#at least while she's still being discreet about her condition :3

[baylardian-1]

the new uniforms are a little tight >___>;;;;;;

[scoundrels-in-love]

things you said at the kitchen table - (i was gonna say vashmeryl but you already did one of those for disconnect :3) soooooo stryfewood

This only took a genuine month to write, oops.

| Stryfewood (Mashwood hints) | Pining | Teasing | Wolfwood in a turtleneck | Also on AO3 |

---

Meryl does not often drink to the point of hangovers and for good reason. She prides herself in knowing her limits and abiding by them. But somewhere after leaving her work party with Milly timely because they had decided they deserved to celebrate their promotion proper instead of playing polite with work seniors, her sensibilities (and a shoe) seems to have gotten lost while drinking and dancing.

She remembers having fun, laughing and feeling light, and honestly, not much else. Certainly not how she must've stumbled home and face planted onto her bed without changing her clothes. And it all feels very unfair trade for the absolute misery she's experiencing right now.

When she makes her way to the kitchen for the second time this morning to have more water and attempt to stomach some food, Meryl feels a touch more human after a shower and fresh change of clothes, but there is still a wild herd of buffalos stampeding around the inside of her skull.

She does not see improvement in that condition in her future, considering just who is leaning against the kitchen counter, smirk spread on his handsome face.

Of course it would be just her luck that Wolfwood, her best friend's slash roommate's other best friend (more than that, she suspects, though they've not introduced any label to her, but neither are very good at being discreet about anything), has not left yet.

She thought he might have, since Vash is gone for the weekend without much explanation as to why (she's gotten used to his odd ways, even if she's not given up on bugging him for some truth), but then again Wolfwood treats this like his rent-free place. To the point she's told him he might as well move in with Vash and not waste money on his own apartment.

(Doesn't matter that she would probably need to look for a new place herself then, because she isn't sure she'd handle looking more often at Vash casually draped over Wolfwood's lap as the other man combs fingers through the blonde hair in a way she's quietly wanted to since their second uni year, or increase in the other sweet, casual intimacy acts on the daily.)

She mumbles a greeting to Wolfwood and slumps into her chair and then over the table, resting her head on her arms. 

"Rough morning?" Wolfwood asks and she can hear him move around the kitchen, the soft clink of glass. What she doesn't expect is for it to be placed next to her on the table, his warm fingers brushing against her hand. She shifts to peer at him over her arm without lifting her head and his expression promises nothing good.

Still, she thanks him and straightens up to drink. 

Wolfwood keeps watching her in a way that makes her incredibly self-conscious. He always does, when he puts his full attention on her, his dark eyes making her want to squirm and smooth down her hair. But right now, it's more and it's worse. (She hadn't known that was possible.)

Meryl feels a drop of water escape the corner of her mouth as she drinks and roll down her chin and neck and she could swear Wolfwood follows its path with his gaze, lingering where the droplet meets its end at the collar of her t-shirt and tracing the path back up to her lips.

Suddenly she really wishes Vash was here - though his cheeriness and volume would make her headache worse, at least he would distract Wolfwood, turn this into something more familiar. And the hangover soup he makes is divine.

It's not that she and Wolfwood can't hang out or don't get along - they do. In their own way that would make most people assume they can barely tolerate each other, sure, but what do they care about how others perceive their bickering. When she needs an honest, if biting opinion on her newest article or wants to tear the newest popular, but lackluster and plothole riddled series to shreds with someone who gets it , there is no one better to go to than Wolfwood.

(Vash loves to sit down and just listen to them go at it, chin in his hands and warm smile on his face that she can't look at too much directly or it sends butterflies dancing in her chest like sun spots.)

But all of that is one thing and the way he's looking at her as if he's gauging the best moment to pounce is something completely different. What's worse, he looks so good in the early morning - black turtleneck accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist, long fingers wrapped around a huge coffee mug almost as if on display, hair mussed just enough to make her want to mess it up a touch more and run her palm down his stubbled cheek.

Meryl drops her gaze first, gets a refill of water. If he makes a joke about her being thirsty again, she will cuss him out for real this time.

"So, what got our Miss Proper utterly wasted last night, hm?" Wolfwood doesn't seem satisfied to just let the silence rule across the kitchen and Meryl groans in mortification. She'd really hoped she hadn't run into him last night. God only knows what nonsense (or truths) she could babble in such a state.

"Got carried away celebrating a promotion with Milly," she admits, resting her head against the wall, skirting her gaze over him and toward the window, squinting at the light. 

"Oh, how come I hear about that only now? Thought we were friends, gatinha," she makes a disgruntled noise at the pet name, out of principle not actual upset, "'N Vash usually can't wait to brag about yer achievements, can't believe he didn't call me to yell all about it."

Meryl hopes the heat in her face is not as vivid as it feels, she hadn't known Vash spoke about her like that when she isn't around. It feels more special somehow, than just the way he hypes her up when next to her, though she dearly loves that, too.

"We learned last night ourselves," Meryl explains. The news had mixed well with the champagne, sweet bubbles filling her head and making reason pop like one, too.

Wolfwood hums softly as he considers it, turning away from her to start washing his mug. It's a relief, not to have his eyes on her anymore, but part of her, a part that is surely still drunk, misses his gaze, the intensity and focus that he's been giving her this morning. The sort she could feel even when she wasn't looking at him at all.

Meryl is looking now, though. Letting herself appreciate the way the turtleneck hugs his form, how his shoulder blades move beneath the fabric as he reaches for the dish towel and dutifully, carefully dries his mug. He's always been the tidiest of them all. Her gaze tracks upward, to the back of his neck and she suddenly thinks - if she was taller, she could peel it back, revealing the beautiful line of his throat and press a kiss there, right beneath his ear. If she sat on the counter, she'd be just the right height -

The thought is not unfamiliar , but it startles her all the same and as she pushes it away, it rolls away with a sound like a cat toy filled with something to make a noise at the slightest shift.

"Suppose we oughta celebrate then, when Vash comes back," Wolfwood interrupts her attempts to ignore the rattling ball of bad ideas. She'd seen him turn back around, but somehow not registered it. Meryl hopes she didn't startle too visibly.

"That'd be nice," she agrees with a smile. Vash has a habit of throwing celebrations for the silliest reasons, like today is national pasta day or the day has gotten a specific length before the sun sets, so casual, silly get togethers aren't strangers to this apartment. And she really doesn't think she wants anything more, either. Even if they just treat her to pizza and her pick of a movie, she'd love it.

"No getting trêbada, tho, wouldn't want a repeat of last night." 

There is something in his tone, something knowing and sly, that makes Meryl straighten up and tense, while he's still the perfect picture of relaxed swagger, relaxing against the counter and grinning at her.

"What do you mean?" Meryl's voice sounds dry and cracked, a pitch higher than she would have liked, and her heart is beating the drum in her temples at the tempo contest.

"Ya don't remember at all, do ya?" Wolfwood drawls and pushes himself off the edge counter. She sits with her hands clutched in her lap, feeling drawn like a bowstring, as he approaches her, stops so very close that their knees touch and when he leans down, she can distinguish his pupils from the deep, rich brown surrounding them. 

She watches like spellbound when he hooks one of his long fingers behind the edge of his turtleneck's collar and peels it back, turning his head just so she can have a good look at the smudged lipstick mark on his throat. The same shade she'd scrubbed from her face earlier this morning, half surprised it had lasted until then, half lamenting it had gotten so smudged all the same. Perhaps it was understandable, considering what she'd gotten up to, Meryl thinks numbly.

"Kept that one for a good luck charm today," Wolfwood says, in a low voice that makes all of this somehow even more something she can't define in her current state. His word choice doesn't help - that one, as if she'd kissed him all over - and she can't tell if it's an image created by him or a stray memory, but she can picture doing just that, straddling his lap on the couch and pressing her mouth all over his face, with loud mwah noises to accentuate each sloppy kiss.

"If ya want to shower me in affection," Wolfwood continues, either oblivious or sharply aware of her internal spiral, and then his index finger tips her chin up just so, "prefer ya did it sober next time so I can reciprocate."

Her heart might jump through her mouth and into his face, for him to do with it as he pleases. Surely, even that would be less embarrassing. Surely, even that wouldn't be as impossible as the picture of possibilities that Wolfwood's just created.

"'N I think Blondie would like to join in on the fun, too." His thumb brushes a whisper of a touch across her bottom lip, a burning tingle left in its wake, and then he draws back to his full height, leaving her gaping up at him.

Just like that, he walks away, as if nothing has happened, as if her world didn’t just get shaken like a snowglobe.

At least that's what she thinks, until Wolfwood trips over the threshold and curses loudly. She can hear him stifling more choice words as he slightly limps down the corridor and the beautiful absurdity of it all makes Meryl burst into giggles, burying her face in her hands.

Maybe she'll get to kiss his ego better, later. God knows he doesn't need it, but she might anyway.

---

Wolfwood last night: exhibit a, exhibit b.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Beryl Coronet pt 3

Come on, Mary! I believe in you.

Weird, how it's this one and The Naval Treaty that I had such strong ideas about whodunnit from the first introduction of the character and they're both about people making poor security decisions that could lead to national disaster. But on this one I'm supporting (one part of) the criminal duo, and in The Naval Treaty, I particularly disliked the culprit.

Mary is kind of horrible for not saving her cousin, though. He's willing to go to jail for her (if I'm right) and she's just telling everyone 'oh, he couldn't have done it!' and not actually coming up with a good reason. She didn't even get interviewed immediately because she 'fainted'. She had plenty of time to come up with a story. Maybe being woken up by a loud snap and then hearing Arthur moving around. But no, she's instead trying to get her maid framed for it all.

You can really go off a girl.

“I think that this should do,” said he, glancing into the glass above the fireplace. “I only wish that you could come with me, Watson, but I fear that it won't do. I may be on the trail in this matter, or I may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but I shall soon know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few hours.”

Oh yeah, Holmes is in disguise in some attempt to win back the beryls.

I like how he says 'I wish you could come with me, Watson' but is vague on the why not. 'It won't do' - translation: you are a terrible actor and no one alive would ever be fooled by you, also you'd blurt something out right at an important moment and ruin everything.' Let's be real. We all know.

Watson is not made for undercover work. I love him, but he would be about as useful a spy as a giant panda in an aquarium.

Or Captain America in a trenchcoat. (I love this picture).

I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so I retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness caused me no surprise.

Firstly, Watson is definitely living in Baker St atm. Either his wife is visiting her 'mother' again, or she's thrown him out. Also, him staying up until midnight although he knows that sometimes Sherlock doesn't come home for days is sort of nice, sort of a bit excessive.

Apparently Holmes does not need sleep. This is probably because he lives on tobacco, caffeine and cocaine. The fact he isn't constantly bouncing off the walls is impressive.

It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the change which had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter.

That's not how white hair works, Watson. It's not that all of your hair gets lighter... that's not... Fine. I guess you're the doctor.

This is quite a transformation overnight, though. I'd suspect poison if it wasn't fairly common in these stories for people to suffer massive and immediate health conditions from sudden shock.

“I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,” said he. “Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted me.”

What you have done is be a massive idiot who doesn't understand the meanings of the words 'secure' or 'discreet'.

I'm still kind of mad at Mary for trying to pin her crime on someone else while simultaneously not offering her cousin who saved her ass any real help. BUT, having said that...

"I had said to her last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all might have been well with him."

Wow, dick move. Blaming her. Yes, I literally believe she is guilty and it is her fault entirely but Mr Holder here still believes her a perfect little angel woman, so going 'if you'd have married him, none of this would have happened'.

My dude. I had no sympathy for you. I am now in negative sympathy for you. All my care for the victims of this situation is going to Lucy, because all Arthur has to do to give himself a chance is tell the truth. Mary, if she hadn't tried to throw Lucy under the bus, I would be supporting completely.

I'm still supporting her, like 75%. I'm glad she's out of there. I hope this is one of the stories where the culprits never get caught and she and Sir George Burnwell (who maybe is not such a cad as I presumed) go on to steal many more priceless artefacts from rich people who don't take care of them.

Her letter is so fucking funny when read from the POV of someone who thinks she's guilty.

“‘My dearest Uncle: “‘I feel that I have brought trouble upon you, and that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must leave you forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in death, I am ever “‘Your loving “‘Mary.’"

"Hey Unc, Whoops, my bad! If I hadn't stolen the jewels with my lover then my cousin wouldn't have been arrested for stealing the crown jewels and you wouldn't be in trouble for having lost them. I feel so guilty that I'm running off with my lover, but it's okay because we've sold the jewels so we're rich! Gonna change my name and live a life of luxury in another country. Thanks for making this so easy for me. Love, Mary xxx'

Or... at least... that's how I read it.

“No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible solution."

Holmes is with me on this. Mary needed to get out of that house.

“That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter. And there is a little reward, I fancy."

A reward for finding the beryls. Is Holmes asking for the reward here or saying that Mr Holder will get the reward? Because Mr Holder deserves 0 rewards. No rewards for him.

"Have you your check-book? Here is a pen. Better make it out for £4000.”

Ah, no. Sherlock is getting the reward. Lolol. Well yeah, you deserve that.

£4000 is the equivalent of about £414,000 today. Which is an insane amount of money to write a cheque for. And it means that Burnwell and Mary (or whoever it was...) got away with the equivalent of over £300,000 which is a nice little amount. Holmes got the equivalent of £100,000 for a few days' work. Nice.

“You have it!” he gasped. “I am saved! I am saved!”

I mean... the coronet is still damaged. The police still had to get involved. I'm pretty sure the bank knows, and HRH Bertie knows and his mum the queen knows so... are you saved? Are you really? There's no way you can get your job back after you showed how utterly terrible you are at it. You clearly cannot keep a secret to save your literal life. The heir to the throne knows exactly how incompetent you are. This feels like 'I'm probably not going to be hanged for treason' not 'everything will be sunshine and kittens'.

“No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I should be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to have one.”

Substitute 'idiot' for 'lad' please. Very noble, sure. But don't get yourself thrown in jail for something that could genuinely be considered treason just because you want to protect a girl who doesn't love you back. Don't do it. It all sounds super romantic, but it's actually just dumb.

“You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him know that the truth is known.” “He knows it already."

Holmes, telling people in the right order. Yeah, he went to talk to the man who was falsely imprisoned before the idiot who was sort of responsible for him being there.

"...that which it is hardest for me to say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding between Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now fled together.”

I'm glad Sir George turned out to be a good sort in the end. I was pretty sure he'd just done a runner and left her, but no. The couple who steals together stays together, and I think that's beautiful.

"Neither you nor your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into your family circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in England—a ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece knew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he said, but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing him nearly every evening."

I mean, he could have just left her behind. Could absolutely be worse. Also, way to take away Mary's agency in the matter. She absolutely knew that stealing the crown jewels was against the law. That's not exactly a difficult one to work out. She made her choices. I support them fully (apart from Lucy). She's 24 years old. Earlier you called her old and now she's too young and naive to know what was going on? A four year old knows stealing is wrong. She conspired to steal (part of) the crown jewels and run off with them. She let her cousin take the fall for her and pointed suspicion at two other innocent people. The girl was not just a victim in this mess. Don't pretend like she didn't know what she was doing or getting into. She absolutely knew it. And she did it anyway. Get your heads out of the misogyny juice and just accept a woman can commit a crime.

Honestly, men get the credit for all female accomplishments. Lolol.

"His footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the coronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will."

Did you hear this conversation? Were you there? Was it recorded? How tf do you know that it was his idea and not hers? Maybe they planned it together. Maybe she was like 'hey, my uncle's an idiot who brought a 10 million dollar crown home and stuck it in his old desk that opens if you hit it in the right place, want to do a heist?' You weren't there. You've got no clue how it went.

I want to think you're saying all of this just to make Mr Holder feel less bad about it all. Just making stuff up and making Mary seem like an innocent victim in order to soothe him a little. Because you've got no evidence she wasn't just as culpable as Sir George.

"...walking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into your dressing-room. [...] Presently she emerged from the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, [...] He saw her stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room..."

Yup, you're telling me she was practically blameless and only did it because she was manipulated by the terrible, evil man, and she did the actual deed single-handedly and with no sign of doubt or hesitation? The equivalent of £10 million in her hands and she just walks to the window and passes it out? Yeah, she's absolutely a helpless naive victim. I totally buy that.

Or... y'know, Sir George actually is an archfey and he enchanted her to do it.

“As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved."

I mean... I feel like he could have revealed himself and whispered 'Hey, Mary, what are you doing with that very valuable coronet?' and made her put it back by interrupting the whole affair. Rather than, you know... just standing back and watching.

“He could not explain the true state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. He took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her secret.”

"He took the more chivalrous foolish view..." <- fixed it for you.

“It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Drink!

"But if it were the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? There could be no possible reason."

"I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes."

Who had 'to buy shoes' as the reason for the disguise? Because I definitely did not have that one. Oh, the good old days when people would turn up at your door to chat up your servants and buy your old shoes.

"It was a delicate part which I had to play then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the matter."

But also, getting rid of something that identifiable would be a tricky business. They needed a buyer, you needed a secret. Mutually beneficial arrangement.

Holmes pointing guns at people off screen, why do you so rarely show us the action, ACD?

"‘Why, dash it all!’ said he, ‘I've let them go at six hundred for the three!’"

Omg. LOL. Nooooo. George. You were doing so well. You only got 600 for them? A fifth of what you could have got. My dude, my dude.

Mary, get a better guy. This one done fucked up. 600 might seem a lot for now, but it's going to disappear super quickly.

“A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,” said the banker, rising.

How? Like I said before. The police were involved. The coronet is still broken. How is this all being covered up so easily? A man has been arrested.

“I think that we may safely say,” returned Holmes, “that she is wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment.”

...

Is this like 'she will be a ruined woman' kind of punishment, because...? Yeah, no. 'She's going to receive her karma because the guy will leave her and society is broken and punishes women for not being pure, virginal angels?' I do not like.

I reject your conjectured ending and substitute my own in which she and George (although he needs to get better at haggling, yikes) travel the continent and steal priceless artefacts together and she's the brains of the operation.

We're not going to leave it with 'despite the fact I have described this entire story as though she is the blameless, brainless puppet of an evil man, she will receive punishment for her naivete in the form of being "ruined" and all that comes with it.'

Fuck that shit. Mary has to bear some responsibility for her actions, and there's a decidedly creepy rapey sort of undertone to the implications here. Much ick. Do not like. Badass crime couple for the win.

Oh, next one is The Final Problem. I mean, of course I remember that one.

[detective-giggles]

Proposal Prep

5 times Carlos asks for permission to marry TK and the time he finally asks TK.

My second Tarlos fic, in a convenient 5+1 format!

Thank you to the wonderful Sarah for the beta, and thank you to Jae and Rae for cheerleading this fic (when I was starting and when I switched courses halfway through!)

Word count: 3264

***

1. Judd + Grace

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything?” Grace offered, watching intently as Carlos added the finishing touches to their dinner.

Carlos looked up owlishly. “No, it’s okay, thanks.  Actually, it’s all ready. If you guys want to have a seat, I’ll finish bringing it all over.” He slipped on an oven mitt and paused, watching as Judd pulled out the chair for Grace and kissed her softly on the cheek before taking his own seat next to his wife.

“We waitin’ on TK?” Judd asked, noticing the table was missing a setting.

“Uh, no. He’s on shift until tomorrow morning.” Carlos forced a smile as he placed the serving platter in the middle of the table.  He was nervous, although he knew that was ridiculous. He’d been hanging out with the 126 since he and TK became a couple, and everyone had always supported their relationship. “But I wanted to talk to you guys about TK. About us.” He added, dishing up a large serving on each plate in lieu of making eye contact with his guests.

Grace took a small sip of her wine and exchanged glances with her husband. “So you thought you’d wine and dine the old married couple for relationship advice?”

Carlos’ eyes widened. “What? No! Of course not! I don’t need- I mean, we’re good. TK and I, we’re really good.” He took a large drink from his own glass before continuing. “In fact, I’m going to ask TK to marry me?”

He watched as Judd attempted to look surprised and Grace, usually always composed, let out the tiniest squeal.

“You done?” Judd huffed a laugh at his wife’s reaction and shook his head, turning back towards Carlos. “Well, are you askin’ us? Or tellin’ us?” he asked, sounding unimpressed.

“Judd!” Grace chastised.

“What? I ain’t said nothin’.”

“Um, asking,” Carlos piped up. He hesitated when both sets of eyes turned towards him and Grace cocked her head to the side. “Officially. I know I could just ask Owen, but that doesn’t seem right. You guys are all family.”

Judd nodded slowly, and Carlos let out a sigh of relief when a large grin spread across Judd’s face. “Hell yes! You two are always acting like lovesick fools. It’s about damn time!”

“Thanks, Judd.”

“Oh, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t ask me to be in it.”

Carlos and Grace laughed. “I think we can honor that,” Carlos promised. “But I will need your help if you’re up for it. I want to talk to Tommy and Nancy tomorrow morning. And obviously I’ll need someone to distract TK.”

“Hmmm. I’ll think of something.”

2. Tommy + Nancy

“Hey, Carlos.” Tommy smiled warmly as Carlos slipped into the fire station.  He had a drink carrier in one hand, and he gave a small wave with the other.

“Carlos!” Nancy popped her head out of the ambulance, her hands full of supplies. “You just missed your boy. Judd just pulled him out of here!” 

“Yeah, that was intentional.” Carlos explained as he held the carrier out in offering. Tommy and Nancy each eagerly grabbed a cup and Carlos took the remaining cup and tossed the carrier in the bin.

“Okay, what’s going on, Reyes?” Tommy asked, sipping at the warm coffee. “This looks like a bribe.”

“I would just like to make it clear, that I’m okay with a caffeine-filled bribe. Especially at the end of a 24-hour shift.” Nancy piped up.

“Can we all talk? Maybe somewhere a little more discreet than your office?” Carlos tucked his hand into the pocket of his jeans and looked around furtively.

“Sure.” Tommy’s face turned from amusement to concern. She led the way upstairs, to the bunkroom the paramedics used on their overnights. It was smaller than the one on the firefighter side, but it was cozier. (Not that Carlos had snuck in there a time or two with TK or anything.)

Tommy and Nancy dropped into a bunk and Carlos slowly sat onto the one across from them.

“What’s up?” Nancy asked, eyeing Carlos carefully.

“So, TK and I have been together for a while and things are… well, kind of amazing. I still don’t know how we were lucky enough to find each other but I am so grateful for every day we have had together, and I want to make sure that we have many more of them.” Carlos looked around and then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tommy, Nancy… I want to ask TK to marry me. And I want to know that you guys would be okay with it.”

“Carlos…”

“I know I don’t have to ask, but if I’m going to do this, I want to do it right. And you guys are family.”

“Dude, you can’t make me ugly cry this early in the morning! That’s like, the sweetest thing.”

“So they’re happy tears?”

Nancy wrinkled her nose and sniffled before nodding. “Can I give you a hug?” Carlos nodded and Nancy joined him on the bunk, wrapping her arms around him.  “I’m going to speak for us both,” Nancy began, “You have been so good for TK. He’s so…happy. When he’s with you, he knows he’s safe. We know he’s safe.”

“You know, Austin really isn’t that dangerous of a town.” Carlos chuckled softly at his lame joke.

“You know what she means. We know you’re not going to break his heart.” Tommy smiled.

Carlos took a moment to look both women in the eye. “I won’t. I promise.”

3. Gwyn

“Gwyneth Morgan speaking.”

Carlos took a deep breath, “Hey! Gwyn!  It’s Carlos.”

“Carlos?”

“Yes. Carlos… Reyes… Um, TK’s Carlos.”

He heard Gwyn’s flustered chuckle and a screech- courtesy of TK’s baby brother. Carlos winced, he had forgotten about the baby- and the slight time difference. “Right, Carlos! I’m sorry, it’s bedtime and a zoo around here.” There was a slight pause and a sigh. “What happened? Who’s hurt?”

