#amarys' hair is going to haunt me to the end of my days why did i think too hard about it once ahkguhj

[microwave-core]

DLC Girlie Headcanons

Happy Valentine’s day. Happy early birthday to me. Happy late first anniversary of this blog. Don’t expect this to be as profound or long as the first scarvio post, but it is a post, so have fun with it.

Also, I didn’t include Briar here because I wasn’t satisfied with what I wrote for her and just ended up scrapping it. Might come back to her one day. And yes I know the Carmine gif is big but I liked it and couldn't find one I liked more.

Carmine, my love. I know I already made a whole post for her not too long ago, but I can still add more (and there are also only three others on the list sooo). This time, though, things can take place post Kieran joker arc.

Of course, she’s still Carmine. She’s a bit overprotective and jealous and kind of a bitch, especially when at the academy because a certain Drayton will lazily and jokingly flirt with you just to get on her nerves. Don’t play into his flirtations, or else she’ll be mad at both of you (temporarily at you, permanently at toothpaste hair). She won’t stop you from hanging out with other people, though. That is, of course, unless it’s Drayton, who she will literally drag you away from.

 She doesn’t really boss you around like she does her brother, but she will often ask you to help her with whatever she’s working on. It’s totally because she needs you to lend a hand and not because she likes having you plastered to her side. Sometimes she’ll ask you to come help her with a task and the task in question is just hanging out with Amarys.

Carmine does actually take her studies fairly seriously, especially when she’s helping Briar. Spends a good deal of time studying, and might pressure you to join her if you are falling behind. Surprisingly, she’s a pretty good study-buddy. If you’re really struggling with a subject, she can probably explain it in pretty understandable terms, as long as you can brush aside her occasional insults, of course. Might reward you with a kiss or two if you do really well.

You’re allowed to be a little mean to Kieran, as a treat, but know your place. She loves you, yeah, but she’d probably side with her baby brother over you if push comes to shove. You can tease him a bit and slide in some snide comments here and there, but if you take things too far she will be upset. I know I said you could be a little mean, but don’t be, like, mean mean to him. He’s been through enough.

Speaking of, Kieran thinks you’re pretty cool. Little guy doesn’t really have friends, and being a recovering joker acr victim doesn’t help that fact. He knows you, you’ve been in his life’s peripheral vision for a good deal of time, being attached to Carmine and whatnot, and he thinks you’re wicked cool. No matter how much time passes, he will always watch on with stars in his eyes when you are showing off your skills. He’d love nothing more than to have a match with you sometime.

I wouldn’t say Kieran’s like Hop is for Sonia, where he would go out of his way to play matchmaker, but he does silently lay in hope that you two stay together, and their grandparents feel the same. They might partake in some light teasing whenever they see you together, which is often, but they aren’t really pushy with it. Not the kind of people to press Carmine about when you’ll get married or give them great grandchildren or anything.

When Kieran is in his villain arc, Carmine will ask you to help keep an eye on him. She’s worried out of her mind with how odd he was acting, and really wanted to find the root cause. Once the whole Terapagos ordeal blows over, expect the two to come find you and tackle you into a group hug, both blabbering on about how they almost died and how much they care for you. A similar thing probably happens after the Pecharunt situation ends, as well.

You know… a lot of scarvio characters could totally be melded into yanderes if you just exaggerated their traits a wee bit. Not saying that any of them are, we’re not doing the whole “Nemona’s a yandere” bit, but Carmine could easily fit the bill. She’s bitchy, a bit overprotective, and can easily become violent. Nothing more to add here, it's just a passing thought.

Following my original scarvio post, I am morally obligated to include a point of slander for each girl. Carmine has said at least a few slurs in her life. In, like, a Lana del Rey way, specifically with that one kid who was in Stranger Things (why did she do that it was just completely unprompted). Would casually drop a slur in someone’s general direction for literally no reason. Hater energy.

Perrin’s pretty cool. I don’t like her as much as her supposed great great great grandmother, but I’m not here to pin two bad bitches against each other. Regardless of her ancestors, she’s still cute and artsy, and we love that for her.

She’s kind of funny to me more than anything. She would just go up to you one day, saying shit like “Hey babe, I’m feeling really unmotivated right now :{ so I’m gonna take a trip to a small, distant island to take pictures of a fucked up beast”. Don’t try to talk her out of it, she’ll already be on the plane.

When she’s feeling low, she likes to take pictures of you. They aren’t used for anything, not making their way into her portfolio, just her little personal collection to look back on and smile at gently. She’ll start by mopily taking half-assed pictures with her phone, but steadily gets more and more into things, setting up her shots and having you pose, eventually pulling out her camera.

Although, it is a bit embarrassing for her after the fact. When she gets really into her shots, she gets super enthusiastic and constantly makes cheesy remarks. Please don’t point this out while she’s working, she’ll get super flustered and totally thrown off her game. She might be able to recover, laughing her comments off sheepishly, or she might be too far gone to continue, dramatically laying down her camera in defeat, hoping you'll give her some affection and out of pity.

However, her love for you, and love for looking at you, isn’t always enough to get her out of a slump, hence why she goes to Kitakami to look for a fucked up beast in hopes of finding her spark again. Getting out and searching for something interesting can help her get back into her groove, and she’ll keep you posted the entire time if you aren’t by her side.

Speaking of, she loves to send you pictures. Constantly. She’ll send breathtaking scenery shots, gorgeous skylines, diverse and adorable wildlife, and Growlithe. It’s mostly just Growlithe if we're being honest. Usually paired with a caption like “he misses you” or “stinky little bastard man has committed a heinous crime (he rolled in the mud).”Particularly loves to send glamor shots of him.

And said stinky little bastard man loves you so much. He likes to follow you around when nearby, trotting on your heels, curious as to where you’re both going. He’ll sit patiently at your feet whenever you have food, and curl up in your lap when you’re sitting down. Perrin’s his favorite still, but you’re a close second. But if you pass him enough scraps under the table and give him good enough scratches, you might be able to sway his opinion.

