed abilities for myself. Johnny stares at me, waiting for me to say something, so I do. “Thank you, I’ll tell Taeyong this.” This is all I say. Propelling myself off the chair, Johnny provides me a bottle of water and offers to escort me out through the busy club. Nodding in approval, we take off and out of the back and into the noisiness of the Club Zone. Taking sips of water every now and then helps to recuperate from the fuzziness that Manhattan drink dealt. Speaking of Manhattan, the darkened eyes of the man from earlier lock onto mine, watching me leave with Johnny at my side with a smug smile on his face. Jaehyun stands still with his back against the wall, away from all the activity of dancing and drinking taking place where the other DJ does his job.

Johnny leans down towards me and warns me, “That’s Jaehyun. He’s the Ox Zodiac leader. Might be pretty, but don’t get caught up with him.” The comment leaves me curious, and a bit annoyed. You’re telling me that gorgeous man can’t be messed with? I’ll bring this up with Taeyong and see what kind of dirt is on Jaehyun. I quietly thank Johnny for guiding me as he lets go of my arm at the entrance of the building. He bids me safe travels and turns, seemingly eager to get back to DJ’ing. The guy seems nice, way more entertaining and easy to approach than the damn doctor. Club Zone just might be a new spot for me to frequent. Before I push through the doors to exit, I steal a glance from Jaehyun who’s still looking at me. I’m definitely coming back.

▶ Ambience

2:30am. I arrive at Taeyong’s apartment, knocking instead of breaking in. The door opens revealing the doctor who appears to have showered, the strong scent of mint pouring into the hallway and the blonde strands sticking in generous clumps to his foreheads. Kind of... cute. “I wasn’t expecting you to come back. At least, not this early.” I take it back. What a way to greet someone. He ushers me in, closing the door behind me. Looking around, I note that Lucas isn’t here, and I look at Taeyong for answers. He reads me well, reporting that he sent Lucas home around midnight to get some sleep. “Lucas didn’t seem too well, probably from lack of sleep. Very worried, like a puppy that can’t stand being away from its owner. Should let him be more often.” I hate that he’s right, but I brush off the comment and take a seat, this time on the comfier and nicer sofa. Taeyong sits across. “So, information. Spill.” Jumping on information already, not even asking if I made it back alright and everything went smoothly-- who does he think he is?

Establishing my perplexity with his attitude, I passive aggressively begin with, “I met Johnny who’s very nice compared to you and explained way more than you did, without a gun or anything.” He rubs the back of his neck which tells me he may regret all that he pulled earlier on me. Or that he doesn’t care and wants to get straight to the information. “Anyways, Do... Doyoung? Along with Taeil will be delivering the shipment sometime, possibly in the middle of, this week. Straight to clinic.” Taeyong nods with the details given to me by Johnny. Maybe I’ll stay quiet about my encounter with Jaehyun since Johnny said not to meddle with him. After I finish my piece, he ponders, his brows knitting together. Is it not enough for him? I’ve given him what he wants. I just need to get home and make sure Lucas is okay.

“Very good except... did you ask about the next rave.”

I fucking loathe him each time he opens that mouth.

“No. Because it’s not important, next. Let me go home.” My arms fold across my chest, an eye roll to top it off. Taeyong chortles at my annoyance.

He gets up, still laughing, and picks up a set of car keys from off the wall near the door. “Easy, easy. Come on, I’ll drive you back home.”

▶ Ambience

Part of me still is fuming over Taeyong’s demeanor, but I’m also thankful for him driving me back to the complex. The rain starts to hit hard against the windows. I’d rather not get soaked after an already wild and mostly upsetting night. The ride is silent for a few minutes until he breaks it. “Hey, I know we’re off to a bad start, but you’re working for me now.” Held me a gunpoint. “As your boss, I’ll be protecting you as I need someone to help divvy up my project, even just for information gathering, so you don’t need to worry about me hurting you anymore.” Bruised my jaw earlier. “All you need to do is follow my orders and you’ll be fine.” Put responsibility for Lucas’s possible promotion to be taken away on me. Aren’t doctors supposed to have compassion and be kind? Whatever his words were, they went in one ear and out the ear because I don’t want to hear him talk anymore. He pulls into a spot and parks against the sidewalk close to the complex entrance, but I needed to hear an apology from him. If we’re working together, I need him to know my boundaries and to treat me with respect. The windshield wipers are the only thing we could hear for a moment until Taeyong reaches into the back. What in the world could he be pulling out? A gun again? My heart races for a few seconds, but calms down after seeing a familiar red box with a cross on it. A medicine kit. He sets it onto his lap, opening it up to reveal the usual items that come with it. Taeyong picks up the instant ice pack, shakes it a few times waiting for it to feel cold in his hands, and hands it to me. I stare at him in disbelief. “Nice bruise.” He points to his jaw in the spot where my bruise is, and I feel at my own face to mirror him. He laughs, a painful ring in my ears to hear him mocking me. “Take care and see you at the clinic on Monday.”

