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chenfordsbby · 10 months

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"Time of Death"

Season 1 Episode 8: “Time of Death”

“Nolan and Bishop respond to a silent alarm call at a local convenience store where two men are attempting to rob the place; Bishop helps coordinate a drug bust.”

Original Air Date: December 11, 2018

Written By: Brynn Malone

Directed By: Michael Goi

Another week, another episode, let’s get right into it, shall we?!

When a new episode starts with a “previously on” usually that means that storyline is brought back up in the current episode, so I know already off the bat that the John and Lucys relationship is going to be a focus on this episode, as well as Isabel. Im kind of glad though, because that means there will be more traction for the doomed Nucy relationship and maybe it will finally get to a head and be done with completely, maybe, hopefully!

My favorite part of every episode, I’ve come to learn, is the cold opens. I think because of the fact that, so far, they really have nothing to do with any of storylines that we get in the rest of the episode. John and Talia are in pursuit of the assailant, and he leads them into a room where they realize that its an escape room and the only way out is by actually figuring out all of the clues of the room and they end up solving their way out and it also gives us a little comedy as well, as its really the only comedy we get this episode unfortunately.

Lucy and John are seen sparring with each other and it’s awkward because they are awkward still. Still fresh off of a break-up that neither of them seemed to want, but was necessary to happen. We can all feel it.

Talia and Nolan respond to a call from a convenience store where there are two robbers, Talia quickly captures her robber, but John’s escapes and his leads him into the home of an unsuspecting scared family. The robber runs upstairs and finds a gun, he turns, and aims to shoot at John, but defensively, John pulls the trigger on his own gun and the bullet lands right into the mans chest, and kills him. Talia radios the shooting in and this original call becomes one, that nobody expected it too: an officer is now a suspect. John did not think that this is how his day was going to pan out. John starts to rationalize his decision, but Talia knows how this works and she tells John to stop, because now, this has turned into an IA investigation: an on-duty police officer shot and killed a suspect.

Officer Nolan is asked by Captain Anderson who he wants to be his companion officer, to help guide him through this new and unfamiliar territory and he responds with Officer Grey. It is a surprising choice, mainly for the fact that Grey has shown on multiple occasions that he does not like Nolan, nor does he respect him, and as far as the viewers eyes can see, John knows that, so why exactly does he choose him? I personally think it’s because even though Grey doesn’t like or respect him, Nolan respects Grey. I think that he always has. He told him from the very first episode that he’s there for a reason and he will prove him wrong. Maybe this is one of the first steps in doing just that? We eventually find out later in the episode that Nolan actually chose Grey because Grey isn’t going to sugarcoat things. When push comes to shove, Grey will be upfront and honest with John, and John needs 100% honesty right now.

Grey goes over in detail with John of the next steps that’s going to happen to him in these next ew days with the upcoming investigation. An on duty officer, shot and killed a suspect, this isn’t something that gets treated lightly. The IA investigations are going to be brutal and John will be getting asked questions of every moment leading up to and everything after the shooting, and Grey is preparing him for that.

Another question that pops into my head while watching this episode, why did they have Nolan be the officer who killed the suspect? The only thing I can think of is because this show was intended to revolve around John and his career/life in the academy, especially as a rookie cop, but also because this might bring Lucy back into his life?

This is the first time that we have seen Grey be serious with John. Every time before this, Grey has been mocking Nolan and making fun of him, so to see this change in his behavior, is serious. Grey knows how serious this is and he knows he has to be there for Nolan, in any capacity he can be in. I genuinely feel bad for Nolan. This job means so much to him, so for it too potentially be taken away from him is weighing heavy on his mind. John is in the investigation room and the questions are being rapid fire shot at him by IA. John is answering them to the best of his abilities, but you can see that John is reeling- this shooting only happened hours ago, and it was traumatizing to John.

The morning after the shooting, John just lays in his bed replaying the previous day over and over again, but did he even sleep…?

We see individual interviews between IA and Jackson and Lucy. Lucy gets asked personal questions regarding John and she knows the correct answers too, but has to lie in order to protect herself and her relationship with John. Lucy approaches John the next day to talk, and she wants him to talk to her, but advises against it. As suspected, he admits he can’t stop thinking about what happened the previous day to her. Lucy brings John to the house where the shooting happened. She shows John the family that he protected, who are save and alive in their house because of him and what he did, I think its what John needed to see. He took a life, yes, but he also saved the lives of 4 other people. It might not seem like it now, but John did a good thing.

John is very out of it this entire episode after the shooting, and it’s sad to see. The very normally happy-go-lucky John is long gone and he is just somber. It is unsettling. This shooting has affected him, and for the rest of this episode, John really is just going through the emotions, of what is expected of him. He just shot and killed a man hours ago, for anyone to expect anything else from him would be uncalled for.

John goes to talk to Captain Anderson, asking to see his body cam footage from the previous day of the shooting. Captain Anderson highly advises against it, but John chooses to do so in the end, maybe this is the next step he needs to take in order to accept what happened. It is clearly traumatizing for John to watch, but he needs to see it in order to understand why he did it. Captain Anderson knows that as she previously mentioned she has been there.

John and Lucy end the night with Lucy bringing John back home and walking him in, and as mentioned before, you can still feel the tension between them, whether that is unresolved sexual tension or awkwardness, but its there and of course they end up in a kiss, which we all know what that is going to lead too, unfortunately. I get it though, why they did that; they fell back into comfortability. Given the current situation, it is unfamiliar and very uncomfortable so they regress and go back to what they know, which is each other. This is potentially the last time that John is, or could be an officer. He needs to feel something that was normal for him for a long time and that is Lucy and vice versa. After all is said and done, Lucy tells John that it was a mistake, which she knows it is, but again, it felt good and familiar in the moment.

The episode ends with Lucy in the shower, and while John is up and about the house making food, he gets the vibe that something is off, goes to investigate and gets pummeled in the face by a baseball bat, and dragged throughout the whole house, and by who? The brother of the man that John killed. This guy is out for revenge. To be continued….what is going to happen next?

The other storyline of this episode is Isabel.

Talia gets told by Anderson that she got the tap, and she is delighted, but knows that it’s a sticky subject to talk to Angela about because Angela also wanted the tap, but they play nice and Angela is happy for her, of course. As the girls and Tim are talking, they look over and see Isabel being brought into the station. Tim gets told that Isabel made a deal with the detectives to be an informant in order to avoid prison because she knows what’s waiting for her in prison is hell and she will do anything to avoid that.

Angela and Jackson respond to an obvious impaired civilian who ends up having her boyfriends chopped off foot on her and when they bring her back into the station to book her, they notice something is up, Angela peeks over and knows the exact reason why, John Nolan and the shooting- this arrest is quietly forgotten about. It was almost as a ploy to get them back to the station and involved in the Nolan storyline.

Tim and Lucy are talking about the drugs that Tim didn’t take from Isabels apartment while in the shop and this is really the only interaction that we have of them this episode. This episode is not about them and their forming relationship, but they are sorely missed. While in the shop, they get notified of Nolans shooting and head back to the station. Isabel starts to work with the detectives, with Talia helping them as she got the tap. The detectives want Isabel to wear a wire, and even though she is hesitant, she knows that she has to do it because again she will do anything to avoid a prison sentence. Its different to see other people besides Tim and Lucy interact with Isabel and with Isabels storyline. Even Talia mentioned, she was at Tim and Isabels wedding and now she’s a part of the team leading Isabel into straight up danger, I’m sure its an unsettling feeling for every party involved.

The detective and Talia arrest Isabels boyfriend, and they knew exactly what they were doing because while booked, he calls Isabel and has her to go into the upcoming drug bust in his place. Isabel still knows what will happen to her if she goes to prison so she’s going to take whatever else she can, which is why she’s willingly going into this drug bust, and with a wire at that.

Talia pulls Tim to talk about Isabel, and she finally tells Tim what the detectives want Isabel to do which is wear the wire. I was wondering why Tim was being so left out of the loop with Isabel. Bottom line, Tim and Isabel are still married, even though it really doesn’t seem like it, but that doesn’t negate the fact that she is still his wife, who he said vows too. He has every right to feel what he is feeling about this situation. Isabel is all wired up and everyone is ready to go. The risks and stakes are high, this entire operation is riding on Isabel, that’s a ton of pressure on her, but for Isabel, who we still infer is still addicted to drugs is even worse. Can she pull this off?

Tim sits back in his car, watching old home videos of Isabel and himself from when they were simply themselves and just together. I am sure this whole situation is weighing heavy on his heart. Tim never expected his life, his marriage to go the way it did, he misses what it once was, because deep down, he knows it will never be the same and could never go back to being the same.

Ive said it since the beginning, Angela is the superior friend of Tim, which is why she ends up in his passenger seat right next to him, she knows that he shouldn’t or can’t be alone right now. They all wait this out with Isabel and the drug lord until it’s a little too late and Tim, Angela and the detectives realize that the drug lord is on to them and Isabel. They rush in and everybody is gone, with Isabels wire on the ground. Tim freaks the fuck out, to put it lightly and shit just hit the fan…. To Be Continued.

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Honorable Mention:

Episode Peak: This entire episode was really just, sad. I personally don’t think there was one.

Episode Pit: John Nolan. This is the first episode I truly felt bad for him.

Quote of the Episode: “I can't imagine what you're going through. And maybe if I was in the same place, I'd think about quitting, too. But they're alive because you did your job. You put your own life at risk to protect them, and if you're ever in that position again, I know you'll do the same thing”. ~ Lucy Chen

Episode Rating: 7/10. I don’t dislike this episode, but I also didn’t love this episode. I know that this episode needed to happen to basically put an end to John and Lucy’s relationship but I feel indifferent to this episode.

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This episode took me a few hours to review and I didn’t even realize it- but I had to get it done! I hope you enjoy it!

#The Rookie #Tim x Lucy #Lucy x Tim #1x08 #Chenford #Melissa O'Neil #Eric Winter #Lucy Chen #Tim Bradford #Angela Lopez #Talis Bishop #The Rookie 1x08 #Get in the shop: the rookie re-cap blog #I love doing this so much #thank you for sticking around #please share your thoughts and opinions on this #I love to hear it #Time of Death

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eventiderpg · 1 year

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BASICS

Faceclaim: Angelina Jolie Name: Thea Ellis Age: 47 Gender: Cis female Home: District 2 Role: Mentor Personality: Strong, lethal, dutiful, standoffish, stoic, fragile Song: Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier

BIOGRAPHY

In District Two, there are two ways to earn the highest of honors for your family — become a Victor and bring fame and fortune to the district, or become a Peacekeeper. Markus Ellis was the latter, having been recruited to train in the district's gendarmerie at a young age, and he quickly climbed the ranks to eventual become Head Peacekeeper in District Two. His calculated and stoic nature allowed for a certain amount of detachment that was necessary for the job, but that same coldness easily bled into his personal life. He married for status, though the marriage was short-lived as his wife died in childbirth, leaving behind a daughter for him to care for on his own — Thea.

They say when you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it from knives, and the same can be said for Thea. Her upbringing was likely no different than many of the children in her district — they are all raised to be warriors, to learn to be ruthless and kill without remorse. Thea's father was simply harsh in these teachings, in a way that molded her into a deadly creature the moment she could pick up a knife. She fought tactically and trained in the Career Academy with a level of skill not everyone had, and while she knew no differently, there was always a softness behind Thea's cold-blooded exterior that she had no idea how to deal with — so instead, she buried it under her passion for training.

When fifteen year old Thea Ellis is reaped for the 43rd Hunger Games, no one in the audience bats an eyelash. Her head is held high as she ascends the steps of the reaping stage, stone-faced and hungry for blood as her eyes scan the crowd, practically goading someone else to volunteer. No one does — no one would dare.

Her games go as expected. A force to be reckoned with, Thea is fierce in battle and trained to wield several weapons, making her one of the deadliest tributes in years. She picks off her opponents as if they are nothing but sheep scurrying away from the slaughterhouse, though there is one tribute she can't bring herself to brutally kill. She sees an unnerving amount of humanity in one of the tributes from a lower district, and the softness in her rears its ugly head as they are the final two living tributes. Her sword is held above her at the end, her opponent knocked to the ground and looking up at her with desperate eyes. For the first time, Thea hesitates — her grip on the weapon slacks and she nearly has the thought to hold a hand out in truce, but she never gets the chance. Her hesitancy is picked up on by the Gamemakers before she can do anything more, and without a moments notice a mutt emerges from the ground under the two of them and bites the head off of her opponent — almost friend — clean off. Thea is declared the winner.

Distraught is not enough to describe how torn apart Thea is when she exits the arena. She hides it well, her stoic nature coming in handy as she's paraded around the Capitol as their shiny new toy. This goes on for years, though each one gets easier as she becomes older and older news — the Capitol's affinity for selling desirable Victors is widely known, however, and Thea is no exception to that. She becomes a Mentor when the previous one retires, needing a distraction from the flashbacks and hallucinations she's subject to from her Games. She thinks mentoring sure winners will put her mind at ease — instead more pieces of her break each and every time she loses a child in her care.

These days, they call her the Ghost, and to be honest Thea prefers it. No one has called on her to service them for years now, mainly because they'd rather not deal with one of her episodes in the midst of their fun. She haunts the halls of the Tribute Center during the Games, doing what she can to help her tributes even if they don't often need it. The Quarter Quell has put her in an even deeper hole, as she now has to face the burden of keeping her peers alive rather than just children, but she still plans to do everything she can to help them live.

Written by Kal

#oc rp #the hunger games rp #original character rp #thg rp #new rp #eventidebio

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threeletterslife · 4 years

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05 | Over the Moon

→ previous | next

→ summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you're left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You're not ready for that alone. Are you?

→ genre: 85% angst, 15% fluff | mafia!au

→ warnings: profanity, intense description of torture, blood, mentions of death by torture

→ wordcount: 8.7k

Your days as a Crescent are a delightful routine. Every day is different from the last, yes, but the events are almost all the same: breakfast, lunch, dinner, sales with Yoongi and Hoseok, talk with Yoongi, sleep. The sense of repetitiveness, the touch of routine is what makes your life the best it's been since six years ago.

You almost don't have time to even mourn, anymore. Jimin would've wanted you to move on.

Besides, you're really finding yourself integrating into this family. Every one of their faces, from Kim Seokjin to Jeon Jungkook is welcoming—you're familiar with the new quirks they had picked up with maturity and you like it. You like the new them.

You've come to acknowledge that Kim Seokjin is a reasonable, level-headed boss who looks out for everyone in the Crescents. He's kind, astute and more observant than he looks. The same goes for Namjoon. You can't think of anyone else who would do his job as the underboss, Seokjin's advisor, better than he does. Yoongi and Hoseok are dauntless dealers. Both are quick-witted and scary when they need to be. While they share a quality of pragmatics, they use it in different ways that balance each other out. Though Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are often stuck with the so-called 'dirty-work' of the household, they rarely throw away their duties. You've come to admire their diligence.

You finally think you fit in with this family once more. Adult life is starting to become enjoyable.

You've been on the phone with your parents a few times too, reassuring them that yes, you got a job (minus the part you were in a lucrative underground business) and yes, you paid your rent and no, you can't get Jimin on the phone because you don't know where he is. It's only half true. Where do you go when you're dead?

Every time Jimin comes into your mind (though less often these days), you try not to become miserable; instead, your defense mechanism is to read his diary, which you're half-way through, by the way. His writing keeps you grounded when you miss him. You do everything you can to imagine him sitting at his desk with his diary splayed out in front of him as he pours out his mind onto the pages. It calms you down—makes you feel like you knew your brother.

You haven't really been paying attention to the dates until today, however. And you had no need to because Jimin wrote in his diary almost every day or every other day at most. Yet, the last entry you read before this had been nearly six months later (since you were going in reverse chronological order).

You frown as you examine the pages of the diary. Why the long break from diary writing?

Situating yourself on your bed so that you're comfy, you tug the diary closer to yourself, preparing to read it. The moonlight shines in from the open window as the crescent moon watches you read:

How much easier will this get? I don’t want to think about it. And I wonder... is there a special place for murderers in hell? The more I think about it, the more depressed I become.

What I was tonight... Whatever I was, wasn’t me, right? I think I was a monster today, but when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be normal. I’ll be Park Jimin. But a Jimin who had used his own hands to take another’s life. God. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself.

But I couldn’t help it. This is my job as a hitman. Jungkook and Taehyung were shaken up about it too, but Taehyung doesn’t want to talk about it and Jungkook’s too shocked to say anything. I’m too cowardly to mention it, so I can only write about it here.

I’m not scared of blood. But watching it seep through someone else’s body... knowing that I caused it to happen... Fuck. I think I might be going insane, writing this. My hands are shaking and my limbs are completely numb. I feel detached from my heart and soul and my mind is heavy in my head.

Oh, god, I cherish the glimmer in my eyes—and I can attest that everyone has their own special sparkle. But I took it away from someone today. I watched the sparkle abandon his eyes, leaving two dull, glassy, dead eyeballs. How am I going to live with myself after this? How can JK, Tae and I all live through this?

And you know what’s sadder? You know what’s fucking sadder? I’m more worried about what I have done than who I have killed.

I’ve become a monster.

Jimin's handwriting deteriorates further down the entry and the pages are wrinkled from teardrops and sweat. You can almost feel the pain he had gone through writing this. Yet you are stunned to silence as well. Slowly, you close the diary, tucking it under your mattress and laying on your bed with your hands folded on your stomach. You stare at your ceiling again.

Maybe Jimin stared at the same spot when he slept in this room.

God. You turn over to your side, sliding your knees up to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It's one thing to imagine or assume your brother has murdered... but to see him confess it in his own writing...

What's worse is the fact that he never mentioned murdering in the entries after, which meant he became completely immune to it. You're in stupid denial once more. Just when you thought you weren't going to cry over your dead brother anymore...

You don't know how long you've been drowning in your own thoughts when someone knocks on your door. The sound scares you and you sit upon your bed, quickly checking the time. When had it gotten so late? It's 10 pm, already? Who would want to talk to me so late?

"Yeah?" you call. "Who is it?"

"I-It's Yoongi... I just, uh, wanted to talk."

No, Yoongi. I'm not in the mood. I can't—

"You can come in," you say, your own voice betraying your thoughts.

Yoongi's shy as he steps into your room, his hands folded neatly in front of him as he eyes you sitting on your bed. "Hey, I just..." he starts, walking towards you before sitting down on the edge of your bed. "I just wanted to apologize, Y/N."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. "Apologize?" Damn, the moment you hear his voice, you're able to forget about everything else.

"I, well... I'm not very um, good with humans as you may know," Yoongi confesses, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "I mean, I don't know how to talk to them... I never... Well, to be quite honest, I've never felt this," he motions between you and himself, "with someone before and I wanted to apologize, erm, because I don't know if I'm handling this um, normally... I don't know," he groans, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't even know what I'm saying right now. I just thought you deserved an explanation. I sure as hell don't know what to do when I like someone. Words aren't really my thing, you know? I just don't know what to do with... us."

"Oh, Yoongi..." you sigh, your chest feeling warm and your cheeks blushing. "You don't have to apologize."

"But I do!" he protests, throwing his hands out before looking at you. "We've kissed. Twice! And nothing's official! Is this how these things work??"

"These things," you giggle at his choice of words. "Actually, I'm not sure, either. I'm just as new to this as you are, you know?"

Yoongi smiles. "So I'm not the only one confused?"

"I'm just as confused as you are."

"But you're sure about one thing?"

"Yeah," you nod. "I like you too, you know."

"I don't think you would've kissed me back twice if you didn't," Yoongi chuckles. "So what now?"

"I dunno," you answer truthfully. "But I do appreciate your honesty. I can trust you." Yoongi's somehow able to take your mind off of business. It's funny. He's part of the Crescents, part of the mafia, part of a brutal gang, but when you're with him, you feel normal.

The bed dips as Yoongi slowly makes his way over to you, sitting so he's right in front of you. "Can I spend the night here?" he asks.

You don't think twice before you nod.

It's one in the morning but you're still wide awake. You find that it's impossible to fall asleep when there's so much on your mind, anyway. Sighing, you look up and out of your window, following the moonlight with your eyes. The moonshine illuminates Yoongi's soft features as he sleeps soundly with your head resting on his bare chest.

You feel safe like this, in his arms. Your Crescents marks touching too—Yoongi's on his chest and yours on the back of your neck.

You didn't think that you'd have sex with him tonight, but one thing had led to another... and it had just happened. But you don't regret it, either. Yoongi is a diligent and selfless partner, always chasing after your release more than his. The enjoyable sex took your mind off of everything. Until both of you had come down from your highs, that is.

Now that Yoongi's asleep, your mind can wander back to its bad habits: thinking about your brother. Though you'd forgotten about the diary when Yoongi was taking sweet care of your body, you remember now. That your brother is a murderer. That anybody in this gang could be one. You can't seem to fall asleep.

At that moment, Yoongi groans softly underneath you, making you raise your head to look into his barely open eyes.

"Hey, you still awake?" he asks with his gravelly voice. "Do you need some water?"

"No, no, I'm fine," you say, quietly. His arm moves around to wrap you tighter against him, and you snuggle into his chest. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"You always do," Yoongi chuckles.

You take a moment to contemplate before deciding for it. Maybe talking about it will put you at peace. "Can I ask you something, then?"

"Sure," Yoongi says, rubbing small circles on your arm. "What is it?"

"Have you..." you hesitate, "um, have you ever murdered someone?"

Yoongi frowns. "What?"

"I mean, have you ever killed someone before?" you say.

"That's what's been on your mind?" Yoongi sighs. "Well, would any of this change if I said yes?"

You stay silent for a while before sighing, turning over so you can face Yoongi properly. He sits up on the bed, staring at you with a worried look plastered on his face. It's the first time he's not stoic, outwardly expressing his feelings.

"I... I don't know, Yoongi."

"Y/N," Yoongi groans, raking his fingers across his hair as he breathes in deeply. "Will it make you feel better if I told you no?"

You stare at him blankly.

"I've never handled a weapon other than to sell it," Yoongi clarifies, making you let out a sigh of relief. "But indirectly, I've probably killed many."

Your brows furrow as you ask, "Indirectly?"

Yoongi gives you a sad look, caressing your warm cheek with his delicate fingers. "We sell weapons, Y/N... What do you think they do with them? Let's go to sleep, hm? Talk about it in the morning..."

He snuggles back into the blankets, tapping his chest for you to lay your head. You oblige, laying your head against him as he falls back into sleep. You can feel his even breathing, the small rises and falls of his chest. It should be soothing. But you're more awake than ever.

You've accepted it, really.

You're an indirect murderer, too, anyways. You sell weapons with Yoongi, therefore you are much capable of indirectly causing the demise of another stranger. You shouldn't be thinking too much about it—so you haven't. And as a result, your relationship with Yoongi has soared.

Your relationship with your co-workers has soared, in fact. Hoseok isn't really an asshole once you get to know him better. When you have your nice afternoon chats with him, he strikes you like the most normal businessman ever. Just a little uptight, though.

"I was afraid to sit my ass down on the toilet for a year after that prank," Hoseok snorts, shaking his head disdainfully as you're thrown into a fit of laughter.

"We didn't mean for it to affect you so much!" you wheeze, trying to pick up your teacup without spilling the tea from laughing too hard. "Besides, we thought it was insanely obvious that the snake in the toilet was fake!"

"If you had a penis, you'd be careful too," Hoseok scoffs.

You scrunch your nose, setting the teacup back down on the table. "Okay, let's not get into all about genitals, though."

"Fine. Then what about the time you guys hung a giant spider dangling down on the wall next to my bed?" Hoseok asks, shuddering at the thought. "Who's idea was that? Taehyung, again?"

"Surprisingly, that was my idea," you confess. "Dangling a fake spider to try and scare you is too tame to be Tae's idea!"

Hoseok scoffs again. "I didn't deserve those pranks."

You smile. "I know. You were so patient with us, too. But I'm just putting it out there that I only pranked you with JK and Tae. I'd never do it solo."

"Yes, that makes me feel much better," Hoseok says, rolling his eyes.

You snort. "Hey! You learned sarcasm!"

Hoseok laughs, crossing his legs as he leans back on his sofa. "It took me a while. You guys used to make fun of me for not understanding sarcasm too." He never sounds bitter when he recalls his past, which puts you even more at peace.

"But that was all of us as a group!" you protest. "Jimin used to call you the Sarcasm Man, remember?"

Hoseok hums in remembrance, smiling wistfully. "Of course I do. Remember? He used to always tell me, could you be more serious??"

"Yeah!" you laugh, "And you'd always say—"

"Here are the baked goods for the little tea party!" Taehyung sings, carrying a plate full of warm, homemade cookies. He sets them down on the table in between you and Hoseok, grinning proudly at his masterful baking skills.

"Oh, thanks," you say. "They smell really good!"

Apparently, Hoseok doesn't think so. "What kind are these?" he asks, scrunching his nose.

Taehyung scoffs. "Isn't it obvious? Chocolate chip!"

"Can you bring oatmeal?"

You raise your eyebrows as Taehyung groans. "Only old farts like oatmeal, Hoseok. Act your fucking age for once." But with one look from Hoseok, Taehyung's darting out of the room to bake oatmeal cookies.

"Isn't chocolate chip fine?" you say, picking up the warm treat and biting into it. "Mmm, see? It's great. JK and Tae have been getting really good at baking these days."

Hoseok shrugs. "Taehyung should know I don't like chocolate chip," he grumbles. "He's always getting on my nerves."

