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lizaloveslevihan · 3 years

Note

if you have some angsty writing energy rn: hc where jean notices that hange hasn’t fully grieved or come to terms with erwin and moblit’ deaths, so he gets over his fear of levi to ask him with how to help hange because he’s so concerned for her

Title: Hange-san

Ao3 Link: Here

Notes: I also got some inspiration from this beautiful art I saw on Twitter.

They weren’t really close by any standards. Thinking about it, they probably just had two or three conversations the entire time Jean had known him. But his utter devotion was enough to catch anyone’s attention. If he wasn’t screaming at her to take care of herself, he did it silently by running each tiny errand and sticking with her like glue. He always walked by her side — shoulders hunched from obvious stress, hair a little unkempt, but hazel eyes as bright as ever, taking in every word she said despite the obvious dark circles underneath them. It was almost as if her personality and lifestyle were being injected into him, giving him life.

Jean hadn’t really understood the nature of their relationship before — couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone so willing to put up with Hange-san’s eccentricities and borderline craziness, day in and day out, especially given their slightly above average wages. It hadn’t seemed romantic at first glance by any means (he would have gotten a different vibe from them if it were the case) but rather, it was fueled and strengthened by a strong sense of loyalty and attentiveness. Those in the Survey Corps had dedicated their hearts to fighting titans and ensuring freedom for humanity, and though vice-captain Moblit Berner essentially did the same, it was as if a large chunk of his heart was dedicated only to Hange-san.

Jean paused, taking that new idea in. He stood outside the newly-appointed commander’s office, the journal he found tucked securely at his side. He had been hesitant to see her, especially after yesterday. She had asked him privately, eyes devoid of any emotion, tone full of anguish, if he could clean and clear out the former vice captain’s room. He understood her pain and had somehow expected this request — they were all grieving, having lost all those people — but he didn’t expect to feel pain over the task given to him.

His room was neat enough when Jean entered it yesterday morning. The bed was made, the shelves free of dust, and each article of clothing folded neatly inside his small closet. The only thing out of place was his desk which had mountains of paperwork that still lay on top of it.

He didn’t know him that well. They weren’t really close. But as Jean shuffled through and organized every piece of paper, every work of art, each sketch of an unfamiliar face, he felt his chest tightening. He vaguely remembered the vice-captain being an excellent artist, but he didn’t realize just how talented he was.

For some reason, he wasn’t surprised to see Hange-san’s face more so than the others. He had drawn her messy hair and wild eyes so perfectly that Jean felt as if he wasn’t worthy to even touch those pieces of paper. Some of them were hastily drawn, some with exquisite detail. He also saw sketches of her with captain Levi, and his eyes widened at one particular portrait where he was drawn gripping his teacup and smiling at her tenderly.

Damn it, Jean thought as he gingerly placed those papers back down on the desk. He would have loved to take lessons from the vice-captain if he only knew just how amazing he was. He had always been passionate about making art and drawing things he saw in his dreams back when he was younger. But of course, he had buried it in the face of reality. Seeing these sketches lit up a fire inside him. A fire that both consisted of his long-lost passion and the grief and sorrow he had tried to conceal ever since they returned from Shiganshina. He had looked around the room and let out a deep breath. No, he couldn’t allow himself to linger too much on those thoughts. He knew if he kept thinking about the warm, artistic vice-captain, he would be plunged into a deep abyss. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop seeing every single face that they lost, especially him. Especially that warm, freckled face full of joy and compassion. That face which had looked at him with so much respect and admiration.

Shaking his head, he forced his mind to turn blank. He started to stack all those papers neatly on top of one another, finally freeing the desk of its mess. However, that was what exactly led him to find the dreaded journal whose contents would continue to haunt him for the rest of the day.

Jean shook his head and looked up, staring at the door to her office. He had been plagued by those thoughts since that task. The commander had ordered him to drop all of his things in her office and so far Jean had made two trips without her being in there. He had a feeling, however, she was behind those doors this time around. He internally debated with himself if he should enter now or wait for her to go to town, seeing as she had a meeting with Zackley later today. However, before he could even decide, the door swung open. Jean jumped up, a little startled, and was met with captain Levi’s usual impassive expression.

“What are you doing here, Jean?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow. He crossed his arms and lingered at the doorway.

“I, uh,” Jean started, scratching the back of his neck and trying to keep eye contact as much as possible, “I’m here to hand the commander some of—”

“It’s Hange,” the captain cut him off, now closing the door behind him. “I know you’re obligated to call her by that title, and that’s fine for formal occasions, but I want you to keep calling her what you and the other brats call her as much as possible, alright?”

The captain didn’t elaborate any further, which made Jean a little uneasy. He gripped the journal tighter and nodded. He already had a good feeling as to why he would ask such a thing.

“At ease,” the captain spoke quietly, placing a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “You and the brats did well.” Jean looked down and saw… pride? relief? emotions that weren’t normally seen behind the captain's light gray eyes. He allowed himself to briefly recall what had happened on the rooftop. How the captain kept moving forward despite all the pain and loss he endured was unbeknownst to Jean. But then again, that’s what all of them have been doing ever since they joined the Survey Corps, wasn’t it? Is this how his life would always be like? Taking in loss after loss and moving forward from each friend? Forced to kill others with no hesitation? Valuing certain lives and sacrificing others? Clearing out each empty bedroom after every mission? As he was nearing that dark abyss, the captain pulled him out by saying: “Don’t blame yourself with what happened with Reiner, alright? If I only had killed him before he transformed, maybe we wouldn’t have been in this goddamn mess.” the captain recalled briefly, shaking his head and scrunching his eyebrows, “Hange’s inside. Don’t linger too much. She still has a lot of things to do.” and with that, he made his way past Jean and went off across the hallway.

Jean couldn’t help but stare after the captain. He had already come to terms with the fact that it was him who let Reiner get away. That it had all been his fault. But here was the captain, who, the same as Hange-san, took the blame and responsibility for letting the armored and beast titan escape. He felt that it came from more than their positions as superior officers but from their genuine kindness. Their desire to look over everyone. He felt both comforted and pained because of it.

He also couldn't help but think of what the vice-captain had said about captain Levi in his journal...

He shook his head once again. They needed time. He needed time. He already had enough things to deal with because of the damn journal. With a deep sigh, he walked towards the commander’s office and knocked thrice on the door. After he heard a small, muffled “come in,” he pushed it open and was surprised to see her not behind her desk, but standing by the window, looking out at the training grounds across them.

“I’ve brought the last of his things, Hange-san,” Jean said as he closed the door behind him. When she didn’t respond, he shuffled his feet nervously and looked around the office. Bookshelves were covering both sides of the wall, a large desk pressed at the very back, littered with numerous paperwork and books, and the two large windows on either side of which. It felt a little stuffy if he were being completely honest. He had been to Hange-san’s lab before where things were much more chaotic and disorganized, but much more full of life. This place, well, felt like it didn’t belong to her at all.

Which was pretty much a given, considering she had just moved in. The place still embodied the late and great Erwin Smith.

After a few seconds passed, she finally turned around and flashed him a small smile.

It was obviously forced.

“Thank you, Jean,” she spoke, walking up to him and gently taking the journal from his outstretched hands. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she inspected the object. “I… forgot this existed.”

Jean simply nodded, not really knowing what to say. He still felt incredibly awkward.

The commander kept looking at the old, worn-out book as she took a seat behind her desk. She still hadn’t removed the bandages that covered her damaged eye. “This was what he always carried around whenever we did the experiments on those titans. Even if we weren’t doing them, actually. I remember him telling me how his life’s work was here, should he die in the field. How I should inherit it, on the assumption that I’d live longer than him…”

Jean would have had no problem with this conversation if only he didn’t open the book and flipped through the pages himself. Yes, he would be pained, but not as pained if he didn’t read through the long letters that the vice-captain had left in that book. If he hadn’t digested every tiny sketch and word. He had no business in doing so, perhaps he could even get punished should Hange-san find out what he had done, but he couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked within him. Only if he could turn back time. He wished he’d never read those letters. It was just too much.

“He… saved you, didn’t he Hange-san?” Jean muttered respectfully, his body incredibly stiff. She looked up at him, her face just so tired. “When Bertholdt transformed, he pushed you to safety…?”

“I knew it would come to that one day.” the commander said both wistfully and solemnly, “I’ve always been a handful. Careless. Absentminded. Reckless.” she listed off, drumming her fingers on the wooden desk, “I keep getting too close to the mouths of titans. I was more than okay with dying. Especially if it meant I had contributed one way or another to humanity’s freedom. There was this myth I had read before, you know? It was in a storybook meant for children to warn them to never leave the walls.”

At this, she stood up and started walking around the room. “It was a tale of this child who was given wings by his uncle, or was it his father? I couldn’t quite remember. They were trying to escape and leave this tower by flying away. The older man had warned him not to fly too close to the sun, but the boy, being this curious little thing, didn’t listen. Thus, his wings were burned and he fell to his death.” the commander laughed bitterly, her fingers trailing the bookshelves on the left side of the room, “He had always warned me not to fly too close to the sun, Jean. But I still did. Instead of me, it was him who suffered the consequences. It makes me wonder… what if one day, I’ll have this chance again? What if I fly, soaring through the clouds, and my recklessness or heroism or whatever the rest of you would call it, would cause me to fly too close to the sun?”

Jean wanted to leave. He didn’t like the words that were coming out of the commander’s mouth. He wanted to shut himself in his room and maybe sleep this whole thing off. He didn’t want to think about her dying, or anyone for that matter, especially after the loss they were still trying to deal with. That story upset him more than he realized, especially since it didn’t seem too far-fetched at this point, considering all the gruesome deaths he had seen. He knew it was the grief talking and the pressure from her new position, but still, it unnerved him to see someone he always knew was filled with life looking so dead inside.

“You meant a lot to him, Hange-san,” Jean replied, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. You meant a lot to him more than anyone in this world, if he were being completely honest. “We always want to keep the people we care about safe, sometimes even if it means sacrificing our lives. He will always live on, in you — in us. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Jean didn’t really know what he was saying — the words he uttered felt meaningless in the grand scheme of things — but he knew they were words that needed to be said. After reading those things, well, he felt as if he needed to give her as much assurance as possible.

The commander gave him a tight-lipped smile, her remaining eye tearing up. She approached him, and it was only then Jean finally noticed how she had a slight limp in her step. How her shoulders were tight and slumped forward. She placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded at him. “Thank you, Jean. You don’t know how much that means to me. You’re a great kid and I hope you know that you’ve proven to be an invaluable asset to not only the Survey Corps but to humanity as well. And,” Jean met her eye and his chest tightened once again in seeing it glimmer with a sense of pride, “thank you for cleaning Moblit’s room. I could have done it myself but…”

“I understand, Hange-san,” Jean said, his voice surprisingly reassuring despite the overwhelming amount of emotions he felt. She finally said his name. “I really do.”

The commander smiled a little brighter this time — the most genuine one yet, “Thank you.” and Jean felt that statement didn’t only apply to this situation. “Once we settle everything with Zackley, I’ll let you kids take a much-needed break. You mentioned your mother lives in Trost, is that right?”

“Yes, along with the rest of my family,” Jean replied, the prospect of seeing his mother again warming him up. He still wasn’t able to visit her due to the situation at hand, but he was eager to finally do so. He had always been reluctant in the past due to his embarrassment, but now he understood how superficial those fears were. He was so lucky, luckier than most, that he still had a family to go back to at the end of the day.

The commander nodded before squeezing his shoulder. “Make sure the rest of your squad finishes up their reports, alright? I want them on my desk tomorrow morning.”

“Understood, Hange-san.” Jean nodded in return, offering her a small smile.

She finally stepped away and Jean took this opportunity to carefully walk to the door. However before he could open it, the commander called him once more.

“Don’t blame yourself over anything, alright?” she said, crossing her arms, her voice now laced with a sense of authority, “It was always my decision. It was always my responsibility. I hope you remember that.”

He felt a knife pierce at his heart from her words — the same words the captain had told him no less than twenty minutes ago. He recalled the letters he had read from the vice captain’s journal and Jean couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He wondered briefly if he should get Hange-san to leave for her meeting with Zackley first before opening up the book and reading through everything in it, something Jean was sure she was going to do once he left her alone. But how could he possibly tell her without causing suspicion? How could he possibly tell her that whatever she was about to read could potentially break her? More so than she already was?

He couldn’t, because he shouldn’t have read those things in the first place. He shouldn’t have let his curiosity get the best of him. So instead, he simply nodded and quietly muttered a “thank you” before leaving.

He went down the other hallway to make sure he wouldn’t come across captain Levi. He needed to clear his thoughts before he could face them anytime soon. Jean wondered what his reaction would be if he read those letters as well. He let out a large sigh. Either way, it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Hange-san’s.

*******

The next couple of days had been surprisingly normal enough. They had filed reports, went into countless meetings after the other to discuss the situation regarding what they had found in Shiganshina, all the while still sending letters to each family who had lost a member in the battle. He didn’t see much of the commander other than the times they had to present themselves to Zackley, during which she acted completely fine — delivering each line with that of a smooth and authoritative manner. Other than that, she was gone — either in her office or delivering each letter of condolence personally. When he heard of that, his respect for her had grown even more immensely. She was an unbelievably kind and compassionate leader, and Jean felt even more honored to be working with her.

The promised day-off eventually came. Hange-san could only give everyone three days, seeing as recruits were going to be entering the Corps soon which meant Jean and the rest of his friends had to work on training them. Either way, he was glad to be getting some time to spend with his family. His mother was for sure going to dote on him to no end, but surprisingly, he was looking forward to it.

Already dressed in his civilian attire with his carry-on pack by his shoulder, Jean made his way to the commander’s office once more to inform them of his departure. He had visited Sasha earlier at the hospital and was pleased to know that she would be discharged later today and would be going to her family straight after. He offered to wait for her and drop her off himself, still wary of her injury, but Connie had offered to do it in his place. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin having no place to go opted to go around town for the day, and Floch had already left to visit his own family which basically meant Jean was the only one left in headquarters.

He finally rounded the corner and was about to knock on the old wooden door when he heard a loud crash followed by a screaming match. He immediately stepped back, feeling his blood run cold at the sounds. Only two people could possibly be behind those doors, and he didn’t like that he was hearing any of these things right now. He was lucky that the doors were thick enough to muffle the details of their conversation or their screaming match, but he still picked up on certain sentences.

“He would know exactly what to do next!”

“You’re not supposed to be him! Don’t you understand that?!”

Should I just leave? Make a run for it? Hange-san would surely understand, Jean thought to himself, panic building up in his chest. He recalled that time in his childhood where his parents would fight over food or jobs or whatever adults had fought about. He always felt uncomfortable and disheartened, thinking his parents hated each other and would never get along again. He didn’t like seeing the ugly things that had transpired between them. However, before he could even decide, the door suddenly slammed open, but this time, instead of captain Levi, Hange-san came out, walking briskly and angrily. She didn’t even notice Jean standing there and moved past him, shoulders scrunched together, a frustrated hand running through her already messy hair.

“Oi! Hange!” captain Levi exclaimed, suddenly appearing by the door frame, running a hand through his hair as well. The bags under his eyes were deeper, as usual, his cravat loose around his neck. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but it was obvious it was not in a good way. He was about to kick the door frame when he finally noticed Jean.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

His voice was a little hoarse, and a chill ran down Jean’s spine as he took all of it in. This was too personal, this was none of his business, and so why was he getting roped in again?

“I was just about to report my departure to Hange-san—”

“Well, she’s obviously not here anymore,” the captain cut off in frustration, his eyes narrowing up at him. Jean didn’t like how he was seeing a new side to captain Levi, didn’t like seeing him so frustrated and lost. “Goddamnit what have I done…” he muttered to himself.

Jean could have just told him he was leaving. He could have just nodded and excused himself, headed straight to the stables, and made his way back to Trost. They would eventually forget about this incident as it would cool down, and all would be well.

But Jean remembered the letters. He remembered those words. He remembered her tired, broken expression from days ago. Jean knew what it was like to be a leader — to have people look up to you and count on you. He knew how it felt to think you weren't good enough, to think you weren’t special and how people shouldn’t trust you because you lacked certain skills or that you weren’t perfect enough. He looked at the captain, stared right into those intimidating gray eyes, and felt a surge of confidence within him.

“Captain, you know her better than anyone else,” Jean spoke, reiterating the Moblit Berner’s words, “What can I do to help her?”

The captain was slightly taken aback by Jean’s words. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “Why are you—”

“Because I care about her.” Jean said firmly, “And I respect her. And I want to help.”

Captain Levi simply stared at him. Jean would be lying if he said he didn’t feel awkward. They were still soldiers, after all. Captain Levi was still his superior officer, and having heart-to-heart conversations was something they didn’t essentially do. There wasn’t any room for sharing feelings — it opened up vulnerability and that was something you couldn’t have out in the field. Especially since the battlefield they now had was much wider than before.

Jean was prepared to get shrugged off. He was prepared to leave without getting any answers. But the captain had sighed, fixed the cravat around his neck, and spoke softly: “Come inside.”

It was now Jean’s turn to be taken aback. Nevertheless, he followed the captain inside and was even more taken aback by the sight in front of him.

The commander’s desk and seat were turned upside down, forcibly, he presumed, with books and papers scattered around it. He stopped in the middle of the room and heard the captain sigh as he closed the door behind him. “Help me fix this shit, Jean. I can’t have this lying around here.”

Jean didn’t ask any more questions. He already knew the answers as to how this had happened. He wanted to know why, of course, to satisfy his curiosity, but at the same time, he didn’t. He dropped his satchel on the floor and proceeded to pick up the scattered papers and books, making sure not to step on them as much as possible. The captain also did the same, kneeling down and gathering everything in his arms. Once they were finished, they placed everything on the corner of the room, underneath the right window, and started to turn the desk upright once more. Jean took one side, the captain taking the other, and together they lifted and placed it back where it had originally sat. After which, Jean took the chair and pushed it back against it while the captain took the books and paper and placed everything neatly the desk. They worked in silence the entire time — the friction from their fight or whatever had happened in here a few moments ago, still lingered and Jean was afraid to pierce through it.

“I had served under two commanders,” the captain said suddenly as he filed through each piece of paper. Jean looked up and stared at him. “Shadis was alright — you already know most of his story anyway, but he was still a good leader. He had the drive, but still lacked some of the talents. And then Erwin came along…”

Captain Levi let out a deep sigh as he started inserting some of the papers in between the pages of a book. “Erwin... was a special man. He was one of the greatest assets to humanity. I don’t think I really need to tell you any more now, do I?”

He was right. Erwin Smith had been a special man. He was one of the greatest minds Jean had ever seen. He was an incredible strategist, an inspirational and respectable figure — all that and more. He had a feeling, however, that it wasn’t really about that. Jean was sure the captain just didn’t want to talk about him in general, at the moment. And really, who could blame him? Especially after what had happened on the rooftop?

Jean shook his head and looked down. A few tense seconds passed before the captain continued: “He never made any miscalculations. We all had a feeling Hange would be next in line and we had been right. Hange was the only one who had stood up to him, the one to push forward ridiculous and extreme ideas that could have gotten all of us killed. She thought differently and wanted to look at things from a different perspective. Hange…” at this, Jean looked up to see the captain’s expression light up, “was always the best choice. All of us knew this. All of us but her.”