Exiting the car, I hold the ice pack to my bruise, the sting of the coldness causing me to wince. You’re so pathetic, I say to myself. That wasn’t the kind of apology I wanted, if it was even one, but the tiredness is starting to take over me. Before to entering the complex, I peek over my shoulder to see Taeyong still parked, watching me head inside. Sticking my tongue out in displeasure with all he’s done, I put up a quick middle finger and rush inside. He’s probably roaring his ass off in laughter inside his car, but it’s no longer something I’ll pay mind to. My priority is Lucas.

▶ Ambience

Without hesitation, I enter Lucas’s small apartment through the door that’s ajar, and I find him twiddling his thumbs at the table with nervousness riddling his expression. Has he been waiting for me? I reposition the ice pack still on my bruise. “Hi, Lucas, sorry if you were staying up for me.” I reassure him, seeing his shoulders drop and some color rise back in his face. He raises a brow, and I know he’s about to ask about the unpleasant-looking violet blooming along my jaw. “I’m okay, he didn’t do anything else. I told him all the information and he drove me home.” He sighs in relief, stands, and opens up his arms, the good old bear hug whenever something goes down. Embracing him, the familiar sense of comfort washes over me, my lids wavering as the need to be in bed becomes stronger.

“It’s a been a long night, hasn’t it? We both should sleep in a little. Let’s go to Electric Egg later this morning for brunch. 11:30? Sicheng’s working then, too.” I sleepily nod, pushing him away a little to leave for my room. He asks another question, one that fills me with dread, “How do you feel about Taeyong?” I keep my lips shut. “He’s not a bad guy, I promise. Just give him time.” I wonder how long he’s been keeping this from me. If it’s only recent, I can feel somewhat better. If not, then this whole time, he’s been secretive about this and working with Taeyong, that evil man. Though feeling betrayed, I think I can trust him with Lucas. Since all I’m doing is gathering information, this compromise shouldn’t be difficult to carry out. Talk to people, report the details, and repeat. As long as it doesn’t involve harming others, everything will be fine.

A weak smile occupies my face, my head beginning to feel heavy in addition to the rest of me. “As long as you’re okay, I’ll be alright with him. We just have to play along with Taeyong and see what happens next. But I won’t let him hurt you, or me.” Lucas, satisfied with my answer, pushes me out the door with a loud laugh and bids me a good night. I quickly do the same before closing his door and drift over to my own room. After a quick wash and stretch, I sit at the edge of the bed and scan the crumpled paper with all of Taeyong’s information from Pearl Park. My thumbs try to smooth out the wrinkles as much as possible to make it clearer. He’s annoyingly admirable. A very intelligent doctor who’s got a charm to him, plus supposedly a superpower, and can get whatever he wants-- one of those things being my best friend-- is unfair. I look over to the now squishy, melted ice pack on my night stand. He’s not a bad guy. I want to believe Lucas. He’s been in more contact with Taeyong than I have. If he says so, then I should let it be, like Taeyong said. I turn over the document which I did not notice before, probably because I was rushing to get out of the storage room. It’s a list of what I think are names, neatly written in small cursive. Going down it, these names don’t seem familiar which I assume because the document is from an older year. Midway through the list, I abruptly freeze at a name that makes my blood stop, my body ice cold:

Jeong Jaehyun.

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mayascherub · 5 years ago

Text

THE DINNER

WARNINGS: mostly angsty, but a littleeee 18+ :)

thanks too: @openheart12 @junggoku @sekizincimektup

*btw sry if there are any grammar mistakes etc. englsih is not my first language!*

-----

Ethan had planned his day thoroughly, knowing the time he got off the job, planning to go to Whole Foods, already had made a shopping list, so he didn't have to spend too much time in the public. Of course dreading the fact, that he always ran into several of his colleagues and interns.

