#thinking too much perhaps on whats and shoulds and being too meticulous and strict about it in my head

[noxtivagus]

last one in tags rq before i sleep bcs it'll be 10 am soon >.>

oh my god it's 9 am

[dresshistorynerd]

So I saw this illustration recently floating around here and it’s so riddled with bullshit I decided to go through it with meticulous detail. Also it’s whole point is bullshit, but we’ll circle back to it. I have to note I’m not dress historian and don’t know all the nuances related to history of undergarments, and wouldn’t have even room for that in this post. And the illustration is completely devoid of them anyway.

So strap in and jump into the rabbit hole with me! Let’s start with the accuracy of the figures illustrating the undergarments. I don’t know why the 18th century stays (corsets come later) look like that? They are so wrong in so many ways. This is what 18th century stays looked like.

They did not flatten the bust at all. On the contrary, they pushed the bust up. It makes the stomach flat, but bust very much not. The boning was made from whale bone, reeds or slim wood bents most often, which are all very bendable and soft materials. Which means it was firm but not hard or restrictive. They mostly just smoothed the torso and supported bust. Also none of these illustrations have shift or chemise under their corset/stays, which was extremely important part of the undergarment (they protected the skin from corset/stays and it from oils of skin).

Now I’m questioning weather the makers of this info graph have seen Regency dresses. Firstly they claim that the ideal figure was “natural waist” when you can see that the waist can’t even be seen under the dress. There’s literally no waist. I would rather say the ideal figure was long tube body and boobs (emphasis on boobs). They also say the “corset” (still stays) stops bellow the bust line, but if you have seen a Regency dress, you know the bust is basically on the chin. (There were some stays that actually stopped under breasts, but the ones with cups where much more common as they were better at getting the fashionable silhouette.)

You don’t achieve this look without some heavy lifting done by the undergarments.

Here’s what they looked like. (Picture is from Abigail Polston’s blog.) They were basically push up bras. They didn’t have boning at all or sometimes a couple bones, but were usually made at least partly of stiffened fabrics. Between the breasts there’s a wooden slab that keeps the boobs separate and the stays from crinkling. They only smoothed out the rest of the torso and their only real purpose was support the bust and lift the hell out of it.

The next figure has so so many things wrong about it. In 1830s the stays were basically same as Regency stays. In 1840s the stays started to have a little more of the Victorian hourglass shape, but their construction was still similar. Though at the same time corsets started to live along side stays, till in the 1850s they took over the undergarment business. Here’s an example of 1890s corset.

Victorian corset is result of very complicated engineering. The shape is achieved with very ingenious patterning and strategically placed bones. Maximal shape with minimal boning. When you go back to look at the 18th century stays, which are covered in bones and then check out bow little there’s bones in the Victorian corset. The shape subtly changed thorough the rest of the century, but the basic construction and hourglass figure stayed the same.

Now the description says tight lacing became popular and it’s not entirely wrong. Tight lacing became a thing. In the previous centuries it wasn’t really even possible in same sense, because the materials used were too soft. Well some rich fashionable women still did it in 18th century (with regency stays it just wasn’t possible), but because of the materials, they couldn’t restrict bodily functions like breathing (looking at you PotC). Victorian corsets however usually had couple of iron bones, the rest being the soft whale bone, giving them more ability to shape the body. Tight lacing however was not common. Some rich, young and fashionable ladies would do that, but it was seen broadly negatively at the time. People talked about the health consequences and perhaps more than that, saw it as very vain. Tight lacing every day for a long time had negative health consequences, but vast majority of women didn’t do that and they were nothing nearly as dramatic ass people claim. Corset’s magic wasn’t it’s ability to reduce waist, but rather accentuate bust and hips. It was all about the illusion. Padding was added too on top of the corset. All women used corsets and it didn’t restrict them from doing all kinds of stuff, like working in a factory, or climbing a mountain.

I don’t really have anything to complain about the 1900s, 1910s and 1920s. They have at least the right shapes and don’t have weird claims. Now, I’m not very knowledgeable in any decade after 1920s, but I know at least that bullet bra were already a thing in the 40s? You can see it in 40s dress silhouettes too.

After all this wildly inaccurate info, the whole point of the info graph is that lingerie is going backwards and apparently it’s a bad thing. It gives the impression that undergarments were bad in the ye olden times, then they got good and apparently they are bad again. I think the funniest part is when it says in the 80s bit that “lingerie no longer a way to control the body but to empower women”. Empower how? How were 80s bras more empowering that previous or following bras? Also it says that the ideal figure was “any”. Now, I’m not that familiar with 80s, but if you look at the fashion then, you definitely notice a common silhouette: broad shoulders and natural waist.

After that apparently shaping bras are used to make the bust look bigger, which is bad I guess. Worse than padding on shoulders for some reason?

It is not outright said that the undergarments of earlier periods were used to control women’s bodies, but it’s implied. That’s a really common misconception, but not really true. In the 17th century women didn’t wear stays, but the bodice was heavily structured and boned. When mantua (loose robe draped on body, think of robe á la francaise) entered the western fashion (around 1680s), women jumped on it. Stays became very quickly very popular, to give the fashionable silhouette even without the rigid bodice. Stays and mantua combo was more comfortable and more adjustable to changes in body so it took completely over the fashion during the 18th century. And when corsets became a thing in the Victorian era, most corset makers were women. Women invented a lot of the engineering that went into patterning corsets.

Corsets and stays were not some torture devices. They were flexible, constructed with the right measurements and their purpose wasn’t to reduce the measurements of the body, but rather create optical illusions and support the bust and the back. Many people who have used recreations of historical corsets say they are in many ways more comfortable than modern bras, which shift all the weight of the bust on shoulders. Corsets and stays distributed it on hips instead. Perhaps the biggest actual health concern with a regular use of corset especially (excluding tight lacing and stays didn’t to my knowledge have this problem at least to the same extend) is it supporting the back too much, making the wearer’s deep muscles wither. So in a way, they were too comfortable. Victorians were aware of that, and upper class women, who didn’t do manual labour, were encouraged to excercise to keep their torso in good shape.

Now at some point when making this post, I started to wonder who made this illustration and why. It does seem, if not well researched, at least professional. After googling the label in the bottom left corner, I found this.

The poster is saying it’s terrible when fashion tries to shape your body with clothing and it has the solution for you. Shape your body literally with the serum they are selling. They even say in the 2000s section that big bust is the desired shape, which now looks a lot like marketing. Though it doesn’t seem like they are selling it anymore. Their website is down and I couldn’t find any info on them. The whole product seems a little suspicious. It’s apparently a cream containing estrogen you put on your breasts and it should make your breast grow. Now I’m no expert, but that’s not how estrogen works. Any cream that claims it has some hormones that will change your body or skin? They don’t work. Don’t buy them.

I think this illustrates very well why I disagree so much with the idea that shaping your silhouette with clothing was so terrible and it’s good that we moved away from it. Fashion always has a silhouette, it’s part of the overall look. When the silhouette was still achieved with undergarments, your body shape and size didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the size, it was about proportion and you could create that with corsets/stays, padding and illusions. Nowadays you see sometimes thin celebrities praised for being fashionable when they wear boring clothes which show their stomach, and people have started to question if they actually have style or are they just thin. And often bigger people are ridiculed for wearing the exact same thing. Now it’s the body which is fashionable, not the clothing. And it leads to companies like these trying to push people to change their bodies.

Now, I don’t think any strict fashion or beauty standard is ever good, even if it could be achieved with clothing alone. But I think there’s something to be learned from past, to maybe not reserve fashion and style only for a specific type of body. I don’t think it’s ever helpful or healthy for a body type to be trendy. There’s always all types of bodies and they all deserve to enjoy style, if they wish.

TL;DR: Add tried to sell their boob cream by spewing inaccuracies about historical undergarments.

[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 8/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Hange hated it.

She hated it all – the today’s cold early morning, the yesterday’s long, sleepless night, the shitty, overpriced coffee from the airport cafe. She hated the weather that was too cold not to wear a coat and a scarf, but now made her sweat in all the layers of clothing. She hated the uncomfortable chair she was sitting at, hated waiting for so long just to see the needed flight appear on screen. She hated her new case and the sense of urgency it brought along. She hated that she had to work with him to find that missing young girl.

And more than all of that, she hated that sleazy bastard, that Ackerman.

She hated that morning in the hospital, when she found a note and recognized that it was written by the same hand that used to mock her every failure. Everything clicked right there and then, and Hange hated that she felt sad about it. Not angry, not betrayed, but sad. She was hurt, she was miserable, so much so that she actually shed a few tears, feeling like she lost someone she never actually had.

She should have known better, should have not let that happen. She shouldn’t have trusted him, not after just a couple of dates, after a few silly jokes and endearing gestures. But Ackerman, that damned thief, managed to sneak through all of her defenses, he made her think that there was something there, some connection between them. Perhaps, even something special.

Then everything turned out to be a lie, and it left her broken, wondering what she did wrong, when did she become so naive. She threw herself into her work, finding a short respite in it. For long two months that seemed more like a few days, she almost felt at piece, almost managed to convince herself – and everyone else – that she ceased thinking about Ackermans, their case and the man who might or might not even be called Levi. And now she had to work with him.

Hange hated her job sometimes.

She also hated her heart most of the time, especially right now, when it squeezed painfully at the sight of Ackerman’s dark, sullen and so unfairly handsome face.

Despite the large crowd and long corridor that separated them, their eyes still met each other.

Her treacherous heart skipped another beat.

Hange gripped the paper coffee cup as tight as it allowed, forcing herself to school her expression in something more appropriate – cold, detached. Not so heartbroken.

At least, Ackerman had the decency to look ashamed. He lowered his gaze as soon as he saw her, and it gave Hange the time to look over his entire form.

He changed. Ever so slightly, but still noticeable enough for Hange’s keen eyes.

He was more tanned now, not nearly as sickly pale as he was before. The circles under his eyes didn’t disappear though, and so didn’t his stiff posture. There was another change, however - a small cut on his left cheek. It sparked a quick flash of anger for the person responsible. Hange hated herself for that, too.

She shouldn’t care about that, shouldn’t wonder about the person who hurt Levi, shouldn’t wish to hurt them back. These feelings, they irritated Hange. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make them disappear.

“It’s just you here?” Ackerman approached her slowly, his hand gripping the strap of his travelling bag just as tightly as Hange held her coffee cup. She stood up too, straightening to her full height. Ackerman stopped, just a few steps away from her. “I thought you would bring the entire police department to arrest me.”

Hange scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not that important.”

And there was also that tiny little thing about her not actually having the power to arrest him. Technically, the Ackermans’ case was closed. Technically, Hange had no definitive piece of evidence that she could have used to lock him up.

Technically, Ackerman wasn’t even supposed to be here. And neither was she.

Back at the precinct, no one actually knew about that venture of hers. And they wouldn’t find out about it, not if Hange did everything right.

There were lots of reasons why Hange had to keep Ackerman’s involvement a secret. There was this thing about him being a notorious criminal who escaped justice, but more importantly, there was this little thing about her going on a date with the said criminal. Hange knew that Erwin knew about Levi and his true identity, he never told her that specifically, but when Hange demanded to take her off Ackerman’s case, he didn’t even bat an eye. He also didn’t ask a single question. The absence of his reaction made her wonder just how much he actually knew, and for how long he had that knowledge. Had he known since the beginning? Had he kept quiet just to see where it would lead? And whether she would realize the truth or not?

Hange didn’t have the guts to ask Erwin about that directly, didn’t wish to open that can of worms right now, preferred that it would stay closed for good. They both ignored that mistake of hers, both didn’t dare to bring up Levi or her previous case. And Hange would have liked for it to stay this way forever.

But if Erwin found out that Hange made Ackerman come out of hiding, so he would help her to find the missing Krista Lenz, well… Erwin probably wouldn’t chew her head off, but he definitely would give her a strict, and extremely long verbal reprimanding.

And he would take her off the case, and that… well, Hange already had a case she failed at spectacularly, she didn’t wish for that to become a pattern.

She also wished to find Krista Lenz and save her from whatever peril she found herself in. Hange didn’t know her, had only seen the photos, but that bright smile and those kind blue eyes kept pushing her forward, gave her a reason to not just solve the case, but bring that girl home.

And if she had to work with the damned Ackerman to achieve it, so be it.

“We have a lot of work ahead of us,” she promptly turned away from him, starting a brisk pace and heading to the exit of the airport. She hoped the Ackerman would follow. He did, surprisingly obedient. “Let’s eat before we start.”

***

The diner was nice.

Small but cozy, the interior was made up entirely of combination of blue and white. The tables were clean and adorned with neat, soft tablecloth, the booth he was sitting at was spacious and comfortable, the food was delicious and tea was made just as he liked it, even the music didn’t bother him, a pleasant, quiet melody was playing, adding to the atmosphere.

The diner was nice. His company, however, was not. Levi never thought that someone could eat breakfast so angrily. But every time his and Hange’s gazes met, he was quick to look away, her icy cold stare practically boring into his soul.

Thankfully, while Hange was busy devouring her omelet, she didn’t glance at him even once. She had mentioned that she was starving, and, knowing her work etiquette and seeing that her cheekbones became slightly more pronounced, Levi was inclined to think that her backhanded remark wasn’t just a figure of speech.

Watching her eat made Levi wonder what would happen if he ordered her a desert. Would Hange punch him or simply annihilate him with her glare?

Honestly, Levi was surprised she hadn’t punched him the moment she had seen him in the airport. He was also immensely surprised that he was having breakfast in a diner and not on his way to the prison.

During the phone call, Hange said that she wasn’t going to arrest him, but still, he would have liked to ask more about it. However, breaching that subject with Hange looking so furious didn’t seem like a great idea. He was walking on a thin ice as it was.

But even so, the tense silence was swiftly becoming unbearable, and Levi raked his brain for a topic of conversation, something safe and unassuming, the kind of talk that wouldn’t earn him a kick to his face.

“So how did you find me?”

Not the best way to start, Levi realized that as soon as the question tumbled out of his mouth. He cringed, thinking if he should just take his words back. But it was already too late.

Hange put the fork down and looked at him. With her eyebrows furrowed like that, she looked too much like her Captain, that annoying Erwin Smith. She wasn’t nearly as annoying, though. And, in Levi’s humble opinion, she was much handsomer than her mentor.

“It wasn’t that hard,” Hange said, as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. Some gravy remained at the side of her lips, but Levi wasn’t sure if he should point that out. He would have liked to wipe it out himself, he remembered doing exactly that during one of their dates, which felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. He would have liked to repeat that simple gesture. Then again, Hange probably wouldn’t have liked if he did that. “I guessed that you left the city on the night when…” something in her expression shifted, her face became less guarded. But Hange blinked and it was gone, the same stone mask returning. She cleared her throat and continued, “when we spoke for the last time. Since I knew when you left, it was only a matter of looking at the camera recording from the airport and finding which flight you took. Then I requested some security viewings from the city you were hiding at, and… here you are.”

Hange made it sound so simple, Levi almost believed that it actually was. Her exhausted face told another story, though. Levi could only imagine how long it took her to find him. She must be at her wit’s end, if she went through all of this just to get his help.

“What do you need me for then?”

Hange reached to her bag, opening and rummaging through it. When she was finished, she took out the case file and handed it to him.

“This is Krista Lenz, a college student who had disappeared a week ago,” Levi opened the case file, young blonde girl with impossibly bright eyes stared at him from the first page. “Do you recognize her?”

Levi looked at the photo for another second, just to be sure. But the girl on the photo stirred nothing in him. No vague memory, no sort of recollection. The name didn’t sound familiar, and if he had ever met the girl, it could only be in passing, as both of them, perhaps, walked beside each other on the same sidewalk. But that was the extent of it. Whoever this girl was, Levi did not know her.

He said the very thing to Hange, as he closed and pushed the case file back to her.

Hange pushed it back to him. “Well, too bad that you don’t know her. Because your uncle is the one who kidnapped her.”

Levi was very grateful for his extreme talent at keeping his face straight, because mentally his jaw was somewhere near the fucking floor. Externally, however, he didn’t let a single muscle on his face twitch.

With more self-restraint that he thought was capable of, he lifted an eyebrow, and asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve heard me,” Hange opened the case file for him and flicked through a couple of pages. “We searched Krista’s room and found a few letters, written by some Kenny the Reaper. Sounds familiar to you?”

More familiar than Hange thought. Of course, Levi knew Kenny the Reaper, back when he was a brat, his uncle used to tell tales of the Reaper, scary, blood-curling stories about the tall man in a long dusty black coat, who lived across the tracks. Kenny said the man’s hands were constantly covered in red and he always smelled of metal and copper. Kenny said the Reaper would come and take him, if Levi continued acting like a pathetic, whiny brat. Stories about the Reaper used to terrify the shit out of him, especially during the nights, when Kenny turned off the lights and storm was raging outside.

After his mother died, and Levi was spending his days in bed, crying himself to sleep, the stories about Kenny the Reaper reached their peak.

Kenny the Reaper would whisk you away at night if you don’t eat the soup, Kenny the Reaper would stand above your bed during the night if you don’t go to sleep, Kenny the Reaper would bath you in your own blood, if you don’t change your dirty clothes, Kenny the Reaper would come and eat your heart in front of you, if you don’t stop crying.

During those horrible, grief-filled days, only the fear of Kenny the Reaper was able to stop Levi from wallowing in his own misery.

Kenny wasn’t the best parent, wasn’t truly made for it, but, surprisingly, some of his methods, as cruel as they were, actually worked on Levi.

But he stopped with the silly stories once Levi became a teenager and they ceased having an effect on him.

Then why did Kenny the Reaper return? Why did he write letters to a young girl, who had disappeared? Could it really be that his uncle was the culprit?

Levi looked down at the case file, where a picture of the Reaper’s note was attached. All doubts disappeared from his mind. It was Kenny’s handwriting, the same messy, barely incomprehensible scribblings. But how did they appear inside the missing girl’s room? And why did Kenny write them in the first place?

He looked at note more closely, squinting to read it.

I have something you might want to look at it, little Missy. Come to the tracks tonight, or Kenny the Ripper will take you away by force.

Levi stared at the note for another moment, struggling to comprehend. It looked like… utter gibberish.

“So?” Hange lifted the cup to her lips, watching him over its rim. “Was my hunch correct? Is it really your uncle’s doing?”

It was just a hunch, but Hange had him located and brought back into the city simply to check if she was right? Either she was that confident in her theory, or… she was that desperate.

“It’s his handwriting,” he told her. “This note was definitely written by him.”

But did Kenny kidnap some girl? Levi didn’t know if that was possible. Why would his uncle even do that? What shitty trouble was he involved in this time? What was going on in the city during the two months that he was away? What Kenny was up to during that time? What was he up to right now?

It seemed like Levi certainly had missed a lot. He had to catch up to it all, and quickly. Perhaps, Hange would be able to help him.

“I don’t think Kenny had taken that girl,” Levi wasn’t sure if his uncle was even capable of that. Sure, he did some nasty things, but always for a reason. And what possible reason could he have to kidnap a young girl? “Did you receive a ransom after her disappearance?”

“No. There is utter silence after Krista went missing. I thought about your uncle only because I’ve remembered you mentioning that his name was Kenny. Decided this theory was worth pursuing.”

Levi didn’t even know he said it, but Hange remembered it? This small detail probably shouldn’t have made him feel so warm inside.

She’s a detective, it’s her job to pick up and remember stuff, he told himself. His heart refused to listen.

“I’m willing to help you find him,” he said to Hange, shaking his head to get rid of useless thoughts. He had a more pressing matter right now. For example, why the fuck his uncle decided to kidnap someone. Finding an answer to this question was his priority. Levi just had to remember that.

“Oh,” Hange waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t really have a choice in that. I need you to help me, Ackerman. And since your apartment was abandoned a little over a week ago, just as Krista went missing, I think it’s a good place to start our investigation.”

Hange knew where his apartment was located? This was hardly surprising, considering that she managed to find him in another city, but still… Her detective skills were brilliant.

Hange waved over the waitress, asking for a bill. As soon as she paid, she stood up. Levi quickly followed her suit.

“My apartment is on the other side of town,” he began, as he fell into step with Hange. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to escape?”

“Want me to handcuff you, Ackerman? Didn’t know you were so kinky,” surprisingly, Hange grinned. But the merry expression didn’t stay for long. The serious detective face returned almost immediately. “If you really think about escaping, my advice to you – don’t. I found you in another city on the other side of the world. How long do you think it would take me to find you here?”

Well, point was certainly taken. No more jokes and attempts at flirting. Hange was definitely not in the mood for this. Levi would have liked to blame it on her case, but he wasn’t that naïve and he was never that good at fooling himself. Hange hated him now, and there was nothing surprising about it. He knew it was going to come to this. He thought he was prepared.

But the bitter taste in his mouth, the giant, crushing weight in his chest – that he wasn’t ready for.

“It’ll be easier to get to my apartment by the subway,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

He wanted Hange to throw some stupid joke or a lame one-liner, say at least something. Instead, she followed after him without a single word.

Levi's disappointment was unmeasurable.

***

Hange didn’t know how exactly she pictured the apartment of two notorious thieves to look like, but she certainly didn’t expect the Ackermans’ den to look so… normal.

No secret traps, no hidden treasures, no weaponry hanging on the wall, there was nothing that could even hint at the possibility that the two men that were living there were criminals.

The apartment was relatively small, with only two bedrooms and a kitchen. It also wasn’t as spartan as Hange would have imagined it to be. There were pictures – but not photos – hanging on the walls, house plants that stood on windowsills, a bookshelf filled with books, curtains that fluttered from the wind coming from the open windows.

All of it was so mundane and cozy… Hange didn’t quite know what to make of it.

However, she had to admit, she was not only surprised, but a little disappointed too. She didn’t know what to expect from Ackermans’ apartment, but she had her ideas of what Levi’s apartment would look like. She pictured a neat, pristine place with spotless floors and shining cutlery.

But in reality, the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, the kitchen was filled with empty pizza boxes and bottles of beer, clothes were lying in the piles on the floor, dust was flying in the air.

Did the great clean freak Levi really live there? Or was that side of Levi’s persona just another lie?

“Fucking Kenny,” Ackerman mumbled under his breath, his scowl as fierce as ever. “I was gone for two months and he already turned into a pig.”

Oh. So that wasn’t part of an act? Hange was actually relieved to hear it. Enough to chuckle and say, “The obsession with cleanliness doesn’t run in the family?”

Ackerman turned from glaring at the dark stain on the kitchen table to look at her. His mouth twitched, as their eyes met. “Kenny is just a horrible exception.”

And there it was. For no longer than a single moment, but something had ignited, some sort of connection, recognition deep within her, the feeling of belonging. It was the same feeling she had whenever she was with Levi before.

But it wasn’t Levi, she reminded herself strictly. It wasn’t Levi, the awkward, endearing man she stumbled upon one evening. It was Ackerman, a thief who consciously played with her feelings, who lied to her and fooled her into believing he was someone else.

But Hange knew who he was now. She wouldn’t let him fool her anymore.

She looked away from him, her expression turning sourer. Possibly sensing her foul mood, Ackerman turned away too, his frown deepening.

“What exactly you expect to find here?” he asked. “I thought you guys had already searched our house.”

“No. I didn’t want to bother with getting a search warrant.”

She didn’t want to, and she couldn’t. If she came to Erwin, asking for a search warrant for the Ackermans’ apartment, because she suspected that one of Ackermans was involved in her new case, Erwin would call off the case right that instant. He’d say that she was too emotionally compromised, that she couldn’t think straight and had an unhealthy obsession with Ackermans’ case.

Erwin wouldn’t have listened to her theory, wouldn’t have let her continue working. And Hange couldn’t let go of this case, couldn't allow someone from Nile’s team to start searching for the missing Krista Lenz. After all, there was a reason why Erwin gave that case specifically to her. She was driven, endlessly dedicated to her work, Erwin knew she wouldn’t stop before Krista Lenz was found and safely returned to her old life.

And Hange couldn’t let Krista’s safety be compromised, because of some search warrant she didn’t even need. She came here with the owner of the apartment, right? Technically, she got inside without breaking any laws. Except she was working with a criminal, but then again, no one could prove that Ackerman was a criminal. Hange would have to work on that after she brought Krista home.

“So what is it that you hope to find here?” Ackerman repeated his question. “I doubt your missing girl is hidden inside my closet.”

Hange rolled her eyes at the obvious sarcasm. Ackerman didn’t believe her, but she didn’t really need him to. He could believe that his uncle was innocent, that it was some big misunderstanding or whatever lie he created for himself. She didn’t need Ackerman to share her suspicions, she just needed him to help her find Kenny Ackerman.

That was the primary and only reason for his involvement.

“Let’s start with his room then,” Hange said. “Even if Krista isn’t there, perhaps, we’ll be able to find something of use anyway.”

“Well, you’re the boss here,” Ackerman scoffed.

With hands shoved deep into his pockets, Ackerman led her out of the kitchen and into a short hallway. As they walked, they passed a room that had a slightly ajar door. Curious, Hange popped her head inside. In contrast to the rest of the house, that room was tidy. It didn’t take a detective to realize that it was Levi’s room. On a wardrobe beside the bed, there was a blue shirt hanging. Hange recognize it as the same shirt Levi wore to their so-called first date. The shirt was nice, she remembered thinking that it brought Levi’s eyes.

Hange wanted to rip it into pieces.

She kicked the door closed with her foot, ignoring Ackerman’s wide-eyed stare. “Let’s just get it over with,” she grumbled, beyond frustrated.

Thankfully, Ackerman didn’t comment and silently led her to his uncle’s room.

Inside, it was even messier than in the rest of the apartment. Papers were scattered around, empty glasses and plates were littering the floor, the bed was unmade, the blanket and pillow missing from it. The state of the room was even worse than the mess inside Hange’s apartment, even during her bad days. It was dark too, the heavy brown curtains blocking the sunlight from outside entirely.

Honestly, it looked a little too creepy for Hange’s taste. Like the room of a madman. A madman who had kidnapped a young girl. A madman, who without hesitation had killed an innocent man and had almost killed her. Hange felt a shiver ran through her spine at that thought.

“Are you sure that your guys didn’t search the house?” Ackerman’s gruff voice brought her to the present.

“You think that someone broke in?”

“Possibly,” Ackerman nodded. “Either someone broke in, or Kenny just lost his mind.”

“And which one is more probable?”

Ackerman shrugged. “I’d say fifty-fifty.”

“Cool,” she rubbed her temples, feeling a migraine coming. “Amazing. Just awesome.” So she wasn’t only looking for a cruel criminal, but apparently he could be crazy as well. And she thought this case couldn’t get any worse. “Let’s start looking for clues then. Before your uncle arrives and decapitates me or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ackerman chided. “He won’t decapitate you. Just slash your throat.”

His dry delivery and his deadpan face made it hard for Hange to understand whether he was joking or not. She hoped he was. She liked her throat, and didn’t want it to be slashed.

“I’ll take the left part of the room,” she announced to Ackerman, immediately getting to work. The sooner they finish here, the lesser were chances of having her throat slashed. Probably.

As Hange kneeled on the floor, looking through papers scattered there, she couldn’t help but look around the room. And as she took a good look at it, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Ackerman.

He threw her a dark look. “By this you mean…”

“Why do you keep doing this?” she gestured around, “Stealing things, being criminals. You have enough as it is. Why not start doing honest work?”

“We’re stealing from rich assholes. You can hardly call it a crime.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Hange rolled her eyes. “Once a thief forever a thief, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Ackerman said curtly.

“And why not? Because I’m a cop?”

“Because you’re a cop, dressed in a coat that no cop should be able to afford.”

Affronted, Hange scowled at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That you grew up rich. That you don’t know what poverty or need is. That you have no idea that sometimes,” his eyes flashed, a deep-seated anger coming to surface. Hange wondered if all of it was directed on her alone. “Honest work isn’t enough.”

Logically, Hange knew it was her cue to back away. But she was riled up already, she was exhausted and frustrated. She was also annoyed that Ackerman had figured her out so easily. So instead of shutting up like she should have to, she kept challenging him. “And when exactly honest work isn’t enough?”

“When your mother dies because you can’t pay her medical bills.”

Ackerman spoke quietly, calmly. His tone wasn’t angry or accusing. He didn’t even sound hurt. But Hange felt like the most disgusting piece of shit. Shame cursed through her, as she struggled to find her words, to apologize or— do something rathan than stare helplessly at him.

“Let’s get back to work,” he said, ending the heavy silence.

Hange nodded numbly, scooping a bunch of papers in her hands. She briefly glanced at them, but nothing seemed to hold any importance. There were some bills, checks, half-finished plans, written so messily Hange could barely decipher most of the words. There was nothing that could link Kenny Ackerman to the disappearance of Krista Lenz. Still, Hange persisted, forcing her thoughts to focus on the case, and not on the argument that had transpired moments ago.

It seemed stupid, ridiculous, she was so angry with Ackerman, but now she felt ashamed of her careless words. She was ashamed of being so naïve, so privileged. She knew she was lucky, luckier than most to be born in a wealthy family and have access to everything she needed or wanted. Not everyone was as fortunate as her, and some of people ended up just as Ackermans – driven to the life of crime by poverty and desperation. After all, most of the criminals didn’t choose this way of living, but Hange had forgotten about that. She let her single-minded determination cloud her perception and abandon her principals and initial reason for joining the force.

So fixed on catching criminals, she had forgotten that she wanted to help people, including those, who were lost or didn’t know better.

Hange felt the need to apologize to Ackerman. He was an asshole in his own right, but her cruelty and prejudice was uncalled for. She was better than this. At least, she hoped so.

So lost in her own thoughts, Hange missed the moment when Ackerman had moved from his kneeling position on the floor. Now he stood next to a long desk, gazing at it skeptically.

“If there is something worthy in this pile of shit, it’s gotta be here,” he explained to the confused Hange.

Still sitting on a floor, she watched how Ackerman opened the lowest drawer of the desk, throwing everything that was inside on the floor. More papers fell out. Once the drawer was empty, Ackerman pressed on something inside and revealed a hidden bottom drawer.

A secret compartment! Hange jumped to his side.

He was already shifting through the documents he found inside, his face as bored as ever. “Shit, I think there is nothing important her—”

“Wait!” Hange yelled, yanking a photo from between his fingers. Her eyes wide and mouth open, she stared at it. She knew that face, that face was staring accusingly at her for a whole week now, pushing Hange to find its owner. Linked to that photo was a birth certificate, and it bewildered Hange even more.

“What is it?” Ackerman rose on tiptoes, looking over her shoulder. “Did you find something?”

“I guess I did,” Hange slowly nodded, her eyes still glued to the photo and the document. “It appears we’ve been wrong. We aren’t looking for Krista Lenz. We’re searching for Historia.”

[froggy-beans]

See You (Not Too) Soon

by me! (cold_nights_summer_days) for @gracefulpanda12

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker and Tony Stark, May Parker and Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Happy Hogan and Pepper Potts and Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Original Female Character

What if he wasn’t quick enough and – they’re in critical condition – and they were gone before he got there? Before he got to say goodbye?

Don’t think like that. Everything is going to be fine. They’re at the hospital. Accidents happen all the time. Tony thought to himself. Then, another voice in his head said, Yeah. And people die from accidents all the time, too.

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

Written for the third Friendly Neighborhood Exchange! Prompt: Tony is Peter's Emergency Contact

Link to story on ao3

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Tony got the call around midnight. As midnight calls go, this was definitely not one of the pleasant ones. He’d been sitting in the living room, catching up on paperwork for the company, when his phone rang next to him. Tony had actually almost missed the call, having set his phone to silent while he worked to avoid being distracted.

“You should answer the phone,” Friday said vaguely.

“Who is it?” Tony asked, finally looking up from his work. He glanced briefly over at the clock, shocked that it was nearly midnight.

“Mount Sinai Hospital, sir.”

Without any more questions, Tony picked up his phone from the coffee table and pressed answer. He was already freaking out but tried to reassure himself. May works there. Maybe she’s just calling me from the hospital number—

“Hello? Is this Tony Stark?” said a tentative voice on the other end of the call. Tony cleared his throat before speaking.

“Yes, it is. Has something happened?” He asked. He already knows something has, because the voice on the other side is definitely not May Parker, and it doesn’t sound positive.

“Yes. You’re listed as an emergency contact for Peter Parker, and he’s just been in an accident. If you could come down to the hospital—”

“Did you call his aunt? May Parker?”

“No, sir. She was in the same accident. They’re both in critical condition.”

It was like Tony’s brain couldn’t comprehend the words, so he just sat there holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello? Sir? Are you there?”

“Y—yes,” Tony said. There were a million thoughts running through his head. May—Peter—in an accident. Critical condition. He needed to get to the hospital.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course, um, Mount Sinai, right? I know that’s what you said but now I’m freaking out a little bit and I don’t want to show up to the wrong place and—”

“Yes, that’s right. Someone will be waiting for you at the front desk.”

“Thanks,” He said roughly before hanging up the call and running to the hall closet. If he was going to leave the house he obviously needed shoes, but he hated every minute of trying to put them on. It was like now that he needed to be fast, he was doing everything slowly. Even getting to the elevator and pressing the button for the first floor seemed to take minutes.

It briefly occurred to Tony that he should call Happy because he wasn’t in a state to drive, but Happy was asleep. He wouldn’t be at the tower any sooner than thirty minutes, and that was just too long. What if he wasn’t quick enough and – they’re in critical condition – and they were gone before he got there? Before he got to say goodbye?

Don’t think like that. Everything is going to be fine. They’re at the hospital. Accidents happen all the time. Tony thought to himself. Then, another voice in his head said, Yeah. And people die from accidents all the time too.

“Get it together,” He whispered to himself, twisting his keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and not for the first time, Tony was so glad every car he owned was built for speed. If Pepper were there she’d be worried that he’d also get into a wreck. To be fair, that was a very valid fear.

Suffice to say, the trip to the hospital was much shorter than the average GPS would have you believe. So much shorter, in fact, that the nurse who’d been sent to wait for him was shocked to see him so soon. Part of it was probably the fact that yes, he was actually Tony Stark.

“Can I see them?” Was the first thing Tony asked the nurse upon meeting her. The nurse shook her had sadly.