You nod silently. There's nothing you can really do about the in-house rivalry except watch it unfold before your eyes and hope you don't become a part of it. It's something that was never a problem before when you were children, too. Yet, you've gotten used to it now.

Hoseok sighs, taking a sip of his bitter tea. "You know how the family is, right? We're always split up in different ways no matter how united we are. Jungkook and Taehyung have always been great friends. Jimin and Namjoon were always close too, along with Seokjin. And I was left with Yoongi. It's better that way. Besides, Yoongi was one of the few who wouldn't drool over you in the past, anyway."

You laugh. "So I've heard."

"Yeah," Hoseok smiles. "Seokjin, Jungkook and Taehyung were all completely into you, though you might've heard from someone else. But I didn't want them coming to me to confess their undying love for you. So I stuck with Yoongi. Until now." He groans dramatically but you smile, seeing right through his act. "Yoongi won't stop fucking talking about you!"

"Really?" you grin. "What does he say?"

"Ugh," Hoseok groans. "Have I become the middleman?"

You giggle, shrugging. "I wouldn't mind if you did."

Hoseok grunts as he sips the last of his tea and throws a disgusted look at the sweet chocolate chip cookies. "That's enough chit chat for today, don't you think Y/N? Let's get ready for that sale today."

"Oh, yeah, right," you say, quickly stuffing a cookie in your mouth before taking two in each hand and standing up. "Mmph—what?" you ask with your mouth full when Hoseok gives you a disgusted look. "Ift's for Yoongmi, I swmear!"

"Sure," Hoseok snorts. "Yoongi hates chocolate chip."

"Oh—" you say, shrugging before swallowing. "More for me, then."

Hoseok rolls his eyes but he smiles. "We'll have to grab the oatmeal cookies later, after the sale. It'll be like an incentive to make us work harder."

You scrunch your eyebrows. "Yeah, but who says I even like oatmeal cookies?"

"Y/N, you would eat anything that has the word 'cookie' in it," Hoseok sighs. "You loved baked goods when you were younger so I just assumed you like baked goods now as well."

"You're not wrong," you say, taking a giant bite out of your cookie. "C'mon let's go find Yoongi for the sale."

You kinda might've totally accidentally forgotten to cover up for the sale today. Your arms and legs are left exposed (which, you don't mind because that's how you beat the hot L.A. weather), but that's also bad news when you're dealing.

You can easily ignore the cat-calls and sexual side comments the men shout in your face. You've come to toughen up these past several weeks. Besides, you know that if any of them lay a finger on you, they'll deal with Yoongi and Hoseok's consequences. Otherwise, you, Yoongi and Hoseok have made a silent pact to ignore the comments completely—actually ignoring them scared them even more, you found. Once a man had vulgarly pointed out how nice your tits would look in the open air; you didn't even flinch as you cocked a pistol next to you. He shut up after that. It's amusing to speak with your actions.

Yet, today, Yoongi is on a different page.

"What did you call her?" he asks, quietly, teeth clenched.

"Oh, you need me to repeat that?" the hitman grins. "I called that girl a whore. Look at her, exposing skin like that. She's asking for us to look."

You're about to point your biggest, scariest, most expensive rifle at him to shut him up when Yoongi speaks again.

"If she didn't say you wanted her to look, then she didn't quite ask for you to look, did she?" Yoongi seethes. "Besides," he grins, "we have men everywhere around the city looking to take out some of you low-level crooks, so you better keep your mouths shut in front of a proper lady. Learn some manners."

The men look terrified. Without another word, they quickly gather their items before dashing out of the room like their lives depended on it, which apparently, it did. The three of you watch them leave with amused looks on your faces.

"Damn, Yoongi. You're really looking out for Y/N," Hoseok laughs. "Well, I'm gonna go get my oatmeal cookies. Join me if you want to." He leaves in an excited rush before you and Yoongi can answer.

"He's always really liked Taehyung's oatmeal cookies, though he fails to admit it each time," Yoongi laughs.

"I want to try some of these famed cookies myself," you say. "But um, I'm honestly confused. I thought, you know, we, the Crescents only consist of the seven of us? Are there more out in the city that I don't know of?"

Yoongi laughs again at your innocent question, putting an arm around your shoulder and guiding you out of the room. "I was bluffing, Y/N. We're a very, very tiny gang. But no one else has to know that." He gives your arm a little squeeze before turning you around to leave a chaste kiss on your lips. "Let's go get those cookies."

You nod, though you feel a bit wary. Damn. Just when you thought you were getting used to the mafia tactics... This place is really testing my moralities.

The whole gang is in the white room again with Jin in the power seat and everyone else in their assigned seats. You're honestly a bit confused about what this meeting will be about but Yoongi assured you that you don't have to worry at all. You take his word for it, but something about that white room always makes you feel so uneasy.

"As you may know," Seokjin announces loudly, everyone quieting down to hear him speak, "the annual gala is being hosted soon."

"Hell yeah!" Taehyung shouts, pumping his fist in the air. "Free booze!"

Jin chuckles at Taehyung's excitement, nodding. "The Crescents will be going as usual."

"Objection!" Yoongi protests, which causes everyone to stare at him in utter shock. The man who's practically famous for having no input in any meeting yelling clearly seizes everyone's attention.

"Yes?" Jin asks. "If you are concerned about Y/N's safety, you do not have to be. We'll arrange something special for her."

"You surely can't let her go," Yoongi sighs, leaning back in his chair. "It's dangerous and you know that."

"That is true, Boss," Namjoon says as he turns to you. "It's an open party for all citizens... But there's a murder or two there every year since all of the gangs in the city go to pay their respects. We must be vigilant."

Hoseok chuckles. "You know, they keep coming up with creative ways to kill. Last year the unlucky victim drowned in his own sparkling champagne. I wonder what they're planning this year..."

You frown. Maybe Yoongi's right. Maybe you shouldn't go...

"Aw, but it's fun," Jungkook says. "Y/N will have fun!"

Yoongi snorts. "If your definition of fun is getting sexually harassed and objectified by the male gaze then sure, Y/N will have a lot of fun, Jeon Jungkook. I'd like to keep my girlfriend out of it if you please."

"Your girlfriend happens to be a Crescent," Hoseok sighs. "Yoongi, she's more than capable of going. It's just a single party."

"If she doesn't go, we all don't go," Seokjin says. "We don't leave Crescents behind."

"And we're definitely not going to skip the gala," Hoseok snorts. "That's where our alliances are formed!"

"It's also where our enemies are made," Namjoon points out. "We strap guns, grenades and knives under our tuxes and gowns."

"We'll be careful, then," Seokjin says. "Not that we're ever not careful..."

Hoseok throws a dirty look at Taehyung who raises his hands in protest.

"So I'm going?" you ask.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Yoongi says. "It's your call."

"Since when is it her call?" Taehyung frowns. "It's really Boss' decision."

"I'll leave it up to Y/N, Taehyung. Don't worry," Seokjin says, smiling. "Yoongi's right. It is your call, Y/N."

"Wait, but that's—there's pressure now," you sigh, slouching in your chair. "I don't want to ruin tradition..."

"It's not as dangerous as Yoongi says," Jungkook offers, staring at you with puppy dog eyes. "Please, Y/N? Tae and I love going there."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, grunting but not saying anything.

"If Yoongi's such a good boyfriend, he'll prove to you that he can protect you," Taehyung snorts. "Besides, it's an extravagant gala! And Boss has already bought you a dress!"

"Wait, what?" you and Yoongi say at the same time.

"You bought me a dress?"

"You bought her a dress?" Yoongi gawks.

Seokjin smiles warmly at you. "Yes, I did. The gala's in a few days, so after my day job, I went to get a dress and called Taehyung over for a second opinion. He said something about how you look good in midnight blue."

"Yeah," you laugh. "I wore that color for all of the high school dances. Taehyung remembered?"

"We all did, frankly," Hoseok snorts. "You wouldn't shut up about your dresses in high school, remember?"

"I was excited!" you defend yourself. "And, I mean, if I already have a dress... I might as well go, right? I'm sure nothing too bad will happen."

"JK's a cop, Y/N. If Yoongi can't save your ass, he will," Taehyung jokes. "Think of it as a social gathering with a double meaning! Free food and alcohol included! But don't mess with anyone because they might spear your head to the wall."

You laugh nervously, unsure whether you should take that as a joke or not. "In that case, I think I'll be fine."

For an hour now, Jungkook and Taehyung have been fussing over you as they helped you get ready for the big gala. They'd tried to help you with your makeup, but Taehyung failed your winged eyeliner eight times so you banned him from touching your face again. Meanwhile, Jungkook accidentally knocked over your eyeshadow palette, reducing the assortments of colors into unusable powders. Looked like you were going without eyeshadow tonight. You had to threaten them with the hair curler at one point too because Taehyung wouldn't stop burning your ear to curl your hair.

Now, you were hiding out in your bathroom with the door locked, taking your sweet time to put on your dress.

"Did you put it on yet?" Taehyung calls for the billionth time.

Your groan, throwing your head back in annoyance as you try to shove the dress on your body. "I'm never gonna come out if you ask me that one more time!"

Taehyung shuts up after that.

You zip yourself up with no problem, admiring the way the dress is perfectly your size. When you turn to face yourself in the mirror, you can barely recognize yourself.

I look beautiful.

The dress hugs every curve of your body, the feather-like chiffon fanning out from your cinched waist. You like the human embodiment of the nighttime sky: soft, delicate but mysteriously dark. You feel like you're being taken to high school prom all over again, the familiar giddy feeling rising up your throat. Except—your date is not Taehyung. He is Yoongi. And this isn't a high school prom. There's a one in five hundred chance that you might be murdered tonight, but all of the Crescents promised you'd make it out alive. You know that if everyone—except Taehyung—makes a promise, they keep it. You feel much better about your safety.

When you walk out of the bathroom to twirl for your friends, you find that literally everyone is already in your room, waiting for you. They're dressed to the nines. If you combined the total costs of their well-ironed, stiff suits and their jewelry, the sum could have probably paid for your whole college tuition. They look rich, in other words.

"You took so long, JK and I had time to change into our tuxes," Taehyung laughs. "But damn, you look hot. You're welcome."

"Thanks," you mutter, sheepishly. "Jin, you really outdid yourself with this dress. Thank you."

Seokjin smiles. "No need to thank me. It had your name written all over it so I had to buy it. It fits you very nicely."

"You look beautiful, Y/N. And I got a matching tie. Do you like it?" Yoongi asks, grinning at you wildly, unable to take his eyes off of you. You giggle as you admire his all-black suit with a midnight blue tie.

"I love it, Yoongi," you smile. "This is like prom all over again."

"Rated R prom," Hoseok points out. "With the possibility of a brutal murder. Oh yeah, and drinks, sex and drugs. Here," he says, handing out a holster to you. "Just in case."

"Woah, um—" you start.

"And this is the gun you'll be using tonight if you were to get into any trouble," Yoongi says, handing you a pistol. "But you won't get into any trouble because I'll be by your side the whole time." He helps you strap the holster on your thigh, securing it and sliding the gun in. When the dress falls over your legs, it hides the lethal weapon from view.

"Oh, and blow this whistle only in an emergency and all six of us will be running to help you," Jungkook adds, handing you a safety whistle of all things. It was silver, matching all of your jewelry and if you hadn't known it was a whistle, you would've thought it was a beautiful necklace. You mumble a thanks before putting it on.

"Now you're more than prepared," Seokjin says, smiling. "How are you feeling, Y/N?"

You laugh nervously, weighing out the rather heavy gun on your leg before replying, "I honestly feel overprepared. I think I'll be fine."

Hoseok snorts. "Oh, honey, you are not overprepared. You should see some of the stuff I'm hiding up my sleeve right now—literally."

"He's right, Y/N, you can never be too overprepared," Yoongi says, moving in to link your arms together. "Don't let go of me when we get there, okay? They're good at sniffing out new meat. If we get separated, stay still and look like you belong there. Okay?"

You scrunch your nose at his strange directions (how the fuck do you look like you belong somewhere??) but you nod. "Okay."

It takes another hour for Yoongi to explain, in detail, what you should and shouldn't do at the party. The list for the shouldn't do's is way, way longer than the list for the should do's. But you're not complaining—especially when apparently a single slip-up could lead to your own demise. Yet even with all the warnings and precautions, you're not sure what to expect. To you, this seems like a high school prom that had gone through puberty. JK and Tae describe it as the best party ever and only Yoongi seems to be truly worried.

You conclude that yes, the gala is dangerous, but no, it wouldn't affect you too badly. You'd go and have some fun, get out of the house for once. Right?

And with that, the seven of you are off to one of the most dangerous parties in the city in a shiny, black limousine.

Saying that the gala is extravagant would be an understatement. Everything looks like it's been touched by gold from the heavens. The ceiling is so high, it looks like the sky itself and the luxurious marble floors stretch on forever. The majestic chandeliers illuminate the whole room with yellow light. The food towers over the guests and the casino tables are bustling with wealthy people seeking a truce with fortune. Everything about this place is gilded—even the people in it.

You can't help but feel a bit underdressed when some women strut around wearing dresses made from diamonds and aureate shoes. Maybe underdressed isn't the right word. You are intimidated. You hadn't expected to feel this way, but something just seems off. Maybe your expectations for the gala had been too high? Or maybe your gut instinct was trying to tell you something.

Yoongi notices your tense shoulders and squeezes your hand as he looks around the party. "I hate this fucking song," he jokes to lighten the mood.

You didn't even realize music was playing until he mentioned it; you had been too entranced by the visual aspects of your surroundings to notice the soft jazz melodies echoing through the open space.

"Namjoon and I are going to talk with some of our buddies," Seokjin says, "I'll meet all of you later for dinner! And Jungkook and Taehyung," he gives them a stern look, "we are not here to hook up with women."

Taehyung grumbles. "I thought we can. We're just not allowed to bring them home."

"What are we supposed to do then?" Jungkook sighs.

"I'll lend you money to waste at the tables," Hoseok says. "Taehyung, you're good at poker, right?"

"Oh, I'm the fucking best," Taehyung grins. "Let's go!"

The three of them saunter off without missing a beat while Seokjin and Namjoon disappear to talk with their 'friends,' or allies, you suspect. That leaves you and Yoongi alone.

"This place reminds me of a 1920's hedonistic jazz party, minus the flapper girls and plus the sugar babies dripping in gold," you whisper anxiously to Yoongi who chuckles quietly. He must've thought you were joking. But you were making an observation laced with concern.

"So, The Great Gatsby on steroids?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What do you want to do?" Yoongi asks as he snakes an arm around your waist rather protectively.

"What is there to do?" you ask, stiffly. "You choose. I'll just follow."

But there is honestly nothing to do. Earlier, from the long list of things you shouldn't do, eating had been one of them—someone was murdered with cyanide in their caviar, once. You can't even walk around to give yourself a tour because that'd raise suspicion and someone would fling a knife straight at your heart. And most of all, you can definitely not act as if you've never been to the gala. They play with the new meat like they're toys, apparently. And if you don't respond to their demands, they'll kill you without a second thought. No wonder you're so tense. When Yoongi had warned you about these things, the reality of it had flown past your head. But actually experiencing it...

"We can grab a table somewhere," Yoongi says, rubbing warm circles on your back in an attempt to help you relax. "And we'll just talk. How does that sound?"

"Like this is a date?"

"Exactly," Yoongi says as he leads you to an empty table. He pulls out a chair for you and you mumble a thanks before sinking in. It's strangely silent after that. Which is weird because when you and Yoongi are silent, it's usually a peaceful, calming aura. But this kind of silence carries heavy tension and stress in the air.

You begin to fidget with your hands.

"Hey, beautiful," a gruff voice calls to you.

You nearly jump a foot in the air when you see a rather handsome man with a chiseled face looking right at you. He grins and before Yoongi can do anything, he's already kissing the back of your hand like he's some prince from a faraway land and you're the princess he's to marry.

"May I take you away?" he asks politely, staring straight at you and failing to acknowledge Yoongi. Though there's a warm smile on his lips, there's something into his eyes that screams red alert to you. You get a strong gut feeling this man isn't an innocent person wandering around this grand party—he's a man with purpose, possibly a man with weapons hidden under his suit. The gun in your holster begins to burn against your thigh.

"I'm afraid not, Junhe," Yoongi speaks up, his voice clean-cut and cold.

The middle-aged man, Junhe, cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, Yoongi. Didn't see you there," he smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'd say we let the fine lady decide. Would you like to come with me?" he asks you. "Or would you like to stay with his tedious man? I'll make sure I'm anything but stoic," he offers. "I'll give you the reactions you want."

You're already disgusted by the smoothness of his words. He's manipulative in all the wrong ways, you realize, so you politely refuse. "I'd like to stay," you reply, slightly leaning away from the man as he looms over you. "Yoongi brought me here so the least I can do is offer him my company."

Junhe scoffs and mumbles something about you having a bad taste in men before he glares at Yoongi and strides away.

"Sorry, Y/N," Yoongi apologizes. "He's just some guy I know from work."

You frown slightly. Which kind of work was he talking about? His job as an anesthesiologist or as a dealer for the Crescents? But you realize Yoongi had purposely been vague so you let the whole matter go.

You haven't yet released the tension on your shoulders since you first walked into the gala and that encounter with Junhe was not helping. You're awkwardly staring at your hands folded in your lap when Yoongi clears his throat.

"I, uh, I'm not too stoic, am I?"

"What?"

"I'm not too apathetic?" he asks again. "I don't want to be boring."

You shake your head though your body remains rigid. "It's part of you, Yoongi. And I like that about you. You don't dramatize anything."

Yoongi nods thoughtfully but you can tell he's troubled because there's a thin worry line dragging across his forehead. It's too bad both of you suck at small talk.

The silence between the two of you gives you time to drown in your worst fears. You've never quite liked crowds, but a crowd of highly-dangerous, rich folks is far worse than anything else you've ever experienced before. You can't trust anyone. You don't know who has a dagger literally hidden behind their back.

It also makes you realize you might not be safe.

Jimin's murderer could be here.

Chills run down your spine and your blood runs cold when you realize that a cold-hearted killer could be looking for you. Waiting to kill you like he killed your brother. Your eyes shake as you try to look around the room, trying to see if anyone is targeting you. God. Why did you agree to this? Why did anyone agree to this? Did they really think you could be safe?

With so many wealthy people here, it'd be easy to hide any murder with hush money. This is a mafia gala, for heaven's sake—the room is filled with people who have gotten away with murder once, twice or thrice. Maybe even countless times.

Suddenly the skin exposed on your arms feel prickly and cold and the hair tickling the back of your neck is irritable. You're getting a crazy feeling at the pit of your stomach that someone is watching you. Maybe you're being paranoid?

"Hey, you okay, Y/N? You're starting to sweat," Yoongi whispers. He reaches over to grab your hand across the table. "Do you feel sick?"

Your face is starting to feel hot and your head is starting to hurt. The room seems to spin. "I wanna go home," you whisper. "Please, Yoongi."

Yoongi hesitates. "Oh, Y/N—"

But he's interrupted by a series of muffled gunshots coming from near the gambling tables. Your heart drops. "Isn't that where Jungk—"

Yoongi takes you by the arm mid-sentence, dragging you further away from the commotion that was starting to pick up. "We'll get you home early."

"Wait, but—"

"There's nothing we can do, Y/N. I'm sure they're fine. We're just going to wait in the limo," he whispers lowly in your ear as he guides you steadily toward the exit. Your heart is threatening to leap out of your chest but he seems fine. Unbothered, even.

You squeeze your intertwined hands and you lean closer to Yoongi as he leads you out of the gala safely. He whispers not to look back, to act natural as the two of you make your way over to your parked limo.

The moment both of you get inside the luxury car, Yoongi pulls down the blinds and whips out his phone. He frantically texts someone—you assume it's Seokjin or Namjoon. You hold your breath for news.

After six painstakingly silent minutes, Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief. "The rest of them are coming right now. Taehyung told me to not say anything as of now because he wants to tell you the story, himself."

"So they're okay?" you say. "But there was a murder?"

"There were several, today," Yoongi sighs. "But everyone we care for is okay." He reaches out to check your temperature, placing the back of his hand on your forehead as he caresses your cheek with his other hand. "Are you feeling better?"

You nod. "I'm sorry I freaked out. I just hated—"

"We've survived!!!" Taehyung sings as he swings open the door of the limo, nearly causing you to have a heart attack at the suddenness. "I'm here to spill the tea!"

Hoseok rolls his eyes as he steps into the car. "It wasn't really as creative this year," he grumbles. You grimace when you realize he's talking about the murders.

Everyone else fills in the car, all ears on Taehyung to tell the dramatized version of the story.

"So," Taehyung begins, his voice soft and eyes sparkling. "Hoseok, JK and I were minding our goddamn businesses at the gambling table. And I was kinda losing, you know? It's been a while since I played poker. So I had to fold and get the fuck out of there before Hoseok beat my ass for losing his money. And for some reason, I really had to pee, which was the universe's way to tell me I had to check out this awesome murder in the bathroom!"

Jungkook giggles. "I was there too! We walked in and it was just eerily quiet in there, you know?"

"Yeah, usually couples are getting it on in there, if you know what I mean," Taehyung snorts. "So JK and I are like 'oh, ha, that's strange,' but we don't think much of it until we see a pair of legs poking out of an open-doored stall."

"At this point, I'm cursing at these stupid hooligans because I'm holding their spot at the tables and they're taking too damn long to relieve themselves of piss," Hoseok sighs, shaking his head. "Didn't know they were going full-on detective-mode in the bathroom."

"Yeah, well my first reaction is, 'man, if you wanna fucking piss on the toilet at least close the stall door??' But then I realized there's blood on the floor," Taehyung says. "JK and I get closer and man it was INSANE!"

"He had a knife just stuck in his back! It was wedged so deep into him too," Jungkook marvels. "And the best part—"

"His face was in the fucking toilet!" Taehyung exclaims. "Whoever killed him was not playing around. I personally think they drowned him first, but JK thinks they stabbed him and pushed him into the toilet. But that would mean they'd had to have a spectacular aim if you know what I mean."

You squirm in Yoongi's arms, unsure if you wanted to hear the rest of the story. He notices your discomfort and sighs, "Let's not be so vulgar."

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "How can I not be vulgar? It's a fucking murder." But when he sees your scared face, he becomes more serious. "Well, JK and I weren't going to report the murder because we're not going to get involved. And besides, I bet we were probably the tenth people coming across that scene—no one wants to get involved in that gala. So we just left to find Hoseok again."

"And that's when I hear the gunshots," Hoseok says. "It came from the table behind me, too, so I got to see everything." He crosses his legs and arms, scoffing. "Three men fell down. I left before a fight broke out."

"Four murders," Seokjin shakes his head. "That we know of, too. It gets worse every year, doesn't it?" Even though he speaks of bad news, he smiles, stretching out on the expensive leather seats. "But Joon and I got our jobs done. Yoongi, Hoseok, Y/N? We've got some good sales on the way."

"Delightful," Hoseok says.

"I think we'd better get home, now," Jin says, trying to give you a reassuring smile. "Y/N, you'd appreciate a nice, warm, bath, right? I'll try to dig out some of my special bath salts for you. I think you need a good soak."

You nod, though you grip at Yoongi's black silk button-up shirt.

Home has never sounded this welcoming.

Though Yoongi offered to soak with you in the tub, you'd declined, telling him instead you'd meet him in your pajamas in his room. He'd nodded without saying another word, and you silently thank him for knowing when to give you some space.

Seokjin had been right. A hot bath did really help—yet it didn't help clear your head filled to the brim with thoughts. Once you've lathered yourself with lavender lotion and gotten dressed into comfortable clothing, you knock on Yoongi's door.

"Hey," he says, opening it right away. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?"

"Yeah," you nod.

Yoongi guides you over to his bed, helping you into the covers and tucking you in before he climbs in and spoons you from behind. There's a comfortable silence. Then:

"How long did it take you to get used to this?" you ask.

"This?" Yoongi inquires. "You mean life as a..." he pauses, "Crescent?"

You nod.

"Not a while, really," Yoongi says, curling his fingers into your hair. "It... Well, it takes longer for others to adjust. Depends on the person."

"Hmm," you hum softly. "The murders today... Do you think they were correlated?"

"It could be anything," Yoongi answers. "But no, I don't think they were correlated."

"But either way, there were murders because there were enemies at the gala," you sigh, turning around to face Yoongi. "I was just so tense all the time. I think I subconsciously felt the tension between the gangs."

Your boyfriend shrugs. "Maybe, Y/N. But sometimes new recruits have to murder someone—anyone—to be accepted completely into the gang," he sighs. "Think of it as a token to join," he expounds further when he sees your confused expression. "The more tortuous the murder, the better. It's happened every year at the gala."

"But that makes the murder worse," you scoff. "At least if they were enemies, the victim might've seen it coming. But if the victim was chosen randomly—that's just the worst kind of misfortune!"

"I know," Yoongi mumbles. "It's not fair, Y/N. We all know that."

The way he's so nonchalant irritates you. "But, Yoongi! I could've died tonight," you sigh. "You know, the person who murdered Jimin could've been right there, waiting for the right time to kill me!" You shudder just thinking about it. "I didn't realize how unsafe I felt until I was at the gala, Yoongi. I don't know if I was being paranoid but I really felt like I was being watched. I could've been killed..."

Yoongi's silent, refusing to look into your eyes. Finally, he answers with a soft, husky voice. "I wouldn't have let that happen to you."

You scoff, sitting up and tugging yourself out of Yoongi's arms. "Really?" You raise a doubtful eyebrow. "You let it happen to my brother, though." You regret the words that had spilled out of your lips when you see Yoongi's hurt face. An awkward silence follows and neither of you moves.