“What? No! No, no. Everyone’s fine! TK and Owen are both- I’m sorry, Gwyn, I didn’t mean to worry you. They’re both fine.” Carlos groaned softly when he remembered part of the reason he had met Gwyn was after TK had been seriously injured. Admittedly, it was weird to be contacted out of the blue by your son’s boyfriend, he didn’t blame her for being worried.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

Carlos paused and the awkward silence made his stomach flip. “So, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He stood, pacing back and forth in his living room.

“Okay…”

“You know, you’ve raised a good son. TK is smart, he’s funny, he has a gentle soul. He’s amazing. I honestly thought someone like TK only existed in my dreams.  Now that I have him, I know I don’t want to let him go.  Gwyn, I want to ask TK to marry me, and I want your blessing.”

“Oh… That is not what I was expecting. I, uh, have you talked to Owen yet?”

“No, not yet. I will, I just haven’t had the chance.”

Gwyn sighed. “Look, Carlos. I like you; I really do.  I have seen you two together, and I think you’re good for him.  You’re a good influence on my son. He has grown up a lot since he’s been in Austin, and I know that at least some of that is because of you.”

“But?”

“I just- he’s my son and I love him more than anything. Even when he makes it difficult. I need to know that you’ll do the same. You say you love him when he’s at his best. But I need to know you’ll love him at his worst.”

“Gwyn, I promise. TK is important to me, and so is his sobriety.  I will continue to support him in any way that I can. I believe in him. And I don’t want him to fall- but I assure you, if he does, I will always be there to catch him.”

“I know you will. And yes, Carlos, I would be honored to have you as a son-in-law.”

4. Marjan, Paul, & Mateo

“Alright! Here you go.” Carlos set a tray full of tacos on the table in front of the remaining members of TK’s firefam.  He wasn’t as nervous as he had been before talking with Judd and Grace, but Mateo was eyeing him suspiciously and that was putting him a little on edge.

Everyone grabbed a taco and ate in silence for a minute. Everyone except for Mateo, that is.

“Ohhh, these are delicious!” Paul grabbed another taco. “You’re not eating?” he nudged Mateo.

“This is weird. Why are we here?” Mateo asked, crossing his arms, “and where’s TK?”

“We can have lunch with our friend, Mateo, it’s okay.” Marjan paused and set her taco back onto her plate. “But it is a little weird. You two are usually joined at the hip. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to talk to you guys. About me,” he shrugged, “and TK.

“I knew it. There’s something going on. You’ve been acting weird.” Mateo accused.

“I have not!”

“You have been acting a little weird.” Paul confirmed.

“You’re breaking up, aren’t you?”

“What? No! Mateo, we’re not breaking up.”

“Yes. This is exactly what happens when parents get divorced, and then the kids have to decide who they’re gonna live with and who they’re gonna spend holidays with.” Mateo crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “Well, I’m sorry Carlos, but TK is like a brother to me. If you dump him, you’re gonna lose us all. Right, guys?”

Marjan sighed and wrinkled her nose. “Are you done?” she asked Mateo. Turning to Carlos she shrugged, “But he has a point.”

“No! That’s not- I didn’t bring you here for that, I swear!” Carlos looked at each of them in turn and he had to bite back a smile. As obnoxious as this was becoming, it made his heart happy to hear how fiercely they were willing to protect TK. He glanced back at Paul.  Paul hadn’t taken his eyes off Carlos, watching his reactions very carefully.

“They’re not breaking up.” Paul piped up.

“Thank you!”

“They’re getting married!” He added slowly.

Carlos nodded. “I’ve known you for years and it’s still creepy when you do that.”

“What? You proposed and didn’t tell us?” Marjan pouted.

“No! Not yet! But that’s why I brought you here. To tell you. Well, to ask you. TK is your family, you all just proved it. So, I’m asking your permission to ask TK to marry me.”

Paul cocked his head to the side. “Huh. I didn’t see that coming.”

“Oooh something you couldn’t predict?” Marjan teased before turning back to Carlos.  “You’re really asking us?”

“I am.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm? What kind of answer is that?” Paul asked. “You know what? Yes. Carlos, yes. What you two share is beautiful and I, for one, can not stand between that.”

“Thanks, Paul.” They both looked at Marjan and Mateo expectantly.

After a few long moments, Marjan let out a whoop. “Carlos, Paul’s right, we can’t say no.  We’ve seen you two together and you two are already way too much like a married couple. Just make it official, please.”

“Thanks, Marj. Mateo? Thoughts?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool, I guess.”

“Way to sound excited.” Marjan gave him a little nudge. “What’s up?”

“Are you guys gonna have kids and forget about us?”

“What kind of question is that?” Paul rolled his eyes.

“No. I mean, yes, we’ve talked about kids, Mateo. But it’s not something we’d do right away. And we’ll still be around to hang out with you guys. We won’t abandon the 126.”

 “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Mateo nodded. “Alright. Go ahead.”

5. Owen

“Hey, Carlos! Come in. You didn’t have to knock, you used to live here. Don’t you still have a key?” Owen said as he pulled open the door and then stepped aside, closing the door once Carlos had moved past him.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think about it.”

“Well, come on. Do you want something to drink?” Carlos followed Owen to the kitchen and leaned heavily against the counter.

“No, thanks, Owen. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure, Carlos. Have a seat. Is everything okay?”

Carlos nodded as he dropped into the chair opposite of Owen. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I know you have a shift in a bit, so I’m just going to get to the point.  I’d like to ask your permission to ask TK to marry me.”

“You know, I remember the day TK brought his ex, Alex, home.”

“Sir?” Carlos had heard a few Alex stories, all from TK’s point of view, but he was morbidly curious what the elder Strand thought of TK’s ex.

“We had dinner, takeout from somewhere. Alex was nice, polite. It was relatively un-remarkable.  So he leaves, and TK asks me what I think.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“I didn’t.” Owen confirmed. “Anyway, TK asks what I think, and I tell him.  I tell him that I don’t think Alex is right for him, and honestly, I think he knows it too.  I also tell him that when he finds the right person, he’s gonna know it and he’s not gonna care what I think.”

Carlos nodded slowly. He felt like he knew where Owen’s story was going to go, but really wished Owen would put him out of his misery.

“So, we move here and fast forward to a year or so ago. You two had only been official for a few weeks. It was the night you joined us for dinner at the firehouse before your shift.  TK walks you out and he comes back into the kitchen, and I tell him that I like you. I think you’re a good fit.  And TK, he gives me this shit-eating grin and tells me he’s glad I like you but that he doesn’t care what I think.”

Carlos laughed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Carlos, he is so happy when he’s with you. I see the way he lights up when you walk into a room. This move to Austin has been healing for him, and I know you’re a large part of that.  I just want what’s best for him, and I’ve seen you enough to know, that’s you.”

“Gwyn pretty much said the same thing.”

“It’s true. But you knew I was going to say yes, right?”

Carlos chuckled, “I had assumed that, yes. But it’s still nice to hear.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Just promise me you two won’t go elope or anything like that. TK’s mother will kill me if she doesn’t get to watch her son get married.”

“I cannot promise that. But no matter where or when, I promise that you and Gwyn will both be invited.”

“Good enough. Thank you, Carlos.”

+1 TK

Carlos hummed to himself as he checked the food he had in the oven. TK would be home any minute and tonight was the night. It had been a week since he’d talked with Owen and the firefam was getting impatient. He fielded at least one text from Nancy every shift after TK would show up sans ring, sometimes Paul and Marjan would join in. Grace had taken over as unofficial wedding planner and occasionally sent him color schemes and venue ideas- and he didn’t know how long he could keep hiding his messages from TK.

His phone beeped and he glanced at it, groaning a little when he saw Nancy’s name flash on the screen.  “Tonight, Nance, I promise! I’m doing it tonight!”

“Um, hey listen, so TK’s okay- he’s fine! But we’re at Austin General.”

Carlos paused and he realized his hands were shaking slightly as he reached out to turn the oven off.  “So when you say fine…”

“He’s fine, I promise! I’m certain he’s going to need a few stitches, but really, on the scale of TK’s injuries, this is nothing to worry about.” Nancy tried to explain. “He’s asking for you.”

“I’m on my way” he promised. Carlos grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

***

“Hey, baby.” Carlos paused at the foot of TK’s bed. His boyfriend looked fine.  There weren’t any obvious injuries, but the fact they hadn’t released him was still causing Carlos a little anxiety.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Nancy stood and gave TK’s arm a little squeeze. She paused as she passed by Carlos. “I think the tie’s a little much,” she whispered, giving the offending silk a playful tug.

“Go on, get out of here.” Carlos made his way to the seat Nancy had vacated.   “Hey, you okay?” Carlos gently smoothed TK’s hair back and kissed the top of his head.

“Yeah.” TK gestured to his leg. “It’s just a few stitches, nothing to worry about. They’re just keeping me overnight to monitor for infection. Um, why are you all dressed up?” TK chewed on his bottom lip. “Did you have something planned?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I didn’t change after Nancy called me. I just came straight here.”

“I’m sorry. I told her to tell you I was fine and not to worry.”

“She did. And I worried anyway.”

TK chuckled, “Carlos, I-”

“TK, the thought of losing you makes me crazy.”

“Ohhh, babe. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” TK reached out and gently caressed Carlos’ cheek. “Which, I know that would sound a lot more comforting if I wasn’t currently in a hospital bed.” Carlos caught TK’s hand and turned his head, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“No, I know. I just- I guess what I was saying is…” Carlos paused, wondering how actually crazy he was to still be considering proposing under the circumstances.  “Marry me, TK, please?”

TK gave Carlos a puzzled look. “Is that really what you were going to do tonight? This isn’t some knee-jerk reaction to this?” he gestured vaguely around the hospital room.

Carlos swallowed hard and nodded, pulling the small, velvet box from his pocket.  “I’ve been planning for weeks. I asked your dad. And Gwyn. And, um, everyone else.”

“Everyone?”

“Judd, Grace, Tommy, Nancy, Paul, Mateo, Marjan… The whole crew.”

“You really did all that for me?” TK’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, and they all said yes faster than you are.  Also, I think Grace has already started making plans, so she’s going to kill you if you don’t say yes.”

“Carlos! Of course the answer is yes!” Carlos leaned in and wrapped his arms around TK, giving him a tight squeeze. TK tipped his head up for a kiss and Carlos obliged, keeping it short and sweet, considering their current location.  Carlos plucked the ring out of the box and slipped it onto his fiancé’s finger.

TK shifted to the side and patted the bed next to him.

“No, TK.”

TK looked up at Carlos, his eyes wide and innocent as he tapped the bed again. “Come sit.”

“You’re gonna get me kicked out of the hospital.” Carlos mumbled as he sat on the edge of the bed. “And then you’ll have to spend your first night engaged alone.” Carlos toed off his shoes and settled himself on the bed, carefully, and TK tucked himself into Carlos’ side.

“Even if we have to spend tonight apart, we’ll have plenty more nights together.”

“A lifetime of them.” Carlos promised.

 **

A/N: This is actually the longest fic I’ve ever written. Random: The bit with Owen is based on a true conversation my husband had with his dad right after he started dating me.

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The city he had chosen to stay in was terrible.

It was noisy, it was crowdy, and the constant heat was making Levi go insane.

And while the city’s loudness and the amount of people in it made it easier for him to blend in, get lost in plain sight and all that bullshit, the heat— the fucking heat, gods, it was killing him.

Levi didn’t like cold weather, despised all the layer of clothes he had to put on just to get to the nearest supermarket and buy instant noodles, he hated the snow with passion he carried since his childhood, he thought that winter was the worst season of them all.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The heat was making his skin crawl. Even in just tank top and shorts, he felt too hot. Drinking cold water, taking cold showers, none of it helped. Levi turned the air conditioning in his room on maximum, but the motel he was staying at was shitty, his room was shitty, and, as a result, the air conditioning was shitty too.

Levi was sick of it. His skin was constantly clammy and sticky, he couldn’t sleep at night, there was never enough air around him, and walking around the city during the daytime made him seriously consider whether he was actually a vampire.

The sun… could it really burn so much? It didn’t used to be so unbearable before.

But apart from that… Levi was starting to accommodate to his new life.

Leaving his hometown behind, he decided to let go of his previous habits too. He got himself a job - not a respectable, but at least an honest one.

Being a janitor in a shitty bar after spending most of his life as a thief was almost… therapeutic.

The vomit on the walls and piss on the floors were enraging him to the point of seeing red and sometimes he wanted to break a leg of every asshole who didn’t know when they had enough and went to make a mess in the toilet, but… working there was therapeutic nevertheless. And a definite improvement too.

At least, his life wasn’t in danger anymore and he didn’t have to run away from police.

Although, he wouldn’t mind running away from a certain police officer. Perhaps, this time he would let her catch him. Perhaps, then his heart would stop clenching in pain every time he thought about Hange.

Perhaps, then he’d be able to let go.

He tried letting go, forgetting about Hange, just as he tried to put behind his life of crime. Unfortunately, putting Hange behind proved to be that much harder.

Some nights, when the heat was especially bad, he felt especially lonely and the shitty whiskey at the shitty bar he was working at didn’t do the trick, he’d snuck a look at how Hange was doing. He’d open his phone, scroll through a news feed. If he’d get lucky, there would a recording of some press conference with Hange at the center of it all.

Apparently, she was doing well. Her shoulder was almost healed, although sometimes she still winced, when gesticulating too frantically. But the paleness in her face that was present when he had visited her at the hospital was long gone, and at the few press conferences that allowed Levi to catch a glimpse of her, Hange’s cheeks were adorned by healthy, rosy blush. Her hair was just as wild, just as messy, and her voice carried the same inspiring conviction.

Whether Hange found out the truth about him or not, he didn’t know, but she had moved past Ackermans’ case and during the time Levi was getting used to his new life she alredy solved two robberies.

She was working on a new case now, something about a young girl who had mysteriously vanished. Levi didn’t bother to find out the details, the name Krista Lenz meant nothing to him, but nevertheless, he wished that Hange would succeed. She deserved that, her quick wit and determination were meant to be recognized and celebrated.

That bright, happy smile on her face, the one she was sporting during the conference that discussed one of the solved robberies, it suited Hange so much. Levi wished she’d wear it more often.

He wished he’d see it more often, but well… some things just weren’t meant to be.

Strangely so, Kenny didn’t contact him even once. No obnoxious phone call, no mysterious messages or weird gifts. There was no sign of him for almost two months, and Levi would have started worrying, would have tried to contact the man himself, if… if Kenny wasn’t Kenny.

His uncle was like a cockroach, Levi was one hundred percent sure that nothing and no one could cause him any harm. And if there was someone who actually could do this, Kenny would have harmed them back, ten times worse.

Still, the thoughts about Kenny lingered at the back of his mind, and memories about Hange did the same irritating thing. It made Levi feel awfully nostalgic sometimes, borderline melancholic. And fairly quickly he found out there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of whiskey or dirty toilets could chase that sadness away. That sadness was a new part of his new life.

Maybe, it was better than always living on the edge.

Luckily, he didn’t feel so lonely all the time, his colleagues at the bar made sure of that.

And while his boss, a bald, gross man called Shadis definitely wasn’t a joy to have around, two others – a barmaid named Sasha and waiter Connie were so much better.

They were annoying in their own right, of course. Sasha had a weird obsession with food, Connie’s sense of humor left much to be desired, and together both of them were so damn loud, but for brats who barely stepped into adulthood, they provided a fairly enjoyable company.

They let Levi take his mind off certain things, and they kept him from falling into the abyss of loneliness and depression.

They also opened up the side of him that Levi wasn’t even aware of.

Connie had once mentioned in a passing that his mother had died years ago, and whatever happened to Sasha’s family, she wasn’t living with them anymore, sharing a small flat with Connie and another guy, Jean.

In Levi’s humble, unbiased opinion, Jean was a self-centered, pompous jerk. He wasn’t working in the bar with his two friends, and instead had involved himself in some shady shit with a local gang, which apparently terrified the whole neighborhood. Levi wanted to tell the boy that he was a fucking idiot, if he thought that messing with criminals was a good idea, but he doubted that Jean would listen. Luckily, Jean wasn’t around too often and visited the bar only, when he was miserable about some girl he had a crush on, or whenever he wished to get drunk for free.

It was a good thing that Levi barely interacted with Jean. The boy was so annoying. And also – too damn tall.

He didn’t hear about any other friends of theirs, and as far as Levi was aware, there was no actual adult watching over Sasha and Connie, so… he kinda, unwillingly, of course, took that task upon himself.

Obviously, he made sure to remain discreet. He didn’t want the brats to know that he cared, because he didn’t, naturally.

He claimed that he simply cooked too much food and the leftovers would go to waste, if he didn’t give them away, when he brought them pasta or soup. He mentioned his insomnia and pretended that long walks helped him sleep better, when Sasha and Connie went home after midnight. He lied about having experience in bartending when Sasha got stomach flu. He said that he was just accidentally passing by their apartment, when later that day he visited to check on her.

The brats were too dense to notice his subtle attempts anyway, or so Levi hoped. They had never brought it up, and that had to mean something, right?

And that time when Connie tried to fix Levi’s air conditioning, or when Sasha brought a whole jar of his favorite tea, or all those evenings when he felt blue and homesick and they helped him clean the bar and took him out to dinner, surely it was nothing more than a coincidence.

The brats had their moments, Levi had to admit, and sometimes their presence was almost pleasant.

But sometimes they made him wish they shut their mouths and never opened them again.

Right now, that desire was more prevalent than ever.

“Say, Mister Levi,” Levi hated when they called him that, it made him sound even older than he actually was. He told them to stop it, many times. But the brats didn’t care. He slowly raised his eyes to show that he was listening. As soon as he did, Sasha put a fist underneath her chin, forgetting about the important task of cleaning the glasses to stare at him curiously. “Do you have someone?”

“Someone?” he had an inkling of what Sasha was asking him about, but he didn’t wish to discuss that with the damned brats. He didn’t wish to discuss that topic with no one, ever. Because… there was nothing to discuss.

“Yep, someone!” Connie chimed in. “Like, hm, a significant other?”

“A beloved!” Sasha agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

Levi felt the migraine coming. “I don’t have any kind of someone,” he gritted. “And I never did.”

“Really?” Sasha tilted her head to the side, looking so skeptical that Levi was ready to get offended. Was he not convincing enough? “I thought you do. It’s just that sometimes—”

“When you think no one is looking!” Connie swiftly added.

“Your face seems so much softer, and your scowl almost disappears, and you look—”

“Just like Jean when he thinks about Mikasa.”

Who the fuck was Mikasa? And what face was Jean making? Levi couldn’t be making the same one, could he?

“But if you say there is no one,” Sasha sighed, returning to her task of cleaning glasses. Wearing the same sad face as she did, Connie went back to gathering dishes from the tables. “Then I guess we’re wrong.”

Damn right, they were. There was no one, and whatever face they thought he was making, it couldn’t possibly be related to a certain police officer from the other side of the world.

“And if there is no one you have to think about,” Sasha winked, like she was seeing right through him. “Then let me make you a drink. It’s a new recipe I found, it involves tequila, vodka and—”

Levi raised a hand to cut her off. “Just surprise me.”

Sasha nodded and went to work. She frequently let Levi taste her new cocktails. He was the perfect man for it – he didn’t get drunk too fast, and he was the only Sasha’s friend who tasted something better than cheap whiskey or a beer from a local supermarket. He also never shied away from telling her when the drink was fucking awful.

Sasha hummed as she mixed the drink, some song Levi vaguely recognized from the radio. She was smiling too, she did that frequently, and something about her, be it the ponytail that jumped up and down when she was excited, or her easy-going, cheerful personality reminded him of Hange.

These days, lots of things reminded him about Hange. There were days when almost everything reminded him of Hange. It seemed like today was exactly a day like that.

“You’re making that same face again,” Sasha whispered, as she handed him the drink.

Levi scowled, glaring at the girl, as he put the glass up to his lips. He finished it in one go. “It tastes like shit,” he told her. “Put it on the menu.”

Sasha beamed, refilling his glass. “Knew you’d like it.”

“By the way, boss,” Levi wasn’t their boss, as far as he was aware, their actual boss was getting drunk in his office, all the while mumbling incomprehensible gibberish about some Carla. But Levi had to admit, being called boss was so much better than the godforsaken mister Levi. "Are you free tonight?"

Levi was free every day and every night, when he wasn’t working in the bar with Connie and Sasha. It wasn’t like he had any friends or even acquaintances beside two brats. However, saying it out loud would make him look even more pathetic that he actually was. So Levi shrugged, and said, as nonchalantly as possible, “Depends.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Connie asked, looking at him with a smile so hopeful that Levi was ready to say yes right that instant. God, they already had him wrapped around their fingers. How embarrassing. At least, Kenny wasn’t here to witness it. He’d have a laugh of his life, if he found that Levi was adopted by two teenagers. “Jean is away on a trip, so we’d be glad to have some company.”

“He went to see his family?”

From the way Sasha bit her lip and Connie refused to meet his eye, Levi knew – their friend didn’t go on a simple trip. He sighed, taking a sip from his glass and letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. Admittedly, it was none of his business. He shouldn’t care about it, he wasn’t their father, for god’s sake. But… a friendly piece of advice wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Your friend plays with fire. And if he continues doing so—”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie crossed hands on his chest defensively. “He is smart.”

Levi couldn’t help but scoff. “Just being smart is not enough. There will always be someone smarter.”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie repeated stubbornly. “He’ll be fine.”

Maybe, he will, maybe, he won’t. At the end of the day, Levi had no say about it. He might call them brats, but they were already adults. They were allowed to do as they wished. They were bound to make some mistakes.

“Tell him to be more careful. Otherwise, you’ll suffer too.”

Levi left it at that, not wanting to antagonize Sasha and Connie any further. Besides, it was time to open the bar, or the drunkards all across the block would start banging on their doors. Worse than that, Shadis might come out of his office too. His sour face was the last thing Levi wished to see.

“Let’s get to work,” he nodded to the kids, and took his drink to the dark corner of the room, where he usually spend his shifts, waiting until the patrons start making a mess he’d have to clean.

Surprisingly, the evening came and went, but there was no mess for him to deal with. No one vomited, no one shitted all over the toilets. No one spilled their beer on the floor, or even a table. Were their patrons starting to learn how act like people, and not pigs? Or were they so well-behaved because it was just the beginning of a week? Or did the heat finally get to them and turn them just as slow and tired as Levi himself felt?

However, the weather was more merciful that day. The temperature was still high, too high for Levi’s taste, but just after the sunset the wind was starting to pick up, the storm slowly brewing. During the smoke break outside the bar, Levi could see the lightening, illuminating the far edge of the sky. The rain was in the air, and he allowed his lips to curl up in a pleased smile. Perhaps, he’d finally be able to sleep through the whole night and not toss and turn, feeling like the bed turned into a scorching pan.

When he went back inside, the bar was almost empty, just a few regulars left, nursing their half-finished drinks.

“Do you want to have pizza or sushi?” Sasha asked, as he started sweeping the floor. “We can order both if you wish.”

Levi rolled his eyes with a disgusted tsk. “Eating so much takeout is unhealthy. Let’s finish here and go to supermarket. I’ll cook you something decent.”

Connie yelled a loud yahoo, while Sasha squeezed him in a suffocating hug. The heartwarming moment was cut short, when the door to the bar was thrown open with a loud bang.

It let inside the gush of wind and drops of freezing rain. With a broom still in his hands, Levi turned sharply to the door, ready to rip the unlucky drunkard a new one, the bar had closed almost an hour ago, the sign was right there for everyone to see.

All harsh words died on the way between his throat and his tongue. Levi froze on the spot, and in the silence that followed the lightning strike was as sudden as a gunshot.

Sasha’s distressed cry and Connie’s shocked sob put him out of the stupor.

