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itsuki-minamy · 3 years ago

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LIMITED KINGSHIP, WAR STORIES:

CHAPTER 1: BUTTERFLY AND MANTIS

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Uh... do I have to clean this up myself?"

With the mop and bucket on the floor, Tadashi Maruha complained.

Originally, it should have been a good room in this detention center. Whether in the reception room or the director's room, the custom-made furniture was so good that even Maruha could tell, and he might have imagined that it would be nice to live surrounded by such furniture.

If the burned blood didn't stick, he was sure he would.

At that moment, the interior of the room seemed miserable. Charred blood and internal organs were strewn across the table, couch, and cabinet, and every part of the human body, such as the hands, feet, and head, was rolling around randomly. It could be like this if you put multiple people in a red-hot mixer.

"I wonder if I should pick this up with tweezers... but if I don't do it early, Soma-san will get mad."

As he muttered and murmured, Maruha donned a mask, put on gloves, and placed a bucket on a charred table. At the moment, he started from a large place and raised the head that was nearby.

His face was familiar. One of his open eyes was crushed by a burn. "Wow.", he leaned back a bit, put his head on the table for the moment and Maruha clasped his hands.

"Well, what was your name? You sure were an acquaintance of Aniki, right? Well, anyway... Nanmandub, Nanmandub..."

Maybe it was Nembutsu, he didn't remember well. After muttering, Maruha threw the head of "one eye" into the bucket.

He started cleaning.

He put the scattered body parts in a bucket, put the debris from the shattered table in a garbage bag, and put the scattered debris in a bucket after a little hesitation. He could just throw away the garbage bag, but he couldn't bear to throw out the body.

"Sorry, I'll take care of you later."

When he finished cleaning the rough door, the living room door opened. What he see from there was a familiar face.

"Maru-san, are you finished? Let's eat meat, meat!"

With an innocent smile on his young face, Kyoji said that. Maruha looked up at the ceiling with furrowed brows.

"Kyoji, think about the moment and answer me. Do you think I can eat meat after cleaning the corpse?"

"Why? Isn't it good to eat meat at any time?"

"You might like it! I was cleaning burned human flesh just now! Maybe this is your kind of job after all!"

"Hehe, sorry."

The look that he laughed with his tongue out was that of a mischievous villain. Looking at him, he sighed instead of getting angry.

"Well, whatever, help me."

When the mop stuck out, Kyoji was surprised.

"Eh, but isn't it bad to keep Hiiragi-san waiting?"

"Ah? Why did Aniki's name come up?"

"No, because Hiiragi-san told me to go eat meat."

"Stupid, say that first!"

Maruha quickly looked back at the room. He was almost finished, but he had yet to finish. If he left it as he was, he would buy Soma's wrath, but an invitation from Hiiragi couldn't be refused.

"Kyoji, drop this! I'll bury it! Say nice things to Aniki!"

Pushing a garbage bag at Kyoji, he picked up the bucket. The bucket containing the human bodies of various people was quite heavy, and Maruha ran off, feeling the weight of the heavy corpse in both arms.

++++++++++

Executive class "Purgatory" member Hiiragi Soma liked meat

He liked to eat, but he preferred to bake. "Grilling" here was not what was often done in "Purgatory", but ordinary roast beef. Go to a proper steakhouse, order a large quantity of meat that you couldn't eat, and start grilling from one end. He liked the act of grilling and eating meat to the extent that he was careful and beat them when others tried to do so. As a man who had lived a life of violence and murder, it could be said that it was a strange habit.

That's why Hiiragi took Maruha and Kyoji to visit a local yakiniku restaurant. Most of the restaurants had already withdrawn from the area around the hideout. The yakiniku restaurant was one that remained.

Therefore, with the exception, it was like a hangout for "Purgatory". Mysteriously, order was maintained because there was a common understanding that "when this store disappears, there will be no place to drink alcohol". If someone tried to take away their oasis of life, mainly their opponents, "Purgatory" would kick them out quickly, most of the time.

"Hey. Top ribs, top loin, and 3 mugs of ale, old man."

An old man with the flavor of half a century had brought a lot of meat and sake. Hiiragi quietly began to arrange the top ribs and top loin placed on the table in the shichirin. Maruha found that it was always the same routine, but he was in a bit of a good mood.

"Sorry! I'll take it!"

Kyoji raised his mug of beer and began to drink with a squeak. Maruha slightly raised his mug in response to the "toast", and Hiiragi was still quietly roasting the meat. It was a show that would not be possible with a normal yakuza organization, but "Purgatory" is not a normal yakuza organization.

Kyoji, who had half the mug empty, wiped his mouth and then leaned forward and asked.

"By the way, Maru-san! What kind of kanji is King?"

Maruha took just a sip of beer and looked at Kyoji curiously, "Huh?"

"Maru-san, you were cleaning up, after the King fought, weren't you? Didn't you see him fight?"

Maruha was still unfamiliar with the fact that Kagutsu's name was not "Oyaji" or "Kumicho" but "King". Far from being a normal yakuza organization, "Purgatory" was not a yakuza organization in the first place. It was said to be a group of paranormal people with different abilities, led by what was called a "King".

Maruha responded with another mouthful of beer.

"No... I fought, I guess I went crazy. Don't look. I could die."

"Hey! It's a waste! It was close though!"

Kyoji felt sorry like a child who missed the hero show. Maruha wondered why such a boy had lived so long with his head on, and he thought on the other hand that he could have lived so long because he was such a boy. In fact, Kyoji must have been less than 20 years old.

Hiiragi threw down the pliers. Seeing the dripping sauce fall into the flames, he nodded, "Okay."

"Eat it."

"Ok, thanks!"

Kyoji swept about half of the meat with tweezers and brought half to his mouth. With a big smile on his face, he raised a voice between "Delicious!" and "Uhh!" Maruha also sighed as he minced the meat.

"Even so, I really don't understand Kagutsu-san."

"Eh? Why?"

"When I walked into that room, he looked in a good mood. I took some other guys along and I thought it was unusual, but he came out in less than a minute, and that's it. And when he came out he wasn't mad, he was still in a good mood. It was as if he had just taken a walk and came back."

"Mmm..."

"I wonder if I can be like this by killing those below. I don't know at all."

"Maru..."

When Hiiragi yelled, Maruha reacted sharply. It was a moment when he regretted saying that and criticizing, and Hiiragi immediately showed the Shichirin with his chin.

"Take it."

"Oh, yeah."

He took the tenderloin that was dripping with the sauce and popped it into his mouth. It was hot and delicious.

Kyoji, who drank the beer, raised the mug grandly, yelling "Oh, I get it!"

"They must have been spies of the blues! And the King suddenly noticed!"

"No."

Hiiragi denied it like a sled, and Maruha and Kyoji looked at his face at the same time. While he was roasting additional meat, Hiiragi said without looking at them,

"That person is that kind of man. It's the same as an accident."

"Accident?"

"You can't help it if you run into it. If you're lucky, you'll live, and if you're bad, you'll die. That's it."

It was hard to tell that Maruha and Kyoji, who didn't have any, fully understood the meaning of the word. But even so, the reactions of the two were contrasting.

"Uh...", Maruha was scared,

Kyoji admired him, "Wow…".

The two looked at each other. Maruha was stunned.

"Kyoji, you... will you die soon?"

"What's wrong, Maru-san?! What are you saying?"

"……"

Maruha narrowed his eyes. He feels on his skin that the air was tightening rapidly. It would be the same for Kyoji. He glanced at Maruha too, rolled up the arm of his black suit that didn't fit the body, and slammed it against the table.

"I'm not afraid! If the guys in blue come, I'll kill them."

Kyoji's eyes shone with brilliant fighting spirit. In response, the burn scars on his forearm began to glow red. The brilliance of extraordinary ability. Maruha opened his eyes to see if he was sane. If he made a fuss in this place, he may suffer a life-threatening injury from another member in black.

At that moment, Kyoji's body flew to the side.

Maruha was shocked and looked at Hiiragi next to Kyoji.

He had his arms straight at his sides. With the other hand, he was silently roasting yakiniku. Without even looking at Kyoji, he hit him with one arm.

"Guh..."

Kyoji's eyes, holding his cheeks and lifting up, blazed with anger. He wasn't mature enough to hold back here. Maruha was ready again for the worst development that suddenly fell.

However, he ended up melancholy.

Hiiragi looked at Kyoji. There was no killer instinct in his eyes, he was just in a bad mood.

"I'm the one who roasts the meat."

"……"

Kyoji's expression changed from anger to embarrassment.

Both Maruha and Kyoji were familiar with the fact that Hiiragi's words were not timely. Hiiragi was that kind of person.

He didn't know what to do, but there was no front or back. Hiiragi was angry because he tried to bake meat for himself, not because he was fed up with tantrums, or because he tried to wreak havoc in the place of the law.

It was absurd, but that's why it was "Purgatory". And Kyoji was also a person who could understand absurd language. He held her cheeks and bowed his head obediently.

"Sorry."

Hiiragi didn't reply, he was just roasting the meat.

Kyoji rebuilt his chair and sat there. He said to Maruha with the eyes of an angry child and bowed to him.

"Maru-san, I'm sorry. I said something wrong."

"No, not really."

Yakuzas are creatures like mantises. If they get sick, they should squeeze the other person immediately. It is like a reflection, not an action that is the result of thinking.

However, Maruha was no longer a yakuza. He was a member of the "Purgatory" clan.

Therefore, he sighed and sighed.

"I'm not scared. It's just ... I don't think it's appropriate."

That said, he drank the beer to the last drop.

++++++++++

The group that Maruha Tadashi belonged to was a group of leftovers so to speak.

Some might say they were a collection of yakuza and other gangsters. It was, but as with any group, there were differences in shit. Some leftovers can be laughed at, while others can cause nausea just by putting them on the rim of the eyes.

The Maruha group was the last group. Even within the industry, Shinogi with a frown was calm. Thanks to that, the wings were good, but the respect was next to nothing. The color of disgust was stronger than the astonishment in his eyes, and that color stimulated his outer ways.

They did anything to make money. It seemed like Maruha didn't even have the slightest bit of ethics.

The Shinogi are primarily drugs and human trafficking.

The kidnapped woman was drugged and sold to customs. They disarmed the kidnapped youths and sold their organs. In addition, they would take a photo of the situation and sell it to a rich man who had a hobby of hunting. In some cases, they used a combined technique to kidnap a pretty woman and sell her as she was to a rich man with a strange hobby (because the reaction was worse if she kept it on drugs). The woman would suffer almost every pain imaginable and die miserably.

Sachiko Kashiwazaki was one of those women.

The man who kidnapped her was Maruha's older brother at the time. One hot summer day, Maruha was summoned to a warehouse owned by the group. At that moment, he had a bad feeling. That warehouse was only used when making Shinogi in that direction.

There was a man and a woman in a warehouse room, where the concrete was exposed.

The man had scissors that were dripping with blood.

The woman clutched her bloody ankle and groaned without voice.

It was common group practice to cut off the Achilles heel to prevent the victim from escaping. Alternatively, the customer could have made such a request. In any case, man cut through the human body as easily as he cut weeds.

As he washed his hands in the built-in sink, the man turned to Maruha.

"It is time to ship."

"Prepare" meant to adapt the "goods" according to the customer's request, and "ship" meant to deliver the "goods" to the customer.

"Clean her body, you can't leave her bloody. I don't know what the rich think."

With a laugh, the man wiped his hands on a towel and touched Maruha's shoulders to leave the room.

Maruha turned his eyes inside and saw the box on the table. "Preparation", he probably he should use the content. He opened the lid and looked inside.

It contained a pure white wedding dress.

Maruha took a deep breath and exhaled.

Was the concept a bloody girlfriend? He couldn't understand anything.

He didn't even want to understand. He didn't want to understand what happened to the woman who would bring that to the client, but Maruha understood. It was because his older brother had shown him a video like that with half the fun.

Maruha looked at the woman reflectively, thinking that he shouldn't be looking at her.

They looked into each other's eyes.

Sachiko, of course, at that time, Maruha didn't know her name. The "item" was supposed to be called by number, but she was staring at Maruha, bleeding only with the pain of not begging for life and her silent resignation.

Perhaps at that moment, he reached the limit.

Until then, he had been doing the same. Each time, something sank into Maruha's chest, like drops of water in his cup. Then, Sachiko's gaze at that moment became the last drop, and the water finally overflowed from the cup.

By the time he realized it, Maruha was visiting Hiiragi. Hiiragi and Maruha were originally seniors and juniors from the same corps of fools. Even after the corps of fools disbanded and they belonged to different groups, the relationship continued to go out for drinks from time to time. He was a man who embodied the violence of that time, but Maruha did not hate him. He just wanted to hit him.

It was exciting to see that kind of honesty that was hitting the other person at the time.

He was not surprised when he heard that Hiiragi's group was attacked by "Purgatory" and that he belonged to "Purgatory". Within the industry, "Purgatory" meant a group of monsters, and it seemed natural for Hiiragi to be in that group.

Using holly as a messenger, Maruha encountered Kagutsu and gained a different ability in exchange for a part of his body.

Maruha took him to the warehouse and burned the man who was his older brother. After freeing the captive women, he went to the group's office and killed all the members, including the group's leader. He stole the group's entire vault and gave it to Soma, who later cleared up and became a member of the "Purgatory" clan.

He did not regret betraying the group and killing his friends. He just went to hell and sent them to hell. He was sure that he would go to hell, but at least he was no longer interacting with that garbage. That just made him feel refreshed, and the night he killed them all, he was fast asleep for the first time in a long time.

However, Maruha's chest started to feel uncomfortable again.

The meaning of the existence of "Purgatory" was simple. Destroy and kill, that was all. Like Kagutsu, most of the clansmen did.

Fight, raze, kill and die against the mafia, the Yakuza and, above all, the deadly enemy, "Scepter 4".

At the same time, they were causing enormous damage to the surroundings.

Only in that he was stuck. It didn't matter if he fought, rampaged, killed, or died. But it felt different to involve other people. So it was the same as that group. It was difficult to answer whether human trafficking or mass murder was better. Nothing happened, Maruha simply moved from one background to another.

Maybe Maruha was halfway there. He was so crazy that he couldn't live properly, but he was too plain in a swarm of monsters. Neither Hiiragi nor Kyoji could live anywhere else except in "Purgatory". This is where those guys were.

Where should he go if he didn't even have a place there?

Sachiko Kashiwazaki called out to him when he was about to overflow with such a sense of incongruity.

++++++++++

In a crowded cafeteria, he quickly found out where Sachiko was. She had her crutches on the side of her seat. Maruha somehow remembered the salvation that it was not a wheelchair.

"Ah."

Sachiko also soon noticed Maruha. He wore a black suit, which was labeled a "funeral home staff" in the industry, he emitted a seemingly insidious aura. He had an unbearable feeling.

"Oh."

Maruha's expression that raised his hand slightly was not clear. He wasn't sure why this girl called him. Wasn't it the symbol of a nightmare for this girl?

But in contrast, Sachiko smiled happily. She tried to stand up touching the table with her hand, she almost lost her balance and fell. Maruha rushed to reach out and held her body.

"I'm sorry. I'm still rehabbing, but I haven't been able to do it yet."

"No, do not worry."

After seating Sachiko, Maruha sat opposite her.

He was somehow uncomfortable because Sachiko was looking directly at him. Glowing eyes were the kind of thing that wasn't usually directed at him. He was not used to that. Maruha had to move his hips several times to endure the uncomfortable sensation.

"So what did you call me for?"

Sachiko slightly colored her cheeks when he asked her.

"Oh, no, that… I wanted to thank you again."

Maruha wondered what she was saying.

"Maruha-san… you helped me, but I couldn't thank you at the time. Thank you very much."

"I didn't help you in particular. It was a dead end."

It was a fact. He just wanted to get out of there, he just wanted to kill them all, and it was just incidental that he helped Sachiko.

But Sachiko didn't believe those words. She laughed and her eyes looked softly at Maruha.

"You are modest, Maruha-san."

Then Sachiko started talking about the ramblings. From her recent situation, her favorite food, hobbies, what kind of place did she live now, when she was rehabbing and walking around the neighborhood, she found a nice park and a bakery, so she always had lunch there.

Maruha was beginning to understand what the situation was like, as he established a suitable relationship.

Sachiko wanted to make up for it in some way.

She maybe she thought that Maruha was the hero who rescued her from the situation. It was a ridiculous misunderstanding. Maruha sent many women in the same situation as Sachiko to hell. Sachiko was saved because Maruha's boundaries coincided when it was her turn. No more than that.

Of course, he couldn't say that.

"What do you do on your day off, Maruha-san?"

Sachiko wondered if she had talked a lot about herself. She was impatient and nervous. She wondered if Maruha would be bored. Maruha replied with a slight laugh, as if he was a high school student.

"Well, I'm going to eat yakiniku."

He couldn't tell that he was killing and looting. Sachiko happily joined her hands when he responded appropriately.

"It's the best in the neighborhood, it looks delicious."

"You eat meat?"

"That's right. Yes! I like it!"

Maruha calmly analyzed that it was a lie. He maybe he didn't eat much meat. He only said that for her.

"Well then, would you like to go eat with me next time?"

With that said, Maruha closed his mouth tightly.

Sachiko was looking at Maruha with her bright eyes. Eyes with equal expectations and anxieties. The eyes of human beings that are unhappy but still look ahead and try to live hard.

Was he qualified to see that?

He could go eat with Sachiko. He maybe would repeat it two or three times and eventually they would start dating. There are some men who have a woman in "Purgatory" who can live with them, and some men approach the woman instead of hiding. He would be one of those people. Living under one roof, eating together, sleeping, getting up, helping with rehabilitation, eating delicious bread in a nice neighborhood park.

She could be killed by Kagutsu.

Or she may have been kidnapped by the mob who hold a grudge against him

Captured by "Scepter 4".

He could think of many ways to ruin it, but he couldn't think otherwise.

Alternatively, Maruha could expand his imagination and run away together. Somewhere far away, two people. He could escape from Kagutsu, the mafia, and "Scepter 4" and say goodbye to that sinister black suit.

Then he would follow a happy holly. Kyoji might also come. Soma did not allow anyone to escape. Even earlier, the "right hand" ended up being burned in the city. He did not think they would hesitate to involve a woman in the matter.

"Uh."

Maruha laughed. He was thinking about the future when he really didn't have a future.

Sachiko said with a mysterious voice.

"Maruha-san...?"

"Hey. Is there someone else besides you?"

Sachiko opened her eyes a bit in amazement and then shook her head. After all, Maruha thought, people who have family or relatives are not the target of that group.

Still, Maruha leaned forward and asked with a serious expression.

"Is there no one anywhere? Relatives?"

"Uh, I have an uncle and his partner in Kanagawa. They're nice people, but I don't usually get in touch with them."

Maruha was relieved. It was enough to ask for so much.

He looks for his own bag. He grabbed a couple of bills that he found and tossed them to Sachiko. With a pile of bills piled on her lap, Sachiko moved her body as if she had been pressed against a burned stone.

"This, huh?"

"Go to them with that money. They won't hurt you."

Maruha carried a bag on his back and stood up. Sachiko looked at Maruha with a cat face that understood the truth of the universe.

Maruha scratched his head and said...

"The other day, there was a conflict around Yodomiya. It was news. The city was burned down and many people died."

Sachiko blinked. The understanding hadn't caught up yet, but it was going well. If she only considered the facts, understanding will come later.

"It was my partner who did that. If you don't want to get burned, go somewhere far away."

With that alone, Maruha left the coffee shop.

He sighed deeply as he walked through the city for no reason.

"I am not suitable."

For groups, for "Purgatory" and for the world. He was not suitable. He did not know how to live. He was envious of Hiiragi and Kyoji who could find a place there.

Was when…

"You are Tadashi Maruha."

Before looking back, he had an idea who called him.

"We are "Scepter 4". Come with us."

Several blue clothes surrounded Maruha before he realized it.

He looks around. Maruha had come to the square in front of the station without realizing it. He can't find any way to take control. Perhaps he should limit himself to minimize the damage, but Maruha was easily enthused.

"If you resist, I will not forgive you."

There was no deception in the eyes of the blues. They have already cut many with their sabers. Just as "Purgatory" was not a yakuza group, "Scepter 4" were not police officers. It was a battle group to hunt down and kill those in black suits.

Maruha gave a fierce laugh.

"Hahaha!"

The burns on both arms glowed with pain from the heat. Fight violently, kill and die. Maruha also had that instinct. He was also a member of "Purgatory".

Suddenly, Maruha understood.

"Purgatory" cannot be a place for anyone. Only a handful of monsters, like Kagutsu and Soma, can "be" there. Hiiragi, Kyoji and he were the same. There was nothing there for them.

That was just his place of death.

"If you can, try it, blue clothes!"

While shouting happily, Maruha threw swirling flames from both arms and attacked the blues in front of him.

Three people died in the limited royal war that day.

On the "Scepter 4" side, Kuroshio and Kido Rokuhei's team.

Side of "Purgatory", Tadashi Maruha.

"Scepter 4" caught Maruha's movement and surrounded him with 6 people, but Maruha made a burst of different abilities and struggled as he burned his own body. Swinging the flames that sprouted from both arms like a sickle, he cut and killed two people, Kuroshio and Kido, and in the next moment, he was cut by four other people, was cut like a sickle and died.

#k #k project #k fan clan #k stories #purgatory #red clan purgatory #kagutsu genji

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wellhellotragic · 4 years ago

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Hiraeth

Summary: Emma’s life had always been carefully curated for her as the daughter of a Navy Admiral. To follow in her mothers footsteps: meet and marry a suitable husband and be the best wife possible. But what she hadn’t expected was for her father to be reassigned halfway around the world to Egypt, and she certainly had never expected to meet and fall in love with a man so opposed to everything her father stood for...

A/N: Well, @shireness-says, I guess it’s finally time to reveal myself. Hope having me as your @cssecretsanta2020 isn’t too disappointing. I think I managed to get 90% of your wish list tucked into this little monster. I hope you have the most wonderful of Christmases this year!

Hiraeth: A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was. Grief for a loss, something you can never have again.

_____________________________________________________________

She hears a crackling noise coming from the next room, the oversized fireplace recently stoked with with wood, and even in its muffled state through the doorway, it brings a calmness to the home. Winters in London have always been chilly, but this one is by far the most brutal that Emma can remember and the snow piling up outside has brought transportation to a halt as the cobblestone roads give no grip to passing carriages. She briefly considers taking a few sips of the bottle of brandy she has hidden in the back of the cupboard to warm her, but considering the small child playing with her doll in the great room, Emma decides against, choosing to boil some water instead.

It’s strange, being in the house, just the two of them after all this time. Stranger yet celebrating a family holiday without the entire family, but such is life. She will allow herself to cry tonight once the child is safely tucked into her bed with a story told. She will allow herself to grieve for the man not sleeping at her side and the chill that’s taken hold of his side of the mattress. For the quietness of the home, but for now, she’s going to smile and tell her daughter a tale of Father Christmas.

The kettle begins to whistle, taking Emma by surprise, having lost track of the time in her wistfulness. Quickly she composes herself and sets about mixing up two cups of cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a generous dusting of cinnamon on top for good measure. Always with the cinnamon.

She places both cups on a small wooden tray, adding in some biscuits, before taking the tray into the living room. There, she finds the small girl playing a game of imaginary flight. The girl has named the doll Wendy, based on some fairytale she’d been told at school. One retold to her by a classmate whose father spun such tales for a living.

“Fly Wendy, you must believe. You simply must!”

“What must she believe, my Poppet?” Emma can’t help but chuckle at the earnestness of her daughter’s words.

“Oh, it’s quite simple really. She has to believe in the magic for it to work so she can fly.”

“Ah, well maybe she just needs some cocoa to help her outlook. What do you say?”

The young girl nearly tossed her doll in the air in her haste to run to the table where her mother has set the tray. Tiny fingers move at nearly impossible speed and it’s all Emma can do to prevent her from burning her mouth again.

“Careful, it’s still warm, you must take care to blow on it, sweetheart.”

The little girl rolls her eyes before nearly sinking her face into the whip cream, catching a dollop on her nose as she blows. Giggles fill the room and Emma’s heart begins to warm just a bit.

“Mummy, Theo told me that cinnamon on cocoa was wrong. That it doesn’t belong.”

“And what did you say in return?”

“Well, I told him that he was silly of course.”

Emma laughed. Her daughter has inherited so much of her father in physical appearance, but tucked away inside the girl, Emma often finds her own spirit.

“Have I ever told you the story of how I came to use cinnamon on my cocoa?”

The little girl shakes her head as she takes a sip of her now cooled drink.

“Well, then, where should I begin?” Emma smiles wistfully before continuing. “Once upon a time…”

_____________________________________

1881 Port of Alexandria, Egypt

She’d been sick since the day they’d left London, never having experienced the open waters before. She’d been on boats a handful of times as a child with her father, yet they’d never had the occasion to leave their position in the berth and weeks at sea had taken their toll. Emma, like a handful of others unaccustomed to the waves, had taken ill, turning nearly green in the face. Most of the men aboard had served in her Majesty's Navy for years, making such simple work of setting about the ship with ease. Emma envied them that, having spent nearly every day in her room sick over a bucket.

Her only solace was the blaring horn of her father’s ship alerting them that they’d finally arrived at their destination. Leaving London hadn't been easy, saying goodbye to so many of her friends. To the only home she’d ever lived in. Her mother told her to think of it as an adventure, reminding her constantly that it wasn’t a house that made a home. It was family. But Emma and her mother had experienced very different upbrings.

And the idea of moving to Egypt had been off putting. She’d been warned of the heat and the impoverished people. The less than ideal sanitary situation had also been worrisome. It was only at the insistence of her father and that Emma was able to avoid hesitation all together.

But that was then, before her family drug her nearly kicking and screaming halfway across the world to an entirely different continent. She didn’t know much about Egypt other than the English had recently begun to colonise it to ensure the protection of monetary interest. She knew even lesser still about Alexandria. An oasis of sorts her father had said, situated between the Nile and the new Suez Canal, producing some of the most fertile land in the country, which was also the very reason they were there. To protect more than the land the Queen now laid claim to, but to ensure safe passage for the ships returning to England from India.

“Emma, sweetheart, are you coming?”

Emma looked up to find her mother’s head poking in through the doorway, cheerful as always. “We really mustn’t dotile, it wouldn’t make for a good first impression.”

“Of course, we couldn’t possibly be late,” she mocked as she rolled her eyes, trying to find a place to stow her recently used bucket. Heaven forbid they ever step one toe out of line. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the importance of her father’s role as a Rear-Admiral and how important it was to keep up the image of the perfect family, but for Emma, it meant everything had to be just so. No creases in her dresses, no new fashions that were considered too provocative as they may have shown the slightest hint of skin around the reduced neckline. It also meant that every moment of her day must have been accounted for.

It wasn’t as if she had a rebellious streak, but she longed to have any semblance of autonomy in her own life. But that wasn’t the life she was destined for. Instead, she was expected to find a suitable husband of good social standing and wealth, and to bear his children. To provide for him in any way necessary and to see only to his happiness. So many of her friends had been all too eager to accept marriage proposals from men that ill fitted their personalities just for the sake of not being labeled a spinster.

At nearly twenty one, Emma had already pushed the boundaries, having recently turned down a marriage proposal from the son of the Admiral of the Fleet, a reason she strongly believed had led to the sudden reassignment of her father. Neal’s father had always stuck her as a horribly controlling man, a trait that she saw more and more in Neal as their courtship progressed.