He sighed and started to mindlessly look through some of the books now. “It’s not easy, being in her position. She thinks she doesn’t deserve it. But she does. I’ve been with Hange for a long time now, Jean. I know you brats are there, but we’re the only ones who just… have each other left. She was there when I had first entered the Corps and had been with me ever since. But Erwin and Moblit? They had been with her way before I was ever in the picture.”

It was the first time he had mentioned the vice captain’s name, and Jean had to stop himself from thinking too much about the letters again. One would think he’d get over it at this point, but it was much harder than he thought.

He continued once more: “Anyway, I’ve never been good with this shit, Jean. But you brats are just real nosey, huh?” he said, and Jean couldn’t tell if he was being serious or playful — maybe both. “The truth is, you being concerned and sticking your nose up to where it doesn’t belong is already helpful. You being here, following each command, and being the leader that you are is helpful. Just by staying alive, you’re already helpful. You, well, you’re already fucking helpful if you ask me. Hange knows this, and it may not look like it, but she’s thankful for all the little shit you and the brats do.”

It had taken him a few seconds to fully understand what the captain had meant, but he eventually did. Jean didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting, but those words flowed through his heart and made him feel good inside. He didn’t realize he was already doing enough. He was just doing the bare minimum, wasn't he? But the captain had a point. If he continued to stay by their side, to stay by Hange-san’s side and follow her wherever she had lent them, then it could help erase the doubts she had regarding her position. Just by staying alive, he was helping her feel better. Just by being there for as long as possible — just like Moblit and Erwin, like captain Levi — was enough.

But he also had a feeling that the captain didn’t want him, or any of his friends, to worry about their situation. He couldn’t explain it, but those were just the sort of parents did for their children. And though Jean would probably never admit it, Hange-san and the captain were quickly stepping up to be parental figures to them already.

The captain finally took out a single piece of paper from the stacks and held it up slightly. Jean saw it had been the sketch of him and Hange-san, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Vice-captain Moblit was really talented, wasn’t he?” Jean finally spoke up. The captain nodded in front of him and traced the outline of Hange-san’s smiling face on paper.

Captain Levi’s lips twitched a little upright. “He really was.”

*******

Though the journey back home was a long and tedious one, Jean was grateful to have had the time to himself to ponder on his thoughts. Captain Levi ordered him, or was it a friendly suggestion? not to speak about this to Hange-san. He then parted to look for her which enabled Jean to finally leave.

He thought a lot about the letters, about the myth Hange-san had told him days ago, about the captain’s words, and even about the late commander Erwin.

The sun was setting when he had arrived home. As he passed through the neighborhood he grew up in, he couldn't help but feel both excited and terrified. The threat of the titans was now over, right? But now they were facing an even bigger menace. Would his home be safe? Would the people they had fought so long to protect inside the walls be safe?

“Jean-boy!”

He turned and saw her face. She stood at the front of their house which surprisingly looked the same after all this time. She was excitedly waving her hand, and once he got closer, he saw that tears were falling from her eyes. Once he stopped in front of her, he quickly dismounted his horse and enveloped him in her arms.

“You’ve grown so big! Oh my boy!” she exclaimed, clutching the back of his shirt and pressing her face against his chest. Jean hugged her back eagerly and tried his best not to let his emotions take over. But it had been a long couple of days. His body still ached from the battle, his brain was consumed by too many thoughts, and his heart still grieved the lives of all of the people they had lost. He couldn’t believe he had taken her warmth and comfort for granted so many times. Who did he think he was, trying to shove her out of his life because he didn’t want to be embarrassed?

“I’m home, mom,” he said, finally closing his eyes and inhaling her scent. She laughed happily before disentangling herself a little, looking up at him to study his face. Her eyes were watery, the lines around them having deepened. Her hair also started to have gray streaks and Jean felt his heart ache at the sight of her much older form. “I have your favorite already waiting for you in the kitchen. I also cleaned your room so you better change and wash up before we eat dinner, alright? I’m so glad you’re here my Jean-boy.” she said, hugging him again.

He truly was home.

*******

A wave of nostalgia hit him the moment he had entered his childhood room. True to her word, everything was neat and tidy. His bed was made, desk free of any clutter, and the window was left a little open to let some of the breezes go in. He exhaled, closing the door behind him and moving to lay on his bed. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted and wanted nothing more now than to close his eyes and sleep. He wondered what the others were doing at this very moment. They had been through together so much that it felt weird not to have any of them near him. It was probably the first time in a long time he was going to sleep in his bed, in his own room, without anyone else around. Letting out a deep sigh, he willed himself to stand up, grab the satchel he had brought with him, and place the contents atop his desk.

As he rummaged through his things, he wondered if there was something he still could do for Hange-san. Though he took the captain’s words to heart, he couldn’t help but feel like doing something for her either way. Something that wasn’t too outrageous that would give her the wrong idea. Something that he himself would do, something that was uniquely his. Afterall, the captain said that just by doing what he did, he would be able to help. He eventually found his answer when he opened one of the drawers of his desk and found his old sketches and art supplies from long ago.

He immediately stopped what he was doing and gingerly took out his old artworks. The passion he felt was still there, tingling the back of his neck as he stared at the portrait of the woman he had seen in his dreams. His lips tightened as he realized that the woman he had drawn resembled Mikasa so much. He really only had eyes for her from the very beginning, huh? Shaking his head, he looked through some of his old work and realized then and there exactly what he needed to do.

He may not be as good as the vice-captain, but it was the least he could do. Besides, maybe once he went through with this little project, he would finally be able to release all his thoughts about this matter. He was relieved to see there was still some paper and pencils left. Nodding his head, he closed the window, placed the papers back down, and proceeded to change into a cleaner and much more comfortable shirt. He’ll have time to do this later after dinner. But for now, there some much-needed time to be spent with his family.

*******

He found himself back in front of the commander’s office once again, days later. This time, he carried with him two scrolls of paper. He stopped and listened intently, making sure no one was arguing behind the doors before knocking.

He let himself in the moment he heard Hange-san’s voice. She was seated behind her desk, finally sporting a dark patch on her injured eye. “Ah, welcome back, Jean. Did you need anything from me?” she asked as Jean closed the door behind him.

“I just came by to drop some things off for you, Hange-san,” he spoke lightly, feeling incredibly nervous. He scratched the back of his head as he approached her quietly.

She looked so much better this time around. She had discarded her military coat and her bolo tie was tied securely around her neck for the world to see. Her glasses were impeccably clean and gleamed when she looked up at him, her hair nicely framing her face. She seemed much more relaxed, and it didn’t feel like when she was going through meetings and such where she acted fine. This time, she actually did look genuinely alright and at peace.

Jean wondered how she and the captain had spent those three days. He had a feeling, once again, that they had spent it together. He could tell that the captain had something to do with the improved state she was currently in. Either way, Jean was happy to see her like this.

“I… had seen vice-captain Moblit’s sketches,” Jean started right off at the bat, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of this than it already was. He saw more than the sketches, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. The commander didn’t look upset or surprised, which made Jean continue: “And I had been sort of an artist too, you see, but obviously not as good as him.”

He carefully handed her the two scrolls of paper, and she raised an eyebrow before taking it from his grasp. “When I returned home and saw my old work, I realized that I wanted to do something for you, Hange-san. No one put me up to this, and I hope, for my sake, you don’t tell the others.”

He added that last part, a light blush dusting his cheeks. If any of his friends found out about his old hobby, they would tease him to no end and demand to see some of his old work.

She carefully inspected the two scrolls before putting down the second one and gingerly opening the first. She gasped, her hand flying straight to her mouth as she looked on and stared at the portrait in front of her.

“Oh Jean…” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “I can’t believe you did this.”

Jean had a pretty good memory of things. He remembered the vice captain’s worried, concerned face. He remembered the former commander’s authoritative expression. And of course, how could he forget captain Levi’s tiny smirk or Hange-san’s bright eyes?

It felt awkward, putting those visions on paper. He felt his heart clench at the sight of his portraits. But he powered through, and Hange-san’s expression made it all worth it.

She traced her fingers over the etched lines. She lingered, he noticed, over commander Erwin’s and vice-captain Moblit’s face. She smiled and laughed brightly as tears now streamed from her remaining eye. Jean had drawn them all together, side by side, arms around one another. It had been a product of his imagination, but he had to admit it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“Why? How?” she said, her voice breaking. She placed down the paper and gently removed her glasses to wipe some of the tears from her face.

Jean looked down and shuffled his feet, “He never really had any portraits of all of you together. I thought well, that shouldn’t be the case.”

“Do I even want to know what’s in the other one?” she said teasingly before clearing her throat and putting her glasses back on. Her smile was absolutely infectious, and Jean was happy it was seemingly etched permanently onto her face.

“I think you do,” he said, clearing his throat as well. That particular portrait was the first one he had finished, and he loved how it had turned out. He was also grateful for the creative outlet. He had to admit, he missed indulging in these kinds of things. Who knew when the next time he’d be able to do something like this again?

Hange-san laughed — a bright and beautiful melody that continued to light up the room. She shifted her attention to the unopened scroll, picked it up, and proceeded to unroll it. However, unlike the first one, she remained silent, her eyes widening at the sight. A few minutes had passed before she pursed her lips, her fingers shaking a little, before rolling it back up and setting it back down on her desk. She studied Jean carefully, and he could tell that perhaps she was picking up on the idea that he may have read those letters. Nevertheless, she stood up, shook her head, and quickly strolled to him and hugged him.

“Thank you, Jean,” she said after a few seconds, and Jean allowed himself to snake his hands behind her and hug her back. He closed his eyes and a small part of him reprimanded himself for being so soft, for sticking his nose into other people’s business, for doing all of these rather embarrassing things. But life was short. He needed to express his feelings to others before it was too late. He needed to tell people he cared about them before it was too late. He felt the magnitude of her gratitude from those small, common words. From the way she had tightly clutched the back of his shirt. They pulled away — the hug being a rather brief and short thing, just as captain Levi entered the room.

“What are you two doing?” he asked, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms. Jean turned around to see a curious and wary expression on his face. Hange-san laughed behind him, and Jean then and there witnessed how the captain softened at the sound. His shoulders relaxed, his lips parted slightly, and his eyes gleamed in wonder.

“Nothing,” Hange-san sang as she approached him. “Are you ready to go?”

“The horses are already waiting for us,” the captain said gruffly, but Jean could tell he was pleasantly surprised by the commander’s tone and attitude. “What are you and Jean—”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” she spoke heartily, moving to grab her civilian coat from the coat stand by the door. “We’ll be meeting with some of the press, alright Jean? We’ll be back later tonight. I believe Levi over here is planning on cooking for everyone.”

“Oi! That was supposed to be a secret!” the captain exclaimed, his eyes sneering at her. Hange-san shrugged before approaching Jean and laying a hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him once again which Jean reciprocated. She whispered another “thank you” before patting his head affectionately. “Please don’t tell the others, Hange-san,” he spoke quietly, only for her to hear.

“I won’t.” she assured, “But you have to know that I can’t keep anything from this grump right here,” she said, her head tilting towards the captain’s direction.

“What are you idiots talking about?” the captain eyed suspiciously, moving to approach them.

“I know.” Jean scoffed, his eyes gleaming. Hange-san nodded before swiftly looping her arm around the captain’s and dragging him out the room. “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

Jean followed them out the door and saw their figures moving down the hallway. Captain Levi stopped her suddenly as if asking her once again what she and Jean had been doing. The commander laughed before patting his head affectionately which then made the captain gently kick her leg. He then started to inspect her coat, straightening it out before buttoning the front. Jean shook his head at the soft and sweet gesture in front of him. He looked back inside the office to where the drawings he had and quietly went back in and approached the desk.

He carefully lifted the second scroll and opened it. He didn’t really know what kind of reaction he was expecting from Hange-san, but so far she didn’t really give away anything obvious. He was certain that she had read those letters. But it felt as if she just wanted to move on from them, and thinking about it, that would be the best course of action wasn’t it?

He stared at the portrait. They weren’t really close by any standards. Thinking about it, they probably just had two or three conversations the entire time Jean had known him. But his utter devotion was enough to catch anyone’s attention. Jean hoped he was able to catch them and had translated it properly on paper. There were hundreds of sketches of Hange-san and everyone else, but there weren’t any of just them together. He had drawn him the way he knew him — face scrunched up in concern as he looked onto her. He had a hand placed on her shoulder, and Hange-san was laughing at whoever was in front of her.

Slowly, with his other hand that wasn’t holding the portrait, Jean placed a fist over his heart in a salute.

Thank you for dedicating your heart.

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

I’ve decided to start writing to you like this in the event I should get a heart attack and die from your irresponsibility. I also needed to let out my frustration through a healthy matter. I really don’t understand as to why you would charge headfirst into a forest, all by yourself, and try to capture a titan. How you managed to get away with screaming at the commander and still having all your limbs attached today is a miracle. I’m glad Captain Levi and his squad were able to intervene and help stop you from getting eaten. I’m glad you’re okay. At this time, you’re currently locked in your room, devouring whatever is inside the notebook you found. Maybe you’ll finally be able to convince commander Erwin with your discoveries? Still, you could have died. No matter how much I try to stop you, you always try and go at it, huh?

That was so very stupid of you. How are you so brilliant and stupid at the same time?

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

DID YOU REALLY ALMOST FALL OFF THE WALL?! I’m so glad my grandmother forbade me to curse because I would have exclaimed a variety of colorful language at you during that entire situation.

It was our first test run of your titan capturing method, and all would have been well if you weren’t leaning too far and, I don’t know, SLIPPED?

It was a good thing captain Levi had incredible reflexes and had gotten to you just in time. He seems very attuned to whenever you put yourself in danger, isn’t he? I could have sworn he was just waiting for something bad to happen. I also could have sworn I was going to get a heart attack then and there.

Why are you so reckless and stupid? Great, now I feel bad for calling you that. But hey, I need to let it out, okay? Don’t take it personally. But then again, captain Levi pretty much calls you that daily and you seem to find it endearing.

I’m also so worried about when we start experimenting on titans. By the walls, you’re not going to make it easy for me, are you? Just please don’t die.

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

I knew you weren’t going to make things easy for me. I have to admit, you giving names to those titans was pretty strange — but it was still rather cute. Only if you weren’t going crazy about it.

I feel like I say that as if it’s a new thing. But then again, back in our training days, you were relatively calm. You always indulge yourself in books and go out of your way to try and learn new things. Those were nice and calm days, weren’t they? You’ve always piqued my interest from the very beginning especially since you were the only one who pronounced our instructor’s name wrong.

Why am I bringing this up? Anyway, if this is the last letter you read it means that I was eaten by Albert or whoever that other titan was. We can’t afford to lose you, you know? That’s one of the things I’ve learned so far anyway. That some lives in the Survey Corps matter more than the others, and I would gladly get eaten by a titan if it means you’d live another day.

I don’t mean to make you feel guilty or anything of the sort. This is just how I feel.

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

How do you do it? It seems you’re the only person (besides commander Erwin, well, it’s a given) who has full control over captain Levi. You’ve managed to persuade him to capture a titan for you, and though he complained about it, he still did it anyway.

Since you’ll never get these letters while I’m still alive, I can probably be as honest as possible.

I think that he has feelings for you.

Now, I hope by the time you read this, he’s made it obvious to you by then. And I know it seems like a stretch, cause well, he’s captain Levi and everything and he doesn’t seem like he’s capable of those types of emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you.

I think it started when you ran off to the forest and he followed you. I read the reports of what had happened, and it seemed he was really shaken. We also work a lot with their squad, so there’s a lot of room for things to blossom then I suppose.

I know I sound incredibly foolish. And I’m telling you right now, I’m completely sober as I write this. But it’s just something I can tell, something that doesn’t seem too far-fetched. He cares about you a lot.

Now I need a drink. I don’t know what’s going on with me.

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

I think you have feelings for captain Levi.

This is an even more outrageous claim than the one in my previous entry, and because I’m always glued to your side, I feel like I know more than others do.

It’s been a while since I wrote my thoughts on here. It’s been a rough couple of days? Weeks? I forgot. So much has happened. I don’t want to delve too much into the details but essentially, we had engaged with the female titan outside the walls, then inside Stohess district, then the armored and colossal titan. I also finished investigating Ragako — Connie Springer’s village. I haven’t had enough rest these days. A lot of us haven’t. And though I feel incredibly exhausted and want to make use of these couple of days of peace before we head onto Trost, I felt like jotting some of the things I had witnessed between you and the captain.

I know this is really silly of me. But forgive me again, this is the only outlet I have. Don’t worry, I’ve already jotted down the important findings in the middle pages of this journal/sketchbook. But I’m starting to feel things myself. Feelings I didn’t know I could feel either.

Anyway, you had visited him when he was still in the hospital, getting some treatment for his injured leg. You had dismissed me that day, saying you were going to him.

I also had caught you lending him one of your jackets. And though he had protested, he still eagerly wore it.

Not to mention the number of times I had caught you making tea for him. How did I know? Well, no one else touched the tin of black tea in the mess hall but Captain Levi. So it had been an easy assumption.

There are a lot more instances, but I can’t seem to bring myself to put them on paper. I don’t know why — maybe there are just too many, maybe I just don’t want to recall them. I think maybe both.

Either way, it seems as if you two have feelings for one another now. I’m glad. I’m also glad that you’re okay, that you’re alive, that you’re still here. Hopefully, that will continue to last long.

— Moblit

*******

Dear Hange-san,

I think… that this will be my last letter.

I know it’s been a long time since I last updated this series of letters (we haven’t exactly had a lot of free time) and as we are preparing to return to Shiganshina, I felt the need to address everything here and now. Seeing as there’s a high probability I might not make it back.

The moment I first met you back when we were cadets in the Training Corps, you had captured my attention almost immediately. Your hair had been way shorter back then so there wasn’t any need to tie it up into a ponytail. Other than that, your eyes always remained bright, your laugh was always infectious. When you had told me back then how you wanted to see the world beyond the walls, I had thought you to be crazy. My family had always wanted me to enlist in the Garrison, especially since I had a lot of relatives there. But the moment you started talking about what life could be like, about different plants and trees, about different types of animals — the way you had smiled up at me and used your hands excessively to discuss your points — I knew then and there that I would follow you wherever you went.

Going into the Survey Corps was absolutely terrifying. But being with you, helping you, and staying by your side had made it worth it.

The amount of times you almost died, the amount of times you had put yourself in danger is just too much to count. The number of times you had made me worried — well, let’s just say I’m glad my heart didn’t suffer any complications. Or maybe it has and I just don’t know.

Seriously, you’re too reckless sometimes, you know? But I can’t help but admire you still. You do it because you desire to change because you want to understand our natural enemies. You’re the only one I’ve met who thinks that way, and people have mentioned more than once that you’re really crazy, and perhaps they’re right, but you’re also the most brilliant of all of them combined.

And because of this, you have captured my heart.

I’m sure there are more reasons, but I can’t find it in me to talk about all of them. I don’t know why this happened, how this happened, or if I was too obvious. But knowing you, you probably wouldn’t know if someone had romantic feelings for you even if it hit you straight in the face. After all, this is exactly what’s going on between you and captain Levi.