I don’t remember if the game ever states where Perrin is specifically from, but she gives off country girl energy to me. Maybe it’s just the song that plays when you talk to her, now that I think about it. I don’t know. I think in general she’s also pretty laid back, the kind to go with the flow. Unless she’s in a rut, where it seems like her entire world is falling apart.

She’s not super into PDA, but she doesn’t really get embarrassed with excessive affection, either. She’d prefer to just hold your hand when around other people, maybe rest her arm over your shoulder, but she wouldn’t argue if you wanted more affection than that. Not to say that she doesn’t have any limits, she’s just pretty lax.

However, I also think she’s suave. Not afraid to surprise you by pressing a sudden kiss to somewhere on your face-forehead, cheek, lips-when you lean in close, like if you lean over her shoulder or something along those lines. She does like to see you flustered, but she doesn’t do it too often. After all, if she does this all the time, you would expect it, and then you wouldn’t get flustered at all.

Slander devil emoji. Perrin feels like she’d own a shit ton of shoes. Mainly tennis shoes, methinks. Most of her funds are funneled into her camera and lenses, since she’s a photographer obviously, but her second biggest money sink is her shoe collection. Is kind of protective of them, too, because Growlithe will chew on them if given the opportunity.

Lacey’s just cute. Which makes sense, because being cute is, like, her whole thing. To her, most everything has some cuteness in it. Nothing can be spared from her cute-detecting gaze.

What more should I really say for her? She’s just a super sweet and kind person and I would kill for her. Actually, I wouldn’t do that, because if I did she would look at me sadly and tell me what I did just wasn’t right. She might be incredibly nice, but she ain’t a pushover. Daddy didn’t raise no bitch.

She’s super touchy feely. Always touching you in some way. Prefers to drape herself over you whenever possible, usually by wrapping herself around one of your arms to lean in close. If she can’t, then she’ll gladly link pinkies with you, as she believes that’s way cuter than just holding hands.

Massive cuddlebug. Whenever you are sitting or laying down, she’ll immediately jump into the spot next to you and hold you close. She’s practically nodding off by the time she gets comfortable, too warm and comfy to want to get up. Her pokemon, especially her Granbull, tend to pile up around you as well. Will complain and beg you to stay if you try to get up before she’s ready (she will never be ready). She’s also guilty of baby talk. Take that as you will.

Her pokemon in general are pretty cuddly, as well, but some are better snugglers than others. Like, Excadrill is a real sweetheart, but she’s also got massive claws and hard noggin made of steel, which aren’t the most um pleasant. And Slowbro is a little bit toxic, so be careful. Omg I forgot she had a Primarina. I love Primarina, that's my favorite starter. I’m gonna end this point here before I ramble into infinity, sorry.

Feels very into arts and crafts. She’d break out the macaroni and Elmer's glue unprompted in the league club room and everyone flocks to her, watching her and her art supplies like impoverished children about to receive their daily rations. Everyone joins in, even if they don’t want to or don’t see the point in it. Drayton loves the crafts more than anyone else, barring Lacey herself, but he usually tries to get other people to do the work for him.

I also feel like she would try to turn the league club into a band at least twice. Imagine Lemonade Mouth (aka the best disney channel original movie), but with the BB elite four. No matter how hard she tries, it always devolves into absolute chaos. Maybe one day she will get to live her band kid dreams to their fullest.

ASMR Clay kills you via excruciatingly intense eye contact because you’re dating his baby girl.mp4. He is prime overprotective dad material, and he is so stubborn at first. He acts all big and tough in front of you when you first meet, mainly because that’s just how he is, but eventually warms up to you. Don’t expect to be too close, though. “Warming up” just means that he tolerates you.

Anyways, thinking of Clay makes me think of “Heartwarming: Watch this dad totally accept his gay daughter coming out then eat 12 tacos”. He’s very accepting of anything she does, even if he’s hard on her when it comes to actually dating. He’s just hesitant to let her grow up, is all. Also, he radiates massive divorced single-dad energy.

Lacey doesn’t like to complain that much, but she does on occasion. In particular, she tends to complain when a certain school director dumps his duties onto her. It’s usually not very heated, just a brief vent about how it totally wasn’t right, hand gestures and all. 

When venting, she usually prefaces that what she says might be a little mean or too much, but then she says something very reasonable and tame. Also seems like the type to apologize when she rambles on about something or other, no matter how many times you tell her that she’s fine.

Lacey slander is that she absolutely uses Texan slang. What in tarnation is the one she uses the most, but do not doubt her ability to spout country slang out of nowhere. Also owns at least one cowboy hat. And a pair of cowboy boots. She’s got the whole cowboy ensemble, actually.

Amarys, while not outwardly emotional, is also a very sweet and caring person. Facial emoting just isn’t her thing. I’m struggling to put my thoughts into words with her, because my mind is just automatically defaulting to “Amarys my beloved” instead of forming actual, tangible ideas.

I don’t think Amarys is terrible with emotions, she just isn’t good at showing them. Particularly on her face. She prefers to express her feelings through words and actions, even if they come off as robotic and stringent. They’re coming from the heart, honest. She does like to make fun little gestures with her hands, as well, like making hearts.

Despite being relatively fine at navigating her own emotions, there are certain concepts that stump her, mainly concepts that are more abstract, one’s that lack clearly defined definitions. For instance, she asks Lacey in the league room what constitutes being cute. Sometimes, she’ll approach you and ask questions about these concepts, just to gauge your expert opinion on such topics.

I feel like she has a hefty pocket watch collection. I don’t have much more to add, mainly because I don’t know much about pocket watches outside of them existing. I don’t think she’s an avid collector per say, I feel like she’s just accumulated them over time, mainly from getting them as gifts over the years.