“Emma, really, I must insist that you hurry.”

“Yes, mother.”

Emma rose from her seat and placed her bucket on the floor at the foot of her bed before putting herself to rights. She checked her hair in the small mirror hung on the wall opposite her luggage, trying her best not to look as bad as she felt.

The top deck of the ship was beaming with life. People milled about everywhere, barking orders to some, saluting others. It was the most organized brand of chaos Emma had ever laid eyes on. She followed her mother, taking caution not to step in anyone’s way as they made their way to the gangplank.

It was there that she caught her first sight of her new home. It was breathtaking, not at all what she’d expected. The sky above the city was the bluest she’d ever experienced, like the ocean itself had been reflected into the heavens, and the buildings lining the seashore erupted in a mountain of golden sandcastles.

She’d barely had time to take it in before her mother began tugging on her elbow, a silent signal to move faster. Once on land again, Emma and her mother were greeted by the women’s auxiliary group. There were a handful of other officers that had brought families with them to their new duty station, and as was customary, a greeting party had come to meet the newest arrivals.

The women, some as young as Emma swooned and cooed over her mother. It wasn’t every day that the wife of such a high ranking official appeared, and the women clearly wanted to make a positive first impression, cementing their good standings as well as their husband’s in the mind of her mother. Much of the privilege afforded to soldiers and their families depended on rank, but social status had long been its own form of exchangeable collateral.

They all exchanged pleasantries as the woman walked them to the nearby base, a small wall and barbed wire barricade the only thing separating them from what some of the women had referred to as natives. Emma tried not to show her disgust at the term, but it was difficult when they seemed so unapologetic for the slur. Especially when they spoke of the uprising and how some of them needed to be put down like dogs.

Emma had seen her fair share of aristocrat snobbery before, but nothing quite so brazen. If not for the young brunette ambeling beside her, rolling her eyes as the women spoke, Emma certainly would have lost her sanity.

Eventually the gaggle of women made it to the house that Emma would call home. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as what she’d been accustomed to in London. There weren’t any of the ornate embellishments on the walls, no wood carvings, not even any color really. By some miracle though, the house did have plumbing, which had been one of Emma’s greatest worries. Some of her friends had warned her that she would be forced to use outhouses and public bathes.

The home itself was bleak, but her mother took it in stride, finding whatever she could to be excited about, and told the women that she would make her own in no time. Soon, she’d even managed to command the kitchen enough to make tea for all of the ladies who’d been kind enough to stock the house with groceries for the newcomers. They sat around the small table in the living room and discussed what it was like living in Alexandria, gossiping about one of the wives who hadn’t been able to make it. At one point, the conversation had shifted back to the natives, a warning not to venture into the city without a male escort to prevent savagery. Emma felt the walls closing in as the conversation continued. This small base made of a few homes and barracks had become a small prison. All of her dreams crushed.

As the women rose and exchanged parting words, Emma moved to take her leave but felt someone grab her wrist, tugging her outside and around the corner of the house. The girl continued to pull her farther and farther away from any other people.

Not sure what was happening, Emma braced herself to dig her heels into the ground, not wishing to move another inch.

“Where are you trying to take me,” she demanded.

It was the same brunette from earlier, and with a wolfish grin she shrugged.

“To the city of course.”

_____________________________________

She wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to follow the young woman she now knew as Ruby. Perhaps it was a rebellion from all of the rules that had been forced upon her in such a limited amount of time. Perhaps it was sheer curiosity, but she went, almost eagerly.

Emma listened as Ruby told her about all of the places as they passed them and the people, even watching Ruby greet a few of them as friends. It was such a different picture from the one the women on base had painted. Half of her had been expecting men hidden under robes and veils to jump out and grab her, but the men and women that they came across all seemed friendly enough.

Soon, she found herself entering a brasserie. Ruby didn’t miss a beat in rushing to a table with a couple already sat across from each other. With no prompting whatsoever, Ruby took the spot next to the gentleman, edging him further against the wall. She motioned for Emma to sit as well. Carefully, she slid onto the bench next to the other woman, making sure not to crowd her.

It wasn’t until she’d become fully situated that she’d really been able to take stock of the people sitting with her. The woman to her right was beautiful in her own right. Brown hair tied at her nape, flowing over her shoulder in curls. It was odd for Emma to see a woman wish such relaxed standards and so carefree. In old London society, it was an unspoken rule that women wore their hair up in fanciful twists.

But as surprising as the woman’s demeanor was, it was truly the gentleman that had caught her attention. A slight scruff speckled the entire lower half of his face, and his cheeks had a sunkissed glow about them. But his eyes, they sparkled a deep blue, and all thoughts she’d had about the Egyptian sky upon her arrival had been put to shame by him.

“Emma, I’d like you to meet my friend Belle, and her pet, Killian. Everyone, this is Emma. She’s just arrived today and I’m trying to dispel the lies she’s heard of the city thus far.”

Killian nodded in her direction, but remained silent. Belle on the other hand had been eager to speak, having originally been born in France, but she’d lived in London until only a few years prior. She asked all sorts of questions about the museums and libraries, and life in general. Emma filled her in on all of the newness of what she’d missed since leaving. Before she knew it, a table full of food had appeared, enough to feed a small army.

She’d been reluctant to eat any, not yet having currency to pay for her share, but Ruby insisted, telling her it was on Killian. He barked out a laugh, but assured her that lunch was on him as a welcome gift. The four of them ate and spoke. Or more aptly, Ruby and Belle did most of the speaking, which was fine by Emma. She’d learned so much about Alexandria.

As it turned out, Ruby was the daughter of another office stationed at the base, but Belle had no affiliation with the Navy. She’d simply come to Egypt for the adventure of it all. She was actually on a small team searching for the lost library of Alexandria. She told Emma how many of the explorers that had come to the country had done so for the glory and treasure. Most of them were in Cairo, exploring pyramids and digging in the middle of nowhere hoping for the best. She on the other hand was intrigued by the library, her treasure was the lost books. The knowledge that had slipped away.

Eventually, lunch came to an end, their bellies all well and full, and Killian informed them that he’d stayed as long as possible, but that he needed to depart. Emma wasn’t sure why - he’d barely spoken, and she’d no knowledge of anything about it - but there was a small twinge of sadness at his leaving.

As they excited the brasserie, she watched as he turned and gave both Ruby and Belle hugs before handing Belle a small satchel. Emma had been taken back. In her previous social graces, a man and women were never to embrace unless they were married, and even then, they were to maintain a certain amount of propriety in public. But there, amongst a city of strangers, they seemed to give it no thought.

She was taken back yet again when Killian grabbed her hand, brushing the slightest of kisses against her knuckles. She felt her breath quicken and her heart begin to pound within her chest and she worried that the others might hear it.

“My lady.”

And then, before Emma could catch the breath that had left her body, he walked away. She tried not to watch him as he left, but her eyes had affixed to him, and there was no prying her sight from him until he’d turned into an alleyway. A gleeful squeal from Belle as she peaked inside the satchel and pulled out a worn book was the only thing that finally allowed Emma to focus her attention elsewhere.

“Hook always brings her a new rare book when he returns to the city, and everytime she loses her mind as if it were not to be expected from him.”

“Hook, is that Mr. Killian’s last name.”

Ruby snorted.

“Mister Killian? We’ve really got our work cut out for us with this one.”

Belle shushed Ruby, only giving the smallest of snickers.

“To answer your question, no. His last name is Jones. Hook was a moniker given to him back in his navy days. He was always very prim and proper of course, but if the occasion called for it, he had a mean left hook.”

Emma nodded in understanding, trying to reconcile the image of a clean cut soldier with the man she’d just met.

“As as far as Ruby is concerned, the best part of living in Alexandria is the freedom to not abide by strict formalities.”

“Exactly, you needn’t be so formal here. There’s no Mister Killian or Mister Jones. No one here is going to rat you out for being human, Emma.”

“I-”

“No. You’re going to have enough thrust upon you on post, so in the rare moments you have for yourself like this, take advantage.”

Emma understood Ruby’s intentions, but she’d let her guard down once before and it had led to her father being exiled from his position. She couldn’t risk letting him down again. Instead, she nodded and did her best to change the subject.

After some time, Emma and Ruby returned to the base, parting ways near each of their homes. Ruby lived with her father and grandmother on the opposite end of the street. The girls made plans to meet up later in the week once Emma had her footing under her.

That evening, her parents discussed their days. Her father had his work cut out for him. Not only was he tasked with maintaining order in the city of Alexandria, but he’d just been informed that there had been a ship in the Medditeranian Sea that had been terrorizing cargo ships departing the Suez canal on their way home to London. He told them that the Royal Navy had searched exhaustively for the ship, but hadn’t had any luck and that they suspected that one of the neighboring countries was helping to provide a safe haven for the pillagers. They were ghosts.

Emma went to bed not long after, exhausted from all of the events of the day. Her mind couldn’t help but replaying everything over and over again in her mind. She’d managed to make new friends sooner than expected, and she genuinely enjoyed her time with Ruby and Belle. They were both so different from her social circle in London, more free and uninhibited. Something she’d always wished she could be but nothing she could have herself, given her station. The other member of her group had been more of an enigma, so quiet and mindful. She had to admit to herself, he was very handsome, and if not for his obvious relationship with Belle, she may have even allowed herself to dwell on his blue eyes and raven black hair. But he was already in a courtship, and she would do well to think of other things.

If only her dreams had understood propriety.

_____________________________________

The following few weeks were packed full of events and social soirees. Her mother wasted no time jumping into her role as a mother hen to the entire base, organizing tea parties, book clubs, even planning a winter ball for all of the soldiers. The weather in Alexandria was a far cry from the snowy streets of England but her mother made due, and also made use of nearly all of Emma’s free time.

She’d seen Ruby nearly daily, allowing their bond to grow, but the two women had only been able to sneak off once in the four weeks that Emma had lived in Egypt to meet Belle. The women had shared a more traditional meal in a British Pub that time. Emma had learned that the British people who lived in the center of the city had begun transforming the buildings, erecting more Victorian style facades with not one, but two pubs offering traditional menus and ales for the homesick. It was a remarkable find, and Emma was grateful for any semblance of her life before, but a small part of her couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if her people were ravanging the land, forcing their ways on others.

Even Belle had noticed the lack of Egyption patrons, and had warned the girls that there had been gossip of groups speaking out against the British presence in Alexandria. Nothing had come of it, but she warned the girls to be cautious and never to explore the city alone. For her part, Belle had taken a guide, hired by her employer for her protection. It also helped that Belle spoke and read the language, making her less helpless.

The days turned to months, and every few weeks the girls were able to sneak away for lunches at the same Brasserie as their first meeting. Sometimes it was just the three of them and they would discuss Belle’s research or Ruby’s grandmother who lived with her and her father. They spoke of news from England. Sometimes Killian was there as well, regaling them all with stories that Emma often believed were complete fiction. She learned that he captained a ship that transported cargo, weeks of sailing the Suez Canal being what kept him away for such long stretches of time.

It was during hose visits with Killian present that Emma experienced some of the most amazing meals she’d ever eaten. The chicken curry with black cardamom had been particularly flavorful and the Mahlab bread had been perfect, but for Emma the Morracan saffron chicken had been her absolute favorite. The four of them became very close, but Emma still knew little about Killian, aside from the fact that he’d grown up in Yorkshire and sailed. The curiosity of it all ate away at ther, but it would have been improper for her to inquire into his life in such a way.

Instead, the small group continued to meet when they could, exchanging mostly pleasant conversation, with Emma occasionally venting her frustration of having to listen to her mother speak of some of the more eligible young naval officers with the sultity of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. She also spoke of her excitement over the Winter Ball and how it would be nice to have a formal dance once more with some of the young soldiers.

It wasn’t until nearly six months after Emma’s arrival that she learned that Killian and Belle were not in fact courting. The four of them met for a late lunch, eating their meal and catching up, and just as their plates were cleared, four mugs appeared, preordered by Killian before any of the rest of them had arrived. Killian had asked them all to keep an open mind, so Emma closed her eyes as she took her first sip, trying to focus on the taste, letting just the tiniest of moans escape her lips as the flavor exposed itself. It was sweeter than she’d remembered, but there was something else, something that gave it a small bite.

“Killian, this is delicious! What is it?”

Emma looked up from her mug to see a slight blush spread across his cheeks as he toyed with a spot behind his ear.

It’s cocoa, made from camel’s milk, with a sprinkling of cinnamon.

“Cinnamon?”

Emma wasn’t of simple mindedness. She’d seen the prices of many of the spices at the local markets, and while not as exotic as saffron or cardamom, cinnamon was still beyond the price she was willing to part with. While Killian never baulked at the price of their meals, nor did he seem to mind in the slightest the idea of paying for all of them, Emma often felt that she’d taken advantage of his kindness and polite manors, and the cinnamon cocoa that she savored did little to ease her guilt.

It wasn’t until after they all parted, all with hugs and Emma yet again with a kiss to her hand from Killian, that she learned of the true relationship between Belle and Killian. That they were merely friends, that they had been for years. Ruby teased Emma at her naivety, explaining that Killian had never treated them to such alluring meals before, not until he met Emma. That many of the dishes they consumed weren’t even on the menu but that Killian had brought the spices with him and bribed the staff to use them for the table.

Ruby also teased Emma for the way she sometimes looked at Killian, the yearning glances.

For her part, Emma assured Ruby that there was no such thing, embarrassed that she been caught mooning over a man she’d thought taken until only moments before. Instead, Emma changed the topic entirely, asking Ruby how the Christmas dinner her Grandmother was planning was coming along.

The next two weeks passed in a blur as final preparations for the Winter Ball took place. All of the women pitched in making sure every decoration was placed in just the right spot, and that every possible detail had been seen to. Even though the base was small, and word of mouth would have been sufficient, Emma’s mother saw to it that each person had received a personalized invitation.

Her mother had chosen silver and blue for the colors, to accentuate the uniforms worn by the gentlemen. She’d even ordered new dresses from England. Silver for herself to coordinate with Emma’s father, and a long sleeved cream gown for Emma, with ornate lace embellishments. Emma had insisted that it was too much, but Mary Margaret had been adamant that Emma put her finest foot forward - an obvious insinuation that it was time for Emma to begin a courtship less she waste away as a spinster in her old age.

The ball itself was magnificent. The meal was divine, dripping with decadent sauces that reminded her of the nicer restaurants she’d been privileged enough to dine at before their move to Egypt. The desert was scrumptious as well, but as everyone spoke of how lovely the meal was, Emma couldn’t help but glance at the center table centerpieces. Silver and blue christmas baubles had been placed in glass vases. Most were uniform in shape and size, but there was one small bauble out of place among them, lighter in color. The blue of a certain pair of eyes she’d been dreaming of more and more lately.

She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts of the man who’s eyes had captivated her over so many other meals, that she’d completely missed the music begin to play, as well as the young petty officer at her side. It was only the clearing of her mother’s throat that brought her back enough to realize that he was there with his hand stretched out to her, asking for her own hand for a dance.

Emma acquiesced, letting him lead her to the dance floor. There, they did their best to move in synchronicity, but Emma was rusty, and the poor petty officer had been born with two left feet. Emma had been grateful as the music came to an end and a new song began. Never had she been so grateful for social norms, the same one that prevented her from dancing with the same gentleman twice without being in a courtship. Not that it had really been much of a blessing. Each partner had his own quirks. Some moved too quickly, others too slow. One poor gentleman had clearly been taught by his friends, and had inadvertently learned the footwork meant for her. She did her best not to embarrass him or to bring attention to it. But after eight partners, she had become tired, and her feet ached.

Ruby seemed much more excited though, telling Emma not to seem so glum. She was just in the middle of explaining her reluctance to dance anymore, when she heard a man interrupt from behind her.

“Perhaps you just need a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma turned, recognizing the voice but not being able to rectify what she saw before her. There, in a pristine Lieutenant’s uniform, stood Killian Jones, clean shaven and just as proper as any man in the room.

“How- How are you here?”

Killian chuckled and held his hand out for Emma, which she eagerly took as he guided her back into the center of the dance floor.

“I actually used to be stationed at this very post. It’s not exactly a fortress as I’m sure you know.”

“But, why are you here? I only mean that if you've left this post, then why would you come to a ball like this?”

“I’d never pass up a change to dance with a beautiful lady.”

There was such earnestness in his eyes and Emma couldn’t help but blush and look away, unsure of what to say herself. Perhaps Ruby had been correct in her assessment of Killian’s affections for her. They didn’t speak beyond that, but when the song came to an end, Killian made no move to relinquish her hand, and she made no effort to deny him. The next song began soon after and they continued to float across the dance floor to a waltz.

After the third song, Killian finally released Emma, knowing all too well how quickly gossip could spread in such small quarters. Together, they exited the dance floor and moved to gather some refreshments, but before they could make it to the table set for drinks, Emma came face to face with her father.

By any account her father looked rather austere as he took in the form of the man behind her.

“Emma, won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Emma paused, not sure how to introduce Killian. It wasn’t as if he was meant to be there, or if he was even still in the navy - something she had questions about but would save for a later time - and didn’t know how many of the young naval men her father knew by name.

“Lieutenant Killian Jones, Sir. From the HMS Condor.”

Emma watched as her father’s features relaxed a bit.

“So you sail under Admiral Seymore then?”

“Lore Beresford actually. Admiral Seymore commands the HMS Invincible now.”

If it had been a test, Killian had surely passed given her father’s smile and invitation to sit at their table. David asked Killian all sorts of questions regarding his position and role aboard the Condor, and had Emma not been so enraptured by the ease at which Killian answered her father’s questions, she likely would have been bored of the conversation. The two men discussed Naval related items for a bit before the conversation shifted.

“So, Jones, as a man who’s recently sailed in the Mediterranean, what can you tell me of the rogue ship that’s terrorizing the cargo vessels?”

Killian scratched just behind his ear, a sign Emma had come to learn was an indication of his unease.

“Not much I’m afraid. I’ve heard a story or two but never encountered them myself. To be perfectly frank, I’m not even sure if they exist.”

“Well if they don’t exist, why would ships claim to have been attacked then?”

“Oh, it’s not uncommon actually. You see, before the canal was built, many of the ships would get caught in the storms around the cape. Sometimes they would genuinely lose a large portion of their cargo, and other times they would claim their losses to be greater than they actually were, especially if they’d been paid in advance. They’d hide the cargo and sell it at another port before docking in London.”

“So they pocket the extra purse?”

“Exactly, and now with the canal helping them avoid the more treacherous waters, they have no excuse to falsely declare their cargo manifest.”

Emma’s father sighed, trying to take in everything Killian had told him. It seemed far fetched, and Emma’s father even said as much, but it was such a bizarre claim that Emma couldn’t help but wonder if there was some merit to it.

“It seems like an awful lot of trouble for so many ships to go to, but I guess it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. And if I’m being honest, I found myself questioning the stories all together when I heard the rumors of the vessel’s captain's name. Who would possibly ever wish to go by the name of Hook?”

Both men laughed at the absurdity of it, but Emma couldn’t rid herself of the knot that had formed in her throat as Killian watched her with a cautious eye. It may have seemed such an absurd name if not for the fact that her father was speaking directly to the man in question without so much as a clue. She had invited the wolf into their home and he had devoured the sheep.

Emma’s chair scraped the wood floor as she stood in a rush.

“Mr. Jones, I do believe it is getting late and you said you needed to return to your ship soon.”

Her father, completely stunned, told the young lieutenant that he didn’t wish to keep him, and Killian for his part nodded and thanked her father for a delightful evening.

Emma followed Killian outside, where he immediately turned to her and tried to speak, but she cut him off, enraged at his audacity.

“Mr. Jones-”

“Am I no longer Killian to you?”

“Mr. Jones, given the situation, I must insist on following proper social decorum as not to beseech or sully my father’s name and standing in his post. I ask that you leave and that you do not return.”

He only nodded and took his leave, breaking Emma’s heart in two as he did so.

_____________________________________

Three months passed in which Emma devoted herself to her mother’s causes. It had been difficult at first as her mother pressed her in the days after the ball as to who her young lieutenant was, and Emma had assured her he was no one as she fought the urge to weep and scream and riot at the very thought of him. But when her father came home two weeks later, irate at learning that there was no such Lieutenant Jones on the HMS Condor, demanding that Emma have nothing to do with him and to report it if she ran into him again, Mary Margaret finally let the subject go.

Instead, her mother nurtured her as best she could, teaching her a new needle point technique, recommending books for Emma to read as the newest member of the women’s auxiliary book club. Anything she could to keep Emma’s mind busy.

Ruby tried as well, showing Emma new places in the city, showing her a mix of the roads less traveled by most sightseers. They shopped at the market and even learned to cook a new dish from an older Egyption woman that Ruby’s Granny had befriended. Ruby still took her monthly trips to have lunch with Belle, but Emma always declined.

Still, despite all of her activities, Emma found her mind wandering to a certain pair of blue eyes. Sometimes the thought of him sickened her so, but sometimes it just left her with a sense of melancholy.

He’d been the only man to captivate her so, to make her feel like she had value as a woman as more than just a future wife or daughter. She’d seen it in the way he interacted with Belle as well. He was different, and she’d foolishly allowed herself to believe him her equal in many ways.

But he was a coward and a cod.

Two month more passed before Ruby finally broke, telling Emma she was being stubborn. That there was more to the story and that if Emma would only keep an open mind, that she would understand.

They fought, and Emma sent her away just as she had Killian. But Ruby had managed to dig her way into Emma’s mind, and her will shattered, curiosity settling into the cracks. Finally, Emma gave in and sought out Belle, with Ruby’s help.

She learned that Killian once had an older brother named Liam. That Belle had actually been engaged to Liam before his passing, and that Killian and she had latched onto each other in the years since as the only family either one had left. That both Jones brothers had been sent by her Majesty to oversee the construction of the canal. That the working conditions for the Egyptians had been less than ideal. It was essentially slave labor, and many of them became ill and if they didn’t die from exhaustion and hunger, they died of cholera instead. That Liam had passed after getting sick as well.

It had all been too much for Killian, who had witnessed everything first hand. The poor conditions, the way his countrymen had come to ravage a country, to indoctrinate themselves. He couldn’t be a party to it anymore, so he took his brother’s ship and crew and they revolted. They shed their uniforms and sailed under no man but themselves. They captured vessels and stole cargo belonging to the queen, giving it back to the Egyptians to sell for profit in reparations.

It was so much more than Emma could comprehend. She’d seen firsthand how the British had taken over parts of the city, but she’d never considered it on such a large scale. And the thought of everything Killian had witnessed, she wouldn’t have had the strength to survive it all the way he had.

She’d been such a fool to dismiss him so carelessly, ignoring everything she’d known about him in favor of the limited gossip her father had spared her over a meal one night.

Belle told her that she expected Killian in a few days time, and told Emma where his ship usually made port to avoid the Naval ships in the area and where’s she’d likely find him in the mid morning. The next two days Emma felt her stomach in knots with anticipation and nerves. She’d barely been able to eat dinner and her mother had fretted that Emma had taken ill.

Sneaking away had been a thing of miracles, and had taken Ruby’s use of distraction, leaving Emma to roam the city alone for the first time. She knew the way, but there had been rumors of unrest in the city again, and although the port Killian used wasn’t far, she’d wished she’d heeded everyone's warnings when she found herself surrounded by two angry men, screaming at her in a language she didn’t understand. She tried to apologize for whatever she’d done and move on, but the men were enraged, and before she knew it, one of them and moved closer. She hadn’t been prepared for the stinging blow that crossed her cheek, nearly knocking her to the ground.

She felt herself being shoved back and forth between the two of them and felt nothing but fear. She’d never been in such a situation and had no way to defend herself. But just as one of them had pushed her against the wall, she heard another voice call out for them to let her go. There was a commotion, but her tear filled eyes had prevented her from seeing most of what had happened. All she’d caught was a blurry figure punching one of the men and both of them taking off down an ally, leaving her in the man’s charge.

The man tried to comfort her, but she recoiled from his touch, breaking into full hysterics, screaming at him to get away, trying to push against his chest when he didn’t leave. Instead he only pulled her closer and hugged her tightly until exhaustion set in and she collapsed into him.

“Shh, It’s okay, love, I’ve got you.”

It was only after she’d calmed down that she was finally able to make sense of what had occurred. Killian had seen the men pushing her and had come to her rescue. She collapsed into him once again, letting herself sink into his embrace that time. When they broke apart, she felt his fingers lift at her chin while he looked her over.

“Emma, what are you doing out here alone?”

“I,” she hesitated, not sure how to begin her apology. “I actually came to find you. I needed to speak to you.”

He gave her a small cautious smile, but he kept his distance, still unsure of his place with her. It broke her heart all over again, knowing that she’d caused him pain. “Come now, let’s get you out of here.”

Emma followed him back to the market where more Englishmen were milling about. “Smee, something has come up that I must see to. I trust you to take care of things here.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Emma watched as Killian handed the stocky man a small notebook before taking her hand and guiding her away towards an area she had never been to before. They walked for a bit in silence before coming upon one of the most breathtaking views Emma had ever experienced. The water stretched out as far as the eye could see.

“I’ve always found the sight of the sea from this place to be calming. I thought that perhaps you could use some of that calmness after what happened back there.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Killian removed his jacket and set it on the ground at Emma’s feet, signaling for her to sit. With his aid, she lowered herself down until she was in a seated position where he joined her. They sat in silence for a bit while Emma worked through her muddled thoughts. She’d had a plan before the incident but everything she’d practiced in her head seemed silly by comparison.

“I wanted to thank you, Killian.” She hoped that the use of his name would have the impact it deserved.

“It was nothing.”

“No, I- I’m sorry, I’ve lost all sense of myself. I just needed to apologize, for that night, for everything. I acted rashly without knowing all of the details and I was a child throwing a tantrum. And then after I treated you so poorly, you still came to my rescue.”

The longer she spoke the more incoherent her words became and she was sure she’d messed up anything all over again. But once again, Killian was the pinnacle of kindness and good form.

“Emma, you had no reason to act any differently. I selfishly crashed your party and then made a cad of myself in front of your father. I’m ashamed of myself for the way I carried on that night and your actions were completely justified.”

“They weren’t though, and I’ve been sick at myself ever since. Please forgive me.”

“Emma, love, there’s nothing to forgive on your part.” “Then there’s nothing to forgive on yours either then.”

He nodded.

“But I must ask, why did you come that night?”

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. I’ve been besotten with you since the moment I met you, and with all the talk of the ball, I drove myself mad at the idea of you dancing with all of those men. I know it was stupid and selfish, but I couldn’t not go. Belle gave me the information.”

“And should I have not sent you away, what would have happened?”

“Emma,” he warned, but she continued.

“Would that dance have been the end of the evening?”

“Emma, I’m trying my best to be a gentleman here. Please. I beg of you.” There was a pleading in his voice. Something she knew was dangerous to push at, but she couldn’t help herself. Not after all of the time she’d wasted avoiding him.

“Would you have watched as I danced with my next partner?”

“Yes. I would have watched with hatred in my heart towards the man holding you in his arms, and I likely would have slipped out before you could notice.”

“And that would have been it?”

“Aye. But I would have left wondering,” she nodded for him to continue, “what it would have been like to kiss you.”

“And now, would you continue to wonder?” All sensibility clearly having left her head as she never would have been so forward had she had her wits about her.

But all thoughts of her impropriety were gone as his lips met hers, ever so softly. Nothing more than a light press of his mouth to hers before he pulled back. She let out the softest of sighs before flashing him a smirk that left him beaming from ear to ear light a young school boy.