I know for certain now that he loves you. I had a hunch before, but I know now. I could tell by the nicknames he gave you, from how angry he was when you fell during our battle, how he went to visit you, multiple times, after that incident. How when he sees me alone in the corridor or something, he always asks about you. How in every mission we go, he always looks at you, as if he’s engraving your image into his memory should one of you not make it. How he captured a titan for you. How he knows how you take your tea and how he always goes to your side for comfort. How he basically forces you to take a bath. How he just knows you and understands your entirety as a human being.

It all makes sense now. I suppose, if you didn’t pay attention much to it, you’d think it was something else entirely. Just a comrade looking out for another comrade. But his eyes, oh his eyes always say otherwise. He loves you and I hope by the time you read this, you’re well aware of that fact.

And I also hope you’re well aware that you love him too.

I could tell by how you tease him almost to no end. By how you always talk about him, either positively or negatively. How you just know when he's around as if you have a keen sense just for him. How you translate his words for others (he’s not very good at those). How even when he’s fuming angry or irritated, you seem to be the only one who can get him to calm down. How you had visited him multiples times after his injury. How you just knew all that information about him living with Kenny the Ripper as if you two had discussed the life he had led before. How you know exactly how he takes his tea. How you always make it a point to celebrate his birthday despite our lack of funds. How you just know him and trust him so well.

You love him, Hange-san. You love him so much. Dare I say you love him as equally if not more as your titans and your research. What you two have is something so special I doubt anyone inside the walls has the same kind of bond.

I wanted that with you.

You both deserve happiness together. But I know that’s not possible. Especially with the world we live in.

I just wanted you to know this before it’s too late. I want you to know that should I never come back by your side, that you always have him. That he treasures you. Perhaps… even more than I do.

Enclosed in this journal are all the findings in research we collected through the years. And so are these letters. And so are some… portraits I had done myself. I hope you like them.

If you’re reading this, then that means you have survived and may or may not be the new commander. Hange-san, I hope you remember that you are life itself, that you are so brilliant and amazing, and that you continue to give others an inexpressible joy. You have enriched my life (despite almost killing me multiple times). I know you will do a fantastic job as commander. That’s because, well, you’re you. You’re Hange. I wish I could elaborate more but it is what it is.

There’s so much more I want to say. So much more I want to tell you. But there isn’t any time nor can I bring myself to put any of it on paper. You also should be expecting me on the training grounds in a couple of minutes from now to continue Eren’s experiments. So I suppose, I’ll just leave you with this:

… I love you.

Sincerely, Moblit Berner.

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Transparency

Summary: Belle and Gold are on their honeymoon, and they have a lot of fun with the floor to ceiling windows in their hotel room.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Taken against a wall/glass.

Rated: E

NB: Exhibitionism

Transparency

“Oh, my goodness.”

As soon as they entered their penthouse room, Belle’s attention was immediately drawn to the huge floor to ceiling window looking out over the city, and as she went over to it, pressing her hands against the glass and staring out, Gold knew exactly where her mind was going.

He had been surprised to learn that the sweet little librarian had a far kinkier side to her, but once he had got over the initial shock, he had not been at all disappointed in this discovery. Quite the opposite, in fact. Belle’s adventurous nature had allowed him to discover all kinds of pleasure that he had never even considered before.

One of the first things that he had discovered about Belle was that she had a definite danger thrill, the threat of discovery adding to the eroticism. It was small things at first - he’d noticed her not wearing a bra beneath her semi-sheer blouses, and there had been a memorable occasion before they had started sleeping together when she had bent over to get a book from the bottom shelf and had revealed that there was nothing underneath her short skirt.

Gold smiled as he remembered subsequent encounters - in the dark, rarely-used reference section in the library with patrons just a few stacks away; in the bathroom at Granny’s Diner; over the counter in his shop; on a sun lounger in his garden.

He went over to Belle, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing the back of her neck.

“I know what you want,” he murmured to her.

“Oh yes? And what is it that I want?”

“You want me to fuck you against this window,” Gold growled, bringing his hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing them as he continued to pepper the back of her neck and her shoulders with kisses. “You’re already wondering whether that tower block over there is close enough to see us, and whether they’ll notice us giving them a show.”

“Oh, my love, you know me so well.” She twisted in his hold, slipping her arms around his neck before kissing him fiercely. “So, what do you say?”

“I certainly have no objection. We’re on our honeymoon, after all.”

Belle kissed him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, and I love your exhibitionistic streak as well.”

Gold found the zipper at the back of Belle’s dress, dragging it down as she continued to kiss him. He pushed her back against the window, feeling her little gasp when her newly exposed skin hit the cold glass. Between them, they pushed the dress down off her shoulders and onto the floor, kicking it away towards the bed. Gold took a moment to appreciate the deep blue satin underwear beneath before that was gone too in Belle’s eagerness. For a long time, they just kissed, messy and frantic, all tongue and lips and teeth with no degree of finesse. Belle was scrabbling at Gold’s collar buttons and tie, finally succeeding in wrenching the thing off and tossing it towards the pile of her own clothes. He stilled her hands, pinning them back to the window for a moment before letting go and going back to her breasts, rolling them under his palms and gently tugging on her nipples.

Belle groaned. “How did you get to be so good at that?”

“Many practice sessions with you, my dear.” He trailed his lips away from her mouth, over her neck and shoulder and bending to reach her décolletage and breasts. He was glad that Belle had kept her stilettos on to give her that extra bit of height. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he had a shoe fetish, but there was something about seeing her bare but for her high heels that added a little extra thrill over seeing her completely nude.

He sucked each nipple into his mouth in turn, dragging his tongue over the pebbled buds and drawing another low groan from the back of Belle’s throat. He loved that noise, primal and guttural, and he had long since learned all the ways to earn it. He was determined that he was going to hear it several more times before the night was out, and he got down onto his knees, kissing his way down Belle’s body to nose at her neat little patch of nether curls, coaxing her to spread her legs and let him in between.

Belle did so readily, pressing her palms flat against the window for balance as Gold began to pepper her inner thighs with kisses, working his way up to her mound. As he parted her folds he found her wet and eager already, her juices coating his fingertips as he ran them along her slit. Belle gasped, her nails scraping on the glass as he unhooded her clit, her hips bucking up towards him and sending a waft of her musky scent straight into his nose.

His mouth was watering at the prospect of tasting her, and he licked a long stripe along her folds, tapping at her clit with the very tip of his tongue and making her squeal. Belle was always vocal whenever they had sex, which had made some of their more public encounters just a shade more dangerous. He remembered one particular vivid occasion when she’d stuffed her panties in her mouth to stop her from screaming the library down around them.

Today, though, they were in the privacy of their hotel room and whilst the people in the block opposite could perhaps see them, they definitely couldn’t hear them, and Belle was taking the opportunity to be as loud as possible. Gold was all for encouraging her, lapping at her clit again and pushing a finger up inside.

“Oh, yes,” Belle panted. “Yes, that’s perfect, yes.”

Gold smiled against her mound and licked her again, swirling his tongue around her clit as he pumped his finger in and out of her, and she gave a moan of protest as he pulled out completely to take her thigh and coax her leg up over his shoulder, opening her up for him even more. This time he pressed two fingers in, crooking them and hearing her breath hitch. Her hips were wriggling with every move he made, jerking against him, the sharp heel of her shoe digging into his back, but Gold didn’t care.

When Belle finally came, her inner walls clutching desperately around his finger, she let out a wonderful sound that was halfway between and growl and a scream, something perfectly and uniquely Belle. Gold looked up at her from between her thighs as she slipped her leg off his shoulder again, and he felt fully justified in the smug smile that he knew he was wearing. Belle was breathing heavily, but there was arousal and mischief in her eyes as she gazed down at him, beckoning him back up.

Gold got to his feet again and Belle pulled him in sharply by his jacket lapels, going in for a fierce and bruising kiss before shoving the jacket off his shoulders and yanking at his shirt, swearing against his lips as her fingers slipped over the buttons in her frustration. At last the shirt was open and her nails were scraping down his chest, flicking at his nipples on the way past.

“I think it’s your turn, now,” she said, palming his heavy crotch and squeezing the bulge straining against his zipper. Gold groaned at the feeling, nodding his agreement, and Belle just gave a soft huff of laughter, unfastening his fly and pushing his trousers and underwear down before taking him in hand, stroking his length leisurely a couple of times as she came down from her own high and he built up towards his.

“Oh, Belle.” He hissed with pleasure as she ran her thumb over his tip, smearing the first drop of precum. “Don’t tease, darling, I want to be inside you.”

“Then your wish is my command, my dear husband.”

She let go of his cock to get her balance against the window again, this time wisely kicking off her shoes before she slipped one leg around his hips, pulling him in close. She reached down to line them up and Gold thrust home, sinking into her welcoming heat with a groan. It didn’t take long before he came with a groan, bracing his weight against the window and burying his face in Belle’s hair. Belle snaked a hand around his back beneath his shirt, stroking his damp skin and murmuring utterly filthy nonsense in his ear as he came back to himself.

Eventually, she gave a little sigh. “Ok, this glass is getting a bit cold now. I think I need to get into bed to warm up.”

Gold let her get away from the window and watched her go over to the bed before untangling himself from the rest of his clothes and joining her under the covers.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you call me that.”

“What?” Belle asked.

“Dear husband.”

She smiled, pushing him over onto his back and straddling him before diving back down for another kiss.

“In that case, I shall just have to make sure that I say it as often as possible. So, my dear husband, what are your thoughts towards ordering something supremely decadent on room service and making a proper honeymoon of it?”

Gold nodded. “I think that’s an excellent idea, my darling wife.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #A Monthly Rumbelling #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: Transparency

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falseroar · 4 years

Text

((Abe, a monster hunter, is distracted from chasing down a particular Colonel when he hears a rumor that he can’t let go without looking into it for himself.

Based on today’s prompt for Trail 5 of the Ten Trails Whump Challenge, “Muzzle”, this sort of went off track. Like I mentioned yesterday, think of this as a sort of in between story, after ITYC but a few years short of the present day.

Warnings: mentions of blood, animal cruelty, and light swearing))

Abe knew he shouldn’t be here. He had his own leads to follow, his own personal monster to hunt down, but he also knew that as soon as he heard the rumor, as soon as he heard that single word, he had no choice but to come and check it out.

Not that he bothered to share why he was so invested, when he came to this little village out in the middle of nowhere. He barely even had to ask any questions, as the people recognized him as a hunter as soon as they saw him and were excited to share what was probably the first interesting thing that had happened here in years. A couple of guys he didn’t bother to learn the names of immediately offered to show and tell him everything.

Everything about the werewolf.

“When did you say they showed up?” Abe asked as they led him deeper into the woods outside of town. The way they jumped at every crack of a twig and hint of a shadow, he guessed the village probably already had its own stories about the place before the recent arrival.

“Not sure exactly, but three days ago is when it came into the village looking for supplies,” one guy, the taller one who walked with a swagger when he wasn’t nervous, said. “Bought normal stuff for a traveler, but the butcher noticed when it came in and put in an order for meat, a lot of meat. More than one person traveling on their own should need.”

“How did you know that they were alone?” Abe asked, ducking under a tree limb and noting that despite the recent signs of multiple people passing this way recently, they weren’t following a normal trail.

The other guy, who had a way of smiling that made Abe check to make sure his gun was within easy reach, shrugged and answered, “Because there wasn’t anyone else with it? Some of us weren’t sure if it even knew how to really talk to people, the way it mumbled and wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. First sign something was off about it.”

Abe took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying hard to rein in his always short temper. He could save what he wanted to say to that until after he didn’t need these two anymore, although he felt his fingers twitch every time they said the word “it.”

“So how did you go from ‘there’s a new stranger in town’ to ‘werewolf’, exactly?” Abe asked, already prepared to learn that this was a wild goose chase that ended with him nursing a drink and hopes so dashed it was a wonder they kept coming back.

Again.

“Well, at first we were thinking it was a witch,” the taller man said. “Because it started asking around about herbs and plants and that night some of the teens spotted it walking outside the village walls at night, picking something in the moonlight.”

The other man smiled again and added, “And then their parents had a lot of questions about what they were doing out at night themselves, like we all didn’t know the answer to that.”

The two snickered, but the noise gradually died away into an awkward silence when the hunter didn’t join in until the taller man continued his story.

“But then old Mercer remembered that a farmer out near Wayforth told him that he’d seen a big beast back at the last full moon, and three of his cows had been killed by something big, and it would have got into Wayforth if their wards hadn’t held. And wouldn’t you know it, there was a full moon coming up the next night.”

The other man looked over his shoulder at Abe and said, “Well, it didn’t take much to put two and two together from there, did it? Us and a bunch of other men in the village talked about it all night and came up with a plan on how to deal with it.

“The butcher’s wife knew where some of those wolfsbane flowers grow, and they came up with a way to sort of test it, you know? Basically, she ground up some powder, and he mixed it into one of the packs of meat it was supposed to come and pick up. Lo and behold, when it came in the next day, it immediately snuffed out something was wrong and asked about that one pack, and when they said it was just some seasoning that must have got mixed in, it wouldn’t take it.”

The two men stopped when they realized Abe wasn’t following them and looked back to find the hunter staring at them in disbelief.

“Wolfsbane is poisonous, and not just to werewolves,” he pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but they planned on switching it out if it wasn’t a werewolf,” was the answer he got. “Sure, it was a waste of meat, but we had to know, didn’t we?”

The taller man added, “It didn’t want to stick around after that, but a group of us were already set up to follow it. We had planned on figuring out where it was holed up and coming back with something to take care of it for good, maybe a fire or something, but it realized we were after it somehow and took off running.”

“Not surprising,” Abe said. “A werewolf can hear your heartbeat and catch your scent long before you have eyes on them.”

He strode ahead of the two men, eyes on the less than subtle markers from yesterday’s chase. “So you tried to chase down someone you believed to be a werewolf. How’d that go for you?”

“Followed them all the way here,” one of the men answered him, just as Abe found where the trail ended.

It was a cave, or more like a tiny hole under a large rock outcropping, that looked like it could have been home to a bear or some other wild animal except most wild animals didn’t leave a store of chopped wood and gathered stones in neat piles outside.

Abe pulled a lighter from one of his many pockets and looked in before ducking under the low stone ceiling. The small light caught the circle of stones around the cold remains of a campfire, a worn pack resting against one earthen wall, various bags of recently bought groceries, and the mounds of wrapped meat hastily thrown to the other side.

“Why would they come back here when they were being chased?” he asked aloud, only to realize that he was alone. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the two guys standing at a distance from the mouth of the cave with their hands in their pockets, slouched as though they were just waiting around and not scared to come in here.

He rolled his eyes and looked back at the meager possessions left behind. He was surprised the food was still here after an entire night, but then he doubted any animal would be brave or desperate enough to come in here while the scent of a werewolf was still hanging around. The herbs they had been so interested in gathering were carefully sorted and bundled together in separate stacks, and after identifying a couple Abe suspected he knew what they had in mind long before he started looking through the pack.

A change of clothes, barely any money, a piece of paper folded and refolded so many times that it was soft to the touch, and at the bottom of the pack, a tiny drawstring bag that was so tightly knotted that it took one of Abe’s knives to get it open.

A single silver ring fell out into the palm of his hand, the letters inside barely legible with just his lighter to see by.

It took Abe so long to come back out that the two men were visibly relieved when the hunter reappeared and leaned heavily against the rock wall. He blinked a couple of times before remember the paper in his hand, which he carefully unfolded and began to read in the sunlight.

“What’s that?” the man with the uncomfortable smile asked.

“A recipe,” Abe said after a second. “Seen it around a few times, it supposedly makes a werewolf docile if taken on the night of a full moon.”

“Really?” the taller man asked. “Never heard of anything like that.”

“Because it doesn’t work,” Abe said. “Trust me, I’ve seen every so-called remedy or cure out there, and every one is concocted by a con artist or someone desperate enough to try anything. I heard of one guy selling a brew that didn’t so much cure a werewolf as leave them too weak to stand for half a month. Would have killed anything else that drank it.”

There was that smile again as that one asked, “Wouldn’t happen to know where we could get some of that, would you?”

“Not anymore,” Abe answered. “Someone else got to him before I did.”

Abe still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. By the time he got there, there was no sign of the crook, and every note and sample of his “cure” had either been destroyed or taken with him. Just as he wasn’t sure what the man’s fate might have been if he had caught up with him first.

So, one dud recipe to keep a werewolf calm during a full moon, enough meat to keep the wolf occupied for a while, and, judging by the stones piled up nearby, a plan to temporarily seal the entrance to the cave. They were setting up to weather a full moon, and instead these stupid wannabe vigilantes had chased them off.

By the time he was finished swearing, the other two were standing at a distance and looking ready to run themselves.

“Which way did they go?” Abe asked, stepping forward as they took another step back. “What did they look like?”

The two shared a look before the taller man said, “You mean you don’t know?”

Abe led the way back to the village, not outright running but apparently walking fast enough to leave the other two breathless and barely able to point him in the direction of the blacksmith’s workshop. The blacksmith saw him coming and had enough of a sense of self preservation to unlock the door and get out of the way long before the hunter reached him.

Abe slammed the door open and immediately regretted it when he saw the creature on the other side of the room flinch and cower away. The clink of iron chains didn’t quite drown out a weak whimper from the massive wolf that tried, and failed, to stand up as he moved closer. The full moon was gone, but it was possible they either didn’t have the strength or the will to change back.

The hunter stopped short halfway across the room when his eyes adjusted to the light, the crashing disappointment of realizing that the shade of the wolf’s coat and its eyes weren’t the one he desperately, stupidly hoped to see twisting and tangling itself up in the twin ache of seeing the muzzle wrapped around the wolf’s snout and head, the straps so tight after they changed that they were cutting into the skin in some places.

Funny, how quickly those feelings could turn into barely restrained rage.

Without turning around or looking behind him, Abe gathered enough control of his voice to say, “You put a muzzle. On a werewolf.”

The men seemed oblivious to the tone in his voice, but the werewolf’s ears twitched and one tired, bloodshot eye opened to look at him.

“Great, isn’t it?” He could hear the smile in the other man’s voice as he continued, “It was my idea for Blake to grind down some silver into dust, we coated the muzzles and chains in the stuff. Still thought it might escape when it went all hairy on us, but it worked!”

Silver dust. Abe could hear the labored breathing, see the short spasms as each of the wolf’s breaths brought in a fresh dose of poison. There were broken handcuffs on the werewolf’s front legs, below the heavy leg irons that must have been added afterwards to match the pair on their hind legs, both sets clearly old, but what he had mistaken for rust before was actually dried blood. A thick chain connected the leg irons to a ring on the wall which looked one or two more pulls away from being torn off. If not for the silver, they would have been able to escape easily, and under the influence of the full moon slaughtered who knows how many in the village.

He tried to keep that in mind, he really did, but then the man kept talking.