Throwing the broom away, Levi moved, catching the falling, bloodied boy into his arms.

“Jean!” Sasha was the first one of the two to snap out of it. She ran to Levi, with trembling hands lifting up her friend’s face.

“What the fuck had happened?” Connie kneeled next to them, his eyes wide and scared as he stared at Jean.

Jean looked awful, there was no way around it. His cheeks and jaw were bruised, his right eye was already swollen, and his light brown hair had too much red in it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, too weak and injured to offer something more than a shaking whisper. “I’m sorry, I’ve fucked up, I didn’t know where to run and now they’re coming here, I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t think, I—”

He could continue that nonessential ramble for the rest of the night. But if they, whoever those they were, were truly coming, Jean and his friends didn’t have that much time. Carefully, Levi lifted Jean’s arm, wincing when he saw that the boy’s shirt was bloodied too, and threw it over Connie’s shoulder. Then he took the key from the back pocket of his shorts and thrusted it into Sasha’s palm.

“Take him to my room in the motel.”

“And you?”

Levi pushed the hair away from his face, already hating himself for his next words. Kenny was right, he cared too much, and it was his biggest weakness, one that would probably get him killed one day. Perhaps, that day had already arrived.

“I’ll stay here and buy you some time.”

“No!” Jean protested, frantically grabbing Levi by the elbow. “It’s my fuck up, you shouldn’t get involved, you don’t know—”

“I do know. And unlike you, I can actually take care of myself.”

Perhaps, he was too harsh, but it was necessary. Jean had fucked up, and whatever he had done, he had to own that mistake and learn from it. That was the only way he would survive through another one of his mistakes.

“Hurry up,” he told Sasha and Connie. “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m finished.”

Thankfully, they didn’t try to argue. Connie wished him luck and Sasha made him promise to come back, and that was it.

As soon as they had left, Levi hopped behind the bar counter to pour himself a shot of whiskey. He lighted up a cigarette, waiting for the front door to swing open and Jean’s persecutors to arrive. Hopefully, they’d do it without guns blazing.

He was just finishing the first glass and was thinking of getting himself a second one, when the mighty kick almost as loud as the thunder outside pushed the door open. Three men tumbled inside a second later, their faces transformed by fury into caricature masks.

“Where is that son of a bitch?” roared one in the middle, their leader, Levi assumed.

Levi was in no hurry to answer. He took the last drag of the cigarette, meticulously put it down against the surface of an ashtray. Then looked at the men in front of him. “The bar is closed. There is no one here but me.”

“Stop fucking with us!” the asshole on the left shouted. “We saw him run inside!”

“If that fucker isn’t here, perhaps we should look around for his friends,” the third man offered. “I know they’re working here.”

So there was no way around it? Levi sighed, walking from beyond the counter. “Just so you know,” approaching the men, he cracked his knuckles. “I don’t condone violence.”

One of the thugs started laughing, the other two immediately followed. Levi didn’t expect any other reaction. The men were burly, large, they definitely weren’t smart.

“What are you going to do to us, midget? Do you seriously think you can beat us up?”

The insult was followed by a punch, a careless, blundering one. Levi effortlessly dodged it, delivering a vicious kick to the stomach of his attacker. The man - who upon the close inspection had yellow teeth and reeked of cheap alcohol – staggered. He caught himself at the last second, holding onto nearest table with white-knuckled desperation. Levi hit again, this time with his knee. With a gasp that turned into a groan, the man fell onto the ground.

Luckily, he stayed there, and Levi turned his attention to the other two.

The one who stood at the left attacked instantly, aiming his enormous fist at Levi’s jaw. There was an unfinished bottle of whiskey on the counter right behind him, and Levi grabbed it, smashing it against the man’s head. The resulting sound was loud, almost deafening. Levi tried to forget about the mess of spilled whiskey on the floor and let himself enjoy that pleasant sound for another moment.

That was a slight miscalculation on his part, because the last man apparently was armed with knife, and he swung it without hesitation. Levi jumped to the side, but wasn’t quick enough. The knife’s edge kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind it. A mere second later, the knife was in the air once again. Levi was ready for it this time, but as he prepared to take a swift step back, his ankle refused to budge. He looked down to see that one of the defeated men was back in the game, still laying on a floor, but holding Levi in one place. Levi quickly dealt with him, using another leg to kick the man’s head. It took him no more than a moment, but it was enough for him to lose sight of his last attacker. Whatever plan of retaliation Levi had, he lost it, when the knife embedded in his forearm, making him hiss and cuss. Irritated, he roughly grabbed the hand that held the knife, twisting the arm at the wrist.

There was a loud crack, then the even louder scream.

Not too elegant, but, at least, it did the job.

Yanking the knife out of his arm, Levi threw it away, allowing it to clutter on the ground.

“Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled at the men, who weren’t laughing anymore. On the contrary, their faces were panicked, frightened. They pathetically scrambled to their feet, pushing each other to get outside as fast as possible. “And don’t come back!” Levi shouted to their backs.

When the door fell closed, Levi slumped back against the counter. The spot on his cheek was tingling unpleasantly, his arm was hurting like a bitch, and the whole bar had turned into a mess – the shards of glass and spilled whiskey were all over the floor. The blood from his arm was creating a small puddle too.

Levi viciously cursed and grabbed a towel, making a make-shift bandage. It had to do for the time being.

One mess was dealt with, and now another was awaiting him. He’d be lucky if the dirty floor would be the biggest of his troubles tonight.

But somehow, Levi knew that it was just the beginning.

***

Levi never considered himself to be a philosophic kind of person, he never pondered on the meaning of things, never felt the desire to look at the problem at hand from all possible angles, never reflected on his feelings and emotions.

He did however notice that the small room he had rented in a shitty motel at the edge of the city never felt to him like home. It was a place to live, it had a bed to sleep, it held some of his belongings, but it wasn’t a home, it didn’t provoke in him the feeling of belonging that he found inside the walls of his and Kenny’s old apartment.

He spent a little more than two months, living in that shithole, and never once he thought – I’m home, never once he felt – I belong right here.

But something very similar was blooming in his chest, when he passed the threshold of his shitty motel room and fell right into the arms of Connie and Sasha.

Sasha started cleaning his wounds right away, while Connie rushed to get the new bandages for his bloodied arm.

“You should have been more careful,” Sasha chided, and, fuck, he really got adopted by a couple of kids just like that.

“We could have dealt with this ourselves,” Connie said, and then, after a little pause, added, “Probably.”

Levi hummed and resisted the urge to ruffle the hair on their heads. He didn’t have that much affection for the little shits. Probably.

Just as they finished, Jean appeared, unsteadily walking out of the bathroom. He stopped not long after, leaning against the doorframe. Patched up and cleaned, he still didn’t look like his usual, confident and complacent self. Now he reminded Levi of a puppy who was thoroughly and viciously kicked. His hair was now clean of blood, but the shirt was still covered in red patches. Levi would have offered him one of his own t-shirts, but… on Jean’s lanky body it’d look more like a crop top. Or a child’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured, not meeting Levi’s eyes. “I didn’t know it’d lead to this.”

Yeah, they almost never know. Levi sighed, there was no point in scolding boy any further. He had realized his fuck up already, his buddies from the gang made sure of that.

“What the hell happened?” Levi asked, his back turned to Jean, as he went to prepare the tea for all of them. It would help to soothe some of Jean’s injuries, and it would also help to relieve Levi of the building tension in his shoulders.

“I… wasn’t quite ready for this life, I guess,” Jean sat down on a bed, covering his face with hands. “There is a guy I’ve been working with, he stole some drugs he was supposed to sell, and other gang members found out and decided to punish him, make an example out of him, but that guy… he was my friend, sort of? We hanged out a lot, and I just couldn’t see him get hurt like that…”

“Oh my god!” Sasha’s hands flew to her face and her mouth opened wide. “Did you get beat up because you tried to protect Marco?”

Connie snorted. “I see you’re getting over Mikasa pretty quickly.”

Behind his hands, Jean’s face started to gain color. “I just helped a guy out.”

“And didn’t even ask for a kiss after the heroic rescue?” Sasha teased.

“There wasn’t much time for kisses after the whole gang started running after us.”

“You poor thing,” Connie patted Jean’s head, sharing a mischievous look with Sasha. “Didn’t even get a kiss for all the trouble.”

The two boys started to bicker, and Levi watched the scene, feeling the pounding inside his head increase. It’d be a long, long night. The one he’d have to spend sleeping on a floor, because there were three brats in his room and only one queen-sized bed.

He raised a hand, putting a stop to the argument that was starting to raise in volume.

“Is the other guy alright?” he asked Jean, as he handed him a cup, filled with steaming tea.

Jean accepted the drink with a grateful nod, but didn’t answer the question right away, staring inside the cup thoughtfully. “He managed to get out of the city. The assholes that beat me up caught me just after he got on a bus.”

Well, that was certainly good news. The only one they received since the beginning of this evening.

“You have to run away too, preferably for quite some time. Those guys won’t forget about you so easily. Do you have a place where you can hide?”

“Well…” frowning, Jean rubbed his neck, “My parents have a summer house…”

“Excellent, does anyone know about it?”

“No, not even these idiots,” Jean answered, pointing at Sasha and Connie.

“Then take these idiots, because your gangster pals know, where all of you live and work,” Levi grumbled. “And get out of here first thing in the morning. Spend a few months in the countryside, wait until this shitty storm is over.”

“And what about you? Now they know about you too.”

What about him… good question. And a very easy one to answer. He’d have to change cities again, luckily, he already had some experience with that. Sure, it was an inconvenience, but… better than live his life and have to constantly look over his shoulder, or die in some dirty alleyway. Perhaps, he’d be able to return some day, when the tensions were long over.

“I’ll leave the city,” he told them. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You had to run away before?” Connie asked, awe written all over his face. “So cool!”

“And you beat up all these guys for us!” Sasha agreed, adoration shining in her gaze.

“You aren’t just a janitor, eh?” Jean stared at him with narrowed eyes.

Levi saved from answering by a loud shrill of the phone.

Everyone in the room tensed, Levi felt his heart pounding inside his chest, a relentless boom, boom, boom. He wet his lips, his throat suddenly too dry, and stood up.

“No!” Jean grabbed his arm, stopping Levi from picking up the phone. Levi understood his panic, it was the middle of the night, who in their right mind would call him at this time? Who would call him period, all the people Levi knew in this city were sitting next to him. Unless, it was Shadis who got out of his drunken stupor and decided to have a friendly chat with a janitor from his bar?

And if it wasn’t Shadis, then…

Acutely feeling his every heartbeat, Levi pulled his arm out of Jean’s grasp. Swallowing that persisting lump inside his throat down, he put his hand on a phone handle. Slowly, holding in his breath, he lifted the phone and put it to his ear.

“Is your name even Levi? Or was that another lie, you asshole?”

That voice. Her voice. Levi helplessly fell back in the armchair behind him.

“H-hange?” the crack in his voice was heard and analyzed by a bunch of kids, who now all stood beside him. Levi waved them away, drowning out the intrigued murmuring, and focused on a person on the other side of the line.

“You still remember my name, I’m flattered, Ackerman,” ah, so she found out. Not surprising in the slightest, but disappointing nevertheless. But how did she find out? And when? And why she was calling now? And how she managed to obtain the number of a motel he was staying at? So many questions, Levi wanted to ask them all at once. He didn’t even know where to start. “And just a piece of friendly advice, next time you go into hiding, don’t go around asking police officers on a date.”

Well, that was one question answered. Only one hundred remained.

“Are you going to arrest me now?”

“No, unfortunately,” Hange bitterly replied. “I need you, Ackerman. For work,” she added, before Levi could get any ideas and just before his heart started racing like crazy. “Take the first flight back to city, if you don’t want me to drag you out of there by force. I’ll be waiting for you in the airport.”

Hange was going to end the call, Levi could practically see her finger hover over the button. Before she did, he cried out, “Wait!” and then, much more calmly he added, “What do you need me for?”

“Your uncle went missing. I need you to help me find him.”

The line went dead immediately after that. It took Levi another moment to pull himself together.

Kenny was… missing? Kenny, his ruthless, unstoppable uncle? And Hange was looking for him? Too much was unknown, too much was unclear, too much was yet to be explained.

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t find the answers here. Well, one problem was solved then, he didn’t have to change cities anymore. He’d just have to return home.

“So.”

Just a short word, but so much meaning was put in it. With a feeling of dread, Levi turned to face Sasha. He shuddered at the sight of her wide, shit-eating smile.

“Hange, hm?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Hange is your someone, right?” Connie excitedly exclaimed. “Your Mikasa?”

“Hange is his Marco,” Sasha corrected, earning a vicious curse and a middle finger from Jean. “I guess it’s all over with Mikasa.”

It was all over with Hange too. There was nothing with Hange to begin with. And there would be nothing, because apparently she hated him now. For a good reason too.

Fuck. Kenny, Hange, the brats, they all caused Levi a massive headache. And there was no running away from it, they’d find him whenever he ran.

Perhaps, it meant that he had to stop running. And come back home.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he told the kids. “A long journey is ahead of you. And ahead of me too.”

“You’re leaving? To your Hange?”

“Hange is not my someone, I’m just leaving,” Levi grunted, turning off the light. “Go to sleep before I knock you all out.”

Thankfully, they listened and got on a bed without a word of complain.

“It’s good that your Hange found you,” Sasha mumbled, already sleepy. “Maybe, now you won’t be so sad anymore.”

Sasha seemed to fall asleep immediately after, not waiting for Levi’s answer. Or, perhaps, she wasn’t interested in it.

Soon Connie was out as well, and even Jean, after a few of tosses, turns and more than a dozen pained groans managed to settle in comfortably and fall into deep slumber.

Levi didn’t get so lucky, the thoughts about what tomorrow would bring swirling in his mind and keeping him awake.

But, well… at least his melancholy and homesickness wouldn’t be a problem anymore. After two months of being away, he was going home at last.

Strangely, the prospect didn’t seem that thrilling.

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Is Ogata a virgin?

To be honest...

I’m probably not the right person to ask this as I genuinely don’t have the slightest idea about it and I’m not really interested in this.

You see, those were different times from now.

While Japan had different ideas than the west about purity, marriage and so on, from what I know folk girls at the time wouldn’t really be willing to sleep around with boys easily, unless they planned to marry said boy and move to live with him (Meiji era is a time of changes though, so cut me some slack on this as I might be anticipating a bit a mentality that will develop in the future).

To make it simple, Harumi Chiyo (or Igogusa if you prefer) might have slept with Tsukishima prior to him leaving for war because Tsukishima made clear he wanted to marry her once he were back and she might have believed him so, if she were to remain pregnant no harm would be done as they would get married anyway.

On the other side it’s more unlikely Kakizaki Umeko slept with Sugimoto even though she equally loved him, as they apparently weren’t engaged, even though they were childhood sweethearts... while if she had lived in present times she would have been more willing to spend a night with the boy she liked even if they weren’t talking about getting married.

I genuinely doubt Ogata was/is in a serious relationship with a girl, so it’s strongly unlikely he got to sleep with someone for free.

Of course the typical male method in all the centuries and in almost all the countries (if not in all of them) to lose their virginity was to sleep with a prostitute, and it was especially popular among soldiers, even more when they were at war... which is something I don’t really consider praiseworthy.

Girls were often forced into the profession by misery or by being sold (or even kidnapped as they attempted to do with Asirpa), and taking advantage of their conditions has been something men had done for centuries and that really doesn’t make them that special in my eyes, just because in this way they managed to get rid of their virginity.

Maybe it’s just me.

Now... feel free to correct me if I’m wrong but I think this question was spurred by the Q&A section in the fanbook and more specifically by this bit.

Q18: “The scene in which Ogata tries to corrupt Yuusaku by taking him to a brothel and telling him that brothers are supposed to do bad things together was very sexy and impactful. Does it mean that Ogata frequented brothels, and has the appropriate experience?”

Noda: “He just pretended that he knows what he’s doing.” (Translation courtesy of @piduai)

To be honest the asker never mentions brothels but the "red light district” (遊郭 ‘yūkaku’ lit: “play quarters” but it was generally used in the sense of “pleasure quarters”) however he/she is clearly referring to Ogata’s visit to a specific place (and the image that goes with that ask in the fanbook is the one above just to visually help who didn’t remember about it).

(If someone is wondering “experience” is just ‘Keiken’ (経験) which means, well, “experience” in general)

Now... there’s a huge chance no soldier of Ogata’s rank or lower got a chance to have experience in such a place.

The price from prostitutes varies and the troops didn’t get much money.

The prostitutes working in the slums of Sapporo were probably the cheapest choice as they seemed to work directly on the streets and it was their customer who had to provide a place in which to go, if he wanted to do it somewhere more comfortable... and as you can see in the manga some still had to turn down the chance to spend time with them for a lack of money.

We know Otaru is packed with brothels (私娼窟 ‘shishōkutsu’), disguised as Soba shops.

The ones working for the pimp Sugimoto and Shiraishi interacted with are possibly a bit more expensive than them as they supposedly had a place in which to handle their trade, but as Shiraishi points out they’re ugly and their place is likely modest.

We then move to the brothel in which Ushiyama goes the first time.

It’s likely a bit better as his girl seems prettier and the owner will later brag they’ve the best girls and the best soba.

Sugimoto can afford the soba but the girls would likely cost more. Still maybe he could afford them. We’ll see though how they aren’t there to serve him or something.

Still the girl working there is definitely prettier than the previous, so I’ll say she should be more expensive than the ones with the pimp.

And then we move to the high class places.

We don’t get to see the inside but the girls seems even prettier and by the look of it pretty expensive. Ushiyama likely moved there because Hijikata and Nagakura are now economically supporting him.

Shiraishi (and Ishikawa too) will start visiting expensive brothels as well once Hijikata will start founding them.

The structure of this place is more like the one in which Yuusaku and Ogata went... but the girls are back on not being pretty...

To climb up to this very pretty Oiran.

Oiran (花魁) was a specific category of high ranking courtesan in Japanese history. Divided into a number of ranks within this category, oiran were considered – both in social terms and in the entertainment they provided – to be above common prostitutes, known as yūjo (遊女) (lit. 'woman of pleasure'). Though oiran by definition also engaged in prostitution, they were distinguished by their skills in the traditional arts, with the highest ranking oiran having a degree of choice in which customers they took.

Now... maybe the ladies with Ogata and Yuusaku aren’t the most expensive in the market, but they’re clearly in an upperclass place with 3 beautiful ladies, drinking sake.

I bet this is much more than Ogata’s salary allowed him and the patron for such visit is Tsurumi. Ogata though couldn’t take Yuusaku to a lesser, more economical place, as the point is to tempt an upper class boy like he is, so beautiful women and an elegant place are a must.

Long story short, while Ogata might have had sex with a prostitute... in that situation he’s clearly blind flying as it’s highly unlikely he could allow himself to do so much as drink in such a place, even less to have the girls.

To me it looks like a place for officers, with girls who are even taking care to be discreet, the perfect place to tempt an upper class official like Yuusaku, not a place for superior privates or common soldiers to spend their money regularly.

So, back to the question, did Noda refer solely to prostitutes in places like this, or to prostitutes in general?

No idea.

It can entirely be Ogata didn’t feel like having sex with a prostitute, as not only the affordable ones are ugly, but he might live it as a call back to his mother’s situation.

Although Ogata Tome was a geisha and not a common prostitute, Ogata has likely heard her being accused to be as such many times and the thing might have left a mark.

He’s not utterly repulsed by them, as, once Yuusaku is gone, he let one of them to keep hanging with him and touch him...

...even though he clearly was expecting Tsurumi and couldn’t do much else (especially since the whole thing was a fiasco and it’s unlikely Tsurumi would apprecciate Ogata getting fun from it).

So again, no idea.

It’s not surprising Ogata had no experience with that type of brothels and girls.

He might have had experience with much cheaper prostitutes but if he had or not is not really that interesting to me and not having it might even make sense considering his upbringing as the illegittimate son of a woman accused to sell her body.

He might not want to cause the birth of other children who’re in his place, nor he might feel comfortable with the idea of paying someone for sex.

A common joke among me and some of my friends is that Ogata’s only love is his rifle and, at most, he might fall for the girls of “Girls' frontline“ as they’re weapons’ personifications but, of course, this is just a joke.

So sorry, but I really don’t have an idea if he had sex previously or not. He seems to at least know how men are when they have sex...

...but again it could be a reference to how his father acted so... no idea.

Sorry if I wasn’t really helpful and thank you for your ask!

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Halloween Coutdown - A Bump in the Night

Summary: Victoria Van Gale is a serious scientist even after her laboratory and workplace is destroyed, she remains the sort of person to look for the reasons behind everything. She likes being in control, she makes stern analyses and important experiments, and she… goes trick or treating with a bunch of kids?

Notes: 3 days until Halloween, you guys!!! This is the irst time i actually try to make something I write feel like an episode, I hope you enjoy it! I thought it would be hard to write something with no sketchbook (and no librarian either!!) but it was actually so fun! Love this little unhinged scientist

Read it on ao3

Spooky song rec: HYPNOTIZED by AViVA

Victoria Van Gale did not like things she could not control.

She took her coffee black, she liked to read biographies, she was an early riser and she didn’t like things she couldn’t control. It was just one more part of her personality like any other, and she’d never really seen a reason to fight it. Granted, she supposed that it had been partially to blame for the fact that her observatory was now destructed, and she had to work a dull nine to five job to pay for the apartment she’d managed to rent. But she hadn’t been the only one involved in that mess. The responsibility could hardly be given to her, she’d been perfectly fine  before those kids and their talking bird arrived. Or at least she told herself.

But the fact was that, out of her distaste for things she couldn’t understand and command, was born a revulsion against that one night of the year.

Halloween. What a bunch of nonsense.

She did her best to forget the night every year. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in ghosts, witches and monsters. She’d seen enough to know there was much in this world that she couldn’t understand. It just made her uncomfortable to have to face a whole celebration dedicated to the incomprehensible. Why should they revel in it when they could analyze it? If humans had superior intellect, only their silly superstitions stopped them from being the absolute rulers of the world.

It seemed that, in her efforts, Victoria did manage to forget about Halloween, because she gasped as soon as she stepped outside and was faced with a crowd of children dressed in colourful costumes, running around and knocking on people's doors. A group of kids nearby noticed her leaving the building in which her apartment was, and ran towards her.

“Trick or treat!” They exclaimed, raising their pumpkin shaped buckets at her. Victoria tried not to feel too guilty as she gently told them he had nothing to give them and watched them walk away crestfallen.

Her plan had been to go to the nearest convenience store, pick something to snack on since she felt like it, and return home just as quickly. With all the tumult the celebrations caused, however, she was just considering giving up on her task to head back home when she felt something bump against her leg. Looking down, she saw a white figure, much smaller than a child. As it realized it had bumped on her in its haste, it looked at her and Victoria could see the glimmer of the lamp post light on its dark eyes. It ran away, and she took off after it.

By the way the creature ran, with white linen trailing behind it, Victoria could only come to one conclusion: she’d found a ghost. And if she managed to catch it, the amount of information she could get was unimaginable! How did ghosts come back to the earth? Was it true that there were more ghosts around on Halloween? What was the afterlife like? How did a ghost even work? The excitement at the prospect of asking those questions, combined with the running which she didn’t do often left her breathless.

As she dodged them, her chase attracted the odd stares of many children, and even their complaints when she accidently hit one in the shoulder, but she didn’t care, all that mattered was getting to the ghost and taking it to somewhere where she could study it. Nevermind that this would probably be her apartment.

She came to a halt, however, when a large group of children who were crossing the street together blocked her path. She tried to squeeze her way past it, but when she had finally crossed the crowd, the ghost was nowhere in sight. 