They stayed there, in that calm little island among the land for another hour, discussing things Emma had never allowed herself to voice aloud before, an ease and understanding having formed between them. Emma told him of the true reason her father had been stationed in Alexandria. She’d also spoken of why she’d been so sullen at the idea of leaving England. It wasn’t the idea of leaving her childhood home, or her friends, but at leaving behind any chance she had at independence.

Two years prior, the University of London had become one of the first in the country to allow women to not only sit for exams but to earn their degrees. Emma had dreamt of becoming a solicitor, but her move to Egypt had all but assured that dream dead. Instead, she would become like every other woman she knew, marrying an eligible suitor and bearing his children, to live a dreadfully boring life.

Killian told her that her dream would only die if she let it. That he believed in her and that he’d yet to see her fail at anything she’d put her mind to. He encouraged her to apply to the university and to speak with her parents. That even in his limited interaction, he could see the love her father had for her and that he’d want nothing more than her happiness.

He also told her the truth, the entire truth about the activities aboard his ship. That they had many friends that gave them safe harbor and protection from the Navy. That they ever only took items that belonged to the royals and other aristocracy. They never took from people that needed it.

She learned of his childhood. A drunk sot of a father and a sick mother. He and Liam joined the Navy as soon as they came of age hoping to improve their station. He spoke of Liam in the highest regards, and Emma wished she could have met him.

They eventually were forced to leave their little oasis to join Ruby and Belle for lunch, receiving knowing looks from both of the ladies as they sat side by side for the first time, feeling a rush each time their hands brushed each other’s at the table.

When they parted, Killian promised to write to her as often as possible as he had no idea when he’d next be able to visit. Soon he hoped, but they both knew that her father had doubled down on his efforts to capture the elusive Captain Hook since letting him slip through his fingers at the Winter Ball. More patrols had been sent and there had even been a reward offered for information leading to his capture. He assured Emma that he knew the waters better than anyone and wouldn’t get caught but she worried just the same.

Over the next few months, Emma and Killian exchanged letters through Belle. Their mutual friend knew of Killian’s confidants in the city that could get corresponce out by other means. From what she gathered, Killian spent a large portion of his time in Turkey, an ally of England, but not under its control and therefore having no obligation to the crown. Higher officials could more easily be bought there as well, making it a safe haven of sorts for him to hide from her father’s constant searches.

She wrote to him as well telling him that she had secretly applied to three universities in England, not that she expected anything to come of any of her applications when there were so few spots available and much more well connected families, while she was doing it completely alone. She wrote to him about the books she was reading as well, many of which he’d read himself, with Killian recommending more she may like.

Emma spent most of her free time with Belle. Ruby had taken a new beau and they’d only connected in passing. Emma envied her the ability to properly court her young petty officer, even if it meant having Granny as a chaperone most of the time.

Belle’s research had nearly come to an end. With no results, receiving funding had been more difficult and her employer had nearly exhausted his own purse in their search for the library. There had been a few times that they’d believed themselves close, but each of those resulted in disappointment.

Emma dreaded the idea of Belle leaving Egypt, but if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, it was likely for the best. Incidents like the one Killian had saved her from had become all too common in the city. Reports of attacks on British men had begun to circulate, and Emma knew it was only a matter of time before venturing into the city would be impossible. She often worried about Belle. Her hired guide knew the area, but should a situation arise, she wasn’t sure where his true loyalty would lie, or if he'd be able to protect her friend, and the idea of anything happening to Belle left Emma feeling ill.

And as it always happens, all good things did come to an end. Belle’s research was cancelled and her entire team had packed up, ready to return to London after years away. Emma spent the morning with her, helping to see to the rest of her belongings in her small apartment, making sure nothing was left behind. Ruby had managed to pry herself away from Peter long enough to join them as well. Emma had written to Killian, but given tensions everywhere, knew that it would be unlikely that he’d be able to see their friend off.

Not that anything between them would ever really be goodbye with their connection. In time they would find eachother again. But it was that very connection that ensured Killian was there for one last farewell lunch. They ate and despite the stories told and the laughs had, the entire meal was a somber affair, each person there realising that everything was changing and nothing would ever be the same.

When lunch was over, they all left the brasserie one final time, exchanging their goodbyes. The woman all cried as they hugged and promised to write one another. Seeing the embrace between Belle and Killian nearly broke Emma’s heart. She knew how important they were to each other, the familial bond between them, and she knew how hard it must have been for Killian, knowing that he’d be unable to return to England to visit her. Not when he was deemed a deserter by many. She watched as he whispered something in Belle’s ear, and how Belle could only shake her head in return, too choked up for words.

Ruby left first, having made plans with her father and Peter, hoping to seek her father’s approval. Belle left next, her ship departing shortly after, which left only Emma and Killian. They walked slowly through the market, Emma’s hand placed gently in the crook of Killian’s arm, just like any normal couple. Together, they simply enjoyed the time they had before he had to leave again.

They continued through the city until they’d made their way to the spot Killian had brought her to before. Just as before, he removed his jacket for her to sit on, and there they talked as they took in the sight of the sea before them. As the sun lowered, Emma knew she should be getting back before her family missed her, but she hated the idea of saying goodbye to him.

They waited as long as possible, until they could wait no more. But before they headed back, Killian told her that he had a gift for her. She’d expected a small jar of spices or a book like he’d brought to Belle in the past, but instead she watched as his hand rummaged with the collar of his blouse before freeing a small silver chain. She caught just the faintest glimpse of a jewel before Killian had closed her hand around the chain, the weight of it in her palm heavier than expected.

“This belonged to my brother, who gave it to me before he passed. He told me that it would keep me safe, just as it had him, and for all of these years it has. And now I want you to have it. To keep you safe as well when I can’t be with you.”

“Killian, I can’t accept this. It’s too precious!”

“Emma, love, nothing is more precious to me than you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you here.”

Throwing away all sense of propriety, Emma lifted to her tiptoes, resting her hands on his chest as she did so, kissing him with all of the affection she felt in her heart.

Her joy was short live though as she heard a throat clear from behind her. Stunned, she turned, only to find her father staring back. She’d never seen such a look upon his face, and her blood turned to ice.

“Emma, come here now,” he growled.

“Daddy, please, it’s not what you think.”

“Now!”

Emma did as her father commanded, helpless to disobey him, but she continued to plead for Killian, telling her father that he was a good man and that she loved him. Her father baulked at the idea, telling her that she was a naive child that had been taken advantage of. He told Killian that had it not been for Emma’s presence, he would have had the man seized and chained to the stockades already. That he’d found the letters Killian had sent his daughter. David was livid that his Emma had been so irresponsible and had betrayed his trust.

Emma wept as Killian left, unable to say anything to change her father’s mind. He parted with a promise to her that not a day would go by that he didn’t think of her. In return, her father promised that if he ever saw Killian again, he’d have him hung for treason.

In the weeks and months that follow Emma was inconsolable. She’d lost nearly everyone that had meant anything to her. Her father kept a strict eye on her and her interactions with Ruby were limited, and only allowed under supervision. Without Belle to help her send letters, she had been completely cut off from everything.

Most of her time was spent in a melancholy daze. Her mother tried her best to lift her daughter’s spirits, but Emma was despondent. Even when her letter from the University of London arrived informing her she had been accepted to study with them hadn’t been enough to pull her from her misery. It didn’t help that her father had become upset at learning of her intent to leave for school, just another secret she’d kept from him in his eyes.

She moved through life as a walking ghost.

The climate surrounding the city has escalated as well. Many of the Europeans had fled the city in favor of Cairo where the political situation was less terse. The officers on the base had been warned to stay ever vigilant, and visits into Alexandria had been officially forbidden.

No one could have predicted what had come next though. A member of the Egyptian Army who went by the name of Ahmed Urabi, had sparked a revolt among the people. The whispers among the countrymen had become shouts heard from all the way across the Mediterranian. Killian knew all too well the anger dwelling among the Egyptian nationals. He’d seen first hand how the canal had run red with the blood of the men that built it long before it had with the sea. And he knew it was only a matter of time before the land became overrun with devastation.

He’d also heard chatter of British ships collecting in the sea, ready wage an assault on the city, and how quickly tensions could rise. Emma was in danger, and it killed him not being there to protect her, and while her father was formidable, David didn’t know the people or the city.

Eventually, it became too much, and his worry for Emma’s safety outweigh any consideration he gave to his own life. What was the use of avoiding the hangman’s noose with her gone? So he sailed into the heart of the beast, to the ship he knew Emma’s father commanded, allowing his ship to be boarded by British officers for the first time since Liam’s death.

Killian pleaded with Emma’s father, telling him that a revolt was coming, but his warning came too late as the city had been taken under siege that morning. Riots had broken out all over the Alexandria, and that the British armada had orders to attack the city. It took ages of arguing between the two men before a resolution had been found. Killian was certain that the base was in danger, that it would be one of the first places attacked if it hadn’t been already. David, ever as stubborn as his daughter assured him that the base was the safest place Emma could be. It wasn’t until Killian listed all of the ways to sneak it that David realized his concerns may have merit. And it was only on Killian’s solemn word to return with Emma and Mary Margaret and turn himself in to be tried before a British court for his actions against the crown that David relented, letting him sail on towards Alexandria. Killian was sure that if not for his strict orders, David likely would have sailed right next to him.

When he and his crew docked at their usual spot, he found the city in near ruins already. Fires raged through the buildings, people fought in the streets, dragging expats through the narrow corridors by their clothes. Killian rushed through the city as quickly as possible, taking shortcuts wherever he could, throwing a few punches along the way. His sword found its way in the belly of a particularly large rioter at one point. Eventually he reached the base, as just as he had worried, there were already rioters beating against the building doors, tearing down everything in their path.

Killian pushed past them to the house he knew belonged to the highest ranking officer. Knowing that Emma and her mother were likely hiding inside, he kicked down the door, searching for them room by room, calling out her name until he heard her voice, small and weak, coming from a closet. Inside, he found Emma, her mother, and Ruby all huddled together trying to shelter themself from the chaos of the outside world.

With reluctance, Killian finally managed to convince Mary Margaret that she wasn’t safe there and that she needed to follow him. That he would keep them all safe. They fought their way through the pandemonium, running as fast as they could from the hoards of men screaming in the street.

When they reached Killian’s ship, his crew wasted no time setting sail again. They had only barely left when they heard the shots of cannon fire ring out from the other side of the city. Smoke and ashes overtook the sky as Alexandria burned before them. Killian’s first mate tended to the women aboard, making sure they had food and blankets as the ship drifted further and further to sea.

It was surreal for Emma, the dichotomy of the beauty she experienced from nearly that same spot as she arrived in Alexandria only the year before to the way she left it, in desolation. For hours, the ship stayed anchored away from the battle that raged on between the British and Egyptians. The booming cannons rang out through the night, and silence overtook everyone on the ship, each man and woman understanding the weight of what had happened.

It wasn’t until morning when Killian’s crewman witnessed an Egyptian boat float out to sea with a flag of truce that everyone was able to breathe again. As promised, Killian returned Emma, Ruby, and Mary Margaret to David’s ship, awaiting his own fate at the hands of Her Majesty's Navy.

And whether it was exhaustion from the night before, or the gratefulness of a man whose family was safe, David didn’t immediately take Killian into custody. Instead, he had the man escorted to the Captain’s day cabin, while his family was taken to his quarters to rest. Emma was too tired to even protest, but Killian couldn’t begrudge her. She’d been through too much and no matter what fate befell him, knowing she was safe was all that mattered. David had been right before, and as much as Killian had been remiss to admit it to himself at the time, he wasn’t good enough for Emma. He couldn’t give her the life that she deserved as a man on the run, and after years of always looking over his shoulder, he was ready to accept his fate. He was just too tired to continue.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited, likely only an hour, but it felt as if weeks had passed before David emerged, his fatigue obvious in the bags under his eyes. David gestured for him to sit at the round table in the middle of the room, before taking a seat himself.

“I’ve looked into your record. One of the fastest promoted Lieutenants in recent history. Plenty of commendations. You were once an honorable man and I have to believe he’s still in there somewhere.”

Killia had no idea how to respond. It was a far cry from the dress down he’d expected and deserved. So he said nothing.

They sat in silence, each savoring the calmness of the moment.

“I can’t let you go, but I can’t send you to your death after you sacrificed yourself for my family. I’m at a loss for what should happen next.”

“What I did, saving Emma wasn’t to barter my way into your good graces, or to leverage my situation. I did it because I’m in love with her. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, and I’ve acted rashly at times, and I stand by the actions I took. But I’ve also come to see through Emma, that I wish to be a better man than I’ve been. And that begins now with me accepting the consequences of my actions, whatever they may be.”

David barked out a laugh.

“Yes, and that would go so well for me with my daughter.”

“She loves you. Surely you must know that.”

“I do.”

“Emma carries a great deal of guilt over the end of her relationship with Neal, and the adverse effects it had on you. She holds you in the highest regard and I promise you, she didn’t enter into a courtship with me lightly.”

David stood and walked to a small porthole where the view of the sun setting against the water was visible.

“Is that what it was then? A courtship?”

“You would have to ask Emma.”

David's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as they continued to speak.

“My daughter was accepted to a university back in England. She doesn’t know yet but she begins her courses in a month’s time. And although I know it’s what her heart truly desires, I find that I’m having a difficult time letting her go.”

“Aye, I can imagine.” Killing couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in Emma's accomplishment, even if it did sting to know she was leaving.

“How did you do it? How did you let her go?”

Killian swallowed, trying to find the words. It wasn’t that he had let her go, as much as he had let her free.

“It wasn’t easy for me either, but as I said before, Ilove her, and sometimes loving someone means realizing that you have to put their needs above your own.”

David grumpled before rubbing his face with both hands.

“I can’t make any promises, but I will see what I can do about having your charges dismissed. No one outside of my family knows who you are. As far as the navy is concerned, you’re nothing more than a deserter.”

“I’m grateful, but you needn’t-”

“What I need is to know Emma has someone with her in London watching out for her. I can’t leave my post, and most of the officers back in England are terrified of Neal's father and will keep their distance out of fear of repercussions. As reluctant as I am to say this, you’re the only person I trust with her.”

It took some doing, many favors called in, but David was able to clear Killian’s record and his time was considered served. Many of the crew members aboard Killian’s ship had been just as grateful to step back on English soil after so many years away. While none of them had verbalised it, they’d each grown homesick in their own rights.

Killian found honest work with Belle and her research team, translating some of the more rare manuscripts they had come across on their newest search for the Temple of Deir el-Bahri, believed to be the resting place of the only three women to rise to the position of pharaoh.

And over the next few years, Emma was able to finish her degree, receiving it under her new married name with David’s blessing. Her father remained in Egypt, still under banishment from Admiral Gold. Long after their daughter was born, Belle and Killian managed to decipher the exact location of Hatshepsut’s resting place, which meant returning to Egypt. Killian had been reluctant to leave, but Emma insisted, reminding him that while Belle was great with books, they needed him for translations. The dig turned out to be a once in a lifetime find, and kept growing, so much so that he’d written to Emma, devastated that he’d be unable to return home in time for christmas.

Which had led to a lonely Emma telling her daughter the very story in question.

_____________________________________

The cocoa has cooled and the fire in the hearth long dwindled. It’s chilly in the drafty house once more, and while she briefly considers adding more wood to it, the hour is late and she really should be getting her little one to bed.

“So Papa started the cinnamon tradition?”

“Yes my little duck. You father introduced it to me, and he passed it on to you as well.”

The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“I miss him. In class we wrote to Father Christmas and I asked him to bring Papa home. Do you think he got my letter?”

Emma’s heart breaks at the question. Her daughter is still young, too young to understand that Father Christmas is only an illusion, something told to little children to get the magic of the world alive, and that no amount of magic in the world can bring Killian home in time for Christmas morning.

But sometimes, just as her daughter told her that evening, you only have to believe in magic for it to work, and her daughter's belief has apparently been just enough for the biggest Christmas miracle that Emma has ever witnessed.

Because there before them, in a freshly opened doorway just before midnight, stands Killian covered in snow from head to toe. And he isn’t alone. Shuffling into the entryway behind him is her mother and father, neither of which she’s seen since leaving Alexandria. It’s everything she can do not to cry as she rushes to hug them all.

Her daughter screams once she realizes what’s happening and leaps into Killian’s arms as he introduces her to her grandparents for the first time ever. They speak of David’s retirement and her parents plans to move back to London as they’ve already missed so much time together.

Later, when everyone is settled, Killian pulls her aside, and he reveals a small sprig of Mistletoe from his jacket pocket, kissing her with all of the passion of a man who hasn’t seen his wife in nearly seven months.

Things may not be what they were, but this is so much better.

#csss2020 #cssecretsanta2020 #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #period peice

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nicknellie · 4 years ago

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Anonymous requested: I’d love literally anything Flarrie, but I’d really like to see some Nick/Carrie friendship as well (I feel like however she’d come out, he’d be surprised but support her 1000000% and I never see fics featuring their friendship)

Anon, I’m not even joking, you might be my favourite person literally ever. Flarrie with a side of Carrie and Nick being best friends? Sign me the fuck up. I’ve had a serious case of writer’s block, so I can’t promise this is the best thing I’ve ever written, but I still love it. Also this is the first time I’ve ever written Nick, so it might be out of character, but I think I did pretty well. Thank you so much for suggesting this!

Title is from the Masterplan by Oasis because that song fits this fic beautifully.

Say It Loud and Sing It Proud

Carrie looked herself up and down in the mirror, certain she would find something amiss. Her hair was elegantly twirled into a braided crown, her makeup was all soft pinks and subtle glitter, and her dress fit her like a glove. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her appearance, and as far as she could think of there was nothing to be worried about for the night ahead at all, which made the hammering of her heart and the watering of her eyes all the more frustrating.

She had been so excited about tonight. It was Los Feliz’s school dance and everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks. Initially Carrie hadn’t been too bothered – just another party, just another dance, she had been to plenty of those in her lifetime. But then one thing had happened and Carrie had found herself more excited about the dance than she had ever thought possible. Now that same thing had her hands shaking and her breath hitching in her throat.

“Carrie?” Nick called from her bedroom. She had almost forgotten he was there. “Are you almost ready?”

She looked up into the mirror of her ensuite again, head tilted so that she could see the reflection of her bedroom behind her, the door thrown open wide between the two rooms. Nick was lying on her bed in his suave white suit, his shoes placed neatly at the end of the bed, scrolling through his phone in boredom. She didn’t blame him – he had been waiting for her to get ready for going on two hours and there were only so many apps a person could mindlessly switch between for hours on end.

She almost envied his boredom. She would have felt exactly the same had it not been for that one perfect, terrifying thing.

Carrie shook her head, steeled herself, took a deep breath. “Yeah, just give me another minute.”

There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry about. She repeated it in her head, a harsh mantra, one last desperate attempt to calm herself down. And with a final deep breath and glance in the mirror, she left the ensuite and perched herself primly on the end of her bed just beside Nick.

He looked up from his phone, sat up a little straighter and smiled at her. “You look great.”

Absently, Carrie remembered the days he used to say things like that in a romantic way. Compliments peppered here and there, usually followed by a kiss on the cheek or a gentle hug. She almost laughed – those days, thankfully, were far behind them and she was more happy being friends with Nick than she had ever been when they were dating.

“Thanks,” she said, trying for a smile. She wasn’t quite sure if she achieved one, but Nick made no comment so she took it as a win.

“So,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Are you ever going to tell me who your date is for tonight?”

Carrie looked anywhere but at Nick. Ever since she had told him she had a date for the dance, he had been enthusiastically trying to guess who it was or trying to wheedle the information out of her himself. It would have been fine, a fun little bit of banter between the two of them, and eventually she would have told him – it was just that she and her date had agreed not to tell anyone until they arrived at the dance, that way they could let everyone know together. No awkward one-on-one conversations, no hurt feelings because one person knew before somebody else. It would be simpler that way.

Simple, Carrie thought, but absolutely petrifying.

“Nope,” she said brightly, forcing a giggle. “I told you, you’ll have to wait and find out.”

“Can I keep guessing then?” Nick asked.

Ah. That was the worst of it. Again, Carrie wouldn’t have minded Nick guessing. A little bit of light-hearted conversation to pass the time, an inside joke to laugh over. But there was just one problem that made Carrie endlessly uncomfortable.

All of Nick’s guesses so far had been boys.

Her date was most certainly not one of those.

It had all started about ten months ago, late August or early September, the very beginning of the school year. Carrie had turned up to her science class and had seen, to her utter dismay, a new seating plan displayed on the board. Teacher-made seating plans never worked out; Carrie would always end up sat next to someone she either hated or never spoke to. In this case, it had been the first option.

She had stalked over to her seat at the back of the classroom, already furious, and slammed her things down on the table. Sitting down, she scooted her chair as far away from the person beside her as possible, glowering all the while. The person had sighed loudly and Carrie heard shuffling as they turned to face her.

“Look,” Flynn had said, voice flat and clearly unhappy. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. But it’s one class and if we refuse to even try and get along with each other we’re just going to make it worse for both of us. So stop glaring at the seating plan like it killed your whole family and grow up.”

Carrie had blinked and slowly turned to look at Flynn. Her expression was as empty as her tone of voice. In a weird sort of way, it was intimidating – Carrie felt her insides squirm. There had been nothing she could have said in response (in fact she wasn’t sure she could have spoken even if she tried) so she just nodded and sat up straight primly, attention focused on their teacher.

She had never liked Flynn. There was just something about her that didn’t sit right. Maybe it was how bold and loud she was all the time, how she was so free and comfortable with herself. Maybe it was how she had become friends with Julie Molina and ever since then Carrie and Julie had drifted apart. Maybe it was how every time Carrie looked at Flynn her breath caught in her throat and her mind wandered and her heart beat faster and she wanted so desperately just to smile, which she didn’t understand at all.

Carrie had not liked Flynn, but she couldn’t deny that she was right about the seating plan. It was better to try and get on than to simply simmer in stony silence.

So they had tried. And to Carrie’s surprise, they hadn’t even had to try very hard. Their first conversations started off awkward and forced as they tried to unnaturally spark some kind of civility between them. After about a month, they had found themselves talking a lot more freely to one another, less effort needed, and silences became more comfortable.

But it wasn’t until an experiment went wrong one lesson and Carrie had ended up drenched from head to toe in water, Flynn crying with laughter like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen, that Carrie realised that maybe they had finally become friends. Ordinarily she would have been furious at Flynn (or anyone for that matter) for laughing at her when she was embarrassed, but as Flynn howled, breathless and giddy, Carrie found herself beginning to laugh too.

Since that day it had become easy. Carrie had started hanging out with Flynn’s friends more, reigniting her friendship with Julie, and soon enough Nick had joined their group as well. Carrie found herself and Flynn sharing inside jokes, texting each other all night long, meeting up on weekends just for the sake of seeing each other. Flynn even gave Carrie a nickname, only used on rare occasion – Care Bear. It was ironic, made because Carrie’s response to one too many things had been ‘I don’t care’.

For a while, they had been friends and happy that way. Every time Carrie saw Flynn, she thought her heart might burst with the giddy joy that only Flynn could instil in her. She had let herself smile that wide and bright smile she always wanted to when Flynn was around because it was allowed now. So many things were allowed now that they were friends, things Carrie had hardly even realised she wanted to do – she could hug Flynn, link arms with her, hold her hand, fall asleep on her shoulder during their sleepovers.

In fact, it was on one of those sleepovers that Carrie realised that those things she wanted to do might not have been purely friendly.

She had woken up before Flynn, sprawled on the sofa in the fort they had built (as had become a tradition for their sleepovers – who didn’t love building pillow forts?). She had stretched and rolled over, burrowing a little further into the covers, and caught sight of Flynn fast asleep on the air mattress on the floor. She looked so peaceful, wrapped in two blankets, her chest gently rising and falling as she breathed, her hair spilled over her face. Carrie had smiled and tenderly reached down to move a braid away from Flynn’s face.

Without thinking, she gently ran her thumb along Flynn’s cheek, still smiling to herself. Then she had stopped because what on Earth was she doing? And in that one moment she re-evaluated every interaction she’d ever had with Flynn, played out every moment in her head over and over again and realised in no uncertain terms that–

“I’m in love with you,” she had whispered dumbfoundedly. She didn’t think, just shook Flynn awake, more forcefully than was probably necessary. Flynn grumbled, but sat up, probably thinking there was an emergency. Carrie didn’t let her ask whatever question she probably had lined up, just repeated again so that Flynn could hear her this time, “I’m in love with you.”

Flynn’s expression had morphed from sleepy urgency to utter bewilderment to dawning realisation to pure elation.

“Really?” she had said, wide awake all of a sudden.

Carrie had just nodded – she had used up all her words.

Flynn beamed and launched herself forward, wrapping Carrie in a tight hug that she responded to as if it was the most natural thing in the world, all the both of them had been born to do.

Flynn spoke in tandem with the rising sun as its light streamed through the window and illuminated the two of them, holding onto each other, just four simple words: “I love you too.”

That had been three months ago. They had done a lot since then – officially labelled themselves girlfriends, gone on their first dates, had their first kiss. But one thing they hadn’t done was tell anyone they were together. At first it was because they had wanted to wait and see it they ‘worked’. After that, the time had never felt right, and as time went on the whole prospect had become more and more daunting.

Which was where the school dance came in. Flynn had been disappointed when Carrie had told her that she wasn’t planning on going.

“Oh, come on,” Flynn had whined, her fingers trailing through Carrie’s hair, sending shivers down her spine, “it’ll be fun! We’ll get to spend the whole night dancing and hanging out with our friends! Plus, I’m DJing for about an hour near the start so you’ve got to come and watch me.”

Carrie had remained unconvinced. “It’s just a dance. There’ll be one next year and the year after, it’s not like I’ll be missing much.”

“I want you to be there with me,” Flynn had said.

That in itself had almost been enough for Carrie – she turned to face her Flynn, whose expression was open and honest and adoring. She realised in that moment how lucky she was to have Flynn, this beautiful girl who loved and understood her and wanted her to see her doing something she was proud of. Someone who wanted to spend time with her because she couldn’t imagine anything better. Flynn was a stroke of luck, more valuable and more rare than a lottery win, and Carrie had the privilege of calling herself her girlfriend.

But nobody else knew.

“Okay,” Carrie had said, “but we’ve got to make it worthwhile.”

“It will be,” Flynn insisted, beaming. “Julie and the guys are performing as well, so that’ll be great, and I’m pretty su–”

“No,” Carrie interrupted, “I mean I have something specific in mind.”

Flynn went quiet, said nothing, nodded encouragingly.

Carrie had taken a deep breath and said, “What if we told everyone about us? Just show up and tell our friends and dance together and spend the night as Carrie-and-Flynn rather than just Carrie and Flynn?”

“Woah,” Flynn had breathed. Carrie had instantly regretted saying anything at all – was it too soon still? Did Flynn not want to move that fast? Did she not want to tell their friends at all? “Really?”

“We don’t have to,” Carrie said, turning away. She felt Flynn link their fingers together but still didn’t look back at her. “If you don’t want to then I get it.”

“I do want to,” Flynn said. Carrie turned to face her then and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. “Of course I want to. As long as you’re ready then I think we should go for it.”

Everything in Carrie had screamed at her to backtrack, to wait a little longer, that this was a mistake. But she had gripped Flynn’s hand tighter, pressed a kiss to her lips, and smiled.

“I’m ready.”

Just like that, she had gone from indifferent about the dance, to ecstatic, and now – sat on her bed beside Nick, watching him expectantly wait for her to reply – she was utterly dreading it.