“Silver’s really the only stuff that works on these monsters, isn’t it? We tried all kinds of stuff last night, but nothing stuck. Probably a good thing though, since Mercer talked to his farmer friend and found out the Bronsons will pay out in exchange for a monster their institute can practice on. We just didn’t expect you to get here so fast, or I would have had a little more fun. Although if you want to give it a go, that fire poker over there—”

The crack of Abe’s fist against that stupid smile stung, but it felt good to see the guy crumple to the ground and finally stop talking.

He looked up at the guy’s buddy who was too shocked to do anything and said, “We have a strict policy against...you know what, just generally being an asshole.”

“Uh…”

Before the taller guy could catch up, Abe flashed his hunter’s badge with the assurance that no one in town would know the difference between him and the institute’s employees and started talking quickly. “Right, lucky for the institute I was already in the area. You got the keys that go to these cuffs and locks?”

“They’re on the anvil, but don’t you have a cage or something you need to bring in first?” the guy asked.

“Don’t need it,” Abe said, reaching into another pocket and pulling out a small drawstring bag. “You can’t cure a werewolf, but with the right stuff a good hunter can keep it under control.”

He made a show of holding the bag near the werewolf’s snout, who looked from him to the clearly visible outline of the ring inside the fabric and then back again. This close, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or hope in their eyes, but he knew that they could hear the words just under his breath that failed to reach the other man in the room. They didn’t have a lot of time before Smiles McGee over there woke up, and more importantly before the hunters who actually worked for the institute showed up, but at least he could give them a head start.

“Play along, and don’t make me regret this. Please.”

((Thanks for reading! I do plan on picking up the Traces of Silver series, and I’ve been working on the next story that I am dangerously tempted to title “Dog Days.” Please, someone, anyone, talk me out of this.

Also, it’s been so long I forgot to add a taglist. Oops.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #traces of silver #wkm au #monster hunter au #werewolf #ten trails whump challenge #tw animal cruelty

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atths--twice · 4 years

Text

Magic Fingers and Sunflowers

Day six of prompts/asks, but today is more of a passing comment ask than anything else. A fellow Phile mentioned how she loved on the run stories and well, this was one that I had been thinking about for a while and so,,, a story was born. I hope you all enjoy it,

Spring 2003

Scully looked in the rear view mirror with a smirk, as she watched Mulder leaning over the backseat, searching through the bags in the very back of their sedan. He sighed loudly, turning around to look at her.

“You’re sure they’re back there?” he asked, in a frustrated tone.

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I didn’t find them.”

“Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”

He leaned over the backseat again and she was treated to a wonderful view of his denim clad ass, as she flicked her eyes from the road and back to the rearview mirror.

“I still can’t find them,” came his muffled voice. “Oh no, wait. Here they are, I found them.” He righted himself and she hummed in displeasure, no longer able to see his ass.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, catching her eye in the rearview mirror.

“No, thanks. I’m fine. Well, maybe a bottle of water.”

“Oh, some water. That’s a good idea.”

He leaned back over the backseat and she made sure to watch him as much as she could, without putting them in danger.

Grabbing the water bottles, he crawled back over the seats and sat beside her, setting their bottles of water in the cupholders. He opened up the bag of sunflower seeds and popped one into his mouth, turning to her with a smile.

“So, where exactly are we?” he asked, spitting out the shells, and tossing them out the window. She shrugged and he gave her a look, shaking his head.

Opening the glove box, he took out the map and unfolded it with a heavy sigh, as she smiled.

“Somewhere near Dallas, right?” he asked and she shrugged again, honestly not sure where they were. “Scully…” He sighed again and she chuckled.

“As if it truly matters, Mulder. I know that we’re in Texas. Does that help you out at all?”

“Considering that Texas is super tiny?” he asked sarcastically. “Yes, that helps me out immensely, Scully.” He rolled his eyes, looking at the map again.

“Here we are,” he said, pointing to the map. “Huh…”

“What?” she asked, glancing at him.

“Well, I think we’re actually closer to Chaney than Dallas. Chaney, Scully. Maybe we should pop in and see if we could find your buck toothed boyfriend,” he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Mulder… how many times must we discuss this? He was not buck toothed, and you know it.”

“I know nothing, aside from what I saw,” he said with a shrug.

“He did not have buck teeth, which I know you did see.”

“Say what you want, but the jury is still out on that,” he said, popping a few more sunflower seeds into his mouth. She shook her head, breathing out of her nose, as she pictured Sheriff Hartwell and his non-buck toothed smile.

“We should stop and stay there for the night,” he said, folding up the map and putting it back into the glove box.

“Why would we stay there? We can still drive for a few hours,” she said and he laughed.

“To quote you, Scully, ‘as if it truly matters,’” he said with a grin. “We have nowhere else to go, no place in particular to be, so why not?” He winked to her and she knew she would be relenting, but she wanted to tease him a bit more.

“I think we should just keep driving. We still have some hours of sunlight left,” she said with a shrug.

“That place had the magic fingers that you like,” he said, raising his eyebrows seductively.

“You mean like that one place did in Oklahoma? When it stopped, breaking down before I…?” she raised her eyebrows and he laughed.

“As though I didn’t help you out when that happened,” he reminded her and she took a deep breath at the memory of how he had done just that; making her toes curl as she moaned his name.

“We have all those quarters,” he said in a singsong voice.

“For showers. At campsites.”

“Or for beds with magic fingers…” He wiggled his eyebrows and her body responded. She took a deep breath to avoid pulling off the road and yanking him into the backseat.

“Turn left,” he said smugly and she turned on the blinker, glancing at him, her eyes roaming over his body.

Driving into the small town that they had come to years ago, was like a sense of déjà vu.

“Everything looks almost the same… except for the lack of vampires, of course,” he said and she laughed.

“Did you expect to find them walking around wearing their black cloaks?”

“They didn’t wear black cloaks, Scully, you know that.”

“Just like you know Sheriff Hartwell didn’t have buck teeth,” she said under her breath, turning down the main street and heading toward the motel.

“Woman…” he muttered and she smiled.

He volunteered to go in and get their room. She watched him walk in front of the car and to her left, again admiring the way his jeans fit him. When he walked inside, she looked around at the crappy motel, and shook her head.

“What had I called it? Oh right, the Davy Crockett Motor Court,” she whispered to herself, with a chuckle. “The Sam Houston Motor Lodge... God, it’s like stepping back in time.” She shook her head again and smiled.

He came out of the door a couple of minutes later, a huge grin on his face and got in the car.

“I got them to give us the room you had before,” he said excitedly and she shook her head. Only he would be excited about something like that. She started the car and they drove to the room, backing in, in case a hasty retreat was needed.

Taking only the necessities from the car, they stepped into the room and she was hit with a wave of memories: how tired she had felt after that first autopsy, the ache in her feet, how her stomach had rumbled as she waited for the pizza to be delivered, and when Mulder had arrived, covered in mud.

“Whoa, the place is exactly the same, even down to the smell. It sure takes you back, huh?” he smiled and she nodded in agreement. The room definitely had a certain dank smell about it.

Setting their bags down, he searched the room, the bathroom, and the small closet. It had become standard procedure any place they stayed. They could never be too careful and they were always on their toes.

As he checked the room, she looked around. It was the same. The longhorn coat rack was still attached to the wall. The chairs that read “Howdy partner” were sitting against the wall. Even the bedding seemed to be the same. She was not sure if it made her feel good, or a bit creeped out.

“Phew, no vampires,” he said in relief, as he stepped out of the bathroom, a hand at his chest. She laughed as she shook her head and he pumped his eyebrows at her.

“Is that what you were looking for?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Of course,” he said, with a frown. “But, I’ve checked, and we’re in the clear. Man… I’m hungry. We should’ve gotten some food. Now we’ll have to go out again, ” he sighed.

“Or we could always order a pizza,” she suggested with a shrug and he looked at her aghast.

“Are you trying to get me drugged? Again?” he asked, grabbing the room key and stepping out the door.

“Can you dig it?” she teased in a low voice.

“Shut your mouth. I did not, Scully,” he said, with a mock sigh as he shook his head.

“Jury’s still out on that, as well as the buck teeth, it seems,” she said with a smirk, getting in the car as he locked the room door, laughing under his breath.

___________________

After a delicious meal of Mexican food and a couple of beers each, they returned to the motel.

Humming as he opened the door, she smiled at him, happy from the evening they had spent together. She stared at his profile and took a deep breath, shaking her head. God, he was handsome, so very sexy. How she waited so long to sleep with him, she would never understand.

“You and me both, Scully,” he said in a low voice and she realized she had said that out loud. His eyes roamed her body, as he pushed the door open, allowing her to enter first.

She was breathing hard as the door closed and locked, but when she heard the pile of change hit the dresser, she nearly forgot to breathe.

Turning around, she stared at him as he lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His hands went to the buttons on his jeans and she could see that he was already aroused. Desire coursed through her as she began to take off her own clothes, dropping them to the ground.

He stepped toward her, causing her to back up until her legs hit the bed and she sat down, scooting back further onto the bed. He grabbed a handful of quarters and walked to the side of the bed, setting them in neat stacks of four.

“Fifty cents for two minutes… I’ve got five dollars worth of quarters here. I think we’re good,” he said, climbing onto the bed and over her.

“Twenty minutes… yeah I think that will be sufficient,” she breathed, her core throbbing for him.

He kissed her, and her arms went around him as he lay on top of her. He was so warm and she could feel him hard against her, making her throb once again. His lips traveled down her body and she became wetter. His tongue trailed across her stomach and she gasped.

“Mulder…” she breathed and he kissed the scar from her bullet wound, and traveled back up her body.

He stopped at her breasts, taking his time at each of them, using only his mouth. He sucked at a nipple, and she arched into him. As he bit down lightly on the nipple, the bed suddenly began to shake violently.

She shouted out a laugh of surprise, and he lifted his head from her breast, his eyes wide in shock.

“Was it always this shaky?” he asked, his voice bouncing along with his body.

“I don’t know,” she said, watching his hair shaking as the bed seemed to speed up. They stared at each other and then they began to laugh.

“I put in a dollar's worth,” he said with chagrin, and she laughed even harder.

The vibrations slowed and they looked at each other with hope in their eyes. It was short-lived however, as the bed ramped up and she held tightly to him, fearful she would be bucked from the bed entirely.

“It’s only four minutes. Can we stand it?” he almost shouted, as the bed slowed and then sped up again.

“No!” she laughed and they moved, him pulling the comforter off the bed and laying it on the floor.

As they rose from the bed, their weight seemed to have been quieting the vibrations, because but once they were off, it became louder, the very screws of the headboard threatening to loosen.

Her head fell back as her body shook with laughter, the vibrations rising and falling in turn. Obviously something was wrong with it, and all she could do was laugh.

He pulled her to him and then down to the blanket on the floor. Surprisingly, or not, he had not lost any steam as they had left the bed. The bed continued to rumble and she could feel it down her spine and to her core.

Yes… this was much better…

The bed was finally silent, after running noisily for longer than the dollars worth of quarters. Mulder lay heavily upon her, both of them sweaty and tired, but happily so. She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling as she looked up at the ceiling.

“Is this what you saw when you lay here before?” she asked him. “All of these dots on the ceiling and that watermark above the bed?” He chuckled against her throat and she grinned wider.

“I was drugged, remember? I don’t remember much about that moment.”

“Aside from Ronnie coming at me like a flying squirrel?” she teased and he laughed.

“Aside from that, yeah.”

“Hmmm.”

The bed gave a sudden violent shake and they both froze, before she started to laugh.

“This was your idea. As if almost being killed by a “vampire” in this room wasn’t enough, we were almost attacked by a vibrating bed.”

“I can hear you putting air quotes around the word vampire, Scully,” he said, and she laughed. “But, yes the bed was a bit of a miscalculation.”

“A bit? A bit?” she said, tugging at his hair and making him look up at her. “I felt like I was laying on top of a jackhammer. It was just...” She demonstrated how it felt to shake around and he said nothing. “You know? It was so rough.”

“Sorry, I was distracted by the beautiful bouncing breasts in front of me,” he said, shaking his head, as if to clear it, causing her to laugh. He winked and kissed her before he pulled back and stood up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, shivering a little, at the loss of his warm body.

“I’m going to see if I can unplug the magic fingers,” he explained, walking over beside the bed. “If I can’t, well then…”

She turned on her side, her head resting on her elbow as she watched him search for the plug. Again she admired his ass, this time completely nude.

“I can’t find where the goddamn thing is plugged in,”he said, grabbing the pillows off the bed and tossing them toward her, the bed jerking once more.

“So, we’re sleeping on the floor tonight?” she asked, trying to stop her smile.

“It looks like it,” he said, pulling the sheets off the bed, and covering her. He turned out the lights, stepped over her, and lay down beside her, adjusting the pillows and blankets.

“And to think I wanted to keep driving…” she teased and he huffed.

“Shut up,” he breathed as the bed shook, causing her to giggle, and she laid her head on his chest.

They lay in silence, aside from the occasional shake of the bed, until she could not hold it in anymore.

“Who’s the black private dick who’s a sex machine with all the chicks?” she said in a deep voice.

“Scully…”

“No, Mulder… it’s SHAFT!” She sang in a high voice, before succumbing to giggles. He exhaled and then she felt him laughing, his chest moving.

“Go to sleep, Scully.”

“Shaft,” she sang again, laughing softly as she wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Woman…”

___________________

The next morning, a bit sore from their night on the floor, and tired from the bed shaking and waking them up, they showered and dressed, both moaning as they stretched their tight muscles.

She cleaned up their makeshift bed, as Mulder packed up their clothes and gathered the quarters from the bedside table. The bed shook again as he walked away and he jumped in surprise.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, staring at the bed, shaking his head as Scully laughed. “That scared the shit out of me.”

Still laughing, she got in the passenger seat as he put their bags in the car, and drove over to the office to drop off the key. She watched him walking away again and she smiled.

Driving out of town, he reached for her hand and she squeezed it as she looked out across the vast openness before them.

“Oh look at that,” she said, a few minutes out of town, leaning forward and looking to her left. “Wait, isn’t that the cemetery?” He turned his head and let out a breath of disbelief.

“Yeah, it is,” he said quietly, slowing down to a stop. He glanced at her and she smiled at him, letting go of his hand and opening her door.

They stood at the gateway to the cemetery and stared at each other, before Mulder pushed the gate open, its hinges creaking from lack of use, and they walked inside.

“What…?” Scully said, looking around. “How… how is this possible?” She reached out and touched a sunflower, one of many, the golden flowers reaching toward the sun.

Glancing at him, she found him standing in the middle of a large cluster of them, a happy and amused grin on his face.

“Mulder?”

“I think… I think I did this…” He looked at her, somewhat unsure, but almost certain, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “When I came out here on my own with the sheriff, I dropped sunflower seeds along the ground in here to slow the vampire down if he showed up. I don’t know… could I have done this?”

“I don’t know, but it’s entirely possible. However and why ever it happened, though, it’s here and I love it. It’s beautiful,” she said, walking over to him.

He nodded as they looked at the sunflowers that had grown in the cemetery. Meeting his eyes again, she grinned and he shook his head with a disbelieving smile.

She turned around and headed back to the car, Mulder trailing behind her. They walked through the gate, shutting it behind them with another squeaky screech.

“Mulder,” she said, turning to face him, but the words died on her lips, as she discovered him holding a couple of the stalks of beautiful sunflowers. Handing them to her with a shrug and a smile, she kissed his cheek as she took them from his hand.

“Mulder…” she said with a soft smile, looking at the flowers and then at the cemetery again. “Just look at what your overly knowledgeable brain created. It’s amazing.” He looked over his shoulder and nodded, looking back at her with a smile.

“Well, I am quite clever,” he replied with a wink and she laughed softly.

“Except when it comes to staying in once occupied rooms with malfunctioning vibrating beds,” she countered and he shrugged with a smile. “But look at what we would have missed, Mulder, if we had kept driving; happiness growing in an otherwise sad and desolate place.”

“So you’re admitting that I was right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied, rolling her neck. “I have quite a few sore muscles who would disagree with your decision to stay here.” He laughed and she touched his chest as she stepped closer to him.

“But, a cemetery full of accidental sunflowers… that is a very you thing to do; adding a small amount of light into the darkness.” He shook his head as he touched her cheek and she smiled.

“Not me. Not hardly. But you, smiling at me that way, holding those sunflowers… well… that’s enough sunshine and happiness to power the earth.”

“Hmm…” she said, with a half smile. “I’m inclined to say that’s almost too much, but…” She looked down at the sunflowers and then back at him with a one shouldered shrug. “I’ll allow it.” He snorted with a smile, kissing her loudly as he smacked her on the ass.

“You’ll allow it… I swear woman…” he muttered as he pulled back, shaking his head and staring at her. She grinned and he kissed her again. “Come on, you. Bring that sunshine with us and let’s get going.”

She smiled and took his hand as they walked to the car, a happy light feeling in her heart. Some days, living the way they were at the moment, it took its toll on them both, and dragged them down.

But then, there were days like today. Days when finding a cemetery full of sunflowers, from seeds scattered years ago, absentmindedly but also hopefully, was enough to keep the worry and darkness at bay.

For a little while anyway.

She turned once more and looked at the cemetery with a smile. Only Mulder would have inadvertently created a patch of beauty in such a broken looking place.

Of course he would.

#xf fanfic #msr #on the run #reliving memories #teasing #love #happy #magic fingers #sexy times #sunflowers

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radioromantic-moved · 4 years

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mordecai vs. the universe

word count: 2200

a soulmate au that got way too out of hand. i mostly wrote it when i was supposed to be sleeping or working. please enjoy it. cara is my 1920s-sona

entropy, noun- lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.

Soulmates are a complicated business. They’re notorious that way. People joke that everyone who ever wanted to study the process of soulmates gave up after a few weeks on the job. The only real concrete thing that’s accepted as positive fact is the simple the first words they say to you appear on your body in their handwriting a few years after puberty; some get them, some don’t. No dates or timestamps, no scientific explanation, no clear-cut pattern. Soulmates are tricky, multifaceted, and chaotic.

Their lack of organization is one of the reasons why Mоrdecai HelIer hates them.

Although it’s certainly not the only one.

He’s been surrounded by marked people his whole life, almost as if they gravitate towards him. His mother and father were soulmates; his mother doesn’t speak about it often, but on the occasion that his father, now deceased, happens to enter the conversation, he’ll catch her adjusting her shirtsleeves to cover up something, fading, written in a neat, flowing font. His youngest sister got her mark remarkably early--a few months before he left home, she was speculating aloud who the mystery phrase scrawled across her neck would be spoken by, in the dreamy tone of someone who can still afford daydreams.

He can’t escape soulmates at his place of employment, either. Atlas and Mitzi not only flaunt their matching marks, they’ve been known to use them to entertain--Mоrdecai’s witnessed them reenact their first meeting in a floral, overdramatized skit of sorts, culminating in the removal of Atlas’ jacket so the crowd can see the words written on his collarbone and Mitzi dramatically sweeping back her hair to reveal what’s been penned on her cheek and jawline.

The words aren’t particularly impressive, either; he paid her a casual compliment on her musical skill after a performance.

Then there’s Viktor, who never reveals anything about his soulmate, but Ivy swears on her life she’s seen ink on his back before when she catches him off guard. Mоrdecai suspects that she just has soulmates on the brain, though; she’s at the age that most marks appear, and she’s constantly fidgeting with her clothes to check if anything’s appeared while she wasn’t paying attention.