She comes off as someone who’s a little hard to shop for, so most people tend to just get her a watch when gift giving because it’s something useful and she clearly likes them. She doesn’t mind receiving them, even if many of them don’t get used because she just has too many. At the very least, she has plenty of backup replacements if the one she uses breaks, and is also willing to share if you ever wanted to borrow one.

Lowkey a worrywart. If you mention feeling wrong or down or just have issues in general, she’ll keep checking in with you until she’s certain you are doing better. Not in, like, an overbearing way, though. She’s not hounding you constantly, just bringing it up when she sees you, or texting if you haven’t seen each other in a bit. It’s a good way to see how much she cares for you. It’s part of her love language, if you will.

Amarys is a very good person to confide in, regardless if you’re dating her or not. She’s a great listener and is always level-headed. She doesn’t have advice for every given situation, but her calm nature can help keep you grounded when venting, which really helps on top of the effect that venting generally has.

I’m split between thinking Amarys spends at least an hour in the morning styling her hair or believing that’s just how she always looks. I would assume that she takes her hair down every night, because her hairstyle doesn’t seem very comfortable to sleep in, and also seems like it would be messed up pretty easily. But the idea that she just always exists with this very specific hairstyle is kind of funny to me.

On that note, she is pretty good at styling hair in general. You don’t get that hair without having dexterous and skillful hands. Show her a picture of the style you want and she can probably get pretty damn close. Also good with hair dye jobs, as I assume she dyes some of her hair gray. Actually, maybe she doesn’t, because her eyebrows are gray. I don’t know what to believe anymore.

Gets dragged into Carmine’s antics a lot. She usually plays the straight man in comparison to Carmine’s… Carmine-ness. She can talk her friend out of her more ludicrous ideas, but she joins in on Carmine’s antics every now and then. Has had to talk Carmine out of chopping off Drayton’s massive hair tuft on multiple occasions.

While writing this I came across the idea of Amarys being the child of Lenora, the black and white normal gym leader, which I like. Mainly because I like Lenora a lot and she does canonically have a husband, so it would check out pretty well. I have nothing else to add to this, just wanted to mention it because why not.

Amarys slander? Amarys slander tonight queen? I’d say she’s the type of person to correct people’s grammar whenever they make a mistake, in both writing and conversation. This does include using it to “win” pointless arguments online, although she’s also the type to write lengthy responses in those types of arguments, so she already has all of her bases covered, but that doesn’t change her grammar correcting ways.

[docholligay]

Pharmercy, time between first and second OW. They can't spend it together this year because of work or some other reason. Maybe Angela wasn't too bothered by it until she talked to Winston or Lena. I would love a more melancholy feel to it, but you do what you want.

HI DO YOU WANT MORE THAN 2,000 WORDS ABOUT PHARAH AND MERCY’S FIRST VALENTINE’S YOU SURE DO. If you’re unfamiliar with my OW universe, it’s all here.  I may add this in, I may not, WE SHALL SEE

Mercy had spent a good many of her Valentine’s Days alone, and it had never much mattered. She was too busy for relationships, always too young for anyone in her classes to take notice of her, and spent so much time learning the in and outs of the human body when she was young that she did not quite begin to notice that she needed some instruction in human social skills until she was in her twenties, possessed of great empathy but little practical knowledge, feeling awkward and odd among her peers.

And so it should not have bothered her, who dated so little, to spend Valentine’s Day alone. It was no different from any other. And yet, as she crossed Harvard Yard, fresh from a special lecture, the red brick of the buildings seemed to reflect every beating cartoon heart she had seen on the cards lining the drugstore where she got her shampoo. She noticed every student’s hard that was clasped in another’s, noticed their smiles and giggles and the words that passed between them, even the most common of them peppered with the special lilt of a word from a lover’s lips.

And in instead of bringing her joy, it brought her an empty ache.

Because she was lying, of course, and this Valentine’s was very different from any other before it.

This Valentine’s Day, she was missing Fareeha Amari.

She chided herself. She was lucky, blessed even, to have a woman like Pharah in her life, someone who was handsome and intelligent and gallant, who listened so closely and carefully when Mercy talked that Mercy swore she was taking notes, who brought her flowers and held her coat over Mercy’s head in the rain, the kind of woman Mercy had never assumed was even real, but laid next to her in her tiny Cambridge apartment whenever Tracer flew over.

She hadn’t had the courage to tell Pharah she had given Tracer a not-insignificant amount of money for fuel.

“I am knowing that you do not have so much money, Lena, and I thought–”

Tracer waggled her eyebrows. “It me you’re so anxious to see then, love? Missing me something terrible, you are, can’t ‘ave anything to do with–”

Mercy blushed and shoved the check at her and mumbled uncomfortably, turning away from Tracer.

Tracer’s face softened. ‘I’s only ‘aving a go, Ang, you know ‘ow I am. I’ll say nothing more about it.”

And, to Tracer’s credit, she had not. Oh, Mercy was certain she’d told Winston the day it happened–Mercy wasn’t even sure she was capable of keeping a secret from him, but Winston was very kind, and would never mention such a thing.

With all these blessings in her life: A job where she was respected, a girlfriend who loved her, a rekindled relationship with her friends, it seemed very petty and selfish indeed to be sad that Pharah couldn’t be here.

And she had wanted to be, hadn’t she? Mercy considered as she sat on the train. Yes, she had to work for Helix, and she had been so apologetic, and besides any of that, Tracer wasn’t making a trip, so Pharah would have had to buy her own plane ticket, and that would have been very silly for one insignificant day on the calendar that said nothing about their love. She had told Pharah it meant nothing, that she would see her soon, and she understood how important Helix’s work was.

But it would have been their first, and Mercy looked over at the couple across from her, canoodling, and wished that she was here, wishing she could take Pharah to the restaurant she’d been saving for this day, the fine food and romantic low light.

She got off the train and wandered back to her apartment, stopping at her favorite Chinese place along the way for a giant carton of noodles and a bottle of wine, procured at the liquor store, trying to ignore the red cellophane wrapping of the champagne bottles.