“Why don’t you come with me for a moment? I think it would be better to talk in private, especially because there are other matters that need discussed now,” She suggested. Tony nodded and followed her to an empty room. The bed looked freshly made, and Tony briefly wondered who’d just vacated it. Did they get to go home?

The nurse, who’s name Tony learned to be Alyssa, encouraged him to sit down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He listened, and she took a seat in the other one.

“They’re both in critical condition still. From what I heard last, it’s uncertain whether May Parker will make it out of surgery. She sustained major head trauma, so even if she makes it out of surgery, it’s possible that she won’t wake up.”

“Won’t wake up?”

“She might be in a coma due to brain trauma. It’s not certain right now, but you need to know that that’s a possibility. If that does happen, the hospital will need to contact her attorney and acquire her living will. I don’t know if you know what’s written in hers, but we’ll have to do what it says. Whether her family – you – agree with it or not.”

“Okay,” Tony said slowly, trying to understand what the nurse was telling him. It made sense on a surface level, but part of his brain still couldn’t move past they’ve been in an accident.

“Do you need me to repeat anything, or would you like me to continue?” Alyssa asked politely. She seemed to anticipate his questions; this was definitely not the first time she’d had to deliver news like this.

“You can—what about Peter? Is he going to be okay?” That was the question Tony had been dying to ask since he picked up the phone. The one he wanted answered, but also the one that he was terrified to hear the answer to. Because while he loved them both, Peter was the one he spent hours with. Spent hours watching movies, talking about things, teaching him things. They were both family to him, but Peter was the one he saw as—no, don’t say it – his son.

“He’s still critical as well, but he’s in better condition than his aunt. She tried to protect him during the accident, which is why she ultimately sustained more injuries than he did. He suffered a bit of head trauma as well as a few broken bones,” Alyssa continued explaining.

“Can I see him?” Tony interrupted. He didn’t want to be rude, but she seemed used to this kind of thing. Worried parents.

“Not yet. I’m sorry,” She responded. “He’ll be out of surgery soon, but he’ll have to remain under strict surveillance until his condition improves. Until then, you can wait in the lobby, or I can arrange to let you wait here. It might be easier.”

“Easier than having everyone staring at me and trying to figure out why I’m here so they can sell the story to a tabloid? Thank you,” Tony tried to make the last bit sound sincere, but he just sounded empty. His voice held no trace of the worry and anxiety and panic and fear that he felt so acutely in his head. Years of media training, perhaps. Don’t let the audience know how you really feel because they’ll twist it and use it against you.

Alyssa left the room, locking the door behind her. Alone with just his thoughts, Tony glanced around the room. It was meticulously clean and smelled of antiseptic. There wasn’t much else to do besides sit, pace, or mess around on a phone. Tony supposed he could turn on the TV if he really wanted to, but he doubted anything playing on it could hold his attention.

Tony finally settled on pacing and calling Pepper to tell her what happened. She was in Japan for a business deal and insisted on flying back once she’d heard what happened. Her and May were really close, after all, and she didn’t want to miss anything. Like her death.

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait to book a ticket because Pepper had just taken the private jet. The soonest she could be back was around six that evening. Tony was relieved that Pepper would be coming home early. He wasn’t entirely sure he could keep it together on his own. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure he could keep it together if he wasn’t alone.

Next, he called Happy. Since it was now nearing one in the morning, Happy didn’t answer, so Tony left a voicemail asking him to call back as soon as he woke up. Despite what many would think, Happy was closer to Peter than he let on. He even tagged along for his Acadec competitions. Tony put calling Ned and MJ on a list of things to do once it was later in the morning. He planned to call them and let them know that Happy would (unbeknownst to him) be able to pick them up if they wanted to see Peter once he was out of surgery.

Until there was more news, there wasn’t much else Tony could do besides the one thing he hated doing; waiting.

Tony felt himself start to nod off in the plastic chair around three. He fought it as best as he could, but he was exhausted. He’d barely slept the night before because . . .well to be truthful, he just didn’t go to bed. He didn’t want to fight with himself over trying to fall asleep. It just wasn’t worth it.

Before he could truly fall asleep, though, a sharp knock on the door shocked him awake. He jumped up, body ready for a fight, before he remembered he was in a hospital and it was probably the nurse again. Tony unlocked the door and sure enough, standing on the other side, was Alyssa. She looked more tired now.

“Peter is out of surgery now,” She said, straight to the point. Tony was grateful. He sighed in relief.

“Can I see him?” He asked, afraid that she would still say no. He didn’t want to spend any more time in that room. His phone was close to dying, and there was only so much staring at a wall that one person could take. More importantly though, he wanted to see Peter. He wanted to make sure with his own two eyes that he was still alive.

Alyssa nodded. “You can come see him, but he isn’t awake yet. And I have to warn you, it isn’t pretty. There’s still quite a lot of bruising at this stage, as well as various cuts. It’s okay if you need a minute before going in. That’s actually pretty common.”

Tony followed her quietly through the halls until they reached the room Peter was currently staying in. Tony knew he couldn’t go back once he opened the door. He would no longer have the option to pretend this wasn’t happening. Alyssa offered to let him go in first, to give him a moment alone before she came back to check on them. Tony graciously took her up on the offer. He didn’t want anyone to see him fall apart, and he felt so dangerously close.

With a deep breath, Tony pushed the door open and walked in. He was careful to shut it back behind him before he really, truly, looked at Peter. It was . . . awful, for lack of a better word. Peter’s skin was marred with deep blue, purple, and black bruises. His face had several cuts, some deep enough to warrant the use of butterfly bandages. On top of that, his wrist is in a blue cast. At least they picked his favorite color.

Tony can’t help the tears that start to fall. Not that none of this hadn’t felt real before, but now, seeing his kid looking so small and battered in a hospital bed? It was very, very real. And very, very scary. Tony didn’t want to admit it to anyone else, but he was fucking terrified. What happened if the nurse is right and May doesn’t wake up? What happens to her nephew, who has had to live his whole life losing family member after family member? What happens to Pepper if she loses her best friend? What happens to Tony if he loses one of the few people he considers family? What happens to her friends? What happens to all the people that she’s built her life around?

Sitting down in one of the chairs across from Peter’s bed, Tony tries to take deep breaths. I need to calm down. May could just as well wake up and then everything will be fine. Peter won’t lose another parent. They’re both going to be fine.

For Tony, this mantra is what one might consider an empty reassurance. It was like a parent telling a child that everything was going to o alright, not to worry, even though the child knew the parent was lying. Even if – not if, when – they did both wake up, there were long term repercussions to this sort of thing. Tony could take care of most of them (like buying a new car, the hospital bills, insurance, etcetera), but there would be some things he just couldn’t fix. New nightmares, for example. Or lasting trauma.

Eventually, Alyssa came back with a doctor to go over Peter’s condition in greater detail. Tony tried to listen, and mostly he did, but he couldn’t stop looking at Peter. Even in sleep his face was pained, and Tony knew they weren’t giving him enough pain medication for his metabolism. He also knew that the thin hospital blanket wasn’t enough for him because Peter always, always slept with at least two blankets even in the summer. He knew these things because Peter was such a big part of his life and – don’t think like that – what if that was gone? What would Tony do with the extra blankets he keeps in the closet? Nobody else ever uses them. They would just sit there.

The doctor left and Tony felt like he knew less than he did before. Alyssa assured him that once he was ready, perhaps after sleeping for a bit, she could come back and explain it all again. This is normal, she said, many times parents are too shocked the first time to remember or understand what the doctor says.

Tony nodded numbly, and Alyssa left. He knew that he should take her advice and sleep. He would need it tomorrow, most definitely. But despite almost falling asleep before, sleep was nowhere in sight for him now. All he had was worry. And grief – but that was wrong because nobody had died yet. No, not yet. Not at all.

So with nothing else to do, and nowhere to be, Tony had nothing left to do but think and play the role of watchman. When he could no longer sit in the uncomfortable chair – either because his back was aching or because his mind couldn’t take it – he wandered down to the hospital gift shop. He was surprised to find it open at such an early hour, but glad, nonetheless. He milled about in the aisles, looking at little trinkets and get-well cards. Eventually, Tony picked out a small throw blanket to bring back up to Peter.

The cashier didn’t even spare Tony a second glance while he checked out. He was thankful. Once he had finished and made it back upstairs, he quickly unfolded the blanket and laid it out over Peter’s still sleeping form. There wasn’t much else Tony could do for him at the moment, but this small thing made him feel less useless.

Tony stayed in Peter’s room the rest of the night (morning). He drifted off every once in a while, but then nightmares of Peter and May dying shook him awake. Peter never once stirred. Tony wondered if his body was keeping him asleep so his super-healing could work. There didn’t seem to be much change in the color or size of his bruising, and none of his cuts looked remotely healed. If his super-healing was working at all, it must have been focusing more on the internal injuries.

Tony called Ned and MJ at seven. He was surprised to find them awake so early on a Saturday, but they weren’t exactly the type to sleep in anyway. Ned promised to be there as soon as he could manage, and MJ said she would be on her way once she could get away from family breakfast. Tony offered to have Happy pick both of them up, but they seemed okay with finding their own way here. It was possible that Ned’s parents would come with him, too. Peter was almost as close with them as Ned was.

Happy called him back sometime after seven-thirty, groggy but awake enough to function. Even still, Tony had to repeat the part about the accident. Happy was briefly silent on the other end of the line, and then said that he would come to the hospital as soon as he got dressed. He also asked Tony if there was anything else he needed him to bring.

“Um, yeah actually. Do you know where they keep the spare key to the apartment?” Tony asked him. He doubted that the other man didn’t know, but it was still better to ask.

“Above the door frame, right? They should really move it.”

“Yeah. Can you stop by there and pick up a few of Peter’s blankets? The ones they have here suck, and I’m sure he’d feel better if had a few from home.” And I’d feel better if he felt better.

“Of course. I’ll grab a few things for May, too.”

“Thank you so much, Happy. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Tony said sincerely. He sighed and dragged a hand through his already messy hair.

“Not very much, I’m sure. I’ll be there soon.”

Happy hung up, and Tony was left alone with his thoughts once more. I’m going to have to tell the hospital about Peter’s . . . condition. Otherwise they can’t treat him properly. Or maybe I should have them transferred to the Tower. That might be better.

Following that train of thought, Tony sought out the advice of Alyssa and the doctor. When he inquired about possibly having them moved, the doctor shook his head solemnly.

“May Parker isn’t stable enough to move right now,” He said. “If you’d like to have some of your own medical staff brought in, I’m sure we could arrange it, but I don’t think she should be moved.”

Tony nodded. He briefly considered having Peter moved anyway, but he knew that wasn’t what was best. They would want to be in the same place as the other. In case . . . In case one of them died and there wasn’t time to say goodbye.

He tried to ask them more about May’s condition, but some of the words just flew over his head. But there was that sentence again: She might not wake up.The doctor said it like he didn’t believe, not even a little bit, that she would. It made Tony angry. May Parker had to wake up. There was no way she’d let go of her life that easily. Tony knew she’d fight God if that’s what it took to stay alive. If not for herself, then for Peter.

That was something they had in common. They both had other reasons to live, of course, their lives didn’t revolve around a certain spider-kid, but he was the biggest. They wanted to see their kid grow up. Graduate high school, fall in love, go to college. They wanted to be there for that.

Come on, May. I know you can do it.

May’s lawyer showed up while Ned and MJ were visiting Peter. MJ brought flowers to put on the nightstand. Ned brought a card. They both promised that they were capable of keeping Peter company while Tony dealt with some of the more legal matters. Peter wasn’t even awake anyway, but Tony still didn’t want to leave.

“My name is Mr. Tyler,” The lawyer said, sticking his hand out for a handshake. Tony shook it quickly, slightly embarrassed at how clammy he was sure his hands felt. Mr. Tyler made no indication that he noticed, which he was grateful for.

“I’m sure you know my name,” Tony replied, trying to lighten the mood and utterly failing. His voice came out more bitter than sarcastic. Oops.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Stark. Now, I’ve taken the time to read through May Parker’s living will before speaking with you. She didn’t appoint anyone as her medical proxy, but she does specify that in the event of a coma, she would not like to remain on life support. Since her condition has not been explicitly named a coma, and she has not been declared brain dead, that doesn’t mean anything yet,” Mr. Tyler explained. Tony felt worse knowing that she wouldn’t want to be kept on life support. It was not a surprising decision coming from her.

On the slightly less dark side (for it certainly was not bright) it removed the pressure of the decision from his and Peter’s shoulders. This way would feel more like being a bystander than the one pulling the trigger. Because if it came down to him to decide whether to pull the plug or not, Tony wouldn’t be able to do it. He didn’t want—or need – May Parker’s death on his conscience.

“So, what does it mean?” Tony asked. He wished he’d called one of his own lawyers to help explain the more tricky bits. He might be a genius, but right now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to solve a simple addition problem if he were asked.

“It means that until either of those things happens—”

“Unless,” Tony cuts in. The lawyer looks at him for a minute, and then amends his sentence once he realized how insensitive it must have come across.

“—unless either of those things happens, she will remain on full life support. If she is declared legally dead, I’m under instruction to discuss her final will with you and Pepper Potts. Her nephew, Peter Parker, is only supposed to be present once his guardianship has been discussed.”

It’s not as if the thought hasn’t briefly crossed his mind, but the word guardianship felt like a smack across the face. If May died, Peter wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Of course he has somewhere to go. He has me, Tony thought. But that little voice, the one that’s always contradicted him, came back with a vengeance.

And why would he want that? It questioned. It’s not like you had a very good role model. Who says you’re going to be any better than he was?

I’m not Howard, Tony thought back angrily. I’m not him.

You’re right. You’re not Howard. But that doesn’t mean that you’ll be better than he was.

I’m already better than he was.

Says who? Chirped the little voice. Says who?

The rest of the day passed slowly. Ned and MJ leave. Peter slept. Happy arrived not long after the meeting with the lawyer. He came in holding an entire bag worth of stuff, and Tony asked if he was the new Santa Claus.

“No,” Happy sniffed. “I’m just prepared. I brought what you asked for, but I also brought you a phone charger and something to eat. Don’t lie – I know you, and I know you haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday. I also brought coffee for you.”

“Oh my god, you’re a life saver,” Tony said.

“I’m not done yet. I also brought you a change of clothes because in case you haven’t noticed, yesterday’s suit really isn’t that fashionable.”

Tony laughed sarcastically and took everything Happy offered to him. He changed quickly in the adjoining bathroom before coming back out to eat the food Happy brought him. Happy had taken to sitting in the other plastic chair and watching Peter.

“He’s in really bad shape,” He commented idly. Tony sighed.

“Yeah. May is worse, but they won’t even let me in to see her yet. I’ve been asking since I got here.”

“Did you call Pepper and let her know what’s happening?”

“Yeah,” Tony said in between bites. “She’s on the jet home right now. She’ll probably be here around six or seven. Knowing her, she might not even stop at home first and come straight here.”

“Probably . . . You know, Tony, I can stay here for a little while if you need a break. You can go home for a bit and rest. I doubt you’ve slept at all sitting in this chair,” Happy gave Tony a knowing look that said You need it.

“I’m fine,” Tony assured him. “You know I wouldn’t be able to really rest, anyway.”

“I know, but if you decide you do, I’ll stay here and call if there are any updates with him and May.”

“Thanks, Happy. I appreciate it.”

Happy and Tony sit in relative silence broken only by the beeping of the monitor. Peter was hooked up to so many machines and tubes that it hurt Tony to even think about how bad he must be. He wanted nothing more than for Peter to wake up and make some stupid joke to try and lighten the situation. He wanted to see Peter’s big brown eyes open and search for someone in the room with him. He wanted to hear Peter ask where he was, what stupid thing has landed him in a hospital bed this time.

But there was nothing but the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. That was better than it being silent, because it might mean that Peter wasn’t alive at all.

Pepper arrived at the hospital at six thirty on the dot, dressed in sweatpants and one of Tony’s old sweatshirts. It was an odd sight for the public who’d never seen her in anything less than business formal, but it helped her blend in with the nightly hospital crowd. A polite nurse showed her the way to Peter’s room while catching her up on the situation. A third chair was dragged in from some other empty room, and the phrase “three’s a crowd” came to Tony’s mind. Technically there were four people, but could the cliché still apply if one of them were unconscious? Yes, Tony ultimately decided, it did.

Thirty minutes later, Alyssa came in to find the three of them talking about anything and nothing to keep the silence from being too loud. Tony was the first to notice her presence. He was so desperate for information on either of them. He just hoped that Alyssa wasn’t coming to tell them May had been declared legally dead. She would not like to remain on life support.

Tony’s heart started to race in anticipation and his hands shook. Pepper placed a calming hand on his shoulder, but he knew it was as much for her as it was for him. She loved May and Peter dearly, too. Peter’s heart monitor beeped steadily in the background.

“May is finally stable enough to perform brain scans. The doctors are going to take her back in a few minutes, but if you guys would like a moment with her before they take her back, I’ll take you over,” Alyssa said. For a moment, all of Tony’s worry melted away. Stable. You can see her.

This relief was short lived, however, because when Pepper asked if that meant May was awake, Alyssa shook her head. They still wanted to see her, anyways, and Alyssa took them to May’s room. It was bare, and Tony felt guilty. There were no flowers, no extra blankets, no cards for her. As if Pepper could read his mind (let’s be honest, she definitely could), she whispered, “Nobody was allowed to see her before now. It’s not your fault.”

May had more bruises and cuts than Peter did, and they were more severe. She looked more peaceful than Peter did. Even with the bandages and even a cast on her right arm (yellow, this time), Tony could convince himself that she would recover, and they could go back to life as usual. The voice deep inside his head thought differently.

She won’t make it, and you’ll be left to take care of Peter. Did I say take care of? I meant screw up. You’ll disappoint him just like you disappointed Howard.

Tony shook his head to clear the voice and focused all his attention on May. There was so much he wanted to say to her, even if she couldn’t hear him, but none of the words wanted to leave his mouth. They stayed in his throat, and Tony thought he might choke on them.

Pepper stepped forward first and lightly grasped May’s hand in hers. Tears were in her eyes, ready to overflow, but Pepper wouldn’t let them. She would save her tears for later, when there was nobody there to see them but the moon. She never liked crying in front of anyone; not even her family.

“You better not think this will get you out of brunch with me next weekend,” She joked, voice strained with the effort of it. It was hard to be light when the room felt so weighted. “I’ve already made reservations and I’d hate to call and cancel.”

Tony stepped forward next, but he couldn’t get the words to come out. Later, he would wish that he’d said something, anything. Anything would have been better than nothing. In the end, though, May would know everything he wanted to say, anyway. He was never good at hiding things from her. He’d never been good at hiding things from his family. Not even his father.

Once she was finished, Pepper suggested that she and Tony give Happy a minute alone. He agreed, and they made their way back out to the hallway. Two nurses were standing outside the room, ready to take her for the scans.

“He has a thing for her, you know,” Pepper said, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Yeah. Peter mentioned it once or twice. He said it was weird when Happy would drop him off and him and May would give each other what he calls ‘googly eyes’,” Tony replied. Neither of them had ever said anything to Happy about it, but now Tony was curious. Had they gone out on a date yet? Would they?

Soon enough, Happy joined them in the hallway and the nurses wheeled her away. Tired and worn out, the three of them walked back to Peter’s room to wait. The nurses would know where to find them when the time for news, good or bad, came.

“Isn’t it customary to sign someone’s cast?” Tony asked randomly, staring at the blue cast on Peter’s wrist. Pepper laughs lightly.

“Customary? Really?” She said, glancing at him to figure out if he was serious or not. When she figured out that he was, she asked, “Are you really going to sign his?”

“Why not?”

“Would he actually want that, or are you just trying to pass the time?” Happy chimed in. Tony gave him the side-eye, but Happy knew that he was just joking. That was just how he was with them.

“I’m Iron Man. Who wouldn’t want me to sign their cast?”

“Someone who knows how insufferable you actually are,” Pepper mumbled. Her and Happy both laughed.

“I’m doing it,” Tony said, standing up to go search for a sharpie. Luckily the front desk had one he could borrow, and he came back in the room holding it up like a trophy. Pepper and Happy shook their heads at him as he walked over to Peter and began to sign the cast. In true Tony Stark fashion, his signature took up most of the space.

“You leaving any room for us?”

“Of course, Happy. See that little spot right here?” Tony pointed to a small spot near the edge. “That’s for you.”

“Might need a little bit more room than that.”

“Then you should have signed first! As it is, I signed first, you mocked me, and now you have to live with the consequences.”

Tony sat back down between them and held out the sharpie. Pepper took it next, signing just below Tony’s signature. Happy, sure enough, signed in the little space that was designated for him.

“One day he’ll be able to sell that and pay for college. We just did him a favor.” Tony said once everyone was finished.

“You say that like you haven’t already set aside money for his tuition,” Pepper commented.

“And you, Miss Potts, say that like you didn’t help me do it.”

Alyssa came back a few minutes after nine, and Tony swore he could see tears in her eyes. He already knew what she would say. He knew that she would confirm one of his worst fears. He didn’t share this thought with Pepper or Happy, though he suspected they already knew that, too.

Tony asked if they could have this conversation outside. Peter was asleep, sure, but he didn’t want to have this conversation in front of him whether he could hear it or not. Alyssa didn’t mind. She nodded quietly and led them out to the hallway.

“The scans came back negative,” She said without preamble. “The doctors couldn’t find any brain activity. I’m sorry.”

Pepper was the first to cry. Silent tears ran down her face and she turned to Tony and found him crying too. They held each other, desperate for the comfort the other could provide. Happy, on the other hand, stayed silent. He had no words to express how he felt, except maybe anger. He couldn’t be too sure. For all he knew, he just felt empty.

“How long do we have until – until they take her off life support?” Tony asked. Pepper cried harder into his chest.

“I don’t know,” Alyssa shook her head, “A few hours at most. The doctor still has to talk to her attorney before he can do anything. You’ll have time to say goodbye.”

“And what about Peter? Does he get to say goodbye?”

“If he wakes up, yes. It’s unlikely, though. I wish there was more that I could do . . . but there just isn’t. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I know this is very difficult for you.”

“It’s – thank you, Alyssa,” Tony realized he almost said it’s okay. That couldn’t have been right. Right now, things couldn’t have been any less okay.

“Of course. The end of my shift is coming up, but if you need anything, your new nurse’s name is Clara. She’s a close friend of mine. You’ll be in good hands,” Alyssa assured them. Tony nodded, and without another word, she was gone.

Happy decided to say goodbye first. He walked swiftly down the hallway like he was afraid he would miss her. But he can’t, because she’s already gone. Pepper excused herself to use the restroom, and briefly, Tony was glad to have a moment alone.

Once he was back in Peter’s room with the door shut behind him, he walked over to Peter’s bed and took the kid’s non-broken hand in his.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered, the words struggling to find their way out of his mouth. “I just—that’s it. I’m so, so sorry. I wish there was something we could have done . . . but things don’t always work out the way you want them to. Or need them to, I guess.”

Peter didn’t answer. Tony didn’t know whether he would have felt better or worse if he had. Then, Tony was left with the uncomfortable truth. May would be gone, and the only person Peter would have left was him.

You won’t be enough for him.

Tony stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. The dark circles under his eyes are as deep as they’ve ever been. The little voice hadn’t left him alone since May was taken off life support yesterday. It pestered him at every waking moment, and even the few hours of sleep he managed to get.

He’d left the hospital forty minutes earlier to shower and change before his and Pepper’s meeting with May’s lawyer. They had to go over her final will, and considering what was at stake, Pepper and Tony thought it best to accomplish this sooner rather than later.

Pepper knocked on the bathroom door and asked if Tony was ready to go. He wasn’t ready in any sense of the word; tie askew, mind a complete mess, but he said yes anyway. They were out the door in no time, with one of the company’s many paid interns driving them to the lawyer’s office. The ride was silent except for the sound of traffic outside.

Mr. Tyler’s receptionist greeted Pepper and Tony by apologizing for their loss. For all their business prowess and tact, neither of them knew how to respond. They couldn’t say it was okay. It wasn’t appropriate to say, “Don’t worry about it.” Thank you was the courteous option, but it didn’t feel right. They weren’t thankful for her apologies. They didn’t mean anything.

After an awkward silence, the receptionist led them to a conference room down the hall and explained that Mr. Tyler would be in shortly and if they needed anything to just give her a shout. Pepper nodded, and the receptionist left.

Sure enough, Mr. Tyler joined them in the conference room with a stack of papers and a pen. Tony wished he could fast forward through this part. He still remembered what it was like doing this when his parents died and he was in no hurry to go through it again.

“I’ve taken the liberty of reading through the will before you arrived to make this as quick and painless as possible. There are some things that can be dealt with at a later date, such as division of property, but I’m sure today you’d like to focus on the custody of her nephew,” Mr. Tyler said.

“Yes,” Tony said, but the thought made him want to be sick. He knew May, and he knew what the will would say, and he didn’t want to hear it. It’s not that he didn’t, or wouldn’t, want to take care of Peter. That wasn’t it at all. He was afraid that Peter wouldn’t want him. He didn’t even want to imagine how hurtful it would be if, when faced with aging out of the foster system and staying with Tony, Peter picked the latter.

“Before we officially begin, though, I have letters from May to the both of you. There’s one for her nephew here as well, but I’ll give it to you to pass on once he’s present.”

Mr. Tyler gently slid over two envelopes. Tony shakily grabbed the letter with his name on the front. May was gone. Dead. And the last words she’d ever say to him were in this letter. There was a similar one for Peter, but no matter how much Tony wanted to know what it said, he wouldn’t read it. It wasn’t his business. That was strictly for May and Peter’s eyes only.

With a deep breath, Tony opened the envelope and carefully slid the letter out. It was on a simple piece of lined paper, the kind Peter used for school. Her handwriting was almost as messy as his, too.

Tony,

I’m sorry that you’re reading this. It must mean that I’m gone. But try not to focus on that, okay? I need you to focus on Peter. He’s going to need you now more than ever. Don’t bother trying to locate any other family for him to stay with; there isn’t any. I’m an only child, and the rest of my family is gone.

I want you to take care of him. I know that you don’t really believe in yourself as a parent, and I know why, but it simply isn’t true. I’m sure as you’re sitting here reading this you still don’t believe me. Pepper would agree with me, though. Yeah, that’s right. I’m pulling the Pepper card.

Peter would be so much better off with you than if he goes into the foster system. As amazing as he is, people just don’t adopt teenagers as much anymore. He would stay in the system until he aged out, and that wouldn’t be good for him. He needs someone who knows him. He needs someone who understands him and what he’s going through.

I think that’s you. I know that’s you. And I think you know it’s you, too. My official will says that Peter goes to you if he’s under eighteen, but if you . . . can’t do that, my lawyer is under strict instruction not to tell him that. It would be worse if he knew, I think.

I have faith that you won’t do that to him, though. You don’t like to show a lot of emotion, but it’s hard (even for you) to hide how much you care about him. And let’s face it; he’s yours just as much as he’s mine. So be there for him, Tony Stark, or I might have to haunt you from the grave. Doesn’t matter if you don’t believe in all that stuff. I’ll find a way.

That leaves us with one more thing; goodbye. I’ve never much liked goodbyes. It’s possible that we’ve already had ours, but just in case we didn’t; goodbye, Tony. I know I didn’t much like you in the beginning, but you’ve really grown on me. I’m going to miss you, wherever I am. Just try not to miss me too much, okay?

See you (not too) soon,

May Parker

Pepper was still reading her letter once Tony had finished his. He wondered if May had put something similar in hers. He wasn’t going to ask, though. If Pepper wanted to share, she would.

He didn’t know what to do. Maybe cry some more once they’d left this terrible conference room. But he couldn’t do that yet. He still had to deal with the present.

“Her will says that she would like the two of you to take care of him. I understand this is a big undertaking, possibly unexpected if she’d never discussed it with you beforehand. I have legal guardianship transfer papers here, too, if you decide that you’re ready to sign them before you leave here today.

“If not, that’s okay as well. You may want some time to discuss this, and I understand. I can have one of my assistants bring you the papers when, or if, you feel ready for them. Keep in mind, guardianship is not the same as adoption. If you decided to . . . change your mind and have him placed in foster care, that would still be possible.”

“What about his medical care? Do we need to sign something to keep control over that?” Pepper asked now that she was finished reading. Tony silently thanked her for asking the question so that he didn’t have to.

“Mr. Stark is still listed as Peter’s emergency contact, and still has the right to make medical decisions for him in the meantime. I don’t want to rush you, but I do suggest acting quickly. These things can get sort of messy,” Mr. Tyler answered. Tony stared at the stack of papers in front of him and wondered which ones were the ones he was talking about. It was crazy that such a huge life change could happen because of a slip of paper and a signature.

“I think we should wait. This is about Peter; I think he deserves a say on where he goes from here. I don’t want to force him into anything,” Tony thought that was the right thing to say. The lawyer seemed surprised that he wanted Peter’s input.

“He’s only sixteen and experiencing a major loss in his life. Do you think it’s wise to give him such a big decision?” Mr. Tyler asked. Tony nodded without hesitation.

“Yes. It’s his life, and I trust him to made decisions for himself. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him be irresponsible. I just want him to feel like he’s still got some control when everything else is slipping away.”

Pepper agreed with Tony, and the issue of Peter’s custody was tabled for further discussion. Next, the pair had to deal with things like May’s college loans, current bills, bank accounts. All the things Obi had dealt with for Tony when his parents died. Twenty years later, and he felt like a kid all over again. He didn’t know what to do, who to talk to, what was going to happen in the future.

I think that’s you. I know that’s you. Those words burned in Tony’s mind while the lawyer talked about debts and bills and what would happen to the apartment. Tony wanted to believe her. May never lied to him, why would she start?

But Peter was . . . amazing and kind and compassionate. He was good. He was everything Tony wanted to be but couldn’t, and Tony didn’t want to screw that up. He wasn’t going to be the one who messed up everything May and Ben and Mary and Richard had done.

On the third night after the accident, Peter woke up. Happy had already gone home for the night, and Pepper was out finding something for them to eat. Tony was left by himself in the plastic chair, reading some news article he didn’t care about to pass the time.

If Tony was being honest, he didn’t even notice that Peter had woken up at first until he heard a strange gagging sound. He looked up to investigate and saw Peter tugging at one of the many tubes he was hooked up to.

“Hey, stop doing that,” Tony said, jumping up and pulling Peter’s hands away from the tube so that he couldn’t yank on it anymore. Peter froze and snapped his gaze to Tony’s face. His eyes went wide, and he tried to speak, but once again gagged on the feeding tube.

Tony let go of one of Peter’s hands with the strict instruction not to touch anything while he pressed the call button. Alyssa, who was thankfully back on duty, came in soon after. She gave Peter a soft smile.

“Sleepy head is finally awake, huh?” She said, checking his vitals real quick before telling him to breathe out so she could pull the tube out more easily. Once it was out, Peter tried to talk again, but it came out as more of a rasp. Alyssa left for a moment and returned with a cup of water, which Peter took gratefully.

“What happened?” He asked, voice still raspy. Reality came back, and the excitement Tony had previously felt at Peter being awake melted away.

“You and May were in a car accident three days ago. It’s Monday night, now,” Tony answered. Peter blinked slowly, like he couldn’t quite process the information.

“Where’s May? Can I see her?”

Alyssa took this as her cue to leave, but not before she gave Tony a reassuring glance. Peter watched her go before turning his attention back to Tony.

“There were some . . . complications. She was declared brain dead two days ago, and the hospital took her off life support,” Tony explained. Tears welled up in Peter’s eyes and he wanted nothing more than to take back what he said, to spare Peter the pain of knowing. But Tony knew that wasn’t possible. So, he continued.

“She leaned in front of you in the car once she knew what was going to happen. She took most of the hit, and there wasn’t anything we could do after that. I’m—I’m really sorry, Peter.”

Peter said nothing. The tears started to come faster, blurring his vison and running hot down his cheeks. Tony did his best to pull him close despite the IV and other various things Peter was hooked up to. Peter welcomed the comfort. There were few places he felt safe, fewer still now that May was gone, but Tony’s arms were one of them.

What might have been minutes or hours later, when Peter’s tears finally ran out, he whispered the question that both of them were afraid to answer.

“What happens to me?” Peter asked softly. His voice was muffled, quiet like a small child’s. Perhaps that was what he felt like in this moment.

You can live with me.

No, he can’t. You’ll screw him up.

No, I won’t.

Yes, you will.

I won’t.

Says who?

Says me.

And then, with all the bravery he’d never felt before, Tony said;

“You’ll come live with me and Pepper, if you’re comfortable with that, at least.”

“Really? You aren’t going to send me away?” Came the same small child’s voice. Tony pulled him closer.

“I could never. I love you too much.”

[kurowrites]

Snow - Chapter 9

Entire fic. AO3. 

Bet you all thought you were safe, ehehehe.

---

It’s a few days after that memorable Saturday that Wei Ying has an unexpected visitor in his office. He doesn’t have unannounced visitors often – usually people call or email him first if they want something from him. It’s a surprise, therefore, that someone knocks at the door of his office mid-afternoon, and it’s an even bigger surprise when no one other than Lan Qiren, the president of the university, waltzes through his door.

Wei Ying has never even met Lan Qiren on a personal basis, though he’s seen him before: slim and tall, with a long beard and strict, sharp eyes. Now that he knows Lan Zhan, the kinship between the two is evident in terms of looks and manners. But there is something about Lan Zhan that puts Wei Ying immediately at ease, and there’s something about Lan Qiren that puts him immediately on edge. Lan Zhan is very warm once you get to know him; Lan Qiren is frosty no matter how you look at him.

There can only be one reason why a busy man like Lan Qiren has come to find Wei Ying: Lan Zhan. And by the look on his face, Lan Qiren hasn’t come to congratulate them on their budding relationship.

Lan Qiren strides though the room and stands in front of Wei Ying’s desk, staring down at him wordlessly. It’s rather rude, Wei Ying thinks, but it’s Lan Zhan’s uncle, so he’s going to try and be polite.

“How can I help you?” he asks with his best attempt at friendliness.

“Do not act innocent,” is Lan Qiren’s immediate reply. “I know what you are doing.”