Finally, Yoongi turns around, facing away from you as he grunts out, "Go to sleep, Y/N."

You don't have it in you to apologize, half angry at Yoongi for not protecting your brother like he swore to protect you and half sorry that you let out your fear and frustration on him. Without another word, you tuck yourself back in the blankets, back facing Yoongi. You stay still, staring into the dark nothingness as you wait until Yoongi's breaths become even. When you know he's asleep for sure, you slip out of his bed.

You can't do this right now.

Yoongi's supposed to be the one who makes you forget about your dead brother. But he's doing everything but.

You need to read Jimin's diary to calm yourself down. The only thing you need right now is to hear your brother's soothing voice echoing in your head as you read the words he had written years back. Quickly, you find refuge in your own room, snuggling up in your own covers before pulling out the leather journal from underneath the mattress.

You open the diary and read it in the faint moonlight.

Today, I woke up because I thought I heard Y/N’s voice calling my name somewhere off in the distance. I imagined that she was calling me a lazy stink bomb and pestering me to wake up so I could keep her company. But when I came to my senses, I realized that Y/N’s probably still sleeping in her apartment and I’m in a mansion miles and miles away from her. Part of me feels guilty for living such a luxurious life without her. But another part knows that what I did is for her own good. I think.

Sometimes I just want to drive back and tell her I’m sorry I left her. That I’m sorry I didn’t give her any explanations. That she has to lie to our parents for me. She must be so mad at me...

I feel like I left my blood-related family for my self-proclaimed brothers. On some days, I wonder if I made the right move. But then again, I can’t imagine a life without my friends and I’ve lived more than half of my life without my parents by my side.

The only person who has to face the consequences is Y/N. I abandoned her to pursue my own dream life. I know it’s selfish of me but for once, I felt like doing something for myself.

I drowned in guilt for the majority of today. Y/N’s most likely called me at least a hundred times on my old phone... I can’t even bring myself to imagine the disappointed look on her face when I don’t pick up. I had to stop myself at least twenty times from dialing her number to call her. God, I’m just getting so homesick. I think I stared at those polaroid pictures for hours on end today.

I miss Y/N.

Maybe one day, when this... all of this dies down, I’ll be able to visit her. I’ll be able to tell her everything I experienced and before she gets mad at me, I’ll tell her my funniest stories! It’d be like I never left. I guess I’ll be waiting for that day to come.

For now, I have my polaroids and drawings for remembrance. I’ll go to bed hearing Y/N scream at me to toss my socks into the laundry basket. And for once, it’d be a welcoming noise.

You can't help the tears dripping down your face when you reluctantly shut the leather-bounded notebook This is the first time Jimin had mentioned you in his diary... which meant that in his future entries, he completely neglected to write about you or just... didn't care as much. It hurts to think, really. That every real feeling Jimin has, he ditches it the more he becomes involved in the mafia.

You fall asleep alone on your bed, but you don't feel lonely. Usually, Yoongi would be by your side to take your mind off of your brother's murder, but today, you need time to think about it.

The last thing you think you hear before you drowse off is the sound of your brother screaming at you that yes, he already did toss his socks into the laundry basket, so no, you didn't have to yell at him. Normally this kind of reply would irritate you even more, but it's a cordial illusion that brings a smile to your face before you're drifting off to dreamland.

—previous | next

—masterpost

—masterlist

#bts #bts fanfiction #ot7 #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #mafia au #over the moon #otm

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sleepychai-fics · 4 years

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Road to Salvation ~ Chapter 2 - The Mall

(click for better quality)

Warnings: description of scars, guns (let me know if I’m missing anything)

Word Count: 4,542

Pronouns - Female

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in BNHA. However, there are many OC’s in this fic that I’ve created. These OC’s belong to me and are specifically created for this fic.

However, Mihoko Shinsou and Hajime Shinsou are NOT my oc’s. They are oc’s created by Keiid, who used to have tumblr but now uses twitter. Please keep that in mind.

Feedback is appreciated!

Some people call it home. Others call it a sanctuary away from home. It’s a shelter for all those in need. A place of security and protection. But everyone generally refers to it as The Mall, purely for what it once stood to be.

The structure itself is fairly large and takes up the shape of a simple square, standing five stories tall. It’s capacity is enough to cover 7 blocks of land, 10 if you count the surrounding car park. Despite its years of abandonment, it stands strong and intact. The few indicators of its abandonment are the weeds and mould that grow in between the cracks of the walls, the shattered windows that have been replaced with wood and the entryway that extends further than what it originally had been.

Kai walks a few steps ahead of you as the two of you approach the entrance. He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go forward. With a playful scoff and a shake of your head, you walk past him.

As you enter the small area, someone with cherry blonde hair approaches you. “(Y/n)! Kai! You’re back!” They greet you happily, before their eyes set on top of Michi. “Oh. You’ve brought someone with you.”

You nod. “Don’t worry Kaede. He’s a class C.”

Kaede smiles. “Ok. I’ll let you take care of him then. Call for me if you need anything!”

“Will do!” Kai answers back as he once again opens the door for you, allowing you to step inside the larger complex.

On the outside, it looks run down and almost inhabitable. The inside has a whole different outlook.

It’s much cleaner than expected, courtesy of most of the habitants that reside within the mall. The first floor stands as a common space. Barrels of fire scatter throughout the area, a few people hovering over each one. Store spaces on the first floor have been transformed into either kitchen areas or have been cleared out for the purpose of social meeting places.

The above floors were built as balconies around the structure, with a couple of bridges spanning across each one. So even from the first floor, you could look up and see the worn down roof of the building. It was an open and respected design, a representation of the generalised tone of the area.

Each floor had a purpose. The first floor was a common space, as well as a cooking area. The second floor stood as an area for training, both combat and quirk control. Although, the more destructive quirks were trained outside in the parking lot. The third floor, a highly secured floor, was dedicated to storage of supplies. The fourth floor, another highly secured floor, is allocated as the sleeping quarters.

Finally, there’s the fifth floor. It’s hardly used, hence why it’s dubbed as the ‘silent floor’. You go there to have time to yourself when things become overwhelming. It’s also used as a meeting place to discuss things such as finances and security measures. If no one can find you on the other floors, bets are you’ll be found on the fifth floor.

You stride across the floor along with Kai, and every person you pass by shines you a smile and a warm greeting. Children cheer and dance around you briefly, giggling as they greet you. Comments such as “you’re back!” and “we missed you!” along with various others flutter into the atmosphere. Although one comment catches everyone's attention.

“(Y/n) has someone with her!”

There’s a momentary period of silence from everyone around you as they peer up at you and notice Michi attached to your hip. You feel Michi flinch as a result. His grip tightens around you as he nuzzles his face further into your neck. As a reassurement, you thread your fingers through his hair.

It takes a second longer before everyone returns to their previous activity. The children that had once surrounded you had rushed off to play tag.

You continue your journey, trekking up the few flights of stairs and broken escalators that lead up to the fourth floor. Every floor you ascend to gets quieter and quieter.

By the time you reach the third floor, another person sidles up to you.

“Welcome back.”

With a glance to your side, you smile.

“It’s good to be back.”

Dabi smiles and pats your shoulder, matching his pace with yours as you climb the final flight of stairs.

At a first glance, Dabi isn’t the best to look at, especially in the eyes of a young child. Scars as a result of third-degree burns litter across his skin, a bright red and pink in colour. One particular scar spreads all across his neck and even links up to a small patch on his right cheek. He dons a loose fitting shirt, accompanied by a thin dark jacket. The jeans he wears are ripped at the knees and torn at the cuffs. They’re thin, and look to provide barely any warmth

“I can see why you’re a bit late.” He looks at Michi with a soft smile. Michi peeks out once again at the new voice. Upon taking his features in, he flinches back to hide his face. Dabi sighs softly.

“I’m going to go to put this into storage.” Kai gestures to the bag.

“Oh! I nabbed a few people as well so you’ll need to put that with the safe.”

Kai nods in return. “Will do. Night.”

You and Dabi both bid him goodnight as you split off at the top of the stairs. Kai heads up another flight of stairs whilst the three of you turn towards what used to be stores.

The stores had been cleared out as bedrooms. Just under 200 stores varying in sizes and the capacity of people that sleep in them. Each ‘bedroom’ had at least 12 sets of bedding laid out - bedding being defined as a low-quality blanket and a slim pillow. The security of the floor included at least 30 individuals who walked around certain areas, occasionally peeking into each room.

“Yusu contacted me.” Dabi informs you as the two of you turn left. “They have strong belief that there will be violent gang activity happening in a nearby district.”

A scowl sets on your face. “Do you have the coordinates?”

He nods in response, holding up a small phone. “They sent it a few minutes ago. Will you take the job?”

Without hesitation, you answer. “Of course I will.”

You walk into the fourth store you come across. It’s fairly big compared to the others, 20 kids able to sleep somewhat comfortably with a few other adults among them. The sky had just grown past dusk, so not too many have retired to bed, leaving the space fairly empty except for a few kids.

With quiet steps, you walk towards the back of the bedroom, Dabi closely following suit. You kneel down next to one of the beds and gently caress Michi away from your body.

Michi jolts and whines in response, hands clinging to your shirt. “D-Don’t leave me!”

A string of hushed words come from you in an attempt to soothe Michi. “It’s okay Michi. I won’t ever leave you.”

“Bu-but you said you were going somewhere!” His words are muffled by the way he buries his face into your chest. You can feel patches of wet warmth where he lays as a result of his shedding tears.

Your hands rest on Michi’s elbows, gently prying him away from you enough to look at him. Tears pool in the boy's eyes but you’re quick to wipe them away. With a sad smile, you speak. “Remember what I said to you? About being a vigilante?” Michi nods, lips quivering. “Do you know what a vigilante is?”

His eyes glance towards the ground. “Someone who breaks the rules.”

“Yes. But I’m a good vigilante. I break the rules to help people.” A hand comes to cup Michi’s cheeks, coercing him to look at you.

“So you’re a hero?”

It shouldn’t make your heart beat painfully, but it does. It hurts having to tell a child this. The thought of having to tell such a young innocent child the truth of the world hurts. But it’s the malls’ duty to be honest about the world. Even if they’re small children.

You sigh. “Yes. But not to other heroes. I don’t have a license like they do, so that means I can’t use my quirk to help people.”

“So why do you do it if you’re not allowed to?”

Another painful heart beat.

“Because those heroes don’t like to save people like us.”

It’s painful to hear him sniffle. “Th-they don’t? Why don’t they like to save us?”

Your fingers gently card through his hair and you smile at the way he leans into your touch. “They don’t think we deserve it, or they don’t want to be seen around people like us.”

“Why not?”

You sigh. “The answer might make you upset now. If you want, I can tell you. But if you’re really upset now, I can tell you another day when you ask me again.”

One of the few rules of the mall include brutal honesty. No matter the age. If someone asks a question, the answer will be honest. It works a bit differently for those who are traumatised. If mental health is at risk with the honest answer, then they’ll be told as such. They make the decision themselves if they still want an honest answer.

Michi is hesitant to nod his head. “O-Ok. B-But you have to promise to come back!”

You smile in relief, holding out a pinky towards him. “I will. I promise.” Michi takes the pinky with his own. Running on instinct, you bring your lips to press gently on Michi’s forehead. “I won’t be long. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Dabi will be here with you.”

Michi takes another glance at Dabi, who kneels down beside you. He simply smiles softly at Michi, his expression nothing but calm and sincere.

You gently part away from Michi, speaking to him in a soft voice. “I trust him a lot. He’s like a brother to me. He’ll make sure you’re safe while I’m gone.”

Michi steps back a bit, staring over Dabi. A few long seconds slip away before he hesitantly approaches Dabi. He doesn’t move, letting the kid choose his own approach. Michi steps into Dabi’s frame, head lightly resting on his chest and hands clutched to his own. Dabi remains still, not wanting to scare him off with any movement he isn’t prepared for. It’s not a hug, but it’s the start of trust.

After running your fingers through Michi’s hair again, you stand up. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Dabi makes slow movements to remove the phone from his back pocket and hand it to you. “Try to get some sleep. You too Dabi.”

It’s fruitless, but worth the effort of speaking.

~*~

The streetlamps and shop lights illuminate the street under the freshly darkened sky. A few stars twinkle above, the rest hidden from sight due to the amount of light pollution. The crescent moon shines brightly amongst the dark canvas.

The streets are crowded with families and business people making their commute back home. They walk down the streets, chatting amongst one another happily and going about their usual evening. Some enter restaurants to meet up with other friends and talk more whilst they order food.

Hitoshi stumbles out the door of the roller skating rink. Once he regains his balance, he turns back to his father. “What was that for?”

His father, Hajime Shinsou, chuckles. “For cheating in that race.”

“I did not cheat!” Hitoshi scoffs.

Hajime ruffles his son's hair, briefly tangling his purple locks together. “Sure kid. I just happened to accidentally fall.”

“No, you fell because you have no talent.” Hitoshi quips back as he tries to fix up his messed up hair.

Hajime gasps, eyes widening in surprise, accentuating the dark circles below them. “Oh really now?”

Hitoshi hops back away from him as he lunges towards his son, hands stretched to ruffle his hair again.

“Ok boys, enough fighting. You both have no talent.” Hitoshi’s mother, Mihoko, walks out the door and makes her way to her family. Her lilac locks are tied behind her head in a bun, but a few short strands hang to the side of her face, framing her plump cheeks.

Hitoshi takes the brief distraction from his father and reaches up to mess with his own dark purple locks.

“You two will never grow up will you?” Mihoko says with a smile.

The two boys reciprocate the smile before fixing themselves up once more and heading off down the street.

“What are our dinner options tonight?” Hitoshi asks.

Mihoko hums. “We can decide while we walk. There’s a few restaurants down this street we could try.”

Hitoshi shrugs. “Sure.”

The small family walk closely together as they make their way down the street. The wind is light and a little cold, but it’s not enough to bother them.

Mihoko smiles as she turns to Hitoshi. “How was school?”

A frown settles on his face. “It was good I guess.”

The parents glance at each other, noticing the quick change in mood.

“Is everything ok?” Hajime asks, concern etched in his voice.

A sigh leaves Hitoshi and he visibly slumps forward. “It’s nothing. Just a few kids trying to get at me. They didn’t.”

“Clearly they did.”

Hitoshi grumbles, slightly annoyed at the conversation and wanting to avoid it going further. “Can we not talk about it now? Please? It’s family night.”

Hajime considers his son’s words and tone for a moment with a small hum. “Fine. But I want to know what happened tomorrow. I’m just worried for you son. That’s all.”

“I know dad. But it’s family night. I don’t want to be the one to bring down the mood.”

Hajime is quick to bring his son in to his other side for a hug. “That’s really considerate of you, and I understand what you’re saying. But you also need to understand our concern.”

“We’ll always be here for you Hitoshi, we always said that.” Mihoko adds.

Hitoshi can’t help but smile at his parents. “I know. Can we drop this topic now?”

Hajime nods. “For now.”

Mihoko looks up at one of the approaching stores. “Oh, what about that one?” She points to a restaurant store just ahead. It’s decorated with bright lights advertising the karaoke they offer as entertainment, as well as the meal specials they have.

“The one with karaoke?” Hitoshi asks. Mihoko confirms with a hum.

“Sure, why not? It’ll be fun.” Hajime says.

Hitoshi smirks. “Yeah, until you hear how bad they can get.” This earns a light slap from his mother.

The three walk towards the restaurant. Just as they nod to the doorman, screams erupt from inside, along with the sound of glass shattering and wood splintering. Everyone within the near vicinity stands frozen for one second, not really comprehending where the sounds came from.

The window explodes into millions of pieces as several men storm through it. They’re all dressed in loose clothing. Hair stringy and unwashed, much like the hair of the beards that a few have. They’re clothes are slightly unkempt but aside from that, they appear to be fairly clean and from middle-class income.

People from the streets scream and duck, faces struck with horror. They sprint the opposite direction and shove others out of the way, desperate to escape the scene.

Amidst the chaos, the Shinsou family flinch and instinctively turn to each other, seeking reassurance from each other to ensure they’re together.

Hitoshi feels secure for all of 4 seconds before he feels a hand grip at the back of his collar. Without any warning, he’s yanked harshly away from his parents. In a brief moment of panic, he shouts and jerks his elbow back at his snatcher. But the person wraps their other arm around his front, the muscled arm preventing him from attacking. Another second passes before Hitoshi feels cold steel press against his temple.

A gunshot silences the area.

Hitoshi flinches at the proximity of the sound, hands flying up to grip at the arm wrapped around his front. The gunshot having come from a fellow gang member, effectively placing a blanket of silence over the area.

“Everyone shut up!”

Hitoshi takes this moment to look over to his parents. Both of their faces are overridden with panic. Hajime has his arms wrapped around his wife, stopping her screaming form from lunging towards her son.

Hitoshi can see the desperation in their expressions, the desire to rush over to him, but he can also see the recognition of danger in his father's eyes. He can see his muscles tense with restraint. Hajime wants to run to him and try to save his son, but he knows the risk of doing so. All he can do now is stay put and pray to all gods.

“Please stop this!” A man with ginger hair runs out from the broken window. His casual black shirt and blue jeans are dusted with what looks to be flour and crumbs of food. His eyes are wide with shock as he spots Hitoshi pulled against them. “Let the boy go. He has no business with this. We can talk this out.”

The snatcher tightens his grip around Hitoshi, eliciting a choked sound from the boy. “You had your chance to talk. Now I want to demonstrate to you the consequences of not following our deals.”

“Please don’t do this! Hitoshi!” Hitoshi has to close his eyes at his mother's screams. He can’t stand to see her look so traumatised. Despite his attempts to keep it in, a tear slips down his face.

“I’ll give you what you want. Please just let the boy go!”

The snatcher lets out a loud groan of frustration and annoyance. “You just love to take the fun out of everything don’t ya! He’s my hostage now! Just remember that this is all your fault! The consequence you suffer because you neglected to comply with our demands.”

Hitoshi whines as the steel of the gun presses further into his temple. Amongst the cries from his parents, Hitoshi hears a voice behind him.

“Let him go.” The voice is casual yet holds, firm and serious.

The pressure of the gun eases as the snatcher whips around to face the interruption.

A figure dressed in black, ragged clothing stands there. The hood of their jumper falls over half their face, the other half being covered by a fabric mask. The only visible part of the figure’s body is their hands.

“Who the fuck are you asshole?!!”

“The girl who’s about to break your hand if you don’t release that boy.”

The man growls at you. “I don’t need to take orders from a child like you!”

“A child?” The figure huffs out a light chuckle. “I may be a child, but I have bigger brains and balls than you.”

It happens so fast Hitoshi barely has time to comprehend it. One second Hitoshi has a gun pressed against his temple. The next, he’s being yanked by the shirt collar, away from the man as he crumples to the ground, hands gripping onto his crotch.

The girl dismantles the gun, throwing the parts away, keeping them separated.

The man groans in pure agony. “Don’t just stand around dumbasses! Get her!”

At the demand, the remaining men come to circle around the two.

“When I say so, you run through the opening. Understand?” The girl whispers to Hitoshi.

His mind is racing, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, hyperfocused on his surroundings. He nods vigorously, fists clenched with uncertainty.

The girl smirks beneath the mask. “Look boys. Why not save yourselves the embarrassment and just scurry along. No one has to get hurt tonight.”

“Yeah right lady. You just kicked our boss in his jewels.” A man with twisted horns on his head growls.

The girl takes a quick glance at the man on the floor. “You mean his dick? Let me tell you now, from kicking it, it’s small and worthless.”

The horned man lets out a yell before charging at the girl. He goes to take a swing at her, but just as he’s about to make contact, the girl ducks under his arm and steps behind him. The man has 2 seconds to think before a sharp jab hits him at the side of his neck. The jab effectively hits the vagus nerve, rendering him unconscious.

Hitoshi’s eyes are as wide as saucers. The girl just took out a guy nearly twice her size in one hit!

“Kid, NOW!” Hitoshi snaps his head back towards the girl. She whips her head back, striking the nose of another behind her whilst another man opposite her doubles over, clutching his gasping and clutching his throat.

Hitoshi doesn’t waste another second and bolts through the opening.

The girl screams as she’s thrown to the ground, the guy having regained enough grounding to push her and reach for him.

Hitoshi registers the sound of his mother's screams as he sees the hand reaching for him. But the man seems to stop himself, though not on his own accord. He shouts in pain as his body is shoved down to the ground, seemingly by an invisible force.

Hitoshi takes a brief glance at the girl. Her hood is no longer drawn over her face, allowing her (h/c) hair and glowing (e/c) eyes to be seen. Her arm is pointed to the ground, fingers tense. Hitoshi concludes that her quirk must be at work.

A hand yanks him away from the streets, pulling him towards his parents. The store owner lets Mihoko grasp at her son, her arms coming to wrap tightly around his body. Hajime does the same, overlapping his wife's arms.

The three watch in suspense as the girl stands up.

Two guys on opposite sides rush in to her, but it’s a stupid move she immediately recognises. With a single step and a flick of her wrist, the two men collide head first to each other, noses breaking in the process.

The click of a gun alerts everyone in the area as another man takes aim towards the girl.

The girl dashes to the male, uppercutting his arm and yanking the gun out of his grasp. A straight kick to the chest sends him barrelling on the ground. The gun is dismantled and tossed away before the cycle repeats.

Everyone watches in silence as the girl picks off every man one by one. Each hit she makes has every man groaning in pain. It’s fascinating to watch a young girl take down men twice her size with simple moves. A jab to the throat or to the side of the neck. An uppercut to the chin or gut. A knee to the crotch or under the kneecap. There’s a clear purpose to each strike she makes: take them down as quickly as possible. And it works.

However, as everyone admires over your skill, one of the once fallen men has risen up, snatched up the dismantled parts of a gun and reassembled it.

Hitoshi takes his eyes off the girl to stare at the man as he cocks his gun. Instinct has adrenaline rushing through his veins.

“Look out!” Hitoshi wrenches himself out of his parents' grasp despite their heart wrenching screams and dives into the fight. He tackles the man down as he takes the shot.

The bullet flies high into the air as the man falls to the ground. Hitoshi sits up, one knee on the ground, the other pressed into the man's chest and he begins to punch.

It hurts like no tomorrow, but Hitoshi pushes through the pain. He wills himself to punch again and again. He knows he’s wasting so much energy on one guy, but all his frustrations and fears pent up from the night slips out and drives his fist back and forth.

It's not long before a hand grips his arm. He grunts as he’s pulled up and away from the man. Hitoshi turns to face the offender, ready to punch him in the face, but his eyes meet that of the girl.

She stares at him, eyebrows tucked toward the nose. The expression shows anger and annoyance, but the (e/c) eyes show something similar to understanding and gratitude. She doesn’t give him a chance to stare closely at her for another second as she shoves him back into the crowd.

Hitoshi barely registers his parents' arms encasing him once again as his eyes follow the girl's movements. She takes out the final triplet of men, ending it with a powerful punch to the nose, the bones cracking audibly on impact.

No one moves. No one makes a sound. All eyes are on the girl as she fixes up her hoodie over her face. Her chest heaves with each intake of air, her fingers flexing as she rolls her wrists.

Her head shifts over towards Hitoshi. Despite the hood falling over her face, Hitoshi feels her gaze set on him. He feels it as if it's a dagger piercing his chest. He feels the intensity of it, the aggravation, and the appreciation.

She doesn’t stay there long. As soon as the sirens reach their ears, she darts away.

He can’t look away from her, even as she disappears into an alleyway. Even as his parents call out to him. Even as a team of pro heroes and police officers arrive at the scene.

~*~

Dabi is sat up against the wall with Michi laying across his lap, hand tucked up to his chest. It’d taken a couple hours, but Dabi had managed to sooth Michi to sleep, his calloused fingers threading through the child’s black matted hair. Dabi himself was not asleep, despite his eyes being closed.

You enter the room as quietly as possible, tip toeing across the room, avoiding the many kids that are spread out. A few kids look up at you as you do so, but after identifying you, they lay back down and return to their attempt at sleep.

As you get closer to Dabi, he opens his eyes, sparkling blue eyes scanning you for any signs of injury. Once satisfied you are okay, he stretches his unoccupied arm towards you. You slide next to him, accepting the embrace and wrapping your own arm around him.

“How was he?” You whisper.

“He asked a lot about you. Told him a bit more about what you do.” He answers, his own voice a whisper.

You nod. “That’s good.” A yawn slips past your lips.

“You should get some sleep.”

You poke Dabi in his side. “So should you.”

Dabi simply smiles at that and leans his head atop yours.

No more words are spoken, silence once again fills the room, allowing the two of you to slip into a light sleep.

#road to salvation #shinsou hitoshi #bnha shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #rts

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mattbrothersscriptwriter · 4 years

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My Top 20 Films of 2019 - Part Two

I don’t think I’ve had a year where my top ten jostled and shifted as much as this one did - these really are the best of the best and my personal favourites of 2019.

10. Toy Story 4

I think we can all agree that Toy Story 3 was a pretty much perfect conclusion to a perfect trilogy right? About as close as is likely to get, I’m sure. I shared the same trepidation when part four was announced, especially after some underwhelming sequels like Finding Dory and Cars 3 (though I do have a lot of time for Monsters University and Incredibles 2). So maybe it’s because the odds were so stacked against this being good but I thought it was wonderful. A truly existential nightmare of an epilogue that does away with Andy (and mostly kids altogether) to focus on the dreams and desires of the toys themselves - separate from their ‘duties’ as playthings to biological Gods. What is their purpose in life without an owner? Can they be their own person and carve their own path? In the case of breakout new character Forky (Tony Hale), what IS life? Big big questions for a cash grab kids films huh?