Mercy had spent the bulk of her life alone, and yet she had rarely ever felt as lonely as she did right in this moment. Loneliness, she thought, was not so much in being alone but in knowing the shape of the hole inside you, and not being able to fill it.

She unlocked the small door at the back of the house, divided into an apartment  long ago. She had never thought of her apartment as sad, though it was a small afterthought to the rest of the house–one tiny bedroom, a scattered closet here and there, a little alcove that functioned as a kitchen, inasmuch as Mercy ever needed one. Windows that skirted the line of legality brought faint strains of rapidly fading light into the living room, with her mismatched furniture all purchased from Craigslist the week she moved in looking shabby in the long grey shadows.

Mercy shook her head. She was being childish. She was a grown woman, a doctor, a professor at Harvard Medical, for God’s sake, and here she was, pining over her girlfriend because of some words on a calendar. If she was lonely, she should do something to make herself less lonely. Mercy determined her own future, didn’t she? Winston would be alone, too, with Tracer not visiting, and maybe she would take her bottle of wine and her noodles and head over there, or they could order a pizza. She had a fascinating new journal to show him, and she had an idea for an article for them to collaborate on, the biological and technological effects of being unpinned from time. They’d have to ask Tracer’s permission, of course, there would be no way of keeping her anonymous, but Tracer was generally very good-natured about her condition–Yes, Mercy thought, I’ll do that.

She dialed Winston on the video phone, looking at the cool grey of the wait screen, the alert ringing again and again, until Winston’s face popped onscreen.

“Hello, this is Dr. Winston–”

“Winston! I think we are both fin–”

“I will be in London, England, from February 12th to February–”

Mercy shut off the phone. Of course he was in London. If Tracer didn’t come to him, he would go to her.

But if Helix had to work, why is Lena not working? Maybe it’s just that Fareeha was not interested in coming to be with you. That’s all.

The thought haunted Mercy. Maybe Pharah was tired of her, maybe she was tired of the distance, maybe being with Mercy was just too much work. Pharah was so wonderful, Mercy could only imagine that it would be nothing for her to find someone else, someone beautiful and witty and not the kind of person who sat alone in her apartment with a book and a box of noodles.

She changed in the living room, not even caring that she was just tossing her clothes to the side, and threw on her slouchy t-shirt from her staff orientation and a pair of flannel pants, sweeping her hair into a messy topknot as she plopped into her favorite chair, worn and ugly and terribly comfortable.

Pharah didn’t want to spend it with her. Why would she, Pharah was so collected and together and Valentine’s Day was so silly and so fake and Pharah was beyond all of that. It was foolish of her to have been dreaming of a candlelit dinner, of flowers and a box of chocolates and all those trappings that Pharah would have been much too practical for.

She burned with shame, remembering the flowery and goopy card she had sent Pharah, imagining how childish she would find it, how she would look at the scarf Mercy had knit while watching a lecture series from Zurich and wonder if she were dating a 12 year old.

“ANG!” Tracer’s voice burst through the living room as the video phone lit up, “ANGIIIIEEEEEEEE ZIEGLEEERRRRR!”

Tracer must be having a very festive Valentine’s Day.

She thought about rejecting the call, about sticking to her noodles and her book.

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, LOVE!”

“Lena, you don’t know that.” Winston’s measured rumbling softness came over the speaker.

“I do, though. Where the bloody ‘ell else would she be, WIn, she doesn’t properly go anywh–oh God she can ‘ear me, I LOVE YOU ANG!”

Mercy laughed, in spite of herself, and for a moment she felt the gloom lift as she hit the accept button across the room.

Tracer scowled at Winston. “I TOLD you,” she grinned brightly and waved, nearly knocking over her drink in the process. “Hi Ang!!! ‘Appy Valentine’s Day!” She gave Winston a hug, and Mercy felt the sad melancholy of loneliness return.

Tracer and Winston would never, as long as the other was alive, truly know what it was to be lonely. They would always love each other, they would always have each other, they would always have a Valentine, even if it was a Palentine.

They would never know what it was to be her. She was lucky enough they thought to call.

Tracer rubbed the corduroy of her pants and smiled happily. “Been out and about tonight, a bit, though all we ended up coming ‘ome with was each other,” she laughed brightly and ran her hand through her hair, rocking back on the edge of the couch a little too far, Winston placing a hand behind her back and pushing her up, “Think I’m a bit pissed, truth be known.”

Winston chuckled. “It’s a possibility.”

Tracer laughed again, barreling into Winston’s shoulder and bouncing back just as quickly, delighted with the mere fact of her own existence in this moment.

It would be catching, if it didn’t remind Mercy of how quiet and still her own apartment was.

“Any’ow, just wanted to say, ‘ello, and wish you well, didn’t mean to bother you, I mean, I did, I rang you, but only for a bit, I don’t think that’s too much–”

“Lena.” Winston shook his head.

“Wait,” Mercy looked at the two of them, “Lena, if you would not mind…”

Tracer’s face grew serious. “What is it, love?”

“Why did you not have to work? For Helix? Fareeha…” She shrugged.

Tracer jumped forward, nearly shoving the camera in the process. “Oh Ang, I don’t properly work for ‘elix, I’m a…consultant, rather, is all, you must ‘ave a bit of faith in Fareeha, she’s a commander and all that, she gets all the bleeding knobs in ‘er office morning, noon and night, doesn’t she? Don’t feel as if, you know in fact—” she considered a moment. “Trust ‘er, is all. We ought to be off, Ang. Don’t fret about it.”

Mercy nodded. “Of course. Happy Valentine’s Day, to you both.”

They waved her goodbye, and the room was quiet once more, filled with the sounds of nothing and no one, and Mercy popped open the bottle of wine, pouring it into a mug declaring her to be ‘#1 Doctor’ and sipping it as her perched in her chair. She wasn’t even interested in the noodles anymore.Tracer was many things, but she was not given to lie, and if she thought Pharah was trustworthy on this, she must reasonably believe it was true.