Wei Ying raises his eyebrows. That’s a big statement, considering that Wei Ying himself doesn’t know what he’s doing, especially when it comes to Lan Zhan.

“Excuse me?”

“You are the man who has seduced my nephew.”

Wei Ying feels his eyebrows rise even higher. Well, that statement is partially true. Wei Ying certainly helped Lan Zhan on, but no seducing would have happened if Lan Zhan hadn’t been equally intent on being seduced. It hadn’t been Wei Ying’s idea to get tied to a bed and be fucked with excruciating, meticulous slowness, after all. That had all been Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying clears his throat to answer.

“Even if I did, I can hardly see how that concerns you, President Lan.”

“Do not be insolent!” Lan Qiren cried. “Of course it concerns me when a stray dog like you suddenly lurks around my nephew! Your academic credentials are excellent, that much I will allow, but do not think for one minute that your status is equal to him! He has always been a collected, reasonable person, and the moment he sees you he starts getting rebellious! He should be looking for a proper partner, not something like you!”

That hurts. In all fairness, Wei Ying is used to people looking down on him, insulting him, so Lan Qiren’s words are nothing new. He’s heard diatribes like this too many times already. But the insinuation that he is not and will never be a proper partner to Lan Zhan, that one hurts. It shouldn’t; he’s known from the beginning that Lan Zhan is in this for his own personal reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with Wei Ying, reasons that Wei Ying is aware have nothing to do with love. He still put his heart on the line, and this is the result. The reminder is unwelcome and painful.

Lan Zhan doesn’t love him. He knows that.

He quickly shakes the thought off, and concentrates on the anger rising within him. Anger is much easier to handle.

“Are you suggesting Lan Zhan should be looking for a wife? For marriage? And children?” he asks. “You can’t force him into that for your own convenience. He deserves to make his own choices!”

Lan Qiren huffs in condescension. “If you are suggesting I am homophobic, let me assure you I am not. I have long known about my nephew’s homosexual inclinations. His wishes in that regard shall be respected. But you, I cannot approve of. If he chooses a partner, it shall be among his own peers, a son of a respectable family. Not a mongrel like you.”

Wei Ying stares at Lan Qiren for a moment, a quick reply dying on his tongue.

A mongrel.

A mongrel.

“I think you’ve said enough,” he says sharply. “This mongrel still has work left to do. Please leave my office.”

“Stay away from my nephew, if you know what’s good for you,” Lan Qiren says, and stalks out of the office, slamming the door.

The office is completely silent after Lan Qiren has left, and only gradually does Wei Ying becomes aware that he’s literally shaking. He balls is hands into fists, tries to calm himself down, but the shaking won’t stop. He’s upset, and, yes, he realizes after a moment, he’s feeling afraid. He has no doubt that this is the end. His personal feelings don’t matter. And even if Lan Zhan likes him, and likes fucking him, that’s not enough to go against the opinions of his uncle.

Wei Ying knows it well. Lan Zhan is strict and rule-abiding, and he has a high respect for both his older brother and his uncle. If his uncle tells him to do something, Lan Zhan will listen. And Wei Ying has no doubt that Lan Qiren will tell Lan Zhan to stop seeing Wei Ying, to stop involving himself with a person like him. And Lan Zhan will no doubt see how inappropriate their entire relationship is, and will end it.

Of course he can do better than Wei Ying! There are many handsome, well-bred, gay men out there, and any of them would be happy to date a man like Lan Wangji. There could be no objection to him by anyone, in any way. He’s incredibly good-looking, smart, educated, rich, good at caretaking, good at cooking, good at cleaning – there is not a single thing in which Lan Zhan doesn’t excel. Well, with the exception of talking, perhaps. He is rather stingy with his words. But some people might appreciate that all the more. After all, there’s never an insincere, inconsiderate word out of Lan Zhan’s mouth. When he speaks, he means it. He’s just an all-around good person. Whoever gets him in the end will be lucky indeed.

And Wei Ying has no right to keep Lan Zhan tied to him. It would be selfish, too, asking for more presents, for more attention than Lan Zhan is already willing to give. He has no claims on Lan Zhan, other than a casual engagement to fuck and spend a good time together.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to be rejected. He’s not sure how well he’d take it if Lan Zhan actually said “I don’t want you anymore” to his face.

Suddenly, all these people who do crazy things for those they love start to make much more sense. He would do crazy things for Lan Zhan, too.

He takes out his mobile phone and sends a quick message to Lan Zhan.

[Wei Ying] Do you have time to talk?

Then he turns back to his work and tries to concentrate for the rest of his working hours. He’s only vaguely successful.

---

Lan Zhan sent him a message that he will be waiting at a café close to university after work, so Wei Ying makes his way over there as soon as he’s finished for the day. The weather outside is cold and overcast, with a wet chill that quickly settles in his bones despite Lan Zhan’s warm sweaters and soft scarf. The warmth of the café is all too welcome a sensation when he opens the cute art nouveau entrance door.

He almost immediately catches sight of Lan Zhan, easy to spot in his shining white turtleneck sweater among the dark gleaming wooden interior of the café. He’s sitting at a small table, and he’s looking directly at Wei Ying. It’s… flattering, honestly, to have Lan Zhan’s attention as soon as he comes through the door.

When he steps closer, he notices that Lan Zhan’s hair is slightly damp, probably due to the weather outside, and the tips of his hair are curling a little. It makes him look so much softer than usual, and it makes Wei Ying want to push his fingers through that hair, get as close as he can, and kiss him.

He wants to kiss Lan Zhan very badly. Take comfort in his physical presence.

God, he’s a little messed up. He’s come here to break up with Lan Zhan, after all.

He swallows his instinct and takes the seat opposite Lan Zhan’s, smiling at him brightly.

“Hi, Lan Zhan,” he says, feeling a little silly about how silly he’s being. One look at Lan Zhan, and his resolve is already wavering. He’s so weak, it’s embarrassing.

Lan Zhan’s uncle called him a mongrel, and looking at Lan Zhan’s face, Wei Ying cannot help but think that he’s willing to be called a mongrel a thousand times as long as he gets to keep Lan Zhan.

“You wanted to talk,” Lan Zhan says. “Do you need something?”

Oh god, did Lan Zhan come here thinking Wei Ying called him out to ask for money?

“Ah, no!” Wei Ying stutters. “No, everything is fine. No. It’s just…”

Lan Zhan simply looks at him, evidently waiting for him to get on with it.

“I had a visit from your uncle today,” he starts hesitantly.

The effect is immediate. Lan Zhan straightens up (if someone with a s posture as straight as his can straighten up, that is) and grows rigid. It’s not a good sign for what’s to come.

“He, uh, might have made his… unfavourable position on our relationship clear?”

Lan Zhan breathes a deep sigh and looks out of the window for a moment.

Well, there it is. There is no way that Lan Zhan’s decision will be in favour of Wei Ying. He’s only a sugar baby, after all. There are thousands of those, and better ones, too. People that actually have taste and class, and will not embarrass Lan Zhan when they’re seen together in public. People that Lan Qiren might even approve of.

“My uncle’s opinions and concerns have been noted,” Lan Zhan says stiffly. “However, my uncle does not get to make decisions regarding my relationships. I have asked him not to take your grievances up with you. I will have to speak with him again.”

“Lan Zhan, I–” Wei Ying stutters, panicking a little. Did Lan Zhan have a fight with Lan Qiren over Wei Ying? “Lan Zhan, you can’t mean– He’s your–”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says gravely. “My uncle is a good man who takes his responsibilities seriously. However, that does not mean he is always right. And seeing that we are all adults, he might have the right to voice his opinion, but he does not get to make any decisions for me. He was out of place to come and speak to you. If he does it again, you are to tell me immediately.”

“Lan Zhan, I can’t be responsible for familial strife.”

This time, Lan Zhan leans forward and takes Wei Ying’s hand, cradling it in his own. It is unexpectedly soothing, to have that contact. Wei Ying fights the intense urge to abandon all manners and crawl into Lan Zhan’s lap right there and then.

How much he wishes for that comfort now. He shouldn’t but he still wants.

“You are not,” Lan Zhan replies, stroking the back of Wei Ying’s hand with his thumb. “It is my uncle’s problem if he refuses to accept my decisions, and it has nothing to do with you. He is not to trouble you again.”

Lan Zhan’s insistence loosens one knot in Wei Ying’s chest. Lan Zhan doesn’t want to break up, that much is clear. At the same time, it ties another knot of worry in his chest. He certainly doesn’t want Lan Zhan to get into a fight with his family for the sake of what, a sugar baby? That can’t be worth it no matter how you look at it. Lan Zhan might get tired of Wei Ying one day. But if he destroys his relationship with his uncle, he will destroy it forever. No no, that can’t be.

As Wei Ying is still trying to find the right words, Lan Zhan suddenly asks, “Are you free this Saturday?”

It’s a strange non-sequitur, especially from Lan Zhan.

Still, Wei Ying nods. Of course he’s free. Half of his free time has been consumed by Lan Zhan lately. The other half has been consumed by thinking about Lan Zhan.

“My brother will be back by Saturday,” Lan Zhan explains. “We shall have brunch together. He is… more supportive.”

Wei Ying stares at him for a minute. Lan Qiren has made his disapproval clear, so Lan Zhan plans to introduce Wei Ying to his brother?

He cannot help but smile the tiniest little bit. He’s sensing a rather strong rebellious tendency in Lan Zhan today. For once, their roles seem almost reversed.

He tries to imagine himself as the sugar daddy, and laughs to himself. Oh no, that would be terrible. For one, he doesn’t have any money. There is nothing he could offer that Lan Zhan would want, if their roles were reversed.

“Your brother?” he asks, gathering himself. “I’d be happy to meet him. I’m a little curious to see you two together. I want to know with whom you grew up with.”

“My brother is a very generous, kind person,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying figures that is extraordinary praise.

Lan Zhan keeps holding his hand even as the coffee they order comes, and Wei Ying basks in the warmth of the café and the warmth of Lan Zhan, wanting to remain in this bubble as long as he can.

Lan Zhan wants to keep him around for at least a little longer, and Wei Ying can live a little longer without heartbreak.

He smiles at Lan Zhan.

It’s good.

He ignores the black tar that’s slowly dripping out of his heart.

[capricornus-rex]

A Legacy Begun (6)

Chapter 6: A Hopeful Beginning | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Prompt/s in play: Anon prompt (in Chapter 1 link) & fic idea

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 | Previous: Part 5 | Next: Part 7 | Masterlist

6 of ?

You were given a few more days to recover after giving birth. The whole crew remained in Polis Massa while you regained your strength. The nurses were very meticulous when it comes to your diet and general post-partum health.

A day later you can already sit up, Cal remained with you in the ward with little Cassidy nestled in the little crib by your bedside—with the toy Binog that you’ve sewn yesterday lying right next to her. The medical droids suggested skin-to-skin contact must be done as often as possible—adding that it is crucial for the overall health of the baby.

The medical droids were strict about visitors, Cal was the only one who can go inside and out of the ward as he pleases. He eventually showed his baby to the Mantis crew with the glass wall dividing them, everyone absolutely loved the little Kestis girl swaddled and nestled in her father’s arms.

From your bed, you watched Cere, Merrin, and Greez smiled and wiggle their fingers in front of Cassidy to get her attention. The sight of them melting at the presence of a baby was new, it warranted a giggle from you. The crew looked over Cal’s shoulder and waved excitedly at you, your husband turned around and smiled back at you too.

“I’m not used to seeing all of them worked up at the same time,”

“Yeah, it’s my first time seeing that too,” you joked.

Cal surely took his time in holding his daughter: nuzzling the tip of his nose against her forehead, his lips parting as he mimicked her yawning and then smiling once her mouth has closed.

“Mind her head,”

“She’s so tiny,” Cal sighed, not getting enough of feeling the weight of his daughter in his arms.

He gently adjusted his hold of her, letting the baby’s head rest on his shoulder, he held his breath so he could feel hers—warm, sweet, and small. He was careful not to disturb her with his stubble.

“I just wanna squish her so bad,” he cracked.

BD-1 peeked over Cal’s shoulder, chirping and trilling at the sight of little Cassidy. Cal softly shushed the droid as the baby continued to sleep, staring at the small face as he kept cradling her in his arms.

Eventually, Cal transferred her to your arms, the baby gurgled and squirmed when she felt she was being moved. When she pressed her cheek against your bosom, she yawned and her eyelids slightly flicked up, showing a little bit of her eyes before she dozed off again. Your heartstrings twisted in the best way possible.

“She’s so beautiful,” you sighed, smoothly stroking her head with your first two fingers.

Your heart felt light when your daughter’s tiny hand patted your chest and her fingers unfurled. Cassidy’s hand latched around your thumb when your hands met. You didn’t realize that the tiniest hand could hold so much of you.

It was your final checkup a week after you gave birth. The GH-7 medical droid hovered towards you and towed along a table of medical tools behind him.

“How are you feeling, miss?”

“I’m fine. No headaches or what, but still a bit exhausted,”

“Physical exhaustion is normal after childbirth, since your muscles have been most likely overworked,” the droid motioned to a handheld apparatus. “With enough rest, you may return to your normal activities in a week or so.”

“Good to know,”

“My readings indicate that your blood pressure is optimally normal and your vitals are in peak stability!” the droid trilled, green lights glowing in its lenses as they reported its diagnosis. “You are permitted for discharge whenever you’re ready.”

The droid politely replied and then dismissed itself to the computers. Your husband turned to you, already knowing what that face meant. You gestured a nod at him, to which he translated to “In a bit” and continued cuddling up Cassidy. The three of you were ready after an hour or two, upon returning to the Mantis, the baby was greeted with hushed swooning and baby-talk murmurs.

“Oh, look at her,” Cere fawned, beaming at the sight of the child up close and personal. Then she leveled her head to the Jedi couple. “So, where to now?”

“I think I should let [y/n] take the reins on that,”

You strode to the holotable and typed the coordinates of Ilaro. Everyone gathered round the map as the projection colored the room into the bright cyan.

“Ilaro,” Cere reads out loud.

“Ilaro is in the Outer Rim, it’s going to take a few parsecs away from here,”

You also added the same information that you told Cal about the planet—the range of the Empire’s hold in that system runs thin, so there will be little to no Imperial presence.

“Then we’re gonna have to make a cutting trip, I don’t want the Mantis running with a half-empty tank,” Greez grumbled. “If it’s in the Outer Rim, I know an outpost where I can fill ‘er up before heading to your planet.”

The whole crew concurred, Merrin accompanied the mother and child by the holotable couch while the three manned their stations in the cockpit. The Nightsister admired the infant, rubbing her index finger and thumb between Cassidy’s pudgy feet—both of you giggling whenever her toes would flinch because it tickled her.

“She’s such a sleepy bug,” Merrin hummed.

This was the first jump to lightspeed to the fueling outpost for Greez.

The slight turbulence of the outpost’s tractor beam jolted the infant but you snuggled her into your arms.

“This’ll take only a while,” Greez announced from the captain’s seat.

The Mantis was peaceful, but it was a new kind of peace, now that the ship has a new, tiny member with them. For the rest of the trip, Cassidy slept soundly, occasionally cooing and gasping with the little voice that tugged your heartstrings. While there’s nothing much to do in the middle of hyperspace, Cal sat next to you, his palm curled to cradle her head. He’d giggle back at the soft noises that Cassidy makes in the middle her sleep. The Mantis’s speed has slowed down, signaling your arrival in Ilaro’s orbit. Cal returned to the co-pilot seat and assisted Greez as the ship cuts through the atmosphere, the Jedi was able to navigate the land mass and found the hillside town that you once told him about.

“Over there, Greez, I see it,”

“Me too, kid,”

The captain flew the ship over to a clearing they found in the hillside, just a few meters away from the town’s border. You braced yourself for the landing until the rumbling came to a halt. Cal exited the cockpit and joined you.

“We’re here,”

He escorted you out of the ship and got a glimpse of the landscape. It was breathtaking. It was exactly the same as you and your master found it many years ago. The town that you referred to was more of a quaint village that clustered along the hilltop overlooking the ocean on the other side of the island.

“You’re right, [y/n], this is the perfect spot. A ship’s not the best place to raise a child—no offense to Greez there,”

“Yeah, I just hope it’ll remain that way,”

You and Cal stood at the hill, gazing at the deep blue sea that stretched to the far reaches of the horizon—illuminated by the twin suns that have begun to sink behind the coastline—looking forward to a future filled with hope, especially for your child.

—–

8 BBY

At the age of three, Cassidy Kestis had grown plumper and cheerier; with hair—and perhaps a will—as fiery as her father’s, eyes as docile yet full of spark like her mother, she’s nothing but a waddling ball of light in the Kestis homestead. Her laughter, voice, and words would fill the entire house and the entire ship during your visits to the Mantis.

BD-1 had grown extra especially fond of the little one, and Cassidy had the exact same sentiments to him. The little droid and the little girl have become best friends ever since then. BD was there to entertain her with the flashing blue lights, even though she half-understood that they were hologram projections of all the data scans throughout her parents’ journey.

“You’re always showing her that Binog scan, buddy,” Cal chirped while watching over the kid and the droid play together.

“I think he wants us to teach her how to say Binog,” you suggested after popping out of the kitchen while waiting for your recipe to simmer.

You leaned against the door frame to watch BD-1 and Cal try to coax the word “Binog” from Cassidy. The toddler pointed at the blue projection and then she started surveying the living room for her toy of that creature—when she spotted it lying behind the droid, the child outstretched her arms but she remained on where she sat. The parents watched their daughter with great intrigue, their eyes shifting between the child and the toy until the object started to shudder, inching towards Cassidy’s general direction until the stuffed Binog toy sprang from the floor and lightly landed in Cassidy’s hands.

“Dad… Mommy…” Cassidy gurgled, waving the toy around in front of them.

Cal glanced over his shoulder to his wife, he found you just as dumbfounded as he is. The two of you traded puzzled stares at one another. The surprise didn’t come from the fact that she was Force-sensitive, both of you were more surprised that the Force has manifested within her in such a young age.

“Later,” you firmly established.

Cal nodded and repeated the word in agreement. You returned to the kitchen and stirred the soup one last time before serving it. You tapped the ladle against the rim of the pot, Cal promptly snatched up his daughter from the floor.

“Come on, Cassidy, it’s dinnertime!” he buried his chin against Cassidy’s cheek and arms.

“Daddy… no itchy!” Cassidy squeaked, trying to push away her dad’s scruffy jaw from her face.

“Oh no, you’re gonna fall!”

Cal continued to joke around on his way to the dining table with Cassidy in tow. He faked her falling by lowering her upper half close to the floor and the bottom half locked securely in his grasp. The little girl was exhilarated as her red hair draped and swerved as Cal strode, she bursts in laughter as she tried to kick her way out of her daddy’s grasp.

“Here comes the Sarlacc in the floor!”

He made a comedic impression of the Sarlacc’s grunting and hissing as he continued to dangle and rock the baby close to the floor.

“Daddy!” the little girl struggled to speak through her squealing giggles.

“Okay, okay, careful with the Sarlacc game or you might spill the pot,”

You come out of the kitchen and settled down the pot on the table. Cassidy looked to you for help, stretching out her arms at you, opening and then closing her palms as if to beckon you to come to her.

“Mommy, here!”

“I gotcha!” you swiped your baby girl away from her daddy, shielding her from Cal with your back but your husband’s height towered over yours.

Arms snaked around your waist, pulling you in from behind, Cal nuzzled his jaw against your neck—now you were his victim of his ticklish kisses thanks to his stubble. You bobbed your head to the side, denying him more entry to your weak spots.

“The food’s gonna grow cold, time to dig in,” you segued.

“You mind if I dig into your later?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you pecked him teasingly before settling Cassidy down on her chair.

The two of you helped yourselves with potful of boiled potatoes and tenderized Chorcap meat swimming in creamy, rich broth. Cal dug in, taking spoonful after spoonful of his serving.

“Slow down or you’ll choke on the chopped scallions,” you warned.

“Are you trying to compete with Greez? Because this is really good!”

You took that as a compliment. Meanwhile, you alternated between feeding Cassidy and bringing your own spoon to your mouth. She smiled away the soup dribbling at the edge of her mouth, leaving a butter-colored smeared mess across her chin as she continued fiddling with the legs and tail of her toy Binog.

The peace that lingered at the dining table changed.

The stern expressions in your faces focused on Cassidy, the little toddler was clueless as she sat and patted her toy in her seat, shifting her gaze between her mother and father. The exact same thought bridged your minds, it was the only conversation you had without speaking, but your eyes uttered so many questions and words.

Eventually, you were the one to break the silence.

“You do know the risks that come with it—the same risks that we had to face as children,”

“I know,” your husband hummed.

A pensive tone rung in your words, “In time.”

Cal’s head motioned to a nod. He reached for Cassidy’s hand, by instinct, she latched her stubby paw around Cal’s finger; the two of you continued to watch the baby unknowingly wield the Force by causing her toy to float inches above her lap and giggled as it plopped back down on her legs—doing so without a clue in the galaxy what she is capable of.

A few hours after dinner, you’ve bathed Cassidy to ready her for bed. Her fine red hair smoothly followed each sway and turn of the hairbrush. In your arms, you sang a wordless lullaby to her, the solemn melodies lulled the child to sleep until you could settle her down in her cradle.

“Sweet dreams, my little angel,” you cooed, smoothing her fringe across her forehead.

You sat by the window nook, having a full view of the sea—black at night but will return to azure in the day—beneath the twin platinum moons shining below the planet.

In the calming darkness of your bedroom, Cal sat behind you, joining you in listening to the sleepy tides crashing in the distance.

“Your mind keeps dwelling on the thought, love,”

“I only keep thinking how she’ll turn out,”

“Don’t worry about her,” he slid his knuckles across the smoothness of your shoulders, your skin recalled a familiar sensation not too long ago. “She’s got us.”

You shifted in your seat, the moonlight amplified the determination twinkling in your eyes. Cal caressed your cheeks and brushed away the hair that nearly concealed your face.

“I won’t let anything happen to my girls,” a steely yet gentle glint shone over the gloss of his eyes.

[romionestinyballoflight]

Okay fellow Romione shippers, I have something I need to get off of my chest. A rant, if you will.

Just a quick disclaimer, this post is going to be long and I’m going to be unleashing thoughts and feelings I’ve had built up for six years now, so I’m going to insert a handy dandy Read More here for those who are not interested in seeing six years worth of pent up thoughts and feelings.

For those of you still with me, let’s jump into this.

Since I’ve been making strict Romione posts lately, I’ve obviously been thinking about the dynamic of their relationship and why they do work as a couple and why they definitely should’ve been endgame. But I’ve also been thinking about people who argue against Romione, specifically those who ship Harmione and Dramione.

This is something I’ve touched on before, but when I first became a Potterhead I was a Harmione shipper. Mainly because I was only ten or eleven when I first started the books, and I didn’t understand how adult relationships actually work. I didn’t fully understand that people are going to get heated with each other, people are going to argue, and there is nothing wrong with that. So, knowing that, I saw how Ron and Hermione interacted at first glance, thought it was wrong, and my late elementary/early middle school brain wanted Hermione with Harry. It also had to do with the fact that I saw a lot of myself in Hermione, and at the time, I would’ve crushed on someone like Harry over someone like Ron (I still see a lot of myself in Hermione, and as I’ve grown up I’ve realized I actually would fall for someone like Ron and would actually need someone like Ron, but more on that later). It’s also not hard to ship the main guy with the main girl, because that’s a trope a lot of authors use. So believe me, I understand the appeal of the Harmione relationship.

However, the same can’t be said about the Dramione ship. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with the good girl/bad boy relationship and I can even kind of see the appeal of it. But I’m also very leery about it because there’s a fine line between respectful good girl/bad boy relationships and disrespectful good girl/bad boy relationships, and it’s very easy to cross that line. With the Dramione ship, it goes beyond just crossing the line. Granted, Draco Malfoy was raised in a hateful environment, but this is also someone who literally wished death on Hermione just because she was of different magic blood status. Dramione shippers can say all they want that Draco didn’t know how to manage his feelings and had to maintain his status quo or whatever by openly bullying Hermione and throwing racial slurs at Hermione and literally wanting Hermione dead and it’s the classic “he’s bullying her, so that means he likes her!”, but wishing death on someone is not something anyone should be saying in any kind of context and it’s definitely not something I would say about anyone I had feelings for, so I’ll never excuse that alone. That one example of wishing Hermione was dead is my number one argument against Dramione every time I argue with someone about it. I don’t even touch on the fact that he just bullied the absolute shit out of her or threw racial slurs at her constantly, I just go directly to the fact that he literally said he wanted her dead.

Anyway, sorry for the tangent, back to what I originally wanted to rant about.

The thing that I consider the “catalyst” for all this bullshit is the infamous Wonderland interview J.K. Rowling did with Emma Watson in 2014. At the time it came out, it left a huge pit in my stomach. And it honestly still leaves a huge pit in my stomach whenever I think about it. 

Yes, I know this interview is six years old, but like I said, this shit still gets under my skin even after all these years, and I’ve never really been able to coherently rant about it, so I’m doing it now.

And also before I continue, I just want to say that I know there have always been shipping wars. They didn’t just come about in 2014 when this interview was released. But it definitely fueled the fire for those who argue against Romione (especially Harmione shippers). Because let’s be real here, what better fuel is there than the actual author of the series and the creator of these characters going back on her written word and saying Hermione actually should’ve ended up with Harry instead of Ron? I’m getting ahead of myself here, back to it. 

At the time the Wonderland interview was leaked, only a portion of it was leaked. And the portion that was leaked was the portion that completely made it sound like J.K. Rowling was going against Ron and Hermione’s relationship completely because it mainly centered around her saying she should have put Hermione with Harry in the end and her reason for putting Hermione with Ron instead was “wish fulfillment.” So obviously, an uproar resulted from this and my Romione heart was broken (for reasons I’ll touch more on in a minute). However, sometime later, the full interview was released, which means full context of what J.K. Rowling was talking about was released. And the full context should’ve made me feel better, but it really didn’t. Because while she did admit that Ron and Hermione were ultimately still endgame, she also said that they would most likely need counseling at some point and “they will probably fine.” 

There’s a lot to unpack here, and I could honestly run through this interview with a fine-tooth comb and pick apart literally everything wrong with it because I’m a feisty protective bitch when it comes to Romione, but for the sake of time, I’m only going to touch on three main points.

To be quite honest, after all these years, I still really can’t decide what I have a bigger problem with -- J.K. Rowling going back on her own written word and saying she should’ve put Hermione with Harry, or J.K. Rowling saying Ron and Hermione would need outside help to manage their relationship. So let’s go through it in the order this bullshit was put out into the world, because I think that’s the easier thing to do right now.

Like I said earlier, I see the appeal with the Harmione relationship. But ultimately, it just doesn’t work. For one thing, there are seven whole books where Harry and Hermione’s relationship is developed into something quite platonic and even sibling-like. I really could just leave it at that, but I won’t. I’ll do kind of a deep dive because I’m in that kind of mood and I have the time today. I’ve said this before, but one of my favorite things about the Harry and Hermione relationship is the fact that they are, for all intents and purposes, the sibling that the other never had. They are comfortable enough confiding in each other, but they also don’t always know how to react to how the other is acting or how to comfort the other when they’re upset without it blowing up in their faces or how to comfort the other at all. 

The other thing I want to touch on with the Harry and Hermione relationship, is the fact that neither one of them reacts in a negative way when one of them has a love interest. Which is kind of a big deal. The only time I can think of where there was a bad reaction to a love interest, is when Hermione reveals she asked Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn’s Christmas party. Which wasn’t even really a love interest, it was just something Hermione did to piss Ron off. And the negative reaction to it wasn’t at all motivated by jealousy but just by pure dislike. Other than that, there really are no reactions to love interests. Harry doesn’t care that Hermione is at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, because he’s too busy lusting over Cho Chang and thinking about the fact that she is there with someone else. Harry doesn’t really think about the fact that Cormac McLaggen is making Hermione uncomfortable at Slughorn’s Christmas party, because he’s too busy lusting over Ginny and thinking about the fact that she is with someone else. 

And perhaps the best and most important example I can think of to prove the point that they absolutely do not have any romantic feelings for each other whatsoever, is this -- after Ron left in Deathly Hallows, not only did Harry and Hermione barely interact with each other, but Harry was way too busy focusing on Ginny and worrying if she was okay or not to even attempt to comfort Hermione, who was crying all the time over Ron’s departure. As much as Steve Kloves wanted to imply that Harry and Hermione were carrying on fine for the most part after Ron left and they could have given into “urges” one night, that’s simply not how it happened.

Since I feel like I’ve made my point with that, that’s enough of Harry and Hermione relationship dissection. Moving on to the next order of bullshit.

Obviously I am a shameless Romione shipper. I would scream it from the rooftops if I could. So the fact that J.K. Rowling herself said that Ron and Hermione’s relationship would need outside help and they would “probably” be fine is upsetting in and of itself, but there are a lot of other issues here. For one thing, just like with Harry and Hermione’s relationship development, there are seven whole books where Ron and Hermione’s relationship is developed into friendship and gradually into something more. If anything, to me it’s a great example of a slow burn relationship. I absolutely don’t believe that the attraction was immediate for either one of them. It was very much a “who the fuck is this” introduction for them. But over time, you see how they warm up to each other. 

Anyway, back to what I was originally saying. Ron and Hermione’s relationship was very well developed, and it was clear that they were always going to be endgame. Over the course of seven books, we see Ron and Hermione getting to know each other, becoming comfortable with each other, learning how to comfort each other, among many other things. And I feel like I need to address this, because this is always the main argument for people who dislike the Romione ship -- yes, Ron and Hermione have arguments. But the important thing to know about the way they argue, is the intent is almost never malicious. For one thing, it’s just how they communicate sometimes. For another thing, it’s intellectual stimulation on Hermione’s part. Hermione’s the class brainiac, no one really bothers to challenge her except for Ron. In both of these instances, the arguing isn’t necessarily a negative thing. @owlpostagain wrote an entire post explaining why Ron and Hermione argue, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read. I reblog it every single time I see it on my dashboard. If you haven’t read it, I would highly encourage it.

I also really want to touch on the argument that they’re too different. That Hermione is too uptight and too much of a rule follower, and Ron is too much of a goofball and a little bit of a slacker compared to Hermione. And to those people who present that as an argument against their relationship, I just simply say that’s exactly why they work so well. Hermione needs someone like Ron, and Ron needs someone like Hermione. Hermione needs Ron to help loosen her up, and Ron needs Hermione to remind him that there are times when he needs to be serious. It’s a healthy balance. And remember how I said earlier that I see a lot of myself in Hermione, and I can admit that I need someone like Ron? Well, this is why. I’m a type A stress bean, and I need someone who will not only know how to comfort me but also helps me relax and loosen up when needed. Because, just like Hermione, it’s a struggle for me to relax. There are times when I don’t even know how to relax.

And while I’m at it, here’s another gripe I have with people who argue against Ron and Hermione’s relationship (this wasn’t really talked about in the Wonderland interview, but we’re already in this far, so why not? I’ll make it super quick, I promise) -- For some reason, a lot of anti-Romione’s like to argue that Hermione deserved so much better than Ron because she is smart and he is dumb. Now, here is my rebuttal to that argument -- Number one, book smart is not the only kind of smart. Number two, yes, Hermione is smart. So do you really think she would actually fall in love with someone who is genuinely dumb? Please make it make sense.

I could honestly go into Ron and Hermione’s relationship beat by beat and explain exactly why they’re perfect together, but that’s not the focus of today’s post. So let’s keep going.

The last thing I want to go over, is just the interview overall. Because it really bothered me how J.K. Rowling just essentially ripped the rug out from under our feet and went against her own written word. I understand that J.K. Rowling is the author of the series, she is the creator of these characters, so she’s technically allowed to say and do what she wants regarding the series. However, it doesn’t really fly with me. Because let’s think about this -- J.K. Rowling is very meticulous with her notes and timeline planning and everything that goes into writing. Especially when it came to the Harry Potter series. So we all know that what eventually ended up happening had been planned for years. Therefore, I’m of the opinion that if she really felt so strongly about Hermione being better with Harry, then it should have been executed that way. Point blank period. Don’t spend seven books laying the groundwork for Ron and Hermione to end up together and actually put them together, only to come out years later and say “actually I kind of think Hermione should’ve ended up with Harry, but I guess Ron and Hermione are fine.” Because it’s bullshit. I understand that opinions can change over time, but it’s not like she can go back and change the entire series (because that’s exactly what she would have to do in order to make Harmione make sense as a romantic couple; the entire series would have to be rewritten), so why even stir the pot with this? To say I have beef with J.K. Rowling over this whole situation would be the understatement of the century.

At the end of the day, all I really need to do is remind myself that Ron and Hermione do start out as friends, they do fall in love with each other, they do end up together, and they do have children together. It’s in writing from J.K. Rowling herself. It is canon. And that can’t ever be taken away or unwritten.

If you made it this far in this post, mad props to you because I really went in on this and I truly did not mean to get this worked up. When I finally start rereading the books, I’ll dissect the Ron and Hermione relationship even more and I’ll make posts about that if you guys are interested. If anyone would like more of a deep dive on what I think of the Harmione or Dramione dynamics, let me know because I would definitely be up for doing posts about that as well.

[malwarewolf404]

[[disclaimer: I will be using the words biomale and biofemale in this post several times in an attempt to avoid confusion as to the point I’m trying to make. I do not intend to upset or alienate anyone who is intersex or does not otherwise conform to binary physical sex in any way. Thank you.]]

Let’s put together a little thought experiment. You take 100 sexually mature biomales and 100 sexually mature biofemales, both with no knowledge of society beyond this social group, and drop them on an uninhabited tropical island. They have all the resources, food and water, and even materials to make clothing and textiles not far behind from what we have in modern day, perhaps even unique ones to the culture they will eventually create.