The animation is somehow yet another huge leap forward (that opening rainstorm!), Bo Peep’s return is excellently pitched and the series tradition of being unnervingly horrifying is back as well thanks to those creepy ventriloquist dolls! Keanu Reeves continues his ‘Keanuassaince‘ as the hilarious Duke Caboom and this time, hopefully, the ending at least feels finite. This series means so much to me: I think the first movie is possibly the tightest, most perfect script ever written, the third is one of my favourites of the decade and growing up with the franchise (I was 9 when the first came out, 13 for part two, 24 for part three and now 32 for this one), these characters are like old friends so of course it was great to see them again. All this film had to do was be good enough to justify its existence and while there are certainly those out there that don’t believe this one managed it, I think the fact that it went as far as it did showed that Pixar are still capable of pushing boundaries and exploring infinity and beyond when they really put their minds to it.

9. The Nightingale

Hoo boy. Already controversial with talk of mass walkouts (I witnessed a few when this screened at Sundance London), it’s not hard to see why but easy to understand. Jennifer Kent (The Babadook) is a truly fearless filmmaker following up her acclaimed suburban horror movie come grief allegory with a period revenge tale set in the Tasmanian wilderness during British colonial rule in the early 1800s. It’s rare to see the British depicted with the monstrous brutality for which they were known in the distant colonies and this unflinching drama sorely needed an Australian voice behind the camera to do it justice.

The film is front loaded with some genuinely upsetting, nasty scenes of cruel violence but its uncensored brutality and the almost casual nature of its depiction is entirely the point - this was normalised behaviour over there and by treating it so matter of factly, it doesn’t slip into gratuitous ‘movie violence’. It is what it is. And what it is is hard to watch. If anything, as Kent has often stated, it’s still toned down from the actual atrocities that occurred so it’s a delicate balance that I think Kent more than understands. Quoting from an excellent Vanity Fair interview she did about how she directs, Kent said “I think audiences have become very anaesthetised to violence on screen and it’s something I find disturbing... People say ‘these scenes are so shocking and disturbing’. Of course they are. We need to feel that. When we become so removed from violence on screen, this is a very irresponsible thing. So I wanted to put us right within the frame with that person experiencing the loss of everything they hold dear”.

Aisling Franciosi is next level here as a woman who has her whole life torn from her, leaving her as nothing but a raging husk out for vengeance. It would be so easy to fall into odd couple tropes once she teams up with reluctant native tracker Billy (an equally impressive newcomer, Baykali Ganambarr) but the film continues to stay true to the harsh racism of the era, unafraid to depict our heroine - our point of sympathy - as horrendously racist towards her own ally. Their partnership is not easily solidified but that makes it all the stronger when they star to trust each other. Sam Claflin is also career best here, weaponizing his usual charm into dangerous menace and even after cementing himself as the year’s most evil villain, he can still draw out the humanity in such a broken and corrupt man.

Gorgeously shot in the Academy ratio, the forest landscape here is oppressive and claustrophobic. Kent also steps back into her horror roots with some mesmerising, skin crawling dream scenes that amplify the woozy nightmarish tone and overbearing sense of dread. Once seen, never forgotten, this is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea (and that’s fine) but when cinema can affect you on such a visceral level and be this powerful, reflective and honest about our own past, it’s hard to ignore. Stunning.

8. The Irishman

Aka Martin Scorsese’s magnum opus, I did manage to see this one in a cinema before the Netflix drop and absolutely loved it. I’ve watched 85 minute long movies that felt longer than this - Marty’s mastery of pace, energy and knowing when to let things play out in agonising detail is second to none. This epic tale of the life of Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) really is the cinematic equivalent of having your cake and eating it too, allowing Scorsese to run through a greatest hits victory lap of mobster set pieces, alpha male arguments, a decades spanning life story and one (last?) truly great Joe Pesci performance before simply letting the story... continue... to a natural, depressing and tragic ending, reflecting the emptiness of a life built on violence and crime.

For a film this long, it’s impressive how much the smallest details make the biggest impacts. A stammering phone call from a man emotionally incapable of offering any sort of condolence. The cold refusal of forgiveness from a once loving daughter. A simple mirroring of a bowl of cereal or a door left slightly ajar. These are the parts of life that haunt us all and it’s what we notice the most in a deliberately lengthy biopic that shows how much these things matter when everything else is said and done. The violence explodes in sudden, sharp bursts, often capping off unbearably tense sequences filled with the everyday (a car ride, a conversation about fish, ice cream...) and this contrast between the whizz bang of classic Scorsese and the contemplative nature of Silence era Scorsese is what makes this film feel like such an accomplishment. De Niro is FINALLY back but it’s the memorably against type role for Pesci and an invigorated Al Pacino who steals this one, along with a roll call of fantastic cameos, with perhaps the most screentime given to the wonderfully petty Stephen Graham as Tony Pro, not to mention Anna Paquin’s near silent performance which says more than possibly anyone else.

Yes, the CG de-aging is misguided at best, distracting at worst (I never really knew how old anyone was meant to be at any given time... which is kinda a problem) but like how you get used to it really quickly when it’s used well, here I kinda got past it being bad in an equally fast amount of time and just went with it. Would it have been a different beast had they cast younger actors to play them in the past? Undoubtedly. But if this gives us over three hours of Hollywood’s finest giving it their all for the last real time together, then that’s a compromise I can live with.

7. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Wow. I was in love with this film from the moving first trailer but then the film itself surpassed all expectations. This is a true indie film success story, with lead actor Jimmie Fails developing the idea with director Joe Talbot for years before Kickstarting a proof of concept and eventually getting into Sundance with short film American Paradise, which led to the backing of this debut feature through Plan B and A24. The deeply personal and poetic drama follows a fictionalised version of Jimmie, trying to buy back an old Victorian town house he claims was built by his grandfather, in an act of rebellion against the increasingly gentrified San Francisco that both he and director Talbot call home.

The film is many things - a story of male friendship, of solidarity within our community, of how our cities can change right from underneath us - it moves to the beat of it’s own drum, with painterly cinematography full of gorgeous autumnal colours and my favourite score of the year from Emile Mosseri. The performances, mostly by newcomers or locals outside of brilliant turns from Jonathan Majors, Danny Glover and Thora Birch, are wonderful and the whole thing is such a beautiful love letter to the city that it makes you ache for a strong sense of place in your own home, even if your relationship with it is fractured or strained. As Jimmie says, “you’re not allowed to hate it unless you love it”.

For me, last year’s Blindspotting (my favourite film of the year) tackled gentrification within California more succinctly but this much more lyrical piece of work ebbs and flows through a number of themes like identity, family, memory and time. It’s a big film living inside a small, personal one and it is not to be overlooked.

6. Little Women

I had neither read the book nor seen any prior adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 novel so to me, this is by default the definitive telling of this story. If from what I hear, the non linear structure is Greta Gerwig’s addition, then it’s a total slam dunk. It works so well in breaking up the narrative and by jumping from past to present, her screenplay highlights certain moments and decisions with a palpable sense of irony, emotional weight or knowing wink. Getting to see a statement made with sincere conviction and then paid off within seconds, can be both a joy and a surefire recipe for tears. Whether it’s the devastating contrast between scenes centred around Beth’s illness or the juxtaposition of character’s attitudes to one another, it’s a massive triumph. Watching Amy angrily tell Laurie how she’s been in love with him all her life and then cutting back to her childishly making a plaster cast of her foot for him (’to remind him how small her feet are’) is so funny.

Gerwig and her impeccable cast bring an electric energy to the period setting, capturing the big, messy realities of family life with a mix of overwhelming cross-chatter and the smallest of intimate gestures. It’s a testament to the film that every sister feels fully serviced and represented, from Beth’s quiet strength to Amy’s unforgivable sibling rivalry. Chris Cooper’s turn as a stoic man suffering almost imperceptible grief is a personal heartbreaking favourite.

The book’s (I’m assuming) most sweeping romantic statements are wonderfully delivered, full of urgent passion and relatable heartache, from Marmie’s (Laura Dern) “I’m angry nearly every day of my life” moment to Jo’s (Saoirse Ronan) painful defiance of feminine attributes not being enough to cure her loneliness. The sheer amount of heart and warmth in this is just remarkable and I can easily see it being a film I return to again and again.

5. Booksmart

2019 has been a banner year for female directors, making their exclusion from some of the early awards conversations all the more damning. From this list alone, we have Lulu Wang, Jennifer Kent and Greta Gerwig. Not to mention Lorene Scafaria (Hustlers), Melina Matsoukas (Queen & Slim), Jocelyn DeBoer & Dawn Luebbe (Greener Grass), Sophie Hyde (Animals) and Rose Glass (Saint Maud - watch out for THIS one in 2020, it’s brilliant). Perhaps the most natural transition from in front of to behind the camera has been made by Olivia Wilde, who has created a borderline perfect teen comedy that can make you laugh till you cry, cry till you laugh and everything in-between.

Subverting the (usually male focused) ‘one last party before college’ tropes that fuel the likes of Superbad and it’s many inferior imitators, Booksmart follows two overachievers who, rather than go on a coming of age journey to get some booze or get laid, simply want to indulge in an insane night of teenage freedom after realising that all of the ‘cool kids’ who they assumed were dropouts, also managed to get a place in all of the big universities. It’s a subtly clever remix of an old favourite from the get go but the committed performances from Kaitlyn Dever and Beanie Feldstein put you firmly in their shoes for the whole ride.

It’s a genuine blast, with big laughs and a bigger heart, portraying a supportive female friendship that doesn’t rely on hokey contrivances to tear them apart, meaning that when certain repressed feelings do come to the surface, the fallout is heartbreaking. As I stated in a twitter rave after first seeing it back in May, every single character, no matter how much they might appear to be simply representing a stock role or genre trope, gets their moment to be humanised. This is an impeccably cast ensemble of young unknowns who constantly surprise and the script is a marvel - a watertight structure without a beat out of place, callbacks and payoffs to throwaway gags circle back to be hugely important and most of all, the approach taken to sexuality and representation feels so natural. I really think it is destined to be looked back on and represent 2019 the way Heathers does ‘88, Clueless ‘95 or Easy A 2010. A new high benchmark for crowd pleasing, indie comedy - teen or otherwise.

4. Ad Astra

Brad Pitt is one of my favourite actors and one who, despite still being a huge A-lister even after 30 years in the game, never seems to get enough credit for the choices he makes, the movies he stars in and also the range of stories he helps produce through his company, Plan B. 2019 was something of a comeback year for Pitt as an actor with the insanely measured and controlled lead performance seen here in Ad Astra and the more charismatic and chaotic supporting role in Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood.

I love space movies, especially those that are more about broken people blasting themselves into the unknown to search for answers within themselves... which manages to sum up a lot of recent output in this weirdly specific sub-genre. First Man was a devastating look at grief characterised by a man who would rather go to a desolate rock than have to confront what he lost, all while being packaged as a heroic biopic with a stunning score. Gravity and The Martian both find their protagonists forced to rely on their own cunning and ingenuity to survive and Interstellar looked at the lengths we go to for those we love left behind. Smaller, arty character studies like High Life or Moon are also astounding. All of this is to say that Ad Astra takes these concepts and runs with them, challenging Pitt to cross the solar system to talk some sense into his long thought dead father (Tommy Lee Jones). But within all the ‘sad dad’ stuff, there’s another film in here just daring you to try and second guess it - one that kicks things off with a terrifying free fall from space, gives us a Mad Max style buggy chase on the moon and sidesteps into horror for one particular set-piece involving a rabid baboon in zero G! It manages to feel so completely nuts, so episodic in structure, that I understand why a lot of people were turned off - feeling that the overall film was too scattershot to land the drama or too pondering to have any fun with. I get the criticisms but for me, both elements worked in tandem, propelling Pitt on this (assumed) one way journey at a crazy pace whilst sitting back and languishing in the ‘bigger themes’ more associated with a Malik or Kubrick film. Something that Pitt can sell me on in his sleep by this point.

I loved the visuals from cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar), loved the imagination and flair of the script from director James Gray and Ethan Gross and loved the score by Max Richter (with Lorne Balfe and Nils Frahm) but most of all, loved Pitt, proving that sometimes a lot less, is a lot more. The sting of hearing the one thing he surely knew (but hoped he wouldn’t) be destined to hear from his absent father, acted almost entirely in his eyes during a third act confrontation, summed up the movie’s brilliance for me - so much so that I can forgive some of the more outlandish ‘Mr Hyde’ moments of this thing’s alter ego... like, say, riding a piece of damaged hull like a surfboard through a meteor debris field!

3. Avengers: Endgame

It’s no secret that I think Marvel, the MCU in particular, have been going from strength to strength in recent years, slowly but surely taking bigger risks with filmmakers (the bonkers Taika Waititi, the indie darlings of Ryan Coogler, Cate Shortland and Chloe Zhao) whilst also carefully crafting an entertaining, interconnected universe of characters and stories. But what is the point of building up any movie ‘universe’ if you’re not going to pay it off and Endgame is perhaps the strongest conclusion to eleven years of movie sequels that fans could have possibly hoped for.

Going into this thing, the hype was off the charts (and for good reason, with it now being the highest grossing film of all time) but I remember souring on the first entry of this two-parter, Infinity War, during the time between initial release and Endgame’s premiere. That film had a game-changing climax, killing off half the heroes (and indeed the universe’s population) and letting the credits role on the villain having achieved his ultimate goal. It was daring, especially for a mammoth summer blockbuster but obviously, we all knew the deaths would never be permanent, especially with so many already-announced sequels for now ‘dusted’ characters. However, it wasn’t just the feeling that everything would inevitably be alright in the end. For me, the characters themselves felt hugely under-serviced, with arguably the franchise’s main goody two shoes Captain America being little more than a beardy bloke who showed up to fight a little bit. Basically what I’m getting at is that I felt Endgame, perhaps emboldened by the giant runtime, managed to not only address these character slights but ALSO managed to deliver the most action packed, comic booky, ‘bashing your toys together’ final fight as well.

It’s a film of three parts, each pretty much broken up into one hour sections. There’s the genuinely new and interesting initial section following our heroes dealing with the fact that they lost... and it stuck. Thor angrily kills Thanos within the first fifteen minutes but it’s a meaningless action by this point - empty revenge. Cutting to five years later, we get to see how defeat has affected them, for better or worse, trying to come to terms with grief and acceptance. Cap tries to help the everyman, Black Widow is out leading an intergalactic mop up squad and Thor is wallowing in a depressive black hole. It’s a shocking and vibrantly compelling deconstruction of the whole superhero thing and it gives the actors some real meat to chew on, especially Robert Downy Jr here who goes from being utterly broken to fighting within himself to do the right thing despite now having a daughter he doesn’t want to lose too. Part two is the trip down memory lane, fan service-y time heist which is possibly the most fun section of any of these movies, paying tribute to the franchise’s past whilst teetering on a knife’s edge trying to pull off a genuine ‘mission impossible’. And then it explodes into the extended finale which pays everyone off, demonstrates some brilliantly imaginative action and sticks the landing better than it had any right to. In a year which saw the ending of a handful of massive geek properties, from Game of Thrones to Star Wars, it’s a miracle even one of them got it right at all. That Endgame managed to get it SO right is an extraordinary accomplishment and if anything, I think Marvel may have shot themselves in the foot as it’s hard to imagine anything they can give us in the future having the intense emotional weight and momentum of this huge finale.

2. Knives Out

Rian Johnson has been having a ball leaping into genre sandpits and stirring shit up, from his teen spin on noir in Brick to his quirky con man caper with The Brothers Bloom, his time travel thriller Looper and even his approach to the Star Wars mythos in The Last Jedi. Turning his attention to the relatively dead ‘whodunnit’ genre, Knives Out is a perfect example of how to celebrate everything that excites you about a genre whilst weaponizing it’s tropes against your audience’s baggage and preconceptions.

An impeccable cast have the time of their lives here, revelling in playing self obsessed narcissists who scramble to punt the blame around when the family’s patriarch, a successful crime novelist (Christopher Plummer), winds up dead. Of course there’s something fishy going on so Daniel Craig’s brilliantly dry southern detective Benoit Blanc is called in to investigate.There are plenty of standouts here, from Don Johnson’s ignorant alpha wannabe Richard to Michael Shannon’s ferocious eldest son Walt to Chris Evan’s sweater wearing jock Ransom, full of unchecked, white privilege swagger. But the surprise was the wholly sympathetic, meek, vomit prone Marta, played brilliantly by Ana de Armas, cast against her usual type of sultry bombshell (Knock Knock, Blade Runner 2049), to spearhead the biggest shake up of the genre conventions. To go into more detail would begin to tread into spoiler territory but by flipping the audience’s engagement with the detective, we’re suddenly on the receiving end of the scrutiny and the tension derived from this switcheroo is genius and opens up the second act of the story immensely.

The whole thing is so lovingly crafted and the script is one of the tightest I’ve seen in years. The amount of setup and payoff here is staggering and never not hugely satisfying, especially as it heads into it’s final stretch. It really gives you some hope that you could have such a dense, plotty, character driven idea for a story and that it could survive the transition from page to screen intact and for the finished product to work as well as it does. I really hope Johnson returns to tell another Benoit Blanc mystery and judging by the roaring box office success (currently over $200 million worldwide for a non IP original), I certainly believe he will.

1. Eighth Grade

My film of the year is another example of the power of cinema to put us in other people’s shoes and to discover the traits, fears, joys and insecurities that we all share irregardless. It may shock you to learn this but I have never been a 13 year old teenage girl trying to get by in the modern world of social media peer pressure and ‘influencer’ culture whilst crippled with personal anxiety. My school days almost literally could not have looked more different than this (less Instagram, more POGs) and yet, this is a film about struggling with oneself, with loneliness, with wanting more but not knowing how to get it without changing yourself and the careless way we treat those with our best interests at heart in our selfish attempt to impress peers and fit in. That is understandable. That is universal. And as I’m sure I’ve said a bunch of times in this list, movies that present the most specific worldview whilst tapping into universal themes are the ones that inevitably resonate the most.

Youtuber and comedian Bo Burnham has crafted an impeccable debut feature, somehow portraying a generation of teens at least a couple of generations below his own, with such laser focused insight and intimate detail. It’s no accident that this film has often been called a sort of social-horror, with cringe levels off the charts and recognisable trappings of anxiety and depression in every frame. The film’s style services this feeling at every turn, from it’s long takes and nauseous handheld camerawork to the sensory overload in it’s score (take a bow Anna Meredith) and the naturalistic performances from all involved. Burnham struck gold when he found Elsie Fisher, delivering the most painful and effortlessly real portrayal of a tweenager in crisis as Kayla. The way she glances around skittishly, the way she is completely lost in her phone, the way she talks, even the way she breathes all feeds into the illusion - the film is oftentimes less a studio style teen comedy and more a fly on the wall documentary.

This is a film that could have coasted on being a distant, social media based cousin to more standard fare like Sex Drive or Superbad or even Easy A but it goes much deeper, unafraid to let you lower your guard and suddenly hit you with the most terrifying scene of casually attempted sexual aggression or let you watch this pure, kindhearted girl falter and question herself in ways she shouldn’t even have to worry about. And at it’s core, there is another beautiful father/daughter relationship, with Josh Hamilton stuck on the outside looking in, desperate to help Kayla with every fibre of his being but knowing there are certain things she has to figure out for herself. It absolutely had me and their scene around a backyard campfire is one of the year’s most touching.

This is a truly remarkable film that I think everyone should seek out but I’m especially excited for all the actual teenage girls who will get to watch this and feel seen. This isn’t about the popular kid, it isn’t about the dork who hangs out with his or her own band of misfits. This is about the true loner, that person trying everything to get noticed and still ending up invisible, that person trying to connect through the most disconnected means there is - the internet - and everything that comes with it. Learning that the version of yourself you ‘portray’ on a Youtube channel may act like they have all the answers but if you’re kidding yourself then how do you grow?

When I saw this in the cinema, I watched a mother take her seat with her two daughters, aged probably at around nine and twelve. Possibly a touch young for this, I thought, and I admit I cringed a bit on their behalf during some very adult trailers but in the end, I’m glad their mum decided they were mature enough to see this because a) they had a total blast and b) life simply IS R rated for the most part, especially during our school years, and those girls being able to see someone like Kayla have her story told on the big screen felt like a huge win. I honestly can’t wait to see what Burnham or Fisher decide to do next. 2019 has absolutely been their year... and it’s been a hell of a year.

#top 20 #films of the year #films of 2019 #10-1 #toy story 4 #the nightingale #the irishman #the last black man in san francisco #little women #booksmart #ad astra #avengers endgame #knives out #eighth grade

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maviemesregles · 5 years

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Once I was an Eagle

I'm completely blown away by your responses to this work. Thank you each and one of you who read it, left kudos, reblogged or just said a kind word. It means a lot <3 This second chapter was prewritten before and I did not want to make you wait! :) For those who's been asking about posting in future I plan to update this fic once a week, probably on Wednesdays (but not necessarily). I’m still figuring out the way I want to tell this story but I guess we'll just see how their relationship develops until the present times. At first, I thought of it as little flashbacks but now it seems more necessary to show all the steps of growing together before we arrive at the Angst. Once again excuse me for any mistakes that might be there. ( Yes, I'm still looking for my beta? ❤)

It’s also available on AO3 :)

Posting a little behind the schedule here but... Enjoy!

1.The beginnings

CHAPTER 2: Sassenach

" How did you break your nose?" I asked him (out of nowhere to be honest) finishing the last stitch on his forearm. The tissue there was split about 3 inches long, quite deep. It ran atop his other scar (where did he get it from?) and once healed it would make a cross sign.

'' Huh?" My patient lifted his head looking at me. For whatever reason, I felt my stomach turn into a warm pool. ( why?) That was the first time I had a chance to examine his face properly, to register his features in my mind. His eyes were strangely blue, the shade of blue that reminded me of my vacation to the Maldives. The stubble of gold reddish colour was sprinkled along the sides of his jaw (I wondered whether it was his style or he just did not bother to shave). His face was framed by short cut curls, sticking out slightly near his ears. (I had to fight an urge to tuck them behind).

I nearly dropped an anesthetic when he spoke. The deep flush crept up my neck, reaching my cheeks when I realised I was staring at him.

" Ye didna ask me how I cut my arm but ye ask me about my nose?" Jamie's eyebrows rose as he smiled, small dimple on his right cheek appearing for me to remember. " Is it yer trying to compare the size of my nose and..."

" No." I cut him off coldly, biting on my lip, his sudden remark threw my professional mask off. The smile on his face was wiped out in seconds, eyes fixed on mine. I cursed in my mind (what is wrong with you, Beauchamp?). He was just trying to make a joke and I'm going to have PMS or why else I had snapped again? I almost physically felt the awkward silence that fell on the room, spreading its dirty hands to ruin any possible professional etiquette I tried to maintain. But, it did not have a chance when we spoke together.

" I'm sorry. I did not want to sound mean".

" Sorry, that was verra stupid of me to say, Sassenach".

The phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans before I could answer him. With quiet "excuse me" I pressed decline thinking that Geillis can wait a couple of minutes more, though she would say she'll curse me with all her long line of witches in the family. " What does it mean? Sassi-nak?" I asked taking the last band-aids (only with Disney theme left) from the drawer.

" It means English." He snorted behind my back but when I turned his gaze was surprisingly warm. I swallowed. I had to admit he was beautiful. Beautiful in the way that hypnotized me and I thought that if I could paint he is the perfect model for that. " Or simply an outlander." Jamie watched me opening up the band-aid (which happened to be with Micky Mouse).

" Really? " I narrowed my eyes. Satisfied with my work I gave him the last instructions. " All done. Don't scratch it, don't swim, avoid sport. You may take showers and keep the bandage until you get home". Feeling my phone buzzing again I smiled at him, watching him put on the same woolen coat (dark navy, ending just above his knees) and tartan scarf, I grabbed my own coat.

" I'm sorry I kept ye after yer work hours". He said quietly and suddenly took my black jacket out of my hands. "It's alright." I responded taken aback by his gesture." It's my duty". I could feel his warm breath at the nape of my neck when my back faced him. I grabbed my purse mumbling incoherent 'thanks' and feeling stupid that I acted like a schoolgirl. (Has he noticed that? Christ.)

" What do ye call us, Scots?" Jamie looked up at me when he stood in the doorway. " Nothing really. Is it already not offensive enough?" I bit inside of my cheek trying not to laugh. He smiled. " Aye."

We said goodbye in a rush being interrupted by young nurse Mary Hawkins who has had about a million questions to me. Saying to James Fraser that he can come back in a week for sutures removal I had spent another 20 minutes talking to a father of one of my patients. Geillis was cursing me in three long text messages to which my response was a crap emoji. She had planned on going to some fancy restaurant and spending a ridiculous amount of money on some luxurious dishes, saying it would cheer me up. I wasn't particularly agreeing with her on the thought "Ye look like shite and behave the same. Tis time ye put aside all that Frank story" and was going to spend time home but Geillis wouldn't be one without trying. Typing the message on the screen I mentally counted how much time I really have to get home, change in something more suitable and meet Geillis.

"Sorry, hon. Had one more patient. xx"

" Was he hot?"

" What makes you think it was' him'?"

"Just hope for ye, love"

I rolled my eyes and shivered at the cold wind (bloody hell, Scotland, it was just September?) running down the stairs I successfully avoided the puddle when a familiar voice called. "Sassenach?"