Mоrdecai finds the whole business to be wholly a waste of time. He has more important things to worry about than romantic entanglements, and he certainly does not need a mysterious, undefinable, uncategorizable force attempting to force him into one. Leave the prettiness and fairytales to AtIas and his wife. When it comes to socialization, particularly done with romantic intent, he could arrange an alphabetized, structured list on all of the things that he would rather do.

Which is why he could not be more annoyed when he sees the sentences crawling down his arm one otherwise unremarkable day.

His mark somewhat matches his mother’s--perhaps they do follow genetic lines in some way, he notes, even as his brain is insisting there are more important things to worry about right now--but his seems to take up more space than his father’s organized writing did. One could hardly call his soulmate’s handwriting neat--it’s a messy scrawl, as if they were writing in a hurry. Well, I’ve been worse off, though I guess not by much, claims this permanent, unwanted tattoo of his, and he’s inclined to agree with it.

He let himself get too secure; he was so sure that he was out of the age range of expected mark appearance, but if his studies of statistics have taught him anything, it’s that there are always outliers in any data pool.

There’s also Murphy’s Law to contend with.

But he will make a plan and follow it to the letter, the way it always does. He refuses to let this distract him. He has a job to do, and this mark will not change that.

If anyone at the Laсkadaisy notices that he’s particularly taken with long sleeves all of a sudden, they don’t say anything about it. Sometimes he thinks he sees Mitzi giving his arm a sideways glance, but a well-placed stony glare often gets her to back off.

All is well, for a while.

Until a soaking wet stranger stumbles into the Little Daisy Cafe on yet another day that would normally be considered entirely ordinary.

Atlas, Viktor and Mоrdecai are seated in a booth near the entrance when the door blows open and someone hurries inside, shutting the door behind them and sealing off the fierce rainstorm raging outside. The stranger takes a seat at a barstool and pulls off their jacket, gathering it into a pile in their arms. They must look sufficiently like a drowned rat, because as soon as Mitzi emerges from behind the counter, she hurries over to the shivering would-be customer. “Oh, my--don’t tell me you just came from out there! Are you alright? You look halfway to the grave.”

The stranger attempts a half-shrug. “Well, I’ve been worse off,” they say affably, “though not by much,” they concede with chattering teeth.

Mоrdecai’s arm burns fiercely. He rubs it, trying to look casual.

“I’ll get you a towel,” says Mitzi, heading to the back room. She turns around and adds, “Although I hope you’ll clean up that mess you’re dripping all over our floors. We just cleaned in here, you know.”

Atlas heads over to the new arrival, who is murmuring to themselves under their breath. Mоrdecai follows, although he has a terrible feeling that he will strongly dislike the outcome of this conversation.

“What brings you out in this weather?” Atlas asks mildly.

The stranger takes a towel offered to them by Mitzi and sighs. “Job-hunting gone wrong, I guess,” they say in a dry alto. “One rejection too many, suppose I wasn’t paying attention to much anymore. I got lost, and when it started raining I just ended up more turned around.”

They’re dressed for a job interview; they’re wearing an expensive-looking red suit that would probably come off as more impressive if it wasn’t rumpled and soaking wet. They’re holding a stack of papers that seem to have taken less rain damage than the rest of them; Mоrdecai would guess they were shielding the papers with their body.

Atlas tilts his head and stares at the would-be interviewee with a look that Mоrdecai recognizes as an appraising one. “You seem decent,” he says slowly. “What, if you had to guess, was the common factor in your rejections from your prospective jobs?”

It’s a loaded question, but Mоrdecai has a feeling he knows what Atlas is looking for.

The stranger pauses a second. “If I’m being entirely honest, sir, I believe I lack the charm needed to succeed in a career when one’s of my particular persuasion.”

There’s something in her eyes. Mоrdecai has never claimed to be good at reading people, but he has a feeling that there’s something more to her job quest than she’s letting on.

“You know,” says Atlas, “we could use someone else to wait tables around here--we’re rather shorthanded as of late.”

This is a lie.

“If you’re inclined, I’d be perfectly willing to take you on--on a trial basis, of course,” Mоrdecai’s employer says, extending a hand to shake. “What’s your name?”

The stranger at the bar counter only hesitates for a second before shaking his hand firmly. “Cara. Cara Bergman. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

Mоrdecai makes his exit not long afterwards. No one cares much; they’re used to him disappearing when he pleases.

He has built his career on being unnoticed, and it pays off. No one notices when he starts avoiding speaking out loud in front of the new hire; if he must say anything at all, he says it in low tones to Atlas or Viktor. No one notices that every time Cara happens to get too close to him, he holds his arm as if it’s been burned.

He has successfully adjusted his plan to include every confounding variable, every scheme and trick and twist of fate that the universe, in its cosmic complication, has tried to throw at him.

Or so he thinks.

Because as it turns out, Cara Bergman is remarkably difficult to predict.

A crisp knock sounds on his office door, and he heads to open it, almost spouting a reflex greeting--but when he sees who happens to be standing outside, he’s glad he didn’t.

“Hello,” Cara says calmly. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

She takes a seat facing his desk, and maybe he’s just caught extremely off guard by her sudden insertion into his personal time, but he finds himself sitting back down to face her. He doesn’t say a word, and they eye each other for a few moments.

Cara breaks the silence eventually. “Look, I know you can talk. You and Mr. May are always off gabbing away in your little booth in the cafe. And from the way you always snap to attention when he says anything, I’m assuming your hearing faculties are in order, too.”

He doesn’t say a word, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Cara continues. “I’d write it off as you just being antisocial, but when I bumped into you the other day, the way you flinched--I thought I’d stabbed you or something.”

So maybe he wasn’t quite as subtle as he thought.

Cara folds her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m sure you’re awfully busy with bookkeeping or whatever it is you do. I just want to hear one sentence from you. Any sentence will be fine.”

Mоrdecai considers his options and finds himself woefully lacking. He scratches his arm, which is stinging dully. He meets Cara’s eyes, and he can tell that she’s got a fair idea of what’s going on already.

He sighs, and throws caution to the wind.

“Alright. I suppose it’s best we finish this sooner rather than later.”

Cara grins toothily. “That’s what I was looking for. And may I just say, that’s really the best thing to have tattooed on you for eight years or thereabouts. Are we factory workers? University students? My guess is as good as anyone else’s.”

Even though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, it’s a grim confirmation when she shrugs her shirt off one shoulder to reveal his own handwriting penned in inky black.

Suddenly, one of the things she’s said hits him. “Eight years? I’ve only had a...mark--” he hears the contempt in his voice as the word comes out--“for a few months, five at the most.”

Cara snorts. “What, did you expect something involving soulmates to make sense?”

“Fair point,” he concedes.

He straightens his cufflinks, unsure of where to continue from here. Luckily, Cara saves him. “I know you’re not excited about this or anything.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpans.

“Look,” she states, side-eyeing him, “I know there’s a lot of pressure on people to settle down once they find their soulmates, or at least make a big to-do about the whole thing. But no one’s making us turn this into a production. Just because we’ve got each other’s handwriting on us doesn’t mean we have to go all--” here Cara leans forward and bats her eyelashes in such a dead-on impersonation of Mitzi that Mоrdecai nearly chokes in surprise-- “on each other.”

“I--well.”

Somehow, he has been struck silent yet again. Cara has presented something that he never considered seriously before. “Well, what do you suppose we do about this, then?” he asks.

“You know, there’s this thing called a friendship that I’ve been thinking about trying out,” says Cara. “I understand the concept might be foreign to you as well.”

“I have friends,” Mоrdecai protests. He doesn’t realize how indignant he sounds about it until it’s already out of his mouth.

“Lovely,” Cara says. “Now you have one more. Here--let’s shake on it.”

She offers her hand, and he takes it. A jolt of something runs through him like lightning (static electricity, he tells himself, common at this time of year) and all at once, he realizes that his mark has stopped stinging.

“Now, as friends,” Cara muses, looking at the stacks of books arranged meticulously on his desk, “we should probably find some common interests. Do you like reading?”

“When it’s for work,” he says, turning his head back down to the figures he was calculating before she walked in.

“Well, that’s awfully boring of you. If we’re going to be friends, I’ve really got to introduce you to some H.G. Wells. Oh, or maybe Poe. You’d like him; you’re both dark and brooding.”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, and waits until she’s left, carefully shutting the door behind her, to lean back in his chair and consider things.

He refuses to give the universe the direct satisfaction of being right, but he will, at the very least, admit that there are worse ways that this situation could have played out. Much worse.

Her eyes were teal, he thinks, with hints of spring green--

He shakes his head and turns back to his calculations.

#reposted for convenience's sake #and also because of Anxiety #ship: serious business #nyx writes #self ship fic #self ship #self shipping

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upstartpoodle · 6 years

Text

Bad Tidings (Chapter 1)

Rating: G

Pairing: George x Elizabeth

Summary: George Warleggan doesn’t believe in the supernatural. Just before the Queen Charlotte sets sail on its maiden voyage, he’s proved wrong.

In other words, the first instalment of my banshee AU, based on the edit I made here.

Chapter 1

“Francis, aunt, how are you?”

It was the day of Charles Poldark’s wake, and George Warleggan watched sullenly from his place beside the refreshments table, where his uncle and Dr Choake were having a dreary discussion about the ills of society at large, as the deceased man’s nephew headed over towards the corner in which Agatha Poldark was sequestered, Francis standing at her side, staring at nothing in particular. The question was, George couldn’t help but think, a rather foolish one, however expected it may be. Francis had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and as such the fact that he was very much the worse for wear was written clearly all over his face, and as for Agatha…well, he wasn’t entirely sure she even had a heart, he thought, somewhat uncharitably.

“I imagine we have seen better days” George, who had now completely tuned out Dr Choake upon realising that he was beginning to warm to the subject of purging, heard Francis say in reply, his tone dull and grim.

Agatha snorted into her glass of port. George wrinkled up his nose in distaste.

“Better days indeed,” she scowled. “These are dark times for the Poldarks—you mark my words.”

“Aunt, please…”

“You may ignore the signs, Francis, but they’re there nonetheless. You heard it, did you not, just as I did? The wailing, the night before he died.”

“It was the wind, aunt” sighed Francis in a long-suffering tone. It sounded as if he had had this argument one too many times.

“It was not the wind,” retorted Agatha heatedly. “It was a perfectly still night, and besides, no gust of wind has ever sounded like that. It was a spirit, come to warn us of our misfortune—that’s what it was!”

Ross, who had been watching the exchange silently, seemed at a loss for what to say to this. A little further along, George discreetly raised a sceptical eyebrow in the old woman’s direction. He had never been one for superstition. As common as it was amongst many Cornishfolk, he had always counted himself as a fairly rational man, and had little time for such things. Let the vulgars and the likes of that horrible old witch indulge in their tales and traditions all they wish, but he had no intention of being taken in by such trifles.

“If you say so, aunt” grumbled Francis, glaring down darkly at his port before raising the glass to his lips and swallowing its contents in one long draught. It couldn’t be clearer that he too shared George’s opinion on his aunt’s love of portents of doom and gloom, for all that he did not appear to have the energy or the inclination to argue the point at that moment. In fact, he probably resented it even more, considering that, as he lived in the same house as her, coming into frequent contact with that particular tendency of hers was unavoidable. George could hardly blame him for that. If he had faced the prospect of endless hours alone with that abominable woman ranting about spirits and omens just after his father had died, he might have been tempted towards drink as well. Then, glancing at his uncle out of the corner of his eye, he reminded himself that he was not best placed to judge the vices of other people’s relatives.

They didn’t stay long at the wake—Uncle Cary had soon become impatient to return home, and George had had too much experience of socialising in his uncle’s presence not to recognise this as a sign that remaining overlong would only lead to horrific embarrassment on his part. As such, they made their regrets to a slightly disappointed Francis, before heading back to Cardew. The rest of the day passed much like any other—he worked, he took dinner in his study, he worked some more. At some point in the evening, Ambrose skulked into the room and dozed off under his desk, pawing lazily at one of its legs in his sleep. He saw nothing of Uncle Cary in all that time and that, he told himself, was how he liked it. He chose to ignore the vast, empty silence, filled only by the monotonous ticking of the grandfather clock on the far wall, telling him otherwise.

It was late into the evening—well past eleven o’clock—when the wind began to pick up outside. He paid no mind to it, absorbed in a hefty stack of papers relating to a potential investment in the shipbuilding industry. It looked promising, he thought, though he had no wish to jump into it. He had never been much of a gambling man, for all that he enjoyed a game of cards as much as any other, and he was just as inclined to be cautious in matters of business as in matters of pleasure. No, he would not advance the capital right away, he decided. He would bide his time a little while yet, and think on it more in the morning.

He had been so deep in thought that the chime of the clock startled him. Blinking up at it, he saw that it had reached midnight. There was a definite chill in the room, he noticed, now that the fire had burnt so low in the grate that it was barely more than embers, and he could hear the spattering of rain against the glass of the large, arch-shaped windows of the study. A sudden, bone-deep tiredness came over him and, with a soft sigh, he laid the papers down in a neat pile and massaged his temples wearily. He could feel a headache coming on, no doubt a result of staring at endless figures for hours upon end with little but the light of a few candles which sat upon his desk to see them by. Perhaps it was time to retire.

With that in mind, he stood with a slight yawn and began to put out the candles. His sudden movement awoke Ambrose, who followed him out of the room, trotting quietly at his heel as he headed for his bedchamer. Once they reached their destination, the shaggy dog yawned hugely before curling up at the foot of his master’s bed and promptly fell straight back asleep. George stepped carefully around him, slipping out of his tailcoat and draping it over the chair near his bedside. He undressed methodically, folding up the rest of his clothes in a neat pile before donning his nightshirt. After a moment’s deliberation, he pulled his silk dressing gown on as well—he had forgotten to ask for a fire to be lit in his bedchamber that evening, and as such there was a biting cold in the room that he did not at all like.

He was just about to slip into bed when a sudden gust of wind roared outside the house, rattling the frame of the window so hard that for one moment he thought it might come clean off. Cautiously, he headed over to it, pulling back the drapes and laying a palm over the pane to still its trembling. Outside, it was completely black, but even if there had been some light to illuminate the surrounding land, he doubted whether he would have been able to see it through the cascade of rain pummelling against the glass. With a slight stab of unease, he remembered that Agatha Poldark, for all her bizarre ramblings, had in fact been right in one thing—the night before Charles had died had indeed been a still one, without even the slightest hint of a breeze. The question was, then, what had made the noise that Agatha and Francis had both heard, which the latter had been so convinced was the wind?

“Don’t be ridiculous” he muttered to himself scathingly. The day he took Francis’ mad old aunt’s words seriously would be the day hell froze over. There was no point dwelling on it, especially not when he had far better things to think about. Nevertheless, as he shut the drapes, headed back to the bed and slipped under the covers, pulling them tight around him to ward against the cold, his mind could not help but wander to that overheard conversation. There was something niggling in the very back of his thoughts, some place hidden and forgotten, as if something of what was said reminded him of another thing, though what it was, he mused as he closed his eyes, he had no idea.

Time passed, and George barely thought on Agatha’s strange words again—after all, many things Agatha said were strange, and far too much had happened for him to linger on them. Francis, who had been somewhat undercutting his own efforts of restoring Trenwith and Grambler’s fortunes through his gifts to Margaret, the woman he had found for himself in place of a wife—Francis was, as far as George could tell, determined to remain a bachelor for as long as possible, however much the mothers of Cornwall’s array of unmarried young ladies may have sought to change that—eventually lost the mine to George’s cousin, Matthew, who had elected to return to Cornwall after a time away in London. Ross, by contrast, had been doing surprisingly well with Wheal Leisure, but his setting up of the Carnmore Copper Company—a direct challenge against themselves and South Wales—had turned George’s rather general animosity with the man into a full-blown feud. Now, Carnmore didn’t have a leg to stand on, their pride and joy—the Queen Charlotte—was near ready to set sail on its maiden voyage and, all in all, everything seemed to be going well for the Warleggans. George told himself that it was enough to satisfy him.

A few days before the Queen Charlotte was due to set sail, George was summoned to the residence of a particularly old client by the name of Mr Nankivell so that he could put his affairs in order before he passed away. It was at times like this that George dearly wished that the original Nankivells—an ancient though never very rich family—had not chosen to build their home on Bodmin Moor. Even Bodmin itself was a long journey from Cardew, but traversing the moor to get to the Nankivell residence—a reasonably-sized stone cottage, not unlike Nampara in its appearance and somewhat isolated location—was infinitely more tricky and time-consuming. Trigg had suggested that he take the carriage there, but he had refused. Those lands were easier to navigate on horseback, and it was a fine summer’s day in any case, so he could not see that there was much danger in such a trip.

The journey, as he had predicted, was long and tiring, and as such he had set off early in the morning to make good time. The meeting itself was rather irritatingly short considering the amount of time and effort it had taken to get there, though George could not blame the man himself for it. He had seemed rather cheerful, all in all, considering what the subject of George’s visit had been and, after a short rest, he had been able to head off back to Truro some time in the early afternoon, keen to get away from this barren place and back to civilisation, where his uncle and cousin would undoubtedly be waiting whilst they oversaw the preparations for the Queen Charlotte’s maiden voyage.

It was about a quarter of an hour into his ride when he first heard the noise. At first he thought it was nothing but the howl of the wind—it was strong today up on the moor, whipping at the tail of his coat and rushing in his ears almost painfully—but after a few moments of listening to it, he realised it was something else entirely. It was a high-pitched, piercing wail, carrying right over the roar of the wind—an eerie, unnerving sound that made him shift uncomfortably in his saddle and grip the reins more tightly in his hands. It was fluctuating in pitch as well, he noticed and, all of a sudden, he realised that someone—or something—was singing.

George glanced around, trying to find the owner of the voice, but all he saw around him was empty moorland. The wind whipped sharply through the grass and sent a shiver up his spine. Despite the defeaning level it had reached, he could still hear that strange, otherworldly, wailing song as clearly as ever. It seemed to be coming from all around him, echoing off surfaces that were not there and filling his ears until he thought he might go mad. He felt suddenly faint, and he bent double over his horse, sucking in deep breaths in an attempt to quell the dizziness in his head.

A few terrifying moments and then the singing began to fade in volume, still there in the background but quieter, less intrusive. George gasped for breath, his whole body trembling ever so slightly as he pushed himself back into sitting position, raising up a shaking hand to straighten his hat, which had almost fallen off his head. He sat still for several long minutes, trying to calm the painful thudding of his heart and then, once he had mastered himself to a reasonable extent, coaxed his horse onwards a little gingerly, trying to ignore the faint sound of the voice that was still, despite everything, easily heard above the wind.

A little while later, he came to the crest of a hill, the moor stretching out before him as far as the eye could see. To his left in the middle distance were a cluster of large, smooth, bare rocks, formed so that they looked like towers of giant pebbles. From that direction, a stream trickled towards him, turning a bend and flowing adjacent to the path he was riding along, the water brown from the peat. None of this, however, was what truly caught his attention. No, what he noticed first was the young woman, bent over the stream and determinedly washing a pristine white shirt in the filthy water. She was singing, her voice a little more than a whisper, but it managed to reach George’s ears with a piercing clarity nonetheless, and the words were in no language that he could identify.