Terfs and other denominations of trans-denialists would have you believe some very strict rules would be set up immediately. The biomales would hunt or gather, build, and perhaps begin to create the rituals or beliefs that might one day become a religion, and eventually a societal culture. The biofemales might be relegated to the role of caring for the society’s homes but perhaps not in the way one might expect (when trying to view this thought experiment through the lense of someone who has some particularly backwards ideas about womanhood being equated to the ownership of a uterus that is.) Perhaps terfs would have some more progressive ideas regarding the role of the biofemales, and sure, a matriachal society in which biofemales are responsible for the creation of societal culture isn’t at all outside the realm of possibility by any regards. In the spirit of trying to frame this argument as something a particularly progressive Terf might come up with, let’s say this is the case. Biofemales are the owners of family names and all social status, and biomales are relegated to the duties of cleaning, maintaining, and providing for the settlement.

Now before I actually make my argument, I will say I’m no terf at all. I am not a biofemale person who believes transwomen are rapists invading female-exclusive spaces like wlw. I can only imagine what a terf would come up with when presented with the thought experiment, and because I cannot be fucking bothered to interact with a terf on the issues of gender and biological sex (oh god could you fucking imagine.) That said, I believe I understand the perspective and beliefs of a person with that sort of mindset enough to construct this imaginary facsimile of the thought experiment from a terf’s perspective. Or, maybe I’m dead wrong, in which case I’m sure they’ll tell me. Just gonna quickly address them here:

Hello eager, anticipatory terfs! I’m sure you all have been waiting with bated breath for a post like the first bit of this one to come along so that you can reply in all sorts of flowery ad hominem language, saying things like “I hope you die in a fire you dickless pig-fucker!” Or, even better “Of course this pitiful excuse for a MALE would just LOVE to come up with his own approximation of what we, FEMALES, must be thinking!” I can assure you right now though, I’m not going to reply to any comments like that. I know that’s probably a real turn off for you, probably nixed any motivation to even keep reading this post, I understand. That said, this first part of the argument doesn’t matter, I only included it so that I might have some sort of control to weigh against my own imagination of the thought experiment. Additionally, I reached out to my three sisters about the ideas that a terf truscum person might have about the thought experiment. Here are their responses.

Buddy it’s 4 in the morning in California I can’t fucking read a three page paper this early.

What the fuck? Why would I want to put myself in the headspace of a trans-exclusionist? Why are you even asking me this? What is this for? What the fuck bro.

What’s a terf

Not as enlightening as I had hoped sadly. Anyways, I want to emplore you, please continue to read. I have a lot to say about this imaginary society and what I believe their ideas about gender conformity says about us. I think you might actually see some things in a different light than our incredibly polarized and entrenched societal beliefs would have you observe the issue. If that sounds like something that interests you, please read on.

So, this society. 100 biomales and 100 biofemales. And what do I believe it would look like? Well, I’ll tell you, but first I want to touch on a separate aspect than those I covered in my facsimile of a “terf” island society, and that’s sexuality. The reason I didn’t bring it up at all is because the fact is, many terfs are gay or bisexual women. They are real people with their own feelings and damage and ideas about what it means to be wlw. While I may have momentarily felt only slightly uncomfortable creating the idea of a “terf” island society and talking about its concepts of gender identity and social expectations placed on our imaginary island refugees completely in a vaccuum with no real input from actual women, being a wlw is not an issue I can even begin to comprehend, much less create my own ideas of what an idealized island society would look like to a wlw. It was a bridge too far, and I will not speak over real women with real opinions about what that is like. In fact, if you do identify as a woman (trans or not,) please feel free to share your own input on how you feel my facsimile “terf” scenario might be improved/ammended.

With all that said, let me say that I am now choosing to bring sexuality to the court because I am a gay man/nb person, and can speak to my own experiences and the experiences of others I know about sexuality. Additionally, from a terf’s perspective, the gender identity issue is one irreversibly entwined with sexuality.

So, a society with 100 biomales and 100 biofemales. What would it look like to me? Well, firstly, I don’t think the society would be so divided by gender as the imaginary terfs (or for that matter, most traditional people cough cough) would have you believe. Anyone who’s been to a public highschool knows that BOTH males and females are athletic. Both sexes are creative. Both sexes are capable of being responsible and loving parents. The problem we encouter with trying to frame everything into “men do this women do that” categories is that that is what our traditions and society have programmed us into believing is the norm. This society has none of that programming. Because of this, I do not believe this society would devolve into such a simplistic and arbitrary culture as “you have a penis so you go hunt and gather.” Instead, why not imagine a society where people’s individual talents and skills take precedence over their sex in regards to what role they are able to fulfill in this society? Perhaps you are a biomale, yet you have a very nurturing and caring instinct. Why not serve as a midwife and care for the village’s infants? Perhaps you are a biofemale, but are very athletic. Perhaps then, you would best serve the society as a hunter, no? I think you get what I’m getting at, and I don’t think anyone, even terfs, would disagree with me that gendered societal roles are a pretty dated concept that does not line up with what we understand of real people living in situations like this. They are a biproduct of western civilization’s traditions, and are not at all the norm in dozens of non-western societies.

So, if we can agree that there most likely wouldn’t be overarching end all be all gender roles in society, where is the issue exactly? Well, it’s this: some members of our society do not fall into the traditional gender roles associated with their biological sex. So, what about in this society, where there are no meticulously well-rooted gender roles? It stands to reason that without these gender roles, people would be able to do what they wanted, dress how they wanted, love who they wanted, free of prejudice or judgement. Obviously I am GREATLY oversimplifying a very complex issue, but live with me in the bit for a moment. What would you be in a world free from discrimination on the basis of biological sex, gender, or sexuality. There would be no traditions saying “you can’t do this because you’re this.” Who would you become? Who would you have the boldness and the freedom to be? Now, a pre-agricultural society that hasn’t even developed traditions or laws is hardly the most desirable place to imagine oneself living, but just think for a moment. No glass ceiling. No homophobic. No oppression on the basis of sex.

Now, I already have a good idea of what people are going to say about this post. “Tearing down the borders of gender and sexuality would only render our understanding of LGBTQIA ideas completely useless.” “There ARE certain things males are more inclined to do than women, biologically speaking. R*pe seems to come to mind.” “By refusing to give your imagined society any gender roles you have essentially made a moot point about what it means to be trans in our society.” Perhaps more broadly, “this thought experiment is dumb and you should feel bad.”

But here’s the thing. I’m not making this post in hopes of “dunkin’ on terfs” or even really challenging anyone’s opinions on anything. I have absolutely no hope that this dumb, worthless, ~3,000 word thought experiment will do any of that, let alone get any amount of notes. I only wanted to talk about this to put my own mind at ease in imagining a world I, a casual non-binary person, could exist without having to justify or prove myself as non-binary. I could, in my imaginary society, simply be myself. I could look up at stars. I could talk to gods of the wind on stillwater, of the sunlight through the palm fronds, and of the moonlight’s pale glow on the sand. I could do all of these things without constantly being percieved as a man because of the way I presented or behaved. And, I could find a masculine partner to be with, free of judgement.

“But Malwarewolf!” You cry, pleadingly. “What about all the people born as one sex that wish to transition into another sex? They would have no way of doing that in this imaginary society!! As a trans person, I do not experience the same satisfaction you do in this concept!”

This is, perhaps, the biggest hole in my argument. However, just because a person is born as one sex and wishes to transition in a relatively (oh, how do I say this without offending a lot of people,) quaint society doesn’t mean they’re just damned to live in a state of dysphoria or unhappiness with their body. I would argue, they might be able to live happier lives than trans people in our society do, existing as a fully welcomed and accepted member of society, with no oppression or suppression of their very valid desires to exist as they opposite sex. I would further argue that in a society without the proper foreknowledge and tools to perform gender-reassignment surgery, individuals who might identify as “trans” in our society would instead be free to express themselves however they wanted to instead of having to adopt a particular appearance or sex-identifying features to adhere to their non-existent gender roles. This is, very possibly, how the polynesian “third genders” came to be, such as Māhū in Hawaii and Tahiti, Fakaleiti in Tongan peoples, and Fa’afafine in Samoa. Now, these third genders are very important to many polynesian cultures and have very specific spiritual and societal roles in the island’s cultures respectively, the extent of which I am no way qualified to speak about (but would absolutely LOVE if some native Hawaiians could weigh in on!) It should be noted however, that a Māhū person can be born either male or female.

I say all of this to say, gender is a highly complex and winding topic. I could go on waxing poetic about my day-dream life in this idyllic society, but if you’ve made it this far in the post, you’ve probably had enough of that. Thank you so much for reading this far into a fucking hypothetical concept of all things. I will close by saying unironically, I’m gay as fuck, trans rights are human rights, and lastly trans-exclusionists if I see you bullying people in the comments I will suplex you through a plywood board.

I love you all and have a wonderful day.

[hotarutranslations]

Home Meal! I Talked About Cooking!

Hey,

 Wasn’t it too fun,

 To pass the baton onto all the fans!?

 The comments piled up like crazy~ I’m glad to see them~

 That’s what I thought during it……lol

  Today is my turn,

 Evening Its Ishida Ayumi

 There are various ways of writing,

They were really interesting

 What should I do, it’s difficult…… it may have been difficult for you but!

Thank you for always reading!

 Like trying to say something happy,

Ending up becoming pessimistic when trying to say something, Noticing how fun it is to talk about things you like,

Thinking about doing your best to write,

 By doing something different than usual,

 I wonder…if I got something different?

 Even if you couldn’t comment,

It was like, I thought about it~ a bit,

 Pretty much for me,

For blogs,

 Ah, especially with Tokyo Sports Series!

 I’m able to think about it writing it,

I’m often searching for the answer

 Today it was updated here

 “How to Deal With Tension”

I wrote that

My opinion

 Please definitely read it

 Also when writing blogs,

 I wonder if a lot of people want a turn at it? Lol

 What would you think if you were Ayumin?

What would you do?

How is it?

 Perhaps you think a lot about that

 But of course for me as well, How is it for everyone?

 I’m often strict with it I want you to sympathize….certainly…lol

  Sato Maa-chan took this

She said, I want to take a trendy photo~←

 How the face angle is,

How my feet are,

 I was told various things while she was taking the photo

 But it was difficult like that…… Moreover when Maa takes pictures,

She’s laughing,

And I’m actually desperately enduring it lol

 This article was published today!

 “A Bit Of Cooking For Myself” Being Conscious Of My Health Momusu’s Ishida Ayumi-san’s Home Meal

 Happy~~~~~

 I love cooking,

But it’s not really like, it’s a special skill! I think its 1 thing for living,

 But in this way I got a job being interviewed about it!

 I got to talk a lot,

 It was really fun

 I don’t have anything….I’m meticulous about? I think,

I wonder if those who like cooking can relate~ I wonder what you’ll think~

 Those that don’t as well,

 I want to try it! Maybe I’ll do it like that!

I definitely want you to think that

 It was an unexpected article for me,

Since I really got to have a wonderful talk,

 It may be nice to make something if it interests you!

 But first off read mine ❤ ←

 It seems on that site you can send me your impressions so,

 Everyone who has experience writing blogs! Lol

  Please definitely give me your impressions there~

Ah, here as well, definitely~

 See you ayumin ❤

 https://ameblo.jp/morningmusume-10ki/entry-12620515540.html

[anubislover]

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 14: It’s All Fun and Games

The Polar Tang’s library was easily Nami’s favorite place on the submarine. For one, it was the coolest room on the whole ship as Law had put a considerable amount of resources into developing state-of-the-art climate control equipment to keep the books in good condition. Secondly, the walls were lined with shelves practically bursting with tomes on navigation, oceanography, geography, zoology, weather, history, and, of course, every type of medicine imaginable. Thirdly, it was comfortable; there were plush chairs and couches, a peaceful atmosphere, perfect lighting for reading, and a large table where she and Bepo could work on maps and other projects.

In fact, that’s exactly where the pair of navigators had been holed up over the past few days. Stacks of books on horticulture and gardening surrounded them as they furiously scribbled on sheets of graph paper, meticulously planning out the new greenhouse. With the money they’d accrued from the gala heist, Clione had managed to purchase the equipment needed for solar lights and the sprinkler system. Now it was up to Nami and Bepo to decide which plants should go where so the engineers could start the installation process. It was trickier than it sounded; due to the combination of medicinal herbs and produce, many with different watering and sunlight requirements, the room needed to be carefully mapped out for peak efficiency.

“What do you think of this layout, Nami?” Bepo asked, handing her a rough sketch. “Rough” being the key word—though there was a marked improvement over the past few months, even under Nami’s careful tutelage, his drawing skills still left much to be desired.

Despite the giant sweatdrop falling down the back of her head, Nami forced a happy grin. “It’s a good start! What corner are we putting the aloe plants in?”

“Well, they need a lot of sunlight, so I thought the west corner?”

She studied her notes carefully, a deep wrinkle forming across her brow. “Hmm, but that’s the area that also gets watered the most. According to the books, aloe needs to be watered deeply, but infrequently; otherwise it’ll rot.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, round ears drooping as he hung his head, a gloomy cloud forming around him.

“It’s ok! We can make a dry corner—a section that has a lot of sunlight, but no sprinkler system. We’ll manually water those on a strict schedule.”

He perked up at the suggestion. “Maybe we can have a chart or something next to those with specific instructions to avoid confusion? And some plastic curtains to block out the spray from the sprinklers so it stays dry?”

“Great idea!” she replied, smile much more genuine this time. With how sensitive Bepo was, she’d forced herself to adopt a more calm, motherly demeanor when working with him. He was a lot like Chopper; sweet and a little naïve but extremely intelligent in his specialized field. She wondered if perhaps, like the blue-nosed reindeer, he’d been bullied when he was young. Had people thought he was a monster, too?

“Thanks, Nami,” Bepo said, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, the island we’re heading to has the aloe variety that Law uses—I know we’re not ready for a full greenhouse, but maybe we could pick up some fresh plants and set up one of the sunlamps in here as a tester since it’s the driest room.”

At the mention of the captain, Nami had to bite back a frustrated sigh. Law had been pretty much intolerable for the past week. She’d thought she’d seen the worst of his insomniac tendencies when he’d been working on the fertilizer, but this was so much worse. He stayed in his room practically all day, and on the rare occasion he emerged he’d been broody and snappish. Most of the crew had chalked it up to stress and lack of sleep again, but Nami could tell they were trying to hide their concern. This wasn’t a hyper fixation like the fertilizer had been—this was an obsession over something personal.

However, she dared not press the matter—Law wasn’t like Luffy or Zoro, whom she could knock over the head and nag into submission. And if his mood did have anything to do with the Amber Lead vase, she was even warier. She still distinctly remembered his rage after the gala—he’d implied that the World Government had covered up the truth that the infamous disease wasn’t contagious. Maybe he wanted the vase to prove it? To spit in the eye of those who had callously doomed an entire city?

Seeing the frown on her face, Bepo sulked. “I’m worried about him too.”

“I’m not worried about him,” she huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly.

The Mink ignored her denial. “I wish he’d get more sleep. I know he’s working on a plan, but he still needs his rest.”

“Why don’t you just drug him or something?” she asked a bit petulantly. Really, she was mostly upset that Law was needlessly troubling his crew. Didn’t he realize how much they cared about him? “There’s plenty of sedatives aboard the ship.”

“Oh no!” Bepo cried, black eyes widening in horror. “Law’d be furious if we did that! There’s too much risk involved. What if we were attacked? He’d be too out of it to fight or take care of the wounded.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she acquiesced, slumping forward and resting her chin on her crossed forearms. Chopper would probably have the same objections. Except a sleep-deprived, angry doctor wasn’t much better than a doped-up one. “Still, he needs a nap or something. He’s been acting like a toddler.”

“Careful who you call a toddler, Nami-ya,” Law’s deep voice rasped in her ear, startling a shriek from her throat as she jerked upright, nearly smacking his chin with the back of her head. “And keep your voice down—you’re in a library.”

“Oh, go to hell, Law!” she snapped, twisting around in her chair to glare up at him. “What are you skulking around for, anyway?” Not that she should really complain—he was actually out of his room, after all.

Striding past her, he perused the history section before selecting a large, faded tome. “It’s my ship—I’ll go where I please.”

“Well, how about you please go to bed?” she argued. Screw not pressing the issue—maybe she couldn’t knock him over the head like her own crew, but she could sure as hell nag, and clearly someone had to. And he wouldn’t attack her with Bepo around, right? “You don’t want to screw up someone’s medication like you did last time you were overtired, right?”

The glare he threw over his shoulder was so full of malice Nami shrank down in her chair. Though a valid point, she knew her comment had hit below the belt.

“Watch your tongue, Nami-ya, or else I’ll remove it,” he sneered. Even with the shadow his hat cast over the top half of his face, Nami could clearly see his eyes were bloodshot and the bags underneath were even darker than usual. “Getting that vase is going to take even more planning than the gala, and I’ve got less information to go on and maybe a third of the time. Even if I could calm my mind enough to sleep, I simply don’t have the time to spare.”

“Look, I know you’re the devious schemer around here, but you’re also the doctor. You of all people should know the importance of getting proper rest. If you’re that worried about your plan, I can help you; burglary is literally the reason you brought me on,” she argued, arms spread wide.

A deep frown marred his face as he shook his head. “No. After what you went through on Grimm, I want you to take it easy until we get to Atifakuto—that’s when I’ll need your help. You’re lucky I’m even letting you work on the greenhouse plans.” He glanced down at the piles of papers strewn across the table. “By the way, I want to look those over later.”

She smacked her forehead in exasperation. “Seriously? Your own plans aren’t enough to keep you occupied? You have way too much on your plate as it is. For God’s sake, just take a break and get some fucking sleep!”

Long fingers gripped the book in his hands so tightly Nami could hear the leather binding groan. “Don’t you dare give me orders on my own fucking ship, Nami-ya.”

“Captain,” Bepo interrupted quietly, voice nearly a whimper, “do you promise to at least try to get some sleep when we get to the island tomorrow? Even just a short nap? It’ll be sunny and warm and safe—maybe your mind will settle down there.”

There was a moment of tense silence as a pair of round black eyes shimmered pleadingly, desperately hoping to put an end to the argument.

“Shit. Quit being so cute,” Law muttered under his breath. Narrow shoulders heaved in a sigh. Not even the Surgeon of Death could be mad at the sweet Mink when he sounded so genuinely concerned. “I promise to try. At the very least, I’ll spend some time outside; I’m sure all this time underwater hasn’t exactly helped my vitamin D deficiency. So long as no one gets any ideas about giving me another lovely sunburn,” he quipped, scowling at the mikan-hair woman meaningfully.

Nami held up her hands in surrender. Even though he totally deserved another prank due to his prickly behavior, it was way more important that he had enough peace of mind to get in even a small amount of sleep.

Damn, she thought to herself as Law stalked out of the library. Bepo’s right; I really am worried about that idiot.

XXX

Cousteau Island was small but beautiful. By Nami’s estimation, it had been an undersea volcano that had risen up less than a hundred years ago. Shaped like a fat crescent moon, the majority of the land was covered in lush jungle and lined with smooth, sandy beaches. The surrounding ocean was nearly teal, full of tropical fish and rainbow-colored coral. Fruits like bananas, coconuts, and pineapples grew in abundance, but there didn’t appear to be much wildlife—mostly birds and sea turtles who had decided the uninhabited island was the perfect spot to lay their eggs due to a lack of predators.

“How did you guys find this place?” Nami asked Bepo, not bothering to keep the awe from her voice as they surfaced in the cove. “I’ve never heard of Cousteau Island, and it wasn’t the atlas.”

More than happy to tell the tale of their lucky discovery, her fellow navigator explained, “It’s a summer island we found when a storm blew us off course. It’s so tiny its magnetic field is hidden by Grimm’s, so it doesn’t show up on a log pose—we had to make an eternal pose to get back. It’s also surrounded by a massive reef that’ll destroy most other ships if they get close, but we found the underwater tunnel to get through. It’s completely uninhabited, so we claimed it and use it as a hideout.”

Glancing around, Nami could see the skeletal remains of what looked like a pirate ship wedged onto the rocks, along with debris scattered along the beach. They appeared to be several months old, however, so she doubted they’d be running into any castaways. “How’d it get its name?”

“Cousteau found the safe path to the island, so we let him name it,” Law interjected bluntly, though not without a hint on begrudging affection for the diver/oceanographer. “Otherwise, it would have been ‘Trafalgar Cove’.”

Nami nodded in understanding, too pleased at the possibility of mapping out a brand-new island and taking a vacation to mock him for the blatant arrogance. It seemed Law hadn’t been making empty promises when he told her the island would be much more relaxing. Now all he had to do was keep his promise about getting some sleep.

Upon landing, the crew spent the better part of the morning setting up chairs, umbrellas, a volleyball net, blankets, tables, and everything else they could think of for a fantastic day on the beach. Surprisingly, getting the bonfire and grill started was the easiest part; debris from the shipwrecked pirate ship, which seemed to mostly consist of the shattered remains of wooden crates and barrels, littered the shore, so there was no need to cut down trees. By noon, the last of the preparations were finished, and after a quick lunch, the crew split off into their own groups.

Cousteau and Crozier led Clione, Darter, Sgt. Pepper, Ajisahi, Tsunomedori, and Shiroruka to explore the jungle, promising to be back by sunset with fresh fruit, water, and the aloe Law wanted. Skua and Malamute, two of Ikkaku’s fellow engineers, elected to stay on the ship to perform some maintenance. The rest, led by Penguin and Shachi, chose to change into bathing suits so they could all enjoy some much-needed relaxation on the beach.

“Incoming!” Nami shouted, spiking the blue and yellow beach ball hard over the net, scoring the winning point for her team.

“Nice shot!” Ikkaku cheered, high-fiving her partner.

“And that’s the match!” Ermine sniggered from their spot by the grill as they cleaned the assortment fish Jude, Uni, and Seiuchi had caught for dinner, careful to keep their long brown braids free of fish guts. The cook had been thoroughly amused throughout the game—they’d never pass up the chance to watch the first and second mate get trounced by a pair of pretty ladies in swimwear. “Did you guys even score a single point?”

“Ah, shuddup,” Shachi groused as he fell back onto a nearby towel, though his displeasure at losing didn’t stop him from ogling Nami and Ikkaku’s sun-kissed bodies. Nami had elected to don a cherry red, lace-up one-piece that tantalizingly showed off her legs and cleavage. Ikkaku’s was comparatively more modest, being a sporty, black, high-neck two-piece, though the mesh across her breasts didn’t hide much.

The swimwear had been a tactical choice—the moment Penguin and Shachi had proposed a game of volleyball, the girls knew there was no better way to distract them. And with such a devious plan, they of course added on a friendly wager—losers do the winners’ cleaning duties for the next month.

“Man, they destroyed you,” Jude mocked from his chair, black bowl cut shining in the late afternoon sun.

“Like you would have done any better,” Penguin argued as he took a swig from his water bottle.

“Doesn’t matter—I’m not the one with double cleaning duty.”

“You’re all getting extra chores if you don’t quit your damn whining and let me work in peace,” a dark, irritable voice called.

Law was seated a dozen feet away from the makeshift volleyball court on a wide beach blanket, Bepo snoozing softly behind him. As promised, he’d managed to doze for a short while in the sun, but it hadn’t done much for his mood. In fact, it seemed that with that small bit of rest, he’d become even more determined to work on his plan instead of relax like his body clearly needed. So, despite the protests of his crew, he’d attempted to return to his work inside the ship.

However, the maintenance had proven noisy enough to force him back outside, stacks of books and papers in hand, and he’d sullenly plopped onto the blanket beside his navigator, resolute to get some work done despite the universe’s clear attempts to stop him.

In Nami’s opinion, he looked absurd in his black and yellow swim trunks surrounded by notebooks full of messy scribblings and huge history books. He was like a nerdy brat who’d been forced on a family vacation but opted to petulantly do homework on the beach instead of have fun.

Sure, he was a hot nerdy brat, but she could also see the signs that his obsessive planning was taking its toll on his body. The definition of his muscles was starting to fade, and he looked thinner. Tan skin appeared dull even in the bright sun, and there wasn’t enough concealer in the world to cover up his eyebags now.

“Ok, this is ridiculous,” Nami grumbled with a scowl. She squeezed the volleyball between her hands, briefly imagining it was Law’s thick skull. “Even post-catnap he’s being a grumpy bastard.”

Ducking beneath the net to stand beside her, Penguin nodded in agreement. “Normally I’d say leave him alone and let him deal with it at his own pace, but this is different.”

“He told you what we’re going after?” she asked lowly, keeping her voice down to avoid disturbing the man in question or risk him eavesdropping.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m worried.” Penguin gave her a sidelong glance. “Amber Lead’s a touchy subject with him. Think this is bad? It was way worse when we sailed the North Blue.”

“What’s his deal with it?”

“It’s not my place to say. What’s important is that we get his mind off of it. All this brooding’s just going to make his insomnia worse, and it’s completely killing the party mood.”

“Any suggestions?”

“You could give him a lap dance.”

Before anyone could blink, Penguin was on the ground, a grapefruit-sized lump throbbing on his head. “Ow! I was kidding,” he moaned.

Nami cracked her knuckles. “Got any legit suggestions?” she growled, a murderous look in her eyes.

“Leave it to me,” Shachi chimed in, getting up from his towel. His gait was determined as he marched over to his captain. Standing directly in the man’s sunlight, he waited until Law glared up at him in annoyance.

“Move.”

“Nope.”

“That’s an order.”

“Nothin’ doin’.”

“If you don’t move in the next five seconds, they’ll be using your head as the volleyball.”

“Go ahead—the rest of me will still be right here, blocking your light.”

Rubbing a hand over his frustrated face, Law half-growled, half-sighed, “What the fuck do you want?”

Shachi crossed his arms over his chest. “This is supposed to be a vacation, but you’re bringing down the whole mood. So, unless you want a mutiny on your hands, you’re gonna play the King Game with us.”

Gold eyes narrowed ominously. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Law, you’ve been a brooding pain in the ass for eight days. I get you’re dealing with a lot of shit, but if you expect us to just sit by and let you kill yourself with planning and sulking, well, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I refuse to leave things to chance,” Law snapped, gesturing towards the large pile of notes and books before him. “The plan hinges on me memorizing all of this. I don’t have time for stupid games.”

“Dude, too much stress from studying can cause brain inflammation and result in memory loss or depression. So unless you take a break, you’re more likely to forget this stuff and your plan will be ruined.”

“Please, Captain?” Bepo chimed in from behind him, black eyes once more shimmering with beseeching tears. He’d awoken at the mention of the King Game; it was one of his favorites, and there was no way he was going to let Law miss out.

Another sigh, this one more resigned as the stubborn captain massaged his temples. The combination of scientific facts and Bepo’s puppy-dog eyes was especially effective in his weakened state. “How long do I have to play?”

Shachi grinned triumphantly. “No less than thirty minutes. Come on; it’s a relaxing, easy game. Heck, you might not even end up having to do anything.”

“If that’s the case, it’ll be an even bigger waste of time.”

“Law, when have you ever considered watching us act like idiots a waste of time?”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Do you promise to leave me in peace afterward?”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” he said with a mock salute. “Now, is your grumpy ass going to join us, or are we coming to you?”

“Fine, fine,” he growled, carefully marking his place in his books and laying Kikoku across the papers so they wouldn’t blow away in the wind. Bepo hefted him to his feet despite his grumbled protests, ushering him towards the group that had formed. Jean Bart, Uni, Jude, Ermine, and Seiuchi had come to join them, plopping down onto the sandy beach in hopes of cheering up their moody captain.

“Ok,” Shachi began, clapping his hands together eagerly, “does everyone know how to play this?”

“We all draw popsicle sticks. Each stick has a number except for one that has a crown. Whoever draws the crown is the ‘King’ and can order one or two numbers to do anything they want,” Jean Bart answered bluntly.

“Within reason,” Ikkaku interjected, pointing her finger at Jude and Seiuchi. “Nothing R-rated.”

“Surprised you guys are so tame,” Nami giggled, glancing around the circle.

“Things got a little out of hand once,” Uni said vaguely while everyone else mumbled in uncomfortable agreement. “A lot of rum was involved.”

“Say no more.” Nami could easily imagine, with a crew of mostly men, just how insane the game could get under the influence of alcohol.

The warm dusting of pink that broke out across Penguin’s cheeks confirmed her suspicions. “Anything goes so long as it’s PG-13 and doesn’t cause grievous bodily harm.”

“Whatever,” Law grumbled from his spot beside Bepo, still determined to remain sour and unpleasant throughout his prescribed dose of forced fun.

Rolling his eyes at their captain’s less-than-enthused reaction, Shachi held out his fist clutching the popsicle sticks. “The sooner you start playing, the sooner we’ll let you get back to your brooding, Boss.”

The answering glare was ignored by the crew in favor of drawing a number, with Ikkaku cheering loudly, “Oh yeah! Guess who’s the King!”

“But girls can’t be kings!” Shachi teased, quickly ducking the fist he knew would be coming.

“Buddy, you’re lucky I’m not royalty—otherwise I’d have you drawn and quartered for that crap,” she snapped, but there was no real venom in her tone. If Nami had to guess, this was a joking argument they had every time. “But as your temporary ruler, I decree that numbers eight and five should do a handstand contest. First to fall loses.”

“I’m eight,” Uni stated, getting to his feet.

“And I’m five,” said Jean Bart.

“This’ll be over quick,” Ermine whispered to Nami. “If he hadn’t gone into piracy, Uni would have been a great circus acrobat. Or maybe a ninja.”

Nami stared at the mysterious Heart Pirate, impressed. Perhaps she could ask him for a few tips—balance was vital when you were a burglar.

To everyone’s surprise, though, despite Jean Bart’s massive size, he kept his balance remarkably well even on the soft sand, managing to stay up for nearly a full two minutes until finally yielding.

“Saint Charlos would regularly make me perform for him,” he explained, tone nonchalant but the tension in his shoulders betraying his discomfort. “I was basically his circus monkey.”

“Crap, I’m sorry, Jean,” Ikkaku replied, looking guilty. Even though it had been completely unintentional, bringing up the former slave’s past was generally regarded as an unspoken taboo.

He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug, though he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “It’s fine. At least this time I could stop when I wanted and didn’t get beaten after.”

Everyone in the circle winced. The Celestial Dragons really were a piece of work.

“Alright, next round,” Shachi changed the topic as he collected and shuffled the sticks, trying to keep the party mood from turning sour and to give Jean Bart the opportunity to step back out of the spotlight.

This time, Bepo had the luck of being King. “Uh, I order number three to scratch behind the King’s ears for a full minute,” he said shyly, tapping his claws together bashfully. “I mean, only if they want to.”

“Do I?” Nami called cheerfully, climbing to her feet and scurrying over to the cute bear. Immediately she buried her fingers in his thick fur, manicured nails scraping across Bepo’s sensitive skin in quick little flicks. The Mink immediately leaned into her touch, growling happily, and she swore she saw his foot twitch like a dog’s.

So cuuuute! Nami thought, working her hands even deeper into the white coat. And so soft! Almost as soft as Chopper! She allowed herself a brief daydream of cuddling up by a fire on a cold winter’s night, using Bepo as a pillow while Chopper lay against her legs in his reindeer form.

“That’s enough you two.” Law’s voice broke her out of her fantasy, and instinctively Nami glared at him. However, she didn’t miss the brief hint of a grin that tugged at his lips at the sight of his navigator so happy. “Bepo looks like he’s about to pass out.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Jealous?”

His face settled back in a scowl. “If I’m stuck playing this game, I’d rather not waste time watching my navigators fondle each other.”

Annoyed, Nami gave Bepo one more pointed scratch before returning to her spot. Darn. For a second, she’d thought Law might have started to relax a bit. Instead, he was stubbornly staying too grumpy to even flirt with her, and she’d lobbed him a softball!

The lots were pulled again, with Uni earning the King spot. “Number ten must sit in number one’s lap for the next three rounds.”

Ermine was the unlucky one, as Bepo gingerly lowered himself onto the cook’s lap.

“I’m putting you on a diet!” they groaned, voice muffled by the Mink’s thick fur as their legs sank deep into the sand under the added weight of a fully-grown polar bear.

“I’m sorry,” Bepo replied miserably, hanging his head.

“You’re not putting him on a diet,” Law snapped, glaring at his crushed subordinate. “Bepo’s a healthy weight for his size and species.”

Ermine didn’t dare argue. Not just because trying to do so with the ship’s doctor would be suicide, but because they didn’t have enough air in their lungs.

“Since Ermine’s a bit…indisposed at the moment, I think they should sit this one out,” Penguin stated as he collected the sticks.

“Agreed,” they wheezed.

Discarding one of the numbered sticks for later, the first mate held out his fist, prompting everyone to draw.

Nami was the lucky lady, and she gave a catlike grin as she considered her potential victims. Should she demand their wallets? No, they were wearing swimsuits, so they probably wouldn’t have them on them. Have someone kiss her feet? Whatever it was, it needed to be devious and hilarious if she wanted any chance at getting Law to enjoy himself. The man took sadistic pleasure in other peoples’ discomfort, after all.

The perfect idea came to her like a vision from God. No matter who her command was inflicted on, it would be funny, but if luck was on her side…

“Numbers two and three have to kiss each other on the lips for three seconds.”

Inwardly she cheered as, across from her, the first and second mate gaped down at their numbers in abject horror.

“You know, I used to like you,” Shachi groused while Penguin glared at her.

“Ha!” Ermine laughed weakly from under Bepo’s furry mass. “Looks like I got off easy.”

“Watch it, asshole, or I’ll take my sweet time and let you suffer!”

“Nami, please reconsider!” Penguin begged, shuddering at the mere thought of kissing his best friend. “We agreed to keep it PG-13, remember?”

The Straw Hat shrugged nonchalantly, which was heavily at odds with the evil grin etched on her face. “It’s just a peck—hardly anything scandalous.”

“A three-second peck is still three seconds too long!”

“Aww, don’t tell me you’re afraid of cooties!” Ikkaku jeered, which made Penguin blush in embarrassment.

“I’m not afraid of anything! I just have standards!” Shachi defended himself.

“Hey!” Penguin snapped, looking wholly offended. “Fucking excuse me, but standards? I’ve seen some of the women you’ve slept with, and I’m sure as hell prettier than your last one-night stand!”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean, creampuff?”

“It means you can’t attract good-looking women to save your life, barnacle-face!”

Nami rolled her eyes at the childish fight and was about ready to knock them both over the heads to put an end to the argument when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.