He enjoyed planning, and enjoyed that Naveen had suggested that they ate dinner together once a week. It felt nice, catching up on their personal lives, instead of discussing cases like they always did. Today it was Ethan’s turn to cook.

7:01 pm.

Exactly 59 minutes before i have to leave Ethan thought, looking up from his silver watch as he was strolling down the halls of Edenbrook. He passed many doctors, brilliant doctors who all admired him. All doctors wanting to stand out, be the first to diagnose a patient, fill the chart with the most correct information - all for nothing.

Ethan already knew which doctor’s work he was most indulged in. Hers. Dr. Valentine. Casey.

She had wrecked his life, whirled his heart like an uncontrollable tornado - in an insufferable addicting way. Ethan have had girlfriends in the past, but no one like Casey. No one made him feel the way he felt, when he saw Casey’s eyes sparkle with joy at him.

The warmth from her body he was addicted to feel, when she showed him a patient’s chart. Having to clench his jaw, not to embrace her. To feel her.

“Why do you have that smirk plastered on?” Casey playfully said, when Ethan passed by her in the hall.

“I-” He looked at her, almost scared that she had read his mind. “I just-”

“Did you yell at an intern? I know it makes you happy to crash dreams” she took a step towards him, crossing her arms and smiling mischievously.

“Very funny, Rookie” he said, trying not to stare at her “I am having dinner with Navee-” he stopped himself, as he noticed the other doctors around them. “..with Dr. Banerji. In less than an hour”

“Oooh. That sounds nice” she took a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess he will be the one cooking?”

“No, today is my day.. so far he is the only one who have cooked, so i-” he stopped himself as he noticed Casey giggling. “What is so funny, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s just.. you cooking?” she bursted out laughing “I mean.. no offense”

“It is kinda hard not to.. you are insulting my cooking skills immensely” a small smirk creeped on his lips. “I guess.. i never considered it”

“Well it’s your lucky day, Dr. Ramsey” she put her hands behind her back “i am very good at cooking, and i’ll get off in and hour as well” Ethan considered her words.

“Meet me in the parking lot at 8:15 sharp” he continued his walk, looking back to see a huge grin on her face.

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

Casey had to stay in the car while Ethan went shopping, since they surely would run into fellow Edenbrook doctors. And they would start all sorts of rumours.

Ethan usually wouldn’t care, but he knew Casey did.

She didn't deserve to be so hard-working, only for people to think she slept with her boss to earn her place on the diagnostics team.

The drive was surprisingly awkward. Just an hour ago they communicated like school girls, now it just felt too real.

She was going to his apartment for the first time in more than 2 months. When he left Boston and went to the Amazon he promised himself to let her go.

To let go of his feelings for her, and never set a foot into her apartment, or let her into his again. But here they are. In front of his place, ready to ruin his promises to himself.

Ethan pulled his key out, only to notice that his door was already open. “What..”

“Has there been a robbery?” Casey said, looking worried at Ethan. Only for the song “Afterglow” being played from his living room, inside.“Taylor Swift? What is happeni-”

“Naveen” Ethan shook his head, but clearly delighted by his mentor. “He has a spare key” Casey looked stunned at him.

“Well i know that! But.. NAVEEN IS A TAYLOR SWIFT STAN?” Ethan chuckled at her comment.

“I am.. so mind blown right now.. an old doctor.. listens to- oh god. I am so happy i decided to come tonight”

Ethan opened the door, and quickly put the bags of groceries in the kitchen, where he met Naveen, sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island. Humming silently to the lyrics of the song.

“Good to see you, son. I am.. er.. very excited for dinner” Naveen said plaufully, clearly making a joke about Ethan’s cooking abilities. Am i really that bad? Ethan thought, but before he could answer, Casey walked up behind him.

“And now you should be even more. I was assigned to help Ethan” She patted Ethan friendly on his shoulder, letting a huge grin out. Naveen looked surprised at her arrival, yet happy to see her.

“What a lovely surprise, Casey!” Naveen took a long pleasant stare at her, and then at Ethan.

“What is it?” Ethan said, knowing Naveen had his mind on something.

“Well i am just surprised the two of you are dating without telling me first” Naveen scooped down from the stool, and went to the livingroom to turn off the Taylor Swift music and returned to them, finding them glaring at him uncomfortably. Casey had retreated her hand from Ethan’s shoulder, standing frozen.