But Tracer also had a tendency to believe the best of people, even if it wasn’t quite deserved.

She barely read her book, sitting and thinking and trying not to think, and she wasn’t sure how long it had been when the video phone rang again.

Pharah.

A sudden panic ran through her, as she looked down at her sloppy t-shirt, that she had also managed to get a spot of red wine on, and felt up at the unkempt topknot on her head. She thought about dashing to the bedroom, putting on something more attractive, but then she would miss Pharah’s call. She froze in panic, not knowing what to do, until, quite against her own will, she hit the accept button.

“Angela.” Pharah sat at a table, candles lit in front of her, a linen cloth and a bouquet out in front of her, and there was a knock at the door.

“I–”

“No, please. Go answer.” She motioned gently.

Mercy got up and walked to the door, not knowing what to expect, only to find a man holding a bag out in front of him.

“Dr. Angela Ziegler?” He looked at her as if he didn’t quite believe it.

She nodded wordlessly, and he put the bag into her hands. “It’s paid for. You have a nice night, ma’am.”

She closed the door behind her, and went back into the living room where Pharah waited on the screen. Mercy allowed herself a moment to really look at her. It must be 3 am in Egypt, but her hair was smooth and styled, a blue suit jacket on over a black button up shirt, looking for all the world as if she was not as tired as she must be.

And wearing Mercy’s handknit scarf. 

Pharah nodded. “I hope you will excuse the presumption of ordering for you.” She fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “I wished for this to be a surprise. I wished–I wished to have dinner, with you, for Valentine’s Day.”

Mercy took the meal out of the bag, a lovely pasta dish very much like the things Mercy ordered every time they went out together, because of course she knew. Of course she paid attention.

She wiped a tear from her eye. “I am sorry I look such–”

“You are beautiful as you are. You are,” she nodded, looking at Mercy, “Always beautiful.”

“Fareeha…”

“I will give you a better Valentine’s, someday. This is my promise to you.” 

Mercy shook her head. “This is the best Valentine’s I will have ever had.” She gave a tearful laugh. “I have been wanting to tell you the silliest story, about Tracer, and how she is able to be coming over so often. You will laugh at me.” 

Pharah leaned in, listening intently, and Mercy felt the ghosts of loneliness dissipate into the night, the light of a streetlight piercing through the dark. 

[ohpapiseo]

This is written as a part of the F/F Valentine’s Day Gift Exchange hosted by @ffexchange This is written for @akiko-natsuko

Hello, my dear! You asked for a touch angst and hurt comfort… I might have gone slightly overboard with it and I AM SO SORRY. I am going to put a trigger for slight gore just because idk how sensitive you are but it will only be one small but it’s still there. 

If it’s too angsty, I’m more than willing to write you another oneshot... one that is more romantic and ‘valentine’s day worthy’ and I am so sorry that this is slightly overdue. I hope that you will like it anyway... T^T 

pairing: Fareeha Amari (Pharah) x Angela Ziegler (Mercy) genre: angst, hurt comfort, slight trigger warning for gore, a supporting medic girlfriend, happy ending!!

It was not a common occurrence for Fareeha to have nightmares. So whenever she did, it was not a pleasant experience, to say the least. But most times, she was alone and that was fine. Fareeha would much rather suffer alone than anyone see her at her weakest.

Since the death of her mother, Fareeha had built a wall around herself, insisting that she was fine, that she was strong and would only grow stronger. It seemed that she was lying not only to her friends and to the rest of Overwatch, her family, but she was lying to herself too.

Fareeha was strong; she went on to join the army, and was more than capable to join Overwatch, something she had wanted to do since she was a young girl. However, the disbanding of the organisation had shattered that dream.

Or had it…

“Fareeha, what are you thinking about?”

The young woman glanced over her shoulder, noticing Angela standing right behind her. She gave Fareeha a smile, one that filled the latter with warmth.

“Oh, sorry… Just got lost in thought.”

Angela gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, before ushering her to bed. Sometimes, it was hard for her to put behind that Fareeha was no longer that little girl that Angela used to run into whenever she came to the Watchpoint as a student, and old habits really did die hard.

“I’m not a baby, Angela.” Fareeha chuckled, but allowed the shorter woman to lead her to bed. Angela simply put on what everyone called her ‘doctor face’ and shook her head at her.

“No, but you do need to sleep properly if you’re going to train all day like you said you would.”

Fareeha smiled as she sat down on the bed. There were some good things that had happened in the last few months. Running into Angela in Iraq after being relieved of her services to Helix, she learned that Overwatch had initiated a recall, which meant it called back all living agents to the watchpoint to come together once again. This was obviously illegal, meaning it had to be done in the utmost secrecy.

But knowing she could be trusted, Angela allowed Fareeha to come back with her. The younger woman had nothing else now, and she was glad that her services would perhaps prove useful to Overwatch. Also, her and Angela were now in some sort of relationship, but that was a story for another time.

The horrors of Anubis, of all the soldiers Fareeha had lost, the ghost of her mother, it all still haunted her. And she needed to keep herself busy to not think about it.

However, nothing could stop Fareeha from dreaming.

Fareeha remembers it so well, like it had happened only yesterday.

When the strike team had come back, and her mother was not there. She looked at Jack, and he simply looked away, and that’s when she knew. Her mother was dead.

She remembers how she had run off and hidden somewhere only Jesse could find her, but even then she had not cried. And even when everyone got together for the funeral, Fareeha had not shed a single tear. All she could feel was…

Nothing. She felt numb.

After Fareeha joined the army, her officers worked her to the bone. She remembers the way everyone screamed at her and her fellow soldiers whenever there was something amiss. But still, she was numb.

“It’s just a dream.” Fareeha told herself as the memory of her time in the army dematerialised. She was now surrounded by black, her path unclear.