His horse took another step forward and the woman, plainly having heard the stamp of hooves on the ground nearby, stopped singing abruptly, leaping to her feet and whirling around to face him. For one long moment, they both froze, scrutinising each other with identical expressions of shock on their faces. She was a very beautiful woman, George couldn’t help but notice—tall and slender with long, dark hair tied into two plaits framing her pale, fine-boned face, and soft, green eyes shot with golden-brown. Her attire was rustic, if a little odd, clad in nothing but a long, cream gown made of some rough fabric that George could not identify, with wide open sleeves that tapered up to her elbows, and there were what looked like dried ferns, beads and feathers woven into her hair. She was watching him warily and, no matter how odd her appearance, or how eerie her singing had been, he instantly felt the urge to apologise to her.

“Oh, forgive me, ma’am,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

For one long moment, the woman watched him searchingly, something akin to confusion, and something else which he could not decipher, flashing across her elegant features. Then, her face broke into a smile—small and a little cautious, but there nevertheless.

“It is no matter,” she replied and George couldn’t help but notice that her speaking voice was very different to her singing one—softer and gentler and far more pleasant on the ears. “I simply did not expect to see anyone else here. Are you lost?”

She looked a little concerned at this, twisting the sodden shirt in her hands in a slightly nervous gesture. There was a waistcoat too, he suddenly saw, and a fine one at that—a deep navy and made of silk. Upon seeing this, he was struck with an almost unbearable curiosity. How had she come by such a thing? And more to the point, why on earth was she washing two pieces of immaculate men’s clothing in a stream in the middle of nowhere?

“No, I know my way, thank you,” he replied, quick to reassure her. “But…might I ask what it is that you’re doing?“

“I am washing these clothes” replied the woman simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to wash gentlemen’s clothing in streams up on Bodmin Moor.

“In a muddy stream?,” pointed out George, confused. “Is that not a little counter-intuitive to your ultimate goal?”

The woman’s lip quirked slightly in amusemnt, although George thought there was something a little bittersweet about the expression. He wondered what she would look like if she smiled fully, and had just come to the conclusion that it would probably enhance her beauty tenfold before he began to wonder instead why he was thinking of such a thing in the first place.

“That would depend on what my ultimate goal is” she returned, and there was something a little sad in her tone, something a little lonely, despite the coy nature of the words.

She moved a little away from the stream as she said this, and a little closer to the path, hiking up her skirts a little as she did so. It was then that George, whose gaze had been following her progress, noticed something very odd.

“But your feet are bare, ma’am,” he cried, staring down at where her peat-caked toes peeked out from under the muddy hem of her dress. “Are you not cold?”

An odd expression flashed across her face, not unlike the one that she had briefly worn when he had first spoken to her—and one that was far too complex for him to possibly hope to interpret. It lingered for a moment longer before it melted, her lips curving into a soft, reassuring smile as she gazed up at him.

“You need not concern yourself,” she replied gently, “though I thank you for taking the trouble. I do not feel the cold.”

Despite the peculiar sincerity with which she said this, George remained unconvinced by her answer. He could not imagine, even on a warm summer’s day such as this one, that traversing Bodmin Moor without so much as a scrap of clothing on one’s feet was particularly pleasurable, and even if she were, as she claimed, hardier than she first appeared, he could not believe that her shoeless state did not at least trouble her a little.

“Well, do you at least have some means of returning home?” he asked her, glancing around him at the surrounding landscape. There wasn’t a dwelling in sight—nothing but the rolling expanse of grasss and gorse and moorland, and the broad, bright sky above it.

For a moment he wondered why he was so determined to assure himself of her wellbeing. He had never lied to himself about what kind of person he was and, though he hoped he had not yet reached the point of being habitually cruel, as his uncle was, he had never had much interest in the welfare of strangers, so why it should be different for her, he did not know. Perhaps it was something about the look in her green-brown eyes, soft and sad and lonely, never quite fading even when she smiled. Or perhaps it was the refreshing honesty in her manner when she spoke with him—so used was he to the pandering of near bankrupt nobles begging him to reverse their fortunes, only to sneer at the presence of the upstart grandson of a blacksmith amongst them the moment his back was turned. Or maybe it was simply the gentle, open compassion in her gaze as she regarded him that had made him wish to return the gesture in kind. Well, whatever it was, it had lodged itself deep in his mind, and he was unable to stop the worry from gnawing at his gut at the sight of her alone on the moor, despite her own apparent lack of concern for her situation.

“Oh I shall be alright,” she returned, her smile broadening and her head ducking a little shyly—she seemed unusually pleased by his attentions, for all that the emotion appeared to be mixed with many others. “I know the moors well, and besides, I do not live too far away from here.”

George raised an eyebrow, his expression sceptical.

“In that case, ma’am, our definitions of far must differ wildly,” he said. “The only signs of civilisation here appear to be yourself and myself.”

The woman laughed, soft and clear and gentle. It was a pleasant sound, he thought before he could stop himself—altogether different from the eerie, almost unearthly tones of her singing.

“Well you can never tell with this place,” she returned, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “There could well be an entire settlement of people just over that ridge.”

“And are there?” asked George, unable to keep himself from matching her slightly playful tone, though he was not entirely sure why.

The woman chuckled again.

“Admittedly not,” she conceded, her tone conciliatory now that she had had her fun, “but my home is close at hand, albeit out of sight.”

She was being truthful, he could tell, though he could not discern what she meant by those words. Perhaps her home really was just out of sight, and she considered it no great distance from the stream and back, even with her bare feet. In any case, she seemed to have spoken her final word on the matter, and he decided it best to let the subject drop.

“Well, since I am not particularly well-acquainted with Bodmin, I must bow to your superior knowledge of the matter,” he replied. “And I fear that now I must also bid you good day, ma’am—I am expected in Truro this afternoon and should not like to be late.“

“Of course,” the woman said, though the smile had faded from her face, replaced by something rather sad and, if he were not mistaken, a little guilty. “Good day to you, sir. And…and thank you.”

George frowned, baffled.

“Whatever for?” he asked.

“For talking to me,” she replied, “and for your concern.”

George blinked, not sure what to say in return. The woman, however, did not seem to be done speaking. A pause passed between them in which she seemed to be struggling with herself over whether she should utter the next words, a deep frown etched between her brows. Then, she took a deep breath and said, quietly:—

“I am sorry, truly, about your cousin.”

Silence.

“I-I beg your pardon?” George asked, not quite able to register what she was saying. She stared back at him mournfully, the grip on the wet clothes gathered up in her hands so tight that it was almost white-knuckled.

“I said that I was sorry—about your cousin,” she said. “And…and I hope that one day, you will believe that I meant it.“

George frowned at her, almost as unnerved as he was confused now. Whatever could she mean? He only had one cousin—Matthew—and, though his reputation had suffered a slight blow after the discovery of his dishonesty at the card table, he, as far as George knew, was perfectly well. And besides, how would this woman—this stranger—know anything about his family anyway, let alone something that he did not know himself? He cast a cursory glance around at his surroundings, twisting the reins of his horse in a slightly nervous gesture, and suddenly found that he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

“I’m afraid I do not understand your meaning, ma’am… Ma’am?”

He trailed off, bewilderment colouring his tone, for when he turned back to face her, the woman was nowhere to be seen. But where had she gone? As far as he could tell, the only place she could have concealed herself were the towers of stones in the middle distance, but she could not possibly have reached them in that time—he had only taken his eyes off her for a few seconds at most. He stared around him, baffled and a little uneasy. All he could see was the stretch of barren moorland surrounding him—no one and nothing else in sight.

“Ma’am?” he called again, tentatively.

His voice was met only by the sound of the wind howling across the hillside, having picked up suddenly as he had spoken, unusually cold for this time of year. He shivered slightly, a chill running down his spine. Best not to linger in this place, he thought to himself, for all that he dearly wanted to know where the woman had gone, and with that in mind, he spurred his horse onwards, steeling himself for the long ride back to Truro. Nevertheless, he could not help but steal one last glance at the spot where the woman had stood not moments ago, as if he were expecting her to return just as swiftly as she had disappeared. There was nobody there.

Then why, hissed a quiet voice in the back of his mind, does it still feel as if you are being watched?

George swallowed, clasping the reins tighter as another shiver ran down his spine. This one, however, had nothing to do with the bite of the wind.

Next chapter: Elizabeth contemplates her position in life and the young man she met on the moor, and disaster strikes on the maiden voyage of the Queen Charlotte.

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #george x elizabeth #elizabeth x george #georgibeth #francis poldark #agatha poldark #poldark au #banshee au #mine #my fic #fic #bad tidings

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mirrorfurniturethoughtsbykynan · 4 years

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5 Laws Anyone Working In Mirrored Chest Of Drawers Interiors Invogue Should Know

15 Style Features Of A Dream Kitchen area

All developers and house owners have their suggestions about what makes a great kitchen, yet throughout my years in the design globe, I've concerned count on several best approaches for developing an effective, functional, gorgeous room. The enhancement of any among these things would dramatically raise the charm of an area. Combine them all, as well as you would certainly have one incredible desire kitchen.

1. Appropriate lighting. Integrating different sorts of lighting in any area is fundamental, yet it's specifically useful in the cooking area. A wealth of all-natural light is amazing, yet kitchens likewise need practical resources of fabricated light: ambient illumination to create a total radiance, job illumination to brighten offices and also accent lighting to highlight functions in the area.

Brightening on a budget: Not prepared for an illumination overhaul? Beginning by replacing your old bulbs with LEDs-- they last much longer, are extra energy effective and also are available in amazing, cozy as well as neutral colour temperatures. Undermounted LED rope lighting, or puck lights are additionally budget-friendly choices for enlightening areas where cupboards cast darkness.

2. Abundant seating. Among the biggest requests I hear as an interior designer is a requirement for more guest seating. Individuals have a tendency to gather in cooking areas, so see to it there is ample space for close friends to collect in areas that will not disrupt the performance of your prep space.

Round tables are a wonderful way to give less complicated website traffic circulation and also can usually seat 4 to 6 individuals. Drop-leaf or extendable tables give you flexibility. They can be pushed versus the wall out of the way when not being used or gotten used to produce extra seating for enjoyable visitors. This is a great solution for a house that does not have an official dining-room.

3. Area. A big island with great deals of counter room as well as seating offers space for collaboration. Routine tasks such as paying costs, sorting through mail, doing homework or whipping up dinner can be implemented without initial needing to move things around to make area. Having this clear surface area also has a mental impact that makes the residence appear clean even if other areas of the residence are haphazard or covered with stacks of things.

No space for an island? Right here are a couple of space-saving pointers:

When every square inch counts, don't compromise area for the small stuff. Mount your paper towel owner to obtain it up as well as off the beaten track. Rather than making use of a knife block, shop cutlery on the wall surface utilizing a magnetic strip. Discover a reducing board that fits over your sink or cooktop to make sure that beneficial counter room does not go to waste.

Fold-down workstation surfaces are the Murphy bed of the cooking area. They offer you added area when you require it and also are out of the method when you don't. They're also fairly low-cost and easy to mount.

Or aim to our next essential cooking area device: the movable workstation.

4. Movable workstation. An island on wheels, and even a bar cart, is terrific for cooking and enjoyable. It offers more storage space and a flexible area for prepping and serving.

What to look for: Stainless steel is wonderful due to the fact that it's durable and also very easy to clean, or go with the a lot more cost effective option, butcher block, for a different appearance and also really feels. When it involves size, ensure you have about 36 inches in between the edge of the island and also bordering countertops so as not to hamper traffic flow. Relying on your preference, you can go with counter elevation or bar elevation. Take note of what's most comfy prior to you go out shopping.

5. Organised cabinets. Split as well as dominate! Conserve your time as well as sanity by maintaining points neat and simple to locate. Inserts and also dividers add structure to drawers where loosened products have a tendency to accumulate. Having actually designated areas for all probabilities and also ends will certainly assist you avoid overflow.

When buying organisers, keep in mind very first to measure your drawers. Avoid affordable plastic choices that warp in time, as well as rather, look for something equally as sturdy as the kitchen cabinetry.

Tool storage space is essential. It's far better (and cleaner) to nicely put away devices than to have an arrangement of spatulas sitting out on the counter.

Superficial flavor storage allows you to quickly see what you have as opposed to messing up with a congested cluster of containers. Perk points if you move your seasonings from their initial product packaging right into matching containers.

Pile cooking sheets and also cutting boards up and down in deep drawers (if you have them) or narrow cabinets for easier accessibility. Divider panels will keep them upright. Do not fail to remember to specify different cutting boards for produce, meats and also bread.

Organisation for food storage space containers always appears to be an afterthought (as well as one of the messiest parts of many kitchen areas). The amount of times have you gotten to for an item of Tupperware just to locate its equivalent lid has vanished? Closets consume loose covers, so maintain them with each other. We choose glass storage for food as it is microwaveable and stays in good condition longer.

6. Pot as well as frying pan (and cover) organisation. If you can order a pot or frying pan as well as its lid without shuffling the remainder of your cookware around, you're gold. Hanging them from hooks is a great method to achieve this accomplishment and make effective use of upright room.

7. Pullout corner storage. Smart cupboard organisers supply easier ease of access and aid increase the otherwise dead space where your Tupperware covers are probably concealing.

You can discover a multitude of products such as this online or through your neighborhood cabinetry firm, and also the majority of corner functions can be retrofitted to your existing kitchen cabinetry.

8. Devoted appliance storage space. Covert storage space for little home appliances liberates counter room for extra useful usages.

When developing your cooking area or renovation closets, consider adding a home appliance garage to keep your devices concealed. House owners also can transform an existing office by setting up pullout racks that use fast as well as very easy accessibility to devices when you require them. Whatever you do, designate a designated room for each device, so they don't wind up awkwardly stacked on top of the refrigerator or out on the counter.

9. Sturdy equipment. Protect your closets with hardware. In time, oil from hands can wear down the finish and also filthy up or damage the paint. Avoid unneeded wear as well as tear with sleek pulls or knobs that will certainly expand the life of your kitchen cabinetry. Try to find a strong metal or something durable with significant weight. It will certainly benefit you-- as well as your closets-- in the lengthy run.

10. Citrus. When life provides you lemons, put them to work. Whether you're adding a little enthusiasm to your dish, spraying up a rejuvenating drink, packing up on vitamin C or just cleaning up the kitchen area, citrus is an useful thing to carry hand (plus, it shows well as a wonderful splash of colour).

Lemons and also limes are fantastic for organic garbage disposal cleaning. Running the skins through water helps to cleanse the blades, as well as the oils freshen up the scent. You can also prepare your organic cleaning option with lemon, sodium bicarbonate and also vinegar-- avoid marble kitchen counters. The acid can create discoloration and also etching.

11. Hand Towels. Usage ornamental linen towels to lower waste by making use of fewer paper towels. Not just are cloth towels extra eco-friendly, yet they additionally conserve you loan and also include a little beauty to the cooking area.

Along with your beautiful tea towels as well as cloth napkins, you'll wish to maintain a pile of cleansing towels or microfiber fabrics accessible, so they're all set to grab when you require them. It will certainly be much less excruciating to pass up the benefit of paper towels if you're well-stocked for the following mess.

12. A clear catch-all space. Every day life makes it impossible to have an arranged residence 24/7. Documents, tricks, footwear, canteen, bags and various other various items tend to accumulate quickly in particular locations. Stay clear of surface mess by giving each of your things an assigned residence. Keys, mail, phone chargers and pens need to all have a devoted touchdown spot, whether it's a full-fledged, integrated command centre, the rear of a cabinet or ordered area inside a storage room.

13. Confined garbage as well as recycling. Garbage can take up floor room, can smell poor and give mayhem for family pets. Concealed storage is ideal, but if you do not have that choice, at the very least make certain your containers have lids. Keeping bins and bags together makes it easy to separate waste and recyclables.

Closets can be retrofitted to house custom-made pullout containers, however if you're looking for a simple remedy, inspect out favorite merchants like The Container Store or Ikea for a range of bins that will work to fit your existing space.

14. Coffee terminal. Life is just a little less complicated when you have whatever you require in one spot. If you can find a means to construct it in or enclose it, also much better. While a full-on coffee bar isn't always practical, having all your cafe accoutrements-- coffee manufacturer, grinder, beans or premises, filters, cups, sugar-- in one devoted location will certainly streamline your early morning regimen.

15. Character. Whether it's fun, colourful accessories or a stunning item of art work, a cooking area ought to have an inviting atmosphere that enables convenience, relaxation and great times.

Play up your house's fascinating architectural details. If you have attractive old glass-front cupboards, show off some vibrant bowls or maybe some vintage glasses. Indulge in little accents, such as quirky doorknobs or vintage drape tiebacks. These tiny information include fun, unforeseen style and also individuality.

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jishua-moved · 7 years

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Light Me Up | Chapter 2

Pairing: Vernon x OFC featuring S.Coups & Jeonghan

Genre: angst, fluff, humor

Word Count: 4539

[ Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 ] + Moodboard

Summary: Just as the moon had her scars and imperfections, so did she. And he loved every bit of it. To him, she was the moon that shone brightest in these rare moments. The moon who’s light had been dimmed. To her, he was the sun that would eventually, light her up in every way. Only she hadn’t accepted it yet. She hadn’t yet accepted the light slowly growing inside her chest, but it wouldn’t be long until she did.

“If you can love the wrong one so much, just imagine how much you can love the right one.”

A/N: I don’t even know how to start this note lol. It has been too long since I posted chapter 1 and I apologize greatly for not posting this sooner. I had the worst writer’s block! I would like to thank my lovely secret admirer Vernon anon for giving me that little spark of inspiration that I needed. A huge, enormous thank you to my @kaviea ! You are the best! This would be nothing without your help. Thank you! Once again, forgive me for not posting sooner, so here’s basically a double chapter for y’all. I hope you enjoy!

By the time she got up to her apartment the morning light had already crept into her living room. The light shone through her window, making her realize she’d forgotten to pull down her blinds.

She kicked off her boots and hung her coat by the door, making her way into the bathroom. A warm shower was exactly what she needed right now.

Her makeup needed to be washed off first. Applying makeup was something she’d do every weekend, and sometimes she really hated the trouble that went with it. She mostly hated having to look into the mirror in order to remove it and seeing a bleary-eyed reflection of herself. She was tired of washing off the same unyielding eyeshadow and mascara over and over again. Although taking the makeup off was a pain, it wasn’t as hard as applying it, and it was worth it, as the makeup did make her feel prettier. But it was still something that she’d rather not do routinely.

Eventually, she got out of the shower, put on her PJs and walked over to the window to roll down her blinds. Taking a look outside, she saw Vernon. He still sat at the bus stop, wearing his red cap and rubbing his bare hands together frantically.

She opened the window and called out to him, “Hey! What are you still doing there? The bus should’ve come and gone a while ago.”

He looked around, shrugged and was about to reply when she noticed how he was shivering. Decided, she beckoned a couple of times for him to get up and told him to make his way across the road.

“Apartment 3A.”

He stopped warming his hands together and went completely still. “What?”