In his hand, he held a takeaway coffee from Starbucks "Just black. Americano. Did I get it right?" " Right" I whispered back. (why? why did I whisper?)

" I'm sorry again for yer wee nose. And yer coffee" Jamie smiled handing me the cup, our fingers brushing slightly, me noticing how warm his skin was despite the brutal Scottish weather. I shook my head and looked down at my shoes. He was smirking. (really?)

" It's okay. Sorry I barked at you then." I chewed on my lip, feeling my toes go numb in the cold. "Be careful with your hand".

"Aye, I will." He had asked my name then and I blurted "Beauchamp", his eyebrows rose and I laughed "Claire. My name is Claire."

Being awfully late for a dinner with Geill, cursing why did I buy this bag that was as big as bloody house, I finally found the keys in the depths of it. Throwing it on the hall floor and kicking my boots off on the way to bedroom I scratched Adso behind his furry ears (who had been sleeping, paws up, sprawled on the carpet in the living room). I jumped into the shower almost breaking my ankle at the slippery tiles. I had to give Geillis a credit. Truly I was feeling as I stood on the edge of the cliff, one foot hanging above it. The emotional state that had me hooked for the last few weeks because of a nasty remark I'd received from Frank in the text message. " You have to cut off the bullshit, Claire. You are not as great a woman as you think". I simply replied, "Fuck you, Frank Randall". But it kept lingering at the back of my head and surely soon enough I started thinking perhaps it was me who did everything wrong and that is why we divorced? Had it been my friend I would have said that it's a talk of insecure man and nothing surprising in a fact that man tries to blame a woman. This is as old as the world and you cannot beat yourself up for it and possibly think you've done something wrong. There were multiple reasons why we have broken up, on both sides. It just didn't work. But his remark threw me off the track and I've got stuck in this state for past two weeks.

Thinking that Geillis's idea of the restaurant actually might be a good distraction I grabbed the purse from the floor when my eyes stumbled at the coffee cup I have left on the bureau shelf. Feeling familiar warmth rising from my belly and going up up up my body making me smile I took a few sips of now cold drink setting it aside. Only then I've noticed a set of numbers scrabbled on the side. It was a number and I did not need to guess long whose it is.

Dinner with Geilis was indeed a distraction. A good one for that matter. We went through all our work weekly news and now for the last twenty minutes, she was telling me in all explicit details about her last Tinder date. Sipping on the nutty red wine I could not help but admit that Jamie has lingered at the back of my mind all evening. When the waiter brought us the check and we were trying to split the sum James Fraser became our next topic of discussion. "Ye ken that he left ye his number on purpose?" Geillis smirked putting away her wallet. " Yes. But what then?" I nodded with my shoulders. "I saw him just twice and the first one was not much of a success." The pharmacist rolled her eyes when we stepped out to the drizzle of rain, lighting a cigarette. " Christ, Claire. I saw him. He was smoking hot. Ye canna just let that chance flow by." The cloud of smoke hid her face for a moment and I coughed. "And ye dinna need to have serious relationships with him. Or just sex with no promises is taboo for ye these days? C'mon. Relax, Beauchamp."

I knew she was right in a way. I was overthinking it. In the last five months after divorce with Frank I had shared a bed with men, went on meaningless dates. Why couldn't I do it now? Jamie was attractive and kind. I definitely could give it a shot.

For the next week, I was swirled into the chaos of work, night shifts, new patients, Adso having stomach problems. I did not have the time or chance to call Jamie. And when I finally remembered about it, sitting in well-worn pajamas, eating crisps out of the packet on the couch I'd realised I threw the cup into the rubbish bin. Thinking of it as bad omen I tried not to dwell on it much but my plan has been changed by Mary Hawkins who apparently took off the sutures of Jamie and with red face shoved a note into my hand while I was filling in the charts. All the way home I felt as if the note in my pocket will burn my hand off.

Looking at the piece of paper with neat handwriting that said "I'd hoped it would be the Sassenach who removes my stitches. *smiley face* P.S. I hope my handwriting is good enough this time because I have a feeling ye couldna read the phone number. Fancy a good Scottish whisky instead of coffee? J." I dialed Geillis, pacing the room in circles, Adso following me with a look "Are you okay, Mama?"

" That's the lad ye bumped into in Lallybroch? The one with stitches?" Her voice sounded dangerously excited. " Mmmh" I hummed noise of approval, staring out of the window.

" He knows his ways" She chuckled. "Tell me ye will go and see him?" I leaned my forehead against the glass, the warm breath making it misty. "He's my patient." A long line of cursing on the other side followed my answer and it made me smile. That's why I loved Geillis though sometimes she was a lot to handle.

"Well, a patient ye treated... like what? Ten minutes? Plus, ye've seen him before so it's like ye know him. I will kill ye with my own bare hands if ye dinna call him at least."

I chewed on my lip and glanced at Adso as if it could shake off my doubts. " You know what? I'll meet him." I stated simply.

" That's the spirit, lassie!" Her happy squealing made me grimace. "Dinna forget to shave". After another five minutes of a stream of advice from my best girlfriend I took out the Starbucks paper cup from the trash, I threw it in the evening before (he better be worth it). Not to give myself a chance to change my mind I dialed right away.

We agreed to meet in a pub of Jamie's choice (he had promised it's one of the best in Edinburgh) I spent a good amount of time thinking what to wear. What does one wear to a pub? To date in the pub? (seriously?) Was it a date at all? As my wristwatch showed 6pm I finally stood in the hallway 30 minutes before meeting James Fraser (not as my patient). I had promised myself to keep this easy and fun. I'm just seeing this handsome Scot, having a couple of drinks with him, flirty chit chats, maybe ending up in mine or his apartment as a bonus. Easy and fun.

"Get your shit together, Beauchamp." I hissed to myself taking the last look in the mirror. Highwaisted jeans, cream sweater and suede high heels boots that I've bought being drunk last Christmas and never wore (heals and I were from different worlds). It was definitely an upgrade since Lallybroch market accident but it did not scream "Look, I've just spent two hours figuring out my outfit!".

Getting into the cab (not that I had planned on being drunk but my inner voice knew better) I texted Geillis the name and GPS location of the pub.

"In case I get abducted, you know. xxx".

" Yer ridiculous but I still love ye. Have a good shag. Kidding. Have fun. xxx"

Nodding at cab driver's "Have a good evening" I stepped out to the busy street, full of noises, tipsy people, the smell of street food mixed with weed smoke. Glancing last time at my cell phone where Jamie's text shone on the screen five minutes ago "I'll be inside, ye can find me at the bar. ;)" I walked inside the pub.

The first time we met (or rather bumped into each other) I haven't noticed much besides his bright hair and a soft smile. The second time, James Fraser was my patient and despite all medical etiquette written I kept thinking how good-looking he was. Neither times I felt nervous or confused, I felt at ease with him and only anticipated what he might be if we meеt in normal set up? Now I caught myself fidgeting my fingers along the strap of my purse, eyes scanning the crowd. It wasn't hard to spot him. His tall posture was slightly bent across the bar as he spoke to the bartender, the red mop of hair shook in agreement and then he turned his head.

I was halfway there when he noticed me. I had smiled when he leaned to press a kiss to my cheek, his lips dry and warm, body dangerously close to mine.

" Claire". He hummed with a deep noise coming up his chest. I dropped my coat on the back of the stool when Jamie slid it aside for me to seat.

"I took a chance and ordered for ye." He pointed at two tumblers of whisky on the polished wooden counter.

"Taking a risk?" I smirked, my fingers feeling a cold surface of the patterned glass. " Oh, aye." If a look could burn then Jamie's eyes would’ve made a see-through hole in me. "Sláinte!"

"How's your arm?" I tilted my head, watching his lips meet the glass surface. It could have been a mesmerizing movie scene I'd watch again and again. "Do ye always talk about yer work, Dr. Bechaam?" He grunted glaring at me. " But since ye asked, it's fine, though I was verra much disappointed it wasna ye there to remove the stitches." I felt goosebumps running down my skin, making each little hair erect, all the same, familiar warmth rising at the bottom of my belly.

"How come?" I quirked one brow in a question (although I knew the answer). "Ye have a good touch, Sassenach" Jamie shook his glass, ice clinking, before gulping it down. Feeling slightly more reckless I licked the tingling sensation off my lips, leaning closer to him. "I could check it for you if you like. To see if there is no infection".

The rest of the evening we spent in easy banter. Jumping from one topic to another, fun and serious, sad and happy. He had told me about his family "Wee Maggie was verra jealous of the Micky Mouse band aid ye gave me". I told him about my times in medical school (how I broke my arm in the third year trying to pass a note to Geillis on the exam). He remembered his most embarrassing date with his first girlfriend Annalise. I shared my last awful experience with meeting a guy after speaking with him on Facebook. Jamie said he likes horses, I answered: "I'm interested in botany".

All the time I was strongly aware of our knees touching, of him laughing (loud and so genuine it made my heart skip a beat) and bending forward, his warm breath lingering above my skin, our fingers brushing accidentally when laid atop the bar counter. Two hours later we stood outside the pub, his coat loosely draped over my shoulders for extra warmth "Aren't you cold?" I had asked then. "No, Sassenach. We Scots made of solid stuff" He laughed, fishing his cell phone out of the pocket. I was fidgeting from one foot to another thinking how I might get him inside my flat? I was tipsy, feeling quite reckless and more than conscious of his attractiveness.

"I'll get ye a cab, text me when yer safe home, aye?" He glared at me, his pinky lightly caressing the inside of my wrist when he called a taxi.

" Jamie, don't you..."

He did not let me finish, tucking away the stray curl behind my ear, his warm fingers tracing the line down my jaw. " I would verra much like to kiss ye. May I?"

Without much words I stepped forward, his lips crushed under mine. Jamie hummed appreciative "mmmm" his fingers tangling in the hair on my nape. I could feel the lines of muscles under his shirt when we were pressed along each other, my hands going up and down his arms. I inhaled deeply when we parted, watching him lick his lips.

"I'll see ye around, Claire?"

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #once i was an eagle #chapter 2 #outlander modern au

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the-rebel-archivist · 4 years

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Love & Duty

The camp was so empty without him there. It had always felt full to bursting when Alistair was around. His personality pervaded through any space he was in, leaving no room for loneliness or sadness.

Lyna had set up her tent while it was still light out but now shadows cast by the light of her bonfire danced on the canvas. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted and its mate answered as they hunted together in the darkness. The sky was devoid of stars, the only light from above faded moonlight partially obscured by clouds. It felt a little like rain, heavy and silent. It would be appropriate if it rained tomorrow.

She shivered in the chill from the evening and moved closer to the fire. Before, he would have put his arm around her and pulled her close, freely sharing his warmth; he always had run hot. Now she was alone.

She hadn’t had to be. She could have been inside the city at the palace instead of on her own just outside the tall stone walls. Alistair certainly wasn’t lonely tonight, on this, the last night before he was wed. He was probably completely intoxicated and surrounded by the gaggle of vapid women who seemed to dog his steps nowadays. It was embarrassing to watch them throw themselves at him. She would never fawn over him the way they did, simpering and swooning at every stray glance or word from his mouth. She respected him more than that. He’d invited her to come tonight, of course - she was his best ‘man’, after all. But attending the wedding and feigning happiness tomorrow would be trying enough as it was so she had made her excuses and left the city. She would return to the castle before the sun was up to dress for the grand event. She needed time alone to think, and couldn’t get it inside the confined, monochrome palace.

The fire was dying down and she threw another small log on, wanting a bit more time before she resigned herself to restless sleep. The light flickered and tiny pockets of sap crackled as the fire consumed the new wood. She would have to be up very early to bathe before leaving or else she’d smell like smoke, but she’d do it. She was determined to outshine any of the fine ladies who were far more suitable for court life than a Dalish elf such as herself. Ladies who were acceptable to be queen or princess or teyrna or whatever foolish, invented title they held.

This wedding had always been coming. She’d arranged it herself, a perfect marriage of convenience to secure peace in Ferelden. Of course, when she had pushed Alistair take up the kingship she had intended to share his throne. She was going to end the Blight and then have her perfect happily ever after ending; she should have known better than to believe that even then. She hadn’t been so naive as to think that her being an elf wouldn’t be a problem, but her feelings and misplaced confidence had blinded her. How had she allowed what she felt to cloud her judgement? She knew better than that.

When she had faced resistance to her plans she had changed tack with barely a blink, orchestrating a union between him and the dowager queen, with whom she had made an arrangement that would allow her to remain by his side. Everything had been meticulously planned, all possible outcomes accounted for. She had only failed to consider the impossible. The hurt she felt now wasn’t her fault, it was his. There was no way she could have possibly considered that he would leave her. It was a variable that had she had never factored in.

She picked up her spade from her pack. With no one else to mind the fire she would rather wrap herself tighter in her blankets to keep out the chill than allow for the fire to potentially become unmanageable while she wasn’t conscious to control it. She should try to sleep anyway - this disgusting self pity needed to be suffocated before it began in earnest. It served no one well for her to start thinking about what ifs. The flames hissed as she piled earth over them to snuff them out.

It was much darker now that the fire was only scattered embers, but she knew instinctively where her tent was; she always set it up the same way when she was alone.

She hadn’t used this blanket in a while. For some time now she’d been recovering in the city and hadn’t needed it. This was the first occasion for her to take it from her pack. The smoke from the fire had irritated her eyes, she thought to herself when she unfolded it. That was why they were watering, no other reason. She hadn’t cried since she had seen that Alistair was still standing after the archdemon was dead and she blamed that weakness only on the sudden lack of adrenaline. There would be no tears now, even if the blanket did still carry the smells of leather and sweat and harsh lye soap, the same scents that she had loved to breathe in as she curled up next to him. That part of her life was as over as the Blight.

If Morrigan were here, she would know what to say. The witch had disappeared after the battle and so both of her dearest friends had departed, though only one was physically distant. Morrigan could have shaken her from this abyss she found herself in, knocked away the heartsickness that made her feeble with a few well chosen jabs. But she was gone and presumably pregnant with the child of the man Lyna loved. She felt a pang of some indefinable jealousy and swallowed hard. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. It was unpleasant.

For a moment she had considered refusing Morrigan’s offer to complete the ritual that would allow both her and Alistair to survive. Some brief dramatic inclination had tempted her to allow the archdemon to take her now that she was without the man she loved. She still didn’t know what had come over her then. Morrigan had helped. Even though Lyna was well aware that she had her own private motivations for the ritual, the witch’s words to her had rung true. It was not worth it to give up everything for any man, not even the one who had pieced back together her fragmented soul after she had become a Warden, the one that she needed to complete her.

No, she didn’t need him. She shouldn’t allow herself to think that way. It was more than possible for her to be whole alone, she had never felt like she was missing anything before him. He was to blame for ever having made her so pathetic, with his idiotic, beautiful grins and stupid, clever jokes. It was his fault that she was heartbroken.

Maybe she flattered herself, but she thought he needed her too.

No, not too. Stop that.

He wasn’t shrewd or calculating. He was too trusting for his own good. She had decided to become his chancellor to help him. It was all for him. It was to preserve the peace she’d brokered. Her girlish emotions would be put aside so that she might be of service to him. She was not interested in any political gains for herself.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she balled up her fists and bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was all a lie. She had always made an effort to be brutally honest with herself when the situation required. The lies she whispered to herself were just that, and she was uncomfortably aware just how untrue they were even as she told them. She would never beg for him to take her back, not ever. But the thought of a life without him was intolerable, completely unimaginable. There was no altruistic desire to help a country that she felt little attachment to. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to be near him because she was an idiot and couldn’t let him go. Perhaps helping him would allow her to assuage her own guilt.

Maybe this situation is all your fault, she thought as she stared upwards at the darkness. Alistair didn’t break your heart, you stupid child, you did. It was something she must accept; she had miscalculated. She had reduced people to chess pieces on a board rather than living, feeling beings and had grown upset when they didn’t behave like automatons. It was not a mistake she was liable to make again, but now she must endure this path she had unintentionally chosen.

She lay on her bedroll, unsleeping, for the rest of the night.

---

Nobody seemed to notice her entering the next morning. Servants fluttered about, busily preparing for the feast that would begin in the afternoon and not end for two days. No one had a single thought to spare the quiet elf, hair still damp from river water, resolutely striding down the halls before most of the nobles had arisen. Lyna was glad of it. It was going to be trying enough to converse with the other guests later; needing to put on her social mask early and act the happy Hero of Ferelden to any servants might overexert her before it mattered.

Her room wasn’t in the guest quarters. As chancellor, she had a room nearer to Alistair’s than was quite comfortable. She hadn’t taken any pains to make it feel like hers, but nobody who entered would have assumed that it was anyone else’s - it either belonged to her or was a storage closet for Grey Warden memorabilia. All of the commemorative glasses and dishes and ridiculous carved figurines of archdemons and griffins were stacked in a corner - Alistair had insisted she get one of everything made. It was unclear what their purpose was or what she would ever do with them, and so they sat, untouched, in a pile.

The room itself was lavishly furnished, with a four poster bed made from some dark wood that gleamed with lacquer, a rug so plush that it made her somewhat uncomfortable to walk on in stocking feet, and reddish coloured tapestries with images of Mabari embroidered on them on the walls. Alistair had told her that he’d replace the musty old wall hangings with anything she wanted but she hadn’t made any suggestions. He took far more of an interest in her living space than she did.

She had left her dress laid out on the bed and the tiny pots and jars that held the cosmetics she made herself by the glass in the room. The mirror was the only part of the room she had requested. It was the largest she had ever seen; she could almost see her whole body in it while standing up. She still wasn’t used to the luxury of being able to see her reflection when getting ready, but appreciated it today.

Piece by piece, she laid her armour on the stand in a corner. It had been broken and repaired so many times that it was likely beyond fixing now. It hadn’t seemed to be worthwhile to invest in something better - a week ago she had received a missive requesting that she travel to Orlais to meet the Warden Commander there and be fitted for new armour. She was sure it would look nicer than the leather that had grown soft and ragged; Orlesians were known for their fashion sense. It would be uncomfortable until she became accustomed to its stiffness though - new armour was always so unpliable.

Her dress was long and as green as her eyes, the fabric shiny and stiff in its own way. Though it was tight around her waist it had no corset. She couldn’t have worn one even if she wanted to anyway due to the long wound from the archdemon’s claw that wrapped from just under her right breast to the back of her left hip. It had mostly healed now but was taking longer than the mages and physicians had expected. Ever since the blight sickness that had necessitated her becoming a Warden everything seemed to take longer to heal, even with magical help. Her own frailty and powerlessness to make herself heal angered her.

The gown left her shoulders bare and revealed a decolletage that she was really quite proud of. It could definitely hold its own among humans, and Alistair certainly hadn’t complained. Golden threads were embroidered across her bodice and the loops of fabric that served as sleeves. Roses and griffons - it had been her special request that everything be connected by sharp, thorny vines. She could almost feel their prickliness. The seamstresses had done well.

She looked impassively at herself in the glass. Yes, this would do. She cut quite a serviceable silhouette. This gown was far longer and nicer than any she had ever worn before, and yet it already felt like an extension of her skin, made exactly to her taste, protecting her. Anora’s dress would likely be overcomplicated and gaudy in its detail in contrast to the simple elegance of this one. Good.

Taking one of the jars from the top of the dresser she applied a powder to her face. The cut on her right cheek was still so ugly and angry. Just when she had thought it was almost healed it had gotten infected, twice. At least now it would be less visible. The powder covered her vallaslin too so she traced over it with something dark green, darkening and filling out the tattoos. She used the same green on her eyelids before darkening her eyelashes and pinching her cheeks, finishing everything off with a reddish-brown lip paint. There was a time when she didn’t wear makeup as heavily, but today she needed it. It would help her hide the feelings she was determined to suppress. It would allow her to be beautiful again.

Peering into the mirror again she took in the full effect of her transformation. Last few touches now, she thought as she dabbed perfume from a small vial onto her pulse points. Amber, jasmine, tuberose. All difficult to come by but important for the occasion. Hair down. He’d always liked that. She brushed it out and styled it quickly; it had dried nicely, the platinum waves cooperating for once and falling softly midway down her back.

She was going to torture him.

There was a knock at the door. Arrayed for battle now, she was ready to be charming and sociable and nothing like the Dalish savage she’d heard herself described as.

His lopsided grin nearly broke the resolve to control her feelings that she had so carefully nurtured all night. She was going to torture him? The man hadn’t said a word and yet he’d dispelled all the determination gained the evening before.

“Soooo, how do I look?” he asked, as he exaggeratedly posed to show off multiple different angles.

Lovely. Adorable. Handsome. Happy. But she couldn’t tell him those things. Was there anything to say to that that was safe, for either of them?

“Like you could almost be the minor lord of some distant province.”

“Ouch! I think I clean up rather well, thank you very much.” He looked away from her face for the first time and was less than subtle in his appreciation of her dress. Oh, he was trying to be subtle, there was no doubt about that, but she knew him better than she knew herself.

“I won’t tell you how nice you look - it’s plain on your face that you know exactly how distractingly beautiful you are and I don’t need you going and getting cocky on my day.” He had always been so good at deflecting with humour. Sometimes it had annoyed her, but today it seemed like it would be her saving grace.

“Now if you’ll let me in, I promise it’ll be worthwhile,” he said as he pulled a flask out from an inner pocket of his jerkin and waved it at her conspiratorially.

She looked at him incredulously. “I don’t know how you can even look at that after last night.”

“A fair point. And yet...” He laughed with that beautiful, full laugh that made her want to burst out laughing with him. She didn’t. “It ended earlier than planned, actually - less fun without you.” He looked down as he said the last bit and refused to meet her eyes.

She made a space for him and he entered the room, making a beeline for the stack of trash in the corner. Rooting through the boxes, he produced two low glasses with pewter griffins stuck to one side.

“See, I told you this junk would be good for something.”

His voice was a little less confident than it usually was. It made sense that he would be nervous today.

Lyna sat down on the bed. While Alistair poured the whiskey, focusing intently on ensuring that the liquid was even in both glasses with his tongue to the side of his mouth, she took the opportunity to really look at him. He was starched and ironed within an inch of his life and the red and gold of his clothing was positively regal. Theirin colours. He might not like it, but kingship did suit him. Her Ali, put together for once in his life.

He’s not your Ali. What is wrong with you? Al-ist-air. No more nicknames.

A glass was placed in her hand and the space on the bed beside her taken up as Alistair sat down.

“Just a little drink, is it?” she asked him as she swirled the rather generous amount of amber liquid around. She could smell how smoky it was even from far away.

A flush spread over his cheeks. “I needed a little courage, and well, I just kept trying to make them even and then there was so much…”

“You’re an idiot, Alistair.” She smiled at him softly and felt the doe-eyed expression on her face that she couldn’t seem to stop. You’re the idiot here, Lyna. Stop it. Why does he make you so weak?

“Cheers to my idiocy.”

The whiskey burned in her mouth, then left a sweetness on her tongue that faded away into a bitter aftertaste.

“I wanted to see you before everything, just us,” he said, meeting her eyes intently. “Lyna, I’m terrified. It’s going to be so… there are... a lot of people. It will be hard.” Somewhere in the middle of his speech he had had to turn away and look down at his lap. His fingers traced the embroidery at the bottom of his vest. She didn’t think her heart could break more - maybe it couldn’t for herself, but it broke for him.

He had never been one to mind an audience; she knew what he was saying. The stolen glances and studious avoidance of any physical contact told her that he was still pretending, too. If she was thinking clearly she would put her guard up now, shield herself with anger, but this was Ali. He needed her.

“I’m scared too,” she said in some attempt to be reassuring. Scared to lose him, scared that she would somehow become unhinged and scream or cry, scared that she wouldn’t. She wished that she could take his hand in hers, at least comfort him properly. But it was too risky. She couldn’t allow herself to do that if she had any hope of not telling him to run off into the sunset with her. She would not under any circumstances let herself be that weak. They both had duties to fulfill.

“You can’t be scared! If you’re afraid then there’s no hope for me.” He was still uncharacteristically serious, but a slight twinkle appeared in his eye and a half smile played in the corner of his mouth. She did love that little smile, the one that so often broke out into a dopey grin. Sometimes, when he did that after he said something stupid and funny and looked at her like he was just waiting for her to groan she used to wipe it off his face with a kiss. It caught him off guard every single time.

That is enough, Lyna, why are you doing this to yourself.

“Tell you what,” he began, “If you can keep it together then so can I. I’ll take your lead, just like old times.”

Like old times. Times when this ridiculous boy had been so afraid of command that he put an untested girl in charge - and she’d made him king. Another reason why she needed to stay here in Denerim to look out for him.

“I can guard your flank and pick off any enemies who get too close.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you’ll have my back. You were always good at that - except for that one time, you remember, the day I said something that was very likely quite horrible to Morrigan and she hit me with my own frying pan while you just watched.”

“I didn’t have time to react! And besides, it was just a little tap.” She was truly smiling now. It had been really funny, though she had worried for him at the time. Morrigan had been so angry; she couldn’t even remember what about now.

“Oh was it? Easy for you to say. I’ve never felt more betrayed by something that usually brings so much joy. By which I mean the pan.” He grimaced petulantly and Lyna took another sip of her whiskey to try to contain her laughter.

That solemn expression returned to Alistair’s face and he shuffled slightly in his seat before opening and closing his mouth as though he was working up the courage to say something.

“I’m glad you’ll be with me,” he said softly. “I could use my family being near - we are still family, right?” They had promised to always be that to each other, but that promise was so very long ago, before everything.