“Sure,” she said now, voice thick, “you can keep guessing.”

Nick frowned and leaned back, propping himself up with his hands behind his back. “It doesn’t sound like you want me to.”

Carrie tried to look him in the eye, but just couldn’t manage it. She felt like her chest was going to burst, like her head was full of TV static. She heard Nick sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “if you don’t want me to pry then I won’t.”

“It’s not that,” Carrie assured him, quiet. She took her time as she spoke, grasping for the words – all of them felt out of her reach. “I don’t mind the guessing.”

“Then what is it?”

She looked at him. She knew Nick, she’d known him practically her entire life, ever since they were toddlers. She had dated him for two years and now considered him her closest friend. His expression now was kind, gently nudging her to say what was on her mind.

Carrie and Flynn had agreed not to tell anyone at all before the dance, but if anyone could ease Carrie’s mind it was Nick, and if she didn’t calm down soon then she wouldn’t be going to the dance at all.

So she chose to tell him.

“Flynn and I are dating,” she said, looking at her duvet instead of at him, throwing the words out in one breath so she couldn’t hesitate or stop herself. “We have been for three months and we’re supposed to be telling everyone tonight, but I just feel so nervous about it and I don’t even know why. And I wasn’t meant to tell you because we said we’d tell everyone together, but at this rate I don’t even think I can make it out of this room.”

Nick was silent for a moment. All he did was reach out and take Carrie’s hand, stilling its movement – she hadn’t realised, but she had been restlessly picking at her duvet cover and had almost worn a hole in it. He held her hand softly in his and squeezed it ever so slightly, just enough to give Carrie the courage to meet his eye.

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “I promise you. Everything is okay.”

Somehow she believed it. She nodded mutedly.

“There’s nothing to worry about, right?” Nick continued, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on the back of her hand. The ticklish feeling was oddly grounding. “Are you and Flynn happy together?”

“Yes,” Carrie breathed.

“Does it matter what anyone else thinks of it?”

Carrie shrugged. “You. And the rest of our friends.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, so you don’t need to worry about that. And none of our friends have a problem with Alex and Willie – why would they have a problem with you and Flynn?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. A single tear slipped down her cheek and Nick pulled a fresh pack of tissues from his pocket. Gratefully, she took one and dabbed it away.

“It’s scary,” he said. “Of course it’s scary. But at the end of the day, it’s just you and the girl you care about being who you are. And that’s such a great thing. I guarantee that once you see Flynn tonight you’ll forget you were nervous at all in the first place.”

“You think so?” she asked weakly.

“I know so,” he replied, smiling.

There was a quiet pause in which Carrie wondered how she’d ever got lucky enough to have such wonderful people in her life.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Nick playfully punched her arm, lightening the mood just like that. “Don’t even mention it. And hey – thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

She nodded. Of course she knew that.

“So,” Nick continued, “you like girls?”

Carrie giggled, still dabbing at her eyes, now more focused on not ruining her makeup than not crying. “Yes, I like girls.”

“And boys?” Nick asked hesitantly. Carrie shook her head. “Did you know that when we were dating?”

“No,” Carrie said. “I only figured it out a few months ago. Because of Flynn.”

To Carrie’s surprise, Nick beamed. She had expected him to be a little put out for reasons she couldn’t quite place, but if anything he looked happy.

“I’m glad you get to be yourself now,” he said.

Carrie pushed him playfully because her two options were joke about the situation or burst into tears, and she knew which one she would rather do.

She checked the time and realised that they definitely needed to leave sooner rather than later, so stood up and slipped her shoes on, putting the final touches to her outfit as Nick asked careful questions about her and Flynn. It was nice, finally being able to gush about her girlfriend without the fear of accidentally outing herself. As she was talking to Nick, she realised she should probably have told Flynn that Nick knew.

She sent her a quick text: I was nervous so I told Nick about us, sorry if that ruins things? Xx

To her relief, Flynn replied almost instantly with: lol it’s fine, I told Julie xx

Carrie couldn’t help but laugh to herself, mingled with a sigh of relief. At least Flynn was seemingly nervous too.

Luckily, Carrie’s house wasn’t too far away from Los Feliz. She and Nick took the short walk there, easy banter flowing between them – most of Carrie’s nerves had subsided, but there was still a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that maybe this was all a mistake. She tried to distract from it by focusing on her chat with Nick, making herself laugh a little louder than was perhaps natural, forcing smiles too wide. As they neared the entrance to the school, she couldn’t keep the act up anymore and let her smile fall.

Nick softly laid his hand on her back and Carrie took a deep breath.

“You got this,” he said encouragingly, smiling gently. “You’re Carrie Wilson – you can do anything you put your mind to.”

Hardly realising she was doing it, Carrie slipped her hand into Nick’s, some old comforting reminder of the unbreakable bond they had. It grounded her, even if it didn’t still her nerves.

Together they entered the school and made their way towards the hall where the pulsing music rocked the building’s foundations, blue and pink lights streaked into the hallway, and the vibrant cheers and chatter from the students of Los Feliz echoed like thunder. In some last-ditch grab for calm, Carrie stepped in ahead of Nick.

The hall had been decorated marvellously, but Carrie hardly saw it. The second she had walked in, her eyes had trained on the stage where Flynn was stood behind the DJ set. She looked radiant, her hair pulled away from her face with butterfly clips, her dress every shade of the sunset glowing in the fluorescent lights, her smile bright and gleeful. She looked distracted though – Carrie watched as Flynn’s eyes scanned the room, searching for something.

Or someone.

Searching for Carrie.

Her nerves were suddenly long gone. Her hand fell from Nick’s and she pushed her way through the crowd, ending up in front of the stage, directly in front of Flynn. Their eyes met, and Carrie knew that the happiness in Flynn’s eyes was mirrored in her own. Nick had been right; just seeing Flynn being her beautiful self had melted Carrie’s worries away.

“You made it!” Flynn called, moving her headphones away from her ears, yelling over the music. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now I’m with you,” Carrie called back. She was aware of how soppy the line was, how cheesy and predictable, but it was true. Seeing Flynn had made everything feel alright.

“I’ll come and catch up with you after I finish my set,” Flynn told her. “The others are sat over there, I’ll be as quick as I can!”

Waving goodbye, Carrie hurried over to where Flynn had pointed. Julie and Luke were sat close beside each other in their matching outfits, Luke talking Julie’s ear off as she watched him with a fond expression; Alex and Willie were with each other, hands clasped firmly together, heads bowed in private conversation; Nick had joined Reggie and the two were already wrapped up in an animated conversation. Carrie smiled to herself and sat down beside Julie.

Julie turned away from Luke momentarily, just long enough to give Carrie a smile that said a thousand things in just one second. There was one overwhelming message in it though: I’m happy for you both.

Carrie gave a tiny smile back, then turned to watch as Flynn wrapped up her set and left the stage empty, bounding over to the group. It was at that moment that Carrie realised they hadn’t exactly worked out how they were going to reveal to their friends that they were an item – this whole thing could turn incredibly awkward very quickly if neither of them knew what they were doing.

Thankfully, it seemed Flynn wasn’t as worried.

She reached the group, ignored their friends exclamations of, “Nice job, Flynn,” and, “You killed it,” in favour of cupping Carrie’s face in her hands and pressing a firm but loving kiss to her lips. Out of surprise, Carrie didn’t react, but Flynn pulled away quickly anyway, an ecstatic smile on her face. She pulled a chair up, sat beside Carrie, and gripped her hand tightly.

“Did you like my set?” Flynn asked, clearly knowing the answer.

“It was amazing,” Carrie gushed, fiddling with Flynn’s fingers between her own. “You were amazing.”

Flynn smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder, proud of herself.

“Is this a thing now?”

Luke had interrupted their moment without a moment’s hesitation. He was leaned over the table past Julie (who was smirking knowingly), and it was only then that Carrie noticed she and Flynn had Alex, Willie, Reggie, and Nick’s eyes on them too. She looked in the only direction that felt safe – towards Flynn. Flynn smiled, pulled Carrie closer by her hand, and shrugged.

“Of course it’s a thing,” she said like it was obvious, like it was common knowledge.

There was no awkward pause, no judgemental looks, no hint that anyone might not have reacted positively. In fact, it was quite the opposite – Alex was out of his seat in a moment, catching Carrie in a hug and telling her in no uncertain terms that he was proud of her; Willie and Reggie reached over to Flynn and the three of them quickly performed the secret handshake they’d made a few months prior; Luke looked utterly dumbfounded, like he hadn’t seen this coming in the slightest, but he was grinning; and Julie and Nick were both watching Flynn and Carrie with private, kind smiles.

Carrie had never felt so loved.

The night flew past. It was a whirlwind of colour and smiles and laughter and dancing and food and drink and joy and love. Carrie had howled with laughter as Alex, Luke, and Reggie had attempted the lift from Dirty Dancing but failed miserably; she had danced along with Flynn, Willie, and Nick as Julie and the Phantoms performed their set; she pulled Flynn to sit in her lap when they both got too tired to carry on dancing.

Eventually, Carrie and Nick broke away from the group to get everyone drinks. While they were over at the refreshment table, Nick nudged Carrie with his shoulder.

“What?” she said.

He smiled and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of you. And I love you.”

She rolled her eyes, supressing a smile. “Shut up.”

A moment later though, she added a quiet, “I love you too.”

The night began to draw to a close and the final songs started playing. Carrie was brimming with giddy excitement still, but it had dulled as exhaustion began to weigh her down. The room felt hazy and dizzy as everyone grew tired, but still Carrie wanted to stay there forever, beside Flynn (who somehow still looked full of energy), holding her hand and simply existing with her.

Until a slow song began to play and couples flooded the dance floor.

Julie and Luke were the first of their group to gravitate towards the gathering crowd, Alex and Willie hot on their heels. Reggie tugged Nick to the dance floor, telling him he didn’t want to be left out and they could dance together even if they weren’t a couple. So Flynn and Carrie were left together, hand in hand by the edge of the dance floor.

Flynn looked to Carrie, something sentimental and sweet in her depthless brown eyes. Carrie thought that if she looked into them for too long she’d never be able to look away – Flynn had that effect on her, always pulling her closer, drawing her in. She loved it more than words could say.

“May I have this dance?” Flynn offered, tone light and joking. It didn’t mean that Carrie missed the underlying nerves – it seemed that this was the first thing all night to really rattle Flynn. Something as simple as a slow dance.

So Carrie decided to be brave.

“You never have to ask to dance with me,” she said, beaming, and pulled Flynn onto the dance floor.

They fell into a soft rhythm naturally, in the centre of the floor, swaying in tandem with each other. Flynn’s arms were linked around Carrie’s neck, and Carrie planted her hands gently on Flynn’s waist. For a while, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them too meaningful to be broken by anything other than the slow song that played in the background. But after a while, Flynn rested her head on Carrie’s shoulder. Carrie felt Flynn’s eyes flutter shut against her skin, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m glad we did this,” she whispered, her own eyes falling shut as they swayed together. She wasn’t taking any notice of what she was saying, but she knew she meant every word. “This feels right. I’m so happy I get to be with you – you mean everything to me.”

“I love you,” Flynn said, her breath warm on Carrie’s neck and collarbone.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

That night, Flynn stayed at Carrie’s house because it was just that little bit closer to school than her own. By the time they arrived there, Carrie’s dad had gone to bed and the house was quiet and calm, only lit by the light of the moon, washing in through the large windows. Carrie led Flynn upstairs to her bedroom – both of them were so tired that they fell into Carrie’s bed without bothering to put their pyjamas on or get ready for bed in any way.

Carrie shuffled about, folding herself around Flynn, her face tucked into Flynn’s hair. Not for the first time, she thought about how lucky she was to have Flynn, this wonderful girl who was all hers, who loved her and was loved by her in return.

“Hey,” she whispered, half asleep already, “thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you,” Flynn yawned, eyes opening just enough to look at Carrie, a small smile on her face. “You’re the one who made it special, Care Bear. I’m proud of us.”

Carrie kissed her, just once, gently. It was the kind of soft kiss that felt like it would shatter the Earth if it ever stopped, or like Carrie’s heart would stop beating if Flynn ever stopped touching her.

“I’m proud of us too,” she whispered.

It was impossible to imagine that it was in this very room just hours before that Carrie had been dreading going to the dance. Now she was glad she had gone because it hadn’t been just another party, just another dance, and there certainly wouldn’t be another one like it for as long as she lived.

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twistedsinews · 3 years ago

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'Neath Neon Blue Clouds

Cyberpunk 2077; Jackie/V/Misty; PG-13 (AO3 Flavor)

“And what is this?”

“This is me, taking you for a ride.”

“A ride to where?”

Propping an elbow on his knee, Jackie leaned forward to meet her gaze at eye level, over the rim of his sunglasses.

“It’s a surprise,” he told her, “C’mon.”

V hesitated, but curiosity itself won her over, and she slid onto the back of the motorcycle behind him.

The city passed them by in a blur, growing brighter as the sun fell low in the sky behind them and the skyscrapers cast deeper shadows over the streets. It wasn’t until they turned off the city freeway that V fidgeted behind him, all at once sharply attentive to their surroundings as the steel and concrete turned to sand.

Her hold on him tightened when they veered off the main road and into the brush, but whatever her suspicions were, she didn’t pry.

Not then and there.

Jackie didn’t even know what he was looking for until he found a sandy patch of desert, a stones throw or three from a craggy outcropping jutting into the sky, which seemed as good a place as any.

V slid off the bike before he’d even killed the engine. Jackie followed at his leisure, packing away his sunglasses and falling to watching her. She cased their surroundings, then turned back to him; her hair was still tousled from the ride, and her eyebrows scrunched, one quirked just a little higher than the other, as she tried to puzzle him out.

“What is all this?” she finally asked.

Jackie forced an easy smile.

“I... um...” He scratched his neck. “I thought maybe you and me, we could use some you and me time. Just the two of us.”

Shrugging one shoulder in response to her bewildered expression, he lost the smile and opted to avoid her discerning stare by digging around for the blanket he’d packed instead.

V grabbed a handful of it as it unraveled, and before he could throw it down.

“Look... it’s...” She sighed, glancing across the desert wasteland, and back to him. “We’re ‘onna be exposed here.”

Jackie frowned in thought. They hadn’t seen anyone for miles.

“Where’s better?”

V scraped her lip between her teeth, and glanced back towards the city. Even if the set of her shoulders suggested she thought maybe he wouldn’t, he trusted her to know what she was talking about.

Still, there was a worry in his mind that she’d tell him they ought to go back.

Instead, her gaze fell on the worn little mountain of rock nearby and she angled her head that way, and moved to collect the motorcycle. Folding the blanket and draping it over his shoulder, Jackie stepped up to take over from her as she passed him. He rolled along behind, and watched her dart ahead to lead the way.

Closer to the rock, the desert flora had grown in thicker and were thriving, to even a few stunted trees. An oasis, with no water.

Maybe a little rain now and again.

Too small to be a proper mesa, far too big to be a boulder, it offered cover and, as V found them, a small, flat little terrace of stone and sand and clumps of desert sage – big enough for the blanket and the bike both. The sun had set, bleeding color into the clouds above, while Night City glittered on the horizon.

Jackie threw the blanket down, and eased down after it with a sigh.

For a few long seconds, V paced as though hesitant to follow. Then she dropped down at the edge of the blanket, kicking off her shoes, she sent her socks flying right along after them. Draping her arms loosely around her knees, she shoved her bare toes into the warm desert sand. The faint, nostalgic little smile that touched her mouth was tinged with something else.

Melancholy, maybe.

Misty might’ve been right.

“So...” Jackie picked at a loose thread sticking out of the canvas of his pants. “Misty and I were having this talk, and... we agreed, kind of...”

Sighing, he scratched the back of his head. Like that would help make his thoughts work. “Misty was thinkin’ you might be having second thoughts, or... maybe somethin’. And I was thinkin’... well, I been thinkin’.”

A part of him wished Misty were here, because she was better at these kinds of things, but she’d insisted that V might open up to him more readily.

“Oh,” V remarked.

“You wanna elaborate on that?”

She shrugged. “Guess I’ve been feeling a little inadequate lately, okay?”

“Not to me it isn’t.” When she didn’t answer, Jackie prodded, “Inadequate, how?”

“Inadequate as in, it’s hard to live up to perfect.”

Oh.

Shit.

Just like that, it clicked into place. For a moment or two, Jackie full on forgot to breathe. And the absolute worst part was, she didn’t even sound angry about it.

She sounded resigned.

Jackie swallowed.

“And...” he ventured, “Misty is perfect. She’s cute, she’s smart, she’s clever, and she’s got this... amazing perspective on everything, and she’s so full of love it’s unreal.”

“Thing is, thing you gotta understand is... hardly no one walks out of Heywood, and if they do, they don’t get to do it without having blood on their hands. She did – I don’t know how, and I’m not about to ask, but it’s... she fuckin’ did it, like some kind of miracle. She got out and she’s clean. She’s pure. She’s... she’s damn near divine, is what she is.”

“By rights, she should never have even looked twice at a guy like me, let alone been interested... And if it wasn’t for you, making it happen, I... I still don’t know...”

Sure, Jackie knew a thing or two about inadequate.

“But V, I gotta tell you – you’re the one on the ground with me carving out a living every single damn day.” He chuckled. “You, you came crashing into my life, and when the dust settled... it wasn’t my life anymore. It was ours. Us.”

“You understand me in a way she never could – a way I hope to God she never does. And I... you know, I feel selfish even being grateful for that, because maybe I oughta be wishing you didn’t either, but you do and I am. Not like I ever claimed to be a good guy or anything.”

“And V? I am running my mouth over here, do you think you could say something? ...please?”

Her arms were still wrapped about her knees, and she was staring at the sky. The color was gone from the darkened clouds, which only served to obscure her guarded expression further.

“I wish the stars were out,” she remarked at last.

“Brightest one’s already down here, sittin’ right in front of me.”

V’s gaze fell to the sand beneath her feet.

“You know, I thought at first you were trying to say you....” she struggled with the words. “That you.... That this... isn’t what you wanted... Anymore.”

Ah.

Jackie winced.

He sidled over to her side of the blanket.

“That’s not what I promised you,” he reminded her.

“Forever is a long fucking time, Jackie. Not like I’d hold it against you if you changed your mind.”

Jackie paused, his hand hovering over her back.

Thinking better of it, he dipped his head close to her ear.

“I didn’t. So there.”

She didn’t answer. For a handful of moments, he loomed behind her, and nothing seemed to move.

Tentatively, Jackie reached to draw her hair back behind her ear. She followed the sensation, ever slightly towards him, and he blew a soft puff of air across her skin. Drawn that much further, she peered up at him over her shoulder.

His fingers brushed her arm, and he froze.

“Christ,” he swore under his breath.

Where was his head even at?

Sitting up straight, Jackie shrugged off his jacket. He’d dragged her out into the badlands on a motorcycle with her wearing nothing but jeans and a tanktop, of course she’d be cold.

And say not so much as a word.

He offered her the jacket. V blinked, then huffed, then – at his solemn, determined insistence – twisted into it.

It left her with a little less cover than she’d had a moment ago, but she didn’t seem to mind. Rather, she beat him to it; her fingers skimmed his skin, settling over the back of his neck, and she tried to pull him down toward her.

Tried to.

He put up just enough resistance to tease her; not enough for any doubt. Just close to almost touch, but not quite. Just until...

She breathed his name, softer than any prayer on Earth.

Jackie groaned, nuzzling her jaw.

With a startled gasp, V flinched and glanced down. Following her gaze, without so much as a second thought, Jackie shot a hand out to cover hers. The sting grazed him, and with a twist of his hand, Jackie caught the scorpion by its tail.

It dangled, practically helpless, as Jackie leaned back onto his other hand. Squinting at it incredulously, he scoffed.

“...can you believe the brass on this guy?”

V followed him to his feet, but she lingered behind, glancing down and around the blanket. Far enough away, Jackie found a decent growth of cover that followed the incline further upwards.

“Off you go, amigo,” he told the scorpion, tossing it into the brush. “Go show ‘em off somewhere else.”

Brushing off his hands, Jackie returned to the blanket.

“You alright?”

He reached for V’s hand, raising it between them and turning it this way and that.

“I-...” V sighed, but admitted, “Only that I feel like maybe I’ve spent too much time in the city, and that I-... you-... Yeah. Fine.”

Not finding even so much as a scratch, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. She twisted her hand in his, wincing at his marred skin under her fingertips. She looked up, thinly-veiled alarm kept in barest check, and Jackie smiled back, calm and confident.

“Toxin screen’ll filter it out.”

“...you’re sure?”

“Mhhm.”

Sure, he’d had it installed for hangovers and it’d never actually worked for those, but it’d caught everything else so far.

He brushed her hair behind her ear.

“Where were we?”

V laughed. Almost. It was a raspy little sound, torn around the edges.

“Are we going to skip right over the you just saved my life part?” she asked, raising his thumb to her mouth.

“Tch. Happens every other day, doesn’t it? Gotta be a fact of living by now.”

Between two in particular of the soft little kisses she was pressing to the pads of his fingers, V rolled her eyes. Even in the dim light, he caught that much.

Jackie fought back a wry smile.

“Or if you wanna get into it, sure, but how about we also go over all the ways you save my soul?”

Her movements slowed, and he reclaimed his hand to brush his thumb along her jaw. His fingers slid behind her neck, and V swallowed.

“Is that... what you want?”

“V, dulzura, right now all what I want is to throw you over the back of the bike and do things my mamá wouldn’t approve of.”

There was a soft, lurid sound in her throat.

Jackie’s smirk faded as she fell into his arms; he caught her in a tight hug, and sighed deeply.

“I’m trying,” she told him.

“I know, chica.”

The tension in her shoulders eased, and he pulled back just far enough to kiss her cheek; only on his retreat, V captured his mouth, insistent and determined, and dragging him right back down into the thick of it.

Not that he was complaining.

Not in the least.

#cyberpunk 2077 #jackie welles #nomad!v #fanfiction #idek what this is #please take it from me

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yukipri · 4 years ago

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Marco’s Bauble Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s part 3 of the Marco’s Bauble story, posted last month on Patreon!

Finally, an appearance from Marco himself ^ ^

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

Namur takes great pride in being a fishman in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Fishmen and merfolk are usually usually reluctant to join human-dominated organizations, and with good reason, given their long and painful history of suffering prejudice. And for those few who do feel the call of pirating, joining Jinbe and the Sun Pirates to be among their own kind is a natural and comfortable choice.

Jinbe's a good friend, and Namur has nothing but the highest respect for him and Aladine, but he's already chosen who to follow.

Pops, who stood up and protected Fishman island with just one word. Pops, who lets them keep his flag on the island without any tribute, which not even the world government would allow. Pops, who personally brings the wrath of colossal waves and quaking earth every time humans try to bring trouble to the undersea oasis.

Namur knew that he'd be alone among humans, but he trusts Pops, and trusts those who follow him and protect his home alongside him. And given everything he's done for Fishman Island, Namur feels it only fitting that fishmen be represented on the crew.

And so Namur became the first Fishman to join the Whitebeard pirates, but he wasn't the last. By the time Namur had been raised to the rank of 8th Division Commander, a handful of others had joined, along with a number of other people from various tribes considered not quite fully human. Some minks, some longarms, even one guy from a sky island.

In a crew as massive as theirs, diversity isn't surprising, and Pops has ensured they've never been alienated. Even so, the 8th Division became a natural gathering spot for those seeking others who are also a little different, and Namur's damn proud of his versatile, unique division that can handle missions that no other group can.

Namur's happiest aboard the Moby, and it's his one true home now. But at the same time, after spending so much time away from Fishman island, he sometimes misses his birth homeland and culture.

Which is why it feels like reverse culture shock when something familiar appears in front of him with no warning.

Like right now. On Marco's desk.

"Uh," Namur says eloquently, reports in his hand forgotten, eyes glued to the Thing that Marco's now wrapping in what looks like a letter, written in Marco's unmistakable elegant cursive.

"Sorry, I'll be done in a second, yoi," Marco says, and Namur freezes, realizing he must have intruded on possibly a very private moment--except Marco doesn't seem particularly bothered.

Well, even if Marco doesn't mind, Namur still feels awkward, and forces himself to avoid looking at the now-wrapped Thing. He really feels like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Had he knocked before coming in? He thought he had. He thought Marco had told him to come in, but now he's not so sure, because dropping by Marco's office to hand in reports is so habitual. Namur begins to sweat.

"Alright, what is it?"

Marco turns around, and he's wearing those glasses he always wears when he has to pour over documents for hours, that somehow make the legendary Phoenix look less like a terrifying warrior and more like an exhausted secretary. He's wearing his usual open shirt, Pops's mark proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his head still looks like a tropical fruit, and his face still looks kinda stoned. So, the usual Marco. Nothing amiss.

But maybe he's just hiding it. Humans can be so hard to read at times, and Marco wears his poker face better than most. Even though Namur's been his crew mate for roughly twenty years now, he still can't really see through it. Namur fidgets, palms feeling slick.

"Reports from the Eighth's last mission?" Marco prompts, and Namur flinches because oh, he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he forces out, and raises his arm mechanically to pass over the bundle of documents he'd spent the entire morning writing up.

He notices that Marco uses his right hand to take it. He's heard that sometimes, humans wear the equivalent of the Thing on their left hand, and Namur realizes he hasn't seen (or perhaps just hasn't noticed) Marco's left hand in a while. He wonders if Marco's actually hiding it, and sneakily tries to peek at Marco's left side.

Apparently not sneakily enough, because Marco's sharp eyes flick to his side to try to catch what he must have thought Namur was trying to see, and Namur hastily straightens.

They stare at each other and the silence stretches awkwardly, and oh, Namur can tell this one, Marco looks very Confused. It comes off as sorta constipated, but Namur knows Marco well enough recognize the emotion on his questionably human face, and immediately feels bad. He didn't mean to act suspiciously, or snoop in Marco's personal life, but...he's so unbearably curious.

Namur supposes honesty is better.

"Marco," he tries to choose his words carefully, "that, on your desk..." Namur makes a vague jerky motion at the Thing.

"Oh, this?" Marco plucks up the little bundle that's now tied off with twine. "I was just going to send it off to Thatch."

Namur chokes on his own spit.

"You're, Th-Thatch?" Namur wheezes. "You're giving...to him?!"

Namur feels like he's just been sucked into a whirlpool, his world's suddenly tilting in every direction all at once. He doesn't have a problem with them being, y'know! Of course not! He supports his friends! It's just, well, he's surprised, because he'd never even suspected these particular brothers were anything but close friends, because it's Marco and Thatch, and he's been living with them for twenty years and--oh no, did everyone other than Namur actually know all along, is this Human Stuff again--

"Oh, no," Marco says with a soft laugh. "This isn't for him, yoi. He's just delivering it for me. It's for Ace's little brother."

Namur heaves out a huge sigh of relief. It's not Thatch. Oh thank goodness. Not that he doesn't think that Marco and Thatch wouldn't be great together. But. He's glad it wasn't just Namur misunderstanding...

Namur chokes on his own spit, again.

"Ace's little brother?" he tries hard not to shriek, and it comes out even tinier than expected, barely a whisper of a strangled sardine.

Marco frowns a bit at Namur's weird voice and offers him a bottle of fresh water from his side desk, which Namur shakily accepts. This is a lot to process.