“Ah kids, that was simply a joke” he laughed loudly, holding a hand on his stomach.

“You should see your faces!” He started unpacking the grocery bags.

“I- Naveen?” Ethan turned around to Naveen, a bright red color spreading on his cheeks.

“Ahem. Well, should we all cook together?” he said, looking shyly at Casey, who clearly still were stunned by Naveen’s comment.

“Yes. Yes I uh- yes. Dr. Ra- Eth- uh.. yes” Casey stumbled on her sentence, although it filled Ethan’s stomach with butterflies, pleased with her equal feelings for him. They both felt like little school children, getting caught by their teacher.

They all started cutting out veggies and meat, as Naveen and Casey tried to learn Ethan how to roast chicken properly - ending in Casey taking over, leaving the men to set up the table.

“You know” Naveen said in a low voice to Ethan, so Casey couldn't hear him “It wasn’t all a joke”

Ethan almost tripped, as he was holding three plates. He quickly balanced himself again, his face turning red again.

“It would be.. inappropriate. And unprofessional”

“So you’ve thought about it, boy?” Naveen smiled brightly, tilting his head to one side.

“I- no i- it was simply a fact, Naveen. You-” Naveen shook his head while maintaining the smile.

“I’ve never met a person who makes you speechless” he said as he returned to check on Casey.

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

After dinner Naveen left, giving Ethan an obvious wink as he was hugging Casey.

“You kids take care” he said, closing the front door behind him. Leaving Casey and Ethan alone together in Ethan’s apartment.

They looked at each other, as they both knew they shared a longingly feeling for them to connect again. Them both knowing they couldn’t, their eyes turning somber in sync.

Ethan cleared his throat.

“Are your friends waiting for you?”

“Yeah, i should probably..”

“Of course” Ethan took her jacket of the hanger, handing it too her, only stopping in mid-air. “Wait you can’t go.. you can’t go home alone.. it's dangerous. And i can’t drive you, i had too many glasses of wine, and-”

“Uber? I can just call an Uber”

“No. You can’t trust them” he said, trying to look sincere.’You can’t trust them?’ What are you, a conspiracy theorist? He thought, annoyed by his own comment. “You can borrow my car.. or” he leaned against the wall, looking at her with great insecurity. “You can.. stay here for the night”

It felt like the whole world gone silent - two adults clearly having feelings for eachother, both trying to restrict themselves - and then she broke the silence.

“I would love to” Casey said, eyes smiling as she looked up at him. “And anyways, i would definitely dent your car. I am a terrible driver”

“Oh, i know” he said, smirking as she walked by him from the foyer to the living room.

She stopped, and turned around to face him.

“So do you have any extra blankets or something?” Ethan almost didn’t hear her words, still being in a trance after her decision. “Ethan? Hellooo?”

“Oh, yeah of course.. but” he scratched the back of his head. “I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take my bed”

Casey protested, but Ethan convinced her that he usually would fall asleep on the couch with a book - so he was used to it. He showed her the bedroom, both of them pretending that she never had seen it before. She gestured to his closet.

“Do you have any pj’s or old t-shirts or something i can borrow?”

“Yeah” he opened a drawer, and gave her a green t-shirt that said “World's finest doctor” written in pink.

Casey bursted out laughing.

“Well, well, well Dr. Ramsey” she took the shirt and held it up to him. “Why have i never seen you wearing this?”

Ethan smiled, enjoyed how much she enjoyed this moment. “It was a gift from Ines.. dont.. mention this to anyone.”

Casey hugged the fabric, and went into the bathroom to change. She came out, the t-shirt reaching just her upper thigh, exposing a very little amount of her bottom. But for Ethan, it was just enough. He quickly looked away, and crossed his legs to hide his body’s response to her outfit.

“Very well.. i’ll go to bed now” he said, trying really hard to think about anything else but his desire to share the bed with her.

“Okay, goodnight” she said, well-knowing of the look in his eyes.

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

And there he was. Laying on the uncomfortable couch, both regretting his choices for letting her stay - and dreading the fact that he didn’t go further.

That night he didn’t sleep. His mind was full. And to his own annoyance, jealous of his shirt for being so close with her. Absorbing her smell.

Of course he was planning to wash it the next day. Of course! But could he really get himself to do it?