“We’ll always be family.” She still meant it, even if she was hurt, even when it was difficult to spend time with him. It was the only way left that she could allow herself to care for him.

He gathered her up in one of his enthusiastic, tight hugs and she had to take care not to spill her glass due to his fervour. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, the satin of his finery soft on her skin. He smelled like soap. And warmth and love. The heat from his body made her realize how very cold her arms were. She was afraid to let go; letting go meant that all of this was over.

Her clan had never stayed in one place for too long, certainly not long enough to grow attached to a place. The concept of home was one that she had barely understood - until she had met him. Here, now, together: this was home.

I’m so sorry, she thought, not sure whether she meant it for herself or for Alistair.

---

The golden band in her hand felt as though it was burning a circle into her flesh.

Some insane part of her had never truly believed that it would actually happen, even as she got ready - even while she took her place slightly off to Alistair’s side. Why had she agreed to stand beside him? She could have refused. She could have been a guest, like their other friends in attendance. There were so many eyes on Alistair, and on her, their hero. She would need to keep tight control over her features so that she didn’t accidentally betray herself. At least she was sure that she wouldn’t cry. She had held it together with Alistair earlier. She would be fine.

Music played as Anora walked from the back of the great hall towards where he stood. It sounded joyful, but to Lyna it was as mournful as a funeral dirge.

Alistair shifted from one leg to the other uncomfortably and pulled at his collar before turning to her for reassurance. Their eyes met and a wash of understanding flooded through both of them: it was a goodbye. There had always been some hope while they were both still free, but this marriage denoted a definitive break.

I love you too, Ali, she told him in her answering gaze. He turned back and squared his shoulders, prepared now to do his duty.

She would never again express her feelings on the matter. Not with words, not with her eyes, she would hide it all.

Anora caught her eye as she approached and looked at her graciously, inclining her head ever so slightly toward her with a polite smile on her face as befit such a well-bred lady. She knew she had won; she understood courtly games and intrigue far more than Lyna did. The place she filled could so easily have gone to another - maybe even to Lyna, had she been more experienced and well connected. Maybe something could have outweighed the fact that she was an elf. Lyna was a quick study; she smiled back, beaming at her as though this was the outcome she had intended all along and made an effort to hide the ice in her eyes.

Wedding dresses in Ferelden were going to be black for years to come, Lyna could already see it. Anora’s gown was as decorated as she had expected it to be, a dusky satin overlaid with complex embroidery in golden thread and embellished with rubies. It wasn’t simple like her own dress, but it was far from gaudy despite the sheer amount of ornamentation. Anora had impeccable taste. She could choke on her perfect fashion sense. Was there anything that Lyna could do that Anora couldn’t do better? She stood a decent chance to be a good, perhaps even great monarch, but dread wolf take her.

She had never seen a chantry wedding. It didn’t seem much different from the bonding ceremonies in her clan, just presided over by a woman in a big hat rather than a keeper. There was a time when had wondered if Alistair would have agreed to be bonded in the Dalish way. Maybe if she’d pushed to run off and get married in the woods she wouldn’t be standing here now, watching the queen promise to love and care for the man she loved.

She was going to keep that promise - Lyna had made it clear to her how seriously she should take it. She wasn’t sure if it made it easier or more difficult to know how little Anora cared for him.

As Anora made her promises in her clear, confident voice, Lyna could have sworn that she heard a sharp crack as her heart broke.

It was Alistair’s turn next. She had to hand him the ring. Something that was not Lyna but took her form walked forward and placed it in his hand before returning to her place. Their fingers touched, but she might as well have been made of wood for all she felt. She was frozen, lifeless and cold, watching with unseeing eyes, listening with unhearing ears as Alistair said his vows.

Somehow, it didn’t hurt.

The chantry mother pronounced them husband and wife and more music played. Very little was different, only a few words had been spoken, and yet everything had changed. She had worried that what came next would be the hard part, but it seemed that the hardest part was already over and she had come out the other side. Here there was no sadness, no pain… no feelings at all. Now she could be strong again, no longer distracted by childish dreams.

Her heart was buried, the dark closing around it. There was some comfort in the knowledge that it would not be disturbed any longer.

She played her role as the supportive friend, the Hero of Ferelden, for the rest of the day and felt absolutely nothing.

#alistair theirin #alistair x mahariel #lyna mahariel #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age origins #dragon age #my oc #my writing

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wisdomrays · 4 years

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FOR THE CONQUEST AND DOMINION OF HEARTS

Over the last few centuries mankind have suffered hardships after hardships, travelling around pits of 'death'. Their struggles for deliverance and relief have all resulted in new calamities. During this dark period, rather than the established governments formally in power, it is the greed and passions of individuals, classes, holding companies and mafias that have controlled communities. It hardly needs saying that in this circumstance, the only criterion by which people and things are evaluated is money, buying power.

It is natural, in a period when standards have changed so completely, that people should be esteemed for their wealth, the make of car they use and the sort of house they live in. It is natural because material and financial resources or potentials have been given precedence over human virtues like knowledge, good morals, sound thinking and civility. Wealth may indeed be valued when put under the command of knowledge, intellect, courage, honour and devotion to the service of others, but when valued for itself or, worse, when united with greed, it can be a means of brutality.

If the members of a society make the foundation of their lives the gratification of animal desires, and their purpose becoming or being rich at all costs – rather than being honest, industrious and competent, then the selfish, the ignorant and the cunning people come to dominate in that society. This means the exclusion of moral values and human virtues and therefore of those who combine efficiency with personal integrity – precisely the ones who could be useful to the society.

Compared with previous centuries, mankind today may well be wealthier and enjoying more of the conveniences and comforts of life. However, it is also true that they are trapped in greed, infatuations, addictions, needs and fantasies much more than in any previous age. The more they gratify their animal appetites, the more crazed they become to gratify those appetites still more; the more they drink, the more thirsty they are; the more they eat, the more hungry they are. They enter into bad speculations to feed their avarice to earn ever more and more and sell their spirits to the devil in return for the most banal advantages, thus breaking with true human values a little more each day.

Modern man, who spends his energies in pursuit of transient material advantages, is wasting himself and all the nobler, truly human feelings in the depths of his being. It is no longer possible to find among his resources either the serenity that comes from belief, or the tolerance and depth of spirit enabled by knowledge of God, or the traces of love and spiritual joys. This is so because he weighs everything on the scales of material advantage, immediate comfort and the gratification of bodily appetites, and thinks about only how he can increase his profit or what he will buy and sell, and where and how he will amuse himself. If he is unable to satisfy his appetites through lawful means, he rarely hesitates to resort to unlawful means, however degraded and degrading.

In order to be delivered from the suffocating world of unbelief and egocentricity, from shuttling aimlessly between the false modern concepts of thought, action and life, man should strive to re-discover the true human values that lie in the depths of his being. To escape the various stresses and afflictions in the psychological, spiritual and intellectual dimensions of personal life, and the strains and conflicts in collective affairs within and between nations, he should re-consider the worth of believing, loving, moral values, metaphysical thinking and spiritual training.

Believing means knowing the truth to be true, what and how it is, and loving means putting that knowledge into effect in one's life. Those who do not believe and love are merely physical entities without true life, like mechanically animated corpses. Belief is a most important source of action and a way to embrace the whole creation in spirit, while love is the most essential element of true human thought and a transcendental dimension of it. For this reason, those who are on the way of building the happy world of the future on the foundations of spiritual and moral values, should first arrive at the altar of belief, then ascend to the pulpit of love, and only then preach their message of belief and love to all others. In seeking to achieve their aims, they should never forget that their influence depends on morality and virtuousness.

Morality is the essence of religion and a most fundamental portion of the Divine Message. If being virtuous and having good morals is to be heroic – and it is – the greatest heroes are, first, the Prophets and, after them, those who follow them in sincerity and devotion. A true Muslim is the one who practises a truly universal, therefore Muslim, morality. Anyone of sense and insight can see that the Qur'an and the Sunnah – the way or example of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings – are sets of moral principles. The Prophet, who is the greatest embodiment of morals, said: Islam consists in good morals; I have been sent to perfect and complete good morals. The Muslim Community have always been the representatives of good morality and it must be so since it is only through morality and virtuousness that this Community can attain eternity. Islamic metaphysics is a means to reach the highest point in morality.

Metaphysical thought is the effort of the intellect to embrace creation as a whole and perceive it with all its dimensions, visible and unvisible. Without this effort of the intellect or spirit, everything breaks up into lifeless fragments. For this reason, the failure of metaphysical thought implies the death of the intellect. All the great civilizations have developed and come into being in the arms of metaphysical thought. Metaphysical thought is human intellect or spirit trying to embrace the whole of creation and comprehend it from within and outside; those who see metaphysics and physics (and other sciences) as conflicting disciplines, are not aware that they are seeing a river and the source where it originates as contradictory.

Another dimension of metaphysics is the perception of creation through love. In this context, love is identical with perceiving the whole of the universe with whatever is happening in it as a continuous interconnected flux and loving it. Those who have been able to find this true love pursue neither wealth nor fame; rather, they find peace in the flames of their love and see the face of their beloved amid the ashes of their own existence burnt away. In other words, they are on an uninterrupted journey from the valleys of 'self-annihilation in the existence of God' to the heights of 'attainment to permanence through permanence of God'. This attainment can come through strict spirritual training.

Spiritual training means directing man to the purpose of his creation. Through awareness of the ultimate purpose of this worldly existence, a man can be freed from bodily pressures and realize a journey into his very essence.

We are obliged to change the viewpoint and aspirations of modern man who, having lost his spiritual dynamics and broken with his essential identity, is the victim of his own self. We are hopeful that if we reinforce our will and resolve through regular worship and control it through continual self-ciriticsm, Almighty God will not deny his help in making us successful in this blessed mission. It is our duty to sow the seeds now for the brighter earth of the future, and we leave to God Himself, if He wills, to grow each of them into fruitful trees.

We are fully convinced that, as a result of conscious efforts, this corrupt world will give birth to a new one where belief and worship will carry to every place the fragrances of peace, security and love. We are also convinced that future generations will aim at, and be favoured by, the ecstasies of an overflowing love, far beyond aspirations for money or fame or high appointments. This love will originate in conquering hearts and, in return, will be recompensed with the dominion of hearts.

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wolfpawn · 5 years

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When Ghosts Come for Us

Chapter 45

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

As I have stated already, my laptop is broken at present so please excuse grammar mistakes and the lack of GIFs and pics.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

HERE is the link to Chapter 1 on Ao3

Rating - Mature

Charlotte sat with Thomas Jr in her arms close to Lucille’s bed, studying the other woman’s reaction carefully.

For the past two days, Lucille had not been given the same level of medications that she had been given previously and rather than the aggression that seemed the default setting for her, as long as Thomas Jr was there, she seemed all too calm. Thomas thought it worrying and pleaded time and again for Charlotte to keep Thomas Jr away from his sister but with him working on the mines through the day, he could not prevent her from doing so in his absence.

Mrs Phillips was not informed as to the exact reason as to why Thomas and Charlotte were called upon to deal with Dr Thompson a few nights previous, but she was given half a story, that indeed, Lady Charlotte was a relation of Dr Thompson, just not as close a relation as was true and that she had gone to fix a misunderstanding with Ms Joanne, which again, had a lot of credence in reality, meaning that it was an honest enough situation and had enough sincerity in it, as a result, to cause the housekeeper to think no more of it. Everything was indeed, based in truth.

As it stood, the time had come for Thomas and Charlotte to seriously consider dates that would see their family split for a time. The weather was turning and the house was getting cold, even with all of the repairs. The chill that seeped into the house was colder than the year before, Charlotte acknowledged begrudgingly. She did not want to be parted from Thomas, but the harsh reality was, Thomas Jr was at risk if he caught cold in the winter, he may not recover and as much as she loved her husband, she loved her son more than her own life and a few weeks without Thomas Snr would be worth it when their son was able to endure and survive the danger and hardship that was infancy and early childhood. Thomas insisted that the sooner the better to settle herself and Thomas Jr in Foxgrove and that he would follow the day after the mines closed for the winter, which he estimated to be another month or so. That left the very real issue of Lucille. To be away from Allerdale Hall would be dangerous for her. She loathed travelling and around a larger staff, there was the issue that if she were to get loose in any way, everything may become more dangerous on many levels but to leave her unattended in Allerdale for the winter could not work. As a result, it was argued whether she would go with Charlotte and Thomas Jr, though Thomas was not in favour of that for their safety, or if she would remain with him until his departure, which was also an unpopular decision as Charlotte worried that would signal something dangerous also, not that she revealed it to Thomas, but she genuinely worried of perhaps something reoccurring between the siblings and she would lose her husband and in many ways she worried for her and her son’s life from that also. She argued him not having time and the fact a brother should not be as familiar with his sister as that would suggest and with a now busier home would mean others could very easily become suspicious and start talking, something they did not need, for fear of the likes of Mr Brown trying to use such to his advantage. It was decided then that Mrs Phillips would remain in Cumbria and tend to the house while Thomas remained for the mines and through the winter, as she was a married woman with a husband and Margaret would join Charlotte, Lucille and Thomas Jr to Pembrokeshire. She was used to Lucille’s routine and she was a young single woman, hence her leaving was of little consequence if anything, the young maid had never gone further than a few miles from her home and the thought of somewhere so new was exciting for her.

That led to the beginning of the packing. A cart was sent ahead with a few things that would be required, as well as to ready the house for the arrival of the Lady of Foxgrove Park and the heir of it, which would require some forewarning.

The day before she was due to leave, Charlotte was inspected by the midwife again, having been warned two weeks previous that her body was not ready yet for wifely duties once more due to some injuries she obtained, though none knew were they of Thomas’s birth or because of her fleeing, either way, her body needed to heal and Thomas, as much as it irked him, insisted they respect that for her safety and wellbeing. She was also warned that to be feeding her son herself was no guarantee she would not come to carry another should she and her husband decide on partaking in such activities once more and with one last check of Thomas Jr, the midwife deemed them fit to travel, wishing Charlotte a warm winter in Wales, citing it a far better idea for Young Thomas to have him away from the cold, that he was too handsome a babe to be taken by the frosts. Hearing the midwife talk of the casualties of the young through the harsh Cumbria weather, Charlotte’s wish that she did not have to leave her husband's side quelled slightly, knowing that born of the harsh northern weather, Thomas was too formidable to not endure another month, but Thomas Jr, though also born to it, she did not want to risk his well being, so reluctantly, she packed the last of her belongings.

“Ma’am?” She turned to see Margaret behind her in her drawing room. “Doctor Thompson is here to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Margaret, please, send him up.”

“He said that he wishes to speak with you downstairs Ma’am.”

Frowning slightly that her brother would make such a request, Charlotte contemplated what this could possibly mean. “Well then, please tell him to get comfortable in front of the fire nd make him some tea. I will be down presently.”

“Of course.” With a small curtsey that no matter how much Charlotte asked Margaret to cease doing, the young maid seemed adamant to continue, she left Charlotte once more.

Not having seen her brother since the night of the hopefully repairing of his relationship with Ms Joanne Carson, Charlotte was nervous and anxious as to how everything had fared. Margaret and Mrs Phillips did not seem to be any different since then, indicating that the town was more than likely not made aware of the familial link between the Baronet’s wife and the town doctor, though she suspected neither Mrs Davies nor Joanne Carson were gossip mongering women at the best of times, so even if her brother and the butcher’s daughter had not made amends, she dared to think that she had not told the town their secret. She was also worried that Edward had continued his self-destructive path and had continued to drink. That terrified her more than anything else. She knew what happened as a result of excess drinking, the part of the mind that reigned in the darker urges of humanity loosened its grip on such, and with time, more and more frightening things were more likely to occur, though thankfully, she believed there needed to be darkness in a person to create monsters, alcohol seemed only to bring that darkness to the fore,but she feared for her brother, that he was at risk of harming himself if his lament for Joanne was fueled by the horrid drink. Tidying herself slightly, she looked into the bedroom across the way where Thomas Jr was sleeping soundly, an alert Blake by the foot of his cradle. She thought to leave him rest, but the idea of leaving him alone so high in the house without protection worried her. Lucille seemed to want to do him no harm, but to risk that was to risk his very life. She had nightmares more than once of Lucille breaking from her drug-induced stupor and casting her young son from the highest balcony, or drowning him in the vats of clay and all sorts of other cruel, vile and brutal manner of gruesome ends coming to her son as a result of his hateful aunt, so instead, she walked into the room and scooped him from his cradle, causing him to whimper before noticing his mother’s scent and resting once more against her and make for the door. “Blake.” She need not have called the dog for he was already by her side, following his young charge like the loyal creature he was. Charlotte smiled fondly and reminded herself to pack for him also, there was no way that the dog would allow Thomas Jr into a carriage without him.

She used the elevator to go down to the main hall of the house. She always feared the steps with Thomas in her arms. When her husband carried their son down, she trusted him beyond measure, she did not always feel the same of herself, for some reason. When she got to the lobby area, Blake’s ears perked and his nose twitched. Charlotte had barely opened the door of the contraption before he rushed out and to the living area, where Charlotte had instructed Margaret to bring Edward. With an excited yip, she realised that Lily was there also and a moment later, both dogs were playing together, chasing one another around the hallway with excited wagging of their tails.

Glad to see her brother’s dog, Charlotte smiled and walked to where the dogs had just rushed to. She stopped for a moment when she saw not only her brother but Joanne Carson beside him, both smiling and talking happily together as they both rubbed a dog. Charlotte could not contain her relief and joy that all had seemed to be mended between the pair as she walked forward. “Good afternoon to you both.”

Realising they were no longer alone, they turned to see Charlotte behind them. “So you’re leaving then?” Edward’s smile fell at seeing his sister.

“Only for the winter, Thomas is too small for the colds that fill this house, I am not risking his health.”

“And your husband?”

Charlotte watched not only her brother but Joanne’s reaction to the manner in which Edward referenced her husband. It was clear she had not been made aware of the darkness in Thomas’s past, Charlotte dared to wager that even the accepting Joanne would not be able to hide her disgust at that, and with so many innocent people dead as a result of it, Charlotte thought her an honourable enough woman to have informed the constable at the very least. “He will join us after the mines close at the end of next month.”

“Will he?”

“Unless the snows are too deep by then, then yes, he will.”

“And Lady Lucille?”

“She will be coming with Thomas Jr, Margaret and I tomorrow.”

“Charlotte…” Edward’s fear became apparent.

“We will be fine, we have plenty of staff in Foxgrove to assist with her and Margaret is well used to her routine. I dare say Mrs Phillips is looking to a few months to rest after the madness that descended here this year.” She smiled reassuringly, Edward did not look overly convinced. “So, what news from town?” She walked closer to the fire and pulled out what was the makeshift cradle she and Thomas used when they wished to read in the evenings and keep their son by their side safe and warm before sitting across from her brother and his partner.

“Very little, though my father was speaking with the reverend and apparently there is to be a new police station commissioned in the spring.” Though Edward looked unhappy by the whole situation, Joanne decided to act as though it was merely a social visit and speak as such.

“Yes, Thomas was saying such, that is the reason for the late closing of the mines this winter, they asked for the clay from here for the bricks. It is far cheaper than transporting it from afar when there are mines here. According to him, it will be a fine size, at least triple the current station’s size. It will practically be the size of a prison if they do not cease their planning.”

Margaret and Mrs Phillips brought tea and cakes for the trio to drink and eat as they spoke. Edward was relatively quiet for the most part, looking sadly at his sister and looking between the women as they spoke of things of little consequence.

After a time, Thomas Jr woke, though he was still not due a feed and seemed more curious as to the voices in his environs than anything. His mother took him from his cradle and sat him up. At two months, he was able to focus on figures and seemed naturally intrigued by the world around him. His black hair was still as noticeable against his pale skin and his eyes seemed to be even bluer, though children’s eyes all seem to remain blue for a time after they are born.

As soon as Joanne saw him, she cooed. “He is adorable.” She did not seem to even be in control of herself as she rushed over to the seat beside Charlotte and stuck out her finger to stroke the back of Thomas’ hand. Immediately, he gripped it and looked down at his acquisition with curiosity and intrigue, which only caused Joanne to fawn more over him. “He is the cutest little fellow.”

“I think you have reason to worry, Edward.” Charlotte jested playfully.

“I think I will very much always have to worry of Sharpe men with the women I care for.” There was only a slight hint of playfulness in Edward’s tone. “I will be here, first thing, with all the medications you will require for the winter. I was only safely able to acquire enough until February, but Sir Sharpe has made clear you are back then, or he is, from what I gather.”

“We all will be. Mr Brown, the man who practically runs all the deals for this area of England has made clear it has to be started by then, or he will have us sued for breach of contract and goodness knows we do not want to have him after us financially as that would impede all further business for the mines, not to mention the shipping.”

“How is that?” In all her time in Cumbria, Edward worried that his sister would forget that the majority of their income depended on the shipping company she had inherited from William Hamilton.

“It is going well, though sadly, a ship sank on its way to Liverpool recently, and though she had eight thousand pounds of cargo on her, no lives were lost, so I think it to be worth it. If whatever controls the seas thinks that a fair price for those men to come home, I would pay it again.”

“It is a lot of money though, and the cost of the ship.” Her brother pointed out.

“Insurance is a great thing to have.” Charlotte grinned.

“Women are accused of not being very good at business,” Joanne stated. “But I think you to be the exception.” She looked at Charlotte as she spoke.

“I will let you in on something I have come to realise in my time dealing in business, Ms Carson. Men say that women are not of the mind for business, solely because we are of a different mind to them and they cannot figure us out with the same ease as they do other men and that scares them because then they feel they are at a disadvantage. So they have us think we cannot do it and there is no greater lie. Take you father’s business for example, a man’s trade. Do you have a brother?”

“I do not, I am afraid, I have two sisters, but my cousin, your foreman’s son is his apprentice.”

“And is he a good butcher, like your father?”

“He knows how to cut meat but I fear he will never be as good as Father.”

“Who does the accounts for your father’s shop?”

“My mother.”

“And do you assist?”

“I do, as does my older sister Rose, my younger, Mary is not of a mathematical mind, she is a great seamstress though,” Joanne answered swiftly as the answers were true and needed little thinking, but as she thought over her last answer, she paused for a moment at the words resonated in her mind. “Oh.”

Charlotte smiled. “Exactly. You, your sister and your mother are the business minds while your father and cousin are the labourers, yet who does everyone see as the business-minded one?”

“You are giving her a big head,” Edward warned, though he was smiling, seeing the pride his sister had caused his partner to feel in her abilities. He knew of her intelligence and ability but had never been able to make her see it as his sister had. Seeing Charlotte and Joanne take to one another filled him with relief and happiness. Charlotte, for all his anger at her choices, was his only living family left and for all the things he wished he could change, he loved her dearly. To see her accept and embrace Joanne, and for everything that had been thrust on Joanne regarding his heritage and secret siblings, to see her do the same with Charlotte filled him with immense joy. He watched wide-eyed as Joanne took Thomas from his mother for a moment and though the infant as confused, he did not cry at the newcomer holding him. Ignoring the dark hair of the family he loathed that his sister married into, he focused on Joanne holding an infant and in his mind, he thought of her perhaps holding one of their own someday, a thought that filled him with immeasurable joy and excitement.

All too soon, it came time to say goodbye. For the majority of their time there, Joanne held Thomas, adoring the infant who contently lay there, taking in his surrounds. When they stood to leave, Edward pulled his sister to him in a tight embrace. “I am relieved you are getting out of here but I hate knowing I will not see you.”

“Write to me, promise and I shall do the same.” Charlotte held him to her. “And allow your happiness, Edward. Embrace it.” Edward nodded in reply. Then she turned to Joanne. “I fear I shall have to take my son back.”

“I do not want to give him.” She smiled but relinquished him to his mother. “He will be far bigger when we see him again.”

“Yes, and able to sit up and babble for himself.” Charlotte looked adoringly at her son. “If there is anything you would like from Wales, have Edward inform me and I will be all too happy to assist, not just for yourself, but your family in general.”

“You do not have to.”

“Please, it is no bother. Edward is one of the most important people in the world to me and you are so incredibly important to him, ergo, I feel that you are such to me also.” She insisted.

Edward and Joanne made it to the front door before it opened and Thomas entered. “Good afternoon.” He tilted his head forward slightly as he spoke. “Forgive me, I was not aware there was anyone here, had I known I would not have been so rude as to not given my greetings earlier.”

“We merely came to say goodbye to Charlotte for the winter.” Edward’s tone was as clipped as it usually was with Thomas. “Now we had best be leaving, Joanne.” He urged her to the door.

Knowing from her asking Edward why he disliked Sir Thomas Sharpe and merely getting an ‘It’s complicated’ as a reply, Joanne knew better than to argue. With a polite curtsey, she said the quickest goodbye to Thomas, who responded with a bowed head and walked to the trap that both Charlotte and Thomas noted was to the side of the house, away from where Thomas tended to work, as though intentionally trying to hide from him. They watched as the trap left and made its way to the gates.

“Is everything alright?” Thomas dared to ask when they returned inside, looking around with a frown for a moment. “Did you leave Thomas alone upstairs?”

“No, he is by the fire.” Charlotte walked back to where she had been with Edward and Joanne, Margaret was there, tidying the delph from their tea. “He is due a feed.” She looked at her husband as she straightened up from lifting Thomas to see him looking at the stairwell. “Thomas?”

“Yes?” He looked around at her, looking baffled before noting their son in her arms. “Oh good, I do not think it wise to have him alone up there.”

“He was not...are you alright? You seem somewhat confused and worried.”