"She's...ah, Ace said it's alright if Division Commanders know, but try not to spread this around too much. But she's a mermaid. I thought it'd be fitting," Marco says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Ah," Namur nods, feeling numb. That does make a lot of sense, far more sense than giving That to Thatch at least.

A mermaid. Ace referring to his mermaid sister as "brother" also makes plenty of sense, given how vulnerable mermaids are in the world of pirates. In fact, it makes so much sense, and Namur wants to applaud Ace's discretion, he didn't seem the type to have that kind of tact and Namur's genuinely impressed, but his mind's also kind of overloaded right now.

"Although, Namur, since you're here..." Marco looks down at the parcel, dwarfed in his palm. "Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold, from someone she's never even met?"

It might be a trick of the light but...does Marco look, demure?

Namur's eyes bug out.

Holy shit. This is the real deal.

Namur's never known Marco to have a personal life or interest in anyone, the man's the definition of dedicating his life to the crew. But perhaps he was just being discreet, because surely everyone has a some soft spot or another, and Namur has just found Marco's.

And they've never even met?! They have a long distance relationship too. She's all the way in East Blue, and they correspond via letters and packages. All those oceans between them...

And on top of that, a mermaid and phoenix. She, bound in water, reaching up for the unattainable, while he, bound to the sky, doomed to drown if he touches her domain...like epic lovers torn apart by fate, just like the fairy tale of the fish princess and the bird, beloved by all fishmen and merfolk...

Namur feels his eyes sting a bit from the tragic romance of it all. But now Ace and Thatch have gone to retrieve her, and she'll be coming home to the Moby Dick soon. They'll be united. They'll get their happy ending.

Namur reigns in his overflowing emotions, remembering that he has an important task.

Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold?

Marco has consulted in Namur, his closest friend, his fishman expert confidant. This is his time to shine, his chance to give back a little for all the kindness and support Marco's shown him all these years. And Namur will not disappoint.

Namur composes himself, and then takes his reports back from Marco's hand, letting them go because they're suddenly utterly unimportant in light of Marco's blossoming future. He then grasps the now-empty hand, so warm and human, with both of his webbed ones. Marco's eyes widen in alarm as the papers flutter all around them, but Namur ignores them.

"Marco, I promise you, she'll love it," Namur pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and feels his eyes begin to water again from the weight of it all. "I just want to say, I'm super happy for you, brother, and you can come to me for anything."

Marco stares at Namur, and Namur wills him to understand the depth of Namur's dedication to helping his dreams come true.

"...Right. Thanks, yoi?"

Namur doesn't see Marco's eyebrows climb up into his little mop of hair, doesn't notice him try and fail to extract his hand, doesn't notice him looking completely and utterly lost.

Because Namur's so overwhelmed. They grow up so fast! His friend's taking his next big step in life! And Namur gets to see it through! Being alive is incredible!

Namur leaves eventually, and Marco stares blankly after him, hand still cramped from being death-gripped by the fishman for who knows how long.

He has no idea what just happened.

He then looks at the reports that are now scattered across his entire office.

"...He could have at least picked them up, yoi..."

Namur is this guy here.

While he's a canon chara, he's also bg, and like most of Whitebeard's crew other than a core handful, we know very little about him and his personality and backstory is entirely me making it up ^ ^;

Next up in Marco's Bauble #04:

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

Anyway, if you got through to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! <3 People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(and if anyone wants an early look, the next parts are already up on my Patreon ;D)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #Marco the Phoenix #Namur #Whitebeard Pirates #MarLu #longpost #long post #text headcanons #fic

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argent-vulpine · 4 years ago

Text

Growing Closer

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: g

Characters: Seteth/Byleth

Read it on AO3!

Despite the rather abrupt start to their relationship, Seteth knew there was a war on, and that Byleth would be called to lead. She was a tactical genius, after all, and despite the presence of others who were nearly as competent as she, she remained the premier general of the armies in the war against the Adrestian Empire. As such, he had insisted that they keep their relationship… not necessarily a secret, but certainly more restricted.

They took moments together when they could, but she was busy being both general and Archbishop. He did his best to help whenever he could, be it on the field or - more commonly - at the monastery, dealing with paperwork for the church, while still maintaining the search for Rhea. He had strongly suspected that she was being held in Enbarr, and when finally the day came to rescue her, it was of little surprise how she had been kept, though his heart ached for her.

It was only after she had been returned to them that he discovered the truth of Byleth’s existence. He had suspected for quite some time that Rhea had done something to the professor; even had Byleth not told him of the lack of heartbeat, he would eventually have discovered it on his own, he was certain. And when the truth came to light, the puzzle pieces slotting together, he knew that Rhea had done something terribly, terribly wrong.

He had missed Sothis, too, but it was not worth sacrificing the life of another to return her to them. That Byleth carried Sothis’ heart in her chest, her crest pulsing in her blood, and the goddess’ spine in her hands for battle was a cacophony of macabre machinations by the goddess’ own daughter. He wondered, too, if Byleth had suspected at least the origin of the Sword of the Creator, for she rarely wielded it unless she felt there was a great need, and even then he could see her lips twisting in distaste.

She was like family to him. In more ways than one. Even Flayn had taken to her as more than just the professor. She treated her like a sister, or perhaps something a little more. Not quite mother, but not… not a mother, either.

And still, by the time the war against the empire had ended, he had not yet told her the truth about himself or Flayn. Oh, she knew that he was really Flayn’s father; that had happened long ago, before the war. Before her fall.

No, it was time to let her know the truth.

Rhea had left for Zanado, a self-imposed exile perhaps as penance for the sin she had committed upon Byleth, and the knowledge that her mother was truly gone, merged with the professor to save her. He knew that she had revealed herself to be Seiros to Byleth, that much he had been told before she had departed. But she had left the decision to him what he would tell the new Archbishop.

He paced in the main room of her - their? - suite, hands clasped behind his back and brow furrowed in thought as he awaited Byleth’s arrival. She’d had some things to see to, documents regarding Fódlan’s future alongside that of the church itself.

Reform was coming, and while he didn’t disagree with much of it, he wondered if perhaps they weren’t moving too quickly…

The door creaked open, allowing Byleth to slip into the room, puffing out an audible sigh as she removed the ornate headdress of her station and set it down on a nearby table. Gently, he noticed, though he could tell she rather wanted to throw it across the room instead.

“Oh, Seteth, you’re here already,” she said, eyes widening slightly in surprise before a small smile bloomed on her face.

“I found that I could not wait,” he replied, moving to meet her as she approached and wrapping her into a tight hug. He rested his chin atop her head, eyes closing and enjoying how she fit against him, small and warm.

“Excited?” she asked, her ear pressed against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. “Or nervous?”

“Perhaps a bit of both.” He sighed, steeling himself, and pulled away. “There is something I… feel that I must tell you. I had wished to before, however…”

“There wasn’t a lot of time during the war for complicated conversations.” She nodded understanding, lifting on her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I can’t imagine there would be much that you could say that would surprise me, though,” she added with a small grin.

“Ah, well… there may yet be.” He coughed slightly, clearing his throat, and looked more nervous than he had since their first night together.

She lifted an eyebrow, curious and waiting.

Seteth never fidgeted… except for right now, when he was unsure how to really begin. “You are aware that Rhea is, in fact, Saint Seiros,” he finally began, straightening up as if it could shield him from what he was about to reveal.

She nodded, gesturing for him to continue, though nothing in her features changed to give away her thoughts.

“Rhea - Seiros - is not… the only one who remains. Seteth is not the name I have always gone by, nor is Flayn her true name. I am-”

“Cichol. And she’s Cethleann. I know, Seteth,” she interrupted, sparing him and reaching up to press a hand to his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. “I suspected something was amiss even before the war, but it wasn’t until our run-in with Macuil that I knew for certain.”

He blinked, startled, lips parted in shock before he finally found his voice again. “What… how… how did you know?”

She gave a soft snort, pressing a quick kiss to his other cheek before stepping away to remove the Archbishop’s gown he knew she disliked so much. “Flayn wasn’t the most subtle, to be honest, even before she joined my class. She’d made comments about her childhood being ‘so long ago’. Her manner of speech is even more stilted than yours. Your birthdays align with those of the saints, and you carry their crests.” She gave him a mock glare, shaking her head. “I’m not a master tactician for nothing, Seteth. But I suspected you had reasons for keeping it quiet.”

There was a pause, and then she shook her head, laughing softly. “I might not have put the entire puzzle together, except that when you and Flayn joined us on our little expedition to that oasis… well. Macuil was not exactly quiet, and even though Flayn kept shushing him, some of the things I heard him say to you and to her settled it all for me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him in the middle of tugging off the overdress. “Were you concerned that I would take it poorly?” she asked, curious.

He seemed to deflate in his relief, striding over to her and helping her to remove the offending garments. “It had crossed my mind that you might not look kindly on it, yes.”

“Hm.” Overdress removed, she turned to face him, cupping his face between her hands. “Seteth, I had a goddess in my head nattering on at me for almost my entire time as a professor. Before that, I spent most of my life not remembering a great deal of things, except for fighting and staying alive. If it weren’t for my father’s journal, I wouldn’t even know my real birthday, much less birth year. I know that you weren’t here for what Rhea did, and I know that you didn’t approve of it once you found out, but it was far too late to reverse it.” She smiled wryly. “Well, not without killing me, I suppose.”

She took a deep breath, catching his gaze and holding it. “I love you. I want to be with you. The little matter of you being Saint Cichol doesn’t change any of that for me.”

It took a moment before her words hit him, and he found himself breaking into a broad smile, crushing her to him in a firm hug, pressing kisses wherever he could reach. Only when the tension fully drained did he step back, attempting to smooth down his coat and her hair, returning some sense of decorum. “I… yes. I hope you know how much I care for you, too, Byleth.”

“Seteth,” she said, giving him a pointed gaze. “You can just say it, you know.”

“… I love you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, huffing out a soft sigh. “I have loved you for quite some time. Of course I was going to be… concerned.”

There was a long pause, and then he pulled back, brows furrowing as he considered something she’d said. “How did you know that was Macuil? … and what did he say?”

Laughing, she pulled away and explained everything she’d heard, down to Flayn shushing the great beast and calling him ‘uncle’.

#Seteth #Byleth Eisner #Setleth #Seteth Birthday Bash 2020 #Seteth BB Week 2020 #Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #FE3H #day 5: family #Lettuce Fam #mentions of Macuil #look that whole paralogue contained some SHIT if you took Seteth and Flayn #way to keep it under wraps you great horned dingus

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whiskynottea · 5 years ago

Photo

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics Ficlet -- The Future is Near

A/N: A week ago I got a message by @wickedgoodbooks asking for a wee ficlet about her favourite goofballs. Coincidentally, it was only the previous day that I was thinking of these two too!

So here is a not-so-wee fluffy ficlet. I loved going back to this AU and I hope you will enjoy reading this!