“Oh, no” She whispered, looking around frantically. She jogged forward, coming to the end of the street, and looked into the two other streets that the one she was in led into, seeing nothing but more children. There was a fifty per cent chance she’d pick the right road, and she was about to try her luck on the path to her right when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Victoria… what are you doing?”

Startled, Victoria looked behind her shoulder to see the same blue haired girl who had set her weather spirit free. Her face had been painted green with black drawings that mimicked stitches, and the hair bow she was wearing had screws in its ends to make it look like they were coming out of her skull. She was accompanied by the boy Victoria also remembered, who wore dark clothes and fake fangs, and a girl Victoria hadn’t met yet, a witch hat on top of her head and wearing a black dress.

She didn’t exactly still have hard feelings towards Hilda, though she wasn’t over the fact that her interference in private matters had left her homeless and jobless. For her part, however, Hilda looked like she didn’t trust Victoria in the least.

“Oh! Hilda! You won’t believe this, I just saw a <em>ghost</em>. I’m, uh, happy to see you’re fine, by the way. With the nasty fall you took from the bureau and all.”

“Are you really?” David muttered, making Hilda elbow him softly so as to tell him not to pick on her.

Hilda asked her what the ghost she saw was like, while Frida whispered to her friends questioning who this woman was. Though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, Victoria noticed David answering in her ear.

“It was very small.” She informed, placing her hands apart from each other in order to show her esteemed measurement of it. The girl that was dressed as a witch looked at her with suspicion as her friend talked to her, but she tried to ignore the two of them and focus on Hilda. “And it really did wear a white cloth like the tales say. Pretty quick, too.”

Frida was about to refute something she said when Hilda lifted her hand, asking her not to.

“A ghost!” Hilda exclaimed, the hint of a smile on her lips. “That’s interesting. But why were you running after it?”

Victoria fidgeted, rubbing her thumb and index finger in circles. “Well, I… I’d never seen a ghost before, is all. I just wanted to try and take a look! See what they’re made of!”

Looking disappointed with the answer, Hilda sighed and shook her head negatively. “Still trying to control everything, Victoria? Haven’t you learned already?”

“That’s… that’s not it…” Victoria tried to defend herself, looking down at her feet.

“You know what?” Hilda said suddenly, her tone changing abruptly to a more joyful one. “You are not going to find anything in this crowd by yourself. Not only that, but all three of us have actual experiences with ghosts. We’ll help you with it.”

“Really?” Both Victoria and the two other children gasped.

“Really, under one condition.” She put a finger up, looking serious. “This is my first Halloween in Trolberg, and I don’t want to miss out on it. You’ll come with us and after we’re done trick or treating, we’ll help.”

“Huh?” Victoria frowned, thinking that perhaps the girl had hit her head hard after that explosion in the bureau. If she ran, she still might catch up with her ghost, but if she spent the night trick or treating, she was certain to never see it again.

“Hilda, I don’t have time-” She tried to argue, but the girl cut her off.

“Don’t you know the lore of Halloween? These ghosts will be walking around town the whole night. In fact, if you come with us, there is an even greater chance of you finding a ghost, even if not the one you just saw. But it’s all the same to science, right?”

“Yes…” Victoria rubbed her chin. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But Hilda.” David whispered to his friend, probably thinking he was being a lot more discreet than he was in reality. “She’s an adult. Adults can’t go trick or treating.”

The look Hilda gave her scared Victoria more than any child should be able to.

“They can if they’re part of our costume.”

_#_#_#_

Victoria all but dragged herself behind them, attempting not to feel like a fool.

“Is this really necessary?” she groaned, being met with Hilda’s fierce affirmation that yes, it was necessary. After they’d struck their agreement, the trio had made her take them to her apartment, where they found her lab gloves and coat and made her wear it. They hadn’t even stopped there, finding her black rain boots and asking her to put them on too.

When they began going to the first houses, she’d felt awkward standing near the children as they asked for candy. Most people ignored her, until one woman, with bright red curly hair and a sweet face chuckled at her.

“Who would you be?” She asked, not mockingly but with curiosity after dropping a large amount of sweets into the children's pumpkins.

Hilda was fast to answer. “She’s Victor Frankenstein!”

“Oh, what a lovely pair you two make!” The woman said, her eyes going back and forth between Hilda and Victoria. “You must be such a dedicated auntie. Here, have some candie as well, you deserve it.”

After putting candies in Victoria’s shelled hands, she wished them a good Halloween and closed her door. The children climbed down from her porch, but Victoria remained where she was, looking awestruck as she stared at her hands.

“Are you okay?” Frida asked, the first to realize Victoria hadn’t moved.

“Yeah, I’m alright. It’s just been a lot of time since I received candy from anyone.”

David tilted his head to the side. “You haven’t eaten candy in a long time?”

“What? No!” Victoria assured him. “I eat more candy than I should, honestly. But it’s different when you get it from someone. Everything is more special when it’s a gift, I suppose.”

“Hey, why don’t we stop and eat some of what we got tonight?” Hilda suggested, and the rest of them agreed eagerly. There was a bench nearby, and they all sat on it. As the kids dug into their pumpkin buckets, making their choice of which sweet to eat first, Victoria unwrapped a sour candy.

“Did you know that sour candies are sour because of the citric acid?” She asked, drawing the kids’ attention. “Like all acids, it has hydrogen ions which activate our tongue’s sour taste receptors! Isn’t this interesting? Of course, this is the same acid we have in some fruits, but to use it in candy you need to make it by fermenting sugar with microorganisms! Not as simple as it seems at first, I’m certain.”

“I thought you were a meteorologist.” David said after a beat.

“I am! But that doesn’t stop me from liking the other sciences as well.”

“That’s so cool, miss Van Gale!” Frida gasped, and Hilda nodded in agreement. “I hope this is not rude to ask… but there are so many things about the science books I read that I don’t understand, and our teacher can never really answer all of them. I was wondering if one day you’d be willing to help me with that?”

“Of course!” Excited at the prospect of having someone to discuss science with, Victoria nodded, happy when the girl looked joyful with her acceptance. “It's always good to revisit topics one hasn’t studied for long. Keeps the brain sharp.”

There was a pen in her labcoat’s pocket, and the woman used it to write her landline’s number on the candy wrap and give it to Frida, so she could call her for them to arrange a day.

“I think we should go.” Hilda sighed, tired because of the late hour but very happy about how her first Halloween in the city was going. “We still have many houses to visit, and I have an idea that might get us even more candy.”

_#_#_#_

“It’s moving…” Victoria uttered in the moment when Hilda, lying down in front of the house’s door, began lifting her hand. The couple that lived in the house watched them with curiosity and wonderment at their makeshift theatre. “It’s alive! It’s moving, it’s alive! In the name of God, now I know what it is like to be God! IT’S ALIVE!”

Abruptly, Hilda lifted her whole torso up, groaning as monstrously as she could. Her two friends giggled, already having received their candy, and the couple clapped at them.

“How frightening!” the woman said, dropping candy into Hilda’s pumpkin. “Happy Halloween and keep up the good work!”

The group left, laughing about how good their acting had been. They’d done it for all the past houses, and everyone who had seen it had loved it, even fellow trick or treaters. Now knowing that they were her favourite, Hilda always gave the sour candies she received to Victoria, and as she separated them from the others David complimented how genuine Victoria had sounded.

“Thank you, David. I have a talent for the dramatic arts, don’t you think?” She boasted mockingly, swiping her hand across her shoulder to push her wild hair back. The boy giggled, the apprehension he’d had of her in the beginning of the night all but gone. Without them even noticing, the resentment each of them had towards the other seemed to have melted away with the time they spent together.

“I just think ‘mad scientist’ comes to you naturally, Victoria.” He retorted, and she brought her hand to her heart in fake outrage, making them all laugh.

“It’s getting really late.” Frida said unwillingly. “I think I’ve got to go home.”

They all looked at the wrist clock Frida was wearing, and Victoria was surprised to find herself sad that her time with the children had come to an end. It made her even more surprised, when she remembered the ghost, that her first thought had been about the children and not about what they’d promised her.

After that, David also sighed and mumbled that he had to go, otherwise his parents might get worried. Hilda didn’t say anything, nor did she look at Victoria.

“I still…” Victoria began. She didn’t want to force kids to stay out past the time they should just to help her, but it seemed like they had forgotten. “I still need to look for the ghost.”

Hilda sighed, the same sigh from hours ago, when they’d found her running around like mad, and she finally looked at Victoria. The woman didn’t like the resignation in her eyes.

Unlike Hilda, when the two other kids looked at her, she could see that the ghost really had slipped from their minds, and that they even felt guilty about it.

“You two go home. I’ll help Victoria find her ‘ghost’.”

They nodded and said good night to both Hilda and Victoria, beginning their walk on the direction they had come from. Something about the way Hilda had said the word “ghost” didn’t sit right with her. If she was being honest, the fact that she’d apparently taken the girl from her happy mood to this silent one didn’t either. She told herself it didn’t matter, they had struck a deal and it wasn’t like she was the girl’s “auntie” like some of the people they saw seemed to think. But even though it didn’t matter, it still made her feel a pang in her chest when the most energetic, positive person she’d seen in years sat down on the concrete edge of the sidewalk.

“I thought you’d let this go.” She muttered, looking at a point in the distance. “I thought that maybe you’d have fun and realize that there’s so much beauty around, especially in te things you can’t control. But I suppose it would be asking for too much, to change a person in a night.”

She whistled suddenly, and Victoria heard the tip-tap of something small coming their way.

“Come here boy!” Hilda exclaimed, and when Victoria looked at the spot Hilda was watching, she saw the same creature she’d seen hours before running her way, and gasped when it happily came into Hilda’s arms.

After picking it up, Hilda turned to her, her face serious. “Is this your ghost?”“It is!” Victoria nodded, her mouth wide in surprise. The biggest surprise, however, came when Hilda lifted the veil from the creature, revealing a white, fluffy looking deerfox.

“Frida wanted to tell you in the beginning of the night. What I said was true, we have had experiences with ghosts, and we know that ghosts don’t wear veils like in the tales. I had dressed Twig up to come with me tonight, but I gave him the command to follow us from afar when I saw you. He must have bumped into you when he was bringing back the stick I threw him. Though he didn’t give me anything, so he mustn’t have been able to find it.” “What?” She gasped, watching Hilda shake her head and get up. “I don’t understand.”

“I know I’m young, Victoria, and I’m still getting used to the whole living in society thing. But there’s one thing I do know that you need to understand. If you keep believing life is a battle, you’ll never stop seeing enemies all around.”

After saying that, she walked away down the same road Frida and David had too. Disappointed, confused and guilty all at the same time, Victoria let herself fall down to the ground, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk.

Though it was the most dangerous night of the year, she was beginning to think she was the only monster around.

[dimancheetoile]

i’ll battle your battles until we win them together

written for @shikasaku-week

Day 3: and we dreamed in purples so i took this prompt to mean something like hope, and dreams of a better future, which is what i tried to incorporate in this story. i'm sorry it's out so long after shikasaku week ended, but i fought it every step of the way and now it's here and i'm very proud of it. so there you go! there is mentions of someone killing themselves after years of depression and self-harm. nothing is described, there are no details, it's only a character recollecting what happened in their head. so stay safe!

Read on AO3

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

The rush hour is over. Shikamaru takes off his apron, folding it neatly before storing it behind the counter. He makes himself a large coffee and waves at his brother, wiping off a table further into the room. Chōji answers with a bright smile and a mouthed “thank you”. Sighing quietly, Shikamaru cracks his neck, stretching his whole body slowly. He grabs his coffee and goes to the other side of the room where a large curtain cuts the room in half.

Going through, he gets to his side of the shop, that he left in Ino' competent hands while he helped Chōji during the morning rush like he does on the days Mirai has off. They work as both a barista in Chōji's bakery and as a cashier and sorter in Shikamaru's bookshop. Ino has her own assistant, technically her apprentice, Hinata. Their system works well, and InoShikaChō's Lair is one of the most successful businesses in town.

Their shop is right in front of Konoha's third largest college, UK3, the Arts and Human Sciences University, and its 70,000 students make for an amazing clientele. On top of that, a block away from them, is the second largest, UK2, the Sciences and Computer Studies University. They are far from going out of bushiness.

The library/bookshop side has both books for sale and a large half of the room where books are available for free for the students coming in to study. There are single tables, group tables, computers and even two small rooms to study privately. Wi-Fi is unlimited if you buy anything from either Ino's or Chōji's sides, you can bring your books in Chōji's bakery and stuff to eat in Shikamaru's library, and they have a customer card for students coming in often. All in all, it works, and this year, they're making profit for the first time in the six years since they've opened.

They have their recurring customers, their favourites, and with how often they get students, they're starting to recognize all the faces coming in. usually, the oldest they get are in their early twenties and they easily spot whenever they get someone older. That's what being next to two universities mean. They almost never get people over twenty-five. Which is why they would have spotted the newcomer immediately simply because she looks about their age, closer to her mid-thirties than undergraduate.

But they didn't need to notice her age. It's not possible to miss when someone comes in using a cane to help with the metal prosthetic right leg, and the green cardigan wrapped around a right side stopping at the shoulder joint, the entire right arm missing.

Shikamaru has to kick himself mentally to stop staring. The new customer is deathly pale, cheeks gaunt and dark circles under eyes that are cast downward in the universal sign for shame. Her sunflower dress clings to a toned waist, making obvious the muscles in her torso, her broad shoulders and muscled arm. Her left leg is stable on the ground, her calf chiseled as well.

Her bowed head almost makes Shikamaru miss the large burns on her right cheek, coming up to her milky, unfocused eye and ending on her temple. Swallowing the surge of almost pervert curiosity, he fixes a welcoming smile on his face and waits to see if the woman will browse the bookshop shelves, the library bookcases or go to the computers. Mirai is sorting new arrivals, having come in as Shikamaru finished with Chōji, and they're filling the slowly growing poetry section. They're watching what the woman will do, but she's standing unmoving in the middle of the room, looking lost and increasingly distraught.

On instinct, Shikamaru grabs his still full cup and hurries to the woman's side. She doesn't look at him, which only serves to make him worry more. Gently, he puts a hand on her shoulder, talking in a low voice.

“Hello, ma'am. Can I help you with anything? Would you like some coffee?”

She looks at him with wild eyes, startles but not jumping at his touch. She nods silently and take a small sip of his coffee before cleaning her throat.

“Hi, I'm sorry about this.”

“No, don't worry, it's alright. What are you looking for?”

“I was wondering—” again, she has to clear her throat, her voice still rough. “I was hoping you could show me books on meditation. Do you have anything like that?”

Glad to have something to do besides standing there like a worried chick, he nods and points toward the self-care section.

“I'll show you what we have. Would you like to come with me or sit down at a table on the bakery side, and I'll bring you what I can find?”

She nods again. “Yeah, I'll— I'll do that.”

Slowly, she walks up to the curtain where a sign leads to Chōji's side and Shikamaru wills himself to get moving and bring her what she came her for. Not on his watch will someone who so obviously needs some help and kindness not find it in their Lair.

He browses through their shelves, picking up meditation books like she asks, and on a whim, adds a book on social anxiety and one about therapy. Maybe she won't need it (though she does look like she could use them) but she doesn't seem like someone who would take offence at being offered the options.

Grabbing a notebook and a pen from the stack he keeps behind his deck for the students, he goes through the curtain and quickly scans the room to find her sitting down in a corner, watching the room with hunched shoulders. There is a steaming cup in front of her and a piece of carrot cake, but still more than enough room for the small stack of books he's bringing her.

Shikamaru plasters a confident smile on his face to make up for his beating heart and approaches her. He has never stressed like that at the idea of interacting with a customer but he could so easily fuck this up that he can feel the sweat gathering at the back of his neck. As patronizing as he knows it sounds, Shikamaru can almost touch how much courage it took her to come into their shop, and he'll be damned if it's not rewarded in the best way he's capable.

And after that, he's taking a nap. There is only so much anxiety he can take in one sitting, and between the woman and him, he might as well be saturated with tension.

“Hey,” he says softly, hoping not to scare her. She barely jumps, which he privately counts as a win. “I've got the books I mentioned, I found a bit of everything. I also brought a pen and some paper, in case you'd like to take notes.”

She listens to him with rapt attention, only serving to increase his unease, knowing something is wrong and not being able to fix it.

“We're open all day long and we close at 9,” he continues. “If you need anything, you ask Mirai, they're the one with the black hair and green sweater sorting books. And I'm also available for any question or recommendation, alright?” He feels stupid, talking to her like a child, but he's completely out of his depth. “All the books I've brought you are in our inventory, so if you want to keep any of them, you can either get a card for the shop and borrow them for two weeks, or you can buy them. Go to the desk when you want to leave and we'll handle it together, okay?”

She nods, her short hair bobbing along with the movement. She's beautiful, he can't help but think, noticing her freckles and the nice curve of her jaw, the hard muscles underneath her skin.

He admires her more than anything, Shikamaru ponders, because it's obvious what happened to her ; and yet she put on a yellow dress with sunflowers growing from the bottom hem and circling her waist, the least discreet clothing she could have picked, and her hair is dyed a pale pink, almost pastel, and as lovely as the colour is, it only brings more attention to the angry burns on her cheek and the melted corner of her mouth, her closed nostril where the skin was destroyed, and the white, unseeing eye.

She chose all of that, she went out without being ashamed of her wounds and scars and missing limbs and cane, her broad shoulders standing straight. It's only as soon as someone talks to her, tries to interact, that she curls back into a shell of jumpiness and anxiety Shikamaru only knows too well. He's read a number of books on the subject, after his old Literature teacher and family friend, Asuma, killed himself.

Before teaching in the university Shikamaru attended, Asuma was a Lieutenant who had a ten-year long career before going back to his first love and starting his teaching again. Shikamaru saw him often, being both a neighbour and a dear friend to his father. The Yūhi family was invited often in the Nara home, with Kurenai being a foster child and Asuma having been disowned by his own family, making them and their baby Mirai a welcome sight at their table.

Then Shikamaru had graduated, worked a couple of months for a newspaper to earn some money that he put with Ino's and Chōji's saving. They opened the Lair together and everything was good for a while. But the changes in Asuma were unmistakable, until he was finally diagnosed with PTSD, paranoia and social anxiety. It all quickly escalated until Asuma could add depression on top, and at that point he had a breakdown. He suddenly needed to seek adrenaline, action. In secret, he joined a group, maybe a gang, that he was introduced to by another veteran, Hidan.

He put himself in more and more dangerous situations, and Shikamaru, not knowing what to do and panicking, turned to the books that never let him down to read all he could on the condition of his teacher and friend, pouring hours upon hours into his research. But Asuma kept going, until Kurenai confronted him with an ultimatum that put a brutal stop to his nightly outings.

They all thought things were better. He told them so. That he was okay. That he didn't crave the danger anymore. But in reality, not only was he hurting himself, but he was desperate at the idea of not doing things anymore, and just as terrified of losing his wife and child. The dilemma was ultimately too much and four years ago, Asuma took his own life.

The shock for all had been cataclysmic, no one understanding why he had done it, how it could have gone so bad without anyone realizing. So Shikamaru read, and read some more, hoping to find an answer to his grief and his guilt. He didn't. He just learned to grow with it, and gained an impressive theoretic baggage in psychology of war veterans. They hired Mirai, after they expressed not knowing what to do with their life and going crazy in their silent home, and here they are now. All of them working together in the shop they've dreamed off, slowly moving on with their life. And with a bonus probable war veteran looking to start meditating.

Why not.

In the next hour, Shikamaru does his best to ignore the woman's presence, with varying degrees of success. She's going through the books he's brought her at an impressing speed, taking rigorous notes and mouthing words he can't hear from afar. As she notices more and more that no one is paying attention to her, she seems to relax, sneaking looks here and there, until she crosses Shikamaru's eyes and ducks her head as quick as she's able.

From time to time, she orders a new cup of coffee, or a slice of Victoria cake, at one point even a pot of ginger tea with a full plate of scones and clotted cream. On her first re-order, she painstakingly stood up, dragging herself to the counter with the most tragic look on her face under Chōji's horrified stare. After that painful experience for all, Shikamaru's brother is keeping tabs on her, noticing when she raises a timid hand and going to ask what he can bring her. She's not even hiding how relieved that makes her feel and Shikamaru takes pride in the idea that maybe it's their place that's making her feel comfortable enough to accept the help.

After a while, he gets caught in the cycle of new customers, purchasing or borrowing books, recommending his most cherished ones when people are just coming in to spend a nice time inside. Ino brings him a cup of herbal tea she's making herself, to get his opinion on her new blend, and he brings a full page of orders for Chōji to sign some time later. He doesn't see the clock ticking and even ends up forgetting about the woman, steadily making her way through the stack of books.

Shikamaru eventually looks up and suddenly it's already time for his lunch break. It's the one time all three of them gets to spend together during the work day and they try as hard as they can not to miss it. They leave Mirai and Hinata in charge of the store and go to their table, in the corner of Chōji's bakery side. The table has a permanent “Booked” sign on it if one of them wants some time away from their respective counter or, in Shikamaru's case, a space to enjoy food or drinks that won't put his books at risk.

Chōji has already laid out their meal when Ino and Shikamaru sit down, in a relaxed conversation about the renewed interest for gardening the twenty-something seem to have taken. Shikamaru's brother lets them have their fun, splitting the food between the three of them and handing them cutlery. As he finishes pouring some ginger beer in each of their glasses, steps get closer to their table with a weird lingering sound to it. Startled out of their routine, given that their customers all know to leave the shop owners and the forty-five minutes they take to eat unbothered, all three of them look up.

Shikamaru curses himself, mortified at having forgotten their unusual visitor and he can see, from the corner of his eye, Chōji's stiffening shoulders. His brother hates making people's lives difficult and he probably had enjoyed helping the woman when she asked for his attention.

She's standing, a bit unsteady on her prosthetic because of the amount of things she's carrying. She has all of Shikamaru's books balanced on her remaining forearm, a paper bag displaying the Lair's logo hanging from her wrist. With all this, Shikamaru notices right away that she isn't using her cane, making both her ability to stand and his ability to feel even more guilty, impressive.

Scrambling up, he immediately offers to take the books for her while Ino quietly sneaks behind them to grab the cane she left at her table and giving it back in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, thank you,” the woman says quietly, blushing faintly.

“It's really nothing,” Ino smiles, sitting back down and looking away to give the woman the sense that she isn't being stared at.

“I apologize,” Chōji says, looking truly distraught. “I should have made sure you'd be alright.”

“No, please, it's okay,” she replies right away. “You have a lovely cashier who made sure I'd be alright as soon as you left to get lunch. They brought me the menu and I purchased some food to go. I'm alright, really.” The dust of pink on her cheeks is unmistakable and Shikamaru hates it, hates that she feels embarrassed by something as mundane as getting food for lunch.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from apologizing as well. He's sure it would do no good. “I can ring those books for you if you'd like, or write you a come-back card if you'd rather borrow them.”

She looks down to her mismatched feet, increasing Shikamaru's unease at her own discomfort. “Yes, I— can you, could you...”

Shikamaru rushes to nod, feeling like he understands what she's saying despite everything. She nods as well in response, both looking at each other with matching strange expressions until Chōji pokes his brother in the thigh, seemingly waking him up. He jerks his head towards the curtain in an inviting manner and finds an eerie sense of happiness in realizing he doesn't have to slow down his usual slouch to match the slow pace of the woman. There is something he finds comforting in seeing himself walk side by side with her without having to pretend.

They reach the counter on his side, blessedly empty with Mirai mostly standing in for Chōji during lunchtime. Shikamaru sets down the woman's books between the two of them, taking out a card for her to fill in her information.

She does so with an absent-minded expression, looking up at him briefly before focusing on the card again, her voice rising up barely in the noisy shop.

“I don't know if you realize what you did for me today,” she half-whispers. Her voice is more assured than he's heard it all morning, though nothing close to confident. “No one time did you treat me differently, or like I was helpless. You gave me attention without treating me like a child, helped me only when it was clear I couldn't do it myself.”