She found herself wearing her Raptora suit, reliving the death of captain Khalil. She knew the mission to contain Anubis once more had been a success, but this time, everyone around her was dying. The mission was failing and she needed to get to the firewall somehow.

It wasn’t real, there was no way that it was real.

Saleh first, and finally Tariq. As the last soldier fell to the ground, and all the omnic started to surround the young lieutenant, she could do nothing but try to fly. Her boosters weren’t working. Shit.

So she started to run. Fareeha could only run, she couldn’t fight them alone. She was all alone. Nowhere to hide.

As she ran out of that memory, her clothes changed back to normal. She poked her arm, trying to wake up, but it wasn’t working. Was this really a dream?

The omnics were chasing her, and one of them finally grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“Fareeha-” “Don’t- leave me alone!”

They turned her around, and she was face to face with a large dog-like robot, its red eyes glowing at her brightly. Fareeha was held in place by two other omnics, and she looked at the large dog in front of her with fear as she struggled to get out of their grip.

“Fareeha, wake up, please-”

The omnic brought up a large drill, a whirring noise echoing in her ears and she noticed rotating silver come straight for her eyes, and Fareeha moved about more violently, trying to loosen their hold.

The weapon was coming closer, closer, closer-

And then nothing.

Fareeha woke up screaming, immediately finding herself in someone’s arms and she held onto the person tightly, sobbing in their chest, beside herself. Every bit of her was consumed by fear, every single time this dream came back, she was alone, forced to remain strong and pretend like this didn’t affect her.

But the truth was it did, and to find someone by her side to hold her, to maybe comfort her, the endless recurring nightmare and the stress it brought her, all of it was too much for Fareeha to bear, and she couldn’t stop the tears as she hid her face in Angela’s shoulder, holding on tight as she could because finally, someone was here to hold her, and they wouldn’t let go.

“Fareeha, you’re okay.” Angela’s soothing voice filled Fareeha’s ears and tried to bring her out of her panic. “It was just a nightmare. It isn’t real.”

All Fareeha could do was nod, still unable to tear herself away from Angela’s embrace. It felt so safe, and so warm from what was otherwise a cold and unforgettable nightmare.

And Angela was still hugging her tightly, making sure that Fareeha was completely calm. It felt like endless hours before Angela finally pulled away and looked at her.

“Do you want to talk about it, Fareeha?” Angela asked as she reached over for a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and holding it to her lips. “Drink up. Crying makes you dehydrated, so you’ll feel better.” “I doubt it.” Fareeha murmured, but allowed Angela to do her thing. She had also pulled out a handkerchief from her drawer (was this woman always prepared for everything?) to wipe the sweat away from her face.

“You don’t always have to be strong, Fareeha.” Angela said suddenly, making the younger woman look to her. “I know you love to tell us that ‘Everything is fine’, but sometimes it isn’t, and that’s okay.” “But… My Mom’s always said that you need to be strong for the people that you love.”

Angela sighed, pushing the hair out of her face. “Yes. You are strong. But that doesn't mean forcing yourself to believe everything is fine when sometimes it isn't.”

Angela held Fareeha close to her again, hugging her as tight as she could. “Admitting to your troubles doesn't make you weak, my love.”

Fareeha sighed into Angela’s chest, nodding at her words. She was right, of course she was right. Why was Fareeha hiding away from this? Pretending that it would all be okay when that only made it worse?

“I’m sorry. It’s always been easier to ignore this.”

Angela gently kissed the top of her head, and slowly whispered, “Please don’t hide it from me, Fareeha. I know it’s always easier to ignore it, but it’s not healthy, and it’ll break you down more. Please. Talk to me whenever you feel like this or if you have nightmares again.”

Fareeha’s heart was breaking at hearing the pain in Angela’s voice, and she pulled away slowly, looking at her.

“I… can’t say I won’t ignore it, but I’ll do my best to talk more about it, and how I feel.”

Angela gave her a small smile. This wasn’t the answer, but at least it was a start. She leaned forward, pressing her lips against Fareeha’s. The taste of salty tears and lip balm lingered, but that wasn’t a worry for either of them right now.

“Let’s go out tomorrow. Away from the watchpoint.” Angela whispered as they laid back down against their pillows, their bodies tangled under the sheets. “Away from this mess, from Overwatch. Just for a day.” “Well…” Fareeha pursed her lips in thought, before glancing to Angela with a playful grin. “It is Valentine’s, after all.”

Angela’s cheeks turned pink, obviously having forgotten about it, and she slowly nodded. “Y-Yes, it is the fourteenth, you’re right.” “Okay. We can go out tomorrow, and…” “We’ll figure it out.” Angela completed the sentence, planting a kiss on Fareeha’s cheek. “For now, we should probably try and sleep.”

The look on the medic’s face turned stern, and Fareeha frowned as she closed her eyes slowly.

“Yes, Doctor.”

[btsjfans]

Class Clown Part 9

So I’ve gotten a ton of requests for part 9 which is AWESOME but I don’t want this one to end because like it was my first fan fiction ever and it’s hard to end it, so maybeeee I could do some college ones of them and then end it? I don't know tell me what you think. Anyway thank you guys so much for all the support!! So here it is, part 9, here we go. 

fluffyfluffyfluffy

masterlist

Love. Lovelovelovelovelovelovelove. The word plays through your mind on repeat as you and Taehyung lay together outside. It’s 11:20pm, the stars are out, and you’re wrapped in his arms laying on an old blanket in the bed of Jin’s pickup. You two have been laying there for 20 minutes, and before that you’d been at a fancy restaurant. You two talked the night away, before wrapping up to stargaze. Today was the last day you had before you’d hear back from any of your colleges, so you two were trying to relax. Tae got up to straight A’s, and had applied to the same colleges as you, and then some. He was determined to be with you, be near you, regardless. And you, for the first time in weeks, felt relaxed. Felt loved. Felt love. You weren't focused on grades, on anything really. Just you, him, and the sky.  