AO3

(You can find the main story here and on AO3)

~~~~~~

I liked Saturday mornings in the library the best. It was quiet, beautiful, and it made me feel like the concept of time disappeared and clocks lost their power in this place. With so few people around, I always imagined that the books were snuggling into their warm leather covers, peacefully asleep.

I opened the Word document on my laptop and blinked at the cursor that was blinking back at me. Having started a few days ago, I was four pages in and had hardly covered one-third of the subject.

Way to go, Claire.

I checked my notes again, looking for the paper mentioning the case of a forty-two-year-old man with infective endocarditis and proceeded with writing down the modified Duke criteria used to establish a diagnosis of the infection.

Major criteria

Positive blood culture with typical IE microorganism, defined as one of the following:

Typical microorganism consistent with IE from two separate blood cultures (Viridans-group streptococci, or Streptococcus bovis including nutritional variant strains, or HACEK group, or Staphylococcus aureus, or Community-acquired enterococci, in the absence of a primary focus)

Microorganisms consistent with IE from persistently positive blood cultures (two positive cultures of blood samples drawn >12 hours apart, or three or a majority of ≥four separate blood cultures with first and last sample drawn at least one hour apart, Coxiella burnetii detected by at least one positive blood culture, or IgG antibody titer for Q fever phase 1 antigen >1:800)

My phone buzzed against the heavy wooden table.

Scot: Where are you, Sassenach?

I blinked at the message, double-checking the time. It was nine o’clock in the morning. Which meant that it was four at night in Michigan and as far as I knew, Jamie had gone to bed early last night.

Sassenach: Why aren’t you sleeping?

Scot: Why aren’t you in your dorm?

What? I stupidly looked around as though Jamie would pop from between the imposing shelves. How the hell did he know?

Seeing as no red-headed towering Scot was to be spotted, I stared back at my phone in confusion.

Scot: Go back to your room.

Sassenach: And why would I do that?

Scot: Because Mary stopped talking to me and just stares at her hands.

My heart leapt into my throat and I banged my knee on the table leg while jumping from my seat.

Scot: I think she’ll die of embarrassment because we’re less than two feet apart and when she opened the door she almost attacked me with the table lamp.

I swallowed my chuckle out of respect for the books that surrounded me.

Sassenach: YOU’RE HERE?

Scot: Where are you?

Sassenach: Library.

Scot: COMING

Sassenach: The Bodleian Library.

I took a few deep breaths while smiling like a loon and sat down again, trying to focus on the essay.

What was I doing? Right. The major criteria.

Evidence of endocardial involvement with positive echocardiogram defined as…

I was still smiling. And thinking of Jamie instead of infective endocarditis.

I shook my head and tried to focus on the words I was typing.

Oscillating intracardiac mass on valve or supporting structures…

I was sure that oscillating intracardiac mass was bound to mean something, something different than the constant chanting in my mind that went like: Jamie is here, Jamie is here, he is here, here, here. Jamie is hereee.

Continuing was a lost cause. I packed my notes and my laptop and left the empty library with a wide grin, belatedly realising that Jamie was coming to me and I shouldn’t leave the place.

Well, I knew the way back home. I would meet him halfway.

I forced my feet not to break into a run. Or a dance. It was two months since I’d last touched him, since I was engulfed by his arms, since I bit that bottom lip of his just to hear the groan that always followed.

Maybe not a run, but a trot was surely acceptable. I took my phone from my pocket and called him.

“Making calls from the library?” he asked as soon as he picked up.

“I’m not in the library anymore.”

“Sassenach,” he grunted. “I’m heading to the library.”

“Well, it’s eighteen minutes away and I thought we could split the distance.”

“Yeah, eighteen minutes because you couldn’t just go to the LMH library which is next to your place.”

“It doesn’t feel the same,” I explained and heard him sighing.

“Aye, I ken. Ye’ve said so about one million times.”

I laughed. My love for the Bodleian library was certainly no secret. “I missed you, Jamie.”

“Not for much longer,” he said and I could hear the impatience in his voice.

“You’re crazy, by the way. What are you doing here?”

“Coach gave me a week.”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t spend it in Michigan, away from ye. Do I take Parks Road or Banbury Road?”

“You’re already there?”

“Aye.”

“Are you running?”

“Well, not now that we’re talking.”

Crazy, stupid Scot.

“I love you. Take Parks. I’ll meet you halfway.” I ended the call and started walking even faster.

Two months wasn’t that long, considering that we lived in different continents, but my heart was thumping loud and cheerful in my chest at the thought that I would soon kiss him again.

After our epic breakup when Jamie convinced himself that being apart would hurt less than going through years of a long-distance relationship, he’d realised – the ugly way – that nothing could be worse than losing each other and coming back asking for one more chance.

I gave it to him and never regretted it. Day after day, call after call, text after text, Jamie took the pain of those twenty-six days of our separation away and made me believe in him again. He gained my trust with every little gesture, with every big surprise.

He was there, always. In the good days, in the bad days. In the days I found my purpose, in the days I lost my courage. In the days I was so exhausted I thought reading one more page would make my brain explode. In the days I felt I had chosen the only profession that could make me fulfil my dreams. Jamie was there to listen, to commiserate, to encourage, to love.

And I hoped I was there for him, too. Life wasn’t perfect but our love was enough.

We’d found a routine when we stopped being freshmen intimidated by expectations and we made sure to manage our schedules so that we had time for each other. Not that everything always worked out and we never fought or screamed at each other through our phones when reality and distance crushed us. But there was no fight we couldn’t overcome, no obstacle in our path big enough to break us.

And when I saw him on Parks Road running towards me, I knew that we had chosen each other, each day, each moment.

“Sassenach,” he breathed close to my ear and took me in his arms, spinning me around as though I weighed nothing. “Oh, babe, I missed ye so much.”

His lips were soft on mine, his tongue tempting as it traced my mouth to make me open to him. One hand found its way down to my arse, and he squeezed in a possessive strike.

“That plump arse will be the death of me,” he murmured against my lips.

“Not plump,” I corrected even though I knew he kept saying that to tease me.

“Plump, and perfect, and mine.”

“Mine,” I corrected.

“Ye’re mine, Sassenach,” he growled and a bicycle bell rang from the road next to us, to celebrate or reprimand the inappropriateness of our actions, I wasn’t sure.

“Jamie…” I tried, and failed, to stop him.

“Ah Dhia,” he groaned. “Mary in the room, people here. I need to get ye somewhere and have ye all to myself.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I booked an airbnb.”

Before I could reply his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me like a thirsty man who just found an oasis full of springs in the desert. With a hand still on my arse and the other lost in my curls, he pulled me closer until I melted into him, his chest hard, and solid, and warm, and there. Close. Tangible.

“Let’s go,” he said and withdrew with eyes closed and a pained expression on his face. “God, it hurts not to touch ye.”

“Is it too early for check-in?” I asked and he nodded his assent. “Then you have to be patient,” I murmured. “Coffee?”

He held my hand in his as though it was a lifeline and we started walking down the street towards my favourite cafe.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” I asked with a frown.

“I wanted to wake you up and surprise you, Sassenach, but you made it impossible.”

“Sorry,” I replied, not looking remorseful at all.

“It doesna matter.” He grinned and pulled me closer, planting a kiss on my head. “Ye ken, Sassenach,” he started in a hesitating voice.

“Yes?”

“‘Tis Saturday.”

“Mhmm. I’ve heard.”

“And tomorrow it’s Sunday.”

“Aren’t you just brilliant?” I replied with a mocking grin and he made a silly face.

“And the room I booked?”

“The one you’re supposed to check-in later?”

“Aye, that one.”

“What about that?”

“I booked it for Monday.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “What?” I asked stupefied. “Why?”

“I was thinking… Well, I thought…”

“Jamie…”

“Aye, aye. ‘Tis the weekend and ye dinna have classes, so I thought I could kidnap ye and take ye for a trip to Edinburgh. What do ye say, Sassenach? Jenny keeps nagging that it’s been ages since she last saw both of us.”

“Edinburgh?”

“Aye. I ken ye have the essay ye’re working on, but I thought it’d be nice to go back.”

Edinburgh. It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was a really, really good idea.

“Okay,” I said with a smile.

“Aye?”

“Aye, you insufferable Scot. Let’s go to Edinburgh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jenny kicking your arse.”

He looked at me with wide eyes, feigning surprise. “And here I thought ye like my arse!”

We went back to my dorm where I quickly packed my toothbrush and a change of clothes and ran to the train station. It was a six-hours trip that I was never excited to make, but having Jamie sitting next to me changed everything. The destination didn’t matter anymore – it was the journey and the time we would spend together that was important.

The train rolled on the rails and Jamie wrapped his arm around me, pulling me impossibly close. I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes, the scent of his cologne permeated my senses. We fell in a comfortable silence thick with love and contentment, two ships finding haven in a deserted island.

When I opened my eyes I was greeted by the British landscape and a small tilt of my head revealed that Jamie had fallen asleep. Locks of auburn hair had fallen on his forehead and a soft smile was curving up his lips.

It was happiness that filled my lungs with my next breath. So simple, so pure.

It seemed that I fell asleep as well and we both woke up because of the commotion when we reached Sheffield. With the confusion granted by awakenings, we looked out the window for a moment until Jamie yawned and hugged me tighter.

“I’d forgotten how long this trip is,” he said in a gruff, sleepy voice.

“At least we were sleeping during the first half of it.”

“Aye. I was exhausted. Didna manage to sleep enough on the plane.”

“Mmm, you never do.”

“In contrast to other people, I’m not mentioning any names mind you, who sleep in airports and almost miss their flights!”

“I happened only once, okay?”

“Are ye sure? Because I remember you running to your gate –”

“Hey!” I interrupted, elbowing his stomach. Not that he would feel anything with the six-pack he’d made for himself through training. “The other two times –”

“Three.”

I huffed in indignation. “Three times,” I consented, narrowing my eyes at him, “These times I wasn’t sleeping. I was just distracted!”

“Still. It counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Ye were reading yer books and got so engrossed in them that you almost lost yer connecting flight. It counts.”

“Fuck you,” I whispered in his ear because there was a mother with a sweet little boy at the seats in front of ours, but I was smiling and he must have heard it.

“Only with you. And I canna wait.” He placed an opened mouth kiss on my neck and I bit back a moan.

“I hate you, Jamie Fraser,” I keened, unable to imbue my voice with the strength the sentiment owed to have.

Jamie, his eyes on my heaving chest, murmured back, “I’m looking forward to ye hating me a bit more.”

“I’ll punish you for that,” I vowed and ran my hand up his tight, stopping exactly where he didn’t want me to.

His groan made a shiver ran down my spine.

To distract ourselves from images of savouring each other, we bought salt and vinegar crisps, jaffa cakes and hobnobs. Jamie devoured half of them before I had even finished my handful of crisps.

“I thought you professionals had to watch your diet,” I mumbled, still chewing.

Jamie looked semi-embarrassed for a moment, then shrugged. “Cheat day.”

“Okay, if that’s the label you put on your sins…”

“These are totally healthy Sassenach,” he said with a crooked smile. “Vegetables.” He raised the package of crisps and shook it between us. “These have oats and oats are verra nutritious,” he said with a nudge at the hobnobs and these…” he hesitated for a moment.

“Have orange jam so it’s like eating fruits?” I suggested.

“See?” He grinned. “You get me.”

I laughed and took one of the jaffa cakes before they all disappeared into the giant’s mouth.

I hoped we didn’t smell like oranges when we arrived in Edinburgh.

“I hope we won’t smell like oranges when we arrive in Edinburgh,” Jamie echoed my thought and I turned to look at him, wide-eyed and incredulous.

“Why?” I asked before he had enough time to think what he just said.

“Because Jenny –” he stopped abruptly. “Shite.”

“Oh my god.”

“Ye ken?”

“You know too?”

We gaped at each other, unsure how to proceed.

“Jenny hates oranges as of late,” I stated.

“Aye.”

“Do you know why?”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I confessed feeling a smile curving up the corners of my mouth.

“I will kill her!” Jamie exclaimed and started typing furiously on his phone before he asked me to pose for an angry selfie.

“She says she wanted to check how long we would keep it from each other!” he exclaimed in frustration a moment later. “That evil…”

I barked a laugh, shaking my head. “This sister of yours is unbelievable.”

“Aye, she reminds me of yer best friend,” he retorted.

“So this was why you wanted to go to Edinburgh?” I asked and saw his eyes soften and his lips mirror mine in a grin.

“I will be an uncle, Sassenach!”

“I know! It was the best news! Although, now that I think about it, it was bound to happen, sooner or later.”

“She said it wasna exactly planned, but they were so happy when we talked. Ian has even started building a crib because he wants something special for the baby.”

“Ian is the sweetest,” I said and the screen of Jamie’s phone lit up with a new message from Jenny. It was a picture of her and Ian laughing and below it wrote, ‘We love you! All three of us!”

“Do they know we’re on the way?”

Jamie smiled mischievously and shook his head.

“Suits them right.”

We finished eating while speculating about the baby’s sex, Jenny and Ian’s wedding and the possibility of Ian failing in his endeavour to build a crib on his own.

In eight months, Jenny would be a mum. It felt surreal and yet so right.

The future wasn’t that far away, it seemed.

“I was talking to Maisri the other day. About you.”

“Aye?” His voice was low but I felt the question vibrating through his body.

“About your dream of getting your own swimming pool and teaching children with intellectual disabilities. When you told me that John wanted to be your partner and invest in your plan once you both come back to the UK, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maisri wants to be a psychiatrist, you know. She said it’s a brilliant idea. She’d read a review published a few years ago that claimed that hydrotherapy shows potential as a treatment method for social interactions and behaviours in children with autism spectrum disorders. And we were thinking that muscle building will also help with balance and mobility.”

“‘Tis still a dream, ye ken that, aye?”

“I know. I’m just reminding you that it’s a great dream.”

Jamie chuckled and gently tucked an errant curl behind my ear. “Thank ye, mo ghraidh.” A soft kiss on my temple. “But first, I have one more year in the US and I want to make it to the Senior Gold Squad of the Scottish Swimming National Squad Selections.”

“Mmm,” I agreed with a kiss on his chest. “I’m sure you will. You’re one of the top competitive swimmers in your uni and you’ve already won medals. They’ll be fools not to have you.”

“And then I will be an hour away, Sassenach. An hour away,” he repeated. “Can you imagine?”

“An hour by plane. Six hours by car.”

“Even so. I will be able to come to see you at weekends. Every. Single. Weekend.”

It was that moment when it hit me.

“I have to find a place,” I said, frowning.

Jamie mirrored my expression. “Ye dinna want to?”

I was silent, thinking about it, considering my options and the budget I could afford, but apparently Jamie perceived my silence as a denial. “I guess I can book a room when I’m in Oxford if you want to stay with Mary.” There was a bitterness in his voice that he didn’t manage to conceal.

“No, I don’t. It’s not that. “ He didn’t seem convinced. He turned slightly and gazed out the window. “Jamie…”

“‘Tis fine,” he said in a low voice.

“No, it’s not. Look at me.” When he didn’t, I cupped his face with both hands until his eyes were on mine. “Will you stop jumping into conclusions? I didn’t reply immediately because I hadn’t considered finding a place of my own before. I’ll talk to uncle Lamb.”

“Ye don’t have to if ye dinna want it, Sassenach.”

I could almost taste his disappointment and I wanted to kiss him until he knew that I didn’t have any second thoughts about that.

“Who said I don’t want it?” When he didn’t reply I pulled his head down so that his lips were on mine. “A place of my own?” I whispered on his mouth. “To be with my stubborn Scot every weekend?” I licked his lips and they opened for me. “Hell yes,” I said and kissed him until we were gasping for breath.

When we broke apart, we were both smiling. The future wasn’t that far away anymore.

#thermodynamics #the first law of thermodynamics #jamie x claire #high school AU #college AU #ficlet #thermo ficlet #the future is near #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction

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woah-were-halfway-there · 5 years ago

Note

Can you write a little fluffy piece of you and Auston in present time with being separated because of covid and all

Here you are my dear! It turned out longer than anticipated but oh welllll

Word count: 1.7k

Quarantine sucks, to put it simply. Places are closed, events have been cancelled, everyone is expected to stay home unless it’s essential to leave, and to make it all worse, you and Auston are spending it in different countries.

A week after the NHL announced the suspension of the remainder of the season, Auston flew back to Scottsdale. Seeing as this was before things got too intense, you still had to work and insisted that he go without you. Your office had plans to shut down by the end of that week as a precaution for the pandemic. After that, you knew you would be off for at least two weeks, so the plan was for you to fly to Scottsdale to be with your boyfriend then; but that never happened.

The severity of the situation got real bad real fast, and you were no longer able to travel. Therefore, you ended up having to stay in Toronto alone.

Auston remembers getting the text saying you had cancelled your flight as if it just happened yesterday. He had just woken up, that three-hour time difference between the two cities not helping the situation at all, and was quick in calling you to ask why.

“Aus, you should see the news,” you explained to him. “It’s a whole mess out there, and it only seems to be getting worse. Places are closing down, people are buying ridiculous amounts of toilet paper, and the government is advising that people don’t travel. Trudeau is closing the border, babe. I want to be there with you; I really do. I miss you so much already, but I don’t think I should leave Toronto just yet. Surely, this won’t take too long to blow over, and I’ll be there sooner than we both know it.”

Clearly, that was a bold assumption for you to make because over two weeks have gone by, and the two of you are still separated.

Auston still cannot get over the fact that you got stuck, and alone of all things. He hasn’t stopped beating himself up over it either. In Toronto, you don’t have a roommate to hang out with, seeing as it’s just you and Auston that live in your unit, and that alone only has made him feel so much worse about everything.

With social distancing, you can’t just go over to Mitch and Steph’s like you usually would either. Although it’s gotten to the point where the two have invited you to just stay with them until this all blows over, you keep saying no out of fear that you may have come in contact with the virus and could pass it on to them. That just wouldn’t be fair.

So, all that you really can do now is suck it up and try to make the most out of your isolation, even though it’s really hard sometimes. And god, do you miss your people. Without there being much to do other than the odd thing for work; all you’ve done is clean the condo, get groceries when you need them, watch a lot of Netflix, talk with Steph all while trolling Mitch in the comments on his Twitch streams, and of course, FaceTime you boyfriend as much as possible.

Regardless of how hard you’ve tried, you just haven’t been able to develop a routine you feel motivated enough to stick to. It’s a depressing time. So, the fact that you’re flopped on your bed, staring at the ceiling, with a half-empty bottle of wine resting next to you on the bedside table, and Champagne Supernova blaring from your Bluetooth speaker late on a Friday night; really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. You’re in quarantine; you’re allowed to mope.

Completely and utterly bored with your current situation, you roll over onto your side to grab your phone and wine from the table. Ignoring the empty wine glass that was there too, you settle on taking a swig right from the bottle and smiling sadly at the adorable picture of you and Auston that’s set as your lock screen. The image was from last summer when the two of you were on vacation with his family and just makes you feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside, even though it makes you long for how easy times were before all of this.

Great, another wave of depression.

Shaking your head clear of the intruding thoughts that decided to creep into your mind, you unlock your phone and start scrolling through social media… again. After opening Twitter and quickly getting bored with the content on there, you move to Instagram to see what the people and celebrities you follow are up too on there, only to be met by a picture posted by your boyfriend as soon as the app loads.

“No, why!?” You groan and flop onto your back again dramatically. You’re lucky the bottle of wine you’re holding is almost gone, or else it probably would have spilt everywhere with your dramatics, which you’re aware of, but really couldn’t care less about. After a moment of just laying there in silence, you eventually sit back up to take another sip of wine before setting it on the table and unlocking your phone, so you can really take in this new picture.

Everything about the picture feels like a direct attack. Not only is the scenery stunning with the beautiful Arizona sunset in the background, the image also consists of Auston looking fine as hell, shirtless, wearing one of the many snapbacks he owns to keep his hair out of his face, all while supposedly ‘discovering portrait mode.’ Honestly, how dare he?

You just can’t seem to look away. It’s such a good picture and man does it make you miss him even more. Without giving it a second thought, you close out of the app and open FaceTime, suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of neediness.

Luckily for you, it doesn’t take long for him to answer the call.

“Hey, babe,” he greets before taking a sip of water and plopping down onto his couch. He’s still shirtless, wearing the same snapback, and the sun is still clearly setting out the large windows behind him, which makes it clear that this is a very new picture you just experienced, and you’re unsure if that makes you feel better or worse. “What’s up?”

“I miss you,” you pout and let out a sigh. “So much. And then you had to go and post that on Instagram, which was just rude on your part in complete honesty.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles and shakes his head while you roll your eyes at him. “I miss you too. How was your day?”

“Kind of not great,” you tell him honestly. “I’ve been feeling pretty down.”

“Ah, so that’s why I can hear Oasis playing.”

“They’re on my sad girl hours playlist, alright? What do you want from me?”

“I know they are,” he laughs again, but it isn’t long until his expression grows serious. “And nothing, other than for you to talk to me about what’s bugging you. What’s going on?”

Damn, he knows you well and is so good at easing into these types of conversations.

“It’s just,” you start and take a deep breath in hopes the tears you already feel pricking your eyes don’t decide to overflow. “I miss you, and our friends, and how life was before all of this. I know it’s only been two weeks, but Aus, I feel so alone. And don’t you dare try to blame yourself for that, ok? You’ve done so much for me already even though you’re so far away and honestly, just talking with you helps a lot. It reminds me that I’m not alone. That there’s a lot of people out there who love and care about me, it just sucks so bad being stuck here and it’s messing with my mental health quite a bit.”

“I know, babe, I know,” he soothes and lets out a sigh. “I want nothing more than to be with you right now. Whether that be here or there, I wouldn’t care. I just miss you so much, and I’m so sorry you’re feeling the way that you do. I know that me telling you all of this may not mean much seeing as I’m in a different freaking country, but I mean it. I love you and am always here to talk if you want to.”

Now you’re crying.

“I love you a whole lot.”

“Oh, no, please don’t cry, I-,” he apologizes, but you just shake your head.

“No, it’s ok,” you tell him and use the sleeve of his Maple Leafs sweater you’re wearing to wipe away the tears that broke free. “It feels good to let it all out, you know? Thank you for making me feel comfortable enough to do that.”

“Of course, anytime,” he assures you softly. “I’m always here. And I hope you know that as soon as we’re out of this, you’re not leaving my side. If you thought you could get sick of me before, just wait until we’re back in the same place together.”

“I could never get sick of you, Aus,” you chuckle and shake your head at how dramatic he’s being.

“If quarantine has made me realize anything, it’s never to take the time I get with you for granted ever again,” he explains, making your heart swell with affection. “I mean it.”

“I know,” you reply and smile at him. “The feeling’s mutual. I can’t wait to see you in person again.”

“Me neither. Going to hold on to you a little tighter, that’s for sure.”

He goes on to ask about the positives of your day, and you spend the next little bit telling him all you’ve accomplished in your free time and asking him about his day. After a while of chatting with your boyfriend, you eventually crawl into bed while remaining on the call, and attempt to watch an episode of Ozark together.

You end up falling asleep while on FaceTime, and Auston can’t help but smile at the peaceful image of you sleeping on his phone screen. Knowing he should probably start getting ready for bed soon too, Auston quietly reminds you that he loves you and hangs up before sending you a sweet text to wake up to and forcing himself to think about how all of this will be over soon and he’ll be back with you in no time.

#nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #auston matthews #nhl imagine #auston matthews fanfiction #nhl writing #auston matthews imagine #hockey imagines #nhl headcanon #auston matthews imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl rpf #hockey rpf #toronto maple leafs imagine #1-s

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akechicrimes · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

Everything is the same.

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

Everything is the same.

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

#mine #slams hands on table FUTAGO SIBLINGS #futaba's dubious mental health cw #Anonymous

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lakkimi · 4 years ago

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[TRANS] K-Pop Pia Vol.10 (2020) “2019 FNC KINGDOM -WINTER FOREST CAMP” part 2/2 - interview with Jaejin

"You have to work super hard!", something that has become his motivation

Lee Jaejin will follow Lee Hongki, FTISLAND’s vocalist, to enlist on January 21. In FTISLAND, he is in charge of the bass, subvocals, and recently, composing too. (t/n: I don’t know what they meant with “recently”, Jaejin started writing for FTISLAND with I Believe Myself and that was back in 2009. He started composing for FTISLAND with Yume, and that was in 2011.) has finally released his own songs, 3 months before he makes his enlistment, through his first solo mini album, Scene.27.

Jaejin presented us with a world unique to him, a world of music that is different than that of FTISLAND’s. Using Jazz as the basis, his songs are filled with warmth and softness, the way that he as person is.

There were barely any chances for us to visit him for an interview during his tour to commemorate the release of his album, but we were finally able to visit his waiting room in Nagoya concert hall for his solo mini live and listen to his story. Starting with the release of his album, Scene.27 and following up with his solo live, we made an approach to Lee Jaejin’s artistry.

In KINGDOM, he still holds on to his belief that FT is still the best.

――This issue will be an FNC FAMILY exclusive, so we would like to talk about KINGDOM first. As one of the performers, is there anything that you look forward to?

First of all, I am looking forward to meet the FNC family after a long time. We don’t really have that many chances to meet like this. And when we do get to perform together, I could only think of “as expected, we are still the best!” (laughs) Hongki hyung always said, “I don’t wanna do KINGDOM”, but when we started to perform, his gaze would change. For us, we also look forward to perform together with CNBLUE, our good rivals. However, they still can’t beat us of course, at least for us, huhuhu, sorry CN (laughs)

――Ho! As expected of FNC’s first artists! What about the collaboration stages?

I like that we get to have many collaborations and perform together. I like stages where I can show my colors properly, and the experience of performing with members of the other teams is precious, that I think it would be nice to have more of this. This time, FTISLAND will have less power as Hongki isn’t here, but our juniors that sing well (N.Flying’s Seunghyub, Hweseung) have come to help, and N.Flying have also come to help to be my back band for my solo stages. I am looking forward to that. I am busy thanks to FTISLAND and my solo. (smiles).

As a soloist, it is the most important to be able to show how much I enjoy music

――Please tell us more about your solo album and tour. You have just finished your Tokyo concert. You previously said that “the completion of an album is its concert”, but in reality, how was it to be able to sing live in front of fans?

I was nervous (laughs). At first, after completing FTISLAND’s FIVE TREASURES TOUR with its encore concert “ARIGATO”, I wanted to take and dedicate some time to prepare and perfect the (solo) concert. However, suddenly I had to take over the I Loved You musical from Hongki hyung, so I had to manage doing the musical (in Korea) at the same time as my mini live in Japan. I still had preparations for the mini live, and there were things that didn’t go as well as I wished, but I was happy that I was able to perform at the musical. I worked hard on the preparations on my own, but when I did my first solo live in Tokyo, there were staffs and fans who put in so much efforts to help me, I thought one again, “ahh I have this many fans..”, “I can’t just let it be like this!”, “I have to crazily work hard for this!”, I was incredibly motivated. “Let’s do this!”, and that’s how I have become so much ambitious now. (laughs)

――I’m looking forward to it (smiles). You seemed really nervous during your first live in Tokyo?

On the first day, there were so many things that were unexpected to me. I have always performed as a band, but this time, I am performing a solo. That’s why, there are so many things that I didn’t know about. Not only that I had to change my singing techniques, but also how to center the sound that came through the in-ear monitors, a lot of details that had to be done differently. That’s why, no matter how many times that you did rehearsals, when the actual audience came in, unexpected things still bound to happen. So whenever I felt that I did a mistake, I would feel really nervous because of that. Especially, in the first concert, when I started singing, my voice came out too loud that I was surprised myself. And that’s why I became really nervous suddenly (laughs). I knew clearly that if I feel troubled by it from early on, it will just follow me around to the end, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I just wanted it to be the best.

――I could feel that by the night performance, you were already more relaxed.

Yes. I have been around for 12 years, I have an excellent adaptability (laughs). From now on too, I hope that I would be better and better in every concert.

――Jaejin is a bassist, but during your solo live, you only touched your bass once, during the Polar Star performance. How did it feel to perform without bringing along your bass?

As expected, I feel safer if I bring my bass~ (laughs). I have been doing live performances for 10-ish years which made me develop singing while playing my bass pose, so now that I have to sing without bringing along my bass, something just felt wrong to me. Even more, I was already too used to being in the position to support Hongki hyung, so it felt unfamiliar and strange that I was in the position to lead the band and everyone. As FT’s bassist, I have developed the mindset to play and have fun on my own, but now, not only that I have to be the main vocal, it had just been brought into my attention that it is important that I develop a good rapport with the audience as well. I wanted to apply this right away to my next live performances, but now that I have to enlist first, I guess it would have to wait (laughs).

Now that I have tried out being the main vocal, I could see the efforts that Hongki hyung put in.

――What kind of image that you want to show as a soloist?

I am still a rookie soloist, so I think that my top priority for now is to show what is it that I’m doing properly. That’s why, nowadays, I’m learning how solo artists engage the audience in the fun. I’ve been watching foreign R&B solo artists’ live these days. What I learned from there, is that they all instead of actively telling the audience “what”, they actually put importance on thoroughly enjoying the show themselves. I think they were so mature and cool, I want to do it like them too. Indeed, it’s also something that differentiate it with a band too. In a band, it is important to be able to harmonize, but as a soloist, you only need to 100% focus on yourself, I feel that it is important that you can show how much you enjoy the stage yourself.

――After trying out being a main vocal singing by yourself on stage, is there anything that you have come to realize in regards to Hongki as FTISLAND’s main vocal?

I have come to realize... a lot of things. In regards to doing recording for example, as I already said before, all this time, my responsibility has always been to support. But using the same singing methods as a main vocal, it actually turned out too weak, it just didn’t turn out well. In FTISLAND, Hongki and I not only have different vocal style, but we also hold different roles. I have been doing music for 12-ish years, but as expected, it is hard to be the main vocal.

――Then, how did you overcome it, being a main vocal?

I’m doing something that I really have never done, so I shared my worries with Hongki hyung who has a whole lot more experience on this, and I tried out a lot of different things too with him. However, he then had to go enlist (laughs) However, now that I have given this a try, I got a little more sense of responsibility. The responsibility not only to support, but also to lead. Once more, I feel how Hongki hyung is amazing.

――As expected, Hongki! like that (laughs)

That’s right (laughs). We also did musical practices together, and I asked him a lot of things like what has he been doing all this time (for the musical). I have come to know things like, “Ah Hongki hyung was doing something like this at that time..” or “Ah Hongki hyung has been working hard on this” that made my respect for him grew. I couldn’t help but to wish Hongki hyung for more strength as there were things that actually were too bothersome (laughs) but Hongki hyung put so much efforts into them - and he knows it himself too, that’s why he has such a great confidence in his singing.

――Ah, I also felt the same about Hongki when he became the vocal trainer in Produce 48.

Right? For Hongki hyung, 3/4 (of his talent) is something that he got naturally (laughs) but the other 1/4 is hard work that I didn’t know he put in until now.

――How would you like to advance as Jaejin, a vocalist?

I feel that being a vocalist is a new thing to me. I feel like I am starting over as a rookie. I am happy that I also get to do a musical during this rookie phase. I learned a lot from these people who are vocal experts. I also found out a lot of things that I want to fix, it turned out to be such a great experience. It also gave me a lot of motivation to advance myself.

――You are doing your musical while also doing your tour simultaneously, but I feel that your throat is doing just well.