She looks up, sliding the card across until it touches his hand. In a daze, he lays trembling fingers on the paper, staring at her, a counter and a world separating (or joining) them. Her own fingers are still on the card, a dice of space between her and his hand.

“I haven't gone out of my house in fourteen months.”

Shikamaru holds his breath, his eyes burning shapes of understanding into hers. The Earth-Fire war ended fourteen months ago by the recall of Earther troops from Fire Country territory. No one had won the eleven-year long conflict, the end of it only signed by the lack of resources to continue it on both side, soldiers dying too fast to be replaced by the shrinking number of volunteers enlisting in either armies. Once the specialists had predicted a shortage of wood coming if the war didn't stop, both sides agreed to a cease-fire. Fourteen months later, the peace still isn't technically signed.

“I've been terrified of the smell of cooked meat. There are food trucks in almost every corner of Konoha, except here.” She sounds so relieved that Shikamaru's eyes water without his control. “You don't even serve meat,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word.

In a rush, Shikamaru sees flashes of their meetings in Choji's kitchen, trying out dishes and deciding on what he'd offer for the morning breakfasts and for lunch and what would be taken to go. He remembers himself, so young and terrified of all that could go wrong with their shop, with little money to spare on anything unnessecary. Suggesting that maybe, in the first few years, they stick to a vegetarian menu, to cut on expanses.

Then, as years went by, realizing how appreciated their pant-based dishes were, in a city known for its beef. Hearing from people who aren't vegetarians, telling them after ordering an omelette that they had a good time and they didn't think there was something a little less restrictive than veganism.

He sees all that in flashes superposing with the woman's pale face, pain obvious in the lines of her skin.

“Can I give you a hug?” His rushed words come crashing down in the sudden silence between them, terrifying in their heaviness.

He stops breathing, his heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He feels fear, profound and new, years of nonchalance and laziness breaking in the face of true pain, on a face he could be seeing every morning in the mirror, with their matching age lines beginning to appear, the same number of years etched into their Identity Book a startling similarity disproved by the century-old look in her tired, mismatched eyes. They're the same age and nothing could make them more different and yet—

Her voice breaks as she says Yes.

He stumbles from behind the counter, shaking from nerves and fear, a sort of breathlessness he hasn't felt once in his life. He doesn't know what's happening. He doesn't feel his arms opening, in a daze, until she falls against him and he realizes she's a thumb taller than him and finally, her head is in the curve of his neck, her harsh breathing pooling against his throat.

She's shaking. He can see it, feel it, when he closes her eyes and pulls her tighter against him.

“It'll be okay,” he whispers against her hair, feeling the absence of her right arm and compensating for it instinctively. “It's gonna be okay.” He's humming, he doesn't know what, but it makes her try to bury herself deeper into the hug, like she's trying to disappear.

He doesn't know what's happening.

He doesn't think he'd want it to happen any other way.

A few, long minutes later, he shows her to the door, still feeling unsteady inside, still unsure of what happened, of why he did that, him, so far from being social, tactile.

She turns around to look at him, standing in the street of a city hostile to her, looking up at a place that was her safe haven for a few hours. She finds his eyes and doesn't look away. He feels that something should be said, that they can't go like this, move on with their lives without... something.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, never looking away even when people have to walk around her on the pavement.

“You're welcome,” he says in the same voice. Then, as if stolen from his throat, “Will you come again?”

A small smile on her face, easing the exhaustion and the pain for a second. “I'd love to, Shikamaru.”

He returns her smile, thrilled for a reason he doesn't understand that she looked at the sign inside the Lair and figured out which one of the three he is.

She looks away, severing something that tugs painfully in his chest. His heart is beating fast.

“Can I have your name?”

She smiles wider, when she turns back to him. “Fleet Admiral Haruno Sakura. It was so nice to meet you.”

He watches her leave, speechless, all the facts he knows about her bombarding his brain. Commander Haruno, who liberated the Kiri province in Water Country with her fleet of fifteen ships, loosing every single one of them in the process. Commander Haruno, declared MIA at the end of the Earth-Fire War, after her ship, the Seventh Titan, left the province liberated from Earthern troupes and made its way back to Fire Country without her.

He didn't recognize her, because every photo he's seen has her in her uniform, red hair pulled back into a tight bun, standing in front of the Fire flag. Pastel pink hair and milky, blind eye seem to be new additions, as well as her title, the highest in the Fire Navy.

Fleet Admiral Haruno, found again, and hiding away in their shop. Hiding from a world that took everything from her and then some, after she protected it with everything she had.

Shikamaru looks back to the street where she disappeared.

She can come back any time she likes. It's their turn to protect her from the shitty world. It's his turn.

[raeynbowboi]

Top 10 Disney Villains

10. King Candy Wreck-It Ralph (2012)

Although he’s newer to the villain roster, King Candy was a well-written villain who served as a perfect blend of humorous and genuinely threatening. He also tied very nicely into the themes of the film, which makes him stand out in my memory as a good villain, because I take more than just personality and actions into account when judging characters, but also role in the narrative, and how they support the themes and ideas of the story. King Candy is the perfect villain for a story like this, which is why I consider him good enough to be on this list, even if as a villain himself, he might not be the most memorable among the Disney canon.

9. Gaston Beauty and the Beast (1991)

Perhaps the Disney villain we’re most likely to meet in real life, Gaston is the perfect example of toxic masculinity on full display. He’s a great anthithesis to the Beast, though I never saw him all that handsome, which sort of detracts just a little bit from the story. But in a story about how looks don’t matter, but actions do, he’s a great foil to the love interest. He’s a selfish hateful man who is handed everything he wants, and when he doesn’t get his way, he strongarms people until they meet his demands. Yet, despite his personality, he retains a legion of followers who are more-so admirers than actual friends. He never once considers anyone to be his equal or of sufficient worth unless it was helpful in his own endeavors. And anyone who has ever had a friend who basically used them and then ditched them at the soonest convenience can probably recognize that kind of so-called “friend” in Gaston. He’s a great villain to dissect as an analysis of our current culture, but I don’t want to write a five page essay on Gaston for a top 10 list. 

8. Yzma Emperor’s New Groove (2000)

Inarguably Disney’s best comedic villain (not counting her henchman Kronk), Yzma is a brilliantly funny character whose exaggurated appearance and over-the-top personality blend well with the fast-paced slapstick comedy that fills the movie. Yet, despite being a funny villainess, she avoids a major pitfall of many comedic villains by also being legitimately threatening and dangerous to our heroes. That, combined with the excellent writing in the movie makes Yzma so memorable and likable.

7. Mother Gothel Tangled (2010)

Although her actual villainous actions in the movie are surprsingly few and far between, I genuinely love Mother Gothel as a villainess. Her motivations are well-established, and she’s the sole reason the story has any plot at all. Comparisons have been made to the living conditions of both Quasimodo and Rapunzel, and I would genuinely agree that Mother Gothel is akin to a diet version of Frollo without all the genocide and religious superiority. She has to be more discreet and pretend to be kind in order to keep her little flower content to remain obedient locked away from the outside world. It makes total sense the way she treats Rapunzel, and her entire character, personality, and role all fit together to enhance the narrative of the story.

6. Long John Silver Treasure Planet (2002)

Arguably one of the most human villains from Disney, Silver is a beautiful complexity as he juggles the duality of being a father-figure to the impressionable young Jim, while also betraying Jim’s trust. Since Jim’s father left when he was a child, Jim closes himself off from people and seems adrift in the world. Silver, who has no need to trick the boy for his mutiny to succeed, still takes the time to take Jim under his wing, nurture the boy’s abilities, and form a bond. Heck, with how relatively apathetic Jim was, he could have manipulated Jim into hating being on the ship, and thus have him be happy when the mutiny sets him free. But instead, he chose to teach the boy and boost his confidence. In the end, Silver is a compelling Anti-Villain where it’s hard to really define him as a good or wicked person. That is honestly more interesting than just being a straight deceitful villain.

5. Bill Sykes Oliver & Company (1988)

Perhaps the most surprising choice on my list, Sykes was a villain from Oliver & Company, a retelling of Oliver Twist with stray dogs and a kitten. However, despite Disney’s family friendly brand, Sykes is a surprisingly menacing character. A loan shark and a cut-throat business man, he spends most of the movie threatening to kill Fagin which is far darker than Disney tends to get. While many Disney villains want to kill people, those desires were driven by personal grievances with that person or people. With Sykes, it’s cold, ruthless business. He doesn’t care about Fagin’s life. All he cares about is getting his money, and Fagin’s life just happens to be the collateral. It’s the purest form of cold-blooded murder, and that’s not a common thing among Disney villains.

4. Ursula The Little Mermaid (1989)

There’s a good reason Ursula is one of the flagship villains of this franchise. She has a strong personality, is a great antagonist, and directly plays off the protagonist’s weaknesses to win. Second only to Scar, and possibly Jafar, Ursula is the classic hand-drawn animated Disney villain to get closest to winning. The fact that she’s based on a drag queen is kind of perfect, since the fairytale was written by Hans Christian Andersen to express his love for Edvard Collin discreetly. He intended to give it to Edvard as a wedding gift, but Edvard and his wife purposefully “forgot” to tell him when the wedding was out of fear that he’d make a scene or announce his love for Edvard in front of everyone. Thus, the mermaid’s taboo love of someone she shouldn’t who comes from an entirely different way of living is a direct parallel to Hans’ feelings for the young Gentleman, and the mermaid being unable to speak and suffering greatly to be near her love is a clear metaphor for Hans’ own feelings of torture. So the inclusion of a drag queen in a movie adaptation of a covert metaphorical gay romantic tragedy is just deliciously fitting. 

3. The Horned King The Black Cauldron (1984)

Sykes got a place on this list for being genuinely intimidating, but this villain is living nightmare fuel. One of the best things a genuinely threatening villain can do is successfully scare you, and this villain scared the living daylights out of me as a child. In fact, he was the only Disney villain to truly and completely scare me as a child. The rest of the villains were pretty much just bad characters, but the Horned King was far more terrifying than anything else I’d seen as a kid. Though his movie bombed and the story itself was a bit lacking, the Horned King was a genuinely horrifying presence, and to this day, I can’t think Disney Villains without this guy clawing his way into my mind. Maybe as a villain himself, he’s a bit flat, but he’s a horrific undead murderous monster trying to snuff out all life. He doesn’t need to be that complex for what he is, and that works with the type of villain that he was created to be.

2. Claude Frollo The Hunchback of Notre-Dame (1996)

If Sykes made it to number 5 for the cold-blooded attempt at murder on one person, Frollo strolls into 2nd place for his cold-blooded successful mass racial/ethnic genocide of multiple people over a long reign of tyranny. Although we don’t see his treats on-screen, he very verbally implies that he has been executing people one by one for at least twenty years as he crushes ants. We even see him barricade a family with children inside of their house and then proceed to burn it down. This man is not messing around, and I love it. When it coems to dark, twisted, and messed up villains, Frollo takes the cake. He is hands down one of the greatest and most horrible villains out there. And the fact that he does this all in the name of God is a hauntingly dark reminder of the true cruelty of the medieval Christian church. Frollo was written in the original book to be a deliberate critique of the Catholic church, and I for one am grateful that Disney decided to be faithful to Frollo’s horrible nature when adapting to film. 

1. Maleficent Sleeping Beauty (1959)

Finally, we reach the leader of the Disney Villains. How could I not put her at the top of this list? She literally fights with all the powers of Hell. But what I like most about her is what you can piece together from the narrative. Out of all the fairies, only Fauna thinks that Maleficent could be reasoned with, and she feels sad at the idea that Maleficent may not even grasp the concept of happiness, or what it feels like to be loved. This opens Maleficent up to being a product of abuse, abandonment, and bitterness. Her hatred for the world and her actions of spite and envy come into a new light with the idea that it’s kindled from neglect and exclusion from others. It offers the question of what would happen if someone did try to just talk to her, and offers a possibly sympathetic reading of her character. But, the true crux of what Maleficent stands for is that she’s evil, and she takes great pleasure in her evil ways. She cursed a baby because she wasn’t invited to a party. When it comes to pure, unfiltered evil, Maleficent has that in spades. So, Maleficent is a perfect character no matter which type you prefer as a villain: the tormented outcast lashing out, or the heartless monster lighting the world on fire for fun. No matter what kind of villain you prefer, there’s a way of reading her narrative to satisfy you.

[thepetulantpen]

Modern AU/Kindness

(Hey I know this event is literally over but I finally finished day 6 of @mollymauklivesfest so I’m posting it now. Better late than never?)

Molly’s general rule of thumb is to leave the world a little better than how he found it.

And a little more chaotic.

Typically, he’s found, in order to achieve both of those things, one will eventually be on the run from the cops.

Which he is now.

As he nearly gets run over for the third time that night, diving across traffic and into an alley where he leaps onto a dumpster and scales an apartment complex, he takes a rare moment of reflection to think about how he ended up in this position.

It either started with the kids who tried to rob him or the racist elven lady, depending on how much faith you put in Molly’s moral code.

...

When a bony hand reaches into his purse, Molly stops and fidgets with his phone for a bit to give the kid a better chance. He may not be the most observant person, but even he saw the three dirty, skinny children sneaking up behind him.

He’s not exactly made of money- he reads fortunes, for gods’ sake- but he can spare something to give to people even less fortunate than him. Whatever they can swipe, they’ve earned.

When Molly dies in Crossy Road, he moves on and the kids scatter, back to whatever alley they crawled out of. He wishes he could help more, but they’re just three of many in this city.

It probably won’t keep him up at night, but it does distract him long enough to not look where he’s going, long enough to trip over an older elven lady. Old enough to look old, which means she must be ancient.

“Sorry-“

Molly cuts himself off at the look on her face, needlessly shocked and disgusted. He knows what that means.

There’s no major freak out, which is nicer than previous encounters of similar types, but she does mutter “demon” as she crosses the street in a hurry. She’s dramatically rubbing at the front of her shirt, as if Molly might’ve gotten a bit of his Infernal on her.

He’s gotten it before, gotten it far worse. It probably won’t keep him up at night.

That might’ve been the end of it, if Molly wasn’t Molly.

The shiny pearls around her neck and the gold bracelets on her wrist give him an idea.

And that is what’ll keep him up at night.

...

Caleb wakes at 3:34 am to the sound of his phone buzzing violently against his nightstand. He grabs for it blindly, wondering which of his dumb friends could be calling at this time of night.

The screen lights up too bright in the dark, washing over his face and making his eyes squint to adjust. ‘Robin Hood’, Molly’s chosen nickname on Caleb’s phone, is calling, which would’ve earned Caleb money if he’d bet on it. These sorts of calls are Molly around 80% of the time.

He lets it ring for a few seconds, pretending to debate taking the call. He promises to himself that if this isn’t an emergency, he’ll kill Molly, but it’s an empty promise, one he never keeps when Molly calls him high or horny or just bored.

He answers the call.

“This had better be good, Mollymauk.”

There’s a huff, some shuffling, and the sounds of a busy street on the other end of the call before Molly finally speaks, out of breath.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an emergency, actually,” he grunts and Caleb hears something slamming against metal, “Are you still friends with that guy in Nicodranas?”

Caleb sits up in bed and rubs his eyes. He really doesn’t need this, at 3:36 in the morning.

“Friends is a strong word.”

Caleb can practically hear the eye roll on the other end of the line, but he ignores it because Molly has no right to be annoyed with him, when he’s calling at 3:37 in the morning.

“Associate, acquaintance, whatever. Will he still help you cross the border?”

“Molly, what-“ Caleb sighs and shakes his head. He’d been fine when they talked last week. “What could you have possibly done in the last few days that makes this necessary? No, no, don’t tell me, I want plausible deniability. Just, how soon do you need to leave?”

“Well-“ Molly starts but is cut off by the blare of police sirens and his own footsteps against the pavement. When the noise fades a bit, he asks, “Does that answer your question?”

Caleb groans, standing to grab his coat and books. It’s going to be another long fucking night.

“Unfortunately, yes. Can you hold out till morning?”

He can imagine Molly grinning on the other end, feels the sharp energy of it through the receiver.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt my skills?”

...

After about the third rich person party he’d robbed, Molly starts to think he’s getting in a little too deep.

But he’s got a bag full of jewelry and other useless expensive trinkets and he’s driving to yet another pawn shop, so he’s committed for now.

Emerging with a wad of cash is pretty satisfying and spending it on a car full of non perishable meals and blankets eliminates all doubt and conflicting feelings from his mind.

This whole scheme has gotten pretty ridiculous and is starting to take way too much planning- he’s had to research parties and fake identities and pawn shops. It shouldn’t have been this elaborate when the premise seemed so easy: steal from the rich, give to the poor. But bullshitting your way into parties without a plan is risky, and selling hoards of jewelry to the local pawn shop every week is a sure way to get investigated and arrested.

It’s a lot of work, more work and planning than Molly typically participates in, but it’s worth it. The people who attend these kind of parties are the perfect sort of uptight that provides endless entertainment, and pretending to be rich (or even royalty, on one occasion) is not only fun but empowering. Nobody dares question guests at these parties, he could tell them he got banished from a pirate island and they’d nod politely while sipping champagne.

Some people would say it’s exhausting pretending to be someone else, but not Molly. For him, it’s exhilarating to weave lie after increasingly ridiculous lie- and it’s not hard either. Rich Molly is just Molly but worse and more shiny.

He will say that the best part isn’t the parties or the lies. It’s now, as he rolls up to one of the dark alleys in the worst part of town and finds the sad little camps of boxes and torn blankets.

The kids don’t approach him, watching warily as he sets down his offerings of food and other supplies from Dollar Tree. It’s the most he could get with the money he made, plus his efforts in bargain hunting and buying in bulk. They’ll eat and be warm for months, hopefully.

This camp is just one in a series of stops he’ll make today, grim reminders of the desolate conditions the poor of Zadash live in. He’s determined to keep up this act until every one of the kids in this city has gotten their share of its wealth. Or until he’s arrested.

One of the bigger kids comes out first, opening up cans of fruit for the little kids and passing out blankets. He waves to Molly, a small gesture of thanks before he turns his attention to his charges.

Molly waves but doesn’t stop long, heading back to his car before he gets wrapped up in a conversation. He has more work to do, if he’s going to make this city better.

...

Caleb rubs at his eyes again, trying to make them focus on the map through the haze of his exhaustion and shakiness of Molly’s shitty driving.

They almost go airborne on a bump in the road and Caleb scrambles to keep hold of his books.

“Scheisse, Molly. Easy on the gas pedal, I need to make sure we’re going the right way.”

Molly nods absently, eyes darting in between the windshield and rear view mirror, watching fervently for any sign of authorities. Caleb’s contact in Nicodranas has outlined the fastest, most discreet route over the border, but these things can change so fast that there’s never any true guarantees of safety. At least he has Caleb here to navigate and steer him out of trouble. If anyone can bail Molly out of a jail cell, it’ll be Caleb.

“Left here.”

Moly turns the wheel too hard, taking the turn as sharp as he can. Caleb is holding onto the armrests for dear life and staring at Molly in disbelief. It’s a wonder to Caleb that they haven’t died yet, with Molly being as impulsive in driving as he is in life. He should’ve called Fjord and made him give them a ride.

“You’re just going to attract more attention if you drive so fast,” Caleb pauses as he watches the meter lower a little closer to the speed limit, he’s got to find a way to distract Molly from the high speed chase he’s envisioning, “Finish telling your story, I’m dying to know how your flawless plans could’ve been outsmarted.”

...

Picking pockets is not a terribly difficult art. Some can do it masterfully, some are abysmal at it, but most can do a decent job and grab a few things without trying their luck.

Molly falls into the last category, but he’s too stubborn for his own good. He just has to get that last bracelet.

The woman he’s robbing, a respectable, no nonsense businessperson, looks down at Molly when his hands slip. He manages to not only screw up his extraction of the bracelet, but also drop the rest of her jewelry to the ground with a loud series of clinks.

Molly only has time for an abashed smile before he’s leaving a tiefling shaped cloud of dust behind him and utilizing his other talent: running.

There’s an broken window, a two story climb, and a crash through some overly manicured hedges, then he’s hitting the pavement and diving down the nearest alley as sirens wail in the distance.

He stops to heave in a few breaths, preparing for a chase, and that turns out to be a mistake as the guards for the party are smarter and faster than he thought. There’s shouting and uniforms so he makes a quick decision, jumping up—

“I can’t believe you. We had to leave the country because you suddenly became a bigger kleptomaniac than Nott?”

“Technically,” Molly smiles at Beau across the table from him, “you didn’t have to leave. This is just your excuse for a vacation.”

Beau crosses her arms and returns the shit-eating grin. “But I couldn’t leave my best friend to fend for himself in his run from the police.”

Molly is going to fire back, maybe bring up the time they had to evacuate a town because of something Beau did (they can never go back to Trostenwald) but Jester walks in carrying a tray of cookies and he’s sufficiently distracted.

“Look what my mama had the cooks bake!”

Jester giggles as Beau and Molly immediately pounce on the plate, competing to build the biggest cookie pile. She grabs a cookie from Beau’s pile and sits down with them, smiling with crumbs in her teeth.

“Since we’re sort of trapped here until the police forget about Molly-“

“Trapped is such a strong word.”

“-then we’ll have to plan a bunch of beach days to fill time. We’ll get to drag Caleb out there and we could invite Nott’s family, I’m sure Yeza would love to see the ocean!”

Jester’s words become indistinct as Molly zones out, happy to enjoy this moment with friends despite the circumstances that landed him here.

It’s a happy ending really, and some good karma from the world at last. He did something good by doing something bad and now he gets to hang out at the beach with his friends- his family.

Gods, he can’t wait to goad Caleb into buying swim trunks in the most atrocious pattern possible.

[amelie-shimada]

First attempt at a fic

Alright folks, here goes.  I’ve literally never done this before.  I hope someone likes it.  WidowHanzo. Angst. Realization.  Sweet.

4 am.

Maybe this would be early enough.

The sky was clear and cold as Hanzo stepped out of his quarters.  His footsteps echoed among the quiet buildings.  Not many people were up and about the Watchpoint at this hour.  That was a good sign.  Finally, hopefully he could get a decent workout in before the other agents stirred.  

It's not that they were unkind.  In some cases, the kindness was worse – polite conversation with forced smiles.  Hanzo could see the tension coming off those poor saps in waves.  It virtually shouted, This the guy almost killed Genji!  At least Commander Morrison didn't try to pretend they were friends.  The quiet disapproval he felt from him reminded him too much of Sojiro, so Hanzo tried to distance himself as much as he could.  But the worst was Dr. Ziegler.  She tried, for Genji's sake, probably.  But Hanzo would sometimes catch a look in her eyes, and he knew.  She had seen first hand what he had done to his brother. She had seen the gore he had left behind.  That memory was probably seared behind her eyes, like it was his.  Hanzo had never been in danger of forgetting what he'd done.  If that day ever came, there would be plenty of Overwatch agents to help him remember.

Dark thoughts. Shake them off.  Genji and Zenyatta would want him to.  He sighed as he pushed open the door to the training facility.

The lights in the hallway were half turned off, but golden light spilled out from the entrance to the gym.  Hopefully they had just been left on.  If that Lena woman was here for some inexplicable reason, he was not ashamed to turn tail and run.  The last thing he needed was an overdose of cheer and chatter.

No sounds of chatter, or of machines being used.  But as he got closer, he heard soft music playing. Classical.  Was there a maintenance worker in there? He could probably handle that.  No small talk, and he could ignore the stares as long as necessary.  He turned the corner and stopped short in the doorway.

The music was not coming from a maintenance worker's cart, but a small speaker connected to a cell phone.  They were on the floor next to the mirrored wall, along with a small gym bag and a towel.  A woman was poised in the center of the open floor, dancing in slow, precise moves.  She was wearing black athletic leggings and a pink tank top.  Her skin and hair were blue – literally blue - but that barely registered for him.  Because when she moved again, the back of her tank top shifted, revealing a spider tattoo.