For a second, it looked like Law’s mouth had twitched upwards. It could have been a trick of the light, or he was actually amused by his friends’ obvious discomfort just as she’d planned. Not willing to let the chance to get Law back in good spirits slip away, Nami pointedly cleared her throat to catch the duo’s attention.

Clasping her hands together and batting her eyelashes, she gave her best pout. “Please, boys? For me?”

“And me?” Ikkaku joined in, mimicking Nami’s flirtatious pose.

Weak against the machinations of such beautiful women, their resolve wavered and Nami, locking eyes with Penguin, jerked her head towards his captain and gave a subtle thumbs up. Penguin seemed to catch on to her meaning, as he gave a small, resigned nod before sighing and grabbing Shachi’s head to slam their mouths together for a quick, awkward kiss.

The moment his grip loosened, Shachi jerked away, spitting and sputtering with disgust. “Oh gods! My mouth! You’ve poisoned me!”

“Believe me, I didn’t like it any more than you did, dickhead,” Penguin grumbled as he furiously wiped his lips. Taking pity on the poor man, Ikkaku passed him his water bottle, though she didn’t bother to repress her snigger when he swished a large gulp of water around his mouth before spitting it out.

Meanwhile, Nami peered at Law, hoping his sour shell had finally cracked. But while he wasn’t glaring at them all like he was plotting how to brutally murder them and hide the evidence, his expression was still far from his normal carefree smirk.

“Good to see you’re both so secure in your masculinity,” he sneered.

“Give me a break, Law,” Shachi coughed, though there was a slight hint of red in his cheeks at being called out. “She might as well have asked me to kiss my brother. My gross, ugly-ass brother.”

“Love you too, man,” Penguin replied sarcastically as he collected the lots, pointedly ignoring the rest of the crew’s sniggering.

The next two rounds, though amusing, were fairly uneventful; Jude got his feet kissed by Jean Bart, much to the larger man’s obvious disdain, and Nami, upon becoming King again, demanded a shoulder massage, which Ikkaku was all too happy to give. The rest of the men certainly had no complaints about getting to watch the two beautiful women in sexy bathing suits pamper each other, so the round lasted nearly a full five minutes without even Law interjecting to hurry them up.

In fact, Nami could feel Law’s hot gaze upon her as she arched into Ikkaku’s touch. The engineer was surprisingly good with her hands and her skilled fingers even managed to coax out a few pleased sighs from the thief’s lips as she worked at a knot of tension in her shoulders. Through hooded eyes, Nami noticed the tip of Law’s pink tongue peek out to moisten his lips as he leaned forward, resting his chin on steepled fingers as he observed the motions of Ikkaku’s fingers as they kneaded her skin.

Nami had the feeling that he was taking notes for his own fiendish use. Her suspicions were confirmed when Ikkaku managed to press down on the sensitive junction of her neck and shoulder; Law’s golden eyes practically lit up when she let out a faint, involuntary sound of delight.

The attention they were getting didn’t escape Ikkaku’s notice, either. “God, you’re all animals,” she groused, rolling her eyes as she pulled away from Nami. Patting her friend on the head, she said, “I’ll finish the job back our cabin, Nami. Away from prying eyes.”

“Sounds good to me,” she teased back despite her mild flush. She justified the sense of satisfaction she felt to the fact that, despite the show being over, some of the tension in Law’s shoulders has eased as if he’d been the one getting the massage. He hadn’t quite reached to point of relaxation, but it was clear the game was successfully beginning to distract him from his obsessive planning.

A few more rounds passed before Penguin had the good luck of becoming King. He rubbed his chin in thought as he considered his order. “Number eight has to do an impression of number one.”

“Ooo, I got eight!” Ikkaku shouted, grinning widely. A gleam of pure mischief twinkled in her brown eyes. Across from her, Law sighed, raising the stick to show he was number one.

“Remember who signs your paychecks,” he grumbled, scowl once more settling across his face.

“‘Remember who signs your paychecks’,” she repeated, voice dropping a few octaves as she smirked. Getting up, she struck a few poses, dramatically holding out her hands like Law did when he used his powers. “Room. Shambles.”

The group chuckled and sniggered around them while Law continued to glare up at the engineer as if he was trying to set her ablaze with his mind. None of them felt particularly bad about cheering Ikkaku on; considering what she’d gone through on Grimm, she was probably the only one besides Nami who could get away with a less-than-flattering impersonation of the captain. In fact, Jude and Seiuchi decided to aid her impression by getting up and switching places in the circle, gasping in mock surprise at their new positions.

Emboldened by her fellow Heart Pirates’ approval, Ikkaku melodramatically recoiled from some imaginary horror, face twisting in disgust. “Ugh, is that bread?! So help me, I’ll switch your brain and your bowels if I find so much as a crumb on my plate!”

Nami stifled a cackle behind her palm as she noticed Law’s cheeks heat up just the slightest bit. “I do not sound like that,” he scoffed, arms folded tightly across his tattooed chest.

Ikkaku donned a serious expression, mimicking his posture and frowning down at Law as if in the midst of a stern lecture. Their eyes locked, and an unspoken challenge was declared. “Ikkaku, you can’t install lasers onto the sides of the ship because they’re not yellow! I committed to this obnoxious color scheme, and damn it, you’re not going to ruin it with your cool ideas!”

“I never said that.”

“Ikkaku, you’re the most brilliant, valuable member of my crew and I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

“I definitely never said that.”

“Ikkaku, you’re fired.”

“Now that I have said. Multiple times.”

Plopping down onto the sand and reclining against Bepo, she cheekily flipped her captain off. However, it seemed the ridiculousness of the situation finally broke Law, as his scowl dissolved as he chuckled and returned the gesture, admitting defeat.

Whether he was overtired or he legitimately found it funny, it didn’t matter; at last, the brooding captain was having a bit of fun.

Determined to keep his spirits up, the crew eagerly drew numbers again, each planning their own silly command. Seuichi had the honor of becoming King that round and rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Number nine has to wrestle number six.”

“In the name of every god ever dreamed up throughout history, I will make you fucking pay for this,” Jude snarled at him as Jean Bart proved that he’d drawn number nine.

“Hey, Jude, don’t be afraid,” the gunner countered with a smirk, twirling his thin mustache deviously. “I’m sure Jean Bart will go easy on you. I mean, it’s not like you had him kiss your feet recently, right?”

“Yeah,” the helmsman said menacingly, cracking his knuckles. “You’ve never done that.”

Jude stared at Law beseechingly, but the captain merely smirked and ordered, “You reap what you sow. Maybe this'll teach you to be a bit nicer to your shipmates.”

“This is gonna suck,” he muttered as he squared off against the much larger man.

It did. Jude didn’t even last ten seconds before he was put in a headlock and forced to tap out.

Next, Law drew the King stick, and that oh-so-familiar smirk finally adorned his face. “I order ten and five to worship me and declare how great I am.”

Nami gave a quiet sigh of relief that she hadn’t drawn either number. She wanted Law in a good mood, but a girl had her limits. Game or not, her literally worshiping him on her knees was the exact kind of thing he’d hold over her head for the rest of the year.

After Uni and Penguin finished extolling their captain’s virtues for a good three minutes, it was time for the next round.

“Woo, I’m the King!” Shachi cheered as he held up the stick adorned with the little crown drawing. Behind his sunglasses, he peered at the circle mischievously. Reaching into a nearby beach bag, he pulled out a small box. “Your illustrious ruler demands that number seven and number four play three rounds of the Pocky Game.”

Glancing down at her popsicle stick, Nami silently cursed her luck; the number seven was written at the top in bold, black marker. Brown eyes darted about the group, wondering who she’d have to play with until they landed on Law’s wide smirk. Silently, he turned his stick for all to see, showcasing the number four neatly printed at the top.

“Holy crap,” Shachi sniggered. He didn’t even need to see Nami’s number—her mortified expression said it all. “Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Gleeful at the unexpected vengeance, Penguin eagerly leaned forward to hand her the box. “No need to be shy, number seven. It’s just the Pocky Game—hardly anything scandalous, right?”

The navigator glared at him before heaving out a sigh. “Right,” she grumbled, grabbing the strawberry pocky and shuffling over to sit across from Law. It was for the greater good, right? They were trying to keep the grumpy captain out of his sour bubble. It was no big deal; she could always break away before their mouths got anywhere near each other.

Smug grin widening, the captain leaned in as Nami slipped the creme-covered biscuit stick between her lips. “It’s ok if you chicken out after the first bite, Nami-ya,” he teased as he gently bit down on the other end, gold eyes bright with amusement.

Fire flashed in Nami’s eyes. She might not mind being a coward in most situations, but this time, her pride was on the line.

Her righteous courage abandoned her quickly, though. The moment she felt his hot breath tickle her nose she jerked away, blushing in embarrassment as she realized there was still a good two inches of pocky dangling from Law’s mouth.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he chewed on the crunchy treat.

“Only if you’re ready to eat what’s basically a breadstick,” she countered, hoping to gross him out so he’d back down.

Law didn’t fall for her ploy. “It’s closer to a cookie, really, and those I can stomach. Especially if the prize at the end is worth it,” he replied with a leer, deliberately running his tongue along his upper lip.

Why am I even freaking out about this? Nami wondered as she pulled out another stick of pocky. If we do end up kissing, who cares? It’s just a brush of lips. Completely innocent. No worse than Shachi and Penguin’s peck. More importantly, I can’t let him psyche me out—he wants that way more than a tiny, indirect kiss.

Determination returned, she carefully balanced the thin treat between her teeth, steeling herself as Law slowly leaned in to take the other end. This time, they managed to nearly bite their way to the middle. Unfortunately, a gentle breeze blew in, causing a loose strand of Nami’s sweetly scented hair to flutter against Law’s nose. His nostrils twitched at the delicate tickling, and this time he pulled away, turning his head in anticipation of a sneeze that never came.

“Shit,” he growled, annoyed at his ill luck.

A smug smirk curled Nami’s lips. “Now who’s the one chickening out?” she teased.

“I didn’t chicken out. Or would you rather I sneeze all over your pretty face?”

“Yeah, that was one hell of a sneeze,” she replied sarcastically. She didn’t know why she was provoking him—the man was far from shy about looking for an excuse to kiss her, and her cheek basically guaranteed that he wouldn’t let her off easy in the last round.

She refused to acknowledge the tiny voice in her ear whispering that she knew damn well why she was egging him on. That she got a primal thrill sassing such a dangerous man and coming out alive when so many others couldn’t. Taunting Law was like playing with a tiger; he could rip her to shreds if she grew too careless, but he’d wouldn’t sink his claws in so long as he enjoyed the chase.

Law stuck the final stick of pocky between his teeth, beckoning her forward with a “come hither” curl of his finger. In response, Nami rested her hands on his bare knees as she leaned in, bracing herself as she wrapped her lips around the other end. Their gazes locked, and in sync, they slowly started nibbling along the sweet, crunchy stick.

The seconds dragged by as, inch by inch, their faces drew closer. Nami tensed as she felt his exhalation warm her skin, while Law’s eyes suspiciously flicked towards her hair as if daring it to interfere again. However, neither pulled away, and he pounced on the opportunity presented to him; angling his head and closing the last centimeter between them to brush his lips across hers in a chaste but teasing fashion. When Nami didn’t immediately pull away, Law tested his luck further by lightly catching her plump bottom lip between his teeth before flicking the tip of his tongue to soothe it.

The action sent tingles down Nami’s spine and she finally broke away, cheeks red and breath quickening minutely. It had been barely more than a few seconds—the kiss she’d given him at the gala had been longer—but the tension between them had made it a tempting, sizzling experience.

“So,” Law drawled, watching the Cat Thief as she shuffled back to her spot like the hungry tiger he was, “who’s up for another round?”

The pair was so focused on each other they didn’t notice Shachi and Penguin subtly low-five while Bepo and Ikkaku shared a thumbs-up.

XXX

“Seriously? We leave you alone for a few minutes and you’re back at your plans?” Nami sighed as she plopped onto the towel next to Law, eyeing the messy papers in his hands disdainfully. The King Game had ended not long ago with everyone in good spirits. Even Nami, despite her lingering embarrassment from the kiss, had managed to enjoy the final round where Jude had to serenade the crew by singing “Dr. Heart Stealer.”

“The deal was that I would play for thirty minutes and then you all would leave me in peace,” he replied, not even looking up from his notes. He’d escaped back to his makeshift workstation the moment Bepo had inadvertently caused a commotion when, tempted by the smell of fresh fish, he’d absconded with the large sea bass Ermine was preparing to grill. The rest of the crew had chased after him; some in hopes of saving their dinner, others treating it as a new game.

That left no one but Nami to confront the workaholic captain, even though she would have been happier to keep her distance for a while longer. “That deal was solely between you and Shachi as you were non-specific regarding the plurality of ‘you’. You really must be tired if you missed an important detail like that.”

He scowled, realizing that she was right but refusing to admit it. Changing tactics, Law tilted his head slightly, smirking down at her with hooded eyes. “If you’re so concerned, I’ll take another break later if you make it worth my while. Perhaps with another round of the Pocky Game?” he purred.

She flushed slightly at his suggestion but refused to let him distract her, instead turning her attention to the books before them. “You have five seconds to finish whatever you’re doing before I toss those into the ocean.”

Annoyed, he glared at her defiance before reluctantly activating his Room, teleporting the books, papers, and Kikoku safely inside the submarine. There was too much of a risk that she’d make good on her threat and destroy his work, and he also wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from cutting her to bits if she did. “That’s the last order you get to give me tonight, Nami-ya,” he grumbled. “I don’t take kindly to being bossed around.”

Rolling her eyes at his stubbornness, she leaned back on her hands, enjoying the sensation of the warm sun on her face. Honestly, he should be thanking her. Days like these were too perfect to waste studying, and the tide was coming in—his work would be ruined anyway if he didn’t get those books off the beach. “You really are such a control freak. Would it kill you to listen to the wisdom of those around you for once?”

“Are you saying you don’t get caught up in your cartography?” he challenged.

“Look, as someone who used to be forced to work nonstop without food or sleep for days on end, I fucking appreciate it when my nakama makes me take a break.”

Law grunted in reluctant acceptance, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared out at the vibrant waves that slowly threatened to encroach his spot. “I do appreciate their concern, but they should also respect my authority as captain.”

“They do, Law,” Nami sighed, rubbing her temples, “but respect and blind obedience aren’t the same thing. You’re practically killing yourself working on those plans; are the guys supposed to just sit by and watch? And considering how…personal this all seems to be, they have even more right to be worried and tell you to take a step back.”

“Yes, it is personal—that’s why I can’t leave anything to chance. Atifakuto is known for its museums and art auctions. If I’m to blend in well enough to get my hands on that vase, I need to be well-versed on history and art throughout the four Blues.”

Ah. No wonder he’d been so intent on studying. “I get it; this is important to you, tons of preparation is needed, and a lot relies on you. But planning to the point of sleep deprivation is only going to increase your chances of messing up. You need to sleep, Law.”

“Contrary to what you might think, it’s not my work that’s been keeping me awake. I can’t sleep—insomnia’s a bitch like that. The body may crave it, but the mind has other ideas.”

“You managed to catch a nap earlier,” she argued weakly.

“Oh yes, because a brief doze in the sun makes up for nearly a week of nightmares.”

Brown eyes widened in surprise. Nightmares? Nami wondered. What kind of nightmares could the Surgeon of Death get?

Realizing he’d given her a nugget of personal information he hadn’t intended, Law’s entire expression closed off as he got to his feet. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Law—”

He turned towards the eastern side of the beach, the bold face of his back tattoo smiling mockingly at her as he activated his Room. “I’ll be back by sunset,” were the last words he said before he vanished, replaced by a broken, rusted metal bar.

XXX

Law wasn’t back by sunset, though the crew assured Nami that there was no reason to worry.

“Law loves to go on long, aimless walks,” Bepo said as he handed her some pineapple slices. He’d managed to eat the giant sea bass before the crew caught him, but they’d stumbled upon some ripe fruit in the process, along with a bed of oysters, so Ermine had reluctantly forgiven him. “They help clear his head when he’s got a lot on his mind or his insomnia gets bad. If we can’t get him to sleep, this is the next best thing. At least he’s not working.”

She hummed in reply, still mulling over what kind of nightmares a man like Law could be having. Were they related to Amber Lead, or was it something else? The man was a renowned sadist and didn’t seem to blink when it came to murder or torture, though admittedly the only people she’d seen him actually harm were utter scumbags.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Skua and Malamute, the engineers having at last come out of the ship. Their brows furrowed as they looked around at the small gathering, confused.

“Where is everyone?” Skua asked, taking a plate of steamed oysters.

“Probably still exploring the island,” Ermine said with a shrug.

“It’s not a big island; shouldn’t they be back by now?”

“You know Cousteau; maybe he found some pond full of weird fish or something and is making everyone document their behavior throughout the day.”

Malamute’s brow furrowed. “I’d believe that if it were just him in charge, but you’re forgetting Crozier’s with him. You know, the man who survived a forced march across an island literally made of ice and rocks? That guy doesn’t fuck around; if he says the crew will be back by sunset, they’ll be back by sunset.”

Penguin considered his words, rubbing his chin. “You’ve got a point. They might be in trouble.”

“Or they’re on their way back now,” Shachi said with a shrug, chowing down on some grilled fish Bepo hadn’t gotten to. “There aren’t even any predators on the island, and if anyone got injured, they would have called on Crozier’s mini Den Den Mushi.”

The bushes behind them rustled loudly, and Shachi jerked his head in their direction. “See? That’s probably them now. Or maybe it’s Law, and you can ask him to Scan the island for them.”

Before anyone could reply, a massive boar burst out of the jungle, squealing in fury as it barreled into the camp, knocking over tables, chairs, and umbrellas. Instinctively, Penguin grabbed a burning stick from the fire and waved the hot flame at the beast in hopes of scaring it away. However, its green eyes flashed in clear anger at the threat, and, sharp tusks gleaming in the red glow, it let out another loud squeal before charging at the first mate, showing none of the instinctive fear one would expect for the man’s primitive weapon.

Acting fast, Ikkaku tackled Penguin so the boar just missed them, the soft beach sand cushioning their impact. However, the beast didn’t stop, using its momentum to make a U-turn for another attempt on the group.

It didn’t get far, though, as Jean Bart managed to grab it mid-charge and pick it up as if it were no bigger than a corgi. As the boar squealed angrily, he chucked it up into the air, watching as it flew in a wide arch high above them before landing somewhere in the middle of the jungle.

“Where the fuck did that thing come from?” Ikkaku panted.

“The jungle, obviously,” Jude groused, helping her and Penguin to their feet.

“But boars aren’t native to the island,” Uni pointed out. “Last time we were here, only birds and turtles had managed to make this place their home. So either it washed up on shore in that shipwreck, or someone brought it here.”

Skua knelt down and studied one of the debris in the woodpile. “This looks like it could have been part of a crate. Or a cage.”

Nami remembered the metal bar Law had switched himself with. “My money’s on cages. Maybe that pirate ship was transporting animals.”

“Do you think there are more of them?” Shachi asked as he pulled a pistol out of his beach bag.

Uni peered into the shadowy trees. “Who knows? Maybe something even worse is lurking in the jungle, waiting to pick us off.”

“The last thing we need is you freaking everyone out with your ghost stories!” Ermine snapped, even as he grabbed a large carving knife to use as a machete.

Penguin frowned as the crew armed themselves with the knives and pistols they’d habitually brought along. “Ok, given the fact that we were literally just attacked by a wild animal, I say we should start looking for the others. If nothing else, if a boar was able to survive the shipwreck, then it’s possible something more dangerous did, too. There may even be human survivors.”

“Do we split up or stay together?” Jean Bart asked.

“Hmm, split up into smaller groups, but no one’s to wander the island alone. That way we all have someone watching our backs while still covering the optimal amount of ground. That work for everyone?”

“Aye-aye!” they shouted, pairing up as they headed into the dense foliage, lanterns and weapons in hand.

“I’ll catch up!” Nami called out to them, sprinting towards the small motorboats. There was no way she was going to go wandering around a jungle with so much skin exposed again; she learned her lesson after Little Garden. She also wanted to grab her Clima-Tact; Ikkaku had been modifying it that morning, so it was likely still in their quarters.

To her surprise, instead of following the others, Bepo stayed with her. “None of us should go wandering off alone, right?” he explained nervously. “And somebody should head back to the ship to call Crozier; at the very least, they need to know there’s potentially dangerous wildlife around.”

“Good thinking,” she said, climbing onto the boat and revving the engine. It only took them a few minutes to get to the submarine, but she could tell Bepo was fretting from the way he clicked his claws together. “They’ll be fine,” she assured as she scaled the side ladder onto the bottom deck.

“I hope so. Maybe they ran into Law?”

“If they did, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Bepo sighed as they stepped into the comparatively cooler interior of the submarine. “I’ll go make the call; meet me on deck in a few minutes?”

“Sure; I shouldn’t take long.” True to her word, Nami dashed to her quarters and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved top. The fabric was stifling against her skin, but it was better than risking another Keschia bite. Her hand hesitated over her Clima-Tact and holster; Ikkaku had told her she’d managed to increase the power of a few things, but they hadn’t been properly tested yet. Should she risk it? Ikkaku was good with machines and gadgets, but she wasn’t Usopp.

Couldn’t turn out any worse than the first time, she decided, recalling her battle with Ms. Doublefinger. If she could secure a dark horse victory with a weapon she’d never even used before, she could certainly manage with a modified one.

Weapon securely strapped to her leg and delicate skin protected from any prehistoric bug bites, Nami determined she was ready. However, as she trotted down the hall, she hesitated in front of Law’s quarters.

Though her trust in Law had grown to the point where she didn’t think he’d be selling Vegapunk’s weapons research, she still wanted to take a look at Harpin’s ledgers. Wanted to finally unravel the mystery as to why Jinbei had set Arlong loose in the East Blue. She’d noticed some of the research had centered around cyborgs; Franky could use that. Then there was the stuff on Kuma and the Pacifistas—if they needed to fight him again, she’d much rather know what they were up against. There was intel on Blackbeard, too; considering how he was the reason Luffy’s brother was dead, she had no doubt her captain would end up fighting him. Any information she could give him could save his life!

She’d considered just asking Law if she could look at them. Surely he’d understand her reasons; be able to appreciate her desire to plan and be prepared. But the time was never right—he was either obsessively planning and thus rather ornery and volatile, or they were in the midst of some crisis and it would slip her mind. Besides that, she still wasn’t sure why he wanted them.

The information in those books is more valuable to me than everything in that mansion combined, he’d sneered during their fight. But what information was that? He’d burned the blackmail and Marine profiles. As far as she knew, he’d kept his word and not sold any of Vegapunk’s weapons research. Hell, he’d been more interested in his fertilizer formula, and that was as a favor to Nami.

If the research and blackmail weren’t what he wanted, why did he got to so much trouble to get those ledgers? What other information could possibly have been worth nearly getting himself and his crew killed?

By process of elimination, that left the book on the shichibukai, and with his control-freak tendencies and his violent reaction the last time they’d discussed it, she wasn’t sure he’d be willing to part with it.

She could borrow it, though. Grab it, hide it, make a copy, then find a way to return it without him noticing.

Unconsciously, her hand slowly raised to the cold steel door handle. This was the first time the ship had been completely empty. Everyone was preoccupied on the island. Surely she could take a few minutes to grab the ledger from Law’s room, right? Just a quick in-and-out. He didn’t need it at the moment—it had nothing to do with his plans. He wouldn’t even miss it.

Cautiously, she tried to open the door. Locked. She could easily pick it with her tools, though. She could pop back into her room, grab them, jimmy the lock, grab the ledger, pop back out…

She was wasting time. Bepo was waiting for her. What would she tell him if he saw her breaking into his captain’s room? Or worse, what if Law suddenly returned? He could teleport back to the ship without her even realizing, and she doubted he’d be happy to see her there, especially when his crew was in potential danger.

If Nami wanted to get that ledger, she’d need a much better plan than some spur-of-the-moment burglary attempt.

Making a mental note to start working on that once the current crisis was over, she sprinted back to the main deck to find a worried and dejected Bepo.

“They didn’t pick up.”

A thousand outlandish scenarios about what could have happened to them popped into Nami’s head, from cannibals to the island actually being a sentient being that had been slowly devouring the crew for sustenance.

God, she missed Usopp. At least when he was around, she had someone to blame when she got worked up like this.

“M-maybe we should stay on the ship. You know, in case they try to call us?” she said nervously, her old scaredy-cat tendencies bubbling to the surface.

“But what if no one finds Law? Even if the others return, we’ll all just have to head back out into the jungle to find him. It’s better to find him first, and you saw him last, right? You have the best idea where he might have gone.”

Slumping, she sighed. He was right, and unfortunately, Crozier and Cousteau’s team had gone West, so it was unlikely the search party had thought to go in Law’s direction. “I guess you’re right.”

By the time they arrived on the shore the rest of the crew was long gone, so Nami and Bepo headed East towards where she’d seen Law wander off.

“Even if there are wild beasts, they wouldn’t stand a chance against Law,” Bepo assured her confidently as they searched, keeping to the outskirts of the jungle. The tide had washed away Law’s footprints, but they were hoping to find some sort of clue or disturbance along to foliage to see if he’d ventured into the jungle. “I’m sure he’s already on his way back; we’ll find him in no time, and then he can use his powers to Scan the island and make sure there’s nothing else dangerous!”

Nami’s mouth twisted in disdain. She was beginning to understand why Law put so much pressure on himself; his powers, plans, and medical abilities were everyone’s go-to solution for any given problem. She wondered if Law’s control-freak tendencies were because of this, or if he’d always been that way and the Hearts had just learned to pick their battles.

Regardless, Bepo had a point this time—if Law used his powers, they’d know the situation with the island and where the crew was in one fell swoop.

Life was never that easy, though. Icy dread crawled down Nami’s back as she caught a flash of yellow near the edge of the jungle. Heart in her throat, she darted towards it, barely restraining a strangled sob when she realized it was the shredded remains of Law’s swim trunks.

Oh my God! Nami could feel sharp tears sting her eyes as she collapsed to her knees, cradling the tattered mesh in her hands. Up close, she could clearly see it had been torn apart by a razor-sharp blade or, more likely, claws and teeth. What could have done this? There’s no way it was a boar! Please don’t tell me he’s—

She jumped as a set of long, sharp claws filled her vision, only to realize it was Bepo reaching for the piece of cloth.

“There’s no blood,” he mumbled, studying it closely.

Hope filled her chest at those simple words. If there was no blood, there was a chance Law was perfectly fine! Probably buck-naked, but that was way better than dead!

Her happy bubble burst when a strange, husky sound reached her ears. Goosebumps rose up along her arms as she realized it was a growl of some kind.

She lifted her head slowly, only to find a pair of wild gold eyes peeking out from the darkness of the jungle. The beast moved closer, and Nami found herself mere feet away from a snarling snow leopard, its white fangs bared menacingly.

[chapitre7]

Alexandria Chapter V

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Time Travel/Sci-Fi AU

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV

Read on AO3

Lan Zhan isn’t in his room the next morning. Wei Ying searches, visits the library, goes up and down the floors, even goes as far as asking one of the other scholars (and gets ignored), and still can’t find him. He circles all the way back to Lan Zhan’s door but instead of the younger Lan, he finds Lan Xichen coming out of his own room, a book in his hands. Wei Ying lights up, beaming up at him.

 “Brother Xichen!” He calls, and the man bows politely, the usual smile on his face. “Lan Zhan...?”

 “Ah, young master Wei. Wangji was summoned.”

 “Summoned?”

 “The board called him,” Xichen clarifies, mistakenly assuming that Wei Ying hadn’t understood him the first time, but Wei Ying understood him well, having an innate talent for speaking other languages; it’s the idea that he struggles with. In the year Wei Ying has lived inside the compound, the so-called board of directors never called him once.

 “Why? Did something happen?”

 Xichen’s smile falters, and Wei Ying can already feel his fears taking hold, gripping him by the stomach.

 “Wangji has... missed some assignments. He hasn’t seen them in a while. He must be updating them.”

 Xichen makes it sound inconsequential, but Wei Ying still remembers what Lan Zhan told him the night before. He didn’t send any of his writings because he wanted to go through them with Wei Ying first, and he held extensive notes in his possession, for all of the places Wei Ying had talked about. To the board, Wei Ying was still an object of study, so was Lan Zhan being... disciplined? Gusu Lan used to have strict punishment rules, surely he wasn’t—

 “Young master Wei.”

 He focuses back on Lan Xichen. The man’s smile is back, as if it had never left, with a touch of understanding, the way his elder sister used to smile at him.

 “Wangji has a way of inspiring trust in people. This time should be no different.”

 Wei Ying blinks, tilts his head at the phrasing.

 “This time?”

 Xichen closes his eyes, and Wei Ying swears he’s laughing without making any sound. Frustratingly, he doesn’t elaborate, and the only thing he says before leaving is,

 “You should wait in your quarters, young master Wei.”

 Wei Ying does so, pouting and frowning all the way. He wants to see Lan Zhan. Wants to tell him that he spent a good portion of his night thinking about how they could write together. Add more details to Lan Zhan’s descriptions, more strokes to his already beautiful landscapes, more towns to his map. If they work together, he’s sure he can remember more and more, even with his faulty memory, because Lan Zhan makes it all come alive in his mind’s eye. He wants to tell him everything he can, and flourish what he can’t.

 He lets his upper body fall against the low table in the center of his room, just like Lan Zhan’s, touching his hand on the case of the dizi that always sits there, ready to play Lan Zhan’s favorite tunes. If the board allows it, he can be Lan Zhan’s partner and help him with his assignments. And even when Wei Ying isn’t the subject, maybe he can assist him in other tasks, discover things with him, walk with him, wherever, whenever. Maybe instead of the sea, they can aim for the sky, and discover the mysteries of the stars...

 Wei Ying falls asleep with his dreams running unrestrained, the incense Lan Zhan gave him burning and filling the room with a scent that is nothing but Lan Zhan’s touch, just like every other book Wei Ying now owns, the clothes he wears, and every thought he spares.

 ***

 It’s the movement that wakes him. The feeling of being lifted, of moving, but not falling. He’s fallen before — once, and it was enough; chilling, suffocating. He hasn’t felt himself being brought up, at least his mind doesn’t remember it, though his body seems to. He holds on when he feels the welcome warmth slipping away, fingers grasping pleasant fabric, nose seeking, touching the familiar scent that thrills his senses. He mumbles, “Lan Zhan”, before he even opens his eyes, barely able to see Lan Zhan’s face in the dim lights of his bedroom. It is already past curfew.

 “You should sleep on the bed,”  Lan Zhan says, sitting beside him when he doesn’t let go of his shirt, his arms moving to wrap around Lan Zhan’s middle.

 “I’m awake now,” he arguments, but he’s not entirely, wanting to curl up on Lan Zhan’s lap like a cat, nuzzle against him and fall asleep with his presence around him. He’s not conscious of how much of that want has made itself known, he’s very much in Lan Zhan’s personal space, can’t help it, has been wanting to talk to him and see him all day. He’s still too close when Wei Ying opens his eyes and looks at him, and he gives him a goofy grin that receives no reaction.

 “Brother said you wanted to see me,” is what he gets, and he backs away slightly to pout. Lan Zhan is not looking at him, just in his general direction, lips in a fine line. Wei Ying ducks his head, enters Lan Zhan’s line of vision, now more awake — but not totally —, his mind running wild with thoughts. Lan Zhan averts his eyes again, starts to speak, something about the board, unaware that Wei Ying isn’t really listening until he cuts him off.

 “Lan Zhan.” It makes him stop mid-sentence, blink, and lift his eyes. Wei Ying, who has spent too long of his short life receiving the wrong kind of attention, wants to be part of Lan Zhan’s day, wants him to look at him, wants him to look at him like he’s interesting and good. How old is A-Xian? His sister’s laughter is like bells every time he thinks of her. It makes him smile wider. “Would you cut my hair?”

 He doesn’t know why he’s stopped at that question, of all the things he wanted to say. It matters little when it makes Lan Zhan blink a cute confused blink.

 “Now?”

 Wei Ying nods. Lan Zhan doesn’t respond at first, seeming to ponder his request, then, with a sigh, stands up and leaves the room. Wei Ying rushes to one of the cushions by the table, sits cross-legged and wiggles his knees up and down until Lan Zhan is back with the scissors. He still looks cautious, brows furrowed, but approaches and settles behind the clearly excited Wei Ying.

 “Are you sure?”

 “Mn!”

 He can feel Lan Zhan’s fingers touching the ends of his hair, brushing against his back. He thanks the dim lights for hiding his shiver and the fact that Lan Zhan can’t look at his face. Now quiet and unmoving, he closes his eyes, trying to ignore the heat on his face, but it only makes him hyper-aware of Lan Zhan’s presence. It’s a good feeling, maybe even addicting, if not for the ache in his middle. He wonders, not for the first time, if his spiritual energy reacts to Lan Zhan. He lets out a laugh, an amused huff of air, at the idea of sharing his energy with Lan Zhan in ways different from playing music for him. He’s warmer still; being bad at meditating and emptying his mind sure is coming back to bite him then.

 “Wei Ying?”

 “Go for it, Lan Zhan.”

 “What style do you want?”

 He shrugs.

 “Whatever is the style of now.”

 A pause. Then,

 “Hold still.”

 Lan Zhan unties the red ribbon — his own gift — and Wei Ying’s hair falls long and free. The way Lan Zhan brushes the black strands is reminiscing of the way his sister used to, but that’s only because he has no other reference. Still, sister’s fingers were skilled, getting rid of his knots in no time, always giggling and telling Wei Ying that he was such a boy and should take better care of his appearance before expertly tying it half up with elaborate ornaments. Lan Zhan takes his time. One hand holds the comb, slides it down, the other follows its movements, fingers open, almost contemplative. Wei Ying is trembling, he’s sure, but other than that, he doesn’t move. He waits, almost painfully so, until the comb disappears and he hears the sound of the scissors.

 Would he end up looking like Lan Zhan and his brother? What did Lan Zhan have in mind? And whatever it was that Lan Zhan saw, would Wei Ying be able to see it too, clad in the same clothes as him, hair in the same style as his, looking no different from any other person in the building, or would he look like just a poor imitation, out of place?