He knew that they had crossed a boundary. But now.. They could never go back. We will make it work. And he knew they would. Because his eagerness for her presence would only grow stronger.

#ethanramsey #dr ethan jonah ramsey #ethan jonah ramsey #ethan ramsey #drethanramsey #ethan x mc #ethan x reader #open heart #oh #choices oh2 #pixelberry

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years ago

Text

Burned Part 20

Summary: Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 20: Good news is met with the bad. Aberama Gold is informed.

Louise sat outside the door into the doctor’s office. She waited patiently for him to finish up with speaking to Alfie after the examination. She was undoubtedly anxious as she waited but at least he was seeking help.

Finally, after about half an hour, Alfie came out. He stopped in front of his wife for a moment. His eyes searched her face as he summoned the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered before passing by her and leaving the office.

Confused, Louise looked to the doctor who was standing in the doorway. Her stomach twisted up and she felt sick. There was a large part of her that was in denial. Of course, she’d been worried about the possibility of cancer, but she thought it was just an overreaction. She wanted so desperately to be wrong. But judging by Alfie’s reaction and the look on the doctor’s face, she had been right all along.

“Why don’t you come in, Mrs. Solomons.” He let her into his office.

She came and sat across the desk from him.

The man, Doctor Cecil Stephens, was a kind man with much compassion for his patients. He was well known in the Camden community for being one of the best doctors in the area. He’d been in practice for quite some time but had yet to formally see Alfie Solomons as a patient.

Of course, he knew the gangster, it was hard not to when his practice was in the Jewish man’s domain. He’d treated many of Alfie’s men, people who came in beaten an inch of their life, ones with bullets lodged in them, or a missing body part such as an eye or finger. With this pattern, Cecil naturally assumed that he would come across Alfie one day. And most likely it would be under violent circumstances. Instead, the man arrived that morning with his wife by his side. He looked grumpy, but it was merely a ploy to hide his worry. Once behind doors, Alfie explained the issue and showed him the abrasions that were starting to form on his skin. The man was uncharacteristically quiet and sat stiffly through the diagnosis.

Cecil had seen many reactions in his time as a doctor. It was difficult to predict someone’s response to a terrible fate. If anyone were to react violently, he assumed it would be a man with such a reputation as Alfie Solomons. So it was a surprise to see Alfie merely walk off, leaving his wife.

“Mrs. Solomons, I’ve examined your husband and spoke to him.” Cecil sat down and looked through the notes he’d taken. “I’m afraid he’s developed a form of skin cancer.”

Louise sucked in a sharp breath and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “I…I don’t understand. How?”

“Well, there is still a lot of research being done on cancer. Unfortunately, it’s in the early stages. However, I’ve seen many men like your husband, veterans who were affected by the gases used in battle.” He explained with the same gentle tone he used for all his patients and their family members.

“Y-you can do something for him, right?” Her voice was small and she clutched helplessly to her handkerchief.

“There are therapies that are still being developed but we aren’t sure the long term effects. Radiation has been proposed in recent years, but it’s unknown if it helps.” He was sympathetic to the woman. Alfie had told him they were just wed in the summer and they’d only just found out she was expecting. A cancer diagnosis certainly wasn’t expected or desired.

“That…that’s simply not good enough.” Louise stammered. Her heart began to race. She would not lose her husband. She refused to bury him so soon. “There must be something you can do.” Her voice rose and her breathing became shallow. The office closed in on her and she panicked. No, it had to be a nightmare. She would wake up and learn it was nothing more than a treatable condition.

“I’ll try everything I can to try and ease his pain, but it’s unlikely it’ll be treated completely.” Cecil kept a calm demeanor.

Louise suddenly stood, nearly kicking her chair back from the sharp movement. “You’re a fucking doctor, you’re supposed to be able to help him!” She shouted. “I’m not going to let my husband die!”

Not half a second after her outburst, Louise felt strong hands leading her out of the doctor’s office. “That’s enough, Lou,” Alfie said firmly.

“No! He can’t just not have answers!” She fought against her husband’s hold but he was still much stronger than her.

“No use in yelling, yeah? C’mon.” He muttered a quiet apology to Doctor Stephens before escorting her outside to the car.

Once he got her in the backseat, Louise burst into hysterical tears. “He’s lying. That’s not what it is. We’ll find another doctor. Someone who’ll know better.” She rambled through her tears.