Widowmaker.  He had heard the name in whispers around the Watchpoint.  People probably whispered about him in the same way.  Amelie LaCroix, stolen from her husband only to be returned as a Talon sleeper agent.  She had killed him, they said. One night she had woken up and stabbed him in his sleep.  That old image of a mangled Genji resurfaced, but he forced it back down.

“....headphones if the music is a problem.”

“What?” Hanzo asked, hating how disoriented he sounded.

“I said, I can put in headphones if the music is a problem.”  Her voice was velvet-rich and heavily accented.  She stood there quietly, awaiting his response.  Her golden eyes blinked once, twice.  She seemed in no hurry.

“No.  No, it is fine,” Hanzo said.  “I do not wish to disturb you.  I can come back later.” Disappointment settled in his chest.  Maybe 3 am would be early enough next time.  He turned to go.

“It is alright,” she said. “Please, stay.”

He turned back and looked at her again. There was no fear in her eyes, no judgment.  Just stillness.  

He nodded and made his way towards the first machine.  Impassive, the blue woman with the golden eyes turned back to her phone to restart the music.

Hanzo watched her when his workout allowed him to catch a discreet glimpse. Every so often their eyes would meet in the mirror.  She would look away just as quickly, but seemingly not out of embarrasment or annoyance.  He wondered about the conditioning Talon had put her through.  Was it true she couldn't feel?  He watched her move across the floor with otherworldly grace. It was hard to believe someone who could bring that much beauty in the world would be unable to feel any of it.

Down the hallway, a door slammed. There were footsteps and pleasant conversation.  Hanzo began packing up to go.  Their peaceful time was coming to an end.  It had been nice while it lasted.  He looked over at Amelie. She was packing up as well. She met his eyes, and the faintest expression moved across her face.  Was that...amusement?

4 am.  The perfect time.

Each morning, Hanzo would arrive just as Amelie was warming up.  A quick, wordless acknowledgment and then on to their own pursuits.  The companionable silence only broken by the sound of Amelie's music.  Her dance routine became familiar to him.  He learned the parts that came easy, and those that she struggled with.  He silently cheered her on as she improved over time.  They stayed until they were interrupted by other agents coming to work out.  Once, Hanzo almost got her to smile as he anticipated their arrival almost to the minute.

By the end of the following week, they were taking water breaks together. Hanzo would sit on the exercise floor with her.  Their conversations, if any, were usually short exchanges.

“There is something on your mind,” Amelie said, laying back on the floor and stretching.

“It is no matter,” he replied.  She arched a brow.  He huffed a little in frustration.  “Not important.”  

She sat up and watched him, cat-like eyes blinking patiently.

“It's about your rehabilitation,” he said.

“My rehabilitation is unimportant?” she asked, and he saw that tiny flash of almost-amusment again.

“Whether or not I know about it is unimportant,” he said.  “It is your business.”

“It is fascinating.  You are the closest thing I have to a friend on this whole base, and yet the one most reluctant to ask about it.”

He looked down at his hands.  Had he always been this awful at conversation?  Probably, at least when it came to personal matters.

“You dance beautifully,” he said, cringing inwardly.  In the past, his name and clout had done the talking for him with the few women he pursued socially.  Stripped of that, he felt his shortcomings must be plain for her to see.  Again, as on the first day, there was no judgment.  No disgust.  “I thought dance, and other arts, were rooted in emotion.  I've heard you were conditioned to feel nothing, yet you dance as one who feels deeply.”

She looked away, and for a heartbeat he feared he had offended her.

“It has been a long time since someone reviewed my dancing.” she said.  She turned to him again. “As for the conditioning, you are right.  This is part of my rehabilitation.  Dancing used to bring me such joy.  In addition to all the treatments and therapies, Dr. Ziegler advised me to try dancing again.  She's hoping it will help bring more emotion to the surface.”

“Is it working?”

“I think so,” she said. “Oftentimes, it is as if my feelings are there, just underwater. Sometimes a little bit breaks the surface here and there, but I'm still waiting for my whole self to come back.”

“I look forward to that day for you,” he said sincerely.

“You say that now, but if my therapy experiences are any indication, it may be a very ugly day when it comes.”

“Well, as the closest thing you have to a friend on this base, I consider it my duty and honor to be there.”

She nodded, her muscles twitching into an almost smile.  The way his heart reacted, she might as well have handed him the moon.

They were assigned to separate missions, scheduled only days apart.  With their similar skill sets, it would be a rare occurrence for them to be on the same team. Amelie's mission took her away a day before his.  The gym felt infinitely emptier without her presence.  He didn't even wait for the louder people to arrive before he was gone.  When he was away, he thought of her.  At 4 am on the day she was supposed to be back at base, he lay awake, picturing her there by herself.  He wondered if she had gone at all, or if she did, would she notice his absence as he had hers?  He chided himself.  Her work had nothing to do with him.  No use imagining he was more to her than he was.  It was bad enough that she meant so much to him now.  Heartbreak was near inevitable.

As the team disembarked from their transport, he found himself looking for her.  What did he expect? He chided himself.  Ridiculous how excited he had been to return.  When had his thoughts started running so wild?  As he made his way towards his living quarters, he glanced up at one of the metal walkways above.  He was just in time to see the swish of a blue ponytail as its owner walked away from the railing.

4 am felt like way too long to wait.

Finally, Hanzo made his way to the gym. He couldn't decide how to greet her this morning.  Should he say something specific?  Or pick up where they left off, as if nothing had happened?

Nothing had happened, he told himself. She went away. He went away.  They both came back.  This was normal life here.  But didn't feel that way this time.

As he turned into the gym he realized he was smiling.  A genuine smile for the dancer with the blue skin and yellow eyes.  But then he stopped short.

Because he was alone.

No gym bag, no cell phone.  She hadn't just stepped away.  She wasn't here, probably had not been here at all.  He sat down on the nearest machine.  What should he do?  Was she alright?  Should he go looking for her?  Stupid question.  He knew all the members of her team had returned safely.  She was under no obligation to be here each morning.  He was foolish to think their time together had been anything but light camaraderie.

He tried to go through his normal workout routine, but he was too distracted.  When she was on her mission, he knew she wasn't there because she couldn't be.  He didn't want to think why she wouldn't be here now.  Throwing his gear in a locker, he headed back outside.  It had been a while since he'd gone climbing.  The vigorous exercise had been good for his mind and body when he had needed to get away from people.  He hadn't gone out there since he'd started spending his mornings with Amelie.

The climbing did its job.  Hanzo felt his mind clearing as he focused on the rocky terrain.  He tamped down the memory of telling Amelie about his climbs during one of their water breaks.  He focused on the burning in his muscles instead.

Finally, he hopped up onto a familiar small alcove in the rock face.  He used to come here sometimes to think and meditate.  Today seemed like a good time to renew that habit.

She was there.  Sitting on the ledge, her legs crossed beneath her.  Her grappling hook sat off to one side.  

“I'm sorry,” she said.  “I remember you talking about the view from here.  I figured I would watch the sunrise.  I don't want to disturb you.  I'll go.”  She started to stand.

“It's alright,” he said. “Please, stay.”

She slowly sat back down.  He walked over and settled beside her, feeling more awkward than he had the first day he had encountered her at the gym.  They both stared ahead to the darkness and the ocean.  

“I missed you at the gym this morning,” he said.

“I'm sorry, Hanzo.”

He stared at her.  It was the first time she'd ever said his name.  He was not prepared for how hearing his name in her beautiful accent made him feel.

She darted a glance towards him, then looked forward again.  “I wanted to be there.  In fact – I was looking forward to it.”  She looked at him now, waiting for his reaction.  

Then it dawned on him.  She had been looking forward to something.  And that something had been spending time with him.

“Anticipation?” he asked.

“Yes.  And then...fear.  I did not expect...this,”  she took a shaky breath.  “I don't have the words...I'm still so underwater...but there's something...”  She shook her head and looked back out towards the ocean.  The sky was lightening ever so slightly.

She was so brave.  After everything she had been through, and everything still ahead of her, she was opening up to him.  Her words were few, but he understood their significance, and what it must have cost her to say them.

When he reach for her hand, she looked back at him, startled.

“Amelie,” he breathed.  Her eyes widened slightly.  Speaking her name must have affected her, too.

“I did not expect this, either,” he said.  “We both have a long way to go.  But I promise you this – I will be there to help you come to the surface.  I will not let you drown.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The most emotion he'd ever seen from her crossed her features.  She started leaning towards him, and he quickly moved closer.  He put his arms around her as she pressed into his chest.  Together, they watched the sunrise.

[strrne]

Give Me a Signal, Ch.7

Chapters: 6/?

Word count (so far): 18880 

AO3  Ch.1 Ch.2  Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6

Summary: When Padmé Amidala is unable to contact Coruscant while negotiating a loan on Scipio, the Senate suspects trouble, and sends Anakin Skywalker to go check on her. Of course, the resourceful senator isn’t really in any trouble – don’t flatter yourself, Rush Clovis – but there’s definitely some brewing.

(or; rewrite of the tcw S6 Clovis arc; anidala + gen)

Anakin had not wanted to punch Clovis. He had wanted to kill him. It was as plain as that. Most of the time, he just hated the man. But at that moment, for whatever reason, he had wanted to end him.

If he had not sensed Padmé coming and snapped out of whatever episode he'd hurtled into, who knows what could have happened. He couldn't recall half his actions, or a quarter of Clovis' words – all he remembered was the blind fury.

And at what? Anakin stopped to consider for a while, trying to think through his enduring anger. The man had done plenty of things, and didn't seem to know what was good for him, but what had he done so far that merited... death? This wasn't two years ago, and thank the heavens of Iego, the rage Anakin felt now could not remotely compare to – did he really want to go there?

A punch he could have maybe justified to himself, maybe even to Padmé, if he hadn't known what he had meant to do.

Or did he know? The worst part was that he didn't – and wouldn't ever. He was already too far removed from the situation – that was mostly blank to him now anyway – still vaguely angry, but no longer bathing and reveling in the sensation.

He wasn't even sure if he was more or less ashamed now that Padmé wasn't here. As soon as she'd appeared, he'd truly and genuinely regretted his actions – or rather, been forced to acknowledge the regret. And once she'd gone, he'd wanted to keep on regretting, so as to make sure he'd never snap like that again. But now he wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore. It was certainly unpleasant, but he couldn't quite place it.

Anakin felt like he shouldn't have needed Padmé for this, but he was already a little confused whether the Jedi dogma dictated one try to identify their feelings and then ignore them, or just ignore them, and... feel harmony instead, or something.  

-

”It's that Jedi Knight, isn't it?”

For once, Anakin really wanted her to say yes – in public. In front of the Chancellor, all the politicians, Republic representatives – and… banking enthusiasts? – that had gathered at the spaceport to see Clovis off back to Scipio. In the earshot of Bail Organa and another senator Anakin didn't recognize, who had somehow missed Clovis's whispered words that he could hear crystal clear from a distance. Just in time to see him arriving, give him a warm smile, take his hand and pull him into a kiss. In front of all these people.

Wow, his fantasies had gotten tame these days. And yet, it was still the wildest, most surreal thing Anakin could imagine. Especially when reality played out quite differently.

”Anakin!” Padmé exclaimed as she first saw him coming, too surprised to greet a 'Master Jedi' or 'General Skywalker'. Clovis whirled around – the rest of the crowd did too – but it was Clovis's face that Anakin was gauging; his intentions, his sensations that he was assessing through the Force. The man was not afraid of him. He believed Anakin to be a raving lunatic and completely unfit for his chosen profession – and a part of him washalf-expecting to get hit again, on the spot – but he was not afraid, for whatever reason.

Good? Bad? Anakin didn't know – he was used to being feared, or at least respected, on the sliding scale from 'ever the Jedi, so mysterious' to awe-induced fear and envy. And he took that respect as a half-given from all his enemies – the lack of it was always something of a personal insult. So to have this man still scoffing at him, after he'd introduced him to forces from within less mystical than the one with a capital forn… bad?

Then again… maybe that just meant Anakin had not been quite as close to snuffing the Living Force out of him as he'd thought. Maybe he had just punched him, taken a punch, and the control table had imploded on its own. It wasn't as though he had found that many black tufts of hair while cleaning up the table. So... good?

”Master Jedi,” Clovis greeted, and Anakin had to give him credit for putting up a masterful faux diplomat face. And whereas Obi-Wan had lately pointed out that he owned a pair of eyes, the Senators apparently didn't – many of them seemed delighted at the General's surprise appearance, for whatever reason. Especially the Chancellor, but he was always happy to see Anakin. ”We didn't expect the honor.”

Padmé's expression altered between confused and hopeful as Anakin returned the greeting with a nod, then stopped before Clovis and held out his hand. Clovis took it, as though out of some ambassadorial reflex. Anakin had half a mind to keep and keep shaking it and involve his other hand too, like Clovis had been doing to his wife for weeks, but he was already disgusted enough with himself.  

There was nothing he actually wanted to say to this slime pile of a man – so he didn't – but if Clovis could make grand public displays in the name of whatever, so could he.

Clovis, a little puzzled at Anakin's wordless gesture, nodded in response and said, ”And thank you for all your assistance, Master Skywalker… on Scipio.”

That last addition prompted a few snickers and awkward looks. Either the politicians were not as discreet and subtle as they prided themselves in being, or Anakin just sensed their amusement through the Force. His plight on Scipio had been widely holovised, named as a problematic factor in the now-moot loan negotiations and used as a political argument, so of course that was hilarious. At least now everyone's eyes had been opened. There was about as much diplomacy and cordiality in the air as in a droid fight ring in some dank cave on Tatooine.

After the incident, Padmé had decided to step down from her role as negotiator for a new loan contract and recommended her friend Bail instead, to a disappointed but understanding Chancellor Palpatine. She had cited her personal history with Clovis as being an interfering factor and (in her professional and cautious politician's language) alluded ever so subtly to Clovis's inappropriate advances, probably making it seem like the blame was on her and her inability to reconcile with their last encounter. The Chancellor had then appointed Senator Organa and an assisting junior Senator to go to Scipio for a fresh round of negotiations and an extended diplomatic visit instead, while Padmé would still be hailed as one of the two heroes who discovered the data needed for the Five's conviction. And also suspected, alongside Clovis, of providing false data and potentially soon leading the Republic to ruin. The world of war finances was scary and complicated.

Anakin knew that the personal part of this ordeal could've by now been over. That is, if he hadn't developed an obsession with Scipio's holo tower and almost taken the opportunity to stow away on this very ship.

Not yet. He wanted all of his tools in prime condition, and for once, he needed to make one of those 'actual plans' that Obi-Wan was always nagging him about. He wondered what his Master would say if he knew he was going to make this rare exception for the sake of, technically, committing a crime.

Unceremoniously, his worst enemy was shortly packed into a ship and shipped off to Scipio. As they started to head back, Anakin sensed that Padmé wanted to talk, but Senator Chuchi apparently required Padmé's attention with greater urgency, and the Supreme Chancellor, in turn, wanted a word with Anakin.

”What a lovely gesture, Anakin,” he praised, placing a wrinkly hand on his shoulder. They were trailing behind the rest of the party, as the elderly Chancellor's movements were slow. ”I know you're not fond of the man. And when you consider the circumstances of his acquisition of the data file… oh, I myself worry whether he is to be trusted. But do not we all want to believe in second chances, hm?”

Anakin's handshake, to be sure, had not been for the sake of giving Clovis a second chance – more along the lines of pettiness, feeling superior, and maybe impressing Padmé, or at least making the handshake the last interaction she'd witness between the two men.

”Yes… we'll see,” Anakin muttered. Maybe the gesture had been a little too public for his taste.

”Please don't mistake my public endorsement of Clovis for my private confidence in him,” the Chancellor clarified, sliding his hand from Anakin's shoulder along the side of his arm, and giving a smile. ”I pray for this success and continued redemption, but between you and I, should any slip-ups transpire… ” He tutted and wagged his finger while still smiling. ”We will not hesitate to take drastic action.”

Anakin was inclined to agree.

-

”What was that all about, Anakin? Earlier today?” Padmé finally inquired. Somehow, between her busy schedule and the demands of his job, they had not found a private moment until this late at night at her apartment. Anakin wasn't quite sure whether she sounded appreciative – of the handshake, or his entering through the balcony, or what he was (not) wearing at the moment in a hopeful spirit – but he'd soon find out.

”I… felt bad,” he lied – or did he? ”And I guess… I wanted to provide him one last opportunity to… you know… spill the beans on me. I didn't want to hide like some coward.”

”They would have never believed him over you,” Padmé scoffed, now walking his way, looking his way, and certainly looking at his relative lack of attire, but very deliberately pulling a shawl over her shoulder-exposing nightdress. Anakin made a pout. ”He's a traitor, you're a war hero; he shrewdly maneuvered his way to the top; you were wrongfully imprisoned…”

Anakin was starting to deeply regret the handshake. The gesture in itself had done nothing but soiled his hand with treachery and smugness, but to have it generate this many prolonged conversations over Clovis, who was finally gone from their lives forever – except...

For a moment, he reconsidered his plan to go to Scipio. Why go closer, when he could be farther? In a rare moment, he remembered one of Obi-Wan's lessons, and a boring one at that, which was to look inward in a moment of agitation and ask the Force for an answer. Even as Padmé's tone gradually softened and she made a few concessions – still a nice gesture, perhaps you meant well – Anakin instead turned away for a moment, closed his eyes, and listened.

Obi-Wan's Force signature was especially bright tonight – worried, but… different somehow. Anakin wasn't quite sure, because he'd often been accused of making everything about himself – but it felt like his Master was thinking about him. About... him and Padmé? But Anakin had no time to dwell on what juicy secrets Obi-Wan believed he'd learned.

But the Force didn't seem intent on giving answers… and Anakin never been much good at meditating. He only saw the reception tower. But that was not the Force – that was a man-made, unmystical, different kind of Galaxy-wide connective tissue. Mechanical, more grounded. Sure, he was great at both, but the two had little to do with each other. One couldn't use the Force to fix the reception and no matter how good the signal, its capacity was insignificant compared to the power of the Force.

At least, what he saw didn't feel like a Force vision. But if he was already obsessing about something, could he even recognize a vision if it woke him up at night and bit him in the nose?

With his human senses, Anakin had actually heard most of what Padmé had said, as he slid back into reality, without the more mystical kinds of answers. She still loved him, needlessly apologized for something – still found something to criticize him for – and was now staring at his bare chest and swallowing.

-

Without wanting to, Padmé – or rather Senator Amidala – found herself contacting Director Clovis through her holoprojector in two days' time. She half-expected the message to not go through, but it did – of course it did, because Anakin was still the best at what he did even when he couldn't do his best.

”Padmé!” a flickering blue figure greeted her, his voice many things at a time – surprised, tired, elated, caught off-guard.

”Hello, Clovis,” she said, a little too coldly. ”I thought it polite to inquire – in a professional and cordial spirit – whether the negotiations are progressing smoothly?”

She had briefly holo'ed with Bail yesterday, the signal a little more unstable at the time. He had informed her that he and the junior Senator were only just settling in.

”Uh,” Clovis uttered, eyes tracing circles on the floor, hand scratching his neck. ”T-to be determined.” He gave an awkward laughter, still not meeting her eyes. A faint hum of interference seeped into the signal.

”Clovis, is everything alright there?”

He gave a brave smile.

”I… I do wish you were here, Padmé.”

Padmé sighed. Technically, she had officially pulled out of the professional side of things, and this was the reason. She had called Clovis of her own volition, against her better judgment, and if this is what he wanted to reward her with, if this what he wanted to have a discussion about, then so be it.

”Clovis, we talked about this. Your behavior during your stay here was inappropriate. I apologize for leading you on and for using you in the past, but frankly that is all the more reason not to bother with me, and instead focus on the demands of your new position. I almost filed a complaint on you, but I–”

He laughed again – now hollowly, snidely.

”And you would have been believed.”

Padmé tilted her head defensively.

”This was a mistake, Clovis. Good night.”

”No, wait!” he suddenly pleaded.

Padmé inclined her head, almost startled, wondering just how many moodswings this man would undergo in the space of a few minutes. But as he hesitated, opening his mouth to speak several times only to back down, Padmé had to take the opportunity to instead make her message clear once and for all.

”Clovis, despite… everything, I want to support you professionally, and I want you to succeed professionally. But I'm not going to be drawn into some imaginary love triangle when there's barely enough love here for a single one-way line.”

Clovis looked hurt – and maybe something else – scowling silently from under his brows.

Padmé had meant her words – the supportive and the hurtful. She knew that underneath that superiority-inferiority complex and his obsessive tendencies, her old friend possessed many great qualities. But she also knew that even had she not been with Anakin – Anakin. Why was it that the constant mention of her husband – or 'the Jedi Knight' – worried her the most?

To be sure, Anakin's anger issues had given her lots of concern in the past, and recently. But suddenly it struck her that Clovis had, at the very least, hit him back. And if Anakin could not get his obsession under control, Clovis would soon be in a position to hurt him again – more subtly – or vice versa – less subtly. Just what would it take for this man – for any man – to start to embrace their best qualities, instead of the very worst?  

[letterfromtrenwith]

Prescription Passion - Ch. 8

Carolight Hospital AU

Ch.8 - Caroline Penvenen is a successful, capable doctor...and she also just might be an idiot.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

~

“Killewarren has been in the Penvenen family since 1621, when Rafe Penvenen was granted the estate by King James I in recognition of his military service…” Caroline let the tour guide’s voice drift off, only vaguely registering the familiar words about how the house had survived the Civil War and Rafe’s son William had sheltered royalists behind its excellent defences…Eventually the voice disappeared as the tour group reached the end of the corridor where they would go down into the old kitchens and learn about the ancient range and how many servants the house once had.

By some miracle, the Penvenen family had managed to hold onto their ancestral home, but like almost every other country estate in the nowadays, it was open to the public. Caroline had got quite used to the visitors when she was a little girl, creeping up to the section of gallery which led into the private apartments and overlooked the great hall to peep down at them trooping through, gawping at the paintings and being told not to touch the antiques by the attendants. When she was a bit more grown up, and given free reign of the house, she’d even joined in with them on occasion, playing with the other children or taking a bit of naughty joy in clattering around in the old servant’s corridor upstairs when the guide told their group it was allegedly haunted.

It seemed like another world, growing up in a house like this, something she hadn’t properly realised until she went to university, where even some of her poshest fellow students couldn’t dream of such a thing. She’d found out to her surprise that the Trenwith Hotel a few miles away had once been the estate of the Poldark family, sold off by Francis and Verity’s great-grandparents after the Great War, and that Cardew, now some sort of religious retreat, had been built by George’s ancestors. The Warleggans, having made their money in banking, hadn’t gone bust, however, and instead moved into a jaw-dropping townhouse in Truro, where George’s mother and grandmother still lived. Even George and Elizabeth’s gorgeous place wasn’t a patch on it.

The introductory speech of another tour guide startled Caroline out of her reverie. How long had she been standing there, staring at the small semi-circular window high above the main entrance? Thankfully, she was mostly concealed from those in the hall, unless someone knew she was there. Again, she heard the words about how long the house had been in the family – but for how much longer? Aside from the cost and effort of managing the place, she was the last Penvenen. Once she inherited the house – and she prayed that would not be for a long time – it had nowhere to go after that. If she had children, it would still be in the family, she supposed, just without the Penvenen name.

Of course, she’d never thought much about having children, and considering the state of her private life, it didn’t look much likely in the immediate future. Here she was, moping unproductively about her Uncle’s house on her day off in the wake of yet another romantic disaster.

Romantic disaster? That was stretching it a bit. She could hardly call a few conversations, one date and one kiss – God, a really good kiss – a ‘romance’. It was barely even a dalliance, to use a word straight out of her aunt’s collection of old Mills & Boon novels.