 Wei Ying clenches his fingers on the fabric of his pants and waits. His hair falls and falls, layers of a past put to rest.

 At last, the comb is back. Lan Zhan’s fingers don’t brush against his back anymore, he can feel the ghost of his knuckles against his neck. It’s not as short as he expected it to be, but he smiles when he feels Lan Zhan comb it up, ultimately tying the ribbon back in a high ponytail. When he announces, “Done,” Wei Ying tries not to bump into him as he rushes up and towards the mirror in his bathroom.

 The ponytail is high and the end barely touches his nape. He moves his head from left to right, left to right. Lan Zhan didn’t touch his bangs but Wei Ying messes them up, tries to part them a different way. It looks nice. Perhaps even acceptable enough that the older scholars don’t feel the need to stare at him every time he walks by. He smiles and nods to his reflection, before turning back to Lan Zhan.

 In the time Wei Ying took with the mirror, Lan Zhan is almost done sweeping the fallen hair off his floor. Wei Ying leans against the doorframe, watching him clean, making friends with the buzz in his core when he looks at Lan Zhan. He’s meticulous with everything, not a single wasted movement, unlike Wei Ying, who jumps from idea to idea, forgetting the first by the time he gets to the fifth.

 He catches Lan Zhan’s hand after he’s done sweeping and before he can leave.

 “Lan Zhan, hear me out.”

 He pulls Lan Zhan by that hand, leading him to sit on his bed, where he starts talking about where they should begin, how they should work together. It’s disjointed, with no prompt or start, a thought that begins at the mid-day point since he’s spent so much time on it alone, but he pays no mind to sense until Lan Zhan calmly speaks,

 “Wei Ying.”

 When did he get so close to Lan Zhan? He forgot to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t look annoyed. His eyes seem to capture the fairy lights.

 “You should sleep.”

 “Lan Zhan,” he draws his name out in a whine, letting his head fall against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “But you’ve been gone all day.”

 “I’ll be here tomorrow,” is the placating reply, but Wei Ying is still making displeased noises as Lan Zhan gently but firmly pushes him away and down on the bed, pulling the covers over him as he probably meant to do when he walked in on Wei Ying sleeping. The ever-present care in the simple actions is enough to make Wei Ying cling to him again, hold his hand with both of his.

 “How was it with the board? Are they mad at you?”

 Lan Zhan shakes his head.

 “They understood.”

 “What did they understand, Lan Zhan?”

 Lan Zhan seems so unguarded as he looks down at him from his still sitting position. He can make out the worry and the words that make their mark on his lips, feel his hand hold back against his in the semi-darkness.

 “Wei Ying.”

 Wei Ying hums, tilting his head at him.

 “Are you not... still...”

 “Lan Zhan, I can’t hear you properly from here.”

 He tugs on the hand he’s holding. For all his endless ramblings, he had never known how to quite put his feelings into words. His sister had said it was because he felt too much and all at once, that it was hard for him to name them all. So he told her he loved her by eating all of her food and praising her as the best lady in the land, told his brother he loved him by annoying him into sparring practices and shouting curses, and told his family they meant so much but not quite everything with one last look behind before he took on his journey, embracing the weight of ingratitude placed on him by resentful disciplines and his own adoptive mother. With a tug on that hand, he expresses his last wish at the end of the world. He, who had come to the realization that he had wanted someone to take him in, show him the meaning of the vast infinity of the horizon, discover with him the mysteries he had always wanted to unveil. He had wanted to know all about the world, leaving his loyalty behind for the sake of a romantic life like in the books, only to realize it meant nothing on his own. He tugs, and he pulls, and hopes he’s caught.

 Lan Zhan allows himself to fall. He soundlessly exhales, appears to physically let down a heavy weight from his shoulders without quite collapsing onto the mattress. Like everything he does, his moves are thoughtful as he lies down, but even then, maybe inevitably, maybe just naturally, like gravity, like attraction, Wei Ying instantly draws closer, their still clasped hands marking the space between them.

 Pretty Lan Zhan. With a finger, Wei Ying lifts his bangs, tucks them away behind his ears so he can look at his eyes. How could he have missed the shadows at the corners, how small those attentive eyes were, and how Lan Zhan struggled to keep them open. Or maybe it was just then that Lan Zhan allowed it to be seen, in those right circumstances, like a spell with the right casting. A spell that breaks him free, overflowing emotions pouring out of his heart with reckless abandon, a wave breaking against his rib cage, out, out of him, all the way to the man whose cheek he caresses.

 Wei Ying crosses the space between them like it’s nothing. Maybe it had always been nothing, always just a thin line, a curtain of the lightest touch, see-through, liquid, through which they were always looking at the other, challenging the physics that separated them. Lan Zhan with his indulgences, his gifts, his warmth, and Wei Ying with his laughter, his curiosity, his unstoppable desire to be the center of someone’s universe. The kiss is feather-light, a caress, a breath. Lan Zhan’s head is barely on the pillow, their hands are still clasped between their bodies and there’s still so much to be said, to be discussed, to be understood, but Wei Ying has lost his balance and the thread of it all. He just knows Lan Zhan isn’t leaving and that he’s exhausted and lying there with all his defenses down. Or Wei Ying is. Neither push away, only closer. Kissing again, like the ever coming tide, eyes fluttering shut, whispers shared between breaths. Words that bear not much thought but promises and comfort and calm.

 They fall asleep there, the night almost giving in to the day, hearts laid bare to the dawn.

 ***

 For the next while, days blurring together in a pleasant present, they tread together along Wei Ying’s steps in his ancient, forgotten youth. They sit side by side in Lan Zhan’s room, the smell of his incense tickling Wei Ying’s core and bringing about details that had been buried in the corners of his ever-active consciousness. Wei Ying excitedly elaborates on the customs of villagers, on hard-working women who were both warriors and mothers and pillars, like his own adoptive mother once was. Sitting across from each other in the library, Wei Ying draws legends and fierce enemies he had defeated, as well as the heroes venerated by the sects, and more than one scholar stops by to look down at his work, nodding with approval, mouths gaping with barely contained interest. Wei Ying bites down his lips at times, afraid that his laughter will be misinterpreted from joy to offense, not now when he’s finally been able to appeal to their curiosity.

 A line is definitely crossed, though the road has been long and full of thorns. He trades the robes that were a mere simulation of his past for clothes in the same style of everyone else’s. He feels the loss of the weight of his robes more than he felt the loss of his long hair, as if he’s shed something important, something akin of a mask or perhaps a protection, a strength that came with the known. On the day Lan Zhan asks him to go sit outside with him for the first time, he gifts him a small bell on a purple string. It’s nothing like the one he used to wear when he was a boy, outstanding and memorable, but he takes it gleefully, tying it around his belt, announcing his arrival at every corner as he bounces and circles around a Lan Zhan that does little to hold back the amused tilt at the corner of his mouth.

 Draped across one of the white tables outside, Wei Ying whines about how he should have been allowed to come out sooner. Beside him, Lan Zhan hums in agreement, not looking at him, choosing to look at his pad with downcast eyes.

 “I’m sorry,” he says, soft words carried to Wei Ying like pollen in the breeze. Propping his chin on his open palm, his free hand moves closer to Lan Zhan’s, which sits on the table, fingers flexing nervously. The pale sun, shy between the clouds, melts their shadows into one.

 “Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan.” His name is sweet in his tongue; better yet, it’s addicting, akin to his favorite taste, the sharp notes of a liquor he hasn’t tasted in a thousand years, but it must have tasted like this, he’s sure. “You’ve given me so much. Between us, is there any need for apologies? I can only ever thank you.”

 “No,” is the immediate response, and Wei Ying’s smile falters, a moment between breaths. “You don’t need to thank me. You’ve given us... me, more than I could ever give back.”

 Lan Zhan makes the overcast day into a summer day; even if the wind blowing in their hair is wrong, it’s right in how his skin seems to glow with warmth, in how he wants nothing but to lie down, maybe right there, on that table, and bask in Lan Zhan’s sincerity and praise. He doesn’t do it, however, but moves closer, in their reinvented concept of personal space, his chin on Lan Zhan’s shoulders, his arms hooked around Lan Zhan’s own.

 “No apologies and no thanks, then,” he says, too hopelessly happy to look back at those eyes that he feels on him. “What are we working on today?”

 They don’t work for very long in that lone spot of clean air and white flowers. The rain comes quick and without warning, thin but relentless. Lan Zhan runs for shelter without delay but Wei Ying lingers, eyes closed and mouth open, laughing at the downpour. He could stay there forever, for as long as the rain lasted, and wants nothing more than doing just that when Lan Zhan appears beside him. Despite being soaked, Wei Ying’s beams at the way Lan Zhan’s bangs cling to his face.

 “I remember being caught in the rain during a festival in Yunping city,” he says, voice rising to be heard over the raindrops. “The performers never stopped. They would dance with their clothes drenched, and the music was so loud, I could feel the drums in my chest. And I played my flute and they let me join their crowd.”

 “Play for me?” Lan Zhan asks, with a hint of pleading, with a touch of reverent. Wei Ying can only laugh again, dizzy with delight, and nod, Lan Zhan’s hand closing around his and pulling him back into the building that sits among the clouds.

 He plays a merry song as Lan Zhan dries his hair with a towel, both of them smelling of soap but still tasting the rain. After Lan Zhan combs his hair, he wordlessly reaches for the pad and starts writing, even though they had already worked for the day and hadn’t discussed anything for the evening. With his chin on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, Wei Ying watches the verses dance across the screen like the entourage at Yunping, the poem painting the colors of their robes and lips and the laughter of the children. He lets out an amazed sound, crowns it with a “Lan Zhan is really amazing,” and laughs at the way the scholar’s ears are colored pink. With his diligence, intelligence and craftsmanship, Lan Zhan would have been an outstanding cultivator. With his unparalleled beauty, he would have been admired and respected. Yes, he would have fit perfectly in his time. With thoughts of belonging, Wei Ying nuzzles against shoulder, humming the music of Yunping as Lan Zhan writes, full of contentment at the harmony in the space they made their own.

 When the lights dim, Wei Ying moves them to the bed to talk in whispers. He plucks childhood stories from Lan Zhan like one plucks flower petals, asking for somebody to love. He teases and laughs, smiles into a kiss that knows no beginning and no end, the sound of their lips meeting over and over again filling the hours of the night, like rustling leaves in the wind, like flowing water, always rushing forward and forward, unstoppable and inevitable, like a summer storm.

 “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls his name, so overbearingly fond these days. Had he always said it like that or is the color in the darkness of Lan Zhan’s bed different, navy-blue like in dreams? The curtain keeps the outside obscured, out of place, out of time. He sees Lan Zhan’s face against the pillow in shadows, sees him in his fingertips that kiss his cheek. “What happened to you?”

 Wei Ying laughs, though it’s humorless. Just a reflex, though it hurts; just a little bit now. Just a tinge of regret.

 “Lan Zhan, what could have happened to me?” He says, turning, lying on his back, looking at the ceiling as though it’s the sky he used to sleep under, cold and alone. He never speaks of the North, and Lan Zhan probably noticed it. He’s too bright not to have noticed it, but not too kind to drop it. “I traveled and I learned. I met people and I lost people. I lived and I died, just like everybody else.”

 Lan Zhan’s hand lies on his chest, next to his heart, and he must feel the truth in his heartbeats. He hopes he can. It’s all he has to say.

 “Were you happy?”

 Wei Ying turns his head, inches closer until the cold tip of his nose meets his partner’s. Lan Zhan is always so close now and he’s addicted to it, almost desperate for it, as if he’s going to lose it. But when he wakes up, Lan Zhan is still there, just like he is then, awake in the serene darkness, one arm serving as his pillow, his other hand falling from his chest, seeking Wei Ying’s own hand, fingers intertwining like stems towards the moon.

 Was he happy? In his journey for knowledge, going as far as his feet would take him, though he had been too afraid, in the end, to reach for home, lest he found it gone, devoid of all the love and light there once was? Had he been too arrogant, too self-important? Too childish, too rebellious? He had dreamed of being a part of history, however small, but his own, not a parenthesis in someone else’s story. And now...

 “I’m happy now.”

 Lan Zhan uses the arm he’s lying on to pull him closer — will the fluttering in his stomach ever stop, his core spreading warmth all over his being? — but he’s as quick as ever, placing his digits on those waiting lips before they can claim his as they are growing used to.

 “If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?”

 He can feel Lan Zhan smile against his hand and he wants to invent a talisman that will keep the sanctuary of their late night confessions forever alight, like lanterns of promise, like fireflies in a lovers’ lake, so he can’t miss Lan Zhan’s smiles and his gaze, unwavering like Wei Ying had never seen before. Wei Ying collects himself and the mess of his adoration and tries to sound smart. To his ears, he only sounds lovesick.

 “Lan Zhan, do you have a dream?”

 He keeps his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest just like the other did for him, trying to read him while still patiently waiting for his answer. Lan Zhan’s heartbeats are steady then, and Wei Ying feels his hand fiddle with his hair ribbon, almost causing him to let out an undignified giggle. A fearless warrior, rendered silly. His brother had always called him silly and loud and dramatic. He wants to kiss Lan Zhan in broad daylight and prove Jiang Cheng right, so he can hear his yelling in thunders.

 “I want to...”

 At the pause, Wei Ying moves closer still, letting his hand fall from his chest so his arm can wrap around his middle. Wei Ying hums his encouragement, lets Lan Zhan feel its vibration in their proximity.

 “Do you want to rebuild your parents’ library? Be the most distinguished scholar? Learn how to play the dizi properly?”

 The hand that plays with his ribbon gives a slight pull, and Wei Ying lets out a half-yelp, half-giggle.

 “I want,” he restarts, and his next pause lasts a single breath, “to understand.”

 “Understand what, Lan Zhan?”

 “Where we went wrong. And how to be better.”

 “Lan Zhan, that’s not quite a dream.” Wei Ying huffs a laughter, but his mind is still, caught. It’s more than a dream, it’s an ideal, and admirable and beautiful. Like Lan Zhan. He closes the final, minimal gap between them, resting his forehead against Lan Zhan’s chest, fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “A dream would be more like... Finding the good in the world.”

 “Mn.”

 Wei Ying smiles, eyes closed, and all of his senses are Lan Zhan. The heart in the ivory tower.

 “Is that it then? Ah, my Lan Zhan is really too much, I really can’t take it.”

 They let the words pass them by, meaning evaporating in the air, unexplored.

 “And you?”

 “Mm?”

 “Wei Ying’s dream.”

 Wei Ying inhales, but doesn’t miss a beat.

 “That’s easy, Lan Zhan. I’ve traveled the Earth, so now I want to uncover the universe!”

 Lan Zhan’s hold tightens around him, and he can’t remember a time when they weren’t close anymore. What had changed, even, with time? So little. So much, the difference between proximity and intimacy. The moon, from new to full.

 “Do you think the directors will allow it?”

 “I’ll talk to them.”

 “Will you really?”

 “Mn.”

 He’s smiling when he kisses him, can’t bring himself to stop. Lan Zhan’s heart is beating so fast but he kisses with care, as if Wei Ying is something precious, as if the pace is not his to take. Wei Ying tips him a little further then, a little further every night that follows, presses him down with kisses, fingers discovering a new language that he never mastered in his old life. Being a lover is new, he has no master to name, but Lan Zhan catches him right where he ends, and he holds Lan Zhan when he trembles, when he’s vulnerable and undone with the extent of his own emotions. Wei Ying can’t stop calling his name, and he hears his own, whispered against his ear, against his mouth, in breathless huffs against his hair. He discovers, eventually, not in a moment or specific time, but knows. That he had lived a whole life discovering himself and now wants one where he discovers another. He wants the one where Lan Zhan lives and breathes and writes him poetry, where he looks beautiful when he’s focused, and where he smiles when Wei Ying is silly and playful and doing everything in his power to love him and be loved in return.

 Ah.

 Is that what it is to truly dream?

[stephanericherthanyou]

Title: Obsolescence Ship: kylux Rating: T Word Count: 1454

“It feels like he’s sitting in an airlock, unsure of how he’d gotten there, of which door is which, and which is about to open.“

(AO3)

The meeting ends and the hologram shuts off, a blue face to a blue line to nothing. Hux stares beyond it, for a second, wasting time, lets his face fall to rest against his fingers so his arm props his head up. Disgusting, even if there weren’t security cameras whose footage no one, perhaps even droids, will ever watch. He has half a standard hour before the next meeting, dwindling time to organize words on his datapad and rearrange information in files, synthesize the last meeting’s contents for his briefing with the Supreme Leader later.

He has barely been on the bridge the past few weeks, and not as much as he’d like in a long time--not that he’s commanding when he is. The commander is the highest-ranking officer on board, and that is the Supreme Leader. Ren has not rebuilt the Supremacy or shown any indication of doing so, or even moving to another ship; he seems content with the Finalizer as a flagship. On this ship, where soldiers and officers have at least pretended to respect Hux, where they have answered to him, Hux has been kicked down a rung, clearly answering to Ren, a commander who leads from the front lines more than Snoke ever did or ever would have wanted to, and thus has even less to do with the administrative duties. They all land in Hux’s lap, paperwork and budget and signing off on usage, meetings and communications, as if he’s buried under a virtual avalanche, not quite fallen into a trap but had the trap build up around him.

It should be an honor to be the liaison between Ren and all of his other immediate inferiors. The chance to do the same for Snoke would have been something Hux relished, a chance to gauge the rest of his competition, to take more risks and plant the blame, to find anyone ruthless enough to worry about, and to wave his high position in everyone’s faces. They could despise and disrespect him all they want--they still can, but being Ren’s mouthpiece is different from being Snoke’s, especially when they all know it’s because Ren doesn’t have or care to gain the requisite structural knowledge to do this himself, and trusts the things pinning Hux into place to make sure Hux takes care of it. 

And he does; he gets through the next meeting, another useless conversation with General Risohn where she offers little of value, only her sneering hologram face and empty words. If Snoke were still in charge, no one would tell Hux, to his face and on the record, that they wonder why he’s being kept around. It would be phrased differently (if they said it all), and perhaps a touch below the surface, theories as to why Snoke plays favorites with him, sideways hints. If Hux held these controls in his hands, if he were acting as a go-between for Snoke, well, Hux’s mouth to Snoke’s ear, Hux’s pin of blame piercing their struggling bodies and holding them down, would make them back away.

These hypotheticals are more of a waste than this meeting. They are not, real, and Risohn’s sneer curls like smoke from an explosion.

“I do wonder why the Supreme Leader lets you stay around.”

“I could say the same of you,” Hux says.

Risohn ends the call. Nothing to report, no real business to add. That’s to be expected; she generally has little of value to share (Hux’s remark had not been a simple combat; it had been pure truth). He smiles at the ghost of her face imprinted on his eyes, his mouth stretching wide as if he’s speaking the expression with an accent. It is not natural to him, but it is appropriate here. At least she’d gotten her verbal jabs in.

*

Her remark remains in Hux’s head, passing through his thoughts, a ribbon-thin slither cutting between personnel files and the usual peace that comes with standing on the bridge. Why does Ren keep him around? Obviously, Hux provides things that Ren can’t for himself, his organizational knowledge, the motivation to keep things running smoothly and the attention to detail that keeps all arms of the Order moving towards a common goal. Companionship. Familiarity, even (and Ren’s too caught up in the past, his own and the Galaxy’s, for familiarity to be unimportant to him). 

For now, for the immediate future, that’s why he’s here--but what of the long term? It had been easy to see himself as the long arm of Snoke’s law, crushing insurrection, maintaining the military, if and when Snoke’s First Order would finally take over the galaxy. Yet, what are Ren’s plans? It’s as if he’d shut off the autopilot, ditched the plotted course, and had spun the ship in random circles before plunging into Hyperspace where only he knows the direction. 

Hux is good at preventing, undermining, shedding his own obsolescence. He’s had to be. It’s a hell of a lot easier to do that when you can see what’s coming, though; what’s necessary today might be detrimental tomorrow, and what’s useless today can be something Ren wants tomorrow, however inexplicably. It feels like he’s sitting in an airlock, unsure of how he’d gotten there, of which door is which, and which is about to open. 

A longer-than-strict-protocol wash in the refresher does nothing; neither does his evening cup of caf, the routine of budget spreadsheets on the datapad nothing but bland numbers, a slow background beat to the course of chaos in his mind. His tongue is heavy, but he forces his report through his mouth as Ren undresses on the other side of the room and then makes his way over to sit on the end of the bed beside Hux. He says nothing, barely pausing in his motions, until Hux reaches the end.

“General Risohn hasn’t had anything of note to report from the mid-rim in over a standard month,” Hux says. 

“What are you suggesting?” says Ren.

“It seems unlikely,” says Hux. “If we could spare the resources to send someone out there to corroborate, make sure she’s not wasting time, then we ought to.”

“Unlikely, but hardly impossible,” says Ren. “She’s not competent enough to carry out any sort of serious sabotage.”

“That’s not the point,” says Hux, although he would gladly dispute Ren on that. “Even if she were to fail, she could implant her ideas--bring others to her side--and even if she’s doing nothing actively malicious, if she’s doing nothing it’s a waste and a bad example.”

“We can afford it,” says Ren.”

Hux grits his teeth. He does not want to repeat himself; he will not be trapped to exhaustion in a circular argument. “What is your plan?”

“Stomp out the Resistance, and the Jedi. Lead the Galaxy into a new age. Conquer on all fronts.”

Hux lets his annoyance show through, eases back on the caution in his thoughts, thinks intently of himself, of the other officials’ ever-growing disgust and distaste for him, images that had haunted his early childhood of the imperials saying that if Tarkin and Vader were still around he’d be shot out the airlock, have his windpipe crushed with the Force, his face carved up with a vibroblade, if he were even afforded that much. He does not peel back the layers on his fear, only the ideas that won’t sink beneath the surface. Is this how the Force works? Does Ren even know, or is it all just guesswork?

Ren leans forward, the perfectly-pressed bedsheet crinkling under his hand (and that, Hux has to consciously and intentionally wince at now; he doesn’t, though he files away the annoyance just the same). 

“Not that,” Ren says.

His tone is as even as it ever gets, his eyes opaque, staring both at Hux and past him. There is a scar on his finger, where it bends under his hand on the bed. Hux has noticed it before, but he sees it now again. 

Were this a few standard months ago--a lifetime ago, when they were still building Starkiller, when the path forward had seemed so clear and so spotless, Hux would have allowed his rage at Ren to simmer, to hiss just loudly enough for Ren to hear. How can you not know and still trust the future? How can you take vague outlines and obvious goals and march ahead? Ren’s not overconfident, not in that way. And yet, perhaps Hux is just too tired to deal with the future, too sick of designing meticulous plans only for them to be crushed and bent irreparably, because he doesn’t need to probe further. 

This is enough, for now.

[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 10/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Сhapter 9

“Come with me, I’ll show it to you.”

Levi glared at the girl, feeling his eye twitch.

That girl, Ymir, he didn’t like her. She seemed cocky, overly confident and just, plain annoying. She also tried to shoot him and Hange. And she had interrupted their argument, which could have resulted in… some kind of consensus. Perhaps, even reconciliation. A revelation of some sorts. But now they were back to square one, and Hange returned to giving him long, mistrustful look.

And the fault, in Levi’s opinion, lied entirely on that irritating girl.

Levi didn’t like her, he didn’t trust her and he was adamantly against her becoming a part of their team.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the one calling the shots. Hange was and she was very much pro Ymir becoming a part of their team. And there was nothing he could do about it, except grit his teeth and put on the fiercest of his scowls.

“Where are you taking us?” he caught up with Ymir in a few, swift strides, reaching her and shoving the door she was going to open closed. Levi now stood right beside her, breathing down her neck. Her neck was all he could reach, because, to make matters even worse, the girl was also tall as a fucking tree.

That meant that she could easily look down on him, and that’s exactly what she did, as she stopped and turned around.

“My place,” she answered flippantly.

“Your place?” Hange blinked a couple of times, her mouth slightly open. The expression was endearing, but then again, there was little Levi didn’t find endearing about Hange. Focus, he told himself, forcing his attention back on the conversation. “So this apartment…”

“Oh hell no,” Ymir cringed. “I don’t live in this shithole. I used to live there, but now I simply give that address for the rich assholes I work for. In case some of them actually have heart and decide to pay the poor girl who lives in a basement more.”

“So you use that apartment to scam people?” he couldn’t help his accusing tone. The idea was smart, yes, and Levi was the first person to agree that rich people deserved to have their money taken away, but he was also petty and looking for a reason to dislike the girl even more.

He thought, even hoped that his biting remark would shame Ymir. But all he got in response was an elbow in his side from Hange, and a vicious, “And you’re any different?”

It wasn’t precisely shame that cursed through him after Hange’s words, but it was something similar, close to remorse.

“Who are you, by the way?” her greenish eyes bored into his, as Ymir loomed over him, hands on her hips. “I don’t remember seeing your detective’s badge.”

“Because I don’t have it,” craning his head upwards to scowl at the girl was starting to aggravate his neck muscles just a bit too much, but Levi didn’t allow this little nuisance to break his focus. “As for who I am… you can call me Levi.”

“I can call you Levi? Well, thank you for your kindness.” Ymir cackled, rather loudly. Levi winced at the volume and clenched his fists at the expression of pure mockery on her face. “But I need to know your full name.”

Levi refused to back down or reveal himself so easily. Especially, since… “You didn’t tell us your full name either.”

“Ymir is all I have,” she answered, crossing arms on her chest. In an instant, all signs of mischief were gone from her expression. Now she was staring at Levi levelly, her face guarded and strict. “Orphans don’t have the pleasure of receiving a surname.”

“Oh.”

The soft, quiet sound came from Hange. Levi didn’t need to look away from Ymir to see that Hange was looking at the girl with mix of sadness and compassion. As ready as he was to loathe the insolent brat, he was feeling something similar, a painful clench of his heart that reminded him of his biggest weakness – his unreasoned kindness and desire to help the ones who need it.

Recently, his kindness led him to a fist-fight in the bar. Levi could only guess where this fault of his would bring him this time.

“I don’t need your pity,” Ymir huffed, seeing the sudden change in Levi’s eyes. “What I need is your full name.”

God, she was so tenacious, like a piranha that had latched itself on his leg. He sighed, surrendering to his fate. It seemed like he had no other choice. So keeping his eyes firmly locked on Ymir's, he said, “I’m Levi. Levi Ackerman.”

As soon as these words had left his mouth, Levi found himself pressed against the front door with Ymir once again looming over him. With movement almost too quick for him to catch, Ymir had taken a knife out of the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Now that very same knife was held tightly in her hand, and its edge was pressed threateningly to his stomach.

Hell, how many weapons she had on her?

“Ackerman?” she hissed, her green eyes shooting fire. The knife moved an inch closer to him. “The same Ackerman that had kidnapped Historia?”

It took him a moment too long to get his wits back. He wasn’t threatened with a knife every day of his life, after all. And, by the time, his composure had returned and he was ready to retaliate, Hange decided to take matters in her hands.

Quite literally.

She took Ymir’s wrist and squeezed it tightly, eliciting a pained groan from her. The hold she had on the knife loosened, and it fell down with a resounding sound, barely missing the toe of Levi’s boot.

“We don’t do violence here,” Hange said, her voice tight. “And no, he isn’t the same Ackerman. His uncle is the one who had taken Historia.”

“So you knew about this!” yanking her wrist out of Hange’s hold and cradling it protectively to her chest, Ymir shifted her gaze, turning her anger on her.

“I did,” Hange confirmed. “But Levi knows nothing about his uncle’s crimes.”

Levi stared at Hange wide-eyed, not quite believing what was happening right in front of his eyes. Hange was defending him? She had just protected him from Ymir?

He wasn’t the only who was openly gaping at her, Ymir seemed to have troubles believing Hange was serious as well.

“So you trust him? You, a police officer, trust him?”

“Maybe, trust is not quite the right word,” Hange chuckled, her serious demeanor shifting to present a bashful grin. “But I believe him,” despite the relaxed expression, her voice was filled with conviction. She did believe him, Levi realized, Hange wasn’t simply putting on a show. The revelation caught him off guard. It also made him recall their recent argument. Perhaps, not everything was lost? “We may be chasing different goals, but I believe it will lead to the same outcome.”

“And if working with me goes against all of your morals,” Levi cut in, reverting Ymir’s attention to himself. “Then we should go our separate ways. The tensions,” he chanced a glanced at Hange, surprised to find that she was actually looking back at him. “Are already high. We don’t need any more infighting.”

Ymir considered them both for a moment, her gaze switching from Levi to Hange. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she appeared deep in thought.

“Fine,” she conceded at last. “It seems like I have no choice but to work with you.”

“Want to save Historia that much, eh?” Hange wiggled her eyebrows in an obscenely ridiculous way. Levi couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Ymir seemed to have the same reaction to her antics.

“I owe her. She's in this mess because of me,” she explained, rather gruffly. “And,” a smirk pulled on her lips, reminding Levi that Ymir was an irritating brat who had attempted to shot him, and then had the gall to threaten him with a knife. “She is also extremely cute.”

“Ah, she’s adorable like a princess!” Hange agreed with a wide smile. Despite Ymir being nothing short of nuisance just a minute ago, Hange had now her arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, talking with her animatedly.

The two of them walked out of the apartment together, still whispering amongst each other. They seemed to be best friends already, which left Levi feeling oddly neglected.

Gods, just how bad did he have it for Hange?

However, he wasn’t feeling abandoned for too long. As soon as they exited the apartment complex, and Ymir started leading them to the aforementioned her place, Hange left her side and fell in step with Levi.

“Hey,” she started, keeping her eyes locked on the horizon. It showed a pretty sight of the setting sun and the warm glow it emanated, but Hange didn’t seem too interested in watching the light reflected in the windows. She simply appeared determined not to meet his eyes. “During your little clash with Ymir… she didn’t hurt you or something?”

Was it his wishful thinking, or did he actually hear hints of concern in her voice? Whatever it was, it sent an exciting pulse through his heart.

“I’m fine. You intervened just in time. By the way… thanks for that.”

Levi cringed at his own awkwardness. He usually wasn’t that clumsy, clumsiness was a big no in his line of work, but Hange excelled at bringing out that part of him. She made him feel so many contrasting emotions that it was hard to navigate through all of them. Sometimes he felt like he was lost in it, blindly stumbling through the workings of his own heart.

“Well, I couldn’t allow our only way to get to Kenny Ackerman get stabbed, could I?”

Of course, Hange was thinking about the case. That was understandable, logical, expected. And whatever concern he had caught in her voice, it was probably directly related to their case.

Their case, he had to focus on it.

You’re here for Kenny, he reminded himself for the nth time. Kenny, not Hange and the weird feeling she provoked in him.

Kenny, Kenny, Kenny, he kept repeating to himself like a mantra. But with Hange still so close to him, his focus was gradually slipping.

Thankfully, Ymir provided an excellent distraction when she stopped them in front of the shadiest bar Levi had ever laid his eyes on. And, considering the fact that he had grown up in the slams and had just returned from the city, where he himself was working in a shady bar with an awful boss, that was saying a lot.

“That’s your place?” he asked in his most unimpressed voice. “You live in a bar?”

“I work at the bar. And I live right above it. And since my shift starts in less than half an hour,” Ymir shrugged. “I decided to mix business with pleasure.”

“Works for me,” Hange hummed, pushing past Levi to get to the entrance. “What floor your apartment is?”

“Third, the first one on the left.”

“Are you even allowed to work at the bar?” Levi looked critically at Ymir. “I thought you were a teenager.”

“Are you allowed to drink?” Ymir easily parried. “I thought you were a kid.”

Brats and their loud mouths, there was nothing that irritated Levi more. Listening to Ymir’s cackling, he could only grit his teeth. His scowl darkened even more, when he saw Hange high-fiving the insolent girl.

“I’m glad you’re starting to get along,” she chuckled, patting Levi and Ymir on their shoulders. “But let’s move on, there is a girl that needs to be saved.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Ymir mumbled, leading them upstairs.

___

Ymir’s apartment turned out to be a kitchen and a single room that simultaneously served as a bedroom, a study and a living room. In the center stood an old dusty couch with clothes thrown all around it, next to it was a rickety coffee table with a laptop on it, and on the opposite wall, there was…

Wow. So Ymir was that serious about finding Historia?

The wall was covered with newspapers clippings and photos. And the center of it all was the photo of Historia, with various strings attached to it.

“So…” Hange awkwardly shuffled to take a better look at it. “Care to explain all of it?”

“Sure,” Ymir nodded. “But it might take a while. Do you want something to drink?”

“Do you have tea?” Levi asked, subconsciously knowing the answer already.

“Nope, only beer.”

“I’ll have a beer, please,” Hange smiled, and then, to Levi’s horror, she took out the fucking notebook. He was getting sick of it.

Ymir returned from the kitchen, holding three bottles of beer. She handed one to Hange, then turned to Levi, looking him up and down. Levi didn’t like where this was going.

“Do you have an ID, sir?” she asked in the most mocking, annoying voice Levi had ever heard. And he thought that Kenny was the most irritating person in this world. Ymir was proving him seriously wrong.

And Hange’s delighted laugher wasn’t making him feel any better.

“Fuck off,” he snapped, snatching the bottle from her.

“Alright, let’s start,” Ymir waited for Hange to settle on a couch. Then she opened her bottle and pointed it at the photo of Historia. “So you know that Krista Lenz isn’t her real name, yes?”

“Yep,” Hange confirmed.

“And that her father,” Ymir trailed the bottle to the side, following the string to the photo of middle-aged man. “Is Rod Reiss.”

“We… recently found about it.”

“And since an Ackerman is sitting right next to you, I’m assuming you know about Kenny Ackerman as well?”

Before nodding, Hange stole a quick glance at Levi. She turned away before Levi could decipher the meaning of it.

“And you really don’t know where he is?” Ymir directed her question at Levi. “Isn’t he your uncle or something?”

“He is my uncle.” Levi stared at the wall, fixing his eyes on the place where Kenny’s photo should have been. But, apparently, Ymir couldn’t find it, so instead there was a white square with his name written on it. Still, the fact that she managed to find that much information was already an astonishing achievement. It actually made Levi curious… “Where did you get his name?”