Alfie embraced her close. “Sh, sh, s’alright, love.” He wasn’t going to argue with her when she was in such an irrational state. “Try to breathe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louise spent most of the afternoon in a huff and crying off and on. Alfie stayed home with her, leaving a list for Ollie to finish at the bakery. For most of the time, he sat quietly while Louise kicked up a fuss. She ranted about, pacing through the parlor with Cyril at her heel. The next moment she was curled up in Alfie’s lap sobbing.

He did his best to comfort her but his mind had gone to a dark place. He thought about getting his affairs in order. Editing his will to include his son or daughter. Louise would need help if he died. He couldn’t leave her with nothing, especially with a child. He figured he could divide up his estate, leaving most of it to Louise, some to Ollie and his family, and the rest to the several Jewish charities he donated to. That would give him more peace at night.

Yet, money couldn’t heal her wounds if he were to pass. He wanted to berate himself for letting her get so attached. If she didn’t have him, then it wouldn’t hurt as much when he died. He assumed for a long time that when he died, the majority of those who knew him would be happy. Mean ‘ol Alfie Solomons would never again bother them. He didn’t anticipate having a devoted wife and child.

Now he was anxious for their well being when he was gone. Would his enemies take advantage of her? Could he guarantee her safety if he wasn’t there protecting her?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ollie arrived at the Solomons’ home late that night. He came in with a list of the things he’d completed and any messages he’d gotten that day.

Louise had exhausted herself and passed out in bed even before dinner. Alfie was glad she could finally get some peace after the difficult day.

He greeted his assistant at the door.

“How’s Louise?” Ollie asked. “Did she go to the doctor yet?”

Alfie grunted and nodded as he flipped through the telegrams. He didn’t want to tell anyone about his cancer. The last thing he needed was for his enemies to think he was weak and easy to overthrow. “She’s asleep.”

“Well, Shayna offered a few things for the baby.” The young man said. “If you’d like, I can bring them soon.”

Alfie’s heart wrenched. “Yeah, mate, thanks.” He mumbled.

It was clear to anyone, especially Ollie who had spent so many years as his right-hand man, that something was seriously wrong. “Sir, are you alright?”

The gangster stared blankly at the words in his hand. He wasn’t really registering the typed words. All he could read was Shelby Company Ltd. But his mind was too overwhelmed to really understand the meaning of the words. “Ollie…” He glanced up from the telegram. “If anything were to happen to me, would you make sure Lou is kept safe?”

His assistant furrowed his brow. “Sir?”

“Just hypothetically.”

“Well, ‘course.” Ollie shrugged. “She’s like family now.”

“Yeah…”

The two men stood by the front door in silence. The only sound came from the grandfather clock in the hall and Evelyn preparing a light dinner for Alfie.

“Sir, are you expecting something to happen?” Ollie asked cautiously.

Alfie frowned. “’Course not.” He retorted. “But it ain’t like I’m a fucking saint, am I, Ollie?”

It only made the man further confused. His boss never worried about his occupation killing him. He was confident enough to assume he’d always get away or was brave enough to accept death. Ollie figured perhaps his mindset had been altered by the news of the pregnancy.

Alfie exhaled sharply and shook the fog out of his head. He was still alive. Wasn’t dead yet. He still needed to work. “What the fuck does Tommy want now?” He demanded.

“Asking about Goliath. He said he heard he was a boxer.” Ollie explained the telegram in his boss’s hand. “Says he wants to set up a match.”

“Really? While he’s got Changretta on his tail? Fucking crazy gypsy.” He grumbled. “Wants to make a spectacle of it all, well, fine. Give me nephew a ring tomorrow morning then Tommy. We’ll brave the beast and go to Small Heath.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Goliath had arrived early the next morning. Alfie filled him in by the door and they were about ready to leave for Small Heath.

“Alfie?” Louise had panicked when she woke up to an empty bed. She went to the top of the stairs, clutching her dressing gown shut.

Goliath had never seen such a shift in his uncle’s gruff demeanor before. He’d seen Alfie interact with Louise during holidays. That’s where the two had met for the first time. But there was something about the two being in their own home in the early morning that caused a change. It was a brief glimpse into the intimate relationship they upheld when no one else was around.

“Yeah, love.” Alfie traveled halfway up the stairs to meet her. “You alright?” He murmured.

She nodded. “Where are you going?” Her voice was hoarse from crying the day before and her eyes were still red.