At a gentle nudge to her ankle, she glanced down to find Horace snuffling at her leg. He plopped his fat bottom on the carpet and looked up at her expectantly, his whole body jiggling as he tried to wag his little stump of a tail while sitting down.

“What, then, my precious? Do you want a walk, hmm?” Horace was generally a lazy creature, his preferred leisure activity being lying on the most comfortable surface he could find – aside from eating, of course. However, he seemed to like Killewarren, the gardens being rather more interesting than the plain little park around the corner from Caroline’s flat. It meant mingling with the visitors, but that was all right – dogs were allowed in the gardens so she just looked like another day tripper.

After he’d made friends with an Alsatian at the water gardens, been petted by and starred in the selfies of three young American girls, and weed on a stone bench right next to a very unimpressed old lady, Caroline took Horace on a loop around the large gravel driveway-come-car-park. They were just on their way back, Horace puffing and snorting in that way which meant he’d had quite enough exercise for today – or this month – when there was a shout from up ahead.

“Help! Somebody call an ambulance!” Pausing to scoop up Horace, who snuffed in indignation, Caroline hurried toward the voice. Just by the entrance to the estate’s old chapel, a middle aged man was half-slumped against the stone wall, a woman about his age crouched next to him. Caroline dropped to her knees beside them, setting Horace on his feet as gently as possible. She was vaguely aware of him tottering off behind her, but she didn’t worry. He wouldn’t go far.

“What happened?” The woman looked at her, bewildered and panicked. Caroline took hold of her arm, trying to ground her, make her focus. “I’m a doctor. Tell me what happened.”

“He – he just collapsed. He said his chest hurt, but I just thought that was because we’d been walking all day.”

“Does he have any medical conditions?” Caroline took the man’s pulse – it was thready and weak, but it was there. He was sweaty and pale, and breathing heavily. His eyelids flickered but he seemed barely conscious.

“A mild heart murmur, but it’s never given him any problems before.”

“I’ve called an ambulance.” One of the tour guides appeared behind Caroline, holding a mobile phone.

“Are you still on the line?” The guide nodded and Caroline held out her hand for the phone. “Hello, this is Dr Caroline Penvenen. I’ve got a male, 50s, previous history of heart murmur, pulse weak, breathing difficulties and semi-conscious. What’s his name?”

“Oh.” It took the woman a moment to realise Caroline was addressing her. “Peter.”

“Peter? Peter, can you hear me?” A wheeze which may have been a response, and his eyelids flickered again. Caroline handed the phone back to the attendant. Another had joined her and Caroline turned to him. “Is there a first aid kit at the front desk? Does it have aspirin?”

“Er, yes.”

“Bring it, please.”

By the time the ambulance arrived, thankfully promptly, Caroline had put Peter in the recovery position. She hadn’t used in the aspirin in the end, partly because he was not quite conscious enough to take it, but also because she wasn’t entirely convinced he was having a heart attack.

The paramedics agreed, and indeed once they’d got him hooked up to the monitors in the rig, his heart rate seemed to be slightly improved. Peter’s wife – Julie – held tightly to his hand as Caroline and one of the medics worked to make sure he was stable. Caroline hadn’t dealt with anything close to an emergency – bar once giving a girl at a nightclub an epi pen – since her foundation training, but she found that adrenaline, well perhaps not quite adrenaline but something like it, had taken over.

“Where we headed?” The medic called up to the driver.

“ETA 10 mins. St Neot’s A&E.” 

~

The maternity ward was blessedly cool – and quiet – when Caroline pushed open the doors. Quiet moans emanated from one of the rooms, along with a gentle male voice – whether medic or unusually chilled out expectant father Caroline couldn’t say. A nurse popped up from behind the desk, startling her.

“Sorry! Oh, hello, Dr Penvenen. Are you wanting Elizabeth – Dr. Warleggan, I mean.”

“If she’s free.” She wasn’t really sure why she’d made her way up here, but she was feeling a bit off and instinct had taken her to her best friend.

“She is. Or, at least, I think she is. Her and Verity are out in the staff corridor, last I saw them. They’re taking a break.” Passing several more rooms, the sounds of voices –cursing, cooing, the cries of newborns – floating around inside, Caroline made her way to small, discreet door marked ‘Hospital Personnel Only’. When the nurse had said Elizabeth and Verity were in the corridor, she hadn’t been kidding. The two women sat on the floor, backs against the wall, legs extended in front of them. Caroline pushed aside a recollection of the scene she’d witnessed in the A&E corridor a few days earlier.

“Caroline! What are you doing here? I thought you were off today.” Elizabeth frowned, sipping her cheap vending machine tea.

“Oh, I was.” Caroline replied airily. “But what’s up with you two?”

“Two breech births this morning.” Verity replied. “Everyone okay, but both mums stressed out as Hell.”

“And then an overly-keen dad with an iPhone tripped me up and I fell in the birthing pool.” Elizabeth pursed her lips as Verity chuckled. Even in her odd mood, Caroline couldn’t help a grin at the thought of that. Now she looked, she could see Elizabeth’s hair was wet. “I hate water births.”

“Poor baby.” Caroline patted her on the shoulder as she sat down next to her. After all the morning’s excitement, she suddenly felt very drained. Elizabeth looked like she was about to say something when her phone trilled and she slipped it out of the top pocket of her scrubs. Her face took on a familiar affectionate expression as she read the message. “Oh, love’s young dream…”

“Oh, shush. George is just asking what I want him to make for dinner tonight.”

“Handsome, rich, a doctor, good dad and he can cook.” Verity shook her head. “The rest of us might as well just give up. Elizabeth’s won.”

“Stop it. Here, watch this.” Elizabeth fiddled with the screen for a moment and Caroline and Verity both leant in to look. The video began to play, blurred for a second as it zoomed in on Elizabeth, kneeling on the floor of what looked like her living room, holding Ursula up in front of her.

“Go on, go to Daddy. Go to Daddy.” She gently lifted her hands from under the baby’s arms, but kept them close by.

“Come on, Ursula, come to me. Come here.” George appeared at the far side of the frame, crouched down a couple of feet away, arms open in invitation. Slowly, Ursula took a wobbly step forward, then another, then another, Elizabeth keeping close behind her.

“Go on, Ursula, clever girl.” A third voice from behind the camera. Morwenna.

With the encouragement of her parents and her cousin, Ursula tottered the final couple of steps, to be scooped up in George’s arms, giggling delightedly at her achievement.

“Oh, she’s so cute! And she’s walking early!” Verity cooed.

“Earlier than Valentine, although it didn’t take him long to get going. He went straight from first steps to 100m sprint.” She laughed fondly, putting her phone away. The three of them sat quietly for a while, apart from Verity ‘yeuch’-ing at the dregs of her tea, before Elizabeth seemed to remember something. “Caro, you never told us why you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s a long story…” She explained about her visit to Killewarren, and Peter and Julie.

“Wow, it’s a good job you were there. Heart attack, was it?”

“No, angina, by the look of it. He was looking a lot better when I left, but they’ve sent him to the cardiac ward for proper tests to get to the bottom of it.”

“Well. Still. Angina might not be a heart attack, but it’s no laughing matter. You really did brilliantly.”

“Bet Dwight was impressed.” Verity teased. Caroline must have made a face, because the other two immediately frowned at her.

“What’s the matter?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Caroline attempted to affect a casual air, even though she knew they’d see through it. It was habit, and a difficult one to break. “I just think Dwight and I aren’t destined for anything.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, him cosying up to a cute nurse two days after our first date might have something to do with it.”

“Dwight?!” Verity shook her head. “No way. There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake. I saw it with my own two eyes.” She told them about going down to A&E after hearing about the scaffolding collapse, and seeing Dwight and Rosina in a close embrace on the floor of the corridor. It had been pure instinct which sent her down there, remembering the slightly haunted look she’d seen flicker over his light eyes when he spoke about his time with MSF, and his reaction to the stab victim the day she’d bumped into him in the coffee shop. Walking into the corridor, she’d stopped short, feeling stupid and presumptive and a dozen other things; so she’d done what she always did when confronted with difficult feelings – she’d walked away.

“So.” Verity frowned. “You’ve decided to call it a day with a very eligible man you clearly like very much…because you saw a colleague give him a quick hug after an extremely stressful shift?”

“Er…” Hearing it put like that, Caroline recalled the off-hand way she’d dealt with Dwight over admitting Peter, giving him purely the cold facts before striding away without so much as a by-your-leave. She looked at her friends, at their incredulous expressions, and fought the urge to put her head in her hands.      

[donewithjeon]

Downfall [22]

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 5,638

Genre: Assassin AU

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26

It’s early in the night—that is, in terms of Seoul—and you find yourself submitting to the wonderful world of smoke and mirrors once again.

Your brother sent you a text earlier with the update that Jin has a new order for the team that is ready to be collected—meaning, you have to go pick it up. You’re used to this arrangement by now, since all missions must be given in person by the supervisors. Why the job of being the courier fell into your lap is beyond your comprehension, but you’ve been undertaking it for as long as can remember.

Club Octagon looks to be barely starting up for the night, determined by the fact that there aren’t many people present yet; it’s a rare occurrence, staring down as you stroll on the walkway above and actually being able to see the laminated surface of the dance floor. The flashing lights are as disorienting as always, and you make an effort to avoid looking at them for too long or else you’ll be seeing stars all night.

You turn away once you near the usual hallway to Jin’s room, but you’re forced to halt in your tracks when a hand reaches out in front of you, blocking your path. Looking up at the owner of the meaty palm, you see that it’s the same brawny man whom you always see securing this hall. He vaguely motions off to the side with his other hand and leans in to half-yell something, his voice only managing to come across as scarcely audible in this environment.

“Overlook B.”

No other words or directions are needed, because you know exactly where that is. Giving the guard a nod of acknowledgment, you turn on your heel and head towards your revised destination. You admit that this place can be pretty confusing to newcomers, but with how many times you’ve visited this establishment over the years, it would be more surprising if you didn’t memorize the club’s layout by now.

After placing a couple of knocks on the door that you now stand before, you twist the door handle and let yourself in, making sure to shut it behind you as soon as possible to save your eardrums from further destruction. Once you have your senses in order for the most part, you take a gander at your surroundings.

The first thing you notice is the large glass pane that stretches across one of the walls, most likely serving as a way to supervise the VIP lounge zones on the second floor. This room is exactly what its name suggests—everything from the viewing platform to the neatly-dressed man standing upon it with his observant gaze is reminiscent of a watchtower you would find at a prison.

In this case, Jin is the warden.

“New meeting room?”

At your words, your supervisor diverts his attention from the window, turning his body to greet you as you make your way in front of him. “Not exactly. Just wanted a nice change of view.”

“Understandable.” You give a few head tilts in concurrence. You know far too well how intolerable it can become when you’re stuck in one place for a prolonged period of time. Sometimes, you can’t help but take a second to admire how patient Jin must be to carry out his role as a supervising officer. You know for a fact that you would never be able to do what he does—and look so good while doing it.

There isn’t much small talk after the initial exchange, because he dives straight into business the first moment he’s given. You don’t bother taking a seat, because you know this visit won’t take long—especially if you keep your mouth shut and ears open. Jin fills you in on everything you need to know about tonight’s mission, the reason you were sent here by Namjoon in the first place. All the details add up to be another standard contract of “purging your enemies”, but one part of the briefing that stands out to you is that the tip for this new location was given by, or rather taken from, a dungeon dweller rather than a confidential informant like the previous jobs.

Usually, you would voice your opinion on this matter and question the authenticity of your source’s word—the preceding run-in with your supposed “wanted man” did well to lure you straight into a trap—but you convince yourself to brush past it. Knowing the sanctity of your organization, you have enough faith in your superiors that they have taken the necessary measures to secure the validity of the hostage’s information before sending you into the fray again.

Your enemy has been slowly but surely unraveling during these past few weeks, and respectively, you have been shortening the road leading to the wanted man with each passing day. Ever since the diminutive breather everyone was given while the debacle at Seoul Plaza was being sorted out, you feel as if you’re being worked twice as hard as before to make up for lost time. In the beginning, you assumed it was a disciplinary action, since your team did royally mess up a crucial mission, but after fulfilling more contracts, you realized that punishment was not the reason for inflated workload.

The higher-ups must be on to something, because with each assignment they give, you appear to be treading closer to the answers you’re searching for—it’s about time, too. People are starting to slip up and spill vital intel during this tumultuous stage of the operation, and the organization is sending you out to all corners of the city to mop up every last bit of it.

Throughout the remainder of the briefing, you do your best not to pester Jin for any superfluous information regarding the mission and refrain from interrupting him like you often are inclined to do. Instead, you stand and listen intently, hoping that he won’t see right through your uncharacteristic compliance. He probably already knows that you’re buttering him up in preparation to try and get something out of him, but as long as you’re making life easier for him by being diligent and silent at this moment, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mind.

When he’s done going through his spiel though, that’s when you see an opportunity to strike.

“How is Jungkook doing this week?”

Sure, there could have been more discreet ways of inquiring about your teammate’s condition, but there’s no point in hiding your intentions from Jin—to him, you are all open books he has read and reread far too many times.

“He’s improving,” he replies quickly, not even pretending to be fazed by the sudden topic change. After finding out that Jin will receive weekly updates on the status of your inactive teammate, you made it a point to ask him about those updates at the end of each week. Although this is only your third time asking, it’s evident that he has already accepted his role of being in charge of sating your curiosity about the matter.

Again, you really admire his astronomical level of patience, almost as much as you’re sure he admires your tireless persistence.

“Do you know when he’ll be able to rejoin the team?” you carefully ask. It’s something you didn’t dare bring up before, but you feel as if an appropriate amount of time has now passed since the incident. The wound on your back from your unfortunate meeting with the brunt of Jungkook’s knife has healed up without any complications, and while the same can’t be said for your teammate’s lesions of the mind, you still decide to give the question a shot.

“I can’t say for sure. It’s not my call to make.”

“I see.”

You turn your head away from the window, diverting your eyes and your disappointment. These conversations always tend to leave you unsatisfied, so you don’t know why you’re so determined to bring it up, especially when you know that you rarely get the answers you want.

“You can’t rush the process,” Jin continues after a few seconds of silence. “In order for a machine to work, each of its parts need to be in good shape. Even if one piece goes wrong, the entire thing can fall apart. That’s why you should devote your energy and focus on doing your own part.”

You purse your lips to desist from frowning. You know he’s not wrong, but it’s never that enjoyable to be lectured by your supervising officer yet again. Even he sounds like he’s droning on as if he has heard this one too many times, despite the fact that it’s coming from his own mouth. You expect him to be regarding you with the knowing look he often holds when he wants to get his message across, but when you shift your gaze back onto him, you notice that his attention isn’t even on you anymore.

“You can’t just run towards every opening you see. Sometimes, you just have to let it come to you.”

Jin’s line of sight is shifted back to where he was focused on when you first entered. Curious as to what has his attention, you turn your head to examine the club scene below. Things seem to be quite tame today, with no need for the security to break up brawls or drag drunken bodies out of the establishment—at least, not yet. You’re just about to brush off your supervisor’s concentration as him just dutifully doing his job, but then you see it.

More specifically, you see her.

You’re almost certain that Jin’s eyes are on her, not only because he’s not being very subtle, but because she is sticking out like a sore thumb, as much as that seems impossible in a flashy club.

The woman is seated at the very end of one of the VIP bars with not even a drink in front of her. The distance of that particular bar from the crowd at the main dance floor is pretty extensive compared to the other zones, which you can only assume is her reason for choosing to settle there—to be alone. There aren’t many other customers around her, but those who are at the club at this hour are usually the ones itching to get a head start on the night.

You would think that’s the case for her, but her entire demeanor says otherwise.

She’s fairly attractive from what you can tell, but her attire looks more like she’s dressed for a business interview than a dance club. It’s apparent through her body language that she doesn’t want to be there, yet she also doesn’t seem to show any signs of leaving. You would describe her to be very much the type of person to blend into the background, a true wallflower, but she must have done something to catch the interest of your supervisor, because you doubt that the spaced-out stare he’s donning right now is just for anyone.

“She’s pretty,” you speak up shamelessly, interrupting the short silence that fell between you two in that moment.

Jin tears his gaze away to look at you, staring wordlessly as you’re sure he’s contemplating whether or not he should even try to cover up his tracks. You realized that his previous tone of speech wasn’t that of boredom from berating you about the same old subject again—he was distracted.

After a few seconds, it seems that he has decided to go a different route, which is to just avoid the topic entirely. Without saying another word, he reaches for the inner pocket of his blazer to fish something out.

“Who is she?” you pry a little further. You know that you’re testing your boundaries, but you find this situation too intriguing to let it go so easily. Unfortunately, Jin only gives you a look you’re sure that reads “none of your business” before extending a folded piece of paper in front of you.

“Here’s the address.”

Judging by his tone, you can tell that it’s time for you to go now. Slightly disappointed once again, you take the note from him and stash it in your own pocket for the time being. You turn around to leave the room, but not before giving Jin a cheeky smile and a comment that you can’t help yourself from making.

“Enjoy the view.”

“This is it.”

Namjoon calls out your arrival to the destination clearly and confidently, but you feel a bit skeptical as the vehicle nears the site that was written on the slip of paper you were given. The building is located on top of a small hill, one you are currently at the base of, and while the shadow of the night is masking much of the details, you can see an eminently distinguishable silhouette of a cross raised atop the roof that leaves no room for interpretation what you are looking at.

A church.

Now it makes sense why Jin chose to describe this mission as a “purge” when relaying it to you. It’s nice to know that your supervisor still has a sense of humor, no matter how dark.

The church isn’t the least bit grandiose in scale, most likely due to the fact that this facility looks to be in use only by the immediate community, very much unlike the Myeongdong Cathedral. This doesn’t seem like a town that houses very many people either, with how lethargically the lone place of worship is perched on the top of the hill.

One of the main things you notice is that there is no high ground for your sniper to set up, something that Yoongi will no doubt complain about in a few seconds. It does incite the question as to why the entire group, or at least the ones who are active in the field, was dispatched on a mission such as this one. You already know the answer though, and based off of the unbroken silence from your other teammates, you’re sure they realize this as well.

With everything that has been occurring these days, most of your jobs have turned into “all hands on deck” sort of situations, and that includes the person usually stationed in the crow’s nest. Yoongi will just have to make do with joining the rest of you guys on the ground team.

The topography already has you all at a disadvantage with your enemies being stationed on higher ground. Worst case scenario is that they will see you coming from a mile away if they utilize their vantage point correctly, since anything coming from the bottom of the hill will be exposed. You’ll have to move with haste if you want to have any chance of ambushing them while they still are least expectant.

The five of you ditch the van you arrived here in a couple blocks away and resort to approaching the location on foot to minimize detection. Once you guys get close enough to your starting positions, you split off into the two teams that were previously discussed; Taehyung and you will push forward first while Jimin, Namjoon, and Yoongi will follow shortly afterward and provide cover if needed.

Your only saving grace is that the immediate perimeter is quite dark, with only a few lights from the church above and the street below providing illumination. Using this darkness as your disguise, you waste no time in sneaking up the side of the sizable hill, scanning the exterior of the building for any movement. Taehyung gives you a barely visible nod before he splits off from you one more time in his own separate direction, most likely creeping past the other side of the building to check the back for any activity or alternative ways in.

You can’t tell if you’re breathing or not as you make your way closer to your side of the building. Making sure to dampen your footsteps as much possible, you hone in on spot near the wall that looks as good a position as any to pause and assess the situation. You immediately crouch down, pressing your back up against the rough plaster of the wall and using what looks to be an air conditioning unit beside you as cover.

An architectural element that caught your eye when you were advancing up the hill was the windows on this wall of the church, the ones you now have full sight of as you tilt your head up to examine the environment. This side of the structure is lined with several vertical planes of stained glass windows, and you feel the slightest amount of reassurance at the spectacle—all of them are too opaque to look through, as the colorful designs are mostly for show rather than practicality. While it gives you a miniscule amount of relief that they will not be able to see you through the windows, it also means that you won’t be able to see into the building as well.

On top of that, it appears that the only entrance to the entire place is the double doors up front—that is, unless Taehyung finds something outstanding in his trail to the back of the church. So far, he hasn’t made a single comment, which leads you to believe that your initial assumption is true.

To be fair, the comms haven’t been used by any of your teammates since you got here, and you get the feeling that no one wants to risk it just yet. It makes sense that everyone is being extra careful right now, especially since you’re currently short a pair of hands to turn the tide if you were to get caught.

It’s tough to tell if having only one possible entryway will make your job easier or harder—that all depends on who’s guarding it. The more you consider different strategies though, the more you recognize that you won’t be able to truly know what you’re up against until you walk through those doors.

Lucky for you, doing just that is your only option right now.

“Guess we’ll have to knock.”

Namjoon’s voice chimes in as if his thoughts perfectly aligned with yours. If the actual strategist of your group states that there’s only one plan of action available, it’s usually wise to listen to him.

“That’s your cue, rookie.”

And just like that, Yoongi has nominated you to lead the infiltration. You instinctively scowl at his order, one you’ve heard in mocking tones many times in the past, but this seems to be one of the exceptional moments where he does have a point.

Taehyung is frequently the top pick for being the catalyst—he’s more or less the designated scout with his uncanny ability to read the surroundings and act accordingly—but you guys have to assume that his cover has been blown by now with your current enemies if the number of recent missions where he was deployed first is any indication.

Instead, you can add this esteemed job onto your growing list of responsibilities today, but perhaps for more than just the reason of anonymity.

An important condition of this mission that Jin made sure to emphasize is to keep things as low-profile as possible. This not only crosses off the option of busting in guns blazing, but it limits your use of firearms altogether. Some of you are equipped with silenced pistols for backup, but they are to be used sparingly.

Hand-to-hand combat has always been your forte, so it’s indubitable that being in the front lines would be beneficial to both you and your team, especially if things go south. Fortunately, the informant for the job mentioned that there is only a trivial chance that the enemies will be armed.

That doesn’t mean you will let your guard down.

Checking that your knives are hidden and holstered in their ready positions, you straighten yourself up from the corner you tucked yourself away in and cautiously head towards the entrance. When you’re face-to-face with the worn double doors, your brother’s voice hums lowly through your earpiece once more.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

With that final cue, you raise your fist into the air and rap your knuckles on the faded wooden panel just loud enough to hear, but not aggressive enough to incite apprehension in whoever opens the door—if someone even decides to open it. The clock is ticking until you must switch to plan B, because the lack of a response very rarely means that nobody is home. Just when you start considering taking another action, the mechanism of the lock sounds off with a click before the door on the right swings open, almost hitting you in the process.

“Can I help you?”

The man who stands at the entrance is far from welcoming, his tone and the subdued sneer on his face making you doubt he is merely a regular church-going fellow. He has one arm holding the door so graciously open and the other by his side, but his feet are warily situated in a way that gives you the sense that he’s not planning to stand there for long.

“I’m here for the mass,” you reply calmly, a faint smile on your lips as you look past his shoulder to speedily survey the interior. Nothing really stands out about the setting, with the walls and furnishings looking like your average church service hall. “Looks like I’m in the right place.” Like a deep-seated habit, your eyes have already begun to search the room to fulfill your objective, which is, in essence, to do a head count.

“Stop!” you hear a sudden shout from within that even seems to startle the doorman in front of you. Your gaze shifts to the source of the bellow, and you see that it’s a burly man towards the back who has taken the liberty of standing up from one of the pews near what appears to be the church’s altar. “You’re making a big mistake!”

If that’s not confirmation of guilt, you don’t know what is.

Ignoring the line that a good number of those you have gone against liked to announce, you add the gutsy man into your final tally and send the signal to start the slaughter.

“Thirteen.”