Thomas swallowed then chuckled at her words. “I am nothing of the sort, my dear. Simply tired. I am trying to have the order for the police station readied so we can enjoy the winter away from here.”

Charlotte analysed her husband for a moment. “I dare say you would give most anything to be away from here for a time.”

“If I could leave it, I would but it is where the mines are,” Thomas revealed. “This house is not a happy place, I do not believe it ever was. I am relieved that you and Thomas are leaving tomorrow. You are both of a disposition that this house does not have and I dread the idea of either or both of you being affected by it.”

Tags: @texmexdarling @ilovekingt @sigridlaufeyson @lokiloveheart @lokilover9 @wolfsmom1 @whovianwookie86-captainxev @perpetual-fangirl

#thomas sharpe #lucille sharpe #when ghosts come for us #chapter 45 #crimson peak story #crimson peak

6 notes · View notes

alipiee · 6 years

Note

Ali, I am looking for new fanfictions, can you suggest some of your favourites? Victuuri And Otayuri I love them both! Thank you! ❤️

Oh gosh strap in, I have read far too many so this list might end up being kinda long! I don’t read Otayuri but I have a lot of Victuuri to throw your way buddy

(Under the cut)

Kintsugi by @witchsbane 114k (wip)

Yuuri Katsuki is a hitman burdened with a debt he can never repay. His target: Viktor Nikiforov, next Pakhan to one of the most dangerous families in the Russian mafia.

When the two are drawn into a treacherous alliance after a mission gone wrong, the bonds of love and loyalty to family and duty begin to unravel—even as they get more tangled up in each other.

ok but this is honestly my favourite yoi fic of all time!! The writing is so amazing and you get immersed straight away bc its so vivid and descriptive!! The plot is i n c r e d i b l e, I always seem to come back and reread it because its just as amazing the second (and third) time around. I literally can’t recommend it enough!!

empty spaces between stars by @victuuriplease 124k (wip)

Victor gets just as drunk as Yuuri at the Sochi Banquet, and they disappear together after the dance-offs. They wake up the morning after with rings on their fingers, and pictures of them kissing after getting married the night before are all over the tabloids… but neither of them remembers a thing. They decide to stay married for a while for the sake of Victor’s sponsorships, and in exchange, Victor coaches Yuuri through nationals…

!!!!! This is fantastic !!!! I’m such a sucker for fake dating marriage fics, and this might be the best one I’ve ever read! The fluff is wonderful and balances out the angst and pining and just!! I love it a lot!!

The Boyfriend Experience by @victorsporosya 240k (wip)

Katsuki Yuuri is an accomplished escort at 23, operating under the pseudonym Eros, in Detroit. When one of his favourite clients sets him up with none other than world-renowned figure skater Victor Nikiforov, the delicate balance between Yuuri’s personal and professional life teeters ever closer towards ruin.

Ok but this fic also owns my life, Adele’s writing is so beautiful and even when you’re crying from the angst, you still feel blessed to be reading it! You can tell how much thought has been put into every sentence and it deserves all of the love and appreciation

Kings in Couture by @forovnix 15k (wip)

a devil wears prada au in which victor is the editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine, yuuri’s his new secretary, and instead of talking about his feelings, victor just sends him on a bunch of errands—“Okay, okay. Ready.” Yuuri starts scribbling as the voice on the other end, someone from the Style and Trends department, relays instructions. “Sorry, can you please spell ‘Gabbana’?”

The person on the line promptly hangs up on him.

Awkwardly, he sets the phone back on the receiver. “Guess not.”

This fic is a blessing tbh, it’s so witty and fun to read and two chapters of pure gold

hey stranger (don’t i look familiar to you) by @forovnix 4k

It’s not that Yuuri is a nosy person. To be fair, he thinks anyone would wonder about the person they’ve been sharing a space with for the better part of a year.

Or, Yuuri is a part-time professor who shares an office with someone who writes themselves too many post-it notes. There are a lot of facts to process, and Yuuri’s got a lot of assumptions.

This is so heckin cute!! Had me smiling all the way through!! Once again Justine has blessed us with her lovely writing

not gold like in your dreams by @ebenroot 87k (complete)

“Victor, you could have let some psychopath into your apartment.”

“Oh come on, he’s not a psychopath,” Victor chides. Christophe makes a gesture with his hand that says ‘are you seriously this naïve or are you drunk at work again?’.

“Victor, you don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him. Whose name am I going to give to the police or face I’m going to describe to the sketch artist when they find your body chopped up like Hannibal Lecter’s side dish?”

–

in which Victor and Yuuri are roommates and Yuuri has a secret

A penelope au was definitely needed and this was amazing! Honestly I prefer this fic to the film its just so soft and cute!! I’m weak for it and the last chapter made me cry so much idk how many times I’ve reread it at this point but I kinda wanna read it again now

never tasted rubies by @ebenroot 16k

Phichit puts up a poll on the radio website. It reads ‘What Do U Think About Yuuri K. from Hasetsu Nights and the Mysterious Caller Victor?’

Seventy-five percent of listeners said ‘lol they should just f*ck already tbh’.

–

in which Yuuri is an unwilling radio host and Victor won’t stop calling in to chat with him

My heart was so full while reading this, it was so funny and cute and perfect!

seek those who fan your flames by @ebenroot 48k (wip)

Yuuri gets hand-delivered a black-print T-shirt by one of his bodyguards on Friday. There’s a small sticky note attached to the collar in Victor’s handwriting that reads: ‘Our new band shirt! Logo is still a work in progress. Name too. But it’s a start! Let me know what you think after school. - Victor’

There’s a heart next to his name that is hastily scribbled out. Then another heart next to that one, like Victor decided to put it in anyways.

Yuuri thinks he’s in love.

–

in which Yuuri is a teenager that’s actually a prince, and Victor is a teenager with a band that just wants to listen to rock music with him

I had a mighty need for a princess diaries au and this is wonderful!! Victor is such a sweetheart in this and its all just so wonderful and warm!

turn it, leave it, stop, format it by @ebenroot 19k

“If you want, I can recommend you some security programs that you can download for free and protect your computer. That way, you won’t be at risk of losing these cute photos of your dog even when you browse websites like ‘Luscious Lonely Wives’.”

Victor gives one long ‘haa’. “I don’t browse those websites,” he says through his straining smile.

–

the ‘i will break any and all electronic devices that get into my hands if it means I get to talk to the cute tech support guy’ fic

This fic had me l i v i n g, it was so funny and cute and fluffy!!

The Rules For Lovers by @adreamingsongbird 323k (complete)

Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…

That’s a long story.

This is so i n t e n s e! The fluff and humour is so perfect and Yuuri and Victor’s relationship is so perfect (and although the angst is painful as heck), its perfect! The plot is amazinggg and every update had me shook! It belongs in a bookstore to be honest, its so so so incredible!

to sweep me off my feet by @adreamingsongbird 33k

Yuuri went to school in America to get a good, stable job—no, really, Mom, he meant to, he swears! And journalism was promising! It was really good! Until supervillains started appearing and then a (rather attractive) superhero showed up too, and, well…

This is his life, these are his choices, and it’s absolutely unfair that he has to have the office across from someone as hot as Viktor Nikiforov.

The cutest superhero au, with the cutest art, and cutest plot!!

But Monsters Are Always Hungry, Darling by @orchids-and-fictional-cities and art by @iruutciv 61k (wip)

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-con

“You do this, you do. You take the things you love and tear them apart or you pin them down with your body and pretend they’re yours. So, you kiss him, and he doesn’t move, he doesn’t pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn’t moved, he’s frozen, and you’ve kissed him, and he’ll never forgive you, and maybe now he’ll leave you alone.”

A brutal murder on Christmas Eve abruptly pulls one Detective Nikiforov out of a holiday he was just starting to tolerate, and forces him to come to terms with demons he’s been pretending not to see. On that same night, a man walks into a bar and waltzes into his life, lighting a spark that grows into a monster of its own.

Wow. This fic is so incredibly well-written and the plot thickens with each chapter, I’m so excited every time it updates honestly!! As if the writing wasn’t descriptive enough, there’s also equally beautiful art for every chapter and together its just amazing!

Confidential Information by @iwritebetterthanispeak 77k (wip)

Yuuri never imagined that being able to figure skate would be useful for his job at Interpol. He was very, very wrong.

Viktor Nikiforov, as a famous athlete popular in the public eye, has received threats before. There are very few he takes seriously. However, as more secrets are uncovered and nothing is as it appears, the stakes rise until it becomes clear that there may not be a way to save him this time.

I’m finally getting around to reading this and!! Addy is back with her amazing writing and I can’t wait to catch up!

If Perfect’s What You’re Searching For, Then Just Stay the Same by @iwritebetterthanispeak 6k

Yuuri took a deep breath, and faced the starstruck barista. “I am sorry, my Russian is very bad,” he said tentatively, shoulders hunching slightly. “Do you want me to repeat?”

“N-no, sorry, sir,” the barista said. She blushed and brushed her hair behind one ear. “I’ll get that for you right away!” She stepped away from the counter and called in fast-paced Russian, “Dmitri, come here! The most beautiful man in the world is back!”

Viktor’s smile grew. The employees of the coffee shop weren’t being cruel or making fun of Yuuri’s accent, they were enchanted with him. Viktor could sympathize, his fiancé was very enchanting.

And then he noticed that Yuuri was curled in on himself, eyes lowered and arms wrapped around his chest.

[In which Viktor realizes that Yuuri is a somewhat unreliable narrator]

Well this was just so cute, thank u addy for blessing my life once again

Love Letters by @shslshortie 44k (wip)

Ever since he was young, Yuuri Katsuki had always admired Victor Nikiforov. He was the one who had inspired him to start skating. He had pictures and posters of him all over his room — and Victor was his idol.

Like any fan of an idol, Yuuri loved to send Victor fanmail. Of course, he could never bring himself to sign it as anything other than “Your Secret Fan”, but it still made his heart come alive to write about his love for the silver-haired skater

This is one of those fics that you just can’t put down, I was reading it during all my free periods at college and its the cutest! Also all of the letters are drawn and in the body of text, so it adds so much more to it, its so wonderful!

starstruck by @haikuyus 167k (complete)

“Hold my son for a moment,” says the Viktor Nikiforov, live in the flesh, sweaty and panting.

“Wha—” Yuuri can’t even begin to comprehend what’s going on before Viktor is gone, and there’s a child in his arms.

(in which yuuri is a barista-turned-babysitter, viktor is a famous movie star, and yuri is an 8 year old kid stuck in the middle of it.)

so i developed a love for kid fics, and this was the first one I read, its sooooo good! Yuri is so precious and Yuuri is so precious and Viktor is so precious and just,,, theyre all so precious!

Lessons in Love by @fangirlandiknowit101 113k (wip)

All Viktor wants is for his son to be happy - and if that means spending countless hours at the ice rink, a million more in the ballet studio, and devotedly cheering for Katsuki Yuuri at every competition he enters, then that is precisely what he’ll do.

He just didn’t expect to become a fan, too.

(He didn’t expect to fall in love.)

This fic has me so weak, its the softest thing ever! Yuri is the cutest, and Viktor is the best dad and Yuuri is just the best tbh, I have a lot of love for this!!

on growing; by @crossroadswrite 125k (wip)

Yuri Plisetsky glares at him with all the righteousness five year olds possess, and says in heavily accented and clumsy English. “Be more gooder, stupid!”

And then he storms out in a sweep of blond hair and blue and red lights from his Sketchers.

(Or: in which everything is the same but Yuri Plisetsky is Victor’s bratty five-year-old child.)

This fic cleared my skin and watered my crops, its so fluffy and each chapter is a blessing

sweet like love (soft like pain) by @postingpebbles 10k (wip)

Loving Yuuri was a choice that Viktor never regretted making. His smile, his laughter, the way his lips felt against his own—nothing could make him happier than having Yuuri in his arms.

But when the entire world has no idea that rivals Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are in a relationship, Viktor can’t do anything at all when Yuuri gets in an accident and is rushed to the hospital the day after he proposes in a hotel room in Nagano.

I love ollie and she loves hurting my heart apparently, this is such a wonderful fic and I can’t wait for her to bless us even more with her writing

The Selection by @gallopingmonroe-blog 262k (wip)

Returning home on the tail end of an injury that ends his dancing career, Yuri Katsuki is trying to find his future again. As a Five, he knows his options are limited, but when he finds an invitation to Crown Prince Victor Nikiforov’s Selection, he is convinced by a friend to apply.

He never thought he’d be Selected.

When he is, he finds that his world is changed forever, and that the Crown Prince is not exactly what he’d expected.

!!! This fic is so beautiful !!! Yuuri and Viktor’s relationship is so cute, and Yuuri’s friendship with Yuri and Phichit and all of the others is so cute, and the entirety of the fic is so cute!!

a black heart of gold by @katzuyas and beautiful art by @lamenart and @iruutciv 67k (complete)

Victor Nikiforov, aka Grand Prix, knows that he’s Yakov’s most skilled hitman. That’s just a fact and he isn’t in the habit of arguing with facts.He also knows that he’s the only one Yakov trusts, period. In this case though, he’s the only one Yakov can rely on to take care of the elusive sniper Eros, who kills Yakov’s henchmen left and right.What Victor doesn’t know, however, is that Eros’ little vendetta is not a matter of coincidence, but pure premeditation, and thus… he falls into a trap that a rookie like Little Fairy could see from a mile away.He falls in lust.And then in love.The fool.

This fic is so intense and so descriptive and playful and just! Amazing honestly!!

November’s Secret by @lanaberryrawr 233k (complete)

Overwhelmed with anxiety and his fear of failing, Yuuri faces the issue of if he should continue skating. His best friend, Yuko, proposes a solution - if no one knows it’s you, then it’s less embarrassing, right? Yuuri begins to create a completely new disguise and persona.

But it works a little too well.

Before he knows it, Yuuri has become the biggest mystery of the skating world and everyone wants to know who he is. Especially Viktor Nikiforov, the idol he’s been loosely basing his new persona on for years.

This was such a cool and original concept for a fic and oh my godddd it was incredible!! Definitely one of the best I’ve read!!

Gunned Down Butterflies by @lanaberryrawr 207k (wip)

Everyone’s lives revolve around two names - the name of an enemy, and the name of a soulmate, both tattooed on their wrists.

But for Yuuri, his fated soulmate and enemy are the same person. One name tattoed on his skin.

After years of believing it meant only unhappiness and pain, he begins to bandage them up and hide them from the world. He even begins to forget about them - until he meets a new client in need of a guard against the Russian mafia.

Nothing can hide him from fate - not bandaging the names, not forgetting about them, not even moving on without them. The owner of the name on his skin will find him eventually.

Okay but the amount of cliffhangers in this fic is amazing, it’s so good and I love it!! It’s such a cool take on a soulmate au!! I can’t wait for the next few chapters :D

Behind these Locked Doors by @axlaida 79k (wip)

“I will find a way out of here,” Yuuri stated firmly and Victor’s expression never faltered. His face was stone cold – frozen like ice. “I know it may take a while… but I have to try.”Victor let out a breath, shaking his head as he smiled. “I said the exact same thing when I arrived.”

They were trapped with no way out. And all that stood between them and their escape was a door - locked and impossible to escape from. But Yuuri had hope. He would escape this, whether the man wanted them to or not.

This is such an amazing mystery fic! I literally sit and think about it someimes at night, trying to work it all out lol, its so good!!

learn to love the skies I’m under by @linneakou 37k

The day after the Sochi GPF banquet, Katsuki Yuuri disappears without a trace.

The day after the Sochi GPF banquet, Viktor Nikiforov finds a stray poodle and takes it home with him.

These two events are, oddly enough, connected.

I never knew I needed a fic where Yuuri turned into a dog and lived with Viktor a while, but this fic changed my life tbh, its so good!

Call you by name by @linneakou 13k

Drunk, depressed, and lonely, Viktor Nikiforov makes a wish that has unforeseen consequences for himself and many people around him.

(an alternate take on the premise of learn to love the skies I’m under)

This version is also incredible!! I love them both a lot!!

Puppy Love by @phyona 10k

When Yuuri gets turned into a dog, the last place he expects to end up is Victor Nikiforov’s apartment. He learns quickly that the only thing worse than being his idol’s pet, is watching him pine for someone else.

Oh man,,,,this fic you guys, I love it so much! The angst oh my gosh, its such an amazing story!

Green Light by @gia-comeatme 21k (complete)

Chris knows what Viktor looks like when he has a crush, and he is 100% sure that Viktor Nikiforov has a crush on his pole dancing classmate, Yuuri Katsuki.

What he doesn’t know is why Viktor hasn’t gotten off his ass and gone for him already.

As a good friend, Chris is obligated to help Viktor out a little bit.

(And that’s where everything goes to shit.)

Red Light by @gia-comeatme 30k (wip)

Chris has had many lovers in the years that Viktor has known him. However, none of them can even compare to Chris’ newest boyfriend.

Viktor knows it’s wrong, but he falls in love with Yuuri Katsuki anyway.

Both of these fics were sooo good oh my god! I have a weakness for misunderstandings and angst with a happy ending, so like these were right up my street and they were amazingggg

Dr. Shiny and the Case of the Beautiful Man by @etherealalchemist 6k

There are about five things that Victor, in this very moment, is absolutely sure of.

1. The spawns of satan are here2. they are not accompanied by their angel of a mother3. they are with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen4. his scrubs are wet from where he’d dropped water on himself5. and Victor is very, very gay.

Emphasis on point five, with a side of cupid’s arrow and “ba-dum ba-dum” on a plate.

Because he is Very Gay, and not only is he Very Gay but he is also Hopelessly Attracted to a man who is undoubtedly Very Straight and very Unavailable and is perhaps the Most Beautiful Man Victor has ever seen.

—

in which Victor is a doctor, Yuuri is a godfather, and Yuri just wants some peace and quiet and a larger stash of lollipops.

This was so sweet and funny! I had to take a second while I was reading it from laughing so much honestly!

We Two Boys 11k (wip)

Yuuri talks about his crush on Victor Nikiforov while recording an episode of his and Phichit’s podcast We Two Boys. It’s not a big deal until it Becomes A Big Deal.

An ocean away, Victor falls in luv.

this is so funny omg, I love Phichit and Yuuri’s friendship so much

turntables by @vitavitali 4k

It happens approximately one week after Yuuri’s disastrous performance in Sochi.

Viktor Nikiforov @v-nikiforovI wish I could date pretty black haired boys who dance well.

“Ooh, the candidates are already flooding in!” Phichit says with an amused grin.

“Candidates?” Yuuri asks and Phichit helps Yuuri scroll down to read the replies. Most of them are variants of “date me!” with pictures attached. It’s all very interesting.

“You should send one too!” Phichit says and Yuuri doesn’t even bother answering him. “Look, I’ll send one if you send one. It’ll be fun!”

Oh my gosh I remember reading this so long ago, and I found it again a few days ago and I still love it so much

posterboy by @vitavitali 1.5k

“I’m going to kill whoever who did this,” Yuuri assured the poster. “I’m going to kill them for you. Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to murder anyone who thought it was a good idea to harm you. They’ll die screaming.”

“What?” came the poster’s startled reply.

“What?” Yuuri parroted back, because posters weren’t supposed to talk, especially not in Viktor Nikiforov’s melodious Russian accented voice.

This is iconique honestly, theyre both so cute!

Rainy Days by @vitavitali 5k

Director’s List Viktor Nikiforov falls in love with bad boy transfer student Katsuki Yuuri. What happens next will warm your heart.

So I kind of binged this authors fics and this one is also amazing!!

There’s still so many fics I want to recommend but I’ve spent like 2 hours on this list and I don’t want it to get too long, so these are the ones that sprang to mind, happy reading!

#weirdlisettola #yoi #fic rec #yikes this got long #i started this at like eight o clock #and now its half ten #oops #i should have been doing my biology but i wanna spread the love!#everyone is so talented and amazing #<3

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labbaik-ya-hussain-as · 3 years

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A must read:

The Lost Jewel – Rediscovering Hazrat Imam Ali’s (A.S.) Letter

This is a fascinating story.

Pakistan’s premier female poet Fahmida Riaz, read a letter by Imam Ali (A.S.) while browsing through a translation of Nahaj ul Balagha. Today via email, she narrated how she was “so touched, and felt so angry for not knowing about it all my life, because really no one talks about the real jewels of Muslim history, they would rather conceal it from one generation after another”. She took notes from the ancient text and recently quoted it in her paper presented at an Urdu Conference held at Heidelberg, Germany.

On her current sojourn in the USA, she showed this text to Dr. Patricia Sharpe who was impressed enough to put it on her website under the title GOOD GOVERNANCE EARLY MUSLIM STYLE.

In her email Fahmida writes further that “Another American friend in Santa Fe is writing a book for the National Geographic about the achievements of Muslim thinkers and men of the sciences and letters. I showed him the text and he has asked me to forward it to him so that he may include it in his book. ‘The Americans should know about it ,’ he wrote. I have sent him the text, sighing to myself, “..and so should the Muslims”.

But really, what are we ever told about Islam or Muslims other than chopping of arms and killing of infidels? Or we are informed that Muslims once had a great empire, a brutal picture of conquest and subjugation of the so-called “infidels”. What do we know of Hazrat Imam Ali (A.S.) except that he was very brave with a legendary sword? Pretty little.

And writes Riaz: “here is this document, written by him,1500 or so years ago. The sheer beauty of his thought, the largesse of his great heart, the incredible refinement of his mind! It takes your breath away and brings tears to your eyes. And then, his understanding of the class structure of society.. long before anyone in the world paid attention to the composition of society! All this is so incredible.

The other ancient classics about governance that come to mind…. tell you how to invite your enemy to dinner and then stab him in the back. They tell you how to perpetuate your RULE. In comparison, Imam Ali (A.S.) is telling you how to create a State that provides the greatest opportunity for the people to be happy. So great was this man that even being remotely associated with him is an honour that we hardly deserve though we are all born in the fold of his faith.

Another thought that comes to haunt you: Hazrat Imam Ali (A.S.) was so close to the Holy Prophet (S.A.W) that he could never say what he did not believe to be the Holy Prophet's (S.A.W) own will? O my God! Then in what unworthy hands his teachings fell! How unfortunate it is for us.”

I wanted to share this excitment and sadness of Fahmida on this space.

Here is the entry in Patricia’s blog where she has reproduced sections of letter and also improved the translations available online:

George W. Bush seems to think that the US political system must be replicated in structure and spirit in order for people to enjoy a decent political system. In fact, the Muslim world also has traditions and texts which establish the principles of good governance. Below are quotes from one such document, a document that might profitably be added to all basic political science syllabi. A close reading might also provide insights and terminology for American public diplomats tasked to engage Muslims in a dialogue about the universal human interest in fair, honest and competent government.

Ali bin Abi Talib (A.S.) Wali-Allah, the First Imam and son-in-law of the Holy Prophet Mohammed Mustafa (S.A.W), wrote a long letter of guidance after appointing Maalik al-Ashtar to be Governor of Egypt. He advises the new governor that his administration will succeed only if he governs with concern for justice, equity, probity and the prosperity of all.

The passages excerpted below illustrate the timeless applicability of Imam Ali’s (A.S.) admonitions. The letter itself is contained in the Nahjal Balaagha, which is a collection of the letters and speeches of the First Imam.

Manifest religious tolerance: Amongst your subjects there are two kinds of people: those who have the same religion as you [and] are brothers to you, and those who have religions other than yours, [who] are human beings like you. Men of either category suffer from the same weaknesses and disabilities that human beings are inclined to; they commit sins, indulge in vices either intentionally or foolishly and unintentionally without realizing the enormity of their deeds. Let your mercy and compassion come to their rescue and help in the same way and to the same extent that you expect Allah to show mercy and forgiveness to you.

Equity is best: A policy which is based on equity will be largely appreciated. Remember that the displeasure of common men, the have-nots and the depressed persons overbalances the approval of important persons, while

the displeasure of a few big people will be excused…if the general public and the masses of your subjects are happy with you.

The rich always want more: They are the people who will be the worst drag upon you during your moments of peace and happiness, and the least useful to you during your hours of need and adversity. They hate justice the most. They will keep demanding more and more out of State resources and will seldom be satisfied with what they receive and will never be obliged for the favor shown to them if their demands are justifiably refused.

A healthy society is interdependent: The army and the common men who pay taxes are two important classes, but in a well faring state their well-being cannot be guaranteed without proper functioning and preservation of the other classes, the judges and magistrates, the secretaries of the State and the officers of various departments who collect various revenues, maintain law and order as well as preserve peace and amity among the diverse classes of the society. They also guard the rights and privileges of the citizens and look to the performance of various duties by individuals and classes. And the prosperity of this whole set-up depends upon the traders and industrialists. They act as a medium between the consumers and suppliers. They collect the requirements of society. They exert to provide goods….Then comes the class of the poor and the disabled persons. It is absolutely necessary that they should be looked after, helped and provided….at least the minimum necessities for well-being and contented living….

Ensure an honest judiciary: You must select people of excellent character and high caliber with meritorious records….When they realize that they have committed a mistake in judgement, they should not insist on it by trying to justify it….they should not be corrupt, covetous or greedy. They should not be satisfied with ordinary enquiry or scrutiny of a case but…must attach the greatest importance to reasoning, arguments and proofs. They should not get tired of lengthy discussions and arguments.Theymust exhibit patience and perseverance…and when truth is revealed to them they must pass their judgements….These appointments must be made…without any kind of favoritism being shown or influence being accepted; otherwise tyranny, corruption and misrule will reign….Let the judiciary be above every kind of executive pressure or influence, above fear or favour, intrigue or corruption.