“Y/n?” He asks softly, his deep voice rumbling against you.

“Yeah?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you don’t want to steal the peaceful silence of the night.

“No matter what happens, like who gets in where, we’ll still be there for each other right?” You look up, and see his face, haunted by a nervous shadow.

“Oh Tae, of course.” You sit up and pull his head into your lap, playing with his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “No matter what, it’s you and I okay?” He nods and you slide back down and bury yourself in his chest once again.

Dear Miss L/n, we are pleased to inform you that..

You got 4 letters that began that way, your family was overjoyed! You got accepted to two Ivy Leagues, and two ones slightly below the Ivy’s, but one rejection. 

The one you wanted most.

 Yale said no.

 You knew you were so lucky to get into two Ivy’s and all your backup schools, but you wanted Yale so bad. You yearned for it, it had been your dream forever. You stared at the words on the paper, ‘Dear Miss L/n, we regret to inform you that..’ You didn't get in.

One minute you’re standing at the kitchen table holding Yale’s letter, and the next you’re on the floor in a pile of tears, the letter crumbled up and tossed aside. Your mom pulls you up and hugs you, holding you tight. After a moment you silently walk upstairs and collapse in a heap on your bed. 

They didn’t want you. 

Dear Mr. Kim, we are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted into Yale University, located in upper Manhattan on a half tuition scholarship. 

This isn't real. 

The one I least expected.

Yale said yes.

They said yes.

They wanted me.

I scream and start laughing, tears streaming down my face.

“WHAT?!” Jungkook tumbles into my room, my dad right behind him.

“THEY SAID YES! YALE SAID YES!” I yell, laughing and crying all at once. My dad and Jungkook grin before running in and hugging me, and soon we’re a big mess of arms and legs hugging and dancing together. 

Who would’ve expected this? Me, Kim Taehyung, getting into one of the most prestigious schools in America? How?! I know I worked hard, but I didn't think I worked that hard ya know?

Amid the celebrations, Y/n’s face pops into my mind. Y/n. She’s the reason I can celebrate. She’s the one who made this possible. Destiny must have been rooting for us, because I have no other explanation as to how this is possible. 

“I’m gonna go see Y/n, okay? I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I grin and hug my dad and brother once more before I run out and hop on my bike, zooming down the sidewalks to her house. I toss my bike on the lawn and run to the door, knocking excitedly. Her mom answers, looking tired.

“She’s upstairs, but be gentle. Yale didn't take her.” She says in a quiet, tired voice.

“W-what?” I’m taken aback by her words. That’s impossible. Y/n is the definition of a Yale student. Class valedictorian, honor roll, Beta club, etc etc. How could she not get in? How could destiny betray her? Betray us?

I walk upstairs and gently knock on the door. “Y/n?” I ask quietly and hear nothing from behind the door. I sigh and lean on the wall, willing to wait. I wait for a couple minutes before the door finally opens, and I whip around and collect her into my arms. I walk her in and close the door behind us and lean against it, holding her close. She cries into my chest and I close my eyes and play with her hair as I hold her. We stay like this for a bit before she pulls away and sighs. 

“I’m sorry Y/n.” I say quietly, knowing my words can only do so much. 

She stands with me in silence for a while before she says something. 

“I know it’ll be okay, I got in everywhere else, I just wanted this so bad ya know? But we can still go to college together.” She smiles a little and snuggles into my arms and I swallow my guilt. She can't know I got in. 

“You got in where?!” Hoseok spits out his drink at the lunch table and I hiss slapping his arm, looking around making sure he isn't causing the scene I feel like he is. 

“Shut up!” I growl and sip my water.

“Why don't you want more people to know?! This is incredible!” Jin gives me an incredulous look.

“Because Y/n didn't get in!” I whisper and the three all let out a quiet ‘oh’.

“Well you two love each other right?” Yoongi speaks up after a minute.

“Duh?” I snort.

“And you’d be happy if she got in and you didn't?” I nod. “Then why wouldn't she feel the same huh? If she really loves you she’ll be happy for you and support you in this.” Yoongi huffs before taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“Huh.” Hoseok muses.

“But she’s dreamed of this forever!” I protest.

“Well that dream isn't coming true anytime soon so she better accept that. You however need to accept this, going to Yale will set you for life and she of all people would know that. The original plan would’ve been you pick your backup school nearby, which is still a frickin great school, and she attends Yale, so why is this any different?” Yoongi shoots me a frustrated look and I bite my lip. He has got a point. 

As we get up from lunch, a councilor grabs my hand, pulling me back.

“Taehyung, can we have a little chat?” She smiles kindly and I shoo my friends off and nod. “Well, since you’re the only student here of this class to get into Yale, we wanted to know if you’d take the title of Valedictorian and give a speech at graduation?” She beams at me, proud of how far I’ve come. I think I’ve come too far this time, I can’t take college and Valedictorian away from Y/n.

“I..I’m flattered but really I can't. Thank you so much for the offer though.” I smile and walk off down the hall, my head swimming with thoughts. How did it get this far? How did I become this person, and when? 

“So I hear Kim Taehyung got into Yale,” Your friend Jack sighs as your group studies together for an AP test. You choke on your water and sit up.

“No, thats not possible. He would’ve told me.” You smile and shake your head.

“Well tell that to the councillors, that was all they could talk about this week. And they tried making him Valedictorian but he turned it down. I hear he might turn down Yale too.”  Jack lazily rolls a pencil between his fingers as he skims over the page of a textbook.

“He..what?” You’re at a total loss for words. How could he not tell you? Any of this? 

“Yeah, all of my AP prep class is talking about it.” Amari pipes up.

“Even you knew?!” You’re flabbergasted.

“I assumed you knew,” Amari shrugs and you groan burying your face in your hands. 

“I think I’m gonna head in early, alright?” You sigh and pack up your books and head out, walking down the sidewalk towards your house.