“Birmingham, have to see Tommy.” He explained with full clarity. After the cancer diagnosis, he felt like he owed her at least some honesty.

“Can I come?” She chewed on her lower lip and touched his arm.

Alfie weighed the risks. No doubt Luca Changretta was watching Tommy’s every move. He didn’t want the Italian to know about Louise, but he’d be a fool to think the man didn’t already know. Alfie also knew it would be a suicide mission if Luca tried to make an attack in Tommy’s own backyard. If anything, she might be safer there with both his men and the Blinders surrounding them.

“Alright, love.” He nodded. “Go get dressed, take your time.” He descended the stairs again when Louise returned to the bedroom.

Goliath gave Ishmael a side-glance. The young man just shrugged and nodded. He’d seen the effect Louise had on his boss since day one. The adoration of a woman was a powerful thing, indeed.

Speaking of a woman's affection, Evelyn came out of the kitchen. She smiled and fixed Ishmael’s collar. “You be careful.” She warned. “No fighting.”

The man sported a goofy smile. “Me? Don’t know what you’re on about Lyn.” He replied.

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Cheeky.” She gave him a smirk and left the men by the door.

Ishmael cleared his throat and had a hard time concealing how happy he looked. Goliath looked utterly perplexed. Was there something in the water?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louise was quiet during the car ride to Birmingham. It was like she was trying to ignore the day before. Maybe if she didn’t bring it up, it wouldn’t be true and it would just fade away.

Alfie could sense all the types of denial his wife was experiencing. And it pained him to know he couldn’t ease her burden. All he could do was hold her hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Small Heath was just as gray and gloomy as Louise remembered. Alfie looked displeased as he got out of the car.

“Come to Small Heath, you’ll go to hell for fucking breathing.” He muttered as he helped his wife out of the car.

“It’s quiet.” She noted. In fact, it was completely deserted, not a soul walking around. It left a strange feeling in the air and she felt like they were being watched.

“Stretch your legs, treacle,” Alfie said to his nephew. “Fuck me, looks like he’s grown. He’s like a mushroom, innit he, grows in the dark.”

Louise smiled and lingered near Alfie. She couldn’t shake the strange feeling that the empty street gave off.

“Where is everyone?” Alfie checked his pocket watch. “Ishmael, please, will you hit the call to prayer?”

“Did you tell Tommy a time?” Louise asked but was interrupted by the car horn.

“Mhm, loosely.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Well, hit it!” He ordered his driver again. The car horn echoed through the street a little longer. Alfie rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you.” He pushed past Ishmael and laid on the horn.

Louise sighed and stood by the hood of the car, listening to the unrelenting noise. A moment later, Tommy came out of one of the homes on the street. He nodded at Louise and she gave him a silent apology for the antics so early in the morning.

Alfie didn’t quit until Tommy was stood right in front of him. “Morning Alfie.” The Blinder greeted.

“Yeah, it is, so how come everybody’s in fucking bed?”

“This must be Goliath.” Tommy acknowledged the young man taking a piss on the sidewalk. “Let me introduce you to David.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I hear you’re probably more in need of the old rum at the moment, rather than gin, mate.” Alfie led Louise by the arm as they were brought down into the cellar that had been converted into a distillery. There was a fierce chill in the air and Alfie slipped off his scarf to wrap it around his wife. He stopped when he heard a flutter of wings and warbling coming from above them. “Oh dear, you’ve got fucking starlings, mate. That shit will rot your pipework.” Alfie reached into his coat to draw his gun. “These bastards only understand one language.”

“Alfie!” Louise grabbed his wrist to stop him from loading the gun. She knew he was armed but only because Tommy probably expected him to be. Even she had brought her gun. It wasn’t a time to walk around unarmed.

“S’alright Alfie, I’m getting a kestrel,” Tommy explained.

“I hear that you’ve got Italians, mate, you’ve got a kestrel for them?” Alfie inquired deadpan.

The two men continued talking as Louise lingered around the small distillery. She glanced up to the ceiling and saw the starlings that Alfie had spotted. One of them stared back at her, cocking its head. She followed it as the bird hopped across a pipe towards a small nook in the corner. A bundle of debris had been constructed into a nest and when the mother approached, four little heads popped out. They chirped, their mouths open wide to receive food. The mother perched at the nest, checking over her chicks.