“Get up here,” she added before closing the window and pulling down the blinds. She never considered that he might not come up into the apartment of an older woman who he had just met.

He hesitated for a bit, surprised by the fact that she had popped her head out of a window and invited him up to her apartment like that. As cold as it was, though, he eventually got off the bench and crossed the road.

She scanned her living room, making sure it looked presentable, but her eyes, in their mad dash around the room, crashed to stop on her coffee table.

It was a mess of bills for the club, so she kneeled down and frantically started gathering them up.

“Shit!” she hissed, jerking her hand away. Of course, she’d managed to get a paper cut now of all times. The doorbell rang and she quickly shoved the papers into the first drawer she saw, closed it hastily, and made her way to the door.

When she unlocked the door, both of them unconsciously ran their eyes over each other from top to bottom.

He stood in the doorway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his bomber jacket. She noticed how his nose and ears were slightly pink from the cold. The cap wasn’t doing a good job of keeping him warm, and neither was the jacket.

He, on the other hand, noticed her completely different outfit. It never occurred to him to picture her wearing something other than her chic black dress. He was pleasantly surprised that she owned anything as comfy-looking as those PJs, but now that he had seen her in them, it somehow fit. It pleasantly surprised him and he couldn’t help but smile. Was this what she was really like beneath her controlled professional appearance? He found that he desperately wanted to know.

His smile grew even more when she tucked that same lock of hair behind her ear. Only now, her hair wasn’t in a neat ponytail, but in a messy bun. Her locks were dripping with water and her face was bare.

“You coming in?” she asked, as she pushed that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear yet again.

He nodded a couple of times and shuffled into her apartment, mumbling an apology.

“Were you a dollar short again?” she teased. “Or did the bus not come at all?”

He ran his fingers through his brown hair and admitted with a sheepish grin, “Both.”

His grin softened something in her expression, and she chuckled quietly. He felt a little strange, standing in her living room like that, not knowing where to go, but strangely feeling like he very much wanted to belong there, until she pointed to the couch.

“You can sit down there. Just take your shoes off here,” she said. “You can stay until Coups answers his phone if you like. You look like you could use some sleep and the bus certainly doesn’t look like it’s coming anytime soon.”

“That’d be nice, thanks, but I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. The bus ought to be along any minute now,” he replied.

She didn’t mind him staying. It was just a gesture of kindness in her mind. She wouldn’t be able to sleep if she thought he was freezing to death outside waiting for a bus that was never coming.

“Don’t worry. You’re not,” she shook her head and extended a hand to take his jacket from him. Their hands brushed and she gasped, “Oh my God! Vernon, your hands are like ice!”

He ignored what she said, as his eyes had dropped to her finger with the paper cut, “You’re bleeding!”

“Shit, I forgot.” Instead of going to find her first aid kit, she hung up his jacket on one of the hooks near the door and went into her bedroom.

He was still staring at his jacket next to her coat when a minute later she came out holding a soft purple blanket. It wasn’t folded but rolled into a mess of a ball. She awkwardly dropped it onto him where he was sitting and hurried to her drawers that stood near the window. “I’ll make you some tea in a minute,” she added.

He watched her as she carefully rubbed ointment on her finger. Then, she neatly wrapped a band-aid around it, tucked the first aid kit back into the top drawer and peered out the window. The wind outside was stubbornly pushing the trees back and forth and the streets were empty.

“I don’t think the bus will be coming anytime soon and the wind just got worse. Why don’t you wait this out and get some rest? I’ll get your tea now. Make yourself at home.”

The way she talked to him, it was like he was her longtime neighbor and friend. There was no awkwardness or typical fear of a stranger. He felt warm and welcome. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

She handed him a cup of warm tea, wished him a good night (morning) and shuffled away into her bedroom nonchalantly.

He watched her take those couple of steps towards her bedroom door, smiling to himself. She looked so comfortable and happy. A huge contrast to the girl he met at the club. That girl was a polished piece of perfection, but this one, this girl was clumsy enough to injure her finger while picking papers off her coffee table at 5 am in the morning and then treat the tiniest wound like she was a nurse in training. This girl openly invited him into her home and made him tea, keeping him warm and comfortable.

What was astounding, was that she was the same girl. He wondered which side was the real her and why she appeared so different from the first time they met. There were a million questions in his head, but he tried not to think too much. Regardless of which girl was the “real” one, he liked them both.

His eyes were shutting and his body was filled with drowsiness, but, he pulled out his notepad and scrawled down a couple more words before sleep overtook him.

Does she love me Does she love me not I am counting flower petals all day long Does she love me Does she love me not What will the petals answer to me?

In a few hours, he woke up. Now that he was wide-awake, he rose from the couch and took a few steps around the living room.

The place smelled like freshly ground coffee and chocolates. It must have been the scented candles, which were neatly positioned on the shelves, he thought.

It was a small, but comfy space. There were two doors. One that led to her bedroom and the other, which he assumed led to the bathroom. The way to the kitchen was just an opening in the wall.

In contrast to her dark clothes and makeup, the interior of her place was much lighter. In a corner, there was the bright blue three-seater couch that he’d just slept on. It stood next to an ever brighter pink armchair. The drawers that’d she’d rummaged through earlier stood next to her window, which had its blinds pulled down. Amongst the many shelves filled with books, boxes, and DVDs there was a TV positioned right across from the seating area.

One shelf particularly stood out, as it was wrapped in fairy lights. Stepping a little closer, he noticed that it was stacked with movies, some dating back to the 90s. He lightly ran his fingers across the endless boxes, mouthing the titles of the movies that he recognized.

He stopped at one particular spot, reading the words on the box to himself, “School of Performing Arts - Seoul.”

As if struck by a sudden realization, he decided to pull the box out and take a closer look. It was a simple black DVD box, labeled as “SOPA. Annual Talent Show.” There were a couple more similar boxes that stood next to it on the shelf, dating back two years.

The sudden creak of the door made him turn his head towards the noise. She was awake. She wore the same clothes from early morning, but now, a silky lavender robe hugged her shoulders. Groggy from her sleep, she mumbled, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked softly, pointing at the box in his hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop, but...” he hesitated, but continued, “...you didn’t say you attended.” He held up the DVD. It was more of a question than a statement, as he remembered the things he told her a few hours ago. She never mentioned that she had attended his dream school.

“So that was the dream school you were talking about,” she replied with an ever softer voice. One that was barely heard. “I didn’t realize.”

“I dropped out anyway,” she added, lowering her gaze.

His eyes widened, “You dropped out?! Why?!”

To him, it seemed like something almost impossible. He couldn’t comprehend how someone like her would leave something like that behind.

“It doesn’t matter. I just left and didn’t go back,” she sighed and shook her head, refusing to tell him anything else.

She’d met Jeonghan at that same school. It was her first week there along with Seungcheol. They’d both applied and had been accepted for showing exceptional talent. Most of her breaks were spent with Seungcheol in the cafeteria or roaming around the campus.

One day, when Seungcheol had to stay home, she decided to wander the corridors of the campus. It wasn’t too long until she heard the sound of someone singing through the thin walls.

The noise came from the auditorium. She made her way towards the door and quietly went inside. The lights were dimmed and the only one who stood on stage, was him, Yoon Jeonghan, the talented senior that everyone talked about, the one with the voice of an angel.

He didn’t notice her at first, so she chose to sit down in one of the comfy chairs at the far back. She sat there and listened for a while. His voice had hypnotized her, but it wasn’t the only thing that caught her attention.

His hair stood out the most. It was onyx black and pulled into a short ponytail, with not a strand out of place. He wore an elegant white button-up and sleek black pants. His patent leather shoes were polished to perfection. He had the aura of a sleazy rich boy, or so everyone said.

When the music came to a halt, she found him directly looking at her. Despite the distance between them, she felt his gaze to be piercing and yet gentle. In that moment, she somehow knew that this young man would be the end of her.

It was love at first sight, a true fairytale. “Prince Jeonghan,” she’d call him. She was overwhelmed with feelings towards him and much to her joy at the time, he’d soon returned them without hesitation. Looking back, she knew that their relationship consisted of late night drives and dates that lasted hours. Some nights they’d lay on the bed in his apartment in Seoul, talking about little nothings including what their days were like in college.

It was everything she’d ever wanted. It was perfectly perfect. But it wasn’t.

And in another year, she would quit her school, move to New York, and become a completely different, secluded person. She would hide away her traitorous heart that she once so eagerly wore on her sleeve. She would forget about ever performing again.

But for now, she lived her fairy tale happily, unaware of the near future.

The way Vernon talked about attending that school, made her feel guilty for quitting. But she’d never let him know the real reason why.

They stood in silence as the memories ran through her head. Vernon looked genuinely shocked but didn’t try to ask any more questions. Somehow, he understood that it wasn’t money that held her back. It was principle.

Her ringtone cut through the awkward silence. S.Coups finally called back.

“Heeeeey,” he said in the most innocent tone he could before she could flip out on him. “I know you’re mad. I’m sorry, but--”

“Don’t ‘but,’ me Choi Seungcheol. Where were you all morning?!” She snapped, turning sideways to avoid direct eye contact with Vernon, who was very grateful that she wasn’t yelling at him, as she was barking curse words at Seungcheol.

While she was on the phone, Vernon slowly put on his boots on and slipped the notepad into the pocket of his bomber jacket that still hung on the wall hook.

“That’s all,” Seungcheol finished, “I just got a little carried away and completely forgot about Vernon,” he abruptly stopped, “Vernon! Shit! Did he get home alright?”

She glanced back at Vernon who flashed a small smile at her from across the living room.

“Well,” she lingered.

“It’s okay, just tell me when I get there. I’m coming up now,” he said cheerfully and dropped the call.”

“Wait--”

Get there? Oh crap. Her best friend had a key to her apartment, of course. What would he want at this hour? Couldn’t he just call me as always? She thought.

The sudden noise of a key turning startled Vernon just as much as it startled her. They exchanged wide-eyed looks and she reluctantly made her way to the door.

Just as she thought he would, Seungcheol froze when he saw Vernon in her apartment. After a moment, he gave her the most accusing wide grin and he pushed past her to stand between her and Vernon, who uneasily sat back on the couch. Seungcheol looked back and forth between them as if fishing for words to say.

She hoped he wouldn’t find them and glared at him with denial in her eyes. No, Cheol this is so not what you think it is, she told him mentally.

“Vernon!” he finally said with a grin and greeted the boy. “Wait, are you two..?” He was gesturing with his hands in a way that made her want to crawl into a hole somewhere and hide.

Vernon scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment and she slapped Seungcheol’s shoulder, “Cheol,” she barked, “really?”

“That’s true you haven’t had a guy over since you broke up wi--”

“CHEOL!” She practically shrieked. Unbeknownst to her, Vernon tilted his head to the side, as if curious.

“Well, it’s about time,” Seungcheol protested.

She threw her hands in the air and muttered, “you try to do a nice thing--I don’t know why I bother.” Exasperated, she gave Cheol another look and he gasped as if he was remembering that he was not actually there to mortify her, and made his way to her bedroom.

“Jacket! I forgot my jacket here the other time!”

Vernon, surprised, realized just how familiar Seungcheol with her place. He seemed to stroll around like he owned the place. But what he didn’t know was that though they didn’t live together, Seungcheol would often spend weekdays watching movies here and just lazing on her couch.

Vernon couldn’t help but wonder if there was something between them. Unaware of what the sudden feeling in his gut was, his eyes darkened with jealousy.

Seungcheol came out of the bedroom, with his jacket in hand and beckoned to Vernon, “Let’s go then, if you two are done,” he mockingly grinned at her expected angry expression, “we’ve got things to do.”

Vernon snapped out of it and nodded in agreement. He quickly got up and flashed a polite, more reserved smile in her direction. She hesitated at the change, but returned it and gave a slight wave of her hand as both went out the door.

Before she closed the door, Seungcheol leaned in and said in a lower tone, “Do me a favor, come to the club an hour earlier tonight. I’ve got something to show you.”

Not having a single idea what it could be, she hastily agreed to get him out of her apartment and shut the door.

Tonight she wore her black ripped skinny jeans and a striped crop top with long sleeves. It was exactly an hour before opening time and Seungcheol was on stage, fiddling with the mics. For some reason, there were two of them.

She still didn’t understand why until Vernon came in through the doors. Were they practicing something? If so, why did she have to sacrifice another hour of her free time to be here? Making herself comfortable at her usual spot at the bar counter, she gave Cheol half a wave signaling that he had her attention.

He smiled and spoke through the mic, “Thanks for coming, boss.” He tapped both mics with his finger, but instead of staying on stage like she guessed he would, he strolled over to her and stood right behind her.

“You gonna sing from here now?” she joked.

He shushed her, cupping her ears and turning her head to the stage, “Just listen.”

The music started up and Vernon pulled the mic from its stand. His cap was off, letting his brown locks bounce freely as he bopped his head to the beat. He took a breath and started rapping.

Lean on me Lean on me

If I am in your heart If I am really in your heart Wherever you are I will follow you

Even if we’re so busy That we can’t see each other often If we get drunk on each other and fall asleep In the dreams, don’t hesitate Lean on me

We are doing well So have strength Even if you wake up from your dreams If I’m really in your heart Wherever you are I’ll be there

As the words left his lips, hers parted in awe. She couldn’t believe how talented he really was. The fact that he wrote these lyrics himself was impressive, but that was not just it. The way he carried himself on stage was incredible. He was the complete opposite of the shy, polite boy that she met less than a day ago. On stage, he was a confident, charismatic young man.

When he stopped, he pushed his hair back with his fingers and humbly smiled, bowing his head.

Seungcheol started clapping at a ridiculously fast pace, but she could only nod in agreement.

She turned to face Seungcheol, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Hire him,” he said simply.

“What?” she snapped. “You know I can’t do that, for a multitude of reasons.”

“Those being?” he shrugged.

She glared at him, “You know more than well that I do not own the club. And he’s only nineteen! Uncle would kill me.”

“No, uncle will listen to you,” he protested.

As they distractedly whispered to each other, Vernon got off the stage and walked over to them, ceasing the whispers.

The three of them exchanged little smiles. She and Seungcheol looked like concerned parents talking about their only child. Vernon seemed relatively unphased and like he wasn’t really waiting for any kind of opinion or answer. She wondered if Seungcheol told him about his hiring plans.

What confused her most was why Cheol would let anyone rap beside him on his stage. She thought about it all night, and then remembered that he would be going back to Korea next year, which was very soon.

Seungcheol had moved to New York with her that one summer, dropping out of school as well to be there for her. Somehow, he never really left and decided to stay with her for a year. Just one year, he said, for reasons he changed each time, but she knew it was until he was convinced that she was truly okay.

Faster than she liked, her time with the last person on the earth who could actually bring a genuine smile to her lips, was coming to an end. She realized that even though he was leaving, he was still trying to look out for her. A part of her wished she could ask him to stay, but she knew he would, and after all he had done for her, she owed it to him to at least pretend she was okay, which sadly, she wasn’t.

The sun was slowly rising once again as she stood at the club’s entrance, with her knuckles curled up in the pockets of her navy coat.

She didn’t just wait for Vernon this time, but Seungcheol as well. Vernon walked out first. The wind blew his hair all over the place and she could clearly see that he regretted not wearing a cap today.

Seungcheol came right behind him, with much more enthusiasm. He wrapped his arms around both their shoulders and they started crossing the road.

The walk to the bus stop was shorter than expected, with small talk, most of which was from Seungcheol, here and there. He talked about going back to SOPA and how he’d miss rapping on the club’s stage. His tone wasn’t sad in any way. Honestly, it never was. Seungcheol was always the positive type, keeping the atmosphere far from gloomy.

Vernon, though, was a little too quiet, forcing a laugh every once in awhile. Seungcheol didn’t seem to notice and kept chattering on about anything and everything, not leaving her any time to interject and ask Vernon what was on his mind.

Once they finally got to the bus stop, Seungcheol gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, “Hire him.”

She gave him another one of her glares and waved goodbye.

“You okay?” she asked Vernon, who had sat heavily on the same bench she saw him on last night, as soon as Seungcheol was out of sight.

She walked over and sat down next to him. This time, she decided, she would wait for the bus to come.

His face lit up, almost like there wasn’t a hint of worry in his heart, but that wasn’t the case. She could somehow tell, which surprised him.

“I’m good,” he lied with an unconvincing smile.

“Then why were you so quiet all the way? Is it because I didn’t hire you right away?” she asked.

His eyes widened and he shook his head a couple of times, “No! Nonono! That’s not it! I promise.”

“Look,” she started, making sure her tone wasn’t too harsh or overly sweet, “You’re so talented, why would you want to waste your time rapping at a club like that? Why don’t you just get on a plane and go live your dream?” She made a lot of hand gestures while she said those things. It was a mystery to her why he’d waste his time like that.

He silently looked at her and then said, “Well, I'm kind of a few dollars short...” He paused, “Few thousand actually.”

All she could blurt out was, “Oh. I see.” He could make it seem like a joke. Somehow that boy always had a smile on his face, no matter how serious the subject was. He was always so positive about things, it was astounding. But after tonight, she knew there was more to that smile than it seemed and despite herself, she was intrigued.

In a few awkward moments of silence, he finally decided to ask her what was bothering him the entire day.

He blurted,“So, are you and Cheol...?”

She immediately understood what he meant and the entire night flashed before her eyes.

“Oh! No! Nononono,” she laughed. “Cheol and I aren’t like that. We grew up together. I guess we give off that vibe sometimes because we have known each other so long and even work together, but no, we’re not a couple. And we never have been.”

She could see the relief wash over him like a cold bucket of water pouring over his head. At the same time, she wondered if he thought she was afraid he’d “outshine” her “boyfriend” on stage. That was clearly not the case in her head.

“Ah, I see,” he nodded awkwardly, catching a quick glance at her and then glancing away.

It was cute that he thought Seungcheol and her were a thing. It was even cuter than he cared at all.

The bus pulled over just in time. They both got up at the same time and exchanged casual goodbyes.

As he took that one step to get into the bus, she grabbed him by his sleeve. “Hey, you know what? You’re hired,” she heard herself say, with shock. She couldn’t believe she’d just hired him! Her Uncle would kill her! There was something about this boy that was always making her do unexpected things!

He turned around and grabbed her hand with the both of his. He shook it a couple of times, thanking her more times than she could count. That’s what finally made her chuckle and as the bus driver called Vernon in, he finally had to let go.

As soon as the bus took off, she crossed the road and continued making her way to her apartment as usual. To her surprise, she couldn’t seem to control the smile that tickled her face. She rubbed her hands together over and over again. Her cheeks burned crimson.

It wasn’t because of the cold, and this time she turned around.

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alwaysmercy · 6 years

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Mother’s Day 2018 (a little late)

Small Things (by Anna Kamienska)

It usually starts taking shape

from one word

reveals itself in one smile…

It’s not from the grand

But from every tiny thing that grows enormous

As if Someone was building Eternity

As a swallow its nest

Out of clumps of moments.

A mother’s love often reveals itself in the small things. My own mother, diminutive in stature and now closer in years to 90 than 80, offers up her love in a hug, a flash of a smile, a chuckle, a kiss on my arm.