How did Kim Taehyung, a failing student as of two years ago get into Yale, and you not? How did Kim Taehyung almost steal the title of Valedictorian from you? The title you worked day and night for as of the last 4 years? How does this kind of thing even happen? And how does he not even tell you? As you near your house you see Taehyung’s bike strewn on your lawn and despite yourself, you smile. You walk in and see Tae sitting at the kitchen table, sipping water with your mom. They both turn and smile at you, Tae standing up at your arrival.

“Y/n,” He smiles and you can't be mad at that face. He earned it. All of it. 

“Hey, wanna go study upstairs?” You smile and wave to your mom who smiles and rolls her eyes waving you two off. He smiles and thanks her and you both trot upstairs. 

“So when were you gonna tell me about Yale?” You smile and watch the look of shock register on his face. “Councillors are a terrible gossip.” 

“Oh Y/n I’m sorry. I was gonna tell you but then I felt bad you didn't get in so I was just not gonna say anything and then go someplace either with you or nearby.” He shrugs and smiles and you smile at your sweet boy.

“And what about being Valedictorian?” You tilt your head and he groans.

“I thought it would be cruel to even consider taking that.” He sighs and looks up at you nervously. 

“Oh Tae, you really are such a sweetheart.” You sigh and flop on your bed and he relaxes a little.

“So you aren't mad?” He sits criss cross on the bed.

“Of course not. I’m happy for you and I can't wait to tell all my friends that my boyfriend goes to Yale.” You grin and watch the excited and proud glow surround him as he grins.

“I did it all of you, so everybody should be thanking you for this.” He grins and leans in pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaning back again.

“Well, you’re welcome then.” You laugh and he crinkles his nose as he grins and you can't help but wonder how you got this lucky. You have the sweetest boyfriend in the world, you both got into really good schools, you’re Valedictorian, you have wonderful friends, and you’re life is taking off. It’s everything freshman you wanted and more. 

“I love you Taehyung. I hope you know.” You smile and he grins and cups your face in his hands. 

“I know angel.” He says quietly before pulling you into a deep kiss. 

“Y/n, you’re gonna be late!” Your mom calls up to you. You stand in front of your mirror in your cap and gown. You’d taken a lot of time to do your hair and makeup just write, and practice your speech like 6 times. Today was the day.

You’d been working for this day for the last 4 years, and in a quick 3 hours it will be over. You’d been writing this speech for the last 4 years, and had it all ready. Written in times of success, it was a winning speech. And yet the night before you stayed up on the phone with Amari rewriting it entirely. You wanted the real high school experience in it, not written from the perspective of somebody who cruised by on good grades. Which is why you dedicated it to Kim Taehyung, who’d seen it all.

“My name is Y/n L/n, class valedictorian...” You begin your speech. Looking out into the mass of faces, you look at your classmates. Some giggle and whisper to each other, some look zoned out completely, while others pay half attention to your words. You see your friends, your least favorite people, and Taehyung. He smiles at you, his head tilted, smile boxy and wide, and skin glowing in the dim auditorium lights. You rock the beginning of your speech, but as you get to the part about Taehyung’s story you start to get nervous. “But high school isn't always as easy as some kids make it seem. Every kid has some kind of struggle; whether it has to do with home life, grades, or what. But, the beauty of high school is that at some point, we always overcome our trials at some point or another. Just like my friend Kim Taehyung.” You say and watch his jaw drop, and Jin elbow him and giggle. “He went from a GPA of 2.1, to a future Yale attendee. And we couldn't be prouder.” You say, smiling and watching Taehyung glow with pride. You continue with your speech, watching more and more students pay you more attention as your speech draws to a close. You finish and listen to the audience applaud, and some friends woop and cheer in the crowd. As you walk down the stage you feel tears well up, and you bite your lip trying to hold it back. You take your seat among your peers and dab at your eyes trying not to smudge your makeup. You look around and make eye contact with Tae who grins at you, and Jin blows a kiss from next to him, and you feel a grin overcome your lips. 

“Come on get together, get together!!” You call and Tae runs over, wrapping his arms around your waist with his head on your shoulder, while Jin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Amari, and all your friends crowd around you while your mom snaps pictures. You all laugh and make silly faces and smiles as different parents crowd around taking your pictures. You take a minute to look around at your friends, all laughing and smiling, and Tae’s arms wrapped around you. You never thought you’d miss high school that much, because it was just a stepping stone to get to an Ivy League, but looking back at the people around you, you don't want it to end. 

“You okay Y/n?” Tae smiles and hums against your cheek.

“Yeah. I am.” You smile and kiss his cheek and run to Amari’s side to get pictures with your best friend, feat Hoseok and Tae photobombing, before it becomes yet another group picture. 

“So where are you gonna go Y/n?” His deep voice rumbles against my neck as Tae and I sit together on his couch. 

“I think I’m going to go to Columbia.” You say with finality.

“How far away is it from Yale?” Tae pulls away and cups your face in his hands.

“An hour and a half,” You smile and pucker your lips and he grins pulling you into his lap kissing you all over.

“Are you ready for college life?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Now I am,” You giggle and feel his hands squeeze you tight, chills going up and down your arms as Tae holds you close. 

I’m tempted to write a couple more of these about their college days, and little drabbles about them going through adulthood together..sound good? 

[omnical]

I Sing the Body Electric... (2/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler knows a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor, supernatural elements.

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Lucio, Mei

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore. 

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart --  cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens -- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela.

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

I am so sorry.

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

...

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask.

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” --   stop talking about the weather, Angela -- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” Words, Angela. “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they are natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.���

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- maybe I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” Lunch? Dinner? A movie?

An early morning jog around the park?

Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it.

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

Live a little.

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

Notes: This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus to expand this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational!

Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best :D

Thank you very much for reading! Have a nice day, everyone~

Edited (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late and caught a few minor errors I overlooked :)