With no need to wait for a response, you jump into action right away, ducking past the doorman after successfully predicting that he would try to take a swipe at you. His lunge is too slow to catch you as his arms reach for thin air, and the slight stumble in his posture as he steps forward out the door provides you with an excellent opportunity to counter.

You briskly place a harsh kick on the back of his knee, and as his leg begins to buckle under him, you unsheathe your blade from behind your waist and drive it straight down into the soft spot behind his clavicle. By the time the man fully falls to the floor and you’re able to withdraw towards the left half of the church, all hell breaks loose.

Your teammates are nothing less than prompt in joining the brawl, hopping over the heap of a man at the entrance whose sole purpose now is being a human door stopper.

Taehyung dashes in first, having been the closest to your position. He’s as nimble as can be as he skillfully finds the path of least resistance between the goons that have proceeded forward to obstruct his way. He glides his way almost playfully to the opposite side of the room, dividing the attention of the inhabitants between you and him.

Right after Taehyung comes Jimin who, instead of strategy, goes for a more direct approach. He initiates contact with the first person he sees, throwing his body weight into a powerful push kick that lands right in the center of the man’s stomach. A grotesque grunt rises from the throat of the blow’s recipient as he staggers backwards in an attempt to catch his balance and breath. Whatever move he plans to make after he does so is already too late, because Jimin has landed limberly on his feet, already winding up to place another savage strike.

If Jimin is limber, then Namjoon who entered shortly after him is all limbs. While your brother lacks the finesse and agility that your aforementioned teammates hold—perhaps all those genes were dispensed on you—his impressive stature surely makes up for it. His long legs and arms give him an extended range, even if it doesn’t seem consequential, and each hit he lands really packs a punch, as demonstrated by the man who is now lying sideways on the floor, groaning with his hand held over what you expect is a freshly broken rib.

The groaning is only silenced when a familiar pop reaches your ears, and the man’s body soon slackens with the new appearance of a bullet hole though the side of his temple. Yoongi stands by the entryway, his body unmoving other than the small adjustments done for aiming and his finger pulling back the trigger of the black pistol in his hands. The door behind him is now closed, something you’re sure he did for the courtesy of the citizens that may pass by in the neighborhood.

It’s just like him not to get his hands dirty like the rest of you, but his method can’t really be criticized nor can you count on him to change his ways. He is doing well to be conservative with his shots but pick off everyone he sees as they are becoming incapacitated by those of you in close combat, the long, cylindrical attachment at the end of his muzzle living up to its name of silencer.

You don’t relinquish much more time in focusing on your teammates’ statuses, because you have your own hands full. You find yourself charging towards your second target, then, your third, each swing of your blade sinking into the flesh of your enemies in fatal meetings.

You’re taken by surprise at the level of skill and resistance you’re up against; everyone is putting up a good fight, and things seem to drag on longer than normal compared to the ordinary thugs you often find yourselves clearing the area of. Maybe it’s the decreased use of firearms or perhaps the absence of a certain killing machine on your side, but you definitely begin to break a sweat by the time all the targets are taken care of. You can feel your palms perspiring around the grip of your dagger, but you finish the job without complication, tearing the blade ceremoniously out of the eye socket of your final victim.

“Everyone good?” you hear Namjoon ask once there’s a quiet lull throughout the room to signal the end of the slaughter. His question is met with a few hums and short answers of approval from your teammates. You’re about to comment that all of you made it through the scuffle without a single scratch, but when you turn to Namjoon to provide your own reply, you see that it’s not the case.

Namjoon has also resorted to taking his pistol out in the middle of the fight, but what is even more unexpected are the thin trails of blood flowing down past his fingers from a cut running across back of his hand.

It appears that it wasn’t just your imagination in thinking that these enemies were tougher than usual. They did not have guns on them like the mission details pronounced, yet they still proved to be quite a challenge to defeat. The reason could be that you gave them some more time to prepare for the attack by knocking and practically announcing your presence, but there was nothing else you could have done in that situation.

Nonetheless, your work here is nearly complete.

“Let’s finish this up,” Namjoon speaks again, pushing the mission along while drawing no attention to his wound. You didn’t really expect him to—it’s just a scratch in comparison to other injuries he has sustained, after all.

Your team parts ways to tend to their separate duties, with you and Jimin making the trek back to the van to retrieve the accelerant—another job to add to your list—while the others searched around the establishment for any clues or information that may be useful in your pursuit of wanted man.

“You think we’ll go to hell for burning a church down?” Taehyung asks curiously once he is halfway done with haphazardly spreading the contents of a gas can throughout the area.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re going to hell,” Yoongi replies with unconcealed sarcasm.

The exchange leaves you with an amused smirk if only just for a second as you do your part in emptying your own gas can of its contents farther away from the front entrance. You pass by a couple of cadavers in the aisle and near the altar, including the hefty figure you recognize to be the one who called out to you before the battle ensued. What he yelled still made no sense to you, nor did it provide you with anything valuable, but if he knew that you were there to kill him and his associates, then there’s a good chance that he was spewing nonsense just to buy time. People have a tendency to do that if they find themselves backed into a corner with nowhere to run.

The amusement you previously had is promptly wiped from your face when you step up to take a closer look at the man’s figure. The emotion that replaces it is an unsettling confusion, for there is no possible way you could have predicted that you would be staring into the blank stare of a familiar face.

Your body freezes at the realization as your eyes scan the features that have aged prominently since the last time you saw him. The change in appearance is unavoidable, but with how close in proximity you witnessed his existence before, it’s hard to ignore the instinctual drop in your gut and the name that sounds off like an alarm in your mind.

Haejin.

The longer you gawk at the motionless corpse, the deeper your thoughts are allowed to fall into a spiral. How do you react to this? Should you tell the others? What would you even say? Maybe your mind is playing a trick on you? It wouldn’t be the first time his semblance came back to haunt you, whether you were in the middle of a mission or not.

Besides, you’re pretty sure that the other members present right now didn’t know him well enough in the past to be able to accurately confirm his identity looking at him now, all of them having been in different class levels back at the orphanage. The only other person whose judgment you could count on is Jungkook, but he isn’t here at the moment.

“Time to get moving.”

Namjoon calls out from the entrance, his voice managing to reach you on the other side of the room. You swiftly snap out of your thoughts and proceed to dump the rest of the accelerant on the pews as you hurry over on your way to join the rest of your teammates.

The lot of you exit the building to head back to the vehicle, and once Namjoon joins you after igniting the flames, you all depart on your trip back to headquarters.

You spend the entire drive there contemplating about what you just saw in the church, or more like what you think you saw. You start by telling yourself that it’s just your memories hindering your perception of someone who only resembles Haejin. Even supposing it was him, you don’t know what that means to you, if it means anything worth the time you’re spending mulling over it. Bringing it up with your teammates will also be of no use at this point, since the church and its occupants will be disposed of soon enough. You doubt that they will have any answers for you anyway.

You don’t expect to come to any conclusions with your pondering, but you find the subject still churning in your mind even by the time you return to your apartment.

Much like with other occurrences from your past missions, just because you aren’t going to bring something up doesn’t mean that you’re simply going to let it go. Even if you really did potentially kill a former classmate, it shouldn’t bother you this much. Especially with all this talk recently of the possible mole in the company, it’s safe to assume that he could have had a hand in the treacherous activities against your organization—he seemed like more than enough of a scumbag to be a traitor.

In any case, they surely got what was coming to them, and with the accomplishment of this mission, it brings you that much closer to cracking the code regarding this wanted man business.

You steal a glimpse of the digital clock beside your bed to examine the time you will be attempting to go to sleep. It shows that it’s past midnight, but rather than the large, illuminating digits, the smaller ones located in the corner of the screen catch your interest. You stare at those numbers for just a little longer before reaching into your drawer for a certain concoction you will be needing if you want any chance of being well-rested in the morning. The image of the numbers drift towards the back of your mind as you waste no time in proceeding to settle into your bed, turning in for the night.

It’s that time of the year, again.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Red and Gold Chapter 7

:) happy reading as always

Half unconscious in the darkness I felt a hand caress the back of my neck with a slight pause between the motions which traced over my two rectangular scars at the base of my neck.

My day off began with the morning rays flooding in and stealing me from my dreams. I woke up gradually my eyes adjusting and accepting the brightness. I felt a deep thumping ricocheting around my head; I rolled myself into a foetal position and enjoyed the warmth of the duvet surrounding me unsure of when I dragged myself into the bed. Stark was gone, no surprise but his glasses remained on the bedside table along with an empty packet of painkillers and half a glass of water. I had no concept of time until my lock screen confirmed the extent of my lay in; it had gone eleven. I had a back log of messages from Tyler, he’d basically had a one sided conversation and arranged for the two of us to meet for a walk in central park at 12. He’d neglected to mention why he’d come down state.

 I managed to arrive at our usual meet point half an hour late, Tyler didn’t seem too annoyed. Our meet point is a bench facing the large pond, there was a constant flurry of joggers, walkers and tourists enjoying the clear skies. The trees were happily covered in bright green leaves; ducks were quacking away washing their feathers in the water. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the smell of bread and hot dogs sent my sense of smell off into a dance. I smiled as I neared Tyler and embraced him tightly. The smell of bleach and sterilisation drowned out the sweet smells instantly.

“How’s it going J” Tyler beamed a full toothed smile already set across his ruggedly handsome face. He was wearing a relaxed smart outfit of a pastel pink shirt which had been untucked from his navy belted trousers; I could see the bottom portion of his shirt was lightly creased from being tucked down his waistband. His discreet SHIELD lanyard clattered with his keys and fobs as we turned to walk and talk.

“I’m great T and yourself?”

“All good no complaints, been too busy to be anything but; now spill I want to know all about last night” he said his interest definitely peaked.

I spared no details about my unconventional date with my boss, Tyler listened intently with a series of nods and uhhums and gasps towards my account of the end of the evening.

“Have you seen him since?”

“No, I have just finished approving Mark 47 so he’ll be MIA for a while” I countered and saying to myself to counter the invading thoughts he might be avoiding me.

“I thought he was supposed to be trying to get Pepper back?” Ty questioned.

“There’s no doubt he will, I’m pretty sure he’ll only ever love her but at the moment after the incident she needs a hell of a lot of space and we are both consenting adults so why not, it just happened” I explained completely happy with the knowledge that whatever was going on with Tony and me was only temporary and there were no deep feelings on either end.

He laughed slightly “Fair, he certainly did fuck things up, but he was only thinking about her”  

After walking past the slightly more populated food and bench area we were mostly alone and out of earshot, Ty turned to me and placed his hand on my arm with a serious look on his face

“On a serious note I wanted to talk about your test results” He grimaced

“Well I gathered you didn’t travel all the way down from HQ to talk about my date. My implants still working right?” My heart sank to the pit of my stomach with an anvil attached.

“Yes” He said flatly

“But…?”

“not really a but, it appears the Extremis virus has now fully integrated with your DNA

“That means I won’t reject the virus? The implant will be obsolete? What’s bad about that?”

“I’d keep the implant for the time being, the virus could still potentially replicate so the levels need to be managed, so it’s best to stay safe”

“What will happen to me? I muttered concerned.

“That’s kind of where our research has hit a barrier, now the virus is stable we suspect your risk of combusting or losing control is incredibly low especially as your strain was made with your fathers DNA in the first place. I know you’ve only really had the more useful physical symptoms and none of the burny burny hot hot stuff but that’s still good news.” Ty smiled.

Tyler works in the research department Stark has covertly set up to research and modify the extremis he dealt with a few years back. He’s been able to help me quietly; he’s been a life saver.

“I would like you to just please keep an eye on you and what your body is doing and be a lot more self-aware” Tyler pleaded.

“Some of the minimal studies we have conducted in some cases suggest that symptoms may only become apparent when the body is exposed to severe stresses internal or external” He paused

“So at least we know sleeping with Mr Stark is not an external stress for you” he smiled, seeming calmer that I’d taken all the information on board.

We’d sat down on the grass; I felt slight relief that I was now stable but anxious of the unknown future, my biggest comfort was that Tyler wasn’t too concerned. I’ve never tried to understand it and have always gone with the ignorance is bliss approach. The more I know about these things the more my brain will process and spew out theories and possibilities. I leave the science to Ty and I trust him with my life.

 “When are you back at HQ anyway?  Surely there’s only so much project management you can do off site”

“I know, I’m hoping now Mark 47 is complete my workload with Stark is now practically nothing. I hate not doing the final checks myself on my own projects” I replied in agreeance.

 We grabbed some sushi before going our separate ways and heading back. I churned all the information I’d be given as much as anyone could. The blood tests were done at least 3 months ago and I’d not burned anyone or had a biological meltdown so maybe I’ll be alright. I mean working for Stark definitely leaves you in a constant state of stress. I’d decided a while back I was not going to inform Stark; I know he’d cured Pepper but with my prolonged exposure and now DNA integration it was now pointless. During the drive home my mind raced through all elements of my condition; well what little I knew anyway.

At some point during my childhood I’d become afflicted with the virus when and how was not in my memory; with that said it’s a regular occurrence that I suffer from the same vivid nightmares which Tyler and me suspect could be repressed memories. If they are then god am I relieved I have no recollection. It was just me and my dad until one day he just disappeared out of my life during my teenage years; safe to say this abandonment definitely caused some emotional issues. I thank my lucky stars that Nick Fury came into my life not long after this and guided me to where I am now otherwise I’d definitely have ended up using my “abilities” for the not so good causes in the world. Fury also bought Tyler in my to life to help deal with and keep tabs on my abilities, how Fury knew I had anything wrong with me was beyond me and talking to him about it was like trying to get blood out of stone. He was the one that originally told me there was even anything different about me in the first place; I definitely reacted badly and suspiciously all he would say it was to do my father. It took them both a lot of work to convince me to go ahead with this implant which supposedly was to stop me turning into a potential walking explosion. Try dealing with that sort of shit as a young teenager.

Now years later I’ve stop pestering Fury for any information on my father and bottled up all of my shit, focused on my work and successfully managed to only ever have casual relationships without catching ‘feelings’ and attaching to anyone. It might seem a bad thing and a lonely way to be but it’s how I want to live my life currently and I’m owning it.

[xladyalaeria-ht]

The images above are not mine. I found them on Pinterest and Tumblr. 

( katie mcgrath, 23 (30), cisfemale. )  ♟  raise your glass for ( alaeria hightower ), the ( lady ) hailing all the way from ( oldtown ). the word on the kingsroad is that they’re known as the ( wildcard ), and apparently they can be ( - subserviant ) and ( - secretive ), but at least the gods blessed them and made them ( + charming ) and ( + creative ). no one is positive as to their intentions but they’re loyal to house ( hightower & targaryen ), so they can’t be all bad.  Hello my lovely friends, it tis I, the slowest turtle in the planet finally finishing up and posting my bio for Alaeria. If anyone wants to plot a connection or a thread with her, please do feel very free to hmu, sweethearts!! <3

Ok, so let met first start off by saying what some/most of y’all might have suspected or guess by now, that my girl's  no.1 biggest secret is that she's actually not the real Alaeria Hightower! XD But, she is a Hightower by blood though, as her dad is the current ruling Lord of Hightower. Now let the story begin...

So about 2 yrs before she got married to Drogon Targaryean, she was actually the very secretly unknown, bastard child of Lord Dietrich Hightower from an extremely discreet liaison he had with a woman (who is actually a descendant of the Free Folk & also from another land/kingdom ( i haven’t really decided which one just dfghjklkjh ^.^”). He was a lustful dickhead of a guy who basically just wooed and charmed her mother with fake promises of love and he hid his true identity from her. When she got pregnant and thus found out her lover's real identity, she then immediately left, (to his relief as well as he didn't want to fuck up his marriage and spoil his shiny & extremely proud reputation) because she didn't want her child to known as a bastard and also to prevent her from getting gossiped about , bullied, etc...And also cos her mom still hopelessly cared for that idiot lover of hers despite knowing better. XD

Alaeria and her father never once met until one day, 2 years ago, thru a chance meeting and it was hard to not believe that she was his child as she had a unique birthmark which only members of his line would have, and she was the exact spitting image of her paternal great-grandmother XD They also eventually came to find that she also possessed quite a mixture of a few physical & non-physical traits of Maris the Maid, one of the most legendary Hightower ancestors.

Dietrich Hightower’s  only legitimate daughter with his legal wife, the current ruling Lady of Hightower, was the real Alaeria Hightower. She was a rather sickly and a pretty weak child. She also had the misfortune of having some facial scars and horrible looking birthmarks on her face and neck, and was also slightly disfigured due to a terrible accident while growing up. Her overly-proud and image conscious/ shallow parents were pretty dismayed by her appearance and was extremely fearful that she might not be able to make a good & strong match with other great houses. So from when she was 8 or so, onwards, they kept her carefully hidden in Hightower and she hardly went out of their fortress of a home. Plus whenever she had to be presented out for public events , they covered her face with pretty but dark-coloured veils and spread word that it was "prophesied that she had been both blessed and cursed with great beauty upon her 5th birthday and whoever who caught any single glimpse of her face from that point onwards, before she was married, would be struck down with  a great misfortune at a major point of their lives." So yeah, they managed to make many people believe this bullshit fake prophecy with asking a few servants to spread rumors that she was an incredibly beautiful baby & toddler & a few daredevils who had tried to sneak a peek of her face properly when she was 10/ 11 had been afflicted with horrible accidents and disastrous illnesses. The ruling couple also were planning to tell their in-laws after she managed to be wedded, that “this gift of beauty of her was also two-edged curse as she would be struck with a minor harmless affliction (ugly facial marks and stuff) after her wedding night”  XD rofl

They also obviously never told anyone that her health wasn’t that strong and constantly on a see-saw condition ;)

Ruling Lady Hightower was overly-protective of her poor little girl and devoted a lot of her time to pampering and spoiling her daughter so much, that the real Alaeria Hightower, grew up to be quite the brat : shallow, entitled  & extremely lazy young woman that was only interested in material items and frivolous matters, never bothering to study much or read nor get well-versed with current political events (despite having pretty sharp brains). She was also pretty selfish, never genuinely concerning herself at all with the welfare of anyone but that of herself and her beloved mom. She never ended up being close with her father at all as well.

In the meantime, my baby ( who I’m still struggling with deciding on her real, original name asdfghjkl, forgive me ^.^”) had been growing up in a pretty nomadic lifestyle with her loving mother, who had quite of a wandering soul in her. Despite never truly having a proper home or a long-term abode, she was pretty happy with her life as a travelling low commoner. She adored her mother and her mother cherished her right back, always making sure that she felt safe and secure. During all her many years of growing up, she had travelled to many & all sorts of lands and kingdoms & had a very rich past filled with memorable experiences and cultures as well as meeting all sorts of people. Her mother taught her to always be kind, loving and to be compassionate no matter what, as well as to always hold on to the hope that there will always be a light shining in the darkness in end. Her mother also always(!), highly stressed on filial piety and thus her daughter become an extremely dedicated & very dutiful daughter, that rarely counteracted nor really argued with whatever decisions her mother made ( even if very secretly sometimes doesn’t really like it nor agree with it :p)

In the end through it all, Her personality is that of a warm, genuine, sincerely charming and pretty affectionate woman. She's also pretty gentle sometimes. She's happens to be quite witty and pretty knowledgeable as she has a huge thirst for knowledge and was always very eager to learn as much as possible about anything & everything from when she was a child till now still. She's very loving and always tries her best to smile a lot no matter what, and also is very generous. Her flaws are that she is pretty naive towards the noble-people’s  manipulation, cunning & wicked ways since she's so open. She gets anxious(TM) easily at times and can be quite the worrier over some matters. She's also too docile/ overly-fillial towards her elders which would be her dad, his wife and all the older relatives of Drogon's family. ( this would give them a bit of power over her and it's kind of second nature to her to feel obliged to obey whatever they demanded of her...for now) She  is actually rather clumsy on some occasions, but now she has to try her best to be elegant & graceful  as much as possible ( so hard tbh XD) . She actually doesn't like the idea of battles and war and doesn't fully enjoy being a royal.  All she ever wants in life is to just live simply, happily and peacefully with her loved ones and that's it. Poor gurl. She likes spending time outdoors a lot and her hobbies more lies with cooking on her own, making small herbal soups/drinks (which she learned a great deal from her mother), swimming, riding and wood-crafting and playing with animals. She also has a pretty curious nature and high penchant , nay desire(!), for exploring all kinds of new places.

Now back at Hightower: (3 and a half years ago, before everyone came to King’s Landing) ;D: Shortly after Drogon's mother & his privy council and the rulers of Hightower came to an agreement & set arrangement to wed Drogon and (the real) Alaeria in the near future, the real Alaeria unfortunately got infected with a fatal and incurable, long-term, disease. Lord Hightower was panicking hard over what to do with the marriage arrangement as he really wanted to strongly bind their house with the great House of Targs, (cos despite whatever their current status may be , he wisely deemed that this powerhouse could potentially rise up to take over the Iron Throne again in the future & if not, well, it was better to be allies with this formidable house than be enemies ryt incase of any future wars?)

And this is when he unexpectedly & finally met with his bastard daughter at this critical emergency time. Upon meeting her and seeing some potential in her, he then had this brilliant but crazy & extremely risky solution, that my baby should take over her royal half-sister's place and pretend to be her for the benefit/good of the kingdom.

My baby had been seeking hard for her biological dad a few months prior to that life-changing event, as her beloved mom had just recently died but she managed to tell her daughter the truth of her real-parentage and told her that if her dad ever accepted her as his own & welcomed her  , she (my baby) must promise to be an obedient and filial daughter to him as my baby had been to her all these years.

However, when her father revealed his plan of deception to her, she immediately didn't  wanna do that plan with her dad as she was so damn scared that it would quickly derail and go wrong and they'd be exposed within the first day of her setting foot in Dragonstone XD Plus, also she ever truly wanted was to meet her biological dad and get to know him, not to be powerful lady! She was fearful for both hers & her dad's lives if they were found out and that she might either be facing life imprisonment , exilation or the worse of all, death, if her future husband and his council was so enraged over the whole major deception and wanted to punish them badly. BUT because of her promise to her mom and also because her dad eventually managed to sway her with lots of showers of affection and eager interest to bond and get to know his bastard daughter, which Dietrich quickly detected that she longed for fatherly love and acceptance ( half of this stuff he did,  was subtle manipulation which my poor baby will not realize until later) she then eventually did reluctantly agree to go with the whole plan.

Thus they spent that two years, before the day she was to step foot into Dragonstone for the engagement party and the wedding, coaching her relentlessly on how to become  perfect princess. The becoming Araelia part was easier to get into bcos,  nothing much was really known about the real Araelia outside of Hightower, since she was kept hidden most of the time by her parents, and had minimal interaction with folks during any major public feasts & events happening there and only a handful of highly trusted folks in Hightower knew of this whole matter. SO basically my baby could really be her own character & personality when she was and is still, now going about as "Lady Araelia.”

Atm, my poor gurl feels so conflicted internally, cos she loves Drogon so, so much and she's so torn over whether to  finally tell him the truth rn or continue holding it a secret to her grave. Cos she doesn't know how he is going to react!  She's in so much agony over her current dilemma right now, because the one thing she's no.1 scared of,  is losing him and his love . She's felt so happy, secure and at peace with him eversince the day they got married till now hence, she's so scared of losing him & this happy marriage forever if she confesses.But then again, she feels so horrible for still continuously lying to the man she loves, every single day.

Also, eversince arriving at King’s Landing for the past few days, she’s been holding an ever-persistent anxiety  at the back of her mind  over her true identity being discovered out. She’s been trying very hard to hide and keep her anxiety & stress at bay as often as possible. The current occasion she was attending and the place where it was held was the most riskiest of situation to be in at the moment, as there was the fearful possibility that someone from some other place which she could have bumped into during her past life of nomadic living with her  mother, would chance upon her and recognize her. Thus, inadvertently exposing her real identity and bringing the dreaded drama that was sure to follow.