Poverty leads to ruination: If a country is prosperous and if its people are well-to-do, then it will happily and willingly bear any burden. The poverty of the people is the actual cause of the devastation and ruination of a country and the main cause of the poverty of the people is the desire of its ruler and officers to amass wealth and possessions whether by fair or foul means.

Corruption undermines national well-being: I want to advise you about your businessmen and industrialists. Treat them well….They are the sources of wealth to the country….One more thing….you must keep an eye over their activities as well. You know that they are usually stingy misers, intensely self-centered and selfish, suffering from the obsession of grasping and accumulating wealth. They often hoard their goods to get more profit out of them by creating scarcity and by indulging in black-marketing.

Stay in touch with the people: You must take care not to cut yourself off from the public. Do not place a curtain of false prestige between you and those over whom you rule. Such pretension and shows of pomp and pride are in reality manifestations of inferiority complex and vanity. The result of such an attitude is that you remain ignorant of the conditions of your subjects and of the actual cases of the events occurring in the State.

Peace brings prosperity: If your enemy invites you to a peace treaty….,never refuse to accept such an offer, because peace will bring rest and comfort to your armies, will relieve you of anxieties and worries, and will bring prosperity and affluence to your people. But even after such treaties be very careful of the enemies and do not place too much confidence in their promises, because they often resort to peace treaties to deceive and delude you and take advantage of your negligence, carelessness and trust. At the same time, be very careful never to break your promise with your enemy; never forsake the protection or support that you have offered to him, never go back upon your word and never violate the terms of the treaty.

History reveals all: Do not reserve for yourself anything which is a common property of all and in which others have equal rights. Do not close your eyes from glaring malpractice of officers, miscarriage of justice and misuse of rights, because you will be held responsible for the wrong thus done to others. In the near future your wrong practices and maladministration will be exposed and you will be held responsible and punished for the wrong done to the helpless and oppressed people.

*The honorific changes, depending on whether the reference derives from the Shia or Sunni tradition. Note also that I changed British spelling to American, have modified some awkwardnesses common to translations into English and have altered some punctuation for clarity’s sake.

Pingback: The Lost Jewel - Rediscovering Hazrat Ali’s (A.S.) Letter « Jahane Rumi

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quakerjoe · 6 years

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It's been a while since I've written a "Cuppa Joe" sermon, so to speak, and for that I apologize. I've been getting over-saturated by the news and haven't been in the mood. With that, I challenge you to read this. A "Shot of Joe" for the end of February... ----------------------------------------------------- Gun violence. It won’t end in our lifetimes here in the United States. We won’t see the end of it, but perhaps, just maybe our children or grandchildren will see a day when America is once again worthy of seeing themselves as the “Land of the Brave”. Right now, we simply aren’t, and it has a lot to do with the differences we all imagine as the End Game for our futures. Some seem to strive for a sort of Utopian society where we all have health coverage, free education on all levels, clean air and water, safe food, honest, livable wages for all, and a society where it no longer matters what color our flesh is or from where our ancestors come from or what religious backgrounds we have or what sexual preferences or genders we are. We’ll reach an age, with any luck, where we’re all just simply… Americans.

However, while some of us strive for that sort of end game in the US, there are others who crave a time more akin to the post-apocalyptic times seen in Mad Max films or they hope for a zombie apocalypse or some sort of breakdown of society where they can unleash their darkest desires, including crime without fear of punishment like rape and murder, the re-implementation of slavery, and moves to put women back where they “belong”; back in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant and free to beat and slap around for being “uppity”. You know; “Biblical Times”. Praise Jesus, right?

The fact remains that so long as we, as a nation, glorify war and death and murder, all for the selfish sake of owning guns, then we have no business thinking we’re free, because we’re not, and there’s no merit for even remotely considering ourselves brave. Last I checked, there isn’t a nation on the planet who can assemble any kind of army, traverse the massive oceans of the Atlantic or Pacific, reach our shores and invade us. Mexico will never have enough of an army to come close to being a match for our over-bloated military. Canada… They’re simply not interested and that’s not their style since forever as a nation of their own. (They did burn down the White House during the War of 1812, but they were British back then.)

Given the massive natural barriers between us and anyone who could possibly want to do harm to the US, it seems beyond INSANE that our military is so bloody huge. We’re already fairly untouchable, and the world knows it. They, like many of us, know that our military budget is only rivaled by that of the next 15+/- nations COMBINED after us, and all but one are allies. Most of THEM, on the other hand, have amazing health care systems and far better education systems. They invest in their PEOPLE and not corporations. They have better and more modern infrastructure. They’re fighting climate change. They’re not at war with other nations like the US is all around the world. They care for their troops and don’t just talk about it and put bumper stickers on their cars.

Essentially, Americans are, in general, totally full of shit, mostly empty thoughts, and blasphemous prayers that mean fuck-all nothing. It’s how they cope. What the hell is wrong with Americans? They’re the loudest, mouthiest, and chicken-shit nation there is today. Those in charge use the military as mercenaries for the rich and powerful private sector. We treat those poor patriots like they’re going off to save the world, but does anyone ever wonder who “wins” in these overseas operations? Who gets the goods in the aftermath? Big Pharma gets poppies from Afghanistan. Big Oil corporations get benefits from constantly destabilizing the Middle East, either through bullshit invasions like in Iraq, or through undercover ops via the CIA and private merc companies. Big. Fat. Rich. Fucks. They are the ones who reap the prizes from war. Our own troops get shot at for the privilege of putting on a uniform and being led to believe that they’re going on some sacred, patriotic crusade for Uncle Same and the country they love. Their prize? They get PTSD, debilitating wounds, lost time away from home, and pretty much fucked over and forgotten in the VA system and there’s never enough money in the Big Military Budget to take care of those who they conned into facing lethal force for a king they don’t know even exists. Their bravery and duty to country is taken advantage of by those who will use them to get more money, either for their own corporations, or from donors who put big wads of cash into a politician’s coffers. We watch on as corporate money bucks taxpayer money and gains control over politicians who USED to work for “We the People”. Too many politicians work for “We, the Corporations” and the rest of us can simply go to hell, plug in to whatever diversion makes you happy, and simply… fuck off. We let politicians go unchecked. Some of us have been screaming warnings about shit like “Citizens United” which essentially has made bribery LEGAL for politicians to receive. When a politician abused his/her power, he was held accountable to “We the Taxpayers” and be ousted in the next vote or thrown out of office through recalls and so forth. Now, politicians are expected to get a return on investment for their rich donors who now get massive tax breaks while the rest of us are being lined up for slaughter because it is easier to rob a million dollars from a million people, one buck at a time, than it is to steal a cool mil from one rich fucker in one go.

The guns… Oh, the guns! It’s a religion in the US. People are simply just that selfish. Knowing FULL WELL that if there were fewer guns, people would be safer, people will NEVER give them up. That would take empathy, consciousness, conscience, and total honesty, not to mention… BRAVERY. I mean, like I mentioned earlier, we’re nowhere NEAR to any danger of being invaded. We already have a method for overthrowing the government; it’s called “SHOW UP AND FUCKING VOTE”. If you don’t like what’s going on, RUN FOR OFFICE. But give up guns? Hell no! Americans are afraid of just about everything, the worst being white dudes. Old ones. Young ones. Generation after generation, they’re bred into fear; fear of everything not white-cist-male-heterosexual and of course “Christian”. Because, you know, Jesus LOVES the AR-15 and I’ve always seen him as a sort of fifty caliber Desert Eagle carrying motherfucker, don’t you? Americans are afraid of each other. They’re afraid, like the Native Americans before them, of immigrants. You see, once you fuck someone over, you get paranoid. You’re afraid that what you did will turn around someday and come to bite you in the ass. Genocide of the Native Population. African Slavery. Religious altercations against non-Christians. Keeping women from being equals at home and in the workplace. Going overseas and shooting up the place so we can rob them of their resources to make the rich even more wealthy. Keeping the LGBTQ community hidden, repressed in the shadows and imprisoned in their closets for fear of being fired, brutally beaten or even tortured and killed. One day, there is that possibility that ALL of that could come together and bit a white man in the ass. The harshest, most brutal parts of American history were all committed by…. Wait for it… WHITE DUDES! It’s why they’re the biggest gun nuts and ammosexuals there are on planet Earth. They know their time of supremacy is coming to an end. Not all of them are on “their side”. There are those, and in ever increasing numbers, who want that Utopian society with all the clean air, food and water, livable, honest wages, and for ALL citizens of our nation to prosper and live decent lives and not have to be homeless and to live in squalor. ALL of us. Americans. Even the shitbags, chicken-shit gun nuts. That’s what being a Liberal and a Progressive means, kids. No more super-rich assholes buying our government for their own self interests. No more abusing our patriotic military to use as cannon fodder for profit. No more shafting rules that deliver justice and that protect and serve “We the People”. We won’t see it. We’ll grow too old, as we work ourselves to death because retirement is no longer an option for survival anymore. We’ll die younger and younger because only those of privilege can afford health care while the safety net programs leave more and more “We the People” out in the cold to starve to death or to die of poor health. We’ll be dead because our water is getting contaminated; our air getting more dangerous to breathe; our food becoming a corporate mob owned operation that’ll have us by the short hairs to keep us all docile and in line. We’re going to die, and not in a nation that’s brave or free.

The American Dream is just that. It’s time to wake up and decide if we’re going to pursue that dream, or let it all slip away into the nightmares that lie on the horizon because not enough of us are learned enough to see what’s going on. Not enough of us are mobilized to get politically active. That’s part of why keeping us all poor works for the rich and powerful. If we can’t afford to take time off from one of our several jobs needed to survive, we can’t afford to march, protest, or support candidates who want that Utopian End Game. Keeping us stupid, by buying up all the media outlets and only telling us what they want us to know and keeping us divided (divide and conquer; heard of that before?) keeps us from coming together as the “We” in “We the People”. Keeping our children stupid keeps this ball rolling, and shafting the education system repeatedly is well on its way to achieving that. Add to that: School Massacres! As people become more and more afraid of sending their kids to school, what will they do?

Three choices are before them. First, Home Schooling; keeping children stunted and limited in their educational input because face it- parents are not all rocket scientists and parents cannot all teach their children well enough on their own. “It takes a village”, they say, or at least a proper, public school. Second, if you’ve got the coin, there may be private schools and they’re typically religious-based, jamming their religion into you while you’re trying to learn basic math. Lastly, for the growing masses of the not-so-well-to-do, there’s fuck-all nothing. No school. Keep the masses dumb, and let them get into the work force as soon as possible. There’s always the military. We’ve already been warned that the influx of applicants to our armed forces is overrun with the not-so-bright and that it’s a matter of national security because they’re not intelligent enough to do the really important jobs needed in our armed forces. The rich love that shit. Keep the kids fed with “America is the Best!” and “USA! USA! USA!” when they haven’t a fucking clue why they’re saying it. Keep them all armed, because gun deaths maintain the fear the rich and powerful crave. Keep the general population stupid and paranoid and they can rule supreme forever, right? Possibly. We shall see.

~Quaker Joe

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usashirtstoday · 3 years

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Owl Exit The Warrior Vintage 2020 T Shirt

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discordandglory-blog · 6 years

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Awkward Encounters || Cat and Leo

Cat and Leo argue after their separation. Things don’t exactly go well either.

The irony of the fact that her father had paid not attention to her ever, until there was a war, had not passed by Cat. She had noticed that her father was no in almost daily contact with her as she led the efforts of Rome. Reclining into a leather arm chair of their lake house, she gazed out at the open french doors and watched the lake. The lights of the city would’ve once twinkled there but now they had disappeared with the war. Sighing, she moved to a cabinet and pulled open a box, pressing the latch for the false bottom she pulled out the small bag of weed that she knew Leo had stashed there. Placing it in a pipe (she’d never been able to roll) she brought up the lighter and suched down a thick breath of smoke, coughing instinctively. That’s when she heard the front door of their lake house click open, and she pulled her pistol out. Stepping behind the door and waiting for whoever was about to come through.

Leo had to help a little more than he was. It bothered him that people didn’t trust him and therefore he was a little stuck with the tasks he could pull. The idea to break into his family home was one that came after a lot of contemplation. He had waited until he knew that his father was out. His siblings didn’t come back often enough that he was worried about their whereabouts. He didn’t want to see them anyway. He walked in cautiously looking around, before filling working to move into the home and close the door behind him quietly.

As a figure stepped into frame, Cat moved quietly, it might have had something to do with her feline namesake but as she silently padded after the tall figure, she brought one of her revolvers up, the other one remaining in its holster and took aim at his head. “Don’t move,” she said quietly, there was no need to make a threat as she clicked the hammer into place, whoever this was didn’t know who they were messing with. Swallowing, she raised the weapon, “what the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she asked threateningly.

His sister's voice was a surprise and Leo hated how relieve he was to hear it. He hadn’t seen her in what felt like years. He didn’t smile.“Or you’ll shoot me Cat?” He asked, forcing a smile onto his face. Let her believe what he had of her. “I wanted to see how the house was.” It was a lie. He was going to steal from the family, but he didn’t hesitate. He had been born lying. He lied every time he was in pain, he lied for years. “I was honestly hoping I’d see you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” It was another lie. He hadn’t wanted to see her. Leo was smooth however, the fact he was honest often made it more believable. It’s hard to switch between lying and being truthful for most people. He was a Karavadra. He wasn’t most people.

Swallowing gently, Cat recognised the voice. She didn’t know if Lina had told the Greeks what had happened or not but she wasn’t sure that right at this moment she cared. She was just so relieved to see him alive, after all she’d not even gotten to say goodbye. Lowering the gun, she shook her head. “This is a time of war Leo,” she replied sourly, “I had no idea that it was you, but I am glad that you’ve decided to come back here.” She paused for a moment to bite her lip before taking a step back and doing her best to read him. Maybe it was the events of the past few days, maybe it was something else, but Cat couldn’t see what he was thinking. Maybe for the first time she wasn’t sure what he was doing. “So have you come back for good? Or am I going to wake up to find out you’ve snuck off once more?” she paused for a second, waiting for his reply with bated breath.

Leo couldn’t help but think that Cat was finally the naive one. He was not coming back. It was a naive thought that he was going to. Even if things with Bobbi went horribly wrong, Leo wasn’t going to leave the Greek side of the war. “I’m well aware that it’s a time of war. Yeah, it’s good to know that house is fine.” It was a good place to grab supplies if things got bad at the Greek camp. “I’m not coming back for good. I won’t be sneaking out when you sleep either. I’m going to grab some of my things and go. It’s a good time to say goodbye, since things got so hectic before that I couldn’t.”

Shaking her head, Cat couldn’t help but wonder how foolish she was for thinking that Leo could possibly have come back. He was too willful for that. Slipping the gun into her holster, Cat shook her head. “I can’t let you go Leo,” she said quietly, sadly, “I should just arrest you now, you’ve broken all of the rules and this time there is a reason for those rules. Father is furious, you broke Jax’s heart, you abandoned everything you’ve ever valued. We didn’t force this fight, the Greeks blew the armoury up Leo…” conflicted was something that she couldn’t help but feel. Leo had betrayed something that she valued above anything else, he’d left the Legion and then he’d left their family behind.

There was the Cat he had been hearing all about. The Cat that thought that everything she did was right, because it was under the guise of duty. “You will be condemning me to a war prison,” Leo’s face went stoney as he stared at her. “And we all know what happens in those nowadays, don’t we?” She had shot Callum dead in jail. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive his twin for doing that. “You have been fed propaganda all your life, Catherine. I thought out of all of us, you would be the first to see through the bullshit that this is.” He shook his head,“I’m sure Dad is suddenly around now, isn’t he? He isn’t there because he loves you or because he’s proud. You’re leading war that he helped create and he wants your name to help remind people of how powerful he is. You’ve become his pawn.”

Fury seethed through Cat’s veins at Leo’s suggestion. “When you betray a cause that you’ve been fighting for your whole life then maybe a war prison is all you deserve,” she retorted coldly with anger flashing in her eyes, “what happens in our prisons is entirely legal and within the boundaries of the law. What specifically happened to Callum was the most difficult thing that I have ever been forced to do. I don’t need scolding from you and Jax. Neither of you were put in a position where your duty compelled you to kill the one person outside of your family that you thought that you could truly trust.” She had been criticised to death -- the irony of that statement did not escape her -- and she was getting tired of it. She hadn’t wanted Callum to break his oath. She hadn’t wanted to see him die. “Just because I see the Greeks for what they’ve done doesn’t change things, and don’t think that I don’t realise that Dad is around more now. But unlike you and Jax, I’ve never had the opportunity to enjoy my father’s love. So forgive me if I indulge myself a little bit.” She shook her head furiously. “Not all of us are willing to betray what we love and have spent our entire life working for, for one person.”

“What cause have we been fighting for our entire lives, Cat? We were forced to become soldiers as child to fight adults wars!” Leo never liked yelling at his sister, but he couldn’t really control that at this point. He had never felt so much disappointment in her… Or pity for her. There was no clear way to explain that he pitied his sister, but he did. Had she truly become so desperate for attention that she would do anything for their father. “You were in a prison already. You had already shot him through the stomach. We all know there was a second shot. We all know that he wasn’t really going to be a fight with a bullet in his stomach. You decided to shoot him again. You decided to kill him.” To Leo, it was if Cat saw situations with only two paths in front of her. She wouldn’t make her own path, she wouldn’t pick for herself. “He never loved us! You think that what he gave me was love, Catherine? Really? How many times did I go to bed without dinner for doing nothing wrong, how many times did he make me train until my fingers were bleeding and I could barely stand? Would a man who loves me scar me for life for the sake of being a good soldier?” Leo asked, referring the scar he had around his arm from a rather brutal sparring session he had had with his father. “I did not leave purely because of Bobbi. I had been against this hate of the Greeks from the beginning. I was someone helping with Greek Pride. I was making my own event for them. I didn’t leave just for Bobbi. I left because I saw that I would be forced into slaughtering a group of people that are being hunted for being something we aren’t! I left because I wasn’t going to be the one who makes these kids orphans. Bobbi being Greek helped me make my decision. However, if you think that I wouldn’t make the same decision I made without her, then you have and will never know me for who I am, sister.”

“The protection of New Rome Leo!” Cat shouted in return, she was furious. Everyone was turning on her. The broad family she had once had no longer existed. Fergus was dead. Callum was dead and that was her fault. She still hadn’t come to terms with that. But he had betrayed her. She’d warned him what would happen. “He decided to betray me, he decided to betray New Rome. He decided to try and break Kolina from her holding cell. He knows the punishment for treachery.” She shook her head, refusing to apologise for the path she had chosen. She could’ve let Callum live, she knew that. But she decided against that. She couldn’t allow weakness. She wouldn’t allow weakness. “Maybe he didn’t. Do you think I’m blind to the fact that he ignored me for my entire life? Do you think I don’t realise that he wished I were a man and not a woman? Do you think I’m really so blind that I can’t see his failures as a father?” she laughed cruelly and shook her head. “Unlike you and Jax, I’ve never gotten this. I’ve never gotten any attention from him. And unlike you and Jax, I’m the only one who is willing to do what needs to be done. I don’t do this for father. I do this for myself. I am strong enough to lead New Rome into a new age of safety, prosperity and perhaps even expansion.” She swallowed, her resolve only more steeled by what she accepted as necessary. “I’ll carry it if I have to. Father is willing to help me and that is why accept that help.” She shook her head angrily. “The same Greeks that fired on New Rome? The same Greeks that set several shrapnel bombs in the armoury and basically wiped out the entire Third Cohort? The same Greeks who drove Romans from the Lake District and continue to raid this city? What right do they have to our home Leo? We gave them safety and security and they spat in our face. Fuck them. And you know what, fuck you too. You choose weakness over your own family. If you truly think that what you are doing is right, then I have never known you brother.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “But it is not too late. Please. Come back. Fight with us. Do what you know is right for our city and our people.”

Leo was at a loss for words, a rare circumstance for someone who talked as often as he did. “When has the punishment ever been death? When did you become judge, jury, and executioner? If he truly deserved what he had coming, why not let the system you seem to trust so much do it? You wanted it to be quick and done, you wanted it to be you. You wanted to send a message to everyone else that you were done being nice to the people you felt betrayed you. I betrayed you, I committed treason, are you going to gun me down too? Do I deserve it for making my own decisions? Send Jax a message that no matter what, you’ll do what you have to for duty.” He shook his head,“Fuck your duty. Honestly, fuck it. You have twisted yourself so much to get attention that you have no idea what you even are anymore. Other than a blind order follower.” He rolled his eyes at her, so over the conversation, the idea that she was enjoying the ‘love’ Jefferson was giving her. “You are a far weaker person than I ever thought you were, Catherine.” He let out a spiteful laugh,“I didn’t know you were this driven by your daddy issues.” How had his siblings come out this messed up from their household? He had tried his best to help them, but he realized now that they never respected him. Never saw him from who he really was. Leo was not like them and he never would be. “You are glazing over everything. You are letting the Senate feed you whatever they want you to know. Have you even once questioned their decisions?” He doubted it, he doubted that she had looked past whatever bullshit they whispered into her ear. His jaw set and he stared at her with a stony composure. He didn’t like when his sister cried, but he now didn’t even like his sister. Usually by the time a tear would show up during a fight, Leo would back down and attempt to comfort her. He watched now with a cold disinterest. “Save the tears for someone who will believe they’re even real.”

“Callum swore to me that he would always be there, he swore that he would have my back no matter what, so yeah, maybe I did want to send that message to people. I am done. I’m done with pulling my punches because you can’t keep up. You never promised that you would be there, you made it clear what your priorities were and in some way I think I can respect that.” Cat’s eyes flashed with fury, she was done pulling punches. Raising an eyebrow, Cat shook her head. “I don’t follow the orders Leo, I make them. I don’t do what other people tell me to do, I tell other people what to do and they do it.” She wasn’t about to accept this from anyone, and it coming from Leo was difficult. “I’ve worked my hardest to gain as much power as I could, and I’m not about to let that go. I’m in a position where I will shape the world and whether you believe that or not no longer matters to me. If you really knew me, if you ever really loved me then that is something that you would understand. You’ve always had it so fucking easy, all you ever needed to do was stop being a child for all of five minutes to realise that there is more going on in this city then you could ever realise, but you’ve always been too blind to see it. Jax understands it. Dad understands it. Hell Callum and Fergus used to get it too. But you’ve always been too immature to really get this.” She locked her jaw, her hand gripping her revolver tightly and angrily. “You’re idea of strength and emotion is arbitrary and you’ve never truthfully understood what I’ve done to protect you from all of that.” She swallowed, realising that this was the end of it all. “You need to leave Leo, you need to get out and you can’t come back. This is your last free pass.”

Leo smiled, tight and insincere. It was an odd look on his face, almost unnerving. “I couldn’t keep up because I wasn’t in the race, Catherine. You see you and Jackson always underestimated me. You showed me all your moves, taught them to me. I know what your thought process is on the battlefield. Do you know mine? You might think you have the upper hand, but don’t forget we grew up in the same household.” He laughed again,”And if they don’t follow them, is their punishment being shot? Just curious. You’ve never been leader, sis. You’ve done everything to make Daddy proud, thought about what would make him like you even the slightest bit. You’ve never had an original thought of your own. Just did what you thought would finally make someone proud of you, and spoiler alert, he's not even proud of you." She would always think that he was the immature one. He knew this, but it still hurt coming from her mouth. He wondered how immature she’d find him when he faced her later on a battlefield. Did she think he wasn’t going to use the tactics she taught him against her? She’d regret underestimating him. “They say children see the truth far faster than adults do. It really doesn’t bother me that you are comparing me to people who hate someone for being born into a different culture. I’m actually pretty proud I’m not in the same category as Dad. Shocking as it may be, he’s not a great dude.” He wanted to stay, see if she would really shot him, see if she would really stoop that low. Instead he shrugged,“Sure. I don’t really mind never stepping foot in here again. Have fun pretending that Dad likes you. Just wait until Jackson does something great and you’ll be exactly where you were before. Just this time it’s gonna hurt more. You finally got a taste of what you’ve always wanted and it’s going to be ripped from you.”

The interruption from the guard was a welcome one, for in the darkness of the lakehouse Leo had said somethings to Cat that she would never come to terms with. The problem was that she was sure that many of them were true. Though she hadn’t the faintest idea of how to address this problem currently. “Miss Catherine?” Came the sound of the guard’s voice, “Leo…” the guard was an older gentleman, called Carter. When he had started on their father’s estate he had been young and foolish. But the years had turned him hard and quick to act. Drawing his sword, he stormed forward into the room, cutting off the chance for Cat to make a reply to the accusations and cruelty that her twin had thrown her way. Her hand gripped the stock of her revolver, unsure of who she should be pointing the weapon at. For a moment, after the cold icy realisation about the things Leo had said had set in, Cat had considered shooting him right then and there. But he was so insufferable, she couldn’t have the last thing that he would ever experience be her proving him right. She hoped he would have never gotten to this stage, but it seemed clear to her that this was inevitable.

Well shit, Leo thought to himself, looking at the situation in front of him. Catherine was going to let him walk away. Carter was not. He wasn’t going to fight both of them. Not when she had her gun out and he had been basically begging her to find a reason to shoot him. He looked at his twin for a long couple of seconds, debating if he even had anymore to say. He didn’t. He was done with her. “See ya, Carter,” He said as a sudden wave of lights and loud noise erupted in front of Leo. Thank god for his powers or he’d be long dead by now. He sprinted out of the house, his light show going on behind him.

#awkward encounters #f&gwriting #chatzy para #p: leo #para

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