As far as Levi was aware, Kenny was obsessively secretive. He might appear carefree and careless, but that was just a façade. He wouldn’t survive for as long as he did if he hadn’t shrouded his identity in the thick fog of secret. The only mistake of his that Levi could remember was his fuck up with Traute, and she was probably already dealt with, in one way or another. So how did a girl find out about him?

“It wasn’t all that hard,” Ymir flippantly admitted. “I was spying on Reiss, and I once saw him talk with Ackerman. It didn’t take a genius to realize everything else. By the way,” she levelled Levi with a hard look. “Thanks for killing my boss. Because of that, I had to return to working at this shitty bar.”

Levi shrugged. He could say that technically he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger and killed that guy. But Ymir didn’t seem too interested in technicalities.

“If you know about Kenny,” Hange began, biting at her pen. “Then do you know why he had taken Historia?”

Ymir shook her head, shuttering Levi’s hope to easily find the answer to the question ‘what the fuck was Kenny doing’. “I guess he had some fallout with Reiss and decided to use Historia as a leverae. And that brings me to my next point,” the beer bottle travelled upwards, to the photo of a young woman with long black hair. “What do you know about Frieda Reiss?”

“Not much,” Hange admitted after studying the photo for a several moments. “She is Reiss’ eldest daughter, isn’t she? And she’s an aspiring artist, if the memory serves me right.”

“Well, you already know more than I expected. Yes, Frieda is Reiss’ daughter, which makes her Historia’s half-sister.”

“And that’s important how?” Levi asked, smoothly standing up in guise of taking a closer look at Ymir’s crazy wall.

He walked up to it, squinted at the various scribblings, and then moved closer to the desk that stood by the window. He leaned against it, pretending to listen to Ymir and Hange’s conversation.

“Out of all of Reiss’ family, Frieda is the only who gives a damn about Historia. If we want to find out about Historia’s whereabouts, she’s our best bet.”

“You think she knows something?” Hange moved slightly forward, in an attempt to take a closer look at the wall and Frieda’s photo on it. “You talked with her?”

Ymir scrunched her nose, making an extremely displeased face. She took a large swing from the bottle, cringing slightly at the bitter taste. “She doesn’t want to talk with me. We had an argument of sorts.”

“An argument…” Hange frowned. “About what?”

While Ymir was busy forming an adequate explanation, Levi discreetly opened the top drawer of her desk.

Once a thief, forever a thief, that was what Hange had told him? No point in going against his own nature then, Levi thought, as he flipped through the contents of the drawer. Inside there were photos, a lot of photos. A dozen, if not even more. They varied in foreshortening, angle, color palette. And yet the subject remained the same.

It was Historia.

There was a picture of Historia from across the street, enjoying a book inside the café. And a picture of Historia, sitting on a bench in the park and eating an ice-cream. There was Historia smiling, Historia frowning, Historia laughing, Historia… oh. So Ymir got that close to the girl she was supposed to be spying on?

Hiding the picture of two girls kissing, Levi closed the drawer and returned his attention to the conversation on hand.

“I already told you Frieda cares about Historia. And when she found out that I was spying on her father, and, subsequently on Historia too, well,” Ymir ran a hand through her hair. “Let’s just say she wasn’t too happy about it.”

“But?” Hange prompted, notebook clenched tightly in her hand. “You think that Frieda knows something?”

“Reiss definitely knows something, I’m sure Ackerman has contacted him with some kind of ransom note.”

“And Reiss didn’t go to the police, because he doesn’t want the world to know about his connection to Historia.”

“Exactly,” Ymir confirmed. “And if there was actually some communication between him and Ackerman, Frieda is the only who knows about it. She’s in on everything her father is doing.”

“But she’s the daughter of an influential politician and she’s a famous artist,” Hange bit at her thumb, her frown deepening. “How the heck we can get her to talk? Especially if her father doesn’t want to involve the police.”

Ymir grinned. “I’m glad you asked.”

Oh no. Levi didn’t like that smile or that tone. An awful offer was going to be made to them. Or, even worse, that would be a demand.

With his stomach sinking, he sighed and prepared for the worst.

Ymir took a step to the side, revealing the last part of puzzle. It was a clipping from a newspaper article that talked about… Levi squinted… an upcoming gala that was going to be held at the Reiss’ mansion. Great.

“Frieda is the one who organizes the gala and she is the one who will be hosting it,” Ymir explained. “Her father won’t be here, and that will give you an opportunity to get closer to her.”

“But won’t there be a security? How can we get in?” Hange asked. “And how will we convince her to share the information with us?”

“I can obtain two tickets for you. As for convincing Frieda… I don’t think she’ll need much of it. She wants to save her sister, just say you’re from police and she’ll probably share everything she knows.”

“And what if she doesn’t want to talk to us? What if she orders the guards to throw us out? Too many unknowns for this to effectively work out. I say the plan is too risky,” Levi concluded, crossing hands on his chest.

“But we don’t really lose anything,” Hange countered. “It’s a gamble.”

“It’s a waste of time.” Levi argued.

“It won’t be a waste of time with you,” Ymir said. “If you don’t succeed with talking to Frieda, then…” she wiggled her eyebrows, looking at Levi.

Hange shot up to her feet. “Oh no. No, no, no. No! I can’t allow you to break inside and snoop around. It’s Reiss’ mansion! If we get caught, I’ll get skinned alive.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Hange,” Levi rolled his eyes. Now that Ymir mentioned the idea of snooping around, he liked the plan a lot more. “We’ve already broken into someone’s apartment, and nothing bad happened.”

“We almost got shot at,” Hange reminded him through the gritted teeth.

“Then don’t get caught,” Ymir advised. “Ackermans were never caught, right? And you have Ackerman with you. I’m sure,” there it was again, that tiny, irritating smirk. “He’ll do his best to protect you.”

“Fine,” Hange ruffled her hair, looking absolutely frantic. She lifted the bottle of beer to her lips, downing half of it in one go. “Fine, fine, we’ll do it your way. But… I don’t know what to wear to this kind of event.”

“Don’t worry,” Ymir gave her a thorough once-over, going from the head to toe and focusing on Hange’s long legs, thin waist and broad shoulders. She licked her lips. “I’ll find something for you.”

“And me?” Levi asked, glaring at the girl who was ogling Hange so shamelessly. “Do you have something for me?”

“You’re a legendary thief,” Ymir scoffed, barely sparing him a glance. “Steal a suit for yourself or something.”

Fuck, how he hated the annoying brats. There was nothing worse than them.

“If we have planned everything out,” Ymir finished her beer and threw the bottle in the trashcan that, to Levi’s disgust, was already overwhelmed with bottles and empty pizza boxes. “Then I need to go. My shift starts in just few minutes. If you need something else, you can use my laptop. There is a rough blueprint of Reiss’ mansion there.”

“How did you manage to get inside?” Hange said, already taking the laptop in her hands.

Ymir winked, the insufferable smirk returning. “Let’s just say that I’m excellent at getting inside ladies' private chambers.”

The horrible innuendo was bad enough on its own, but Hange’s loud laughter made it much, much worse. Levi could only roll his eyes and scoff, apparently, he was destined to be surrounded by annoying people with terrible jokes.

Well, at least, Hange didn’t look so tense anymore. Perhaps, Ymir’s presence was a buffer between the tensions that had been rising all day. If so, Levi was glad to have the girl around, despite tasteless innuendos and all.

“There is left over pizza in the refrigerator and there is booze under the counter if you need it.”

“And you?” Hange turned to Levi. “I can’t exactly let you go home, but…”

“He can go with me,” Ymir offered. “I’ll pour him a drink, keep an eye so he won’t sneak away.”

Spend the evening with Hange or with the brat who would probably continue to mercilessly mock him, Levi knew what option he would choose, but… he wasn’t the one calling the shots.

Hange was.

“Excellent!” she gave Ymir thumbs up and a brilliant smile. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

With that Ymir grabbed him by the elbow and started dragging him downstairs. Levi could only sigh and surrender.

___

“So,” Ymir poured a shot of whiskey and handed it to him, leaning against the counter and studying his face. The unnatural dark red lighting of the bar made her look even more imposing. The irritating smirk was already in place, playing on her thin lips. “What is happening between you and detective badass?”

Color rushed to his cheeks, and Levi thanked the lighting for hiding the unfortunate reaction.

“Nothing,” he mumbled into his drink.

“Nothing? So what about that argument I’ve overheard and the two of you rolling around on the floor of my apartment? You call that nothing?”

“Eavesdropping is bad,” Levi said, but, despite the biting tone, he lowered his head even further down. That was a topic he really didn’t want to discuss. Especially, with a girl he met just an hour ago. “And we weren’t rolling around, I saved Hange from getting shot.”

“I dig up dirty secrets for a living. Eavesdropping is my job. And you could have just shoved her aside, not jump onto her, you know?”

“Shut up,” he put the glass of whiskey up to his lips, finishing it in one large gulp. The bitter, burning liquid travelled down his throat, making him shiver. He pushed the glass back to Ymir. “Another one.”

“Ah ah,” she wiggled her finger. “I won’t let you have another drink until you tell me what the heck is going between you two.”

“Why are so interested in it?”

Ymir looked around the bar. There was just a couple of customers inside, all of them slowly nursing their drinks and seemingly uninterested in ordering something else. As her eyes shifted from one corner to another, Ymir shrugged. “It’s a slow night. And I have a feeling something juicy has transpired.”

“Alright, I’ll tell,” after all, what the heck he was losing? His dignity? He bid goodbye to it a long time ago. Besides, there was something he wanted to get out of Ymir as well. “But in exchange you’ll tell me what happened between you and Historia.”

“Nothing,” was probably what Ymir wanted to exclaim. Her widened eyes and scandalized expression were definitely screaming that. But Levi raised a hand before she could even start denying his claim.

“I found the pictures inside your desk.”

If he thought that Ymir’s face showed disbelief and anger before, now there was pure rage. “Going through other people’s stuff is bad,” she hissed, her eyes narrowed into slits.

“I’m a thief,” Levi graciously accepted the drink she prepared to him. “Going through other people’s stuff is my job.”

“Has anyone told you how irritating you are?”

“Has anyone told you?”

Looming over him with hands on her hips, Ymir stared down at him. Levi stared back, putting the darkest of his glares.

Ymir was the first one to surrender, breaking the eye contact with a low chuckle. “Alright, alright, we’re both assholes.”

“That we are,” he agreed, taking another sip from his glass. He put it back down softly, the ice cubes clinking together. “So what’s the deal between you and Historia?”

Ymir took a deep sigh and grabbed the closest glass to her, starting to mindlessly clean it with a rag. The silence stretched, the sounds of tense rubbing of the glass taking over. Levi wanted to repeat his question, but then— Ymir finally gathered enough courage to start talking.

“So you already know that I was supposed to spy on Historia. Reiss had an enemy in the parliament that wanted to expose his secret daughter, and, well,” she shook her head and laughed, the sound devoid of mirth but filled with bitterness. “Whatever pays the bills, right? So I found that girl, took a few photos and then I was asked to bring a DNA sample, to make sure that she really is Reiss’ daughter and it isn’t just a rumor, created by his former maid. I broke inside her room at campus, took a hair out of the hairbrush, and I was already leaving when some clumsy idiot bumped into me and I fell down the stairs. And that how I actually met Historia. Unaware that moments ago I was looking through her things, she brought me to her room and forcefully bandaged my sprained ankle.”

“And that’s it? You literally fell for her?” the story made him chuckle. It also made him remember a similar story – a story about bumping into someone on the street, about falling in more ways than just one.

“Well, Historia made sure to call and text me every day for the entirety of three weeks, because she read somewhere that it takes three weeks for the ankle sprain to heal completely. She also personally checked up on me a couple of times, although I’m not even sure if my ankle was actually sprained. But,” Ymir rubbed the back of her neck, and, perhaps, it was the treacherous lightning, but it looked like she was blushing. “I couldn’t exactly say no to a cute girl like this, you know?”

“And? Did she find out who you actually are?”

“No. But her sister did. I don’t know if Historia knows who Frieda truly is, and I don’t know why Frieda is so obsessed with her, but she found me and threatened to use her father’s connections to throw me in jail. I grew up on a street, so there was a lot of illegal stuff I did, and… I couldn’t exactly risk it. I wanted to sneak into Historia’s dorm, you know, have, at least some kind of a goodbye… but when I got inside, she wasn’t there. The next day I found that she was kidnapped.”

Silence fell over them. What was there to say? Tell that he felt sorry for her? That he knew just how shitty she was feeling right now?

Nothing he could say would make Ymir feel better.

“What about you then? What did you do to make our fierce detective glare at you so much?”

“She was the lead detective investigating out heists. And…”

“Ohh,” Ymir sounded intrigued. “So you seduced her? To get the information out of her? But then fell for her along the way?”

“No. I just fell. Bumped into four-eyes on the street and dropped all of my groceries, so she decided to make it up for me. It kinda went up from there.”

“Oh,” the interest disappeared from her voice completely. “And what happened next?”

“And then she got really close to catching us, and I decided to run away, and then my uncle shot her, and then,” Levi spat bitterly, drowning his misery with another mouthful of whiskey. “And then her boss found out who I really am and I left before I could bid her an actual goodbye. I moved to another part of the world, found myself a job, in a bar, if you would believe me, and then Hange found me and demanded I come back to help her catch my uncle.”

“Ow, that’s rough, dude.” Ymir refilled his glass. “Did you the two of you at least bang?”

“What!” Levi was sure his face was as a tomato. He glared fiercely at the girl, desperately trying to mask his embarrassment and save at least some remnants of his dignity.

“Don’t deny that you haven’t thought about it,” she taunted, grinning wildly, victoriously, like a predator who had just stumbled upon an easy prey. Fucking piranha. “Those long legs and wide shoulders, I bet she has abs too, and have you seen that ass, I’d—”

“Shut up,” Levi growled, closing his eyes to get that image of Hange out of his head. Hange did have a very nice body, he’d have to be blind not to see that, but that’s— that wasn’t the reason why he liked her, and even if he did think about her in that way – which, of course, he absolutely didn’t – Ymir was still the last person on Earth he’d like to discuss that with. Well, maybe, Kenny was the last person he’d discuss that with, but Ymir was definitely near the bottom of that list as well. “I’ve never, ever, thought about me and Hange in that way.”

“Well, well, someone is repressed,” Ymir didn’t take mercy on him, her voice becoming even more aggravating. “It’s not heathy for a man your age, you know? You need to learn how to relax, for example, you can sit in the dark room, think long and hard about hot detectives, imagine Hange arresting you, handcuffing you and then—”

Jesus Christ. Levi didn’t think it was possible for his cheeks to feel that hot. They were just as hot as—

Fuck, even his subconscious was working against him.

Ymir was laughing openly now, doubled over the counter and heaving breathlessly. “Man, you should have seen your face, it’s so easy to mess with you.”

“You’re a nuisance, I can’t even begin to understand how your Historia could have fallen for you.”

“The same applies to you, midget. How could someone as hot as detective Hange end up with a crush on you of all people?”

“Hange is too trustworthy and open,” Levi shrugged.

“And Historia is too kind and naïve.” Ymir agreed with a smile that looked too soft on the face of the girl who just minutes ago was mocking him mercilessly. “So what, it was their shortcomings that let us meet them?”

“Or it was fate. Or just dumb luck.”

Ymir grabbed a glass from the behind her, poured whiskey in it and raised it up. “To their shortcomings then. Or fate and dumb luck.”

Levi chuckled, as he brought his glass to hers. Yeah, he could drink for that.

Their glasses clinked, and Ymir’s expression changed, ever so slightly. The grin was still there, but it wasn’t as annoying as it was before. Now, it almost looked friendly. Levi felt his own lips curl up in a smile. Brats, perhaps, they weren’t that terrible after all.

“I’ll go out for a smoke,” he told Ymir, patting his jacket for a cigarette pack. “If four-eyes shows up…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her that you just went out, don’t worry. I’m not that much of a nuisance,” she winked at him, following this gesture with another fit of boisterous laughter.

Levi rolled his eyes at the display and hurried to the exit.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the chill, night air greeted him. The bars usually didn’t smell all that great, and this one wasn’t an exception. The stench of brewery and the general stuffiness of these places were the main reason why Levi preferred to drink at home. He was never one for the company anyway, and his general disgust of bars only added to his alienation.

Besides, he had a long, long day after a long and tiring flight. It was the first time he was left alone ever since he had walked off the plane, and Levi decided to relish that moment, however short it may be.

He lighted up the cigarette and put it to his lips, deeply inhaling the fresh minty smoke.

Fuck… what a day. And it wasn’t even finished yet.

Levi wondered what was going to happen next, was Hange serious about keeping watch on him? If so, how was she planning to go about it? Make him stay at her apartment? The idea wasn’t exactly opposing to him, especially after seeing the mess that Kenny made of their place.

And, Kenny, what a bastard. Couldn’t he at least try to make looking for him easier? It was just one day, and Levi was positively spent. He felt like he could sleep for millennia.

And tomorrow was not going to be any better, with this whole gala shit. He’d be lucky if next evening wouldn’t end up with him sent in prison by Reiss.

However, he wasn’t going to be the only one taking that risk. Hange was going with him, and if she was caught, she could very well lose her job. If that possibility didn’t scare Hange, he wouldn’t let it scare him as well.

Still… a lot of things could go wrong tomorrow. He had to be ready to tackle at least some of them.

With another weary sigh, Levi took another drag of the cigarette, hoping the tobacco would provide a small amount of comfort. Coupled with all the whiskey he had drunk, the cigarette was doing its job fairly well until—

Until the front door of the bar had opened and Hange had walked out, her eyes immediately zooning in on him.

“Levi!”

She called him Levi, not Ackerman, and she did so with a wide, genuinely happy smile instead of an angry glare. She leaned against the wall next to him, bumping their shoulders merrily, and Levi was ready to triumph but then he caught the stench coming from Hange and saw her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

So she was drunk. Excellent, just what he needed to end that already horrible day.

“Hange,” he pinched the bridge of his, setting the cigarette aside. Perhaps, he just imagined it. Perhaps, Hange wasn’t actually drunk and her behavior had a completely logical explanation. “Hange, are you alright?”

“Um, sure,” she blinked sleepily, pressing closer to him. She was just a breath away of leaning fully against him. Feeling his heart pound in his chest, Levi tried to stay as still as possible, keeping the contact between them as minimal as he could. His mind decided to suddenly remind him of every stupid thing Ymir had told to him today. Levi never felt so betrayed by his own subconscious. “I’m just tired and a little hungry, and I think I had too much of the rum I found under the counter in Ymir’s apartment.”

And before Levi could react, before he could, maybe, scold Hange for this act of recklessness, she kicked the ground underneath him once again.

“Hey, can I have it?” she pointed to his cigarette, already reaching to it.

Moving the hand with cigarette away from Hange, Levi hesitated. On one hand, smoking could make her feel that much worse, on the other, she could just as well start arguing with him, and that was the last thing he needed today. So he settled on a middle ground.

“You can have one drag,” he allowed, handing her a cigarette.

But Hange didn’t take the cigarette from his hand. Instead, she slightly opened her mouth, as though in invitation.

Fucking hell. Was drunk Hange always like this?

Slowly, doing his best to ignore the trembling in his hands, he lifted the cigarette to her lips. Hange closed her mouth around it, her eyes fluttered shut as she started to inhale the smoke.

Levi watched her, completely transfixed, he never thought that someone could be that attractive while smoking, but here he was…

He was standing close to Hange, so close that he could see every individual eyelash, a small mole at the side of her cheek, the barely visible freckles on her nose, the little scar on her forehead. Her face was illuminated by the blue flickering sign with the name of the bar. The unnatural lighting made her seem even more surreal.

“Fuck!”

The illusion was broken abruptly, when Hange pushed him away and doubled down, coughing fit wracking through her body.

“Shit!” she croaked, in between the coughs. “I didn’t know that thing would be so strong, it’s so—”

“Wait.” Levi was so confused. “You’ve never smoked before?”

“No.”

God, what an insufferable person.

“Then why the hell you’ve asked for my cigarette?”

“Don’t know!” Hange straightened up, spreading her hands. The frantic motion made her stagger. Levi caught her by the elbow before she fell. “I just thought it would feel good. But it didn’t!”

“Idiot.” Levi scoffed. He winced when he realized that there was too much fondness in his tone.

“I’m just tired,” Hange sighed, dropping her shoulders and bending her knees to slide lower off the wall. “I deserve a break, don’t I? I didn’t have one in so long…”

Levi felt like he knew the answer to his question already. Yet, he still asked. “When was the last time you took a break?”

“When you left. As soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I threw myself into my work.”

Ouch. That was probably his fault.

He was contemplating what answer wouldn’t make him sound like an asshole while simultaneously keeping in secret just how much he had missed her during all the months he was gone, when he felt something warm touch his cheek.

He lifted his eyes from the grey, cracked asphalt and—

Cigarette fell from between his fingers.

Hange was closer than she was before, and her palm was resting on his cheek, absentmindedly caressing his skin.

“That thing…” with a feather light touch of her thumb, she traced the already healing cut on his cheek. “Where did you get this?”

“This…” fuck, why Hange’s proximity made it so hard for him to think? His thoughts were sluggish as ever, the neurons reacting with the pace as slow as it was humanly possible. With more effort than he was willing to admit, Levi forced himself to focus. “Would you believe it if I say that I received this thing while defending three teenagers from the local gangsters?”

Hange chuckled, the sound seemed warm enough to shield Levi even from the harshest winds of winter. “That depends… would you believe that, despite everything, a part of me is actually glad that you came back?”

Oh. Levi drew a sharp breath. Whatever he had expected Hange to say, this wasn’t it.

But Hange was drunk, he reminded himself. Hange was drunk and chances were she probably wouldn’t remember this conversation at all. He could take some of the weight off his chest and, perhaps, Hange would be none the wiser.

So he laid his hand on top of Hange’s, and said, “Only if you would believe that I wish I didn’t hurt you. That was never my intention. And I also wish we could have gone on that skating rink date you’ve promised me.”

He expected Hange to lash out. He expected her to push him away and start calling him names. He expected literally anything else but not for Hange starting to recite Shakespeare.

“Oh Romeo, Romeo!” with all the dramatics of the drunken person, she fell against him, a hand flying to her forehead. “Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Four-eyes?”

“Sorry,” she laughed, covering her mouth with a hand. Her head laying on his shoulder, she looked up, her eyes sparkling. “It just… It kinda fits, don’t you think? You know if you weren’t Montecchi and I wasn’t Capuletti, perhaps then…”

Perhaps. And, oh, how Levi wished that ‘perhaps’ turned into ‘possibly’ and into actual truth. But— they were who they were, for the better or worse.

And entertaining what ifs would only make both of them more miserable. So before he did something stupid, like press his lips to Hange and taste that horrible rum she was drinking, Levi decided to change the course and the mood of their conversation. He playfully flicked her forehead and pushed her away from him. “I didn’t know that police officers could recite Shakespeare from the top of their head.”

“No one believes me,” Hange whispered with a naughty smile. “But I was a member of the drama club in high school.”

“Did you play Juliette?”

“No, I was Romeo, but,” she winked. “I had a very pretty Juliette.”

“Of course, you had,” Levi had no doubts about it. He did, however, have a regret that he wasn’t there to witness it. Watch lanky teenage Hange jump around the stage, shouting about her love to Juliet and hatred of Capuletti in the most melodramatic fashion possible? What was better than it? “Now, c’mon,” he gently pushed her forward, making sure she didn’t stumble and fall. “Let’s go inside, it’s getting cold.”

“Yeah, let’s—”

Levi’s hand was hovering above her shoulder, but when Hange touched the side of her face and started to slowly crane towards the ground, he had to wrap his fingers firmly around her elbow. With eyes widening in fear, he watched how Hange’s eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limply against his side.

“Hange!” he shook her, but received no answer. His blood started to rapidly turn into ice. “Hange,” he called again, more softly. She didn’t even stir.

Fuck, was she drunk enough to black out? Or did she faint because of the fatigue? Or was it the combination of the two?

Whatever was the case, but he had to, at least, bring Hange back inside the bar. Keeping his hand on her waist, Levi carefully opened the front door and stumbled inside.

All eyes were on him as soon as he walked in. And no one’s stare was as surprised as Ymir’s.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Your fucking fault,” he gritted through his teeth, as he approached the bar counter and pushed Hange on one of the chairs. “She drank too much while she was working.”

“Shit. And what are you going to do now?”

He didn’t have a lot of options. He could let Hange stay with Ymir, he could let Hange crush at his place, or… he could bring her to her own apartment.

The third option was probably the one Hange would be most comfortable with, but there was a tiny problem with it – he didn’t know where she lived.

“She left her bag here while she went outside to find you,” Ymir said, producing the said bag from behind the counter. “Her phone was blowing out all this time, maybe, you should call back? Perhaps, a friend will come to pick her up?”

Levi swallowed. He had a feeling that he knew what friend was calling Hange so insistently. With dread settling in, he took the bag from Ymir’s hands and fished out the phone.

The screen lighted up, showing five missed calls from – surprise, surprise - Erwin.

Fuck, just as he had expected. Just what he was fearful of.

With his insides twisting in a knot, Levi stared at Erwin’s photo, at his relaxed and smiling face. Levi remembered him a little differently. He remembered him as cunning, ruthless and calculating. Their encounter at the precinct was still fresh in Levi’s mind. His words, spoken quietly but with so much authority, were still ringing in his ears.

Leave this city, Levi Ackerman, and don't come back. Stop toying with Hange's feelings and don’t you dare contact her ever again.

As it was evident from the photo Hange chose for him, she saw a very different version of Erwin Smith. She saw him as her caring and kind boss. Levi doubted that Erwin would show the same side of himself to him.

“Would you like to make that call?” he handed the phone to Ymir.

She pushed it back with a short laugh. “I have a feeling that her friend is cop, so, no, I’m not very eager to become his acquaintance.”

Shit. So he had to do it. Fuck, Levi didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t want to.

But he had to do it, for Hange.

That last thought gave him enough courage to unlock the phone and dial the number. He closed his eyes tightly as soon as he did, his stomach was falling lower and lower with each passing beep.

On the third one, his call was answered.

“Hange?” well, now his voice definitely didn’t sound as cold and strict as it did during their last conversation. Right now, Captain Erwin Smith sounded almost frantic. “Hange, where are you? Why didn’t you pick up? I’ve been calling you—”

“Erm,” Levi cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Honestly, he’d rather take on ten more gangsters from Signapore, or have his leg ripped out than continue this conversation. “It’s not Hange.”

“Ackerman.” And there it was, that cold, emotionless tone. Awesome. But now… there was more urgency to it. And much more anger. “Where is Hange? What did you do to her? If you laid even a finger—”

“Jesus, calm the fuck down. Hange is fine.” Except that she wasn’t. Her eyes were still closed as she sat slumped in a chair. “She just… tired herself out. I need you to come and take her home.”

There was a pause, a silence that lasted for a long, long moment. Erwin was probably contemplating if he should trust him or not. At last, he said, “Send me your location.”

He ended the call immediately.

A little shaken after the encounter, Levi thought about his next move, should he wait for Erwin or—

“I would advise against it,” Ymir said, unusually serious. “From what I’ve heard just now, the guy hates your guts. Don’t aggravate the situation any further and don’t make him look for you around the city. He won’t be happy when he finds you.”

Yeah, Levi thought so too.

“Pour me another glass,” he asked, his tone almost pleading. And here he was worrying about tomorrow… and now he could very well find himself sitting behind bars in the next hour.

___

Erwin arrived not even ten minutes later, walking into the bar like he owned the damn place. Last time Levi saw him, he was wearing police uniform, complete with white shirt and dark jacket. Now he was dressed in an unbuttoned coat and grey sweatpants, a combination, which would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Somehow, Erwin still managed to look formidable.

His eyes were the same icy cold color as Levi had remembered, but, because he was watching him so closely, he could notice the hint of concern that appeared, when Erwin’s gaze landed on Hange.

He crossed the bar in a few short strides, standing protectively over her. He shook her shoulder, then, with more trepidation than Levi would have expected from him, he checked her pulse. The sigh that escaped him was filled with relief, but when Erwin turned to face Levi, none of it was reflected on his face.

“What had happened?”

His voice was quiet, controlled. Even so, the anger was slipping through. Levi suppressed a shiver. He would not let this man intimidate him.

“She exhausted herself to the point of collapsing. Someone must have pushed too much work on her.”

Perhaps, his words were unjust, after all, Levi knew how much Erwin cared about Hange. And he knew that the man did his best to protect her from the burdens of their work. But Erwin didn’t like Levi, and while it was more than understandable, the feeling was also more than mutual.

However, Erwin didn’t seem offended or outraged. He seemed to disregard Levi’s presence completely.

“How much do I have to pay?” he asked Ymir, keeping his hand on Hange’s shoulder.

“It’s on the house,” Ymir replied, almost frantically. If Levi hadn’t been mocked by this girl for the entirety of the evening, he’d say that she looked scared. Even so, it was hard to deny that she certainly was cautious.

“Thank you,” Erwin nodded, “And sorry for the troubles. I’ll take her home now. And you,” he pointed with his chin at Levi. “You’re going with me.”

Levi gulped, but didn’t try to argue. Firstly, he didn’t want to start a scene. And secondly, he wasn’t sure that whatever scene he’d cause, he’d come out of it as a winner.

“Good luck, dude,” Ymir whispered to him. She almost sounded sincere. Did it mean he looked that pathetic?

He reached out to Hange, but one freezing look from Erwin, and Levi pulled his hand back, curling it into a fist.

Fuck, he hoped Hange lived somewhere nearby. Otherwise, one hell of a drive was waiting for him.

Erwin scooped Hange into his arms, effortlessly lifting her up. Her head rolled to his shoulder, nose fitting into the crook of his neck.

In his giant arms, Hange seemed so small, almost vulnerable. As he watched Erwin carry her outside, Levi felt sudden, completely illogical pang of jealousy.

Fuck, now he was just going crazy.

Erwin led him out to the parking lot, where a black sedan was parked.

Levi wanted to help him open the door, but apparently Erwin needed only one hand to hold Hange. As the door to the back seat was opened, he placed her inside, careful not to bump her into anything.

Just before Levi could slide into the backseat beside Hange, pull her head onto his lap, maybe stroke her hair… Erwin faced him once again, his strong jaw clenched and his mouth set in a firm line. “Take the passenger seat.”

Again, Levi complied without another a single complain. The situation was already tense, after all.

As he lowered himself into a passenger seat, Levi felt like his stomach was filled with heavy rocks. As he pulled the seatbelt over his chest, he felt like it was growing tighter with every breath he took.

A moment later, Erwin sat down too, sliding into the driver’s seat and igniting the car. He rode out of the parking lot wordlessly. He continued to drive in the utter silence.

In his life, Levi had enough moments that made his throat seize with worry. He was a criminal, a thief, and their heists didn’t always go according to the plan. But never before he had felt so… on edge. He felt like was standing on the top of the skyscraper, his feet dangerously close to verge of it. A sudden gush of wind, a single uneven breath could send him flying down.

So Levi sat tight, his hands curled into fists at his lap. He stared right ahead, afraid to suddenly meet Erwin’s gaze. He was breathing as quietly as possible, not wanting to upset the fragile balance.

But the balance was ruined, destroyed completely, without a hope of salvation, when they heard a sharp gasp coming from the backseat.

Hange’s head appeared in the space between two front seats a second later. Her eyes were shifting from Levi to Erwin, the gears in her head turning so quickly, Levi could almost hear their movements.

The realization came to her way too swiftly, cruel in its suddenness.

“Fuck,” she took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes with a pained expression. “Erwin, listen, I can explain—”

“You will,” he said, meeting her eyes in the rear view mirror. “After I get you home.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, and if Levi thought that the silence was tense and pressing before, this one opened a whole new level. At least, now it wasn’t as quiet as before, because Hange kept shifting in her seat. Levi could practically feel her eyes bore into the back of his head. He would have snapped, would have told her to quit staring like a weirdo, if her unnaturally calm boss wasn’t sitting right next to him.

When Erwin parked the car next to the apartment complex where Hange was evidently living, Levi breathed out a loud sigh of relief. Fuck, it felt like he was holding in a dump for the entirety of the fifteen-minute trip.

Growing up without mother, having only Kenny as a guardian, Levi’s childhood was very different from the other kids. He never shared his classmates’ interests, never went to parties and football matches, preferring to stay at home and help his uncle get ready for his next heist. He never actually had the pleasure to experience the scenario of asking someone on a date. He also never knew the humiliation and shame one would feel if their date was interrupted by his crush’s father. Of course, he and Hange weren’t on a date, and Erwin wasn’t her father, but as the three of them were standing in the elevator, waiting for it to stop at the fourteenth floor, Levi was as worried and mortified as a teenager who got their date ruined.

When they exited the elevator, Hange took the lead, walking towards her apartment with her head lowered and shoulders slumped.

She reached the door and unlocked it, letting them enter first.

“I didn’t expect guests,” chuckling so awkwardly that Levi cringed, she turned the light on, basking her apartment in a faint orange light. “So sorry for the mess.”

Levi would have snort and say that he wasn’t expecting anything else, or he would have scrunch his nose at the amount of clatter that he saw on the coffee table in the living room. However, the presence of Erwin wasn’t exactly making him feel playful.

Hange was either still drunk or the exhaustion was still having its effect on her, but as she walked further into the apartment, she was slightly staggering.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Erwin said, his voice gentler than Levi had ever heard it. With a hand on the small of her back, he guided Hange towards the closed door, where, as Levi guessed, her bedroom was. “You stay here,” he told Levi.

Levi barely resisted the urge to scoff. What, Erwin thought that he was stupid or daring enough to follow? He was certainly not.

After the door after Hange and Erwin closed, Levi continued standing awkwardly in the hallway for another moment. He could faintly hear their voices coming from another room, but they were too quiet for him to understand what the conversation was about.

Ignoring the urge to come closer and eavesdrop, Levi decided to take a look around the apartment.

It was messy – just as Hange had said. Books and papers were scattered around, the coffee table had a a large stain on it, and the couch was peppered with crumbs. But that wasn’t what interested Levi. He was much more interested in learning what her apartment was hiding beyond filth and trash.