Louise’s gut wrenched. What would happen if Tommy got a kestrel? Would the bird of prey eat the mother and the babies, or would it just rid of the mother leaving the chicks to starve to death? Where was the father? Would he arrive just to find his family all gone? Could animals feel the same heartbreak that they did?

“And you just cannot wash it out, right, ‘cause it come out your mother’s tits.”

Louise glanced over, completely baffled by the snippet she’d heard of their conversation. She left the birds and walked over to the two men.

“No, the Americans’ll want it sweeter.” Alfie set down a glass of gin.

“Do you drink, Louise?” Tommy offered a glass to her.

“No thank you, I’ve been feeling under the weather.” She explained knowing the alcohol would only make her feel worse.

“I heard a copper got shot,” Alfie spoke, unafraid to talk about such issues in front of Louise. He knew she’d find out eventually. “Who shot him?”

“My kestrel.” Tommy offered a seat to Louise by the table.

“How many are here?”

“Eleven.”

Louise shot her husband a look of uneasiness. Eleven men were more than enough. And they had yet to visit them in Camden. As far as she was concerned, it was only a matter of time until that day.

“Enough to drop a man who wrapped his balls in an OBE till they fell off,” Alfie said with a smug look.

Louise just shook her head, knowing it wasn’t worth the effort to try and get him to be a bit politer.

“Well, the real question is, Alfie, which side are you playing for, aye?” Tommy was almost glad Louise was there with them. He had a feeling her husband wouldn’t lie about loyalty right in front of her.

“Fucking hell.” Alfie chuckled darkly, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes. “What kind of world is it to bring up children when your own mate can ask you that question?”

Louise glanced down at her hands on her lap. Indeed, what kind of world was it?

“But the truth is, Tommy, you’ll be fucking dead soon.”

“Alfie.” She gave him a sharp look. “Don’t say that.”

“S’alright, Louise,” Tommy assured her. “We’ve all got our opinions, don’t we Alfie?”

“Tommy, there are men approaching.” Finn came down into the cellar.

“Yeah, let them pass.” His brother waved them in. “Right,” he turned back to Alfie. “You tell Darby Sabini, from me, that if the Italians win, they’re not planning on leaving. After me, it’ll be him, then you, then the Titanic. They’re coming and they’re here to stay.”

Alfie’s eyes were cold on his counterpart. His jaw clenched and Louise could see his thoughts running rampant. But he couldn’t get another word in before another group of men came downstairs.

“Mr. Shelby, we’ve come to talk about the fight.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow and pointed his cane at the man. “Your kestrel? Tommy, when a pikey walks in with hair like that, you have to ask yourself, have I made a mistake?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck am I?”

“Who the fuck is this?”

Louise pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh dear.” She whispered. Tommy, however, looked amused at the ensuing battle.

“I, my friend, am the uncle, protector, and promoter of that fucking thing right there.” He jabbed his cane towards his nephew who was lurking in the background like a misplaced tree. “In whose shadow nothing good nor godly will ever grow. That there, right, is the Southern County’s welterweight champion.”

“Alfie…” His wife tried to step in but he was already too far gone to stop.

“He is of mixed religion, therefore he is godless. He was adopted by Satan himself before he was returned out of fear of his awkwardness.”

“Alfie.”

“He is impossible to marry off, due to his lethal dimensions. His mother. Terrified, she’s fucking abandoned him. And there he is, stood before you like the first of some brand new fucking species!”

“Alfie, that’s quite enough.” Louise implored him again to stop. “They get it.”

“And that, mate, is me wife. She’s the exact fucking opposite, ain’t she? Fucking angel. The world ain’t never seen such a gorgeous creature and the fuck if I know why God let me in her presence. Yet here I am, accompanied by a fucking demon and an angel and you’ve got the absolute fucking nerve to ask me who the fuck I am?”

Louise couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Endearing yet chaotic.

“So, will you offer your son?” Alfie inquired, ending his little rant.

Aberama glanced over at his son with a sly nod. Bonnie smiled and stood up straight. “Name the day, Mr. Shelby.”

Louise looked back and forth between the size differences of the two young men. She stood and felt a wave of nausea. Her face paled and she looked up at the ceiling when she heard the starlings grow a little louder.

Big fucks small.

Blood pounded in her ears and the scent of gin began to make her dizzy.

“Whoa, whoa!” She heard Alfie exclaim as she stumbled forward, the world going black.

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