Not so long ago, she was deft with a needle and thread—quite the accomplished seamstress and quilter. When I was young, she sewed many of my clothes, including a new dress for Easter each year. Sometimes we even wore matching mother and daughter dresses!

When I became old enough, I was allowed to accompany my mom to the fabric store. We’d sit side by side at the long rectangular table. Running down the entire length of the center of the table were specialized book holders, large enough to prop up the oversized pattern books-- McCall’s, Butterick, Simplicity and Vogue. Licking a finger, we’d turn the pages of these books, imagining the possibilities. Once we settled on a particular pattern, we’d jot down the pattern number on a little white slip of paper and make our way to the large steel file cabinets which organized the patterns by brand and number. Think old library book catalogue system before the advent of computerization.

After we pulled the pattern out of the drawer we started to look at fabric (my favorite). There were rows and rows of possibilities: calicos, ginghams, eyelets, plain cotton, polyester, silk (too expensive, but lovely to caress). After we’d selected the proper fabric, we’d move to the notions section: buttons, zippers, thread, rickrack, lace. Assured that we had everything needed, we’d stand in line at the cutting table where our chosen fabric was measured, cut and folded. The clerk would neatly stack the notions on top of the fabric, ready for purchase.

At home, I was anxious for my mama to get started, but it was important to prewash the fabric and hang it out on the clothesline to dry. Another lesson in patience for this impatient daughter. Perhaps the next day, we’d put the leaf in the kitchen table to extend it to its longest length and lay out the fabric. Taking the slender pattern packet, we’d open it and gingerly pull out the instructions and the tissue -thin pattern pieces imprinted in seemingly crazy and impossible shapes. The instructions had to be read carefully, and the fabric laid out just so, edges matching and the grain of the fabric running the correct way. Each pattern piece had to be cut and released from the other pieces in the tissue paper-- bodice, sleeves, facings-- then fit on the fabric like a puzzle piece and pinned to secure. Satisfied that all was in order, my mama brought out her super sharp scissors—for sewing purposes only!—and began to cut out the pieces, stacking them in a neat pile as she went along.

I’d watch as my mother threaded her trusty Necchi sewing machine, moistening one end of the thread in her mouth to make threading the needle easier. Proper adjustments to the sewing machine were made for fabric type and stitch length. And, now the actual “sewing” could commence.

Unpinning the fabric from the pattern pieces, she’d then proceed by pinning the appropriate pieces, right sides together before sewing. She might even baste a tricky curved neck or puffed sleeve, just to be sure everything was even and precise. The iron stood nearby, ready to press open newly sewn seams.

At some point, I’d have to try on the half-finished dress with pins intact. I’d pull the dress over my head creating tiny scratches on my forehead, no matter how careful I was. My mother was ever patient and persistent. She was exacting, yet flexible if something required adjustment or alteration. I can picture her at the sewing machine, as well as in her rocking chair doing the handwork with a cup of tea by her side. Each stitch was important. Each building on the next one. Each step of the process made the next step possible. The finished product was given a final inspection, ironed and hung on a hanger until Easter morning.

I think of this act of love often. My mama’s fingers no longer hold a needle and thread. Her mind is unable to comprehend the puzzle of pattern pieces and instructions of any sort. Her fingers, however, still soothe edges of tea towels and arrange collected leaves in patterns on the kitchen counter. And most importantly, she still possesses a mother’s love and I am soothed by a kiss on the arm.

My mama’s old sewing cabinet. Note the super sharp scissors, pin cushion and tiny cabinet with sliding drawers to organize buttons and small spools of thread.

A romper made for my son when he was little.

Another one of Margie’s creations for her granddaughter, Kali. Yes, I’ve saved them!

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sherlocked-avenger · 6 years

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Turbo soul lives in the 2018 Volvo XC60

There have been many quirky vehicles in The Garage over the years, but one of the coolest remains the 1984 Volvo 240 Turbo wagon that we owned for a few years during the late Nineties. Officially, the longest of the turbo bricks was called a 245T. Our wagon was the exact spec that fans of the boxy speedster lusted after: A silver wagon with the correct Turbo blackout striping, Euro style grill with inset fog lights, GLT wheels and a manual transmission. It even had the dog gate which swung down from the ceiling to keep Fido in his place. Sadly, we didn’t have a Fido in those days but it was still neat to have it.

That wagon was perhaps the best family vehicle of all time. It could carry 5 adults in comfort. Fold down the rear seats and it would carry a 4×8 sheet of plywood. It looked cool as hell to those who knew and could keep pace with a Fox-body Mustang off the line. While it was a bit too big for an autocross course, the car was a joy to hustle down a winding country road, even when fully loaded.

Back in the day, Volvo used the slogan “Boxy but good” and their sporting varieties became know as Bricks and Turbo Bricks. They weren’t exactly sexy, unless you were turned on by straight lines. Fast forward three decades and our tester, an XC60 T6 R-Design couldn’t be more different. While there are straight accent lines here and there, sensual curves are the order of the day. Those curves do however push up towards muscular rear shoulders, in keeping with the brand’s heritage.

The interior of the old girl left much to be desired, as many of its surfaces were as square as the exterior. Nothing flashy or luxurious here, just black plastic and blue cloth seats in a style that only really excited a Volvo diehard. The interior of the XC60 on the other hand is nothing short of World class. Without seeming too modern, the combination of sensual curves and well chosen finish materials, the Volvo has a definite Scandinavian flair. The machined metal speaker covers are particularly striking.

Techie types will be astounded by the XC60’s incredibly user friendly infotainment system, which is centered around a 9″ centre stack touch display which operates with the fluidity of a smart phone or tablet. It gives users control over a wide range of audio and vehicle settings to tailor the vehicle experience to the individual driver.

The audio system in particular deserves a mention, as it stands out in a segment which is full of serious audio gear. The Volvo Canada media fleet guy enthusiastically pointed out that the Bowers & Wilkins system has different modes, including studio for normal music and concert hall for higher quality music. Most often, these systems seem, to my ears at least, to simply muck around with reverb settings to change the sound in the cabin. The system in the XC60 was painstakingly tuned to replicate the sound in the middle of the renowned Gothenburg Concert Hall, complete with displaying a picture of the place.

To test the system, I directed the system to play music from my bluetooth connected phone rather than the Sirius XM feed. I brought up my Google Play app and chose the Evanescence Fallen album, hit play and cranked the volume. The sound was nothing short of mind blowing. The drums or thunder or whatever the rumble is in Bring me to life, quite literally caused the vehicle to shudder. After that, a bit of vintage Pink Floyd confirmed that the XC60 offers one of the best sound systems on the market.

Back in 2014, I had the opportunity to spend a rather silly 22 hours in Gothenburg, Sweden, home to Volvo with the intention of going for a ride-a-long in the company’s first self driving car. Sadly, it was raining and the vehicle’s sensors could not “see” the markings on the road, which it used to stay in its own lane. Autonomous vehicle technology is moving forward in leaps and bounds and much of the tech that Volvo was working on three years ago is now included in the company’s Pilot Assist system.

Volvo’s tech sheets describe the system as “Semi Autonomous Drive System with Adaptive Cruise Control and Active Lane Keeping Aid”. Adaptive cruise is not a new concept and lane assist type of systems are becoming more common in the marketplace. Some of the systems offered by other manufacturers are clunky at best, disruptive at worst. Where Pilot Assist stands out is in its seamless, unobtrusive operation. Once could quite easily, gasp, look down at their phone, confident in the knowledge that the car is going to do what it is supposed to do.

You may think I have lost my mind with that statement, but that action is exactly what Volvo has had in mind with their development of autonomous and semi-autonomous vehicles. During that visit, I sat down with Volvo’s Autonomous Driving Director, Marcus Rothoff, to discuss the reasoning behind autonomous cars. Volvo has set milestone after milestone for automotive safety over the past 50 decades, so imagine my surprise to hear Rothoff say that self-driving cars would create “possibilities to open up more time”, even going so far as to say that the technology would allow drivers to stay connected to the internet while they were on the road.

Don’t worry, I obeyed the rules of the road while driving the XC60.

All of this talk of inside technology might lead one to think that the spirit of the Turbo Brick has been lost to modern gadgetry, but nothing could be further from the truth. Beneath the hood of our tester was a 2.0L 4 cylinder that is boosted by both a turbo and a supercharger. Yes, you read that right. The combination generates an impressive 316 HP and 295 lb-ft and is fed to all four wheels through a slick shifting 8-speed automatic unit.

Wait…..what?

If you have ANY Volvo background, a T5 was a turbo 5-cylinder. At what point did some marketing committee decide that a 4-banger should bear the designation T-6? I know, I am crusty and old, but there is something very wrong there. Don’t get me wrong, I knew this was a four-pot Volvo, the way Uncle Olaf intended, the branding just seems off.

What is not wrong is the way the XC60 drives. Around town, with the drive mode in the default comfort position, the XC60 feels like the dreaded nice car. The comfort and technology take the lead. Move out into the country and switch the drive mode to sport however and the spirit of the Turbo Brick quickly makes itself known. Very quickly.

Honestly, during the first few days with the XC60, I was in full responsible Dad mode. The subtle R-Design logo on the rear hatch caught my eye and somehow reminded me that there was likely some fun lurking within this family machine. At the next light, I fully rolled into the throttle and was pleasantly surprised to find that the Swede is seriously quick. Quicker than many cars of the sporting variety. Sub 6 second 0-60 quick. To put that into perspective, the sort-of legendary 1989 Mustang GT (rollin’ in my 5.0) reached that standard in 6.1. A lot has changed over the years, but a four cylinder Swedish family hauler can still haul ass.

While the XC60 R-Design might not be a track ready weapon like say, a Porsche Macan GTS, it is definitely a vehicle one can have one heck of a lot of fun in and maybe embarrass a few tuner kids along the way.

On a humorous note, I learned that keeping the key fob in your pocket while washing the XC60 will cause the door lock system to spasm frequently, locking and unlocking the doors, flashing lights and wiggling the side mirrors like a curious puppy’s ears each time the brush or even water stream go near the door handles. Technology can be a weird and wonderful thing.

There was a time when Volvos were driven by science teachers, accountants and rally enthusiasts. In other words, Volvo was the car for the intelligent, the conservative and throw all caution to the wind performance fans. Today’s Volvo is a different animal. The XC60 T6 R-Design is one which still appeals to all three.

from garage2 http://ift.tt/2oijbKH via great info

#garage2

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sherlocklexa · 6 years

Text

Turbo soul lives in the 2018 Volvo XC60

Don’t worry, I obeyed the rules of the road while driving the XC60.

Wait…..what?

from car2 http://ift.tt/2oijbKH via as shown a lot

#car2

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chocdono · 6 years

Text

Turbo soul lives in the 2018 Volvo XC60

Don’t worry, I obeyed the rules of the road while driving the XC60.

Wait…..what?

from mix1 http://ift.tt/2oijbKH via with this info

#mix1

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mcp-ethnography-blog · 7 years

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Field Notes for First Essay

Troy Kitchen

I showed up around noontime and opened the door to see the rest of my class sitting and taking jottings. Many of my classmates were talking and some were getting up to buy food. It was seemingly peak lunch time so I thought it was weird that the place wasn’t busier. With the exception of our class, there were only a handful of small groups there. This could simply be that a lot of people are taking their food to go; it’s a weak but steady stream of people making their way through. Ambient music was playing, the type that’s meant to go on in the background, with no words. As I looked around to get a sense of the demographics, it was clear that Troy Kitchen caters more to the younger crowd, having generally accessible prices for students and middle to low income 20-30 year olds (didn’t see a lot of families there, but it was also a school day). There was no single predominant race represented; it was a pretty even mix of everyone (also reflective of Troy’s demographic). As there were many places to buy food and generally not many people coming in to eat, many of the employees behind the counters were yawning, staring outside, talking with one another, or just looking bored. I can’t say I blame them; smaller businesses like these probably don’t have many employees and as a result have to work long days. People who come in to eat pause immediately after coming in the door where they take a look at all the options, then eventually pick one place to go to. The placement of their decision-making is unfortunate for the coffee/bistro place that is located on the other side of the entrance/exit doors. I suppose once they sit down they notice, and if they want coffee they’ll go for it. I see the coffee shop employee bringing hot drinks out to two girls sitting down. The rest of the shops don’t do table service. As I look to the even more desolate side, I see some pretty neat wooden designs on the bar (which is currently unoccupied). The wooden designs (made by the owner) are a real conversation piece, and I would say it attracts people to the bar. Also on this side is a stage, which is for late night performances. From previous knowledge, this place is actually more popular at nighttime.

Spill’n the Beans

I entered Spill’n the Beans around 1pm, and there was no line to the cash register. I noticed the many different types of coffee available, as well as the various desserts in the display case. I ordered simply a coffee, and because I did not specify, the cashier recommended the standard medium blend. I’d say this girl was in her mid twenties, also caucasian. At Spill’n the Beans, you added your own half and half, sugar, etc. to your coffee. Somewhat separated from the cash register area was the main seating. Having been here for breakfast before, I knew this was usually pretty full in peak hours. There were only a few college age kids doing work on laptops, most of these with headphones in, and another group eating sandwiches. Once again, taking into account the time of day, most people may already be back at work, and others at school. So it made sense there weren’t a whole lot of people there. There was classic rock playing, this created a non-rushed environment. One of the girls who worked there went around bussing some of the dirty tables, gave us a smile. The main seating had tables for 2 and 4 people, and in addition to this area, there was also a section closer to the cash register with lower, cushier chairs and a fireplace. This is clearly an area meant for sitting down and hanging out. I could hear the prep chefs chopping what sounded like veggies, potentially for a sandwich or salad. There was a TV turned to some GMA-like show, though it seemed no one was watching. The setting gave off a somewhat industrial or rustic vibe, with old brick walls, metal art pieces scattered around, “hip” artwork along with old scenes of the streets of Troy. Not many people were coming in and out while I was there, but the people that were there weren’t leaving any time soon.

Mall Food Court

I showed up to Crossgates around 7pm, and it seemed like a pretty good time to see a diverse sample of people getting dinner. I sat down at a table meant for 2, there were many of these facing the rest of the food court. I looked around and saw a pretty ethnically diverse crowd. Many groups of people were eating at the 4 person tables - some groups of college-age kids (early 20’s), some young families, and one group that seemed like a couple developmentally disabled people and who seemed to be their carers. One boy in a wheelchair kept shaking occasionally and making loud groaning noises. Every time this happened, a lot of people would turn to look. The food court was very wide open, with Subway, Taco Bell, a hoagie shop, Wendy’s and two asian food places competing for lowest price (currently at $3.99). A common theme was quick service for grabbing a quick bite to eat. Some people stuck around longer than others but all of these food choices indicated to me that you were to eat quickly and conveniently to get back to shopping. There were a few people who sat down with their bags, others sat down alone. There were a few single seat countertop areas but not many solo diners were taking advantage, usually opting for the two person tables or some even at the four person tables. These people usually were buried in their phone, some had headphones in, and all of them had their head down facing their food. Typical mall pop music was playing, it’s not too offensive to any ears, and I assume is supposed to give a mass appeal vibe.

Dick’s

This shop was harder to get ethnographic research on because not a whole lot of people were walking through the store. And most of what I think is obvious is very deliberately thought out for a streamlined customer experience. As I entered the store, immediately through the doors were five or six clothing racks full of clearance goods. As expensive as sporting clothes usually are, this is a good way to immediately grab the attention of anyone who’s just shopping around, and maybe even enough to attract some people to the store. These clearance racks were by both entrances. On the bottom floor, you could find pretty standard ball sports, each corner or section all the way around the walls labeled by big letters “BASEBALL,” “LACROSSE,” or “FOOTBALL”. Training clothes could also be found, more toward the middle of the store. Big posters or signs with advertisements for top brands advertised intense looking athletes with catchphrases like “Protect this house” (under armor), etc. All an attempt at branding the products as the most effective, the most durable clothing for athletes to have. The aisles were all relatively wide, my guess would be it’s due to the relatively big/bulky nature of the goods sold. On the top floor, the categories were a bit more vague or obscure. They had golfing supplies and “OUTDOORS,” which covered fishing and hunting, and some camping/hiking supplies as well. On all the aisle caps they showcased the premiere products in that category, then they would put less expensive models further down in the aisle. They could be saying “this is what the pros are using, but you could get something a little cheaper…” Logically, they are stocked for the season, with more skiing goods than swimming necessities. There were a few other people in the store who looked to also be just browsing, a boy and his mother seemed to be looking at one prop target in particular but two other guys a little older than me were price checking some ski goggles. My guess is the floor staff don’t make commission, because none of them offered to help me in any way, instead they just tended to their business, folding shirts or straightening up goods in various sections.

Pizza DaVinci

My friend and I came here to pick up a bite to eat late at night, after arriving home from a racquetball tournament late at night. It was around midnight when I pulled up against the apartment building adjacent to the pizzeria. As we walked inside, I noticed the smell of fryer oil. The location is convenient for anyone on 15th street or Hoosick street. Being right on the corner by a stoplight, it’s easy enough to pull in here for a quick slice. The prices are reasonable, but when we walked in we noticed there was no menu posted. Only take-out menus in a stack by the register. There was a two-tiered rack of pizzas, about eight or ten total, meant to be sold by the slice. There was one drinks cooler by the cash register, and another two by the seating area. I could tell this place was optimized for take-out or delivery. I sat down to wait for my food and I noticed the light green walls with white trim. There were two doors to this place, with windows lining the walls. One door faced the speedway across 15th street, the other faced Hoosick street. While I was there, the delivery driver came in once to grab an order. A woman who looked like she might be pregnant came in to grab some pizzas and a soda (an order that she’d placed over the phone I presume). Also, a group of kids wearing RPI gear came in and ordered some slices of pizza. They sat down and talked about some of their other friends, and what they were planning on doing for the rest of the night. It was hard to put my finger on the nationality of the employees - either Greek or Italian, but there were about five of them behind the counter and in the kitchen. I could hear the pizza oven door open and shut every time. There was one employee sitting at a table looking at his phone. They seemed pretty relaxed most of the time, because there weren’t many customers to be attentive to.

Recovery Room

I went to the Recovery Room at 9pm on 50 cent wing night, and although I thought we were going off peak hours, there was still a 10 minute wait to get a table. I guessed this was because many students had 6-8pm class on Monday (in fact, that’s why we waited until 9). When we were seated, I noticed that nearly everyone sitting at a table was an RPI student. It makes sense that a good deal like 50 cent wing night attracts the college crowd, as most students are trying to save money for various reasons. The only exception to this one sided demographic was a couple of middle aged men at the bar. There is a lot of seating in the restaurant, and rightfully so, because there are many TVs meant for watching sports games. We mostly caught replays and different analyses or talk shows. There were remote speakers that could be tuned to different TVs, to listen to what a certain TV was playing. They didn’t have them out on tables, but I could see them on their storage rack. The lighting was slightly dim, maybe to contrast the brightness of all the TVs. There was also a small assortment of arcade games, possibly to distract the kids, and possibly to entertain adults waiting for their food. There were a lot of sports games, and that’s usually the type of friendly-competitive genre game you’d see at a bar. The people there were all dressed pretty casually, probably because they were college kids, but also because the sports bar scene attracts a casual customer base.

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