No, it’s not well at all.

――I didn’t know.

Is that so? That’s a relief then.

Through FTISLAND and solo, I want to try out different characters.

――To sing the songs from your album live, are there any changes that you made from the original version?

I made some changes to Love Like The Films and Oasis. I sang Love Like The Films more softly when I did the recording, but for my live, if I sing it the same way, the sound of the band will overpower my voice. That’s why I sang it more strongly in the live. For Oasis, because it’s a cool sounding song, I thought that it would be better to arrange it more cleanly and tightly for the live performance, that’s why I made a bit of changes to the sound. I think it is just right to have the recording and the live versions sound differently.

――You also did the arrangement for FTISLAND’s live too, but for your solo live, what kind of arrangement that you had in mind?

If want my concert this time to have the mood of the album Scene.27. I said, let’s make it Jazz and ballad sounding.

――Among them, there is FT.Triple’s Love Letter, it made think of the old times.

That’s right. I also sang it after a long time. Fans were like “Oh! Love Letter?!” (laughs).

――Why did you select this song to be included in your first solo live?

It’s also one of the challenges that I took upon. I can’t do FT.Triple anymore now in FTISLAND, but it’s one song that is most well known with my voice as the main one, so I thought that it is a good opportunity to bring it back.

――You also did Polar Star, the song that Hongki said “I’m not gonna do it”.

Everyone likes it, right? I like it too, as it is a song that gives you the feeling of hope. As Hongki hyung already said no to performing it, I’m doing it instead (laughs).

――How was it, singing an FTISLAND song as your own?

I only played my bass for the Polar Star stage, and the fact that I sang it while playing the bass gave me the FTISLAND song feeling. It felt like I sang to support Hongki hyung, so it was like the feeling of meeting someone after a long time. I am working hard for my solo, but as expected, I want to be able to perform as FTISLAND again as soon as possible. Doesn’t everyone feel the same way?

――That’s right, that’s right. As I watched your Polar Star stage, I felt that, indeed, Jaejin is the best when playing bass.

Well, it can’t be helped. It’s something that I have been doing in the past 10 years (laughs).

――As we all miss the you that is playing bass, what about making a song that you can sing while playing bass?

No no no. The way that is used to catch the rhythm for bass and for vocals is different, so it is hard to play bass while singing the melody. That’s why I chose to not play bass during my solo live this time around. Adding to that, as Scene.27 has Jazz and R&B underlying to it, even just playing the bass is already hard, so to do both, for me it would be impossible~ (laughs) Indeed, I’m presenting different characters as FTISLAND and as a soloist.

When we tune in to each other in FTISLAND, I am just too focused that I can’t remember anything else.

I am working hard as a soloist, but indeed, I want to perform as FT again as soon as possible!

――As you embarked on your live tour, was it able to make you look back on the Scene.27 album?

I still don’t have a clear map on this, but I am starting to have a bit of direction that I want for my next album. For my next one, I have a certain music style that I want to try, as lately I have been listening to it.

――What direction is it to be exact?

It would still be Western style music like Scene.27 but with simpler melody and I will add more repetitive parts to it. I won’t pay attention much to the lyrics, the songs will be easy for everyone to sing along, something like songs that you can party with. But it’s not a concrete plan yet, for now, I am still gathering ideas. It’s because, in 2 years (note: after he finishes his military enlistment), I will prioritize FTISLAND first. And so, doing solo could be in plan in about 3 years from now. By then, my musical interests might have changed too. I have a lot that I want to do (laughs).

――Was it a new experience to be able to work with a band of Japanese musicians for your solo tour?

Yes. As expected, they have different styles in many ways compared to when I am in FT. In FTISLAND, as a bassist, I have a lot of challenges that I took on, there were a lot of cases where I went, “How should I do it?” that it gave me headache. In the band here, everyone is pro, and I am free to do anything. “Ah this is the feeling of being the main vocal (laughs). I only need to memorize the lyrics and sing. I don’t even have to do tuning, I don’t have to change my instruments too. I’m liking so much the freedom that I have.

――In 2019, you were not only lead a band as a soloist, you were also able to participate in N.Flying’s tour. Through this experience, were you able to see the good points of being in FTISLAND once again?

That’s right. I might be just boasting, but I did feel, “As expected, FTISLAND has an amazing vocalist!”. Of course, please don’t take it that I’m saying that N.Flying is bad, but I feel that Hongki hyung is just that even more amazing. Also, (in FTISLAND) as we have spent so much time together, I feel that our bass and drum is much tuned to each other. I enjoyed playing bass with N.Flying’s Jaehyun, however, I feel that I can match with Minhwannie’s drum playing energy much better that I always enjoyed it so much. I think, even if I play with other bands, I would feel the same way. In N.Flying, I’m in charge of keeping the rhythms, but in FTISLAND, I feel that we all are in charge of it together. When we tune to each other in FT, I would become too focused that I don’t remember anything else. Really, (laughs) I wouldn’t even know what I did wrong or what I do, to that extent. However, I think I can only say this (about FT) as we have been around for more than 10 years (smiles).

――I think, it’s more that you would feel a lot of things as you work together for a long time.

As Hweseung entered the band, I feel that there seems to be more balance in their vocal department. The fact that they have a twin vocalists, where hweseung can take on the parts that require long and high notes, while Seunghyub can take on raps with his low and deep voice, I think it has become their strength. They have nice vocal and music style, they also have grabbed their balance. They also have a bit of this Western music style to them, as well as band style, it feels like they have a little bit of FTISLAND and CNBLUE. It feels like they are able to absorb a lot of different things. They also have good songs and live performances. The harder they work, they more time passes by, I feel like they would be able to be an excellent band. They are a band that I am looking forward to see how they would advance in the future. That’s why, I hope you will be able to support them while FT and CN are away. You can like them, but don’t forget that FTISLAND is still the number 1!

t/n: Translated by Lu, 100% accuracy is not guaranteed. Translation is based on Japanese-Korean translation thanks to fprit. :)

#ftisland #f.t.island #lee jaejin #jaejin #scene 27 #interview #trans #fnc

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freedom-shamrock · 4 years ago

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Hero Cafe - Chapter 4

Also on AO3

<<< Check out Chapter 1 << Go back to Chapter 3

⁂

Viperion was running casual rounds, what Chat liked to call pop-up patrol, though he usually added a pun in there somewhere, when his lyre chirped with an incoming call. He rolled across the next flat rooftop, shedding his momentum and coming to a stop. He pressed on the correct yellow diamond on the instrument and weapon to pop up his communicator screen.

"Hey Chat," he said with a smile. "Long time no see." He pressed the tip of his tongue to the back of one fang. Those had been a surprise development when he became an adult, by miraculous standards. He was used to them, but they were fun to press his extra-sensitive snake tongue to. In time, Chat Noir had picked up a set of sharp teeth as well, and Ladybug acquired actual functioning wings.

"Good to see you're back," Chat replied. "Short visit or long one, this time?" He was carrying a box wrapped in the same brown paper as all the gifts he'd been leaving for Marinette.

"A nice long stay." He was glad to be home for the foreseeable future. While he enjoyed traveling and performing, he didn't care for the drama, headaches, and chaos. His mum's boat had more than enough chaos to tide him over for a lifetime. Plus, Marinette, his heart and home, was here. It was no surprise to anyone who knew him that he was more creative, writing loads more music, when he was here.

"Excellent," Chat said with a purr. "That being the case, there's a new place you need to see." His grin was eager and almost as full of joy as he'd seen on the young man Luka knew hid behind that mask.

"Is there, now?" Viperion drawled, suspecting he'd already seen it. But it would harm no one to let Chat Noir think he'd brought him there. It would also provide him more information on the situation.

"Hells to the yeah," Chat replied. "Let's meet up, and I'll show you." He held up the box in one hand. "I have something to drop off anyway."

⁂

"Now before we get there," Chat said, pausing on the edge of a rooftop to give Viperion as serious a look as he'd ever seen on the cat's face. "Are you fortunate enough to be familiar with the angel known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" He waved one hand and quickly amended, "No identifiers, just… do you know who she is?"

Viperion grinned. Oh, he knew her all right, and since Chat's civilian self was there when Ladybug gave him the snake miraculous, he knew the other man was aware of who he was and that he knew Marinette. But appearances had to be maintained. "You could say I'm well acquainted with her, and her work."

Chat beamed at him and hopped happily from one foot to the other. "Oh good. She's so invested in the things she does, and you can't really know her if you aren't at least passing familiar with her work."

Viperion nodded. Chat wasn't wrong.

"So…" Chat took a deep breath. "Are you a member of the crushing on Marinette club?"

He squashed the laugh that wanted to erupt out. Melodie tried to warn him, but he thought she was being melodramatic. "There's…" He cleared his throat. "There's a club?"

Chat snorted. "Of course there's a club. I mean… you've seen her. She's just amazing." He sighed dreamily. "So clever, so quick, and all in that adorable package."

"She is the whole package," Viperion agreed. The'd been officially dating for just shy of two weeks, and that was just enough time to realize how much more incredible she was than he'd previously thought. "Pretty sure I'm the president of the club. I've been crushing on her for… a very long time."

"Pffft. Good luck wrestling that title away from Queenie and Ryuko," Chat said, laughing.

It was as he'd expected. The entire team was drawn to her, and it made sense. She was divine creation and deserved all the affection. And they were all improved from their interactions with her. She made them all better, stronger, happier, just more of who they were simply by her presence, even if the rest of the team wasn't aware of that.

"Anyway, as if she wasn't already the pinnacle of perfection, she made a very special place for the heroes of Paris." He led the way to Marinette's balcony.

While Luka had seen the Hero Cafe several times with his precious muse, coming to it from the rooftops let him see it the way the other heroes surely had. It was an oasis just for them, painstakingly crafted with all their needs and comfort in mind. As he landed lightly on the floor, it felt less like a mere place and more like a love letter to the heroes in her care. He couldn't have kept the smile from his face even if he wanted to, and he really didn't want to.

Even before being paired with Tikki, before taking on the mantle of guardian, Marinette obviously had so much love to give. Her dual roles only enhanced that, and while he was sure she would have been content dating just himself, coming to the cafe like this with Chat reinforced his belief that she'd be happier if she was allowed to love all of them in whatever way she was called to. Who knew that being on the road so often with Jagged would open his eyes and his heart to relationship options that would better fit his own situation?

"Isn't it incredible?" Chat asked, pulling Viperion out of his own headspace.

"It really is," Viperion agreed softly. Yes. He'd make sure Marinette understood how important this really was to the other heroes, if it was the last thing he did. He felt the huge smile stretching his face. He was going to enjoy that.

⁂

Luka swept his hand over the top of the chest he'd helped Marinette disassemble, transport, and reassemble on the balcony. They'd found it when they were wandering about Port de Grenelle. One of the larger yacht owners was getting rid of it as part of a remodel. It was designed to take the weather, but having been on a rich person's yacht, it was more attractive than the storage cubbies on the Liberty. It was a perfect addition to Marinette's cafe, allowing another place for outdoor storage, but also serving as a bench for times when more of the team was present and the few chairs weren't enough.

Marinette opened the chest and tucked in the little bins she'd been assembling in her sewing corner for the past week.

"Whatchya got there, Melodie?" he asked, leaning forward in interest. He was surprised when she handed him the one labeled Viperion.

She grinned at him. "Go ahead. Open it up."

He unlatched the lid and peeked inside to find fabric the teal color of his super suit. He raised an eyebrow. "What did you make…" he glanced at the stack of bins. "...for all of us?"

Marinette giggled. "You'll have to take it out to see. And it's too late to stop me. They're all done already."

He let out a snort. "As if I could deny you." All she had to do was shoot him the kitten eyes, and even if his goal was to help her, he'd cave. Well… she didn't quite know that. And to be fair, if her well-being were truly at stake, he was pretty sure he could even endure those. He pulled out a loose pair of sweats, a zip hoodie, and a soft fabric domino mask a little larger than the one Sass provided, and without the fangs.

"They're in case anyone needs or wants to transform while they're here." She pointed to the extra fabric he'd helped her hang in the corner two days ago. "That'll drop into a privacy screen. Heroes can go back there, transform, change, and come out looking mostly like their transformed selves in their own themed sweats." She beamed at him.

He shook his head, knowing there was a stupid smile on his face and not caring at all. "This is why you're the guardian," he murmured. "You think of everything. You take such good care of us." He set aside the bin and leaned into her space, close enough to feel the heat of her skin on his own. "And in return, I plan to take very good care of you." He heard her breath catch a little.

She tilted her head just enough to meet his eyes, her bottom lip trapped in her teeth for a moment. "Is that a promise, or a threat?" she asked, all Ladybug in attitude and posture.

"Yes." He gently pounced at her, lowering her to the floor as he kissed her stupid.

⁂

Luka was cuddling with Marinette in the Hero Cafe when Chat Noir stopped by. It turned out that the new storage chest made a great loveseat.

"Ah," Chat said, looking a bit surprised. "Princess! Good evening!"

Luka smothered his laugh as he saw the black cat awkwardly attempting to hide a parcel behind his back. He loosened his grip on his girlfriend and gently encouraged her to go meet the hero.

"What do you have there, Kitty?" she asked knowingly.

Chat Noir smiled meekly. "A token of my appreciation." It sounded like a question.

"I've told you I don't need gifts, right?" she asked.

Chat nodded, his shoulders hunched a little so he could cant his head up for the most effective angle for his kitten eyes. Adrien definitely knew how to position his body for the best impact. "But Princess," he whined plaintively. "You're awesome and deserve gifts."

Luka couldn't hold back the chuckle then. "C'mon Melodie. Let the nice cat give you a gift. He's right."

Chat beamed at Luka, clearly appreciating being backed up.

"Oh." Marinette looked at the two of them, suddenly a bit flustered. Luka knew she could hold her own around either of them, but she was still kind of new to the idea that she was allowed to like them both, and it wasn't common for her to be Marinette around both of them. "Um… Chat, this is Luka. Luka, this is Chat Noir, obviously."

Luka reached out and shook Chat's hand, finding this whole thing amusing. "Have a seat. Let us get you fixed up with a snack or something." He waved toward the cafe chairs and eased past the hero and his girlfriend to reach the refrigerator.

Chat glanced from Luka to Marinette. "Uh, I don't mean to interrupt."

"Pffft! As if," Marinette said with a giggle. "This is the Hero Cafe. You are welcome here any time."

"You're not interrupting anything," Luka added. "We were waiting for you."

Chat's eyes went round in his surprise. "You were?"

Marinette bounced a bit on her toes in her excitement. "Luka helped me set up some new amenities." She scampered over and demonstrated the drop curtain. "You now have a changing cubicle, if you need it." She peeked out from behind the curtain. "Luka fits no problem, so it should be more than big enough for any of the heroes."

"And that's not even the best part," Luka added.

Marinette tugged the rope to raise the curtain before pouncing toward the storage chest. "I've made a sweatsuit for every hero." She pulled out the top two boxes, showing the labels of Viperion and Chat Noir."

Chat was absolutely silent as he opened his box, and the joy and awe on his face was something he'd never seen his friend wear before.

"You want some of Papa Tom's classic stew from tonight, or the orange sesame chicken from last night?" Luka asked, pulling out a plate as he looked over the menu on the whiteboard.

"Oh…" Chat fumbled a little, quickly sneaking a hug to the hoodie before carefully folding it back up. "I don't really need anything. I should probably get back to work."

"You should probably have a meal first," Marinette countered.

Chat looked down at his hands, a hint of pink visible in his cheeks despite the low light. "I'll take the orange chicken."

Luka assembled a plate, popping it into the microwave.

"Is there milk in the refrigerator, or did I forget to bring that up?" Marinette asked.

"I can go get it," Luka assured her. He'd distracted her from her stocking task, after all.

Marinette shook her head and darted down her ladder before he could stop her. "No worries. I got it."

Luka shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh. His Melodie was capable of great bravery, but she could also bolt in panic at the first hint of intimidating conversations.

"So… are you two dating?" Chat asked. It was only because Luka knew both Adrien and Chat so well that he could see the other man bracing himself for painful news. His smile went a little pinched.

"Yes, but," Luka replied.

Instead of looking hurt, Chat looked confused, which was definitely preferable. "Yes… but?"

"Yes, we are dating," Luka added, considering the best way to explain. He was glad they'd gotten Chat Noir solo for this first. "But we don't have a traditional relationship." He pulled the plate out of the microwave and went to join Chat near the table. He only had to wave toward the bin that doubled as a bench, and the hero sat down. "I know Marinette is special to other people."

Chat blinked at him in surprise, but didn't speak.

"And I know you're one of the people she holds in highest regard," Luka added.

The poor cat hero was apparently surprised and flustered to receive such praise. They needed to work on his self-esteem, probably on both sides of his mask.

"I knew that before we even talked about dating." Luka shrugged. "At least before we talked about how a relationship might work now that I'm done traveling for a while." A polyamorous relationship hadn't really occurred to him before his more recent tour run. It turned out that Jagged's drummer was a member of a long term triad.

"And… you're okay with me coming here? Giving her gifts?" Chat asked.

"I don't own her," Luka explained. "And it would be terribly wrong of me to try to control who she sees and spends time with. Ultimately, I want my Melodie to be happy." He shrugged again. "Sure, she might be able to be happy with just me, and she was willing to try that, but I think she'll be happiest if she's not expected to be so… restrictive in her affections."

"Oh." Chat Noir sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, his mouth a tight O and his eyes as wide as pie plates. "So… it's okay that I like her?"

Luka smiled, nodding. "It's fine with me, and I can assure you that she does like you. Very much." While it might have been good for Marinette to have this conversation herself, he wanted to help her. "And it's not exactly a platonic feeling."

Marinette appeared with a jug of milk. "I'm back. Sorry about that." Her music was adorably flustered, and he suspected she'd had to talk herself into coming back up here to have this important conversation.

"Get Chat his drink and come sit with us, Melodie," he suggested, settling himself on the bench with just enough space between himself and Chat for her.

Marinette did as he asked, though she initially attempted to sit on one of the chairs. Luka slipped a long arm around her and tugged her into place between them. "So… uh… what have you two been talking about?"

Luka gave her a sly smile as he slipped an arm around her.

When she turned to Chat, the hero immediately went flustered. "Ah… eh… Luka was explaining your relationship?"

"There's no need to be nervous," Luka assured the other man. "Or shy. Though if you prefer to talk about this without me, I understand."

Chat did not look reassured.

"No," Marinette said quietly. She shook her head. "No, that's not how I want to do it."

"Okay." Luka gave her a gentle side hug. "You're in charge of this, Melodie. We'll do things how you want, and at your pace." He knew it was the right response when she leaned into him for a moment.

"This is kind of new and I'm really awkward," she muttered.

Luka chuckled and met Chat's softly amused look.

Chat cleared his throat. "So you two have an… open relationship? Is that the right name for it?" He obviously wanted to help make things easier for Marinette, and that only endeared him to Luka more.

"Not…" Marinette huffed. "It's not exactly open. We're not... neither of us are just going to go out and date other people. That's not what this is. There's… more communication than that. But, we're not opposed to bringing other people into the relationship." After their initial conversation about what their relationship could look like, she'd gone on a research bender, reading anything she could about polyamorous relationships. She'd brought back each new understanding to Luka, either over the phone or in person so they could discuss what was a fit for them.

"So a new person in the relationship would be dating both of you?" Chat asked, his head tilted.

Luka buried his smile in Marinette's hair. While he wouldn't personally be adverse to that, he had no clue where Adrien fell on the romantic or sexual spectrums.

"Not… exactly." Marinette frowned and stared at her toes. "So if one of us wants to date someone else, in addition to each other, we'll talk about it. It's a… respectful check in to make sure everything still feels comfortable and good. It's not a good idea to use polyamory as a bandage for a relationship that isn't working." Her mountains of research were showing. "And you might be surprised how often people do that. So we check in. And if things aren't okay, we address that first, figure out what's wrong and deal with it before complicating things with another person." She glanced at Luka and he offered her an encouraging smile. "These people could be dating just one of us, or both of us. And each relationship will have its own negotiation and agreement."

"Oh, wow." Chat swallowed, and Luka realized his pupils were larger than normal. "That's… it sounds like really thoughtful planning, but also kinda complicated."

"Life is kinda complicated," Luka offered. "And it gets more so any time we make a new friend or add something new to our lives, hobbies, people…"

"Instruments," Marinette teased.

Luka chuckled. "Yes, instruments definitely complicate things."

Chat looked amused. "Really?"

"He's got this hurdy gurdy that is such a dramatic shit," Marinette pointed out. "It has a tantrum if it's not played every three days or so and goes wildly out of tune."

"Clyde is a dramatic shit," Luka agreed.

"He had to make space in his luggage to bring it with on his last tour because it was such a brat last time he went away." She giggled happily. "How did your bandmates like Clyde?"

Luka snorted. "They could all relate. Jagged has an acoustic guitar that does the same thing."

They sat in silence for a moment, smiles on all their faces before Chat finally spoke again. "I imagine being a superhero makes relationships even more complicated."

"Probably," Luka agreed. "But maybe a lot of the complications there are more superficial than you think. Or it gets easier with practice."

"And with anything, you have to weigh the positives against the negatives," Marinette suggested. "You have to figure out if it's worth the complication."

Chat nodded. "Yeah. Definitely not something to rush into without thinking it through."

"Enough serious stuff," Luka said. "You should eat your dinner before it gets cold, and we should watch that movie if we're going to."

"We could bring the laptop up here if you'd like to join us," Marinette offered.

"Thank you for the invite, Princess. But I think I'm going to pass for tonight. I do have work to get back to." Chat gave her a sweet smile. "But perhaps another time we could do that."

Luka encouraged Marinette down into her room so they could leave Chat to his thoughts.

⁂

Chapter 4 link will eventually be here >>

If you’re so inclined, feel free to support me over on Ko-Fi

#Miraculous Ladybug #Fanfic #My writing #Hero Cafe #Viperion #Chat Noir #Luka #Marinette #Lukanette

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soveryanon · 4 years ago

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Reviewing time for MAG182!

- I concur with Martin: the return to the Fearscape was pretty brutal with this episode, although Martin hilariously/bittersweetly provided us listeners with the warm-up he was himself missing:

(MAG182) MARTIN: … Seriously? ARCHIVIST: Yup! MARTIN: Not an hour from an oasis, and we’re already at “sinister hospitals”? ARCHIVIST: It’s the next stop on our journey. MARTIN: Of course it is, and, of course, there’s no chance for a warm-up? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [INCREDULOUS] A… “warm-up”? MARTIN: Yeah, you know. Something a bit more… manageable, a, a chance to get our bearings a bit first. ARCHIVIST: What exactly did you have in mind? MARTIN: I dunno…! You know like a, like a creepy… bus stop, or something?

The little bits of Martin humour helped, in their own ways? I like how Martin was unable to find good convincing examples of not-too-creepy fears (he’s worked at the Institute for at least nine years, and we know that most statements they receive are fake claims, he probably had to deal with a lot of creepypastas!); I dislike how Martin suggested a “creepy bus stop” because the only thing I can think of is “Totoro gone wrong”. Plus, considering Martin “and you know what? If we were all happy that wouldn’t actually be the end of the world!” Blackwood’s knack for dooming things… we might get a creepy bus stop before the end of the series in the worst possible way, or Martin’s last scene taking place at a bus stop.

Martin was right with his trope-savviness, creepy hospital felt overused as a concept… on the paper. And then, surprise-surprise, this episode was still incredibly brutal, viscerally concrete and violent, and had elements which could come for Jon’s and Martin’s throats specifically: I so wonder why Martin (whose mom had health issues, who had to live the six months of s3-s4 timeskip with Jon in a coma) might dislike hospitals! Meanwhile: Jon got to tell the fate of a victim who was born in BOURNEMOUTH (where he grew up), and pseudo-gave birth to something and was then feeling abandoned by the creature-doctors… given how his own mother died from “complications during routine surgery” (MAG081), aouch? These slight echoes were enough for me to feel super uncomfortable for them, personally…

- Nothing new about the fact that Jon is better in the domains rather than inside of the no-Fears oasis, but the reminder still hurts ;;

(MAG181) MARTIN: You’re sure we can’t stay longer? ARCHIVIST: Yes, I–I–I’ve been, hum… Uh, these last few days I–I’ve been… getting weaker. Dizzy spells, vagueness, you’ve seen it. Being cut off from the Eye, i–it’s not good for me. MARTIN: Yeah, but if… [INHALE] If you’re that connected, that… dependent, what happens if we actually, y’know, do manage to– ARCHIVIST: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I just need us to be moving on. […] MARTIN: Feeling better? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Yeah. I’m afraid I am…! MARTIN: All right.

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] Truth be told, I’m actually feeling… pretty great! [PAUSE] Which… isn’t necessarily a good thing, I suppose. MARTIN: Yeah, I know. [SIGH] We stayed in Salesa’s as long as you could. ARCHIVIST: … A bit longer, actually, I was, uh… not really holding it together by the end. MARTIN: Why didn’t you say something? ARCHIVIST: It’s fine, I’m fine. MARTIN: Yeah, now. ARCHIVIST: I just thought… what with Daisy and Basira, and… You needed a break. Some time to process.

I’m glad and proud that Jon admitted that he had actually made them stay longer than he should have, and only precipitated their departure when he couldn’t hold on anymore. Ideally, of course, it would have been better to explain to Martin what was happening as soon as Jon connected the dots; but it’s also absolutely understandable that Jon… wanted to give that fragment of peace to Martin (since Jon was better amongst the Fears, while Martin hated it), and knew perfectly well that Martin wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it and/or would have pushed for them to leave quickly if he had learned that it was taxing on Jon. I’m a bit more anxious, however, over the fact that it still feels like Jon understands a few things about this world and his own condition which he hasn’t shared with Martin yet…

And likewise, it’s good that Martin isn’t bitter about having had to leave, and has his priorities straight (HA.) about himself – that he deserves to feel good, but not at the extent of sacrificing Jon or letting the whole world rot:

(MAG181) ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry, I… It would have been nice to stay. MARTIN: [WISTFULLY] Yeah… I’d almost forgotten what it was like, you know? A bit of peace, eh! ARCHIVIST: I mean, you could have… MARTIN: No, don’t say it, Jon. You know I never would. I–I can’t just “forget” about all the people out here!

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: Was I wrong? To hold off? [SILENCE] MARTIN: … No. No you weren’t. [SCOFF] Just getting the chance to sleep again was…! [PAUSE] Ah well. Good while it lasted! Come on then. [BAG JOSTLING] “Nightmare hospital” it is…!

Extra-glad for Martin having been able to appreciate the ability to sleep since… he technically could sleep back in the cabin (but it was something bad, to torment him further), while Jon was unable to:

(MAG161) MARTIN: You should get some sleep. [CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: I… [SIGH] can’t. I–I–I can’t, I–I don’t think I do anymore… “Sleep”. [EXHALE] How long’s it been, now? MARTIN: I don’t know. It’s not like there are days to count anymore. All the clocks have stopped, and… [DISTANT HOWL] ARCHIVIST: Well, I haven’t yet. I get… tired, but it doesn’t feel the same. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] Probably for the best. Sleep doesn’t look… pleasant. MARTIN: Nnno, it’s… it’s not. ARCHIVIST: I couldn’t wake you.

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “The screams may linger on the distant breeze, and your eye may wander beyond the curtains from time to time, but you and the one you love are, it seems… safe. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] If you had need to eat, no doubt there would be food; if you had need to sleep, no doubt the beds would be welcoming. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] But you have need of neither; and so you sit in your meagre comfort and belief of security with nothing to do, nothing to distract your mind from the agonies that lie just beyond your window.”

(MAG180) SALESA: The one and only! I must say I have been, uh… [THE ARCHIVIST AND MARTIN COLLAPSE WITH A SMALL SNORE, FAST ASLEEP] [PIANO CEASES] SALESA: [SAD SIGH] [SILENCE BUT FOR CLOCK TICKING IN THE BACKGROUND] ANNABELLE: I did say this might happen. SALESA: You did, you diiid. Well… so much for my big reveal… Shame. Ah, well. We can talk after they’ve slept, I suppose. Urgh! And had a bath. And some food.

(MAG181) SALESA: Come in! Did you sleep well? Have you had something to eat? Annabelle said she’d shown you the pantry? [SALESA CEASES THE MUSIC] ARCHIVIST: [UNCOMFORTABLE] I, er… We… slept. I, I don’t know… H–how long’s it been? SALESA: About seventy-one hours by my clock. How’re you feeling?

It’s even truer for Jon: he was able to sleep back then, and it was the first time… since the beginning of the apocalypse (MAG160). Did he even dream in Upton House? If he was absolutely cut from The Eye, it’s possible that he didn’t witness the Eye nightmare zoo… which would mean this was the first peaceful sleep he had got since season 1 and the first live-statements he had taken.

(I’m still curious about Jon’s victims, though I feel like we’re likely to hear about them once they reach the Panopticon, so I wonder if they noticed a difference?)

- … Jon has been raising a few alarms since Daisy died:

(MAG179) ARCHIVIST: Is it… Is it awful that I wish she’d recognised me? MARTIN: Daisy? ARCHIVIST: Yeah. I mean, she was… We were friends there, sort of, near the end. We went through so much and it just… I wish I could have actually said goodbye. MARTIN: Would it have made you feel any better about any of it? ARCHIVIST: I don’t know. Maybe? It’s hard to know how I feel about… anything these days. [SILENCE] MARTIN: We said our goodbyes to Daisy after the institute. This was just… This was just dealing with all the stuff she left behind. ARCHIVIST: … I suppose.

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: How are you doing? About… MARTIN: Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m–I’m not sure how to feel; just… pressing on, you know? ARCHIVIST: I do. [SILENCE] MARTIN: Do you think she’ll be okay without us? ARCHIVIST: Oh, she’s made it this far. MARTIN: … Yeah. I just worry. ARCHIVIST: Yeah, me too. But I’m… uh, “keeping an eye on her”, so…

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: I just thought… what with Daisy and Basira, and… You needed a break. Some time to process. [BAG JOSTLING] MARTIN: We both did. But apparently I’m the only one who got to. ARCHIVIST: It’s okay. I deal with things differently these days. I just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay.

Reaaaaaaally Jon? Really? He’s been mostly focusing on Martin’s feelings, while not really processing his own, not allowing himself to sort them out. Is he really dealing with them? Jon had been Daisy’s friend (unlike Martin, who had one (1) nice exchange with her during season 4), and had collaborated with Basira during season 2 and more or less cohabited with her (although on patchy terms) during season 4, when Martin was making himself scarce. Amongst them, it’s mostly Jon who would have reason to want to stop and breathe, to think about what he has lost and what he could further lose… and on the contrary, he sounds like someone who keeps going while aware that he’s on limited time, thinking that it’s not even worth it to try to process things because there is nothing long-term for him anymore – unlike Martin, who might have a future…? I wonder if they will talk about the implications they can make out of their stay at Upton House: Jon had it bad, cut from The Eye, while he’s prospering in the apocalypse – would there be a way to cut him definitely from The Eye without killing him? What would happen to him, if they do manage to turn the world back? Is Martin ready to save the world if it means seeing Jon fade and die?

(- I’m a bit *squint* at the fact that the oasis happened right after Martin had it particularly bad, since he wanted Basira to stay with them:

(MAG180) ARCHIVIST: No, obviously. This place is a manifestation of– MARTIN: No. Nope. ARCHIVIST: … I understand. Of course. MARTIN: Sorry, I’ve just… [INHALE] I’ve been hearing altogether too many of your statements lately, and– ARCHIVIST: Yeah, no, no, I– MARTIN: –yeah. ARCHIVIST: I, I get it. MARTIN: Just… a little break. ARCHIVIST: That’s fair enough.

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: I just thought… what with Daisy and Basira, and… You needed a break. Some time to process. [BAG JOSTLING] MARTIN: We both did. But apparently I’m the only one who got to.

Was there some dream-logic at work, the oasis and the rest happening because Martin needed it? Annabelle had also implied that she was expecting Martin to get into better dispositions (MAG181: “Don’t worry, Martin. We’ll meet again. Hopefully when you’re feeling a little bit more… open-minded…!”), so is part of Jon&Martin’s journey currently conditioned by Martin’s state of mind, rather than Jon’s?)

- Aaaah, they’re back to using (some) spatiotemporal markers:

(MAG182) MARTIN: Not an hour from an oasis, and we’re already at “sinister hospitals”? ARCHIVIST: It’s the next stop on our journey. […] Would it help if I told you we were actually… starting to get a bit closer to London? Well. What was “London”. MARTIN: … Actually yes! That does help a bit. How many more? ARCHIVIST: Depends on, uh… A few, at least.

Well, no way for Martin to know for sure that it had been “an hour”, but I’m surprised that Jon acknowledged that they were getting close-ish to London! And delighted that Martin understands how things work a bit better, and didn’t ask about physical rational distances, but about the amount of domains they would have to go through! He’s learned!

… A bit curious about Jon’s answer: what is it depending on? Is it about the (metaphorical, emotional, dream-logical) nature of their journey? Or is something/someone coming and Jon knows about it? … Or was Jon considering a potential detour through Oxford and Hill Top Road…?

(“A few” means that the Panopticon might be the thing closing Act II, since we have seven episodes left… Whether they reach it during MAG189 or ends up leaving it at this point.)

- What happened to London, exactly? We got a few mentions that things seemed a bit stranger than the succession of wasteland and domains that we’ve witnessed during Jon and Martin’s journey:

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: At least with Georgie and Melanie, I have a vague sense they’re still alive, i–in London, and, or– Well, what was London.

(MAG165) MARTIN: Fine – by – me, eh! Never really liked merry-go-rounds anyway. ARCHIVIST: No? You… gone on any recently? MARTIN: What? Uh… No, I don’t think so, not since I was a kid. ARCHIVIST: Hm! I actually, uh… There’s one at London Zoo – uh, was one at London Zoo. Big old thing.

(MAG177) BASIRA: I was still in the Institute when everything went to hell outside, so I guess that protected me from the first wave. … Once I saw what’d happened… that we’d… lost… [INHALE] Didn’t feel like there was anything left worth doing, except keeping my promise to Daisy – so I went looking. […] MARTIN: Hm… Kind of? Scotland’s not really a thing anymore. BASIRA: Huh. London’s still there. Sort of. MARTIN: Yeah, that’s where we’re heading. Eventually. He’s been destroying other avatars on the way.

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: Would it help if I told you we were actually… starting to get a bit closer to London? Well. What was “London”.

Seems like London is a bit recognisable as something which-used-to-be-London, though gone very wrong? Is it because this is the centre of the new world due to the Panopticon? Jon sounds like he knows a bit about it already, I’m reaaally curious to discover the place alongside Martin (and how it will be conveyed through sounds)!

- Ooooh Martin… Stop dooming everything:

(MAG182) MARTIN: Right. [FORTIFYING DEEP BREATH] Right! Let’s get on with it then. [BAG JOSTLING] [FOOTSTEPS AND THE BACKGROUND NOISES GET SLIGHTLY LOUDER] MARTIN: … Okay… could be worse… [THE SOUND OF BLADES, LIKE KNIVES BEING SHARPENED OR UNOILED SCISSORS WORKING] DR DOE: Good! MARTIN: [SHRIEKS] HAHHH! … HMMM, worse! It got worse! Worse, worse! ARCHIVIST: Martin– MARTIN: Ah, much worse…! ARCHIVIST: –be polite. MARTIN: Hah, hah…!

I mean, Martin, you kinda tempted fate here.

I’m snickering so hard about Jon telling him to be polite, since it echoed Martin’s snide remark from last episode:

(MAG181) MARTIN: Uh, I… already had some, thank you, uh! Some of us know how to be polite guests. ARCHIVIST: [SHARPLY] I don’t intend to accept anything offered by Annabelle Cane. MARTIN: [SIGH]

Martin could master the social cues in the no-Fear territory; meanwhile, Jon holds them in the Fearscape.

- So, if we’re still using Smirke’s categories, that was clearly a Stranger domain but I guessed thanks to the familiar elements rather than the statements themselves!

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: Hello! [THE BLADE SOUNDS ACCOMPANY DR DOE’S MOVEMENTS] DR DOE: A pleasure, yes, hello! I am Doctor Doe, Jane. Welcome into my hospital, Inspector! ARCHIVIST: In… “inspector”? DR DOE: You have come here to over-observe, yes? To inspector? ARCHIVIST: I… hum… I–I suppose so, y–yes. DR DOE: Then follow! Let us tour our wellbeing centre; keep your screams inside, if you want to be polite. ARCHIVIST: R… right.

Dr Doe’s way of speaking reminded me of Nikola; her name was evoking the Anatomy Students (there was a John Doe in the batch described by Dr Elliott, though I think Jon would have commented if Jane was meant to be specially from that one, like with Mustermann); Breekon was there… But by itself, the hospital felt like it also had bits of Spiral, Flesh, Corruption and Web to me? With, as often, the Beholding touch of feeling watched/examined/stared at.

- Jon being identified as an “inspector” surprisingly makes a lot of sense! He’s identified on sight as an agent of The Eye, and he’s having an overview of the domains, how they operate; it makes sense that he would be perceived as someone who is ensuring that other avatars perform adequately for Beholding? We now know that the domains don’t require a ruler to work fine, since eliminating the avatars in charge didn’t change much (MAG174: “The tenement fire is still burning; the mortal garden is growing wild; the carousel i–”), but the avatars/monsters in place didn’t have that knowledge. The fact that Dr Doe was concerned about performing well reminded me of what Arthur and Simon had said of their connection to their patron:

(MAG145) ARTHUR: You’ve never really had to bother with it, have you? You got him upstairs to point the way as often as not, and the rest of the time you’re just figuring out people – or things that used to be people. You never try to talk with that Eye of yours. You never had to second-guess a god. ‘Cause that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? We feel Its joy and Its… anger; It warps us, and changes us, and feeds on us, though not in the ways we expect. The one thing It never does is just… tell us what to do. It seeds us with this… aching, impossible desire to change the world, to bring It to us. Then, It leaves us to guess and bicker and fight over how the hell you can actually do it. … If it’s possible. Sometimes, I think They understand us as… little as we understand Them. We don’t think like They do.

(MAG151) MARTIN: You make it sound like the… the Entities don’t even know that they’re doing. SIMON: I have no idea if they’re doing anything at all – if they’re even capable of “doing” things. I know that most of their servants are simply doing their best to interpret and serve something that is almost definitively inconceivable. […] MARTIN: So– [EXHALE] So if no one’s ever actually communicated with their patron, how do you know they even want rituals? H–h–how does anyone know if they could ever even work?! SIMON: We don’t. MARTIN: [INCREDULOUS SCOFF] SIMON: And honestly, the idea that this is all some… “grand cosmic joke”, thousands of us running around spreading horror and sabotaging each other pointlessly while these impossible, unknowable things just lurk out there, feeding off the misery we cause… [INHALE] I find that interpretation quite appealing…! MARTIN: … “But”? SIMON: I still hear the music in my dreams.

(MAG182) DR DOE: It is a thing to look at, isn’t it? How much do they suffer, Inspector? ARCHIVIST: I… What? DR DOE: I help to cure them of their wellbeing but… I cannot know if my work is appreciated. I can only guess at fear, you know. Does it work? Do they… [GIGGLE] hurt? ARCHIVIST: Yes. Yes, they hurt. DR DOE: [NOISE OF CONTENTMENT] This pleases me.

And yikes ;; Jon was sincere here (and he was sad about it); Dr Doe’s contented reaction was to be expected but it was still chilling.

- Oh Martin…

(MAG182) MARTIN: [CLEARS THROAT] [NERVOUSLY] It’s a… It’s a beautiful building…! DR DOE: Do not insult me. MARTIN: I, uh… Okay. [LOUDER SCREAM IN THE BACKGROUND] W–what’s it called? DR DOE: Called? MARTIN: The hospital. DR DOE: Ah! St Bleedings Centre for Wellbeing. MARTIN: Riiight… ARCHIVIST: [HUSHED] Martin, keep your eyes forward. On the doctor. MARTIN: [HUSHED] Seriously? She’s all– ARCHIVIST: Better– MARTIN: –kinds of horrible… ARCHIVIST: –than what’s in the rooms. Trust me. MARTIN: Ah. Right. [THE BLADE SOUNDS STOP] [A DOOR IS OPENED] [HIGH-PITCHED METALLIC SOUND, AND WHIMPERS] DR DOE: You must look in here to see one of our four hundred operating theatres, where we ensure any wellbeing is swiftly and awfully dispatched. MARTIN: [HURRIEDLY] Right, right…! DR DOE: Sometimes is an anatomical wellness. Sometimes, the wellbeing they possess is mental. In both cases we have grinding machines and anti-trained doctors on nails to deal with it. Nobody who comes into the hospital leaves right. Or at all! [DOOR IS CLOSED] MARTIN: Oh. Heh! Gooooood… ARCHIVIST: Good lord… […] MARTIN: Any, uh… wards? Beds, maybe? DR DOE: Sometimes rooms. Sometimes we throw them in a pit. MARTIN: A pit, right, yeah… DR DOE: We have a canteen! ARCHIVIST: [HUSHED] Don’t ask about the canteen MARTIN: [HUSHED] I wasn’t going to ask about the canteen!

(Same as the Web theatre, some of those domains really are big ;;)

I’m so grateful for Martin’s constant “FML” reactions in the midst of the horror, he was clearly alleviating the atmosphere a bit – SOB about the idea that they’re organised to clinically prevent any “wellness” and that “being well” has no place in this world. It was also pretty interesting to see the contrast between Martin’s exchanges with Salesa (where he managed to get the answers they wanted, where Salesa was interested in him and paying attention to him) and this situation, where he was lacking the codes (unlike Jon), threatened and pretty much unaccounted for.

(… And I’m glad we didn’t hear about the canteen, but I can’t help but be pretty curious about the canteen now, woops.)

- Aww that Jon tried to put a stop to the visit ;w;

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: Hum, Dr Doe, thank you so much for the tour. DR DOE: There is more! ARCHIVIST: Uh… Oh… “Good”. MARTIN: … J–Jon. Jon, over there, is–is that, hum…? DR DOE: He is a janitor. You are allowed to ignore him. MARTIN: Right…! ARCHIVIST: [DISCOMFITED SOUNDS] MARTIN: Jon…? J–Jon, do you… Right. Uh, uh, Doctor! Is there an empty room he can use, please? [THE BLADE SOUNDS STOP] DR DOE: What is he doing? MARTIN: He needs to… talk about all the horrible things this place does…! DR DOE: Oh, wonderful! This way.

* First Breekon cameo sneaking in! (And Jon got hit by the statement-saturation, so didn’t answer Martin’s call about it.)

* Martin immediately putting himself in charge of the situation when he noticed Jon wasn’t well! And recognising what is happening! … And he reacted fast and urgently, and that came shortly after Jon had admitted that he had pushed past his limits to make them stay at Upton House: it feels like Martin had understood that Jon actually showing discomfort over something could mean that he had felt it for a while but was trying to hide it to buy time? Since MAG163 and Martin refusing to hear about Jon’s statement, Jon had mentioned multiple times that he was trying to hold off and bottle it up, until he couldn’t anymore; so there, it was good to see Martin actually taking care that Jon got his privacy and could give the “statements” a bit more on his terms…

* Crying a bit that Martin was absolutely honest, too, about Jon giving the statements (“talk[ing] about all the horrible things this place does”), and that once again, Dr Doe’s reaction was predictable, and still yikes.

- Thaaat was quite a gruesome series of statements. What got me the most was the scale (amount of operations, just like with Francis’s acts, the fact they were counted and so… big… and never-ending…) and the mix of personal distress and “labels” of their medical forms?

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] “Patient: Jeremy W. […] Date and place of last contentment: 8th July 2013, sunrise, on Arthur’s Seat hilltop, Edinburgh. Complaint: Generalised pain and creeping ennui. Surgical procedures thus far: 802. Prognosis: Delightful. […] Patient: Renee T. […] Date and place of last contentment: 27th November 2015, birthday party prior to father’s stroke. Complaint: Facial paralysis. Surgical procedures thus far: 560. Prognosis: Exciting. […] Patient: Kelly M. Date and place of birth: 1st April 1982, Bournemouth Hospital. Date and place of last contentment: Not recalled. Complaint: Headaches. Surgical procedures thus far: 220. Prognosis: Unwise.”

“Date and place of last contentment” as an identifiable piece of data (and the fact that they were waaay anterior to the beginning of the apocalypse, which happened in October 2018), and the different “Prognoses”… Also! The fact that the cities mentioned went from “Edinburgh” to “Bournemouth”: a bit reminiscent of Jon&Martin’s journey from Scotland (or Jonah’s roots: he was initially located in Edinburgh) to the South of England, Jon’s own roots?

From Jeremy’s, I mostly got spooked by the mumbling sounds exchanged between the creatures, the overall feeling of being trapped and objectified, the otherness of the doctors, the awareness that he would almost always make the wrong choice… but not “always”, so preserving the hope of sometimes playing the game right (while the answer provided… never has anything to do with Jeremy’s actual state, is just what could potentially make it hurt less):

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: “This was it, the moment of truth, the point at which all Jeremy’s anxiety came to a head. They all leaned in, hidden faces focused on him, as though drinking in his desperation. He had to make an answer, a simple yes or no. He’d learned the hard way that nuanced answers or stoic silence only made it worse. So he picked one. A roll of the dice. In many ways it didn’t matter which he chose, as there was no way to determine if the doctor of the day considered his wellness an aim to be achieved, or a condition, that required curing. “Yes,” he might say. “I am well.” And if he had chosen right, the mask would widen as though the face behind it extended in a smile. [HISSES-LIKE SOUNDS] “Wonderful!” would come the response, “keep it up!” And the crowd would file out and lock the door behind them, leaving Jeremy to wait for his next assessment. But he rarely seemed to choose right. The rest of the time a shudder of anticipation would pass through the medical things around him. [HISSES-LIKE SOUNDS] “Well! Let’s see what we can do about treating that,” the doctor would say. [THE BLEEP OF THE MONITOR ACCELERATES] And they would descend upon him, and drag him away for treatment.”

The hisses, like snakes, heard when the words were spoken, were absolutely awful, THANKS. (And the rising anxiety through the bleep accelerating…)

From Renee, the worst for me was the creatures takings bits and pieces of her, the fact that it was not about the pain (“It dulled the pain, but the pain was never the problem. Regardless, they always strapped the anaesthetic mask tight to her face before they began to cut.”), but about being manipulated and used by creatures who didn’t know what they were doing, the otherness and strangeness of what was put into her, the skinning, the biggest fear still being that she has a problem (“[The pills] might have done nothing, been naught but dust and sugar, but she could never be sure. The sickness, the seizures, the spasms, the sadness… If it wasn’t the medicine, then it was inside her. And it had always been inside her. And she just… didn’t know.”), and:

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: “An organ diagnosis was simple: open her up, dig around inside her until they could remove something that could conceivably be a liver or a pancreas or a gallbladder…?, then put something back in its place.”

THAT HESITATION WITH “GALLBLADDER”…

Kelly put Jon’s mother to my mind, since she was born in Bournemouth, her misadventures evoked a child delivery, and Jon’s mother had died from complications during a surgery. So. Aouch. There might have been a bit of Lonely creeping in that one?

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: “How long has it been? There is no way to tell, not here, but they will come back. They must come back, they always do, they must swap out this cold and hollow emptiness for some fresh pain an–and torture. She longs to feel the pain, as it is at least a feeling. But the fear has grown inside her now. What if the doctors are finished? What if she is treated, and this is all there is now? What if she is well? Kelly looks to the door, and waits.”

The fact that Kelly ultimately was waiting for her torturers because having to remain like this would be worse than experiencing another operation? Was awful D:

- The post-statement cut very fast for once; we only heard the static rising, indicating the end of the statement… and the tape recorder turned off even before we heard the static fade, or Jon landing back to earth.

The succession of recordings was curious! Because there were two tape recorders involved (Jon’s, and Martin’s): was Martin’s encounter with Breekon happening right after Jon’s statement (implying that Jon took a small break by himself before finding Martin back)? Or did Martin’s recording begin while Jon was still giving the statements, implying that what we’re listening to is definitely a compilation put together after the events?

Jon had reminded us that Martin had a tape recorder with him:

(MAG181) MARTIN: They sort of just … follow us round? SALESA: Hmmmm. Interesting. Did you carry it in? Things shouldn’t be able to manifest in here like that. ARCHIVIST: … You had one in your… bag, I–I think, Martin, did, did you drop it here? MARTIN: Uh… I, I don’t think so…!

And there were many options as to when Martin picked it up: MAG163, when he spotted one in the water(…ish river)? MAG166, when he had taken Annabelle’s call? MAG170, when he was alone in the Lonely house? It’s interesting that the tape recorder chose to turn on when he was alone, near Breekon, as if sensing that there would be an interaction soon (while, except for MAG166, Martin is usually left in his corner while Jon gives his statements…).

- Breeeeeeekoooon!!

(MAG182) [CLICK–] [BACK TO THE GENERAL SOUNDS OF THE HOSPITAL, THIS TIME WITH ACCOMPANIED SCREAMS] [FOOTSTEPS AND MOPPING SOUNDS APPROACH] BREEKON: ‘scuse me, Doctor. Just cleanin’ up. MARTIN: … Oh, I’m, uh, not a doctor, eh! BREEKON: Whatever. I got work to do. [MOPPING SOUNDS]

* Same VA as Dr Elliott, so… he kinda was there in spirit in an episode with what potentially used to be an Anatomy Student (through not necessarily from his batch; it seemed to be a repeat performance).

* So Breekon hadn’t died in/after MAG128! It wasn’t clear, since we had heard Jon hurt him badly, and Jon had mentioned that Breekon wasn’t… going well afterwards:

(MAG128) ARCHIVIST: Stop. [HIGH-PITCHED BUZZING SOUND OVER STATIC] BREEKON: What’re you doing? BASIRA: … Jon…? What are you doing? BREEKON: What’re you– Stop it… Stop it! ARCHIVIST: [ECHOING] No. BREEKON: [STRUGGLING, BUZZING INCREASES] Enough! Stop… looking at me! [SCREAMS] [DOOR SLAMMED OPEN, FLEEING FOOTSTEPS WHILE BREEKON IS STILL SCREAMING, DOOR SLAMMING SHUT] ARCHIVIST: [PANTS] […] “I am without him, now. I. am. I can feel myself fading. Weak. No reason to move. Nothing to deliver.” […] ARCHIVIST: I, I saw that… thing’s mind, i–it’s lost on its own. No partner, no… purpose, I… I honestly think it just wanted to do another delivery.

Jon hadn’t killed him back then, but I had wondered if the experience of being known to the core had been traumatising enough to make him slowly disappear (since Gertrude had also mentioned how avatars tended to wither away after a failed ritual, two episodes afterwards). Impressed that Breekon kept going all this time!

* Oh, Martin… honest in the wrong places… He really didn’t need to point out that he wasn’t a doctor…

- OF COURSE, MARTIN WOULD REMEMBER HOPE’S NAME FIRST…

(MAG182) MARTIN: Hang on… Hang on, are you– Wait, which one are you? H–Hope, or, hum… BREEKON: Breekon. Hope’s dead. Do I know you? MARTIN: Hm! “Hope’s dead”. Bit on the nose, isn’t it? BREEKON: Glad losing half my existence has given you a funny little metaphor. MARTIN: Oh. Well, I mean, eh, that’s not actually a metaphor per se, so…! BREEKON: [WEARY] Piss off. MARTIN: Oh, I’m… sorry, am I, am I supposed to be sympathising? After everything you two did to people? BREEKON: … Guess not

Aouch Martin.

… I feel personally called out because, when MAG128 aired, I immediately revelled in the “Breekon is Hope-less” jokes (AND STILL DO.), listen, if you two steal the name of a man’s company, be ready for the consequences.

… It hurts how technically, both sides were a bit right: Breekon couldn’t expect sympathy from Martin (they did awful things! To so many people! They brought the Not!Them via the table inside of the Institute, and it killed Sasha! They kidnapped Jon! Breekon trapped Daisy into the Coffin!), but it’s true that Martin was absolutely heartless and lacking empathy (twisting the knife in the wound).

- zesidojker about Martin confidentTM that his boyfriend could kick Breekon’s arse:

(MAG182) BREEKON: Who you waiting for? Maybe I can rip them away from you, see how you like it. MARTIN: You’re welcome to try…! BREEKON: Wait… No, I do know you. We gave you a delivery, didn’t we? Years back. You’re one of Magnus’s lot, right? MARTIN: … I was, yes. BREEKON: Wait… So does that mean, in there… The Archivist? MARTIN: That’s right.

* Sob about Martin saying he’s not from Magnus anymore. He really wants to have nothing to do with Jonah anymore, uh. (At first, I feared it was a nod towards his allegiance to The Lonely…)

* A REMINDER!! ABOUT THE DELIVERY!! Back in season 1, Martin had received the Web lighter on Jon’s behalf!

(MAG035) BREEKON: Won’t take up your time. HOPE: Just got a delivery. MARTIN: Look, you really can’t actually– BREEKON: Package for Jonathan Sims. HOPE: Says right here. MARTIN: Well, I don’t really know where he– HOPE: We’ll just leave it with you. BREEKON: Be sure he gets it. MARTIN: Okay, I will, but you really have to actually– BREEKON: ‘course. Much obliged. HOPE: Stay safe. MARTIN: … I’ll… try?

(MAG036) TIM: Oh, ah, nothing urgent, um, it’s just Elias was asking a couple questions about the delivery. ARCHIVIST: Delivery? What delivery? TIM: Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it? ARCHIVIST: No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk draw, hold on. [SOUND OF PACKAGE BEING RETRIEVED AND OPENED] TIM: Er, what is it? ARCHIVIST: A lighter. An old Zippo. TIM: You smoke? ARCHIVIST: No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive! TIM: Okay. Is there anything unusual about it? ARCHIVIST: Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front.

(MAG037) MARTIN: Okay, fine. There were two delivery men. They were big, and they spoke with cockney accents that might have been fake, and they delivered a package for you. I don’t remember anything else about what they looked like. ARCHIVIST: Nothing at all? MARTIN: [EXASPERATED] They looked normal. Like you’d expect. They looked like two, huge, cockney delivery men. I don’t know what else you want? ARCHIVIST: What about the table? MARTIN: I didn’t see the table. I guess Rosie must have signed for it. I mean, it’s her office on the way to Artefact Storage, that makes sense.

Well. Presumably received. Martin signed for something, and Jon remembered later that Martin had left the package for him, and Martin confirmed that the item he had received for Jon wasn’t the table (since Rosie took care of that one). A bit “damn!” that we didn’t get any new information about who had sent the lighter, since Breekon would have been the last person to know about it aside from the sender, but… well, we haven’t heard everything about the lighter anyway, so the sender might explain why they had done it at some point. (Annabelle being the ideal culprit, but mmm… I don’t want to exclude that it can’t be something/someone else?)

- Elevator music:

(MAG182) BREEKON: … I’ll wait with you. MARTIN: I… thought you had work to do…! BREEKON: Just spreading the smell around. Doesn’t matter. None of it matters. MARTIN: … Right… [SILENCE BUT FOR HOSPITAL SOUNDS] [DOOR OPENS] ARCHIVIST: Hello again, Breekon. [DOOR CLOSES] BREEKON: Yeah… ARCHIVIST: He hasn’t been bothering you, has he Martin? MARTIN: Well… BREEKON: Nah. Just been chattin’.

* So Jon had probably recognised Breekon already when Dr Doe commented about the “janitor” in the first part of the episode (or Jon already knew Breekon was somewhere in the domain before entering it), given his absence of surprise. And he implied right after that he already knew what was on Breekon’s mind, what he wanted from him…

* … I love that Martin was ready to snitch. You petty thing, Martin, you.

- Breekon joining the long list of avatars/monsters who could just feel or know that Jon was closely tied to this apocalypse:

(MAG164) HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you!

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: She’s just like everything else here, rules by The Eye. [CHUCKLING] And she hates it…! NOT!SASHA: Well, of course you want to wallow in my shame like your voyeur master!

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “Report to prevent future deaths. This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself.”

(MAG169) JUDE: Fancy seeing you both here. To what, exactly, do I owe the pleasure, the honour, of being graced by the great and powerful Archivist, harbinger of this new world, and his, uh… valet…?

(MAG171) JARED: Mm. … So, is there any way this doesn’t end in me dead? I’m guessing that’s on the docket if you’re here. Unless you’re just here to smell the flowers.

(MAG173) ARCHIVIST: … Do you know who I am? CALLUM: … You’re the Eye guy, right? ARCHIVIST: That’s right. CALLUM: So you’re like… real important.

(MAG174) SIMON: Good to see you again, Martin! And you must be the famous Archivist, Herald of the Ceaseless Watcher, Harbinger of the New Age, etcetera. Lovely to meet you at last. […] I imagine you know pretty much everything by this point. How is it? How does it feel? [SHUFFLING] ARCHIVIST: … Strange. SIMON: Yes! I can imagine. These gifts can feel very disconcerting at times. I’m sure you’ll get used to it eventually.

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: So you’ve come to me? BREEKON: Didn’t mean to. ARCHIVIST: No, but you have. Because there’s something you want, isn’t there? BREEKON: … Yeah. ARCHIVIST: Say it. BREEKON: … Kill me. MARTIN: Wait, what? BREEKON: The way I figure, you’re the one who made all this. So if anyone can end it, you can. Can you do it?

* Which makes it even more significant that Salesa didn’t know about it “naturally” (Annabelle had told him about Jon’s patron), and that Basira didn’t have that knowledge either. In the same way, Melanie&Georgie might not know about it, unless they’ve been working with someone in the meantime…

* Big “YIKES” about the implications of “you’re the one who made all this. So if anyone can end it, you can.”: Breekon was spot-on on that specific situation involving him, since Jon could end him personally, but on a larger scale… can Jon put an end to all this, personally, since he was used as the lynchpin for this apocalypse?

- Why am I crying again about Breekon, I thought MAG128 had been enough…

(MAG128) BREEKON: Dunno. ‘t’s not right… on my own… not right… No point in doing it on my own. Don’t know what happens now… Thought I might kill you. Missed my chance. Thought I might just… deliver something. So here’s a coffin. [RATTLING SOUND] In case you want… to join your friend. […] ARCHIVIST: “I have never known hate before. I have never known loss. But now, they are with me always, and I desire nothing but to share them with you.”

(MAG182) BREEKON: Glad losing half my existence has given you a funny little metaphor. […] We arrive somewhere, deliver terror and death, then leave, never to be seen again. Not much call for that now everyone’s in their little “kingdoms”. Maybe if we were complete, we could’ve done something, but as is… No. Can’t say I want this to be my forever.

The fact that through Hope’s death, he learned loss… that he felt quite clearly depressed (“Doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”)… His obsession with fracturing pairs:

(MAG128) BREEKON: In here. [KNOCKS ON SOMETHING] Realised that I’m not tied… to it anymore. Not on my own. Thought you could have it. Pay your respects, lik– BASIRA: [BROKEN VOICE] Daisy’s in there? BREEKON: … That’s ‘s name? Then sure. ‘t’s in there. Whatever’s left. Find out if you like. […] ARCHIVIST: “When that Hunter killed him, when she took her violence of mindless instinct and unleashed it on us… it was there. It was waiting. I fed her to it. She took him from me. Made us a me, and she doesn’t get to die for that. She gets to live, trapped, and helpless, and entombed forever. No prey, no hunt, no movement. We failed, but I have at least that comfort. I am without him, now. I. am. I can feel myself fading. Weak. No reason to move. Nothing to deliver. But I am no longer tied to the casket; so you can have it. You can stare at it, knowing how your feral friend suffers, knowing how powerless you are to help. And when you can’t bear it any longer, knowing that you can climb in and join her…”

(MAG182) BREEKON: Who you waiting for? Maybe I can rip them away from you, see how you like it.

His old habit of saying “we” instead of “I” resurfacing again and again:

(MAG128) BREEKON: [HUFF] Yeah. Just like when we… when I… fed the copper to the pit. […] ARCHIVIST: “She took him from me. Made us a me, and she doesn’t get to die for that.”

(MAG182) BREEKON: You think I dream of mopping floors? No. We’re… I’m a delivery man. […] It isn’t great for an anonymous thing like us… [SNIFF] Like me.

The fact that unlike avatars, he had apparently just popped up like this, hadn’t had any choice or options in his “career”, was bound to that nature as a monster… (and that he was unable to reinvent himself after Hope’s death)….

- Elias had pointed out that The Stranger was “antithetical” to Beholding (MAG092), we had seen Jon hurt Breekon when he extracted his statement (MAG128), and it sure looks like Stranger creatures have a harder time than others in the fearscape:

(MAG165) NOT!SASHA: Do you know how it feels? To be… anonymous, and yet known? To have all the sweetest dread I can create tainted by the relentless gaze of that damned Eye! I’ve suffered enough!

(MAG182) BREEKON: Besides, it hurts all the time. The Eye won’t ever stop watching, and… [SIGH] It isn’t great for an anonymous thing like us… [SNIFF] Like me.

Meanwhile: The Dark was given the task of the grooming babysitter, and Jon mentioned that going through the Distortion’s corridor would destroy Helen. There is still some Beholding-favouritism in that new order.

- CRIES about Jon honestly laying the cards on the table:

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: … Very well. I warn you, though: it will hurt. BREEKON: Only until it doesn’t though, right? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Right. MARTIN: Good luck…! BREEKON: Whatever.

… since yeah. It will “hurt”, but unlike everything else in this world, the pain will also stop pretty fast, and depending on people’s opinion and on the hope (or absence thereof) of finding a way of fixing things, it might represent a better option for a lot of people…

(SCREAMING about Martin’s “Good luck!”. Martin, please.)

- Jon’s invocation was a bit more developed and specific this time around:

(MAG165) [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: Feel it now. Understand it. You have drawn out so much despair, and now finally, it’s your turn [STATIC INCREASES] [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing! [STATIC INCREASES, WITH MORE PRESSURE] NOT!SASHA: No! No… Please, no…! [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] NOT!SASHA: [FADING] No…! [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES]

(MAG169) [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: I’d have thought that was a mindset you would appreciate. [STATIC INCREASES] Now, feel it! All the terror and pain you’ve inflicted. JUDE: Oh, piss off– [PAINED GASP] … [STRAINED] Look, look. Wait, right? I’m sorry, okay? I… shouldn’t have burned your hand. […] [STATIC RISES: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] JUDE: Uh! Listen… Listen… [BREATHLESS CHUCKLING] You’re enjoying this, right? ‘Course you are! You want to use those powers of yours to hurt people, you want to murder everybody who can’t fight back at you now? I can help you…! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] MARTIN: Just DIE already!! JUDE: You’re… not… better… than… me! [SCREAMS] [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES]

(MAG171) [STATIC INCREASES: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] ARCHIVIST: Feel it. JARED: [MEATY HISS] ARCHIVIST: Feel all the terror and despair as your garden grows. Let it flow through you, and blossom! [MEATY SOUNDS] JARED: [GROANS] ARCHIVIST: Just people, using each other up! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this thing and drink – your – fill! JARED: [GROANS] [MEATY SOUNDS] [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES]

(MAG182) [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: [INTONING] Ceaseless Watcher, gaze upon this thing. BREEKON: [GRUNTS] [STATIC INCREASES: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] ARCHIVIST: This lost and broken splinter of fear. BREEKON: [PAINED SOUND] [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] ARCHIVIST: Take what is left of it as your own, and leave no trace of it behind! BREEKON: [PAINED GRUNTS] ARCHIVIST: It. Is. Yours! [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] BREEKON: [GRUNTS IN PAIN AND THEN DISCORPORATES IN AGONY] [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES]

With Breekon, it really felt like an offering to Beholding ;;

- Oh, the end of the episode felt so… tired and empty. Jon had done everything he had to (doing a favour to someone “very bad”), and it was basically an assisted suicide; plus, Breekon had been around since the beginning of season 1, he had been recurring (through statements and in person) during the whole Stranger arc and beyond. It felt like a bit of a book ends, although… done in misery and exhaustion. Even Martin was feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation:

(MAG182) [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: … Right. ARCHIVIST: I suppose we should find Doctor Doe. Finish our tour. MARTIN: Do we have to? ARCHIVIST: [HUFF] Probably not. MARTIN: … I don’t really know how to feel about that. ARCHIVIST: About Breekon? MARTIN: Yeah. ARCHIVIST: … Me neither.

;; And Jon is definitely not processing at all.

(MAG182) ARCHIVIST: I didn’t enjoy it, but… I don’t know, almost felt like doing a favour for an old friend…! MARTIN: [HUFF] An old friend who hated us. ARCHIVIST: I guess. Maybe we don’t have to feel any way at all. MARTIN: [NONCOMMITTAL SOUND] [BAG JOSTLING] [FOOSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: Come on, this place is starting to get to me.

There is the added sadness that Jon technically did something good (granting a wish!), but to someone really bad, and it was to kill him. Jon had mentioned that he felt like smiting avatars was making him worse:

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: I–I just–! … This whole… “avenging angel” thing, I–I’m not… It doesn’t feel right. MARTIN: … It seemed to feel right when we were avenging all the wrongs done against you! ARCHIVIST: I know. I–I–I know, all right? But, well, th–… [SIGH] That’s kind of the problem, I have all this… power and, and I, I want to use it to try and help, but I… I don’t know, I mean, I do. Uh… I’ve done so much damage, an–and anything that might help to balance that is–! [SOFT SIGH] … But killing other avatars, it, it’s not… I, I don’t think it makes anything better. I think it just makes me worse. MARTIN: … You’re removing evil from the world! ARCHIVIST: I, I’m not, though, am I? [STATIC RISES] The tenement fire is still burning; the mortal garden is growing wild; the carousel i– HELEN: Urgh!

And he clearly did not do it out of revenge or anger, here… but it was still something he wanted to avoid because he felt that it was negatively impacting him. (Extra-sob over how like with Salesa, death was presented as a relief, because there is nothing good or better to hope for in this new world… Right now, the overall situation feels so depressing, like nothing good can be created ever again and the most anyone can hope for is just for things to end?)

I wonder if part of the final awkwardness had to do with the fact that Breekon was unable to go on after losing Breekon, which obviously puts Jon&Martin’s own relationship to mind: would Martin manage, if he were to be the only one left?

Alrighty, so they’re coming close-ish to London. I’m surprised that Helen didn’t pop by to pester Jon&Martin as soon as they came out of Salesa’s domain (since they might have been off the radar from her too, and she had kept tabs on them until now, even when she wasn’t revealing herself?), but that might be coming up: she had visited them right after Jon had smote Not!Sasha (his first kill Ceaseless Watching someone), and she had been quite cross when Jon had finally officialised that he didn’t want to do it anymore with Simon… so she could come back to comment on Breekon’s death. (And mmmmmmmmm… Helen, do you actually have a death wish just like Breekon, except it would be against your nature to be straightforward about it…?)

Them getting closer to London could mean Georgie&Melanie soon, too (since Jon had conjectured that they could be in London)? Hill Top Road might still happen on the way if they go a bit more South, too (especially with the reminder of Breekon’s delivery: lighter with a spiderweb is a thematic reminder of a certain Desolation&Web(&Co) house), and Annabelle had pointed out that they would see her again soon-ish… So, mm! Are they meant to be reaching the Panopticon in MAG188/MAG189, to close Act II? Or will they do something else before?

MAG183’s title makes me think of Smirke a lot, potentially Jonah, but the connection seems a bit unlikely given the overall, uh, state of the world. Vast or Buried? Lonely domain?

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