Firstly, he headed to the large bookshelf in the living room. As he had expected, there were lots of textbooks there – books on criminology, forensic science, crime prevention and even sociology. The presence of fiction books wasn’t surprising, but the amount of them certainly was. Apparently, the workaholic detective Hange Zoe was also an avid book worm. His lips curling up, he stored that small piece of trivia to the part of his mind that was dedicated to everything he found endearing about Hange.

Next to the books stood a couple of picture frames. One of them showed Hange, squished between two men – Erwin and her other blonde friend, Mike. All three of them were smiling, happy and younger than they were now.

The second photo was of Hange and two adults – her parents, Levi presumed. If the previous photo pictured Hange who was only a couple of years younger, this one showed a much, much younger version. She was barely a teenager there – clad in overalls, with skinned knee, duct-taped glasses and wearing a bright, joyful smile.

Looking at that smile, Levi couldn’t help but smile back.

His mind exhausted and overwhelmed with the events of this day, it started to wander. Levi tried to imagine what would have happened, how different his life could be if Hange had befriended him when they were kids. Would his life be different, though? Or would his upbringing and unfortunate circumstances still bring him where he was now?

There was no way to find out, and that’s why there was no reason to ponder on it.

His curiosity drove him to his next stop, kitchen. He was just about to find out what the great detective Zoe preferred to stash in her refrigerator, when the door of the bedroom opened and closed. Levi heard the sound of heavy footsteps that got closer and closer.

And just like that, his good mood was gone. Just like that, he was on the edge of the skyscraper once again.

When Levi mastered the courage to turn around, Erwin stood at the other side of the small kitchen, hands crossed on his chest. Even in sweatpants and worn-out t-shirt, he still looked as commanding as ever.

“I told you to leave, and never come back. I gave you a chance to escape. Why didn’t you take it?”

Why didn’t he take it? Didn’t Erwin already know his reason?

“I’m sure Hange has explained everything to you.”

“She has.”

And what, Erwin didn’t find her reasoning sufficient enough? Fuck, the blonde bastard pissed him off so much.

“I came because I need to find my uncle and learn what the fuck has happened while I was gone.” Levi said, his anger barely constrained. “My return to the city has nothing to do with Hange or with you.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie, he did come to look for Kenny. The fact that his and Hange’s goals aligned was a mere coincidence.

“If you have problem with us working together, then go and talk it out with Hange, explain why exactly you don’t trust her judgement. Just don’t pour all of your bullshit on me.”

“I trust her judgement,” in the semi-darkness of the kitchen, Erwin’s eyes flashed brightly, like a lightening during a storm. “I just don’t trust you.”

His anger growing, Levi already had a vicious enough retort, ready to spill out of his mouth. But just before he started talking, Erwin continued, interrupting his tirade. “Hange told me you had helped a lot today,” he tilted his head slightly to the side, considering Levi. “She said that this case can’t be solved without you. And while, I have my doubts about it, it seems that Hange has none. I don’t know what the hell she sees in you, but she trusts you and believes in you. And as I’ve said, I trust her.”

Hange… trusted him? Trusted him enough to tell her boss about it? Did she tell him about it? Or was it Erwin’s own assumption? If so, then, surely, Erwin was mistaken, surely, he got the wrong impression. Could he, though? Could a man as cunning and smart as him misjudge his own friend?

Levi forced these thoughts away, they were pointless and confusing. Right now, he had a more pressing question.

“So now what? You’ll let the two of us continue investigation?”

“I will,” Erwin nodded. “But if you hurt Hange in any way…”

Scoffing, Levi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I got it, you’ll hurt me.”

Erwin’s lips curled up in a smile that was devilish enough to send shivers down Levi’s spine. “In more ways than just one, Ackerman.”

But the moment passed, and the chilly expression was gone. “Hange is asleep,” Erwin said, pushing the hair back from his face. Up until this moment, Levi failed to take notice just how disheveled the other man looked. Was he that worried about Hange that he forgot to fix his less than immaculate appearance? “She told me that you can spend the night here.”

“Will you be watching over me all night then?” Levi asked, his voice still gruff, but not as biting as it was before.

“No,” shockingly, but Erwin sounded more at ease as well. “I entrust this investigation solely in Hange’s hands. She’ll be responsible for the end result and she’s responsible for you. Meanwhile, I need to catch some sleep as well.”

With that, Erwin turned around, walking out of the kitchen and heading in the direction of the front door. Reluctantly, Levi followed after him, cautiously watching him put on his boots and coat. Erwin’s hand was on the doorknob, when he twisted his face to the side, meeting Levi’s eyes.

“I’m giving you a second chance, Ackerman. Fuck this up and I’ll come for you.”

Levi nodded, expecting nothing less. From now on, he had to be more careful, he was sure that Erwin’s watchful eye would be following him everywhere. Just another complication to the already complicated case.

As soon as Erwin left, Levi walked into the living room, falling down on a couch. The couch was dusty, his clothes were filthy from rolling around on the floor in Ymir’s apartment, but he was too exhausted to go to shower, and he had no clothes he could change in, anyway.

Sleep was calling to him, more insistently with each passing moment. But before he closed his eyes and let himself succumb to the darkness completely, Levi pulled a phone out of his pocket. He came here to find Kenny, he hoped he would receive a clue about his whereabouts while searching their apartment. He found nothing there, but perhaps…

He dialed Kenny’s number.

One beep, two beeps, three, four…

Levi kept listening to the mechanic, measured sound until the call was disconnected. So, Kenny wasn’t picking up. Levi was disappointed, but not surprised.

He saw no reason in trying to call him once again and put his phone on a coffee table next to the couch. His eyes were already fluttering shut, when a loud vibration jolted him out of his semi-sleepy state.

Levi jumped a little, reaching out to his phone. He unlocked it, staring at the notifications with wide eyes.

He received three messages. From unknown number.

He hurried to open them.

Don’t go poking your nose into this wasp nest, Levi

And tell that detective of yours to quit either

Stop chasing after me. Leave before it’s not too late

With his fingers trembling so much his phone almost fell down, Levi dialed that number. The call went straight into voicemail.

“Fuck!” he threw the phone back onto the table, with more force than was necessary. Fucking Kenny and the games he was playing. Hadn’t he said that he trusted him? Evidently, he didn’t trust Levi enough to let him help with whatever shit he had involved himself.

Well, whether he wanted Levi to help him or not, it didn’t matter. Levi was coming after him. And he wouldn’t let Kenny’s lame threats stop him. Nothing would stop him, not until Levi found out what the fuck happened to his uncle.

Hold on for me, Kenny, he thought, on the verge of sleep, I’m coming for you.

[liluura]

teach winter how to dance, symm

@scattersouls // A lesson in etiquette.

The music was a dull backdrop to Satya’s evening, hardly much in the ways of entertainment but it was idle noise and it helped her focus. It kept her mind to the quiet lyrics and away from the litany of questions and business that ever plagued her thoughts; kept order.

It was ritualistic that Satya would clean her house on the top of the hour at seven PM, maintain it thoroughly with a strict regime. She would start upstairs then meticulously work her way down. 

It was as she was scrubbing the sides clean, descaling the sink area, that she habitually just started swaying to the music; not quite dancing but adjusting her cleaning to a rhythm. A small hum parted her lips, the soft scrubbing matching the beat and tempo.

It was a low chuckle that broke Satya from her revere, her gaze snapping upwards to Winter Schnee who had, prior, been working on her own projects though now her icy eyes seemed to rest solely upon the Architect who had frozen like a deer in headlights.

“I do suppose you did say you danced…” Winter mused, shrugging as she glances down to her papers once more to save Satya the embarrassment of being caught in the act. “My father insisted I learn how to dance for the balls he threw but it as never quite my forte.”

That embarrassment waned quickly and Satya arched a slender brow. Now, when Winter Schnee who was the epitome of elegance said dancing was not her thing, Symmetra was going to call bullshit. 

“Nonsense.” She remarks, fingers tapping to the counter before stepping over. “It is just like fighting and you are apt enough with your sword that those skills should carry over. Up.” The word is a command, finger beckoning the Specialist over; A Specialist who was reluctant at best to heed the command though, with coaxing Winter did relent and pull herself to her feet and approach the Atlesian woman.

“Now, dancing is a fluid movement that carries from one pose to another like your sword training and yet, you are using your arms as your main tool; your body is an extension of your core.” Satya’s hands settle upon Winter’s hips, guiding them with the quiet buzz of music; left to right, to left-…

“Usually, you find a loss of what to do with arms at this point but that is an act of improvisation and an art to perfect depending upon the music.” She continues, stepping a little closer and pulling her own arms away to extend up and then out in serpentine motions before settling upon Winter’s side once more. 

It was more than clear that there was some… hesitation and reservation about merely throwing herself into this and Satya could see it over the Specialists face. Would this truly hurt her pride? Who knew but she was not about to press too greatly. 

“Perhaps… something closer to-…” Words trickled away and with a small inhale, Satya moved into Winter’s personal space; moved flush with her hands slowly but surely curling around the other’s form. She offered no words now, resting her head to Winter’s shoulder as the Specialist soon returned the embrace and a slow swaying hug commenced.

“Satya…” Winter spoke after a moment, unmoving from the sweet embrace they held. “I can dance, I merely do not care to…” A Schnee being unable to dance? Somewhat unheard of and it would be an embarrassment to show up her father in such a way.

“I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“… Ah.” Satya’s face darkened ever so slightly, throat clearing as she motioned to pull away from their small moment of ill-timed swaying to music that had stopped playing at some point. “Think… little of it, Winter.” 

If it were anyone else that were trying to guide Satya back to return to their quiet moment, the woman would have snorted and pulled herself free but this was calming so she merely leaned herself back against Winter until either of them deemed the contact too much or Satya suddenly remembered the remaining cleaning she had left to do-…

One or the other.

[wonderlyshyah1995]

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[missstormcaller]

CAN’T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD Part 2 Full Translation

<<Prologue

Chapter 1

Hundreds of years ago - Seireitei - Governmental District.

"Why, why wasn’t that man sentenced to death!?"

It was an outcry that risked his life.

"I’d like an audience with the Central 46! Please!"

A young man continues to raise his voice whilst being blocked by the steel staff weapons being held up by the brawny guards.

There were no pupils in the eyes of the young man and it could be surmised from his meticulous movements that he was blind.

This blind young man seems able to perceive the state of affairs around him through sound alone, and it appears that he can also sense the ferocious aura of the guards that were standing in front of him.

Perhaps these gatekeepers were related to nobility, after all, the way in which they eyed the young man who appears to have come from Rukongai, revealed a look of clear disdain.

Nevertheless, the young man extends his hand beyond the gates without hesitation.

What came spilling out from the young man's mouth, is an outcry that demands condemnation of the crime. A genuine plea seeking enforcement of justice.

But never lending an ear to it, the guards raise their staves over the blind man.

The sound of chafed fabric. A rustling in the air, a stream of footwork.

The blind youth, perceiving all of it, understood that a guard was about to deal a merciless blow against him.

However, he does not try to avoid it.

Is it despair, or perhaps sorrow which hangs in that facial expression of his?

Either way, not even the slightest sign indicating that he may have shrunk back in fear could be found on that face.

That young man had already resolved to stake his own life the instant he arrived in this place.

Unaware of this fact, the guards thought nothing of it having assumed that he probably isn't attempting to dodge due to his blindness; without wavering on their nonresistant opponent, they swing down their weapons.

But then —— the sound of a violent collision reverberated as the guards’ strike repelled back.

" ! "

What met the guards' eyes, was a Zanpakutō still sheathed in its scabbard.

And the moment they saw the person who was holding it, the looks on the guards' faces stiffened.

"Please don't do anything that may cause a commotion. We are still in mourning for Kakyō san."

"Y-You're…"

"Leave it to me, I'll reason with him. You guys can return to your guard duties."

"Y-Yes sir!"

The blind young man was unable to comprehend what had happened at first.

His consciousness was captured by the name that was disclosed by the man who appears to have just rescued him.

Kakyō.

The very reason he had come to this place at the risk of his own life.

It is the name of an irreplaceable friend with whom he had spent his days in the Rukongai since childhood.

The man who had uttered that name then addressed the blind youth with a gentle voice.

"I recognise you. If I’m not mistaken, I believe you came to Kakyou san’s funeral."

"…You…know her?"

"She was a comrade. I’m also a Shinigami.… Although, perhaps I am incapable as a Shinigami when I couldn’t protect her back then."

The man who spoke with a grief-stricken expression held out a hand to the blind youth.

"Let’s move to some other place. You have nothing more to discuss with those stubborn guards, don't you think?"

"That’s right, you’re Tōsen Kaname kun aren’t you? Even at the squad barracks, she would mention your name from time to time. So I guess you were invited specially for the funeral service huh."

The blind young man —— Tōsen Kaname, is a resident of Rukongai, under normal circumstances he would be unable to freely travel in and out of Seireitei unless he was a Shinigami.

It was a special exception that one such as himself was admitted entry within Seireitei. 

"When she enlisted as a Shinigami, Kakyō san left behind a will ahead of time. We can't predict when we'll die in the battle against Hollows after all. If anything it's recommended by the Shinō academy."

According to the Shinigami who was an acquaintance of Kakyō, she had indicated within her will that "If I should die, I wish for my remains to be buried in Rukongai."

"It seems she wished to be buried at the foot of a hill where the stars could be seen. That place is known by her close friend, Tōsen Kaname."

"…Yes, I happen to know that hill."

What is revived in Tōsen's mind, is memories of a time when he would look up at the night sky together with his dear friend, at the side of a village located on top of a hill.

—— "I love the night sky. Kaname."

—— "Because, the night sky is like this world."

—— "Everything is wrapped in darkness, and there are many little lights."

—— "But, there are clouds that try to conceal them from sight."

—— "As for me, Kaname. I want to become the person who will sweep away those clouds."

—— "So that not even a single light will be allowed to go out. I will sweep away those clouds, Kaname."

Saying so as she raised her eyes to the stars, she eventually made her dream come true.

She gained the power and position in order to protect the light of the world.

Shinigami.

Constituting the foundation of the entirety of Soul Society, they are charged with the responsibility of world's circulation, guiding those who have made a life in the Human World to this one.

Driving out Hollows who were evil spirits and becoming the hope of the people.

Indeed she was given the right to protect the stars.

However, having realised her dream, she was unable to take the next step forward.

"…I heard that her husband was the one that killed her."

"Yes, that’s right. Her husband slayed a comrade of the same division over a trivial dispute, and then when she tried to admonish him for it, he even killed his own wife. That’s the truth."

"…Why, why did she… have to die?" 

At a Tōsen who had clenched his fist tightly in frustration, the man who was a Shinigami then replies.

"This is just my guess, but I think it's because she was a more honest person than any other… someone who continued to foster justice and peace."

That was something Tōsen could also understand.

His good friend Kakyō loved peace more than anyone. Valued justice more than anyone.

It is for this reason that she was prepared to stain her own hands with the blood of a Hollow.

"I also wondered if something like this would happen one day and I was always worried for her. She loved peace too much to persevere with Justice. If she had negated both love and peace, if she had only lived by nothing but a strict sense of justice, then quit conversely, she may have been the one to kill her husband. But, she was not able to do so."

"Do you mean to say that her hopes were wrong then!? I heard that the man who killed her won’t even be charged with this great crime!"

"That's why you sought an audience with the Central 46 huh?"

The Shinigami released a small sigh and continued to speak as if he was hesitant to do so.

"…Do you know about the Five Great Noble Clans?"

"I do not know the specific house names, but surely… they are the most prominent families among the nobles of the Seireitei…."

"The man who killed Kakyō san, is from the bloodline of one of those Five Great Houses."

" ! "

He knew that she was married to a Shinigami, but he’s never heard that it was into a family so distinguished that they were one of the Five Great Houses.

At the bewilderment of Tōsen, the Shinigami continued further.

"He does not belong to the lineage of the main house, rather, he is the descendant of a branch family. Although that man has no significant political power, a noble is able to have the crime of murder abated, even when it's a man in that sort of position. If he was a member of the head house, it would have been treated as if the murder itself was nonexistent, then I suppose things would be settled under the guise that Kakyō san was accused of treason and thus executed."

"How can that be! Such a thing is… absurd…!"

Tōsen reflexively raises his voice.

From the moment he heard that the man who had murdered his good friend would not be condemned for his heinous crime, in his heart, he had even considered that such a possibility existed.

However, he did not want to believe that such things would happen within an organisation that she herself had positively described as "a force for the sake of justice."

For this reason —— and particularly because he wanted to disprove it, he had come as far as this place to appeal directly to the Central 46 at the risk of his own life.

"The Shinigami, the Gotei 13, are they not a group that defends the peace and harmony of the Soul Society and the Human World!? Were Central 46 not the people who personify the principles of the world!?"

"The peace was defended. After all, nobility are also part of this world. Their peace was defended. And thus, surely the current Central 46 are a symbol of such an irrational world."

"……tch!"

Tōsen stood dumbfounded at the Shinigami’s assertion.

In response to this, the Shinigami grimaced in vexation as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I’m painfully aware of your feelings. I also think it’s peculiar no matter how one looks at it, that the likes of the man who killed her had his crimes overlooked. But that's the Soul Society for you. The Central 46 are under the thumb of the Five Great Noble Clans… particularly the Tsunayashiro clan who possess power."

Speaking with a sorrowful expression, the man balled up his fist tightly similar to Tōsen.——

After confirming that no one was in the vicinity, he began to ask a question in a quiet voice.

"Still, based entirely on that, I daringly want to ask you, her close friend."

"……?"

Although Tōsen's heart was being eroded by a resentment that knows no bounds, as if losing his mental battle at the man's serious tone of voice, he closed his mouth which was almost agape and listened attentively to the words of his companion.

"If, say, you or I had enough power to take revenge, do you suppose we should take it?"

"That's…"

"This is also a question of how we confront her wishes and dignity. Could it be… that she actually wants you, Tōsen kun, to avenge her?"

Tōsen couldn't see his companion's face nor the expression on it, but he could sense something akin to a slight bloodlust in every word this Shinigami uttered.

In contrast to that and as a result of regaining his composure, Tōsen manages to suppress his anger with some effort, at the same time he recalls the words of his dear friend as he began to craft his sentences.

For her comrade to be pushed to exude such a thirst for blood, that is far removed from the world she wanted.

As he frantically tried to reach an understanding within himself, Tōsen made an attempt to answer the Shinigami’s query.

"…I think she would not wish for us to avenge her. If that is her wish… then I also…"

However, his words stop there.

—— "I also have no desire for vengeance."

He found it impossible to disgorge that statement from his mouth.

He knew that she would likely never want another person to take up revenge on her account.

However, the emotions that were incessantly pulsing in the pit of his gut did not deem it acceptable to acknowledge that.

—— Her wishes have nothing to do with it.

—— Take revenge for yourself.

A mass of dark sentiment welling up from within makes an appeal to him, but Tōsen could not obey this voice.

Because he understands. If he allowed himself or some other person to yield to that hatred —— in that very moment, it would be as if she had greeted death a second time.

All proof that she was alive would become trampled underfoot, her hopes, butchered by his own hands.

Thinking that this was the last thing he would do, Tōsen formed his next words to replace his suppressed sentiments.

"I also… think I want to honour… her wishes, as well as the justice and peace she hoped for."

"I see…. You're right. She certainly loved peace. That’s why she lost her life… although, I do not think it was her weakness."

The Shinigami allowed his bloodlust to fade and continued to address Tōsen matter-of-factly.

"If it can be demonstrated that what she had prayed for was not a weakness, but a strength, then that is how people like yourself will live from now on, don’t you agree?"

"……"

"Please, live by inheriting her wishes. So that pointless bloodshed will not sweep through this world anymore.

"……"

It's not like he was able to accept the situation from the bottom of his heart at the Shinigami's say-so.

However, Tōsen realised that the man standing before him is someone who understood his good friend in the same way he did, he decided to thank the man for containing his hate ridden heart. 

"…Thank you​ very much."

"No, it is I who must thank you. In this way, a person like you will carry on her dying wish."

"Well, I don't really have that kind of right to…"

Even now he was so desperately restraining the indignation and loathing that was coming to the boil, and he felt quite unqualified to protect her will. In response to Tōsen who was thinking as such, the Shinigami begins to address him with a gentle smile.

"You don't need rights and whatnot to inherit a person's wishes, don't you think? She once said it herself. My own wishes are nothing extraordinary, like the stars in the sky, I simply want to protect something that just keeps on shining up there, it's that kind of modest hope."

"……"

The fact that she had spoken those words was perhaps proof that she truly had hope for her Shinigami comrades, including the man before his eyes.

Guessing as much, Tōsen was relieved that there was also a person among the Shinigami who respects her worth.

"Say… if you don’t mind, could you tell me your name?"

For this reason, he asked the man his name.

Because there is indeed another beside himself who had seen her inner self, because he would etch into his heart that the world is cruel but not without mercy.

And so, in a calm demeanour, the man spoke his name without hesitation.

"Certainly, my name is Tokinada. Tsunayashiro Tokinada."

"I'm sorry, did you say… Tsunayashiro sama…? ……. ……?"

At that point, Tōsen's thought process came to an instant halt.

A potent feeling of discomfort.

After all, a familiar name had just been uttered from the mouth of the man that stood before him.

—— No, but. Surely not.

—— I must be mistaken.

Observing the look on the face of Tōsen who had considered this and was about to question him a second time, the man shakes his head slightly.

"It’s no misunderstanding, nor did you mishear me, Tōsen Kaname kun."

"wha…?"

"You wouldn’t recognise my face of course, or even my voice for that matter. Phew, perhaps I could call it a fluke that I wasn't asked my name in the beginning. I don’t much like the idea of adopting an alias."

"Huh, what are you saying…?"

Tōsen was bewildered, but his guts cried out, his instincts lined up two contradictory words.

'Kill.'

'Escape.'

With that, intermingled feelings of hatred and fear began to course through the veins throughout his body.

However, his vital reasoning power could not keep up with it and Tōsen found himself unable to perform either action, confronted with this, the man informs his addressee of his own standpoint in a nonchalant manner.

"Let me say it once more. I, Tsunayashiro Tokinada… am the man who was your dear friend’s husband. Rather, now that things have come to this pass, perhaps I should say that I am the cause of your dear friend’s suffering."

"……"

"Well, I'm glad you won't be seeking revenge. It is a much more frightening prospect when, for instance, an ever-present grudge is borne against you by a destitute Rukongai dweller with nothing to lose, compared to noblemen who would consider their own self-preservation and think twice before bearing a grudge."  

The man who spoke shamelessly, placed a hand on Tōsen's cheek with an unwavering smile that remained on his face.

At the same time, Tōsen is struck by a chill that he’s never experienced before now.

His whole body was pierced with a heavy Reiatsu that was wholly grim unlike that which he had sensed from his dear friend, violent impulses emanating from within pinned him down with brute force.

The feeling of overwhelming fear even drowned out his instinctive screams of "escape".

"It was my intention to kill you if you had answered my earlier question with 'I want to avenge Kakyō’. It’s unpleasant to talk with fools who don’t understand her at all you know. It may be a different story with fellow Shinigami, but it won't become an issue regardless of however many Rukongai dwellers I kill."

He realised that the murderous intent that he sensed in the man’s words earlier was now directed at himself, though it no longer made a difference either way.

He couldn’t even begin to comprehend the meaning behind the words his companion was uttering. He didn’t want to.

However, it was enough to cause Tōsen's emotions to erupt and release his body from the fear that weighed so heavily on him.

Right in front of him, there is a man who claims to be the cause of his dear friend’s suffering.

Whether it was a lie or the truth, it no longer mattered.

Still, he could not allow a man who would point one to such ominous signs to talk of his dear friend.

Negative sentiment which had been locked away in the depths of his body until now, burst free and launched an attack towards Tsunayashiro Tokinada, the Shinigami before his eyes.

"————————————————————tsk."

A mute voice.

With a roar that was practically beast-like, Tōsen grabbed the man before him.

But then ——

"My wife’s good friend, why are you so angry?"

Tōsen’s world is sent spinning around him.

He was slammed against the ground from behind, rendering him immobile.

As far as he could tell, the taste of blood was spreading through his mouth and his limbs were paralysed with sharp pain.

A calm voice continues to resound above Tōsen who still tries to get up one way or another.

"Even my wife… even Kakyō would forgive me wouldn't she?"

"Y…. you…. You bastard…!"

Tōsen tries to shout towards the source of the voice, but the blood overflowing from his throat does not allow him to form his words properly.

"Didn't you just answer my earlier question? 'honour her wishes’ you said. If you care about my wife, then you would forgive me and forget about your hatred, you should live out your days within the peace that is preserved by us Shinigami, don't you think?"

"……Tch!"

"My wife would have also wanted you to do so. Please understand, for her sake too.”

Pushing his sheathed Zanpakutō against the throat of Tōsen who was trying to get up, Tokinada forces Tōsen back to the ground whilst crushing his throat.

"Of course, you probably have no power to take revenge from the very onset, for you cannot even use a single one of the Zankensoki*." (*Four basic Shinigami combat techniques)

Then, he called out to the guards who had gathered after hearing Tōsen's shouts.

"Hey, you guys. Isn't it about time you got down to business? This Rukongai citizen tried to raise a hand to me. Won't you quickly kick him out of here for me?"

"Y-Yes sir!"

The guards follow his instructions despite also feeling something inexplicably terrifying in the presence of this relative of the Five Great Noble Clans, who spoke this way with a smile still on his face. 

As he left Tōsen's side in the form of changing places with them, Tokinada opens his mouth to speak appearing as if he had remembered something.

"Oh, and let me tell you just so there's no misunderstanding. I have not lied to you at all. That a man like me was not adequately punished, it is truly a ridiculous world. Moreover, I think it’s regrettable that I couldn’t even protect Kakyou from the irrationalities of this world, I also understand that her wishes are a precious thing."

"————"

Though his throat was crushed, Tōsen still tries to yell something whilst scowling at Tokinada.

Because even he who was supposed to be blind could see it clearly.

Affixed to the face of the retreating Shinigami, a villainous smile filled with malice and pleasure.

"Nevertheless, I simply detest those wishes to the point where it it nauseates me."

And, even deeper than his anger towards such a man, Tōsen harboured a profound sense of despair towards a world that trampled on the hopes that his dear friend had embraced.

That day, the stars she looked up at —— never shined down on her.

It is she herself who is truly the light that illuminates the world, and even that is now lost for an eternity. 

The guards raise their staves overhead once more, above a Tōsen who was enveloped in deep despair and anger ——

This time, there was no one there to stop it.

Present time - A certain place in the Seireitei.

"Mu……"

There, a man wakes up.

"Oh my, that was a very nostalgic dream."

The man who was outstretched atop an extravagant throne-like easy chair, turned his attention to the scene of his dim surroundings.

The small figure, who first met his eyes, raises their voice as their eyes sparkled brightly in excitement.

"You’re awake?! Tokinada sama!"

"Ah yes, I had a nice dream. That’s a promising start huh."

"A dream? What kind of dream!? Tokinada sama!"

The man —— Tsunayashiro Tokinada, who was asked this question by the voice of a child still young, recalls what he had dreamed of just now with a "hrmm", he then contorted his lips into a wicked smile as he answered back.

"It’s a dream that is both nostalgic and pleasant. I can still remember it clearly. The moment a person’s heart fills with despair, it is truly a satisfying thing. No matter how many times I have savoured it, I will never get tired of the moment that boundless hatred directed towards me is defeated crushingly. Even if it’s inside a dream."

"Is that so? I do not quite understand, Tokinada sama!"

"Ah, that’s alright. You don’t have to understand anything. You are still very young after all."

Before Tokinada's line of sight, was a child clad in black garments similar in style to a Shihakushō.

The child did not bear a squad emblem or the like that would indicate their affiliation, this child is wrapped in an air that was somehow different to the ordinary inhabitants of Soul Society.

If one was to apply an approximate age by the standards of a human from the Human World, then the child would probably be around 15 years of age. It may safely be said that the child's features were plenty beautiful, but those features were androgynous and it could not be determined from appearances whether the child’s gender was male or female. Such was the outward appearance of the child.

"What was Hikone doing? It’s not like you were standing there upright until I got up, right?"

Then, the child named Hikone replies with an equally childlike smile playing on its lips.

"It’s true I was! I did exactly what Tokinada sama instructed me to do! Some people who were trying to kill Tokinada sama showed up, so I made sure to immobilise them!"

Accordingly, Tokinada shifts his attention to the scene around him once again.

A number of people clad in black clothing were collapsed and strewn about Hikone, some individuals were convulsing after having the bones in their limbs completely fractured.

Having judged from their attire that they were likely assassins recruited by the Four Great Noble Clans from the Onmitsukidō* (*stealth force), Tokinada slowly rises from his chair and lightly pats Hikone’s head.

"I see. Well done. I appreciate your efforts."

"Yes! Thank you very much! Tokinada sama!"

Hikone’s eyes were made to sparkle like a puppy’s while Tokinada slowly approached the assassins.

Standing in front of a person who still appears to be conscious, Tokinada then poses a question in a dispassionate tone.

"Come now, do you not believe that your clients are all dead? Why are you trying to carry out this task so dutifully?"

As Tokinada says so, he turns his eyes to glance at what was at his back.

A long table was positioned there with several people aristocratic in appearance, seated in chairs.

Given that they each had the same family crest as Tokinada sewn onto their clothes, it can be surmised that they are members of the Tsunayashiro clan.

However, they did not stir in the slightest.

Everyone had their throat or abdomen slit, it was a state of affairs in which one could clearly understand with a single glance, that they were all dead.

"Assassinate Tsunayashiro Tokinada huh. If one considers the general rule of thumb, the client, like me, is a prominent figure among the Tsunayashiro clan. However, evidently they are all dead. If you had simply run away without doing anything, it would have been a good opportunity to take the advance payment free of charge, would it not?"

"……"

The assassin held his tongue. It's possible that he was making an effort of not leaking even a shred of information pertaining to himself or his associates, but judging from the fact that he did not commit suicide, it could be inferred that the assassin was still watching for an opportunity to kill Tokinada.

Having analysed that, Tokinada curls his lips up in seeming delight before slowly clapping both hands together from above and below in order to commend the assassin.

"Wonderful. As soon as the request is received, you intend to carry through with it till the bitter end, even if the client is dead, I must pay my heartfelt respects to that sort of disposition… because I could never do such a thing."

"……"

In response to the assassin who was still glaring at him, Tokinada continued.

"Oh, as your reward, I’ll tell you something good. Your client is still alive. What I mean is, your actions were no fool’s errand."

"……?"

The assassin who remained collapsed, knit his eyebrows together in unease.

Although there was a middleman, it's likely they would have speculated that the request for the assassination of Tokinada had come from members of the same clan who had shunned him. 

Be that as it may, a short while ago Tokinada said "do you not believe that your clients are all dead?", but now he was saying an entirely contradictory thing, feeling a strange sense of discomfort at that, the assassin anticipated his opponent’s next words whilst waiting for an opening to kill him.

Then, Tokinada smiled as if soothing a child when he opened his mouth to speak.

"It's me."

"……?"

"It's​ me that put in the request to you guys, to have me killed."

"……!?"

At the puzzlement of the assassin, Tokinada continued.

"I turned the tables on the assassins that brought their daggers​ to the throats of the Tsunayashiro clan, and I found that everyone was already dead. A story that will no doubt invoke sympathy, don’t you agree?"

"…That's… absurd."

The assassin made a wry face in response to Tokinada who announces that he had them dancing right into the palm of his hands.

The person responsible for being the go-between, is bound to be the man who was the same Tsunayashiro clan protege as usual.

He wouldn't obey Tokinada who is a cancerous growth as far as the family is concerned.

But, as if mocking that speculation, Tokinada spoke.

"It's confusing huh? Well, it makes no difference to me whether you choose to believe it or not. Because assassins like you often carry feelings of despair from the very beginning. It’s more amusing to make people feel confusion than despair."

"What are you… trying to…"

Tokinada sneers at the assassin who was straining his voice.

"Why do you think I'm talking​ so indiscreetly about such a thing? Even if it has already been established that none of the 12th division’s Rokureichū* (*spirit recording bugs) and such has been brought into this residence, don't you think it's foolish to speak of my own scheme? I think it is foolish."

Tokinada places a foot on his opponent's fingers before trampling on them.

"Gah…!"

Whilst listening to the sound of several bones breaking, Tokinada laughs gleefully, in ridicule, and in delight. 

"However, I can’t help it. This bad habit. Even though I run the risk of being heard by someone, I wanted​ to see it! The bewildered face of a proud assassin like yourself! That facial expression!"

Thoroughly, slowly, Tokinada tramples down on every bone in the man’s body again and again whilst continuing to laugh.

Suddenly, that smile disappeared from his face and as soon as it did, he calmly shook his head while muttering to himself.

"Come to think of it, if you truly were proud, you wouldn’t even be the likes of an underling assassin of a nobleman now would you?"

Releasing a small sigh, Tokinada drew out his Zanpakutō from his waist.

Looking at that scene, Hikone called out to Tokinada while his eyes were made to sparkle as unchanged as before.

"That looks like fun! Tokinada sama!"

Tokinada slowly stabs his Zanpakutō​ into his opponent’s spinal cord, at the same time he returned a smile to Hikone.

"Indeed, it is certainly fun. Trampling down on something is fun. I easily get weary, but my heart will desire it once again in an hour or so."

After spending several hours finishing off each assassin, Tokinada wiped the blood off of his Zanpakutō as he called out to Hikone.

"Now then, let's go Hikone. I must inform the Seireitei that from today, I have become the head of the Tsunayashiro clan, replacing the grand elders who were killed by some ruffians."

"Yes! Tokinada sama! Uh, is it better for me to call you by the title of 'clan head’ from now on?”

"Don't worry about it. You and I are friends right? Just Tokinada is fine by me."

"That’s really okay!? Tokinada sama!"

Among the dozen or so corpses that lay scattered around them, Hikone's face is made to light up with an innocent smile.

Whilst gently brushing the androgynous child’s head, Tokinada flashed a particularly wicked smile before making an assertion.

"Really, it's no problem."

.

.

.

"After all, Hikone will eventually become the Soul King. Let’s go with an equal relationship."